25
Third Person Pov
The next day, the house felt heavier.
Taehyung didn’t step out of his room once--not for breakfast, not for lunch. The only time he emerged was to bring Gyubin his meal, the boy already smiling at the sight of him. Jungkook was there, seated on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and businesslike.
Taehyung didn’t spare him a glance. He set the tray down, ruffled Gyubin’s hair, and left without a word.
The sting from the night before still sat deep in his chest. He’d always loved animals-‐-loved the small, unwanted things the world overlooked.
To him, they were pure, gentle beings that deserved warmth and care. When Jungkook had given that order, his tone casual and dismissive, as if he were telling someone to toss out trash something inside Taehyung had splintered.
He hated him for it. Hated the way Jungkook’s cruelty could be so calm, so absolute. And yet, the man remained unbothered, untouched by the crack his words had left in Taehyung’s heart.
By evening, the air in his room was thick with unspoken words.
He sat on the edge of the bed, Gyubin in front of him, as he helped the boy into his small, neatly pressed clothes for Mrs. Kim’s birthday.
Taehyung hadn’t asked Jungkook if he could attend, he hadn’t wanted to speak to him at all but deep down he knew he couldn’t just leave without his permission.
Still, he pushed that thought aside for now.
He buttoned Gyubin’s shirt carefully, smoothing out the creases, and gave him a soft smile. Gyubin beamed back, his little feet swinging in excitement.
Taehyung had chosen a simple outfit for himself a silk white shirt, tucked neatly into tailored trousers. Clean, minimal, and refined.
He didn’t need anything extravagant; tonight wasn’t about him.
He reached for a bottle of cologne, spritzing it lightly across his collar before leaning down and misting a bit over Gyubin.
The boy let out a giggle, scrunching his nose. “Appa, it tickles!”
Taehyung chuckled, smoothing the curls off his forehead. “You smell like a little prince now,” he said softly, his tone warm despite the ache still lodged somewhere deep inside him.
For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to forget about Jungkook about the coldness in his eyes, about the cat’s soft cry fading into the night. But he knew… eventually, he would have to face him.
And he dreaded it.
Taehyung picked up the neatly wrapped box from the table the DIY gift he and Gyubin had spent hours crafting and stepped out of the room. Gyubin trailed closely behind, his small footsteps light against the polished floor.
The hallway felt longer than usual, and Taehyung’s pace instinctively slowed as his eyes landed on Jungkook.
The CEO was seated in the armchair, leaning back in a lazy sprawl, gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. The soft lamplight carved shadows along his sharp jawline, catching the faint glint of the watch at his wrist. He looked… divinely dangerous.
Taehyung shook his head, tightening his hold on the box, and forced himself to move forward. Gyubin followed hesitantly, his small fingers brushing the fabric of Taehyung’s trousers as if seeking reassurance.
“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung called, his voice low but steady.
Jungkook’s gaze shifted slowly to him. For a beat, he said nothing, just let his eyes take in the sight before him: the loose fall of Taehyung’s silk shirt, the delicate pendant resting against his collarbone, and those long, slender fingers curled protectively around the gift box.
Taehyung resisted the urge to fidget under that stare. “Uh… we’ll be going. Mrs. Kim’s birthday celebration. If I don’t go… she’d be upset.” His tone was careful, measured, but there was a faint plea hidden under the formality.
Jungkook’s gaze slid down to Gyubin. The boy was half-hiding behind Taehyung, one hand clutching at his trousers like an anchor. Taehyung reached back to pat his hair gently, as if telling him it was fine.
A long silence stretched between them before Jungkook finally spoke.
“Fine.”
The word was low, flat without a trace of interest. He rose from the chair with slow, unhurried movements, brushing past Taehyung close enough for the faint trace of his cologne to linger in the air. He didn’t look back.
Taehyung exhaled quietly, a tension in his shoulders loosening just enough. Finally---some moments away from this house. Away from this man.
He glanced at Gyubin and offered a small smile before taking his hand, guiding him toward the front door. The driver was already waiting outside. Taehyung helped Gyubin into the car before slipping in beside him, the gift box resting carefully on his lap as the mansion faded into the distance.
.
.
.
The soft light of the chandeliers bathed the hall in a golden glow, reflecting off the neatly arranged bouquets along the walls. Taehyung stepped inside quietly, Gyubin’s small hand warm in his own. The murmur of conversation surrounded them, but the air felt calm, almost serene.
Mrs. Kim noticed them almost at once. Her face softened with genuine warmth as she made her way toward them, her steps unhurried but full of intent.
“Taehyung…,” she greeted softly, her voice carrying that natural gentleness that always made Taehyung’s shoulders loosen.
He bowed politely, his tone warm but measured. “Happy birthday, Mrs. Kim.”
Gyubin followed, bowing just as neatly before offering a shy, “Happy birthday.”
Taehyung held out the neatly wrapped box. “We made something for you,” he said.
Mrs. Kim’s eyes softened even more, her fingers brushing the ribbon lightly before she passed the gift to a nearby guard. “You didn’t have to, but I’m very touched,” she said, looking between the two of them as if she were memorizing the moment.
She crouched slightly to Gyubin’s level, smiling. “Hello there."
Gyubin’s lips curved into a small smile as he leaned subtly into Taehyung’s side, holding onto his shirt.
Mrs. Kim glanced around, her expression shifting as she asked, “And… Jungkook? He didn’t come?”
Taehyung hesitated for a beat, his eyes lowering for a moment before he answered quietly, “He had work.”
There was a flicker of something unreadable in Mrs. Kim’s gaze before she sighed softly, almost to herself. “I see… well, he’s always been busy.” Then she looked back at Taehyung, her smile returning gentler this time, with a touch of affection. “I’m glad you came. It means a great deal to me.”
Her words were simple, but they lingered in the air between them, warming something in Taehyung’s chest that had felt cold since the night before.
“Oh—look, Jin is here,” Mrs. Kim said, her voice lifting ever so slightly with delight.
Taehyung turned his head, following her gaze.
Seokjin was walking in from the entrance, the steady, unhurried stride of a man who didn’t need to announce his presence.
He looked as though he had come straight from work tailored blazer perfectly fitted, hair slightly tousled in a way that only made him seem more put together.
Taehyung’s fingers curled lightly around Gyubin’s hand, his eyes dropping almost instinctively.
The memory of that day flickered unbidden the tight space of the elevator, the silent weight of Seokjin’s presence when the doors opened, and worst of all, the sight of him later…
watching from a distance as Jungkook pressed him against the car.
The humiliation still burned in his stomach.
Seokjin came to a stop in front of them. Mrs. Kim was beaming up at him.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to her, voice calm, as if he knew she wouldn’t mind.
She shook her head with a soft smile, brushing off his apology. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Taehyung kept his eyes lowered, but his posture was neat, polite.
“Hello, Taehyung,” Seokjin said suddenly, his tone quiet but intentional.
Taehyung hesitated before looking up. His lips curved into a small, almost reluctant smile. “Good evening, Mr. Kim.”
For a moment, Seokjin just studied him no judgment in his gaze, only something softer, almost, like he was trying to see beyond the polite mask Taehyung wore so well.
Gyubin stepped forward, the small, careful way he always did when approaching someone older. Taehyung’s gaze flicked down to his son, a silent encouragement in the curve of his lips.
“Good evening, Mr. Kim,” Gyubin said, his voice polite yet carrying a shy brightness.
Seokjin’s features eased into a genuine smile. “Evening. How are you?” His tone was warm but measured, the kind of voice that made children feel heard without talking down to them.
“I’m good,” Gyubin replied, his eyes dropping bashfully before darting up at Taehyung.
Taehyung’s face softened instantly, the faintest fondness touching his usually composed expression. Something about seeing his son converse so formally, yet with that sweet innocence, made his chest warm.
The exchange was simple brief words, polite smiles but there was an unspoken tenderness in the air, one Taehyung didn’t miss.
Seokjin seemed at ease in the boy’s company, asking about school, his drawings, and whether he was still practicing piano.
Gyubin nodded at each question, answering quietly, his small hands fiddling with the hem of Taehyung’s shirt.
Taehyung stood a step back, watching them. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t feel the need to. The sight alone was enough a rare softness in Seokjin’s face, a genuine ease in Gyubin’s.
Mrs. Kim, meanwhile, had already drifted across the hall to greet a group of her friends, her laughter carrying faintly through the air, leaving the three of them in a small, contained moment of their own.
Seokjin came to stand beside Taehyung, both of them silently watching Mrs. Kim across the room. She was surrounded by her friends, her laughter ringing warm and light as they danced in their own little circle, hands swaying, smiles unrestrained.
For a moment, Seokjin’s usual coolness gave way to something softer. The faintest curve touched his lips peace, rare and quiet, settling in his chest.
Taehyung’s gaze flicked toward him, then followed to Mrs. Kim. “She seems so happy,” he said softly, almost to himself, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
Seokjin gave a low hum of agreement, his eyes lingering on his mother a moment longer before a passing waiter offered them drinks.
Seokjin took a glass of amber liquor without hesitation, swirling it idly. Taehyung, with a small shake of his head, declined.
Across the room, Gyubin sat at a table of his own, legs swinging slightly as he focused on his plate, cheeks full from the generous bites he’d taken.
Between them, the music played on, soft but steady, wrapping the room in a warmth that neither man acknowledged out loud.
From the corner of his eye, Seokjin studied him—the silk shirt, the way his hair caught the light, the faint scent of something clean and floral that drifted in the space between them. Taehyung kept his gaze fixed on Gyubin.
The music shifted into something slower, warmer. Mrs. Kim, spotting them, made her way over with an eager smile. “You two are just standing here,” she chided playfully. “Come, dance a little.”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Kim,” Taehyung replied politely, bowing his head slightly.
She waved him off with a flick of her hand. “Nonsense. Come, dance. Loosen up a bit.”
“Really, I—”
Before he could finish, she was already taking his hand, pressing it into Seokjin’s. Taehyung froze, eyes flicking instantly to Seokjin’s face, but Mrs. Kim wasn’t looking at either of them anymore, she’d turned away, already on her way back to her friends.
Taehyung’s fingers twitched, instinctively trying to pull back. “I don’t think—”
“It’s just a dance,” Seokjin interrupted smoothly, his tone calm but with an undertone that made it feel less like a suggestion.
Taehyung shook his head faintly. “It wouldn’t be right.”
One corner of Seokjin’s mouth lifted, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And why’s that?”
“You know why.” Taehyung’s voice was soft, but it carried enough weight between them.
Seokjin didn’t press verbally,, he simply stepped forward into the space between them, his hand finding the small of Taehyung’s back.
Taehyung stiffened immediately, glancing to the side to make sure no one was paying attention.
“I don’t dance,” Taehyung said, almost as if it were a final plea.
“I’ll lead.”
It was impossible to tell if Seokjin was teasing or just stating a fact. His hand was firm but not forceful, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin silk of Taehyung’s shirt.
The first step was clumsy Taehyung’s body angled away, his palm barely resting in Seokjin’s. “You’re tense,” Seokjin murmured.
“I told you this isn’t—”
“Relax.” The word was quiet, but there was a steeliness to it, as if it were both instruction and command.
Taehyung’s eyes darted to Gyubin in the distance, then to the floor. “I can't do this—”
“That’s exactly why I’m doing it,” Seokjin said, voice low, almost conversational, though the implication made Taehyung’s stomach twist.
The music carried them in slow turns across the floor, Seokjin moving with effortless precision while Taehyung did everything he could to keep more space between them. But Seokjin’s hand never faltered, his gaze fixed measured, unhurried, assessing.
“Look at me,” Seokjin said finally, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
Taehyung did, reluctantly. The weight in Seokjin’s eyes was unsettling like he was reading far deeper than Taehyung wanted him to.
For a moment, it was just the two of them in that crowded room, Seokjin’s steady control against Taehyung’s reluctant compliance, the tension between them drawn tight enough to snap.
Taehyung’s eyes flicked around the hall, searching for any excuse, any distraction anything to cut this short. His fingers trembled lightly where they rested on Seokjin’s shoulder, the silk of his shirt clinging faintly to his skin from the warmth.
He didn’t want this.
Oh, lord, he didn’t want this.
Not here. Not in front of all these people. Not with Jungkook’s shadow stretching so far, even when he wasn’t in the room.
“I think… I’m good now,” Taehyung said, forcing a faint smile as he tried to take a step back.
But Seokjin’s hand at his waist didn’t move it only tightened, just enough to keep him anchored.
“Stop being so scared,” Seokjin murmured, voice pitched low so only Taehyung could hear.
Taehyung’s breath caught, his chest tightening as he glanced away, eyes darting toward the exit as if that could save him. “I’m not scared,” he lied, his voice soft but strained.
Seokjin’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more a knowing line. “Then dont back off.”
Taehyung hesitated. He could feel the heat of Seokjin’s palm seeping through the thin fabric at his back, could feel the subtle pull of being led into another slow step.
His gaze finally lifted, meeting Seokjin’s eyes and instantly regretting it.
There was no malice there, just that disarming calm, the kind that was far more dangerous than anger.
Seokjin said, almost idly. “Relax. It’s just a dance.”
“It’s not just a dance,” Taehyung replied quietly, almost desperately, but Seokjin didn’t loosen his hold. The turn brought them closer to the center of the floor, the music wrapping around them like a trap.
Seokjin leaned in fractionally, his breath brushing Taehyung’s ear.
“You’re making it look like we’re doing something wrong.”
Taehyung’s pulse spiked at the words, his steps faltering for a fraction of a second before Seokjin’s guiding hand corrected them effortlessly. And still, no one else noticed---the room was full of laughter and music, blind to the sharp edge hidden in plain sight.
Taehyung kept moving to the rhythm because stopping would draw more eyes. His smile small, hesitant was barely there, yet Gyubin’s delighted expression from the sidelines was enough to keep him from pulling away.
The boy clapped quietly in his seat, proud, unaware of the weight pressing on Taehyung’s chest.
The music swelled one last time before fading, and the applause around them filled the hall. But neither Taehyung nor Seokjin moved immediately.
Seokjin’s hand was still at his waist, warm and steady, as if the end of the song hadn’t happened at all. Taehyung’s gaze lifted to his those dark eyes that tonight, just for him, seemed impossibly gentle. Too gentle. It made something in his stomach twist.
He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes quickly. The air between them felt heavy, unspoken things brushing like shadows over the space they shared.
Bowing slightly, his voice almost failing him, Taehyung murmured, “I… I should just—”
He didn’t finish. The words tangled in his throat, too fragile to push out. He stepped back, breaking the contact himself, the cool space where Seokjin’s hand had been making his skin feel suddenly bare.
Turning sharply, Taehyung walked out of the hall without looking back, his steps too quick to be casual.
Seokjin stood rooted in place for a moment, his eyes following the empty doorway.
Then, with a long exhale, he dragged a hand through his neatly styled hair, the movement subtle yet restless, before lifting the drink from a nearby table and finishing it in one slow sip.
.
.
.
Taehyung stepped into the washroom, the soft echo of his shoes against the tiled floor the only sound.
His heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, drowning out his own shallow breaths.
The memory of Seokjin’s hand still crawled beneath his skin like poison he couldn’t wash away.
He turned on the faucet, letting icy water run over his trembling fingers. “What is even this…” he muttered, splashing his face as if the chill might steady him. “I shouldn’t feel all this.” His voice was a whisper, a secret meant for no one but himself.
The light flickered once. Twice. And then darkness.
His pulse jumped. The silence grew heavier, thick enough to choke. He reached blindly toward the door, fingers grazing the air.
But froze.
Something solid pressed against his back, unyielding. Heat. Breath ghosting his ear. A hand firm, deliberate...sliding around his waist as if it had every right. Taehyung’s blood turned to ice.
“Enjoying yourself a little too much, aren’t you?” The voice cut through the dark---low, velvety, dangerous. A tone he knew too well, though his mind screamed at him not to believe it.
His lips parted. “Y-you…” The word tangled on his tongue, as if afraid to be spoken.
Before thought could follow, he was seized. Dragged forward. His chest slammed against the cold porcelain sink, palms smacking flat against its surface. His wrists were caught, twisted behind his back, pinned in an iron grip.
“Stay still.” The order rumbled against his ear hot, merciless.
Taehyung shook his head desperately. “L-let me go—”
“You don’t get to ask for that.” The interruption was sharp, final. The warmth at his spine pressed closer, suffocating, branding.
“Why—why are you doing this?” His reflection in the faint glimmer of the sink barely resembled him, lips parted, eyes wide, breath breaking.
“Because you need a reminder.” The words slid out like silk over steel.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, his legs threatening to give. “N-no… I’m not—”
“Say it again.” The whisper was lethal, hovering at the shell of his ear, pressing him harder against the sink. “Say it, and I’ll make you choke on the regret.”
Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut, head shaking frantically, wrists aching in the unrelenting hold. His body betrayed him with every shiver, every stuttered breath.
The figure leaned lower, lips grazing the corner of his jaw, close enough to sear without touching. “Your body already knows the truth,” came the murmur, hushed, dangerous. “Even if your mouth refuses it.”
“Stop… please,” he breathed, the plea fractured, unsteady.
The mirror reflected only distorted silhouettes, two shadows entwined, predator and prey.
“Begging already?” The voice curled into him, cruel, amused. “Suits you.”
A hand slid slowly up his spine, curling around the back of his neck before forcing his head back. His throat was bared, vulnerable, his gasp caught between fear and something he dared not name.
“My eyes,” the whisper rasped, venom wrapped in heat, “are always on you.”
Taehyung shivered violently, pulse hammering so loud he thought it might give him away.
“You think I’d ever let you breathe in peace?” The mockery clung to the darkness, heavy and binding.
His chest heaved, words spilling out uneven. “What are you even doing—”
The grip on his neck tightened, dragging his head back further, caging him.
“Tonight’s the worst night for you.” the voice breathed, cruel and low.
And then silence. The hand was gone.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Taehyung stumbled forward, breath shaky, his palm flying up to the back of his neck where the phantom heat of that touch lingered. His chest heaved, heart thundering inside his ribs. He spun around, eyes darting across the shadows swallowing the room.
No one.
Just the dark.
His throat worked as he swallowed hard, lips parting in disbelief. “where did he…?” His voice cracked, uncertain if he had spoken the name aloud or if it had simply torn itself from his mind.
The silence answered him.
Was it real? Or was his mind playing tricks on him again hallucinations carved from exhaustion and fear?
He dragged a shaky hand down his face, fingers trembling as he forced a bitter laugh. “I’m… I’m losing it.” The words sounded too loud in the quiet, bouncing back at him like mockery.
Turning quickly, he reached for the switch on the wall. His thumb flicked it once, twice. Nothing. The lights stayed dead.
A curse left his lips as he fumbled for the doorknob, finally gripping it, the cold metal grounding him just enough to keep his breaths steady. He twisted and pulled the door open, stepping into the hallway.
But the moment his foot crossed the threshold...
The gunshot cracked the silence like glass shattering, echoing so sharply it rattled the walls.
Taehyung froze. His eyes widened, pupils trembling as the sound burned through his ears. His lips parted in horror, and a single name slipped out in a broken whisper.
“...Binnie.”
The fear inside him twisted violently into panic. His legs moved before his mind caught up, steps stumbling, quickening into a desperate run.
He didn’t care about the darkness clawing at every corner, didn’t care about the way the floor creaked under his weight. All that mattered was the sound the shot and the sickening thought of what it might mean.
The corridor stretched endlessly, every second dragging like hours as his heart pounded against his ribs. He shoved past the fear, past the trembling in his hands, forcing his body forward until the faint glow of light seeped into the hall.
And then, without warning, the electricity surged back to life. The house illuminated in a harsh, almost mocking brightness.
Taehyung blinked rapidly, blinded for a moment, before his eyes adjusted. He skidded into the main hall, chest heaving, searching dreading.
His steps faltered.
Because what he saw rooted him to the floor.
Taehyung’s eyes widened as the metallic scent hit him. His gaze locked on Seokjin, who stood in the middle of the chaos, clutching his arm. A crowd had gathered around, murmurs rising like the roar of an angry sea.
Seokjin’s expression remained deceptively calm, though pain flickered in his eyes. His broad shoulders were tense, jaw set, as though he refused to show weakness.
His hand was pressed firmly against his bicep, crimson spilling through his fingers. A bullet...Taehyung realized with a sharp gasp had pierced clean through.
“Mr.Kim!” Taehyung’s voice cracked as he shoved past the people. His chest felt tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. He rushed to Seokjin’s side, his trembling hands hovering, not knowing whether to help or whether touching him would worsen the wound.
But another terror hit him.
“Gyubin…” Taehyung’s head whipped around frantically, eyes searching the crowd. Panic climbed up his throat like a noose. His son... where was his son?
“Where’s my son?!!” His voice shook with desperation as he grabbed the nearest woman’s wrist.
The lady gasped at his ferocity but quickly answered, “Mrs. Kim...she took him out after the gunshot!”
A shaky exhale burst from Taehyung’s lips, relief flooding him so hard his knees nearly buckled. His son was safe. Safe.
Seokjin straightened his back, refusing to lean into anyone, refusing help as if pride alone could carry him. Blood seeped through his sleeve, dripping in dark trails, but his voice was steady.
“I’m fine,” Seokjin muttered, brushing off the hands that reached for him. His lips were pale, yet his words carried command. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
Scratch? A bullet through his bicep?
Taehyung’s heart hammered so violently he thought it might split his ribs apart. He reached out, desperate to hold him, to stop him, but Seokjin was already moving, already walking forward, the nurses trailing after him.
He didn’t stumble. He didn’t cry out. He carried himself like a wall of stone unyielding.
Taehyung stood frozen, breath caught in his throat, his palms clammy. Around him, the chaos still roared, but all he could hear was the thunder of his own heart.
Taehyung stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, his breaths shallow and uneven.
His chest rose and fell too quickly, as though the walls themselves were suffocating him.
His mind reeled the sight of the bathroom still clawing at him, the sharp glint of blood smeared along Seokjin’s arm refusing to leave his eyes.
He forced himself forward, each step heavy, his body trembling as though carrying the weight of everything at once.
At the end of the corridor, Mrs. Kim stood rigid, her face pale and drawn, clutching Gyubin’s small hand as though she would lose him if she let go. Her knuckles were white against the child’s wrist, her lips parted but trembling, her eyes distant... haunted.
Gyubin saw Taehyung first. The boy’s eyes widened, and he let go of Mrs. Kim’s hand, running to him with hesitant steps.
“It’s fine,” Taehyung whispered, kneeling slightly to cup the boy’s face. His hand trembled as it brushed Gyubin’s cheek, as if needing reassurance that the boy was real, alive, untouched by the chaos. “It’s fine…” he repeated softly, though his voice cracked, betraying the lie.
“Thank you,” Taehyung added quietly, his eyes lifting to Mrs. Kim. The words came out hoarse, but sincere.
Mrs. Kim didn’t respond at first. She only stared at him with wide, glassy eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line as if the blood and violence had stolen her voice.
Taking a cautious step toward her, Taehyung softened his voice. “Seokjin-ssi will be fine.” His words were careful, delicate, meant as comfort but also for himself, as if speaking them might make them true.
Finally, Mrs. Kim exhaled, her shoulders slumping with the weight she carried. She gave the smallest nod, a faint hum breaking from her throat.
“I’ll… I’ll go check on him.” Her voice wavered, barely holding itself together.
Taehyung patted Gyubin’s cheek once more, lingering for a heartbeat longer as though grounding himself through the boy’s warmth, before straightening. He watched Mrs. Kim walk away, her figure fragile and unsteady, disappearing around the corner.
And then there was silence.
Taehyung stood frozen in the hallway, Gyubin’s small hand clutching at his sleeve. The air pressed down on him, thick and suffocating.
He was left there... haunted, overwhelmed, holding trauma in one hand and unanswered questions in the other.