RESET -The Aftermath (S2)

Chapter 1: The Phantom of Mayfair

Hey lovelies... 🥹💜

Here is Season 2 of RESET - The Aftermath.

I'm not really sure if you'll like it or not... and that's actually the reason I asked if anyone wanted a Season 2. 😅

Honestly, I had almost decided to drop the idea of publishing Season 2 because there's so much-okay, maybe not THAT much 😂-emotional content in this one. Even I don't know what was going through my mind when I wrote this story. I assume I wrote it when I was in a really bad mood. 😭😂

Anyways...

Then these two lovelies,
<⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠↗ @tammibee3 and @fazijmjk, commented that they wanted it _ season 2. Thank you cuties for the support 🫂💖💗

So... here I am, with RESET - The Aftermath. 🥹💜

I'm still a little anxious about this one, not gonna lie. 🥲(⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

So please, do leave me your reviews after reading! I genuinely want to know what you think about this season. Your comments mean a lot to me and will help me know whether I did right or not.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

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Happy reading, lovelies! 🌙☀️(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

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The London rain was relentless. It hit the pavement in heavy, rhythmic sheets, washing away the heat of late autumn and leaving behind an icy, persistent dampness.

At 1:00 AM outside an ultra-exclusive Mayfair establishment, the heavy double doors swung open, spilling golden light, soft jazz, and quiet laughter onto the wet street.

Park Jimin stepped out first.

He looked immaculate. His silver hair caught the reflection of the crimson neon sign overhead, and his dark, tailored coat clung perfectly to his broad shoulders. Beside him, Lucas held an umbrella, shielding him effortlessly while speaking softly into an earpiece to coordinate their driver.

"The Asian market reports will be on your desk by nine, Chim," Lucas said, adjusting his watch. "Our driver is two minutes out."

"Good," Jimin replied quietly. His voice was smooth, low, and completely devoid of exhaustion despite working an eighteen-hour day.

Jimin reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a sleek silver lighter to ignite a thin clove cigarette. He took a slow, deliberate drag, the amber ember glowing in the dim night. As he exhaled a plume of grey smoke into the cold air, his eyes casually swept the dark alleyway across the street.

And there it was.

Hidden beneath the shadowy overhang of a closed bookstore across the street sat a figure.

Wearing a drenched, oversized black hoodie, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, Jeon Jungkook was leaned against the brick wall. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, rain dripping steadily from the tips of his bangs down his pale, hollowed cheeks.

He didn't move. He didn't approach. He simply stood in the freezing rain, his large, dark eyes fixed onto Jimin with an intensity that bordered on feverish, silent devotion.

Lucas followed Jimin's gaze, his jaw tightening immediately as he spotted the figure. He let out a low, irritated sigh.

"He's been standing there since 8:00 PM," Lucas muttered, his voice sharp with distaste. "It's been eighteen months of this, Jimin. Ever since he tracked you down in London, he follows you like a dying dog. Do you want me to have security handle him tonight? One call to the local authorities and-"

"No," Jimin interrupted smoothly, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. His voice didn't carry a single trace of anger, pity, or surprise. It was completely flat.

"Leave him, Lucas."

"Chim, it's freezing out here. He's going to drop dead on the curb one of these days," Lucas argued gently, genuinely disturbed by the ghost-like existence of the boy who used to be Korea's most arrogant campus heartthrob.

Jimin slowly turned his head to look at Lucas, his dark eyes void of warmth.

"If he dies, he dies," Jimin said softly, his voice cutting through the sound of the falling rain like a razor blade. "His life is not my responsibility. It never was."

At that moment, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Lucas opened the door. Jimin flicked his cigarette butt into the wet gutter, stepped into the warmth of the leather interior, and pulled the door shut.

As the car glided away into the dark London streets, Jimin didn't glance out the tinted back window once.

Across the street, Jungkook watched the red taillights of the Maybach vanish into the foggy distance.

His body was shaking uncontrollably, his skin numb from hours of standing in the cold, wet air. But inside his chest, his heart beat with a terrifying, singular purpose.

He didn't care about the cold. He didn't care that he lived in a tiny, cramped studio apartment in a rough part of east London. He didn't care that he had abandoned his degree, his wealthy family, and his entire life in Seoul to work double shifts at a dingy local diner just to pay rent in the same city as Jimin.

For eighteen months, JK had lived as a phantom.

He never spoke to Jimin. He never tried to touch him. He knew he didn't deserve to breathe the same air, let alone ask for forgiveness. Standing in the shadows, watching Jimin thrive-watching the man Jimin had become, powerful, cold, and untouchable-was the only punishment JK allowed himself.

As long as I can see him, JK thought, his lips blue as he took a shivering, ragged breath, staring at the empty street where the car had been. As long as he exists under the same sky... I can endure this.

He pulled his damp hood lower over his face and began his long, quiet walk into the dark, indifferent night.