⚠️ Content Warning & Author's Note

Hey, love. Before we get into this story, I want to offer a gentle warning:

Complicated contains emotionally heavy and sensitive themes, including:
• Cheating
• Older/younger relationships (consensual, between adults)
• Domestic abuse (verbal, emotional, and implied physical)
• Homophobia and internalized shame
• Mental health struggles

Please note:
This story does not support, glorify, or normalize cheating.
It's a fictional portrayal of messy, flawed people making complicated choices - because unfortunately, these things do happen every day.
This is not a love story. It's a human story.

These topics are handled with care, but they can be difficult to read. If you're not in the right headspace, please take a break. Your mental and emotional health always come first.

I took a break after writing Dance For Me, and I've missed you all so much. If you haven't read it yet, go check it out - and don't forget to vote and share your thoughts. I appreciate every single one of you more than you know.

Coming back to write Complicated means a lot to me. This story is darker, more complex, and full of moments that might sting before they soften. So please, read at your own pace, and take care of yourself.

If you or someone you know is going through abuse, you are not alone.
Here's a global resource that can help:

🌐 International Domestic Violence Support (Worldwide Directory):
https://www.hotpeachpages.net/
This site offers a full list of helplines and shelters by country, in multiple languages.

I love you. Be safe. I missed you.
- adina

...

It was winter.

The kind that crept under doors and settled into floorboards, making the house feel older than it was. Jungkook stood in the kitchen, sleeves of his black knit sweater rolled up to his forearms, revealing the faint lines of tattoos that curled like inked whispers down his skin. He moved with quiet efficiency, warming a bottle of milk while the sharp cries of his six-month-old daughter echoed from the living room monitor.

His five-year-old, full of endless energy, darted past the kitchen doorway again, a blur of mismatched pajamas and tangled hair. Jungkook didn't speak. He rarely did these days - not unless he had something to say. With his sharp jaw, unreadable eyes, and calm that bordered on cold, people often found him intimidating. Yet somehow, he was married. Somehow, he belonged to this warm, chaotic little home.

The bottle finished heating. He tested a few drops on the inside of his wrist, then sat down on the couch and gently lifted his daughter into his arms. She quieted almost immediately, small fists curling into his chest as she suckled and slowly drifted into sleep. The tension in his shoulders eased - not gone, just momentarily forgotten.

His wife approached silently, her fingers curling around his tattooed arm as she sat beside him. She smiled up at him, tenderly. To her surprise, he returned the gesture - a soft, fleeting smile, the kind she hadn't seen in weeks. Maybe longer.

She didn't say anything about it. Didn't want to ruin the moment by calling attention to how rare it had become.

"Reminder," she said instead, brushing a bit of lint from his sweater. "You need to pick Jimin up this afternoon."

He nodded once, gently lowering their now-sleeping daughter into her bassinet. Then, without a word, he disappeared into his office.

⸻

Jungkook's Office

The office was warm, lined with dark oak bookshelves and heavy curtains that muffled the world outside. It smelled faintly of bergamot and coffee. A wedding photo sat neatly on the corner of his desk - a younger Jungkook in a black tuxedo, smiling genuinely, his bride laughing beside him. Just next to it, a smaller frame held a photo of their son holding his newborn sister for the first time, eyes wide with wonder.

Jungkook sat behind the desk, slipping off his coat and folding it over the chair. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and opened his laptop, but didn't get far. His phone buzzed.

Jimin.

He paused. The name alone brought back a vague irritation he hadn't felt in years. Stubborn, rebellious, too clever for his own good - that was the Jimin he remembered. A kid who thought the world owed him something. A good-for-nothing brat with dyed hair and a mouth that got him into trouble more often than not.

Jungkook sighed and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

A beat of silence.

Then, a voice - lower than he remembered, a little raspy.

"You know I heard that, right?"

Jungkook froze.

"The good-for-nothing part," Jimin continued, his tone unreadable. "Nice to know I haven't changed in your eyes."

Jungkook let out a breath, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "That wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

Another pause.

"It's fine. Just don't be late."

Click.

Jungkook stared at the screen, then got up to grab his keys. Something about Jimin's voice had changed. Deeper. Colder. Confident in a way that didn't suit the boy he remembered.

The car moved smoothly along the snow-dusted roads, the silence thick between them.

Jimin kept his eyes on the passing buildings, lips pressed together, fingers tugging absently at a loose thread on his coat. The sting in his chest hadn't faded. He could still feel the way Jungkook's hands had pushed him back - not roughly, but not gently either. Firm. Final.

He had been joking.

At least... he thought he was.

But the look in Jungkook's eyes hadn't said joke. It had said something else. Something sharp and disgusted, like Jimin had crossed a line he didn't even see.

He bit his bottom lip, eyes unfocused.

Growing up, Jimin was always too much of something. Too soft, too loud, too emotional. "The faggot of the house" - that's what his cousins whispered behind closed doors, though not quietly enough. His father never even tried to hide it. His disappointment was loud, brutal, and endless.

Jimin had quit everything that made him feel-violin, piano, dance-because no matter what he did, it wasn't right.

His mother had tried. She loved him in that quiet, scared way mothers do when they don't know how to protect someone without making it worse. But love, he'd learned, wasn't always enough.

He swallowed thickly, fidgeting with his sleeves before pulling out his phone and pretending to scroll. He wasn't reading anything. His throat felt tight, his chest even tighter.

God, get over it. It's not that deep.
It was just a joke. You're being sensitive again.

Still... it hurt. The rejection, the silence, the disgust. He shouldn't have cared what Jungkook thought - perfect, boring, successful Jungkook - but something about the way he looked at him, like he was something to be wiped off a suit jacket, had carved a little bruise into his chest.

In the driver's seat, Jungkook glanced up at the rearview mirror.

Jimin had changed. Not just physically - though, yes, he looked different. His jaw was sharper, his hair lighter, his fashion more refined, but there was something else. A stillness. A quiet sadness underneath all the sarcasm and showmanship.

He didn't look like the reckless, irritating teenager Jungkook remembered. He looked... like someone trying very hard to hold himself together.

Jungkook's lips quirked slightly at the corner. He didn't realize he was smiling until it was already there.

His wife would be so happy to see Jimin again. She had always worried about him, asked after him, tried to connect even when he refused to pick up her calls. This reunion would mean something to her.

He tapped the steering wheel lightly, breaking the silence. "She's going to be excited," he said quietly.

Jimin looked up.

"Your sister," Jungkook added, eyes still on the road. "She's been waiting for you."

Jimin didn't respond at first. Just nodded, forcing a small, crooked smile.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm sure she has."