34
Third Person Pov
Morning light bled into the room, but it felt dull against the heaviness in his body. The fever still burned through his skin, crawling like fire under his veins. He sat up slowly, his hand pressing to his forehead before dragging back through his hair in frustration.
The pill bottle rattled in his palm. He poured out two, tossed them into his mouth, and reached not for the water on the nightstand... but for the glass of whiskey half-forgotten from the night before.
The burn down his throat was sharp, bitter. He welcomed it. Water, whiskey what difference did it make? Either way, something inside him was always being killed off.
He stood, slow and deliberate, and walked toward the bathroom. The shower hissed alive, steam filling the glass. He stood under the cold spray longer than necessary, letting it sting his fevered skin, hoping it would drag the heat away. It didn't.
When he stepped out, droplets traced his jawline as he reached for a fresh shirt. The mirror caught his reflection red-rimmed eyes, sharp jaw, exhaustion carved deep into his features. He exhaled through his nose, shook his head, and ignored it. He didn't have the luxury of weakness.
Today mattered. Too many things needed to be finalized, too many threads waiting for his signature to either strengthen or break. He couldn't afford to falter.
Pulling on his jacket, Jungkook slid open the drawer and picked out a cigarette.
The flame of the lighter flickered briefly before smoke curled into the morning air.
He inhaled deeply, chest tightening, and for a fleeting second, the fever's weight eased.
The smoke didn't cure him, but it calmed him.
He let the cigarette dangle between his fingers as he reached for his watch, fastening it with precise, practiced movements. His eyes were still red, his body still aching, but his face was composed like alwayw.
Fever or not, the CEO would walk out that door today. Because that's what he did. Because he didn't know how to stop.
The house was quiet that morning, sunlight spilling faintly through the large windows. Jungkook's steps were heavy as he descended the stairs, the bitter aftertaste of whiskey and medicine clinging to his mouth.
He had no reason to stop... but he did.
His gaze caught a small figure sitting by the grand window seat. Gyubin, curled into himself, knees tucked close as he fiddled with a cube between tiny fingers.
The boy's lips moved softly, counting under his breath as he twisted the colored blocks, but his eyes weren't really watching the toy. They were fixed on the garden outside, wide and thoughtful, too quiet for his age.
Gyubin's head turned at the sound of steps, his innocent eyes lighting up when he spotted the tall man. "...Good morning," he whispered, soft and hopeful, like he wasn't sure if he'd get a reply.
Jungkook didn't answer. His silence stretched in the air, the usual cold wall he carried around him.
Instead, his gaze flickered... towards the boy's cap. A simple beanie, pulled low, almost swallowing his small head. It was uneven, slipping to one side, and beneath it Jungkook noticed the way Gyubin's ears were hidden, the edges tugged nervously.
It didn't take much for him to understand.
"Why are you sitting here?" Jungkook finally asked, his voice low and detached.
Gyubin lowered his head again, clutching the cube tighter. "It's... good here," he mumbled. His voice wavered, shy and quiet, but honest. "I can see the garden. The air feels nice... and no one looks at me here."
The words were innocent, but they held a deep meaning for a kid to say them out loud.
Jungkook didn't respond right away. Instead, he crossed the last few steps, his shadow falling over the boy. Gyubin's fingers stilled around the cube as he looked up at him, startled, wide-eyed.
The CEO crouched slightly, his tall frame folding in ways that seemed unnatural for him like this was something he never did, but forced himself to anyway. His hand reached out, slow, deliberate.
Gyubin flinched instinctively, then froze as Jungkook's cool fingers brushed the edge of his beanie.
Without a word, Jungkook adjusted it tugging it gently so it sat properly on his head, fixing the slant, smoothing the fold. The movement was careful, almost precise, as if he was handling something far more fragile than fabric.
His little hands reached up halfway, like he wanted to stop him, but then paused just letting him finish.
Jungkook's expression never shifted. His lips remained pressed in that firm line, his eyes steady. When he was done, he pulled his hand back, straightening again with quiet authority, as if nothing had happened at all.
But Gyubin's small palm lingered over the spot, pressing the edge of the beanie where Jungkook had touched. He smiled faintly, to himself more than anyone, like the simple gesture had been the most important thing in his whole morning.
The CEO didn't comment, didn't acknowledge it.
He started walking toward the main door, his long strides leaving behind only the faint trace of his cologne and the weight of a moment that Gyubin would remember longer than he ever intended.
For Jungkook, it was nothing.
For the little boy, it was everything.
.
.
.
The meeting room carried the low hum of voices, the kind of polite, calculated tones that belonged to men used to wealth and control. The long table gleamed under the lights, files stacked neatly, glasses of water untouched.
At the head sat Jeon Jungkook the CEO his presence quiet but heavy, commanding without effort. Across from him sat Director Kim Seokjin, calm, composed, his face unreadable as always.
Neither spared the other more than a brief glance. No words outside business. No acknowledgment of anything personal.
They didn't need to. The weight between them was already there, unspoken, filling the air like smoke.
The investors, however, spoke freely. One of them leaned forward, his tone just a little too eager. "We believe, given our stake, that we should have a larger role in finalizing the company's decisions. Especially with the new automobile line being developed. It's in our best interest-"
Before he could finish, Seokjin cut in smoothly, his voice calm but firm. "Your best interest doesn't equate to this company's best direction. You've invested, but you don't run this." His words were polite on the surface, but the underlying bite made the investor stiffen.
Jungkook, who had been silent until then, leaned back slightly in his chair, listening. His eyes flicked between the two men. In front of him lay two files, his fingers tapping once against the folder's edge before he flipped one open.
His voice was low, even. "We'll settle this here." He slid the file across, pages neatly outlined. "These terms lock in your percentage and guarantee you profit on our automobile launch. That should be sufficient."
The investors exchanged glances, hesitation breaking into relief as they scanned the document. Numbers didn't lie and neither did the CEO's tone. After a moment, the lead investor nodded. "Very well."
Jungkook's hand moved fluidly, signing his name across the dotted line. The sound of the pen against paper was deliberate, final. He stamped the file with the company seal, the sharp click echoing across the room.
Without pause, he pushed it forward. The investor followed suit, signing quickly, satisfied now that their voices had been 'heard.'
The deal was closed.
The meeting adjourned, handshakes exchanged, papers shuffled back into briefcases. Outside the boardroom, the investors' chatter lingered behind, but Jungkook didn't linger, he walked straight out, his strides long, purposeful, the way he always carried himself.
Seokjin followed a few paces behind, his files in one hand, his gaze fixed on Jungkook's back.
The fluorescent light in the corridor highlighted details no one else might notice, the slight stiffness in his shoulders, the unnatural pallor in his skin, and most of all, the faint redness clouding his sharp eyes.
"You look sick," Seokjin said quietly, almost casually, as if stating a fact rather than concern.
Jungkook didn't slow. Didn't even turn his head. His jaw flexed once, subtle, before he shoved his hands into his pockets and continued down the hall like he hadn't heard a word.
Seokjin's eyes lingered on him, studying the silence, the deliberate dismissal. For a second, he almost spoke again but stopped himself. Words wouldn't matter. Not to a man like Jeon Jungkook.
So instead, he only watched as Jungkook pushed open the glass doors, the morning light spilling over him like a harsh spotlight. The CEO stepped outside toward the waiting car, cold air wrapping around him, and disappeared past the gate without looking back.
And Seokjin stood there, silent in the corridor, files in hand, watching him go knowing full well that sickness wasn't the only thing eating away at Jeon Jungkook.
"Drive." Jungkook muttered flatly as he slid into the backseat, his tone low, leaving no room for hesitation.
The driver immediately nodded, slipping into place behind the wheel. The engine hummed to life, and the car pulled away from the glass tower.
Jungkook leaned back against the leather seat, one arm resting on the side, eyes shutting briefly. The rhythm of the city outside blurred past, but he didn't hear it.
The ride was quiet, the silence inside the car so thick it almost became sound itself.
When the mansion gates opened and the car rolled in, Jungkook opened his eyes again. He stepped out of the car, buttoning his coat with one hand as his shoes hit the stone path. The door opened, and instantly, the contrast hit him.
Inside wasn't silence. Inside was warmth.
Soft laughter and small hurried footsteps echoed faintly through the halls. His gaze moved, sharp and calculating, until it landed on the source: Gyubin, small, cap tugged low over his head darting across the marble floor, chasing after the kitten that skittered away with playful squeaks.
Jungkook didn't move. He stood in the entryway, just staring.
Sensing his presence, Gyubin stopped, clutching the kitten protectively in his arms. His big, round eyes flickered up to meet Jungkook's, hesitant. Then, like he'd been taught, the boy bowed his little head politely. "Hello," he mumbled softly.
The CEO said nothing.
Through the open archway to the kitchen, he caught another sight. Taehyung, his back turned, sleeves rolled slightly as he chopped vegetables at the counter. His posture was relaxed, ordinary, but something about it rooted Jungkook for half a second.
That deep voice floated faintly into the air, something about dinner, spoken to Gyubin.
Jungkook's eyes hardened again. Without a word, he shifted his gaze away.
His long strides carried him past the warmth, past the sounds, toward the grand staircase.
His hand brushed the railing as he climbed, his presence cold and heavy, until he disappeared upstairs without so much as a glance back.
And behind him, the house returned to its gentle rhythm, Gyubin petting the kitten, Taehyung humming faintly like Jungkook had been nothing more than a shadow passing through.
Gyubin giggled softly as he tugged the little beanie lower over his head, trying to hide his thinning hair. Taehyung's heart squeezed at the sight, but he smiled gently anyway, brushing a hand over his son's cheek.
"Eat properly, hmm?" he murmured, setting down the plate before Gyubin, making sure the boy's spoon was just right. Even the kitten was fed, a small bowl of milk placed on the floor as it purred happily.
Finally, Taehyung sank into the couch, watching the domestic calm wash over the room. For a moment, it was enough to distract him.
Then movement caught his eye.
Mr. Haenam descended the stairs slowly, careful with the silver tray balanced in his hands.
There was something deliberate about his pace, too deliberate.
Taehyung's gaze dropped to the tray, narrowing when he noticed the neat pile of supplies laid out across it: cold compresses, fresh towels, a thermometer.
He rose to his feet immediately, approaching. "Is someone sick?" His voice was calm, though his chest stirred with unease.
The butler exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging with the weight of something unspoken. Finally, he said it. "...Mr. Jeon."
Taehyung froze, the name hitting harder than expected. His lips parted slightly, then pressed shut again. "What-what happened?" His voice faltered despite himself.
Mr. Haenam shook his head, his tone weary, almost chastising. "A fever. One hundred and three. I gave him medicine, but you know how he is. He refuses to see a doctor. He never does. Always working, always pushing himself past the edge."
Taehyung's throat tightened. Jungkook's face flashed briefly in his mind unyielding and yet fevered, red-eyed, still working as if the world could collapse if he stopped.
His gaze drifted down to the compresses on the tray. Slowly, almost before he realized what he was doing, his hand reached forward.
"Give me these," he murmured. His fingers curled around the tray, holding it firmly. His tone, though soft, carried something close to resolve. "Please... make something warm for him."
Mr. Haenam looked at him for a moment, the silence lingering, then gave a small nod. "I'll prepare porridge."
As the butler disappeared into the kitchen, Taehyung stood in the hall, holding the tray, staring at it as though it weighed more than it should. His eyes drifted back toward the living room where Gyubin sat innocently, spooning food into his mouth, a little mess of soup on his chin.
Taehyung moved quickly, kneeling beside his son and wiping the drop of soup with his thumb. Gyubin leaned into his touch, smiling, unaware of the storm inside his father's chest.
Half an hour later, Mr. Haenam returned, the steam of freshly cooked porridge rising faintly from the bowl he carried. He placed it carefully on the tray, his eyes flickering toward Taehyung, silently asking if he was sure.
Taehyung didn't waver this time. He took the bowl, placed it neatly beside the compresses, and with the tray balanced in both hands, turned toward the staircase.
The sound of his footsteps echoed softly as he began to climb.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
He didn't know why he was doing this. He only knew that despite everything the fights, the cruelty, the way Jungkook dragged him through storms he never asked for, he couldn't ignore the image of him feverish and alone behind that closed door.
And so, he kept walking.
Taehyung stood still in front of the bedroom door, the tray balanced carefully in his hands.
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he stared at the handle, lips pressing into a thin line.
He wasn't sure why his heart was beating faster.
It wasn't like he owed this man anything if anything, Jungkook had given him every reason to hate him.
But still, he lifted his hand.
The door creaked faintly as it opened, the heavy silence inside almost suffocating. Darkness cloaked the room, the curtains drawn shut, letting in nothing but the faintest sliver of morning light. The air felt thick, warm with the weight of fever.
Taehyung exhaled softly and stepped inside.
He walked straight to the window, fingers brushing the curtain aside just enough to let a slant of fresh air in. The faint breeze stirred the room, breaking the heavy stillness. Setting the tray down gently on the side table, he switched on the small lamp.
The dim glow spilled across the bed.
And there he was.
The CEO. The man who commanded boardrooms with a glance, who never faltered, now sprawled on the bed, still in his black work shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loosened as though he'd been too tired to care.
His hair fell messily across his eyes. His lips were slightly parted, breaths uneven, his body radiating heat even from a distance.
Taehyung's throat tightened. He wasn't sure if it was pity, frustration, or something else clawing its way inside him.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. He stared for a long moment at Jungkook's face, blank, softened by sleep. Almost... human.
His hand lifted before he could stop himself. Hesitant fingers hovered in the air, trembling slightly, before pressing against Jungkook's forehead.
Hot. Too hot.
Taehyung swallowed, forcing his breath steady. He set his hand back in his lap, reaching instead for the clean towel on the tray. Dipping it into the cool water, he wrung it out carefully until it was damp and pressed it gently against Jungkook's skin.
First his forehead, wiping softly, then sliding down to his temple, his neck, the exposed line of his collarbone. He moved with quiet precision, his expression flat but his touch careful, too careful for someone who claimed to feel nothing.
Jungkook shifted faintly under the contact, a low sound escaping his throat, but he didn't wake.
Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the way something tugged inside him.
He continued, wiping down Jungkook's hands one by one, his fingers brushing over knuckles still bruised faintly from the fight yesterday.
When he was done, he reached for the compress. Wrapping it in a thin cloth, he leaned closer and placed it carefully against Jungkook's burning forehead.
The CEO didn't stir this time. His breathing seemed to even out slightly under the cool touch.
Taehyung sat there, tray pushed aside, staring down at him in silence. His eyes traced the man's face, sharp even in fever, and something unspoken flickered in his chest. Not affection. Not forgiveness. Just... a strange weight he couldn't shake.
He stayed there longer than he meant to, watching, until he finally forced himself to look away.
Taehyung's gaze fell to the untouched bowl of porridge on the tray. The steam had thinned by now, curling weakly into the air, the scent soft and plain comforting in a way, but he knew better.
Jungkook wasn't the type to eat porridge. Not now. Not in this state. Maybe not ever.
Taehyung pressed his lips into a faint line. What was he even doing? Sitting here, wasting his time on a man who never once showed him warmth. For a second, the thought of waking Jungkook crossed his mind trying, insisting, maybe even feeding him but he let it die as quickly as it came.
That wasn't his place. Jungkook wouldn't want that. He would probably only meet Taehyung's gesture with silence. Or worse, that cold, detached stare.
His fingers curled tightly around the edge of the tray, knuckles whitening. He exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders.
With one last glance at the CEO's face-still feverish, strands of hair falling across his forehead, Taehyung shook his head faintly.
No, he didn't belong here.
He rose from the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping back into silence behind him. Carefully, without a sound, he lifted the tray back into his hands. The bowl rattled slightly, the spoon clinking against porcelain, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
Taehyung froze for a second, watching Jungkook's chest rise and fall, afraid he had disturbed him. But the man didn't move.
And so, with his heart oddly heavy, Taehyung turned on his heel.
He didn't look back. Not even once.
The soft glow of the lamp lingered on Jungkook's face as Taehyung stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.
.
.
.
Dinner had been quiet just the sound of spoons against bowls, Gyubin's soft giggles when the kitten pawed at the table, and Taehyung's gentle reminders to finish his food.
Afterward, he guided Gyubin through his little routine washing up, taking his meds, settling under the covers.
Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, his voice low as he read from the storybook. Gyubin's lashes began to droop, his small hand clutching Taehyung's sleeve, the kitten curling by his side with a faint purr.
The rhythm of his son's breathing evened out, and Taehyung lowered the book with a faint smile. He kissed Gyubin's forehead, lingering for a moment, before carefully tucking the blanket around him.
The room was serene. Peaceful.
And yet, Taehyung's chest didn't feel light.
He lay down beside Gyubin, staring up at the ceiling in the dim light. The patterns of the plaster blurred the longer he looked, his thoughts restless. No matter how much he tried to push them aside, they circled back.... back to that room.
The dim lamp glow. The black shirt clinging to Jungkook's feverish body. The heat beneath his palm when he checked his forehead. The way his heart had stuttered, not from affection, but from something heavier, pity, maybe. Confusion.
That bitter ache of wanting to care for someone who had never cared for him.
Taehyung exhaled sharply through his nose, the weight pressing into his chest. Why was he even thinking about it? He had done his part. That was it.
Turning onto his side, he dragged the blanket over his head, shutting the ceiling out of sight, shutting everything out. He closed his eyes firmly, forcing his mind to still.
He needed rest. Not wandering thoughts about man who treated him like glass one moment and like chains the next.
His breathing steadied, slow and quiet, matching the soft rhythm of his son's.
Still, somewhere in the back of his mind, the faint memory of Jungkook's burning skin lingered, unwelcome and stubborn.