In This House // BTS Mafia au

Chapter Twenty-One

Jungkook's room was silent.

Miyeon couldn't hear anything that was happening upstairs, and the fear it gave her exceeded any fear she had had of the dark. She didn't know what freaked her out more; hearing everything, including whoever made that terrifying scream, or not hearing anything at all. 

What was worse was that even Jungkook looked just as scared and confused. Miyeon certainly didn't look to him for comfort, and she new very well that his 'tough guy' attitude was a pathetic attempt at acting invincible. But seeing him let the entire facade down meant that he had no other choice but to be just as scared as she was. Maybe more.

It sent chills down her spine. 

She realized her heart was still pounding. All she could do was let it pound on while she laid in Jungkook's bed, her eyes flitting around the room in paranoia. The scream must have been from a member, but the possibilities were endless as to what actually happened. Somebody could have broken into the house and attacked. There could be a whole fight happening right above her. 

And she was stuck in Jungkook's fucking bedroom.

Alone.

At least, alone until Jungkook flew into bedroom an hour later. He practically gave her a heart attack.

They saw each other, and once again Miyeon saw the brutal fear in his face. But his eyes showed something different. Something she was much more familiar with. He was angry.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Jungkook didn't respond. He stomped over to the bed and held the coldest glare Miyeon had ever seen. Her heart started again. It wasn't the same stupid, short-temper from when they bickered. He looked nearly bloodthirsty.

"Get out of my bed." His voice came out in a low growl. 

Miyeon swallowed hard. "What?"

"I said--" His hands suddenly reached down to her arm on the opposite side of the bed, grabbing her harshly. In the split second, Miyeon felt pain from his fingers digging into her skin, but it was replaced by the pain of hitting the floor when he threw her off the bed. Her wound flared up, distracting her from the impact of her knees and forehead hitting the floor. She cried out once before being interrupted by Jungkook.

"Get out of my bed!"

Miyeon recollected herself, then looked at Jungkook. His expression was tight. She could see the muscles in his jaw tensing up. She felt a stab of fear when she saw there was no remorse in her face.

"What are you...." her voice trailed off. She couldn't concentrate on words when she met his glare. She felt pathetic, on the floor with him towering above, and admittedly, hurt.

Jungkook finally turned and broke the staring, climbing into his bed and leaving Miyeon on the floor beside it.

Not giving a pillow. Not sparing a blanket. Just him facing the wall away from her.

Miyeon's heart wouldn't stop racing. What the fuck happened? The scream, the sudden coldness from Jungkook, her fucking wound wouldn't stop hurting, and now he was shunning her. Her breathing was hitching. She felt dizzy from the events.

But she had a right to know. Jungkook was scaring her, she could admit that much, but she didn't like it at all.

She worked up the nerve to ask what happened or what she had done wrong, but something else came out instead.

"You really are fucking bipolar, aren't you?"

It came out before she could stop herself. 

He whipped his head around, immediately sitting up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Miyeon ignored his fierceness. "Why do you always do this? I just want to know what happened!"

Jungkook hesitated. His chest rose and fell quickly. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"You throw away good things, Jungkook!" Miyeon hissed. "I don't know if it's cause your stupid or you're so focused on being a fucking rebel that you can't see a good thing when it comes!

"What are you talking about?"

Despite Jungkook looking confused, Miyeon stopped. She didn't know why she felt so hurt. She just wished he would.....talk to her without being so angry.

But he obviously didn't want to. She should have known. He didn't care if she was hurt. He was the same fucking bastard who threw her down in the alley, and he threw her down now.

She threw him one last look and turned away, ignoring his question. The floor was cold, but the prickling in her eyes felt hot.