After London • JK x Y/N
Part Five : "when he falls out of love with you but you find out you're pregnant.": (idol jungkook × y/n)
written by seorkive ⭑ !
warning: arguing, emotional, self hatred, emotional cheating, guilt, trauma, etc; genre: angst
Three weeks can feel like a lifetime when the days are pure silence in your own home. The master bedroom feels entirely too large now, sleeping strictly on your side of the bed, the mattress flattened and cold on his left side, untouched since the night he packed a single duffel bag and walked out into the rain.
Your routine has shrunk into a survival-based lifestyle. You force yourself to eat, take your prenatal vitamins at exactly 9:00 AM, and try to stray away from the framed wedding photo above the hallway table.
The only time your phone lights up with his name is when you initiate it, a strict, unwritten rule you've set for yourself, you only text him factual, cold medical updates. "The bloodwork came back. Iron is low, starting supplements today." or
"Next ultrasound is June 22nd at 10:30 AM. You can come if your schedule allows."
Every time you send a message, three dots appear almost instantly, Jung Kook is always waiting, replying within seconds, sending long, rambling paragraphs filled with worry, asking if you are sleeping, if you need him to send food to the apartment, if the morning sickness is getting worse. You read his desperate words whilst your throat tightens until it hurts before you reply with a single dry sentence, "I am fine."
You know it's killing him. You know he is living in an unfamiliar rental down in Hannam-dong, a place with empty white walls and a view of a city he no longer cares about. But every time you think about softening, the memory of his confession-the thought of another woman comforting him in a dark London studio while you rotted in Seoul-builds a wall of ice around your heart.
Your mother is the only one who keeps you tethered to reality, she sits next to you in the sterile waiting room of the OBGYN clinic, her warm, wrinkled hand firmly covering yours. When the doctor prints out the new sonogram-the baby is now the size of a raspberry, the heartbeat a steady, frantic rhythm that fills the quiet room-your mother smiles through her tears, leaning over to kiss your temple.
But when the doctor asks, with a polite, hesitant tilt of her head, if the father will be joining for the next milestone scan, the air leaves your lungs.
Your mother catches your hand before it starts to tremble, giving the doctor a sharp look. "His schedule is very demanding right now," she lies smoothly.
On the taxi ride back to the apartment, you stare out the window at the gray Seoul skyline, your fingers pressed against your stomach, feeling a profound loneliness. You love this baby with everything you have left, but every milestone feels like a reminder of the family you were supposed to be building with the boy who once promised to hold your hand through every contraction.
By the time you get back to the empty apartment, a heavy summer storm has rolled in over the city, dark rain slamming against the floor-to-ceiling windows. You don't bother to turn on the lights, just sitting on the living room sofa in the dimmed lamp, listening to the thunder rattle the glass, your mind spinning in circles until you are physically exhausted from your own grief.
Then, at 11:42 PM, the digital lock on the front door chimes and your heart leaps into your throat, o freezing on the sofa, your eyes wide in the darkness as the heavy oak door swings open, letting in the cool, damp draft of the storm. A silhouette stands in the entryway, the hall light from the building illuminating the sheets of water dripping from his clothes.
It's Jung kook.
And almost immediately you notice that he doesn't look like the polite, distant roommate from last month. He is a total, unmitigated mess, dark hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks from the rain, his oversized black hoodie completely soaked through and clinging to his broad shoulders.
He isn't wearing his glasses, his face is deathly pale, his eyes sunken and surrounded by dark shadows that tell you he hasn't slept in weeks.
Jung Kook stands there on the threshold, chest heaving, breathing shallow and erratic as if he's just run across the entire city to get to your door.
"Jung kook?" your voice cracks, a mix of terror and an old involuntary instinct to protect him rushing to the surface. "What are you doing here?
What's wrong?"
He doesn't answer right away, he steps into the entryway, his boots leaving wet, muddy tracks on the hardwood floor you just scrubbed yesterday.
He looks around the dim apartment, his eyes wide and unfocused, until they finally lock onto you sitting on the sofa. A choked, broken sound escapes his throat—a sob so raw it sounds like a physical wound opening up.
"I can't do it," he gasps out, stumbling forward, his legs looking heavy and unstable. He drops his keys on the floor, ignoring the sharp clatter as they slide across the wood. He walks straight into the living room, stopping a few feet from the sofa, his hands shaking at his sides.
"Y/N, I can't. I tried. I swear to God I tried to give you your space, I stayed in that apartment, I went to practice, I did what the managers told me to do... but I am dying. I am completely dying without you."
"And what about my punishment?!" you scream back, the built-up agony of the past three weeks finally tearing through your chest. You step right up into his space, your face inches from his damp chest. "You think you're dying? I've been dead for a year, Jung kook! You let me rot in this house!"
"You let me believe I was the problem while you were out texted another woman at 4:00 in the morning!" "You left me alone with a baby growing inside me, and now you think you can just show up on a rainy o night, looking messy, and I'm supposed to just open my arms and fix you?!"
"No!" he weeps, dropping to his knees right in front of you, his hands wrapping frantically around the hem of your shorts, his forehead pressing against your bare thighs, his entire body shaking against your legs.
"No, I don't expect you to fix me. I'm trash, Y/N. I know what I did. I know the emotional cheating... I know it broke you. I hate myself more than you could ever hate me, ! swear it. But please... just let me sleep on the floor. Let me be near you. If I can't hear you breathing at night, I feel like I'm going to stop breathing too."
You look down at his soaked form, your own tears finally overflowing, hot and scalding as they run down your face. Your heart is a battlefield. You want to scream at him, you want to kick him out into the storm for what he did to your sanity, but god help you, you still love him.
You look at the sharp curve of his spine, the desperate grip of his tattooed hands on your clothes, and a part of you wants nothing more than to sink to the floor, pull his wet head against your chest, and let the world disappear. "You don't get to do this," you sob, your voice breaking as you reach down, your fingers gripping his wrists, trying to pry his hands off your shorts.
You are pulling with everything you have, but he is solid, anchored to you by pure, unyielding desperation. "Get off me, Jung kook! Stop using your tears to manipulate me! You broke the trust!
You broke the marriage! A baby doesn't change the fact that you handed your soul to someone else when things got hard!"
"I love you," he chokes out into your clothes, his grip tightening until his knuckles turn white, completely unyielding. "I love you, I love you, I love our baby, please, Y/N, don't throw me away. I will spend the rest of my life begging for your forgiveness. Just give me a chance to show you.
Don't push me out into the dark again."
"Jung kook, let go-" you start, your voice rising in a frantic pitch as you tug at his wrists, your heels sliding on the hardwood floor. But mid-sentence, the words die in your throat.
A sudden, sharp, agonising cramp twists deep inside your abdomen—a hot flush of pain so intense it makes your breath hitch instantly. Your vision black for a second and your knees completely losing strength.
You let out a sharp, choked gasp, your hands flying from his wrists to clutch your lower stomach as your body buckles forward.
Jung kook feels the sudden change in your weight immediately. He snaps his head up, his dark eyes widening in pure terror as he watches your face go entirely bloodshot, your lips parting in a silent scream of agony as you begin to slide toward the floor.
"Y/N?!" he screams, his long arms catching you before you hit the hardwood, pulling your collapsing body into his wet chest. "Y/N, what's wrong? What hurts? Talk to me!"
You can't answer. You can only grip the wet fabric of his jacket, your teeth grinding together as another wave of the terrifying, deep pain slices through your womb, a horrific, cold dread freezing the blood in your veins as you realize exactly what might be happening to your baby.
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