Charm @inkedwithcharm - Tumblr Blog

Jul 19

The One Who Stayed (Chapter 5) | Jeon Jungkook

Genre: Romance • Angst • Slow Burn • Mutual Pining • Friends to Lovers • Right Person, Wrong Time • Unrequited Love • Found Family • Grief • Heartbreak • Emotional Healing • Jealousy • Comfort • Slice of Life • Family Drama • Single Father • Longing • Betrayal • Healing Romance • Smut

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook × Reader (Y/N)

Sypnosis: For fifteen years, Y/N loved the same person in silence. She watched him grow up beside her, watched him fall in love, and watched him build a life that never included her. But when tragedy changes everything, old feelings, buried grief, and painful truths begin to surface, forcing her to confront the love she thought she had long outgrown. Filled with heartbreak, longing, betrayal, and healing, this is the story of two people who meet at the wrong time, lose themselves along the way, and discover that some loves survive even after everything else falls apart.

The request came two days later. Jungkook stood outside your apartment just after eight in the morning with Hana asleep against his shoulder and dark circles beneath his eyes that made him look years older than he had only a month ago.

The hallway lights had not yet turned off for the day. The building was quiet except for the distant sound of someone washing dishes somewhere down the corridor.

You had barely opened the door when he spoke.

“Are you busy today?”

His voice sounded strange, too careful, as though every word had been rehearsed during another sleepless night.

You immediately stepped aside. “Come in.”

Hana lifted her head slightly at the sound of your voice. Her small hand rubbed against her eyes before she smiled weakly. “Y/N.”

You kissed her forehead. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Jungkook remained standing near the doorway. He did not remove his shoes. He did not sit. His fingers continued adjusting Hana’s blanket although she was already comfortable. You had learned these past weeks that his hands moved whenever his thoughts became too loud.

You quietly asked, “Did something happen?”

He stared at the floor. For several seconds he said nothing. The silence became so uncomfortable that even Hana looked up at him.

“Daddy?”

Jungkook swallowed. Then he finally looked at you.

“Can you come somewhere with me?”

“Where?”

He opened his mouth, Closed it, Looked away again. When the answer finally came, his voice was barely audible “The hospital.”

The air inside your apartment seemed to stop moving. Your heart sank because suddenly you understood.

Jungkook lowered his eyes. “I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Neither of you said the words. The words themselves felt ugly, cruel. You simply nodded. “Okay.”

His shoulders lowered slightly. Almost as if he had expected you to refuse. Almost as if he believed he deserved to be refused.

Hana happily ate strawberry yogurt while you gathered your things. She talked about cartoons, about her stuffed rabbit, about the pink shoes she wanted to wear. Children possessed an extraordinary talent for keeping the world moving even after it had ended.

The drive to the hospital was quiet. Hana sat in the back seat singing softly to herself. Traffic moved slowly through the city. Office workers crossed intersections. Cafés opened their doors. Students carried backpacks toward schools. Life continued. The world had no idea that a father sitting beside you was preparing to ask a question that had been tearing him apart for days.

Jungkook kept both hands on the steering wheel. His eyes never left the road. Only when Hana became distracted by a cartoon playing on your phone did he finally speak. “I hate myself.”

You turned toward him. He laughed quietly. The sound came from exhaustion. “I spent two years calling her my daughter.”

His voice cracked. “I still do.”

He swallowed. “But ever since I found those messages…”

His grip tightened around the steering wheel. “I keep counting dates.”

You remained silent, because there was nothing to interrupt, only truth. “I keep doing the math over and over. The trips. The lies. The months.”

He laughed again, a terrible sound. “I look at my own kid and my brain starts asking questions I don’t want to ask.”

His eyes became wet. “I feel fucking disgusting.”

The traffic light turned red. The car stopped. Jungkook finally looked at you. “I don’t care if she isn’t mine.”

The tears finally escaped. “I swear to God I don’t care.”

His voice trembled. “But what if one day she grows up and asks me?”

“What if medical records matter?”

“What if she gets sick?”

“What if somebody else tells her?”

He shook his head. “And what kind of father even thinks like this?”

You looked at him for a long moment. The boy you had loved at sixteen. The man sitting beside you. The father who had not slept. The husband who had buried his wife. The person whose entire world had been shattered piece by piece.

You quietly said, “A father who already lost everything.”

His eyes closed. You continued.

“If you didn’t love her, you wouldn’t be sitting here crying.”

He stared ahead. The traffic light turned green. Neither of you moved immediately. The driver behind you honked. Jungkook blinked and slowly drove forward.

The hospital waiting area smelled like coffee, hand sanitizer, and air conditioning that never seemed warm enough. Children played in one corner. Televisions displayed muted news channels. Nurses walked past carrying charts.

Hana sat on the floor with a basket of stuffed animals the pediatric clinic provided. She picked up a bear. Then a rabbit. Then placed both on your lap.

“This one mommy.” She pointed toward the rabbit. “This daddy.”

“This daddy.” The bear.

Then she handed you a smaller stuffed elephant. “And Y/N.”

Your fingers tightened. Jungkook looked away. Hana smiled proudly. “Family.”

The word settled heavily between both of you.

The nurse eventually called them. Jungkook stood immediately, Then stopped. His entire body seemed frozen.

You gently touched his arm. “It’s okay.”

He looked at Hana. She smiled. “Daddy come.”

That was somehow the worst part, the innocence, the trust, the absolute certainty that her father would always walk beside her.

The procedure itself was quick. None of it took longer than twenty minutes. But when it ended, Jungkook looked as though years had passed. He thanked the nurse, held Hana’s hand, walked through the automatic doors, reached the parking lot, and then completely fell apart. He leaned against the driver’s door. Both hands covering his face. His shoulders shook violently. Years of loving her, bathing her, teaching her words, singing her to sleep, every memory seemed to crash into him at once. You stood beside him. He cried harder. “I don’t want her to know.”

His voice broke. “I don’t ever want her to know I did this.”

You stepped closer. He looked at you with red eyes.

“If she’s not mine, she’s still mine.”

The words came immediately without hesitation, without thought, as if his heart had already decided long before the test.

“She’s my daughter.”

You nodded. “I know.”

He cried quietly. “I hope I’m wrong.”

And for the first time since Mina died, you realized that Jungkook’s greatest fear was not losing another person. It was becoming someone he could no longer recognize.

Several feet away, Hana sat inside the backseat, pressing stuffed animals together and making them talk to one another. Completely unaware that her father was begging the universe to let him keep being her father. Eventually Jungkook wiped his eyes, took a shaky breath, opened the car door. Hana immediately reached for him. “Daddy.”

He picked her up, held her tightly, buried his face against her hair.

She giggled. “Too tight.”

Jungkook smiled for the first time all day. As he carried her into the car, you found yourself praying for something you had never prayed for before. Please let him keep his daughter. And please, somehow, let this man survive one more truth. Because he was beginning to run out of pieces left to break.

Four weeks after the funeral, people had already begun asking you whether you were doing better. You discovered that grief had an expiration date in the minds of others. Life gently pushed everyone forward, whether they wanted to move or not.

Monday arrived with the crushing weight of an ordinary day. In the lobby, the elevator hummed along to the same soft, familiar instrumental tracks, and the receptionist greeted you by name with an easy smile. Everything was painfully unchanged. It was only when you noticed that someone had swapped out the seasonal decorations that the truth settled in, the world was moving on.

You reached your desk and sat down, the familiar squeak of your chair sounding jarringly loud. The coffee mug Mina bought you during a business trip to Japan still sat beside your monitor. You had forgotten to take it home. For several seconds you simply sat there staring at the tiny blue flowers painted across the ceramic. Mina had laughed while giving it to you. “You complain about coffee every single morning. Maybe this will make you less miserable.”

You remembered rolling your eyes. You remembered hugging her. You remembered promising dinner after her next trip. People often spoke about losing someone as though memories disappeared all at once, they didn’t. The cruel part was that memories remained exactly where you left them. Small pieces of a person that continued existing long after they stopped breathing.

A few coworkers offered polite good mornings as they settled into their chairs. Some hugged you, some offered condolences, others simply touched your shoulder before returning to work.

Everyone knew what happened. Several had attended the funeral. Some had read the news articles. The accident had drawn widespread attention because the second victim was the owner of a major transportation company, and both lives had ended instantly. You hated seeing Mina described in articles. Female passenger. Thirty years old. Married. Mother of one. As if an entire life could fit inside four sentences.

People started inviting you out again. The marketing team planned Friday drinks. The accounting department organized dinner. Someone suggested karaoke. Someone else suggested a company outing.

You smiled every time. You declined every time.

“I can’t tonight.”

“Maybe next week.”

At first nobody questioned it. Then your manager stopped by your desk one afternoon. “You’ve been leaving exactly at six every day.”

You looked up from your laptop. “I know.”

She smiled kindly. “You used to be the last person here.”

You laughed softly. “I guess I’m getting older.”

But that wasn’t true. The truth was much simpler. At six o’clock every evening your mind automatically traveled somewhere else. Did Hana eat dinner? Did Jungkook remember to buy milk? Was he sleeping? Did he eat breakfast? Had he gone outside today?

The answers somehow mattered more than after-work drinks. More than restaurants. More than wine. More than your own apartment waiting quietly for you.

You never realized people had begun noticing. The pantry on the twelfth floor had become one of those places where conversations paused whenever someone entered unexpectedly. You stood beside the coffee machine one afternoon while two employees from another department talked nearby.

“I saw him once.”

“Who?”

“Her friend’s husband.”

“He works in technology or something.”

“Software.”

“I searched him online after the accident.”

You poured your coffee.

“He was featured somewhere a few years ago. One of those young professionals articles.”

“I mean…”

The woman lowered her voice. “He’s handsome.”

You collected your cup. You walked away. You never heard the rest. You never heard your own name. You never heard someone say that you visited his house almost every evening. You never heard someone quietly wonder whether grief had simply brought two people together. You remained completely unaware that stories had already begun writing themselves around you.

That afternoon, as the office gradually emptied and the day’s chatter faded into silence, your phone vibrated against your desk. Jungkook. His message was short, almost ordinary. “Hana wants strawberries.”

Attached beneath it was a blurry photograph of Hana sitting at the dining table holding a spoon upside down. You smiled despite yourself.

You typed back. Anything else?

A few minutes later.

Milk. Bananas. And apparently the entire toy section.

You laughed quietly. A coworker passing your desk paused. “You finally look happy.”

The words surprised you. Because you hadn’t realized how tired you had looked until someone pointed it out.

The city glowed beneath the fading afternoon light as you pulled into the supermarket parking lot. You wandered the aisles without rushing, tossing familiar things into your cart. Strawberries for Hana. Milk. Her favorite star-shaped cereal. Children’s toothpaste. Juice boxes. Chicken. Vegetables. Rice. The shopping list felt familiar now. You knew which yogurt Hana liked. You knew which snacks Jungkook actually finished. You knew he preferred dark roast coffee. Small details collected quietly over years of friendship. You stopped in front of the pasta aisle. For several seconds you simply stood there. Because there was something strangely domestic about shopping for another household.

Your phone buzzed.

Namjoon. How are they?

You replied. Surviving.

A few moments later, another thought drifted into your mind. The group chat had grown quiet. Too quiet. Everyone was grieving in their own way. Seokjin had distanced himself after the argument. Taehyung visited occasionally. Hoseok called. Jimin checked in. Yoongi remained the most consistent. The nine of you had once spoken every day. Now, entire days passed without a single message.

You opened the group chat, your fingers hovering over the screen before you finally typed. Making dinner at Jungkook’s tonight. If anyone’s free, come eat. A minute passed. Then another. Namjoon replied first. I’ll stop by after work. A few moments later, Yoongi’s message appeared. Please tell me we’re eating actual food. You smiled. Then came the silence. Taehyung read it. Nothing. Jimin saw it. Nothing. Hoseok remained online for several minutes. Nothing. Seokjin never even opened the message. You locked your phone, finished paying, and loaded the groceries into your trunk. The silence shouldn’t have hurt. Everyone had their own grief. Everyone had their own confusion. Still, you found yourself remembering nine teenagers sitting together in a library fifteen years earlier, promising that nothing would ever separate them. How young all of you had been. How certain.

The drive toward Jungkook’s neighborhood felt strangely comforting now. His house no longer looked unfamiliar. The porch light was already on. Through the window you saw Hana standing on the couch holding a stuffed rabbit. She noticed your car immediately. Her face lit up. “Daddy! Y/N!”

The front door opened before you reached it. Jungkook stood there wearing sweatpants and an old university sweatshirt. His glasses rested low on his nose. His hair had grown longer over the past weeks because he had stopped caring enough to cut it. He looked exhausted, but he also looked more present than he had days ago. He noticed the grocery bags. “You bought half the store.”

“You asked for strawberries.”

“Hana asked for strawberries.”

“Same thing.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. Inside, Hana immediately reached for the grocery bags.

“Mine?”

“Mostly.”

She looked delighted. Jungkook carried the heavier bags toward the kitchen. You followed. For several seconds neither of you spoke. The kitchen lights cast soft warmth across the countertops. The refrigerator hummed quietly. Somewhere in the living room, cartoons played.

Jungkook placed the groceries down. He looked toward the living room, toward his daughter, then quietly said, “She talks about you every day now.”

You froze slightly. “What does she say?”

He smiled. “She asks when you’re coming.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside you. Outside these walls, people were beginning to talk. Inside these walls, a little girl simply waited for someone she loved to come home. And somehow those two things could not have been more different.

Your phone buzzed. Namjoon.

Leaving work now.

A few seconds later. Yoongi.

Tell Jungkook I’m bringing beer whether he likes it or not.

You showed him. For the first time in weeks, something resembling relief crossed his face. Perhaps grief had not taken everything. Perhaps the table could still be filled. Perhaps healing began exactly like this. One dinner, one evening, five empty chairs, and the people who still chose to come.

The first person to arrive was Namjoon. The doorbell rang while you were standing over the stove stirring soup and Jungkook was helping Hana wash strawberries at the kitchen sink. The house smelled like garlic, rice, and chicken broth. It was the first time in weeks that the kitchen had felt alive. Hana immediately abandoned her strawberries. “Uncle Joon!”

She ran across the living room wearing socks that slipped against the wooden floor, nearly falling before Namjoon caught her against his chest. He lifted her effortlessly, and for the first time that evening, you heard genuine laughter inside the house. Namjoon kissed Hana’s forehead.

“You’ve gotten heavier.”

“I’m big now.”

Jungkook stood nearby watching them. The expression on his face shifted slightly. Something softened around his eyes. You had become very good at noticing those tiny changes. The small moments when he forgot to grieve. The brief seconds when life distracted him enough to let him breathe.

Yoongi arrived twenty minutes later carrying a paper bag in one hand and a stuffed dinosaur in the other.

“Your uncle is here to save this family.”

Hana looked at the dinosaur, her eyes widened, then she immediately chose the dinosaur over him. Yoongi looked personally offended. “You took the dinosaur and ignored me. I see how it is.”

Hana hugged the toy. “You can stay too.”

Even Jungkook laughed. The sound surprised everyone, including him. For a second his face changed. The exhaustion remained, the sadness remained, but underneath both of those things was the person all of you had known for fifteen years. The boy who used to laugh too loudly during class. The man who made terrible jokes during group trips. He still existed somewhere.

Dinner happened naturally, without anyone keeping track of time. The table had been expanded, though it was funny how four adults and one little girl seemed to need more room than nine teenagers ever had. The middle of the table disappeared beneath bowls of rice, soup, vegetables, chicken, and side dishes, each one passed around with quiet familiarity. Yoongi opened the beer he brought despite Jungkook pretending to object.

“I thought you quit drinking.”

“I quit drinking alone.”

Namjoon reached for a bottle first. You followed. Jungkook stared at the last one, his hand lingering beside it for several long seconds before he finally picked it up and twisted the cap loose. The soft hiss echoed through the quiet kitchen. No one pointed out that it was his first beer since the funeral. No one mentioned that it was also the first proper meal he had sat down to in four weeks. Some victories were too fragile to acknowledge aloud. They were simply meant to be witnessed.

Hana spent most of dinner explaining dinosaurs. None of you understood the rules she invented. Apparently dinosaurs attended preschool. They also ate strawberries. One dinosaur had a driver’s license. Another was a doctor. Yoongi listened with complete seriousness. “What happened to the dinosaur doctor?”

“He died.”

The entire table became quiet. Hana continued eating. Yoongi carefully asked, “What happened?”

“He got old.”

The silence eased. Jungkook lowered his eyes toward his bowl. You saw his fingers stop moving. Children spoke about death differently. They accepted it differently.

Sometimes Hana talked about Mina as though she had simply gone shopping. Sometimes she cried because she wanted her mother. Sometimes she seemed to forget entirely. All of it hurt.

After dinner, Hana insisted on showing everyone her toys. Namjoon sat on the floor. Yoongi complained about his knees. Jungkook leaned against the couch. You remained nearby watching the four of them. There was something almost painful about it. Because for a moment you could see the missing people. Seokjin teasing Yoongi. Jimin filming everything. Taehyung making Hana laugh. Hoseok singing. Mina sitting beside Jungkook. The absences felt visible. Like empty chairs no one mentioned.

Later, after Hana finally became sleepy, Jungkook carried her upstairs. When he returned, the house became quieter. Only four bottles remained on the table. The kitchen lights had been dimmed. Outside, the neighborhood had fallen asleep. Yoongi leaned backward in his chair. “Remember middle school?”

Namjoon laughed immediately. “Which disaster?”

“The science fair.”

You smiled. “Oh God.”

Jungkook looked confused. “What science fair?”

Yoongi pointed at you. “She dropped the volcano.”

“I was fourteen.”

“You cried.”

“It exploded.”

Namjoon laughed. “You made all of us rebuild it.”

“Because nobody helped.”

Yoongi took another drink. “Jungkook ate the project snacks.”

“I was hungry.”

“You were always hungry.”

The stories continued. School trips. Failed exams. Birthday parties. The first library meeting. Rainy afternoons. Detention. Arguments. Embarrassing crushes. At one point Namjoon laughed so hard he nearly spilled his beer. Yoongi looked ten years younger. Jungkook actually smiled. And then, unexpectedly, you laughed too. The sound startled you, because it had been weeks, perhaps longer. You covered your mouth but the laughter remained. And suddenly your eyes filled with tears. Because this was what all of you used to sound like. Before funerals. Before affairs. Before hospitals. Before DNA tests.

The room became quiet. Jungkook looked toward the empty chair at the end of the table. The one Mina always used. His smile disappeared gently. The silence changed, not uncomfortable, only honest. After several minutes he spoke. “I did the test.”

Namjoon slowly looked up. Yoongi remained still. You already knew. Jungkook held his beer with both hands. “The DNA test.”

Nobody spoke. The clock in the kitchen continued ticking. Somewhere upstairs, Hana shifted in her sleep. Jungkook lowered his eyes. “The affair lasted almost three years.”

His voice sounded exhausted. “I don’t know what happened anymore.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly. “When do you get the results?”

“Two weeks.”

Yoongi quietly asked, “How are you handling it?”

Jungkook laughed once. The sound carried no humor. “I feel like shit.”

Nobody interrupted. He continued. “I look at her and I hate myself for thinking about it.”

His fingers tightened around the bottle. “I feel guilty every single day.”

Namjoon’s voice remained calm. “You don’t want the test because you don’t love her.”

Jungkook looked at him. “You want it because somebody destroyed your ability to trust your own memories.”

The words settled heavily, because they were true.

Yoongi finally spoke. “If it helps you sleep, then do it.”

Jungkook looked down. “What if she’s not mine?”

Yoongi answered first. “She’s still your daughter.”

Namjoon nodded. “Nothing changes.”

Jungkook remained silent. Namjoon continued. “The only thing that changes is information.”

He pointed toward the second floor. “That little girl already decided who her father is.”

Jungkook’s eyes became wet. Yoongi leaned back “And if one day she asks, tell her the truth.”

Jungkook frowned. “What truth?”

“That you were scared.”

Yoongi’s voice softened. “Parents are allowed to be scared.”

Nobody spoke after that, because there was nothing left to say.

The beer slowly disappeared. The clock moved toward midnight. Outside, the neighborhood remained quiet. Eventually Namjoon stood. “I should go.”

Yoongi finished the last of his drink. “Me too.”

Jungkook walked them toward the door. The four of you stood there for a moment. The same four people who had once stayed inside a library until the janitor forced all of you to leave. Older now. Tired. Heartbroken. Still standing.

After they left, the house became quiet again, but it no longer felt empty. Jungkook remained by the front door. His hands inside his pockets. You stood beside him. Neither of you spoke immediately. Finally he said quietly, “I forgot what that felt like.”

“What?”

“Dinner.”

You looked toward the table. Four empty bottles. Dirty dishes. Laughter still lingering somewhere in the walls. Jungkook swallowed. “For a few hours I forgot.”

You looked upstairs toward Hana’s room. “Maybe that’s okay.”

He nodded slowly. And somewhere above both of you, a little girl slept peacefully, unaware that four adults had spent an evening trying to remember how to live again. For the first time since Mina died, Jungkook had eaten until his plate was empty. For the first time since the funeral, laughter had entered the house. And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to believe that grief was not always a room people remained trapped inside forever. Sometimes it became a house with lights turned back on one by one. Until one day you realized you could finally see each other again.

Your apartment felt painfully quiet after leaving Jungkook’s house. The silence always arrived after evenings spent with Hana. Children carried noise with them wherever they went. Their laughter stayed in hallways. Their questions lingered in kitchens. Their toys remained on floors long after they had gone home.

When you unlocked your apartment door, all you heard was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside your window. For several seconds you remained standing inside the doorway. Your shoes still on. Your coat still buttoned. Because a part of you had begun expecting another life at the end of your day.

A little girl asking what was for dinner. A man sitting at the kitchen table with tired eyes. A house that needed you. You slowly exhaled, then stepped inside. The dishes from breakfast remained inside the sink. Laundry waited beside the washing machine. Your laptop still sat open on the dining table where you had abandoned work that morning. Ordinary things. The kind of life you had once been perfectly content living.

You changed into comfortable clothes. Turned on the washing machine. Filled the sink with warm water. The sound of running water filled the apartment. Soap bubbles gathered beneath your hands while your thoughts wandered somewhere else entirely.

You wondered whether Jungkook had finally gone upstairs instead of sleeping on the couch again. You wondered whether he was staring at the ceiling worrying about the DNA results. You wondered if he was sitting alone in the dark.

Your phone remained beside the sink. Silent. You found yourself looking at it anyway. Old habits had begun forming.

The washing machine began its steady spin, filling the apartment with a soft mechanical hum as the faint scent of detergent lingered in the air. Outside, headlights swept past the windows before disappearing into the night. In the quiet, your thoughts wandered without permission, drifting years into the past, to another apartment, another evening, another version of the nine of you. It had been Jimin’s birthday. The year before everything changed. The year before Mina and Jungkook started dating. The year all of you still believed life would remain exactly as it was forever.

The apartment had been crowded that night. Music filled every room. Someone had brought too much alcohol. Namjoon and Hoseok argued about songs. Taehyung had somehow convinced everyone to sing karaoke. Seokjin cooked food nobody appreciated enough. Yoongi sat on the balcony pretending he didn’t want to be there. Mina laughed louder than everyone. Jimin spent most of his own birthday cleaning after people. And you had become drunk far too quickly. Enough for your cheeks to feel warm and your thoughts to become softer around the edges.

The apartment buzzed with life. Music poured from the speakers. Laughter echoed through every room. Conversations overlapped until no one could remember who had started them in the first place.

At some point, you slipped away from the noise without a word. No one seemed to notice. Or at least, that was what you told yourself. Jimin’s bedroom was quiet, the only light spilling in from the hallway. You sat on the edge of his bed, kicking off your shoes before leaning your head against the wall. Beyond the closed door, the music had become little more than a distant, muffled hum.

Your eyes drifted shut, the muffled music outside slowly fading into the background. Several minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open. You looked up. Jungkook stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the doorknob, a flicker of surprise crossing his face when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“You disappeared.”

You smiled lazily. “You found me.”

He closed the door halfway. “It’s loud.”

“You hate loud places.”

“So do you.”

He let out a quiet laugh. His hair had been longer then, brushing against his forehead in soft waves. His shoulders were leaner, not yet carrying the broadness they would years later. Though adulthood had already found all of you, traces of adolescence still lingered in his smile.

He sat beside you. The room remained quiet. Outside, everyone continued celebrating. Inside, time seemed to slow. Jungkook leaned against the headboard. “I escaped too.”

“You hate birthdays?”

“I hate Namjoon singing.”

You laughed. “He really is terrible.”

“He’s getting worse.”

The alcohol softened the edges of the evening, making everything feel warmer somehow. Conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another, jobs, future plans, apartments, places you both wanted to visit someday. Time slipped quietly between your words. By the time either of you noticed, nearly an hour had passed.

Eventually, the music stopped altogether. The apartment settled into a comfortable hush. Some people had already gone home. Others had fallen asleep on couches and spare mattresses. You glanced toward Jungkook. The soft light from the lamp on Jimin’s desk traced the gentle lines of his face.

He looked beautiful. You had loved him for years by then. Somewhere along the way, the feeling had stopped being a secret you carried and simply became part of who you were. It existed as naturally as breathing, as familiar as the morning sun, as inevitable as opening your eyes each day. Every now and then you wondered if time would eventually wear it away. It never did.

Jungkook turned toward you. “What?”

You realized you had been staring. You looked away “Nothing.”

He smiled. “You always say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve to keep them from trembling. The alcohol had done something dangerous, it had made honesty seem possible. The words had climbed all the way to your throat, where they lingered, one breath away from becoming real. Tell him. Just once, tell him. The silence settled around the two of you like a held breath. When your eyes met his, his gaze was soft, curious, and impossibly kind, making it both easier and harder to say what your heart had carried for so many years. There had always been something dangerous about quiet moments with Jungkook. He listened too carefully. He looked at people too sincerely.

You quietly said his name. “Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

You swallowed. Your heart beat painfully. “I need to tell you something.”

His expression softened. “What is it?”

You lowered your gaze before slowly lifting it back to his. Years of quiet longing. Years of pretending friendship was enough. Years spent imagining how this moment might feel if it ever came. Maybe… this was finally it. Beyond the bedroom door, laughter drifted faintly from another room, reminding you the world was still turning. But inside, time seemed to stand still. Neither of you moved. Then, almost hesitantly, Jungkook raised his hand. His fingers reached for you with quiet care, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It was such a small, innocent gesture. So impossibly gentle. Yet in that single touch, your heart forgot how to beat, and for one breathtaking moment, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.

You looked at him, and he looked back at you. Neither of you seemed to understand what had just happened, only that something between you had quietly shifted. The space separating you suddenly felt impossibly small, charged with a silence neither of you knew how to break. His hand lingered near your face for the briefest moment before slowly retreating to his lap. Your heartbeat filled the room, loud enough that you were certain he could hear it too. He looked… nervous. You had known Jungkook for years, but you had never seen him look at you like that before.

“What did you want to tell me?”

His voice had grown quieter, barely louder than a whisper. You parted your lips, the truth finally rising to the surface after years of silence. Just one more breath, and it would be real. Then, without warning, the bedroom door swung open.

Mina stood in the doorway. For a long moment, no one spoke. Her gaze moved from you to Jungkook, lingering just long enough to take in the distance between you, the way you were looking at each other, the silence that neither of you seemed willing to break. Something flickered across her face, so brief you almost thought you had imagined it, before it disappeared behind a familiar smile. “There you are."

Her voice was perfectly steady. Perfectly cheerful. As though she hadn’t walked in on anything at all. You instinctively shifted away, creating space between you and Jungkook. He straightened where he sat, clearing his throat under his breath. Mina stepped into the room, pressing the back of her hand dramatically against her forehead before letting out a small laugh. “I think I’m drunk.”

She laughed. “I need to lie down.”

The room seemed to shrink in an instant. The fragile moment between you dissolved beneath Mina’s presence, slipping away before either of you could hold on to it. Jungkook stood abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll go.”

“No.” Mina sat beside you. “You stay.”

She smiled. “I just need five minutes.”

You looked at her. Your best friend. The person who knew every secret you had ever carried, including the one you had never been brave enough to say aloud. Yet standing there, watching her smile as though nothing had happened, you suddenly felt like a stranger in your own story.

Jungkook looked between both of you, then smiled awkwardly. “I should check on everyone.”

The door closed softly behind Jungkook. The silence he left behind settled heavily between you. Mina slowly leaned against the wall, the cheerful smile she had worn moments ago slipping from her face as though it had never existed. Seconds passed before she finally spoke, her voice quiet enough to make your heart tighten. “What were you going to tell him?”

Your fingers twisted together. “Nothing.”

She looked at you carefully. The same way she always did whenever you lied. “You were finally going to tell him.”

You looked down. Your voice became very small. “I think so.”

The room remained quiet. Outside, laughter continued. Mina leaned her head against the wall. She stared at the ceiling. And when she finally spoke, her voice sounded strangely distant. “I don’t think he likes you that way.”

You looked at her. She smiled gently. The same smile she always used to comfort you. “I think he sees you like family.”

The words hurt. But they came from her, your best friend. The person you trusted most.

You nodded. “I know.”

She reached for your hand. “You deserve someone who chooses you.”

Years later, sitting alone in your apartment with dishes drying beside the sink and laundry spinning in the next room, you remembered every detail of that night. And for the first time in many years, a question quietly entered your mind. What would have happened if she had arrived five minutes later?

Your phone buzzed. The sound pulled you back into the present. Jungkook. Only one message.

She fell asleep.

A photograph followed. Hana sleeping with her dinosaur. Your chest ached. You typed back.

Good. Make sure you sleep too.

Several minutes passed. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Finally: Trying.

You stared at the message. Somewhere across the city, the boy from Jimin’s bedroom had become a grieving father. The girl who interrupted both of you had become a memory. And you remained exactly where you had always been.

Still standing beside him. Still loving him. Still wondering how differently life might have unfolded if one bedroom door had stayed closed just a little longer.

The house had finally become quiet. Hana had fallen asleep nearly an hour earlier after insisting that her stuffed rabbit needed its own blanket and a glass of water beside the bed. Jungkook had tucked her in twice because she kept asking whether he would still be downstairs when she woke up. Even now, long after she had drifted into sleep, her bedroom door remained slightly open, allowing a narrow strip of yellow light to spill into the hallway.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

He sat alone in the living room.

The television remained off.

The dishes from dinner had already been washed.

Your container still sat beside the sink because he had forgotten to return it to you.

Everything inside the house carried traces of other people.

Your laughter from earlier.

Hana’s questions.

The sound of Yoongi teasing Namjoon.

The smell of food.

And beneath all of it, the lingering presence of Mina.

Grief had changed over the past few weeks. The first days had been violent. Loud. Impossible to survive. Then came the anger. The confusion. The disbelief.

Now the grief arrived quietly.

It sat beside him while he folded laundry.

It followed him upstairs.

It waited beside the empty half of the bed.

Sometimes he thought that losing someone felt less like drowning and more like learning how to walk with an injury that never healed properly.

His eyes wandered toward one of the storage boxes beside the television cabinet.

You had organized several of them during the previous week.

Photographs.

Old documents.

School notebooks.

The remains of entire lives stored inside cardboard.

He pulled one toward him.

Dust clung to the edges.

Inside were photographs.

Hundreds of them.

Printed pictures from disposable cameras. Polaroids. Old photographs from school trips and birthday parties.

There all of you were.

Namjoon wearing glasses far too large for his face.

Taehyung making ridiculous expressions.

Jimin smiling at the camera.

Seokjin pretending not to participate while secretly enjoying every photograph.

Hoseok standing with his arm around everyone.

Yoongi looking annoyed.

Mina.

You.

Him.

An entire childhood preserved in fading colors.

He smiled despite himself.

Then he found the photographs from Jimin’s birthday.

The memory returned immediately.

Jimin’s birthday.

The year before everything changed. The year before two people slowly drifted toward one another while another quietly stepped aside without anybody noticing.

Memories rarely arrived in order.

They came in pieces.

A voice.

A look.

A forgotten sentence.

A hand reaching toward another.

And as he sat alone among old photographs, another night returned to him with startling clarity.

Several days after Jimin’s birthday.

The call had come close to midnight.

He remembered checking his phone and seeing Mina’s name. At first he almost ignored it because she usually preferred texting. Something about the hour made him answer immediately.

Her voice sounded strange.

Small.

Like she had been crying.

“Are you awake?”

“What’s wrong?”

A pause.

“Can you come over?”

He remembered putting on his jacket without asking questions.

Mina’s apartment was only twenty minutes away. When she opened the door, she looked different from the girl everyone knew. Her eyes were swollen. Her hair was tied carelessly. She wore oversized clothes and no makeup. The apartment itself was dark except for a lamp in the kitchen.

He stepped inside.

“What happened?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been crying.”

He followed her into the kitchen.

Two glasses already sat on the table.

A bottle of wine.

Half-empty tissues.

Takeout containers.

The remains of a very bad evening.

Jungkook sat across from her.

For a long time she simply stared into her glass.

Outside, cars passed below the apartment building. Somewhere in another unit a television played softly. The entire city continued living while two people sat in silence.

Eventually Mina spoke.

“Do you ever feel like everyone leaves?”

Jungkook looked up.

“What do you mean?”

She rubbed her eyes.

“Namjoon has work. Yoongi disappears for days. Everyone’s busy. Y/N has her boyfriend now.”

Your name lingered between them.

Jungkook remembered nodding.

Mina told Jungkook that you had been dating someone for several months. A senior from your company. It was a relationship that seemed serious at the time, but you hadn't wanted to make it public yet.

Mina smiled sadly.

“I know she’s happy. I’m happy for her.”

She paused.

“But sometimes I miss her.”

Jungkook remained quiet.

Mina had always been good at taking care of everyone else. She made plans. Organized birthdays. Remembered anniversaries. Called when people disappeared. She carried friendships like they were fragile things that needed constant attention.

Perhaps nobody had noticed that she needed someone too.

“Did you tell her?”

Mina laughed.

“And sound pathetic?”

“You don’t sound pathetic.”

Mina talked about feeling lonely. About watching everyone move forward while she remained uncertain about her own future. She admitted she sometimes felt invisible inside the friend group because everyone seemed to naturally gravitate toward somebody else.

Namjoon had books.

Yoongi had music.

You had your relationship.

Jimin had his dance career.

Everyone seemed to have something.

She looked down at her glass.

“I don’t think anybody chooses me.”

Jungkook immediately answered.

“That’s not true.”

She smiled weakly.

“Then who does?”

The question remained suspended between them.

Years later, sitting alone inside his living room, Jungkook realized that moment had changed everything.

He had wanted to comfort her.

To protect her.

To become the person who stayed.

Mina stood from her chair.

She walked toward the balcony.

Jungkook followed.

The city stretched below them.

Apartment lights.

Traffic.

Thousands of strangers living entirely different lives.

She leaned against the railing.

“You know something funny?”

“What?”

“I think I’ve liked somebody for a while.”

Jungkook smiled.

“Really?”

She nodded.

“He’s very slow.”

He laughed.

“That bad?”

“Terrible.”

She turned toward him.

Her eyes looked tired.

Vulnerable.

Honest.

And for the first time that night, Jungkook felt nervous.

Because he suddenly understood.

“You mean me.”

Mina smiled.

Very slowly.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled between them.

He remembered his heart racing.

He remembered thinking about Jimin’s bedroom only days earlier.

About your unfinished sentence.

About your eyes.

But he also remembered Mina sitting alone inside a dark apartment asking whether anybody would choose her.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Her voice was soft.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her.

“For what?”

“For making things weird.”

She tried to laugh.

Instead, tears filled her eyes again.

Jungkook stepped closer.

Only to comfort her.

Only to reassure her.

That was what he told himself.

Mina looked up at him.

And she kissed him.

When she pulled away, both of them stood completely still.

Neither spoke.

Neither moved.

The city continued behind them.

Somewhere below, people crossed streets and entered convenience stores and returned home without realizing that two lives had just changed.

Jungkook remembered feeling confused.

Overwhelmed.

Afraid.

He remembered asking quietly,

“Mina…”

She looked terrified.

“If you don’t want this, it’s okay.”

He saw loneliness in her eyes.

Fear.

Hope.

And perhaps his own loneliness answered hers.

Mina kissed him again, her lips parting against his as her hands slid up his chest. They stumbled inside from the balcony, the city lights fading behind them, clothes already being tugged free in clumsy, desperate pulls.

When morning arrived, sunlight entered through the apartment windows.

Jungkook woke on the couch.

His head hurt.

The apartment remained quiet.

For several minutes he simply stared at the ceiling.

Because reality had finally arrived.

The friend group.

You.

Everything felt different.

Mina eventually appeared carrying coffee.

Neither of them spoke immediately.

Finally he asked,

“What do we do now?”

She sat beside him.

“We tell them soon.”

He looked uncertain.

“What if things change?”

She smiled sadly.

“Things always change.”

He remembered feeling guilty.

Because he felt as though he had crossed an invisible line and left his old life behind.

Mina reached for his hand.

“They’ll understand.”

And eventually everyone did.

At least that was how it seemed.

Months later, Jungkook realized he looked for Mina first whenever something happened.

He texted her.

Called her.

Met her after work.

Their relationship grew slowly after that.

He learned her favorite songs.

Her fears.

Her dreams.

He watched her laugh.

Watched her cry.

Watched her become someone he genuinely loved.

Because despite everything that would eventually happen, the truth remained complicated.

He had loved her.

He had chosen her.

He had married her believing every promise they made.

Now, years later, he sat alone in a dark house holding an old photograph.

He remembered your face inside Jimin’s bedroom.

He remembered Mina crying in her apartment.

And for the first time, he wondered whether all three of you had been standing at a crossroads without realizing it.

Perhaps there had never been villains.

Only people.

Young people.

Lonely people.

People who made choices they believed would make them happy.

Upstairs, Hana stirred in her sleep.

Jungkook carefully returned the photograph to the box.

Tomorrow you would come over after work.

Tomorrow the DNA results would still be waiting.

Tomorrow grief would continue.

But tonight he allowed himself to remember that before betrayal, before death, before secrets and affairs and broken promises, there had once been a boy who simply wanted to become the person somebody chose.

And a girl who had looked at him in Jimin’s bedroom as though she wanted to tell him something that neither of them would understand until many years later.

Six weeks after the funeral, the house had finally become quiet.

The condolence calls had become fewer. The flowers had wilted and disappeared one by one. The refrigerator no longer overflowed with food from neighbors and relatives. Even grief itself had grown quieter, settling into the walls like dust.

The calendar on the kitchen wall still showed last month because nobody had remembered to turn the page.

His laptop sat open on the dining table.

Work emails.

Meetings.

Project schedules.

International clients.

A software architecture presentation waiting for review.

Jungkook stared at the screen without reading any of it.

He had worked remotely since the funeral, but work had become something that happened around him rather than something he participated in. He attended meetings. He answered questions. He nodded at the appropriate moments.

His body remained present.

The rest of him did not.

He had fallen asleep on the couch again sometime before dawn.

The television still played quietly.

An empty glass of water sat on the coffee table.

He woke to the sound of cabinets opening.

Metal against wood.

Plastic bags.

Someone moving through the kitchen with absolute authority.

He immediately knew.

His mother.

No one else entered the house as if they owned it.

She arrived carrying several bags filled with vegetables from their hometown. Fresh lettuce wrapped in newspaper. Green onions. Tomatoes still carrying traces of soil. Apples. Persimmons. Sweet potatoes. Small containers of side dishes she had spent the previous evening preparing.

She placed everything on the counter and looked around the kitchen.

Then she looked at her son.

Her expression changed.

Jungkook stood in the doorway wearing old sweatpants and a wrinkled shirt. His beard had grown unevenly. His hair had become too long. Dark shadows rested beneath his eyes.

His mother stared at him.

Then she sighed.

“My God.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes.

“Good morning.”

“No.”

“What?”

She crossed her arms.

“What happened to my son?”

He almost smiled.

“Mom.”

“When was your last haircut?”

He looked away.

“I don’t know.”

“When did you shave?”

Silence.

“When did you exercise?”

Another silence.

She walked closer.

“You lost weight.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you are not.”

Her voice remained calm.

That somehow made it worse.

She touched his cheek.

Her eyes softened.

“My son is disappearing.”

Jungkook lowered his gaze.

The kitchen suddenly felt too small.

Hana still slept upstairs.

Morning sunlight entered through the windows.

The sink contained dishes from last night.

Life continued.

His mother began unpacking groceries.

“You still have a daughter.”

He remained silent.

She continued.

“She needs breakfast.”

“I know.”

“She needs someone to take her to school someday.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

“She needs someone to watch her grow up.”

He finally looked at her.

His eyes were tired.

“So what do you want me to do?”

The question escaped before he could stop it.

His mother turned around.

Her expression changed.

Not angry.

Simply honest.

“I want you to live.”

The room became quiet.

His mother set the vegetables aside.

She sat down.

For several seconds she studied her son.

The little boy she once carried.

The teenager who came home with bruised knees.

The young man who introduced Mina to their family.

The husband.

The father.

The broken man sitting before her.

Her voice softened.

“Jungkook.”

He looked down.

“Your wife died.”

The words entered the room like cold air.

Even now they hurt.

Even after the funeral.

Even after the affair.

Even after discovering another man.

Because death and betrayal had become tangled together until he no longer knew which wound hurt more.

His mother continued.

“She is not coming home.”

He closed his eyes.

His breathing became uneven.

“You can sleep beside her clothes.”

He remained still.

“You can keep her side of the bed untouched.”

His fingers curled slightly.

“You can wait at the door for the rest of your life.”

Her own eyes had become wet.

“But she will not come back.”

He finally spoke.

“I know.”

“No.”

His mother shook her head.

“You know it here.”

She touched her chest.

“But you don’t know it here.”

Her hand moved to his forehead.

“You still wake up waiting.”

He felt tears beginning.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

She reached for his hand.

“You don’t stop loving her.”

His mother’s voice broke.

“You stop waiting.”

Tears rolled down his face.

His mother sat beside him.

She held his hand exactly the way she had when he was a child.

“You loved her.”

He nodded.

“You gave her your life.”

He nodded again.

“You gave her a family.”

Another nod.

“Now your daughter needs what your wife cannot give anymore.”

He covered his face.

His shoulders shook.

His mother pulled him against her.

Thirty years old.

Successful career.

Father.

Widower.

And suddenly he became someone’s son again.

When Hana finally came downstairs, rubbing her eyes and carrying her rabbit, she stopped in the kitchen.

“Daddy crying?”

Jungkook quickly wiped his face.

His mother smiled.

“No.”

Hana looked suspicious.

“You sad?”

He crouched.

His voice was rough.

“A little.”

She walked toward him.

Placed both tiny hands against his cheeks.

The exact same way her grandmother had.

Then she kissed his forehead.

“It’s okay.”

Children sometimes healed people without realizing it.

After breakfast, his mother cleaned.

She opened windows.

Changed bedsheets.

Collected laundry.

Moved boxes.

Life returned to the house in small ways.

At one point she stood in the hallway holding one of Mina’s old storage boxes.

Photographs.

Scarves.

Unused notebooks.

She looked at him.

“These can stay.”

He nodded.

“But not everywhere.”

He frowned.

She spoke gently.

“Hana lives here.”

The truth settled heavily.

His mother continued.

“She cannot grow up inside a memorial.”

Hours passed.

The house became brighter.

Cleaner.

Jungkook showered without rushing.

He shaved.

The beard disappeared.

He drove to the barber.

The man recognized him immediately.

Offered condolences.

Said little else.

When Jungkook returned, his mother looked up.

For several seconds she simply stared.

Her eyes filled.

“There you are.”

He frowned.

“What?”

She walked toward him.

Held his face.

Kissed both cheeks.

“My handsome son came back.”

He laughed quietly.

His mother wiped her eyes.

“Hana.”

The little girl ran over.

She gasped dramatically.

“Daddy!”

“Do I look different?”

She nodded seriously.

“You look like Daddy.”

His mother smiled.

“See?”

Jungkook looked around the house.

For the first time in weeks, it no longer felt abandoned.

His mother eventually sat beside him.

“You should go.”

He looked confused.

“Where?”

She already knew.

“Visit her.”

Silence.

“Talk to her.”

He lowered his eyes.

His mother squeezed his hand.

“I’ll stay with Hana.”

The afternoon had become quiet by the time he left.

His daughter waved from the window.

His mother stood behind her.

For a brief moment he saw two generations waiting for him.

One who had raised him.

One he still needed to raise.

The cemetery remained peaceful.

He carried white lilies.

Mina loved lilies.

He cleaned the grass around her grave.

Removed dead flowers.

Straightened the picture.

The stone felt cold beneath his fingers.

He sat down.

The wind moved softly through the trees.

For several minutes he said nothing.

Then quietly:

“It’s been a month.”

His voice sounded unfamiliar.

He stared at her picture.

“I was angry.”

His eyes became wet.

“I still am.”

He swallowed.

“But I forgive you.”

The words hurt.

Perhaps forgiveness always did.

“You lied to me.”

He nodded to himself.

“You lied for years.”

Another silence.

“But I can’t spend the rest of my life hating you.”

The trees moved overhead.

The sky had become cloudy.

His voice became smaller.

“I loved you.”

His hand rested against the stone.

“And part of me always will.”

Tears finally fell.

“But please.”

His shoulders shook.

“Please don’t let this be another lie.”

He looked down.

“The results are coming.”

The DNA test.

The question that had followed him into sleep.

The question he hated himself for asking.

“I know she’s my daughter.”

His voice cracked.

“I know.”

His eyes closed.

“But if there is one thing you can still give me…”

The first raindrop landed against his hand.

Another followed.

Soft.

Gentle.

Almost invisible.

He looked upward.

Clouds covered the sky.

His phone vibrated.

He lowered his gaze.

One email.

Laboratory Services.

DNA Results Available.

His entire body went still.

The rain slowly continued falling.

The lilies beside Mina’s grave moved with the wind.

Jungkook looked at her photograph one last time.

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

“If you ever loved me…”

His eyes closed.

“Please... just give me at least one thing that’s not a lie.”

Another raindrop landed.

The screen remained illuminated inside his trembling hand.

And somewhere far away, his daughter waited at home.

Unaware that one email had the power to change everything.

Chapter 6

A/N: First of all, I want to sincerely apologize for posting this chapter later than I originally planned. Yesterday, my grandmother passed away, and I’ve been spending time with my family during this difficult time. I truly appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and sent kind messages.

Chapter 6 will be posted here on Tumblr on July 26. For those who would like to read ahead, Chapter 12 is now available on my Ko-fi as part of early access. Take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you in the next chapter. 🤍

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