The storm had passed…

But its aftermath hung like a ghost in the silence.

The only sound now was the faint hum of the clock ticking on the wall, and the low, heavy sigh that escaped from Jungkook’s lips as he sank into the chair behind him. His palms dragged across his face, frustration and regret clashing beneath his skin.

His voice came out hoarse—haunted.

“Fuck…”

Taehyung leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly, watching him with unreadable eyes.

“You went too far,” Taehyung finally said, his voice calm, but edged with quiet judgment.

Jungkook didn’t look up. Just nodded slowly.

“I know…” he whispered, voice almost broken.

There was guilt in his eyes now. Raw and heavy.

“I didn’t mean to… I just—I snapped. I saw her standing there, saying that to Annie like—like she wasn’t the girl who used to cry herself to sleep.”

Taehyung didn’t respond at first, then sighed.

“You don’t need to tell me. I saw it too… I saw it in her eyes the moment Annie looked at her. She wasn’t mad at her… she was mad at herself.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, leaning his elbows on the table.

“Where’s Annie?” he asked quietly, his eyes flicking toward the hallway.

“Jimin took her out,” Taehyung replied gently.

“She was crying a lot. But he’s calming her down.”

Jungkook exhaled deeply, his shoulders sinking.

“She doesn’t deserve this. Not Annie. Not Yn…”

Taehyung sat beside him now, voice low but firm.

“None of us deserved what this world gave us. But you were wrong, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed.

“Wrong about what?”

Taehyung looked ahead, his voice almost a whisper.

“She’s not hollow. Not broken. She’s drowning. And no one taught her how to swim.”

That silence came again. And it hit differently now. Heavier. Sadder.

Jungkook stared down at the spot where she’d stood—where her fire had burned the brightest, before it flickered into smoke.

He clenched his jaw, the anger now replaced with a bitter ache.

“I’ll find a way to bring her back,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“I have to.”

Taehyung gave him a faint nod.

“Then don’t just be her leader…”

“Be her anchor.”

The rain had stopped, but her mind hadn’t.

Yn sat on the edge of her bed—shoulders still, arms loose at her sides, her eyes hollow and locked on a spot on the wall. The room was dim, the shadows stretching long like silent watchers of her torment. No flicker of emotion passed her face. Just stillness. Just silence.

But inside—inside was a warzone.

“You’re the one who is weak.”

“Living your life like a hollow person… just another monster.”

Jungkook’s voice echoed in her mind. Again. And again. And again.

Her jaw tightened. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. She didn’t even feel the sting.

Yes. He was right.

Every word had been true.

She was still holding on to the pain.

She was still trapped in the memories of screams, of blood, of the fire that burned her world down.

But what was she supposed to do?

How do you not hold on when it’s the only thing that proves the people you loved once existed?

A shaky breath left her lips. She hadn’t cried. Not a single tear. Her eyes were far too tired for that.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t break anything.

She just sat there—thinking, feeling everything and nothing all at once.

Her lips finally moved, voice a mere whisper into the empty room.

“I didn’t ask for this…”

It trembled like a leaf in the wind.

“I didn’t ask to watch them die.”

“I didn’t ask to survive that night.”

“I didn’t ask… to be this.”

She looked at her hands. Bruised. Taped. The same hands that had held a blade. That had been soaked in blood. That had held Annie. That had pushed everyone else away.

“But I am this.”

“And now I don’t know who I’m allowed to be.”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. The spot on the wall blurred as her eyes lost focus. For hours she just sat there. Still. Quiet. Torn between guilt and rage, love and fear.

She hated him—for being right.

But more than that…

She hated herself—for knowing it too.

The moonlight brushed across her face, soft and cold.

The mansion was asleep. But Yn wasn’t.

She didn’t know how to be okay.

She didn’t know if she wanted to be.

And yet... something inside her ached for someone to pull her back.

But no one came.

Just her.

And the silence.

And the memory of his words... burning through her soul like wildfire.

The door creaked open slowly. Yn’s heart skipped for a beat—not because she hoped, but because she expected. For a moment, she thought it was Jungkook.

But it wasn’t.

It was Jimin, quietly walking in with a tray of food in his hands, his soft eyes scanning her with that gentle concern he never quite hid.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just set the tray down on the small table near the bed and sat in front of her on the floor, cross-legged like a child waiting for storytime.

> "You didn’t come downstairs for dinner, so..."

He gestured to the tray.

"I thought I’d bring it here."

Yn let out a dry chuckle—low and bitter, more exhaustion than amusement.

"What are you doing here?"

Her voice cracked at the edges, tired and stripped.

Jimin just shrugged, leaning back slightly on his hands.

"Thought you might be hungry. That’s it. No mission. No agenda. Just food."

There was no judgment in his tone. No weight in his words. Just simplicity. Kindness.

Yn shook her head, eyes trained on him as though trying to read what he really wanted. When she didn’t find anything hidden, she looked away.

"How can you come to me… after everything I said?"

Her voice was low. Almost ashamed.

Jimin tilted his head slightly.

"You mean after you yelled at us?"

He gave a tiny smile, trying to lift the weight.

"After you threw words like knives?"

She looked at him sharply, guilt already brewing.

But Jimin just continued softly, his voice gentle as falling snow.

"You think that was enough to push us away?"

"You think I haven’t said worse things on my worst days? To the people I love?"

She blinked at him.

He leaned forward now, serious.

"Yn... I’ve seen what trauma does. To others. To myself. To Jungkook."

"You're not the only one living with ghosts."

Her jaw clenched at the name. But he didn’t stop.

"You’re angry, and broken, and sometimes cruel—but that doesn’t scare me."

"Because I also saw you hold Annie like she was your own."

"I saw the way you stood between us and danger without a second thought."

He reached for the tray, uncovered the food and placed the spoon gently in front of her.

"You’ve lived through hell, Yn. You don’t have to apologize for bleeding."

Silence hung between them for a few moments, thick and almost sacred.

Then finally, she whispered—

"You should hate me."

Jimin looked at her with those soft, starry eyes and replied—

"If I hated everyone who was hurting... I’d have no one left to love."

She stared at him, throat tightening, chest heaving with unsaid things.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity…

She didn’t feel quite so alone.

The tray of food still sat untouched. The silence in the room was no longer heavy—it was soft. As if something was beginning to thaw.

Jimin sat beside her now, their backs leaning against the side of the bed. He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke again—his voice low and comforting, as if afraid to shatter whatever fragile space Yn had carved for herself.

"About what Jungkook said…"

Yn’s body tensed immediately.

He noticed. He always noticed.

"He didn’t mean to say it like that, Yn."

She scoffed under her breath, turning her head away.

"He meant every word."

Jimin hesitated, then said gently—

"Yeah… he did."

Yn’s eyes snapped to him, betrayal flickering in her gaze. But before she could speak, he continued.

"But not the way you heard it."

"You think he was trying to hurt you? He wasn’t. He was trying to shake you—wake you up."

"Because when it comes to Annie… he loses control."

Yn blinked.

"What do you mean?"

Jimin looked at his hands, his thumb brushing a scar along his knuckle.

"You don’t know what that kid means to him. When he found her—alone, terrified, clinging to a blood-soaked doll—something in him broke."

He looked over at her, eyes tender.

"That’s why he’s so protective of her. She reminds him of something pure. Something he couldn’t save before."

Yn’s throat went dry.

"So when he saw you—you—the strongest, coldest person he’s ever met, throw that look at Annie like she was just another weakness..."

"...it cracked something in him."

Her jaw clenched. She looked down at her bandaged hands.

Jimin inched closer, his voice softer now.

"But Yn…"

"He also loses control when it comes to you."

She looked up sharply.

Jimin smiled, small and sad.

"You just don’t see it. But we do. Every time you walk into a room, every time you speak back to him, threaten him, challenge him…"

"He looks at you like you’re the only thing on this bloody earth worth losing control over."

Yn’s breath caught in her throat.

"And that scares the hell out of him."

Silence. Thick with realization. Pain. Something else unnamed.

"You’re both broken people trying to pretend you aren’t bleeding," Jimin said finally, his eyes dropping again to the tray.

"But maybe... just maybe, you’re each other’s cure. You just don’t know how to heal yet."

Yn didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

But her fingers reached for the spoon. A small movement. Barely noticeable.

And Jimin—he smiled softly, standing up without a word.

Just before he left the room, he looked back.

"Eat something. He hasn’t."

And then he left her alone.

But she didn’t feel lonely anymore.

The soft yellow lamp cast a warm glow over the little room. Annie sat cross-legged on her bed, playing with a stuffed bunny. The door creaked open gently.

Yn stepped inside, her steps hesitant but heart heavy. Annie looked up immediately, eyes wide.

“Hey…” Yn murmured softly, walking toward her.

She knelt in front of Annie, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her voice cracked slightly as she reached out and took Annie’s tiny hands in her own.

“I’m sorry.”

“For shouting… for saying what I did… I never meant to hurt you.”

“You’re the last person who deserves that. I was just… I don’t know, angry, broken, scared…”

She stopped herself as her eyes brimmed with tears she didn’t want to shed.

Annie just looked at her quietly. Then, she leaned forward and cupped Yn’s face with her small, warm hands.

“It’s okay, Yniiee.”

“I know you were sad… That’s why you were angry.”

Yn blinked, surprised at the words, at how easily Annie understood what even adults didn’t.

“You don’t need to say sorry,” Annie whispered with a smile.

“You’re still my Yniiee.”

That broke something inside Yn—not in a painful way, but like a dam gently cracking open. She pulled Annie into her arms, hugging her tightly, burying her face in her soft hair.

“Thank you, baby…” she whispered. “Thank you for being so much stronger than I ever was.”

Annie hugged her back just as tightly.

And for the first time in a long, long while… Yn allowed herself to feel safe.

The atmosphere was unusually still. Forks clinked lightly against plates, but no one truly ate—not with the air still heavy from the morning’s outburst.

Annie sat close to Jimin, quietly munching her vegetables, her tiny legs swinging above the floor. Taehyung occasionally glanced at the clock, Jin just stirred his soup absentmindedly. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on his plate.

And then—footsteps.

Yn entered the room slowly, her gaze sweeping across everyone like a storm trying not to cause more damage.

She clutched her fingers together, inhaling sharply.

"I–I'm sorry."

Everyone stopped. The sound of Annie's spoon paused mid-air.

"I'm sorry to all of you," she said again, softer now, her voice trembling as she looked down. "For what I said. For how I acted. It wasn’t fair. Not to any of you."

There was a brief silence.

Yoongi was the first to respond, clearing his throat.

"We know."

Yn looked up slowly. Jin gave her a small nod of reassurance, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Jimin placed a hand on Annie’s head, who smiled at Yn—a pure, forgiving smile that somehow hit harder than any punishment.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair and smirked slightly.

"Took you long enough."

She rolled her eyes faintly, but her lips twitched—just a bit.

Then her eyes drifted around the table, scanning again.

But one seat was empty.

His seat.

Her chest tightened.

"Where’s Jungkook?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

No one answered at first. Then Namjoon spoke, carefully.

"In the basement. Working alone. He didn’t come up for lunch either."

Yn’s throat bobbed. The guilt twisted deeper.

"He's... probably needs some space," Jimin added, softer now, watching her closely.

Yn didn’t reply.

She simply sat down in her usual seat, her appetite gone. Still, she forced herself to be present—to stay. To show them all that she was trying.

But her mind was already down there with him—wondering what he was feeling.

Wondering what she should say next.

To be continued...