Taehyung’s POV

The cold Seoul night did little to soothe the fire raging inside Taehyung. His jaw clenched tight, eyes dark with frustration as the streetlights blurred past him. The engine of his sleek black car roared against the silence of the road, matching the pounding of his heart. He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned bone-white.

“Dammit, Yn,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “Why won’t you just pick up the phone?”

In minutes, he pulled up outside her house, tires screeching slightly as he hit the brakes. Without wasting a second, he stepped out, slamming the car door shut behind him. His breath fogged in the chilly air, but sweat clung to his brow. Heart racing, he rushed to the front door and reached for the knob—only to find it locked.

“What the hell…” he whispered, trying again. No light. No sound. The house was empty.

“Where are you, Yn?” he breathed out, almost broken.

Just as he was about to turn back to his car, a figure appeared under the dim streetlight. Mr. Choi.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Choi?” He quickly stepped toward him, confusion mixing with rising suspicion. “When was the last time you saw Yn?”

Mr. Choi exhaled deeply, almost regretfully. “Mr. Kim… she’s been staying with Mr. Jeon. For the past few days now.”

Taehyung's expression changed instantly—shock, disbelief, and then rage. “What?!”

He grabbed Mr. Choi’s shoulders roughly. “Why didn’t you tell her about Jungkook’s mental health?! You know what he’s capable of!”

Mr. Choi remained calm despite Taehyung’s aggression. “Mr. Kim,” he said evenly, “Mr. Jeon is fine now. He’s been in therapy for months. I’ve seen the change myself.”

Taehyung’s grip tightened. “You saw? That’s not enough!”

Before Taehyung could shout further, Mr. Choi continued, “If you're talking about today’s incident, yes, Mr. Jeon is possessive—but he’s never harmed Miss Yn. In fact… she calms him. When she’s around, he’s the most composed I’ve ever seen him. Please, Mr. Kim… don’t come between them.”

Taehyung froze, staring into Mr. Choi’s eyes. There was no fear, only a firm truth behind them. Slowly, he released his grip, jaw still clenched. Without another word, he turned back, walked to his car, and drove off into the night, leaving a trail of tension behind.

Mr. Choi sighed, shaking his head softly, then turned to leave as well, unaware that he had never hung up his phone call with Jungkook.

Meanwhile… Inside the House

Behind the closed curtains of the darkened house, a pair of eyes watched them closely. The figure stood still, concealed by the shadows.

The phone call—unintentionally left on speaker—had transmitted every word to Jungkook.

Alright—here’s the continuation from Jungkook’s POV, building off the tension and giving you a darker, more intense emotional thread. Let’s dive in:

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Jungkook’s POV

The silence in his apartment was suffocating. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The phone lay on the table, still connected, though the conversation had long ended. But the damage was done. The words were etched into his mind like scars.

“He came to her house.”

“He grabbed Mr. Choi like that…”

“He’s still trying to reach her…”

Jungkook’s eyes were ablaze with fury, the kind that simmers—dangerous, deadly, patient.

He sat down slowly, fingers interlocking, elbows resting on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor. But his mind? It was anything but still. It replayed the scene over and over again. Taehyung’s voice. His audacity. The fact that he still believed he had a place in Yn’s life.

A dark smirk tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s lips.

“I warned him, didn’t I?” he whispered to himself.

He stood up, walking over to the window. The city lights blinked like distant stars, cold and indifferent to the war raging in his chest. He leaned against the glass, eyes scanning the night.

“He doesn’t understand,” Jungkook muttered, voice low. “Yn is mine. She chose to stay with me. She feels safe here. And I’ll make damn sure she never goes back to him.”

He turned away, pacing now.

“Taehyung still thinks this is a choice. That if he shows up with enough passion or desperation, she’ll come running back.”

His fists clenched.

“No. Not this time. I won’t let her get pulled into that chaos again. She needs peace. She needs someone who doesn’t let anger drive them. Someone who changed…”

He paused. His own words echoed back at him like a mirror held too close.

Changed?

Jungkook looked at his reflection in the mirror. Eyes wild. Face tense.

He let out a humorless laugh. “They all think I’m still broken. But they don’t see it… they don’t see how calm I am when she’s here. When she touches my hand, or just sits beside me. She makes everything quiet.”

He reached for his phone again, this time dialing a number.

A voice answered, hesitant. “Jungkook?”

“Make sure Taehyung doesn’t come near her again,” Jungkook said flatly. “I don’t care how you do it. Just make it clear—if he shows up even once more, he won’t walk away the same.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, “You sure you want to do this?”

Jungkook’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He ended the call.

His eyes traced every detail—the windows, the dim porch light that flickered occasionally, the front door Taehyung had stood in front of just hours ago.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other draped over his thigh. His jaw clenched as the images replayed in his mind like a bad movie: Taehyung's car, Mr. Choi's voice, the audacity, the nerve.

“This house doesn’t deserve her,” Jungkook murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing. “Too many memories. Too much noise.”

He glanced once more at the dark windows before muttering, “Not anymore,” and shifted the gear. The car glided away from the curb, quiet and smooth, disappearing into the Seoul night.

The iron gates opened soundlessly, revealing the sleek black car as it pulled into the private drive. The mansion stood tall and silent, lights dimmed for the night. A fortress. A home. Her sanctuary.

Jungkook stepped out, shutting the door with a soft click. The night air was cold, brushing against his face, but he didn’t flinch. His steps were steady as he entered the house and padded barefoot across the marble floors, the silence thick, heavy, familiar.

Every light was off except the soft golden glow slipping from under the door of the master bedroom.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to make a sound.

And there she was.

Yn.

Asleep.

Peacefully, beautifully unaware that he had been gone. Her figure was curled under the heavy duvet, one arm resting above her head, her hair spread over the pillows like ink across snow. Her breathing was soft, deep. Rhythmic.

Jungkook’s expression softened instantly. The storm inside him melted at the sight of her. Every flicker of rage, every dark thought dissolved into nothing.

“You don’t even know,” he whispered quietly, stepping further into the room, “how much I need you just to breathe.”

He crossed the room to his walk-in closet, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. The cool air met his bare skin, but he was used to it—he preferred it, especially at night.

Just trousers. Nothing else. That was how he slept beside her. He liked the way her warmth wrapped around him, the way her scent soaked into his skin like rain on dry earth.

He changed quietly, not bothering with lights, only the faint moonlight guiding his movements.

Then, barefoot, he walked over to the bed and pulled back the duvet gently. Yn stirred slightly, her brows twitching for the briefest moment before she relaxed again.

He slid into the bed behind her, the mattress shifting under his weight. His arms wrapped around her waist carefully, drawing her into him, pressing her back against his chest.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.

Vanilla. Warm cotton. Yn.

A deep exhale escaped him, his muscles finally relaxing, his mind finally slowing.

He whispered into her hair, so quietly she’d never hear it, “You’re the only thing that keeps me sane.”

She shifted slightly in her sleep, her hand instinctively finding his and lacing their fingers together.

Jungkook smiled softly, heart aching.

With one last inhale of her scent, he closed his eyes, and slowly, as her warmth surrounded him, he drifted into sleep—safe, calm, and whole.

The sun had barely climbed over the horizon, its golden rays sneaking through the sheer curtains and spilling softly across the marble floor of the bedroom. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the antique wall clock and the quiet rhythm of Yn’s steady breathing.

She stirred under the covers, shifting slightly, and winced at the dull ache that throbbed through her body—a reminder of the night before. A deep blush crept up her cheeks as flashes of Jungkook’s touch, his breath against her skin, and the way he whispered her name filled her mind.

Her fingers instinctively reached for the other side of the bed—only to find it empty.

Still warm, but empty.

Brows furrowing slightly, Yn pushed herself up against the headboard, the blanket clutched against her chest. The silence felt louder now. Jungkook was gone.

For a moment, anxiety tried to creep in. Has something happened? Did he leave without saying anything again?

But then—her eyes landed on the nightstand.

A small, folded letter. Two pain-relief pills in a neat dish. A bottle of water. And beside it all, her favorite chocolates—perfectly stacked, as if he’d stood there trying to arrange them in the right way.

Her chest tightened, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

This... this wasn’t Jungkook’s style at all. The Jungkook she knew didn’t leave notes. He didn’t remember snack preferences. He didn’t do anything soft.

But he was trying.

With trembling fingers, Yn picked up the note and unfolded it carefully. His handwriting was messy, slanted, like he wrote it fast but with purpose.

"Morning Baby.

I didn’t want to wake you.

You looked peaceful. Safe. And I don’t want to take that away from you—not even for a second.

I had to leave early for a meeting. Just the CEO and some execs, no big deal. You don’t need to come in.

Rest. Take the meds. Eat the chocolate.

You’ll probably be sore. Sorry… not really.

I’ll be back before lunch.

I don’t really know how to do this. Be gentle. Be… normal.

But I’m trying. For you.

Because you’re the only person who ever made me want to be better.

Please wait for me.

– JJK”

A soft laugh escaped her lips—half amusement, half affection. It was so him. Still rough around the edges, still smug even in a note that was supposed to be caring. But it was his version of gentleness. And she saw it.

I read it twice.

And then a third time, because my chest was so full I didn’t know what to do with it. I pressed the paper to my chest, eyes stinging, lips trembling with a smile I didn’t even know I was wearing.

“He’s trying…” I whispered into the quiet room. “God, he’s really trying.”

She pressed the note to her chest and looked at the items again, her heart swelling.

“You’re really trying, aren’t you, Jungkook…” she whispered into the quiet room.

I glanced over at the small stack of gestures he left behind—the medicine, the chocolate, the note—and laughed softly.

This isn’t Jungkook.

Not the Jungkook I’ve known for years. The one who bottled everything inside, who only knew how to protect with fists and fire. Who didn’t say “I love you” in words, but in the way he stood too close, touched too long, held too tight.

But this…

This was new.

And still, it was him. Just a different version. A gentler one. The one I knew existed under all that silence and steel.

I reached for the letter, my fingers trembling slightly, and unfolded the single sheet of thick paper. His handwriting was messy, slanted, like he wrote it fast but with purpose.

The chocolates were a small thing—but she knew. She knew how much it meant. Because for someone like Jungkook—who had grown up building walls instead of connections, who loved fiercely but never softly—this was his way of learning.

His way of changing.

For her.

She leaned back against the pillows, pulling the blanket tighter around her, a warmth blooming inside her chest that had nothing to do with the sun outside.

She didn’t need flowers. She didn’t need poetry or perfection.

She just needed effort. And this morning, that’s exactly what he gave her.

And it was enough.

“I was right…” she whispered to herself with a smile, closing her eyes for a moment. “Giving you another chance… was the best thing I could’ve done.”

She knew it wouldn't always be easy. But for the first time in a long time, she felt secure in the uncertainty. Because Jungkook was trying—not to be perfect—but to be better. And that was more than she ever asked for.

To be continued ..