𝙐𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 ❤ (𝙹𝚒𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 💜)

25) Cracks in the Mask

The clink of cutlery against ceramic was the only sound filling the apartment.

Jimin sat at the table, quietly picking at his toast, eyes lowered to his plate like it held all the answers to his current mess of a life. Across from him, Jungkook sipped his coffee in silence, barely tasting it — his mind elsewhere. Everywhere.

The scrambled eggs on Jimin’s plate were cooling, untouched.

It had been like this for days now. Careful choreography — a dance of avoiding eye contact, dodging each other in the hallway, always speaking just enough to function, never enough to mean anything.

But today, it was worse. Today, the air between them was heavier.

Because yesterday, Grandpa had made it official. With that delighted laugh and teary eyes, he'd declared that the wedding date was now Sunday.

Two days.

Two days until they’d stand in front of a fake priest, say fake vows, and pretend to love each other for the sake of the one person who actually did.

And Jimin... hadn’t said a word since.

Jungkook's gaze flicked up. Just for a second. Just enough to see how pale Jimin looked, how hollow his eyes seemed despite the soft morning light pouring through the kitchen window.

He cleared his throat. “You should eat something more. Not just toast.”

Jimin didn’t respond. His fork hovered in mid-air before gently dropping back to the plate.

Jungkook sighed and set his cup down. “You’re not still mad about the contract, are you?”

Jimin looked up — eyes dull but calm. “Why would I be? You made everything perfectly clear.”

The words stung more than they should’ve.

Jungkook frowned, not because Jimin was wrong — but because he wasn’t.

He had made everything too clear. No emotions. No expectations. Just a transaction. Just an illusion.

So then why did his heart twist at the sight of Jimin looking so worn down, so far away even while sitting just across the table?

“Jimin…” he started, hesitating.

But Jimin stood up, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape. “I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.”

That was a lie. Jungkook knew it.

Still, he didn’t stop him.

He watched Jimin walk away, grab his bag, slip on his shoes like a ghost passing through.

And when the door clicked shut behind him, Jungkook leaned back in his chair and stared at the empty plate across from him.

The fork still rested neatly on the edge, untouched eggs still warm.

And in that moment, all Jungkook could think was:

“How the hell are we going to pull this off without falling apart?”

.

.

.

The corridor buzzed faintly with conversations, the shuffle of students moving between lectures, laughter echoing from nearby classrooms. But for Jimin, it was all muted.

He walked with heavy feet, bag slung over one shoulder, head lowered, mind too numb to register anything beyond the steady rhythm of his own footsteps. He hadn't slept properly in days. His body moved, but it felt like he wasn't even in it.