Chapter Text
Jeongguk’s mind was spinning, his heart pounding against his ribcage as the weight of Jimin’s words pressed down on him like a crushing force. The man he loved—the man he had spent years pushing away—was letting him go. And it was Jeongguk’s fault. He had run for so long, he had shut Jimin out for so many years, and now, just when he was ready to fight for what they had, it was slipping through his fingers.
"No…" Jeongguk’s voice was barely a whisper, his throat tight with desperation. He took a step forward, his trembling hands reaching out as if to stop Jimin from disappearing before him. "No, Jimin, please don’t say that. Don’t do this. Don’t give up on me… don’t give up on us."
But Jimin only shook his head, his breath hitching as the tears continued to fall. The pain inside him was too deep, and no matter how much he had once wanted Jeongguk’s love, the damage had already been done. He had made up his mind.
"Please," Jeongguk whispered, his voice cracking. He knelt in front of Jimin, grabbing the edges of the cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders as if it were the last thing tethering Jimin to him. His hands shook as he clung to the fabric. "Please don’t let me go. I know I’ve made mistakes, I know I’ve hurt you, but I—I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not now."
Jimin’s gaze softened for a moment, but the sadness in his eyes deepened as he shook his head slightly. "Jeongguk… you don’t have to stay because you feel guilty," Jimin said, his voice small and broken. "You don’t have to do this for me. I’ve seen how unhappy you are. I can’t keep holding you back."
Jeongguk’s chest tightened painfully, and his voice rose in desperation. "No! Jimin, it’s not guilt. It’s not—I swear, it’s not. I’m not unhappy because of you. I’ve been unhappy because I’ve been running from you, from us." His breath hitched, and his hands fisted the cloak tighter. "I’ve been a coward, Jimin. I was too afraid to face what I was feeling, to admit that I was falling for you."
Jimin’s face was wet with tears, but there was a calmness in his gaze—a kind of resignation that made Jeongguk’s stomach twist in fear. Jimin was done. He was giving up on them, on him. And Jeongguk couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.
For a brief moment, though, when Jeongguk said those words, Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the reaction Jeongguk had hoped for, the spark of something that might keep him from walking away. Jimin blinked, his lips parting as if the words had hit him harder than he expected. But before Jeongguk could say anything more, before that spark could catch, Jimin’s shoulders slumped again, the light in his eyes dimming as quickly as it had appeared.
The pain Jimin was feeling—the years of heartache and disappointment—was greater than the shock or the fleeting happiness from hearing Jeongguk finally say those words. The love Jimin had once craved so desperately was now overshadowed by the weight of everything he had endured. The nights of waiting, the years of silence, the countless times Jeongguk had walked away without looking back. That pain, that unspoken sorrow, was all-consuming now, and not even the words Jimin had longed to hear could ease it.
Jeongguk could see it—the war in Jimin’s heart. The part of him that wanted to believe, to hope again, was fighting against the part of him that was too tired, too hurt. The shock of Jeongguk’s confession had rattled him, but the years of neglect had built walls that love alone couldn’t tear down in an instant.
Jimin’s lips quivered as he looked down, the tears falling freely now, but his shoulders remained slumped. "But why now, Jeongguk?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Why would you want to stay now, after everything? I’ve waited so long… I’ve hoped for so long, and you always… you always left." His voice cracked, raw with years of pain. "How am I supposed to believe you now?"
Jeongguk felt his heart shatter at Jimin’s words, his breath catching in his throat. He had hurt him so deeply, in ways he had never fully understood until now. "I know I don’t deserve your belief," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I know I don’t deserve you at all, but please… I’m begging you. Don’t give up on me, not yet. I know I’ve done nothing to prove it, but I swear, Jimin—I love you."
At those words, Jimin flinched, his eyes widening in disbelief. The confession seemed to sting more than soothe, as if it had come far too late. His lips trembled, and he shook his head, looking away as though the sight of Jeongguk was too much to bear. "No, don’t… don’t say that. Don’t tell me you love me now, not when you’ve spent seven years avoiding me. I can’t—" His voice broke, and he pressed a hand over his mouth, the sobs threatening to spill out. "I can’t do this again, Jeongguk."
The weight of Jimin's pain was unbearable, and Jeongguk could see the way it was breaking him. It was his fault. He had run, he had hidden, and now he had come back to find the damage was far worse than he had imagined. It made him realize just how much he had damaged the one person who had always, always been there for him.
"I’m sorry," Jeongguk said, his voice breaking as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against Jimin’s knee. "I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. For every time I left, for every time I made you feel like you weren’t enough."
Tears welled up in Jeongguk’s eyes, blurring his vision as he spoke. His voice was a desperate plea now, trembling with the fear of losing Jimin for good. "But I can’t walk away now. I can’t lose you. I won’t. I don’t care how many mistakes I’ve made—I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’ll prove it to you, every single day, if you’ll just… just give me one more chance."
Jimin’s breath hitched, and he wiped at his tears with trembling hands, though they kept falling. His eyes were filled with a pain too deep for words, a pain that years of waiting had carved into his heart. "I don’t know if I can believe you," Jimin whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ve been waiting for so long, hoping that one day you’d come back and stay... but you never did. You always left."
Jeongguk’s heart twisted painfully at Jimin’s words. His mind raced, searching for something— anything —to make Jimin believe him. "I was afraid," Jeongguk admitted, his voice raw and broken. "I was afraid of what I felt for you. I didn’t want to accept that I had fallen in love with you because it scared me. It scared me that I might not be enough for you. That I might not deserve you. And I thought you’d be better off without me."
Jimin looked at him, tears streaming down his face, his eyes filled with hurt and disbelief. "But why?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Why now? Why after all these years?"
Jeongguk let out a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper. "Because I’m a fool, Jimin. I didn’t realize what I had until I almost lost it. I didn’t understand how much you meant to me until I was terrified that you’d be gone when I came back."
Jimin’s gaze flickered with a glimmer of something—but it was gone just as fast. "I don’t know if I can do this again," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don’t know if I can keep hoping. My heart can’t take it, Jeongguk."
Jeongguk’s breath caught in his throat as he knelt closer, his hands reaching up to cup Jimin’s face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. "You don’t have to hope anymore," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I’m here, Jimin. I’m right here. I won’t leave again. I swear, I’ll never leave again. Just give me a chance—just one chance to prove that I’m not going anywhere."
Jimin closed his eyes, his shoulders shaking as another sob escaped his lips. His hands came up to grip Jeongguk’s wrists, holding on as if he didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer. "I don’t know, Jeongguk. I just—don’t know how to believe you…" Jimin whispered, his voice breaking.
Jeongguk leaned his forehead against Jimin’s, his own tears falling now. "I know," he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. "I know, and I don’t blame you. But I’m begging you, please don’t give up on me yet. Please don’t let me go. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right."
For a long, agonizing moment, Jimin didn’t say anything. His eyes shut tight as if he were trying to hold himself together. Jeongguk could feel his heart racing in his chest, the fear of losing Jimin gripping him so tightly it hurt.
"One chance," Jeongguk whispered, his eyes still closed. "Give me one chance. That’s all I need."
Jeongguk’s heart raced, his breath shaky as he waited for Jimin’s response. He had laid everything bare, opened himself up in a way he never had before, and now, all he could do was wait. He could feel the weight of Jimin’s sadness, the years of heartache and disappointment, and it made the silence between them even more unbearable.
Jimin’s lips trembled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looked at Jeongguk. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, like he might take the step forward that Jeongguk so desperately needed him to take. But then Jimin’s face crumpled, his tears spilling over, and his gaze broke away. He looked so lost, so overwhelmed, like the weight of everything was too much for him to carry anymore.
"I…" Jimin’s voice cracked, but he stopped himself. His hands gripped the cloak tighter around his shoulders, his whole body shaking with emotion. He tried to speak, but no words came. Instead, his face twisted with pain, and his tears fell harder, faster, as if the dam he had been holding back for years had finally broken.
Jeongguk watched helplessly, his own chest tight with grief as Jimin stood before him, breaking down in a way he had never seen. "Jimin, please..." Jeongguk whispered, his voice filled with desperation. He wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it was okay, but the distance between them felt like an unbridgeable chasm.
"I don’t… I don’t know what to say," Jimin finally managed, his voice shaking as he turned away from Jeongguk. He lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, but the tears kept coming. "I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to feel anymore." His voice broke with every word, as if each syllable was costing him everything he had left to give.
Jeongguk stood frozen, the fear tightening around his heart like a vice. "Jimin, please… I’ll do anything. Just… just don’t walk away." His voice was barely a whisper now, his throat tight with emotion.
But Jimin was already stepping back, his hand pressed over his mouth as if he was trying to keep the sobs from escaping. He shook his head, not in anger but in pure, heart-wrenching sorrow. "I… I can’t…" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The uncertainty in his voice cut Jeongguk deeper than any blade could. He could see the exhaustion in Jimin’s eyes, the weariness of years of waiting, of hoping for something that never came. And now, when Jeongguk was finally ready, Jimin wasn’t sure if he could keep holding on.
"I’m sorry," Jimin choked out, his voice barely audible through his sobs. "I’m sorry, Jeongguk, but I can’t… I can’t do this right now."
He took another step back, his eyes clouded with sorrow as he looked at Jeongguk one last time. "You can leave the castle... whenever you want," Jimin whispered, his voice shaking with resignation. "I won’t stop you. You don’t have to stay."
Before Jeongguk could respond, before he could stop him, Jimin turned and walked away, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed quietly. The sound of his crying echoed in the quiet garden, and Jeongguk felt his world crumbling around him. He watched as Jimin disappeared into the shadows of the castle, his heart shattering with every step Jimin took away from him.
Jeongguk stood there, frozen in place, the cloak still clutched in his hands, the book he had brought for Jimin forgotten. His legs felt heavy, like they couldn’t move, couldn’t follow after him. All he could do was stand there, his throat tight, his eyes burning as tears welled up in them.
He’s leaving. He’s walking away.
The realization hit him like a tidal wave, and Jeongguk’s knees buckled. He sank to the ground, the weight of everything pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the tears finally fell, hot and relentless. He had come back to fix things, to make things right, but he had been too late.
Jimin had given up.
Jeongguk stayed up all night, his mind a storm of thoughts that wouldn't let him rest. He sat in his darkened chamber, the weight of everything that had happened pressing heavily on his chest. His heart ached in a way it never had before, and the memory of Jimin’s tear-streaked face haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jimin—saw the pain in his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his voice as he told Jeongguk he could leave, as if he had finally given up.
That was the first time Jimin had ever cried in front of him.
In all the seven years they had been married, Jimin had never once broken down like that. He had never let his emotions spill over, not like that. Jimin had always looked at him from afar, always with that quiet sadness in his gaze, but there had been no tears. Just an endless longing, a silent hope that maybe—one day—Jeongguk would look back. But Jeongguk had never given him that glance, had never allowed himself to meet Jimin’s eyes in those fleeting moments. He had shut him out, convinced that Jimin’s love was something he didn’t want or need.
But tonight, for the first time, Jeongguk realized how blind he had been. How much he had hurt Jimin, not just with his words or his absence, but with his silence. He had never truly seen the depth of Jimin’s pain until now. Until Jimin had finally broken in front of him, tears streaming down his face, his voice trembling with the weight of all the years he had waited for something— anything —from Jeongguk.
And it hit him all at once. The guilt, the overwhelming realization of the pain he had caused. Jeongguk felt like he was drowning in it, his chest tightening as the weight of his actions pressed down on him. For the first time, he understood. He understood what it felt like to be left behind, to wait endlessly for someone who might never come back. He understood the pain of holding onto hope when every passing day made it feel more and more like a dream that would never be realized.
Jeongguk thought back to how Jimin had looked at him over the years—how he had stood at a distance, waiting with that quiet sadness in his eyes, never demanding more than Jeongguk was willing to give. And he wondered how Jimin had done it. How had he survived seven years of waiting, of hoping, with no guarantee that Jeongguk would ever return? How had Jimin held onto that love for so long, when Jeongguk had given him nothing in return? Not a single glance, not a word, not a shred of the love he now realized Jimin had deserved all along.
How did he do it? Jeongguk asked himself, his chest aching. How did Jimin last this long, waiting for me, when I didn’t deserve it?
And that thought—it tore Jeongguk apart.
He didn’t deserve Jimin. He never had. Jimin had been so patient, so kind, and all Jeongguk had done was push him away, consumed by his own anger, his own pain. He had been too focused on what he had lost, on the life he thought he had been forced into, to see the person standing right in front of him. The person who had never asked for more than Jeongguk’s presence, never demanded anything other than for Jeongguk to see him. And he hadn’t. He had been so blind, so consumed by his resentment that he hadn’t noticed how much Jimin was hurting.
Jeongguk’s hands tightened into fists as the guilt swelled inside him. How could he have been so selfish? So cruel? He had taken Jimin’s love for granted, never once stopping to think about the toll his actions had taken on him. And now, after everything, after seven long years of neglect, Jimin had finally reached his breaking point. He had finally let Jeongguk go. And it was Jeongguk’s fault. All of it.
What did Jimin see in me? Jeongguk wondered, his thoughts racing. Why did he stay with me for so long? Why did he wait when I never treated him the way he deserved?
Jeongguk felt like he was spiraling, drowning in his own thoughts as he tried to make sense of it all. He had been such an asshole to Jimin, never giving him the love or care he needed.
And yet, even now, even after Jimin had told him to leave, told him he was free to go whenever he wanted, Jeongguk couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He couldn’t leave. Not this time.
Jimin had set him free, had told him he could go. But Jeongguk wasn’t going anywhere.
He couldn’t. Not after everything he had realized. Not after finally understanding the depth of Jimin’s love, the sacrifices he had made to hold onto it for so long. Jeongguk knew he had been a fool. He knew he had taken too long to realize what he had right in front of him. But now that he had seen it, now that he understood what Jimin meant to him, he wasn’t going to let it slip away.
Jeongguk wouldn’t give up so easily. He would stay. He would stay no matter how much Jimin pushed him away, no matter how many times Jimin told him he was free to leave. Jeongguk would stay because he had to prove it—to himself and to Jimin. He had to prove that his love was real, that it wasn’t just guilt or regret driving him. He had to prove that he was serious, that he truly loved Jimin, even if it had taken him far too long to realize it.
He would stay, no matter what.
Jeongguk’s resolve hardened as he stared out into the dark night. He knew he couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t erase the years of pain he had caused Jimin, couldn’t take back the hurtful words or the cold silences. But he could change the future. He could prove, with every action, every word, that he was different now. That he loved Jimin in the way he should have all along.
He would show Jimin in every little way he could. He would stay by his side, even if Jimin pushed him away, even if Jimin didn’t believe him at first. He would be there. He would fight for Jimin’s heart, for his trust, for his love. Because now that Jeongguk understood the depth of what Jimin had given him, he wasn’t going to let it go. Not without a fight.
He had been a coward before. He had run from his feelings, from the love that had always been there, waiting for him. But now, he was ready to face it head-on. He was ready to fight for what he had taken for granted for so long.
I’ll do whatever it takes, Jeongguk thought, his chest tightening with determination. I’ll win Jimin’s heart. I’ll make him believe in me. I’ll prove to him that I love him, even if I’m the last person who deserves it.
Jeongguk stayed awake, long after the moon had crossed the sky, long after the castle had fallen silent. His heart was heavy with guilt, but it was also filled with something new—hope. Hope that he could make things right. Hope that, even after all the years of pain, there was still a chance for them.
And no matter how long it took, Jeongguk was willing to fight for that chance.The first rays of morning light streamed through the narrow window of Jeongguk's chamber, casting a soft glow over the room as he stirred from his restless sleep. He had barely slept, his mind still heavy with thoughts of Jimin and the tear-filled night before. But despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Jeongguk forced himself out of bed. Today was the day he would start making things right, even if it would take time—maybe even forever. He was determined to show Jimin that he wanted to stay with him.
After quickly freshening up, Jeongguk made his way to the castle kitchens. His steps were deliberate, though his mind buzzed with nerves. He had learned to cook during his years of traveling—mostly out of necessity, but also as a way to pass the time. He had never thought much about it before, but today, he found himself hoping that Jimin would appreciate the effort, that he might find some small comfort in a meal prepared just for him.
Jeongguk set to work, his hands moving with practiced ease as he prepared a simple yet thoughtful breakfast. He made juk , a warm rice porridge—light and comforting, something that wouldn’t be too overwhelming first thing in the morning. Alongside it, he prepared gyeran jjim , a fluffy steamed egg custard, and baechu-geotjeori , freshly seasoned kimchi that added a refreshing contrast. He also brewed a pot of green tea, letting the calming aroma fill the kitchen as he arranged everything neatly on a tray.
As Jeongguk prepared the final touches, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jimin—about how he had looked last night, his face flushed from tears, his voice trembling with so much pain. He wondered if Jimin had slept at all. The thought made his chest tighten, guilt gnawing at him once more. He had caused so much hurt, and now, all he wanted to do was ease that pain, even if it was in small ways.
With the tray of food carefully balanced in his hands, Jeongguk made his way to Jimin’s chamber. As he stood outside the door, he hesitated for a moment, uncertainty creeping into his mind. Would Jimin even want to see him? Would he accept this gesture, or would he push Jeongguk away like he had the night before? He swallowed hard, trying to push the doubts aside. He had to try.
Jeongguk knocked softly on the door, the sound barely more than a gentle tap. His heart raced in his chest as he waited for a response, but there was only silence. He knocked again, a little louder this time, his nerves making his hands tremble slightly.
A muffled voice finally came from inside, still groggy from sleep. "Who is it?" Jimin asked, his tone confused and a little hesitant.
Jeongguk didn’t answer right away. He stood there, frozen, knowing that if Jimin knew it was him, he might not open the door at all. So he remained silent, hoping that curiosity would get the better of Jimin.
After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a sleepy Jimin. His hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in all directions, and his eyes were half-lidded with fatigue. He blinked a few times, as if still processing the fact that someone had knocked at his door so early in the morning.
But then his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Jeongguk standing there, holding the tray of food. For a brief second, Jimin’s face flushed with a soft pink, a blush that spread across his cheeks. Jeongguk couldn’t help but think how beautiful Jimin looked in that moment—disheveled and unguarded, a side of him that Jeongguk had never seen before. They had never shared a room, never had the intimacy of waking up beside one another, so Jeongguk had never seen Jimin like this.
"Y-you didn’t leave yet?" Jimin asked, his voice still thick with sleep. It was an innocent question, born out of shock, but Jeongguk could feel the sting of it in his chest. The assumption that he might have left hurt more than he expected, even though he knew why Jimin would think that.
Jeongguk shook his head, his eyes soft as he met Jimin’s gaze. "No. I’m not leaving. I’ll stay here, with you."
Jimin blinked, clearly taken aback by Jeongguk’s words. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something that looked almost like hope—but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. His face shifted, a guarded expression taking over as his gaze dropped to the floor.
"Don’t force yourself," Jimin murmured, his voice quiet and tinged with sadness.
"I’m not," Jeongguk replied immediately, stepping forward just a little, as if the movement could convince Jimin of his sincerity. "I’m not forcing anything, Jimin. I want to stay. I... I want to make things right."
Jimin looked up at him then, and Jeongguk saw the tiredness in his eyes—the kind of exhaustion that went far beyond a restless night. It was the weariness of years, the toll of carrying too much hope for too long. And beneath that exhaustion, there was something else—sadness, yes, but also resignation. As if Jimin no longer had the energy to fight anymore.
Jimin glanced down at the tray of food Jeongguk was holding, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Thanks for the food," he said, though his voice lacked the warmth that usually accompanied words of gratitude. "But... I don’t eat breakfast."
Jeongguk’s heart sank at those words, not because Jimin didn’t want the food, but because of the sadness that seemed to seep into every part of him—his voice, his face, even the way he stood, as though he were holding himself together by the thinnest of threads.
"I thought... I thought maybe you’d like it. Did you even have a meal last night?" Jeongguk said softly, his voice almost apologetic as he looked down at the tray. He had put so much care into preparing the meal, hoping it might bring Jimin even the smallest bit of comfort. But now, seeing the sadness in Jimin’s eyes, he realized that it wasn’t enough. A breakfast couldn’t fix the years of pain, couldn’t heal the wounds he had inflicted.
"No, but it’s fine. I’m not hungry." Jimin gave him a small, tired smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
There was a heaviness in the air between them, the silence filled with all the things they weren’t saying. Jimin’s eyes lingered on the tray for a moment longer before he looked back up at Jeongguk, his expression unreadable.
"You should eat it," Jimin added softly, his gaze dropping to the floor again. "Don’t let it go to waste."
Jeongguk didn’t know what to say. He had come here hoping to bridge the gap between them, even if just a little. But it was clear that Jimin wasn’t ready to accept that gesture—not yet. The sadness in his eyes hadn’t lifted, and the wall between them still felt impossibly high.
"I’m staying, Jimin," Jeongguk said again, his voice gentle but firm, as if he needed to remind both of them of his decision. "I’m not going anywhere."
Jimin didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, his fingers gripping the edge of the door as if he needed something to hold onto. When he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet that Jeongguk almost didn’t hear it.
"We’ll see," Jimin whispered, before stepping back and closing the door softly behind him, leaving Jeongguk standing alone in the hallway, the tray of food still in his hands.
Jeongguk stared at the closed door, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he still had so much to prove. But despite the ache in his chest, he wasn’t giving up. Not today. Not ever.
He would stay.
He would wait.
And he would prove to Jimin, in every way he could, that his love was real.
Over the next several days, Jeongguk threw himself into every possible effort to win Jimin back. Every small gesture, every thoughtful action was carefully planned, each one meant to chip away at the walls Jimin had built around his heart. But no matter what Jeongguk did, it felt like he was trying to move mountains with his bare hands. Jimin remained distant, his hurt so deeply ingrained that Jeongguk could feel the coldness of his rejection with every step he took.
It started with small gestures. Jeongguk, who had spent most of his marriage avoiding Jimin, now sought him out at every turn. He would linger in the library, where Jimin liked to spend his afternoons, hoping to catch his eye. He would bring little gifts—books from the royal archives, rare flowers from the gardens of different kinds, even carefully folded letters that he slipped under Jimin’s door at night, expressing everything he hadn’t been able to say for years.
But Jimin never responded. Each time Jeongguk brought him something, Jimin would glance at it briefly, his face a mask of indifference, before turning away. The books remained untouched on the shelves. The flowers withered without being put in water. And the letters—Jeongguk wasn’t even sure if Jimin read them.
One morning, Jeongguk found himself in the gardens, where Jimin often spent time tending to the flowers. The sun was still low in the sky, casting a soft golden light over the neatly arranged flowerbeds. Jimin was there, kneeling in the dirt, his hands delicately tending to the blooms. Jeongguk watched him for a moment, taking in the peaceful scene, before he slowly approached, holding a carefully prepared lunch wrapped in a cloth.
"Jimin," Jeongguk called softly, stepping closer.
Jimin paused but didn’t turn around. His shoulders tensed slightly, and Jeongguk could tell that he knew it was him.
"I brought you something to eat," Jeongguk continued, his voice gentle. "I thought you might be hungry after working in the garden."
Still, Jimin didn’t turn to face him. He stayed focused on the flowers in front of him, his hands carefully trimming the leaves of a nearby plant. "I’m not hungry," he said quietly, his voice void of any warmth.
Jeongguk’s heart sank, but he tried to push through the rejection. "You don’t have to eat it right now. I can leave it here for you, just in case."
Jimin’s hands stilled, and for a moment, Jeongguk thought he might say something, might acknowledge the effort. But when Jimin finally spoke, his words were cold and distant. "I don’t need it."
Jeongguk felt his chest tighten with frustration and sadness. "Jimin, I’m trying," he said, the vulnerability in his voice barely concealed. "I’m trying to make things better. I know I’ve hurt you, but I’m not leaving. I’ll stay here, as long as it takes."
Jimin finally stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. He turned to face Jeongguk, his expression unreadable. "I didn't ask you to try," he said softly. "You don’t have to force yourself to stay, like I already said. You’re free to leave."
"I’m not leaving—"
"Why should I believe you now? Why does that matter now?" Jimin interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Jeongguk was at a loss for words. He had never heard Jimin speak like this—so guarded, so distant. The soft, hopeful light that had once been in Jimin’s eyes had been replaced by something darker. Hurt. Distrust. Sadness. And the realization that he had put that look there twisted Jeongguk’s heart painfully.
"I... I’m sorry," Jeongguk whispered, his voice small. "I know you have every reason not to believe me. But this time is different. I’m not leaving."
Jimin’s lips twitched in a sad, humorless smile. "I know you would rather risk your life than stay here and breathe the same air as me."
Without another word, Jimin turned and walked away, leaving Jeongguk standing alone in the garden, the lunch he had brought still clutched in his hands.
The rejection stung, more than Jeongguk had anticipated, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not yet.
In the following weeks, Jeongguk’s efforts only intensified. He had never been one for grand gestures, but now, he found himself thinking of new ways to show Jimin that he was serious about his feelings. He remembered how Jimin used to love music, how he would hum softly to himself while walking through the castle halls. So Jeongguk arranged for a small group of musicians to play in the courtyard one evening, hoping to recreate the atmosphere of the times when Jimin seemed happiest.
But when Jimin arrived at the courtyard, drawn by the sound of the music, his face didn’t light up with joy as Jeongguk had hoped. Instead, his expression tightened, a deep sadness clouding his eyes as he watched the musicians play. After only a few minutes, Jimin quietly turned and left, his steps slow and heavy as if the music had only reminded him of what was missing.
The next morning, Jeongguk tried again. This time, he arranged a private picnic in the garden, setting out all of Jimin’s favorite foods—the ones he had heard Jimin mention in passing over the years but never acknowledged until now. He had spent hours making sure everything was perfect, even choosing a spot in the garden where the flowers were in full bloom, thinking it might lift Jimin’s spirits.
When Jimin arrived, he took one look at the spread and sighed. "Why are you doing this, Jeongguk?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Jeongguk, who had been standing nervously beside the blanket, opened his mouth to respond, but Jimin shook his head before he could speak.
"You don’t have to pretend," Jimin continued, his voice breaking slightly. "I don’t need all of this. I don’t need you to put on a show."
"It’s not a show, Jimin," Jeongguk said softly, stepping closer. "I’m doing this because I want to. I want to make you happy."
Jimin’s eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Jeongguk thought he saw a flicker of emotion—something that wasn’t sadness or resignation. But then Jimin looked away, his shoulders slumping.
"I can’t... I can’t let myself believe that, Jeongguk," Jimin whispered. "Not after everything. I can’t keep waiting for you to change your mind again."
Jeongguk reached out, wanting to touch Jimin’s arm, to offer some kind of comfort, but he hesitated, unsure if his touch would be welcome. "I won’t change my mind," he said, his voice firm despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "I’m not leaving, Jimin. Not this time."
But Jimin only shook his head. "You've never stayed, so it's easier to believe you'll leave again someday. I can't go through that pain again."
The days passed, and Jeongguk’s attempts became more frequent. He would leave small gifts outside Jimin’s door—flowers, letters, even a painting of the garden that he had commissioned from a local artist, thinking Jimin might like it. But every time, Jimin’s reaction was the same—distant, cold, as if he couldn’t allow himself to hope again.
Jeongguk found Jimin sitting alone in the library, surrounded by books but not reading any of them. He hesitated at the door, unsure if he should disturb him, but then he stepped inside, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Jimin," Jeongguk said softly, approaching the table where Jimin sat.
Jimin didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the book in front of him, though Jeongguk could tell he wasn’t really reading.
"I was thinking..." Jeongguk began, his voice uncertain. "Maybe we could talk. Just... talk. Like we used to."
At this, Jimin finally looked up, his expression one of disbelief. "Talk? We haven’t talked in years, Jeongguk."
"I know," Jeongguk admitted, his voice filled with regret. "But I want to change that."
Jimin stared at him for a long moment, his gaze searching, as if trying to find some hidden truth in Jeongguk’s words. Then, slowly, he closed the book in front of him and stood up. "Stop doing this to me," Jimin whispered.
Jeongguk’s heart clenched painfully. "Please, Jimin. Just... give me a chance."
Jimin’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and for a moment, Jeongguk thought he might finally say yes, might finally give him the chance he so desperately wanted. But then Jimin shook his head, his voice barely audible as he whispered, "I can’t."
And with that, he walked out of the library, leaving Jeongguk standing there, alone once again.Days turned into weeks, and still, Jimin kept his distance. No matter how many times Jeongguk tried, no matter how many gestures he made, Jimin remained guarded, his heart closed off from the man who had caused him so much pain.
Every time Jimin pushed him away, every time he told him he couldn’t believe him, Jeongguk only became more determined. He would prove his love, even if it took the rest of his life.
Jeongguk kept trying. Every morning, he woke up with the same determination, telling himself that today might be different, that today Jimin might finally see that he was serious, that he meant every word he had said. But every effort, every gesture—whether it was a small meal, a carefully chosen gift, or a simple note—was met with the same response.
Silence. Or worse, rejection.
Jeongguk had spent so much time away over the years that he had never truly paid attention to how Jimin lived within the castle. But now, with each passing day, he noticed things he had been too blind to see before. He noticed how often Jimin stayed locked up in his room, the door closed, the sound of footsteps in the hallways falling silent when Jeongguk passed by. He hadn’t been around enough to realize how lonely Jimin must have been—always by himself, always hidden away.
What did Jimin do in there, locked behind closed doors for hours on end? Jeongguk couldn’t say for certain. Maybe he was reading. That seemed like the most likely answer, given Jimin’s love for books, but even then, Jeongguk wasn’t sure. He hated how little he knew of him, how little he had bothered to learn.
It gnawed at him, this realization that despite being married for seven years, he knew almost nothing about the person who had stood beside him all that time. What were Jimin’s favorite things? What did he do to pass the time? What brought him comfort? Jeongguk had never asked, had never taken the time to find out, and now, as he tried desperately to bridge the gap between them, that lack of knowledge felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his chest.
It seemed that Jimin had no interest in letting him in now, either. Every time Jeongguk tried to approach him, Jimin would slip away. He avoided Jeongguk like the plague, vanishing from rooms the moment Jeongguk entered them, keeping his distance whenever they crossed paths in the castle’s endless corridors. It was as if Jimin couldn’t bear to be in the same space as him, and every time Jeongguk saw him turn and leave without a word, the guilt and regret inside him deepened.
One afternoon, Jeongguk had caught a glimpse of Jimin near the garden. It was a rare moment, seeing Jimin outside his room, and for a second, hope had flickered in Jeongguk’s chest.
He had called out to him, his voice hesitant but hopeful, "Jimin—wait."
But as soon as Jimin heard his voice, he froze for a brief second, his shoulders stiffening before he quickly turned on his heel and walked away, not saying a word, not looking back. The garden, once a place of solace for Jimin, now seemed like another space he could no longer find peace in with Jeongguk around.
Jeongguk felt his chest tighten as he watched him disappear down the corridor, that familiar ache of regret gnawing at him. He stood there for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, wondering how much further Jimin would retreat before there was nothing left to reach.
Why now? Why did it take me so long to realize how much I cared?
The castle, which once felt like Jeongguk’s refuge when he returned from his travels, now felt suffocating, filled with the echo of all the things left unsaid between them. He spent more time wandering its halls, hoping to find Jimin, hoping to have a conversation that didn’t end with silence or avoidance.
But each time he saw Jimin, it was the same—Jimin would leave in an instant, as though the mere sight of Jeongguk was enough to push him away.
Jeongguk had never felt so helpless in his life. He was used to solving problems with action, with strategy, but none of that seemed to work here. No matter how many times he tried, no matter how many ways he tried to show Jimin that he was serious, the rejection continued.
And with each rejection, Jeongguk could feel the distance between them growing, the space that Jimin had carved out for himself becoming harder and harder to bridge.
Jeongguk lay wide awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind restless and full of thoughts he couldn’t quiet. No matter how hard he tried, sleep refused to come. His body was exhausted from the emotional toll of the past days, but his heart and mind wouldn’t allow him the peace he so desperately needed.
The image of Jimin’s tear-streaked face haunted him every time he closed his eyes.
Jeongguk turned over in bed, pulling the blanket tighter around him, but it didn’t help. His heart was racing, his mind replaying every moment of their failed conversations, every time Jimin had walked away from him. He had hurt Jimin so deeply, more than he had ever allowed himself to realize before. And now, despite all his efforts, it felt like every step forward only pushed Jimin further away.
With a heavy sigh, Jeongguk sat up, running a hand through his hair. His chest ached with guilt and regret, emotions he had grown all too familiar with these past few weeks. How had he let it get this bad? How had he failed Jimin so completely?
Jeongguk found himself standing outside Jimin’s chamber, his hand hovering near the door, wondering if he should knock. He had been here before, so many times, and each time he had left without doing anything. He wasn’t sure what he expected—that Jimin might open the door and let him in, that he might finally break down the walls between them—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t try, he might never get the chance.
Taking a deep breath, Jeongguk raised his hand and knocked softly on the door.
For a long moment, there was no response. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, but there was only silence on the other side. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned to leave, his hand falling to his side, the familiar weight of disappointment settling over him again.
But just as he began to walk away, he heard the door creak open behind him.
He turned, and there stood Jimin, his eyes tired like he had not gotten a wink of sleep, his expression unreadable. They stared at each other for a moment, the air between them heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
"What do you want, Jeongguk?" Jimin’s voice was soft, but the cold edge to it cut deeper than any shout could. His hands gripped the door frame as if to steady himself, as though he needed something to hold onto in order to stay upright.
Jeongguk’s heart tightened. He wasn’t used to seeing Jimin like this, so worn down, so hollow. "I wanted to check on you," Jeongguk said quietly, his voice thick with the weight of all the unsaid things between them. "To see if you’re okay."
Jimin’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, and he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Do you realize how late it is?" he asked, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he looked at Jeongguk. "Why do you care now?"
Jeongguk opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain that it had taken him too long to realize just how much he cared, how much Jimin meant to him?
"I’ve always cared," he whispered, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how empty they must sound.
Jimin’s eyes darkened, his grip on the door tightening as he stepped back slightly. "No, you haven’t," he said, his voice cold and distant. "If you cared, you wouldn’t have left. You wouldn’t have ignored me for years. You wouldn’t have—" He stopped, his voice breaking slightly as he looked away, his hands trembling. "You wouldn’t have made me feel like I was nothing."
Jeongguk felt a sharp pain in his chest, the guilt pressing down on him harder than ever. "I didn’t mean to—"
"You didn’t mean to?" Jimin’s voice rose just slightly, the hurt and anger simmering beneath the surface now. He met Jeongguk’s gaze, his eyes filled with years of pain. "You didn’t mean to make me feel like I didn’t matter? You didn’t mean to leave me alone for years, wondering if you’d ever come back? You didn’t mean to walk away every time I needed you?"
"I was scared," Jeongguk said, his voice barely a whisper, but Jimin cut him off before he could say more.
"Scared? You were scared?" Jimin’s laugh was bitter, filled with a hurt so deep it made Jeongguk’s stomach twist. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to wait for someone who never looks back? Do you know what it feels like to watch someone you love walk away over and over again, knowing they won’t stay?"
"I’m sorry," Jeongguk whispered, his voice breaking. "I know I hurt you. I know I didn’t do enough, but I’m here now. I’m trying."
Jimin shook his head, stepping further back into his room as if to create more distance between them. "It’s too late, Jeongguk. You can’t just show up now and expect everything to be okay. You can’t fix this with apologies or gifts. I waited for you for years. I waited, and you never came back. You never stayed."
"I’m staying now," Jeongguk insisted, stepping forward, his eyes pleading as he reached out as if to stop Jimin from retreating further. "I’m not leaving again, Jimin. I promise you, I’m not."
Jimin’s eyes softened for a brief moment, but the pain in them didn’t disappear. He looked at Jeongguk, searching his face for something—maybe for the sincerity he desperately wanted to believe in, but couldn’t. "You will leave, that’s the only thing I’m certain of."
"I won’t this time," Jeongguk said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I swear, Jimin. I won’t leave again. I’ll stay here, with you, for as long as you’ll have me."
Jimin’s gaze flickered with something—hope, maybe, or disbelief. He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the door tighter. "But what if I don’t want you to stay anymore?" His voice was so quiet, Jeongguk almost didn’t hear him. The words hung heavy between them, a painful truth that Jeongguk hadn’t been ready to confront.
The question hit Jeongguk like a blow to the chest. He hadn’t considered that—that Jimin might not want him anymore. He had spent so long thinking about how to fix things, how to make up for his mistakes, that he hadn’t thought about the possibility that it might be too late. That Jimin might be done waiting, done hoping.
Jimin stared at him, his expression unreadable, but the tears in his eyes spoke of the pain that ran too deep for words. "It’s too late, Jeongguk," he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet resignation that made Jeongguk’s heart break all over again. "You should leave."
"I’m not leaving," Jeongguk whispered, his voice desperate, but Jimin just shook his head.
"You should leave," Jimin repeated, his voice firmer this time, though it was clear how much it hurt him to say it. He glanced at Jeongguk one last time, his eyes filled with a sadness that made it impossible for Jeongguk to argue any further. Then, slowly, he closed the door, leaving Jeongguk standing in the hallway, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a heavy stone.
Jeongguk stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, his heart aching with a pain he had never felt before. The words replayed in his mind over and over.
It’s too late.
You should leave.
But even as the door remained shut, even as the night grew colder, Jeongguk knew one thing with certainty: he wasn’t giving up. He couldn’t. Not now, not after everything. He would stay. Even if it took a lifetime, he would stay.
There was a part of Jimin, buried deep beneath the layers of hurt and pain, that felt a flicker of happiness. It was so small, so fragile, that he almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. But it was there, undeniably so. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jeongguk was looking at him, truly seeing him. The man he had loved for so long—the man he had been so sure would never look his way, never return his feelings—was finally showing him affection.
But even with that flicker of happiness came a crushing weight of doubt. Jimin found it impossible to trust Jeongguk’s words, his gestures, his sudden change of heart. After all, why now? Why, after seven years of silence, of distance, was Jeongguk trying so hard? The thought gnawed at him, the suspicion that Jeongguk was only doing this out of obligation. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe Jeongguk felt bad for the years he had abandoned him, and now he thought he owed Jimin something in return.
Jimin’s heart ached every time he saw the hurt in Jeongguk’s eyes whenever he turned him down. It was almost unbearable, seeing that pain reflected in the man he had once dreamed of being loved by. There were moments when Jimin wanted to give in, to let down his guard and allow himself to believe that Jeongguk truly meant it. But the fear—the fear of being hurt again, of being left behind once more—was stronger than the hope. He couldn’t risk it. Not again.
So, despite the warmth that Jeongguk’s gestures sometimes brought to his heart, Jimin forced himself to stay cold, distant. He tried to appear strong and unaffected, as if none of it mattered. As if Jeongguk’s efforts to make amends, to win him back, meant nothing to him. But the truth was, every time Jeongguk reached out, every time he looked at Jimin with those eyes full of regret and love, it chipped away at the walls Jimin had built around himself.
Jimin hated how much it hurt to turn Jeongguk down. He hated how, after all these years, a single look from Jeongguk could still make his heart race and his defenses waver. But he knew that if he let himself believe—if he let himself fall for Jeongguk’s words—he would only be setting himself up for more pain. He had learned that lesson the hard way, and no matter how much his heart wanted to believe in the love Jeongguk was offering now, he had to stay strong.
I have to protect myself , Jimin thought, his chest tight as he forced himself to look away from Jeongguk’s pleading gaze. I can’t trust this. Not yet.
So every time Jeongguk came to him, every time he tried to make things right, Jimin would put up his walls again, shielding himself from the vulnerability that threatened to break through. He would turn away, his voice cold, his words sharp, even as his heart cried out for him to stop. He was protecting himself the only way he knew how.Jimin had not stepped foot outside his room for days. The castle could have been in chaos, and he wouldn’t have known. He had no sense of time anymore; the days bled into each other, an endless loop of silence and emptiness.
The knocks on his door had long since stopped registering in his mind. At first, there were soft, tentative raps—knocks, followed by the rustle of a tray being set down by his door. After a few days, the food piled up, untouched. Jimin ignored it all, too numb to care. He didn’t feel hunger—not really. His body was weak, but he survived on water, the only thing he allowed himself to drink when he got up to splash his face in the washbasin.
He knew, somewhere deep inside, that something was wrong. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, hadn’t interacted with anyone, and his body felt heavy and cold. But Jimin had lived with this hollow feeling for so long that he couldn’t tell whether this was something new or if this emptiness had simply become who he was. Was there something wrong with him, or had he always been this way—adrift in a world that didn’t care, locked away from everything that had once mattered?
He couldn’t remember how he had spent the last few days. Perhaps he had slept most of it away. Jimin wasn’t physically tired—he could feel that—but the weight in his heart, the exhaustion in his soul, was unbearable. His mind felt beaten and bruised from the years of waiting and hoping, from trying and being let down. Perhaps his body was simply reacting to the emotional wreckage, begging for sleep because that was the only reprieve it had. He didn’t dream, not really. He just fell into deep, unfeeling sleep, where nothing could hurt him.
For years, Jimin would locked himself in his chamber, lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, at the walls, at nothing in particular. The passing hours didn’t matter. He had no one to check on him, no one to care whether he ate or whether he ever left his room again. Minsoo, bless her, sometimes knocked on the door, but she had her duties and couldn’t always be there. Jimin knew she had her own life, her own responsibilities, and in the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t important enough to warrant concern.
He had always been alone, hadn’t he? Even before Jeongguk, even before the years of waiting and disappointment. Loneliness was his friend, the only thing that had been constant in his life. It clung to him like a second skin, whispering in his ear, reminding him that he had no one.
So, when he heard the frantic knocking on his door, Jimin barely flinched. He lay still in bed, staring at the dim light filtering through the window. It was probably just his imagination. He had read somewhere that lack of sleep and food could make you hallucinate, and maybe that was what was happening now. His mind playing tricks on him. After all, no one would come pounding on his door so urgently. No one cared enough to break through his solitude.
The knocking continued, louder this time, more insistent. Jimin’s brow furrowed, but he still didn’t move. He turned over in bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, cocooning himself in the familiar coldness. He let out a soft, resigned breath, hoping sleep would find him again. It was all he wanted these days—just to sleep, to escape.
But the knocking didn’t stop. It grew louder, more desperate, until suddenly, there was a crash. The sound jolted him upright, his heart pounding in his chest. His door had been forced open, the sharp crack of wood breaking reverberating through the silence of the room.
Jimin’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the door. The last thing he expected was for anyone to come for him, let alone break down his door. He blinked, disoriented, his mind struggling to catch up with what was happening.
Was this real? Was someone really here?
Before he could fully comprehend, footsteps echoed in his room, and there stood Jeongguk, his eyes frantic as they locked onto Jimin’s figure curled up in the bed.
Jeongguk stood there, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged and uneven, fear etched across his face. The moment he saw Jimin sitting there, pale and exhausted, something inside him broke. Without thinking, he rushed to him, kneeling down as his trembling hands cradled Jimin’s face, tilting it gently from side to side as if checking for any sign of injury.
"Are you... are you alright?" Jeongguk’s voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as if he feared shattering the fragile silence between them. His breath was uneven, his words stumbling out in gasps. "You’ve been locked away in your chambers for days . I—I thought perhaps you needed time, space to yourself, so I stayed away... but I couldn’t bear it any longer. I’ve been worried sick, Jimin." His voice wavered, thick with concern. "Why didn’t you come out? You left your meals untouched, day after day. Why—"
Before Jeongguk could finish, Jimin broke down. His body shuddered as he let out a sob, his emotions spilling over in a flood he could no longer contain. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Jimin had spent so long trying to keep everything in, to stay strong and composed, but now, all of it came crashing down around him. The sobs wracked his body, uncontrollable, raw, painful.
Jeongguk’s eyes widened, filled with concern. "Jimin, why are you crying? What’s wrong?" His voice was desperate, full of fear and regret, but before he could do anything, Jimin’s fists weakly pounded against his chest.
"Why did you come now?" Jimin’s voice was thick with tears, each word punctuated by another sob as he hit Jeongguk with what little strength he had left. "Why now, when I finally convinced myself that I was nothing more than a burden in your eyes, no matter how I tried to please you? Why now, when I had resigned myself to letting you go? Why now, when I’ve finally accepted everything—when I’m trying so hard to forget you, to unlove you, to erase every part of you that has been ingrained in my heart?"
Every word Jimin spoke felt like a dagger twisting in Jeongguk’s chest. His throat was tight with grief, watching as the man who had been his for seven long years broke apart before him. Never had he seen Jimin so fragile, so utterly destroyed. The sight of him, weeping in his arms, tore through him like a storm of guilt and sorrow—a lifetime of cold indifference crashing down all at once.
Jimin pressed his face into Jeongguk’s chest, his sobs muffled but trembling with a desperation that left Jeongguk hollow. "Why did you never look at me?" Jimin whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own agony. "I know I made mistakes, but don’t you think seven years was too cruel a punishment? Was I so unworthy of your love that you could not bring yourself to care for me in all that time?" His voice faltered, his pain raw, laid bare like a wound that had never healed.
"For seven years," Jimin continued, his breath shuddering as he clung to Jeongguk, "every time you left, it felt like the walls of this palace were closing in on me, like I was suffocating in your absence. But I waited for you. I waited for you to return, hoping that one day, maybe, you would stay. I held on as long as I could, until I could no longer bear the weight of being the reason you were so unhappy. I knew you didn’t love me, but I couldn’t stop loving you."
Jeongguk’s tears finally fell, silent at first but soon rolling down his cheeks in a stream. He held Jimin tighter, pulling him closer, letting him cry into his chest, his heart shattering with every sob that left Jimin’s body. He had been a fool, an absolute fool. All these years, he had been so blinded by his own pain, so caught up in his own anger and resentment, that he had failed to see what was right in front of him—the man who had always loved him, who had always waited for him.
"I’m so sorry," Jeongguk’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, as he pressed his cheek to the crown of Jimin’s head. "I... I despised you. I truly did. I hated you for binding me to this union, for robbing me of the life I thought I deserved." His words were thick with guilt, each one a confession of the regrets he had carried for years. "But... I was wrong. I was childish, Jimin. My anger—it was never truly meant for you. It was for myself. I was too blinded by my own pride, my own fear, to see that my hatred wasn’t yours to bear."
Jimin stiffened in Jeongguk’s arms, his breath hitching at the words. The weight of those years—spent believing Jeongguk could never love him—now felt heavier than ever. He had always suspected that Jeongguk held resentment, but hearing it spoken aloud, the admission of that hatred, was like having an old wound ripped open once more, bleeding anew.
"I hated myself for loving you," Jeongguk continued, his voice thick with emotion, each syllable laced with sorrow. "For so many years, I denied it. I was too proud, too stubborn to accept the truth. By the time I realized what I truly felt... it was too late. I couldn’t bear the weight of what I felt for you, Jimin. I was terrified." His words broke, and he tightened his hold around Jimin as if he could shield him from the pain he had caused. "And in my fear, I hurt you. I wounded you in ways I can never undo. I was too much of a coward to admit I love you, and too selfish to let you go."
"You are such a fool…" Jimin whispered, wrapping his hands around Jeongguk’s torso. "All this time, I thought you hated me… I thought I was nothing to you." Jeongguk’s heart felt heavy with regret, knowing that he had inflicted so much pain on the one person he had longed for, but never dared to claim. "I want to trust you… I really do, but how?"
Jeongguk’s heart shattered at Jimin’s words, knowing that the damage he had caused couldn’t be undone with a few apologies or declarations of love. It wasn’t that simple. Jimin had waited for him, suffered for him, and now, even when Jeongguk was finally ready to be the person Jimin had always deserved, the trust between them had been shattered.
"I don’t blame you for not believing me," Jeongguk said softly, his tears falling onto Jimin’s hair as he held him close. "I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me, every reason to walk away. But Jimin, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible, and I’ll do whatever it takes to show you that I mean it."
Jimin closed his eyes, his heart aching with the weight of everything Jeongguk was saying. A part of him wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately to trust that this time, things would be different. But the years of pain, the nights spent alone, waiting for Jeongguk to come back, had left scars that ran deep. He wasn’t sure if he could risk his heart again.
Jimin’s trembling hands reached up to gently hold his wrists, his touch light but his gaze steady. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he whispered, "Then… promise me."
Jeongguk blinked, the weight of those words settling heavily in the space between them. "Promise you?" he asked quietly, his heart pounding.
Jimin nodded, his voice shaking. "Promise me that you won’t leave again," he said. "Promise me that you won’t let me believe in you… only to break me again." His eyes searched Jeongguk’s, desperate for reassurance, for something that could anchor him to the belief that this time would be different. "I want to trust you, Jeongguk… I do. But I can’t do it again if you walk away."
The vulnerability in Jimin’s voice, the quiet plea for a promise that felt like his last piece of hope, shattered Jeongguk’s heart. He realized in that moment just how deeply he had wounded Jimin, how much damage his years of absence had done. Jimin had held on for so long, even when he had no reason to, and now—now he was asking for something Jeongguk knew he couldn’t take lightly.
"I promise," Jeongguk whispered, his voice filled with emotion, every word laced with sincerity. "I swear to you, Jimin, I won’t leave again. I won’t make you go through that again. I’ll prove it to you… every day, for as long as it takes. I’ll stay, and I’ll fight for us."
Jimin’s breath trembled, his tears falling silently as he nodded, the relief mixed with the fear of allowing himself to trust again. His hands gripped Jeongguk’s wrists just a little tighter, as if holding on to the promise that had finally been spoken between them.
"Please," Jimin whispered, his voice cracking. "Don’t break this promise, Jeongguk. Don’t let me hope for nothing."
Jeongguk’s heart ached as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against Jimin’s, his voice raw with emotion. "I won’t," he whispered. "I won’t break it. Not ever."
And then, before either of them could say anything else, Jeongguk leaned in.
Jeongguk hesitated for only a heartbeat before leaning in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s with a tenderness that nearly broke him. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as though Jeongguk feared Jimin might pull away. But when Jimin didn’t, when he stayed still and let their lips meet, Jeongguk pressed forward, deepening the kiss just slightly, the weight of seven years of unsaid words and unacknowledged emotions carried in that one moment.
It felt fragile at first, almost like they were both afraid it might break. Jeongguk’s hands, still cradling Jimin’s face, trembled slightly as he moved his lips softly, slowly, against Jimin’s. It was as if he was trying to convey everything he had never said in that simple act—the regrets, the sorrow, the love that had been buried beneath layers of anger and pain.
Jimin’s breath hitched, and his hands found their way to the front of Jeongguk’s tunic, his fingers clutching the fabric as if he needed something to anchor himself. His lips trembled beneath Jeongguk’s, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that coursed through him—emotions he had spent years trying to bury, trying to forget. The warmth of Jeongguk’s touch, the tenderness of his lips—it all felt too much, too sudden, and yet Jimin couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He had dreamed of this for so long, and now, for the first time, it felt real.
As the kiss deepened, the tenderness began to shift into something more. Jeongguk’s lips moved with more urgency, more need, as though he was trying to make up for all the lost time. He kissed Jimin slowly, but with a passion that took Jimin’s breath away. His hands slid down from Jimin’s face, resting gently on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if afraid to let go.
Jimin melted into the kiss, the weight of all the years of longing, all the nights spent wondering if Jeongguk would ever look at him this way, crashing over him. His heart raced, and he clung to Jeongguk tighter, his fingers fisting the front of his tunic as if to ground himself in the moment. It was overwhelming—this feeling of being so close, of being wanted. For so long, he had convinced himself that this would never happen, that Jeongguk would never love him the way he had always hoped.
This kiss was full of promises, of apologies whispered through the press of their lips. Jeongguk’s hands moved gently, cradling the back of Jimin’s head, and gripping his waist as he kissed him deeper, his lips slow but insistent, as though trying to prove with every second that he was here, that he wasn’t going to leave again.
Jimin could feel the tears rolling down his face, the flood of emotions too much to contain. It was as if all the pain he had felt over the last seven years, all the nights spent alone, all the mornings waking up to an empty bed—it all came rushing to the surface, but instead of tearing him apart, the kiss seemed to mend the broken pieces. He could feel Jeongguk’s love in every soft press of his lips, in every breathless pause where they both seemed to forget how to breathe.
Jeongguk kissed him like he was something precious, something fragile and irreplaceable. His lips moved slowly, reverently, as though savoring each moment, each soft gasp that escaped Jimin’s lips.
When Jeongguk finally pulled back, just enough to look into Jimin’s tear-filled eyes, his own gaze glistened with tears.
Jimin blinked up at him, his breath uneven, his heart still racing from the intensity of the kiss. He could see the regret in Jeongguk’s eyes, the pain and love and everything he had been too afraid to say.
And in that moment, Jimin knew that this time, it wasn’t just a dream. This time, it was real.
Jeongguk’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as he rested his forehead against Jimin’s. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, his breath mingling with Jimin’s as he pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "For all the years I wasted. For all the times I left. I’m so sorry it took me so long to see you, to realize what I had. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Jimin. I promise."
Jimin’s breath trembled as he looked up at Jeongguk, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that had just happened. His mind was spinning, and his heart racing.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the space between them heavy with all the unsaid words, the broken pieces of their past slowly starting to mend.
Jimin closed his eyes, his tears finally spilling over, but this time, they weren’t just tears of pain. There was something else now, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long. "Don’t leave me again," he whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke the words that had been lodged in his heart for years.
Jeongguk’s hands tightened on him, pulling him closer as if he could fuse them together. "I won’t," he whispered against Jimin’s lips, the promise sinking into both of them, binding them in a way that felt deeper than words. "I swear, I’ll never leave you again."
For a moment, they stayed like that, holding each other, their hearts heavy with the weight of the past but slowly moving toward something new. It wasn’t a full mending of their hearts, not yet, but it was a beginning—a small, tentative step toward healing, toward rebuilding the trust they had both lost.
And for now, that was enough.
They would start again, slowly, carefully. It wouldn’t be easy, and the scars wouldn’t fade overnight, but they had both taken the first step.
As he lay in Jeongguk’s arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart, Jimin realized that the hope he had clung to for so long wasn’t just a fragile dream anymore. It wasn’t the hollow, desperate kind of hope that had kept him up at night, wondering if the man he loved would ever look his way, wondering if he was ever truly seen.
This time, it felt real. Solid.
For the first time in years, Jimin wasn’t hoping for nothing.
Jeongguk stayed with Jimin that night, holding him close as the weight of their shared confessions hung heavy in the air. The night passed in silence, the warmth of their embrace a fragile promise of something better, something more. When the first light of dawn filtered into the room, Jeongguk felt Jimin stir, his breaths still uneven, his face still streaked with tears. And in that moment, Jeongguk felt a sense of clarity, an understanding that pierced through the fog of his own regrets. He had been blind for so long, and now, seeing the vulnerability in Jimin—the rawness of his heart laid bare—he understood just how much he had taken for granted.
Jeongguk tightened his hold around Jimin, his arms wrapping more securely around his waist as he pressed his forehead gently against Jimin's. He could feel the warmth of Jimin's breath against his skin, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he drifted back into a light sleep. Jeongguk stayed there, his eyes fixed on Jimin's face, taking in every detail—the way his lashes rested against his cheeks, the slight furrow of his brow even in sleep, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed.
His mind replayed every word Jimin had said, every crack in his voice, every ounce of pain that Jeongguk had caused. The weight of it was unbearable, and yet, it was also a reminder of why he had to keep going, why he had to stay and prove himself. He knew he couldn’t change the past—he couldn’t undo the years of loneliness and hurt he had inflicted on Jimin. All he could do now was be here, fully, in every way that he hadn’t been before. He had spent so much time avoiding what he felt, convincing himself that his resentment towards their marriage was justified. He had refused to see Jimin, truly see him, until now. And in that blindness, he had not only missed out on the love Jimin had offered, but he had also crushed Jimin's spirit in ways that Jeongguk could barely comprehend.
Jeongguk sighed softly, his fingers brushing through Jimin's hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.
How many times had Jimin stood in that same room, watching Jeongguk walk away, hoping that maybe this time, he’d stay? How many nights had Jimin spent alone, wondering why he wasn’t enough for Jeongguk to care? The guilt of it gnawed at Jeongguk, eating away at him from the inside. He had always thought he was protecting himself by pushing Jimin away, but now he realized that in doing so, he had shattered not only Jimin’s heart, but also his own.
Jeongguk looked down at Jimin, at the way he looked so small, so fragile in his arms. He had vowed to stay, to never leave again, but he knew that promises alone weren’t enough. He had to prove it, every single day, in every way he could. He had to show Jimin that he was serious, that his love was real, and that he wasn’t going to run away this time. He would stay, no matter how hard it got, no matter how many times Jimin pushed him away. He would stay because Jimin deserved that—he deserved someone who wouldn’t give up on him, who wouldn’t walk away when things got difficult.
Jeongguk knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were too many scars, too many broken pieces between them that would take time to mend. But he was ready for it. He was ready to fight for Jimin, to fight for the love that he had been too afraid to acknowledge for so long.
He had been a coward, but now, he was determined to be brave—for Jimin, and for the future they both deserved.
Jimin woke to the warmth of the morning sun on his face, his eyes slowly opening as the memories of the previous night came rushing back. He blinked, feeling the steady warmth of Jeongguk’s arms still wrapped around him, the weight of Jeongguk’s body next to his. For a moment, Jimin stayed still, his gaze drifting to where Jeongguk’s face was nestled against his shoulder, his expression soft and peaceful in sleep. The sight of him there—the sight of Jeongguk still there—made Jimin’s chest tighten, his cheeks warming with a blush. He didn’t know what to feel.
Jimin had told himself, time and time again, that he needed to let go—that Jeongguk would never love him, that he would never be enough.
But no matter how much he tried, he could never truly stop hoping. Even when the nights grew long and lonely, even when Jeongguk walked away without a word, Jimin had held onto that small hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Jeongguk would see him. That one day, Jeongguk would stay.
And now, Jeongguk was here, promising to stay, promising to love him. And for the first time in a long time, Jimin allowed himself to fully embrace that hope. He wanted to believe Jeongguk, and this time, he found that he could. The way Jeongguk held him, the way he spoke, the way he stayed even when Jimin had pushed him away—it all spoke of a change that Jimin wanted to trust. He wanted to trust in Jeongguk’s love, to believe that maybe this time, they could find happiness together.
Jimin shifted slightly, his movements careful as he tried not to wake Jeongguk. But Jeongguk stirred anyway, his eyes slowly blinking open, his gaze immediately finding Jimin’s. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the silence between them filled with all the things they were finally ready to say.
"Hey," Jeongguk said softly, his voice still thick with sleep, but filled with a warmth that made Jimin’s heart flutter. He reached up, his fingers brushing gently along Jimin’s cheek, making the blush deepen on Jimin's face.
Jimin smiled, his gaze dropping to the blanket that was tangled around them, feeling shy now that Jeongguk was so close. "You… you stayed," he whispered, his voice barely audible, but filled with wonder.
Jeongguk nodded, his arms tightening around Jimin as if to prove a point. He dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss to Jimin’s temple. "I told you I would. I’m not going anywhere, Jimin."
Jimin closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, but this time it wasn’t from fear—it was from hope. He opened his eyes, meeting Jeongguk’s gaze, his voice steady as he said, "I believe you."
Jeongguk’s heart swelled at Jimin’s words, his eyes glistening with emotion. He shifted even closer, his hands gently cupping Jimin’s face, his thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for giving me this chance. I promise, I won’t let you down."
Jimin looked up at him, his heart aching with the weight of everything he felt, but it was no longer a painful ache—it was hope, it was love. He nodded, his hands coming up to rest over Jeongguk’s, his fingers brushing over Jeongguk's knuckles as his blush deepened. His voice barely more than a whisper as he said, "Okay."
Jeongguk smiled at the sight of Jimin’s flushed cheeks, his heart swelling with affection. He leaned in, their foreheads touching, and then brushed his lips against Jimin’s in the softest kiss—barely a touch, just enough to feel the warmth of Jimin’s lips against his own. He lingered there, his heart pounding as he pulled back just enough to look at Jimin.
Jimin’s eyes fluttered open, his cheeks a bright pink, his breath catching at the tenderness of the kiss. Jeongguk’s gaze was so full of love that Jimin felt his heart swell even more. He bit his lip, trying to contain the smile that tugged at his lips, but it was impossible. He let the smile break free, his eyes glistening as he whispered, "One day at a time, right?"
Jeongguk nodded, his thumb brushing gently along Jimin’s bottom lip. "One day at a time," he whispered back, his voice filled with love and determination. "We’ll take it one day at a time."
And for the first time in years, Jimin allowed himself to believe that they could find their way back to each other—one day at a time. Wrapped in Jeongguk’s embrace, feeling the warmth of his body and the softness of his touch, Jimin felt a sense of peace settle in his heart. It was tender, it was real, and it was everything he had ever wanted.
Jimin nestled closer, his face pressed against Jeongguk’s chest, feeling the steady beat of Jeongguk’s heart beneath his cheek. Jeongguk’s hands moved gently, one threading through Jimin’s hair while the other rubbed soothing circles along his back. Each touch was soft, tender, and full of unspoken promises.
And with each touch, each gentle kiss and whispered words, Jimin’s hope grew, his heart finally daring to believe that they could make it—together.