#mcaf2

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé 2

Chapter 11: Unveiling

“How did you get in here?”

I couldn’t discern whether the slight tremble in Yoongi’s voice was due to anger or fear. His expression was stony, and his tone had been hard to gauge. It didn’t really matter, though.

What the fuck had that look in his eyes been just now?

“The door was open,” I began icily, unable to keep the fury out of my voice. “I thought I would come and tell you about what happened at the station, you know? Since my girlfriend is missing?”

The last sentence slipped out before I could stop it. I hadn’t meant to sound so passive-aggressive, but the dark, heavy tendrils in my stomach had grown exponentially since I read the torn out piece from his notebook. Although I tried to fight it, although I tried to resist, I couldn’t stop myself from being swept along by the frighteningly powerful wave of jealousy and greed that I had fought to stifle ever since I recovered my memory.

Ever since I realized how much (Y/N) meant to me.

“Did something happen to Yi-Jae as well?”

I gritted my teeth, my irritation renewed. “You know who I’m talking about, hyung.”

“I thought you said your girlfriend.” Yoongi didn’t bat an eye as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. “Last time I checked, you two were still a couple. Or have you broken up finally?”

“It’s not as easy as you think,” I replied, not bothering with the usual “hyung”.

“No, I guess not. You two screwed up, literally, and she ended up pregnant.”

I opened my mouth to snarl a retort - then shut it just as quickly. If everything went as planned, I would have no problem solving my situation with Yi-Jae. And though that was something I should and would have liked to talk to my hyungs about, I no longer wanted to share that with Yoongi. I didn’t want to share anything with him.

Least of all (Y/N).

“What is this?” I asked instead as I lifted the note in his eye height.

Surprise surfaced in his eyes for a moment before it faded underneath a guise of indifference. “Lyrics,” he said quickly.

Too quickly.

Even though I wasn’t as close to Yoongi as I was Taehyung, who was the hyung I probably got along best with, and he was good at holding a pretty straight face, I knew him well enough by now to read the subtle changes in his expression. And his whole face was practically screaming at me that he was lying.

“I don’t believe you,” I said stiffly.

“What, can’t I write whatever kind of lyrics that I want to?”

I pointed at his screen. “I browsed your tabs. You have like a thousand articles on (Y/N) up right now.”

“So what?” asked Yoongi noncommittally. “Am I not allowed to check up on news surrounding a friend’s sudden disappearance?”

“A ‘friend’?”

A burst of regret and realization filled his eyes, and I knew I had been right to question him. “Since when were you two close enough for you to call her a friend?” I continued. “And is that all that you are? Friends?”

Yoongi’s jaws clenched, and he didn’t respond immediately. My heart was beating faster and faster, as if I were on the treadmill, but instead of feeling enjoyment over all the adrenaline pumping throughout my body, a creeping dread enveloped me slowly from head to toe.

A creeping dread that threatened to consume me when he finally replied.

“We’re friends,” said Yoongi, his tone neutral, his eyes hard. “But I like her more than I would like an ordinary friend. I like her a lot.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Yoongi also seemed a bit in disbelief over what he had said, for he quickly averted his gaze from mine as he went on.

“I don’t know when or how my feelings for her began, but I’m not going to be a childish coward about it. I’ll tell her when she gets back and let her do whatever she wants with that information.”

The words poured out of him without restraint. It was suddenly obvious to me that there had been something between Yoongi and (Y/N). When had it began? Was it that time when we all went to eat together to celebrate the fact that I could perform all our dance routines? Or was it earlier, when we watched that scary movie at (Y/N)’s parents’ apartment? Or was it even earlier, perhaps when I had first gotten amnesia? Had they met in private? How deep was their friendship?

And most importantly - what did (Y/N) think about Yoongi?

Dozens upon dozens of possibilities swirled inside my head, threatening to make it explode due to all the building pressure. I wanted to blurt it out, demand every detail, every possible encounter Yoongi could have had with (Y/N), but I swallowed it all back down. For there was one thing he had said that truly caught my attention.

“What do you mean by ‘childish coward’?” I wondered, doing my best to control my voice. “Are you talking about me?”

Yoongi’s eyes darted back to mine. “Who else?”

“I’m neither of those things. (Y/N) knows exactly how I feel about her.”

“Is that why she lets you hang around with Yi-Jae all the time?”

Although I tried, I couldn’t hide the surprise his question evoked within me. After observing my face, Yoongi shook his head with a snort.

“You’re such a child, Jungkook. (Y/N) doesn’t even know that you’re still with Yi-Jae, right? She doesn’t know about the child, does she?”

I crumpled up the note in my hand before tossing it aside. “What the hell are you trying to do?” I demanded angrily, wanting to change the topic of conversation since Yoongi had breached a subject I wasn’t comfortable talking to anyone with, least of all him. “Are you seriously doing this? Are you seriously going after my girlfriend?”

“I’m not interested in Yi-Jae, so no, thank you.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “Stop bringing her into the conversation,” I groaned in frustration.

“Why should I?” Yoongi checked his phone almost nonchalantly before he glanced back at me. “Nobody in the group or company knows your feelings toward (Y/N). Everyone thinks you’re happy with Yi-Jae and gladly expecting your first kid.”

I clenched my jaws, silencing the response that had threatened to rocket out of me. I wanted to tell Yoongi that a child whatsoever, even less a child with Yi-Jae, had been the last on my to-do list. I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t found out about her pregnancy until a month ago, when Yi-Jae dropped the news on me after one of the happiest days of my life.

The day I had gotten (Y/N) back and truly felt how it feels like holding her hand.

But I couldn’t. Partly because I didn’t want anybody to know just how terrified and horrified I was at the thought of becoming a father. And partly because I didn’t feel like I had the permission to speak about Yi-Jae’s decision to keep the child and the reasoning behind that. I didn’t have the permission to tell her no. Not after what she had told me about her background.

Even if it meant I may hurt (Y/N).

“But you do,” I began instead. “You know how I feel for (Y/N) so how can you be such a… such a dick about it?”

If Yoongi was insulted by my words, he did not show it in the least. He didn’t even blink as he replied. “They’re obviously not strong enough if you can’t tell her the truth.”

Rage flared up within me, and it took all my self-control to not approach Yoongi and grab him. I took a deep breath, then let out an incredulous laughter as I ran my hand through my tresses again.

“I can’t believe we’re having a conversation like this,” I said, more to myself than to him. “I can’t believe someone like you, hyung, is doing this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” said Yoongi, furrowing his brows slightly. “I’m telling you facts. Have you ever stopped to think about what’s going to happen when Yi-Jae has her kid and our companies can’t deny the rumours?”

It kind of hurt my pride to admit it, but I had to agree with Yoongi. I was lucky to not have had my contract immediately terminated that evening when I met with the director and told him about Yi-Jae’s pregnancy. He was actually the only one I had been able to talk to regarding Yi-Jae’s decision to keep the kid.

“And the others might be doing a good job at putting up a facade,” continued Yoongi, a trickle of genuine concern entering his tone, “but I’ve spoken to all of them and we’re all worried. What’s going to happen once fans to both ESStar and us find out all the rumours are real? What’s going to happen to our group?”

I swallowed. Regarding my group members, I hadn’t actually told them face-to-face about the pregnancy. It was something the director had dealt with, and nobody, not even Taehyung, had ever brought it up. There were times in private, when we were chilling at home or practicing, that we had mentioned Yi-Jae’s pregnancy, but it was always in passing and people had been quick to change subject. All in all, however, I had thought things were good between me and the other members. I had actually thought things were going really smooth and my hyungs were all just fine with it.

But things were obviously not as they seemed.

“I’m going to tell the rest about (Y/N),” I said as I started toward the door. I could tell that Yoongi was trying to steer the flow of conversation into a certain direction, but since I didn’t know where that might lead, I didn’t want to let him succeed. There was also a part of me that needed air. I needed to get out and do something, anything, to forget what Yoongi had just told me.

To forget that he had just admitted to liking (Y/N).

“Wait.”

Yoongi grabbed my arm just as I reached for the door handle, and although he was a lot shorter and thinner than me, there was a surprising amount of strength in his grip.

“What?” I snapped as I tore myself away from him, hating every second I had to stand in that room with him. I felt betrayed in more ways than one. I felt betrayed by Yoongi, but also by (Y/N). Yoongi wasn’t the type to fall in love with someone at first glance, and even if he were, (Y/N) wasn’t the kind of girl someone could just mysteriously fall in love with. Of course, she had and would probably always remain beautiful in my eyes, but that was more because of her indomitable personality, not her appearance. For Yoongi to develop enough feelings to say them outloud - and to me, of all people - he must have met her more than once.

And that meant (Y/N) had been keeping their meetings a secret from me, too.

I didn’t want to be angry with her, especially not now when she could be anywhere, and I despised the fact that I couldn’t seem to handle my jealousy regarding her. But my pride was all too wounded, as was my trust. I needed a moment for myself to just sort my thoughts out and get my shit together.

“You never answered my question this morning,” said Yoongi quietly. “When was the last time you heard from (Y/N)?”

I considered not telling him the truth, that I hadn’t in fact missed her calls around noon and that it probably wasn’t me she had last called before Jong-Yeol filed his report early morning. But I just couldn’t. It wasn’t right to (Y/N).

“She called me a bunch sometime after lunch yesterday,” I said slowly. “But I wasn’t able to answer any of her calls, and forgot about them afterwards. I didn’t think much of it, but I realize now that I should have.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened for a second, or so I thought. When I blinked, however, they were hard again.

“What were you doing that was so important that you couldn’t answer her calls?” he wondered.

I hesitated. There was no real reason for me to hide what I had been doing the day before, especially not to my group members or the company, but something held me back. If it was stubbornness and my wounded pride, or just my hurt, I did not know, but I couldn’t bear to tell Yoongi in that moment. I blamed myself enough already that I hadn’t been able to answer - I didn’t need him to do that as well.

But then also, it might be the solution to all my problems.

“I met Kang Shin-Ho.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened. It was clear that hadn’t been the answer he had expected.

“He was the male protagonist of that drama Yi-Jae starred in, right? Weren’t those two also said to have had a fling during filming?”

I nodded, and I couldn’t hide the excitement from my voice as I went on. “He called me up a week ago, when the rumours about Yi-Jae’s pregnancy first started.”

Realization struck Yoongi’s face and his eyes widened further. “Don’t tell me…”

I shrugged, but I felt the corners of my mouth drag into a smile. “Yep. He didn’t know about me and started dating her. He told me the kid was his.”

“But wait, how pregnant is Yi-Jae?”

“About six months.”

“Doesn’t that mean--”

“Yes,” I said, my smile broadening. “That means she was cheating on me with him.”

It was probably the first time in history that someone had been happy to hear that he or she had been cheated on, but I didn’t care. I was overjoyed. Thanks to the meeting I had had with Shin-Ho, who, despite being eight years older than me, actually had been a really nice guy about it all, a majority of my admittedly growing amount of anxiety had started disappearing.

Because I couldn’t imagine ever being a father. I couldn’t imagine ever having children.

I didn’t want to be like my dad.

“What are you smiling about, you idiot?”

For a second, I almost thought it was (Y/N) who had spoken. I could practically hear her voice and see her face just as she said those words. But then, I was brought back to reality and the tiny space within Yoongi’s private recording studio as he continued.

“Just because some other guy also slept with her doesn’t mean it’s his kid,” said Yoongi sharply. “How moronic do you have to be to think like that?”

I frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Did you still have sex with Yi-Jae…” He squinted as he counted the months backward. “...in February?”

“Why do I have to tell you that?” I wondered, hoping he couldn’t see the warmth taking over my features.

“So you did.”

“No,” I said, scowling at the assumption. “We… things weren’t going well between us.”

“I knew it.”

As I regarded Yoongi, I saw that it wasn’t just something he had said to be spiteful. There was nothing in his voice or features that indicated that he was accusing me of anything, or was judging or distrusting me. Fleetingly, I wondered just how much I thought I was hiding from my hyungs - and how much they really saw and heard and knew but just pretended to not have in order to make me glad.

And as I realized that, I regretted the fact that I had lied and said no.

“Can I leave now?” I asked, perhaps unnecessarily harshly.

Yoongi said nothing and simply gestured at the door.

I was out of his studio and the building within seconds, running straight out into another pouring rainfall. For once, I was happy with the dreary summer monsoon, however.

Because nobody, not even I, could see the tears that fell from my eyes.

I didn’t even feel them as I stared up into the thick gray clouds, ignoring the few cars that drove by even though I knew I must look like a maniac standing out in the rain. It was a relief to release the lid I had on my emotions, if only for a few seconds and at the cost of my clothes. A soaked hoodie and jeans were the least of my problems.

“He likes her,” I murmured to myself, having to hear it outloud to believe it. “Yoongi-hyung likes (Y/N) and wants to tell her that.”

Again, I was reminded of my feelings of betrayal and the more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I clutched at my hoodie, and although I had put it back on on my way out, I had to tear it off from me again, hoping that it would remove the tight feeling I had around my throat.

The conversation with Yoongi had made me furious at numerous times, but it had also given me a lot of insight I hadn’t even understood I was missing. I had never thought about what my hyungs’ opinions were about the whole ordeal with Yi-Jae and the pregnancy, and I had never told them about (Y/N)’s role in my life. And as I stood there, allowing the rain to practically swallow me, I realized that I had been naive--no, stupid to think that their silence was due to a lack of curiosity.

It wasn’t. Because who wouldn’t be curious? Who wouldn’t be concerned? I knew I would have. But the truth was that I couldn’t just call myself stupid. Because, as much as it pained me to confess, I hadn’t been too naive or too stupid to just see the truth.

No, I had just ignored it, thinking and hoping for the best. My best.

However, I would be a liar if I said my tears were due to any of this. Sure, I was frustrated with my ignorance regarding my hyungs and sure, the Yoongi’s admission frightened me and made me jealous to end, especially since I also had Jung-Hyun to think about. But neither of those were the reason behind my crying. Not even the nauseating mixture of worry and fear over (Y/N)’s absence was the culprit. It was honestly because Yoongi had told me something I hadn’t even thought of.

And that was the fact that Yi-Jae’s child might still be mine.

My heart started beating faster and faster, tiny black spots appeared before my eyes and what felt like needles were piercing into my skin. Recognizing the symptoms, I tried to inhale and exhale deeply while counting to ten, but when the technique I had carried with me for a decade didn’t work, I started actually panicking. Just before I totally lost grip of myself, however, I took out my phone and, with shaking fingers, found (Y/N)’s contact list name.

Count Godzilla.

After swiping right, I lifted the phone to my ear and closed my eyes.

“Hello, you’ve reached (Y/F/N). Unfortunately, I can’t take your call right now, but…”

My whole body relaxed, and gradually, even my heart calmed down. I knew it was merely a recorded response, and something she had probably done in seconds with nothing special in mind, but hearing her voice, so normal and so… safe, made me immensely happy. And so, despite standing in the rain, soaked to the bones, I did not shiver at all. Actually, after listening to (Y/N)’s voice mail one more time, I was actually filled with determination and belief.

I was going to believe in Shin-Ho. Although I wasn’t that religious, I couldn’t believe there would be a god that wouldn’t see the perfect opportunity here to road up both his destiny and mine. Shin-Ho had seemed overjoyed at the idea of a child, a possibility I saw as the most terrifying thing in the world. And he had admitted to still liking Yi-Jae.

It simply had to be his child. I truly hoped it was, both for him and myself. Everything would be solved then.

Everything would be right and I would tell (Y/N) everything then.

Bzz. Bzz.

[12.00 - RM-hyung]: Omw. You still there?

[12.00 - Me]: Yeah, but I’ve changed my mind. I want to talk to everyone. Do you know where the others are?

[12.05 - RM-hyung]: Seokjin-hyung is at home, I think, and Yoongi-hyung is at the company. Hoseok says Taehyung was gaming last time he saw him, but we don’t know where Jimin is.

[12.04 - Me]: Can you call him and Yoongi and tell them to meet us back at the dorm? It’s really important that I have you all there.

[12.06 - RM-hyung]: Ok. See you when?

[12.08 - Me]: Let’s make it ASAP.

[12.11 - RM-hyung]: Alright, we’ll see you soon.

I was glad that he hadn’t asked me why I couldn’t call Jimin myself or what the important thing was, but then again, that was so very typical Namjoon. He was always very conscious of every group member’s feelings, one of many abilities that I admired about him. If it had been anyone else, save for perhaps Yoongi, I would have been called up immediately.

And I couldn’t talk to anyone as long as I was crying.

When I returned to the dorms, I was dripping wet. The taxi driver had been really unwilling to let me inside his car once he saw the true state of my clothes, but I had managed to get inside before he could come up with an excuse. And it was fortunate that I got home when I did, for I was really starting to feel the chill.

I heard the characteristic clicking sound of a computer keyboard and mouse coming from Taehyung and Namjoon’s room, and Seokjin talking to his sugar gliders, but nobody reacted when I headed to the bathroom and then my room. I didn’t leave my desk where I had been frantically updating every news site in South Korea, constantly hoping for an update on (Y/N)’s disappearance to no avail. It wasn’t until the front door opened and shut four more times and murmurs filled the apartment that I shut the computer and finally ventured outside.

It was a repeat of the morning. My hyungs were all gathered in the kitchen, but now all six of them sat down around the dining table, Yoongi included. I had almost expected him to not show up, having heard practically everything I had to say already, and a stab of concern struck my stomach. To be honest, I hadn’t wanted him to come. Was he going to say something bad? Was he going to argue with me?

Or even worse - was he going to tell everyone just how clueless I had been until then?

Wearing an inscrutable mask, Yoongi sat at the far end of the table while browsing on his phone, not even bothering to look up as I sank down onto the chair directly opposite to him. What small talk and low murmurs there had been before that were instantly snuffed out and I swallowed as six pairs of familiar eyes focused on me.

Taehyung and Jimin’s concern were written on their faces, while Seokjin, Hoseok and Namjoon held serious expressions. I was suddenly overcome with joy that I had them all to rely on, and a lump formed momentarily in my throat.

“How are you holding up?”

I rubbed the nape of my neck as my gaze paused on Namjoon. “Not very well, hyung,” I admitted weakly and grimaced. “The detective I spoke to refused to reveal anything.”

Namjoon nodded once, a sympathetic frown tugging at his features, but he said nothing else. The air was wavering with anticipation, and I could tell that he or Hoseok had told everyone else that there was something important I had to share because nobody else dared speaking. And if the knot in my stomach was any indication, the nervousness I felt was also most likely plastered straight onto my face, obvious to anyone that was looking.

I took a deep breath. And then…

“You all know Kang Shin-Ho, right?”

“Who?” asked Hoseok.

“Hyung, it’s that male actor from ‘Of Smoke and Mirrors’,” said Taehyung as his eyes traveled to Hoseok. “You know that superpopular drama from January this year.”

“He starred in that show together with Yi-Jae,” added Seokjin. “He’s been in like a dozen CFs since.”

“Yeah,” said Jimin with a growing smile. “You always used to try and replicate his soda commercial.”

“Oh, yeah!” said Hoseok and snapped his fingers together. “Him! I know him!”

“Great,” I said with a quick smile. “So, Shin-Ho called me some time ago and asked to meet up.”

Namjoon frowned. “How did he get your number?”

I explained a bit impatiently how Shin-Ho had asked his manager, who in turn had asked one of ours. Frankly, I had expected my hyungs to be quiet as I told them everything about Yi-Jae and Shin-Ho and the pregnancy. The interruptions were not only annoying, but they kept increasing the suspense that still hovered about the table, making it difficult for me to breathe again.

I just wanted it over with.

“Anyway,” I said and cleared my throat, “the reason he called me was that he wanted to meet up. Our schedules didn’t exactly align at the time, so we had to wait until yesterday to finally see each other.”

“What did he want?” wondered Jimin bemusedly.

“Yeah, isn’t he like a decade older than you?” asked Seokjin.

“He…”

I paused and immediately, the atmosphere turned heavier. I was forced to lower my gaze to the table, and gripped my phone hard.

“He said Yi-Jae’s child is his,” I said after what felt like an eternity. “She… she cheated on me back in January, February, so the time matches up with how far she’s gone.”

It was quiet for a long while. I didn’t know why it was so hard to lift my gaze or why there had been genuine sadness in my voice as I spoke. Hadn’t I just been happy over the fact that Yi-Jae’s child wasn’t mine? Hadn’t I just wanted the kid to be Shin-Ho’s?

Hadn’t I been glad to hear that Yi-Jae cheated on me?

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook.”

There were several agreements following Namjoon’s words, and I looked up to find Hoseok and Jimin, who were sitting on each side of me, patting me on one shoulder each. Reading their faces, my hyungs’ - minus Yoongi, who had returned to staring at his phone - emotions ranged from anywhere to disappointed and angry to sympathetic and sorrowful. With a morbid curiosity that I did my best to suppress, I couldn’t help but wonder how their expressions would have been read should they know what I did to (Y/N).

Something I was just about to confess.

“It’s fine,” I said, causing everyone, even Yoongi, to perk up and frown. “Things weren’t going well for us for a while.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Taehyung quickly, his frown deepening.

“It’s not your fault,” said Seokjin as he nodded in agreement.

“No, I don’t mean it like that.”

I cleared my throat for what felt like the hundredth time as my hyungs’ inquisitive gazes all returned to me, ready to finally tell them how i truly felt about (Y/N). However, even as I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Embarrassed, I soaked my lips and tried again, but I just couldn’t speak and I wanted to crush my phone when I identified the dark, heavy feeling in my stomach.

I was too ashamed to voice how much (Y/N) meant to me.

Not because I was shy about liking her or was afraid of their opinion. No, it was nothing as foolish and innocent like that. Having spoken to Yoongi, my own actions had finally caught up to my brain and I couldn’t believe how stupid I had been and still was. Pregnancy aside, I doubted I could coherently explain to them why I had been with Yi-Jae in the first place when my feelings for (Y/N) had always been there. I just didn’t think I could. It had been easy to tell (Y/N), but that was only because it was her.

With her, I was never afraid to let go and be myself.

But with my hyungs, it was a completely different issue. (Y/N) knew all about me - she knew my past, she knew my present and she had known what I had in mind for my future while I was amnesic. As much as I cared for my hyungs and as much as they cared for me, I couldn’t tell them what I’ve experienced growing up. I couldn’t tell them about my family. I couldn’t tell them how frustrating it has always been for me to deal with my emotions, how much they’ve always been in my way and how much I’ve always hated them.

I couldn’t tell them how important (Y/N)’s presence in my life had been. For that would mean that I would have to tell them everything else, too.

About how it felt to be abandoned not only by your parents, but your only brother.

“Jungkook?”

It was Taehyung who said my name so very gently. I pulled myself together and shook my head, doing whatever I could to blink away the burning feeling in my eyes.

“You doing alright?” asked Namjoon.

“Yeah.” I inhaled discreetly and gathered my features in what I hoped was a neutral guise before I raised my gaze. “Yeah, I… I’m just exhausted, hyung.”

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” wondered Jimin carefully from where he sat to my right.

“No,” I lied and shook my head while inwardly cursing myself. “There wasn’t.”

“But I have something to say.”

My eyes widened as I stared at Yoongi, who had been suspiciously quiet ever since I entered the kitchen. Our eyes locked, and I stiffened as I understood what he was just about to say. He was going to reveal my feelings for (Y/N) and force me to explain everything while simultaneously making me look stupid and cowardly for not having told everyone on my own. That, or he was going to tell everyone that I had missed out on what might be (Y/N)’s final calls because I had met up with Shin-Ho.

Either way, I couldn’t let him be first. I couldn't let him make me look even worse than both things would make me sound like.

“I’ll say it instead,” I said hurriedly, my heart climbing rapidly in speed.

Yoongi furrowed his brows, and his eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not.”

I ignored him, but just before I, or really anyone else, could say anything, time seemed to freeze. For just as I took a quick breath in order to speak, in order to tell them about my shame, my long past and (Y/N)’s role in my life, Yoongi said something I never expected.

He said something that made me hate him with every single fibre of my being.

“I think I’ve fallen for (Y/F/N).”

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé 2

Chapter 15: Gunshot

Months passed. Or well, that’s what it felt like. You lost all sense of time as well as the day and night cycle in the blackness. At times, you even lost your ability to sense space. Some days, the room could be small and cramped, like you were stuck in a tiny box at the bottom of the ocean. Yet other days, it felt like you had been locked inside a gigantic warehouse by the docks or a shopping mall with no inner walls or floors.

Of course, you inspected the room the best you could, swiping your hands and feet all over the walls and the floor for some kind of tool or opening to exploit. The tiniest nail, glass splinter, wire; any kind of crack, depression or hole - really anything that might be useful.

But there was nothing.

The frustration made you want to scream, and you probably would have without Jung-Hyun there with you. With him, the coldness was never unbearable and his stiff, somber voice soothed your restless mind. It wasn’t as if though you two were conversing; no, you rarely exchanged more than a few words every so often. But Jung-Hyun kept quietly counting to himself at regular intervals. It took you a while to figure out what he was doing, and when you did, you couldn’t hide your surprise.

“Jung-Hyun?”

It could have been days after the two of you had last seen sunlight, or even weeks. You were tired, as you so often were in that dark, cold room, and leaned against the side of his body, which, at least to you, seemed to grow hotter with each unknown hour that passed. Though that might just be because you were getting a cold. Your throat had started to become scratchy, and you had caught yourself before you could sneeze more than once.

The answer didn’t come until after he had finished counting. “Yes?”

“Are you maybe counting the thuds from upstairs?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Some of them are footsteps.”

“And?”

“I want to know how many there are.”

“Why would you want to know that?”

He didn’t respond. You felt a chill crawl down your back and curled up into a ball. Your stomach growled, but that wasn’t the biggest concern you had at that moment. You needed to go to the bathroom.

Over the course of your stay, a woman you presumed to be Yoo-Jin, the “boss’ girlfriend” and apparently the person who chose the building you and Jung-Hyun had been brought to, visited regularly. You only knew she was a woman thanks to her physique, since she, too, wore a balaclava to disguise her facial features. And though she never spoke to you, you were always grateful to see her.

It was only thanks to Yoo-Jin’s visits that the two of you received food, albeit nothing but a few spoonfuls of rice and half a bottle of water that you needed to share, and the chance to relieve yourselves. She also helped you cling to a semblance of an awake and sleep rhythm, since she came two times over a stretch of time before being gone for what felt like a much longer duration.

Occasionally, you thought you caught a flash of regret in Yoo-Jin’s light brown eyes whenever your gazes accidentally met. Her body motions and unavoidable mannerisms also quite obviously belonged to a timid person. You didn’t think she was fully on board with the criminal activity conducted by her supposed boyfriend - or girlfriend - and his - or her - underlings.

But she didn’t stop them either.  

Yoo-Jin’s visits might have been a good chance for you and Jung-Hyun to escape. However, the woman was always accompanied by at least three armed men. Their eyes never strayed far away from Jung-Hyun, who barely moved whenever they showed up.

That was another concerning element. It was only during Yoo-Jin’s brief stays that you were able to gauge Jung-Hyun’s physical state for more than a few seconds, and each time, your heart sank.

Bruises and scrapes aside, Jung-Hyun looked as if though he had been tied up and beaten like a dog. And you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what happened to him. Because whenever the door opened and Yoo-Jin wasn’t there, you knew that Jung-Hyun would be dragged out of the room. The first times a handful of men had barged in to get Jung-Hyun, you tried to fight them, but all that earned you was a slap hard enough to send you whirling to the ground. Jung-Hyun had said nothing, but there had been a silent pleading in his brown eyes for you to stay still.

And so, you obeyed. You did not cry; you did not scream. Even if it felt like an eternity passed before he returned. Even if he sometimes returned drenched. Even if he always returned with fresh bruises.

Even if you were absolutely terrified at the prospect of being left alone in the dark.

“Do you think Yoo-Jin will be here soon?” you asked.

“Yes. I can hear her footsteps.”

You frowned, and even though you could not see, you found yourself staring skyward. “How can you make out hers from everyone else’s? How do you even know which thuds are footsteps and which are just random sounds?”

“I guess, mostly. But hers are easy to identify - she’s the only one who doesn’t walk like they teach you to do in the military.”

You swallowed. At the mention of the military, you couldn’t help but be reminded of Jong-Yeol, who still couldn’t get rid of his old habits while being in service. And that hurt.

Because as soon as you thought about Jong-Yeol, your thoughts inadvertently always veered further. Toward your mother, who probably was busy hiring a whole army of detectives, if not even mercenaries, to find you. Toward your father, who most likely had buried himself in work to forget about his worries at least temporarily - and whose weak health gnawed constantly on your mind. Toward Se-Eun, who you hoped would be able to concentrate on her life even with the heavy cloud of concern that surely hung over her regarding your disappearance.

Toward Jungkook, whose career you prayed your disappearance wasn’t disturbing.

Even though you still could not remember the last time you and he had met, you knew that there was something you needed to tell him. Or was it the other way around? Your head felt like it would burst whenever you started thinking about the strange pain in your heart that surfaced whenever Jungkook’s name appeared in your mind.

And so, once more, you pushed all your thoughts of the outside world aside and focused on the present.

“Oh,” you uttered weakly. “That’s a good point. But how many do you think they are?”

“Anywhere from nine to fifteen.”

“Oh. Is that a lot?”

“Yes.”

The conversation fizzled out just like that. You didn’t know what it was, but Jung-Hyun’s silent disposition seemed to grow more and more dominant the longer you remained in that room. He didn’t stay close to you either, not unless you asked him first. And when he did wrap his arm around you, it felt reluctant, but not in the way reluctance might normally feel like. It didn’t feel like he was avoiding you on purpose.

Rather, that he avoided you because he needed to.

Sometimes, when the cold wasn’t so horrible, you fell asleep alone. If you had to be honest, you didn’t really want to since Jung-Hyun was so irresistibly warm and just… large. It was stupid, but when you fell asleep next to him, it felt like you were protected.

Like things weren’t so bad, after all.

Anyway, one day, or night - or really, anything - you woke to the sound of him huffing and panting strenuously. Your first thought was to ask him what was going on, but you refrained in the last second. While pretending that you were still asleep, you kept your breathing calm and somewhat noisy, and continued to listen. Soon, there were quiet clapping strewn in between the heavy breaths.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Jung-Hyun? What are you doing?”

It went deathly quiet. You almost thought you were stuck in a dream - or rather, a nightmare - when Jung-Hyun’s stiff, somber and slightly out of breath voice broke the silence.

“I’m exercising.”

Your eyes widened. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

“I need to keep my body strong if I want to get out of here.”

“But you’re hurt!” You scrambled in the direction of his voice and bumped into his back. “You need to rest,” you said and grabbed his shoulders. They were hot to your touch.

“When I get out of here, I will. Until then, I cannot afford to.”

“You’re acting crazy,” you said, your heart squirming with fear at the thought of Jung-Hyun having lost his mind.

“Maybe. But my thoughts are still mine.”

“You’re hurt,” you said again. “What have they been doing to you?”

No reply.

“Jung-Hyun,” you said firmly, no longer patient enough for a future explanation. “Answer me.”

“They want to know the secrets of my late boss.”

“And?”

“...I don’t understand.”

“What have you told them?”

“Nothing.”

“Is that all they want from you?” you wondered, your concern morphing into anger, a much more easily manageable emotion.

“It seems that way.”

“Then just tell them!”

“I can’t. I don’t know who their boss is but it’s clear he or she isn’t loyal to the Hwan Song Sung Pa.”

Your grip around Jung-Hyun’s shoulders tightened. “You’re not a part of this scene anymore,” you told him. “Why not just tell them what they want to know and get out of here?”

“Do you think they’ll just let me go after that?”

A flicker of irritation had entered Jung-Hyun’s stiff, somber and usually emotionless voice for once. You pursed your lips and loosened your hold of his shoulders. “I guess not,” you said dejectedly.

There was a long pause. You were just about to withdraw to the corner you had been sleeping in when a hand came to rest on top of yours.

“Thank you.”

His gesture and words startled you. “For what?”

“For worrying about me,” said Jung-Hyun in a calm tone. “But you really shouldn’t. Think about yourself first, (Y/N).”

“It sounds like you’re going to leave me.”

“I’m not. But you’ll leave this place before me.”

“We’ve already discussed this,” you said with a frown. “We’re walking out together.”

“That’s not possible.”

You backed away from him with a sigh, too frustrated to be near him, even less touch him. But your rising levels of frustration weren’t caused solely because of him.

Because you, too, knew, deep down, that the chances for Jung-Hyun to leave that basement as a free man were slim to none.

More time passed. Again, it was impossible to say whether days or months or just a few hours had passed. You and Jung-Hyun exchanged even fewer words than ever before, but your roles had reversed after the last argument. It was you who shied away from physical contact and communication, and it wasn’t until Jung-Hyun offered his warmth that you even considered touching him. Your stubbornness would come to bite you in the backside, however, for within a handful of visits from Yoo-Jin, you started coughing.

Strangely, this elicited a new development in Yoo-Jin’s visits. Both your and Jung-Hyun’s bowls were filled with more rice, and she even came with what looked like leftover soup. There weren’t many ingredients remaining within it, but it was still hot enough to burn your tongue and therefore more than you would have ever dared to ask for. One time, Yoo-Jin even brought you a thick, knitted cardigan you could wear.

“Thank you for everything.”

You were inside the bathroom combined washroom that was situated next to the stairs leading up to the ground level. Yoo-Jin was inside as well, probably to keep an eye on you, but she stood with her back toward you as you finished your business.

Now, you weren’t going to lie, you had imagined sneaking up behind her and knocking her out numerous times. But you knew that would benefit neither you nor Jung-Hyun. The men were still waiting on the other side of the door and the window was barred from the outside. Also, to be honest, you didn’t want to harm her. Sure, she hadn’t done anything to help you, but you doubted she had much choice in the matter, considering her relationship with the men’s boss.

“What?”

Yoo-Jin’s voice was sharp, but not even nearly as piercing as your mother’s, and you shrugged it off easily.

“For the food and the cardigan,” you replied as you washed your hands in the dilapidating sink. The fact that clean water somehow could run through the rusted faucet shocked you every time you touched the sluggish handles.

“Can’t have you getting pneumonia or something serious like that. Not with all the money you have on your head.”

“Ah,” you said, hesitating before you spoke again. “How… how much time has passed since I was brought here?”

Yoo-Jin turned around. “Are you done?” she asked harshly instead of responding.

“Yes,” you replied immediately.

“Then get moving.”

You scratched your arm and continued to do that even after you had been locked inside the dark room again. It had been dark outside as well, you had seen that through the frosted window. But you still had no idea where you might be. Or well, judging by the occasional car rumbling past over the seemingly countless of times you had been to the nearly disintegrating bathroom, you had to be somewhat near civilization. And the orange light you had seen belonged to a street lamp most likely.

Jung-Hyun had said that the men - and Yoo-Jin - were the Hwan Song Sung Pa’s Seoul subunit. But Seoul was huge. You knew its inner parts very well, and could probably find your way home so long as you could see the Han River. But without any point of interest in sight, you would have no way of knowing where to go once you and Jung-Hyun escaped.

Because, yes. You were still fixed on the idea of getting out of that room together with him. Partly because you just straight up refused the notion of leaving him there, all alone and with nobody to lean on. And partly because you found it eerie that you hadn’t been bought out by your parents already. If you now were a hostage, why hadn’t you been extracted? What was taking your parents so long? Money, your only way of escaping, couldn’t be the issue.

Right?

Even more time elapsed. Your restlessness fueled your frustration over your and Jung-Hyun’s predicament, until it reached a point where pure hopelessness clutched your senses. You were colder than ever and started feeling more apathetic despite the increasing portion sizes of your daily food intake. Perhaps Yoo-Jin noticed, because you suddenly found pieces of grilled meat and kimchi hidden underneath your rice. Although you were thankful and your body truly relished the taste of something other than the same dry rice and hot but runny soup, her efforts did nothing to stop the growing hole inside your chest.

Jung-Hyun also seemed to have noticed the shift in your attitude. He talked more, which would have made you glad ordinarily, but this wasn’t your normal world. This was a nightmare with no ending or beginning, a constant circle of the same things coming and going.

Were you going to be stuck down there forever?

Click .

You had barely registered the sound of the door unlocking before two sets of hands pulled you off the floor. Your eyelids flew open, and you found yourself propped up on your feet by a masked man on one side of you each. The silhouette of a third man towered above you in the doorway.

“Now, now, no need to stand up.”

The man in the doorway’s words had been aimed to your right, where Jung-Hyun was slowly getting to his feet. Your heart threatened to break as you took in his appearance. He was more bruised than ever, with scrapes covering practically every inch of skin that wasn’t hidden underneath his now dirty, bloody t-shirt and sweatpants, and he pressed a hand against the side of his stomach where you remembered that he had been cut. He couldn’t even stand straight and had to lean with his whole body against the bare wall.

“Her ransom has been paid,” said the man. “I’m only here to escort her to the exchange point.”

Immediately, Jung-Hyun deflated. Relief smoothed the tight expression he until then had been wearing, and he slowly sat down again. You, on the other hand, wasn’t so glad.

“I’m not going without him,” you said. Although you had hoped to sound demanding, your voice was weak and even broke toward the end of the sentence.

“Don’t be difficult, little heiress. We’re taking you to freedom.”

This caused the man on your left to snicker, and you tensed. “No. Either Jung-Hyun’s coming with me, or I’m staying.”

“Don’t listen to her.”

You stared at Jung-Hyun in disbelief. He wouldn’t look at you, however, and kept his eyes firmly planted onto the man in the door opening. “Just take her with you, Jun-Ho.”

The man in the door opening, or Jun-Ho, glared back. “Don’t say my name, you dog. Boss isn’t here to stop me from giving you exactly what you deserve, so you better fucking show some respect, traitor.”

Traitor? You sent Jung-Hyun an inquisitive glance, which he ignored.

“What’s wrong with me saying your name, Jun-Ho?” he asked in the most playfully taunting tone you had ever heard from him. It wasn’t much, but it was such a stark difference to his usual voice level that your jaw fell open.

“Get her out of here,” said Jun-Ho without breaking eye contact with Jung-Hyun.

“Really?” asked the man left to you.

The one to the right of you also spoke. “But I thought you were desperate to--”

“Shut the fuck up and go. I’ll join you and the others soon.” Jun-Ho dropped some familiar-looking fabric and plastic ropes in the hallway and cracked his knuckles as he stepped into the room. “I just need to show this dog his place.”

“Are you sure we should leave?”

“Look at him!” exclaimed Jun-Ho as he gestured in Jung-Hyun’s direction. “This piece of dog shit can’t even stand up straight!”

“But still, he’s--”

“I know who he is,” said Jun-Ho sharply and produced a pair of matching brass knuckles from the back of his jeans. “But not even the Black Dog can bite after all the beating he’s been fed. Can you even feel your face, Jung-Hyun?”

“Jung-Hyun!” you called out, desperately digging your naked heels into the concrete floor as you tried to tear yourself out of the men’s grip. “I’m not leaving without you!”

“Just go.”

His voice was gentle, almost painfully so. You nearly wrung every muscle in your neck in your attempt to look back at him as the two men forcefully pulled you into the hallway, but caught nothing but a reassuring nod from Jung-Hyun before a blindfold covered your vision. You punched and kicked and struggled, causing both of the men to swear profusely, but managed in the end nothing. You were bound, gagged and carried away and upward with tears soaking through the thick strip of fabric wound around your head.

“(Y/N) bit someone - mind telling me who it was?”

That was the last you heard of Jung-Hyun before a door closed behind you, and his familiar voice - and presence - was no longer.

Your fighting spirit withered. What could you do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except for sending a prayer to the universe that Jung-Hyun would be alright. That he wouldn’t die or have to suffer before you would come back to him.

Because once you got out, you were going to invest every won Phoenix Inc. had in order to find and save him.

The loud, cheerful sounds from the TV were so alien to you, you suddenly fell in a daze. Because it felt like you were hallucinating. Perhaps you really had lost your mind in the blackness and were nothing but dreaming at the moment. Perhaps the sharp smell of cigarette smoke and the heavy sweetness of soju and beer and something else was just a figment of your imagination.

Perhaps the feeling of being carried up another set of stairs was just your delusional mind playing a trick on you.

Wake up, you told yourself. Wake up, you crazy woman. Wake up!

But you didn’t. No matter how hard you tried, the whole world remained dark. No matter how hard you tried to envision yourself back in the pitch black room that had been your prison for who knows how long, you couldn’t regain consciousness.

That’s when the horrific realization dawned upon you - you weren’t dreaming. You were in reality.

And the two men weren’t taking you outside.

With a terror you could have never imagined even in your worst nightmares, you wriggled and struggled against the men, who were holding you like you were a heavy package. The man holding you by your legs dropped you as you managed to get in a nice kick with both of your feet and all the strength you managed to muster. You yelled into the gag as your heels collided against the hard edge of a step on the staircase, but the pain was still overshadowed by your fear. It felt like there was a tiny crawling creature growing rapidly inside your stomach, like those monsters from the Alien movies, and it was doing its best to eat its way out of your chest. You would have actually almost preferred that, because at least the fear would have escaped your body and would no longer be your problem.

But now, it simply stayed in your system, suffocating you, consuming you up from the inside.

“Fuck! Stay still, you bitch!”

A punch in your stomach nearly made you throw up. Your throat stung as the taste of bile filled your mouth, and you knew you would have puked if you had more food in your stomach.

“Mmm!”

Despite your breathlessness, you managed to muster a scream as a pair of hands returned to your legs. You screamed again, until it felt like your lungs would collapse, yet you still couldn’t even drown out the sounds coming from the TV below.

Or the growing sounds of people - men - conversing.

“We’ve brought her!”

You groaned as you were thrown onto what felt like a rugged carpet. Your cheek and knees burned against the scratchy material, and the smell of something sour penetrated your nostrils. Although you tried your best to situate yourself upright, you couldn’t do more than just lay there on your stomach. An unnatural silence fell around you and even the TV sounded like it was several miles away.

Because you knew you were far from alone.

Your heart slammed harder against the inner side of your ribcage than ever, and you could hear your blood rushing through your ears as the silence continued. You felt several pairs of eyes on you, and the sensation made your skin crawl with unease.

Please, just be a dream.

But it still wasn’t.

You felt like a prey that had wandered straight into a group of predators. An immobilized, defenseless prey in a den of hungry, greedy predators with no sense of human morals and ethics. You couldn’t even see. You couldn’t even talk.

You could only hear and feel their hands.

Of course, you tried everything. You tried to roll out of range even though it felt like your shoulders were going to dislocate. You tried to get the gag out of your mouth in order to bite whoever and whatever came near. You tried to kick and squirm and pose as much of a threat as you could.

However, all that your struggles rewarded you with was a continued series of laughter. Raw, cold laughter that couldn’t possibly belong to another human.

“Should we take off the gag?”

“Gag stays,” said a second voice. “The fuck are you looking at me like that for? Didn’t Gyoung-Su show you his wound? He nearly lost his finger! You want her to bite off your dick?”

A third voice laughed. “I don’t think Dae-Chul would mind. He always has the craziest girlfriends.”

More laughter. Too many for you to actually place.

“Untie her and hold her down, for fuck’s sake. I can’t get it up when she’s rolling around like a crazy bitch.”

You stopped breathing. You recognized that grouchy voice. It was the man who had carried you down to the basement in the first place.

“Oh? She went still.”

“I think she recognizes your voice, Gyoung-Su! Isn’t that cute?”

There was more laughter, but you barely registered it. A cigarette-heavy breath rolled off your cheek, causing every hair on your body to stand on edge, and a pair of lips brushed against your ear.

“We’ve got a score to settle, you heavy bitch. Or well, I guess I shouldn’t call you that since you don’t look so heavy anymore. I think I actually like how you look now.”

You felt the fabric grow wet against your eyes again, even more so than earlier, and your body started shaking uncontrollably in terror. You couldn’t even flinch away from him as you felt a hand ghost down your back and squeeze your backside.

“Aw, fuck, Gyoung-Su! How can you be that close to her? She stinks all the way from here.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I could fuck her even if I got paid.”

“Don’t be pussies,” said the grouchy-voiced man whose name you now knew was Gyoung-Su. “I know you’re afraid of what the boss will say, but if we all keep out mouths shut about it, he won’t know. And to ensure that you pussies keep your word, you need to stick your dick in her. Now untie her!”

“But isn’t she still a hostage?” It was the younger man’s voice, the guy who had untied you and taken away the blindfold and gag when you first were brought to the basement. “And what about Yoo-Jin?”

“Boss’ bitch is sleeping with earphones on as usual. She won’t hear anything.”

“Haven’t you watched the news lately, kid? Her company is on the border of ruins! Her family will never be able to pay the ransom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Phoenix Inc. in ruins? How could that have happened? Was it because you had been kidnapped? But no, your parents could have just stepped in again, even if it risked your father’s health. It couldn’t be something like that.

“Yeah, and even if they will, it won’t be soon. We’d all have to work our fucking asses off for the rest of our lives to pay that stupid amount.”

“Doesn’t that make you mad, though? This rich bitch probably spent that amount every week. Enough money for a whole family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Don’t you think she should pay for her greed?”

“Well,” said the younger man’s voice. “I guess you can put it that way…”

“That’s more like it. Now shut your mouth unless you want your hyungs to do it for you.”

You didn’t know how many pairs of hands struggled with your plastic ropes, but you were determined, despite your crippling fear, to not just give in. You couldn’t lose this battle without a proper fight. In fact, if you just managed to kick or punch someone, you would allow yourself the win.

You would allow yourself to forget what was surely going to happen to you.

You weren’t able to do either of those things, however. For just before the ropes came loose, which was the moment you had waited to pounce, a cold, metal piece pressed against your left shoulder blade.

“I know what you’re thinking, bitch,” said Gyoung-Su. “But you’re not going to do anything unless you want a bullet through your spine. Or--” the cold sensation moved upward, toward your head, and stopped on your bottom. “--here. Understood?”

You nodded so frantically the tip of your nose scratched against the mat, completely choked up with fear to even utter a yelp.

“Good. Now, who wants--”

Gyoung-Su wasn’t able to finish his sentence. Because as soon as the pressure from the pistol disappeared, you counted to two and punched in the direction of his voice, which had still been close to your ear. Even though your strike had been in an awkward, backswing angle, you still felt something relatively soft bend underneath your knuckles. Something warm sprayed across your knuckles, and although you had begun scrambling to your knees in order to further hit Gyoung-Su in a blind but desperate rage, a pair of hands managed to catch fistfuls of your hair. Another pair grabbed your wildly swinging arms and held them over your head.

You yelled into the fabric inside your mouth as you were dragged away from a howling Gyoung-Su, but it was more out of disappointment than pain. You wanted to hurt him so much more. Until the point he couldn’t even open his mouth anymore. Until you could get rid of the disgusting feeling coating every cell that he had touched.

“Fuck, is she really a conglomerate heiress? She’s fucking insane!”

“Yeah, I’m not touching her.”

A tiny ray of hope illuminated your fear-clouded heart. This was good. If they thought you were too disgusting and crazy to touch, then you would be safe. You would probably still not be able to get out of there since you were still blind. But at least they would take you down to the basement, back to Jung-Hyun, where you could together plan an escape. You were going to survive this.

However, even that tiny ray was extinguished as a third voice spoke.

“Are you kidding? These are the fun ones!”

To your horror, someone started forcing up your skirt while the two men who had grabbed your hands and hair respectively grabbed you with renewed strength. You attempted to worm out of their clutches, but they weren’t underestimating your strength anymore and held you so hard you lost feeling in your scalp and hands. Tears gathered anew in the corners of your eye as a sickly sweet soju breath washed over your nose, and it was only barely you managed to dodge away from the mouth that accompanied that breath. The man didn’t seem to mind, however. He started licking your cheek, his stubble scratching your skin like microscopic razor blades, while he forced his body between your legs. Your muffled screams turned into pitiful sobs as the sound of an unbuckling belt reached your ears, and the already bottomless dread inside your chest tripled as he merely snickered in response.

“This is going to hurt, little heiress. But don’t hold back - I like hearing your voice.”

You wished you could have just passed out due to all the panic accumulating within you. You wished there was some kind of mental technique that you could use to just turn off all your senses. You wished you could die on command, and as the man’s fingers reached the waistband of your underwear, you screamed at your heart to stop beating.

And suddenly, you felt nothing.

For a moment, you really thought you had died. You had heard stories about ancient warriors and devoted servants who were able to kill themselves using nothing but mental strength, but you had thought those were nothing but legends. Had you perhaps been stupid for thinking that?

No. Reality soon settled when you realized the faint pounding sound in the back of your head was the rhythm of your heart. However, nobody was holding you down and you were able to squeeze your legs together again. There was another distant sound, a wet, repeating sound that crystallized the more you focused on it. Still, you couldn’t fully put your finger on what it was.

Not until you reached up for your blindfold and untied it.

The room you found yourself in was in utter chaos. Rotting furniture, dirty clothes, soju bottles, beer cans, empty takeaway boxes lay scattered everywhere. Moonlight poured in through the barred windows, drenching everything in a pallid light, and the sour smell of old sweat and spilled alcohol, mixed with something darker, something heavier, something metallic made you wrinkle your nose. And it wasn’t difficult to understand why.

For spread throughout the room, just like the rotting furniture, dirty clothes, soju bottles, beer cans and empty takeaway boxes, were the bodies of fourteen men.

Their balaclavas had all been torn off. Some wore guises of shock, others of fear while one or two looked like they had expected to die. Among the lattermost was the owner of the younger male’s voice, whose eyes you recognized. Nobody moved.

All except for one.

You didn’t know who it was. If it was Gyoung-Su, or the man who had pulled up your skirt. It did not matter, though.

Because nobody, not even the two of them, deserved the ruthless, methodical beating Jung-Hyun inflicted on them.

“Jung-Hyun?”

Even though the tape had made a loud tearing sound in the deathly silent that dominated the whole house, which you realized it was, he didn’t react. It wasn’t until you spoke his name that he froze, mid-punch.

“Jung-Hyun?” you whispered again.

“I saved him for last. The man who was on top of you.”

You shivered, but not because you were cold. Because although you understood mentally that it was Jung-Hyun who had replied, it didn’t feel like him. It felt like another person, a stranger, had replaced him. It felt as if though he was possessed.

“Okay,” you said as you shakily pulled down your skirt and got to your feet. “But don’t you think you’ve done enough? He’s barely breathing.”

“Yes. I wanted to drag this out for as long as I could.”

“Please,” you pleaded and took a tentative step toward him. “It’s enough, Jung-Hyun. Please stop.”

“I will. But not yet.”

And with that, he slammed the man’s head into the edge of a table. First once, then twice. Then again when a piece of the table broke. Then again when that piece broke. Then against the floor.

Jung-Hyun kept going until there no longer was a head you could distinguish.

When his grip of the man’s neck finally loosened, it almost felt reluctant. His face was shadowed by his own silhouette, but you saw that he kept looking at the bloody and beaten body. Like he was waiting for it to just rise again. Or perhaps secretly wishing it would.

Just so that he could break him again.

However, when Jung-Hyun finally turned to face you, there were tears in his eyes. Tears of relief, sadness, shock - perhaps all of them combined.

He reached out for you with a blood-soaked hand. “(Y/N)--”

The next word never reached your ears. Because in that instant, your whole world was torn asunder by a sound so loud your hearing went missing temporarily.  

A gunshot.

And as Jung-Hyun crumbled to the ground, his face locked in pain, he revealed the shooter standing behind him.

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé 2

Chapter 1: Consequences

“Come on! Harder!”

Drops of sweat trickled down from your forehead and temples and, well, everywhere else on your body. You made a mental note to buy a sports headband for next time as you quickly wiped the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your forearm before you repeatedly performed two quick jabs and a hook, just like you had for the last two minutes.

“Put your weight into it!” Your trainer, Lee Song-Hun, didn’t yield a centimetre from where he held up the punch mitts, something you had managed to make him do earlier that hour. “And stay light on your feet! There’s still a minute left!”

Without responding, you struck the punch mitts with as much force as you could muster. Song-Hun was grinning when he concluded training for the day, but a look of concern quickly overtook his relatively good-looking features when you remained quiet.

“You seem unfocused,” he said as he removed the punch mitts. “Something on your mind?”

You took off your boxing gloves and hand wraps, wiped as much of your sweat as you could with the small towel you had brought and emptied your water bottle before even thinking of an answer. This was the best thing about boxing, or exercise in general. You didn’t have to think about anything but your physical performance, which in turn was hard enough to distract you. But Song-Hun was right, your mind was a bit scattered.

How could it not be?

“It’s nothing,” you replied, a lie so obvious even your trainer, who you had met a total of five times, seemed unconvinced.

“Alright,” he said gingerly before he smiled. “You’ve improved drastically since your first time, (Y/N). I can’t believe you’ve got no boxing experience from the past. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling both self-conscious and proud.

Song-Hun appeared like he wanted to say something more on the topic about your absent-mindedness, but then led you to the stretching area of the gym where you two went through different patterns of stretching. You were sore all the way to your bones, but that only made the shower afterward so much more divine. Yet despite the relief that filled your body, your mind was anything but at ease as you finished dressing and stepped out into the humid August heat that enveloped Seoul like a blanket.

A black BMW was parked by the curb on the other side of the road. You approached the car when Jong-Yeol exited on the driver’s side, helping you with your heavy duffel bag. After murmuring a thanks, you entered the car. The inside was cool and you briefly regretted wearing nothing but shorts and a blouse.

“Straight home?” asked Jong-Yeol when he settled behind the steering wheel. Dressed as always in a suit, his dark eyes were worried as they found yours through the rearview mirror.

You briefly wondered just how obvious your anxiousness was, and hastily wound your hands together in an attempt to not scratch up your arm. “Yes.”

The car purred to life as Jong-Yeol steered it out of the pocket and onto the road.  “You can do it,” he said.

“I know,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I know I can. It’s just…”

“He’ll be there with you, won’t he? In fact, aren’t both of them going to be there?”

“They are,” you said with a nod. “But…”

“But?”

You swallowed. You hadn’t told Jong-Yeol the truth: that Jung-Hyun didn’t know about you and Jungkook reconciling. On several occasions, you had tried calling Jung-Hyun in an attempt to meet up with him, but ever since you had rushed to his hotel room almost a month ago after you and Jungkook had reunited, you had been unable to actually talk to him. Truth is, you were too scared. But not because you were afraid of breaking up the engagement or tell Jung-Hyun about your feelings toward Jungkook.

It was because the scene you had been met with that day had frightened you to your very core.

“Nothing.” You leaned your elbow onto the inside of the car door and gazed out at the passing cityscape. Your heart was beating faster at the recollection, but you tried your best to ignore it. “It’s nothing.”

“As you say.”

It took about twenty-five minutes to reach the hotel that your parents had bought their penthouse apartment from. There were plenty of workout facilities there, like a pool and two floors of gym equipment, but you preferred boxing over regular exercise, a class you had began after Se-Eun had finally coaxed you into the idea three weeks ago. According to her, you needed to find a way to let out steam that didn’t involve breaking pens or being tempted to punch people or things with your bare fists. Of course, you had protested in the beginning, saying you had nowhere near a violent disposition, but when you thought back on the year and everything you had gone through, you realized you really needed some kind of stress reliever. Something that didn’t involve words and something that really would let you release your pent-up emotions. And although you had only gone a handful of times, your arm was already looking better, since you didn’t scratch it nearly as often as you usually did.

But today was the day you were supposed to tell Jungkook’s parents about your and Jung-Hyun’s broken engagement - and that you were going back to being Jungkook’s fiancé.

It was happening over family dinner at your parents’ apartment in celebration of Jungkook’s father and your father both succeeding with the goal of their numerous, lengthy business trips to Japan during spring. Your father had managed to draw up contracts with almost all of the businesses he had wanted to cooperate with for Phoenix Inc.’s upcoming expansion, and Jungkook’s father had managed to find investors for the company he was starting up. You didn’t know much about the latter, but you knew your father had worked himself tirelessly throughout the spring months - he had even gotten a heart attack. His health was much better now thanks to your mother, but you were still deeply worried. He ate and exercised well, but you of all people knew just how exhausting stress could be.

While resurrecting Jungkook’s memories after his amnesia incident, you had been on the border of having several heart attacks yourself. And not entirely because of the stress.

For it wasn’t until you found out that Jungkook had cheated on you with Park Yi-Jae, one of South Korea’s hottest female artists, that you came to understand more about your feelings toward Jungkook. It had been difficult to deal with, partly because you didn’t really know what your rapidly beating heart meant, but mostly because it had been so wrong. You were no longer haunted by the short exchange you had seen between Jungkook and Yi-Jae when you first stumbled upon them, but you had been at the time. You had been a hundred percent certain that they loved each other before the accident, and that you were intruding upon territory you had no intention of ever even looking at. So you had denied your heart, and even though Jungkook seemed to display mutual attraction, you had denied him, too. You had even lied to him and hinted that the engagement ring you had thrown at him when you broke up was something he had intended for Yi-Jae.

The situation had turned even more complicated when you found out that you needed to marry either Jungkook or Jung-Hyun in order to inherit Phoenix Inc., your late grandfather’s heritage and the family jewel. This caused Jung-Hyun to be pulled into all the mess that was your life at the time. His appearance was clearly not to Jungkook’s liking even during the amnesia when he had clung to everything of resemblance in an attempt to regain his memories, and the dynamics of their relationship was still an enigma you had yet to either solve or resolve.

You pursed your lips. Since you and Jungkook ultimately had gotten back together after an impulsive decision made by you but caused by his hyung and a fellow member of his group, Min Yoongi, things should be fine, shouldn’t they? The plan was simple from here: you would end your engagement with Jung-Hyun while Jungkook would cut his ties with Yi-Jae officially, and after that, the two of you could marry and live happily ever after, Jungkook with his dream as a singer, you with your position as CEO of one of the largest companies in Asia, if not the whole world. It shouldn’t be a long walk to that point since you no longer had to juggle lies and deceptions with Jungkook due to his amnesia, and he no longer had to try and remember who he was. Every conflict was resolved.

But that was definitely not the case. And it was all because of you.

You didn’t think you could end things with Jung-Hyun. Not just yet, not after what you had witnessed in his hotel room.

“We’re here.”

You hadn’t even noticed Jong-Yeol parking in front of the hotel entrance until his voice roused you out of your reverie. Judging by the expression he wore, you guessed that he must have waited for quite some time without you responding.

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat before you responded. “Thank you. I don’t think we’ll need you anymore today, so you can go home if you’d like to.”

“Very well,” he said, reluctance clear in his voice.

You smiled in an attempt to disperse his concern and stepped out of the car. After grabbing your duffel bag, you told Jong-Yeol goodbye and headed to the elevator. Nervosity made the ride to the top floor feel almost twice as long as usual, and you were slightly lightheaded as you unlocked the front door to your parents’ apartment.

Old eighties or nineties Korean rock music blasted from the kitchen, and you weren’t surprised to find your father standing by the stove while humming and dancing along to the tune. Your mother sat on one of the bar stools next to the kitchen isle with her thin legs crossed over each other, and even though she wore noise-cancelling headphones, a gadget she only pulled out when your father was cooking, you saw that her usually piercing gaze was soft with fondness as she occasionally glanced up from her tablet to look at your father.

“Dad!” You raised your voice when he didn’t seem to hear you. “Dad, I’m home!”

Your father whirled around, eyes round, which caused your mother to react as well. Picking up his phone from one of the apron pockets, your father lowered the volume until you could hear yourself think again and gave you a warm smile. “Hi, sweetie,” he said in that low, humming voice of his.

Your mother took off her headphones, and sighed when the motion made a few of the hairs on her perfectly straightened bob slide out of place. “Why are you so late?” she asked, her sharp voice cutting through the air like a blade. “The dinner is in less than forty-five minutes.”

“That’s plenty of time to get ready,” you replied.

“Not for you it’s not. Oh, and also,” added your mother before you could retort. “Jung-Hyun just notified me that he won’t be able to come.”

“What?” you exclaimed, even though you were secretly relieved by the news. If Jung-Hyun wasn’t going to be there for dinner, then perhaps you could postpone telling his and Jungkook’s parents about the change in your relationship. Perhaps you could postpone saying anything about you and Jungkook to anyone but your parents, Jong-Yeol and Se-Eun, who you had told almost directly after you had gone to see Jung-Hyun at his hotel room.

“Since he’s the youngest director out of all of Phoenix Inc.’s branches,” began your father in a consolatory tone, “he has to work a lot more to prove himself than the others.”

“He’ll be a lot more busy later this year,” said your mother. “I have plans of getting him to follow us on our next business trip to Beijing.”

Your father smiled at you. “I’m so glad he’s staying with our company even after you broke up the engagement. He’s a real asset for sure. I can see him climb and become your right hand within a very short time.”

“That’s good,” you said as you tried to hide the shame you felt. For even though you hadn’t technically lied to your parents, you hadn’t told them the truth. They thought you had told Jung-Hyun about you and Jungkook already, just like you had said you would when you called your mother the day you had decided to throw everything but your emotions away.

But you hadn’t and so, they didn’t know. Nobody did.

“I guess I won’t be telling his parents about the change of engagement plans then,” you continued, relief flowing throughout your veins. You could feel your shoulders visibly relax. “I can’t say something like that alone.”

“You won’t be.” Your mother smirked. “You have a visitor. They’re in your room.”

Furrowing your brows, you left the kitchen and headed to your bedroom as fast as your weary limbs allowed you to. Your heart was beating faster for a reason beyond your jogging, and though you tried to will it calm, your body wouldn’t obey. Anticipation bubbled in your stomach, and you readied yourself for a heavy dose of disappointment as you reached the closed door.

But as you opened it, nothing but joy filled your heart.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that completely covered the western wall of your room, giving you a panoramic view of the city, was the one and only Jeon Jungkook. Your once fiancé, then ex-fiancé to whatever it was that the two of you were now. The boy you had grown up with and someone you used to despise. Or at least, that’s what you had thought until you found out he was cheating on you and he got into an accident as a result. Over the course of the exhausting spring months where you had done your best to help him get his memories back, you had realized just how much he meant to you - you loved him. And you thought he loved you too.

But neither one of you had said it.

Jungkook was regarding the city with his arms crossed over his chest, and didn’t turn around even after you stepped inside and shut the door behind you. He was kind of dressed up in black jeans that sat snugly around his waist - thanks to a belt - and thighs - thanks to, well, just him - and a white shirt with the sleeves sloppily rolled up to his elbows. His clothes didn’t exactly match with the fluffy pink slippers your mother most likely had made him wear when he entered the apartment, since your mother was obsessed with slippers. The sight made you grin as you dropped your duffel bag unceremoniously on the floor.

The sound made Jungkook spin around. His large, familiar brown eyes were initially widened in surprise, but a different emotion quickly replaced it as his focus traveled from the bag to you.

It was the same kind of tenderness you had seen your mother show your father in the kitchen a moment ago.

“I didn’t think you would be here,” you said as you averted your gaze quickly. “Don’t you have dance practice? Have you waited for long?”

You didn’t know if you should be uncomfortable or just happy that Jungkook looked at you the way he just did. It was just so strange seeing him like that.

He was just so… vulnerable.

“I came half an hour ago,” replied Jungkook. “And I do have practice, but how could I miss this? I can’t let you and Jung-Hyun-hyung explain everything without me. That would be cowardly.”

“About that…” You sank down onto your bed, too tired to stand any longer. “Jung-Hyun won’t be able to make it. He has work to do.”

“Can’t your parents give him one free evening? Doesn’t he technically work for them?”

He sounded accusatory, and when you looked at him, you found that you were right. Jungkook’s eyebrows were knitted together with annoyance, and none of his earlier tenderness remained.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” you replied a bit sharper than you had intended. “And it’s not like my parents can do whatever they want to with specific employees. It would be favoritism.”

Jungkook’s features softened, and he went to sit next to you. The mattress shifted underneath his weight, and the smell of soap, warmth and something uniquely Jungkook filled the air around you. The sudden proximity made your face redden and you dropped your gaze to the floor, but you didn’t move away.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to snap at you or your parents. I’m just… I’m just so excited.”

You furrowed your brows slightly as you returned your attention toward him. “About what?”

Jungkook gave you a small smile as he hastily shifted his focus elsewhere, a slight blush warming his complexion. “That we’re finally going to tell my parents about us,” he said simply.

Your blush deepened. “Oh. Oh.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Jungkook reached for your hand. You allowed him to grip it, feeling your heart skip a few beats at the sensation of his warm fingers. It was ridiculous how easy Jungkook could affect your heart, especially with something as innocuous as holding hands. It was something children did with their first crush, and something friends no matter the sex or age could do, yet why was things so different with Jungkook?

How could someone make you so happy with so little?

“You have told Jung-Hyun about us and ended your guys’ engagement, right?”

“Right, of course!” The words stumbled out of your mouth before you could think twice, and you inwardly slapped yourself in the face. This had been your last opportunity to tell Jungkook and your parents the truth: that Jung-Hyun didn’t know. And even though you knew just how reckless and stupid you were being, you couldn’t muster up the will to tell anyone.

All because of what you had beheld in Jung-Hyun’s hotel room almost a month ago.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “Good.”

“What about you?” you wondered. “Have you told Yi-Jae’s and your management about us?”

“I have.”

You furrowed your brows slightly. “How come I haven’t heard of it? A breakup like yours has to be on the first page everywhere.”

“It hasn’t been made official yet,” said Jungkook casually. “But pretty much everyone in the industry knows.”

“Oh, alright.”

“By the way, I didn’t take you for a gossip magazine reader.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m not. I just haven’t heard anything from Se-Eun about it. And for your interest, I don’t just read about today’s stocks and business plans all day.”

It was weird, but you thought you saw a glimpse of relief in Jungkook’s familiar brown eyes before it was replaced with amusement. “You don’t? And here I was, thinking that you’re going to be a good CEO one day.”

You smacked Jungkook on the shoulder with your free hand, which elicited a pained smile from him. “You’re so going to regret that,” he said, something akin to mischievousness lighting inside his familiar brown eyes.

Before you could even blink, Jungkook released your hand so that he could tickle your sides with all of his fingers. You let out a choked laughter and hastily tried to wriggle away from him, but he didn’t relent. In your desperation to get away, you felt yourself gradually glide off of the silk duvet cover. Fortunately, Jungkook caught you in the last second and lifted you back onto the center of the bed, where he, too, sat down.

You fell back against the mattress as you gasped for air. “What was that?” you asked as you wiped tears away from the corners of your eye. “I expected some kind of taekwondo move - not some cheap tickling!”

“Aren’t you haughty, saying tickles are cheap.” Jungkook smirked as he held up his hands. “I bet I could earn a lot by tickling people with these fingers.”

“Now who’s the one being haughty?” you parried. “But seriously, you’ve never tickled me before. Why do it, all of a sudden?”

A wistful look entered his eyes and his smirk faded. “Because you looked like you needed to laugh.”

Your cheeks flushed and you averted your gaze. “Ah,” you said intelligently.

Jungkook cleared his throat, dispersing the suddenly awkward atmosphere. He rubbed the part of his shoulder that you had struck earlier and grimaced. “You’re hitting a lot harder now after you’ve started boxing classes.”

You sent him a taunting smile. “Thanks. Song-Hun said today that I’m a natural.”

Jungkook arched a brow. “Your trainer is a guy?”

You mimicked his expression. “What’s wrong with that?”

“How old is he? What does he look like?”

“He’s twenty-six. And I don’t think anyone can deny that he’s really good-looking.”

“Is he single?”

“If I didn’t know better,” you began with a growing smile, “I would say that you’re jealous. Am I right?”

Jungkook climbed over you and leaned closer until his face and torso hovered mere inches above you. “If I didn’t know better,” he repeated quietly, “I would say that you’re trying to provoke me. Am I right?”

“Of course not,” you lied, your heart beating so hard inside your ribcage that you could hear it.

He smiled crookedly. “Liar.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips, and you felt your face grow hotter underneath his scrutiny. The warmth emanating from his body, even through his clothes, was so palpable you almost had to double-check and see that he really was wearing something. Your fingers itched to touch the angle of his jaw and nose and, well, everything else on him. It felt like you were being physically pulled toward his lips and body and hands and you wanted to touch him and let him touch you. The desire to do more than just kiss him was almost impossible to resist, which was particularly odd since the two of you hadn’t really had your first kiss yet.

He was even more difficult to resist when one of his hands traveled from your cheek to the exposed skin on your shoulder, to your waist and then finally stopped on your right bare leg. Your parents’ apartment was kept at a comfortable temperature thanks to all the AC installed into each of the rooms, yet you suddenly felt way too hot inside your summery clothes where you lay beneath Jungkook.

Way too hot.

But no matter how badly you wanted Jungkook, you couldn’t have him. Not just yet. Not while Jung-Hyun didn’t know.

Because that would make you no better than a cheater.

Before Jungkook - or you - could do something you would regret, you blocked your mouth from his using your hand. He furrowed his brows, but the bemusement in his familiar brown eyes was quickly replaced by remorse when he read the look in your eyes. Without a word, he quickly backed away and shuffled to the end of the bed.

“I went too fast,” he said in a neutral tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Jungkook--” you started.

“I understand,” he interrupted. “It’s weird. We’re--us, it’s weird. And I get that it can be difficult to kiss me after all that’s happened between us. After what I did to you.”

You pursed your lips. The topic of Jungkook and Yi-Jae’s relationship was something both of you subconsciously - or perhaps not so subconsciously - avoided. It was clear that Jungkook was your first whatever-it-is-that-he-was, and he knew that you had never really kissed or been with another guy like that. On the other hand, you knew that Jungkook had first met Yi-Jae two years ago, which meant their relationship had to be somewhat… advanced. And although you would never ask and you doubted Jungkook would ever tell, you wanted to know what he had done with her.

Was it some kind of self-destructive urge? Morbid curiosity? You did not know. All you did know was that you couldn’t ignore the dark, simmering jealousy swirling inside your stomach, just waiting for an opportunity to flood out.

“It’s not like that,” you said - a half-lie - as you slid over to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms tightly around his torso and rested your head on his back. “It’s just…”

He turned his head sideways, just enough for you to see his profile. “It’s just what?” he asked as he gently placed his hands over yours.

“I…”

You wanted to say that you hadn’t told Jung-Hyun yet about you and Jungkook and that’s why you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to really touch Jungkook, even less kiss him. But then you would have to explain why you hadn’t confronted Jung-Hyun about it.

And that was just something you couldn’t do.

“I… I have something important to tell you.”

You raised a brow softly, surprised by the amount of earnestness in his tone. “Yeah?”

Jungkook’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath, then shrunk as he let it out. Your one arched brow turned into a frown, and just as you were about to further prod him about the subject at hand, your door opened. Your face turned scorching hot when your mother barged in through the doorway and looked at you and Jungkook as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see the two of you somewhat wrapped up together.

“Have you still not changed clothes?” she said coolly as her sharp gaze found yours. “Jungkook’s parents will be here in twenty minutes.”

“Mom!”

You disentangled yourself so quickly from Jungkook that you practically fell out of the bed. Jungkook chuckled at your flustered action, but instantly stopped and pretended to look elsewhere when you glared at him.

Your mother’s features softened as she turned her attention to him. “Jungkook, sweetheart, mind helping me set up the table? I would ask (Y/N), but as you’ve surely noticed, she’s not dressed very appropriately.”

“Of course I’ll help,” said Jungkook and stood up.

“Good, then follow me.”

A hint of redness coloured his cheeks as he followed your mother out of your room. As soon as the door shut behind them, you kicked the side of your bed out of embarrassment. Before you could start to dwell on what had just happened, however, you decided to change clothes. After finding a suitable dress and a cardigan, you rummaged through your jewelry collection for some sort of accessory to make your outfit a bit more dressy.

However, that’s when you found the engagement ring Jung-Hyun had bought you.

“Shoot,” you mumbled as you put it on. “What the heck am I doing?”

Despite the fact that you voiced the question, you knew the answer. Because as little as you wanted to wear the ring Jung-Hyun had bought you, partly because it was a gift and partly because it was the token of your engagement, you had to. You couldn’t let his and Jungkook’s parents become suspicious. You couldn’t let them know what you knew. You had to remain as Jung-Hyun’s fiancée until you had found out what exactly it was that you had witnessed that afternoon in the hotel room.

Because you doubted he would tell you anything if you broke up with him and went to his brother.

You wandered out of your room by 18.22. Jungkook’s parents were supposed to arrive at half past, which technically meant you had about ten minutes left, but your mother still gave you a dagger-like stare as you entered the dining hall.

“About time you got proper,” she told you, a teasing glimmer entering her eyes. “With the way you were holding onto him, I thought you were mimicking monkeys.”

She was sitting alone at the head of the table with a glass of red wine in her one hand and her phone in the other. The rock music had stopped, and you heard your father finishing up in the kitchen.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you asked, ignoring her comment, though it didn’t completely unfaze you. Your face felt hot again as you sank down onto one of the ten chairs that surrounded the long dining table in dark wood and metal and glass.

“In the bathroom,” she replied and sipped her wine. “You haven’t had sex with him yet, have you?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed. “Why would you even ask that?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re my only child and a daughter at that. As a mother, it’s my duty to protect you.”

“Yet you still make bets with dad about me,” you muttered underneath your breath as you cooled your face by fanning yourself with a napkin.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Nothing, mom.”

Your mother opened her mouth to speak, clearly sensing your dishonesty, but was cut off by the door bell.

“They’re here!” called your father from the kitchen.

You and your mother stood and went to the hallway, where your father already waited, apron still wrapped firmly around his waist. Jungkook was also there, but although an undoubtedly large amount of excitement glinted inside his familiar brown eyes, he also appeared anxious. His skin was a bit paler than it was before, and the crooked smile he sent you didn’t quite reach up to his eyes. You fleetingly wondered if it had something to do with earlier. What would he had said if your mother hadn’t interrupted you?

“Hello!”

The entryway was filled with loud greetings as your father opened the front door to let Jungkook’s parents in. You waited for your parents to greet and hug them first, and noticed Jungkook doing the same. Glancing up at him, you tried to sense if he was uncomfortable at the sight of his father, but Jungkook’s eyes had turned unreadable, which made you even more concerned.

One of your biggest, shameful secrets in life was that you hadn’t told anyone about Jungkook’s continuous, physical and probably emotional and psychological abuse as a child. You hadn’t admitted that you knew all about it to Jungkook until he had been amnesic, and he jokingly brought up something about Death. But ever since then, you hadn’t really touched on the topic, and Jungkook hadn’t told you more about it. You didn’t really know how he felt toward his parents aside from what he outwardly portrayed, which wasn’t very telling.

In all honesty, you wanted to confront both of Jungkook’s parents about it right that moment. But you knew you couldn’t. Not unless Jungkook wanted you to. Not unless he was ready.

For in the end, this was his war. You could only support him.

His mother, sweet and meek-looking and significantly shorter than anyone else there, pulled you in for a hug as soon as she saw you. “I swear,” she began, her kind, vibrant voice practically gushing out the rest, “you’re getting prettier each time I see you, (Y/N).”

You smiled in embarrassment as you tried to get out of her hug as quickly, but discreetly as you could. “Thank you, mother,” you said.

Her eyes, which were strikingly similar to Jungkook’s, beamed at you before she hesitantly embraced Jungkook, seemingly startled by his presence. He returned the hug, but there was still a blankness to his eyes that worried you.

A blankness that morphed into barely repressed anger when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“How have you been, (Y/N)?”

While Jungkook looked like his mother, there was an obvious resemblance between Jung-Hyun and his father. Neither one of their children had their father’s eyes, but while Jungkook’s rather soft features were clearly derived from his mother, Jung-Hyun’s contradictory hard features came from their father. His eyes were darker than both of his sons, and although he had a kind smile, you didn’t really trust him.  

“Just fine, thank you,” you said as you quickly turned around and bowed.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Jungkook’s father as he looked past you and at Jungkook. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your comeback?”

He said it lightheartedly, but Jungkook’s father had a naturally gruff voice. You saw Jungkook stiffen in the corner of your eye, and gave him a consolatory look. Again, you felt the urge to blurt something, but you managed to bite it back in the last second.

It had always been a bit tense between Jungkook and his father. Even your parents had probably sensed it over the years. Of course, it was something none of you ever commented on since their family business was exactly that, their family business. And you knew your father looked up to Jungkook’s father - even more so now after your father had told you about his depression and suicidal past.

“I’m free today,” said Jungkook nonchalantly.

“If you are, you should use your spare time to practice more.”

“Now, now,” said your father before Jungkook could respond. He slung an arm over Jungkook’s father and patted him on the back. “Let’s not talk about work.”

“Where’s Jung-Hyun, by the way?” wondered Jungkook’s mother, after first looking nervously at her husband and son’s tense interaction.

“He couldn’t make it,” said your mother. “Work came up.”

“Ah, he works so hard, my son.” Jungkook’s mother sniffed the air, then smiled at your father. “It smells lovely.”

“It’s a recipe I got from a business partner's Italian wife,” said your father, arm still slung around Jungkook’s father. “I’ve never really made pasta myself, but it turned out well.”

“You’d better be right,” said Jungkook’s father with a snort. “I didn’t eat lunch today so that I could eat well here.”

“I hope it tastes horribly, then.”

Jungkook’s father chuckled. “You’re such a bad friend.”

“We’re friends?”

Jungkook’s father shoved your father away from him, and took off his shoes before stepping onto the wooden flooring past the black linoleum covering the entryway floor. You spotted Jungkook backing away, probably unconsciously, even though there was tons of space in the hallway. You balled your hands into fists, but still kept your mouth firmly shut.

“Slippers,” warned your mother as she helped Jungkook’s mother with her outerwear, her sharp gaze critical.

Your father waved her words away, something he only dared to do when Jungkook’s father was around. “It’s not necessary. Darling, why don’t you prepare something for everyone to drink? For the children, too.”

You saw that your mother swallowed an explanation as to why slippers were good indoors - an explanation you had heard countless of times - and merely smiled. “I will. But first…”

Your stomach dropped to the floor when she aimed her focus on you.

“Don’t you have something to tell Jungkook’s parents, (Y/N)?”

You froze. Jungkook’s parents both gazed at you with varying levels of curiosity, while your parents seemed expectant. Your heart started beating faster, and you hid your hands, or to be more specific, the hand with the ring.

“What is it?” asked Jungkook’s mother gently.

You felt a supportive hand on your back, and glanced over your shoulder to find Jungkook by your side. He gave you that crooked smile of his, and the warmth of his palm bled into your back, through the fabric of the cardigan.

“I’m hungry, (Y/N),” said Jungkook’s father with an easy smile. “Don’t be shy. Just say it.”

Your mother frowned at you when you did not speak. “It’s about her and Jungkook’s engagement,” she began. “It’s been canc--”

“It’s been postponed,” you blurted, silencing your mother a following look. “We’re having the wedding later this year instead.”

“Oh, well.” Jungkook’s mother caressed your cheek with her hand. “That’s not something that you needed to be nervous to tell us about. You’re still so young - of course you’ll want some more time before getting married.”

“Yeah, right.” You swallowed. “Of course.”

Before either one of your parents could say something, you ushered them and Jungkook’s parents toward the kitchen. You felt both of your parents’ eyes on you, but fortunately, they didn’t say anything as they began pouring up some wine and something easy to eat with it. You joined the conversation and helped carry the food over to the dining room, overly eager in your attempt to steer the topic as far away from you and Jung-Hyun’s engagement and wedding as possible. Jungkook’s parents didn’t seem to notice anything, and your parents let it slide, but one pair of eyes never strayed away from you - or the ring on your finger.

And those were Jungkook’s familiar, brown eyes.

Jungkook’s parents had been there for about two hours when your father began rising from the table to prepare some more bread and salad. You offered to do it instead, much to your father’s relief, but you instantly regretted saying anything when Jungkook rose, too.

“I’ll help you,” he said.

You started to voice a protest when you saw the look in Jungkook’s eyes. Even if you managed to avoid him for now, you wouldn’t be able to in the long run. Thus, with nothing but a small sigh, you headed to the kitchen without a word. Jungkook trailed behind.

Neither of you said anything for a while. You assigned Jungkook to slice up the bread while you washed and prepared the vegetables. Nothing but the sound of your cutting filled the air - but that didn’t mean the atmosphere wasn’t heavy. The little sounds that the two of you made and the faint sounds of your parents’ voices made the silence in the kitchen so much more overbearing.

“Why are you wearing the engagement ring he bought you, (Y/N)?”

The coolness in Jungkook’s voice made your heart clench. You slowly released your hold of the knife and turned around. He had been cutting by the kitchen island while you had occupied the counter next to the sink.

“I honestly can’t explain,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to marry Jung-Hyun-oppa, and I’m not going to. But… but I can’t end our engagement just yet.”

Jungkook didn’t even glance at you. “Why not?” he wondered as he placed the sliced bread pieces in the basket he had brought from the dining hall.

“I can’t say,” you admitted. “And I know it’s unfair of me to demand this, but I need you to trust me, Jungkook.”

He regarded you for a long while, his familiar brown eyes unreadable. But then he reached out for you, and grasped your left hand in both of his. You swallowed as he touched the surface of the ring, especially when his eyes turned hard, almost detached, as he scrutinized the tiny diamonds.

“I hate seeing you with this,” he murmured. “I hate seeing you with my brother. But I trust you.”

You intertwined your fingers with his. “Thank you,” you said softly.

“So, I can assume that you haven’t told him about us?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t.”

“Well then.” He scratched the back of his head. “That explains why you won’t really let me touch you.”

You blushed, but as his words reminded you of what had happened in your bedroom, you also remembered that there had been something he wanted to tell you.

“Earlier, in my room…”

Jungkook’s smile widened. “Yeah?”

A part of you wanted to wipe the obvious satisfaction in his face with a punch, but you held it back. “You said you wanted to tell me something,” you told him. “Something important.”

Jungkook’s expression fell. “Oh.”

“We have time now.”

Jungkook averted his gaze and his jaw tensed. You frowned as you saw his reaction, and when he remained quiet, your bemusement turned into genuine concern. But just when you were about to speak, there was a loud noise of furniture tumbling coming from the dining hall. Jungkook’s eyes were wide as they darted to you, but before either of you could do anything, your mother ran into the kitchen, eyes wild. As soon as she spoke, your blood turned into ice inside your body and you forgot all thoughts about Jungkook, Jung-Hyun, and well, anyone.

For what she said was more important and terrifying than any and all of that.

“Call an ambulance, (Y/N). I think your father just had another heart attack.”