51
Third Person Pov
They were the one thing children loved most soft threads they wrapped around their little hearts, believing they would never snap.
But when they broke, they didn’t just break the promise.
They broke the child. They shoved them into reality too soon, into a world that wasn’t kind enough to keep “forever.”
Little Gyubin sat curled up on the small balcony, his legs pulled tight against his chest, a beanie tugged low on his head. His wide eyes stared at the pale moon as if it could answer the ache in his chest.
In silence, he counted the things he missed the smell of the peonies he watered every morning, the soft fur of Daisy the kitten, and the tall figure who always knelt down with those rare, soft eyes: Mr. Jeon.
“Where are my peonies?” he asked softly, voice trembling but not breaking. “And Daisy… did she get her milk tonight? Did… did Mr. Jeon water the flowers for me?”
The names spilled out of him in tiny fragments, pieces of a world he’d left behind too suddenly. He pressed his face to his knees, his voice muffled but raw.
“He said forever,” Gyubin whispered, barely audible, as if afraid the walls might tell on him.
A tear slid down his cheek, quick and quiet. He didn’t bother to wipe it. He just hugged his knees tighter, the way a child hugs the memory of something slipping away. In his innocent heart, promises weren’t words....they were truths. If someone said forever, it meant forever.
But here he was, two days later, sitting in a stranger’s house without the kitten, without the flowers, without the tall man who once knelt and let him hold his finger.
Inside, the clattering of pans filled the kitchen as Taehyung worked beside his aunt.
He moved like a shadow, precise, careful, but not truly there.
He told her everything in a voice that barely sounded like his own.
About the treatments, about the paper-thin contract, about the life inside those mansion walls that had been both cage and shelter. About the escape.
His aunt listened with wide eyes, her hands stilling on the ladle more than once.
And when he finally fell silent, she pulled him into her arms, the smell of broth and warm clothes surrounding him.
“Taehyung-ah,” she whispered thickly, “you’re stronger than you think. No one could’ve survived what you did.”
He froze, stiff as stone. But then, slowly, he allowed himself to lean into her embrace for just a second. It was brief, fleeting. Warmth he hadn’t felt in years.
And then she said it. The words that snapped him back to ice. “All of this… for a boy who isn’t even your own.”
Taehyung’s spine straightened instantly. His voice came out quiet, but it was sharp enough to slice the air.
“He is my son.”
The room held its breath. His aunt nodded quickly, realizing her mistake, and cupped his cheek in apology, a soft smile of regret tugging at her lips. He forced himself to return the gesture with silence.
His hands moved again, chopping vegetables. But it wasn’t rhythm... it was survival. His mind had wandered back, uninvited, to the silver ring circling his finger. The metal glinted beneath the kitchen light, and suddenly his pulse thudded painfully in his ears.
His heart lurched. Goosebumps crawled over his arms. Even here, miles away, the man haunted him. His eyes. His voice. His cologne. His shadow, lingering at the edge of every memory.
Two days. That’s all it had been. Two days since he had last seen him. Since he had poisoned him. Since he had left. And still, two days felt like an eternity dragging him under.
I’ll forget soon, he told himself. He had to.
But how do you forget someone who wrapped around every corner of your life? Who bruised you, then kissed the bruise as though it was his to heal? Who broke you down and then held you up, leaving you too tangled to know if it was cruelty or mercy?
How do you forget a man you gave up everything for? Pride. Dignity. Self-respect. Every last shred of yourself. All for a fleeting embrace that left you both hollow and whole.
The knife trembled in his hand. His aunt noticed, but she said nothing.
And the question he refused to voice pressed against the inside of his skull until it nearly broke him: Was Taehyung in love?
He shook his head violently, as if shaking off a spider crawling down his skin. His breaths came shallow, uneven. He cut through the pepper harder than necessary, as though he could bury the thought under the knife.
But outside on the balcony, Gyubin’s heartbreak carried through the night.
Taehyung heard him. The soft whimpers. His hands froze mid-chop. His chest squeezed so tight he could barely breathe. For all the battles he had fought, for all the pain he had endured, nothing cut deeper than hearing his son cry over the man Taehyung had poisoned.
Taehyung’s steps were hesitant as he walked toward the little figure on the balcony.
Gyubin looked up at him, his eyes swollen, lashes clumped from unshed tears.
The boy sniffled once, then stood slowly, brushing his palms against his pants in a clumsy attempt to tidy himself up, as if that might hide how small and broken he felt.
For a moment, neither spoke. Just the sound of the night breeze slipping past them. Then Gyubin shuffled closer, his little fists tightening at his sides.
Taehyung looked down at him, his lips parting as if to speak, but the words refused to come.
And then.... softly, Gyubin’s arms wound around Taehyung’s waist. He pressed his small face into his appa’s stomach, muffling a shaky breath against the fabric. The weight of it was fragile but heavy enough to make Taehyung exhale shakily.
A faint, tired smile tugged at Taehyung’s lips. His hand rose almost instinctively, brushing over the top of Gyubin’s beanie, adjusting it gently. The boy didn’t let go, only clung tighter.
“Let’s eat,” Taehyung murmured, voice softer than a sigh.
Gyubin nodded against him, the movement small, obedient. He didn’t lift his face, just held onto his father as if afraid he’d vanish too.
Taehyung slid his hand down, interlacing his fingers with Gyubin’s small ones. Together, they walked back inside, the house warm compared to the cold balcony air.
At the dining table, the three of them sat in silence. The plates were filled, the food steaming, but no words passed. Gyubin ate quietly, spoon clinking softly against the bowl, his gaze fixed on his plate instead of the adults beside him.
Taehyung watched him, every movement slow, his eyes softening with each bite the boy forced down. Something in his chest squeezed painfully, this silence wasn’t peace. It was heartbreak trying to heal itself with discipline.
Across the table, his aunt glanced between them. She shook her head lightly, a small smile that carried both sadness and admiration. To her, it was plain: this boy and his father were bound by something deeper than blood. Something even heartbreak couldn’t fully sever.
And so they ate in silence, three people at a table, each carrying their own weight. But Taehyung never looked away from Gyubin, his son’s quiet resilience cutting deeper into him than any of Jungkook’s cruelty ever had.
.
.
Taehyung’s voice carried softly in the quiet room, his words weaving through the pages of the story. Gyubin’s little hands clung to his shirt with stubborn determination, as if loosening even an inch of his grip might allow the world to steal Taehyung away again.
Every now and then, the boy’s laughter broke through the stillness, a bright, innocent giggle when Taehyung exaggerated the voices of the characters. His small frame shook with joy, eyes squinting until they turned into little crescents.
Taehyung found himself smiling, too. For a moment, he wasn’t the man carrying scars and burdens heavier than his years should have allowed.
Here, he was simply “appa.”
But slowly, those giggles faded. Gyubin’s lashes lowered, his head grew heavier against Taehyung’s chest, and his breaths evened out into the deep, dream-drenched rhythm of sleep.
Taehyung stilled, afraid to move too quickly, watching the boy surrender to slumber with the ease only children possessed. Carefully, he shifted Gyubin onto the pillow, tucking the blanket to his chin as though protecting a treasure.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips. For the first time in months, Taehyung felt a sliver of peace. The kind that made his chest ache with unfamiliarity. He stood, glancing one last time at the boy’s face, before stepping out onto the balcony.
The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain that had long since dried on the streets below. He folded his arms, leaning against the railing as his gaze lifted skyward. The moon hung above him, pale and vast, casting its cold light across the world
It was the same moon he had looked at when everything seemed unbearable, the same moon Gyubin had whispered his wishes to, the same moon countless eyes turned to, no matter where they were. A strange comfort... constant, untouchable, shared by all.
Somewhere, miles away in a world that no longer touched his, another man stared at the same sky.
Jungkook sat on his balcony, the night pressing heavily against him. His legs stretched out over the railing, careless, while between his fingers a cigarette burned low, its tip glowing briefly before fading into ash.
Smoke curled up in lazy spirals, dissolving into the sky he barely looked at. His face was shadowed, weary, eyes unfocused as though searching for answers in the nothingness.
Then a sound broke the stillness. A small, fragile mewl. His head turned, and there she was... Daisy.
The kitten’s wide, trusting eyes blinked up at him, filled with the kind of innocence he wasn’t sure he deserved. For a moment, Jungkook only stared back, frozen by the weight of something so delicate daring to reach for him.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the cigarette into the darkness, watching it fall and extinguish on the tiles below. The bitterness in his mouth lingered, but somehow, the silence felt softer. He lifted his hand, not commanding but inviting.
Daisy understood. She climbed onto his lap, circling once before curling up against him. Her tiny body pressed into him, warm, unafraid, as if she trusted him to be her home.
Jungkook’s hand moved almost on its own, fingers stroking down her fur. The rhythm was slow, absentminded, but each motion chipped away at the hollow inside him. The sound of her purr was faint, yet it filled the quiet in a way nothing else had for days.
Two worlds apart.
One man tucking a child into bed, his chest aching with the weight of love that demanded nothing in return. Another sitting in solitude, holding the child’s kitten as if it was the last piece of warmth tethering him to something real.
And above them, the moon watched quietly. The same silver face shining on both, binding them in silence. A bridge they did not know they shared, a witness to their longing, their pain, their unspoken ties.
Even apart, they were under the same sky.
Jungkook’s fingers toyed with the small, star-shaped hairclip, the sharp edges of its diamond points catching the faint glow of the moonlight. It was such a fragile little thing, far too delicate to be in his hands, yet it had never left his pocket since the day it fell.
He remembered it vividly... how he had dolled Taehyung up. And then, amidst the moment, the clip had slipped, hitting the floor with a soft chime.
Jungkook should have left it there. He should have let it be forgotten like everything else he tried to bury. But instead, his hand had reached for it instinctively, as though even then, a part of him knew he wouldn’t be able to let go.
Now it lay against his palm, cold and glittering, an unspoken reminder of a man he had pushed too far.
At his lap, Daisy stirred, her little nose pressing against the clip before she gave it a few curious licks. Jungkook’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, too heavy to be one, too soft to be grief. He sighed, leaning into the chair, feeling the weight of the silence around him.
The kitten’s purr rumbled gently, like a voice that wasn’t hers but carried a message all the same. He heard it in the quiet, felt it in the way she nestled into him, her tiny claws gripping at his shirt as though anchoring him in place.
“I know you miss him,” Jungkook murmured, his voice rough, low. Daisy blinked at him, eyes wide and innocent, as if she understood more than she should. She pressed closer, curling into the warmth of his chest.
Jungkook exhaled shakily, the confession dragging itself out of him before he could stop it. “So do I.”
The words hung in the night, heavier than any smoke he’d breathed out before.
They slipped past his defenses, past the walls he had built so carefully, leaving him bare beneath the quiet sky.
He closed his eyes, his hand still stroking Daisy’s back as though the rhythm could steady the storm inside him.
Above, the moon glowed, indifferent yet constant. And somewhere, under that same moonlight, the man he was thinking about stood on another balcony, trying to teach his own heart how to forget.
☆☆
The morning started like every other. Jungkook woke up, showered, and got dressed with his usual care. Black shirt, blazer, watch. He picked up his phone from the nightstand and slipped it into his pocket. Everything looked normal, everything felt like routine.
But the house wasn’t the same.
He walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs.
His steps echoed too clearly, too sharply, bouncing off the walls like reminders of how empty the place had become.
Usually by this time, there was noise. Gyubin’s small feet running over the floors, his little giggles echoing as he played with Daisy or talked to himself.
Taehyung’s voice coming from the kitchen, speaking softly to Mr. Haenam, sometimes humming under his breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was there. A kind of warmth.
Now, there was nothing.
Jungkook stopped for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes drifting toward the kitchen.
It was spotless, quiet, lifeless. He could almost hear Taehyung’s voice in his head, asking Gyubin to eat slowly, or scolding him lightly when he made a mess.
But when Jungkook blinked, it was gone. Just a counter. Just a cold room.
He walked to the living room. The carpet was too clean, too empty. That was where Gyubin often sat with Daisy, the kitten curled in his lap while he whispered stories to her. Jungkook stared for a second longer than he should have before moving on.
His jaw tightened as he slipped one hand into his pocket, the other still holding his phone. He hated this kind of quiet. Not the silence of power, not the silence of control.... but the kind that left behind too much space for thoughts.
At the door, he paused. For a split second, his chest felt heavier. He told himself it was nothing, just another day, just another step forward. But before his hand pushed the door open, a thought cut through without permission.
Taehyung.
The name echoed in his head, soft yet sharp, like it didn’t belong and yet had nowhere else to go.
Jungkook exhaled slowly, pushed the doors open, and stepped outside. His expression stayed the same, calm and composed. But the silence of the house followed him out, like a shadow he couldn’t get rid of.
.
.
.
Taehyung handed the grocery man a few bills, muttering a polite thank you as he took the bags. They felt heavier than they should have. Maybe it was just his arms, tired from walking everywhere now. Maybe it was his head, which hadn’t stopped thinking all morning.
Gyubin’s birthday was coming up. Just a few days away.
Usually, he’d make his son’s favorite food, take him to a small movie theatre, then cut a cake.
Simple. Small. But good. And this year? This year Gyubin was quiet.
Distant. Even his smile seemed to be slipping away. Taehyung didn’t know how to fix it.
He adjusted the bags in his arms, looking up at the sky. The air was cool, a faint breeze against his face. He tried to let it calm him. But his mind wouldn’t stop.
He didn’t notice the trucks at first. Four of them. Big. Hauling massive billboards.
Just another ad campaign, he thought, until his eyes landed on the faces plastered across them.
Jeon Jungkook.
Black suit. Cold expression. Standing next to his newest car models. Larger than life. Everywhere Taehyung looked, there he was.
He froze. Completely.
The weight of the grocery bags slipped a little in his hands as his body went rigid. The air didn’t feel cool anymore; it felt sharp, thin, like he couldn’t breathe it in enough.
For a second, he swore he felt Jungkook’s touch again..the press of a hand at his waist, the brush of fingers at his throat. Goosebumps rose over his arms. His breathing turned shallow.
One truck slowed right in front of him. Another came from behind. Two more slid in on either side. The billboards now boxed him in. Jungkook’s face to his left. Jungkook’s face to his right. Behind him. In front of him. All of them looking down at him, silent, watching.
The bags slipped from his hands. Apples rolled across the pavement, a bottle of oil toppled, eggs cracked against the ground. But Taehyung didn’t notice. He couldn’t.
Because everywhere... left, right, front, back... was Jungkook.
Those billboards towered over him like walls closing in, boxing him inside a cage made of Jeon Jungkook’s face. The same sharp jaw. The same cold stare. The same presence that had dominated his life for months.
His feet rooted to the ground. His lungs burned like the air had been ripped out of the street. The faint sound of traffic blurred into nothing. All Taehyung could hear was a voice. Deep. Calm. Dangerous.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the voice lingered, echoing inside his skull, pulling him apart piece by piece. His hands flew to his ears as if he could block it out. His knees buckled, hitting the pavement with a dull thud.
“Please…” The word slipped out before he even knew he was saying it. A broken plea, jagged at the edges. “Please…”
The trucks idled around him, engines rumbling, drowning out his shallow breaths. Drivers leaned out of their windows.
“Sir, step aside!” someone called. But he couldn’t move. His body refused.
Because it wasn’t just Jungkook’s face staring at him. It was memories.
The scent of his cologne, still clinging to his skin even after days.
The low timbre of his voice when he said Taehyung’s name.
The press of cold lips against his neck the night he kissed him.
The way he smirked, cruel and soft, as if he already owned every part of him.
And that night... when Taehyung had finally dared to poison him. The way Jungkook’s eyes hadn’t shown fear. Not even betrayal. Just silence. As if he’d already expected it. As if even death itself couldn’t bend him.
“I-I didn’t mean to…” Taehyung’s voice cracked. His chest heaved, but no air filled his lungs. He bent forward, fingers digging into his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I just… I just…” His throat tightened, swallowing the rest. His body shook with a tremor he couldn’t stop.
Tears spilled before he realized, dripping onto the cracked pavement beneath him. “But he hurt me.” The words tumbled out, frantic, desperate, half a sob. “He hurt me so much…”
His aunt’s house was just five minutes away. Gyubin was waiting. But right here, right now, Taehyung was undone.
His tears blurred the world until only one thing was clear... Jungkook’s face. That endless gaze, that quiet voice, those hands that had both destroyed and held him.
He whispered again, to no one, to everyone. “Please…”
But no one answered. Only the trucks idled, only Jungkook stared back, silent.
And for the first time since he ran, Taehyung understoid that sometimes the most painful chains weren’t the ones around your wrists. They were the ones you carried inside your chest.
Each breath shallow as if the air around him refused to enter his lungs. Sweat gathered along his temple, sliding down to his jaw while his lashes fluttered helplessly.
His body trembled on the rough pavement, the grocery bags scattered around him, fruits rolling, rice packets torn open. The world around him blurred into distant voices, shouts, footsteps, someone yelling “Sir, please.... wake up!” but they all sounded muffled, as though he were underwater.
A panic attack.
And then nothing. His body gave up, chest heaving one last time before his vision dimmed into black.
.
.
.
He didn’t remember how he made it back. He didn’t remember being laid down on the softness of his bed.
All he knew was heaviness. His head throbbed like a drum, every limb numb, his throat dry as though he had swallowed sand. When his eyes cracked open, everything was white and hazy the ceiling, the curtains dancing faintly in the breeze, and the sharp scent of medicine floating in the air.
“Taehyung…” A voice broke through the fog. His aunt’s voice. Worried, trembling. He turned his head slowly, the motion pulling at every nerve in his neck. She was there, sitting on the edge of his bed, hands wringing together.
The doctor stood at his side, murmuring instructions, checking his pulse, but Taehyung could barely process the words.
His throat burned when he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just a weak exhale. And then he felt warmth. A smaller hand sliding into his.
Gyubin.
The boy’s big eyes blinked down at him, glistening with tears he was trying so hard not to shed.
His little lips trembled, but then he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss on Taehyung’s damp forehead.
His tiny palms cupped Taehyung’s cheeks as though his fragile touch could hold him together.
“Appa…” Gyubin whispered. Just one word. But it was enough.
Taehyung’s chest squeezed painfully, his heart melting into something tender. His lips curved into a faint, tired smile as tears pricked his eyes all over again. He lifted a shaky arm, wrapping it around Gyubin, pulling him close.
The boy immediately buried his face into the crook of his neck, his small body trembling as if afraid to let go.
The gesture… it was achingly familiar. For a second, Taehyung’s breath caught because it reminded him of certain someone.
That certain someone who always used to bury his face in Taehyung’s neck while sleeping, clinging onto him as if the night would swallow him whole otherwise. The memory stung like fire, lodging itself deep inside his chest. He gulped, suppressing the wave of emotion.
“Mr. Kim,” the doctor’s calm voice broke the moment, “you suffered a panic attack.” His tone was firm but gentle, like he had seen this too many times before. “Your body shut down under stress. You need rest and… less pressure.”
The question followed, simple but sharp. “What led to this?”
Taehyung froze. His lips parted, but the truth the billboards, Jungkook’s face, the suffocating flood of memories felt too heavy, too raw to share. So he looked away, swallowing hard, forcing a small, almost dismissive sound.
“Maybe… I was just tired.” His voice was hoarse, breaking halfway. “Maybe it was nothing.”
But deep down, he knew.
It wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
.
.
.
The meeting had dragged on for hours. Papers rustled, pens clicked, laughter echoed faintly across the long marble table but Jungkook’s mind wasn’t there.
He sat at the head of the room, posture straight, eyes cold. The investors sitting across from him looked pleased as the last signature slid onto the document. Another deal sealed, another victory for the Jeon empire.
“Congratulations, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said cheerfully, rising to his feet. “We should celebrate this. Perhaps a small unofficial dinner? Just us—and our partners, of course.”
Jungkook didn’t even look up. His pen glided across the last page before he set it down neatly.
“I’m not available.” he said simply, his voice low, clipped.
The investor exchanged glances with his secretary, who stood quietly beside him, clutching a thin file against her chest. Her gaze lingered on Jungkook’s face longer than it should have. He was composed, immaculate in his black suit the kind of man whose silence alone could command a room.
God, he’s so hot, she thought as her eyes dipped to his hands, long fingers resting against the table, veins tracing down his wrist.
Jungkook signed the final form and slid the folder across to her. Their fingers brushed, and she didn’t move immediately. Her manicured nail traced lightly against his wrist, a touch that wasn’t accidental.
Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. He pulled his hand back slowly.
“The deal’s done,” he said flatly.
The investors took the hint and left one by one, exchanging polite nods. The door closed behind them with a soft click. Silence filled the office again, heavy and still.
Jungkook leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The air conditioner hummed faintly above. His eyes closed, head tilted slightly, fingers instinctively reaching for the bracelet around his wrist, the one with red beads. He turned it between his fingers, lost in thought.
The door opened again.
Jungkook’s eyes snapped open instantly.
It was the secretary.
“I forgot a file, sir,” she said, stepping inside, her voice softer now, deliberate.
Jungkook’s gaze followed her as she bent slightly, pretending to search through the folders. But her glance slid to him, then away again, slow, teasing. She stood upright and took a step closer.
“Mr. Jeon…” Her tone changed...lower, sugared. “You work too much. Maybe you just need… to unwind.”
Jungkook didn’t move, his expression blank. His eyes followed the motion of her fingers as they reached out, hovering just above his arm. Before they could touch, his hand shot up, gripping her wrist firmly, stopping her midair.
“Get out,” he said, voice calm but razor-sharp.
She blinked, taken aback, but then gave a nervous laugh.
“It’ll stay between us,” she whispered, leaning in. “Your spouse would never know.”
That word spouse hit something inside him. Jungkook’s grip tightened. His jaw flexed, the muscle twitching near his temple.
“Say that again,” he said, his tone calm, but too quiet, the kind of calm that makes your pulse skip.
The secretary hesitated, suddenly unsure. But before she could step back, Jungkook rose from his chair slowly and closed the distance between them. The air in the room thickened, heavy with quiet tension.
“Do you think I’m someone who tolerates this kind of filth?” His eyes burned into hers, voice low and seething.
She tried to stammer an excuse, but it was too late. Jungkook’s hand caught her throat not harsh at first, but firm enough to silence her. The cold edge of the bracelet in his palm pressed against her skin, the beads digging in as his fingers clenched tighter.
“Next time,” he murmured, “you’ll think twice before walking into my presence with lust in your eyes.” His voice was steady, but his eyes were blazing with something darker... disgust, fury, maybe even something self-destructive.
Her hands clawed weakly at his wrist, eyes wide with fear as the pressure grew. A sharp breath escaped her lips when one of the beads bit into her skin, a droplet of blood trailing down to her collarbone.
Her voice broke. “P-Please… please let go…”
For a moment, Jungkook didn’t move. His grip trembled, not from hesitation but from restraint. Then, suddenly, he released her.
She stumbled back, collapsing onto the carpet, coughing violently, gasping for air. Jungkook stood over her, his breath uneven, eyes still cold.
“Get out.” he said quietly, straightening his cuff.
The woman nodded quickly, grabbing her file and stumbling out of the room.
When the door finally shut behind her, Jungkook sank back into his chair.
He looked down at his palm. One bead now had a faint smear of blood on it. He brushed his thumb across it, the way one would trace a scar.
He leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed on the city skyline beyond the window.
Somewhere, the world moved on. Deals were made. Lives went on.
But Jungkook sat there... in a mansion of glass and power haunted by the ghost of the only person who ever dared to touch him without fear.
Someone who grabbed his collar without a flicker of hesitation even though fear trembled somewhere deep inside those eyes. Someone who dared to raise his voice at him, to defy him when everyone else chose silence.
Someone wild… like a cornered cat ready to scratch back no matter how badly it was trembling.
That’s what made them unforgettable that mix of defiance and vulnerability, the fire hidden beneath the fear. They weren’t fearless; they were brave despite the fear.
The kind of person who made his mind hazy, not because he was perfect, but because he wae a chaos wrapped in human form.
A wildcat... soft enough to touch, but dangerous enough to draw blood if you came too close.