39
Third Person Pov
The morning light filtered through the tall curtains, spilling across the bed in golden streaks.
Taehyung lay flat on his stomach, his cheek pressed to the pillow, his body still damp from the shower he had forced himself to take.
His hair clung to his forehead, small strands curling against his temple.
He stared blankly at the sheets bunched under his hand. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to. His limbs felt heavy, as if the night had drained him of every last drop of energy.
The sunlight warmed his back, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was the dull ache in his chest and the nausea that lingered in the pit of his stomach.
Every time he blinked, flashes of last night returned uninvited....the sound of jewels clinking against each other, the sharp tug on his wrists, the weight of eyes that saw him as a toy, not a human.
His throat tightened. He swallowed hard.
“Stop thinkinh about it,” he whispered into the sheets. His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “It’s over. It’s done.” But the words only made the silence louder.
He curled one hand into a fist and pressed it against the mattress. His body trembled, not from cold, but from the war inside him.... anger, shame, and a longing he hated himself for.
He shut his eyes. The sunlight fell brighter on his bare shoulders, highlighting the curve of his back. But to him, it felt like a spotlight on all the things he wanted to hide.
He exhaled shakily, face buried into the pillow now. “Just… five more minutes,” he muttered, though he had nowhere to go, nothing to do. He didn’t want to face anyone. Not Jungkook. Not even himself.
The world moved outside.... the distant sound of footsteps, servants going about their routines, birds singing somewhere past the glass. But inside the room, Taehyung stayed still, sinking deeper into the mattress as though it could swallow him whole.
.
.
The sound of polished shoes against marble came to a halt outside Taehyung’s room.
Jungkook, dressed in an all–black suit sharp enough to cut the silence, stood still.
He had been on his way out, mind already racing with meetings and numbers, but his gaze had drifted unintentionally toward the half-open door.
And there he was.
Taehyung lay sprawled across the bed, face turned toward the window, hair messy against the pillow.
The thin fabric of his shirt clung to his back, the rise and fall of his body slow, steady.
..too steady, like he was pretending to sleep.
The golden light from the window had painted him in an almost fragile glow.
Jungkook stared. Something pulled him inside before he could question it. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, as though he owned the silence in the room as much as the air he breathed. His eyes never left the figure on the bed.
He stopped at the curtains first. Without a word, he drew them closed. The harsh sunlight vanished, leaving only a dim, soft shade behind... muting the world, shielding the younger’s resting face.
Then Jungkook moved closer.
He crouched slightly, one hand resting on his knee, the other lifting hesitant for the briefest second before his fingers brushed against Taehyung’s cheek.
Cold skin against warm. His thumb ghosted across the line of his jaw, the faintest caress. For a moment, Jungkook simply looked. Observed. Studied the softness of lashes, the curve of lips, the calm rhythm of breath.
His hand retreated slowly, deliberately, as though breaking contact too quickly might reveal more than he intended.
Straightening, Jungkook fixed his cuffs with practiced composure, his expression falling back into that same mask.
Without another glance, he turned and walked out, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.
The door clicked shut. Silence returned.
And then Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open. Wide, glassy, his pupils trembling as though caught between fear and confusion. His chest rose sharply, breath stuttering as he pressed his lips together.
The sunlight that had once made the room soft and warm was gone. Shadows stretched across the bed, and yet his body felt warmer than it should.
“What… was that?” he whispered to himself, voice breaking in the emptiness.
He sat up slightly, palms pressing against the sheets, his heart hammering too loudly for a man who had been feigning sleep. The ghost of those fingers lingered on his skin, unwanted yet impossible to shake.
“One moment he uses me like I’m nothing,” Taehyung thought bitterly, his throat tightening, “and the next… he touches me like.... like this.”
His eyes burned. He shut them quickly, shaking his head. “What is this man even?” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse.
The room swallowed his words whole.
.
.
.
Jungkook stepped out into the garden, his gaze scanning absently until it caught on the small figure crouched by the flowerbed. A soft spray of water shimmered in the sunlight as Gyubin tipped the can, his small hands careful, his focus entirely on the peonies swaying in the morning breeze.
Jungkook slowed. His shoes pressed into the grass, leaving faint bends behind. The boy must have felt the weight of a shadow falling over him because his head lifted, wide curious eyes locking onto the tall figure looming above.
For a second, there was stillness. Then Gyubin’s lips stretched into a shy smile.
“Hello,” he chirped, voice small but bright.
Jungkook blinked. His lips parted before he even thought about it. “Hello.”
It was the first time he had answered a greeting from Gyubin, and the boy’s smile bloomed even wider, his beanie slipping slightly as if it wanted to fall with the excitement shaking through him.
He quickly fixed it with a little tug and then tucked his hands behind his back, posture awkward but polite.
Jungkook’s gaze flicked to one of his guards, who nodded once and retreated, giving the two space. The CEO then lowered his hand, fingers curling gently around Gyubin’s small one.
The boy froze, blinking, his mouth forming a soft “oh.” Without a word, Jungkook started leading him forward.
“Sit,” he ordered when they reached a wooden log bench.
Gyubin obediently perched on it, his gaze darting up nervously. Jungkook remained standing, his presence looming, controlled.
A moment later, the guard returned, carrying a sleek bag. He handed it to Jungkook, who accepted it without breaking his stare at the boy. Then, without flourish, Jungkook passed it forward.
Gyubin hesitated before taking it, small fingers gripping the handles. He peered inside... and gasped. His eyes widened, breath catching at the sight.
Caps. Beanies. Dozens of them. In dark shades, light shades, bold colors, soft knits. Every style he had once stared at longingly through shop windows but never had.
He reached inside slowly, almost reverently, pulling out a black cap. His fingertips brushed against its perfect stitching, and his lips parted in awe. It was cool. Sleek. Better than anything he had ever imagined. For a moment, he was speechless.
Then he looked up. His throat tightened, eyes growing glossy with tears he didn’t even understand. His small hands clutched the cap as if it was the most precious thing in the world. And he stared at Jungkook, overwhelmed, trying to figure out how to express the swell of gratitude in his chest.
Jungkook didn’t say anything. He just stood there, hands buried in his pockets, gaze heavy. But in his silence, Gyubin’s smile grew shakier, brighter.
“Thank you,” Gyubin whispered, voice barely above a breath, as if afraid it might break. He clutched the bag tighter to his chest like it was treasure, like he had been handed the world itself in that moment.
Jungkook’s gaze lingered on him, still unreadable, until he finally lowered himself down.
The CEO’s tall frame bent, as he knelt before the boy. Gyubin blinked, startled, his lips parting as the man’s shadow shifted closer.
Without a word, Jungkook reached out and slid the loose beanie from Gyubin’s forehead. The boy stiffened immediately, eyes darting down, shoulders curling inwards as if to hide.
His freshly shaved head still foreign even to him was something he hadn’t wanted exposed. His small fingers twitched nervously on the bag strap, insecurity painted across his face.
Jungkook studied him, his expression calm, almost detached, before he hummed low in his throat.
“You remind me of those boxers with clean-shaved heads. They don’t look weak. Neither do you.” he said simply, voice even, without mockery.
Gyubin’s head snapped up, wide eyes glimmering in disbelief. “R-Really?” His voice wavered between hope and surprise, as if the words were too good to be true.
"Yeah, nothing to be ashamed of." Jungkook said once, steady and sure, then reached for the black cap in Gyubin’s trembling hands who smiled hearing that.
He slid it over the boy’s head with surprising gentleness, adjusting the strap and the curve of the brim until it sat just right.
He leaned back slightly, his eyes flicking over the fit.
“Even better now, looks cool.” he said, quiet but final, as if the matter was sealed.
Gyubin lifted his hands, fingertips brushing over the cap as if to check it was truly there.
His lips trembled, smile blooming despite the tears swimming in his eyes. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, overwhelmed... too small to hold back the flood of emotions pressing at his chest.
Before Jungkook could shift away, before his cold exterior could put up a barrier, Gyubin launched forward.
The boy’s little arms wrapped around his neck, cap tilting slightly as he buried his face into the expensive fabric of Jungkook’s suit.
The CEO froze. His body went rigid at the unexpected warmth pressed against him. His hands hovered in the air for a heartbeat, suspended, unsure. He had been never like touched like this. Never with such raw innocence, with such unquestioning trust.
Gyubin snuggled closer, his small frame trembling slightly, the weight of gratitude pouring out in a simple embrace. No words, no explanations just the desperate, wordless way of a child saying more than he could ever put into sentences.
And Jungkook, for the first time in a long while, didn’t immediately push away.
“You’re… really nice,” Gyubin whispered, his voice wobbly. His cheek squished against the CEO’s shoulder, his tears soaking into the sharp black fabric.
“I-I don’t like my head like this…” he sniffled, voice tiny as he rubbed his face into Jungkook’s suit like he wanted to disappear inside it.
“It feels funny. Everyone keeps looking at me… like I’m strange.
” His little hands balled up Jungkook’s jacket tighter, afraid that if he let go, Jungkook might step away too.
Jungkook stayed still, letting the boy’s shaky words tumble out. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t brush him off. He just sat there, listening, letting the child hold on as tightly as he needed.
“Appa says I look like a prince,” Gyubin hiccupped, his voice wobbling as he clung tighter, “but… I don’t wanna be a prince.
Princes just sit in castles all day. They wear shiny crowns and…
and wave at people.” His nose wrinkled, lips trembling as more tears spilled.
“I don’t wanna just sit there and look nice. I don’t wanna be weak like that.”
“I wanna be strong… like a boxer. Boxers are cool. They fight back, and nobody can push them.” He sniffled hard, trying to catch his breath. “When you said I look like one… it made me happy. Like maybe I can be strong too. Maybe I can keep Appa safe. Even if… even if my head looks silly.”
Jungkook stayed silent, the boy trembling in his arms. He didn’t say anything, but his stillness carried more weight than any words.
Gyubin pulled back just a little, his wide eyes glistening as he searched Jungkook’s face.
“Do you really think so? That I can be strong? Not just… pretend strong, but real strong?” His lower lip quivered, as though bracing for disappointment.
Something flickered in Jungkook’s expression, a faint shift. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his large hands and rested them on Gyubin’s back... cold, but steady.
His palm pressed once, then again, a rare gentleness hidden beneath the touch. "Yeah, you're strong enough to protect anyone."
Gyubin blinked, surprised, before his lips curved into the smallest smile. He let out a shaky giggle, soft as a whisper, and nestled closer against Jungkook’s neck.
“Thank you…” he whispered, his voice tiny and muffled against Jungkook “No one ever tells me stuff like that. Only you.”
And for a fleeting moment, Jungkook’s eyes usually sharp, merciless.... softened. Just barely. Enough to let the boy cling without fear.
After a beat, Gyubin mumbled into his shoulder, voice small but teasing, “But… I don’t wanna fight you. You’re too scary.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched... almost a smile, but not quite. His voice came out low, smooth. “Smart choice.”
Gyubin giggled, pulling back just enough to see his face. “See? I’m strong already, I know when not to fight.”
This time, Jungkook didn’t answer, but his hand stayed steady on the boy’s back. And Gyubin’s laughter lingered in the air, bright and soft, as though it had forced its way past the CEO’s cold walls.
They stayed like for awhie, then...
Jungkook slowly rose to his feet, the faintest wrinkle in his suit where small arms had clung to him moments ago. His expression gave nothing away, but his gaze lingered on the boy who was now clutching the bag of caps like it was a treasure chest.
Gyubin’s lips pushed forward into a pout, his tiny hands gripping the straps tighter. He didn’t want the tall man to walk away yet. For the first time in days, he hadn’t felt like a pitiful boy hiding under a beanie he had felt strong. Brave.
Like the boxer Jungkook had told him he resembled.
Still, he remembered what his Appa always said about manners.
Straightening his back, the boy pressed his feet together, bowed low, and whispered shyly, “Thank you, Mr. Jeon.”
The words were soft, but they carried an earnestness that made the air shift.
Inside, Jungkook wanted to speak.... to tell the child to wear his caps proudly, to keep that smile on his face.
But the words caught in his throat, caged by years of discipline and walls he had built too high.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and when he finally parted his lips, all that left him was a low, controlled hum.
He turned then, every step calculated, the grass crunching softly beneath his polished shoes.
He didn’t look back.
Gyubin’s pout slowly broke into a wide, glowing smile.
He hugged the bag tighter against his chest, as if holding onto a piece of strength itself.
His little heart thudded happily, already imagining showing Appa the new cap.
And though Jungkook’s shoulders stayed rigid, his strides steady and cold, there was a weight in his chest, a memory of small arms and an innocent voice that refused to leave him, tugging at him like an invisible chain all the way down the hall.
From the slightly ajar window of the sunlit veranda, Taehyung watched quietly. His gaze followed Gyubin, now back on his knees in the soft soil, carefully tending the peonies as if nothing had happened. The boy hummed softly, adjusting his little cap completely absorbed in his garden world.
Taehyung’s chest tightened. He had seen everything.... the small, shy pouts, the shy bow, the hug that lingered longer than it should have. He had seen the rare warmth in Jungkook’s eyes, the subtle softening that the CEO usually buried beneath steel and authority.
And for the first time, Taehyung understood how Gyubin could feel safe around this man.... how someone so cold, could inspire such quiet, innocent trust.
He took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly, almost as if exhaling some of the tension coiling in his chest.
With one last glance at his son, happy and untroubled for the first time in days, Taehyung quietly turned and walked back inside. The sunlight fell across the veranda, warming the soil Gyubin was tending, and Taehyung carried the scene with him like a fragile, secret treasure in his chest.
.
.
.
It was evening, and the golden light of dusk filtered through the mansion windows. Taehyung’s mind felt heavy, a tangled mess of thoughts he couldn’t shake. He needed air, something to clear his head, even if just for a short while.
He walked quietly into the kitchen, where Mr. Haenam was meticulously arranging ingredients on the counter.
“Oh, Taehyung-ssi, do you need anything?” the older man asked, glancing up with a hint of concern.
Taehyung shook his head slowly. “I… I’m just going out for a bit. I don’t feel good,” he admitted softly, his voice quieter than usual.
Mr. Haenam paused, his brow furrowing. “Mr. Jeon wouldn’t like it,” he said cautiously, concern lacing his tone.
“I’ll be back before he arrives,”
Taehyung reassured him, offering a small, fleeting smile. “Just for an hour.”
Mr. Haenam nodded, understanding but still hesitant. “Please… take care of Binnie while I’m gone. Tell him Appa will bring some snacks,” Taehyung added, his tone gentle yet determined.
“Of course, Taehyung-ssi,” Mr. Haenam replied, giving him a small nod.
Taehyung thanked him, then walked toward the door. As it opened, a gust of fresh evening air greeted him, carrying the scents of the garden and the faint chill of the approaching night.
He inhaled deeply, letting the cool breeze wash over him, calming his restless mind. For the first time that evening, he felt a sliver of peace.
Taehyung wandered the quiet streets, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. The evening air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves.
His mind was tangled, replaying the events of last night over and over, the fear, the tension, and everything Jungkook had stirred within him. Even this morning’s encounter had left an echo of confusion and unease, making everything messier.
He walked in silence for a while, each step heavy with thought, until he found himself at a small bus stop. He sank onto the bench, leaning back, letting his hoodie shield him from the chill.
Life had always been harsh, unforgiving. His parents had died too soon, his sister gone as well, leaving a void he had been forced to fill.
At twenty, he had taken Gyubin’s responsibility on his shoulders, raising a little boy while still finding his way in the world himself.
The memories flooded in unbidden: leaving Gyubin at a neighbor’s grandmother’s house to go to work, feeling the ache in the boy’s teary eyes as he was left behind.
A small, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips.
He remembered the nights feeding baby Gyubin, rocking him to sleep, whispering comfort until his breaths deepened.
Every day had been a balancing act, fulfilling both mother and father’s roles while trying to keep the little family together. Somehow, against all odds, he had managed. Somehow, he had given Gyubin the love and care he deserved.
And even now, years later, that responsibility and love weighed on him not like a burden, but like a force that shaped everything he was. Taehyung pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the bus stop pole, exhaling slowly, letting the memories wash over him.
Taehyung had done everything for everyone else every late night, every skipped meal, every sacrifice but what about himself?
Who took care of him when his body ached, when his mind screamed for rest, when the weight of responsibility pressed down on him like a storm he could never escape?
There had been no one. No one to check if he had eaten, no one to comfort him when he felt like breaking, no one to remind him that he mattered too. He managed it all, even when exhaustion threatened to swallow him whole, even when every bone in his body begged him to stop.
Most people would have crumbled under this pressure, but he hadn’t. Somehow, he had carried it all. Somehow, against all odds, he had kept going.
And yet, in this quiet moment, sitting alone on the bench, it hit him with a sharp, aching clarity: he had done so much for others, but himself? He had never given himself the care, the kindness, the love he so freely offered to Gyubin.
A shiver ran through him not from the cold, but from the realization. He had been strong, yes. But perhaps strength wasn’t meant to be endless. Perhaps even someone like him deserved a pause, a reprieve, a moment where he could just… exist without carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Taehyung’s mind was somewhere else, heavy with thoughts, when he noticed her.
A little girl, walking slowly, clutching her small bag as if it were a lifeline.
But something was off something prickled the back of his neck. He glanced up and saw the shadow behind her: a man, face hidden, moving deliberately, eyes fixed on her.
Instinct flared. Taehyung’s heart slammed against his ribs. Without thinking, he stepped forward.
“Hey,” he called, voice sharp. The girl froze, wide eyes flicking to him, and she pressed herself against his side. Tiny hands grabbed his hoodie.
“Please…” she whispered, trembling.
The man stopped, his face still hidden, posture cold and menacing. “Leave,” he said, calm but dangerous.
“What are you doing?” Taehyung demanded, fists clenching.
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly drew a knife from his coat. The blade caught the dim streetlight, glinting with a promise of violence. The girl gasped, her small frame shaking as she pressed against Taehyung
Taehyung’s blood boiled. “Leave her alone,” he growled.
“not a chance.” the man hissed, stepping forward.
Taehyung didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the girl’s hand and bolted. Their feet pounded the cracked pavement as the man lunged after them.
Adrenaline shot through Taehyung’s body, his heart hammering in his chest. The girl stumbled, letting out a frightened sob, and he tightened his grip, dragging her along.
They ran toward the main road, hoping for safety, but the man was fast, relentless. He grabbed Taehyung’s hoodie, yanking him backward with brutal force.
Taehyung hit the ground hard, scraping his hands and knees. Pain lanced through his palms as he scrambled to get up, eyes blazing with fury.
The girl ran to him, clinging to his side, tears streaking down her cheeks. The man reached for her, and Taehyung’s world went red. Rage, fear, and desperation collided inside him, sharpening every sense
He lunged at the man, fists flying. The knife skittered across the ground, and Taehyung seized it. His pulse roared in his ears. The man staggered back, sneering, trying to snatch the weapon.
“Get off me!” the man spat, struggling.
Taehyung didn’t think. There was no time to think. Survival and adrenaline had taken every ounce of him, sharpening his instincts to a painful edge.
He gritted his teeth, muscles coiled, and raised the knife. His arm moved on pure instinct, driving the blade straight into the man’s gut.
"Ahh—!"
The man gasped, a strangled, horrifying sound that made Taehyung’s stomach twist. Blood welled up immediately, dark and hot, soaking the concrete and Taehyung’s hands.
The girl let out a small, strangled cry, covering her mouth as if the sight could poison her. She stumbled back, tiny frame trembling, eyes wide and uncomprehending.
Taehyung froze. The world seemed to tilt, slow and unsteady. He saw the man crumple to his knees, clutching his stomach, eyes wild and filled with shock and pain.
And then, he fell forward, lying utterly still. No movement. No breath. Nothing.
The knife slipped from Taehyung’s fingers, hitting the ground with a dull clang. His hands were slick with blood, crimson spreading across his hoodie, and he stepped back instinctively.
“I… I didn’t… I…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling. He felt sick, light-headed, as if the ground beneath him might give way.
The girl, small and fragile, hesitated, then crept closer. She placed a trembling hand on his side, as if grounding him to reality.
Taehyung’s knees buckled slightly. His chest heaved, breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps. He had killed someone. His mind kept repeating it like a cruel echo.
He’s dead. I… I just killed him. The realization crashed into him, heavy and suffocating. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream but all that came out was a shivering, hollow silence.
Then, faintly at first, the wail of sirens reached him from the main road. It grew louder, urgent, slicing through the numb shock that had frozen him. Flashing red and blue lights painted the night, strobing across the walls and the blood-soaked pavement.
Taehyung’s stomach sank. He was frozen, overwhelmed, tears spilling freely now, burning streaks down his face.
The sound of the approaching police made his heart slam against his ribs like a trapped animal. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at the body on the ground and the girl clinging to him.
The car skidded to a stop a few feet away. Doors burst open, boots pounding against the asphalt. Officers spilled out, their voices sharp and commanding.
“Call an ambulance!” one shouted, urgency cutting through the night.
“Hands behind your back! Now!” another ordered, rushing toward Taehyung.
“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t—” Taehyung’s words tumbled out, frantic, incoherent. Panic clawed at his throat.
“Leave him, he didn't do anything!!” the girl screamed, her small voice cracking.
A female officer stepped forward quickly, gently taking her arm and moving her away from the blood-soaked scene, shielding her from the horror.
Taehyung’s hands were forced behind him, cuffed tightly. His body shook uncontrollably, adrenaline still coursing through him even as the realization of what had happened hit harder than ever.
He wanted to sink to the ground. He wanted to beg for someone anyone to tell him it hadn’t happened, that it had all been a nightmare.
But the dead man was still there, a silent, accusing weight on the concrete.
Taehyung’s mind swirled with every possible thought: fear, guilt, relief, and horror, all clashing together like a storm inside him.
His chest heaved, tears streaming freely, hands still trembling, as the reality settled in.
He had survived. But at a cost heavier than anything he had ever imagined.
And the girl so small, so terrified was the only thing anchoring him to the world, to the reality that he had acted to protect her, even if it meant crossing the line he never thought he would.
Every siren, every flash of light, every command from the police felt like a drumbeat in his skull.
The cops shoved him roughly into the back of the patrol car. The metal door slammed shut, echoing through the confined space.
He pressed his forehead against the window, breathing uneven, his chest rising and falling like a trapped animal. The tears wouldn’t stop, sliding freely down his face.
He could still see the pool of blood, still hear the man’s last desperate gasps replaying in his mind. His hands, cuffed tightly, felt useless.... helpless.
“Why… why did it have to happen like this?” he whispered to himself, voice hoarse. He gritted his teeth, fists flexing inside the cuffs. He wanted to shout, to kick, to erase the memory but the metal held him firmly in place, reminding him of the weight of reality.
And yet… somewhere deep down, a flicker of clarity pierced through the panic. He had done it to save someone innocent. He had acted when no one else could. It didn’t erase the horror, but it was enough to keep him from collapsing completely.
His tears continued to fall, warm against the chill of the car, as he stared silently at the world outside.... broken, overwhelmed, and uncomfortably aware of the line he had crossed.