† 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟳 †

╭─━─━─━─━─━─╮𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟳†❝𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥, 𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗜𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘❞╰─━─━─━─━─━─╯

༺ ☠︎ †  𝖁 𝖎 𝖘 𝖎 𝖔 𝖓  𝖎 𝖓  𝕯 𝖆 𝖗 𝖐  † ☠︎ ༻

It was late.

Evie lay curled up on her side of the bed, eyes closed, though she wasn't asleep.

Her body was stiff, her mind still tangled in the events of the past day. It was funny that it had been a few days since that, but she still couldn't forget it.

She had spent so much time planning a quiet birthday dinner for Jungkook, even picked out a dress for the date she imagined they'd have. It was maybe a small idea, but she had really planned it so beautifully and thoughtfully for him. But instead, he had never shown up until late at night, drunk, laughing, claiming his friends had dragged him into an impromptu party at his office.

It was the worst thing he could do in return for her efforts.

She was quiet back then, barely reacted but she definitely didn't like it, especially how casual he had been about it and how little he seemed to care. It hurt knowing he didn't give importance to her efforts.

Outside the room, she heard his deep voice, talking on the phone with someone. His tone was casual, too casual. Like nothing had happened.

When the door creaked open, she kept her eyes shut, her back turned to him. She felt him pause at the doorway, then the quiet thud of his footsteps approaching. The bed dipped as he sat down, then slowly climbed in behind her. Without a word, he slid closer, the warmth of his body brushing against hers.

She flinched slightly as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. His body pressed against hers fully–no space left between them. Her hips were snug against him and he didn't move away. If anything, he leaned in further.

Her breath hitched.

"I already saw you awake, don't pretend it to me." Shit, he noticed that she's not sleeping. The last thing she wanted was a conversation with him now, and that's why she had tried to sleep before he came. But she knew she was too bad at acting, especially with how her body reacted every time he touched her, the way her breathing and movements always gave her away. "You still mad about that?" he whispered, his voice low and casual.

She didn't answer, didn't move, just lay there with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep even though he knew she was awake. She didn't want to talk to him now.

But he didn't take her silence seriously and only pulled her tighter against him. His hand slowly wandered down, grazing along the side of her stomach, dangerously close to her core.

She stiffened but clenched her arms and stopped herself from reacting to him.

"I already said I'm sorry," he murmured into her ear, a teasing edge slipping into his tone. "Don't be rude to your poor husband now. You've punished me enough with your silent treatment, haven't you?"

Still, she said nothing. Her body was tense when she felt his lips grazing her skin.

Then his voice dropped further, coated in shameless boldness. "If you still haven't forgiven me... then take off your clothes, spread your legs, and let me apologize properly." He chuckled lightly, not done. "Or climb on top of me and ride me until that anger of yours finally disappears, sweetheart."

She hated this, the way he spoke, especially at moments like this when he should have been serious but instead made everything worse by turning it into a joke. Sometimes joking like that could make things less tense, but sometimes it only ruined everything. And right now, she was not in the mood for it.

Clearly frustrated, she shifted slightly toward him, just enough to meet his gaze in the dim light. Her eyes were sharp, reflecting the disbelief she hadn't fully voiced yet. "Jungkook? Seriously? Can you be serious for just one second?" she said quietly but firmly. "Why is everything always a joke to you? Why do you always have to ruin things by talking like that?"

Instead of backing off, he only tightened his grip on her waist. There was no space left between them, not even air. His face dipped into the crook of her neck as he murmured with a lazy, sultry smirk, "Don't be so hard on your poor husband, hmm? I don't like the silent treatment, especially not when you're lying here all warm and soft next to me, letting me touch you like this."

"Jungkook, I'm… serious." His fingers began to drift lower toward her waistband, tracing a path with slow intention, which made her tense as she spoke.

But in return, he chuckled against her skin. "And I'm serious too. It's been a while… don't pretend you're not missing it too."

It was obvious her body was going to react to him when he touched her like he owned her but she didn't want it now. She didn't want to give in, because she was mad at him and she wanted to keep it that way, not let her restraint slip.

"I said I'm serious, and I mean it," she whispered, her voice stiff with restraint. His touch always had a way of stirring too much inside her all at once.

But Jungkook, as always, was in no mood to take anything seriously—especially not her restraint.

"You say that," he murmured hoarsely, his lips brushing against her ear, "but your body? It's saying something else entirely."

His hand moved with more certainty now, shamelessly exploring, his fingers pressing against the soft fabric near her core.

"Look at you… trembling for me," he whispered. "You act like you're mad, but I know this body. I know it better than anyone ever could."

Evie's breath hitched.

This man clearly knew how to handle her, how to make her fight against her own restraint. God, she wanted to stay mad at him.

He smiled against her neck, his voice dipped in that dangerous charm only he could wield. "You love it when I talk to you like this, don't you?" he whispered. "I can feel you reacting… just like always."

"Jungkook, stop. I said I don't want anything. I'm feeling sleepy, and I'm definitely not in the mood for that, so stop it. You sleep too," she said, covering her face with the blanket and curling further into it, hoping he would give up on her, leave this nonsense here, and go to sleep as well.

But he didn't let her. He pulled the blanket away from her face and tightened his hold, pulling her closer to him until she could even feel his hardness against her hips.

His tone shifted from playful to possessive. Under his breath, irritated by her audacity to turn him down, he muttered, "Not in the mood for that? You sure? Since when are you supposed to turn me down? Don't act like you don't like it when I f--k you rough. When I hold you down and remind you who you belong to. You like being my little slut, my personal whore."

Wait—what?

She sniffed quietly, her lashes fluttering as his last words sank in. She stayed still for a moment, her heart pounding with discomfort. A strange, uneasy feeling twisted inside her.

Slut. Whore.

He had literally said that to her? As if it were normal between a husband and wife.

But for her, it wasn't. It never had been.

She slowly turned around, her expression filled with disbelief, her eyes heavy with disappointment. Her hand reached down and firmly pushed his hand away from her body.

Jungkook froze for a second, confused by her sudden change in energy. His brows drew together slightly, though that lazy, playful smirk still lingered on his face.

"What?" he said, reaching for her again. "Come on, baby, don't ruin the mood now."

But Evie wasn't having it. She pushed his hand away again, which caught him off guard.

She sat up properly on the bed, her eyes fixed on him with a serious expression.

"Don't call me that," she said, her voice low and firm. "Don't ever call me that word again. I've told you before… I don't like it."

Jungkook blinked, clearly not expecting that tone. He leaned back on one hand and chuckled under his breath. "Seriously? You're upset over that?" he asked, as if she'd just scolded him for leaving socks on the floor. "Evie, it's just words. I didn't mean it like that. It's just how I talk when we're messing around—"

"But I'm not messing around," she cut in, her voice rising a little with how much she meant every word. "I don't mind flirting, Jungkook. I'm not saying you can't tease me or touch me. But that? What you just said? That's not teasing. That's not funny. That's you directly disrespecting me."

He scoffed, finally sitting up, clearly more irritated than understanding. "God, Evie, don't start with this again. Why do you always take things so seriously? It was just a joke, alright? I wasn't insulting you, I was—"

"You were calling me a slut and whore," she snapped, cutting him off with a firm voice. "Your wife, Jungkook. Do you hear yourself? That's what you find as a joke? That's fun for you?"

Her voice cracked at the end from holding back everything she had swallowed for too long. She stared at him–eyes tired, lips pressed together and he finally saw it: this wasn't about one word. It was about how he treated her.

Mostly unserious. Always moody. Always unpredictable, like he could never be serious—not even for a second when she needed him to be more than just some flirt with a pretty face and a dirty mouth.

Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if she was overreacting.

"You're blowing this way out of proportion," he muttered. "You act like I'm out here cheating on you, or hitting you, or committing domestic violence. I'm just talking the way we always do. You know I don't mean it literally."

"And that's the problem," she said firmly, looking straight at him. "You think because you didn't mean it, it doesn't hurt. You think because I let you touch me, I'll let you say whatever you want too. But I'm not okay with it. I never was."

There was a long pause between them.

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling, as if trying to decide whether to defend himself or finally listen. But his pride wouldn't let him fold that easily.

"You're seriously being dramatic right now," he muttered, shaking his head. "I say one thing in the heat of the moment and suddenly I'm the bad guy? You really can't take a little dirty talk?"

Dramatic? She was being dramatic?

That wasn't even dirty talk—it was straight-up degradation. Other people might like being called slut and whore by their husband but she definitely didn't find anything appealing about it. And according to him, she was overreacting?

Evie stared at him in disbelief, her eyes glossy now with frustration.

"There is nothing dramatic about this," she said. "Because it's not dirty talk, Jungkook. It's degradation. It's disrespectful. And instead of even once saying sorry, you stand there acting like I'm the one overreacting."

She took a deep breath before continuing, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"You know what hurts more than what you called me? That even when I'm telling you I'm not okay, you still don't care enough to stop."

Jungkook stared at her, his face gradually hardening with annoyance. The playfulness from earlier was completely gone now, replaced by that familiar cold irritation–that showed up anytime something didn't go his way. He sat on the bed, jaw tight, eyes narrowed at her like she was ruining everything for no reason.

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" he muttered, more to himself than her, shaking his head slowly. "It was just a joke, Evie. Now you're seriously overreacting and this is so annoying."

Evie didn't respond right away. She just quietly watching him, keeping herself steady even though her heart stung with the weight of his words. The way he dismissed her like she was some over dramatic child throwing a tantrum–it wasn't new, but it still hurt every time.

"And there's nothing for me to say sorry for," Jungkook added, frustration creeping in as she literally ruined his whole mood with absolute nonsense. "I'm your husband. I think I have some right to joke around with my own wife without being treated like I've committed a damn crime."

She drew in a slow breath, keeping her expression neutral even though it took every ounce of strength to keep the emotion off her face. "Let me tell you that there's a huge difference between joking and degrading and especially being my husband doesn't give you the right to disrespect me," she said firmly and clearly. "And I'll not pretend that it's okay just because it's you."

Jungkook scoffed, running a hand through his hair as if her words were exhausting him. He looked away for a moment, then back at her like she was the one being unreasonable.

"You always do this," he said, getting annoyed. "Come up with some moral lecture like you're better than everyone else. I already have enough stress dealing with work and everything else—I don't need your nonsense mood swings and emotional drama on top of it."

That was more harsh than he realized.

She blinked.

For a second, she didn't move at all, her throat tightened but she forced herself to swallow it down.

So that's what he thought.

Her feelings were just "emotional drama." Her defence—a mood swing.

She let out a small breath, looking away from him for a moment because suddenly it was harder to meet his eyes.

Her voice came out low, but firm. "Then don't talk to me until you learn how to talk to others properly," she said. "I'm not here to listen to your shits just because you're stressed."

And with that, she lay down with her back facing him, pulling the blanket over herself slowly.

She took a deep breath as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She wasn't trying to cry—she hated crying—but the sting in her chest wouldn't go away. It wasn't just the words he used. It was the way he brushed it off like she was the problem. Like her hurt didn't matter. Like she was just being "dramatic."

And the worst part? He didn't even try to understand. He didn't even try to apologize.

Behind her, Jungkook sat still on the bed, staring at the blanket-covered figure lying in silence. His jaw tightened. That silence from her, the way she turned her back on him, saying he needed to "learn how to talk properly" before she'd speak to him again–those words echoed in his head louder than they should've.

Who the hell does she think she is?

Jungkook wasn't used to this. He was used to getting his way, being the one in control. Every woman before her either admired him or feared him. They didn't argue. They didn't question. And they sure as hell didn't set boundaries.

But Evie? She just told him flat out that she wouldn't deal with his "shits" no matter how stressed he was. That–that–cut through his pride.

Anger slowly boiled in his veins–rage born from a bruised ego and wounded pride.

How dare she turn him down like that? The audacity of it.

Especially when she was the one who came from nothing. A middle-class girl with no class at all, yet standing there lecturing him as if she had the right.

He hated this feeling—hated that the anger inside him was too strong to control, yet he knew if he acted on impulse it would only make things worse.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before letting out a sharp scoff. With sharp, loud movements, Jungkook threw off the blanket and stood up from the bed.

"You're seriously showing me attitude now? Hm?" he scoffed, loud enough for her to hear. "Just grow the fuck up. Seriously. Stop sulking like a child every time something doesn't go your way," he added coldly. "It's so damn annoying."

He walked to the wardrobe, pulling it open harder than necessary. The doors banged against the frame. He grabbed a black jacket, roughly sliding his arms into the sleeves. His breathing was heavy, sharp with irritation.

Under his breath, he muttered something low and bitter.

"Pathetic overdramatic idiot."

He didn't mean for her to hear it. Or maybe he did. Either way she heard them.

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down the side of her face. But she didn't say a word. She just laid there, quiet, letting the blanket hide the parts of her she didn't want him to see.

Jungkook didn't look back at her.

He left the room, his footsteps loud down the hallway. The front door slammed a few moments later. Then came the sound of his car engine starting.

He didn't drive aimlessly. He knew exactly where he was going.

As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone and typed a message.

—[Jungkook]I'm coming over. Need you. She's giving me a fucking headache again.

He didn't need to explain more. Raven would understand.

And she did.

When he reached her apartment and rang the bell, Raven was already waiting. She opened the door with a knowing look in her eyes–her lips coated in dark red, a silk robe lazily tied around her waist, one side slipping down her shoulder.

She smirked the moment she saw him.

"Took you long enough," she said, voice low, sultry but confident, like she knew exactly why he came.

Jungkook didn't say a word. He stepped in, shut the door behind him with a heavy thud, and grabbed her–one hand gripping her waist, the other tightening around the back of her neck.

Then he kissed her.

It wasn't tender. It was messy, rushed, and rough—the kind of kiss that came with unresolved rage and a need to shut his own mind off. His breath was heavy, jaw tight. He kissed her like he was trying to drown out something inside him.

Raven didn't resist. She kissed him back with ease as she'd done this a thousand times before. Like she knew her place in moments like these.

She broke the kiss briefly, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "Rough night with your little doll?"

Her fingers slid under his jacket, nails grazing his skin with practiced ease. She could feel the tension in his shoulders. He was wound tight.

Jungkook exhaled harshly, dragging her even closer, their bodies pressed together.

"She's been acting out," he muttered. "Full of lectures. All that righteous bullshit. She's so fucking annoying."

Raven laughed under her breath, tilting her head so her lips grazed his jaw. "Cute. She still thinks she can fix you?"

"She's starting to piss me off," he growled, the words coming out between clenched teeth. "She was supposed to break, not bite back."

He slammed his lips onto hers again, harder this time–more force than finesse. The kiss was filled with frustration because he needed control, he needed silence, he needed to forget.

"I need her out of my head," he hissed into her skin. "And you know how to do that."

Raven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was pride in it. "I always do and you know I never disappoint you."

She took his hand, led him down the hallway with confident steps, the robe barely holding onto her shoulder.

The bedroom door shut behind them.

And in the silence that followed, there were no words–just breathless gasps, low groans, the sound of the sheets shifting. His grunts. Her moans. The rhythm of two people who were just using each other to escape.

He didn't think of Evie.

Not once.

And when it was over, he lay back, breath steady, body fully satisfied and obviously with not an ounce of guilt in his chest. Fuck, he missed it a lot.

As they spent their wild night Jungkook sat up in bed. The room still smelled like sweat and sex. Raven was curled up beside him, her clothes thrown somewhere on the floor, one leg tangled in the sheets.

He glanced at the time—a little past 2:30 a.m, he needed to leave.

As he started to get up, Raven stirred and placed a lazy hand on his chest, stopping him.

"Stay," she murmured, her voice low and husky from sleep. "Let her wait for you."

He paused, reaching for his pants. He didn't respond right away, but something about the way her fingers traced across his collarbone slowed him down. It was quiet and peaceful. She wasn't asking for anything more than his presence. No confrontation. Just comfort.

He exhaled through his nose and lay back down beside her.

The night had been wild but now, there was stillness. And in that, he finally let himself close his eyes.

⋆༺𓆩♱𓆪༻⋆𝔙 𝔦 𝔰 𝔦 𝔬 𝔫  𝔦 𝔫  𝔇 𝔞 𝔯 𝔨⋆༺𓆩♱𓆪༻⋆

Back at home Evie had cried herself to sleep hours ago, back turned to the empty side of the bed. She thinks he must have gone out to drink, maybe vent to a friend, maybe drive around to clear his head.

She had fallen asleep late and woke up even earlier–barely past four–her body still heavy from the tears, her heart even heavier from silence.

By 5:00 a.m., she was in the living room, sitting by the window with a cup of untouched tea in her hand, with her own overthinking. She hadn't heard the door open–not at first–but the faint sound of keys and quiet footsteps eventually reached her ears.

Jungkook had returned.

She didn't look at him, just turned her head slightly as he entered, his presence heavy even in the quiet.

She didn't even want his presence right now, especially after whatever had happened last night. She didn't know where he had been during the night, with whom, or where he had slept, and honestly, she didn't even want to know.

His hair was messy, his state completely disheveled. The shirt he was wearing wasn't the one he had left in last night, which made it even stranger.

But he didn't even look at her. Not a glance. Not a word.

He walked past her like she was invisible, his expression unreadable but tense. He looked exhausted, though she didn't know from what. His jaw was clenched, his brows slightly furrowed, and his eyes shadowed like he hadn't slept properly but not in the way a man looks after work or worry.

This was a different kind of tiredness.

And Evie could feel it. She could see it in the way he carried himself.

But still, she didn't ask. And for now, she didn't want to think about any of it, she sat still, trying her best to ignore him as well.

Jungkook disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door without a word.

Evie didn't return to the bedroom. There was no point.

She started her morning like usual, quiet. She bathed, dressed, and began cleaning the small garden outside. The sky was now fully lit, soft golden rays painting the walls of the house. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and the air was still fresh.

Inside, Jungkook finally stirred from sleep. He had hours before needing to leave for work, and unlike her, he had no rush to face the day. His rest was peaceful and undisturbed.

But she stood in the kitchen, preparing breakfast because no matter how hurt she was or how low she felt, neglecting food just because she was angry wasn't something she did.

The smell of toasted bread and fresh eggs lingered in the air, but she didn't prepare a plate for him.

There was no point.

She wasn't waiting for him to sit at the table–not after last night. And certainly not after he had walked past her at dawn like she was nothing more than a piece of furniture.

Jungkook had been awake for a while now. She'd heard the faint rush of the shower running in the bathroom, followed by the low thump of drawers opening and closing, the shuffle of his footsteps across the bedroom floor. He was getting ready for work–his usual routine but he hadn't said a word. And she didn't expect him to.

There was no warmth in the air between them this morning, only heavy tension.

She stayed in the kitchen, silently pouring coffee and breakfast for herself. She didn't bother asking if he wanted any. She didn't even glance toward the bedroom.

Back inside the room, Jungkook stood in front of the large wardrobe, one hand running through his damp hair, jaw clenched in growing irritation. He had already dressed in his office shirt and trousers, belt still loose around his waist, tie tossed over the edge of the bed. He was in a hurry–he needed to be out of the house in less than thirty minutes. And that's when he realized something.

His file.

A critical one. Today's office work revolved around it–documents, a blueprint he had been working on all week. He always kept important files in easy-to-reach spots because he wasn't the most organized person, especially when mornings like this arrived–tense, rushed and half-awake.

That's why he remembered clearly: he had shoved the file in his wardrobe last time. Right side. Folded with some old shirts so it wouldn't get lost. It was stupid but it was his way.

But when he opened the wardrobe and started pulling things apart, the irritation quickly turned to anger.

The file wasn't there.

Instead, he found a stack of clothes–his shirts, pants, ties... and her things. Everywhere. Mixed in. Folded right next to his. Some even draped over his shelf as if it were hers.

"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath, voice tight with frustration.

He began digging deeper, yanking clothes aside with less care, his movements fast and rough. Still no file. Just fabric after fabric, color after color–mostly hers.

What the fuck!

His patience started to crack. The wardrobe was big, long, wide enough for two, sure but he hated how she used his side. Her clothes. Her damn lace blouses and soft pastel sweaters stacked on top of his things like it was hers to own.

He threw a handful of her clothes to the floor without thinking. Then another. Shirts. Dresses. A scarf. Whatever his hand touched was tossed aside with no care. His anger had no pause now. She had filled this whole wardrobe with her things especially in his section. And now, because of her fucking mess, he was running late and couldn't find the one damn file he actually needed.

With a grunt of rage, he slammed the wardrobe door open wider, arms shoving deeper into the pile, tossing out more clothes with frustrated movements.

"Fuck!" he cursed under his breath, breath catching in his throat. His knuckles brushed against empty hangers, piles of cotton and silk, but still–no fucking file.

The mess on the floor grew, now covered in her clothes, thrown out with pure rage. And he couldn't take it anymore.

His loud voice cracked the silence of the house.

"EVIE!!"

Evie sat quietly downstairs, sipping her coffee in silence. Suddenly, a loud voice came through the silence.

Her name echoed from upstairs loudly. Her body flinched slightly at the harshness in his tone. She looked toward the direction of their bedroom, her heart sinking a little. Something about his voice sounded different this time–angrier, more rushed, filled with frustration that made her uneasy.

Before she could gather herself, another shout came, louder and more forceful, "Evie, come here now!"

She didn't reply. She could already sense his mood from the tone of his voice. So she quietly stood up, placed her mug down, and walked slowly toward the room.

As she stepped inside, her eyes widened slightly at the mess in front of her. Clothes–mostly hers, some his–were scattered all over the floor. The wardrobe door was wide open, hangers bent, t-shirts thrown aside, dress crumpled into the corners. Jungkook stood in the middle of the chaos, his brows pulled tight in anger and clear frustration.

She kept her voice calm as she asked, "Why did you call me? What happened? Why are you making such a mess?"

Jungkook looked at her as he snapped back, "Shut the fuck up. Just answer me–did you touch my stuff? Did you clean the wardrobe? Especially my file? I kept an important fucking file in there a few days ago and now it's gone! I don't have time for this shit, I'm getting fucking late."

She stood quietly for a moment, clearly taken back. He was clearly venting, not just about the file but about everything boiling under the surface since last night. Still, she held herself together and tried to think.

"I did clean the wardrobe a few days ago," she said, trying to keep her calm but clear. "It was all messy, and your papers were everywhere... I tried organizing them all together so they wouldn't get lost."

He scoffed, not even hiding the irritation in his eyes. "Why the fuck would you touch my things without asking? Do you think you know everything now? That you're so superior you can just move around whatever you want? That file was important! I don't have time for this shit right now!"

Evie stood there for a moment, stunned by the sudden outburst. For a second she didn't move, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the wardrobe door as she tried to process what he had just accused her of.

So now it was this.

She hadn't even said a word to him since morning, hadn't questioned where he had been all night, hadn't brought up the way he had walked past her earlier like she didn't exist—and yet somehow she was still the problem.

A slow breath escaped her as she walked toward the wardrobe. She opened it and began moving a few folders aside, carefully, exactly the way she had arranged them before.

And there it was.

The file was right where it should have been, organized neatly between the other documents.

She pulled it out and turned toward him, holding it up.

Her jaw tightened slightly before she spoke.

"It's right here," she said, her voice no longer soft or patient. There was a quiet edge to it now, something defensive that hadn't been there before. "You could've just asked instead of shouting at me like that. I didn't touch anything important. I just organized the wardrobe because it was a mess."

Her eyes met his directly, frustration slipping into her words before she could stop it.

"But I guess it's easier for you to start yelling first and blame me later."

Her response only made his expression darken further.

"Stop this!" he snapped. "First you mess with my head, then ruin my morning, and now you're acting like you didn't do anything wrong? You touched something important without asking, and now instead of accepting your mistake, you're trying to talk back?"

Before she could even react, he snatched the bundle from her hands with frustration and force. He opened it quickly, only to realize it wasn't just the file alone–it had been placed between other documents she had stacked together.

"Fuck this," he muttered, more to himself than her, as his fingers ran through the pile. "Why the hell would you hide it in the middle of all this crap?"

He dropped the entire stack onto the bed, letting papers scatter across the bedsheet.

He sat down heavily, cursing under his breath as he began sorting through them, not even caring that the mess was growing worse. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge the silence that had fallen in the room again.

To him, this wasn't his problem.

It was hers.

And she stood there for a moment, her eyes on the mess and on the man sitting in the middle of it like a storm he had created himself. Her heart stung from his words, anger simmering beneath the hurt.

She wanted to speak back. She wanted to shout, to tell him how unfair he was being but no words came out. Her throat felt tight, like something was stuck between her heart and her mouth. The anger was there, rising slowly inside her, but she knew if she opened her mouth right now she would probably end up crying, and that was the last thing she wanted him to see.

So instead, she bent down and began picking up her clothes from the floor–the same ones he had carelessly tossed aside in his anger.

Jungkook kept flipping through the thick stack of papers, muttering curses under his breath. His fingers moved quickly, roughly shifting through the pages until finally he found what he had been looking for—the damn file.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the frustration still burning behind his eyes. The delay had already ruined his morning and now he was running late for work. His mood was wrecked, his head pounding, and he clearly wasn't done lashing out.

He stood up abruptly, throwing the remaining papers back onto the bed and floor without a second glance.

"You think you were organizing?" he snapped, glaring at her like she was the root of every problem in his day. "I had to fucking dig through a whole damn stack like I'm in some storage room. And for what? Because you decided to play house and 'organize' my stuff without even asking me?"

Evie's hands paused for a second on the clothes she was folding.

She took a slow breath before straightening slightly, the anger finally pushing past the silence she had been holding onto.

"I didn't touch anything important," she said, her voice tight with restrained anger. "I just arranged the wardrobe because everything was thrown everywhere. I didn't think you'd start shouting over something this small."

Her eyes lifted to meet his, hurt clear in them despite the effort she made to sound steady.

"And if the file was that important, maybe you should've kept it properly instead of blaming—"

"Shut the fuck up," he cut her off sharply, his voice rising as he pointed toward the wardrobe. "This is a huge-ass wardrobe with so many sections. So why the fuck do you have to dump all your things in my section?" he continued, his tone dripping with irritation. "Seriously, Evie. Keep your shit in your own space. I don't care where—just not in mine."

Evie stared at him, disbelief flashing across her face.

"My section?" she repeated quietly, the hurt in her voice slipping through before she could stop it. "It's our room, Jungkook. That wardrobe isn't just yours."

But he wasn't listening anymore.

"If I see it there again, I'll throw it all out without thinking twice. Got it?" he said harshly.

Evie stared at him, stunned by the way he kept talking over her like her words didn't matter at all. Her fingers tightened around the fabric in her hands, the anger and hurt twisting painfully inside her chest but she said nothing this time.

Jungkook ran a frustrated hand through his hair, still pacing slightly as he grabbed his watch from the side table.

"Clean this fucking mess," he muttered coldly. "This whole drama happened because of you. Every single day it's something new with you. One problem after another."

With that, he snatched his blazer, checked the time, and muttered something under his breath—more curses, more blame—before storming out of the room without sparing her another glance.

The door slammed behind him, loud and final.

And just like that, the room went silent again.

She stood there after the door slammed, the sound still ringing in the room. For a moment she didn't move, her fingers still gripping the clothes she had picked up, the fabric wrinkling in her hands as her hold slowly tightened.

A sharp breath left her chest.

Before she could stop herself, she threw the clothes back onto the floor, the small pile scattering again exactly where she had just picked them from. Her hands went to her hair as she turned away, pacing a few restless steps across the room, her jaw tight while tears blurred her vision despite how hard she tried to keep them back.

"How is this even my fault…" she whispered bitterly.

She wiped her cheek quickly with the back of her hand, annoyed that she was crying at all. Her eyes fell on the papers spread across the bed and floor, the mess he had made and then blamed on her and the sight only made her chest tighten further.

After a moment she crouched down again, this time picking up her clothes with rough, impatient movements instead of the quiet care she had before, folding nothing, just gathering them in her arms while silent tears slipped down her face.

The room was quiet now.

Too quiet.

And her inside too.

★ ★ ★

—𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾         𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍···୨ৎ