33
Third Person Pov
The silence in the car was deafening. The sunlight beat down relentlessly, warming the leather seats and making the air thick. The car came to a stop, and Taehyung unbuckled his seatbelt. Jungkook leaned back, staring straight ahead.
Taehyung didn’t look at him. He stepped out and walked toward the gate. The mansion guards stood motionless, eyes fixed but expressionless. He heard the soft click of the car door behind him Jungkook was following.
Inside the mansion, the familiar warmth hit him first. And then he saw Gyubin. crouched on the floor, playing with the fluffy kitten.
Gyubin’s head shot up at the sound of footsteps, his eyes brightening. He lifted the cat carefully and ran toward him.
“Appa.” he exclaimed, his small voice brimming with joy.
Taehyung felt a gentle smile spread across his face. He knelt slightly, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s fur, letting the soft purrs soothe the ache in his chest.
Gyubin was calm, as always. Taehyung felt a quiet relief that the boy hadn’t asked where he had been that morning. The memory of the morning the tension, the silence in the car was still heavy in his chest, but seeing Gyubin here, so peaceful, made the weight ease slightly.
He crouched down, resting one hand gently on the kitten as it purred against his palm. “Did you have breakfast?” he asked softly, careful not to disturb the delicate calm of the moment.
Gyubin nodded, his eyes meeting Taehyung’s with that quiet confidence that always amazed him.
Taehyung smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
The kitten wriggled slightly in Gyubin’s arms, purring contentedly, and Taehyung’s fingers stroked its fur automatically, feeling the softness soothe some of the tension coiled in his shoulders.
Then, faint but unmistakable, a sharp scent of cologne brushed past him. Taehyung looked up, and there he was the CEO, moving with that controlled, untouchable grace.
His presence was commanding, almost magnetic, yet entirely indifferent. He passed by, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Taehyung, as if he barely existed in the periphery of the man’s world.
Taehyung watched him go, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his chest loosen just a fraction. He brushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead, feeling the sunlight on his face and the soft weight of the kitten in Gyubin’s arms.
.
.
.
Jungkook entered his room without a word, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. The stillness of the mansion wrapped around him like a second skin something he was used to, something he preferred.
His fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, unhurried, precise, as if every motion was calculated.
One by one, they came undone until the fabric slipped from his shoulders.
He tossed it onto the back of the armchair with the same carelessness he gave everything else, then lowered himself into the seat.
His body leaned back, head resting against the cushion, eyes shutting. For a moment, it seemed he was at peace. But inside, his mind was not still.
The image replayed.
His eyes opened, the calm mask never wavering, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The room was silent except for the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Nothing stirred, not even the curtains by the window.
Without a sound, he rose and crossed the room. His steps were unhurried, his shoulders relaxed, his expression blank. He reached the shelf and pulled free a bottle of expensive liquor, his grip steady, fingers long and elegant against the glass.
He didn’t slam it down. He didn’t fumble.
A tumbler was set onto the table, the pour controlled, precise. Amber liquid swirled, catching the sunlight bleeding through the curtains. Jungkook brought it to his lips, took a slow sip, and swallowed. The faint burn trailed down his throat, but he didn’t flinch.
A second glass followed, then a third. He drank each one with the same detached patience, as if he had all the time in the world.
His gaze fell to the glass in his hand. His reflection warped in the curve of it sharp eyes, a faint line at his brow that refused to smooth out. He stared at it for a long moment, and then tipped the rest of the drink back.
The glass was placed down soundlessly, not a single unnecessary motion, not a single ounce of wasted energy. He leaned back into the armchair again, one arm draping lazily over the rest.
Anyone walking in might have thought he looked calm. Untouched. Like nothing could bother him.
But inside, that thorn remained Seokjin’s presence beside Taehyung, Taehyung’s gaze softening at someone else, the hand that should’ve been his reaching for another.
It bothered him. Of course it did. But Jungkook wasn’t the kind of man who raged or begged or showed weakness.
Instead, he let the silence settle.
He let the burn of alcohol linger in his chest. And he let the coldness wash over every thought, until his face was rigid once again.
The shrill ring of his phone cut through the silence.
Jungkook’s eyes shifted to the device on the table. He let it ring twice before picking it up, pressing it to his ear with a lazy movement.
“Hello,” he muttered, his voice low, even.
It was his secretary. The tone on the other end was brisk, reminding him of the board meeting lined up for later in the day, running through the schedule.
Jungkook didn’t interrupt. He didn’t respond either. He just listened in silence, eyes fixed on nothing, the weight of the secretary’s words barely registering.
And then without a word he lowered the phone and ended the call.
The room fell silent again.
He stayed seated for a moment, staring blankly ahea. A flicker of thought might have passed behind his eyes, but if it did, it was gone just as quickly.
After a while, he rose. His movements were unhurried as he crossed to the bathroom, pushing the door open.
The cold water hit his skin, steady streams running over his shoulders and down his back. He stood there for minutes, unmoving, eyes closed, letting the freezing temperature numb everything it touched. His breathing was calm, steady. If he felt anything at all, he didn’t show it.
Eventually, he stepped out. A towel draped loosely around his waist, droplets of water still sliding from his hair. He didn’t glance at the mirror. He didn’t need to. He knew the reflection would only show him the same thing he carried every day, unshaken composure.
He pulled the drawer of the wardrobe open, retrieving a fresh suit, crisp shirt, cufflinks, a new watch to replace the one from earlier. But something else caught his eye.
A red thread bracelet, tucked in the corner of the drawer.
His fingers hovered over it, pausing just above the thin weave of thread. He stared at it for a long moment, his face still devoid of emotion, but his eyes dark, sharp lingered in silence.
Then, without a word, he shut the drawer.
The bracelet disappeared from sight.
And Jungkook dressed, precise and perfect, every detail in place... like nothing had ever been out of order.
Jungkook slid the new watch onto his wrist, the cool metal clinking softly against his skin. With a smooth motion, he raked his damp hair back, letting it fall naturally into place. The towel had already been discarded; now, his sharp suit framed him again immaculate, crisp, untouchable.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, glanced at the screen for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. No messages. No calls. Just silence, the way he liked it.
Without hesitation, he stepped out of the bedroom, his stride steady, composed.
His life was about moving forward. Always forward.
Work was the only constant, the only salve he allowed himself.
It had been that way for years. Even when his parents died, he hadn’t crumbled, not publicly, not privately.
He hadn’t mourned for days or drowned himself in grief.
He had simply buried it, locked it away, and poured himself into the empire he now ruled.
Emotions were distractions. Attachments were liabilities. That was the truth he lived by.
And yet
His steps faltered.
Barely noticeable, just a slight pause as he passed by the half-open door of another room.
A voice drifted out,.soft, low, carrying warmth that didn’t belong in a place like this. Taehyung’s voice.
He was speaking to Gyubin. Something gentle, something ordinary. Words Jungkook couldn’t quite make out, but the tone was enough. The tenderness, the softness that clung to every syllable.
For a moment, Jungkook just stood there. The sound lodged itself in his chest in a way he didn’t welcome. His eyes flickered toward the door.
Then, without a word, he moved again.
Past the room. Past the voices.
He didn’t look back.
His footsteps echoed down the hallway, precise and deliberate. And just like that, he tucked away whatever had tried to stir within him, slammed it behind the same locked door where all his emotions rotted.
Because Jungkook Jeon didn’t stop. Not for the past. Not for grief.
Not even for the sound of Taehyung’s voice.
.
.
.
The whole day, Taehyung chose not to leave the bed. He stayed curled up with Gyubin, their kitten sprawled lazily at their feet. The boy had been quieter than usual, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, eyes often drifting away whenever Taehyung tried to engage him in play.
Evening crept in slowly, and it was time for Gyubin’s appointment. Taehyung carefully began packing the essentials medications, water bottle, a bunny plushie Gyubin always carried for comfort. His movements were precise but gentle, the routine so ingrained in him now it almost felt like breathing.
When Gyubin came over with his little cap in hand, Taehyung’s chest ached. The boy lowered his gaze, holding out the cap without a word.
The medications, stronger now than before had left their mark. Thin strands of hair clung to his pillow in the mornings, and yesterday Gyubin had noticed it for the first time.
His little fingers had traced his scalp nervously, his silence heavier than any tantrum.
Taehyung swallowed the lump in his throat as he knelt in front of him. “Here,” he whispered, gently sliding the cap over his son’s head. He adjusted it until it sat comfortably, then leaned back to look at him. “See? Perfect.”
Gyubin’s lips pressed together, still downturned. “I don’t like it…” he mumbled softly, not meeting his father’s eyes.
Taehyung exhaled slowly, forcing a small smile.
He reached out, cupping Gyubin’s face with both hands, lifting it just enough so their eyes met.
“We’ll shave your head tomorrow, hm?” he said softly, his tone warm, reassuring.
“It’ll look neat, and you’ll still be the most handsome boy in the world. ”
Gyubin blinked up at him, unsure, his lashes wet with unshed tears. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, wrapping his thin arms around Taehyung’s neck. His little body trembled as he pressed his face into his father’s shoulder.
Taehyung froze for a moment, then melted into the hug, his own arms tightening protectively around him. He kissed the top of Gyubin’s head, then his temple, then his chubby cheek, whispering against his skin, “It doesn’t matter how you look, Binnie. You’ll always be perfect to me.”
The boy sniffled quietly, his hold firming, and Taehyung closed his eyes, letting the moment stretch.
Taehyung smoothed his palm over the cap, tucking away the last stubborn curl before adjusting it properly. Gyubin’s little sniffles filled the quiet room, his lashes heavy with tears as he stood, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“Binnie,” Taehyung murmured, kneeling again so they were eye level. He brushed away the tear streaking down Gyubin’s soft cheek. “Listen to me… the hair will grow back. Once the treatment’s over, it’ll all come back, thick and curly, just like before.”
The boy’s lower lip trembled, and his tears spilled despite his efforts to hold them back.
Taehyung’s own chest tightened at the sight. He loved those curls, his little boy’s wild crown of softness but right now, none of that mattered more than making sure Gyubin believed he was still whole.
He pulled Gyubin into his arms, pressing his cheek against the boy’s cap. “Everything will be fine,” he whispered into the fabric, his voice low, steady, a promise he wanted to carve into the universe itself. “Appa’s here. Always.”
Gyubin hiccupped softly, nodding against his shoulder. His small hand tightened around Taehyung’s fingers as if to anchor himself, and Taehyung kissed the side of his face before slowly standing, never letting go of that hand.
“Come on,” he said gently, forcing a smile. “We’ll be late otherwise.”
Together, they walked out of the room. The mansion’s grand halls stretched in silence, cold and vast, but there was no trace of the CEO anywhere. No footsteps on the stairs, no presence lingering in the corners.
Taehyung exhaled quietly, a sigh that carried both relief and bitterness. Better that way, he thought, squeezing Gyubin’s hand just a little tighter. He didn’t want his son to feel the weight of that man’s shadow... not tonight.
The air outside was crisp as they stepped out of the mansion, the guards lowering their gazes respectfully as Taehyung guided Gyubin past them. The little boy climbed into the car, hugging his small backpack to his chest while Taehyung made sure the seatbelt was secure.
His eyes softened as he glanced at the boy once more, so fragile, yet holding on bravely.
The gates of the mansion closed behind them as they drove toward the hospital, the fading light painting streaks of gold across the windshield.
The hours at the hospital stretched longer than Taehyung liked to admit. He had gotten used to the sight of white coats, the soft shuffle of nurses, the beeping of machines but he would never, never get used to seeing his son sitting in that reclining chair, a needle taped into his small arm.
Gyubin tried to be strong. He always did.
He wore his little cap tilted to the side, grinning faintly when the nurse adjusted the IV drip and asked him if he was feeling okay.
“I’m fine,” he whispered, though his lashes fluttered from exhaustion, and his small hand clutched Taehyung’s fingers tighter than he realized.
Taehyung leaned closer, squeezing back. “You don’t have to be fine all the time, Binnie,” he murmured, brushing a hand through the boy’s curls, soft but thinner now than they used to be. “It’s okay to be scared.”
Gyubin shook his head weakly, lips quivering but forcing a smile anyway. “I’m not scared… because you’re here.” His voice cracked at the end, betraying him.
Taehyung’s bent down, kissed the boy’s forehead, and whispered, “Appa’s not going anywhere. Ever.”
The treatment lasted hours, dragging both their energy down.
Gyubin dozed off in the middle, the rhythmic tick of the machine lulling him to sleep.
Taehyung stayed awake, watching his son breathe, memorizing every small detail of his face as though he could protect him from pain just by looking long enough.
By the time the IV was removed and the nurse gently patted Gyubin’s arm, the boy was too drowsy to walk.
Taehyung crouched and let Gyubin’s arms curl around his neck, lifting him with careful strength. He carried him out of the ward and through the wide, gleaming corridors.
The outside air hit them like a blessing. Cool. Fresh. The night had rolled in completely, painting the sky in deep velvet shades. The city lights glimmered in the distance, faintly golden, and for a moment it felt like the world had paused just for them.
Taehyung buckled Gyubin into the backseat of the car, brushing his curls gently from his forehead. His son’s eyelids fluttered, lips parting as he whispered sleepily, “Appa…”
“Yes, my love?”
“You’ll sleep beside me tonight?”
Taehyung swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he nodded. “Always,” he promised, and pressed a kiss against his boy’s temple before shutting the door softly.
The drive back was silent. The hum of the engine, the faint breathing of Gyubin, the occasional whisper of wind against the glass, it was all Taehyung needed to calm the storm that had brewed inside him since morning.
He should’ve been thinking about Seokjin’s sudden confession, the violent clash with Jungkook. He should’ve been drowning in that chaos.
But tonight, he didn’t want to think about them.
Tonight, he had Gyubin. And the boy’s tiny body curled under the blanket in the backseat was enough to quiet everything else.
When they arrived at the mansion
Carefully, he lifted Gyubin again, the boy’s head dropping lazily against his shoulder. He inhaled, the familiar scent of his son grounding him more than anything else in the world.
The night was perfect. Cool. Still. The kind of night that almost made you believe everything was fine. A perfect distraction from Seokjin’s words, from Jungkook’s kiss, from the madness of the road earlier.
Taehyung stepped inside the mansion, the marble floors cold under his steps. He made his way towards the bedroom, pausing only when he passed the open stretch of Jungkook’s hallway. It was empty. Quiet. Good.
Inside the bedroom, he laid his son gently on the bed, tucking the blanket over his small frame. Gyubin stirred just once, mumbling something incoherent before slipping back into sleep.
Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, brushing those little curls again, his heart aching. He smiled faintly through the sting in his eyes.
This...this was his world.
Everything else could burn.
.
.
.
It was close to midnight when the heavy gates of the mansion creaked open, and the sleek black car rolled in. The guards straightened immediately, bowing as the CEO stepped out.
Jungkook didn’t acknowledge them, the same mask of stone he always wore, but his steps lacked their usual sharp precision. His shoulders carried a strange heaviness, his body dragging as though each breath cost him.
Inside, the mansion was silent, lights dimmed for the night. Jungkook loosened his tie as he entered the living room, sinking into the leather couch with a muted exhale. He leaned back, resting his head against the cushions, one hand pressed to his forehead.
His skin was hot. Too hot. The heat pooled under his skin, making his pulse pound in his temples. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were hazed, warm in a way that didn’t belong to him.
Fever.
Still, his jaw remained clenched, lips pressed into a line, as though even his body betraying him wasn’t allowed.
The soft shuffle of steps came from the corner. Mr. Haenam, his most trusted aide, appeared silently, carrying a glass of water. He placed it on the low table, his eyes scanning the CEO’s face with something dangerously close to concern.
“You don’t look good, Mr. Jeon,” the older man said quietly, his tone measured.
Jungkook didn’t open his eyes at first. He simply reached forward, fingers steady despite the burning heat in his veins, and took the glass. The cold water slid down his throat in sharp relief.
“I’m fine,” he rasped, voice rougher than usual, the low hoarseness betraying the strain.
Mr. Haenam’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had served Jungkook long enough to know when to press and when to stay silent. Tonight, silence was safer.
The glass clicked softly as Jungkook set it down. He leaned back once more, his head tipping against the couch. The fever gnawed at him from the inside, clawing for control, but his body composed as though sheer willpower alone could hold him together.
In the silence, the house felt heavier. The clock ticked past 11:00 P.M. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Jungkook closed his eyes again, not to rest... never to rest but to drown out the images that had been plaguing him all day.
Jungkook swallowed, his throat dry despite the water, and forced the memories down where they belonged buried.
He wasn’t allowed to be weak. Not now. Not ever.
Jungkook’s fingers dragged over the armrest as he pushed himself up from the couch, slow but deliberate, as though gravity had doubled its weight against him.
Mr. Haenam stepped forward instinctively, ready to assist, but one cold flick of Jungkook’s hand stopped him in his tracks.
“Rest,” Jungkook ordered, his tone hoarse but unyielding. A small, dismissive gesture of his fingers was enough to silence any protest.
“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” the man bowed low, retreating into the shadows of the mansion.
The CEO’s steps toward the staircase echoed faintly in the hollow quiet. Each step up felt heavier than the last, but his expression never shifted, jaw locked, eyes straight ahead. His hand gripped the banister for just a second longer than necessary, though he would never admit it.
At the top, the hallway stretched out, dimly lit. He reached the master bedroom and shut the door with a soft but final click, shutting the world out.
The mask cracked the second the lock slid into place.
Jungkook let himself fall, collapsing onto the bed with a muted thud. His body went limp, muscles slackening as the heat from the fever consumed him whole. He lay on his back, chest rising and falling too fast, his breath shallow and uneven.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, his vision hazy.
The empire he built, the ruthlessness he carried, the blood he spilled. it all meant nothing against something as fragile as a fever. Against the silence of his own room, his power was useless.
One arm shifted, draping across his forehead as his eyes slid shut. His lips parted on a ragged exhale, betraying the exhaustion that had been eating away at him for days.
But even here, in his solitude, his thoughts betrayed him. Images bled into the darkness behind his eyes:
Taehyung’s trembling voice.
Seokjin’s defiance.
And that look.. that soft, devastating look when Taehyung held the flowers like they were worth more than the world.
Jungkook’s hand fisted against the sheets. His body burned, his chest ached, but he refused to admit what he truly felt.
He would sleep, he told himself. Just sleep. The fever would break, and tomorrow he’d be the same man he always was... untouchable.
But tonight, with the door locked and no one to see, Jeon Jungkook lay helpless, fever-ridden, his body betraying the ruthless control he wore like armor.