chapter 2

Three months into the marriage, the Jeon house felt different in a way Taehyung couldn’t explain. Not because of the house itself, but because Minji’s presence had slowly begun to fill every corner. She lived with them, always had, but earlier she kept to her own world—going to classes, hanging out with friends, rarely bothering him. But after the wedding, she attached herself to Jungkook as if she had suddenly remembered she had a brother to claim.

Mornings became the worst. Taehyung always woke first, slipping out of Jungkook’s hold carefully so he wouldn’t disturb him. Jungkook didn’t hold him romantically anymore, not the way he used to, but his arm rested over Taehyung’s waist out of habit from when things were good. Taehyung always wished that small touch meant something. But the moment Jungkook woke up, he shifted away, running a hand through his hair with a tired sigh as if carrying a weight Taehyung couldn’t see.

Taehyung cooked every morning—sometimes Jungkook’s favourites, sometimes new recipes. But before Jungkook even entered the dining hall, Minji was always there, sitting in his chair, scrolling through her phone, acting like the queen of the house.

“Oh, he made kimchi fried rice again,” she would say loudly the second Taehyung placed the bowl. “Didn’t you make this just two days ago? Do you even know how to cook anything else?”

Taehyung would simply say softly, “Jungkook likes it,” and Minji would roll her eyes like his words were nothing but noise.

When Jungkook came down, Minji instantly brightened, smiling wider than she ever smiled at anyone else. She clung to his arm, blocking Taehyung’s view, talking over him so Jungkook barely even heard Taehyung’s “Good morning.”

Breakfast used to be peaceful, but now Minji talked nonstop, making sure Taehyung never got a chance to speak. Jungkook didn’t realise it. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Every time Taehyung tried to join the conversation, Minji answered for Jungkook, made a joke, or dismissed him so smoothly that it looked completely normal.

At first Jungkook would glance at Taehyung, maybe offer a small smile of apology. But slowly, even that faded. His eyes rarely met Taehyung’s in the mornings. He ate silently while Minji filled his ears with stories, complaints, or exaggerated sighs about “how some people don’t know how to keep a house tidy.”

Taehyung started talking less—not because Jungkook shut him down, but because there was no space left to talk in.

Evenings weren’t better. Jungkook used to come home early, kiss Taehyung’s cheek, and ask how his day was. But now he came late more often, followed by Minji, both laughing about something he never knew. When Taehyung asked softly if he should reheat dinner, Jungkook would shrug and say he already ate with his sister.

One night, after waiting for hours with untouched food growing cold on the table, Taehyung quietly sat alone, staring at the empty seat where Jungkook always used to sit. He didn’t cry; he just swallowed the heaviness in his chest and collected the dishes, hands trembling slightly. He told himself it wasn’t intentional. Jungkook wasn’t cruel—just busy, distracted, tired. But the same excuses every night slowly began to sound like lies he told himself just to stay standing.

In bed, Jungkook still lay next to him, but their backs faced each other now. Taehyung would turn slightly, wanting to whisper goodnight, wanting to ask if everything was alright between them. But he never got the courage. Jungkook seemed so far away even though they shared the same blanket.

Sometimes Taehyung wondered if Jungkook even remembered that they used to talk in the dark until one of them fell asleep.

Minji’s words slowly seeped into everything—her criticisms, her subtle complaints, her dramatic sighs whenever Taehyung entered the room. She always made it look like Taehyung was the one causing small inconveniences, and Jungkook slowly began reacting to Taehyung with small irritations he never had before.

If Taehyung forgot something, even a tiny thing, Jungkook sighed.

If Taehyung tried too hard, Jungkook grew quiet.

If Taehyung hovered, Jungkook stepped back.

If Taehyung distanced himself, Jungkook didn’t notice.

It wasn’t hatred.

It wasn’t anger.

It was absence.

Taehyung could feel Jungkook slipping away from him inch by inch, day by day, and he still had no idea why.

He had no idea Minji whispered things to Jungkook when he wasn’t around.

He had no idea she twisted his actions into something else.

He had no idea Jungkook believed her more and more with every passing week.

He only knew one thing: