You didn’t mean to say it.

But the words were out there. Caught by a mic.

Broadcast live.

“I love him.”

Silence. Then gasps.

Cameras clicked like gunfire. The crowd screamed. The host blinked.

And Yoongi?

He just looked at you.

Steady. Unreadable.

Then, without missing a beat, he leaned in—cupped your face—and kissed you.

Not a peck. Not polite.

A real kiss. Deep. Dominant. Hands in your hair. Your fingers curling in his shirt.

A kiss that tasted like warning and wildfire.

When he finally pulled back, the room was silent.

He whispered in your ear:

“You started the lie. I finished it.”

But his heart was racing just as fast as yours.

---

Behind Closed Doors

Back at the penthouse, you burst in first. “You didn’t have to kiss me like that!”

Yoongi followed, calm as ever. “You told the world you love me.”

“I was cornered!”

“So was I.” He stepped closer. “And if we’re playing pretend, we commit. That’s what we agreed, right?”

Your chest heaved. His eyes dropped—just for a second.

Then he muttered, “Unless you didn’t hate it.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band.

“I didn’t—"

“I know.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Buzzing.

And then you said it.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“Neither do I.”

---

A Secret He Couldn’t Hide

That night, you woke up alone in the bed.

You followed the soft sounds again—to the music room.

Yoongi was there, hoodie off, shirt clinging to him like he’d fought sleep and lost.

But he wasn’t playing.

He was staring at a photo.

You caught a glimpse before he noticed—

A woman. Older. Beautiful. Smiling with Yoongi as a boy.

“My mother,” he said quietly.

You froze.

“She died when I was fifteen. Heart condition. She loved Indian music, you know? Bollywood classics. She would’ve liked you.”

Your throat tightened. “Why are you telling me this?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned to you and said:

“Don’t pretend to love me again unless you mean it.”