Chapter 14
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Jimin’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step like a drumbeat pounding through the silence.

His breathing was shallow, irregular, a sign of the chaos inside his mind. The revelation about Jungkook and his mother had hit him harder than he’d ever imagined.

It was like someone had shoved a jagged shard of glass into his chest, and now it was lodged there, twisting with every thought.

Painfully.

Heart fucking wrenching.

The weight of it refused to lift, even as he stumbled into his room, slamming the door shut behind him, as if the thin barrier between him and the rest of the world could stop it all.

He leaned against the door, staring blankly at the floor, as though he could find answers there.

His hands shook, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. He clenched them into fists, the skin over his knuckles turning white, but it didn’t help.

His heart still felt like it was cracking open, one painful fracture at a time.

"This is my life now," he thought bitterly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "My mom dating the one person that ruined my life. The one person I…

The thought caught in his throat, and he cut it off before it could take root.

He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not ever again. "Fuck him" he muttered under his breath, trying to erase the lingering taste of betrayal, trying to claw his way out of the suffocating anger that was wrapping around him like a noose.

"Fuck them all."

Another laugh bubbled up, but it was hollow, bitter. His whole body felt cold, like the room had suddenly turned into a frozen, desolate place.

His thoughts were like shards of broken glass, each one more jagged and painful than the last.

He wanted to scream, to tear something apart, to release the raw, jagged frustration that had built up inside him for so long.

But he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there, frozen in the suffocating silence of his room, feeling like the walls were closing in.

“It's going to be find” Jimin whispered to himself, shaking his head as if he could shake off the thoughts that were poisoning him.

The words echoed in the emptiness, bouncing off the walls of his mind. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done. He was broken, and there was no fixing.

Soon a knock broke the quiet. It came soft, hesitant, like someone afraid of being rejected.

His first instinct was to ignore it, to retreat further into the corner of his world where no one could hurt him.

But then he heard his father’s voice, gruff and laden with something Jimin couldn’t quite identify, something that twisted in his gut.

“Jimin. We need to talk.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. Not after everything that had happened.

The last thing he needed was his father, the man who had been absent when Jimin had needed him most. But he opened the door anyway, just a crack, enough to see his father standing there in the hallway, his posture slumped as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders.

The man who had never been there for him when he needed him, the man who had been too wrapped up in his own mess to notice how much his family was falling apart.

Jimin’s heart squeezed at the sight, the anger bubbling up again, this time sharper.

“What is it?” Jimin asked, his voice sharp, colder than he intended. The anger was creeping up his throat, making his skin prickle with heat.

His pulse was a pounding drumbeat in his ears, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

Mr. Park hesitated, eyes darting around as if he was looking for the right words, unsure of how to face his son. “Can I come in?”

Jimin stood there, unmoving, staring at his father. His face was a mixture of exhaustion and shame, but Jimin didn’t have the patience to process it.

“No,” Jimin replied, his voice flat, the word hanging in the air like a final verdict.

He didn’t want this conversation. Not now. Not with him.

A sigh escaped Mr. Park’s lips, deep and heavy with resignation. “Fine. I just… I know about your mother and that guy. Jungkook.”

Jimin froze, his grip tightening on the doorknob. His breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe. The words hit him like a slap to the face, like ice water dumped straight into his chest.

He’d hoped his father hadn’t known, had somehow remained in the dark, in the blissful ignorance that had protected him for so long.

But of course, he had known. Of course, he hadn’t cared enough to stop it.

His own son, heartbroken, drowning in pain—and still, Mr. Park couldn’t be bothered to step in.

“And you didn’t stop her?” Jimin’s voice cracked as he pushed the words out, each syllable laced with venom.

His throat felt tight, his heart a jagged mess of anger and disbelief.

“It’s not that simple,” his father said, voice thick with guilt. “Your mother’s been… struggling. We both have. But I never thought she’d go this far.”

“Spare me,” Jimin spat, his body trembling with the heat of his fury. “You’re just as guilty as she is. You let her feel invisible. You let this family fall apart. And now I’m supposed to what? Feel sorry for you? For her? Never”

Mr. Park’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed anger.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his words breaking off like brittle glass.

“No,” Jimin shot back, his chest heaving with the weight of his fury. “You don’t understand. You’re both selfish. And now I’m cleaning up your mess. Again.”

With that, Jimin slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the house, rattling the frame.

He turned, his breath ragged as he sank against the wall, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him.

His mind raced, spinning in a chaotic blur of emotion. This family is a fucking joke. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. His chest was tight, suffocating him.

He sank lower, closing his eyes and letting the silence wash over him, but it didn’t bring relief. It only deepened the ache inside.

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Across town, Jungkook was a different kind of mess. His penthouse was dimly lit, smoke curling from the cigarette dangling from his lips as he paced back and forth, each step heavy with the weight of regret.

His room was littered with empty alcohol bottles, the smell of stale liquor heavy in the air.

If anyone had been there with him, they would’ve seen how badly he was falling apart.

So fucking badly.

His usually composed facade had cracked, his thoughts spiraling into chaos.

His hands trembled as he reached for another bottle, the last in a long line of empties scattered across the floor.

He was so close—so damn close to pushing everything out of his mind, to finding some way to numb the suffocating pain that had become his constant companion.

He was so fucking close—so close to the man he had been infatuated with for so long. Jimin.

He could almost taste it—the relief, the quiet he so desperately needed, the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could break free of this endless cycle of pain.

Jimin had been the one person who had made him feel like something was worth fighting for.

But now… now it was all slipping through his fingers.

That bitch Haejin had to show up, ruin it all. He could feel his chest tighten just thinking about her, about the mess she’d dragged him into.

She had been the one person he thought he could count on staying down, but now all she did was tear him apart even further.

How the hell was he supposed to recover when she was still lingering in his life, poisoning everything with her lies and manipulation?

He slammed the bottle onto the floor, cursing under his breath. He didn’t want to care.

He didn’t want to let her win. But every part of him was shattered, and he couldn’t escape the fact that she had ruined his last shot at finding some peace.

The buzz of his phone on the table felt like an assault, but he ignored it at first.

He wasn’t in the mood for anyone, let alone Mrs. Park. But after the third buzz, his patience wore thin, and he finally snatched the phone up, eyes narrowing as he saw her name flashing on the screen.

Haejin.

He pressed the button to accept the call, and her voice came through immediately, breaking the silence between them, fragile and strained.

“Jungkook,” she pleaded, her tone laced with desperation. “I didn’t mean for things to go this way. I just… I can’t lose you.”

His grip tightened around the phone, the edges digging into his palm as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, watching the ember burn out with cold detachment.

“You already did,” he said, his voice low and bitter. A sudden harshness colored his words, something darker that he hadn’t realized was there until it spilled out.

“And don’t bother trying to fix it. We’re done.”

“No, we’re not,” she argued, her voice shifting from desperation to something fiercer, something he didn’t want to face. “You said you cared about me. You said—”

“I said a lot of things, Haejin,” he interrupted, his voice colder than the air around him.

The truth cut through him, making him sick. “But let’s be real. This was never going to work. You’re a walking disaster, and I’m not in the mood to babysit.”

Her silence was deafening, thick with unsaid words. The next words were barely a whisper, barely hanging in the air. “You’re cruel.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook replied, flicking the cigarette into the ashtray, his eyes narrowing.

“But at least I’m honest.”

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Back at Jimin’s house, the tension was suffocating. Kyara sat cross-legged on Jimin’s bed, her eyes never leaving him as he paced the room, his anger boiling over with each step.

His emotions were raw, dangerous, and she could see him unraveling bit by bit.

He was a tornado, spinning out of control, and she was the only one left watching.

“You need to get out of here,” she said softly, her voice calm but firm. The words seemed to break the tense silence, hitting him like a truth he didn’t want to face.

Jimin stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her. “What?”

“You’re suffocating in this house,”
Kyara continued, her gaze intense. “In this mess. Your mom, your dad, Jungkook—they’re dragging you down, Jimin. You need to leave before you drown with them.”

“And go where?” Jimin’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. He felt small, vulnerable.

The weight of the world was crushing him. “I have nothing. No one.”

Kyara’s expression softened, but there was a hard edge to it, something resolute.

“You have me,” she said, her eyes searching his, pleading him to understand. “But even I can’t stay here anymore.”

Jimin froze, his heart sinking in his chest. “What are you saying?”

Kyara took a deep breath, her voice cracking as she admitted, “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here, Jimin. This place—it’s killing me. And I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself, too.”

His chest tightened. “So you’re just going to leave me? Like everyone else?”

“I’m not leaving you,” Kyara insisted, her voice steady but raw, her eyes burning with determination.

“I’m saving myself. And I need you to do the same.”

Jimin didn’t respond. The silence between them was suffocating, heavy with words left unspoken.

He wanted to say something, anything, but the lump in his throat was too much to overcome.

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That night, after the conversation with Kyara, Jimin lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, numb.

His mom was nowhere to be found. She hadn't made herself present after the event.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the stillness. He picked it up, dreading what he might see.

It was a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: We need to talk.

Jimin stared at the words, his heart pounding, his chest tight. His thumb hovered over the screen, the temptation to ignore it gnawing at him.

He wanted to block Jungkook, to pretend this whole mess had never happened.

But something stopped him. His thumb trembled as it hovered over the screen, torn between the raw anger and the strange, dangerous pull he couldn’t explain.

Finally, he typed two words:

Where and when?

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We are so close to the ending fuckkk
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