14
Third Person Pov
Taehyung stepped into the room like a shadow, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud.
The weight on his shoulders dragged through every movement.
. eyes swollen and glassy, cheeks streaked with dried salt, and his limbs moving like they no longer belonged to him.
He looked less like himself and more like a ghost wearing his skin.
On the bed, Gyubin sat with his legs tucked under him, flipping through the pages of a picture book. The moment he looked up and saw Taehyung, the book slipped quietly from his fingers.
Taehyung didn't speak. He didn't meet Gyubin's eyes.
He walked to the bed wordlessly, lowering himself down beside the little boy with all the grace of someone hollowed out. His gaze fell to the window, empty and distant, like he was trying to lose himself in the sky.
Gyubin watched him for a moment quiet, confused before slowly crawling closer on the mattress. He reached out, small fingers brushing against his father's shoulder, his touch featherlight.
"...Appa?" he called softly, unsure if it was the right time to speak.
Taehyung didn't respond. But his throat bobbed, his jaw clenched, and the tears began again silent, steady running down his cheeks like he'd run out of ways to hold them in.
Gyubin's brows drew together in a tiny worried knot. He tilted his head, trying to peer into Taehyung's face from below.
"Are you... are you sad?" he asked in the gentlest voice, almost as if saying it louder might make it worse. "Did someone make you cry?"
Taehyung shook his head slowly. But the tears didn't stop. His chest trembled once, twice, as if he couldn't breathe quite right.
Gyubin moved closer, pressing himself to Taehyung's side like a puzzle piece slipping into place. His small hands rested against his father's arms.
"Appa..." he whispered, a little firmer now but still so soft. "You don't have to be so brave right now."
Taehyung's breath hitched.
"I don't like when your eyes are wet," Gyubin added in a hush. "But... if they are, I can dry them off."
That was it.
The words cracked something wide open in Taehyung. He turned to his son with trembling arms and pulled him close, burying his face in the little body that had somehow become his whole world. A choked sound left his lips, not quite a sob, not quite a sigh just pain, melting at the edges.
Gyubin wrapped his arms around Taehyung's neck, his head resting on his shoulder. His small fingers gently ran through his father's hair.
"I'm here now," he whispered, the promise simple and whole. "you don't have to cry alone anymore."
And in that moment, Taehyung held on to the warmth, to the innocence, to the little hands around him.
To the quiet mercy of being loved without needing to be strong.
Taehyung didn't know how long he held onto Gyubin maybe minutes, maybe longer. Time slipped away in the warmth of small arms around his neck and soft breaths near his ear. His tears had slowed, but the ache still throbbed under his skin.
Gyubin gently pulled back, his little hands cupping Taehyung's damp cheeks, thumbs awkwardly wiping at the tears with all the care of a child trying to fix something precious.
"Appa," he said softly, "your face is all wet... like the clouds when it rains."
Taehyung gave a broken chuckle, the sound barely there.
Gyubin smiled just a little, proud of that tiny laugh. Then his eyes grew serious the way children do when they try to take charge of something they don't fully understand but want to fix anyway.
"You should sleep," Gyubin whispered, tugging gently at Taehyung's arm. "When I cry, you always say sleeping makes the pain go away a little. So now... it's your turn, okay?"
Taehyung blinked at him, stunned silent.
But Gyubin was already moving, grabbing the blanket with his tiny hands and trying to pull it over Taehyung's lap. He fumbled a little, then huffed quietly and got on his knees to tug it properly over Taehyung's legs.
"Come on," he mumbled under his breath, determined. "Blankets are hugs for sleeping people."
Then he climbed onto the bed again, scooting close and patting his father's chest.
"Lie down, Appa," he said softly, "I'll stay right here... I won't go anywhere."
Taehyung obeyed slowly leaning back against the pillow, letting Gyubin tuck the blanket around him clumsily. It wasn't perfect, but it was warm. Safe.
Gyubin laid down beside him, facing Taehyung.
"Close your eyes," he whispered. "I'll sing if you want... but I only know the sleepy bunny song."
Taehyung gave a faint nod, eyes fluttering shut, heart full and aching all at once.
Gyubin placed one hand on his father's cheek, and the other over his chest, like he was guarding the sadness from coming back.
"Good night, Appa," he murmured, voice growing sleepier. "I love you all the stars."
And for the first time in the whole day, Taehyung's heart loosened not healed, not whole, but held gently enough to rest.
.
.
.
The soft rustle of blankets was the first sound Taehyung registered.
He opened his eyes to find morning light filtering through the room not bright, but gentle, painting golden edges around the sleeping figure beside him.
Gyubin was still curled up, tucked into the covers, his small hand resting near his mouth, breathing even and slow. Taehyung didn't move him. Instead, he slid off the bed quietly, placing a soft kiss on Gyubin's hair, letting his fingers linger for a heartbeat too long before standing.
The wooden floor was cool beneath his feet.
He walked toward the window, pushing the heavy curtains open just a little. The room filled with soft light. He unlatched the window and opened it halfway, letting in the breath of a new day. The air was crisp and fresh the kind that smelled like wet earth and dew-soaked leaves.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
And for that moment, that brief, unguarded second Taehyung smiled.
It was soft. Real. A smile that said: I'm still here. I'm still standing. Even after the storms.
He didn't speak. He just let the breeze ruffle through his hair, let the silence soak into his skin.
After a while, he walked into the washroom. The water ran. The door shut. Time passed slowly.
When he emerged, his skin smelled of clean soap. He wore a loose white shirt, tucked lazily into wide, flowing cream trousers. The fabric swayed around his ankles, and for once, he looked like the Taehyung before all this quiet, elegant, untouchable.
He turned to wake Gyubin only to pause when he heard a knock.
Firm. Measured. He frowned.
Crossing the room, he opened the door and found four men in uniform standing there. Not bodyguards, not staff he recognized. All dressed in black, carrying suit bags and garment boxes.
Before he could say anything, they walked past him.
"Excuse me?" Taehyung stepped back instinctively, confusion turning to annoyance. "What are you-?"
They didn't answer. Two of them headed directly to his closet. Another opened a large storage box. Within seconds, hangers were coming down, clothes folded, armfuls of pastels and soft cottons tossed into bags like they were trash.
"Stop!" Taehyung's voice was sharper now. "What are you doing?"
One of the men looked up briefly. "We're following Mr. Jeon's orders."
And that was that. No explanation. No apology.
His closet was stripped bare. The soft sky-blue jumpers, the pale cardigans, the loose shirts, even the comfy oversized hoodie Gyubin had spilled juice on once all of it vanished in minutes.
In their place came lines of dark, pristine clothing. Tailored suits in midnight tones. Collared shirts in charcoal, forest green, storm grey. Coats with stiff shoulders. Everything pressed, folded, labeled.
Monogrammed with "J."
Even the hangers were replaced.
By the time they left, the room felt... foreign. Like it belonged to someone else. A man in control. A man whose presence lingered even in his absence.
Taehyung stood there, the loose white shirt on his frame now looking oddly out of place, like a rebellion that wouldn't survive the next hour.
He didn't speak. He simply closed the closet.
And behind him, Gyubin stirred in his sleep, unaware of how much his appa had just lost in silence.
.
.
.
The late morning sunlight slanted through the tall glass windows, painting warm streaks of gold across the living room floor.
Gyubin sat comfortably on the couch, his head placed over Taehyung's lap, one hand twisting a Rubik's cube while the other absentmindedly toyed with the hem of his t-shirt.
His eyes were narrowed in thought, lower lip caught between his teeth as he turned the puzzle with practiced ease.
Taehyung watched him quietly, his fingers gently smoothing over the boy's freshly tied ponytail. The soft flower clips he'd used today pink and mauve made Gyubin look like the gentlest spring bloom, innocent and radiant without even trying.
He looked adorable. Too adorable for someone who could solve a cube like that in less than two minutes.
"You're really fast with that thing," Taehyung mused, brushing a stray strand of hair from his son's cheek.
"Mm," Gyubin hummed, not looking up. "It's easier than last time. I used the layer-by-layer method today."
Taehyung blinked. "I don't even know what that means."
Gyubin giggled softly, eyes still focused. "You don't need to. You already do the hard stuff."
"What hard stuff?" Taehyung asked with a soft gentle smile.
"Taking care of me. Taking care of everything." Gyubin mumbled. Eyes still focused on the cube.
Taehyung's fingers paused for just a second, heart swelling at the weight of those simple, kind words. Gyubin always said things like this mature beyond his years. But today, something about it caught him off guard.
"You really think it's hard?"
"I think it's brave, appa."
Taehyung's chest tightened slightly, but his smile didn't waver. "Brave, huh? You're the brave one."
Gyubin finally looked up at him, cube solved again, his tiny hand placing it on his chest like a badge. "Also, you look like one of those mommies in the books."
Taehyung tilted his head, amused. "Mommies?"
"Yeah. The nice ones who read bedtime stories and wait for the knight to come home and make cookies when it rains."
"Is that so?" Taehyung chuckled. "Do I seem like someone waiting for a knight?"
Gyubin blinked, seriously considering it. "Maybe not waiting. But someone should come for you. Like... someone should have."
That gave Taehyung pause.
There was no sting, no sadness only a soft silence that fell over the two of them like a warm blanket. Gyubin's words weren't accusatory. They were merely observant.
He wasn't asking for someone new in their lives, nor hinting at anyone in particular. He was simply expressing something small and honest in his little heart: that someone as kind and gentle as his father deserved to be chosen, too.
Taehyung leaned down and kissed the top of Gyubin's head. "No one needs to come for me. I already have my knight. He wears flower clips and steals all the blanket at night."
Gyubin laughed brightly and squirmed. "You said you weren't mad about that anymore!"
"I said I wasn't that mad," Taehyung teased.
Gyubin shrieked playfully, wriggling out of his father's lap and dashing toward the hallway. "I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"
"Come back here, flower thief!" Taehyung shot up and ran after him, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You said that last time!"
Their footsteps echoed against the marble floor, laughter bouncing down the hall as Gyubin darted through the corridor with practiced agility. His ponytail bobbed with each step, clips slightly crooked now.
Mr. Haenam stood in the corridor nearby, holding a basket but the moment he saw the scene before him Gyubin laughing, Taehyung giving chase with mock scolding his stern demeanor softened. A small smile curled on his lips as he watched the two disappear down the hall.
Taehyung turned the corner too quickly, still faintly smiling from Gyubin's laughter echoing behind him soft, bright, the kind of sound that carved warmth into old wounds.
And then he collided with a wall.
Except it wasn't a wall.
It was him.
A sharp inhale caught in Taehyung's throat as cold fingers gripped his waist, firm and unyielding. He froze. Not because of the touch but because of who it was. That scent.
His blood ran cold like a glacier cracking in his chest.
Jungkook.
The very name echoed in his skull before his gaze even met the eyes. Cold. Flat. Taehyung didn't move, didn't breathe. It was only a second maybe less but time stretched painfully slow.
And then the memory crashed into him like a truck.
The tank. The sharks. The press of glass against his palms.The disorienting panic. The darkness. And Jungkook's face on the other side of the glass watching. Not indifferent. Not cruel. Just blank. And somehow, that was worse.
Now those same hands held his waist.
Taehyung's entire body went rigid in his grasp. The same touch he hated. The same fingers that made his skin crawl. It wasn't affection...it was control. Like being reminded of a leash he thought he'd slipped.
He pulled back at once, eyes flashing with panic masked as annoyance.
But Jungkook didn't move.
Just looked down at him, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary before finally letting go as if he was doing Taehyung a favor.
"Watch where you're going." he said, voice low, blank, but edged with that familiar bite.
Taehyung's throat tightened.
He didn't want to speak not to him, not after last night but his instincts betrayed him.
"I'm... sorry," he murmured, voice barely audible. Not because he meant it. But because being in Jungkook's presence always made him feel like a shadow of himself.
Jungkook said nothing. Just stared for a second longer, his gaze unreadable.
Then the hallway door clicked open.
Footsteps.
Seokjin entered, holding a file in one hand, the other adjusting his silver watch. His steps slowed as his eyes fell on the scene in front of him.
His cousin standing stiffly in the hallway.
Taehyung a few steps away, visibly tense,
For a second, Seokjin just... looked.
Not curious. Not accusatory.
Just... thoughtful.
But then, he spoke, his voice polite and businesslike, as always.
"You're already ready. Good. I thought I'd catch you before your meetings."
Jungkook turned away from Taehyung without another word and nodded once, walking toward him. "What is it?"
Seokjin held up the file. "The distribution numbers you asked for. I thought we could go over the revised proposal before the board reviews it."
"Come in," Jungkook said simply, and disappeared down the hall with him.
No glances back. No explanation.
Taehyung stayed behind, staring blankly at the spot where Jungkook had stood.
His waist still burned...not from the warmth, but from the imprint.
Like poison on his skin.
He exhaled shakily, pressing his back to the wall for just a second before pushing himself off and walking the other way, jaw clenched.
He hated this.
He hated how Jungkook touched him like he had the right.
And he hated how easy it was for the man to walk away every time like Taehyung was just furniture in his damn hallway.
Taehyung remained where he was, back pressed lightly against the wall, trying to steady his breath. The faint sounds of Jungkook and Seokjin's voices were already growing distant, swallowed by the hallway.
But before the office door could shut completely behind them, Seokjin had glanced back.
His steps slowed just slightly almost imperceptibly as his eyes caught on the figure still standing there.
Taehyung.
Leaning against the wall like he was trying not to fall through it.
Lost. Distant. Quietly breaking.
Their eyes met.
Taehyung hadn't meant to look. He'd been in his head, too far gone to notice anything around him. But something about that gaze warm but not warm enough, observant but not intentional snapped him back.
Their stares locked across the hallway.
Seokjin's expression didn't change.
Neither surprised, nor apologetic.
Just a calm.
But Taehyung saw it.
A flicker. A hesitation.
And that was enough to make his gaze drop almost instantly, like the contact burned.
He pushed himself off the wall, turning slightly as if pretending to be occupied with something else...anything else.
Seokjin didn't say a word. Didn't linger.
Just followed Jungkook into the office, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left Taehyung standing alone in the corridor.
Again. Always alone.
The door to the study clicked shut behind them, muffled but final.
Jungkook moved first.
Without a word, he crossed to his desk glass, minimalist, intimidating in its cleanliness. The late morning light caught the gleam of the metal pens aligned like weapons beside his laptop.
He didn't look at Seokjin as he spoke. "The projections are on page six. Q4 looks promising, especially after the merger."
Seokjin lingered near the door for a second too long before walking in. His shoes didn't make a sound against the polished flooring, but he felt like every step echoed in his chest.
He stopped in front of the chair but didn't sit.
"I went through the reports," he said simply. "The numbers make sense. But the West division's team still needs reinforcement."
Jungkook nodded once, flipping the file open with the pad of his thumb. "I've already approved two new transfers. You'll find the memos inside."
Seokjin said nothing. The chair creaked faintly as he finally took a seat, the file opening before him like a shield.
He read the numbers. But he wasn't processing them. Not really.
The image of Taehyung's tense shoulders, the subtle recoil in his posture when Jungkook touched him, the forced neutrality on his face...they were still there, playing on a loop at the back of Seokjin's mind.
And Jungkook... he hadn't even blinked.
"Everything alright?" Jungkook's voice cut in low. Not mocking. Not warm either. Just... observant.
Seokjin's gaze lifted. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Jungkook's eyes met his dark, flat. "You looked distracted."
Seokjin held the stare for a second longer than necessary. "Just tired. Been a long morning."
Jungkook hummed, almost like he didn't believe him, but he didn't press. He leaned back in his chair, arms folding loosely. "You didn't have to come in person."
"I was nearby," Seokjin replied casually, eyes returning to the papers. "Thought I'd check in."
A pause.
And then Jungkook, with a barely-there edge in his voice: "Is that all you were checking?"
The question settled between them like a quiet accusation light enough to ignore, sharp enough to register.
Seokjin didn't look up. He turned another page. "Of course. What else would there be?"
Jungkook leaned back in the chair, his fingers drumming once against the armrest. "Nothing, I suppose."
A silence followed. Not awkward, not comfortable. Just... weighted.
Seokjin closed the file with a soft thud. "I'll leave the signed documents with your secretary."
Jungkook didn't reply.
He simply watched Seokjin leave the room.
His eyes followed the older man's retreating back and razor-sharp. Not a single twitch of emotion cracked his impassive expression, but something beneath the surface stirred slow, cold, calculating.
The door clicked shut, and yet Jungkook didn't sit back down.
Instead, he stood smooth, deliberate and walked toward the door. His hand rested on the knob for a beat before he turned it and stepped out into the hall, his hands casually slipping into his pockets.
There was no sound except the faint murmur of the house the distant hum of an AC unit, the soft clink of Gyubin's toy from the living room and there, at the far end of the hallway, stood Seokjin.
Not moving.
Just... standing.
His profile was turned, gaze quietly fixed on the child who sat cross-legged on the carpet a few feet away, completely absorbed in his toys, small mouth moving with whispers only he could hear.
Seokjin's expression was Calm, but not empty. There was a certain stillness in the way his hands remained at his sides, relaxed. He wasn't tapping his fingers. He wasn't glancing at his watch. He wasn't even checking his phone.
He looked like he was waiting.
For something.
Or someone.
Jungkook leaned against the wall, head tilted just slightly as he watched him, eyes narrowing with a kind of slow, assessing intensity.
Seconds passed.
And then, Seokjin finally moved not suddenly, not abruptly, just... decisively.
He turned and walked away down the hall, steps steady, not once glancing back.
Jungkook remained where he was, watching until the older man's figure disappeared around the corner.
Silent.
Leaning casually against the wall, his head tilted a little, hands in his pockets, lashes low over dark eyes.
He wasn't waiting for anyone.
He wasn't rushing anywhere.
Just... watching.
Observing the corridor like a king in his lair. Lazily. Dangerously.
The polished floor reflected the soft overhead lighting and the soft echo of Gyubin's small footsteps played somewhere in the distance.
And then without a word, without warning he moved.
In a blur, he snatched the gun from the holster of the guard beside him.
The metallic sound of the safety unlocking snapped through the air.
A deafening shot rang out.
The man crumpled to the floor.
Dead.
The blood sprayed across the marbled floor like spilled paint across Jungkook's face, his cheek, even his collar. A thick, wet red blot against an otherwise immaculate hallway.
Silence. Everyone froze.
A gasp echoed.
A thud.
Taehyung had just stepped out of the room across the hall books in one hand, a palette of watercolor paints in the other when the sound slammed into him like a car crash. His feet halted mid-step.
The brushes tumbled from his grasp, landing with a soft plastic clatter.
His eyes widened, heart crawling up his throat as he stared at the scene in front of him. Blood. A body. And Jungkook, standing tall and still, the gun lowered in his hand, his jaw clenched, his face painted in crimson.
Even Gyubin, who had been squatting a few feet away, dropped his colorful cube toy with a dull sound. It rolled away across the floor.
He stared.
Frozen.
"Snake." Jungkook murmured, his voice low and venomous as he looked down at the dead body.
It wasn't rage in his voice. It was contempt. Calculated and cold.
"Mr. Jeon-!" One of the other guards rushed over, panic clinging to his voice.
Jungkook didn't react. He didn't even look at him. He simply grabbed the cloth from the man with one hand and began wiping his face slow, meticulous, as if he were cleaning spilled wine, not blood.
"Catch the others," he said flatly, eyes glancing over the corpse again. "No one slips through."
And just as he pulled the cloth across his jawline, his gaze shifted.
Lifted. And locked with Taehyung's.
Taehyung hadn't moved. His limbs had turned to stone. He wasn't even breathing properly. His heart thudded so loudly in his chest that it muffled every other sound. The smell of iron filled his lungs.
He saw the splatter on Jungkook's temple. The blood slowly seeping into the collar of his shirt. The lack of remorse in his dark, merciless eyes.
"Appa..." a small voice called.
Gyubin had run to him. Without hesitation, the boy clung to Taehyung's legs, burying his face into his stomach and curling into him like a shield.
Taehyung instinctively placed a hand on his head, his other arm coming around protectively.
But his eyes never left the scene.
Jungkook turned away as if nothing had happened, tossing the bloodied cloth to the side.
Taehyung kept staring not at the dead body, not at the guards collecting the gun but at Jungkook.
A part of him wanted to say something.
But the words didn't come.
Because.... he remembered.
Last night. The sharks.
The hand on his waist. The breath in his ear.
The game Jungkook played with death like it meant nothing.
And now?
There was a body on the floor and no trace of regret on the man who pulled the trigger.
And Taehyung realized...
He hadn't survived the sharks.