saudade || jjk || one-shot
saudade — a portuguese word without a true english translation, a profound, melancholic longing for something or someone that is absent, whether in the past, present, or even something that may never return. more than simple nostalgia or missing, saudade carries the bittersweet weight of memory, loss, desire, and love intertwined.
summary: years after the breakup, jungkook spots you from across the room at a wedding he didn’t even know you’d be attending. and there you are: radiant, stunning, as always. a diamond ring gleams on your left ring finger, and your husband stands proudly by your side.
w.c: 7,2k
pairing: idol!jungkook (barely there) x fem!reader
rating: —
genre: exes, pure ANGST
warnings: heartbreak, alcohol, heavy emotions
author’s note: who would’ve thought my first post after years away would be angst instead of smut? 😅 the last time i shared a fully angst one-shot, I got a flood of angry asks, so please, please read this knowing it’s pure angst, no happy ending, just heartbreak. 🥲 honestly, i almost cried while writing it. the inspiration hit out of nowhere, and i just had to pour it all out. ss always, this is a work of fiction, i don’t own BTS. english isn’t my first language, so forgive any mistakes. 🫶🏻✨ leave me your thoughts in the comments, it really means the world to me. 💕
Jungkook saw you the moment you arrived at the wedding.
Your long, wavy hair spilled in dark cascades over your graphite-colored coat, a perfect choice for the end of winter, light enough without being careless. Wine-red lipstick stained your smile, a smile that seemed fixed in place, unwilling to fade. Your almond-shaped nails, painted a deep crimson to match, gleamed subtly in the low light. But what caught his eyes, what gutted him, was the ring. That fucking ring. A silver band with a teardrop diamond at its center, so large he could spot it from across the room, so sharp it felt like it was staring him down.
How many carats was it? Did you even care?
He knew you didn’t.
It had to be Henry’s doing, your husband, show of wealth, of power, of ownership. Jungkook had heard people say Europeans were like that. And Henry, well, he wasn’t a bad man. Successful, yes. A giant in the Western music industry, owner of one of the biggest record labels in the world. Jungkook had once admired him, even interacted with him a few times back then.
But that was before.
Before you married him. Before you left Jungkook behind. Before, when you and Jungkook had still sworn you were each other’s forever. Three years ago.
Now, you stood across the room from him, your back turned, while another man, your man, slipped your coat from your shoulders. His wedding ring, the one you had placed on his hand, gleamed under the lights too.
Beneath the coat, your maroon dress dipped low, revealing your back. The ink of your tattoo trailed down your spine, the same one Jungkook used to kiss, dot by dot, following the path of your freckles with his lips.
Did you still get dressed naked in front of the mirror? He wondered, lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowing hard. Did you still light your scented candles and go through that careful ritual before going out?
Jungkook hadn’t wanted to be at that wedding, hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you there, but it made sense now, Anthony Westwood, the groom, was a music producer, likely tied to Henry through industry threads. Anthony had become a close friend over the past year, working on BTS’s new album, their late-night talks spilling beyond studio walls into something deeper, something personal. It would’ve been rude for Jungkook to skip the event, especially with the rest of the members there, before the U.S. tour kicked off in a week.
You were there, just as he remembered, yet impossibly different.
His stomach twisted. He thought he might be sick. Because then you turned. And the sight hit him like a blade straight to the chest.
The dress draped you perfectly, light, flowing, yet cinched tight at the waist. But what it framed was unmistakable. Your stomach. Rounded, showing.
You were pregnant.
Five months, maybe more. Pregnant with another man’s child.
Jungkook’s fingers tingled, the sensation crawling up his arms and lodging itself in his chest. It felt like his own body was betraying him, like his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive. His mouth went dry, his vision white at the edges. The taste of bitterness flooded his throat.
He was dying. He was certain of it.
And yet, you didn’t even see him. Probably couldn’t. Your eyes squinted as you spoke to the blonde woman in front of you, someone who looked far too close, far too familiar. You must have forgotten your contact lenses again. Typical of you.
Jungkook wanted to scream.
Because you had always wanted this. To be a mother. He remembered every conversation about it, what it would be like, what names you would choose, how you’d decorate the nursery, what traditions you’d pass down. And most of all, how he would be your baby daddy.
He thought he might collapse right there, knees to the floor, begging a God he never even knew he had faith in to rip that indescribable pain out of his chest. Right there, in front of all those people celebrating the happiness of a couple about to vow forever, while the love of his life had just been stolen from him completely.
Pregnant.
The word buzzed in his head, a deafening, disorienting noise. Pregnant with Henry’s baby. Another life growing inside you.
It was obscene. Cruel. It felt like a punishment carved into every fiber of Jungkook’s being, into every cell that made him who he was, every part of him you had once touched. Every part that had once belonged to you.
His throat was tight. No one here could possibly understand the panic clawing through him, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly, the way the whiskey glass shook in his hand. He tried to force the liquor down, but his throat refused, burning with both the bitterness of alcohol and of you.
And there you were, glowing in that devastating way only pregnant women do, carrying proof of a future that had erased him entirely.
When he finally managed to swallow the whiskey, it scorched all the way down. God, it burned.
His jaw tightened as he stared at you, a thousand memories bleeding into the sight before him. His stomach lurched, nausea rising sharp and merciless at the thought of Henry’s hands on you, of Henry’s child inside you. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, forcing himself to hold it together, but the truth was merciless.
You weren’t his anymore. And you never would be again. Still, he couldn’t stop watching you.
Because some part of him, a pathetic, broken part, was waiting. Waiting for you to look up, to notice him standing there. To see him the way you used to. To remember.
But you didn’t.
You only smiled, hand drifting unconsciously to your stomach while the blonde beside you spoke, and Jungkook felt his heart rip itself apart piece by piece.
The people around Jungkook didn’t notice. Or if they did, they chose to ignore the way he looked, strange, hollow, breaking apart from the inside out. No one could ever really know, anyway. No one could survive carrying the knowledge of what it felt like to be him, in his skin, in this moment. No one could endure the truth that he barely remembered how to breathe, let alone how to stand, how to walk, how to keep living.
So he sat through it.
In that vast, glittering hall, all open glass and polished marble, everyone gathered to celebrate a wedding that had little to do with him. People clapped, people smiled, people cried into silk handkerchiefs while vows were spoken. And Jungkook dissociated just enough to get through it. The ceremony passed like smoke, like something unreal. He couldn’t hold onto a single word.
And maybe that was better. Because in that moment, the last thing he wanted was anything to do with love stories.
Instead, he sat there with nothing but a vacant stare, an empty glass of whiskey, and the unbearable need to avoid your face, while you sat only a few rows ahead of him. He could still see you in profile, the curve of your cheek, your smile gentle as you leaned toward someone speaking to you. Your hand rested protectively on your stomach, as though guarding the life that grew inside you.
Every time his eyes landed on that gesture, on that stomach, he had to look away. He stared into the hollow of his glass. He stared out the tall windows at the mountains, capped with soft snow, ancient and indifferent. He stared up at the ceiling, dripping with flowers, roses, lilies, hydrangeas, so many blooms he couldn’t begin to count them. Crimson petals here and there. White orchids, too.
And he wondered, were orchids still your favorite?Or had that changed too, like everything else?
Had you married Henry on a beach, the way you once swore you wanted to?
He didn’t know. He realized, with a bitter twist, that he didn’t know anything about your life anymore. You had always been private, your social media locked down, your circle impossibly small. After the breakup, you vanished from Korea, completely.
Had you gone to Europe with Henry? That would make sense. His empire was there, his influence vast. And yet, Jungkook refused to believe you had not returned home just for Henry. That wasn’t you. You had always longed for home, for your parents, for the comfort of the familiar.
But facts were crueler than dreams. The truth was simple.
You were in New York. And Jungkook was in New York. The same city, the same room, for the first time in four years.
And it was suffocating him more than he ever thought possible. Pregnant, married, untouchable.
Still, he couldn’t stop. His eyes sought you even as he forced himself to look away. And then, for a single fleeting second, it happened.
You turned. Over your shoulder, your gaze caught his.
It was so quick it could have been nothing, just a trick of light, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was there. And on your lips, a small, sad smile.
It destroyed him.
Because it told him everything and nothing all at once. It told him you hadn’t forgotten. That somewhere, buried deep, you remembered too.
Jungkook wanted to leave. If nobody had noticed you before, everyone noticed you now. And they understood why Jungkook had been staring into nothing, looking like he’d just seen a ghost, because he literally had.
The pity in his friends’ eyes was almost tangible, and Jungkook hated it. They liked you. I mean, how could they not? You were undeniably charismatic, always bringing life to parties, and you were funny, not in that forced way, but the kind that made people laugh effortlessly. Everyone said you were the perfect match for Jungkook.
And now, someone said something about you that he chose to ignore, sitting at the table assigned to them. Jungkook was grateful you weren’t directly in his line of sight like during the ceremony. Especially because he was forced to stay a little longer for the reception. How rude would it be to fly all the way from Korea to the United States just for this wedding and then leave before midnight?
So, he drank.
That’s when Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi stood up, all three at once, while Jungkook swallowed another sip of whiskey. They spoke, glancing at him, looking somewhat hesitant, somewhat concerned. Jungkook didn’t really know how to describe that look and he didn’t want to.
“We’re gonna go over to…” Jimin started, but didn’t finish. Instead, his eyes shifted toward the table Jungkook knew was yours.
Taehyung cleared his throat, tilting his head to the side, a slow sigh escaping as he bit his lower lip.
“We’re just gonna say hi,” he said, his voice too careful, like he was tiptoeing across a minefield. Yoongi stayed silent, his dark eyes fixed on Jungkook, searching for something, permission, maybe, or a spark of anger. But Jungkook wasn’t angry. He was shattered, pieces of him scattered across the polished floor of the reception hall.
He wanted to beg them not to go, not to walk toward you, not to stir the ashes of a life you’d once shared. Weekends that stretched too long, filled with your laughter, how you’d convinced Jimin to jump into a pool on a rainy Seoul afternoon, your grin so infectious it was almost absurd. How Taehyung would drink too much when you were around, goaded by your teasing challenges, glass after glass until he was stumbling, laughing. How Yoongi, stoic Yoongi, had once cried with you both until dawn after a breakup. You’d been woven into their world, into his world, so tightly it had felt unbreakable. Now, you were a stranger.
But you were happy, weren’t you? Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
“Go ahead,” Jungkook said, edged with a coldness he didn’t feel. He stared at the empty whiskey glass in his hand, unwilling to meet their eyes.
“You sure?” Jimin asked, searching Jungkook’s face. Jungkook shrugged, forcing himself to look back.
“She’s your friend, isn’t she?” he said, the words hollow. “Or at least she used to be.”
You used to be everything. His, most of all. Now you belonged to someone else, to a life that had erased him, to a man whose ring gleamed on your finger, whose child grew inside you.
Jungkook’s eyes burned with the urge to look, to steal a glance at what was happening at your table, where Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi had gone. But he couldn’t. It would make him look weak, indecisive, like a man clinging to a ghost. But he couldn’t help it. Just one glance, quick and over his shoulder. And there you were, standing, your arms wrapped around Jimin in a hug and Taehyung was next, his grin wide as he pulled you in, you laughed. Henry stood beside you, shaking Yoongi’s hand, his smile polished. Jungkook’s stomach churned, and he snapped his eyes forward.
Namjoon, still at the table, shifted in his seat, his gaze on Jungkook. The rest of the members were scattered, Hoseok and Jin somewhere in the crowd. It was just the two of them now. Namjoon leaned forward.
"You don’t have to stay, you know. You could say it’s jet lag. No one would question it.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened.
“I’m fine,” he said, lying. He wasn’t fine. He was drowning.
Namjoon tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“You haven’t said a word to her yet. You don’t… want to?”
He fucking wanted to. He forced a shrug again.
“Why would I?” he muttered, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to talk to you, wanted to demand answers, to ask why you’d chosen Henry, why you’d erased him so completely. But he couldn’t. Not when you looked so happy.
“I’ll go say hi to her in a bit,” Namjoon said finally, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m here with you now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”
The sincerity in his voice made Jungkook’s throat tighten. He nodded, grateful for Namjoon’s presence and for the way he didn’t force him to explain. Namjoon’s voice broke the silence again, softer now.
“Seeing her with her husband, happily married” he gestured toward your table, “was it worse in person?”
Jungkook’s breath caught, his fingers twitching against the table. He wanted to laugh, bitterly, but all that came out was a low sound.
“It’s not about her being married.”
Namjoon’s eyes softened, and Jungkook hated it, hated the understanding there, the quiet acknowledgment. It wasn’t the ring on your finger or the vows you’d taken with Henry that broke him. It was the life growing inside you, the future you’d built without him, the dreams you’d once whispered to him. Those were the things that cut deepest, that carved something into his bones, a longing so profound it felt like it might never fade.
He glanced at your table again, against his better judgment, and saw you laughing, your hand resting on Taehyung’s arm as he told some story. Henry was there, his arm around your waist, his smile almost possessive. Jungkook’s heart twisted, and he forced his eyes away, back to the table, to Namjoon.
“She’s happy,” he said, more to himself than to Namjoon. “That’s what matters, right?”
Namjoon didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.
Jin and Hobi returned to the table, pulling Jungkook from his thoughts and shattering the quiet comfort of Namjoon’s presence. It was a relief, in a way, to focus on something other than you. Other than whether you’d shared the name of your baby with his friends. What would you and Henry name your baby? Jungkook knew the names you’d once dreamed of for the children you’d planned with him. You’d never agreed on names. You loved Sophia or Sienna. He preferred Hayoon, Seoyoon. You’d argued they should work in both your worlds, but consensus was never reached. Still, you’d settled on a placeholder for the daughter you imagined, calling her Sunray. He couldn’t even recall how it started, that silly name. It was never meant to be official. You’d promised to decide together.
But that future never came.
The ache of it, that feeling, a longing for a life that slipped away, clawed at him. He forced a smile as Jin said a joke.
By that point, he was already convinced you hadn’t looked back at him once. Not a single glance.
Aa the night progresses, he drank too much, too fast. The alcohol was burning through his veins when he finally got up, head down, the party hall spun just enough for him to need to lean on the chair he had been sitting in before.
“Everything okay?” Hoseok asked, his eyes resting on Jungkook.
“Just the whiskey hitting,” he murmured as he turned on his heels to walk toward the bathroom straight ahead, which meant he wouldn’t even have to pass by his table.
He made his way through the crowd, a few people greeted him from a distance, and he tried his best not to stumble along the way, which worked, up to a point, because when he looked straight ahead to know exactly where he was going, he felt someone bump his shoulder. Lightly, nothing much, but when Jungkook looked to the side, his throat went dry.
Henry.
“Sorry, mate” he said in that British accent Jungkook had always thought was cool, but at that moment it made him sick. The color of his eyes was the same as yours, but in a lighter shade. Which made Jungkook think this would be the color of your baby’s eyes, but he hoped the shade would be exactly yours and not Henry’s.
“Oh, it’s you, Jungkook.” He said with the softest voice, almost friendly. He was taller than Jungkook, brown wavy hair pushed back, clean-shaven, broad shoulders. And even with Jungkook’s muscular build, growing even bigger from more frequent gym visits, he felt small next to Henry. But instead of letting that intimidate him in any way, Jungkook squared his shoulders and straightened his posture.
“No problem,” Jungkook muttered, nodding right after, ready to return on his way to the restroom, but Henry wasn’t finished yet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Henry said, his voice a bit husky, and Jungkook hated the sound of it, feeling the alcohol cloud his mind.
“Yes. A long time,” Jungkook forced out, in an English that barely came out, making himself lock eyes with the man’s eyes, though it took a tremendous effort not to look away, not to let the alcohol or the anger or the ache in his chest take over.
Henry flashed a small smile that set Jungkook on edge, one of those victorious ones, the kind that seemed to rub in Jungkook’s face everything he had taken from him.
“Groom’s side?” he asked, and Jungkook simply nodded. “Me too,” Henry said with that same small smile. “Small world.”
“Small world,” Jungkook repeated, forcing the closest thing to a convincing smile he could manage.
“Your group, right? Growing bigger every year, if that’s even possible,” Henry said casually, as if trying to make conversation, or prolong this awkward encounter. But Jungkook was too broken, too hollow, to pretend.
“Yeah.”
As expected, the conversation died. They stared at each other, Henry arching a brow as if waiting for something more, and Jungkook doing the same, unsure of what was expected of him. He tried to sidestep Henry, to escape the presence, but the man spoke again.
“You should come by our table,” Henry said. “She’d love to catch up.”
Catch up.
Jungkook almost laughed bitterly. As if they were old friends who had simply lost touch over the years, not two people who had loved each other for five years, shared dreams that Henry had stolen away.
His stomach churned again, and Jungkook couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or the thought of standing in front of you, pretending everything was fine.
“Maybe later.” He lied, not even sure how he managed to form a sentence that sounded natural. “I need to go over there now.” Jungkook nodded toward the front and moved away from Henry.
Henry clapped a hand on his shoulder, meant to be friendly, probably, but it felt like fire, searing through his jacket and into his skin.
Jungkook walked away in long strides, heading toward the restroom, his shoulder still burning where Henry had touched him.
Suddenly, he didn’t need to go to the bathroom at all. He needed air. He needed to escape.
But his feet carried him to the restroom anyway.
He didn’t trust himself to make it to the exit without doing something stupid, like running after you or punching Henry in his perfect, smug face.
The bathroom was empty. Jungkook grip his hands on the sink, staring at his reflection. His tie was crooked, hair falling into his eyes, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like a mess, but not nearly as wrecked as he felt inside.
He let the icy water run over his hands, hoping it would do something for him. But it didn’t help.
He splashed water on his face, harder than necessary, then dragged his hands down his cheeks. But it was useless. You were burned into him, permanent, like the ink on your spine. He could still feel the ghost of your skin under his fingertips, the way you used to lean into him, the soft laugh when he kissed just below your ea as you used to like so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles whitened. He forced himself to breathe, to count to ten, to do anything to keep from collapsing right there.
He didn’t know how long he stood like that, but eventually he straightened, wiped his hands and forced himself to leave the bathroom.
As he stepped out of the restroom, he noticed a door to the side with a sign he understood to be an emergency exit. He pressed his palms against it almost abruptly, pushing the door open to leave the party hall. The moment he did, the icy night air hit his face, filling his nostrils and rushing into his lungs like it was the first real breath of oxygen he’d had all night.
He felt, in some way, pathetic, but he loved you too much not to feel that night physically tearing through his insides. He leaned against the cold wall for a moment, trying desperately to stop the tears from spilling down his face. But before he could even think about how to hold them back, the door opened.
You didn’t see him by the door at first, your dress clung to you, shifting slightly in the wind. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen involuntarily as you glanced around, until your eyes finally landed on Jungkook. You sighed, your shoulders dropping as you brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek where it had stuck to your lips. You looked like you felt sorry for him, and he understood that, which, once again, destroyed him, as if there was still something left to break.
The cold bit at Jungkook’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that settled in his chest when he saw you standing there, the curve of your belly and Jungkook’s eyes dropped to it instinctively before he forced them back to your face.
“Jungkook,” you said, your voice low. It was the first time he’d heard you say his name in years, and it hit him.
Jungkook even opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, as if trying to realign his thoughts that had been completely scattered by your voice saying his name, by your presence materializing in front of him. Jungkook shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, running his tongue across his lips to moisten them, fighting against the urge to ask you a million questions. Instead, all he managed was a simple:
“Hey.”
It sounded casual, just like he wanted it to. You took a small step forward, tilting your head slightly, as if subtly studying him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” you said. Your accent was stronger than he remembered, probably from not speaking Korean for a while, he thought. “And I saw you in there… and coming out here.”
You added that as you stepped closer again, and Jungkook felt the instinct to retreat, but the wall behind his back wouldn’t let him.
“Mm-hm,” he replied simply. It was more of a sound than an actual response because he didn’t even trust himself to speak at that moment. But his eyes, inevitably, dropped again to your pregnant belly, and of course you noticed. How could you not? He hated how impossible it was not to look.
Your hand went instinctively to your belly when you caught his gaze, a soft sigh escaping your lips.
Jungkook said nothing. He looked away, and you sighed again. Then you took more steps, which at first he thought were toward him, but they weren’t. You just moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall with your hands behind you. You were probably cold in that dress, with its open back and bare shoulders. Jungkook noticed the fine hairs on your arms slightly raised when he glanced at you quickly.
He didn’t dare speak. Neither did you. So, for what felt like an eternity, there was a heavy silence. Jungkook’s eyes stayed glued to his own shoes. He was completely still, but you seemed somehow restless, shifting slightly as if you couldn’t get comfortable. Jungkook figured it was because the situation was unbearably uncomfortable.
He sighed, gathered what little courage he had left, and finally spoke:
“So… what were you doing out here?”
He turned his face toward you, and you did the same, but only briefly, before your gaze wandered off into the distance again.
“I saw you come out here,” you murmured. “And then I noticed you’ve been drinking a lot tonight.”
You let out a soft laugh that vanished like the wind. Jungkook pressed his lips together. There was no denying it and he didn’t want to anyway. He just nodded, his eyes flicking to your face. You looked back at him then, your eyes scanning his features now. He felt it, he was probably even redder than before.
“Believe me, if I could drink right now, I’d be drinking too.” Your words were meant to be a joke, to ease the tension, but they landed like a stone in Jungkook’s chest. He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smile.
Why? Why would you need to drink? He wanted to demand to know why you’d say something like that when he was the one losing everything, the one watching his entire world slip through his fingers while you stood there, glowing, whole, with a life that didn’t include him. But he didn’t ask. He just stared at you, his heart pounding.
You shifted slightly again, your body adjusting your weight, but he noticed it again. His eyes dropped to your stomach, and he realized it wasn’t just you being restless, it was the baby.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Is… is the baby moving?” he asked, so low you couldn’t quite hear it.
You nodded, your smile softening, your hand drifting to your belly again.
“Yeah,” you said, your voice almost proud. “It’s a boy. He’s been moving a lot today. I ate some chocolate earlier, and he always gets all worked up when I do.” You laughed again.
A boy.
A strange sense of relief hit his chest. Because he knew how much you had always wanted to be a mother and your dream had always been to have a little girl. You always talked about girls, about how there would be two of them, with Jungkook’s eyes, those doe eyes you always said you loved. The smile, you wanted it to be Jungkook’s smile. You didn’t really care about the nose, you always said.
But knowing that Henry’s child was a boy somehow, in a stupid and irrational way, eased him. Even though Jungkook had always said he wanted a boy too. Still, the relief was undeniable and nowhere near reasonable, but he wanted to hold on to it now.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“That’s…” he started, his voice faltering. “That’s… congratulations.”
You nodded, your smile fading just a little.
“Thank you,” you said quietly, your hand still moving in small circles over your stomach. You shifted again, and Jungkook couldn’t help but watch.
“Do you… want to feel him?” you asked, your voice hesitant, like you weren’t sure if you were offering too much and crossing a line. Jungkook froze, his breath catching. His eyes flicked to your stomach, then back to your face, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he could handle it. The idea of touching you, of feeling the life you were carrying, was too much and too painful. But he couldn’t say no. Before he could stop, his hand left his pocket.
You stepped closer, turning to face him fully, and Jungkook’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break. You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.
Your smaller hand rested on the back of Jungkook’s tattooed one, then guided it to meet your other hand, which was icy cold. Your wedding ring was on full display, and it felt like it burned against his skin with that touch. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.
At the same time, your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, yet felt far too heavy, like it didn’t belong there anymore. But you guided his hand down to your belly, right over the lower part, gently pressing his palm against it. Your eyes stayed on your hands as Jungkook looked at you. Your features still soft, like barely any time had passed.
And then Jungkook felt it, beneath his hand, a tiny kick. It stole the air from his lungs and maybe even a laugh, one he didn’t control and didn’t even know how it escaped. But you laughed too.
Only it wasn’t really a laugh that Jungkook let out, instead, a stubborn tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn’t want you to see, which is why he turned his face, but you were faster and looked at him, your smile disappeared instantly. Your hands fell from on top of his onto your stomach, but his hand lingered there a moment longer, until you spoke.
“Jungkook…” Your voice wasn’t just filled with concern, there was something bordering on guilt. “I… I…” You started to stammer, and Jungkook pulled his hand away, almost abruptly, making the removal of his hand from your stomach feel like the loss of a connection.
“Don't,” he murmured, bringing his hand to his face, but a single tear fell from the other side of the face he was wiping. It was the alcohol, but not just that, obviously. “Don’t say anything.” Jungkook wiped his face fully and tucked his hand back into his pocket, fighting to keep you from seeing how shaky it really was.
You sighed, opened your mouth, drew in a breath. Jungkook could hear you, but could barely meet your eyes. He cursed those tears, but he couldn’t help them.
“I didn’t mean…” you began, but he looked at you, shaking his head, pulling his hands out of his pockets, leaning forward, and said,
“I said don’t.” He repeated it, not harshly, not coldly, but as if he were begging, desperate.
You nodded slowly. Your arms wrapped around yourself, as if the cold had finally caught up to you, or as if you were realizing coming after him was a mistake, he couldn’t know which. After a few moments, Jungkook finally looked at you. Now, you were twisting your fucking wedding ring around your finger, just as you always did with your regular rings when you were nervous.
“I’m sorry,” you said, in a sigh, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.
“Sorry for what, exactly?” Jungkook let out a laugh he couldn’t hold back, ironic, bitter. “For being happily married and living your dream of becoming a mother?” He rolled his eyes, unintentionally, but couldn’t help it.
“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, and Jungkook let out a nasal laugh and turned his face, resting his head against the wall.
“Don’t do that.” Your voice was firm now, making Jungkook lift his head to look at you. Your arms hung loosely at his sides, but your eyes were sharp. “Don’t start acting like I’m the villain.”
Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“No one’s saying that.” His tongue brushed across his lips. “I just didn’t expect to find you here. Pregnant.” He practically spat out the last word.
You put your hands on your hips, tilted your head back, and sighed. Your scent drifted into his nose with the night breeze, sweet and overwhelming and it hit him like it was the first time, even though he had touched you just moments ago. He realized he’d been too nervous to notice it before.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” you said, your voice sounding almost fragile. “I didn’t think...” You had to clear your throat, and Jungkook’s brow arched. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Jungkook asked, his tone bordering on a growl, not out of anger, but desperation. He wanted to know what it meant, what you being there meant. He was unraveling, while you stood in front of him so composed it felt like a cruel joke. As if he was nothing more than a threat to your perfect future.
You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek, inhaling deeply before meeting his eyes again.
“Like… like seeing you would hurt me.” Another sigh escaped you. “I kind of had to come after you...I wouldn’t have been able to take it if I didn’t.” Your voice broke, tears brimming in your eyes. As you rolled them upward, a few slipped free, and you wiped them away quickly. “The hormones,” you gestured vaguely in circles around your stomach.
Jungkook scoffed, scratching the tip of his nose.
“How can you say that when you’ve got everything you ever wanted, huh?” He leaned closer, stepping toward you this time. “You’re so fucking unfair.” His voice cracked into anger. “You’re pregnant with another guy’s baby!” The words came out louder, rawer.
You covered your face with your hands, sniffling as you turned away.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come after you,” you whispered, stepping back. “This was a mistake.”
“Do you love him?” Jungkook demanded, no hesitation, his eyes burning into yours like he could force the truth out of you.
“I do.” The answer fell quickly, your tears spilling faster, streaking down your face without resistance.
“Do you love him the way you loved me?” Jungkook’s voice echoed again, low and devastating. He hadn’t even processed your first answer yet, because this was the only question that really mattered. "Love him more than you loved me?"
Your voice trembled, disbelief etched across your face.
“You’re really standing there asking me that?” The words came out sharp, laced with anger.
Jungkook felt it like a blade cutting straight through him. His mouth opened, he wanted to take the words back, but desperation held him hostage. He couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t control the storm tearing through his chest. You turned toward the door, ready to leave, but he lunged forward, his hand closing around your arm, just enough to halt you.
“Wait,” he choked out, his wide eyes glassy with tears that made him look so fucking vulnerable. His voice cracked as it left him. “I just need to know.” His grip loosened, trembling fingers slipping away as if he didn’t have the right to hold you. “Just tell me, do you love him more than you loved me? Or are you gonna stand there and say you never loved me at all?”
The last words broke apart, his voice splintering with a sob. He didn’t even know why he’d said it, he was not in control of himself anymore, why he was cornering you like this. The alcohol, the pain, the unbearable sight of you, so close and yet unreachable, had ripped the filter away from his mouth.
Your eyes widened, disbelief across your face. You blinked, several times, as though you hadn’t heard him right. Then you shook your head, hands dragging down your face, your jaw trembling with rage.
“I cannot believe you’re saying this to me.”
You bit your lip, hard, like to keep your voice from cracking, but the fury burned through every syllable.
“Do you have any idea what I gave up for you?” you snapped, the words slicing clean and sharp now, no hesitation. “I literally moved to the other side of the world, Jungkook. I left my country, my family, my friends, my job. Everything! Everything.” You emphasized the last word, your voice ringing through. “I went to a place where I didn’t even speak the language, where I had to start from nothing, just to be with you. Just to dedicate myself to us. That’s how much I loved you.” Your voice was steel now, your Korean so fluent, so precise, that it cut him deeper than anything else. “I loved you more than I loved myself.” Your eyes were already glossy, but finishing the words broke something open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unstoppable. You were trembling, crying, unraveling, but your voice still carried, trembling with fury. “And you have the audacity to stand here and ask if I ever loved you? How dare you?”
Jungkook’s heart hammered in his chest like someone was slapping him across the face again and again. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, but the only words that stumbled out of him were low, broken.
“You left me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You walked away.”
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking your head as you wiped your face with trembling hands.
“I didn’t leave you, Jungkook. You let me go.” Your voice steadied, gaining power with every word. “You knew how everything changed. You knew what happened when my dad got sick. You knew I had to go back, that I had to be there for him. You knew I had my own dreams, my own expectations, but I kept putting them on hold because I was always waiting, for you! And you? You were always in the studio, on tour, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And I tried to be strong, I tried to be enough, but I was alone. You left me in that apartment, over and over again, waiting for you. And I couldn’t keep waiting forever.”
Jungkook swallowed hard, the lump in his throat like fire. None of this was new. He’d known all of it, but hearing it from your lips now, seeing you, pregnant, married, years later, was like being buried alive.
“I never would’ve asked you to give up your career, Jungkook,” you continued, your voice shaking. “I knew what it meant to you. I never would’ve made you choose. But don’t you dare act like I left first. You let me slip through your fingers long before I walked away.”
Jungkook’s vision blurred, his chest caving in. Because you were right. Because he had let you go without even realizing. Because choosing would’ve meant sacrifice, and he’d been too cowardly to face it.
Your voice cracked again as more tears rolled down your cheeks.
“I loved you, Jungkook. I loved you so much it broke me. I loved you more than I loved myself. And that’s exactly why I had to let go. I had to choose me.”
He wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth crushed the air out of his lungs. His lips trembled as he whispered the only name he could.
“With Henry.”
You blinked, almost startled by the simplicity of it. Then you shook your head.
“No. With myself,” you said “Henry was just the consequence of that. The first real step forward. But before I loved him, I had to love myself again.”
You stood there, both of you locked in a stare, eyes brimming with tears, faces flushed red, not just from the cold, but from anger, from everything unsaid. Your lips pressed tightly together, trembling, your lashes clumped with tears as you tried to blink them away. Jungkook’s chest ached with regret. Regret for everything he’d said, for letting his pain twist into cruelty, for making you this angry when all he’d wanted was to hold you close.
“I’m going inside,” you announced finally, your voice hoarse but firm.
Jungkook took a step back, his throat tight as he nodded.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I think you should.”
You bit down on your lower lip, nodded once, blinking several times as if to steady yourself. You shifted, giving him space, your hand already on the door.
“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you said softly, before pulling it open and slipping inside. The door shut behind you with a heavy finality.
Jungkook stood frozen. He knew his face was pathetic, swollen, blotchy red, tear-streaked, but he didn’t care. He just wanted every piece of you left inside him to pour out with the tears. The night was brutally cold, the kind of cold that cut through bone, and all of it, the darkness, the silence, the memory of your voice saying goodbye, made the moment unbearable.
He didn’t want to be there anymore. Not at the wedding, not at the party, not standing outside a door you had just closed on him. He couldn’t face the laughter of his friends inside, couldn’t face you, couldn’t face anything anymore.
So he stayed there for what felt like forever, though he couldn’t have said how long it really was, but long enough for his tears to come and come again, long enough for the weight in his chest to press him down until he could barely breathe. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he cried that night.
But eventually, he pulled himself upright, swiped his sleeve across his face, and forced himself to move. Instead of walking back into the warmth and music, Jungkook turned toward the parking lot, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He fumbled for his phone, opening the app to call a car, his breath misting in the cold as he made himself a silent promise.
He was going to move on.
Even if it destroyed him.
Holy. Shit. I feel like I need to just sit here for a second and breathe because this absolutely tore me apart!!! The way you built up Jungkook’s pain was so visceral I swear I could feel it in my own chest!!!
The details? Insane. The coat slipping off, the tattoo he used to kiss, the way you described the ring like it was a weapon aimed directly at him. And then that reveal. My jaw literally dropped. It was so cinematic, so perfectly timed that I had to pause reading just to recover, LOL. You wrote it with such intensity that the word itself felt like a scream echoing through the hall.
And Jungkook’s inner spiral? He wasn’t just sad, he was wrecked in this layered, complicated way: jealous, grieving, furious, but also still so stupidly in love. That contradiction is what made it feel so real.
Her confession about how much she gave up, how much she loved him, how she had to choose herself?? That destroyed me. And Jungkook’s desperation, his begging to know if she loves Henry more.... GIRL.
And then that baby kick scene. Ugh. I didn’t think my heart could handle it. His laugh breaking into a tear?? That image is going to haunt me!!!
What I love most is how messy it all felt. Not in the writing (the writing is gorgeous), but in the emotion.
Honestly, I don’t even know if I want him to move on or if I want them to find their way back to each other!!!! But what I do know is that you’ve created something so powerful, so gut-wrenching.... Thank you (and also how dare you) for making me feel this much.
