1
Third Person Pov
The office was quiet.. too quiet---the kind that made footsteps echo like guilt across the marble floor.
Taehyung pushed the mop forward, dragging it slowly over the already polished tiles of the executive floor. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered softly, washing everything in a sterile glow.
Everyone else had gone home. Just the cleaning crew remained, though even among them, Taehyung worked the latest shift, always choosing night hours, always avoiding attention.
He wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his worn uniform. His phone buzzed inside his pocket. He wiped his hands dry before pulling it out.
Dr. Min
"Mr. Kim, we need to talk about your son."
His stomach dropped. He stepped away from the hallway into a corner behind a pillar and answered the call.
"Yes?" he whispered, already bracing himself.
Dr. Min's voice was calm, clinical, but Taehyung heard the hesitation buried underneath.
"There's a rapid drop in white blood cells."
There was a long silence.
Taehyung closed his eyes. He had suspected it. Gyubin's fatigue, the bruises, the fevers that wouldn't go deep down, he knew. Leukemia.
"We'll begin chemo immediately," Dr. Min continued, "but the next round will require stronger meds. We need you to arrange further payment within the week."
Taehyung's throat felt like sandpaper.
"Okay... I understand," he murmured. "Just... text me the medicine list for now. I'll try to get what I can tonight."
"I'll send it now," the doctor replied gently. "I know it's hard. But we don't have time to wait."
Taehyung hung up without saying goodbye. He couldn't. Almost instantly, the phone buzzed again.
A message.
A long list of medicines...none of them cheap. Some were urgent. His heart ached just reading the names.
He stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than he should have, then turned it off and shoved it back in his pocket.
He picked up the mop again.
His life didn't allow time to break down.
The elevator chimed down the hallway, breaking the silence. Taehyung didn't look up at first, just kept mopping. He heard footsteps, lighter, casual and then the familiar voice of Director Seokjin speaking to someone. Taehyung paused, barely lifting his gaze.
Director Seokjin stepped out of the elevator, a tablet in hand. He looked tired but calm. He turned slightly, glancing back toward the elevator.
Taehyung didn't need to look twice.
He felt it before he saw it.
CEO. Billionaire. The reason this entire building stood like a fortress of power.
His footsteps were sharp, precise. Like the air around him bent itself to make way. He wore a charcoal suit with the jacket open, sleeves rolled slightly, the kind of look that made people nervous even without a word.
Taehyung's eyes dropped instantly to the floor. He stepped to the side, like he always did. Like a shadow moving out of the way of light.
Director Seokjin was saying something about meetings, or stock, or whatever people like them talked about in hallways.
Jungkook didn't say much. Just hummed in acknowledgment. No expression. No softness. Just that quiet coldness he carried like a second skin.
As he passed, Taehyung felt the breeze of Jungkook's presence. Not once did the CEO glance at him.
Not a flicker of recognition. Not a pause.
Taehyung might as well have been a wall. He stared at the floor for a few more seconds even after they were gone. His hands gripped the mop tightly knuckles white.
Then, like always, he sighed... and continued cleaning.
.
.
The hallway to their apartment was dim, the kind of dimness that came not from poor lighting but from years of exhaustion built into the walls.
The elevator always groaned. The door lock stuck if you didn't turn it just right.
Taehyung had learned to work around both without thought, like second nature.
He stepped inside and shut the door softly behind him.
Home and Him.
Binnie.
The apartment smelled faintly of rice, detergent, and that soft, cotton scent that always lingered on his son's clothes. A night lamp flickered from the living room... shaped like a moon, casting pale light across the boy huddled on the couch.
A small form beneath a blue blanket. Motionless, but awake.
"You're late," Gyubin said without lifting his head, voice soft like a thought. Not accusing. Just noticing.
Taehyung's chest ached in the way only parents understood.
He walked in quietly, his steps padded from instinct. "I know," he murmured, setting his bag down and sliding out of his work shoes.
Gyubin was curled up, his thin legs tucked under him, arms wrapped loosely around a worn stuffed animal with one ear missing. His hair was messy on one side... he'd clearly napped and there was a faint flush to his cheeks. Pale, but breathing easy.
That was all Taehyung could hope for lately. "You didn't wait to eat, right?" he asked, kneeling beside the couch.
Binnie peeked up with tired eyes. "I ate a little. The nurse made porridge."
"Good." He reached forward, brushing the boy's bangs back from his forehead gently. His hand lingered longer than necessary. He just needed to feel him warm. Real. Still here.
"Did you get dizzy?"
"A little. But not bad." Gyubin shrugged softly. "I didn't throw up today."
Taehyung smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're so strong, Binnie."
The boy gave him a tiny nod, then leaned into his touch like a kitten searching for warmth. He didn't speak much he never had but his quietness was never empty. It was patient. Observant. Gyubin understood things kids shouldn't. Especially when their bodies were too tired to pretend otherwise.
Taehyung sat on the floor beside the couch, his back pressed to it, eyes on the cracked ceiling. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched out, soft and familiar.
"The doctor called," Taehyung said after a long pause. "He says we need to start the stronger meds."
Gyubin didn't flinch or cry. Just blinked once. "Is it the kind that makes my hair fall out?"
Taehyung's throat closed.
He nodded. "Yeah. But we'll get you hats. Cool ones."
"Black ones," Binnie mumbled, voice already trailing with sleep.
"You like black," Taehyung said with a smile.
"I look like a secret agent," the boy whispered, eyes fluttering closed.
Taehyung reached up and pulled the blanket higher over his son's shoulders.
"You are a secret agent," he whispered.
"Strongest one I know."
He sat there for a while, just listening to the slow rhythm of his son's breathing each inhale a reminder that time hadn't run out yet.
But the weight pressed down harder tonight. The money was gone. The favors had dried up. Insurance had capped out. Loans had turned into debt. And Taehyung was running out of people to beg.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up with the pharmacy list the doctor had texted. One of the meds was already out of stock at most places. Another was nearly triple the cost because it had to be imported.
He closed his eyes.
One more night. One more shift. One more lie to himself that he'd figure it out.
Then he stood, quietly washed the dishes Gyubin hadn't touched, reheated some rice, and ate in silence with the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders.
~
Somewhere, a skyscraper lit up the skyline...cold and gleaming with the name Jeon Corp across its front. Inside, the man who owned it probably hadn't even noticed the janitor who bowed his head as he passed.
But fate was cruel.
Because by next week...
That janitor would be his spouse.
.
.
The next morning was grey, not rainy, just colorless. The kind of grey that got into your bones and made everything feel heavier.
Taehyung stood outside the bank entrance, clutching a slightly crumpled file of insurance documents. His fingers were cold. Not from the weather, but from everything else fear, fatigue, the kind of quiet panic that sat just beneath the skin.
He stepped inside.
The bank was quiet, sterile...all polished counters and soft music that tried too hard to make people forget why they were here. He approached the reception desk slowly, nodding to the woman behind it.
"Mr. Kim Taehyung?" she asked, eyeing the appointment slot on her screen.
He nodded. She smiled politely.
"Go straight to Room 4. Mr. Han will see you."
He thanked her softly and made his way down the short hallway, every step echoing a little too loudly in his ears.
Mr. Han was already seated when Taehyung entered..a man in his mid-forties with a calm face and apologetic eyes. That wasn't a good sign.
He gestured for Taehyung to sit.
Taehyung did, setting the insurance papers gently on the desk like they might shatter.
"Mr. Kim," Mr. Han began, tone careful, "I went through the documents you submitted last month as well as the appeal you filed for the insurance extension."
Taehyung nodded quickly.
"I brought the updated reports from the hospital. Dr. Min said they might help qualify under the terminal clause."
His voice cracked faintly toward the end. He cleared his throat.
"I know the coverage technically expired, but-"
"I'm truly sorry," Mr. Han interrupted, his voice soft.
"Your son's previous treatments already exhausted the full private coverage. And the public insurance won't cover the full costs unless it's certified as terminal. That usually means Stage IV...."
"We can't process an emergency extension without a policy upgrade... which you haven't been able to pay into for months."
Taehyung's stomach twisted.
"I just need one more cycle of medication. Just one. If I can get that, the hospital will carry the rest on long-term payment."
Mr. Han looked down at the papers as if unable to meet his eyes.
"The loan request was also denied, I'm afraid."
A long silence fell between them. Only the soft hum of the AC filled the space.
Taehyung didn't argue. Didn't cry.
He just... sat there, nodding slowly, like someone who had already guessed the answer but hoped to be wrong anyway.
"Alright," he whispered, voice barely audible. He reached for the papers, slipping them carefully back into the folder with trembling hands.
Mr. Han cleared his throat, guilt thick in the air. "I wish I had better news. If circumstances change... you can always try again."
Taehyung stood. "Thank you," he said politely. He bowed his head lightly, then left. Outside, the sunlight felt too bright.
Too sharp for a day like this. Like the sky didn't know something had ended.
Taehyung stepped out of the bank, the folder still clutched against his chest. His body moved automatically, but his mind felt hollow.
His legs carried him down the steps and toward the street, where the world went on busy, bustling, loud as if his whole life hadn't just been quietly, devastatingly declined.
He paused near a lamppost, took a deep breath. No time for tears.
He rubbed at his eyes, not even sure if there were tears there or if he was just too tired to cry. His gaze wandered across the moving street, the conversations, the clinking of cups behind a café window.
The world was moving. But his had stopped.
"What do I do..." he whispered, not to anyone in particular. Just to himself. To the silence sitting in his chest.
He sighed and began walking again.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.
[Binnie ??]
don't forget to eat appa.
A fragile smile flickered across his lips, worn from sleepless nights and endless worry. He typed back, fingers trembling not just from the cold, but from the weight of everything he carried.
[Taehyung]
"I won't forget, baby. I promise."
He didn't say the words he wanted to not here, but the promise was there. Every meal he skipped, every hour he worked, every penny he begged for... it was all for that promise.
And yet, Binnie was not his son.
He never told him that.
Binnie was his sister's child.
His sister.... the closest thing he had ever known to family.
She had been vibrant once, full of laughter and dreams, before her life was shattered by a man who wasn't strong enough to stay.
Her boyfriend, the father... had walked away the moment he learned she was pregnant. Afraid, unready, unwilling to carry the weight of responsibility. Left her alone to face the world with nothing but a fragile hope and a growing belly.
Taehyung remembered the night she told him. It was a late winter evening, cold enough to freeze the breath between words.
She came to his tiny apartment, tears staining her cheeks, voice breaking as she spoke of fear and uncertainty.
"I don't know what to do," she had whispered. "He won't be there... I don't want to lose this baby, but I'm so scared."
Taehyung held her then, felt the trembling beneath her skin, and something in him broke.
He promised her... promised he'd protect that baby no matter what.
But the world was cruel.
Weeks later, after a difficult pregnancy and nights filled with silent prayers, she fell ill. The stress, the heartbreak, the exhaustion.. it was more than her body could bear.
She died quietly one morning, her last breath a whispered plea to Taehyung to care for her son.
He took the baby...Binnie into his arms with a fierce love that surprised even himself.
He never told Binnie the truth about his mother.
Not yet.
Not when Binnie learned to walk, or spoke his first words.
Not when the boy called him "appa" for the first time, soft and sleepy, clutching his shirt like a lifeline.
Taehyung couldn't bring himself to break the illusion of their little family.
Maybe one day he would tell him.
But for now, he would be the father Binnie needed. The protector. The rock.
Because blood could not define family.
Only love.
And that love was everything Taehyung had left.
By the time Taehyung reached the pharmacy, it was past noon.
The hospital's partnered branch stood tucked between a dry-cleaner and a hardware store, barely lit from the inside.
A flickering sign buzzed weakly above the entrance.
He stepped in, clutching the doctor's printed prescription in one hand and the crumpled bills in the other every note a product of skipped meals and borrowed favors.
The faint smell of antiseptic clung to the air.
He approached the counter, his voice low and polite as he handed the list to the pharmacist.
"These," he said softly. "As many as this can cover." He unfolded the cash... carefully counted and tied with a rubber band. It wasn't much.
The pharmacist glanced at it, then at the list. Her eyes softened, but she didn't say anything. Just nodded and moved to the back.
Behind him, someone clicked their tongue.
"Some of us don't have all day."
Taehyung blinked, slowly turning his head. A man in a neatly pressed suit stood behind him, impatience practically radiating from his expensive cologne. Hair slicked back, phone in one hand, designer wallet in the other.
"Move to the side or something," the man added, tapping his shoe against the floor. "You people come in like you're buying the whole store."
Taehyung's jaw clenched.
He wasn't loud. He didn't snap.
He simply turned around, eyes calm but sharp.
"You can wait like the rest of us," he said flatly. "This is a pharmacy, not a drive-through for your attitude."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"Look, I'm just saying-"
"Don't." Taehyung's voice was quiet but clipped. Final.
"I'm already holding together more than you'll ever understand. So shut up and wait."
The man scoffed under his breath, muttering something Taehyung didn't care to hear as he stepped back in line.
When the pharmacist returned, she offered Taehyung a small paper bag with a few of the meds. Not enough. But something. He thanked her quietly, ignoring the sting in his chest, and turned to leave.
He didn't look at the man again.
He didn't need to.