Note: I really like the aesthetic sparkle stuff so ignore it if you don't 😭

I promise the story's good !!

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┏━°⌜ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⌟°━┓
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┗━°⌜                  𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠_         ⌟°━┛

یک

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Self-regulation is the process by which individuals create and follow personal rules to control their behavior, emotions, and thoughts in pursuit of long-term goals.

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Jungkook's PoV  ||  19 years ago

Jungkook sat at the dinner table, back stiff against the hardwood of the chair, sock covered toes hardly brushing the matted carpet. He shuffled a little closer in his seat, innocent eyes glancing up, curiously wondering when his mother would appear through the door, arms full of the food she'd been busy cooking all day.

It was a Saturday night, meaning he had been at home all day, either hypnotised by the flashing vibrancy of his favourite TV shows, or deeply invested in the alternate universe of his marvel comics. Although at his age, eleven, was far too old to be playing with figurines, his favourite Iron Man toy lay on the shrouded desk in his room, awaiting for him to continue reading the half finished comic.

"I'm home," his father exhaustedly sighed, entering the room, hand curled around the leather handle of his briefcase. The weary frown on his face accentuated the deep lines on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, proof of age in hand with experience. As part of his repetitive routine, he pressed a chaste kiss to his wife's cheek as she walked in with the evening's meal before sitting at the head of the dinner table. "Jungkook, son, how was your day?"

Jungkook, having been reeled out of the churning sea of his thoughts, absentmindedly hummed, before flicking his gaze over to his father. "Good, dad. How was work?" He watched as his father loosened the striped, navy tie around his neck, and then loosen the first few buttons of his now crumpled shirt.

"Work was good, but dad is tired now," his father responded, a flicker of a smile, like a waning ember crossed his lips.

"Clearly not tired enough to miss out on food, are you Jeongho?" Jungkook's mother arched her brow, silently in judgment. Her lips were curled into a thin disapproving line, arms folded across her chest— a physical barrier to any disagreement.

"Dear, please," Jeongho rubbed his temples. An exhale left his lips, like the deflation of a worn out balloon, mirroring the simmering frustration in his veins.

Young Jungkook silently watched as his mother irritatedly dropped a plate of food in front of him and then his father. "Thank you for the meal." He mumbled quietly under his breath, it didn't matter if said it out loud, no one would've heard amidst the fiery glares they were shooting each other.

An unanticipated giggle tumbled out of lips, his immature mind briefly painting the image of giant red lasers blaring from his mother's irises.

She shot him an unimpressed look, the sharp narrow of her brows commanding him to behave.

No other words were spoken for the course of dinner, just the amplified clanking of metal cutlery on ceramic breaking through the deafening quiet. The movement of hands, quick and deliberate, was the only life at the table, a stark contrast to the damp stillness in the air. Each clink of spoons and plates was like a tiny betrayal, a jarring reminder of wordlessness that weighed on him.

He hated it. The lack of chatter, the way they got on with their meals, more like strangers and less like family. His mouth itched to open, heart wishing to tell his parents about the new show he'd begun this morning, or that the arm on his Iron Man figurine was loose and needed tightening.

Letting his gaze fall back to his still full plate, Jungkook prodded the mushy and overcooked vegetables with his fork, causing them to release an unpleasant odour that made his nose scrunch. The gravy was thick and clumpy, having already grown a skin, forcing a shiver of nausea to scuttle across his spine.

A rubbery slice of steak lay on the left side of his plate, the chilling pool of blood gathered beneath had begun to spread outwards like a blood stain on white sheet. The meat was faintly warm, the edges a sickly grey but the centre pulsed with an unnatural, almost sinister life. Though his stomach growled in hunger, he shivered at the thought of putting it anywhere near his mouth.

"Where were you last night?" His mother cracked the disposure of the room, her cynical tone slicing through the tension like a butter knife.

"My love, I was at work." Jeongho groaned, resting his fork on the edge of the plate. "Seyeon, we've been over this so many times–"

"Don't patronise me!" she snapped back, interrupting him. "I've seen the way that whore of a secretary stares at you!"

"Secretary Kim is married with kids!"

"And that didn't stop your mother from fucking around with married men!" Seyeon angrily cried. "You have no right to blame me when you share the same blood as that–"

"KANG SEYEON!" Jeongho roared, erupting from the chair, his sudden movement rattling the tableware. He slammed his fists on the wood, face flushing crimson, the veins on his neck and forehead bulging. The sudden anger sent a surge of anger rippling through the room. "Do not talk about my mother like that." He seethed through his teeth, raising a finger to point at her accusingly. "Every damn night I come home to all sorts of claims– I've always been patient with you but I'm at my wits end!"

"Don't you dare act like you're doing me some sort of favour! You think I don't see you so invested in your laptop– always making excuses to stay out late, spend at a night at the office– those fucking looks you're always giving her!"

"Seyeon– what the hell are you talking about? I love you– why would you ever think I'm cheating?!"

Jungkook gripped his fork tighter, his fathers words sinking into his mind. 'Love?' The word tasted bitter on his tongue, worse than the rancid meal in front of him. His mind tuned out the foul exchange between his parents, choosing to focus on the word instead.

Then he felt it: the demon on his shoulder, a shadowy whisper that slithered into his thoughts. "Love is dumb," it sneered, its voice dripping with disdain. "Look at them. Look what love does. It makes fools of people. It turns them into screaming monsters."

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the roast as if it held some secret answer. He didn't dare look up. He didn't want to see the anger twisting his parents' faces, didn't want to feel the sting of their words splintering into his chest.

"You're better off without it," the demon continued, curling its smoky tail around his ear. "Love is nothing but a trap, a promise that always breaks."

He wanted to believe it, wanted to push away the ache in his heart that told him otherwise. But in the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of something—his mother's hand trembling as she reached for her glass of water, his father's lips twitching as if struggling to hold back more words. For a fleeting moment, they were just two tired people, weighed down by things Jungkook couldn't yet understand.

And then, as the argument raged on, Jungkook felt another presence, faint but stubborn. A quieter voice, buried deep in his chest, murmured, "Maybe love isn't the problem. Maybe they just don't know how to hold it, how to control it."

The demon laughed, low and cruel. "You'll see," it hissed. "One day, you'll learn. Love will break you, too."

But Jungkook only sat there, silent and small, torn between the whisper in his heart and the storm at the table. The roast grew colder.

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Mirae's PoV  ||  3 years ago 

It was a glorious spring day. The sun was shining at its full spring potential, casting her gentle glow across the bustling crowds below. Flowers had begun to bloom in the presence of the sunlight, their silky petals blossoming in the crisp fresh air.

The afternoon air throbbed with a vibrant energy. Car horns blared, street vendors hawked their wires, and the rhythmic clatter of construction echoed through the canyon of steel and glass.

Regardless of the concrete jungle that stood tall and powerful, sunlight still filtered through a haze of pollution, casting long shadows on the bustling pavements, where a kaleidoscope of humanity hurried past — businessmen in crisp suits, tourists snapping pictures, street performers vying for attention, and lovers strolling hand in hand, in wake of the most romantic season of the year.

Spring. It was the season all had been waiting for, painting the city in a riot of colours. Cherry blossoms, delicate and pink, adorned the avenues, while forsythia bushes burst forth in a blaze of golden yellow. Shop windows displaying mannequins sporting the latest fashions, a vibrant array of hues reflecting the season's renewed vitality.

Mirae stared out of the window, eyes glossy with joy of what was to come. All of a sudden her heels no longer felt too tight and restricting on her feet, sweaty with nerves. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, an unsettling feeling planting in the soil of her chest. She took a deep breath, the lace bodice her torso was adorned in momentarily fastening around breasts.

'It's just the nerves.' The voice in her head told her, a gentle reminder that what she felt was usual for any other bride in her place. Clearing her throat and mind, Mirae stood up to take a final glance at herself on the large, floor length mirror in the bridal sweet before guests would start filtering in to congratulate her.

Her hands smoothened the delicate lace of her wedding gown. The soft ivory fabric clung to her form perfectly, the beaded details catching the light like stars scattered across a night sky. Her dark, silky hair was styled into an elegant updo, with a few loose strands framing her face. Her makeup was subtle yet radiant, enhancing the natural glow of her features.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes scanning her reflection with a mix of wonder and nervousness. The small silver necklace, a gift from her husband to be, rested just above her collarbone, and her fingers brushed it absently, seeking comfort in its familiarity.

Her breath hitched as she leaned closer, inspecting the delicate veil that trailed behind her, as if it were a tangible reminder of the new chapter she was about to step into. The mirror reflected more than just her image—it held the weight of her thoughts, dreams, and a flicker of uncertainty.

For a moment, Mirae closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, grounding herself. When she opened them again, a small smile played on her lips. It wasn't just her wedding day—it was the day she chose to step forward, embracing love and all that lay ahead. Because that was what mattered to her the most— love.

Mirae's husband-to-be, Hyunwoo, was a loving man. There would be nights where they'd lay tangled in each other's arms, dazy eyes clouded in romance, affection and all other emotions. Silent confessions of love, exchanged between the two of them through tender brushes and zephyr-like caresses.

He was a man of grand gestures, firm in his belief that if love was real, it should be shown to the entire world. Everything around him was perfect, so much that it intimated her at times, but for him she could put aside the discomfort that'd pool in the pit of her stomach each time she would look at another one of his daunting schedules.

"He does it because he loves you." Mirae reassured herself a final time, pushing that awful foreboding feeling further down.

A soft knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. It was Seojin, one of her bridesmaids, her face pale and hesitant. "Mirae, there's something... you need to see," she murmured, barely meeting her gaze.

Confused but sensing the urgency, Mirae followed Seojin down the hall. Her heels clicked against the polished wooden floor, the sound echoing like an ominous drumbeat. They stopped near a partially open door, laughter spilling out—familiar, intimate laughter that sent a chill crawling up Mirae's spine.

Seojin hesitated before pushing the door open just a crack, revealing a scene that shattered Mirae's world in an instant.

Hyunwoo stood there, his arms wrapped around someone—someone Mirae instantly recognized. It was her younger sister, Jiyeon, still in her maid-of-honor dress. Their faces were close, too close, their smiles tinged with a kind of intimacy Mirae had never seen between them before. Jiyeon reached up to adjust Hyunwoo's tie, her fingers lingering, and then he leaned in, lips brushing her cheek, whispering something that made her laugh softly.

Mirae's breath caught, the air thick and suffocating. The sharp pain in her chest felt like a knife twisting deep, cutting through her love, trust, and every dream she had of this day.

She stepped back instinctively, her veil catching on the doorframe. The soft tug snapped her out of her daze, and she turned to Seojin, whose eyes were brimming with tears. "I... I thought you should know," Seojin whispered, her voice trembling.

Mirae clenched her fists, the smooth fabric of her gown bunching in her palms. A storm of emotions raged within her—betrayal, anger, disbelief, and a heart-wrenching sadness that threatened to consume her. She felt as if the ground beneath her had crumbled, leaving her standing on the edge of an abyss.

The laughter from the room behind her continued, oblivious to the devastation it had caused. Mirae took a deep breath, her vision blurring with unshed tears. Her wedding day, the day she had dreamed of for so long, had become a cruel, twisted nightmare.

And yet, she straightened her back, her heart pounding with resolve. This wasn't the end—it couldn't be. Whatever came next, she would face it. But first, she needed to decide: would she confront them now or walk down the aisle knowing the truth, holding her head high despite the betrayal?

Tears streaked her flawless makeup, but at that moment, Mirae wasn't thinking about her appearance or the hundreds of guests waiting for her. She was thinking about herself, her worth, and how she would rise from the ashes of this moment, no matter how broken she felt inside. She didn't need to see more to confirm it—the laughter, the way Hyunwoo's hand rested on Jiyeon's waist, the soft, intimate tone of his voice—all of it twisted like a dagger in her heart.

Her hand hovered over the smooth fabric of her gown, the lace suddenly feeling suffocating. Her thoughts blurred into a haze of pain and rage. Then something snapped. The betrayal burned too fiercely to ignore, and before she could stop herself, she pushed the door open with a sharp shove.

The sound of it hitting the wall silenced the laughter in an instant. Hyunwoo turned, his expression shifting from amusement to shock. Jiyeon's eyes widened, her face pale as the blood drained from it.

"Mirae..." Hyunwoo started, his voice faltering as he stepped forward.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood as she closed the distance between them. The room felt too small, too bright, the weight of their betrayal pressing down on her like a crushing tide.

Without hesitation, she raised her hand and slapped him. The sound was deafening in the silence, echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. Hyunwoo staggered slightly, his hand instinctively reaching for his cheek, where a red mark bloomed.

Jiyeon gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Sister, please, I—"

"Don't," Mirae snapped, cutting her off, her voice icy and sharp. She turned to her sister, her eyes blazing with tears that refused to fall. "Don't you dare call me that. You—you stood beside me this whole time. You were supposed to have my back, Jiyeon. Not stab me in it."

"Mirae, it's not what it looks like," Hyunwoo said, his voice hurried, desperate.

She let out a bitter laugh, a sound so hollow it made even Jiyeon flinch. "Not what it looks like?" She gestured between them, her fingers trembling. "You're standing here, with her, on our wedding day, and you want to tell me it's not what it looks like?"

Hyunwoo tried to reach for her, but she stepped back, her hand shooting up to stop him. "Don't you dare touch me," she spat, her voice breaking. "How long, Hyunwoo? How long have you been lying to me? Pretending?"

He stammered, but the words wouldn't come. Jiyeon opened her mouth, but Mirae's glare silenced her.

"You don't get to explain. Not today. Not ever." Mirae's voice shook, but her resolve did not. Her heart, though shattered, burned with anger and self-respect. "I was going to walk down that aisle and promise you everything. But now? You're nothing to me."

She turned on her heel, her veil swishing behind her like a cape, and stormed out of the room. The guests waiting in the garden below would hear no wedding march, see no radiant bride. But they would see Mirae—strong, dignified, and unwilling to be anyone's fool.

Tears blurred her vision as she strode toward the exit, her heart heavy, yet lighter with every step away from the man who betrayed her and the sister who broke her trust.

From that moment on she no longer believed in the organised tables Hyunwoo's love had been handed to her in. Not in the perfection he guaranteed, nor the rules he lived by, not anymore.

But then again, she didn't think she'd ever meet a man like Jeon Jungkook.

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Jungkook's PoV  ||  2 years ago

The restaurant hummed with quiet chatter, the soft clinking of glasses and cutlery filling the space. Jungkook sat across from her, as calm and composed as ever, his attention briefly drifting to the flicker of a candle between them. She had been unusually quiet for most of the evening, and now, as she set her wine glass down with a deliberate clink, he looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"I've been thinking," Sohee began, her tone carefully measured, "and I think we should break up."

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, his face betraying neither shock nor concern. "Okay," he said evenly, setting his fork down. "Can I ask why?"

Her brow furrowed at his reaction—or lack thereof. She had expected questions, maybe even resistance, but not this. "It's because of this, Jungkook," she said, her voice tight. "You're so... indifferent. It's like you don't care at all. About me. About us."

He leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. "I wouldn't say I don't care," he replied calmly. "But I also don't believe in clinging to things that aren't working. If you feel this is the right decision, I respect that."

The casualness of his words made her chest tighten with frustration. "Respect that?" Sohee repeated, her voice rising slightly. "That's all you have to say? We've been together for months, and you're treating this like a business transaction!"

Jungkook tilted his head, considering her words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. But I've never pretended to be someone I'm not. You know I don't view relationships the same way most people do. I thought you understood that."

Her hands clenched into fists on the table. "Understood what? That you can't even act like you care? That everything with you is so... cold and calculated?" Sohee's voice shook now, the frustration that had been simmering for weeks bubbling over. "I'm pouring my heart out, and you're just sitting there like it's nothing!"

Jungkook's gaze remained steady, his expression unchanging. "I don't see the point in getting overly emotional about something we both know isn't working," he said. "You're upset, and that's valid, but—"

"Oh my God!" she cut him off, her voice sharp and rising above the quiet ambiance of the restaurant. Heads began to turn. "You're impossible! You know what? Forget it. You're never going to get it."

Before Jungkook could respond, she grabbed her glass of water and, in one swift motion, flung its contents at him. The cold splash hit his face and hair, soaking his shirt. The room fell silent, the sound of water dripping from his chin onto the table the only thing breaking the stillness.

Jungkook blinked, his expression as calm as ever, even with water streaming down his face. He reached for his napkin, dabbing it methodically at his forehead and cheeks.

She stood, grabbing her bag and fixing him with one last glare. "Enjoy your perfectly rational life, Jungkook. Alone."

With that, Sohee stormed out, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Jungkook watched her leave, then turned his attention back to his plate. Unperturbed, he picked up his fork, took a bite of his food, and muttered quietly to himself, "I suppose that confirms her point."

Though the quiet voice in his heart silently hummed at the success of his covert, participant observation. 'Ah , so emotional vulnerability is a must for love to work out...'

That's what this was to him; a mere means to research.

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Leave your thoughts and predictions in the comments!!

Vote Goal: 15 🎭

So basically, Jungkook is 30 and Mirae is 26

So I know I said this story was gonna be a comedy but I needed a little angst for their back stories.

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