YoU ArE OnLy MiNe || YOONMIN~FF ?

? Part ~ 12 ?

Jimin was still trying to piece everything together when the door creaked open.

His body stiffened immediately, fear crawling up his spine as he turned towards the sound.

Yoongi.

The man who had kidnapped him.

Dressed in a fitted black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Yoongi stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He carried a tray in his hands, the aroma of freshly made breakfast wafting through the air. A glass of milk sat beside a plate of toast, eggs, and fruit.

Jimin’s heartbeat quickened.

Yoongi approached the bed and sat down beside him, placing the tray on the bed in front of Jimin.

Jimin instinctively backed away, pressing himself against the headboard, his wide, teary eyes locked on the older man.

Yoongi noticed the way Jimin trembled, the fear evident in his expression. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his dark eyes before he sighed.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered, his voice softer than before. “I won’t harm you.”

Jimin didn’t respond. His throat felt too tight.

“I brought breakfast,” Yoongi continued, pushing the tray slightly closer to him. “Eat this and drink the milk. Then take the medicine on the nightstand.”

Jimin remained silent. He was too overwhelmed, too terrified to say anything. The memories of being taken, waking up in this place, and now facing this man—it was too much. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks silently.

Yoongi waited for a response, but Jimin didn’t speak.

“I said something, doll.” Yoongi’s voice was firmer now, his patience thinning.

Jimin still didn’t answer—just kept crying, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temples. He reached out to wipe Jimin’s tears, but the younger flinched violently, his entire body tensing.

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands,” Jimin snarled through his sobs, his voice shaky but filled with defiance.

Yoongi’s eyes darkened instantly.

“I already told you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t like it when people raise their voices at me.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. The way Yoongi’s gaze bore into him—dangerous, warning—made him freeze.

The tension in the room thickened.

But then, Yoongi took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly. He swallowed his irritation and spoke again, this time gentler.

“Why are you crying, bub?” he asked, tilting his head.

Jimin’s lips trembled. He blinked up at Yoongi, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

“Please… let me go,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with you.”

Yoongi’s jaw tensed.

For a moment, Jimin thought he saw something flicker in his expression—something almost… hurt. But it was gone in a second, replaced by indifference.

Instead of answering, Yoongi simply picked up a spoonful of food and held it out to Jimin.

“Come,” he said. “Eat.”

Jimin stared at him in disbelief. “No, I don’t want—”

“I think I don’t have to repeat myself, right, doll?” Yoongi interrupted, his voice serious, his dark eyes holding a silent warning.