#Shortstory
#Jikook
Jungkook, His name was once a prayer on your lips, whispered softly into the quiet spaces between your heartbeats. He was your shelter, your comfort, the warm breath that steadied your storms. He was in every plan, every whispered dream beneath the sheets, every promise sealed with laughter and a kiss. He didn't just love you-he made you believe that you were the center of his universe.
It started slowly. Nights grew longer. Excuses thicker.
He came home smelling like something that wasn't you-sweet, unfamiliar, expensive. His tie was always loose, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes... somewhere else. Every time you asked, he offered the same hollow words: *"Overtime."* But your heart heard something else. Your soul knew. It always knows.
Then came that night. The night everything ended-quietly, painfully, irreversibly.
it revealed what he had tried to hide.
Lipstick. Bright red. Smeared on his collar. His neck.
Even on his lips-faded, as if he had scrubbed at them with guilt, but not hard enough. The scent of another man clung to him like a ghost, whispering stories you never asked to hear.
He stood there, breath shallow, soul absent. Took off his shoes slowly, like it was any other night. As if things could go back to normal. As if you didn't just die a little watching him.
He finally looked at you-your body swollen with life, your heart with grief. You, sitting quietly on the couch, hands resting on your belly as though shielding the child from the world his father had just shattered.
And then he spoke. Voice hoarse, barely human. "...Jimin?" Just your name. But it felt like a funeral bell. Like a memory collapsing under the weight of betrayal.