༘⋆ to whatever end. .☘︎ ݁˖ • chapter3
Summary - For years, they existed in the space between friendship and love, too close to be platonic, yet never enough to be real. He treated her like she was his in private, only to pull away the moment things became too serious.
The night she finally chose to walk away from the man who once consumed her entire world, she carried something else with her too.
Two years later, a little girl, or fate perhaps—bring them back to each other.
Genre : second chance romance, unrequited love (at first), slow burn, accidental pregnancy, Friends → strangers → lovers, angst, fluff
Themes : emotionally unavailable! Jungkook , unlabeled relationship, friends with benefits(kind of), fear of commitment, one-sided devotion, accidental pregnancy, absent father (he doesn’t know), girl dad! Jungkook, second chances, yearning, found family, angst with happy ending
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The Life She Built
Y/N settled into her new life quickly. She worked as a teacher at the kindergarten that had opened a few months ago, just down the road from her parents’ house.
Her parents didn't think the job was necessary, but she insisted. She told them it was because one day she'd have to take care of a child of her own. And though she hated to admit it, she took it partly because she didn't want to think about him, she needed to keep her mind busy, her hands full, her heart distracted.
But somehow, after a few weeks of keeping herself occupied whenever she could, she found herself thinking about him anyway. About Jungkook. Not in the quiet moments, but in the crowded ones. Surrounded by people she enjoyed, buried in work, laughing at something a kid said, he'd slip in between the cracks, sharper and more often than in silence.
Jungkook would love this kid.
If Jungkook were here, he'd have laughed his ass off.
Jungkook would call this his new favourite dish.
The nights were worse. Alone in bed, Y/N would gently rub her belly and whisper to her child about little things, big things, everything. Her childhood. Her day. How she almost threw up at the word fart, just the word itself. Pregnancy was terrifying, and spending every day around children didn't help. When the kids first noticed she was pregnant, one little girl stood up proudly, reciting with absolute "Mama told me babies are made out of love." Y/N smiled at the time. She cried when she got home, souldn't stop, she cried until she fell asleep.
Once, during lunch, the sound of children chewing sent her running to the bathroom.
She whispered to her baby about Jungkook too. "Jungkook is your dad, but nobody has to know. We don't want an asshole like him in our lives." And then, quieter "Do you think he would've loved me differently if he knew about you? Do you think there was ever a moment, even a small one, when he actually loved me?"
_____
Jiho and Y/N talked every day. Jiho came over every weekend.
"How is everyone else doing?" Y/N asked one evening, making an americano for herself and Jiho. Jiho had been a lifeline. She took care of Y/N, looked after her, even bought her an espresso machine just so she didn't have to survive on instant coffee.
"They're okay. Same as always. We miss you so much. Mingyu suggested a surprise visit and I had to come up with so many lame excuses I've lost count." Jiho's voice carried a weight she couldn't hide. "I don't think we can keep this quiet much longer."
She felt guilty, keeping something this big from their friends, lying by omission every single day. But it was for Y/N. There were close calls, like that one time she'd mentioned Y/N's cravings and someone asked what cravings, and she'd covered it up with a quick "period cravings." The lie sat sour in her stomach every time.
Y/N felt it too. Eunwoo and Mingyu checked on her constantly, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the boys found out. She could only hope they'd understand. "I know," Y/N said, her voice quiet, threadbare. "I feel awful too. But you know I have to do this."
Jiho nodded. She knew Y/N's decision was the only one that made sense right now. Still, every time she saw Jungkook, she had to fight the urge to kick him square in the balls. And sometimes, when the weight of it all pressed down on her chest , she wanted to cry. Because her best friend was carrying his child and they were hiding it from him.
________
Jungkook had asked Jiho about Y/N once. Just once. She'd given him nothing, a shrug, a vague she's fine and he hadn't had the courage to ask again. But he felt the emptiness more than he'd expected to. He missed her. Her presence. Her jokes that weren't even funny. Her laugh. Her scent. He started dating again, hoping someone new could fill the space she'd left. It didn't last.
One night, in the middle of it all, while his girlfriend was on top of him, breath heavy, moving, he moaned a name that wasn't hers.
Y/N.
Her hips stopped. His eyes shot open. She slapped him so hard his jaw throbbed until the next morning. Without a word, she got up, pulled her clothes on, and walked out. The door slammed so hard the windows rattled. Jungkook fell back onto the bed, both hands covering his face. "I need therapy," he whispered to the ceiling.
That was the last time he tried. No more girlfriends. No more hookups. No more pretending someone else could be her.
________
It was late — the kind of late where the city dims and the only sounds are the hum of streetlamps and the distant bark of a dog. Jiho had been home, already in her sleep clothes, when her phone buzzed with Mingyu's name on the screen. He needed help packing the delivery orders. She sighed, changed, and went. The shop was warm when she stepped inside, the overhead lights casting a tired yellow glow over scattered piles of folded clothes. Boxes sat half open on the floor, a roll of tape had rolled under the table. It was normal Messy. Chaotic. The kind of chaos she'd grown used to being around.
Jiho grabbed the list and began checking items one by one, crossing off names with a pen she found tucked behind her ear. Jungkook worked beside her, folding, matching, stacking in silence. Mingyu and Jaehyun had been out delivering since evening, their van cutting through streets Jiho knew by heart. Eunwoo sat in the corner, phone pressed to his ear, handling calls and messages in a low, tired voice. The air was thick with routine. And then Jungkook spoke, "Are you visiting Y/N soon?"
Jiho's hand froze mid check. The pen hovered over the paper. It caught her off guard, not because the question was strange, but because it was him asking it. Jungkook hadn't said Y/N's name since she left. Not once. He carried her absence like a bruise he never touched, never acknowledged, never let anyone see. And now, standing among folded shirts and half taped boxes, he'd finally broken the silence. Jiho forced her voice steady. "Mmhm. I'm actually visiting her tomorrow."
Jungkook nodded. A small stiff motion. His hands kept folding a pair of jeans, then a sweater, but his fingers moved slower now, like his mind was elsewhere, swimming through waters he'd been avoiding.
"Tell her I said Hi."
The words came out quiet. Casual. Almost throwaway but beneath them, buried in the space between his syllables, there was a whole universe of things he didn't say.
He wanted to tell Jiho to tell Y/N that he was sorry. That he woke up some mornings reaching for a side of the bed that was cold. That her laugh played on a loop in his head at night when he couldn't sleep. That he saw her face in crowds, in the reflection of shop windows, in the pause before he fell asleep. That he missed her, not the idea of her, but her. The weight of her. The warmth. The way she'd scrunch her nose when she laughed at her own bad jokes.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her. That he'd always loved her. That the reason he pushed her away, let her go, didn't fight for her was because he was terrified. Not of her, but of what she made him feel. Of how deeply she'd carved herself into him. Of the kind of love that asks you to be vulnerable, to be seen, to trust that someone won't leave even when they know every broken piece of you. He wanted to say all of it.
But he didn't.
Because deep down, even if he couldnt fully accept it, even if it sat like a stone in his chest every single day he knew. Y/N was better off without him. She was happier. Or at least, she was learning to be. And he had no right to disturb that peace, no matter how much his own world felt like it was crumbling without her.
So he just folded another shirt and said nothing more.
_________
If you asked Jungkook what love was, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Not in words. Not in definitions or poetry or songs. He'd fumble, shake his head, change the subject.
But he knew it through Y/N.
He knew it in the way she kissed him, slow and deliberate, he knew it when she chose him over and over again. He knew from the way she pulled him close while their bodies are pressed together, swallowing each other’s words and moans, their souls intertwined.
_______
Y/N's pregnancy went better than anyone had expected. Her body adjusted in ways she hadn't dared to hope for, the morning sickness faded after the first trimester, the exhaustion settled into something manageable, and the wild swings of emotion became quieter, like waves that had learned to recede instead of crash. Her life, strangely, began to piece itself together.
She woke up in the mornings without that familiar weight pressing down on her chest. She went to work, came home, cooked meals she actually ate, slept through the night more often than not. There was a rhythm to it. A soft, gentle hum that hadn't existed when he was still in her life.
Sometimes, when Jungkook wandered into her mind uninvited, in the middle of grading a child's drawing or while stirring soup on the stove, she would curse him. Call him a stain on her timeline, a curse she had to break. Because look at her now. Look at how everything had fallen into place the moment she walked away. Her life felt safer. Calmer. Like she could finally breathe without splinters in her lungs.
See? she'd tell herself. It was him. He was the problem.
But she never believed it. Not really.
Because beneath the bitterness, beneath the anger she clung to like armor, Y/N had never stopped loving Jungkook. She didn't know when it would end. Didn't know if it would end. It was stubborn, rooted deep in places she couldn't reach to pull it out.
And how could she forget him, when she carried a part of him with her everywhere she went? When she felt his heartbeat under her own ribs? When she talked to her belly at night and heard echoes of his voice in hers?
She didn't know how to stop loving someone who had become a part of her blood.
Maybe she never would.
________
Everything went well. Better than well, like the universe had decided to give her this one thing without a fight.
Her water didn't break on the way to the hospital. There were no complications, no sudden panic, no moment where the world tilted off its axis. The pregnancy hadn't been as bad as she'd feared, she'd handled it, somehow, handled it well. And when the time came, her body knew what to do. Ten hours. That was all it took. Ten hours of labor, with Jiho's hand in hers the entire time, never letting go.
When Y/N first heard her baby cry, everything around her went mute. The machines, the voices, the distant bustle of the hospital, all of it disappeared, swallowed by a single sound. That cry. Raw and new and so impossibly alive. Tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them, streaming silently down her temples as she lay there, breathless.The nurse lifted the baby, wiped her clean, and placed her on Y/N's chest with a warm smile.
"It's a girl."
The world stopped.
Y/N looked down at the tiny body resting against her, skin to skin, warm and damp and trembling with each small breath. She was so small, so impossibly small. Her fingers curled into fists no bigger than the tip of Y/N's thumb. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt like the most important sound in the universe.
My babygirl.
She didn't realize she'd whispered it until she heard her own voice, soft, cracked, full of something she couldn't name.
The nurse draped a cloth over the baby's back, drying her gently while she lay on Y/N's chest, then covered them both with a warm blanket. The baby nuzzled instinctively, searching for warmth she already knew, and within minutes, she was asleep. Peaceful. Curled up like she'd never left the safety of Y/N's belly.
The doctor stepped out to update her parents that the mother and baby were healthy. No complications, a perfect delivery.
But Y/N barely heard any of it. She couldn't take her eyes off the baby. "She's so tiny," she whispered, over and over, like a prayer she couldn't stop saying. She studied every inch of her. Her skin, still flushed red, softening into pink. Her tiny hands, faintly blue at the fingertips. The way she slept with her face turned slightly toward Y/N's heartbeat, as if she still recognized it. As if she knew she was home. Y/N lay there, her arms wrapped around her daughter, and let the silence settle around them like a second blanket.
She didn't think about Jungkook. Not yet. For now, there was only this, her babygirl, warm and safe sleeping on her chest like she'd always belonged there.
Jiho started staying over more often after the birth, showing up with groceries, taking over night feeds so Y/N could sleep, holding Jiyeon while Y/N showered. Y/N's mother took leave from work until she was fully recovered, and her father made sure they never wanted for anything. He showed up with bags of food, medicine, vitamins and a few weeks after they got home from the hospital, he started bringing toys too. A plush bunny. A rattle shaped like a star. A tiny dress that Y/N cried over before Jiyeon even grew into it.
There wasn't a single moment when Y/N felt like she needed Jungkook by her side. Not one. She was happy. Safe and loved. Surrounded by people who showed up without being asked, who held her when she cried, who celebrated every small milestone like it was their own.
Her mother had suggested the name. Jiyeon. She'll grow up to be a beautiful woman, she'd said, full of wisdom and grace. Just like her mother.
Y/N had smiled, cheeks wet, and agreed. She felt it all, the happiness, the excitement, the overwhelming swell of emotion every time she thought about raising a daughter.
A mini her
But she was oh so wrong.
Time passed quickly, the way it always does when you're too busy living to notice. Jiyeon grew up faster than Y/N had ever prepared herself for.
The first time she stood up on her own, Y/N was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. She turned around and there she was, tiny hands gripping the edge of the coffee table, legs wobbling, face scrunched in concentration. And then she let go. One second. Two. Standing on her own two feet like she'd been doing it her whole life. Y/N burst into tears. Right there, mug in hand, crying like a child herself. Because it felt like just yesterday she'd held her for the first time, that warm, tiny weight against her chest, still pink, still learning how to breathe. And now she was standing. Leaving the newborn days behind whether Y/N was ready or not. It all felt like a dream. A beautiful, blurry, heartbreaking dream.
And the fact that Jiyeon looked exactly like Jungkook didn't help.
It was uncanny, really. The same eyes, dark, deep, and huge. The kind that crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The same nose, the same lips, the same smile that could light up an entire room and break your heart in the same breath. She was his replica. A tiny, walking, breathing copy of the man Y/N had spent years trying to forget.
Y/N sometimes hated it. Hated that her daughter took so little from her. She'd search Jiyeon's face for something that was undeniably hers, and all she could find was her hair. The same shade, the same texture. Everything else, the curve of her jaw, the shape of her ears, the way she tilted her head when she was curious, all Jungkook.
As Jiyeon grew, her personality followed the same path. She was stubborn in a way that felt familiar. Loud when she wanted attention, quiet when she was observing. She loved certain foods and hated others with a passion that made no sense for a child her age. She tapped her fingers on tables when she was bored. She bit her lip when she was thinking. She laughed with her whole body, throwing her head back like the world was the funniest place to be with her bunny teeth showing.
All of it. Every single habit. Every like, every dislike, every little quirk.
Him.
"At least her first word wasn't 'Dada,'" Y/N would mutter to herself on the hard days, when Jiyeon looked at her with those eyes and she felt her chest crack open. She said it like a prayer, like a small victory she could hold onto. A tiny comfort. She said 'Mama' first. That's mine. That one thing is mine.
And yet, Y/N looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully, her face a perfect copy of a man she once loved, maybe still loved and she felt it. That fullness in her chest. That warmth that spread through her like sunlight.
Everything in her life was complete. Everything she had dreamed of, everything she had ever wished for, was right here in front of her.
Even if it came wrapped in a face that reminded her, every single day, of what she'd left behind.
_________
Two years passed within a blink.
Just like that. Two whole years, gone like smoke through open fingers.
Within those two years, Y/N learned more than she had in the decade before. She learned how to survive on three hours of sleep and still function. She learned that love doesn't always look like what the movies show, sometimes it looks like vomit on your favorite shirt at 2 a.m., like rocking a screaming baby for hours until your arms go numb, like crying in the bathroom because you're so tired you can't remember the last time you felt like yourself.
She learned that you can leave someone you thought you couldn't live without. That the world doesn't stop turning. That your heart keeps beating, even when you're sure it's broken beyond repair and she learned that sometimes, when you lose one kind of love, the universe blesses you with another.
Two years passed so quickly, with so much happening, that Y/N sometimes couldn't tell the difference between her dreams and actual moments that happened. Was that a real memory, Jiyeon's first laugh, bubbling up from her tiny chest like honey or had she imagined it so many times that it felt real? She didn't know anymore. The days blurred together, soft and warm and exhausting, and she let them.
She never spoke of Jungkook anymore. Not to Jiho, not to her mother, not to anyone. His name sat in her throat like a stone she'd learned to swallow. But that didn't mean she thought about him less.
If anything, she thought about him more.
He was there in every little moment from the moment she held Jiyeon in her arms alone for the first time. In every big one. The day Jiyeon laughed for the first time. The day Jiyeon took her first steps, wobbling, determined, arms outstretched, Y/N watched and thought of him. The day she said her first word. Mama. Y/N cried and laughed and held her close, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard his voice. When Jiyeon started feeding herself, smearing food across her face like war paint, Y/N laughed until her stomach hurt. And then she thought of him.
He was everywhere. In the curve of Jiyeon's smile, in the stubborn set of her jaw, in the way she hummed when she was focused on a toy. He was in the air she breathed, in the silence before sleep, in the spaces between heartbeats.
Y/N had stopped speaking his name. But she had never stopped carrying him with her. She had just learned how to live with the weight.
_______
Jungkook knew the feeling of losing a loved one well. He had learned it young, learned it deeply, learned it in ways that carved themselves into his bones and never quite healed.
And he knew, better than most, that death wasn't the only thing that could come between people.
The first time he felt it, he was just a boy.
His parents sold his dog, his best friend, his shadow, the only living thing that greeted him with pure, uninhibited joy at the end of every school day. He came home one afternoon and the house was quieter. No barking. No scratching at the door. Too much trouble, they said. Distracting you from your studies. He didn't cry in front of them. He waited until he was in his room, face buried in his pillow, and let the tears soak through until there was nothing left. He never asked for another dog. He never asked for anything again.
The second time was when they moved to Seoul, leaving his grandmother behind in Busan.
She had been his everything. She was the one who cleaned the scratches on his knees when he fell off his bike, humming an old tune as she dabbed alcohol on the wound. She was the one who tucked him in at night, smoothing the blanket over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his forehead like he was the most precious thing in the world. She was the one who held him when he cried, who never told him to stop, who let him fall apart in her arms and put him back together with nothing but her presence.
She was the only person who ever made him feel like his existence mattered.
And then they took her away from him. Not through death, through distance. Through a move he had no say in. Through weekend phone calls that grew shorter and fewer until they stopped altogether. He visited her sometimes, but it was never the same. The warmth was still there, but the miles between them had stretched it thin, like elastic that had lost its snap.
The third time happened when he was in high school.
By then, Jungkook had already learned to keep most of himself hidden. He didn't ask for things anymore. Didn't expect much from the people around him. He had learned, early on, that wanting things only led to disappointment, so he stopped wanting. Or at least, he stopped showing it.
But music and art—those found him anyway. It started small. A melody he couldn't get out of his head, scribbled on the margin of a textbook. A drawing of the view from his window, done in ballpoint pen because he didn't have proper pencils. Slowly, it became the only thing that made sense. When the world felt too loud, too heavy, too suffocating, he picked up his guitar. He let his fingers move across the strings until the noise in his head quieted down. He drew until his hand cramped, filling page after page with shapes and shadows that didn't need words.
It was his escape. His way of breathing. His way of saying everything he couldn't say out loud. His father never understood it. To his father, music was a distraction. Art was a waste of time. Everything that didn't lead to a stable job, a stable future, a stable life, it was useless. And Jungkook, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had never been given the space to try let the distance grow between them like cracks in dry soil.
Until one night. The night that broke whatever was left. He couldn't remember what started the fight. Maybe it was about his grades. Maybe it was about the hours he spent locked in his room. Maybe it was about nothing at all, just two people who had never learned how to talk to each other, finally reaching the end of a very short rope.
But he remembered the end. He remembered his father's hand wrapping around the neck of his guitar. The one he had saved up months of allowance to buy. The one he had stayed up late practicing on, fingers raw and blistered, because it was the only thing that made him feel alive. He remembered the way his father's arm swung up, the guitar suspended in the air for a split second and then the sickening crack as it came down against the floor. The wood splintered. The strings snapped, curling in on themselves like wounded things, pieces of the body scattered across the floor, and Jungkook just stood there, staring at the wreckage of the only thing that had ever felt like his.
He didn't scream. Didn't cry. Didn't say a word. He simply turned around and walked out.
Jungkook didn't remember driving to her place that night. He remembered walking out of his house, the front door slamming behind him, the cold air hitting his face, the splintered remains of his guitar still scattered across the living room floor. He remembered getting into his car, his hands were shaking, his chest felt like it was caving in. He didn't know where he was going until he was already there.
Her house.
The only place his heart had ever learned to point itself toward.
He knocked. Then he knocked again. And when she opened the door, sleepy, confused, hair messy. He didn’t say a word and stepped forward immediately. His face buried into her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist, tight, desperate, like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. Y/N didn't question him. Didn't push him away. She just held him tighter, her arms circling his back, one hand running up and down his spine in long, soothing strokes.
She didn't ask what happened. She didn't need to. She just held him, let him shake, let him breathe, let him fall apart in the safety of her arms. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time felt meaningless. Then her voice came, soft and warm, spoken into his hair like a secret. "Jungkook, let's go to my room, okay? My aunt's home tonight."
He pulled away slowly. His eyes were red, glassy, still holding back a flood he hadn't let himself release yet. He looked at her and nodded. "Okay."
She took his hand and led him inside.
That night, Jungkook cried in front of someone for the first time since he was fourteen years old. Since his grandmother's funeral, where he had sat in the corner of a crowded room, silent and hollow, tears streaming down his face while no one noticed.
Y/N had slipped past his walls before he even realized they were down.
He cried the whole night. Great, heaving sobs that tore through his chest like something had been clawing to get out for years. He cried for his dog, for his grandmother, for the guitar his father destroyed. For every moment he had been made to feel like he wasn't enough. For every time he had swallowed his pain and smiled through it. And through all of it, Y/N held him. She didn't tell him to stop. Didn't tell him it was okay when it clearly wasn't. She just wrapped herself around him and whispered, soft, gentle and grounding into his ear. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're safe.
For the first time in a very long time, Jungkook felt loved. Genuinely, completely, unconditionally loved.
And then he lost her too.
But this time, he had no one to blame except himself.
_________
Two years. Twenty four months. Seven hundred and thirty days.
Jungkook hadn't been the same since.
He lost interest in everything that used to fill his time. Women came and went, but he didn't notice them anymore, he didn't care to notice them. They blurred into the background of a life that had lost its color. His motivation dried up like a river in drought. He went through the motions, worked, ate, slept, repeated but there was no spark behind it. Just the hollow echo of a person going through the mechanics of living without actually being alive.
Outside, he looked perfectly still. Like the same old Jungkook. Same face. Same walk. But his friends noticed.
He didn't speak much anymore. The easy chatter that used to spill out of him was gone, replaced by long silences and one word answers. His smug personality, that playful, cocky grin that used to annoy and charm everyone in equal measure had completely disappeared. He didn't attend parties. Didn't go out unless he had to. Jaehyun watched him sometimes from across the room. And though a small part of him felt a pang of pity for the state Jungkook was in, there was another part, a deeper, quieter part that felt something else. Something close to satisfaction. the part that whispered. Let him feel a fraction of what he put her through.
Mingyu tried his best to keep Jungkook composed. He'd clap him on the shoulder, drag him out for coffee, force conversations that went nowhere. He didn't know the full story, none of them did, not really, but he knew enough. He knew Jungkook had broken something precious. And he knew some things couldn't be fixed by coffee and good intentions.
And then there was Eunwoo. Jungkook's unofficial therapist. The one person who didn't tiptoe around him, didn't sugarcoat, didn't cover up the truth to spare his feelings. Eunwoo said things exactly as they were, exactly as he saw them. No filters. No pity. Just blunt, honest words that cut through the fog.
"You're wasting away. Is this what she'd want?"
"You let her go. That was your choice. Now live with it."
Harsh. But true. And Jungkook needed that, needed someone to tell him the things he was too afraid to admit to himself.
Jiho felt something different around Jungkook now. Strange. Awkward. And underneath it all, a creeping sense of guilt that she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried. She would catch herself staring at him sometimes, lost in deep thought. She'd watch his hands as he worked, the curve of his jaw when he was focused, the way his eyes dimmed when he thought no one was looking. And she'd wonder. What would he do if he found out?
What would he do if he knew he had a two year old daughter? A little girl with his eyes, his nose, his smile, a perfect replica of him running around, laughing, growing up without ever knowing his name.
Would he crumble? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real? Would he step up, finally become the man Y/N deserved, the father that little girl deserved? Or would the weight of it all crush whatever was left of him?
She didn't know. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold.
What if things had been different? she'd think, staring at him across the room. What if he had known from the start? Would he have changed? Would he have been better? Or would he have just hurt her all over again?
Jiho never found the answers. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
__________
Mingyu wasn't expecting anything interesting that day.
It was supposed to be simple. A quick trip to Suwon to meet up with a work friend, discuss a potential collaboration, maybe grab lunch, then head back.
But his car was in the shop. Again.
Because fucking Jeon Jungkook had crashed it.
Mingyu had been stupid enough to let him borrow it a few weeks back. Jungkook said he needed to clear his head, said he'd be careful, said he just needed to drive for a while. And Mingyu, trusting, hopeful, always giving people the benefit of the doubt had handed over the keys.
Big mistake.
Jungkook had shown up at the shop at 2 a.m., drunk out of his mind, the front bumper hanging off, the passenger side door dented beyond repair. He'd swerved off the road and into a guardrail. Lucky he didn't kill himself. Lucky he didn't kill someone else. Mingyu had to take a deep breath before he said anything that night, had to remind himself that Jungkook was hurting, that he wasn't himself, that pushing him away would only make things worse.
But damn it.
He blamed himself a little. He should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Jungkook had been spiraling for two years, and Mingyu had handed him a car and a full tank of gas like it was a solution. Stupid, he thought. So stupid.
So now he had to take the train.
Mingyu came across the place by chance.
He was walking through a quiet street in Suwon, phone in hand, checking the time until his train, when a warm glow caught his eye. Yellow light spilled through wide windows, soft and inviting. He slowed down, then stopped altogether.
Shelves of books lined the walls inside. Cozy armchairs. A counter with a coffee machine. And a small wooden sign hanging above the door that read:
The Brewed Book Café
Mingyu smiled to himself. Cute name. He figured he had time for a coffee before heading back, so he pushed the door open. A small bell chimed overhead, and the smell hit him immediately, fresh coffee and old paper. Well, he thought, it's a book café after all.
The space wasn't big, but it wasn't cramped either. A few tables and chairs were scattered thoughtfully around. Bookshelves lined every wall, packed with novels, poetry collections, and old hardcovers that looked like they'd been loved for years. It felt warm. Intentional. Like someone had poured their heart into every corner.
And then his eyes landed on her.
Y/N.
She was standing on a small wooden ladder, reaching up to arrange books on a high shelf. Her hair was longer now, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands falling free. She wore a simple cream sweater, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her forearms as she carefully slid a book into place. She looked calm. Different. In all the right ways.
For a moment, Mingyu just stood there, frozen, like he was seeing a ghost.
"Y/N?"
She turned.
Her eyes widened. "Mingyu?"
They stared at each other, suspended in that strange space between shock and recognition. Two years. Two whole years, and here they were, standing in a tiny book café in Suwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then Y/N laughed, light, surprised and climbed down from the ladder. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Mingyu said, still trying to process. He looked around the café, at the books, the warm lighting, the little details that felt so her. "This is yours?"
She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. I opened it a month ago."
Mingyu let out a low whistle. "Damn. I'm impressed." A genuine smile spread across his face. "It's so good seeing you."
Y/N smiled back, a little shy. "It's great seeing you too. My parents helped me a lot."
"They're such angels. You staying with them, or…?"
"Not anymore. I live right upstairs." She gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "It's easier for me. Closer to the café, less commuting."
Mingyu nodded. For a moment, it felt almost like old times. Like none of the pain had ever happened.
And then something small bumped into Y/N's leg.
Mingyu looked down.
A tiny girl, maybe two, maybe three, stood there, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs. She clutched Y/N's sweater with both hands and hid behind her, peeking out with wide, curious eyes. Mingyu said nothing. He just stared.
Y/N bent down immediately and scooped her up. "What is it, baby?" she asked softly. The little girl pointed toward the counter. “sweet."
Her voice was soft, barely understandable, that sweet, slurred baby talk that made everything sound a hundred times more precious.
Y/N smiled and carried her to the counter, reaching into a small jar and pulling out a cookie. "Only one," she said gently. The little girl took it with both hands and giggled, shoving it into her mouth with uncoordinated glee.
Mingyu's brain had stopped working. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Finally, he managed to ask, "…Yours?"
Y/N nodded casually, like it was the most normal question in the world. "Yeah."
Mingyu's mouth opened slightly. A thousand questions swirled in his head. Whose? When? How? He bit his lip, forcing himself not to say anything stupid. "What's her name?" he asked after a long pause.
Y/N looked down at the little girl in her arms, her expression softening. She kissed the top of her head. "Jiyeon."
Mingyu whispered the name under his breath. "Jiyeon." He looked at the child, at her dark hair, her big eyes, her tiny nose. Something in his chest tightened. "That's a beautiful name."
He reached out gently and patted the top of her head. Jiyeon stared at him with wide, curious eyes, clutching her cookie like a treasure. Mingyu studied her face carefully, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her little brow furrowed when she was trying to figure him out.
He suddenly felt like he couldnt breathe. "Well… uh…I..um…" His voice came out awkward, stilted. "I'll see you around."
Y/N nodded, a small smile on her face. "Yeah. Come by again."
Mingyu turned and walked out of the café. The bell chimed behind him. The door clicked shut. And the moment he was outside, he started running. Straight toward the train platform. His heart was pounding, his mind racing, a single thought repeating over and over like a broken record.
________
Jiho was sitting lazily, leaning back in her chair, phone in hand, scrolling through Instagram without really paying attention. It had been a slow day at the shop, the kind of slow that made time feel sticky and endless. Jaehyun was behind the counter, wiping down already clean glass shelves just to have something to do.
Until the door slammed open.
Jiho jolted so hard she nearly dropped her phone. The bell above the door rattled violently, swinging on its hinge like it had been attacked. And there, in the doorway, stood Mingyu, chest heaving, face pale, eyes wide like he had seen something he couldn't quite believe. “You— I need to talk to you.” He say breathless pointing at Jiho. “Okay…” Jiho trailed off exchanging goances with Jaehyun who was sitting behind the counter.
Mingyu walked inside the storage room, Jiho following close behind. The moment the door clicked shut, he spun around to face her, his voice already spilling out in a small, panicky rush. "I went to Suwon."
Jiho raised an eyebrow. "I know."
"I walked into a café to grab coffee."
"Okay?"
"I saw Y/N." He paused, swallowing hard. "She had a little girl. Her name is Jiyeon. The baby looked at me." Each word came out like it was haunting him, dragging itself out of his chest with visible effort. Jiho sighed, a heavy, knowing sound. She had always known this day was coming. She had just hoped it would be later. Or never.
"Mingyu—"
"No, I'm not done." He held up a hand, his breathing uneven. "The baby looked at me. I looked back at her. And I saw her—no." He shook his head, correcting himself. "I saw him. I saw Jungkook in her. She looks exactly like fucking Jeon Jungkook. What the fuck!"
He grabbed at his hair, pacing in a tight circle, taking huge, ragged breaths like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "I came running home. I didn't even buy my damn coffee." He let out a hysterical laugh. "My coffee, Jiho. I left without my coffee."
Jiho gave him a moment. Let him pace. Let him breathe. Let the information settle into his bones, even if it made him rattle. Then Mingyu suddenly let out a gasp, freezing mid step. He whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at her. "Damn it. You knew everything." His voice dropped, but the weight of it doubled. "You told me nothing. You said nothing."
He looked haunted now. Shocked. Betrayed. All of it flickering across his face like a storm passing through. Jiho met his gaze steadily, keeping her voice calm and soothing. "Mingyu, let me explain everything. But first, you need to calm down." She took a small step closer. "Take a breath. Let's go out, and we'll talk about it, okay? I promise I'll tell you everything."
Mingyu stared at her for a long moment, chest still heaving. Then slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "...Okay."
Jiho, Mingyu, and Jaehyun sat in the middle if the shop. Jiho's voice was steady as she finally told them everything.
The two guys listened without speaking a word. Jaehyun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw tight. Mingyu stared at the floor, running his hands over his thighs like he needed something to ground him.
When Jiho finished, she let out a slow breath. "Any questions?"
Mingyu's hand shot up almost immediately. "So— you knew she was pregnant before she left?" Jiho blinked. She had literally said that three times already. "Mingyu, I just—" But before she could finish, a voice cut through the air from the front of the shop, sharp and curious.
"Who's pregnant?"
All three heads snapped toward the entrance. Standing at the door, keys still in hand, was Eunwoo. And right beside him, hands buried in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable, stood Jungkook.
Jiho's heart dropped into her stomach.
"My friend—" Jiho started.
"Y/N," Mingyu finished at the same time.
Jaehyun's head whipped toward Mingyu so fast his neck cracked. He stared at him in pure, undisguised disbelief, but Mingyu completely oblivious, kept talking. "But she already had the baby, so she's not pregnant right now. But she was."
A sharp kick landed on his shin under the table. Mingyu yelped, clutching his leg, wincing in pain as he rubbed his foot. Jiho's death glare bore into the side of his head, but the damage was already done.
Silence settled over the room like a heavy fog. Nobody spoke. Jiho, Eunwoo, and Jaehyun exchanged frantic glances, telepathically begging each other to say something, anything to fill the void, to redirect, to undo what had just been said.
Jungkook beat them to it.
"Good for her."
His voice was low. Casual. Almost unconcerned. Like someone commenting on the weather, or a sports score they barely cared about. But every single person in that room knew it was far from that. The words hung in the air, deceptively light, carrying a weight none of them dared to touch. Jungkook didn't move. Didn't react. Just stood there, hands still in his pockets, face carefully blank. And for a long, painful moment, no one said a word.
After the shop closed, Jungkook drove Eunwoo home.
It was a quiet drive. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, pressing down on both of them from the inside of the car. Streetlights flickered past in golden streaks, illuminating Jungkook's face in brief, fragmented flashes. His expression was unreadable, but his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
Eunwoo watched him for a long moment before finally breaking the silence. "Kook. You okay?"
Jungkook's answer came too fast, too flat. "Why wouldn't I be?"
But his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His eyes were fixed on the road, but he wasn't really seeing it. His mind was somewhere else entirely spinning, spiraling, stuck on a name he hadn't heard in two years.
Eunwoo let out a short, annoyed breath. "Man, stop pretending for once." He turned in his seat, fixing Jungkook with a stare. "You know you can be real with me. For fuck's sake, you cried on my shoulder last week because you smelled her perfume on some random woman at the convenience store."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. "Stop bringing that up. Also, I was drunk."
"Right." Eunwoo snorted, a dry, humorless laugh. "Drunk. Sure."
Silence filled the car again. The hum of the engine. The soft thrum of tires against asphalt. Eunwoo thought that was the end of it, that Jungkook would retreat back into his shell and they'd finish the drive in silence.
But then Jungkook spoke again. His voice came out quieter this time, almost fragile. "Do you think she's married?" Eunwoo blinked.
"Or maybe engaged at least," Jungkook continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I mean, she's gotta have a man to have a baby, right? Will we get invited to her wedding? Do you think she'll invite me? What would she—"
"Jungkook." Eunwoo reached over and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Speed down. One question at a time, please."
Jungkook let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. "Okay… okay."
"We'll talk when we reach my house, alright?" Eunwoo's voice softened. "Don't think about that right now. Just focus on driving."
Jungkook didn't answer. But he nodded, slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax, forcing his eyes back on the road ahead. The car carried on into the night, quiet once more but this time, it felt less like silence and more like a held breath, waiting to be released.
Jungkook couldn't sleep.
He had been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, his mind running in endless, exhausting circles. He couldn't eat either, the thought of food made his stomach turn. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. And then he saw the little girl. Y/N's daughter. Her baby.
A kid. Y/N has a kid.
He let out a laugh, short, hollow, utterly devoid of humor. It wasn't funny. Nothing about this was funny. But the sound escaped him anyway, like his body didn't know how else to process the information. It felt like a dagger right through the heart. Cold and sharp, leaving a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
His hand moved on its own, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He unlocked it. Opened his contacts. And there it was, her name. Still saved. Still unchanged after all this time. He had never been able to delete it. His thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly.
He needed to hear it from her. Needed to hear her voice, needed confirmation that it was real, that he hadn't imagined Mingyu's panicked words. Or better, he needed to see it. Needed to see her. Needed to see the baby. Needed to know if she was happy, if she was okay, if she had found someone better than him.
But he couldn't do it.
His thumb wouldn't move. His throat closed up. His chest tightened until he could barely breathe.
"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, voice cracking.
His vision blurred. His breathing turned ragged, uneven, each inhale a battle. And then, before he knew what he was doing, he hurled his phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack and clattered to the floor, screen shattered. "FUCK!" The scream tore out of him, raw and broken.
He fell back onto his bed, both hands dragging down his face before tangling into his hair, pulling at the roots like the physical pain might distract him from whatever was tearing through his chest.
He didn't know what this feeling was.
Fear? Anger? Sadness? Guilt? Regret?
Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. Maybe something that didn't even have a name, something that only existed because of her. Because of what he did. Because of what he lost.
All he knew was that it was crushing him. And for the first time in two years, he had no idea how to survive it.
Jiho had already informed Y/N that the boys needed extra help at the shop, so she wouldn't be able to visit or text as often. Y/N understood.
Y/N had known this day would come the moment she decided to stay in Suwon, close enough to be found but far enough to build a life of her own. She had always known that someone would eventually figure it out. Mingyu was sharp, and Jiho carried guilt like a second skin. It was only a matter of time before the pieces fell into place. She was prepared for it. She had prepared for it a thousand times over in her head, what she would say, how she would explain, how she would protect her daughter from the fallout.
But there was one thing she couldn't stop thinking about.
Will they tell Jungkook?
And if they did, what would he think?
Would he be angry? Indifferent? Would he feel relieved that she had moved on? Would he feel nothing at all? Would he want to see Jiyeon? Would he run, like he always did when things got too real?
Y/N didn't have the answers. And that uncertainty sat in her chest like a stone she couldn't swallow.
She looked down at the bed, where Jiyeon was fast asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Her lips were slightly parted, one chubby hand curled loosely around the edge of her blanket. She looked so peaceful. So innocent. So completely unaware of the storm that was brewing somewhere out there, threatening to find its way to her.
Y/N reached out and gently caressed her cheek, her fingers brushing over the soft, warm skin. A smile immediately formed on her lips. It didn't matter what Jungkook thought. It didn't matter what anyone thought. She had her daughter. She had this little life that depended on her, trusted her, loved her unconditionally. Jiyeon was her world now, her anchor, her reason, her everything.
No matter what happened next, as long as she had her baby beside her, she was happy.
And that was all that mattered.
Y/N leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Jiyeon's forehead, lingering for just a moment.
"Sleep well, my love," she whispered. "Mommy's got you."
Then she turned off the lamp, curled up beside her daughter, and let the quiet hum of the night wrap around them both.
_________
Jungkook locked himself in his house.
Three days. Three days of staring at the same walls, the same ceiling, the same cracks in the plaster that he had memorized months ago. He didn't answer his phone. Didn't open the curtains. Didn't eat anything that could be called a proper meal. He just existed, sprawled on his couch, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching smoke curl toward the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
Nobody called. Nobody knocked. It was like they all knew, knew that he needed to sit with it himself, to wrestle with it alone until he either made peace with it or let it destroy him. They knew better than to bother him.
On the third day, he heard loud pounding in his door. Jungkook didn't move. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, staring blankly at the door.
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Louder this time. More insistent. Then the door burst open. The lock gave way with a splintering crack, and a figure stormed inside like a force of nature.
Mingyu.
Jungkook said nothing. Didn't even spare him a glance. He stayed exactly where he was, half sprawled on the couch, smoke drifting lazily from his lips.
Mingyu crossed the room in three furious strides. He snatched the cigarette from Jungkook's fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray with more force than necessary. Then he grabbed Jungkook by the arm, hauled him upright, and forced him to sit properly. Mingyu dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"I hate seeing you like this."
Silence.
"You're going to find out one way or another, so I thought I better tell you everything now." Mingyu's voice wavered slightly. "So you'll feel better. Or maybe worse. I don't know anymore."
Jungkook finally turned his head, staring at his friend with confusion flickering behind his exhausted eyes. But no words left his mouth. He just waited.
Mingyu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He stared at the floor like it held the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask. "Yes, it's true. Y/N was pregnant. Well, is pregnant. I mean, she was. She has a kid now." He let out a frustrated breath. "A girl. Her name is Jiyeon. And she's cute as fuck, but that's not the point." He looked up at Jungkook, his eyes searching. "The baby, Kook. The kid. Her eyes, they were exactly like yours. Her nose, her lips, her cheeks. Everything." He paused. "Well, except her hair."
He waited for a reaction. For a breakdown. For screaming, crying, throwing something, anything. But Jungkook just sat there, staring at him with an expression that Mingyu couldn't read. "Don't you get it?" Mingyu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jungkook opened his mouth. His lips moved. But no sound came out. And for the first time in three days, something flickered behind his eyes. Dawning realization.
Mingyu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N's kid, her baby, it's yours. She was pregnant with your baby. She knew she was pregnant, and that's why she moved to her parents' house in Suwon. That's why she left."
The words hung in the air like a grenade.
Jungkook let out a laugh. A scoff, really. Short. Bitter. Disbelieving. Mingyu stared at him, confusion bleeding into disbelief. "What?"
"I don't believe you."
Mingyu's mouth fell open. "What are you—"
"She would've told me." Jungkook's voice turned cold, his expression snapping into something sharp and serious. "If whatever you just said was true, she would've told me. I refuse to believe it. It's not true. Not possible." His hand came down hard on the coffee table, a loud SLAM that made Mingyu jump. Jungkook stood up abruptly, walked to his bedroom, and slammed the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the walls.
Mingyu sat alone in the living room, staring at the closed door, unsure if he should follow or leave.
Inside the bedroom, Jungkook pressed his back against the door and slid down to the floor.
His chest heaved. His hands trembled.
Deep down, he knew.
He knew she wouldn't have told him. He knew she had every reason to keep it from him. He knew he had given her no reason to trust him, no reason to believe he would stay.
And deep down, so deep it hurt to admit he wished it was true. He wished he could turn back time. He wished he had been better. He wished he had been the man she deserved instead of the man who drove her away.
Jungkook finally understood what had been clawing at his chest for the past three days.
Fear. Anger. Sadness. Guilt. Regret.
___________
Across town, Y/N closed the café for the night.
She flipped the sign on the door, locked the deadbolt, and let out a long, tired breath. The warm glow of the café lights reflected off the wooden floors as she wiped down the counters one last time. Behind her, Jiyeon sat on the counter, swinging her little legs back and forth, humming a nonsensical tune only she understood.
"Mama."
Y/N turned, a soft smile already forming on her lips. "Yes, baby?"
"Story?"
Y/N's heart melted, as it did every single time. She dried her hands on a towel and walked over, scooping Jiyeon up into her arms. The little girl's small hands immediately found their way to Y/N's neck, hugging her tight.
"Of course. Let's go upstairs."
She carried her up to their small apartment above the café. It wasn't much, a cozy living area, a tiny kitchen, one bedroom that held both their hearts. But it was theirs.
Y/N tucked Jiyeon into bed, pulling the soft pink blanket up to her chin. She picked up the worn storybook from the nightstand, the one with the dog eared pages and the creased spine and began to read in a soft, gentle voice. By the time she reached the last page, Jiyeon's breathing had slowed. Her eyes fluttered closed, her tiny chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep.
Y/N set the book aside and gently brushed her daughter's hair away from her forehead, fingers lingering on the soft strands and Y/N whispered into the silence, so softly it was almost a secret. "You'll never have to wonder if someone will ever choose you."
She pressed a kiss to Jiyeon's forehead.
Because Y/N knew exactly what that felt like. She had spent years wondering, hoping, waiting, aching for someone to choose her. To stay. To prove that she was worth holding onto.
And she had learned, the hard way, that some people just wouldn't.
But Jiyeon would never know that pain. Not if Y/N could help it. She would grow up knowing she was loved, wanted, chosen every single day.
_________
Jungkook didn't go the next day.
Or the day after that.
But he passed the street three times. Each time, he slowed down near the café. Each time, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Each time, he told himself he would go in. And each time, he kept driving. He said he needed to hear it from her. Needed Y/N to look him in the eye and confirm it herself. Needed to see her face when she told him the truth, whatever that truth was.
But every time he got close, his throat closed up, his chest tightened, and his foot found the gas pedal instead of the brake.
Mingyu finally lost patience.
He found Jungkook leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, staring blankly at the street ahead. Mingyu walked up to him and didn't bother with pleasantries. "You're acting like a coward." Jungkook didn't react. "You think ignoring it will make it disappear?" Mingyu pressed. "She's not going anywhere, Kook. She has a café. She has a life. She has your daughter. She's not a ghost you can just drive past."
Jungkook let out a long, heavy sigh. "You don't understand."
"Oh, I understand perfectly." Mingyu's voice softened, just a little. "You're scared she'll say yes. That it's true. That you have a kid you weren't there for."
He paused.
"And you're even more scared she'll say no."
Jungkook's jaw tightened. His hands, still buried in his pockets, curled into fists.
"That it's not yours. That she moved on. That you really meant nothing."
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
Jungkook swallowed hard because Mingyu was right. That was exactly it. He was terrified of both possibilities. Terrified of the truth, no matter which direction it leaned.
_________
Jungkook finally stepped inside one evening.
He told himself he was just walking past. Just taking an evening stroll to clear his head. His feet just happened to carry him here. It meant nothing.
The moment he pushed the door open, the smell of roasted coffee beans hit him, warm, rich, inviting. He looked around, taking in the space. The soft yellow lighting, the shelves lined with books, the cozy armchairs scattered around. It felt warm. Comfortable.
Like Y/N.
His eyes scanned the room almost involuntarily, searching for something he wasn't sure he was ready to find. And then they stopped.
In the corner of the café, on a small sofa slightly too big for her, sat a little girl. A book was spread open between her legs, her tiny fingers tracing the pages with intense concentration. Her hair fell softly around her face as she mumbled the words to herself, barely audible.
Jungkook didn't move closer. He didn't look away. And then the little girl looked up.
Their eyes met.
Jungkook's breath hitched. His heart started beating so fast, so loud in his ears, that for a moment he thought it had stopped altogether. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare into those eyes, eyes that looked exactly like his own.
He turned toward the door and stormed out.
The cool evening air hit his face as he burst outside, but he didn't stop. He kept walking, then jogging, then running until he was far enough from the café that he could breathe again. He finally stopped, doubling over, one hand pressed against his chest as he tried to steady his heartbeat and his ragged breathing. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He cursed over and over, sinking down to sit on the edge of the street. Passersby gave him strange looks as they walked past, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His mind was a storm. His heart was a wreck.
After a few minutes or maybe an hour, he couldn't tell, he managed to pick himself up and stumbled to the nearest bench. He sat there as the evening turned to night, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Time slipped away from him. Minutes felt like seconds. Hours felt like nothing.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and called Mingyu. Mingyu answered on the first ring.
"I saw her." Jungkook's voice tumbled out, raw and shaky. "She stared at me. She looked at me with her eyes — her eyes that looked — she looked—"
"Jungkook." Mingyu's voice was firm but gentle. "I know. We know. Relax, okay? Where are you? I'll come to you."
Jungkook barely managed an okay. He tried to tell Mingyu where he was, only to realize he didn't really know. He had been walking in a haze, not paying attention to street names or landmarks.
When Mingyu finally found him, Jungkook tried to speak, tried to say more, tried to thank him for coming but his words caught in his throat. His eyes burned. Tears threatened to fall, and he couldn't stop them.
“Let’s go home first,” Mingyu said softly.
Jungkook nodded silently and walked toward the car.
Seeing Jungkook lose himself was rare. Seeing him cry was even rarer. But seeing him completely break down, that was something that had never happened before. Jungkook kept telling himself this was his fault. The consequences of his own actions. The price he had to pay for the choices he made two years ago.
But the aching in his chest never lessened.
It was raw. Brutal. And so, so empty.
Taglist is closed! Im sorry:((
A/N : I just want to say that I am so happy that I have people who appreciate my work. When i posted my first fanfic I mentioned that my works are pre written, I would read the stories I write to my friend and she recommended me to turn them into fanfictions and post them, and yea here am I. I edit my stories to match the characters of my fanfiction and add more details according to the characters I use. I have been writing stories and poems ever since I was a kid and it has always been a dream to share them with other people. I would suddenly get ideas and inspirations when I am listening to songs, or go to a particular place or even when I’m just laying in my bed.I’m still learning and I know I make mistakes a lot and it’s not perfect, but I write my stories with love and passion and I hope you all can respect my work and not call it ai generated. My friend actually found it very funny when I told her someone asked me to delete my work because it’s ‘ai generated’ because i’ve always been that friend who encourages others to stop using ai lol.
If you actually read my work I always try my best to explain and let the readers feel every moment, and I always want them to be able to picture every scene. If you don’t like my work please block me or ignore my posts and not threaten me or tell me to delete it because I put my heart into every sentence and every word.
I appreciate everyone who read my work and I never imagine reaching this far, it’s like a dream come true for me. All your support, your likes, comments and requests got me giggling and kicking my feet in the air. I love you all🤍🫂
My favourite chapter ever. It was originally 7.8k words but i added a few more lines haha.
Tags : @hamsss @bratz-lad @hiilovetata @lobbera @fluffysheepmaster @chaosbunn1 @annpeachy @muniing @hobimangkenobi @jeikeeei @kyljjk @eegyo @blackswan18 @juju-227592 @bangchans-girl @svnk1ssd @daisydasee @bebesnyia7 @lunaryoongie @severelengendseed @goawaysha @euphorichaewon @jakiki94 @bangchris97 @mar-lo-pap @bts123746 @gi1yawnzz @dahliadaenerys @hghjj135 @svitozz @allmyfictionalfantasies @btskzfav @busanbby-jjk @euphoricdeni @bjoriis @bangtans-momma @luvlyyoonki @almostcrystalized101 @agrimanath @bbtsficrecs @carriereadsbooks @super-btstrash-posts @cristinamajadera @naksu111 @bangatanily @ecwipsecoffee @butterymin @roryxcy @turboreader @embercrumb @remcamila @avetehanna @polarbearsnickers
