Chapter 16
✶————✶————✶

As Jimin finally stood before Jungkook’s front door, the air thick with tension, he hesitated.

His hand lingered on the doorknob, every muscle in his body screaming to turn around, to run the hell away from this situation.

But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when he’d come this far.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he knocked firmly on the door.

Moments later, the door swung open.

Jungkook stood there, eyes bloodshot, his face haggard, dark circles under his eyes. His hair was wild, like he hadn't bothered to comb it in days.

The sight of him made Jimin’s chest ache, a strange mixture of anger and pity swirling within him.

Jungkook didn’t look like the person Jimin had once known. He looked… broken.

Jungkook didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at Jimin, as if weighing the decision of whether or not to let him in.

After a long, silent pause, he stepped aside, motioning for Jimin to enter.

The house was a disaster. Empty champagne bottles were scattered across the floor, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts, and a heavy, stale smell of alcohol hung in the air like a cloud.

It felt like a war zone, a chaotic reflection of the state Jungkook was in. There was a cracked photo frame on the floor, and several sheets of paper scattered across the coffee table.

It was clear that Jungkook had been living in his own personal hell, unable to hold himself together.

Jimin stepped inside, the weight of the silence pressing down on him.

He felt like he was walking through a graveyard, each empty bottle and discarded cigarette a symbol of something lost—something he wasn’t sure they could ever fix.

“Jungkook,” Jimin finally spoke, his voice tight with emotion. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jungkook didn’t respond at first. He just ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as if he wasn’t sure where to start.

Finally, he let out a deep sigh, slumping into a chair and staring at the floor.

“I’m not proud of who I became,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice rough.

“I lost myself, Jimin. And I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I... I need you to understand something.”

Jimin stood there, arms crossed, watching him carefully. Jungkook looked so small, so vulnerable in that moment.

It made the anger inside Jimin flicker, though it was far from being extinguished.

Jungkook looked up at Jimin, his eyes pleading. “I never meant to hurt you. I was so... obsessed. I didn’t know how to let go. And every time I tried, I felt like I was losing everything. But the truth is, Jimin, I was terrified. Terrified of losing control, terrified of being alone. I thought... I thought that if I kept you close, if I kept you under my control, you’d never leave me. I know how fucked up that sounds, but I didn’t know how else to deal with it. And now look at me. Look at this mess.”

Jimin’s heart twisted, but he couldn’t let go of the bitterness that still lingered.

He had to keep pushing forward, to demand the answers he needed, no matter how much it hurt.

“You fucked up, Jungkook. And not just with me. You fucked up everything,” Jimin replied, his voice low but unwavering. “You made me feel like I was nothing. You treated me like I was disposable. Do you know what that did to me? What it still does to me?”

Jungkook flinched, his face contorting in regret. “I know, Jimin. I know. I was an idiot, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Jimin could feel the years of pain, the weight of their fractured relationship, hanging between them.

This was it. This was the closure he needed.

Jimin swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. “Then why the hell am I here, Jungkook? Why now? After everything... everything we’ve been through?”

Jungkook’s eyes softened. “Because I can’t change what happened. I can’t take back the damage I’ve done. But I can try to explain. I owe you that much, Jimin. I owe you the truth, even if it doesn’t fix anything.” Jungkook’s voice trembled, but he didn’t look away from Jimin.

“I know I’ve ruined us. I know I’ve ruined myself. But I need you to understand that none of this was ever about you. It was about me. About my insecurities, my fear of losing control. I became someone I didn’t even recognize, and I pushed you to a point where I could lose you forever.”

Jimin felt his anger bubbling, but there was something else—something deeper. A raw pain, one he hadn’t been able to shake off for years.

He wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive Jungkook for what he had done, but for the first time, he could see how truly broken Jungkook was.

“You don’t get to do this, Jungkook,” Jimin said, his voice quieter now but still carrying the weight of everything he felt.

“You don’t get to come here, looking like a wreck, and expect me to just understand. I’ve spent too long trying to make sense of your actions, trying to believe in something that... that was never real. You played with my feelings, with my trust, and now you're asking me to believe this? That this is some kind of tragic mistake?”

Jungkook’s head dropped, and his hands clenched into fists. “I know,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Jimin. I don’t expect you to trust me again. I don’t even expect you to... feel anything for me. But I’m begging you to understand—I wasn’t in my right mind. I was controlling, and obsessive, and I can’t undo that.”

There was a brief pause. Jimin stood there, trying to steady himself, fighting the rush of conflicting emotions.

A part of him wanted to scream, to throw everything in his path, but another part—an exhausted, broken part of him—just wanted to walk away and never look back.

“Jungkook,” Jimin said, finally speaking through the storm of his thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter now. None of it does. You destroyed us. And I need you to understand that I can’t— I won’t—go back. No matter how much you beg, no matter how much you try to fix this. It’s too late.”

Jungkook’s face crumpled, a tear escaping down his cheek. His voice cracked as he spoke again.

“Jimin, please... I can’t... I can’t lose you. I don’t know how to live with myself knowing I pushed you away. But I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I swear.”

Jimin’s heart ached, but he had to keep pushing, had to remind himself of the truth—the one he had been hiding from for so long.

“You already lost me, Jungkook. You made sure of that. And now you have to live with it.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, his chest tightening, but he took a step back. He could feel the walls closing in again, the suffocating weight of the past crashing down on him.

He couldn’t stand here any longer, listening to the broken man who had once been his world.

“I’m done,” Jimin whispered, more to himself than to Jungkook, his words final, irreversible. “I’m done.”

He turned away, moving toward the door, his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t want to look back—he didn’t want to see the hurt in Jungkook’s eyes. He couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Jungkook’s voice trembled as he called out, “Jimin, wait—please—don’t go.”

But Jimin didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. With a deep breath, he walked out of the house and into the night, the door clicking shut behind him with the finality of everything he had just said.

✶————✶————✶

Jimin walked through the streets with no destination in mind, the weight of the conversation still heavy in his chest.

His head felt like it was going to explode from the emotions rushing through him—anger, sadness, frustration.

He couldn’t decide which one hurt more. His body ached with the effort of keeping it all together.

As he finally made his way back to the hotel, every step felt like it took him farther away from the person he used to be, and closer to the person he was now becoming—someone who no longer needed Jungkook.

Someone who had learned to live without him.

When he reached his room, Jimin didn’t bother turning on the lights. He just sank onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Everything was spinning. His mind, his emotions—it was too much.

He was done with Jungkook. He had to be.

But deep down, something in Jimin couldn’t quite shake the image of the broken man left behind in that house. The man who had once been his everything.

A sudden nagging feeling hit him in his gut, something wasn’t right.

Kyara.

Where the hell was she?

He flicked the lights on, casting a harsh glow over the room. The silence felt suffocating, too heavy, too thick.

He stood frozen for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes scanned the room.

No sign of Kyara.

His pulse quickened. He turned toward the door that led to the spare room—an annex of sorts. Maybe she was in there.

Maybe she was in one of her moods, hiding away. Maybe—just maybe—he was overthinking this, letting his mind play tricks on him after the hell of the day.

But no, the dread in his stomach was something deeper. Something he couldn’t ignore.

His steps were frantic as he rushed through the room, opening every cupboard, checking every corner. His hands were shaking as he rifled through the mess on the bed, his heart slamming in his chest.

Where the hell was she?

Then, the bathroom door. His breath hitched.

Something was off.

He pushed the door open slowly, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, every instinct screaming at him to stop, to turn around.

But he couldn’t. He had to see. He had to know.

And then it hit him—the suffocating scent of iron.

His eyes locked onto the figure in the center of the room.

Kyara.

Her body was splayed out on the cold bathroom floor, her pale skin stark against the dark tile.

Blood pooled around her neck, gushing in a steady, sickening rhythm, staining the floor in a macabre scene.

Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling with a lifeless, unblinking gaze, as if she had seen something that had broken her, that had stolen all the life from her.

Jimin’s breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled violently as he took a step closer, the horrific reality of what he was seeing settling into his bones.

She was pale, ghostly white, her skin slick with sweat and blood. Her arms—her arms were a mess, cuts streaking down them, deep and raw, like she had been slicing herself for far too long, leaving behind scars that could never be erased.

The room felt colder, the air heavier, as if the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him with the gravity of the moment.

“Kyara!” he screamed, his voice choked with shock and disbelief.

No response. Her body lay there, lifeless, a shell of the girl he had once known.

He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her arm, hoping, praying that she was still alive.

But the moment his fingers brushed her skin, the coldness of it struck him like a slap to the face.

She was gone.

Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he fought to make sense of what had just happened.

His chest ached, suffocated by a grief so overwhelming that he couldn’t breathe.

The room was spinning, everything around him blurring as his mind tried to process the nightmare unfolding before him.

Kyara. The girl who had been so full of life. The girl who had once trusted him, laughed with him, who had always been there. And now, she was gone. Just like that.

The blood... it kept flowing. The reality of the situation set in, and his stomach twisted violently.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t... feel anything but a gut-wrenching emptiness.

“kyara, no...” His voice broke, a sob escaping his throat as he leaned over her body.

He couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the shaking that had taken over his entire body.

How had this happened? Why had it happened?

The questions circled in his mind like vultures, but they couldn’t be answered. Not now. Not in this nightmare.

He scrambled for his phone, fingers slipping in his panic, but he finally managed to dial the emergency number.

His voice was frantic as he spoke, barely able to form the words.

“Ambulance. Now. There’s... there’s blood. She’s...” He could barely get the words out through his sobs. “She’s dead.”

The line clicked, and he dropped the phone beside her, his body trembling uncontrollably.

His mind spun with horror, with regret, with grief. He didn’t know what to do—didn’t know how to process this.

All he knew was that everything had just shattered. In an instant. Everything had broken.

His whole world.

✶————✶————✶

I'm updating sm at this point the book will soon end TT still how do we feel do you think jimin should forgive jungkook perhaps 5 or 6 more chapters

✶————✶————✶