𓍯 ִֶָ Jungkook .ᐟ

The flames weren't literal. But everything in the house was burning: ripped-out photos, open suitcases, empty drawers. Jungkook entered and knew it immediately. This time, it wasn't a threat. It was real.
She stood in front of the mirror. She wasn't looking at herself. She was wiping her face with slow movements, removing the dried tears, the remnants of what love she had left. Her eyes were swollen, but empty. The rage, the pain, the pride: all compressed into a calm that was more frightening than the screams.
"Are you leaving?"
His voice was low. But it sounded like a gunshot.
She didn't answer immediately. She took her time to close the last zipper of her backpack. Then she looked at him, from the reflection in the mirror.
—I left a long time ago. I just came to look for what's left of me.
Jungkook took a step. He wanted to hold her back. He wanted to shout at her to stay, to try again, not to leave him with that taste of defeat in his mouth. But his pride weighed more heavily on him than his guilt.
"Do you really think you can erase me like that?"