The ride to Yoongi's apartment was suffocating. The silence in the car felt heavier than words could ever be. Jimin sat beside Seokjin, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart raced, his mind spinning in circles, whispering desperate prayers he didn't even realize he was saying in his head.

Let this be nothing. Let this be some coincidence. Yoongi isn't... he can't be.

The door to the apartment creaked open, and the cops wasted no time. They spread out, opening drawers, pulling clothes out of closets, flipping through every inch of Yoongi's and his apartment.

Jimin stood near the entrance, his feet glued to the floor. He didn't move. He couldn't. His eyes darted around the room, familiar yet foreign becauseof the chaos around him. The couch where Yoongi and he would cuddle and sleep. The small table where they'd shared late-night snacks. The picture frame slightly tilted on the shelf, a photo of him, grinning and Yoongi with that rare, genuine smile.

Please, let this be nothing.

Please God.

Not him.

But then -

"Found something!"

The words shot through the apartment like a bullet.

Jimin lost his footing as he stumbled forward, following the voice that had shattered the fragile hope he was clinging to. He reached Yoongi's bedroom, the door wide open, and saw one of the cops standing in front of an open drawer.

In his hands -

A black hoodie. A navy coloured cap with a black lining.

The same hoodie and cap worn by the murderer in the CCTV footage from Jihoon's case.

Jimin's vision blurred. The walls seemed to close in around him, the sounds muffled, distant.

Seokjin moved forward, his expression hardening. That was all the proof he needed.

"We'll arrest him now" Seokjin muttered, his voice sharp.

"Get me the bank details emailed right now" He barked to one of the cops.

But before anyone could say another word

Laughter.

It echoed through the small room, sharp and sudden.

Everyone turned.

Jimin is laughing.

Not the kind of laughter that came from joy. No, this was different unnatural, raw, like it was being ripped straight from somewhere deep inside him. It filled the space, cutting through the tension, but it wasn't comforting. It was heartbreaking.

He clutched his stomach, his shoulders shaking, tears mixing with the sound escaping his lips. His laughter felt like glass shattering fragments of denial, pain, disbelief.

Seokjin didn't say anything. He just watched, his jaw tight, his heart heavy.

Because he understood. He is very much aware of their closeness.

Jimin wasn't laughing because it was funny.

He was laughing because the truth hurt more than anything else ever could.

The laughter faded, leaving an eerie silence hanging in the room like thick smoke. It didn't end abruptly, it died slowly, like a flame suffocating without air, until there was nothing left but echoes bouncing off the walls.

Jimin's shoulders slumped, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. His face was flushed, tears dried in uneven streaks down his cheeks. The warmth from the laughter had long vanished, leaving behind a hollow shell, an emptiness so profound it felt like the room itself grew colder.

He slowly lifted his head, his gaze locking with Seokjin's.

But it wasn't the same gaze Seokjin had known.

Gone was the fire, the stubborn determination, the flicker of hope, the warmth,the feeling of being loved, and the deep sensation of loving that had once danced in his eyes.

All that remained was nothingness.

Jimin's voice broke through the silence, flat and stripped of any emotion, just... words.

"Yoongi is at Prime Life Hospital as we speak."

His tone was calm, too calm. The kind of calm that comes after a storm has destroyed everything in its path. The kind that didn't mean peace, but surrender.

"You can do whatever you want to," he added, his eyes never blinking, never flinching. They were void like staring into a well with no bottom.

Then, his lips parted one last time, delivering the final blow, not to Yoongi but to himself.

"Just make sure he should suffer."

No tremor in his voice. No hesitation.

And with those words, it was as if Jimin unraveled.

Not in loud sobs, not in violent outbursts.

But quietly.

Like a light switching off.

His face expressionless. His posture rigid. His eyes empty, like he wasn't really there anymore.

This wasn't just heartbreak. This was the aftermath of betrayal carved deep into someone's soul.

Jimin wasn't just asking for justice.

He was mourning the death of someone who was still alive.

.
.
.
.

The sterile white walls of the hospital felt like they were closing in on Yoongi, suffocating him with each passing second. His eyes, dry and heavy, remained fixed on the glowing red "IN OPERATION" sign above the door. It had been hours, but time felt distorted, stretching and collapsing all at once. The rhythmic beeping of machines down the hall became the only thing tethering him to reality.

Jimin hadn't come back yet.

Yoongi checked his phone again. No messages. No missed calls. Just the silent screen staring back at him like an unanswered question.

Another hour bled into the next. His legs are numb from sitting, but he couldn't bring himself to move. His hands trembled slightly, clasped together in silent prayer, though he wasn't sure if he was praying to anyone in particular. Maybe to the universe.

Then click.

The red light turned green.

The door creaked open, and doctors began to step out, their masks lowered, revealing faint smiles small but enough to ignite hope. Yoongi shot to his feet, his heart racing, legs nearly giving out from the sudden movement.

"The transplantation was successful," the lead surgeon announced gently, pulling off his gloves a small smile etched on his lips. "She's free from cancer."

For a moment, Yoongi didn't process the words. They floated in the sterile air like fragments, refusing to land. But then like a wave crashing over him they hit.

His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled back, catching himself against the wall. A breath he didn't realize he'd been holding escaped, shaky and uneven. His chest tightened not with fear this time, but overwhelming relief. His vision blurred with tears he couldn't hold back anymore, cascading freely down his face.

She is okay.

Yura is okay.

A soft, broken laugh slipped from his lips as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. His little sister is going to live. She has a future now a life beyond hospital walls, IV drips, and sterile sheets.

And the first person he wants to share this with is Jimin.

With trembling fingers, Yoongi pulled out his phone, dialing Jimin's number. The ringing felt longer than usual, each tone a stretch of anticipation.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

No answer.

He frowned but didn't think much of it. Maybe Jimin is still at the police station or caught up with something. He redialed.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

Again, no answer.

His thumb hovered over the call button. He dialed again.

Ring... Ring...

Still nothing.

Yoongi stared at the screen, Jimin's name glowing back at him like an echo.

Yoongi sat in the hospital cafeteria, fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. His phone rested on the table, screen glowing with the same unanswered call.

Jimin isn't picking up.

A feeling of unease clawed at his chest, refusing to let go. He had already signed all the necessary papers, met Yura who is still sedated but looked healthier than she ever did. Her skin had color now, a glow of life instead of sickness. That should've been enough to calm him. But it wasn't.

His foot tapped restlessly against the floor. The coffee tasted bitter, untouched since the moment he bought it. His phone buzzed. Hope flickered for a split second only to be extinguished when he realized it wasn't Jimin. Just a message from the hospital about Yura's post-op care.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. Something is wrong.

Then he felt it.

A shift in the air. A presence behind him.

Yoongi turned, and his entire body tensed.

Seokjin stood a few feet away, two uniformed officers flanking him on either side. His face was unreadable, but his eyes his eyes held something, anger?

"Min Yoongi," Seokjin's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "You're under arrest for the murder of Jihoon."

The voices in the cafeteria, the clinking of utensils, the low hum of the vending machine none of it registered by Yoongi as he heard what officer Seokjin voiced out. He barely felt the cold steel of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists.

Murder?

Jihoon?

The words sounded foreign, disconnected from reality. This had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding.

"What...?" His voice came out hoarse, almost distant.

Seokjin met his gaze, firm and unwavering. "Jihoon's murder, Yoongi. You're being taken in for interrogation."

Yoongi opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his mind clouded with a lot of questions. He didn't resist as they pulled him to his feet, too stunned to process what was happening.

Jimin.

Where is Jimin?

Did he know about this?

Did he find out he was working with Zack to hide the murderer?

They led him out of the cafeteria, past the curious and confused gazes of strangers.

The car ride to the police station felt longer than it should have. Yoongi sat in the backseat, his wrists cold against the metal of the handcuffs, his heart pounding with a fear unlike anything he'd felt before. It wasn't the fear of being arrested. No, it was something worse the fear that his lies had caught up to him.

His mind raced. Did Jimin find out?
Does he know I lied?
That he knew Jihoon was murdered all along and still tried to steer him away from the truth?

The thought of Jimin's face twisted with betrayal made his chest ache more than the tightness of the cuffs.

He had somehow convinced himself that once he will tell Jimin his reason to lie, Jimin will understand. Won't he?

The car finally screeched to a stop. Seokjin pulled the door open, his face stern and unyielding as he motioned for Yoongi to step out. The fluorescent lights of the police station felt too bright, almost blinding as they led him down cold hallways, his footsteps echoing like accusations.

The interrogation room was colder. Sterile walls. A metal table. Two chairs. One for Seokjin. One for him.

Yoongi sat, his heart racing, breath shallow. His fingers trembled slightly, resting against the cold surface of the table. The silence in the room was suffocating, only broken when Seokjin finally spoke.

"Why did you kill Jihoon?"

The words hit Yoongi like a physical blow.

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. "What?"

Seokjin's gaze didn't waver. "Why did you kill Jihoon?" His tone wasn't calm like usual, it was stern, as if he wasn't interrogating him but accusing him of murder.

Yoongi blinked, his breath hitching. "I...." His voice was barely a whisper, disbelief wrapping around his throat like a noose. "I killed Jihoon?"

Confusion flooded his face, drowning the fear that had been there moments ago. He wasn't expecting this. He thought they'd figured out his lies, but this? This isn't about lying anymore.

This is about murder.

And they are pointing the finger straight at him.