36
Third Person Pov
The balcony was silent except for the faint crackle of ash as smoke curled from Jungkook’s cigarette, dissolving into the damp air.
He leaned back in the chair, one ankle crossed over the other, the black sleeve of his shirt rolled lazily up his forearm.
The world outside looked heavy, swollen with rain, clouds pressing low like they might collapse onto the city at any moment.
Behind him, footsteps approached hesitant, light, but steady. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. That voice, low and cautious, carried through the quiet.
“Mr. Jeon…”
Jungkook’s exhale slowed. He let the smoke drag out of his lungs before answering with silence.
Taehyung stopped a few steps away, shifting the weight of the bag in his hand. His tone softened, warm in contrast to the chill in the air. “I’m going out with Binnie. Just need to buy some supplies… and new caps for him.” A smile tugged faintly at his lips, his voice easing as he spoke of his son.
Only then did Jungkook look up. His gaze rose lazily, dark eyes cutting through the smoke, meeting Taehyung’s head-on.
The younger stilled, caught for a heartbeat. Those eyes weren’t bloodshot anymore----no fever clouding them, no glassy edge. They were sharp again. Taehyung licked his lips before he forced himself to press them together and hold his ground.
Jungkook didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked down, tracing Taehyung’s frame subtly, the way the shirt clung to his shoulders, the shift of weight from one foot to the other. Barely a glance, but enough to make Taehyung shift uneasily, his fingers tightening around the bag strap.
A low hum broke the silence. Jungkook’s only response. A sound of acknowledgment... if it could even be called that. Dismissive. Yet heavy enough to make Taehyung nod, as if it were permission.
“Alright,” Taehyung said softly. He turned, steps light but quick as he walked toward the door leading back inside. His hand lingered on the handle for half a second, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He pushed it open and stepped out of sight.
The balcony fell into silence again, broken only by the faint hiss of the cigarette. Jungkook leaned forward, flicked the ash off the end, and finally let his head turn just slightly.....just enough to watch the retreating figure disappear through the doorway.
His eyes lingered. A long, quiet stare that followed until the space was empty again. Then he exhaled, smoke curling past his lips, and turned back to the gray sky. The storm was still waiting to break.
.
.
.
The buzzing of the clippers filled the little room, a low hum that seemed far too loud in Taehyung’s ears. He sat close to Gyubin, his hand resting gently on the boy’s back, fingers moving in slow circles.
Gyubin sat stiffly in the chair, his small hands fisted tightly in the cape draped around him. His eyes shimmered, lashes heavy with tears that clung stubbornly, refusing to fall. The first locks of his soft hair tumbled down the cape and slid to the floor.
Taehyung’s chest ached, but he smiled soft, warm, steady. He bent closer so only Gyubin could hear him. “You’re doing so well, my love. Look at you...so brave.” His voice trembled at the edges, but he forced it smooth, not letting Gyubin hear the crack in his heart.
The barber, a kindly middle-aged man, chuckled as he adjusted the clippers. “Strong kid,” he said, his tone encouraging. “Most boys your age would’ve run away by now.”
Gyubin sniffled, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout, but he gave a small nod at the words, trying to be strong, to hold himself together like his father said.
Taehyung leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Gyubin’s head as another tuft fell. “You’ll look even more handsome, you know,” he whispered, his fingers brushing Gyubin’s shoulder. “Caps, hats, anything you want... we’ll pick them all. You’ll make them look cool.”
That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Gyubin, though his eyes still watered. “Really?” he mumbled, voice shaky.
“Really,” Taehyung said firmly, giving his back a light pat. “You can even borrow some of mine. We’ll be twins.”
The barber switched the angle, the last strands disappearing as the machine glided across Gyubin’s scalp.
With each pass, Taehyung swallowed harder, hiding his grief behind the same gentle smile.
He had always loved those curls soft, bouncy, the way Gyubin’s little head fit so perfectly under his chin when he hugged him.
But now wasn’t the time to mourn. This wasn’t about him.
When the barber finally clicked the machine off, the silence in the room felt thick, broken only by Gyubin’s small sniffles. Taehyung immediately slipped off the cape, brushing the stray hairs from his son’s shoulders. He cupped Gyubin’s cheeks, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs.
“There,” Taehyung said, voice soothing. “Perfect. My strong boy.”
Gyubin pouted harder, eyes shining as he looked up at his father. “Appa… it feels weird.”
Taehyung chuckled softly, even as his own eyes burned. He tapped Gyubin’s nose gently. “Weird today. But tomorrow? You’ll forget. And when it grows back, it’ll be even softer than before.”
That made Gyubin smile just a little. He leaned forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s neck, burying his newly shaved head against his father’s shoulder.
“Don’t let anyone laugh at me…” he whispered.
Taehyung hugged him tightly, closing his eyes as he kissed the smooth crown. “No one would dare. You’re mine. And mine is perfect.”
After paying the barber and thanking him with a polite bow, Taehyung gently slipped his hand into Gyubin’s.
The boy’s freshly shaved head peeked from beneath the soft beanie, his pout still faint from the lost curls, but his small hand clung tightly to his father’s.
Together, they left the shop and walked into the lively shopping mall.
The place was crowded with people weaving in and out of stores, soft chatter mixing with the clink of dishes from nearby cafés.
Taehyung’s gaze scanned the shops until it caught on one tucked neatly between two larger stores. Its display window showed rows of both adult and children’s clothes, and at the corner caps, beanies, and hats of every color stacked neatly like a little rainbow. Taehyung’s lips curved. Perfect.
“Appa, let’s go there.” Gyubin tugged his hand, already excited by the sight.
Taehyung nodded, his chest warming at his son’s bright smile. They stepped inside, the air cooler, scented faintly of new fabric and leather. The store was tidy, soft music playing overhead.
“Appa, look!” Gyubin’s voice rang out, excited and high-pitched as he tugged Taehyung toward the display.
His small finger pointed at a shirt hanging on a mannequin, carefully buttoned and gleaming faintly under the warm lights.
It was an adult’s shirt, cut in satin, dyed a soft rose pink that seemed to glow against the glass.
The material was smooth, almost delicate, the kind of fabric Taehyung had only ever seen in expensive stores but had never worn himself.
He reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing over the silky surface.
For just a second, he imagined himself in it....standing tall, shoulders straight, looking every bit the man people expected him to be. He pictured Gyubin’s delighted smile if he wore it, the way his boy’s eyes would brighten with pride.
But then his gaze fell to the small tag hanging from the sleeve. His breath caught. The number printed there was more than just high, it was laughably, painfully out of reach.
A shirt like this was meant for people who didn’t have to calculate every expense, who didn’t measure every purchase against a future they were desperately trying to protect.
Taehyung pressed his lips together, his chest tightening with the familiar ache. He had money, yes, but not for this....not when the contract’s end loomed closer with each passing day. Not when Gyubin’s future, their survival, depended on how carefully he planned every step.
He forced a small smile and shook his head, pulling Gyubin’s hand gently. “It’s not that good, Binnie,” he murmured, his voice light though his throat felt heavy. “Come on, let’s pick some hats for you instead.”
Gyubin’s lips pushed into a pout, his gaze lingering on the shirt with a quiet sadness.
He clearly wanted it for his father, his appa was pretty and he deserved to wear that pretty pink shirt.
But he didn’t argue. He just nodded faintly, letting his father tug him along toward the colorful shelves stacked with caps and beanies.
Taehyung glanced at him sideways, catching the way his son’s small shoulders slumped. His chest ached again, but he smoothed a hand over Gyubin’s head, his voice soft. “Next time, okay? Today, we’ll get you as many hats as you want. Even the silly ones.”
At that, Gyubin blinked up, the pout fading into the beginnings of a smile. “Even the one with the bear ears?”
Taehyung chuckled, ruffling the beanie gently. “Even that one.”
And just like that, Gyubin’s giggle returned, bright and unburdened, as he tugged his father further into the store, already pointing eagerly at the row of hats waiting for him.
Taehyung balanced the shopping bags in one hand, his eyes roaming the racks until he found a few shirts and trousers in the discounted section.
They weren’t fancy, but they were decent enough and practical.
He smiled faintly as he compared the sizes against his own frame before folding them neatly over his arm.
For Gyubin, he’d already picked some soft sweaters, comfortable jeans, and a couple of sneakers that would last through his bursts of energy.
Meanwhile, Gyubin was happily buried in the corner of the shop where rows of caps and beanies were displayed in every shade imaginable.
His small fingers kept lifting one after another, giggling at the ones with cartoon ears or embroidered animals.
His little hums of excitement made Taehyung’s lips curve unconsciously.
But the smile vanished in an instant.
When Gyubin spun around with an oversized cap perched on his head, he collided hard into someone standing behind him.
The cap tumbled to the floor, and worse, a splash of dark liquid spilled forward as the paper cup in the man’s hand burst. The coffee splattered down the man’s pristine white shirt in ugly brown stains.
The man’s jaw clenched. He let out a sharp hiss of irritation, the sound making Gyubin flinch. Before the boy could fully bow in apology, the man’s hand shot out, gripping Gyubin’s wrist tightly.
Gyubin gasped, his big eyes going glossy with sudden fear. “I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—” he stammered, bowing again, but the man only tightened his hold, his voice sharp.
“Do you even look where you’re going, brat?” the man snapped, his tone cutting, his face twisting in anger.
Gyubin whimpered, his little shoulders trembling as he tried to twist away. “Appa…” he whispered, his voice fragile, calling out desperately.
That single word hit Taehyung’s ears like a spark. His head snapped around instantly, his brows knitting as he spotted his son caught in the man’s harsh grip. His chest burned hot, protective instinct flaring as he immediately abandoned the clothes and strode forward, his steps quick and sharp.
“Hey leave him!!” Taehyung’s voice rang out, sharp, his tone carrying a warning edge as he reached them. His hand was steady as he pulled Gyubin back, breaking the man’s hold with a decisive tug. He slipped his arm around his son’s shoulders, pulling him close to his side.
“How dare you?!” Taehyung said, his voice colder now, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the man.
Gyubin clung to his father’s side, sniffling softly, his small fingers clutching Taehyung’s sleeve. The fear in his little eyes made Taehyung’s jaw tighten even further. He shifted slightly, making sure his body was a barrier between Gyubin and the stranger.
The man’s grip had already left faint red marks on Gyubin’s thin wrist, and Taehyung’s blood boiled at the sight. He yanked his son closer, eyes flashing.
“Don’t you dare touch my son like that again,” Taehyung snapped, voice sharp as glass. “He’s a child. You spilled coffee because you weren’t watching either.”
The man scoffed, his nostrils flaring. “Excuse me? Your brat bumped into me. Do you know what this shirt costs? More than you could ever afford.”
Taehyung clenched his jaw, fury tightening his chest. “Then maybe wear your price tag around your neck so everyone knows how important you think you are,” he shot back, his voice trembling from anger.
The man laughed, dark and mocking. “Oh, look at you, Mr. Perfect Parent. Wearing your cheap-ass clothes, parading around this sick little brat like you’re the hero of some sad story. Did he bump into me or did you drag him here to humiliate people?”
Taehyung’s fists trembled, white-knuckled at his sides. “Drag him? Are you insane? He’s seven! And you!!what the hell is wrong with you? How fckin insensitive you are?? You spilled your coffee because you’re clumsy, and now you’re blaming him?”
The man’s smirk twisted into a sneer. “Clumsy? Look at him! Pale, sickly, fragile… maybe that’s what happens when parents like you fail. Maybe feed him properly so that he doesn't stumble around, maybe dress better, maybe—”
The words stabbed at Taehyung like knives. His throat constricted, his chest aching as every syllable about Gyubin’s health pierced him. Gyubin’s small, trembling hand clutched his father’s arm tighter.
“Appa… please…” Gyubin whimpered, eyes brimming with tears, voice small and fearful.
That was it. Taehyung’s control shattered. He stepped forward, closing the distance, grabbing the man by his collar, eyes blazing.
“Shut the hell up,” he spat, his voice low, dangerous. “You don’t talk about my son. Not him, not his body, not his life. You do that, and I will make sure you regret every word that comes out of that filthy mouth.”
The man laughed again, louder, crueler. He shoved Taehyung backward, hard enough to make him stagger. “Or what? What are you gonna do? You’re pathetic!!”
Taehyung’s vision blurred with anger and humiliation. The cold, judgmental words about his clothing, about his son’s appearance, about his supposed weakness.... they hit deeper than any physical shove could. His heart pounded, a chaotic drum of fury and heartbreak.
“Pathetic?” Taehyung’s voice rose, trembling but lethal. “I’ll show you what pathetic actually is.”
His hand shot out, seizing the remaining coffee cup on the counter. Before the man could react, Taehyung hurled it with full force.
The hot liquid splashed across the man’s face and chest, steam rising as he screamed in surprise and pain.
Gyubin gasped, eyes wide, clutching Taehyung’s arm, but his father didn’t flinch. He stood there, chest heaving, soaked in adrenaline, fury rolling off him in waves.
“Next time....next time you lay a finger on my son, I won’t just throw coffee,” Taehyung growled, voice low, dark, and deadly. “I will make you regret it for the rest of your miserable life.”
The man’s curses ricocheted around the store, angry shouts mingling with shocked murmurs from the other shoppers. But Taehyung didn’t budge.
His eyes, rimmed red from rage, locked on the man with a predator’s focus. Every insult, every shove, every condescending glance, it had all been stored, and now it came out in this single act of defiance.
Gyubin’s small hand gripped his father’s tightly, and Taehyung bent down, voice softening as he whispered to him: “It’s okay, Binnie."
Then, with a final glare that could have frozen fire, Taehyung turned, dragging Gyubin behind him. Each step was measured but deliberate, burning with anger, defiance, and raw protective instinct.
The man’s curses and the shopkeeper’s side comments faded into the background as they walked away, their own little world narrowing down to the warmth of each other’s presence.
“Appa…” Gyubin’s small voice trembled as he looked up at him, eyes wide and uncertain.
Taehyung inhaled deeply, forcing himself to calm the storm of anger and humiliation that still churned inside him.
He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, his chest tight, but he forced a steadying breath. “Yeah…” he muttered, his voice hoarse and rough, barely more than a whisper.
“Do I… look bad?” Gyubin asked timidly, his little hands clutching the edge of his cap. His eyes shimmered, reflecting the fear and hurt from the earlier encounter.
Taehyung’s chest clenched, and a lump rose in his throat. His own tears threatened to spill, but he blinked them back, bending slightly so his gaze met his son’s. The world outside. the cruel words, the mocking stares, the hot coffee spilled in anger...faded into nothing.
“You don’t,” he said firmly, his voice trembling just enough to betray the ache in his heart. “I promise you… you don’t. Don’t listen to them. None of it matters.”
Gyubin’s eyes glistened, a mixture of relief and lingering fear, and he stepped closer, pressing himself against Taehyung.
He wrapped his small arms around Taehyung’s waist, holding on tightly as if grounding himself against the chaos of the world.
Taehyung knelt slightly, his own arms wrapping gently around the boy. He rested his cheek against the crown of Gyubin’s head, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and the little boy’s lingering fear. “It’s okay,"
They didn’t shop anymore. The brightly lit aisles, the colorful displays, the promise of new clothes or caps....all of it lost meaning. Taehyung guided Gyubin back to the car, holding his hand firmly, ensuring the boy felt protected with every step.
Inside the car, Gyubin busied himself quietly, adjusting the little cap he had chosen, tracing its edge with his tiny fingers. He occasionally peeked at Taehyung, reassured by the quiet strength in his father’s presence.
Taehyung stared out the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon and evening shadows.
His own eyes were red from holding back tears, the adrenaline of rage finally giving way to a deep, aching sorrow.
The world felt unbearably heavy, but as long as Gyubin was safe beside him, he could bear it.
And in the quiet of the moving car, with the hum of the engine and the soft shuffle of Gyubin’s fingers on his lap.
.
.
They entered the mansion, Taehyung’s arms burdened with shopping bags, Gyubin trailing quietly at his side.
Jungkook’s presence was almost background noise at first, his deep voice clipped and professional as he spoke into the phone, footsteps measured, expression unreadable. To him, they were nothing more than figures moving in the hallway.
Taehyung paused mid-step. He knew that presence without even looking. His lashes trembled, still damp, eyes refusing to lift.
Jungkook’s gaze flicked over absently, more out of habit than intention. His eyes skimmed over Gyubin first, then landed on Taehyung. And it should’ve ended there, just another glance, just another passing moment.
Until Taehyung dared to look up.
It was brief, involuntary....just a flicker upward. But it was enough.
Jungkook stopped. Not physically, but something inside him stilled. His breath faltered mid-word.
Taehyung’s lashes were wet. His eyes, rimmed red, glimmered faintly under the golden light of the hallway chandelier. Not crying now, but it was obvious he had been. The fragility clung to him still, like the damp sheen at the corners of his eyes hadn’t yet dried.
And Jungkook froze.
The call in his ear became nothing but distant static. The voice on the other end “Mr. Jeon? Hello? Can you hear me?”
was irrelevant, a faint hum in the backdrop of this moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment, but in something far more dangerous: restraint.
The kind of silence that builds before thunder tears the sky apart.
Taehyung, for his part, couldn’t hold the stare. The longer Jungkook looked at him, the more his lungs tightened, like he was standing under a microscope he had never asked for. His grip tightened on Gyubin’s hand, tugging him forward, trying to anchor himself in motion.
Yet Jungkook had already seen enough.
His gaze followed, unrelenting. He didn’t call out, didn’t move closer, but the weight of his eyes pressed against Taehyung’s back until every step felt heavier than the last.
When the two finally slipped past him, disappearing around the corner, Jungkook still hadn’t moved. He stood planted in the hallway, the forgotten call still buzzing faintly in his ear. His fingers twitched once at his side, a restless, suppressed gesture.
And when silence finally reclaimed the hall, a thought slid sharp and uninvited into Jungkook’s mind
Who could have dared?
The fury didn’t show on his face. Not yet. But it brewed, quiet and relentless, just beneath the surface.
The calm before the storm.
.
.
.
Jungkook stood tall in front of the wide screen, the glow of the CCTV footage flickering against his sharp features. His expression didn’t change as he watched it all... the man’s hand gripping Gyubin’s arm, the shove, the insults, the tears.
Not once did Jungkook blink. He just watched, arms crossed behind his back, body perfectly still, like a predator waiting.
When the footage ended, the silence in his room thickened. He exhaled slowly, the faintest curl of smoke slipping from between his lips... he hadn’t even realized the cigarette was still burning between his fingers. He stubbed it out with deliberate calm and turned toward his drawer.
The metallic sound of the drawer sliding open echoed in the quiet. His hand slid inside, pulling out a sleek black handgun. The weight of it settled comfortably in his palm, familiar. He set it down on the desk with a soft clink, then reached for the box of bullets.
One by one, he loaded them. Click. Click. Click. Each bullet slid into place with practiced ease, the rhythm unhurried, almost meditative. His face betrayed nothing but his jaw was tight, his veins faintly showing as he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.
When the gun was fully loaded, he checked it once, gave a small nod to himself, then tucked it under his jacket.
He walked out of the room without looking back, his steps heavy but measured, descending the stairs. The guards standing in the hallway immediately straightened, heads bowed, watching their boss approach with that same calm look.
Jungkook didn’t break stride. His gaze slid to one of them, a tall guard stationed by the door. His voice was low, calm, deadly in its simplicity.
“Don’t feed the sharks today.”
The guard’s brows furrowed briefly, confusion flickering in his eyes, but he knew better than to ask. He only bowed his head in understanding.
That was all Jungkook said. No explanations, no orders of who or when. Just that single sentence as he stepped out of the mansion into the damp night air.
The rain had started falling, soft at first, then heavier, pattering against the sleek black car waiting at the entrance. Jungkook walked with his head high, cigarette smoke still lingering faintly on his clothes, the cold metal of the gun heavy against his side.