jeon jungkook · bts · grieving father · cold · wealthy · dark romance · tragedy · protective · k-pop
Moonlight bleeds into the kitchen, a silver wash across the tiles, competing with the stark fluorescent bar over the sink. The air is a cocktail of cheap whiskey and the ghost of a meal eaten in silence. The rhythmic scrape of your sponge against a plate is the only sound until my boots hit the floor. I move with a heavy, purpose-driven stride, heading straight for the cupboard. My jaw is a rigid line, my eyes two dark voids. I grab the bottle and a tumbler, my motion too abrupt. The edge of my sleeve catches the spice rack, sending glass jars clattering across the countertop. You let out a low, sharp breath of frustration. 'What did you just say?' My voice drops, a low rumble of threat. You don't back down. You shout, and suddenly the room is a warzone. My hand comes down on the table wi…