23
Third Person Pov
Taehyung shook his head as he walked toward the elevator, muttering under his breath.
This man. Jeon Jungkook. Always finds a way to crawl under his skin, as if it were his full-time job.
He pressed the elevator button and let his gaze wander for a second.
His eyes inevitably landed on the grand, polished door of the CEO’s office at the far end of the hall.
The golden nameplate caught the light, making it gleam.
Taehyung quickly looked away, a faint frown forming before he could stop it.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh.
His steps faltered.
Kim Seokjin stood inside, leaning lazily against the back wall, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded. His eyes lifted at the sound, locking onto Taehyung immediately.
"Good morning, Mr. Kim," Taehyung greeted politely, his voice steady.
Seokjin’s lips curled, but not quite into a smile. "Morning," he hummed, the sound low and unreadable.
Taehyung stepped in, his hand automatically going to the side rail. He kept a respectable distance, facing forward, eyes fixed on the floor indicator. Yet he could feel it... Seokjin’s gaze lingering, assessing, almost dissecting him in silence.
He swallowed, forcing his shoulders to relax. The quiet was sharp enough to cut through.
Then, without warning, Seokjin’s hand drifted ever so casually toward the panel.
His finger pressed a button Taehyung didn’t notice before, and the elevator jolted to a sudden stop.
Taehyung lost his balance instantly. His body tilted backward, and he braced himself for the impact.
Only to feel a strong arm snake around his waist, halting him mid-fall.
The touch was firm, grounding, but there was something else—lingering.
Taehyung’s eyes widened, startled. He blinked rapidly, finding himself mere inches away from Seokjin’s chest, the faint scent of expensive cologne brushing past his senses.
"Careful," Seokjin murmured, his voice a shade lower, almost indulgent.
Taehyung straightened immediately, his hands pushing away from Seokjin’s hold. "I’m fine. Thankyou." he said quickly, almost too quickly.
Seokjin’s palm remained in the air for a moment longer, as though reluctant to drop it. "Must be… some technical issue," he said smoothly, eyes flicking toward the display panel without really looking at it.
"Yeah Right," Taehyung nodded, his tone clipped. He faced forward again, fist clenching. The elevator felt smaller now, as if the walls had inched closer.
Seokjin glanced at him from the corner of his eye, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips... not mocking, but knowing. His hands slipped into his pockets, though he could still remember the soft give of Taehyung’s waist under his fingers.
Taehyung, on the other hand, kept his eyes trained on the floor numbers, pretending to be invested in their slow climb. He wasn’t going to acknowledge the pause, or the way Seokjin’s presence pressed into the edges of his awareness.
The moment shouldn’t have happened. And yet, it had.
“How’s Gyubin?” Seokjin’s voice broke the silence, smooth but laced with something unspoken.
Taehyung blinked, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the control panel. “He’s good. Waiting in the lobby,” he replied with a small, hesitant smile that barely reached his eyes.
Seokjin hummed in acknowledgment, leaning back slightly against the elevator wall. “That’s good.”
For a moment, Taehyung kept staring straight ahead, his teeth catching on his bottom lip. The air between them felt heavy, though he couldn’t tell why.
“Uhm…” He turned his head a fraction, meeting Seokjin’s gaze for just a second before quickly looking down. “When will this issue get solved?” he asked softly.
Seokjin’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Not long,” he said casually, though he knew exactly how long... he had pressed the emergency stop button himself minutes ago. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
Taehyung nodded, gaze dropping to the floor.
His posture was polite, almost too polite, like someone who’d been taught to maintain distance in uncomfortable situations.
The faint light caught on his features soft, clean lines, and an innocence in his expression that made it seem like he’d never done a cruel thing in his life.
Seokjin studied him in silence, his eyes unconsciously trailing from Taehyung’s slightly mussed hair to the way his hands fidgeted, down to his pressed trousers. He let out a quiet breath and quickly looked away before he lingered too long.
The elevator remained still, the air thickening by the second.
“You seem… uneasy,” Seokjin remarked, his tone light, as if testing the waters.
Taehyung glanced at him, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, polite smile. “Just… not used to being stuck in small spaces.”
Seokjin’s gaze flicked to the panel again, his finger brushing near the hidden button he’d pressed earlier. “Guess we’ll have to keep each other company until it’s fixed.”
There was a pause, and Taehyung exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight slightly. “I suppose.”
Seokjin’s eyes softened again, watching the younger man look anywhere but at him, completely unaware of the subtle power Seokjin held in that moment. The seconds stretched, and Seokjin found himself wondering just how long he could draw this out without Taehyung suspecting.
And then Seokjin stepped forward.
It wasn’t a rushed motion---more like the deliberate pace of someone who knew exactly what effect they would have. Still, it pulled Taehyung’s gaze instantly. His eyes flicked up, catching Seokjin already watching him, steady, unwavering, almost unreadable.
The faint hum of the elevator seemed louder in the pause that followed.
Taehyung’s brows pulled together, an instinctive frown tugging at his features. He shifted his weight back, taking a careful, measured step away.
But Seokjin moved with the same quiet determination, closing the gap without so much as a falter in his stride. The distance between them diminished until Taehyung’s back met the cool, unyielding metal wall with a muted thud.
He swallowed, throat tightening. “Excuse me…” His voice came out softer than he meant it to, edged with an unsteady hesitation that betrayed him.
He tried sliding sideways, his shoulder brushing against the elevator’s wall, but Seokjin’s arm lifted. It wasn’t aggressive just firm.
He braced his hand against the wall near Taehyung’s waist, the gesture effectively caging him in without a single touch. It was the kind of closeness that carried weight, the kind that made air feel too thick to breathe.
For a moment, Seokjin’s gaze held him there, silent and unrelenting. Then, without looking away, his free hand reached toward the elevator’s control panel. His fingers pressed a small, recessed button Taehyung hadn’t even noticed before.
A faint click. A whir followed.
Somewhere above them, a fan stirred to life, sending a thin current of cool air winding through the cramped box. The shift was subtle, but Taehyung felt it immediately, against his skin, across the back of his neck.
Only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, careful not to make it too obvious.
“Relax,” Seokjin said quietly. His voice was smooth too smooth—carrying none of the urgency or discomfort that churned in Taehyung’s chest. It was almost like he was amused, though his expression didn’t quite give him away.
Taehyung’s brows knitted tighter. “I-I just… want to get out of here,” he murmured, voice low, tinged with impatience. He shifted his eyes to the elevator doors as if that would somehow make them open faster.
But Seokjin didn’t move.
His gaze had weight, and the longer it stayed, the warmer Taehyung felt, though the fan kept blowing its cool breath through the air.
Then Seokjin’s voice dropped, low enough that it might have been meant only for himself. “...You’re beautiful.”
The words landed with a jolt.
Taehyung’s eyes went wide, his head jerking slightly as if to confirm he’d heard right. “Huh?” The disbelief in his voice was sharp, almost defensive, but there was a faint tremor under it that betrayed him.
For a heartbeat, Seokjin looked like he might say something else his lips parted, his breath caught halfway, but instead, he exhaled. Slow. Controlled. A practiced retreat.
His arm dropped from the wall. He stepped back with the unhurried grace of someone entirely in control of themselves, sliding his hands into his pockets as if none of it had been significant.
He didn’t repeat himself.
But the echo of the words clung stubbornly in the air, filling the space between them.
The elevator felt colder now, though Taehyung couldn’t tell if it was from the fan or from Seokjin’s sudden withdrawal. He stayed pressed against the wall for a moment longer, as though still anchored there, his breath catching in his chest.
His eyes trailed to Seokjin’s profile, studying the way the older man’s gaze was now fixed firmly on the floor indicator, his face a mask of calm.
The elevator jolted again, making Taehyung’s stomach twist. He let out a slow exhale, desperate to get out of this strange, claustrophobic moment with Seokjin. The metal walls around them seemed to trap every breath, every heartbeat, every glance.
Then... beep.
The elevator shuddered and began moving again, the faint vibration under his shoes almost a relief. Taehyung’s gaze flicked to the glowing panel as the numbers changed:
25… 24… 23…
His shoulders eased slightly with each passing floor, the promise of escape so close. But as the count kept falling, his brow furrowed.
… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
The ground floor came and went without stopping. Instead, the digits dipped into red numbers.
B1. B2.
Taehyung’s chest tightened. “Why are we going down?” His voice was soft, edged with unease.
Seokjin was already watching the panel, a small crease between his brows. “I didn’t press it,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Taehyung turned to him, searching for any hint of an explanation, but Seokjin’s expression was calm, almost too calm. The faint hum of the elevator filled the silence, each passing second drawing the underground floor closer.
Finally ding.
The doors slid open with a smooth hiss.
And Taehyung froze.
His posture was casual, hands buried deep in his pockets—but the weight in his gaze was anything but casual. Sharp. Cold. The kind of look that stripped away every layer until all that was left was the truth you didn’t want to face.
His eyes didn’t drift. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even flicker between them. They stayed locked directly on Taehyung.
For a heartbeat, Taehyung couldn’t move. The air in the underground parking level felt different, heavier, and yet colder than the elevator’s. His fingers twitched at his sides, a nervous habit he couldn’t stop.
Jungkook’s gaze flicked once to Seokjin, then returned to Taehyung as he stepped forward. His voice was low, flat.
“The emergency stop button was pressed.”
Seokjin’s hummed as if agreeing to the fact. “Yeah, might be some technical glitch.”
Jungkook didn’t answer him. His focus didn’t shift. He closed the remaining distance in three unhurried steps and, without a word, caught Taehyung’s wrist.
The touch was firm...too firm.
Seokjin’s gaze dropped to the hold. Taehyung gave a small twist, trying to free himself, but Jungkook’s grip only tightened, the tendons in his hand standing out.
Without warning, he gave a tug, pulling Taehyung out of the elevator and into the dim underground parking.
The space was vast, littered with sleek cars, shadows pooling between the rows. Their footsteps echoed against the concrete. Behind them, Seokjin followed at a measured pace, angling toward his own car, though his eyes never left the two.
“Mr. Jeon—” Taehyung started, his voice tight, “—let me go.”
Jungkook said nothing. He walked with a slow, deliberate pace, until he stopped abruptly beside the black car.
"What—" Before Taehyung could react, he spun him sharply, pressing him against the sleek metal. The cold surface bit into his spine, knocking a startled gasp from his lips.
Seokjin froze mid-step. From his angle, he could only catch glimpses of the two, the shadows hiding the details, yet the raw intensity radiating from them was impossible to miss.
“Get off me,” Taehyung hissed, trying to shove him away, but his hands met iron unyielding, merciless.
Jungkook moved with a predator’s precision. His hand shot out, gripping Taehyung’s wrist, twisting just enough to force him to turn.
“Not until I’m done with you.”
Taehyung’s cheek brushed the tinted glass; his chest and stomach pressed flush against the car.
His own reflection stared back at him in fragmented shards, distorted by the fog of his breath. Jungkook’s presence loomed behind him, heavy, suffocating, silent except for the steady rhythm of inhaling and exhaling right against his ear.
Taehyung tried to pull away, but Jungkook’s fingers tightened, locking his wrist like a vice. Knuckles went pale under the strain, veins standing out sharply, pulsating.
“What do you want?” Taehyung said, voice low and taut, more desperate than he wanted to admit.
Jungkook’s chest pressed against the curve of Taehyung’s back, immovable, warm, and suffocating.
“Exactly what you’re trying not to give me." His lips hovered at the shell of Taehyung’s ear, brushing so lightly it sent shivers racing down his spine. Every nerve ignited in reluctant anticipation.
"I don't understand–" Taehyung said wriggling.
“I could drag you back into that elevator,” Jungkook murmured, his lips grazing Taehyung’s ear, “leave you a shaking mess… and walk away without a second look. Let’s see if he still dares to see you the same after that.”
Taehyung’s stomach sank hearing that, voice trembling despite his attempt at control. “What…what are you implying?”
Jungkook didn’t answer with words. His fingers twisted his wrist, cruelly precise. Pain and shock coiled inside Taehyung, flickering into something hotter, dangerous.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Jungkook whispered, gaze burning into his skin like live embers.
Across the parking lot, Seokjin’s figure remained lean against his car, casual yet alert. He could see only the press of Jungkook’s body against Taehyung, the space between them vanished, suffocating, intimate, and entirely unyielding.
“Leave me,” Taehyung demanded, voice steadier than he felt, though every inhale betrayed the rapid drumbeat of his heart. His fingers dug into his own arms, grounding himself, trying to resist the storm that was Jungkook.
Jungkook’s smirk pressed into the hollow of his neck, teeth grazing skin just enough to make a shiver crawl through him. Heat flared uninvited, pooling low and heavy, settling like wildfire across Taehyung’s chest.
“Moan for me.” Jungkook’s whisper was silk and poison, curling around Taehyung’s senses, demanding, claiming.
Taehyung froze, mind blank. “What—?”
“Now,” Jungkook said, voice low, deliberate, venom wrapped in velvet. “Fucking moan. Or else.”
Silence fell, thick, unbearable, pressing against Taehyung’s temples. His knees felt unsteady, chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow. Then the cold press of metal against his waist stole the last of his breath. Sharp. Unyielding. Absolute.
Taehyung’s gaze dropped, wide and trembling, and there it was—the gun, gleaming like a frozen promise of ruin.
“You… you wouldn’t,” he breathed, disbelief and panic warring in his chest.
“Try me.” Jungkook’s tone was lazy, detached, as if Taehyung’s fear were nothing more than an amusing distraction. His grip on Taehyung’s wrist never slackened, fingers like steel, possessive and unrelenting.
“Please…” Taehyung’s words were a whisper, a plea that barely formed before the click of the weapon silenced him completely, cold and precise.
“Your son’s waiting upstairs,” Jungkook said, voice calm, deceptively casual, but every word dripped with lethal intent. “Do you really want him to see me drag your dead body out of here?”
Taehyung’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, pulse hammering like a war drum under skin that felt suddenly too tight, too alive.
Jungkook leaned lower, lips brushing the curve of his neck, teasing, claiming, tasting. His breath was ice over fire, followed by a sharp nip that stole a gasp from him despite every effort to stay silent.
Teeth sank in without warning careless of consent, reckless in the most exquisite way.
Taehyung stiffened a strangled sound tearing from him as heat and humiliation twisted together, coiling through his body, dangerous and delicious. His hands clenched against the cold metal of the car door, trembling despite the iron grip he tried to maintain.
“Louder.” Jungkook demanded, pressing the barrel into his side just enough to make him jump, to make him feel the edge of control slipping.
Taehyung’s voice broke, a soft, pleading sound that made him feel vulnerable and exposed, raw in a way that made his chest tighten. “M-Mr. Jeon—”
Seokjin’s jaw tightened from the shadows. He couldn’t see the gun, but the image alone, Jungkook’s total dominance, left his stomach twisted with unease.
The night air thickened, charged, a living thing that seemed to hum with danger, every shadow stretching longer, every sound sharper. Taehyung’s heartbeat raced, hammering in his chest like a warning drum.
“Please…” His voice cracked, fragile, desperate. Fingers dug into the metal railing, knuckles whitening. Chest rising and falling unevenly. “You… you don’t have to—”
“I don’t have to what?” Jungkook purred, low and velvety, words laced with mockery and something darker. “Point a gun at you? Or remind you exactly who owns you?”
Taehyung’s gaze flickered toward Seokjin, a silent plea for escape. Almost instinctively. Almost foolishly. Jungkook caught the movement immediately, sharp and knowing, his lips twitching into that cruel, dangerous smirk.
“I—It wasn’t…” Taehyung’s words faltered, thin and trembling, swallowed by the surge of fear and heat that washed over him. “It wasn’t like that…”
Jungkook hummed low, a sound that could have been disbelief—or delight. His eyes glinted, steel and fire.
“I could end you right here,” he said, hand steady on the gun. “But…” His voice dropped, dangerous, intimate. “I’d rather keep you alive… to watch you flinch every time I come near.”
Taehyung shivered involuntarily, every muscle coiling, instinct screaming to run. Jungkook’s hands moved then, firm and deliberate on his hips, pressing him harder against the cold metal. No escape. No mercy. Only possession.
Jungkook’s body molded into him, the hard line of his chest and hips pressing intimate, controlled, relentless.
The pressure of his crotch nudged the small curve of Taehyung’s lower back, deliberate, claiming.
Every exhale from Jungkook was slow, measured, a whisper of heat that traced along Taehyung’s neck, crawling down his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Jungkook’s hand tightened, the cold gun pressing relentlessly into Taehyung’s waist.
Taehyung’s eyes fluttered shut. A sharp, involuntary gasp tore from his throat as Jungkook’s fingers traced the line of his spine, teasing between sharp edges of pain and sparks of pleasure that he didn't need.
Not from this man.
Seokjin’s jaw clenched, silent and controlled, before he slid into his car. Doors shut softly, but his gaze lingered a heartbeat longer, concern etched into the set of his shoulders. Then the engine swallowed him, distance stretching between them like relief and loss entwined.
Jungkook didn’t glance away. His eyes followed the taillights until they vanished, then returned to Taehyung with a predator’s patience. Lips brushed the shell of Taehyung’s ear, teasing, cool, teasing, almost tender in a way that made heat spike and pulse.
“You’re a pervert.” Taehyung whispered, voice strained, frustrated, tinged with something he refused to name.
Jungkook’s gaze sharpened, dark and amused, a slow, dangerous smile curving his lips. Breath warm against the sensitive skin of Taehyung’s neck.
“Maybe,” he murmured, each word deliberate, lingering. “Pervert or not… you’ll still let me have you.”
Taehyung’s chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath sharp and shallow, caught between rising panic and the impossible weight of Jungkook’s presence.
Jungkook took a deliberate step back, the gun still resting heavy and unyielding in his hand, eyes never leaving Taehyung.
He watched, almost savoring the moment, as Taehyung slowly turned toward him, gaze wide, glossy, and unguarded---vulnerable in a way that made Jungkook’s chest pulse with dark satisfaction.
“Next time you get too close to anyone else,” Jungkook whispered, voice low and edged with cruel promise, “remember this moment. Remember what I can do… besides pointing a gun.”
There was no softness, no hint of mercy. Only the hard, cold truth of possession, of dominance that left no room for argument, hesitation, or escape.
Taehyung’s stomach twisted in dread, a cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck. His mind raced, imagining the worst, every fearful scenario spiraling faster with each passing second.
His eyes flicked up to meet Jungkook’s, and the sharp, unyielding gaze held him frozen in place. He looked away, Frustration and panic warred in his chest, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Slowly, deliberately, Jungkook raised his hand, the cold weight of the gun pressing beneath Taehyung’s chin. Every fraction of an inch forced Taehyung to lift his gaze, to meet Jungkook’s eyes sharp, dark, and unrelenting.
Heat pooled in Taehyung’s chest as his gaze flickered to the metal under his chin and then at the man holding it.
“You understand me?” Jungkook asked, voice steady, deliberate, carrying a weight that made Taehyung’s stomach drop.
He could only nod, slow and hesitant.
“Get in the car,” he said, voice calm but edged with authority.
Taehyung hesitated, eyes darting away as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. His chest rose and fell rapidly, heart hammering, weighing options that felt impossibly limited.
Jungkook’s hand closed over his arm, the pressure firm but measured. “Now,” he added, voice smooth, cold, leaving no room for refusal.
Taehyung’s resolve wavered. He opened the car door, and before he could settle in, Jungkook pressed it closed with a soft click---the child lock engaging automatically.
“Gyubin…” Taehyung murmured, panic threading his voice. “He’s waiting—”
Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward him once. He didn’t speak, didn’t hurry. He simply turned and walked toward the elevator with measured, effortless strides. No anger. No rush. Only the quiet weight of control.
Taehyung sank into the seat, hands clutching the edge of the leather. His heart still pounded, the quiet dominance Jungkook carried lingering in the air even in his absence. He leaned back, exhaling shakily, mind spinning with fear, irritation, and a low-level dread that refused to leave.
The hum of the parking garage felt deafening compared to the silence Jungkook had left behind. Every deliberate step he had taken toward the elevator echoed in Taehyung’s chest... a stark reminder of just how commanding, and how dangerously cold, he truly was.
.
.
.
Jungkook stepped into the lobby, long coat sweeping lightly over the polished floor. The usual office hum seemed to dim around him, as though the world recognized his presence.
Gyubin sat perched on the edge of a chair, small backpack at his side. His wide eyes tracked the approaching figure, uncertainty and curiosity mingling in equal measure. Fingers fidgeted with the straps of his bag.
“Get up,” Jungkook said, voice low, deliberate, leaving no space for argument.
The boy’s gaze flicked around, searching for his father. Taehyung was nowhere in sight, and panic flitted across Gyubin’s face. Yet Jungkook’s calm authority was firm and undeniable. Swallowing his hesitation, Gyubin rose, clutching his bag.
Jungkook’s hand closed around the boy’s small wrist, guiding him with steady precision. No harshness, no abrupt tug just unwavering control. Gyubin hesitated, glancing up at the blank face, but the measured calm was enough to make him follow.
One hand carried the bag effortlessly; the other held the boy securely. Each long, deliberate step created a rhythm, and Gyubin hurried to match it.
Employees paused mid-step, murmurs spreading as they witnessed the man who had always seemed untouchable holding a child with quiet command. Jungkook spared no glance for them, focus entirely on the boy.
Gyubin, still tense, felt a small thread of reassurance weaving through the fear. Jungkook’s grip was firm, protective, and precise, a silent shield.
At the elevator, Jungkook pressed the button with a single finger, still holding the bag and boy without breaking stride. Gyubin dared a tentative glance up, feeling, for the first time, a subtle sense of safety beneath the cold authority.
The elevator doors slid open smoothly. Jungkook stepped inside; Gyubin hurried after, small legs pumping to keep pace.
As the doors closed, the lobby returned to its usual bustle, employees whispering in astonishment.
The elevator descended to the dimly lit underground parking floor. Jungkook stepped out with Gyubin, strides long and deliberate. The boy hurried to keep up, but Jungkook’s hand never loosened.
“Where’s Appa?” Gyubin asked softly, worry flickering across his face.
Jungkook’s gaze swept the floor, still blank, still calm. He didn’t answer, only guided the boy forward with subtle, precise pressure.
Ahead, the familiar black car appeared. In the passenger seat, Taehyung glanced down at his phone, breath catching as he noticed them approaching. Jungkook’s grip on Gyubin’s hand remained firm but careful, steadying the boy. Seeing his father’s face finally eased some tension in Gyubin’s chest.
Taehyung looked up, eyes softening at the sight of his son. A small smile tugged at his lips. Gyubin’s face lit up, waving eagerly.
Jungkook moved to the back, opening the car door with precise, calm movements. He placed the bag inside, then guided Gyubin into the seat, the boy climbing in carefully, still clutching the reassurance of Jungkook’s silent authority.
Once Gyubin was seated, Jungkook walked around and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine hummed softly, the car settling into quiet stillness.
Taehyung glanced at his son. Gyubin’s eyes were wide and trusting. “I was waiting for you,” the boy said quietly.
Taehyung’s chest warmed with a fragile sense of relief, a small break in the tension. He exhaled slowly, lowering his gaze, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes after the charged moments earlier.
Fingers fidgeted in his lap, a subtle reminder that even in calm, the CEO’s quiet, unspoken power lingered intimidating, commanding, protective, all at once.
Gyubin leaned slightly toward his father. Taehyung’s fingers brushed his son’s in a fleeting, tender moment of connection before he looked ahead, letting the lingering tension settle, though never fully fading.
.
.
.
The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the mansion, the engine’s hum dying into silence. Taehyung was out before Jungkook could even shift, not sparing him a single glance.
His steps were brisk, almost sharp against the driveway, the cool evening air brushing against his flushed face. He moved to the back, opening the door with a soft click.
“Come here,” he murmured to Gyubin, taking the boy’s bag and guiding him out with gentle hands.
Jungkook watched from the driver’s seat, his dark eyes following every movement, the way Taehyung didn’t even glance at him, the way his shoulders stayed stiff as if warding off the very idea of his presence.
He leaned back for a beat, exhaling through his nose before reaching for the dashboard. His fingers curled around the cold steel hidden there, sliding the gun back into its compartment with a soft thud. The seatbelt unclicked.
When he stepped out, he pulled at the collar of his shirt, loosening the top two buttons, revealing the dip of his collarbones. His hair was slightly mussed, the scent of his cologne faint in the air.
The guards at the entrance bowed low, their eyes carefully avoiding his. Jungkook didn’t acknowledge them, his gaze already locked on the figure inside.
Taehyung was standing in the middle of the foyer, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable. Gyubin must have already gone upstairs; the silence between them was almost tangible.
Jungkook walked in, his stride casual, as though Taehyung wasn’t even there. He was just about to pass when---
A hand caught his wrist.
It was light, hesitant, but enough to make him pause. Jungkook turned his head slowly, his eyes dropping to where Taehyung’s fingers wrapped around him. Then his gaze slid up, meeting Taehyung’s face.
Realizing what he’d done, Taehyung released him quickly, his hand retreating as if burned.
“What?” Jungkook’s voice was low, as though daring him to speak.
Taehyung opened his mouth, then shut it. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his tongue heavy with the weight of the words he’d been holding back. But he couldn’t swallow them any longer.
“You…” He inhaled, steadying himself. “You’re a hypocrite.”
Jungkook’s brow arched. “What do you mean?”
Taehyung’s chest rose and fell, his voice sharper now, laced with the frustration he’d been biting back for days.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me,” he breathed out, his gaze locking onto Jungkook’s. “And yet… you don’t waste a single chance to do it.”
For a moment, Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes darkened, dragging over Taehyung’s face, lingering at his mouth just a little too long before meeting his gaze again.
“Maybe,” he said slowly, stepping just close enough for Taehyung to feel the heat radiating off him, “you should ask yourself why you let me.”
“I-I don’t let you…” Taehyung’s voice wavered, tight and strained. He pressed his palms against his thighs, trying to ground himself, to keep from stumbling under the weight of everything that had happened. “You… You always put me in situations where I have no choice but to agree.”
Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His dark eyes followed Taehyung like a predator, calm, unyielding, unreadable. “Is that so?” he asked, stepping forward with the faintest tilt of his chin, the kind that made the air feel thicker between them.
“Trying to tell me you don’t get breathless every time I touch you… or that you don’t melt against me the second I pull away?” His voice was low, deliberate, almost teasing, but his gaze carried a weight that pressed against Taehyung’s chest like iron.
Taehyung’s jaw clenched. “Stay… stay away from me,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.
Yet Jungkook’s hand brushed lightly against his arm again...an almost casual touch, but charged, deliberate. Taehyung flinched, a hot spike of frustration and fear shooting through him.
“Again…” Taehyung whispered, almost to himself, almost accusingly, his fingers trembling as he tried to pull his arm away without touching Jungkook. His chest heaved, and his heart hammered in his ears. “Just… don’t. Don’t touch me.”
Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly. The silence stretched between them, taut like a wire ready to snap.
“You done whining?” Jungkook asked finally, his voice low and measured, like a blade being drawn slowly.
Taehyung blinked at him, disbelief washing over him. His lips parted, wanting to argue, to tell him off, to scream but the knot in his stomach and the chill creeping up his spine held him back.
“I… I—” Taehyung started, swallowing hard, his throat dry, then shut his mouth. He couldn’t say it. Words failed him in the shadow of Jungkook’s control.
Finally, taking a slow, shaky breath, he muttered, “Get in your room.”
Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver as he turned on his heel and began walking upstairs, the calm precision in his movements contrasting sharply with the storm inside Taehyung.
Every step he took echoed through the hall, leaving a hollow ache behind him. Taehyung’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. Anger, embarrassment, fear, it all tangled together, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to follow immediately.
“Why… why does he have to be like this?” Taehyung whispered under his breath, a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Every time… he just…” His voice trailed off, swallowed by the vastness of the hall.
Even as Jungkook disappeared upstairs, his presence hung in the room like a shadow, heavy and impossible to ignore. Taehyung’s stomach fluttered nervously, and he sank into the nearest chair, rubbing his face with his hands.
He tried to steady himself, to breathe, to remember Gyubin waiting--- but even the thought of his son couldn’t chase away the burn left by Jungkook’s cold, dominating aura.
He finally exhaled, slow and shaky, pressing his palms to his eyes. “I… I can’t deal with him,” he muttered, the words almost inaudible, almost confessional.
And yet, somewhere deep down, even with all the anger, all the fear, he knew that Jungkook’s hold over him was far from over.