The morning light slipped quietly through the curtains, painting the room in a pale gold glow. The world outside was waking, but inside, silence held the two of you in its delicate grasp.

Your lashes fluttered open, and for a moment, you blinked in confusion. Warmth cocooned you, an arm heavy but protective draped around your waist, a steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

You tilted your head slightly—only to freeze.

Jeon Jungkook.

His face was so close, his breath brushing against your skin, his dark lashes resting against his cheeks. For once, he didn’t look intimidating, didn’t look like the boy who drove you insane with his stubborn protectiveness. Right now, he looked… peaceful.

And he was holding you like you were something precious.

You didn’t push him away this time. You didn’t feel suffocated, didn’t feel trapped. Instead, a strange calm washed over you—safety. Care. Warmth.

Your gaze lingered on his face, taking in every detail. The faint crease in his brow, like even in sleep he was still worried. The curve of his lips—the very same lips that had pressed against yours last night without warning, leaving your heart in complete chaos.

You remembered the kiss vividly. The way his lips felt—soft, warm, yet so demanding. The way your body had betrayed you by not hating it. And now, staring at him so close, you whispered softly, words slipping out before you could stop them:

“Why? Why are you doing this all?”

There was no answer—he was still lost in sleep. But you felt it anyway, the unspoken truth lingering between you.

Your eyes flickered back to his lips, your heart skipping a beat. You hated that thought. You hated the fact that you didn’t hate him anymore.

And without realizing it, you moved closer. Just a small shift, your body betraying your mind. Your eyes closed, and you nestled against him.

Instinctively, his arm tightened around you in his sleep, pulling you into him as if his body recognized you even before his mind did.

Your heart thudded softly, your breath steadying in sync with his. And for the first time in so long, you let yourself… just be.

Safe.

The quiet hum of morning filled the room, soft and still. You were fast asleep, your breath slow and even, your body tucked safely against his.

Jungkook stirred awake, his lashes fluttering open—and the very first thing he saw was you.

So close.

His chest tightened.

Your face was turned toward him, your features soft in sleep, a faint trace of vulnerability written across them. He froze, just staring, his throat tightening as something unexplainable washed over him.

This… he thought, this is what a husband and wife are supposed to do—wake up in each other’s arms.

But for you both, this was new. Surprising. Dangerous.

And it felt too right. Too natural.

But also—wrong.

His gaze dipped lower. To your lips. The memory of last night—their warmth, the way they yielded under his—slammed into his chest like a blow.

He swallowed hard. His hand moved on its own, trembling slightly as he lifted it. His fingers brushed your cheek, careful, reverent, as though afraid to break you. Then his thumb traced over your lower lip, slow, soft, like he was testing if the memory was real.

Without realizing it, he leaned closer. His breath mingled with yours, his nose nearly brushing your skin. Just an inch—only an inch separated his lips from yours.

His heart hammered so loud he swore it would wake you.

And then—

Reality crashed into him like a truck.

His eyes widened. His chest constricted. What the hell are you doing, Jeon?

He stopped, frozen in place. How can you—how can you even think of kissing her like this? Without her consent? Without her awake?

His hand trembled as he pulled back abruptly, sitting up in bed, running both palms over his face, breath uneven.

No. No, no, no. This is so wrong. Get a grip. Fucking Jeon, control yourself.

He sat there for a long moment, staring down at you—sleeping so peacefully, unaware of the storm raging inside him.

And quietly, he whispered to himself, a bitter curse under his breath:

“Why the hell do I want her this much?”

Jungkook slipped out of your room with painstaking care, closing the door behind him so the sound wouldn’t disturb your sleep.

The moment the door clicked shut, he leaned against it, exhaling a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell too fast, his pulse hammering in his ears. He pressed a hand over his heart, trying to steady it, but the thuds only grew louder.

What the hell am I doing?

He dragged his hand over his face, jaw clenched, and turned to walk toward his own room. His steps were soundless on the cold floor, but his insides felt like chaos.

Finally, he pushed his door open, slipping inside and closing it with a soft click. He let out another breath, his shoulders sagging—

“Morning, Mr. Husband.”

The deep voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Jungkook’s body stiffened instantly. His muscles tensed, his eyes snapped up—

And there he was.

Yoongi sat casually on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a coffee mug balanced in his hand. His gaze, however, wasn’t casual at all. It was sharp, cold, and commanding. The kind of gaze that stripped a man to his bones.

The air itself felt heavier, thick with the weight of his presence. Dominance rolled off him like a second skin, the quiet kind of power that needed no words, no show, just was.

Jungkook’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his knuckles tightening at his side.

“Yoongi-hyung…” he muttered, low, controlled, but there was a faint edge of unease in his voice.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, lips twitching at the corners into the ghost of a smirk.

“You look restless,” he said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face. “Didn’t sleep well? Or…” his eyes narrowed, dangerous, “…was your wife the reason?”

The word hit like a challenge, laced with meaning.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard it ticked.

Yoongi didn’t move from his place. He just leaned back into the couch, swirling his coffee lazily, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

Jungkook stood there, tense, waiting for a question, a reaction, anything. But Yoongi gave him nothing. Just one word.

“Talk.”

That was it. No threats. No anger. Just quiet command.

And like a dam breaking, Jungkook yapped.

“I married her—” The words rushed out, his voice tight. “—I married Yn because I had no choice. They were forcing her into an unwanted marriage. She… she didn’t deserve that, not after everything she’s already been through. So I stepped in.”

Yoongi said nothing, only sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving Jungkook.

Jungkook continued, his chest heaving slightly. “At first, it was just… just a deal. Just a way to protect her, nothing more. But then… she started to get under my skin. She fights me, yells at me, says she hates me, and yet—” he stopped, running a hand through his hair harshly, pacing the room now. “—and yet I can’t stop caring. I can’t stop wanting to keep her safe. She doesn’t understand… she pushes herself too damn much and it—” his voice cracked before he caught himself, jaw tightening. “It scares me.”

He stopped pacing, turning his face away as if ashamed.

Yoongi placed his mug down on the table with a soft click. Still no lecture. Just that heavy silence pressing down.

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And now everything’s a mess. She… she told me to divorce her last night. She said it like it meant nothing. And fuck—” he clenched his fists, eyes squeezing shut. “—it felt like my chest was being ripped apart. I don’t even know why. I was supposed to hate her, hyung. Hate her. That was the plan. But…”

He looked back at Yoongi finally, his expression raw. “…tell me why it hurts so much to even think of letting her go.”

Yoongi suddenly let out a short chuckle, low and mocking, the kind that crawled under Jungkook’s skin. His lips curled into a smirk as he set his cup down with deliberate ease.

Jungkook froze, frowning. “…What?”

Yoongi’s eyes lifted lazily to him, dark and cutting. “Did I ask about your inner turmoil?”

The words hit like a slap across the face. Jungkook’s mouth parted, but no sound came out. His chest tightened, realization dawning—he hadn’t asked. Yoongi didn’t want confessions, didn’t want Jungkook’s messy emotions spilled across the floor. He only said talk. And Jungkook, like some rookie, had exposed everything.

“I-I…” he stuttered, blinking rapidly, shame crawling up his neck.

Yoongi leaned back, one arm draped over the couch, his smirk never fading. His aura screamed dominance, control, as if he held Jungkook’s strings in his fingers.

“You’re easy, Jungkook,” he said flatly, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Too easy. One word and you’re spilling secrets that could cost you everything.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw, fists curling at his side, fighting the urge to snap back. But under Yoongi’s gaze, he felt stripped bare, powerless.

Yoongi’s smirk slowly faded, his gaze sharpening into something heavier, darker. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, coffee forgotten on the table.

“Didn’t you,” he said quietly, each word like the strike of a blade, “suppose to hate her?”

Jungkook’s chest tightened, his jaw flexing.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, voice low but cutting. “Last time I remember, you said she’s not your girlfriend.  His tone dripped with accusation. “And now look at you—sitting here, restless, spilling every damn thought like a lovesick fool.”

Jungkook froze, throat tight. He had no words.

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his gaze unblinking. “So tell me, Jungkook…answer me one thing—why the hell did you message me in the middle of the night?”

The teasing edge in his voice was gone. He was testing, measuring.

Jungkook’s expression hardened, his playboy mask, his nervous stutters—all gone. His voice dropped, steady and sharp.

“Because I need you to find out everything about her. About YN. Every damn detail.”

Yoongi raised a brow at the sudden change in tone.

Jungkook clenched his jaw, his fists tightening against his knees. “She’s lost her memories. Someone forced her to forget—wiped her past like it was nothing. And now those memories are bleeding through, ripping her apart. She’s breaking, hyung.” His eyes burned, voice heavy with something Yoongi rarely saw in him—fear. “I need to know who the fuck did this. Who touched her mind, who destroyed her life. Every name, every clue. I don’t care what it takes.”

Silence. Yoongi’s smirk was gone. He studied Jungkook carefully, the weight of his words settling between them.

Then Jungkook leaned closer, tone like steel. “Find them, hyung. Because when you do…” his eyes darkened, “…I’ll make sure they never breathe again.”

Yoongi placed the empty cup on the table with a soft clink. His voice came calm, collected, “I’ll do it for sure. But you know this, Jungkook… the past isn’t some file you pull off a shelf. It needs time, hard work, and digging in places that don’t want to be dug.”

Jungkook nodded immediately, no hesitation in his voice. “No problem. Take all the time you need—but do it soon. She’s… breaking, hyung. And—” he stopped, throat tightening before finishing, “…I can’t see her like this.”

Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, quiet for a moment before he asked bluntly, “Do you love her?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened like Yoongi had slapped him. “W-what? No. No, I don’t. What the hell are you saying? It’s nothing like that—I don’t love her.” His words rushed, almost too fast.

Yoongi didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just let the silence stretch before he finally said, low and piercing, “You know… you didn’t behave like this before.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like a man in love.”

The words landed heavy. Jungkook hissed, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “Hyung, stop it. Don’t say shit like that. I don’t… I don’t love her. I don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t assume things.”

Yoongi leaned back, lips twitching like he knew far more than Jungkook wanted to admit. But he didn’t push further. He just let the silence hang, his smirk saying more than his words ever could.

Jungkook finally broke it, mumbling as he stood, “I need to wash up. Just… do it soon.”

And with that, he walked toward the bathroom, heart hammering harder than he wanted to admit, Yoongi’s words echoing in his skull.

As the sound of running water echoed faintly from the bathroom, Yoongi leaned back on the couch, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp. He crossed one leg over the other, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest.

A slow smirk curved his lips.

“That kid…” he murmured to himself, the amusement in his voice clear. “Already gone for her.”

His gaze flickered toward the closed bathroom door. He had known Jungkook for years—cold, ruthless, untouchable Jungkook, the boy who swore no woman could ever matter enough to shake him. And yet… in every word he had just spilled, in the panic still lingering in his eyes, in the way he said her name—Yoongi saw it. Clear as day.

“He doesn’t even realize it,” Yoongi whispered with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And when he does… it’s going to hit him harder than any bullet.”

For a moment, his smirk faded, replaced with something sharper, colder. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if piecing together fragments of a puzzle. “But whoever did this to her… whoever broke her… they’ll regret it.” His tone was final, a silent promise.

Then, leaning back again, his smirk returned. “Poor Jungkook. Fighting a war outside and another one inside his own damn heart.”

He sipped the last drop of his coffee, set the cup down, and waited patiently. Because Yoongi knew—this story was only just beginning.

The sound of light footsteps broke into the quiet tension of the living room.

Jungkook’s head snapped up immediately—he hadn’t even noticed you come down the stairs until you appeared in front of him, looking a little pale, still in your sleep clothes. Your hair was messy, your steps unsure.

“Yn…” Jungkook’s voice dropped, his eyes narrowing with worry as he got up quickly, crossing the space to you in seconds. “Why are you out of bed?” He didn’t wait for an answer, his hand already pressing gently against your forehead, checking your temperature. His brows furrowed. “Still warm,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You blinked at him, ready to argue, but then—

A low, amused chuckle rolled through the room.

Your eyes shifted, and only then did you notice another presence on the couch.

Your entire body froze.

The man sitting there radiated power effortlessly, his posture lazy but his aura sharp as a blade. A smirk curved his lips as his eyes locked onto you, studying every flicker of emotion on your face like he could read you inside out.

It took you a moment, but recognition slammed into you. You knew this man. You remembered his name.

“...Yoongi.”

Jungkook instantly stiffened beside you, his hand still hovering near you protectively. His jaw clenched at the way you said it, like it wasn’t a stranger’s name but someone etched deep into your memory.

Yoongi’s smirk widened ever so slightly, his voice smooth, deep, and laced with meaning.

“So you do remember me.”

Your lips parted, confusion sparking in your eyes. Before you could question, Jungkook slipped in between you two, his body angled protectively toward you as if shielding you. His tone was firm, controlled.

“you remember him the one who helped us " His gaze flicked at Yoongi—sharp, warning—before returning to you. “Don’t worry. He’s here to help.”

Yoongi tilted his head, not missing Jungkook’s protective stance, nor the way your eyes lingered on him like old fragments were stirring in your mind. He didn’t speak, but the smirk on his lips said everything: Interesting.

Yoongi leaned back into the couch, swirling the coffee in his cup like he had all the time in the world. His sharp gaze flickered between you and Jungkook, and then it settled back on you with that knowing smirk.

“So this is the wife, huh?” His tone dripped with casual tease, but his eyes were anything but playful. “I was starting to think Jungkook made her up. Didn’t think he’d actually bring someone home.”

You blinked, caught off guard, your cheeks warming slightly. “W-wife—” you stammered.

Jungkook shot him a glare so sharp it could cut steel.

“Hyung.” His voice dropped, cold, dangerous.

Yoongi only chuckled under his breath. “Relax. I’m just saying she doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d agree to marry you.” He raised a brow at you, deliberately baiting. “So tell me, Yn… how did he trick you?”

Your eyes widened at the bluntness. “I—”

“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice boomed through the room, his hand immediately going to your shoulder as if grounding you, his body angling you away from Yoongi. His patience snapped, and the warning in his tone was lethal. “Don’t test me, hyung.”

Yoongi’s smirk only deepened, his eyes gleaming like he found this whole thing far too amusing. He stood, setting his cup down with deliberate ease.

“Relax, Mr. Husband. I was just curious.” He adjusted his coat, throwing Jungkook one last sly glance. “But… I’ve seen enough. I’ll be in touch.”

As he passed you on his way out, his eyes lingered just a second longer, as if silently saying there’s more to you than you think.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room thick with silence.

Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair, clearly irritated. Then he looked at you, worry flooding back into his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have come downstairs…”

Jungkook guided you toward the dining table like you were fragile porcelain, his hand firm at the small of your back. You tried to protest, but one glare from him was enough to shut you up.

He placed the bowl of porridge in front of you and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

“Eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, looking anywhere but him.

“Yn.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Don’t test me. You think I forgot last night? You fainted in my arms. Do you want to end up in the same state again?”

You winced, guilt tugging at your chest. His eyes softened only slightly, but the command remained sharp. With a sigh, you picked up the spoon and began to eat in small bites.

“That’s better,” he murmured, settling in the chair beside you, his eyes not leaving you once. When you tried to stop halfway, he leaned forward, voice clipped. “Finish it. And then your medicine.”

You pouted, glaring at him, but the fever’s flush made your cheeks redder, only making your expression less threatening and more… endearing. He bit back a smirk but didn’t let you notice.

When you finally finished, he pushed the medicines and a glass of water toward you. You swallowed them reluctantly, glaring at him all the while.

“Good girl,” he muttered under his breath, almost unconsciously.

You blinked at him, eyes wide, your lips parting. “I’m not a child,” you snapped, flustered.

He didn’t respond—instead, he reached into his pocket and slid something across the table. You frowned, picking it up. It was a bar of chocolate.

Your eyes flicked to him in disbelief. “Really? What am I, five?”

He leaned back, watching you with an unreadable gaze, but the corner of his mouth threatened to curve upward. “You’ll take it anyway.”

You hesitated, your pout deepening, but you unwrapped it and took a small bite. He caught the way your lips curved ever so slightly, the way your fevered cheeks turned warmer, and this time, he let out a small huff of amusement.

“Tch. You look ridiculous.”

But in his head, he was thinking, adorable. Too damn adorable.

Just as Jungkook was about to guide you back toward the couch, the front door clicked open. You both turned your heads at the same time.

Mrs. Jeon walked in, arms full of shopping bags, followed by Sera. Their eyes immediately landed on the sight before them—Jungkook leaning a little too close to you, his large hand still resting on the back of your chair, while you sat there with flushed cheeks and a half-unwrapped chocolate bar in hand.

Mrs. Jeon paused, her lips slowly curving into a soft, proud smile. She lowered her voice, whispering to herself as if she couldn’t help it, “He found the right one for himself.”

Beside her, Sera’s lips tugged upward unconsciously, as she whispered, almost too low to hear, “Yeah… for me too.”

Mrs. Jeon’s head turned sharply, her brows furrowing. “What was that?”

Sera blinked, caught off guard. Her cheeks heated instantly, and she forced a nervous little laugh, shaking her head. “N-Nothing, aunty. Just… you know, it looks… cute.”

Mrs. Jeon narrowed her eyes for a moment, but then turned her attention back to you and Jungkook, completely taken by the sight. She leaned toward Sera, whispering again, “Look at them. She’s good for him, isn’t she? Even with that stubborn attitude, she softens him.”

Sera smile adorably “Yes… she really is.”

Across the room, Jungkook finally noticed them watching. His brows knit together, irritation flashing for a second at the thought of being observed like a spectacle. You, flustered, immediately put the chocolate down and mumbled, “I’ll… just go rest,” pushing back your chair quickly.

But Mrs. Jeon was faster—she hurried over, gently holding your arm. “No, no, darling. Sit, sit. You’re still recovering. Don’t get up like that.” Her warmth was undeniable.

Jungkook exhaled, rubbing his temple before muttering, “Mom…” in warning.

She only smiled at him knowingly, ignoring his glare.

Mrs. Jeon immediately took over, tugging you back into your chair like you were her own daughter. “Aigoo, look at you. Pale cheeks, fever still lingering, and this brat—” she jabbed her chin toward Jungkook, “—he’s feeding you chocolate instead of soup?”

You flushed even deeper, mumbling, “I-It’s not like that…”

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “Mom, seriously. Don’t start.”

Mrs. Jeon ignored him completely, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “You should be resting, not being bullied into eating sweets. I’ll make porridge for you myself.”

You tried to protest, but she gave you such a gentle smile that you just nodded meekly. Jungkook leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable…”

That’s when Sera, standing with her arms crossed, piped up with a bright grin. “Still, I have to say… Oppa, you two look really good together. Like… a proper couple.”

You rolled your eyes instantly, turning away. “Oh, please…” you muttered under your breath, your ears burning.

Jungkook’s glare snapped toward her. “Sera.” His voice was sharp, warning.

But Sera just laughed it off innocently, tilting her head. “What? I’m only saying the truth.”

Before Jungkook could snap back, another voice boomed from the hallway.

“Ah, so this is what I walk into.”

Everyone turned as Mr. Jeon entered, hands in his pockets, watching the scene with a raised brow. His eyes lingered on the way you sat bundled under Mrs. Jeon’s care, Jungkook still hovering close, and Sera smirking in the background.

The room grew still the moment Mr. Jeon’s voice cut through. Even Sera’s smirk faltered. Jungkook straightened instinctively, shoulders tense, while you blinked at the older man, unsure how to react under his sharp gaze.

Mr. Jeon stepped closer, his tone softer than expected. “Are you okay, YN?”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard. You hesitated, then gave a small nod. “…Yes, I’m fine.”

Mr. Jeon studied you for a heartbeat longer, then turned his attention to his son. His deep voice carried quiet command. “Jungkook. Take good care of your wife.”

The words landed like a thunderclap. You froze, eyes wide. Mrs. Jeon covered her mouth in surprise. Sera blinked rapidly, her teasing gone. And Jungkook—he looked like he had forgotten how to breathe.

Even you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right.

Mr. Jeon raised one eyebrow at everyone’s expressions. “What?” he asked dryly. “Am I really that bad? I may be strict, but I’m not blind. I can appreciate his choice. I was only worried before.”

Silence lingered a beat longer—until Jungkook let out a sudden, short laugh, shaking his head. “Seriously, Dad… you scared everyone half to death.”

The tension snapped instantly. Mrs. Jeon sighed in relief, Sera rolled her eyes, and even you found yourself exhaling softly, the heaviness dissolving into something lighter.

Mr. Jeon’s lips curved just slightly, almost hidden behind his serious face. “Then don’t give me reasons to worry.”

Jungkook smirked faintly. “Noted.”

And for the first time since you entered this house, the weight of being an outsider felt just a little less heavy.

After a while of light chatter—Mrs. Jeon fussing about your health, Sera throwing little jabs at Jungkook, and even Mr. Jeon quietly asking if you wanted more tea—you found yourself smiling without realizing. For the first time in years, your chest felt lighter. So this is what a family feels like… warmth, care, even silly banter.

That thought stayed with you all the way upstairs, where Jungkook guided you gently back to your room.

“Sit,” he said softly, motioning to the bed. You obeyed, perching on the edge of the mattress while he crossed his arms, still watching you like a hawk.

You fiddled with your fingers for a moment before lifting your gaze. “I… I want to tell you something.”

Jungkook’s brows drew together instantly, concern flickering across his face. “What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. His tone was careful, patient—but his eyes searched yours like he was bracing for something heavy.

You inhaled, your throat tight. The warmth of the family moment still clung to you, but so did the fear, the memories, and the words you weren’t sure you were ready to say.

Your hands tightened in your lap as your voice trembled. “Last night… in the nightmare, I saw her again.”

Jungkook froze, every muscle in his body tense.

“I—I saw a woman,” you whispered, eyes glassy, “she was hitting my mom with a rod. Again and again… but I couldn’t see her face. It was all blurry, like a shadow.” Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as you looked at him. “I tried to focus, to remember her face but—”

“YN.”

His sharp tone cut through your words. You blinked at him, startled.

Jungkook crouched in front of you, his large hands gripping your trembling ones. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with something between anger and fear. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“I said don’t.” His voice dropped, firm and unshakable, every syllable laced with command. “Don’t force yourself. Don’t pressure your brain like that again. Do you understand me?”

Your lips parted, but the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. He looked like he was holding himself back from shaking you.

“You think I can watch you break apart in front of me?” he snapped, voice cracking slightly before he steadied it again. “You fainted yesterday because you pushed too hard. You almost scared me to death. And now again you’re trying to dig in when your body and mind clearly aren’t ready?”

He exhaled harshly, closing his eyes for a moment before leaning closer. “Listen to me, YN. I swear I’ll find out who did this to you… but you will not torture yourself to remember. Not while I’m here. Not when I can protect you.”

The words hit you hard, not just his strictness but the raw protectiveness bleeding through his anger.

He watched the panic climb your throat and cut it off gently, “Stop. Don’t chase it.”

Then, softer but firm, “We’ll do this my way. Slow.”

He stood, crossed to his desk, and came back with a pen and a small, black, leather-bound diary. He flipped it open on your lap, the spine cracking for the first time, and pressed the pen into your fingers.

“This isn’t about remembering everything today,” he said, crouching so you had to meet his eyes. “It’s about collecting crumbs. Clues. We’ll connect them when your brain’s ready.”

He drew a clean line across the first page and wrote at the top in his neat hand: YN’s Memory Map. Then he added simple headers down the margin:

Flashes

People

Places/Objects

Feelings/Body

“Any fragment you get—one word, one sound, one smell—put it here,” he said. “No forcing. Just noticing.”

You nodded, throat tight. He slid onto the bed beside you, shoulder warm against yours, and tapped the pen. “Start with last night. Two minutes, then we stop. Deal?”

You swallowed and wrote, the nib scratching softly:

Flashes:

— Woman’s wicked laugh (car).

— Metal rod.

— Mom’s blood.

— My voice: “mama, wake up.”

— Blurry face. Can’t see.

— Birthday: 24 Oct (Taehyung said).

— Leaving mansion before party.

People:

— Mom.

— Woman (unknown).

— Taehyung.

— Father (cold, distant).

Places/Objects:

— Car, high speed.

— Rod (heavy, metal).

— File of meds (Jin: memory suppression).

Feelings/Body:

— Ears ringing.

— Cold hands, shaking.

— Smell?… (gasoline? can’t tell).

— Headache behind eyes.

Your hand trembled. He covered it, steadying the page. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s enough for today.”

You glanced at him. “It’s not much.”

“It’s a start,” he countered. “Starts save lives.” He added a small box at the bottom: Questions, and wrote, Who is the woman? Was she in the house that day? What triggered the car leaving? Then he tore a sticky tab, marked the page, and closed the diary with care, like it was something fragile and important. (It was.)

“Rules,” he said, counting softly on his fingers. “One: you never do this alone. Two: ten minutes max, then rest. Three: if your head throbs, we stop. Four: no digging after dark. I mean it.”

You managed a tiny smile. “Bossy.”

“Effective,” he corrected, mouth twitching. Then, gentler: “We’ll give this to Jin too—only what you’re okay sharing. Yoongi hyung’s already moving on the outside pieces. You and me? We map the inside—together.”

Your eyes softened. “Together,” you echoed.

He slid the diary into your nightstand, set the pen on top, and brushed his knuckles over your sleeve—careful, asking nothing, promising everything. “Water, then sleep,” he said, standing. “We did enough for one morning.”

When he came back with the glass, you were still looking at the nightstand like it held a future you weren’t sure you were allowed to want. He passed you the water; you drank. And when he took the empty glass, you whispered, almost shy, “Thank you.”

He didn’t say you’re welcome. He just nodded, eyes steady. “Step by step.”

You curled on the bed, scrolling absently through your phone, trying to distract yourself from the weight of the diary now sitting like a loaded gun in the nightstand.

Meanwhile—

Jungkook had shut himself inside his room. He spread papers across the desk: fragments you’d written, his own notes, Yoongi’s half-updates. The deeper he traced the lines, the clearer one name seemed to burn through the fog.

A woman.

Not random. Not chance.

At that time, in your life, the only constant woman near you besides your mother was Mrs. Kim.

His jaw flexed. He hated the thought—it was still speculation, only smoke, no fire—but every damn clue circled back to her. The influence, the timing, the motive.

“No proof,” he muttered to himself, fists curling. “Not yet. But if it’s her…” His eyes darkened. “I’ll tear her world apart.”

The phone buzzed, cutting through his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—Jin hyung.

Jungkook answered instantly. “Hyung?”

On the other end, Jin’s voice was low, steady, but laced with something heavy.

“I found a way. To bring YN’s memories back. But listen carefully, Jungkook—it’s not simple. The method…it has risks. The chances are about sixty percent. If it works, she’ll remember. If it doesn’t—her brain could face severe backlash. Trauma. Maybe permanent gaps.”

Jungkook shot up from his chair, pacing. “What the hell are you saying? You want me to gamble with her life on sixty percent?” His voice cracked with the kind of fear he never let anyone hear.

“I’m not telling you to jump blindly,” Jin replied firmly. “But you wanted answers. This is the first real door I found. And I won’t sugarcoat it—getting through it will be difficult, painful, and dangerous for her. You need to decide if you want to open it.”

Silence. Jungkook raked his hands down his face. His mind flashed with the image of you screaming in your nightmare, the diary shaking in your hand, the word divorce cutting through his chest, your small body curled safe against him this morning.

Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“I’m coming to you, hyung. Tell me everything. Every detail. Every damn risk. I need to know before…” He stopped himself, teeth gritting. “Before I even consider letting her go through that.”

“Good,” Jin said softly. “Come now. I’ll explain everything.”

The line went dead.

Jungkook stood frozen for a beat, chest heaving. Then he grabbed his jacket, his phone, and cast one long look at the wall separating your room from his.

“I promised step by step,” he whispered under his breath. “But if this step hurts you…I swear, I’ll kill whoever made you need it.”

He slammed the door behind him and strode out.

To be continued...