The room was quiet—too quiet for the both of you.

Jungkook sat on the edge of the bed, dark hair falling into his eyes as he stared at the floor like it held all the answers he couldn’t find in you anymore.

You shifted, arms wrapped around yourself, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low, rough, carrying more weight than you’d ever heard from him.

“I wish you went… behind my back, told me lies, and stuff like that.” His jaw clenched, and for a second he laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “At least then I’d have a reason to let go.”

Your throat tightened. “Jungkook…”

But he wasn’t looking at you. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling like he’d been holding it all in for too long.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured. “Hating you… it’s the only way it doesn’t hurt.”

The words landed heavy, like they’d been ripped straight from him, raw and unpolished. He looked at you then, finally, eyes glassy but sharp enough to cut.