† 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟴 †

╭─━─━─━─━─━─╮𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟱𝟴†❝𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬❞╰─━─━─━─━─━─╯

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

The room was still a mess.

Papers were scattered all over the bed, her clothes were on the floor and in her hands and a few of Jungkook's things were mixed in too. His words from earlier kept replaying in her head–harsh, cold and completely unnecessary. She didn't want to cry. She didn't plan to. But she couldn't stop the tears from falling.

She was human, and it hurts.

Quietly, she started picking up her clothes one by one. Some were still in his wardrobe section, the place where she had been keeping her things like any normal wife would. She had thought it didn't matter–they were married, sharing space, sharing a home.

But no, he had to turn it into something else, a whole illogical drama. So she pulled out all her clothes from his section, every single piece. If it meant so much to him, he could have it. He could keep it all to himself, treat it like it was his property or whatever he wanted. She didn't care anymore.

She folded her clothes roughly and packed them into a bag. Then she put that bag in the corner of the room, away from everything. After that, she picked up his clothes and shoved them all into his section of the wardrobe, not bothering to be gentle.

She didn't care how it looked. She also grabbed the stack of paperwork he'd yelled about and stuffed it into his section, exactly how it was—unorganized and messy. No neat folders. No thoughtful arranging. If he didn't like her touching his things, then fine. She wouldn't. Not ever again wasting her time.

Her chest felt heavy with a mix of sadness and anger. Tears still stung her eyes, but she didn't let them stop her.

Once she was done in the room, she walked downstairs. The breakfast she had made earlier was still sitting there on the table–untouched. Her coffee was cold, half-drunk. She looked at it for a moment, then turned away. She had no appetite, no energy to even sit down and eat. And she definitely didn't feel like cleaning or doing anything around the house.

Without saying a word, she picked up the breakfast plate and took it outside. There was a stray dog she often saw near the gate. She fed it the food and watched as it happily ate. For a moment, that simple act gave her some peace.

The rest of the day, Evie stayed outside. She didn't go back in. She didn't do the laundry, didn't clean the dishes, didn't cook anything. She didn't care. She told the guards she would be out for the day and left. Her feet took her to the city streets, to a quiet park near the house. It wasn't far, just a place where she could breathe.

She sat there on a bench for hours, watching people pass by–families, couples, children playing. Everyone seemed happy. Everyone looked like they had somewhere to be, someone to talk to. And there she was, sitting alone, feeling out of place in her own life.

Even as the sun started to set and the wind grew colder, she stayed. The sky darkened, and she knew it was almost time for Jungkook to return home. But she didn't move. She had no desire to go back and face him–not after how he spoke to her, not after the way he made her feel like she didn't have any self-respect.

She didn't even know how long she would sit there, quietly watching the world go on around her. All she knew was, she wasn't ready to go home yet. She hadn't made dinner. She hadn't done a single thing he might expect her to do. But if he had the energy to shout and blame her for everything, then he could figure out how to feed himself too.

For once, she chose herself.

And for now, she just sat there–tired, quiet, and hurt.

†

Jungkook stepped inside the house, closing the front door behind him with a tired sigh. The day had already drained him–endless workload, files piling up, problems at work that didn't seem to end. All he wanted now was some peace. Just to come home, take a warm shower, eat something and rest.

But as soon as he entered, something felt off. The house was unusually quiet. Too quiet.

He looked around, noticing the lights in the hallway weren't even turned on properly. The place felt oddly cold because of the silence in the house. It was nothing like how the house usually was. Evie always kept it warm, alive–neat, tidy and calm. But today, everything felt strange.

He made his way to the kitchen, expecting to hear soft clattering, or at least see dinner being prepared. But the kitchen was dark and empty. No smell of food, no sign of her. He turned on the lights and glanced around.

Still no sign of her.

With a frown, he walked upstairs and opened the bedroom door. Darkness again. He switched on the light, and the sight in front of him only made his headache worse.

What the hell.

The room was a mess. His clothes were scattered carelessly, the wardrobe door slightly open with things stuffed in like someone had been in a hurry. It was completely unlike the way she usually kept it.

He walked to the wardrobe and opened it–everything was shoved in, all mixed up and jammed into the sections without care. His papers were thrown in without any order. His files, clothes—everything was dumped together. It frustrated him.

He muttered under his breath, ran a hand through his hair and walked into the bathroom to change.

After changing into something more comfortable, he came back downstairs. He still hadn't seen Evie anywhere in the house. Not in the kitchen. Not in their room. Not even in the guest room or on the balcony. His brows furrowed deeper, and he walked outside to check the garden.

The guards were standing near the gate. Jungkook asked one of them if they'd seen her.

"Mam left this morning, sir," one of them replied. "Said she'll be out for the day."

His jaw clenched instantly. Of course, she did. He knew her–her damn stupid ego always came in the way.

He hated it.

He hated when she acted like that–so egoistic, so distant, as if she had the right to be upset. He wanted her to be submissive, silent, the way he planned things in his head.

He didn't like this sudden independence, this prideful attitude she had picked up.

"Great," he muttered under his breath bitterly. "As if office stress wasn't enough, now I have to deal with this shitty drama too."

Outside, the sky had turned darker. The wind had a colder edge to it. Still, she hadn't returned. That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Grumbling quietly, he grabbed his car keys and decided to search for her. First, he checked the streets nearby, thinking maybe she was walking or sitting somewhere close. Then, after a while, he drove to the park she visited often. It was calm there, a quiet place where she sometimes went when she needed space.

The park wasn't completely empty, but it was clearing up. A few people were strolling, some couples sat under benches with dim street-lights above them. His eyes scanned the area until he noticed a familiar figure sitting on a bench alone.

Evie.

She was sitting still, her back slightly hunched, her arms wrapped loosely around herself. She looked so peaceful, so detached–like she didn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, he had spent hours stressed out, rushing through the day, dealing with crap at work, and now her too.

He stood there for a moment, watching her from a distance. His hands were in his pockets, jaw tense, expression unreadable.

Then he walked over slowly.

"For how long are you planning to sit here like this?" he asked from behind, voice flat and tired.

She sniffed slightly at the sound, reacting without realizing. Then she turned her head and saw him standing there, looking anything but pleased. Her eyes met his for a second, then she turned her head away just as quickly and looked in the other direction.

That small act—ignoring him directly on his face—made his teeth clench harder. She didn't even say a word. Just turned away like he was invisible.

God, this girl.

He exhaled sharply, trying to hold his temper. "Seriously, Evie… It's getting late. The park's about to close. You can't sit here forever. And when the guards start clearing people out, what are you planning to do? Sleep on the bench?"

Still, she didn't say anything. She sighed, stood up, and walked right past him, like he wasn't even there. She didn't wait for him. Didn't look back. Just walked ahead like she had no energy left to argue.

He followed her silently. They didn't say a single word to each other on the walk back to the house.

Once they entered, she walked straight into the living room and dropped herself onto the sofa without glancing at him. Her face was blank, cold, distant–just like her mood.

Jungkook walked to the kitchen. His stomach was growling. He hadn't eaten since morning, and after a day like this, he needed something–anything–to eat.

He opened the fridge. Nothing cooked.

He checked the stove. Still nothing.

He turned slightly and looked toward the living room. "Didn't you make dinner?"

She didn't even look at him. Her voice was calm, but laced with irritation and coldness. "If someone knows how to run their mouth, they should also know how to move their hands and cook. I'm not anyone's maid. Whoever's hungry should cook for themselves."

Wait—what.

He stood frozen for a moment after hearing her sharp words from the living room. The way she said it– cold, with no sign of hesitation–hit him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened as he stared at her figure from the kitchen doorway. She was sitting on the sofa, her back facing him, refusing to even glance his way.

This kind of treatment wasn't something he was fucking used to. Especially not from someone like her, someone who should be fucking grateful to even step foot in a house like his. Let alone behave like this. He's literally tolerating all her bullshit because he wanted to break her nonsense, stupid ego.

But now, seeing her hold onto it like this–acting like she is superior than him– it frustrated him more than he wanted to admit.

He clenched his fists, ready to lash out but he stopped himself. No. Not tonight. He knew he had to control his temper. One wrong move, one explosion, and all the careful planning would fall apart. Let her fly for now, she'd come crashing down eventually.

Silently, he turned back to the kitchen. The mess irritated him–dishes piled up, utensils unwashed, and things out of place. But he forced himself to ignore it and focus on cooking. He boiled some pasta, added what ingredients he could find, and somehow managed to put together a decent meal. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to satisfy his hunger. He even made a little extra–just in case she decided to let go of her ego and eat something later.

Taking his plate, he walked straight to the bedroom, passing the living room without even looking at her. Dealing with her was the last thing he wanted right now. If she wanted to sit there sulking all evening, that was her problem. He hadn't taken some responsibility to feed her or chase after her. If she was hungry, she could eat on her own. He had enough things to deal with already, and her stubborn ego wasn't one of them.

And apologizing?

The thought alone made his jaw tighten.

No way. There was no way he was going to walk up to her and apologize first, not after the way she behaved at night. He refused to bend just because she decided to act offended.

He pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder and stepped inside, placing the plate on the side table before sitting down on the bed. The room felt oddly quiet compared to the tension that had filled the house earlier.

He began eating slowly, the food already lukewarm but he didn't care enough to heat it again. He just wanted the day to be over.

After finishing, he took the plate back to the kitchen, rinsed it quickly, and returned to the room. His laptop was still sitting on the desk, and he opened it out of habit, checking a few pending office emails. His fingers moved lazily across the keyboard as he replied to two messages, skimmed through a couple of documents, and then eventually closed the laptop again.

Even after that, the night felt long.

He picked up his phone, scrolling aimlessly through messages and social media, barely paying attention to what was on the screen. Minutes passed. Then more.

The house stayed quiet.

Too quiet.

Eventually his eyes flicked toward the clock on the wall.

Well past midnight.

And she still hadn't come to the room.

He scoffed lightly under his breath, already knowing why. Of course she was going to show attitude now. She'd probably stay out in the living room all night just to prove some point.

Fine.

If she wanted to sleep on the couch instead of the bed, that was entirely her choice.

He wasn't going to go out there and call her back like some desperate idiot.

"Suit yourself," he muttered under his breath.

The truth was, he was too tired to care anymore. His head was heavy, the long day finally catching up to him. He placed his phone on the side table, pulled the blanket over himself, and turned off the bedside lamp.

Darkness settled into the room.

He lay back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

The space beside him on the bed remained empty.

For a while he shifted from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable, but sleep refused to come. The silence of the room only made his mind louder.

His jaw tightened slightly as irritation lingered in his chest.

He told himself it didn't matter.

That she could stay angry as long as she wanted.

Still, his eyes opened once more, glancing briefly toward the empty side of the bed before he looked away again, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, he threw the blanket off and sat up. With a sigh, he pushed himself out of bed and walked out of the room. The hallway was quiet and dark. He made his way to the living room, flipping the light switch on as he stepped inside.

There she was.

Lying curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over her. The light revealed just the shape of her under the covers–still, quiet, pretending.

He narrowed his eyes as he walked closer. He couldn't tell if she was really asleep or just pretending, but something about the way she shifted slightly and gave a soft sniff made it clear. She wasn't sleeping. She knew he was there. She just didn't want to face him.

He stood in front of the sofa, staring down at her for a few seconds. He could feel his frustration building again. Her silence felt like defiance. He hated this–the cold shoulder, the attitude.

"Evie," he called her name, waiting for her to respond.

Nothing.

"Evie!" he called again, slightly louder. Still, no response.

His patience thinned. He leaned down and gently shook her shoulder. "I know you're awake," he said in a low voice. "You can stop pretending now."

She didn't move.

He shook her again, a little firmer this time. "Evie," he said, irritation creeping into his tone. "Stop acting like I can't see you're awake."

Finally, she let out a sharp breath and pulled the blanket down, turning to face him with narrowed eyes filled with annoyance and tiredness. "What the hell is your problem?" she snapped, her voice raw with irritation and exhaustion.

He didn't react to her tone. He just looked at her, calm but firm. "Come back to the room," he said quietly.

She stared at him for a few seconds. Her eyes said more than her words ever could–there was anger in them, yes, but also hurt. The events from the morning, the way things had spiraled… it all sat heavy in that one glance.

There's no way she's going back to that room. Not giving him any response she turned her back to him and pulled the blanket over herself again, lying in the same position as before.

He stood there, staring at her curled-up figure under the blanket, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He wasn't the kind of man to walk away. He never had been. He wasn't raised to be soft, and backing off wasn't in his nature. Especially not in his own fucking house. Especially not by her—the one who was supposed to know her damn place.

"Evie!"

He called her name again, firmer this time, but she didn't budge. Didn't even flinch. That only pissed him off more. Without another word, he stepped closer, gripped the edge of the blanket she was hiding under, and yanked it away in one swift move.

She shot up immediately, sitting upright on the sofa with a sharp glare. Her face was full of frustration, irritation, and barely contained rage. "What the hell is even this?" she snapped, her voice rough from holding it in too long.

Jungkook stood there holding the blanket, eyes cold, not backing down. Without saying anything, he tossed the blanket across the floor like it was trash. "Come back to the room," he said, like it was an order, not a request.

"I'm not going," she snapped again at his audacity to order her. "Why would I? That's your bedroom, right? You made it very clear this morning not to touch your things or be in your space. So I'll stay here."

He let out a sharp breath through his nose. Her words literally pissing him off as she was throwing his own outburst back in his face. He remembered what he said this morning, but in his mind, it wasn't a big deal, was it? No.

It was just anger, heat-of-the-moment stuff. People fight. Why the hell she still so dramatic about it?

"Come on," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to calm his voice. "Don't make it a big deal. These small things happen. It's not that serious, alright? Let it go, come back to the room as I am not letting you sleep here."

She stared at him like he'd just said nonsense to her. Her mouth parted slightly in disbelief, eyes welling up with the kind of pain he didn't seem to grasp. "Small?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "You think this is small? You think this is not serious?"

He looked away for a second, realizing maybe he chose the wrong words. He opened his mouth to fix it, but she didn't give him the chance.

"You really don't remember what you said, do you?" she continued, the volume of her voice rising slightly. "You don't remember how you humiliated me this morning? Just because you couldn't find a damn file? You called me careless, told me not to touch your things without permission—like I'm some outsider. You told me to keep my stuff out of your wardrobe like I'm invading your space. I'm your wife, Jungkook. Not a guest. Not your maid."

"Hey, listen to me—", he tried to speak again, softer this time, but she cut him off immediately, her emotions boiling over now that she had finally cracked.

"You said things that people don't even say to strangers. And I'm your family… or at least, I thought I was. I know I make mistakes. Everyone does. But the way you reacted… It was too much. You blew up at me because of your mood last night, not because of some stupid file. You were already angry, and you took it out on me."

Jungkook stayed quiet, watching her but not truly absorbing what she was saying. He was listening, but only because he knew he had to. He could feel things slipping if he didn't control this moment.

She wiped at her face, clearly holding back more tears. "And you're standing here telling me it wasn't serious. You may think it was nothing, but to me? It was something. Because no husband says those things to his wife if he has even a shred of respect for her. I'm not a robot. I have feelings. I get hurt."

Jungkook finally let out a long sigh and slowly sat down on the floor in front of her. Looking up at her from the floor made him seem softer, more vulnerable. He reached for her hand gently, trying to touch her fingers, but she quickly pulled away, not letting him near.

He paused, then spoke with a practiced calm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly. "I've just been dealing with a lot lately. The work pressure is insane. I'm barely sleeping. It's like my head's always full, and sometimes… it just gets too much. I say things I don't mean. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm sorry."

It was the kind of apology that sounded good, but lacked any real depth. He didn't apologize because he felt sorry. He did it because he needed her to stop talking. To stop being emotional. To stop threatening the control he thought he had over her.

But she didn't fall for it.

She shook her head slowly, eyes filled with tears again, but her voice was steady now. "Stop using stress as an excuse. Everyone has stress. I stay home all day, alone, doing everything around this house. I get tired too. I feel overwhelmed. My head spins too. But that doesn't give me the right to scream at you. I don't get to throw insults around just because I had a rough day. That's not how things work."

There was a long silence between them after her outburst.

Jungkook stayed on the floor, sitting cross-legged, fixing his eyes on her. He could sense the distance in her body language, the way she leaned away, arms folded, shoulders tense. He knew she was done with talking. But that didn't work for him. He couldn't let it end like this.

He exhaled quietly, then placed both hands gently on her knees. His touch was light, careful, almost like he didn't want to startle her or make her pull from his touch.

When he spoke, his voice was softer than before, laced with the kind of vulnerability he had learned to imitate so well.

"You're right," he said, shaking his head slowly, his eyes dropping as if he were finally forcing himself to admit his faults. "I messed up. I'm… such an idiot sometimes." He huffed quietly. "No, not sometimes—most of the time, honestly."

Evie didn't move.

She sat stiffly on the couch, her shoulders tense, staring somewhere past him instead of at him. His hands resting on her knees made her aware of his presence in a way she didn't like, but she didn't push him away either. Not yet.

Her silence stayed between them.

Jungkook glanced up at her again, studying her face for any sign that his words were reaching her.

"I wasn't trying to make excuses," he continued, his tone quieter now. "I know what I said earlier was bullshit. You're right—stress isn't an excuse. I used it because I didn't know what else to say in that moment." His brows pulled together slightly, the expression almost convincing. "But that doesn't mean I don't regret hurting you. I do. I really do."

Evie didn't know what she was supposed to feel.

He was too good at this.

Too good at knowing exactly which words to choose, exactly how to say them, exactly when to soften his voice. It was like watching a performance she had already seen before.

Slowly, she turned her face away from him, refusing to meet his eyes.

She wasn't going to melt just because he suddenly sounded remorseful. Not this time. Not over something that he had crossed the line.

His fingers tightened slightly on her knees, just enough to draw her attention back to him.

"I've always been like this," he went on, his voice low, almost self-pitying now. "I was raised in a way that made me selfish. I don't really know how to treat people properly. I act without thinking. I say things I shouldn't." His gaze lifted to her again. "But you… you're too good for me. You don't deserve this version of me."

Evie let out a short, incredulous scoff.

Her jaw tightened as she finally looked at him again, frustration flashing in her eyes.

"Don't do that," she muttered firmly.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Talk like that," she replied, her voice defensive now. "Like you're some kind of victim so I'll start feeling bad for you."

Jungkook blinked once, slightly caught off guard.

Then he let out a quiet chuckle.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad for me," he said calmly.

He leaned forward a little more, his expression softening again, his tone turning almost pleading.

"I just hate that I hurt you." His thumbs brushed lightly against her knees as he spoke. "And if it makes you feel any better, you can throw all my clothes out like I did with yours. Or better, I'll do all the chores tomorrow. All of them. You just point and order."

Evie shook her head slightly, clearly unimpressed.

"You think that fixes it?" she said, her voice tight with lingering hurt. "Like this is about chores or clothes?"

But Jungkook kept going as if he hadn't heard the edge in her words.

"I mean it," he said. "Punish me if that's what'll make you feel better."

He smiled faintly then, testing the waters, trying to lighten the tension just enough.

"You can make me clean the toilet if you want," he added with a small shrug. "I'll do it."

His voice softened again as he looked at her.

"Just… don't shut me out like this. I can't sleep knowing you're mad at me." He paused briefly. "I can't sleep without you there beside me. It messes with my head."

That part wasn't entirely a lie.

But not for the reasons she might think.

He didn't need her beside him for comfort.

He needed her there to feel in control. To know she was still within his reach. Still inside the circle of his life.

Still his.

When she didn't respond, he slowly stood up and held his hand out toward her, offering it gently.

"Come back to the room," he said quietly. "Please. Let's just sleep, alright?"

But she didn't take his hand, didn't even look at it.

Instead, she stood on her own, quietly walked over to where the blanket still lay discarded on the floor, and picked it up and returned to the sofa. She laid down again, pulling the blanket over herself with slow, tired movements. And then, without looking at him, she said flatly, "I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night. Let me rest. You should sleep too."

That was it.

She didn't argue again. Her voice was calm–too calm. But the message was clear: she wasn't giving in.

He stood frozen for a moment, watching her turn her back on him. His jaw clenched, his shoulders stiffening. He might have looked composed on the outside, but inside he felt a surge of anger and frustration. He hated doing this. He hated when someone acted so defensive and stubborn like this. She wasn't letting go of her pride, and that grated on every nerve he had.

God, how he hated this part of her—her ego, her damn sense of self-worth. The way she pulled back like she didn't need him. Like her silence could punish him. It made his blood boil, but he knew better than to show it. Not yet.

He cleared his throat, then asked one last time in a low voice but there's firmness in it. "So you're not coming?"

She didn't even turn. "I'm comfortable here."

The silence between them had settled down. She thought he'd leave–that maybe this time, he'd take the hint. But of course, Jungkook wasn't the type to back off when he wanted something. And right now, what he wanted was her. In his room. In his arms. On his terms.

"If you're not coming with me," he said quietly from behind her, "then I'm not going either."

Before she could even react, he moved.

In one quick motion, Jungkook slipped under the blanket she had just pulled over herself. The couch creaked softly beneath the sudden shift of weight. It was wide, but not wide enough for comfort–only enough space for two people if they stayed close. Too close.

Evie startled, immediately turning her head to see what he was doing, but by the time she reacted he was already there behind her.

His body pressed firmly against her back, leaving her no space to move away. The pressure forced her slightly forward until she was curled near the edge of the couch, the armrest digging lightly against her side, with nowhere left to retreat.

He had closed the distance completely.

His arm snaked around her waist like it had done so many times before but this time, she tensed. Every part of her body bristled with irritation as his grip tightened, holding her against him. His chest was flush against her back, his warmth unwelcome, his breath brushing the nape of her neck.

"If you're sleeping here," he murmured softly, "then I'm sleeping here too. I'm not going anywhere."

She groaned in frustration, her voice sharp as she snapped, "What is wrong with you? Seriously, Jungkook—what kind of nonsense is this?"

She tried to turn toward him, wriggling in the small space between the back of the sofa and his solid body. It wasn't easy, the space was too tight but somehow, she managed to shift enough to face him. Her glare was fierce and her voice was laced with rising anger. "You're unbelievable. I'm trying to get some peace and you're here playing these childish games—"

But he didn't budge.

She tried to push him away, her palms pressing against his chest, but it was like pushing against a wall. He caught her wrists easily, not roughly–just firmly enough to keep her from escaping. His arms looped around her again and pulled her flush against him, holding her close in a way that made her feel suffocated.

"You're not stronger than me," he whispered, a faint smirk in his voice. "You can't get away unless I let you. And I won't–not until you forgive me. Not until you come back to the bedroom."

Her heart pounded in frustration. "Let me go," she hissed, trying again, shoving at his arms, wriggling beneath his grip. But he held on, determined and immovable.

"I mean it," he said again, softer this time. "Either you forgive me and come to the bedroom… or I'm sleeping here with you, like this, all night."

"Jungkook—" her voice cracked, overwhelmed and breathless.

She didn't want this. She didn't want this sweet talk and stubborn clinging after he hurt her. She didn't want to feel his arms around her when she was still hurting, still raw from everything he'd done. Her frustration was bubbling up–from his persistence, his refusal to give her space, the suffocating way he always had to win.

"Stop it," she snapped, pushing him again. "Just stop with your stupid behavior–I'm not in the mood for this!"

He didn't move. He simply buried his face against the curve of her neck, his voice muffled against her skin.

"I'm really sorry," he whispered again. "I swear, I'll do anything to make it up to you."

She scoffed, trying to break free from his hold, but he only pulled her tighter.

"You can't push me off. You're not stronger than me, baby," he murmured, as if that was something romantic to say. "So stop wasting your energy."

Her breathing was unsteady, her arms still trying to press him away, but they were weakening–emotionally more than physically. It wasn't just the physical closeness that overwhelmed her. The forced softness after he hurt her. The way he wouldn't listen even when she clearly needed space.

"I took the whole week off," he said suddenly, lifting his face just slightly to speak against her cheek. "I've already arranged it. We're going. For our honeymoon."

She blinked, stunned. "What?"

"We never went, remember?" he continued smoothly. "I'll plan the whole thing. Or not. You can. We'll go wherever you want. Your choice, your call, your place. I'm all yours."

She stared at him in disbelief, her face twisted with hurt and irritation. "You're unbelievable. Just go away from me, are you deaf or what? I don't want more of your bullshit," she said, her voice shaking now, lips trembling.

But he didn't stop.

He pressed his lips against her forehead, ignoring her plea. "We'll have fun. Just us. New places, good food, late mornings, and long nights. Just me and you. I'll carry your bags. I'll shut off my phone. We'll do it right this time."

She let out a sob as her emotions finally caved in. Everything had piled up–the humiliation, the exhaustion, the confusion, the ache in her chest that never seemed to go away. Her fists were still against his chest, but now they were shaking. Her face scrunched, and then the tears came–quiet and warm.

She kept struggling, even as her body trembled and her heart screamed for relief. Her fists pushed weakly against his chest, tears slipping down her cheeks in hot trails. "Let me go, I don't want anything from you," she cried, her voice cracking. "Just let me go…"

But Jungkook didn't budge. Not an inch. His arms stayed around her, firm and unmoving, holding her tightly as if by doing so, he could erase everything he had done.

"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" she whispered between quiet sobs, her voice muffled against his chest. "To act like nothing happened… like everything's fine now. Like you didn't hurt me like this."

Jungkook didn't answer.

Instead, his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer until there was barely any space left between them. He shifted slightly on the couch, drawing her fully against his chest, his chin resting lightly near the top of her head. One of his legs slid over hers, trapping her gently but firmly so she couldn't pull away even if she tried.

The blanket tangled around them as his body curved around hers, holding her in place, almost like he was trying to quiet the distance she kept creating.

Evie let out a shaky breath, burying her face deeper into his shirt. Her fingers curled into the fabric, gripping it tightly as if she didn't know whether she wanted to push him away or hold on.

"I didn't need anything from you," she said, her voice breaking softly. "I never asked for anything. I just wanted peace, Jungkook… just peace."

Her words faded into a broken mumble against him, barely audible now. Her body, once tense and stiff, slowly began to soften in his embrace. His hand moved gently over her back, the other threading through her hair, smoothing the messy strands away from her face–a careful touch. He held her as if he were comforting her… but wanting to control the moment, locking her into him even as she crumbled.

She let herself fall against his chest fully now, too exhausted to fight. Her tears came freely, soaking through his shirt, and with every breath, she seemed to deflate more.

"You're cruel," she whimpered, her voice tiny. "So cruel."

Jungkook said nothing. He just held her tighter.

"You're the one who is a pathetic idiot…" she muttered through her sobs.

He leaned down, brushing his lips gently against her hair. "I know," he whispered. "I am."

His fingers moved carefully–one hand stroking her back in slow circles, the other running through her hair, smoothing it down, wiping the tears from her cheeks whenever she lifted her face to breathe. When she looked up at him for a second, he gave her a soft, regretful smile, the kind that twisted guilt and charm together.

"I'm a pathetic idiot," he repeated.

Eventually, her sobs slowed, her body growing heavier in his arms. Her breathing was ragged, uneven–the exhaustion came from more than just crying. Her voice was almost gone now, just soft sniffles as she curled into his chest, defeated.

He gently pulled her face up again, thumb brushing under her swollen eyes. "You haven't had dinner," he said quietly. "Come on, get up. I made it earlier. You need to eat something."

She didn't even look at him, just muttered under her breath, "I don't want you…"

But he shook his head, lips brushing her forehead. "You don't have a choice anymore," he said softly, almost tenderly. "I'll make sure of that. You can't fight me forever."

And then he wrapped his arms around her again–not letting her go, not loosening even for a moment. As if by holding her long enough, she'd give in completely.

Her body sank deeper into him, and he leaned back on the sofa, resting his cheek on top of her head. His eyes fluttered shut, a faint sigh escaping his lips of satisfaction.

God, how much more of this shit does he have to bear this shit… just to make this work.

He whispered under his breath, so quiet even she didn't hear it.

His expression softened again, face blank and serene–as if nothing had slipped.

★ ★ ★

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