[Sitara's POV]

When my lips touched his, it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t something I even thought about. It just… happened. 

His lips were soft, unmoving at first, almost hesitant, but they were warm and grounding. I hadn’t felt this kind of stillness in so long, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

The kiss didn’t last long. Maybe just a few seconds. But when I pulled back, something inside me yearned for more. 

Not for more passion, not for anything physical—but for the connection. For the comfort that only he seemed capable of giving.

I leaned in again, my lips brushing over his once more. This time softer, lighter, as if the first kiss hadn’t been enough to convince me it was real.

I kissed him again, a small peck this time, then moved to the corner of his lips, pressing another tender kiss there. He didn’t move. He didn’t react, didn’t push me away. 

He just stood there, frozen, as if he didn’t know what to do or how to process what was happening.

And yet, I couldn’t stop. My hands clung to his shirt, fisting the fabric as though letting go would make me crumble. 

My lips found the other corner of his mouth, and I kissed him there, too, lingering just enough to feel the warmth of his skin. Then I kissed the middle of his lips again, another soft peck. 

I was barely touching him, yet it felt like everything in the world was shifting, like everything I’d ever needed was right there in those small, fleeting moments.

I pulled back just enough to take a breath, but the need to stay close to him, to feel his presence, was overwhelming. 

I pressed another kiss to his lips, and another. 

It wasn’t urgent. 

It wasn’t hurried. 

Each kiss was deliberate, soft, and full of a tenderness I didn’t even know I was capable of giving. 

My lips moved to his cheek, brushing over the faint stubble there, then to the edge of his jaw. 

He stayed still, letting me hold him, letting me press kiss after kiss to his face. His hands didn’t move to hold me, but they didn’t pull me away either. 

I could feel the slight tension in his body, but I could also feel how he softened under my touch, like he didn’t know how to react to this, to me. 

And that was okay. 

I didn’t need him to do anything. I just needed him to stay.

I leaned my forehead against his, my hands still clutching his shirt as I whispered against his lips, “Thank you.” 

My voice trembled, barely audible, but I meant it. For everything he had said, for everything he had done just by being here, by being him.

We stayed like that, suspended in a quiet moment that felt untouched by the chaos of the world. But then, the soft rustling sound of the front door broke through the stillness, grounding us back into reality.

Slowly, we both stepped away, the space between us growing wider but not colder.

We turned, almost in sync, walking numbly toward the front door

Minji and Taehyung stumbled in, their movements erratic, their laughter loud and uneven. 

Minji was draped in Taehyung’s jacket, the sleeves hanging loose on her petite frame, her face flushed—not with embarrassment, but with the unmistakable haze of intoxication. 

Taehyung, too, was far from steady, his words slurring as he tried to guide Minji into the cabin.

I paused at the threshold, my feet rooted to the spot. 

My eyes flickered to Jungkook. 

He was watching them, his expression unreadable. 

And then I looked at Taehyung. 

For a fleeting moment, a part of me wanted to go to him, to steady him, to make sure he was okay. But I hesitated.

Minji’s steps faltered. Her body wavered as if she were about to collapse. Instinctively, Jungkook surged forward, catching her before she could hit the ground.

“Minji, careful,” he muttered, his voice sharp but laced with concern. He adjusted his grip, holding her upright as her head lolled against his chest. 

His brows furrowed, and his hand brushed against her forehead. The next moment, his eyes widened in alarm.

“She’s burning up,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. 

He touched her face again, his movements quick, frantic. “Damn it, she’s got a fever.”

“Minji,” Jungkook said again, more urgently this time. He looked at her face, his expression softening, his voice lowering to something almost tender. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? You shouldn’t have been out in this condition.”

He adjusted his grip and, without a moment’s hesitation, scooped her up into his arms. She was limp against him, her breathing shallow but steady.

“Get the door,” he said, his eyes flicking toward me. 

I blinked, startled out of my daze, and rushed to hold it open as he carried her inside.

I watched them, my heart sinking lower with each passing second. Jungkook wasn’t just worried; he was frantic, almost desperate. 

It was in the way his hands cradled Minji’s unconscious form, in the way his eyes scanned her face for any sign of improvement.

And I couldn’t stop the questions from swirling in my mind. 

Had I misread everything? 

Was Jungkook’s kindness just a part of who he was, extended to anyone in need? 

Had I mistaken his warmth, his attentiveness, for something it wasn’t?

As he carried her further into the cabin, his voice softened again, almost to a whisper. “Minji, you’ve got to stay with me, okay? We’ll get you fixed up. Just hang on a little longer.”

And that’s when it hit me. Jungkook’s concern for Minji was genuine, undeniable. But it wasn’t just his worry for her that twisted something inside me. 

It was the realization that I had come to rely on that same kindness, that same steadiness, as though it belonged to me alone.

I followed them inside, my steps slow and hesitant, my thoughts a tangled mess. My eyes stayed on Jungkook as he set Minji down on the couch, brushing her hair back from her face. 

“Jungkook,” I said softly, hesitantly, but he didn’t look at me. His focus was entirely on Minji.

“Where’s the first aid kit? Or a thermometer? We need to check her temperature,” he said, his voice rapid, his words tumbling out like he couldn’t say them fast enough. 

“And water. She needs water. And maybe a blanket. Is there a blanket nearby?”

“She’s just drunk,” Taehyung slurred from behind me, waving a dismissive hand as he leaned against the doorframe. “She’ll be fine. Always makes a fuss, doesn’t she?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “She’s not fine, Taehyung hyung,” he snapped, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. “She’s got a fever, and if you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be the one taking care of her.”

Taehyung laughed humorlessly, swaying slightly. “You’re too uptight, Jeon. Always have been.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook bit back, “but at least I care enough to notice when someone’s not okay.”

[Jungkook's POV]

The words left my mouth before I could think twice, sharp and loaded with frustration. For a moment, Taehyung just stood there, the lazy smirk on his face tightening into something colder.

“Really?” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Care enough now, do you? Where was all that care for the last five years, Jungkook? Or were you and Sitara too busy playing THE OFFICE to notice anything about her?”

My heart stopped. My body went rigid as the weight of his words crashed into me. 

Five years. Did he know? 

Had Minji told him something?

I glanced at her, still unconscious on the couch, her fevered face peaceful yet strangely accusing in that moment. 

What had she said to him? 

My chest tightened at the thought. If she’d shared even a fraction of the truth, I couldn’t bear the idea of others knowing. 

Our flaws, our arguments, our delicate attempts at keeping up appearances—it was supposed to stay between us.

“I'm sorry for the trouble, hyung. But I’m here now, and I’ll make sure she’s looked after now.”

The words were meant for Taehyung, but as they hung in the air, they felt like a sharp blow to someone else.

I turned, and that’s when I saw her—Sitara. She had taken a step back, her face pale and her hands trembling at her sides. Her lips parted, but no sound came out, as though she were struggling to find air. 

My stomach twisted. She wasn’t just standing there; she was breaking. The realization hit me like a freight train. She thought this was about her. She thought I’d dismissed her, ignored the moment we’d just shared like it didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, her lashes clumped together from the moisture gathering at their edges. And then, in one swift motion, she turned away, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, her tone strained and brittle.

“Sitara—”

She was gone before I could finish. My legs moved instinctively, ready to follow her, to explain, to do something. But Taehyung’s voice stopped me cold.

“Running away again?” he said with a sarcastic laugh. “Seems to be her specialty. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t care about your husband.”

As Taehyung stumbled out after Sitara, his drunken words slurring slightly, I grabbed a cold cloth and pressed it gently to Minji’s forehead. She stirred faintly, murmuring incoherently under her breath. 

My hand shook slightly as I grabbed the thermometer from the first-aid kit and carefully placed it under her tongue.

She let out a weak sigh, her body settling deeper into the couch. Satisfied that she wouldn’t need immediate medical attention, I made my way out, my chest tightening with a sense of unease.

The low hum of voices caught my attention as I stepped onto the deck. Taehyung’s voice, sharp and accusatory, sliced through the night air, his drunken tone laced with bitterness.

“And what exactly do you care about, Sitara?” he spat. “Certainly not me. Not this marriage. You’re so wrapped up in your own misery, you’ve forgotten how to be anything else.”

I slowed my steps, my breath catching as I rounded the corner to see them. Sitara stood a few paces away from him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked tired—not just physically, but emotionally, as though the weight of years was pressing down on her.

“Taehyung, I…” she started, her voice trembling, but then she faltered, her gaze dropping to the ground.

“What? You what?” he snapped, taking a step closer to her. “You’re sorry? Is that what you’re going to say? Because I’m sick of your apologies. They mean nothing.”

“I’m not apologizing,” she said quietly, her tone flat and devoid of emotion. “I’m just… tired, Tae. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying to fix something that feels so broken.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t defending herself, wasn’t even trying to argue. She was retreating, withdrawing into herself like a wounded animal.

And yet, I could see it—her hurt wasn’t entirely because of Taehyung’s words. It was something deeper, something more profound. Was it guilt? Shame?

Was it because of what had happened between us earlier?

“Of course, you’re tired,” Taehyung continued, his words slurred but still cutting. “You’ve checked out completely. Do you even care anymore, Sitara? About us? About me?”

Her head snapped up at that, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Don’t you dare question if I care,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “You think I don’t care? I’ve spent years trying to hold us together. You shut me out, Taehyung. You pushed me away.”

“And you let me!” he shot back, his voice rising. “You let me push you away because it was easier than even talking to me!”

“You know what? I'm tired. Just please go and fix yourself up a little. Have a squeeze of lemon and eat something and go to bed.”, with that Sitara moved to turn away, but stopped in her tracks when her eyes met mine.

My eyes locked on Sitara’s profile, her tired posture, the slump of her shoulders. She was hurting, but this wasn’t about Taehyung.

It was about us. About the boundary we had crossed.

—-

[Sitara's POV]

The soft rustling of Minji’s calls barely carried through the thick air, but it was enough to draw Jungkook away to his room.

Then I turned, my feet instinctively carrying me in the opposite direction. The corridor stretched before me like an endless chasm, and each step I took felt like walking through fire. The distance between us wasn’t just physical—it was searing, a constant reminder of what shouldn’t have happened.

But guilt? No. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t. Not for this.

Taehyung’s slouched figure came into view as I entered the kitchen. He was slumped over the counter, his drunken ramblings filling the space with a nonsensical hum. 

His jacket had slid halfway off his shoulder, and his glassy eyes barely registered my presence as I walked to the cutting board.

The lemons felt cool under my fingers as I sliced into them. I squeezed the juice directly into a glass and walked over to him, tipping the liquid into his mouth.

“Drink,” I said, my voice firm.

Taehyung choked slightly, his face contorting as the sour juice hit his tongue. He coughed, sputtering, and I handed him a glass of water. “Here,” I said, pressing it into his hands.

“Sitara,” he slurred, his words tumbling over each other. “You’re always so… so… good to me. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

I ignored his ramblings, focusing instead on wiping his face with a damp cloth. His skin was warm, and the alcohol seemed to cling to him like a heavy fog. But my mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t here with Taehyung. It wasn’t in this kitchen. It wasn’t even in this house.

It was with Jungkook.

The feeling of his lips against mine was seared into my memory, soft yet firm, a connection so fleeting yet so consuming. I’d kissed him. No—I’d wanted to kiss him. And I didn’t regret it.

For years, I’d buried the tiny spark I once felt for him. It had been so faint, a flicker that never seemed worth tending to. Jungkook had always been so distant, so unattainable, and I’d convinced myself that he was simply happy for me when Taehyung and I got together.

Eventually, that little crush faded, replaced by genuine love for Taehyung. But tonight… tonight had unraveled something deep inside me.

“Sitara?” Taehyung’s voice pulled me back to the present. His words were slurred, his expression dazed as he stared at me. “You’re so… beautiful.”

I forced a smile, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Drink more water, Tae.”

He continued to babble, his words a mix of nonsense and faint affection, but they barely registered.

I wasn’t thinking of Taehyung.

I wasn’t thinking of my marriage.

I was thinking of Jungkook. And no matter how wrong it seemed, I couldn’t stop.

Taehyung’s hand shot out suddenly, gripping my chin with a force that made me wince. The sharpness of his hold broke through my spiraling thoughts, pulling me harshly back into reality.

“Tae,” I hissed.

His fiery glare bore into me, his chest heaving as his breath came in shallow gasps. But just as quickly, his expression softened, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He brought his forehead down to meet mine, the weight of the gesture pressing against my already pounding heart. His voice cracked as he spoke, so low I almost missed it. “Do you… have something to confess, Sitara?”

My heart plummeted.

He couldn’t know. Could he? No, there was no way. But the thought of it alone made my chest tighten, and I stumbled over my words. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, my voice trembling.

Taehyung’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face twitching as his teeth ground together.

As if he was trying to control himself. 

As if he wanted me to speak the truth and not say it out himself.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, tracing a path down his cheek before landing on mine. His grip on my chin slackened, but he didn’t let go.

“You always do this,” he murmured bitterly, his voice thick with pain. “You never let me in. Not completely. Not even now.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words rushing out like a dam had broken inside him. “Do you remember,” he began, his voice distant and cracked, “that monsoon before we got married? How you used to dance in the rain, completely unbothered by anything?”

I nodded faintly, unable to find my voice as he continued.

“And I used to stand there like an idiot, just watching you, wondering how someone could look so free,” he said, his voice growing softer with each word. “You’d laugh at me for not joining you, and I’d laugh back because I didn’t care. I just loved watching you.”

His tears were falling freely now, soaking my cheeks as his forehead stayed pressed against mine. “What happened to us, Sitara?” he asked, his voice breaking. “How did we get here?”

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. His breath was warm and heavy, and I could feel the weight of his pain radiating off him. 

“Tae…” I started, my voice faltering as guilt clawed its way up my throat.

He kept going, his words weaving memories I’d tried so hard to forget. “We used to be happy,” he whispered. “We used to be everything. And now… now you can’t even look at me without flinching.”

His face inched closer, his lips just a breath away from mine. I froze, my body rigid as my mind screamed at me to pull away. It wasn’t right—not after what I’d done with Jungkook.

I turned my head, breaking the moment before it could go any further. “I can’t,” I said, stepping back and putting space between us.

The air between us felt like a chasm, and Taehyung let out a humorless chuckle. It was low and hollow, filled with a bitterness that made my stomach churn. “You couldn’t let me in back then,” he said quietly, “and you can’t now. Even when I try.”

“Tae, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?” he interrupted, his voice rising. “Was it fair when I waited for you to come back to me? When I begged for you to let me close? You never wanted me, Sitara. Not then, not now.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I spat back, “I did come back to you. I came back, and you didn’t want me. You pushed me away, and now you expect me to believe you suddenly want me again?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, the pain in them cutting through me like a blade. “Did you?” he asked, his voice soft but sharp, like a dagger slipping under the skin.

I stared at him, my brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Did you really come back to me?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Completely clean?”

He was again thinking I was cheating on him with Jungkook….. not this again.

I scoffed, shaking my head as a bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You’ll never trust me, will you?”

But even as I said it, I knew the words weren’t just for him. They were for me too. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure I trusted myself anymore.

I turned on my heel, ready to walk away from the weight of his words, but Taehyung’s hand wrapped around my arm, halting my steps. His grip was firm, insistent, yet trembling with the intoxicated force of his emotions.

"You're not going anywhere," he slurred, pulling me back. "We’re not done."

“Tae, let me go,” I said, trying to tug my arm free, but his fingers only tightened.

“Do you want to hear it?” His voice cracked, somewhere between a plea and an accusation. “Do you want to know what I did today? With Minji?”

I stilled, his words pinning me in place like sharp nails. I didn’t respond, but he didn’t need me to.

“I had a beer with her,” he admitted, his words tumbling out like loose stones down a hill. “She talked about Jungkook… about how ignorant he is towards her. How he doesn’t notice her pain. How he's never let her get close to him.”

A scoff escaped me before I could stop it, but I couldn’t help it. Jungkook? Ignorant? That man had always been attentive to a fault, careful in ways that sometimes felt like he was crafting perfection from chaos. He wasn’t the kind of person to ignore anyone, let alone his wife.

“You believed her?” I asked flatly, unable to hide my disbelief.

“Yes,” Taehyung said, his voice rising. “Because I’ve seen it, Sitara! I’ve seen the way Minji looks at him, how desperately she wants him to notice her, to be there for her. She wants him. She wants a baby with him.”

A sharp pang twisted in my chest at his words, and my breath hitched. My mind reeled as his voice kept echoing: She wants him. She wants a baby with him.

The weight of my own actions came crashing down on me like an avalanche. 

Were they trying to build something together, something as sacred as a family, and I had just—what? 

Walked into the middle of their fight like an uninvited storm? 

The thought churned my stomach, filling me with a nauseating guilt I couldn’t shake.

Taehyung leaned in closer, his breath hot and tinged with alcohol. “And you know what I thought when she said all that? I thought… maybe Jungkook could be better for her. Maybe they could heal—if he becomes the man she needs.”

I felt my throat tighten as my head swirled with shame. But before I could let myself sink into it, his voice dragged me back.

“Why can’t we do the same, Sitara?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Why can’t we heal too?”

But it was as if I couldn't hear anything he was saying after I got to know what Jungkook and Minji's relationship is like.

They want a baby.

“You s-say….. a baby? That's what….. Minji wants?”

“Heck yeah. She's been literally dying to have a baby now. She's already given up on trying to win Jungkook's love because that bastard has no care in the world for his sweet, lovely wife. All she wants from their marriage now is just a kid. And I'm kind of sure, if that happens, they'll reconcile their differences soon, too.” , Taehyung scoffed.

“Why can’t we do the same, Sitara?”

“We’ve been over this,” I said tiredly, my voice flat and void of hope.

Taehyung grabbed me by the hair, his actions rough in his drunken state, pulling me closer to him. I hissed in pain, but he ignored it. His passion, his anger—it was all-consuming. “No, we haven’t!” he nearly shouted. 

“Because you don’t see it, Sitara. You don’t see what you’ve done. This… this is lying. This is betrayal.”

I stared at him, feeling a cold, hollow ache settle in my chest. “Betrayal?” I repeated, my voice low but sharp. 

“Betrayal is the reverse of trust, Taehyung. And it can only happen when you trust me. But did you ever trust me?”

His grip faltered, his hands loosening slightly in my hair. His lips parted, but no words came out.

I stepped back, creating just enough distance to meet his gaze fully. “Did you ever trust me?” I asked again, my voice rising as I felt my emotions bubbling to the surface. 

“You’ve always accused me, haven’t you? Always thought I was cheating on you with Jungkook. Even when I wasn’t! You planted those thoughts in your head and watered them until they grew into something monstrous. But you know what hurts the most?”

“What hurts the most,” I continued, my voice trembling, “is that you expect me to believe there was trust between us when all I ever got from you were accusations. Not love. Not understanding. Just endless notions of betrayal that didn’t even exist.”

“Sitara…” he whispered, but I didn’t wait to hear what came next.

I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, drowning in his own storm of emotions.