♡ Part - 33 ♡

A Battle of Stubborn Hearts

The room felt smaller now, tighter, as if the walls had shrunk around them the moment they stepped inside. The lingering tranquility of the beach was nowhere to be found—only the weight of their history and the tension that neither of them had the energy to ignore.

Jimin could still feel the ocean breeze on his skin, the sound of the waves lulling him into a rare moment of peace—until now.

His gaze flickered toward the bed, then the couch.

No.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pretend that things were normal, that sharing a bed with Yoongi—the man who had taken him, married him against his will, and tangled him in a web of emotions he didn’t understand—was something he was ready for.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his clothes, his resolve hardening.

"I don’t want to share the bed with you," Jimin said, voice soft but firm.

Yoongi, who had just removed his coat, froze. His dark eyes flicked to Jimin in quiet surprise, as if those words had caught him off guard.

Then, his brows furrowed.

"Doll, why?"

His voice was low, calm, but laced with something unreadable.

Jimin lifted his chin slightly, refusing to waver. "I just don’t, Yoongi."

A sigh left the mafia boss’s lips, his frustration slowly bubbling to the surface. He tossed his coat onto the chair before turning fully to Jimin, arms crossing over his chest.

"Jimin," he said, tone carefully measured. "We literally just spent the evening together. Walking side by side. Holding hands. And now, suddenly, you need space?"

Jimin’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He knew this was coming. He knew Yoongi would pick apart his logic, challenge him, push him to answer things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

So he stood his ground.

"It’s not sudden," Jimin bit back, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. "It’s how I’ve felt this entire time."

Yoongi exhaled a slow breath, his fingers tapping against his arm as if trying to hold himself back. "So you need space from your own husband now?"

Jimin’s patience snapped. His eyes flashed, anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Oh, so I hope you remember in what circumstances we got married," he retorted, voice laced with bitterness. "Or do you conveniently forget that part?"

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

"I haven’t forgotten," he said, voice low, controlled, but there was something dangerous beneath it, something raw. "I don’t regret it either."

Jimin’s breath caught.

His pulse stuttered.

Yoongi took a slow step toward him, his presence overwhelming, intense.

"You think I don’t know how messed up this situation is?" he murmured. "You think I don’t know what I’ve done to you?"

Jimin didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because Yoongi’s voice was no longer demanding, no longer cold or detached. It was—exposed.

"I know what I did, Jimin," Yoongi continued, voice dropping dangerously low, but this time, there was no threat—only truth. "And I don’t regret marrying you."

The words hit Jimin like a physical blow.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you hate it. Why you hate me."

The admission made Jimin falter.

His heart twisted, conflicted, because he didn’t hate him.

He wanted to—he really did—but then Yoongi would do things like this.

Take him to the beach.

Hold his hand firmly but gently.

Look at him like he mattered.

And it confused him. It ruined him.

Jimin swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away.

"It’s not about that," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I need space. I don’t want to share the bed with the mafia."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they hit the mark.

Yoongi went still.

His face darkened, but not with anger. With something… colder.

"Right," Yoongi said, voice unreadable. "The mafia."

Jimin bit his lip, suddenly feeling like he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have.

The tension in the room crackled like a fire on the verge of consuming everything in its path.

Jimin’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the lingering sounds of the ocean waves outside. His breath was uneven, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying the emotions he so desperately tried to suppress.

Across from him, Yoongi stood, unyielding, unwavering, his dark eyes locked onto Jimin’s with an intensity that sent shivers racing down his spine.

Their gazes clashed, a silent battle of wills, a fight neither of them was willing to lose.

But then—everything changed.

In a swift, unexpected motion, Yoongi closed the distance between them.

Jimin barely had time to react before he felt Yoongi’s hand on his waist, pulling him close, while his other hand cupped Jimin’s cheek with a tenderness that stood in sharp contrast to the frustration that had been simmering between them.

Jimin’s breath hitched.

He could feel the warmth of Yoongi’s palm against his skin, the callouses on his fingers a stark reminder of the life he led.

It should have been uncomfortable. Threatening.

But it wasn’t.

Jimin hated how his body betrayed him—leaning into Yoongi’s touch instead of pushing him away.

His heart pounded as he stared up at Yoongi, lips parting slightly in surprise and something dangerously close to yearning.

"Darling," Yoongi murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, his thumb brushing over Jimin’s cheek in slow, soothing strokes. "Why are you so adamant about this?"

Jimin’s breath came shallow, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. He wanted to push Yoongi away, wanted to throw another sharp remark—but words failed him.

Because Yoongi’s eyes were pleading.

Not demanding.

Not challenging.

But pleading.

Jimin hated the way his resolve wavered.

"You know why," Jimin whispered, though the conviction in his voice was beginning to slip.

Yoongi exhaled a slow breath. His frustration shifted into something else—something darker, more primal.

His fingers slid from Jimin’s cheek to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair with a controlled urgency that sent a jolt of heat down Jimin’s spine.

Jimin gasped, but Yoongi didn’t give him a chance to process it.

Because in the next heartbeat—Yoongi’s lips crashed against his.

The kiss was a collision of frustration and desire, a desperate attempt to tear down the walls between them.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was raw. Overwhelming. Consuming.

Jimin’s first instinct was to resist—to push against Yoongi’s chest, to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to want this.

But then—Yoongi deepened the kiss.

And Jimin’s resolve shattered.

A shuddered breath left him as his lips parted beneath Yoongi’s, the taste of red wine and the faintest hint of the ocean breeze lingering between them.

Yoongi’s grip tightened in his hair, his other hand securing Jimin’s waist, holding him against him as if afraid he’d pull away.

Jimin’s fingers curled into the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt—gripping, clinging, torn between his desire to pull him closer and the warning alarms in his mind telling him to stop.

But stopping wasn’t an option.

Because Yoongi kissed like he meant it.

Like he had been starving for Jimin’s lips.

Like he was determined to make Jimin feel every ounce of emotion he couldn’t put into words.

Jimin whimpered into the kiss, his knees threatening to give out, his body betraying him in the worst way possible.

And the worst part?

He kissed Yoongi back.

Not hesitantly.

Not with reluctance.

But with equal intensity, as if he had been starving too.

A strangled noise left Yoongi’s throat—a low groan, filled with something Jimin couldn’t decipher—before he tilted his head and deepened the kiss even further, their tongues tangling in a dance of heat and desperation.

Jimin was dizzy, breathless, drowning in a sea of emotions that he wasn’t ready to face.

His hands fisted Yoongi’s shirt, pulling him closer—closer than they already were—as if their bodies weren’t already pressed together, as if Yoongi’s warmth wasn’t searing into his skin.

He felt like he was losing himself.

As if Yoongi was unraveling him one kiss at a time.

As the intensity of the kiss waned, leaving behind a charged, almost suffocating atmosphere, Jimin’s consciousness slowly reasserted itself.

His lips parted from Yoongi’s, a sharp gasp escaping him as reality came crashing down like an unforgiving wave.

A mixture of emotions—regret, brokenness, anger, humiliation—swirled violently within him, leaving his chest tight, his mind a chaotic mess.

His hands came up instinctively, pressing against Yoongi’s chest with a force that was both desperate and shaking.

"Stop," Jimin gasped, voice barely above a whisper as he pushed back—a feeble attempt to create distance, to escape the gravity of what just happened.

Yoongi's hands, once firm and possessive, loosened their grip as Jimin stumbled back, his breath uneven, his eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at the man in front of him.

The touch that had set his skin on fire just moments ago now felt like a brutal slap of reality.

How could he have done this?

How could he have kissed Yoongi back?

Yoongi—the man who had kidnapped him, who lived in a world drenched in blood and danger.

The man he was supposed to despise.

His heart pounded erratically, not from desire this time, but from self-condemnation.

His chest tightened, regret gnawing at him like a relentless beast.

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides. Tears threatened to spill, but he refused to let them.

He wouldn't break—not now.

Not in front of him.

A suffocating silence stretched between them, thick with everything neither of them could put into words.

Then, finally, Jimin’s voice cut through the silence—quiet, shaky, yet laced with undeniable hurt.

"Yoongi…" He took a step back, his entire body trembling with suppressed emotion. "Why… why did you do that?"

Yoongi stood there, still, almost unreadable—except for the flicker of something raw in his dark eyes.

"Baby, I thought…" He hesitated, his voice softer than Jimin had ever heard it. Regret seeped into his tone, as if he himself wasn’t sure anymore.

"I hoped you might feel good."

Feel good.

Jimin let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and sharp like broken glass.

"Feel good?" His voice cracked, his throat tightening with something dangerously close to tears.

"Yoongi, I hate you," he whispered, the words like a dagger to his own chest. Painful, but necessary.

"I hate what you've done."

The words hung between them like a blade suspended in the air, waiting to drop.

Yoongi flinched.

For the first time, his ever-composed exterior wavered—just slightly, but Jimin caught it.

And that made it worse.

Because for a moment—just a split second—Yoongi had looked… hurt.

But he had no right to be.

Not when Jimin was the one drowning in this mess.

Jimin’s breath hitched as shame flooded his entire being, heat rising to his cheeks.

He looked away quickly, unable to hold Yoongi’s gaze anymore.

Because if he did, he might crumble completely.

How could he have let this happen?

How could he have let his guard down, even for a moment?

The walls he had built so carefully—**the ones meant to protect him from the man standing before him—**had cracked.

And that realization alone terrified him.

The suffocating emotions clawing at his chest became too much.

"I need…" His voice wavered, so unlike the usual sharpness he carried when dealing with Yoongi.

"I need some space."

Yoongi didn’t move.

Didn’t try to stop him.

Didn’t say a word.

And somehow, that made it even worse.

Jimin turned on his heel, fleeing before he could second-guess himself.

He stumbled toward the couch, his legs weak with exhaustion—mental, emotional, and physical.

Collapsing onto it, he buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his temples as if trying to erase the memory of the kiss.

The sting of tears burned behind his eyes, but he clenched his jaw, holding them back.

He refused to break.

Not over this.

Not over him.

A heavy sigh filled the room—Yoongi’s.

Jimin didn't dare look up.

"I’m sorry," Yoongi murmured, voice softer than it had ever been before.

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.

"Just… leave me alone, Yoongi," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

A pause.

Then the soft sound of footsteps retreating.

And then, silence.

Jimin finally let out a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening in his hair.

Because no matter how much he wanted to hate Yoongi…

No matter how much he wanted to pretend that the kiss meant nothing…

His heart—the damn traitor that it was—told him otherwise.

The silence stretched long and heavy, a quiet chasm between them that no words could seem to bridge.

Yoongi lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the dim glow of the moon casting soft shadows across the room. But his gaze kept flickering to the couch, to him.

Jimin.

The man who lay just a few feet away—yet felt impossibly distant.

His back was turned, his body curled slightly inward as if he were shielding himself, not just from Yoongi but from the weight of the emotions pressing down on both of them.

Yoongi exhaled slowly, his chest tightening with an ache he didn’t know how to name.

He had thought—hoped—that their kiss might have meant something.

That for a fleeting moment, Jimin might have felt it too.

The pull between them. The tangled emotions, of pain and longing wrapped into one desperate moment.

But Jimin had pushed him away.

The rejection had settled deep into Yoongi’s bones, a sharp contrast to the warmth he had just held in his hands moments ago.

And now, all that warmth has turned cold.

Yoongi turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, eyes trailing over Jimin’s tense shoulders.

Was he awake?

Was he lying there, just like Yoongi, caught in an endless loop of regret and what-ifs?

Yoongi swallowed, fingers curling into the sheets.

He had never been good at this—at apologies, at softening himself, at putting his feelings into words.

But he knew—he knew—that this was different.

That if he didn’t at least try, Jimin would only drift further away.

"Jimin."

The name left his lips barely above a whisper, but in the stillness of the night, it felt deafening.

Jimin didn’t move.

Didn’t turn.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose before trying again.

"Jimin, I—" He hesitated, searching for the right words, but everything he wanted to say felt inadequate. He had done too much, hurt too much.

What could he possibly say now to make things right?

Jimin shifted slightly, but still, he didn’t speak.

Yoongi let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re not even gonna yell at me?"

That, at least, got a reaction.

Jimin’s fingers twitched where they rested on the edge of the couch cushion, a barely perceptible movement, but Yoongi caught it.

A tense pause.

And then, finally—

"What do you want, Yoongi?"

Yoongi stilled.

Jimin’s voice was quiet, laced with exhaustion, but not just from lack of sleep—it was the exhaustion of carrying too much pain for too long.

Yoongi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

What did he want? Just him.

He wanted to turn back time, undo everything that had led them here.

He wanted Jimin to look at him the way he once had—with fire, with defiance, with something other than the guarded pain he carried now.

He wanted Jimin to trust him again.

But he knew better than to say any of that.

Instead, he whispered, "I just... I didn’t mean to make things worse."

Jimin let out a soft, bitter laugh, the sound making Yoongi’s chest tighten. "You always make things worse."

Yoongi winced because—yeah. He did.

Silence settled again, but this time, it felt different.

Less suffocating.

More… expectant.

Yoongi hesitated before speaking again, voice lower, more uncertain. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Jimin let out a sharp exhale, finally turning just enough for Yoongi to see his profile in the moonlight.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes unreadable. But Yoongi could see it—the way his fingers clenched slightly, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

A war was waging inside him.

Yoongi knew that feeling well.

He had been waging his own war for years.

Jimin didn’t respond right away. And maybe that was worse than if he had yelled or cursed at him.

Because it meant Jimin was thinking.

And thinking meant there was still something left between them—whether it was hatred, or something more, Yoongi wasn’t sure.

"Get some sleep, Yoongi," Jimin finally murmured, voice barely audible.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It wasn’t acceptance.

But it also wasn’t a complete rejection.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Yoongi nodded, even though Jimin wasn’t looking.

"Yeah," he whispered, lying back down. "You too."

Jimin didn’t reply.

But as Yoongi closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sound of Jimin’s breathing just a few feet away, he knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

----

The first golden rays of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the quiet room. The world outside was still cloaked in stillness, the city yet to fully wake. The only sound was the faint rustling of fabric as Yoongi shifted under the covers, his body instinctively stirring from sleep.

His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. His mind was still clouded with remnants of sleep, but before he could process anything else, his gaze landed on him.

Jimin.

Lying curled up on the couch, his form relaxed in the embrace of sleep.

Yoongi's breath caught in his throat, his heart momentarily forgetting its rhythm. Beautiful. That was the only word his drowsy mind could conjure as he took in the sight before him.

The soft rise and fall of Jimin’s chest. The way his lashes fanned out over his cheeks, casting delicate shadows against his skin. The slight parting of his lips, as if he was lost in a dream too gentle to wake from.

A small smile ghosted over Yoongi’s lips. He looked so peaceful like this.

For a moment, he simply lay there, watching, soaking in the quiet serenity of the morning.

Then, careful not to make a sound, he shifted the blanket off his frame and sat up. The air was cool against his skin, but it barely registered. His attention was solely on Jimin.

Slowly, he stood, his footsteps light against the floor as he padded towards the couch. He lowered himself to one knee beside it, his face now level with Jimin’s. Close enough to count the tiny freckles that dusted his nose.

His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, to trace the curve of Jimin’s lips, to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. To touch. To hold.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he simply gazed, his heart swelling with something deep and unspoken.

Jimin shifted slightly in his sleep, a small, unconscious sigh escaping his lips. Yoongi felt a pang in his chest—an ache, a longing.

Even so, he was still here.

Still close enough to reach.

Yoongi exhaled softly, watching as Jimin’s brows furrowed slightly in his sleep. A faint twitch of his fingers, a subtle stirring. The first signs of wakefulness.

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

He’s waking up.

Panic flared in his chest for a fleeting second, a foolish, instinctive reaction. He wasn’t ready for Jimin to catch him staring—to see the emotions etched so plainly on his face.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, rising to his feet with one last lingering glance before retreating towards the bathroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Inside, he turned on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence. He splashed cool water onto his face, attempting to wash away the heat still lingering beneath his skin.

But even as the droplets trickled down his face, the image of Jimin remained burned into his mind.

The way he looked, so unguarded, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Yoongi closed his eyes, pressing his palms against the counter.

He had never been good at waiting. Never been patient when it came to the things he wanted.

But for Jimin—for the chance to mend what had been broken—he would wait as long as it took.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed and dressed, he saw Jimin slowly stirring on the couch.

A lazy stretch, the softest of groans slipping from his lips as he shifted onto his back. His lids fluttered open, revealing the warm brown of his eyes, still heavy with sleep.

Yoongi stood frozen in place.

Their gazes met—just for a second.

And in that fleeting moment, Yoongi felt it again.

That pull. That unspoken something.

It was fragile, like the first light of dawn.

And yet, it was there.

Jimin blinked sluggishly, the remnants of sleep still clinging to his heavy lids. His body stretched lazily against the couch, a soft groan slipping past his lips as his muscles protested the awkward sleeping position. The moment his senses started sharpening, he became acutely aware of something—or rather, **someone—**watching him.

His gaze lifted, still drowsy and unfocused, and landed on Yoongi.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Jimin’s breath hitched slightly, his heart giving an unexpected lurch at the sight before him. Yoongi stood near the bathroom door, dressed in simple black slacks and a loose button-up, his damp hair tousled as if he had run his fingers through it absentmindedly.

The sunlight filtering through the window cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the subtle tiredness in his sharp features—the shadow of restless thoughts lingering in his dark eyes.

Jimin swallowed thickly, breaking eye contact first.

The weight of last night still hung between them, a silent presence in the air.

The kiss.

The regret.

The distance that neither of them knew how to close.

Jimin exhaled softly, willing his heart to slow as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His body still felt heavy with exhaustion, but he ignored it, dragging a hand through his slightly disheveled hair.

He didn’t expect Yoongi to say anything. Didn’t expect him to move.

But then, just as Jimin swung his legs over the couch, preparing to stand, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps.

Yoongi was walking toward him.

Jimin tensed. Instinctively, his fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket draped over him, as if it could serve as a barrier between them.

But Yoongi didn’t come too close.

Instead, he stopped just a few feet away, hesitating for a second before placing a glass of water on the small table beside the couch.

Jimin’s eyes flickered to it—then back to Yoongi, wary.

“I thought you might need it,” Yoongi murmured, his voice low, careful.

Jimin’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard.

It wasn’t an apology.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was just this.

A small, wordless act of care.

Jimin’s fingers hovered over the glass for a brief second before he hesitantly picked it up, bringing it to his lips. The coolness of the water helped soothe the dryness in his throat, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

Yoongi was still standing there, watching him carefully—like he was afraid one wrong move would send Jimin retreating again.

And maybe… maybe he was right.

Jimin set the glass down with a quiet clink, running his thumb over the rim in contemplation. His heart felt heavy, conflicted, torn between the emotions warring inside him.

He didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to acknowledge the turmoil within him, or the strange, suffocating warmth that had surfaced when he saw Yoongi first thing in the morning.

So instead, he said nothing.

Instead, he let the silence stretch between them—thick, fragile, unresolved. And Yoongi, for once, didn’t try to break it.

But as Jimin sat there, his fingers absently tightening around the blanket, he couldn’t help but feel—

That space had never felt more suffocating.

Jimin lingered on the couch for a moment longer, gripping the blanket loosely in his hands before exhaling softly. Without another word, he stood up and made his way toward the bathroom, feeling Yoongi’s gaze on his back but choosing not to acknowledge it.

The cool water against his skin was refreshing, washing away the remnants of sleep and the heaviness that had settled over him since last night. He took his time getting ready, slipping into a warm beige coloured fluffy sweater and a sleek black coat, paired with fitted trousers that complimented his frame. His platinum blonde hair, still slightly damp, fell naturally over his forehead, giving him a soft yet refined look.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, he found Yoongi waiting near the window, arms loosely crossed over his chest as he gazed at the cityscape beyond.

At the sound of the door opening, Yoongi turned, his sharp eyes sweeping over Jimin briefly before he spoke.

“Taehyung and Jungkook are waiting in the lobby,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We need to head down. It’s the first day of our honeymoon, and we have plans.”

Jimin blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Honeymoon.

Right.

This was supposed to be their honeymoon.

An odd feeling settled in his chest at the thought, but he quickly pushed it aside, nodding once before grabbing his phone and slipping it into his coat pocket.

Without another word, they left the room together.

The elevator ride down was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the moving machinery. Jimin kept his gaze forward, his expression unreadable, while Yoongi stood beside him, his hands in his pockets.

When the doors finally slid open, the sight that greeted them was one of warmth and familiarity.

Taehyung and Jungkook stood near the grand lobby, chatting animatedly with each other. Jungkook, dressed in a stylish yet comfortable sweater and coat, was gesturing excitedly while Taehyung, ever the picture of elegance in his oversized wool coat and turtleneck, chuckled at something his husband said.

As soon as they spotted Jimin and Yoongi, Taehyung’s lips stretched into a wide, boxy grin.

“There you two are!” he said, striding toward them. “We were just about to come up and drag you out.”

Jungkook laughed, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, we thought you might need extra motivation after last night.”

At that, Jimin stiffened ever so slightly, and Yoongi’s expression darkened just a fraction. But before the air could turn heavy, Taehyung looped an arm around Jimin’s shoulders, steering him toward the dining hall.

“Come on, let’s eat first. We have a full day ahead of us, and I refuse to deal with Jungkook’s grumpy side if he doesn’t get breakfast.”

Jungkook scoffed but didn’t deny it, making Taehyung smirk.

Jimin, grateful for the distraction, allowed himself to relax slightly as they settled into a private section of the hotel's dining area. The morning sun spilled through the tall glass windows, casting a golden glow over the elegantly set table. The air was filled with the rich aroma of fresh coffee, warm pastries, and the subtle hum of soft music playing in the background.

Breakfast was a mixture of lighthearted conversations and quiet indulgence.

Jimin mostly listened as Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged playful banter, with Yoongi occasionally chiming in with dry yet amusing remarks.

Jimin remained relatively quiet, focusing on his meal, but he could feel Yoongi’s gaze on him every now and then.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Watching. Waiting.

And despite himself, Jimin wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

For now, though, he simply sipped his coffee, letting the warmth spread through him, knowing that the day had only just begun.