Secretly Yours 💕 💕 💕 Vmin

Ep.23 "Bad Hyung"

In Taehyung’s Room

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating like the echo of his own racing heart. He leaned against it, chest heaving, each breath sharp and ragged. His lips parted as though he could still taste the sweetness of the moment he had stolen.

Then reality struck.

A single tear traced a burning path down his cheek, a betrayal of the turmoil surging inside. He pressed his fist to the wall, trembling fingers tightening until his knuckles turned ghostly pale.

“What… was I thinking?” The whisper barely broke the silence, choked and raw.

Frustration ignited into fury. He punched the wall once, the dull thud reverberating through his arm. Then again—harder. Each strike was a futile attempt to beat the truth out of himself. His skin flared red, his breath hitched with pain, but nothing silenced the storm within.

Images flooded his mind—Jimin’s soft lips yielding to his own, the faint hitch of his breath, the warmth of his skin. The first kiss had been innocent, a fleeting moment Taehyung had refused to acknowledge. But this… this had been undeniable.

“What kind of hyung am I? A BAD HYUNG…” His voice cracked under the weight of the words. He clenched his teeth, the truth tasting bitter on his tongue.
“How could I feel this way about him? My own little brother?”

He felt sick, shame gnawing at his very core. “A good hyung protects… not craves. Not… kisses.” His breath shuddered. “I’m supposed to guide him, not… want him.”

But no matter how harshly he scolded himself, his body betrayed him—his lips still tingled with the memory of Jimin’s kiss, his heart refusing to calm.

He sank to the floor, head in his hands, whispering the words that haunted him. “I’M A BAD HYUNG. A BAD HYUNG.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°

MEANWHILE, IN JIMIN’S ROOM

Jimin lay across his bed like a dreamer caught between sleep and waking. His heart raced, a joyous rhythm he couldn’t quiet. Hugging his pillow, he bit his lip to contain the giddy laughter bubbling inside.

He rolled onto his side, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing with triumph. “He kissed me.” The words were breathless, a secret he could barely contain.

Memories of their lips meeting swirled through his mind—how Taehyung’s touch had lingered, how his body had moved closer, not away. If Taehyung didn’t feel something for him, he would’ve pushed him aside, scolded him like an elder brother.

But He Hadn’t.

Jimin’s fingers grazed his lips, where the ghost of the kiss still lingered. His eyes sparkled with mischief and certainty. “I felt it.” His voice was a whisper, soft as moonlight. “He wanted it.”

The way Taehyung’s breath had mingled with his, the hunger that pulsed between them—those were not the actions of a brother.

Jimin buried his face in his pillow, his heart thudding with triumph. His plan had worked, and the warmth of victory wrapped around him. He closed his eyes, a smile curving his lips as he whispered into the darkness, “YOU’RE MINE, KIM TAEHYUNG.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Next Morning

The sun crept stubbornly through the gap in Taehyung’s heavy curtains, casting thin rays of golden light across the floor and grazing the edge of his bed. His face remained half-buried in the pillow, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His head throbbed, a dull ache born of restless sleep and endless torment.

His eyes blinked open, red-rimmed and heavy with exhaustion. The ceiling above loomed blank and empty, much like his thoughts—except for one vivid, searing memory.

THE KISS.

His lips tingled with the phantom sensation, the press of Jimin’s mouth against his own burned into his mind. His scent—sweet like fresh strawberries and warm like sunshine—lingered faintly in his nostrils, a haunting reminder of what had transpired.

A sharp pain clenched his chest. His heart pounded, each beat an unforgiving drum of shame and longing.

I kissed him.

The truth weighed on him like chains. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to sit up. The sheets slid down his bare torso, crumpled around his waist like the remnants of a battle he had lost. His breath came in shallow gasps.

I’m his hyung. His protector. Not someone who— He couldn’t finish the thought. It clawed at his soul, raw and merciless.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the cold wooden floor. His head throbbed with each heartbeat, a cruel rhythm that matched his guilt. He rubbed his temples, fingers pressing hard against the ache as if he could will it away.

The room was quiet, oppressive. The air seemed too thick, the silence too loud.

He stood slowly, his movements stiff and deliberate, like a man carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. His bare feet made soft thuds as he padded toward the bathroom. The door creaked faintly when he pushed it open.

Steam fogged the mirror as he turned on the shower. Hot water cascaded down in a steady rush, a promise of temporary solace. He stepped in without hesitation, letting the heat scald his skin. It burned, but it wasn’t enough to cleanse him.

He braced his hands against the tiled wall, water streaming down his face, mingling with the tears he refused to acknowledge. His mind raced, fragments of last night tormenting him in vivid detail—the softness of Jimin’s lips, the way his breath had hitched, the innocent trust in his eyes.

I wanted it.

He slammed a fist against the wall, water splashing around him. The truth was undeniable, sharp and brutal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. But the words felt hollow. Meaningless.

He shut off the shower with a sharp twist of the knob. Water dripped from his hair, his skin flushed red from the heat. He grabbed a towel, rubbing it roughly over his face as if he could scrub away the shame.

When he stepped back into his room, the air felt heavier. He moved mechanically, pulling a faded pair of jeans from a drawer. His fingers trembled as he slipped them on, the denim rough against his damp skin.

He stood by the window, his hands gripping the edge of the sill. His reflection stared back at him, pale and drawn, eyes dark with turmoil.

What am I going to say to him?

He closed his eyes. Jimin’s face flashed behind his lids—his bright smile, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes sparkled with warmth.

He doesn’t know. He’s young, confused. He’ll regret it if I let this continue.

He swallowed hard. The memory of the kiss lingered like a bruise—tender, painful, unforgettable.

His grip tightened. I have to protect him. Even if it means—

But the door opened anyway.

“Hyung,” came the soft, familiar voice.

His breath caught. His eyes opened slowly, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

And the storm raged on.