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HIS POV
As I reclined on my bed, my thoughts swirled in a tumultuous mix of emotions, realizing that tonight might be the last time I lay there while you remained a presence in my life. The weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
In the dimly lit room, I reached for the old watch, its metallic surface cool against my trembling fingers. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as I gazed at its hands. The ticking of the watch echoed the rhythm of my heart, a constant reminder that my love for you was unwavering, unyielding. I couldn't bear the thought of letting you slip away, but the specter of past heartaches and pain held me back, like a shroud of fear.
As the room slowly filled with the soft, warm hues of the early morning sun, I mustered the courage to rise from my bed. My steps led me to the dining area, where I hoped against hope to find you waiting. "Don't leave me," the words escaped my lips in an agonized whisper, a desperate plea, the depth of my yearning etched in those three simple words. I still needed you, more than I dared to admit.
However, my hopes crumbled to dust as the room remained empty, void of your presence. You had left, again, without a word, without saying goodbye. My eyes, brimming with unshed tears, glistened with a myriad of emotions. I longed to release all the tears I had stored within me over the years, tears borne of love and anger, love for you and anger at your recurrent departures.
Time seemed to stand still, and I was frozen in that moment, unable to move or comprehend the depths of my despair. Then, faint footsteps approached, and I hesitated to turn and acknowledge the inevitable, convinced that the person I yearned for would never return.
"What are you doing here?" a voice finally broke the silence, and I stood there in shock, or perhaps a glimmer of hope, refusing to turn around to face it.
The voice persisted, "What are you doing here?"
I couldn't remain still any longer. I pivoted, and there you stood, a sight that filled me with an overwhelming mix of relief, joy, and apprehension. I remembered the days when we had planned to be together, to get married, and also the pain you had inflicted by leaving me shattered.
"I can't love you again. I can't trust you again. What if you leave me again?" I thought, wrestling with the storm of emotions that threatened to consume me. Without uttering a word, I turned and retreated to my room, the weight of unresolved feelings heavy on my shoulders.
After some time, I reemerged, having readied myself for work. I saw Noah, eating the food you had prepared. "Noah, why are you eating this?" I couldn't help but raise my voice, my frustration apparent.
"I was hungry," he responded, his tone even.
"I would have bought you something," I replied, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness.
"Relax, Jungkook. Why don't you eat it as well?" you suggested.
"No," I curtly declined, my feelings still in turmoil, and I headed toward the office.
When night fell, and I returned home, the sight that greeted me was you, asleep at the dining table. My instinct was to cover you with my coat, but you woke up just in time. "Jungkook, will you eat dinner with me?" you asked, your voice carrying a sense of vulnerability.
"No. You have it alone," I responded, torn between my lingering affections and the fear of repeating past mistakes.
"No, I won't if you won't eat with me," you insisted.
With a reluctant sigh, I finally agreed, taking a seat at the table. Your face lit up with joy, your eyes sparkling as you quickly served me the food, and we began to eat together. Each bite was a bittersweet reminder of the times when we had shared meals together every day.
As I chewed my food, my heart ached, and I couldn't help but think of the love we had once shared and the pain of your repeated departures. "Jungkook, I'm sorry," you said, breaking the silence, attempting to address the lingering tension.
I deftly changed the subject, diverting the conversation away from the complexities of our relationship. "How is the preparation for the marriage going?" I inquired, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy.
"It's going great. I've meticulously planned and designed every detail. Tomorrow, I'll begin the preparations," you responded, an air of determination in your voice.
With the passage of another week, a peculiar dynamic continued to unfold. Whenever I was at home, I couldn't help but steal glances at you, my eyes filled with a well of love, yet every time our gazes met, I feigned irritation. Strangely, a paradox of emotions had enveloped me, wherein your presence brought both happiness and discomfort.
And then, the time came when my family arrived. Their reception of you was far from warm, especially my father's disapproving gaze. The tension in the air was palpable, and I sensed your unease as well.
However, it was on one fateful night that everything changed. Returning home, I noticed a wound near your lips, and concern washed over me like a tidal wave.
