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hellooow, i’m searching a fic since months now and i’m asking if maybe anyone knows where it went????,,, well what i can remember is that it was a yoongi x reader fic and some kind of different ways to show love or signs of love. i remember that one was for example that yoongi was brighter and giddier when he was around his phone, he’s normally nonchalant but because of y/n he’s different and the members felt it. and then i remember the last part where y/n tells him that she knows that he loves her and he’s all like :o and that she loves him too which makes him go like :O he can’t believe it so he asks her over and over again to repeat it and she does and he even teared up a lil... that was one of the best fics i’ve read, i even read it multiple times but now i can’t seem to find it anymore pls heeeelp. i think they were in a room like a kitchen in the last part and y/n was about to head out with namjoon to eat or something and then she confronted yoongi, i don’t know i remember something vaguely that she was almost ready to go had her jacket on and all and told namjoon to go wait for her and she just went back into the kitchen to get something and saw yoongi there and told him

back-burner | 13

do it for you, if not for anyone else

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff

WARNINGS. feeling your feelings, healing, self-actualisation, Loli being the best person ever, Hobi also being the best person ever, JK also being the best person ever; a much-needed chapter for our oc!

WORDS. 6.4k

back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“I thought we were doing something fun!” you whine, complaining as Loli drags you through the exhibition she had surprised you with. And surprised you were, especially when you were under the guise that the pair of you were going to be going out to get drinks and get drunk (yes, getting drunk with an old lady was weird in itself but Loli was oddly disciplined when it came to alcohol. It was mostly for you).

“This is fun, child,” she says with an eye roll as you sniff petulantly while she snatches the tickets from the frontman and gives him a less than amicable smile before she practically shoves you into the compound.

You yelp, nearly tumbling into one of the pieces before turning back to give Loli a vehement glare.

“You manipulated me!” you accuse, loud enough to catch the attention of a hipster couple who side-eyed you and your loudness. “I did not consent to this!”

“Stop being dramatic and appreciate that I lied to Jungkook saying that I had an appointment with an old friend so I wouldn’t have to help him with his weird anatomy flashcards,” she snaps.

“You lied to your grandson?” you balk, “For this?”

“This is more important!” Loli retorts, yanking you by your elbow before linking your arms together. Her grip is iron against your own as you surrender to the brute strength of a nearly seventy-year-old woman.

“Loli,” you whine, “I really wanted to hang out with you—but why at an exhibition? You and I are the last people that would ever be here!”

“I have a purpose for everything I do, okay? So don’t fret.”

While Loli was a character of her own, she did in fact have a set of morals that you deeply respected. You knew, from experience, that it was easier to judge someone based on the persona that they displayed to the world as opposed to understanding the core values of an individual. People would call her weird, freakishly active for an old lady—but they didn’t see the kindness that Loli displayed to the people she loved. Like you.

“And what exhibition is this anyway?” you mumble. You were aware you were being a brat but you really just wanted to shit talk people with Loli over alcohol. At least you weren’t alone, this time. “Mirrors? Is this what you wanted to do? Be vain?”

You just wanted to forget for a while.

Loli rolls her eyes, “It’s for you,” she tells you before spinning you around to face a particular mirror.

It’s a mirror that enlarges your entire figure, and you look somewhat distorted behind the iridescent glass. It’s an amusing sight if it weren’t for the fact that Loli had dedicated this to you. You could appreciate the arts, you really did. But you were particularly grumpy because you had essentially been scammed to free drinks and good company.

“You know I’m not that type,” you say dryly, “I don’t like looking into mirrors.”

You really didn’t. And it wasn’t to say that there was a type of person that enjoyed looking at themselves in the mirror, but if there really was—Loli was one of them. She was unapologetically herself, and she was confident in her personality and appearance. That was one thing you really admired about Loli. It was the fact that nothing anyone said about her could deter or diminish the worth she saw in herself.

“I know, love,” she says, a little softer before she rests a palm on your shoulder. “Just look.”

You stare at her weirdly, wondering what exactly she was playing at before you stare at yourself. You wince, automatically regretting it when you see a version of yourself that you’ve decided you didn’t like today. She looked a little tired, and you reason it due to the fact that you were tired. You were barely getting any sleep with the upcoming pitch you were working on for a group of potential investors and you needed it to be perfect.

(What was perfect, anyway, if not imperfectness covered? Were you really doing yourself a favour by attaining perfection to only find yourself disappointed in the outcome?)

“Loli,” you say, beginning to feel uncomfortable with how long you were staring at yourself. You seem to catch a little more that you didn’t like, see behind your eyes and into your brain. The irrational thoughts, the mind that didn’t work as innovative as Haerin. Or had the gift of understanding medicine like Yoongi or Jungkook. Or even had the oratory skills to carry out a conversation as seamlessly as Hoseok. “I don’t—”

“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” Loli only takes this tone with you when she’s serious, or when she’s concerned. Right now, she’s both.

“Whatever it is, can we—?”

“Continue looking in the mirror,” she encourages, standing right behind you as you swallow, eyes fitting back to your reflection. Distorted, but you regardless. “I want you to repeat something for me.”

You feel your ears burn, realising that you were in public and simply just staring at yourself. Did you look self-absorbed? What if you were hogging the space and someone wanted to make a complaint?

“Loli, what are you even—?”

“I’m ____,” she begins to say as your eyes widen. “I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, and I’m capable.”

“Loli, there’s no way in hell I’m saying that in public and in front of a mirror at an exhibition,” you deadpan.

Loli ignores you. “I’m loved; worthy of being loved—”

“Loli …” you frown.

“I’m intelligent, kind and respected. I deserve good, and rest, and love.”

You find yourself reeling back a little, especially with how her words pierce straight through your heart. They’re simple words, you’re sure a kindergartener would know them. But why were they so difficult for you to understand? To repeat? To believe? They were just words that describe people—but not you. Not you, for you to repeat them in front of a reflection that was you, but wasn’t.

“Loli,” you snap, turning to face her as you break out of your trance with your own reflection. “What are we doing?”

Loli looks up at you, eyes gentle in a way so maternal that it has your heart clenching. You feel like a child, young and berated when she grabs a hold of your hand and covers your knuckles with her other palm. There are wrinkles against her skin, skin rough from years of living and experience—and you feel warm. You’re confused, scared—but warm, nevertheless.

“I want you to look at yourself and believe that,” she says softly, “That’s why we’re here.”

“So I can do this weird manifesting shit?” you scoff. “Loli, cut it out. I’m not doing it. Why in public?”

You sound sour, but Loli’s undeterred. She’s more used than anyone to your animosity, the refusal to do things that people told you to do. She knew your stubbornness more intimately than most but learned where it came from, and when it comes.

“You’re unhappy,” she tells you and you gape at her bluntness. “You’re here, but you’re not. Your mind is far away and it’s an unhappy place.”

“Oh, and you know so much to psychoanalyse me, right?” you say bitterly.

You acknowledge you’re being extremely bratty but you couldn’t help it. The entire situation was off-putting as it was because you weren’t used to just...staring at yourself, especially in public. And now that you were here having Loli unravel the pent up apprehension in your chest, you were even more thrown off.

“Your heart hurts,” she says, placing a hand on your chest as you nearly jump back at the impact. “I know you’re hurt, sweetheart.”

You refuse to show her you were, but you feel your lips tremble when she says the words so truthfully as if it was a truth you were condemned to accept. That you were hurt, and unhappy.

Confused.

“So?” you sneer, “Was this out of pity? That Yoongi loves me but ended up with Haerin? I told you this from day one.”

Loli doesn’t even frown, all she does is smile.

“Do you think he chose her?”

No fucking shit, Loli, you wanted to scream. But

But you schooled your face and gave her a pointed expression.

“They were together, Loli,” you say, “Do you know what that means? It means they both consented to it—wanted it to happen. Made that decision for both of them.”

“He chose you that day, didn’t he?” You aren’t sure what Loli is referring to, but something tells you that she knows something—as always, but is refusing to tell it to you point-blank.

“He got me pastries, Loli,” you exasperate frustratedly, “I get Hobi and Jungkook food all the time!”

“It’s not my position to hypothesise or say anything,” she tells you, “But you need to understand that people love very differently. The way we express our platonic love and romantic love is vastly different from what one may typically expect.”

Now, you were even more confused. Was Loli implying that he did that out of love? You nearly scoff. That could never be true. If anything, it was out of obligation.

“So? What is the point of all of this, Loli?” you sigh, “I’m not hurt. I don’t care. It was bound to happen and I was bound to—” you were immediately about to contradict yourself. I was bound to get hurt, you wanted to say. But you catch yourself and purse your lips, but the look on Loli’s face tells you she knows.

“Did you let him love you?”

You pause.

“What?”

“Have you ever stopped, and wondered, if you’ve ever given that man a chance to love you?” Loli repeats, tone still gentle but plagued with a sense of pointedness that you’re realising was firm.

“Why would I—?” you huff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that? I never knew!”

“So, you haven’t?” she says, raising a brow.

“Loli, what?” you exasperate, “No. I didn’t. Can we go now if you’ve got your—?”

“I’m a firm believer that you are more in control over how you feel than you actually think,” she says with a raised brow. “You’ve always loved Yoongi but have you ever taken a step back to let him love you?”

“And what, Loli?” you frown, “Get myself hurt?”

“You’re hurting yourself, ___,” she says seriously as you gape at her. “I don’t know Yoongi the way you do but I’ve never seen that man do anything for you that wasn’t out of love.”

The admission silences you; makes your throat dry. You blink up at her with widened eyes and Loli only looks at you with a softness paired with a rough edge that tells you that she was not joking around.

“Things have been difficult for you,” Loli says quietly, “As someone who was—” she corrects herself before she continues, and your heart clenches for her. “As someone who is a mother, and a grandmother—I cannot fathom how your own parents can treat you the way they do. But despite the well-deserved hatred I have for them, you cannot change people who don’t see a fault in themselves.”

You purse your lips.

“You were unlucky with your parents,” she says softly, “And I understand that. But you can’t spend the rest of your life sabotaging your happiness just because your parents failed to recognise the wonders you’re capable of. I know it’s going to be hard to unlearn this headspace but you are deserving of love; people do love you.”

“It’s not easy, Loli,” you croak, eyes fluttering shut, refusing to see the person in the mirror.

“It’s not,” she agrees, “But it’s necessary. You don’t need to get it right the first time but you need to try.”

“I just—” you sigh, “why wasn’t I enough for him?”

Loli reaches out to hold your hand, and her slightly wrinkly hands squeeze your youthful ones. The world between the two of you was vast, but with Loli, you always felt like you were right next to her.

“You always were,” Loli murmurs, “It’s you who doesn’t believe that. Everyone else sees how he feels about you.”

“Then—then why…” you huff, “God. Loli. This is pointless.”

You’re quick to throw yourself under the bus because things were getting a little too emotional for your liking, especially in a public setting. No one even batted an eye at the pair of you, but you were hyper-aware of the people around you.

Why was the world so loud when no one was looking?

“Seeing your worth isn’t pointless,” she scolds, yanking you by the arm as you huff, blowing your hair out of your face as her tough-love returns. “You can moan and complain about being hurt all you want about how you think Yoongi doesn’t love you but the truth is, he does. He loves you. God, this old lady sees it, your best friend sees it; the man you slept with sees it—if you don’t believe it then it isn’t true for you.”

Loli’s voice echoes in your mind despite her taking a relatively soft tone.

“If Haerin didn’t tell me he loved me then would’ve we spent the rest of our lives not knowing?” you murmur, fingers digging into your sides as Loli offers you a soft, wistful smile.

“There’s no point in discussing the what-ifs,” she tells you, “Why dwell on something that hadn’t happened instead of what did?”

“Because if Yoongi didn’t do it himself then we would’ve—”

“—and you know I’ll never make an excuse for a man but God, baby,” she signs, running her hands through her hair when her maternal tone arises. “Yoongi is stubborn. He needed the push and he got it. He’s there, so why are you holding back?”

“Because what if he realises that what he feels was a mistake?” you exasperate.

Loli’s lips purses. “Why are you worrying about something that never happened?”

You go silent, and you wonder.

Why did you worry about something that never happened?

“Do this for me,” she urges, smiling at you before gesturing to the mirror.

Your jaw ticks, face returning to a scowl. “Loli, we’re in public. I’m gonna look like a fucking maniac mumbling to myself in front of a mirror.”

“If you learn to love yourself in public then loving yourself in private won’t be so difficult,” she murmurs.

“Can we just, I don’t know,” you mutter in embarrassment, “I’ll record it at home and send it to you.”

Your attempt at negotiating is fruitless, especially when Loli barely budges.

You sigh, shifting on your feed before you’re practically glaring at yourself through your reflection.

You open your mouth, wracking your brain in an attempt to recall the exact words Loli wanted you to utter. You may never believe it, but Loli didn’t seem like she was backing down. This was for her.

(Even if you secretly wanted to believe in yourself, too.)

“I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, I’m incapable—”

“Capable,” she corrects with a jostle to your body as you scowl.

“I’m capable,” you huff, staring straight into the mirror and seeing someone almost unrecognisable. She was still you. She had the same hair, same face, same scowling expression; but there was something distinctly different about your reflection and you couldn’t quite point it out.

“Do I really have to do this?” you mutter, tapping your foot against the ground as your eyes dart everywhere. No one was looking but why did you feel watched? As if voyeurs found your weak declaration of self-love interesting enough to glance at.

“I can’t force you,” Loli says seriously, “No one can force you to love yourself, ___. You need to do that yourself. All I’m pushing you to do is to try.”

Loli’s grasp on your arm is featherlight, almost as if she was slowly detaching herself from you to allow yourself to roam free. You look back into the mirror, and it’s almost as if you were watching every bit of your life on replay.

From the moment you were first compared to Haerin; from when you realised your parents’ aloofness was more than being emotionally unavailable but because of the fact that they didn’t love you; from when you first met Yoongi; from when you learnt how to drive; from when you got suspended in high school; from the moment you realised you were in love with Yoongi; from the moment you lost your virginity in a drunken haze because you heard Yoongi kissed someone else; from every. Single. Moment.

You feel yourself grow emotional, though there were no tears. You’re looking at yourself and you recognise why you don’t recognise the person you’re looking at.

The person staring back at you was a hollow shell of who you could’ve been; all the beautiful possibilities that you would have achieved if it weren’t for the person that sabotaged you the most; that stabbed you in the back more times than you could count.

Yourself.

Your throat feels dry, and suddenly, looking in the mirror didn’t feel so debilitating anymore. Loli’s grasp is no longer there and you feel like you’re floating. It’s the most cliche moment of your life but something clicks; maybe it was the exhibition photographer that captured your stupefied expression. But it’s as if all the burrows that made the skeleton of your body were filled with realisation. A moment of calamity turned calm.

Loli’s no longer holding you and it’s just your reflection accompanying your physical body. The reflection is getting closer and closer to you; you realise that you were taking a step forward. Your finger reaches out, it caresses the smooth surface of the mirror. It’s plain. It’s a mirror. But you were behind its reflection. It was you, who touched the tip of your finger on the other side.

There are no words that you can utter at this moment. Silence is all that overcomes you. But it feels...it feels. And for the first time, you look yourself in the eye and you see someone worth taking time for. Someone who was very much human; very much fragmented like the rest of the world was—but alive.

And she’s staring at you.

“Yoongi loves you,” Loli murmurs, and another reflection joins you.

A hand enters first; resting on your shoulder. Then, Loli’s shorter frame comes into your vision. She looks like your family with the way you subconsciously lean into her hold.

This time, you don’t deny her words.

People usually say that things in life happen for a reason, to give you meaning to an already mundane lifestyle or to teach you a lesson that you could reflect on as years pass by.

You didn’t think so. Not absolutely, at least.

Things in life didn’t always happen for a reason. Sometimes things happen without any concern for structure or order and don't have any intrinsic value tied to those moments. Not everything that happens in life is a direct result of a grand scheme that the Gods or entities above set into place to teach humans a lesson.

Sometimes things just were. And you were the person that was in control of the meaning behind happenings and occurrences.

Working on the pitch alongside your team as moral support taught you a few things but you don’t think the act in itself had any value if it weren’t for how you weighed its importance in your own life. You could’ve taken it, prepared a pitch, delivered it and called it a day. It would’ve been another speck in your memory.

But it wasn’t. You spent hours upon hours perfecting every finite detail of your presentation. You engaged with officers and professionals to gain insight on academic knowledge that you didn’t have regarding the systemic issues that you were trying to solve. Or trying to better. You were firm in your stance when certain members were iffy on your rather self-denying clauses, but empathetic enough to consider varying thoughts.

You gave meaning to the work that you did, and you learnt from it.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt as fulfilled in your life as you did when you finalised the final pitch. You thought you were going to cry, to celebrate with a bottle of wine, to call Jungkook or Hoseok or Loli to tell them that you were done.

But you weren’t really done, and it hadn’t truly hit you that you had in fact, completed a huge project.

Until now.

“Hey, superstar.” Hoseok manifests out of nowhere, his suave self navigating his way through a few business associates or investors before he reaches right in front of you. Your mind needs a distraction, and it somehow goes back to the first night you’ve properly talked—or—yeah. “Looking good tonight.”

“I’m going to fucking puke,” you say instead of a greeting, ignoring his compliment.

“Medicine,” he smirks, patting his pocket as you let out a sigh of relief before sticking your palm out invitingly.

He laughs, a comforting feeling, before reaching into his pocket to retrieve the key to ease your nerves (or at least you hoped would) and drop them into the palm of your extended hand. Then, he squeezes your shoulders when he realises your eyes remain faraway and glazed.

“You’re gonna do great,” he says softly, rubbing your shoulder as you let out a shaky sigh.

“This is terrifying,” you mumble, eyes drifting to the side when you catch sight of a rather tall man who looked like he had no remorse for anything but business. “Fuck, Hobi. Why did I do this to myself?”

“Because you care,” he answers easily, another hand reaching out to your other shoulder before he’s practically cornering you like a football coach to their players before a big game. You suppose the nerves were similar.

“You didn’t tell me there were gonna be this many people,” you whine.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “And run the risk of you rejecting the idea completely? No way.”

“So you manipulated me,” you gawk.

“I strategised, sweetheart,” he winks, tapping his temple as you scowl at him.

The short banter manages to ease your nerves ever so slightly, but the sense of trepidation returns when an investor walks past the two of you to offer Hoseok and yourself a brief nod of acknowledgement, reminding you why you were here—and your role for the night.

“Girlfriend?” The man laughs in passing.

As he disappears into the bodies, is when Hoseok calls out, equally as amused.

“Can’t a beautiful woman and a beautiful man be friends, Derek?”

A few people laugh and it’s instantaneous the effect that Hoseok has on people. You suppose that’s why he’s so successful, or why he makes anyone around him feel all the more comfortable in a frightening situation.

“I still think I’m going to puke,” you mutter.

Hoseok laughs, loud and jubilant before he’s encasing you into a deep hug that has your face mushed against his chest.

“You have me as support,” he comforts you as you sniff.

“If only you could give the pitch for me,” you mumble.

“I could never serve the pitch its justice,” he points out, ruffling your hair. “It’s all you.”

“And me!”

Another voice enters, and your head tilts up to see Loli skipping over towards the two of you, dressed in a beautiful red dress that made her look more stunning than she already was, and not her age—while Jungkook trails behind her with a small smile.

“Loli!” You throw Hoseok off you in exchange for the old woman’s embrace, already feeling the warmth of a maternal figure in your life when she presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You haven’t even given your pitch yet and you’re out here canoodling with this handsome bachelor?” she taunts.

You roll your eyes. “For the last time, Loli, it’s not going to happen.”

“God forbid you to have taste,” she jibes as you giggle at her faux disgust. “And this—I will say I’m surprised. I thought you’d end up looking like a dumpster truck hit you tonight.”

“Do you have no faith in me?” you pout, glancing down at your attire.

It’s a nice sleeveless jumpsuit that fits snug around your waist and elongates your legs. The white corset-like top forces you to keep your back upright so you don’t run the risk of flashing anyone if you slouched while your tits fell out, and the black length of your pants only tied the look together.

It was a little out there for a pitch presentation session but it did wonders to boost your self-esteem, and that was all you needed right now.

“She has an extra dress in my car just in case,” Jungkook finally speaks up, and it’s a snort when he catches your dropped jaw at Loli’s poor faith in you.

She grimaces. “I love you but you wish you had half the style I have in my left pinky.”

“I do not dress that badly,” you cry.

“Give it up,” Jungkook snickers, right before he raises a fist to give you a fist bump and a fond ruffle to your hair. “Good luck. You got this, champ.”

You scrunch your nose up. “Please don’t call me champ. It makes me sound like a greasy jock in high school.”

“I was a greasy jock in high school,” he pouts.

“Case in point,” you say with a raised brow as he sighs.

Hoseok, Loli and Jungkook are here, looking at you fondly with proudness in their eyes as you feel yourself grow ten times more with the support that they provided you with. It’s moments like these that you’re thankful, and that you feel full. Because you have people you love, and that love you, here—for you.

“Even if you were dressed in a trash bag I’d still be proud of you,” Hoseok butts in as you offer him a meek smile as thanks.

Your eyes search the crowd, and another figure enters your vision, one that you weren’t quite expecting but equally as pleased to see.

“Haerin?”

Haerin has a lot of energy for someone relatively tiny, especially when she practically bulldozes through the crowd to make her way towards your group. A large grin is etched permanently on her face when she finally overcomes the hurdle of people, and she jumps straight into your arm without a care that she nearly knocked Loli over.

“Jesus Christ,” you wheeze when she wraps her arms around your shoulders so tightly that you almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m here! I’m not late, right? It’s not over?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Loli says with an eye roll.

Haerin, still rather oblivious to the slight distaste in Loli’s tone, only beams at the older lady.

“Looking lovely as always, Loli,” she chirps.

“Your dress is tasteless,” she snaps back.

Haerin is undeterred and Jungkook has to elbow his grandmother in the rib in warning, eyes narrowed as the older woman’s expression is snooty while she shrugs.

“You came,” you say dumbly.

“Of course,” Haerin smiles, “It's my sister’s big project!”

She says this with a nudge to your shoulder as you blink down at her.

Sister.

Right, Haerin was your sister. You were sisters.

When the thought settles, you smile back.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Haerin gets it. She does, somehow. Maybe it was truly her sisterly instincts, the fact that you shared the same blood. Somewhat the same genes. Sister’s just knew, right?

An announcement is made via the PA system, asking for the presenters and guests to take their positions as you feel the cold sweat return.

This was it.

“You got this,” Jungkook says, rubbing a circle onto your shoulder as people start filtering into the auditorium. There’s chatter amongst the guests, curious on what was to be presented tonight at the Jung Corporations investors gala. It’s a highly anticipated event, and you feel even more pressure to uphold its prestige as a presenter, and as someone who Hoseok trusted with his entire heart.

“We’re so proud of you,” Loli smiles softly, her wisdom filtering through the slight wrinkles by her eyes when she grins at you. “Whatever you do, we’re all here to support you. Right?”

Haerin, Hoseok and Jungkook nod their heads, beaming up at you. There’s a man who calls for Hoseok—but all you can see is the trust in their eyes when their gaze rests on you.

“Thank you guys,” you say, feeling your throat clam up as you envelop all of them into a wide hug.

Yet, with all the love and support you feel, there’s still disappointment in your belly when you realise there’s a missing face.

Though, you don’t expect him to appear at all.

You did, in fact, leave. You were—confused. Hurt. Afraid. You were also mortified, knowing that your drunken stupor didn’t leave your sobered state when you woke in his home the next morning. You braced yourself, ready for the tense atmosphere but thankfully (or not), Yoongi was asleep.

You bolted, and you felt like a coward.

“Go get them!” Haerin cheers as she gets dragged by Loli towards the entrance of the auditorium. You smile sheepishly at her as you wave her down.

A frown meets your expression, and Jungkook, who still lingers as if needing to say something, recognises it immediately.

“He’ll be here.”

“He won’t,” you sigh, “We…”

“He said so himself, _____,” he says softly. “No matter how angry you are with him, or he is with you, he’d never not be there for you. Yoongi wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Jungkook squeezes your shoulder one last night before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His gaze is enough to somewhat soothe you, and you force a scant smile when he gives you one last thumb up.

You’re left alone, and an usher recognises you before he directs you to the presenters’ room while your thoughts marinate.

You can do this, you tell yourself.

Yet, your eyes look back in search of a familiar face.

“____ ____?” An usher calls your name as your head swings back and away from the cue cards in your palm to greet the voice.

“Here,” you respond.

“You’re up in five,” he nods towards you as you nod back, swallowing while you feel the nerves rise all over again.

What nobody told you about anxiety was how much you relied on it to keep you upright. To keep you going when things were difficult and when life was more debilitating than usual. There is a universal understanding that anxiety takes away your energy that leaves you crumbling before you get to a job; that is actually preventing you from completing tasks due to the fear of not reaching the milestone right before the plateau.

But the nerves reminded you that you were alive and that you had a duty to fulfil. However small, however large, however insignificant, however relevant—that you were alive and breathing, enough for you to take that first step forward before it consumed you whole.

The anxiety fuelled your sleepless nights but also pushed you to slumber; also kept you away from people in the fear of unsaid critical comments while needing their validation. It was a tiring push-and-pull, and you knew that your anxiety was rather superficial than most—but it still roughened up your nerves when it counted—and doesn’t that mean it counts for something?

A few strangers, friendly faces, give you small thumbs up when you unconsciously make your way towards the slit that soon would reveal you to the auditorium of people that were quite literally there to evaluate you and nothing else. Your feet feel featherlight, and it’s a paradoxical feeling to the weight in your stomach, threatening to escape your throat while you tried to focus on your breathing and your planned bullet points for the pitch.

You weren’t a natural speaker like Haerin was, you didn’t possess half the articulation she had when it came to delivering her points across, and for a moment—you wished you were her all over again. Almost makes you feel like you were back to square one where you were thought to resent her, to want to be everything that she was and you weren’t.

But then you reel back as quickly as you left and remembered that it wasn’t Haerin who was delivering this pitch, who tirelessly prepared for it—it was you.

This was your child, your creation, the work that only existed because of your brain and your fingertips working against the keyboard of your laptop along with a few other teammates that offered you support. Haerin didn’t do this—you did.

And you almost laugh because it felt free to realise that.

That Haerin would’ve never been here, and that you were.

“Point is, we’re all driving to our own destination points, and each journey is unique to each person,” he says softly as your breath hitches.

“But I’m no Haerin,” you mumble quietly, finally speaking and finally understanding what Yoongi was getting at.

“You aren’t,” he concedes as you feel your heart drop. But he picks it up immediately with his reassuring grin and the hand that smoothes over your hair comfortingly. “And Haerin isn’t you.”

Somehow, Yoongi’s words ring clearer than ever and you miss him. You missed him because he wasn’t here but you wished he was. You wished you didn’t say the things you did, pushed him away from the way you did.

But you did, and you had to deal with the consequences of your own actions.

You take a deep breath, and you take that first step into the spotlight you never thought you deserved your entire life.

It’s odd to hear claps that were meant for you and you only. There was no one else on stage with you, and it was your presentation pitch that was projected onto the screen that you stood in front of—there was no denying—that this, the recognition, the earnest grins, were for you.

And damn, did it feel good.

“Thank you,” you begin, voice shaky because you still couldn’t believe it but you could try. “Hopefully I’ll be hearing more of that throughout my presentation.”

The crowd laughs, and you keep your smile minimal even if you felt your nerves nearly exploding from the reaction. At least your humour was still intact.

You take another deep breath, press the button on the prompter and direct the laser towards the screen—most eyes following you.

Briefly, just for a split second, time stops in your own world where you try to take in your surroundings to ground yourself back to reality. While you were weightless, you lost some form of control and you needed all the control you could get at this point.

Your eyes fall into the crowd, and it’s like a scene straight out of a movie where they land on Loli.

She beams at you, blows you a kiss through her reddened lips before offering you an expression that you could only think of as motherly. Like a mother cheering her child on.

You’d like to think she was.

Then, next to Loli was Jungkook. Your found family, your brother that wasn’t blood-related but you sure as hell couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He grins that boyish toothy grin of his and offers you a raised fist as if you could reach it. The fist resting by your side sees it, fist bumps it from where you stand.

And then there’s Hoseok. He’s smiling, of course, he is. When didn’t he smile? Even if it wasn’t you on stage, he’d still be smiling and showing support to whoever owned the platform at that very moment. But it was you, and you knew that because it was you his smile looked ten times wider than it usually was.

He shoots you a double-thumbs up, giddy in his seat before he cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a whoop that echoes in the auditorium.

You flush while some of the investors laugh, a man turning his head to the source of the voice and is more than amused to see that their apparent boss was the one that bellowed that loudly.

And of course, you couldn’t help it, but your eyes fall to the empty seat next to Hoseok. And you feel your heart drop even if you’d expected it.

You said so yourself: you didn’t want him here. You told him that at the fair, and that damned night. You did this.

Haerin’s screams echo in your mind again.

But it still hurts. It still confirmed your deepest insecurities and you think you’ve lost Yoongi for good. That he’s out of your life. You were going, and he was gone.

And then, what felt like hours but was an actual split second—the doors to the auditorium open. It’s quiet, and no one catches it except for you because of where you stand and where the spotlight stands.

Yoongi.

Your jaw drops ever so slightly and you lose all train of thought just for that split second because the first person he sees isn’t the usher at the door, or the guest that walks past him to exit, likely to the toilet—but you.

There are flowers in his grasp, a large and bountiful bouquet of gorgeous flowers that nearly cover his face, and you feel your throat clam up while you internally scold yourself to get a grip. But you couldn’t believe it: Yoongi was here.

As if he senses your blanking mind, he raises the flowers ever so slightly—and offers you that God-forsaken smile of his, never too wide to look eager, but gentle enough to be present.

And you feel it. You feel the rush, you feel the anxiety—you feel human. Like you were always meant to be.

You giggle to yourself, head dropping to your feet when you realise how insignificant that empty seat was even if it had your heart dropping when you caught a glimpse of it.

You could look and look and search and scour—but if you were looking only where you wanted, and not where you should—you’d never find what was looking for you.

And finally, Yoongi slips into his seat, offers an amicable nod to Hoseok who looks elated to see the older man—

You take another deep breath, and you begin.

back-burner | 10

two broken hearts

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies2lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fuff

WARNINGS. angst, explosive fights, lots of crying, new revelations that break hearts, implications of poor mental health

WORDS. 6.4k

back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

You couldn’t keep your promises, you realised as you take a brief glance at your wall clock. It’s nearly two a.m. and your eyes are strained with the number of hours you spent in front of your laptop screen. But you suppose that what Jungkook and Yoongi don’t know, won’t hurt them. You were feeling fine, a little drowsy—but more accomplished than anything as you stare at the final draft of the proposal stare back at you when you stare down.

It’s a little rougher than you’d like, but you’d take it. It was months of hard work and persevering, even dealing with overly compassionate friends who wanted you to take a break, so you were relieved that the bulk of it was done. You could think about editing it tomorrow.

You stretch your limbs, craning your neck as you wince at the loud pop it makes. Your cup is empty, and your dining table is strewn with documents and papers like you were back in university. The visual almost makes you smile, the fond memories of pulling all-nighters for assignments and essays returning to your mind.

Then you remember how much you hated what you were studying, and how philosophy was never your thing—but Haerin’s.

You shake your head, standing up and closing your laptop as you approach the kitchen.

But your relatively quiet night (morning), gets disrupted with a rapt knock on your door.

Now, you freeze.

You rarely ever had visitors, and even if you did—they came over at socially acceptable hours, not at demon time. You think the worst for a split second, prepared to grab a knife to defend yourself in case the person behind your door decides that they were too impatient to wait for your greeting and break it down instead.

But you were tired, and lest you don’t necessarily make the best decisions when you were drowsy, so you head to your door, weaponless as you decide to take the risk by piquing your curiousity and opening your door.

Your guest surprises you more than an intruder.

“Haerin?”

“Hi,” she says meekly. She’s dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, more unkempt than you’ve seen her in a long while. “Can I come in?”

You falter, eyes blinking as she nervously rocks on her heel. Only when your eyes refocus onto the figure before you, which was your sister, do you step aside to allow her entry to your apartment.

“Sure, I mean …” you gesture her in as she mumbles a soft thank you under her breath. You’re sleep-deprived and confused. “Is everything all right?”

“I had nowhere else to go,” she murmurs, plopping onto your couch as you shut the door behind you.

You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating because of sleep deprivation, but you were still extremely confused. The tone which Haerin takes is one you’ve never heard her adopt before, making you even more perplexed and worried, especially when she pointedly ignores your question for her vague responses.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone—?”

Haerin looks up, and you’re alarmed to see her red-rimmed eyes and sunken dark circles. “Did you know I was scrolling through my contacts and I realised I had no one to call? No one that I could reach out to?”

“Haerin, you’re scaring me,” you say with a frown as you take a seat next to her. Her eyes are … empty, and it terrifies you because Haerin’s always smiling. She was the bubbly sibling, the one that lifted moods with her presence. The person before you is a reflection of the person you thought you were. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You repeat your question because she doesn’t seem to be responding to it, but Haerin’s eyes drop to her lap as she fiddles with her thumbs.

“I’m sorry. I just—I had no one else I knew that I could go to and you were—”

“Haerin,” you say curtly.

Her face darts up, and her eyes are wide. She looks so vulnerable that your heart aches for her. If anyone were to see the two of you, it’d look like she was the younger sister and not you, especially with the way she hunches herself into a shell you never thought she had.

“What happened?” you ask softly.

The tears in her eyes are what alarms you even further.

“We broke up.”

You take a second, no two; to process her words, and the way that her lip begins to wobble after the words have settled into the air. Your brain attempts to rationalise her statement, recalling the context of her words as your mouth falls open.

They broke up.

“Oh my God,” you say breathlessly, and you have no idea what to think or say. You wanted to be selfish but Haerin looked distraught, and you couldn’t be that person. Not when she was here, vulnerable and open. “Are you okay?”

You repeat your question, again, because you had no idea what to say or do.

Her reaction slightly frightens you, but you keep your composure.

“We broke up,” she repeats with a tight laugh as all you can do is stare at her. “Were we even together?”

“Haerin …” you say quietly, reaching out to grab her hand in a manner that was so uncharacteristic for the both of you that she seems to jump at the contact. But the lifelessness in her eyes only causes you to encase her smaller palms with your own. “I know it must hurt—”

“Is this what I’m feeling?” she asks, “I don’t know how I feel and I’m so—I’m so scared.”

She sounds so distant, and you can’t imagine the thoughts or feelings that run through her mind. You’re too preoccupied with the fact that Haerin is in front of you, confiding you when your dynamics were never like that.

So, you bring her into your arms, the only way you know how to for the time being. It felt awkward and slightly stiff when her chin meets your shoulder, but you pat her back softly in an attempt to comfort her in a way you know your words can’t.

“I thought …” she says shakily, “I thought it was the right choice. That we were going to work out. I mean, we were friends basically our entire teenage to adult life. And … it just—”

She pulls away, eyes wide when she looks at you as if you had answers.

“Why didn’t it work out?”

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Sometimes, it’s easy to conflate platonic love and romantic love.”

Her eyes drop to her lap once more as you squeeze her shoulders.

“Did I?” she asks quietly.

“Sorry?”

Haerin looks up, and she looks visibly deflated as if she had failed herself. You wonder if this was her first failure, in life. One that didn’t necessarily constitute her intellect, but represented her emotional connections with people that weren’t theoretical studies in the philosophy books she loves.

“Did I get it confused?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly. Then, feeling like a horrible confidant, you continue, “I’m sorry.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You don’t need to apologise. I just—I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel.”

“There isn’t a proper feeling you need to feel,” you say. “How do you feel?”

Haerin blinks, taking in the weight of your words as you return her gaze. The silence is suffocating, maybe only for you. You never did well in extended periods of silence because your thoughts ran wild. It allowed things to happen even if they didn’t, and your rationality to turn into irrationality. Silence was dangerous for people like you, while it allowed people like Haerin to bloom.

“I broke up with him.”

This makes you still.

“You must think your older sister is crazy, right?” she laughs, falling back into the couch as you stutter in your movements to take in her expression. Her eyes gaze up to the ceiling as she sighs. “I come to your apartment at midnight in tears about my breakup and I was the one that initiated it?”

You find your tongue after a while, shaking your head before you’re shifting closer. “No, I mean … I’m confused but your feelings are still valid. It takes a lot of courage to walk away.”

You mean it. You really do. You know that better than anyone else, yet you never found yourself practising that knowledge.

You were the coward for staying to hurt yourself because of familiarity.

She scoffs. “It sure doesn’t feel that way.”

“Can I …” you swallow, “Can I ask why—?”

“I’m a coward,” she tells you so vehemently that you nearly get whiplash. “I’m a coward, ____. I’m a coward because I walked into something fully knowing it wasn’t my place to arrive at.”

“Haerin, hold on,” you say with furrowed brows, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know why we broke up?” she asks softly.

“I-I mean only if you’re ready—”

“Imagine being with someone you’ve known for most of your life, thinking that he should’ve been the one only to realise that perfect utopia was an imagination crafted by your own delusions,” she says quietly.

Your breath hitches.

“Imagine being so scared of being alone that you jumped into a relationship with someone who’s familiar to you. Just because it seemed right.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond because Haerin sounds so—tired. Her words ring louder despite her tone being soft, and you can’t draw your eyes away from her. She looks so different like this, and you wonder if she’s ever allowed herself to be vulnerable—to be a step lower than perfection.

“You know he’d never hold my hand?” Haerin says.

You blink.

“What?”

Like thunder, your memory cracks back to the day at the fair. The words you heard leave Haerin’s mouth in a manner that was unlike her at all. Similar to the woman in front of you, she was frustrated, borderline frantic, but she was Haerin. The Haerin that always had her head up high, back straight and face preened to perfection.

“I thought it was just because the transition must’ve been awkward and all,” she chuckles humourlessly. “Going from a best friend to a lover. It’s weird, I get that.”

Your heart unconsciously clenches at what she referred to him as, but you purse your lips and tell yourself to not be selfish—that this wasn’t about you.

“But he’d never touch me,” she whispers, “He’d never look at me differently. Just the same way he always has.”

“That’s because he’s always loved you—” you begin to say, spewing the truth that you’ve told yourself to be true from the very first day you saw him in your home.

“—Does he?” she spits, as your eyes widen, “Do you stiffen up when the person you love tries to hold your hand? Tries to hug you?”

“Haerin …” you say slowly.

“No,” she snaps, and you see her slowly losing it. She laughs, nearly tugging at her hair as you flounder in an attempt to reason with her. “You don’t do that if you love someone, ____. You know what you do?”

“I …” you choke.

“You drive at godspeed to a place even if it’s ass o’clock to make sure that they’re safe,” she says, and you freeze. Your body locks up and you can’t say anything. You’re stunned to absolute silence but Haerin isn’t. “You buy them their favourite treats because you were thinking of them.”

You don’t know why, but your throat is dry, and Haerin looks—menacing. Her eyes are wide and frantic, and you unconsciously lean back into your sofa when she inches forward.

“You look at them like they’re the only thing you ever see,” she whispers harshly, and her forehead drops to your shoulder as you exhale shakily, her fingers are digging almost painfully into your bicep while you hold your breath. “You do all of that when you’re in love with someone.”

“H-Haerin, you need—”

“I tried to kiss him and he pushed me away,” she croaks, and there are tears in her eyes. You hear the shatter of her heart instead of seeing it. “Do you push the person you love away, ____?”

Unintentionally, you think.

“I-I—”

“And the worst part,” she says vehemently, “Is that I don’t even love him.”

Your chest constricts, and the atmosphere is heavy. Haerin is breathing heavily, chest heaving as you can only stare at her. Your mind is running at a hundred miles per hour, endlessly trying to make sense of her words—to understand why they felt so familiar and to understand why you were so intent on denying them to her face.

There was something about her confession that makes you breathless. Dizzy. She didn’t love him. She broke up with him. Why? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense—they were supposed to stay together. They were supposed to be endgame. He chose her. So why—?

“Yoongi and I were never meant to be together,” she says, laughing softly. “I’m not heartbroken,” she tells you. “I’m hurt.”

You have nothing to say, too stunned to silence.

“I’m hurt because I thought I needed to be with someone to fill this loneliness in my heart.” You hear her cry, loud and unobstructed when she basically falls into your arms. Haerin doesn’t keep her facade up, and the tears keep flowing like her dam was broken.

You don’t know why but tears well up in your eyes too, and you try to blink them away mostly in confusion but the first tear falls and you wonder how long has it been.

How long has it been since Haerin felt this way?

Since you’ve resented her for doing everything right when it seemed like she was falling apart right in front of your very eyes?

Haerin sobs uncontrollably, blubbers nonsense into your shirt while holding onto you like a child. She’s vulnerable and feral right now, uncaring of whether or not her sobs are louder than the clamour in your chest—or the thoughts that run through your mind. No, she’s uninhibited when she clings onto you like she never wants you to let go.

You won’t. Despite the hole in your chest that’s aching for answers, you don’t push Haerin away.

Because this is the first time she’s felt like a sister.

“I’m so lonely,” she whispers, “I thought—I thought being with Yoongi would fix me …”

“You don’t need to be fixed, Haerin,” you tell her honestly through your own shaky voice.

“Yoongi’s my best friend, ____,” she whimpers, “H-How could I do this to him? Be so selfish?”

“People make mistakes and that’s okay,” you say softly, wiping under her eyes to remove the flow of tears that escapes. “Yoongi would never hold this against you.”

“B-But I got in the way of what makes him happy,” she wails, clutching you harder.

“You didn’t—” you attempt to say, but she shakes her head frantically, eyes darting up so that you’d look at her desperate gaze. As if to tell you that you didn’t know what she was saying—what you were implying with the words that were better left unsaid.

“It’s because I see the way he loves and I wished it was me,” she croaks, “Not because I love him but because I’m selfish.”

“It’s not selfish to want to be loved,” you whisper.

“But it’s selfish to want that for me when it was never mine, to begin with,” she whimpers.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t understand the implications of Haerin’s words, and you think she’s blubbering nonsense in her hazy state. For a moment, you pity her. The weight of the world expecting her to be perfect all the time finally crumbling down her facade—and you wonder if the two of you shared more in common than you thought.

“You’re human, Haerin. You make mistakes, you may end up hurting people, and that’s okay. You can’t control the aftershocks of your actions,” you say softly. “No one’s going to hold being human against you. You’re going to do things right and you’re going to do things wrong. But never blame yourself for wanting to make yourself happy.”

“You know,” she suddenly chokes, “I really wanted to be close with you.”

Your heart seizes.

“I really wanted to be your older sister,” she confesses and you feel your eyes well up with tears. “I wanted to be someone you could confide in, to talk to whenever you were stressed. I wanted us to have sister fights and make up in twenty seconds. I always thought you were amazing. Just being who you were—I wanted to be your sister so badly.”

“Haerin …”

“But I was so caught up in the world that mom and dad threw me in that …” she sniffs, “That I prioritised myself and neglected you.”

“Haerin—”

“—I let mom and dad treat you the way they do even if I knew you didn’t deserve that,” she rambles on, unfiltered and loose-lipped. “I let them celebrate me when you were all alone.”

Your lips wobble as you tilt your head up to stop your tears.

“I had the world and you only had yourself.”

“I had Jungkook,” you say weakly through a smile. It was the truth. Things were tough—but you weren’t really alone, were you? “And Hobi. And Loli,” you tell her before cupping her cheek. “But now I have you too, right?”

Her lips wobble as her face crumbles.

“You have me,” she whispers, “And you have Yoongi, too.”

You smile sadly. “Yeah.”

“I mean it,” she exclaims, eyes wide, begging you to believe her with her body language. “You and Yoongi—you have each other.”

Do you? Have him? It seems like things were settling, and a selfish—human—part of you is relieved that Haerin and Yoongi were no longer together. Even if she claimed that they were never together in that way.

But if he chose her even for those moments, who were you in the grand scheme of things?

“I know,” you say, and it’s a ruse to convince yourself too.

“I’m serious,” she says manically, sitting up so abruptly that you fall back onto your elbows. Your eyes remain wide but your heart is beating rapidly against your chest. Her face is exasperated. Desperate. As if there were words too heavy that lay on her tongue, ready to propel forward like ripples of water. “You—he—you know? Right? You must know!”

“You should—”

“Yoongi doesn’t love me,” she whimpers, and you feel the sadness in her voice. Though it’s not quite heartbreak, it’s very close. It’s the sound of a lonely woman trying to navigate the world that thinks the best of her. A lonely woman on a path crafted by others while others watched. “He loves—“

“He loves you, Haerin,” you say quietly, squeezing her hands. “He loves you. Can’t you see?”

You don’t know who you’re trying to convince. Her, or yourself—even if your heart crumbles at the very thought of Yoongi being so in love with her.

“He doesn’t! Not in that way!” she roars, pushing you back as your eyes blow even wider. She’s practically on top of you, pinning you down with her tiny hands while you grab her forearms in alarm.

“Haerin—!”

“He doesn’t love me! He doesn’t,” she hisses, shaking her head, “He—”

“Haerin, stop,” you say shakily, “You don’t know what you’re saying—”

“I’ve been expected to know a lot of things in life, ____ and I never actually did. But this is something I know with my entire heart and soul,” she chuckles humourlessly.

When her eyes drop to your own, her grip loosening before she practically falls on you as if she lost the fight to keep her upright, metaphorically and literally.

Her mouth opens, and her next words make your ears ring.

“He doesn’t love me because he loves you.”

There’s silence. It’s raining now. A thunderstorm in the middle of the night and you almost want to laugh at how perfect the timing was. The lighting of your living room is dim, with the shadow of Haerin’s fatigue apparent on her face when her eyes blaze towards you. She’s breathing heavily, panting with exertion as if she ran a marathon.

But it’s deathly silent on your head. There’s no breathing. There’s no movement. There’s nothing to indicate that you’ve heard what she said. But when you register her words, and the magnitude of them—

You shove her off you, her body falling onto the plush surface next to the both of you.

“Don’t lie!” you shout, “Fuck you, Haerin!”

“Why would I lie to you!” she exasperates desperately, trying to grab your hand when you pull away from her, mind reeling at the remnants of her words.

“Why would he—why would you—? He—” you stammer, eyes rapidly blinking when you feel the tears win the flightless game as it runs down your face.

“Yoongi loves you,” she whispers vehemently, her swollen eyes glaring at you when she manages to pin you down again.

It’s almost comical. How the two of you were in tears, tired, in your apartment, fighting each other in a way that’s never happened before. Interacting with each other in a way that you could only hypothesise. You’ve never gotten mad at Haerin, and neither has she. It was because while the two of you shared the same blood, you were distant throughout your entire life.

This—your panting breaths, manic eyes, and desperation—was the closest you’ve ever been.

“He chose you!” you scream, “How could he love me when he chose you? He always chose you! He never chose—!”

“Then you’re stupid!” she screams back, equally as loud. You wonder if your neighbours were going to report you to management for a noise complaint but you couldn’t care less. “You’re stupid and you’re dumb and I hate you! I hate you because you can’t see anything that’s in front of you!”

You gasp.

“I hate you because you have everything I’ve ever wanted and you don’t see it! You don’t see how much I want to live like you! To be close to you! Why can’t you see?” she cries.

You shove at her, her eyes widening before you’re clambering on top of her with your hands on her shoulders as you use all the force you have to keep her in place.

“I’m stupid? You’re stupid!” you seethe, “You’re stupid because you have everything you could ever want and mom and dad’s validation and you think Yoongi doesn’t love you? You think I’ve got everything you want? Try being me and see how fucking shitty it is.”

“You think that matters to me? You think any of that matters to me when I’m so fucking lonely?” she sobs, trying to fight your grasp off. “You’re so fucking dumb! Yoongi never chose me! Never! If you looked close enough then you’d see!”

“See? All I saw was how he treated you,” you hiss venomously, “How he looked at you like you were his world—that he would do anything for you—!”

“Shut the fuck up!” she screeches, whining in frustration while she thrashes in your hold. “Yoongi’s so in love with you and you refuse to see it. You did this! You did this!”

“Did what?” you scream.

“This!” she wails, and you don’t even fucking know what was going on anymore when she finally kicks you off of her, as your butt lands on the floor.

She’s towering over you now. Her cheeks are blotchy and red, and so are yours. You didn’t realise how hard you were crying until the brief silence forces you to acknowledge it. To acknowledge the way your heart feels both heavy and lighter at the same time. The way Haerin is catching her breath. The way you balance yourself on your elbows.

The way how fucking stupid this all is.

“I know you love him, too,” she says softly, after too long of a silence.

Your breath hitches as your eyes dart to the ceiling.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

“He loves you and you love him,” she hisses, “You’re so stupid.”

“He doesn’t love me, Haerin,” you seethe, tired when your eyes flutter shut. “If he did then he would’ve chosen me.”

“He chooses you. Every single day,” she sobs, “When you were stuck at that bar. When you were sick at the fair. When you needed someone to teach you how to drive. When you just wanted to hang out. When you call. If it’s you—he’ll always make that choice. Why do you refuse to see what’s right in front of you?”

“Then why did he …” you whisper.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Haerin sobs, and she falls. She falls on top of you with her arms wrapped around your shoulder as you fall back to the ground, allowing her body to crush you. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Stop fucking apologising,” you grit.

“I never should’ve brought it up—I never should’ve asked him if we should give it a shot. I should’ve never—”

“And what good will that do to us now?” you snap, “Huh? Tell me. Tell me what fucking good will apologising to do us now?”

“I don’t know!” she wails. Her eyes are so fucking swollen that it’s almost painful to look at. There’s not running down her nose and she’s unobstructed when she attempts to blubber her next set of words. “I don’t know anything anymore except for the fact that I’m so fucking lonely and I’m so fucking confused and nothing about this makes sense—”

“Nothing about this makes sense,” you repeat, eyes blinking slowly.

“Yoongi loves you,” she says defeatedly.

And somehow that makes you feel worst. Because he loves you and chose her. He loved you not enough to pick you, to try, but to want to forget. To remove the feeling of love he allegedly has for whatever fucking reason.

And it hurts. It burns. It consumes you whole.

You feel like your heart is about to give out. There’s nothing stopping you from curling into a fetal position and crying until the week ends but the fact that your sister is sobbing her eyes out in front of you. You don’t understand. You didn’t expect the night to end this way.

You didn’t expect anything.

Yoongi still chose Haerin.

He never chose you.

“Please,” she croaks, forcing her swollen eyes to peer up at you while you feel everything in you crumble. All the moments you tried to pretend that seeing Haerin and Yoongi together didn’t crush you. As friends and as more. The moments that you had to hear your parents coo over something Haerin did while silence overtook you. It all came rushing back in. And it hurts. You’re no longer numb. Now all you could do was feel and it fucking sucked.

“You don’t do this to someone you love, Haerin,” you say shakily.

She grabs your shoulders desperately, expression falling into one of anguish.

“I know he loves you. I know,” she cries, “He—it’s my fault—it’s all my fault—”

“Stop blaming yourself,” you rasp.

“You love each other,” Haerin sobs. And you really wished you could tell her to shut the fuck up. Not because you hated her. You don’t think you ever did. You don’t think you ever could. But it was hard to think. It was hard to breathe.

You don’t do this to someone you love.

You don’t want to say anything but you see her eyes droop, indicating her fatigue.

“You and Yoongi,” she mumbles, “I’ll make sure of it.”

You sigh, coming back to reality.

“Get up,” you snap.

She remains put.

“Haerin,” you scowl, “Get the fuck up.”

“No,” she huffs, “Not until you believe me.”

Your eyebrows tick in annoyance. “It’s late and I’m exhausted and everything fucking sucks right now so please—for the love of God just get up and we can talk about this tomorrow.”

“Why won’t you believe me?” she whines.

That was it.

“Because he doesn’t love me, Haerin!” you scream, yanking her up until she was eye-level with you as her eyes widened. “Because it doesn’t make any fucking sense! Because Yoongi can never love me! Because he’s meant to be with you! Because mom and dad think so too! Because of this—this fucked up situation that we’re in and how this is the only time I’ve ever felt close enough to tell you this!”

Haerin sobs, crumbling in your hold even as she tries to keep herself upright. You’re crying now, too. Loud, unobstructed. Ugly.

Maybe you were really sisters.

“You’re lonely and I get that,” you whisper. “But you don’t know how it feels like to be me. To be the other sister. The other person. To have to fight for every place in my life because there wasn’t enough space for the two of us. You don’t fucking know any of that. You want to be me? God—I wish you could. I wish you’d try living in this body and this life to see things the way I do. Then you’d know—know how fucking shitty it is being the other.”

Haerin stays silent because she can’t say anything. You don’t expect her to. You wouldn’t know what to say either. You were word-vomiting; the words that have been locked and compartmentalised in a part of your brain you never thought you’d unlock in front of anyone—especially Haerin.

"You have no idea what it's like to fight for my place in mom and dad's life when I shouldn't have to. You have no fucking idea how it feels like to never be able to amount to anything—just because my older sister is a damn prodigy. You have no idea. So yes. You're lonely—that's sad. But you never had to wonder why the fuck you weren't enough to be loved by your own damned parents."

"Mom and dad are assholes," she says weakly.

"But they're my parents," you hiss as your eyes flutter shut. "They're assholes but I want them to fucking see me. I just want to be fucking seen and—and this—all of this—doesn't make any sense. You being here. You breaking up with him. You claiming he doesn't love you. All of it! Nothing—”

“You’re free,” she interrupts you in a tiny voice. “You want validation but you’re free from it. You don’t need validation.”

“Don’t tell me what the fuck I need or don’t,” you hiss.

“And don’t tell me that you’d rather be controlled for the rest of your life!” she roars loudly, the tiny voice reaching decibels that shook your core. “That you don’t love this freedom—as fucking shitty as it is—more than the reigns that mom and dad would have on you.”

“You think I’m free?” you laugh bitterly, “You think this is freedom? Being trapped in my own thoughts? Unconsciously comparing myself to you every single fucking day of my life because that’s all I’ve been conditioned to do? You think freedom matters when I’ve lost to you in every single aspect?”

“This isn’t a competition!” You hear Haerin exasperate, tugging at her hair in frustration when her eyes blaze at you. “Why—no one wants you to compare yourself to me!”

“No one wants to but they do,” you sneer venomously, “Oh they fucking do Haerin. And I do too. And it sucks. Because when I’m safe from them I’m not safe from me.”

“You—I …”

“This shouldn’t be a competition but it is,” you say despairingly, “I hate that it is but it is. And as fucked up as it sounds you and I both know that you and I were destined to compete with each other because we’re sisters.”

“You think I’ve won this shitty competition but I feel like the biggest fucking loser,” she laughs in a self-deprecating tone, “Mom and dad only love me because of what I’ve done. Not because—not because they do.”

“At least they love you, Haerin,” you say quietly, “At least you’re loved. By them. By people—by Yoongi—”

“When will you get it through your fucking head that Yoongi doesn’t love me? Not in that way!” Haerin snaps, “We’ve been best friends for years and you think I don’t know how he looks like when he’s in love or not?”

You take a deep, shaky breath to regain balance before you're letting out an exhale.

“Yoongi doesn’t love me. He can’t. I’m—” you choke, eyes fluttering shut in defeat. “I’m unloveable—”

“Don’t you dare say that,” she hisses venomously, cupping your cheeks in her hand as you flounder back as you lose your balance. “Don’t you fucking say that.”

“You’ve always been loved!” you sob, tears soaking her fingers as she tries her best to not let new tears flow.

“And that doesn’t fucking matter but don’t you for a second think that you’re unloveable,” she snaps, “You’re not unloveable. No one is unloveable in this damned world and if there was someone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be you.”

“Stop fucking—!”

“I love you!” she screams, “I love you! I love you as your sister! As your friend! As your family!”

“You don’t fucking love me!” you scream back at her, and you’re sure your neighbours were wondering what the fuck was going on.

“Just fucking believe me! Please,” she begs, shaking you desperately as you shake your head in return. “I love you!”

“You can’t love me!” you cry, and it’s so fucking loud. It’s loud and annoying. And it still hurts. It hurts so fucking much that all you can do is cry. "Yoongi can't love me!"

“I can and I will and I do,” she whispers, “I know I’ve been a shitty sister but I’ve never not loved you."

She's forcing herself to look at you and you're forcing yourself to try. Your breathing mixes together, shaky, confused, tired.

"And Yoongi loves you no matter how much you want to deny it because no one does the things he does for you if they weren't in love."

You cry. You break down. You were crying but now you’re crying harder. There was no flow or structure to the screaming fest you just had. But did pain ever have a linear sequence? It didn’t make sense to have your sorrows be chronological.

This was pain. Years of hurt. It’s ugly and truthful, and it does not hide from the strongest. In fact, it comes at you full force. Knocking the wind out of you while you try to catch your breath in a race you were bound to lose.

Haerin holds you. You don’t know when she’s wrapped her arms around you but they’re suddenly there. The both of you are sobbing like little bitches and it’s kind of funny. But you can’t think of the finer details when she squeezes you so tightly that you can’t breathe.

Is this what having a sister feels like?

The calm after the storm is an illusion. You know this. But you’ll take it, for now.

“It’s not Yoongi’s fault,” Haerin says softly.

Your eyes are shut.

“I know.”

“It’s not your fault either.”

You clench your teeth.

“I know.”

“It’s my—”

“And it’s not your fault either,” you interject softly.

Haerin opens her mouth to say something but closes it when she realises you didn’t have the strength to continue.

“We’re fucked up humans aren’t we?” she chuckles humourlessly.

“Isn’t that just being human?”

You look up, and you’re so tired.

Haerin blinks. A smile twitches on your face for some fucked up reason.

And the both of you laugh. You laugh so hard that you’re crying again. You’re cackling, and you hear a series of bangs against your wall that you laugh even harder. You somehow ended up on the floor, staring at the ceiling while you laughed like maniacs at nothing and everything and the in-between.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Me too,” you reply. “For screaming at you.”

“I’m sorry for calling you stupid.”

“Me too.”

“Did we just have our first sister fight?”

You purse your lips. You turn around to see her sitting up, your night light dimly illuminating her face.

“I guess we did,” you say.

"I wished it was about something different," she says quietly.

You pause.

"Like boys?"

She looks up and there's a tilted smile on her face. Her eyes are hilariously swollen that you can't help but let out a snort through your blocked nose. Haerin almost rolls her eyes, but instead, she reaches out—she holds your hand.

And you hold hers.

“Please talk to him."

You stay silent.

“____,” she calls your name gently. Like she cares about you. It’s a tone you’d adopt with a child, a younger sibling when you were a child. It almost feels as if she was trying to speak to you as an older sister, and not just Haerin. “I don’t want you and Yoongi to be on weird terms.”

“We’re not,” you say quietly.

“But you’re thinking. Hard. And not in the good way,” she points out as you sigh, “Don’t blame him.”

Did you? Blame Yoongi? Or did you blame yourself for being this way? For feeling the way you did?

Even if Yoongi seemed like the perfect person to hate, to blame, to back into a corner and scream at him like you did to Haerin—you knew that wasn’t the truth.

Yoongi had always been himself. And despite his fleeting relationship with your sister, he’d never treated you differently. He’d been there for you in moments of true weakness.

It was you who pushed him away from him all this while.

Did you do this to someone you loved?

“I don’t.”

“Talk to him,” she encourages again, gentler. “He loves you, ____. He’d never push you away.”

Your throat hurts but you still want to scream.

He loves me but not enough to try? To ask? To hope?

"And ..." she says slowly, as if contemplating her words. "I'd never push you away. Anymore. Never. Not again."

"Okay," you say quietly.

"And you can talk to me. Because—because we're sisters, right? We're sisters aren't we?"

For the first time, in a long time, from when you knew what sisters were and were meant to be—you can agree.

"Yeah," you laugh quietly, "We are, Haerin. We are sisters."

She gives you a gentle smile, and it returns to relative silence. There are still so many things to say even after all that you've screamed. But you guess that's always going to be the case. Not everything will always be said, and that's okay. You'll grow, you'll have more things to say, to be hurt about, to be annoyed about, to laugh about—and that's only natural.

"Talk to him, ____," Haerin says through a soft mumble. "The two of you deserve to be happy."

You purse your lips.

“If you can’t believe me,” she murmurs. Then she looks up, and it’s the most earnest you’ve seen her all night when she says:

“At least believe him.”

dishonesty

PRAY YOU CATCH ME (PART I)

emptiness

summary: the journey of a broken-hearted woman and a remorseful man into the search of healing and forgiveness.

pairing: kim seokjin x reader (infidelity au)

inspiration: emptiness, written by warsan shire.

warnings: grammatical mistakes, cheating, profanity, violence, strong language.

a/n: hi, chapter finally is out! this chap finished the first part of the series, that was fast, haha. in next chapter we are going to finally see seokjin´s side of the story. this dude is a bit unedited, so i will come back later for corrections. as always your likes, reblogs and commentaries are appreciated. happy reading!

“Fuck, you are sucking me in.”

Your mouth falls open, letting out a loud whimper when you feel the man above you suck a hickey on the valley of your breasts, his tongue feels hot against your damp skin when he trails up his mouth towards your neck.

He was hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, causing your moans to get louder with every movement of his hips. Your voice reaches a pitch that you never knew that you could reach. Pleasure raising through your spine, every nerve of your body singing with the delicious drag of his shaft against your walls.

“Are you going to cum?” his voice is husky against your ear, his teeth biting your earlobe. You nod, incapable to form words, “Beg for it!” he hisses with a hard thrust that makes you let out a loud cry.

“Please, sir,” you choke out your plea, your legs tangling themselves on his hips; your soft breast against his hard chest, “Please, let me cum.”

He laughs, so dark and dirty, and you loved it.

“Look at me in the eyes when you cum, slut.”

Your teeth sink against your lower lip, and when you open your eyes, his phantom comes back to haunt you.

Against the dim light of the bedroom, you see a familiar face above you; deep almond eyes with damp chestnut falling over his eyes with every thrust, and beautifully plump lips turned into a smirk.

Despite the pleasure rising through your body, as well as the knot in your stomach getting ready to snap, you feel a sob get stuck in your throat.

No.

You blink, once, twice, praying for his phantom to go, because he has no right to appear to you.

In a desperate attempt to chase it away, you yank the man from his neck towards your lips for a messy kiss, with teeth and saliva.

You don't mind it. Everything is better than keeping seeing him every time you are about to reach your orgasm.

Between all the lust, or maybe he notices how you were incapable of looking at his eyes, the man forgets his order, deciding, instead, to move his callous fingers to your clit; his rough finger feels like heaven against your swollen pearl, which he rubs roughly.

“Cum now!”

Your body obeys him and your orgasm hit you violently. All your limbs shaking, your mouth wide open in a silent scream and your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head. Your mind is totally blank in that glorious moment when you forget everything and the only thing you can think of is the pleasure consuming you.

A sexy masculine grunt reaches your ears between the haze of your orgasm, and when you manage to see clearly, you are delighted with the view of his beautiful red cock so close to your face, his shaft glistening with your juices, and you can even smell your orgasm. His hand is jerking himself and makes such obscene sounds whilst his eyes are focused on your breasts, that move with every breath you take. Letting out a giggle, you replace his hand with yours, guiding him towards your chest, his knees at every side of your body, trembling as you caress him, once, twice, and then he lets out a deep moan at the same time that thick spurt of hot and creamy white come fall to your chest and chin.

“Fuck, you are something else,” he breathes out when you finally let him go, falling to your side.

Your head feels fuzzy, your body still sedated with the afterglow of sex, but you know better now.

It never lasts what you wish it would.

“Thanks,” you smile when he cleans his sticky ejaculate off your chest and chin with a damp towel that he probably found in the bathroom. His touch is soft but is by no means the touch of a lover. You know that he is just being nice, opening the door for a second meeting or round if he is lucky.

Soon, familiar numbness starts to invade your body, grief sedated by orgasms. The euphoria that you are gifted kindly never last long, making the pain on your chest bigger every time, causing the hole on your chest to grow bigger every passing day.

Sex and other bodies never left you completely satisfied. It is addicting, you have to admit it; however, when everything is said and done, you only feel emptiness in your heart.

Hollow.

How could he do it? Did he feel that emptiness too? Was he happy living like that?

Suddenly, the room is loud, even though your own respirations are the only sound present. You get up from the bed, ignoring the ache of your muscles, your hands already putting on your underwear and bra. You can't stand another minute in the room, with a musky scent and a strong smell of sex and alcohol.

“Already going?” he says whilst lying down; his eyes moving all over your body when you put on your dress.

“Yes,” you breathe, your finger brushing your hair trying to make it less messy, “Thanks for the night.”

He laughs at your awkward tone.

It is never easy. In the last months, you have been having all the nightstands that you missed in college. It makes you uncomfortable doing the walk of shame after, never having the stomach to sleep in the same bed as your nightstand.

Did he fall asleep next to one of his?

“No problem, beautiful. You know where to find me.”

You laugh awkwardly, waving goodbye and almost running out of the room.

When you walk past the lobby towards the parking lot, your brand-new heels clicking with every step you take, you feel the burning stare of the girl on the lobby desk, she has a disgusting expression on her pretty face. You fidget with your keys when you wish her goodnight, at which she doesn’t bother to respond. It is okay, you are already used to it.

Always taking the hits without batting an eyelash.

The cold air of the night feels refreshing against your skin, but you don't stop to enjoy it, rushing instead to get on in your car, just wanting to get out of that place. Some tears start to gather in your eyelashes, but you hold them back, refusing to let them roll.

Before starting the car, you glimpse at the screen of your new phone to look at the hour, two at half of the morning. Checking your notifications, you see a text from Sooyoung asking where you were and if you were alright. Jia texted you asking at what hour you would come home. The last one is from five hours ago, and it was from your editor, congratulating you for the one million copies sold from your last novel, for finally being the successful writer you ever wanted to be.

You can't help smiling bitterly.

So much happiness for a successful woman.

That was the excuse for you partying tonight; that, and the fact that one of the mistresses of your soon ex-husband was willing to cry and finally talk about the adventure and love that she shared with him.

The one that his meek wife couldn't give him.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly when you remember her words.

“Seokjin and I love each other so much. He used to tell me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world. His touch and kisses show me that. I know that we are meant to be together, he even promised me that he was going to leave his wife for me. If she sees this, I beg her to let him go and let him be happy.”

Her smirk towards the camera is going to live for years in your head.

You used to believe women are supposed to have each other's back, but it seems that fame and a man are reason enough to tear each other apart.

It's just a matter of time before the media starts to haunt you again. Your divorce news is meant to be released when the process is finished. Of course, if Seokjin gives you the pleasure of, stop rescheduling the conciliation meeting.

You don't understand why he keeps delaying it. Isn't that what he wants? He can finally be free with the dyed blond who claims to be the love of his life, plus his harem of side chicks who are better than you. Who were successful in erasing all your love and dedication for him.

The women he let humiliate you and laugh at you.

Because you weren't enough for him.

When you arrive at Jia’s apartment, in one of the most secure and expensive neighborhoods of Seoul (thanks to Yoongi), you notice how all the lights are off. However, on the third floor of the building, you see one head with brown hair peeking through the window.

You sigh, rubbing your finger through your hair, preparing yourself for a lecture that you don't want to hear.

“Where were you?” Jia inquires when you open the door of her apartment, the place you have been crashing since five months ago, “I was worried about you, I have been calling you. I thought–”

“They haunt me down?” you mock whilst hanging your coat in the rack next to the door, and leaving your keys in the bowl on the coffee table.

You know that she is exhausted, and you feel guilty when you see that she hasn't even changed from her work attire: her button-down shirt slightly wrinkled as well as her pencil skirt. She probably has been waiting for you to come home.

“Sooyoung called me asking for you when she couldn't reach you, “ she says, boring her almond eyes on you.

You shrug, “Isn’t she in Tokyo for a photoshoot?” you try to change the subject, because for the look in her eyes you know that she is ready to give you a reality check, one that you are too tired to deal with, “I hope that the models are kind to her,” you laugh walking towards the kitchen, taking one cup from the kitchen cabinets.

You feel the burning gaze of your friend when you take your time to make yourself a cup of coffee; looking impatiently at the coffee machine work, just wanting to run away from the kitchen, wash the trails of the fingers of the boy of tonight and just work on your manuscript.

“This needs to stop.”

“Jia, I don't want to hear it. I am fine, I am moving on,” you defend yourself as you carefully take the mug with hot and rich coffee. You attempt to step away from the kitchen, but Jia plants herself on the doorstep with a determined expression. She furrows her brow now that she is closer to you, and you can't help but feel a bit of embarrassment.

You are sure that she can smell on you the boy you hook up with, she can taste the smell of alcohol, sweat, and sex.

The perfume you have been wearing for the last months.

“You are not moving on,” she exclaims, “You are hurting yourself,” she tries to grab you by the arms, but you avoid her.

“Jia, stop.”

“No!” she screams, some tears accumulating in her eyes. She always has been a cry baby, “I am so sick of just watching from the sidelines how are you destroying yourself. All this working all day in your room, partying every night, not sleeping, just drinking without moderation,” Jia licks her lips, and you tighten the grip on your mug, a knot stuck in your throat, “And all the men that you keep adding to your body count.”

“Seokjin already has the divorce papers!” saying his name out loud almost makes you sob, the familiar ache in your chest intensifies, “I am a free woman, just bonded by a paper that he refuses to sign. I am not doing anything wrong!” you bit back, feeling hurt for being accused by her.

He did it too, and he is not hurt.

He is not broken.

The winner takes it all, isn't it?

“You are hurting yourself,” she repeats with a deep breath, “I see it in your face, sweetheart. Every time that you come back after a hook-up, there is pain on your face. Every night you come back looking-”

Empty.

Your successful career; the handsome men who buy you drinks at the club, who focus only on you when there are other beautiful and younger women out there; the pleasure that you take from them; your own pride being build back because of the men at your beck and call; the love of your friends, their open arms who keep you steady.

Still, you feel desolate.

Is not fair.

Why do you have to carry this burden? Why do you have to keep taking the hits? Why do you have to be the one humiliated?

Why weren't you enough for him?

“You are one of my best friends (name),” Jia continues, looking even more worried by the way your face hardens, eyes hollow, lifeless, “Sooyoung and I are so worried about you. It hurts us to see you like this. We tried to let you live it, thinking it is just a phase, and that you would feel better after,” she takes the mug from your hands, placing it on her kitchen counter, grabbing your hands between her soft ones, “But the days pass, and you are hurting yourself,” you can almost taste the desperation on her tone, you feel it in the way she tenderly brushes your faces out of your face. You know that she is worried, “I want to help you, Sooyoung wants to help you, but you need to talk with us. You have been asking us to forget what happened, but it can't be forgotten. I know that you have been feeling–”

What does she know?

You bitterly laugh, “Do I look empty?” you growl, violently taking your hands from hers, “You know how I feel?,” you mock, her face falls, some tears falling down her cheeks, but you don't stop, just wanting to let it out, “You and Sooyoung know nothing about how I feel. You don't know how it feels to be thrown aside by the person who means the most to you. How it feels to be deceived, lied to, cheated by the man who you love with every fiber being of your soul and body!” in an angry outburst, you throw the mug of coffee to the floor with a movement of your trembling hand. The rooms feel so suffocating, “Yoongi has always been faithful to you. Always taking care of you, being loyal to you, always loving you. He never has fuck around with girls and publicly humiliated you in front of the world by exposing his affair!”

A choked sob escapes you.

“Love–”

The pet name feels like a slap to the face.

“You don't have to endure the pity stares of people, the disgust expression of others, the mock on their faces. You didn't have to see with your own eyes how he fucked his mistress, how he pleased her, the things he said to her,” you take a shaky breath, “You didn't have to hear from one of the girls you husband fucked behind your back, how much he loves her, how well he pleased her. You didn't have to see how she flashes the jewelry he bought for her. How she pleads to let her make him happy because you weren't woman enough to do it! So don't you dare to say that you know how I feel!”

The words on your tongue are bitter, hurtful and when you finally raise your gaze towards Jia you see the hurt on her expression, just like if you have hit her.

It makes you feel worse, makes you feel ungrateful, like a bad person. She offers you her home, her support, her love, and you just . . . at that exact moment, your phone rings, and you see another call from Sooyoung. You feel like a monster when you decline it, but how can you face her?

Maybe this is the reason why he did what he did.

Maybe you deserved it.

You wipe the tears on your eyes hastily, refusing to cry. Jia sniffs, taking some brave steps towards you, but you step away.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry.”

Her face shows pain, and for a minute you wonder if she can feel what you feel, yet you don't wait to find out. Running away from the living room, you lock yourself in your room.

You avoid the mirror when you step in the shower.

That night you fall asleep at your desk, your laptop open and some words are written from the bottom of your heart.

Words full of anger and bitterness.

Words full of pain.

“Did he bend your reflection? Did he make you forget your own name? Did he convince you he was a god? . . . Are you a slave to the back of his hand?”

“Shit, you are sucking me in, slut.”

His deep voice, that once swore that you were the love of his life, that used to whisper in your ear when he was still yours; follows you to the dreamless world when you wake up startled.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest at the images of him in her, her lips on her, his fingers in her . . . They always linger.

These are the main topic of your nightmares.

“Darling.”

Lifting your head at the familiar voice, you meet with the warmest pair of eyes; the same ones who used to hold you when you used to trip and hurt your knee, the ones that glinted with pride when you sold your first copy of your novel, the ones that had tears when they saw you in a white gown.

Behind her, you see a familiar face; a broad figure that, before him, used to be your safe place.

You feel ashamed.

Lowering your head, you avoid eye contact because you don't want them to see you like this. They would be so hurt if they see the failure that her daughter is. A woman that was unable to keep her husband from straying.

The soft fingers of your mom lift your chin tenderly, at the same time your father comes closer, kneeling next to you. His warm hands guiding you to his embrace.

It breaks something in you.

Soon, the tears that you stubbornly refused to let down after discovering him, finally trail down your cheeks. There are so many of them, making your sight blurry. Your mom, hold back her tears when she hears your painful sobs, your voice so full of hurt.

Behind them, Jia and Sooyoung stand at the doorstep with linked hands. You feel guilty that you ruined her business trip, but when your mom takes you between her arms, all your thoughts fade away.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart, I am so sorry that we weren't here for you.”

“It hurts so much, mom,” you manage to say between your sobs, “Why did he do this to me? Why did he betray me?” she tightens her embrace, your face against her beating heart, “Why wasn't enough for him?” you whimper, “I thought he loved me, mom. Why didn't he love me?”

“Baby,” you hear your mom sniffing, but you don't see the pain look she exchanges with your dad.

“Why didn't he love me, mom? I love him so much. Even now, I love him so much.”

You feel a nausea raise from your throat, your gaze gets even more blurry, your head feels heavy, and you just want to fall asleep in her secure embrace.

For a few minutes.

Just for a bit.

When you wake up, your head feels fuzzy as the throbbing pain on it makes you flinch; your mouth is dry, and a pair of calloused fingers are gripping yours.

Blinking a few times, you notice white walls around you; at your right side, there is a small window showing the dark sky. Some tubes slid from your left forearm whilst a wet feeling traveled down your veins.

There is a quietness in the room, only the soft steps of people outside let you know that you are not alone in this place.

What happened? Where are your parents? Where are Jia and Sooyoung?

Did you dream it?

A sniff makes you turn towards the person sitting next to you, who is holding your hand as if they were afraid to let go. Your unsteady gaze meets deep chocolate eyes.

The same almond eyes that torment you in your dreams; the same ones that strayed to other women, the same ones that now look at you with so much remorse, guilt, and love.

Your traitor's heart beats even faster when he meets your gaze.

“Seokjin?”

He gives you a weak smile.

“Hi, love. I missed you.”

TAG LIST

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if you want to be tag, let me know ;)

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