52
Third Person Pov
Taehyung sat outside the principal’s office, hands clasped together, the soft tapping of his foot betraying the calm expression on his face. The corridor was filled with the faint laughter of children, their little backpacks bouncing as they ran past him.
He’d come here for Gyubin’s admission interview. Everything was prepared documents neatly stacked in a brown file, medical reports carefully clipped, and the admission form written in his clean, nervous handwriting.
Still, something about the principal calling him in personally today felt… off.
“Mr. Kim, please go inside,” the peon finally said, and Taehyung nodded faintly, straightening his blazer before stepping into the office.
The principal, a stern-looking man in his fifties with rimmed glasses, looked up from the papers spread across his desk. “Mr. Kim,” he greeted curtly.
Taehyung bowed politely. “Good morning, sir.”
“Please, have a seat.”
Taehyung sat down, clasping his trembling hands on his lap. The room was quiet for a moment, save for the faint ticking of the clock.
“I’ve reviewed the child’s profile,” the principal began, his tone calm but sharp. “He’s currently in the maintenance phase of leukemia treatment, correct?”
Taehyung nodded, keeping his voice steady. “Yes, sir.”
The principal hummed. “I also checked the submitted documents. There’s something that doesn’t quite match.
” He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
“On your provided documents, the child is listed as Kim Gyubin. But in the online legal registry… the name appears as Jeon Gyubin. Can you explain this discrepancy?”
Taehyung’s breath caught. His throat tightened as he looked down at his hands.
“He’s my son, Kim Gyubin–”
“I’d like to interrupt, Mr. Kim.” The principal’s voice cut through sharply. “According to the government records, the registered father is Jeon Jungkook.”
The name alone made Taehyung’s jaw clench. He could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest.
“That’s… what I’m trying to explain,” he said, forcing calm into his voice though his palms had gone cold. “Gyubin is my son, but Jeon—” he stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Mr. Jeon… he adopted him legally. But I still have all the rights over my son.”
The principal’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Kim, you’re not making much sense.”
Taehyung exhaled shakily. His head felt heavy... like every word was pressing down on him. How could he explain everything? He couldn’t possibly tell the truth not about the contract, not about the things that had led to this point.
“Mr. Kim,” the principal’s tone grew firm, “if you don’t clarify this now, I’ll have to involve the authorities. This concerns the child’s safety and legal guardianship.”
That word police made Taehyung’s pulse spike. His breath came out uneven, and before he realized it, the truth slipped out in desperation.
“Jeon Jungkook is my husband,” Taehyung admitted.
The principal froze, his pen halting midair.
“He’s… my husband,” Taehyung repeated softly, this time his voice more controlled. “And Gyubin is our son.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The clock ticked louder now, echoing in the small office.
Taehyung’s grip on the edge of the chair tightened until his knuckles turned white. His voice dropped lower, steadier this time the calm that comes after breaking apart.
“I’m not Kim,” he said quietly, meeting the principal’s startled gaze. “I’m Jeon. Jeon Taehyung.”
The principal leaned back, letting out a slow sigh as if the pieces had just fallen into place. “Then why didn’t you inform us earlier? Why are your documents so… complicated?”
Taehyung gave a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Because my life itself is complicated, he thought bitterly.
“It’s a mess,” the principal muttered, rubbing his temples. “In that case, Taehyung, I’ll need Mr. Jeon to accompany you next time before we can proceed with Gyubin’s admission. We’ll also require additional proof of guardianship.”
Taehyung nodded slowly, his grip on the chair tightening at the mention of that name again.
“Of course, sir,” he managed to say.
As he stepped out of the office, the hallway felt colder than before.
Kids ran past him again, laughing and this time, one of them had Gyubin’s smile.
His throat ached. He walked out without looking back, holding the file tighter to his chest like if he loosened his grip, everything might slip away again.
☆☆☆
The principal leaned back in his chair, the air in the room suddenly feeling heavier, his phone began to ring the sharp sound cutting through the silence like a blade.
He frowned, picking it up. “Yes, this is Principal Kang speaking…”
The color drained from his face when the voice on the other end spoke low, commanding, calm in a way that carried threat more than peace.
“Yes… yes, Mr. Jeon,” the principal stammered, adjusting his tie nervously. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Everything’s… everything’s according to what you instructed, sir.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the door Taehyung had just walked out of. “Yes, I understand. N–No school will take the boy’s admission without your authorization. Yes, I’ll make sure of that.”
There was a brief pause whatever was said on the other end made him nod quickly, voice trembling just slightly. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Jeon.”
The line went dead.
For a moment, the principal just sat there, the silence pressing on his chest. His fingers trembled slightly as he set the phone down and reached for his glass of water. He took a long sip, his throat dry, before exhaling shakily.
“What a horrible man…” he muttered under his breath, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
He looked toward the door again, where Taehyung had been sitting moments ago that fragile-looking young man with trembling hands and tired eyes.
A pang of pity struck him. “Poor thing doesn’t even know the kind of monster he’s up against,” he murmured quietly, shaking his head before turning back to his paperwork, pretending it hadn’t just felt like he’d spoken to the devil himself.
.
.
Taehyung stepped outside the school gates, the heat of the afternoon sun washing over his pale skin. He stood there for a moment, looking up at the sky the bright, cloudless blue almost mocking him with its calmness. His throat tightened as he exhaled, the air heavy in his chest.
“This was the third one…” he muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head, feeling the exhaustion crawl into his bones. “can any good thing happen in my life for once?"
Pulling out his phone, he booked a cab. While waiting, he watched the cars drive past, each one blurring into a memory he didn’t want to remember. When the cab finally pulled up, Taehyung slid inside quietly, the faint smell of air freshener filling his lungs.
As the city rolled by outside the window, he let his thoughts drift. Everywhere I go… he’s always there. His reflection on the window stared back... tired eyes, lips pressed in frustration. Even when he’s not around, he still finds a way to ruin things for me.
His jaw clenched, fingers gripping his pants tightly. He’s my curse, he thought bitterly, eyes burning.
When the cab stopped, he snapped back to reality. “We’re here, sir,” the driver said. Taehyung nodded and handed him the fare, whispering a soft thank-you before stepping out.
The large glass building before him gleamed in the sunlight... a luxury clothing showroom, modern and pristine. He straightened his shirt, adjusted his bag, and walked in. The air conditioning hit his face, cooling the sweat on his skin.
A woman at the reception directed him to the manager’s cabin. Taehyung knocked lightly and entered. The manager, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a polite smile, looked up from his desk.
“Oh, you’re the applicant for the billing position?” the manager asked, scanning through the papers.
“Yes, sir,” Taehyung replied, bowing slightly.
The manager looked up again, squinting as if trying to recall something. “You know,” he said slowly, “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Taehyung’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, but he forced a small, courteous smile. “Might be a coincidence, sir,” he replied softly. “I don’t really go out much.”
The man nodded, though his gaze lingered on Taehyung a second longer than usual. “Hmm, maybe,” he said, before signing the papers. “Anyway, you seem like a decent fit. We’ve been short on billing staff lately, and we could use someone with your neatness.”
Relief flickered briefly in Taehyung’s chest. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“You can join from tomorrow,” the manager said with a firm nod.
Taehyung’s lips curved into a faint, polite smile. “Of course,” he said, bowing slightly before turning to leave.
As he walked out of the showroom, the sunlight hit his face again. He took a deep breath, feeling himself at ease... just a little.
“Finally,” he whispered. “Something new… something that’s not him.”
But as he walked away, past the gleaming cars that reminded him of wealth and power, something deep inside him knew no matter how far he ran, the shadow of Jeon Jungkook would always find him.
.
.
.
Taehyung stepped inside the house quietly, the soft click of the door echoing through the small, cozy living room. His aunt was on a call, her voice low but firm as she paced near the kitchen counter.
On the rug near the coffee table sat Gyubin, his little legs folded, head bent, scribbling something on his paper with full concentration.
A small smile tugged at Taehyung’s lips. He placed the documents on the table, dusted his hands, and called out softly, “Binnie.”
The boy’s head immediately shot up, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw him. “Appa!” he chirped, his smile wide enough to melt any bad day away.
Taehyung’s eyes softened at the sound his heart always seemed to calm the moment his son smiled. Gyubin quickly got up, hiding something behind his back as he padded toward him with small, eager steps.
“Appa, I made something for you,” he said shyly, his voice almost a whisper as he stopped in front of the couch.
Taehyung sat down, leaning back comfortably, eyes curious. “Hmm?” he hummed playfully, taking Gyubin’s small hands and pulling him closer. “Show me then.”
Gyubin hesitated for a moment, biting his lower lip before slowly bringing the paper forward.
Taehyung took it carefully, his gaze falling on the drawing... and for a second, his heart stopped.
In bright, clumsy colors were drawn two figure, one tall and one small.
.. holding hands under a bright yellow sun.
Above their heads were pink flowers, likely meant to be peonies, sketched with uneven but loving strokes.
Beside them sat a small kitten with big eyes Daisy.
And at the top, written in Gyubin’s slightly crooked handwriting, were the words:
“I love you Appa. Thank you for taking care of Binnie. Please stay with me forever.”
Taehyung’s eyes moistured. He looked at his son, his throat heavy with emotion. “You made this for Appa?” he asked softly.
Gyubin nodded earnestly, his cheeks puffing a little. “Mm-hmm.”
Taehyung smiled, his hand cupping the boy’s small cheek. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered. But before he could say more, Gyubin fidgeted with the hem of Taehyung’s shirt, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Binnie is sorry,” he murmured.
Taehyung blinked, confused. “Sorry? Why, love?”
“I was being stubborn last week…” Gyubin whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I cried.”
Taehyung’s lips parted, then softened into a gentle smile. “Oh, baby,” he said, pulling the little boy into his arms, hugging him close. “You never have to say sorry for crying. Appa loves you, no matter what.”
Gyubin nodded into his chest, his small arms wrapping around Taehyung’s neck. “I love you,” he said, his voice muffled against Taehyung’s shirt.
“I love you too,” Taehyung whispered, pressing a lingering kiss on his son’s shoulder.
When Gyubin finally pulled back, Taehyung looked at the drawing again his eyes tracing every line, every messy little color.
But one thing caught his attention... the absence of a certain someone.
“You didn’t draw your Mr. Jeon?” Taehyung asked gently, trying to keep his tone light though his heart felt fragile. He wanted to understand what his son truly felt about him.
Gyubin’s expression dimmed for a moment. He shook his head, his brows furrowing slightly as he stared at the paper.
“He’s a liar,” he said simply, his small voice heavy with a kind of pain no child should ever know. “If he liked Binnie… he would’ve come to see me.”
The words hit Taehyung like a wave sharp and silent. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched his son, his throat tight.
Gyubin went back to tracing his drawing with his tiny fingers, his face calm now, as if the statement had been a mere fact to him not the quiet heartbreak of a boy who once believed too much in promises.
Taehyung blinked slowly, his eyes glistening. His son had learned how to let go not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice.
Gyubin sat back down quietly, his little eyes flicking once toward the edge of the table where a few pages of his drawing book peeked out... the ones he hadn’t wanted Appa to see.
His gaze lingered for a moment, then he blinked, grabbed his Rubik’s cube, and wandered toward his room, twisting the cube absentmindedly as he went.
Taehyung watched him go, his brows knitting slightly. Something about the boy’s sudden silence tugged at his chest. When the sound of Gyubin’s footsteps faded, Taehyung glanced back at the table. The corner of the drawing book stuck out... half-hidden beneath the other papers.
With a soft sigh, he reached for it.
The paper felt warm from Gyubin’s small hands. He flipped it open carefully, the familiar scent of crayons faint in the air and then he froze.
There, drawn in bright colors, was a picture of Gyubin and him. Not Taehyung.... the CEO.
In the picture, Gyubin stood in the middle of a gym, his hands wrapped in red gloves, his little fists raised. Behind him stood Jungkook tall, broad-shouldered, drawn with careful detail his arms crossed.
It was clumsy, imperfect, and yet heartbreakingly alive.
Taehyung stared for a long moment, his grip tightening. He could almost see that day again Gyubin trying to throw punches, Jungkook standing nearby with that faint smirk.
Taehyung’s fingers trembled as he brushed over the crayon strokes. For a moment, his heart softened but then came the sting. That memory didn’t belong to him anymore.
He closed the book gently, exhaling through his nose as if trying to steady the ache in his chest.
Quietly, he placed the drawing and the scattered crayons neatly on the table, lining them up like fragile pieces of a past he couldn’t discard. He stood there for a moment, staring at them... that childish art now feeling heavier than words.
Then, without another glance, he walked toward the kitchen.
He grabbed a glass of water, his reflection trembling in its surface. His hand lingered around the rim for a few seconds before he lifted it to his lips.
The water was cold but not enough to wash away the warmth that memory brought back.
He swallowed hard, lowering the glass slowly.
Some memories, he thought, weren’t meant to fade. They simply waited hidden in drawings, in laughter, in the soft hands of a 7 year old who still remembered what love once looked like.
.
.
.
It was late when the CEO returned home.
The house was quiet too quiet. Loneliness settled into the walls like an old scent, and the faint trace of alcohol clung to him as if it had become part of his skin.
He moved with measured steps, shoulders straight, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. The night outside pressed against the tall windows, and the soft click of his shoes echoed through the emptiness.
Inside his bedroom, Jungkook loosened his tie, let it fall, and shrugged off his blazer, tossing it onto the bed.
He sank into the chair beside it, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the strain in his muscles, the dull ache behind his temples.
He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing the veins along his forearms, his hands resting loosely on his knees.
When he opened his eyes again, the air shifted.
Taehyung was there... leaning lazily against the table.
His hair fell softly around his face, lips parted just slightly, wearing nothing but a black shirt that hung loosely down his thighs.
His skin glowed faintly beneath the warm light, the collarbones catching Jungkook’s gaze first, then the line of his neck, the slight curve of his waist beneath the fabric.
Jungkook didn’t move for a moment. He just stared, breath shallow, eyes locked on that figure his mind had conjured. His jaw tightened.
He rose slowly, every motion deliberate, his gaze tracing every inch of Taehyung’s imagined form. When he spoke, his voice came out rougher than he intended... quiet, cold, restrained.
“You…”
Taehyung’s lips curved in a small, teasing smile, eyes lowering shyly.
The Ceo's gaze didn't shift. He reached out, fingertips brushing toward that waist he remembered too vividly... taut, soft, perfect under his palms.
And just like that, the image shattered.
The room was empty again.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His chest rose and fell once, steadying himself as if nothing had happened. The air felt heavier now, the silence louder.
“pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. But his voice lacked conviction.
He poured himself another glass of whiskey, downed it in a single swallow, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His eyes were red, tired... and yet, beneath that cold exterior, there was hunger. A quiet, consuming kind of want that he could neither name nor suppress.
His thumb brushed absently across his zipper, his mind replaying the image he’d seen, how the shirt had clung, how that waist had curved beneath it, how Taehyung’s eyes had dropped, shy but knowing.
Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, as if that could rid him of the thought. But it lingered, as it always did... just out of reach, taunting.
He wasn’t the type to indulge in fantasy. He didn’t beg, didn’t chase, didn’t fall. But tonight, the echo of Taehyung’s voice, the ghost of his smile, the shape of his body beneath that shirt... all of it carved through the coldness he had built around himself.
When he finally set the glass down, his fingers trembled faintly due to alcohol. He flexed them once, tightening his jaw again.
“fck this.” he whispered. But even he knew it wasn’t.
With the glass in hand, he stepped into the bathroom, the soft click of the door echoing faintly in the otherwise silent apartment.
He drained it in one gulp, the bitter burn of alcohol sliding down his throat, leaving a heat that spread slowly through his chest. He set the glass on the sink with a muted clink, his reflection catching him in the harsh, sterile light.
His eyes were red, rimmed with exhaustion and something darker, something raw. Stray strands of hair fell across his forehead, sticking slightly to damp skin.
His fingers fumbled with his belt, the metal buckle cold under his touch. He needed a release right now.
With a practiced motion, he undid it, his movements shaky but deliberate, before unzipping his pants.
He pressed a hand against the smooth wall for support, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body, and slid his trousers down slowly, freeing his already hardened length. He grabbed it as he exhaled.
There was something raw in his gaze that belonged only to this moment. He could almost feel the memory like a pulse beneath his skin, the sound of Taehyung’s breath, the warmth of his body, the soft whimpers that had made him lose all control the first time.
“Please Mr.Jeon…” The voice whispered in his mind, faint but insistent, and he shivered, his pace quickening almost against his own will.
His hand moved faster, slick and urgent, the rhythm jagged, broken only by the ragged pull of his own breath.
Another sound hit him... Taehyung’s soft, shaky moan, curling into his memory like smoke, filling every corner of his mind.
He closed his eyes and tried to shove it down, tried to focus on nothing else, but it was useless.
Every motion brought it back, sharp and insistent, a fire he couldn’t douse.
His free hand clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as he pressed harder against the wall, trying to ground himself even as he slipped further into the memory.
Every flick, every roll of his hand on his cock was punctuated by the image of those wide, teary eyes and the fragile vulnerability they had shown him.
The memory burned hotter than the alcohol coursing through his veins, hotter than the soft light of the bathroom or the cool wall pressing against his skin.
And he chased it, relentlessly, until his breath came in jagged gasps and his body trembled with a hunger that had no name.
He needed that voice. He needed that fcking voice.
He reached for his phone, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim haze of the bathroom. The CEO exhaled slowly, his thumb hovering over a number he shouldn’t still know by heart.
Just a week. Only seven days since he last saw Taehyung... yet the memory of that one night had burned itself into his mind like a brand. That look, those trembling lips, the quiet way he had said his name.
The phone rang once, twice. Then...
“Hello...?”
The voice was soft, faintly hoarse with sleep. Jungkook’s eyelids fluttered shut for a moment, his breath pausing in his chest. Every trace of exhaustion drained from his expression, replaced by something heavier, darker.
He didn’t speak. Just listened as he rolled his hand on his hardened cock.
“Hello? Who is this?” Taehyung’s tone came again, still groggy, threaded with confusion.
That sound soft, vulnerable was enough to shatter the control Jungkook always prided himself on. A low, guttural groan escaped him as his pace quickened, each shuddering breath of Taehyung on the other end driving him higher, teasing every nerve he had.
The thought of Taehyung beneath him, helpless and needy, set fire to something deep inside, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
Heat pooled sharply as he finally came, fingers gripping tightly, the tension breaking in a shuddered curse.
The room was quiet again, save for the sharp rhythm of his breathing. His reflection in the mirror looked almost unfamiliar, eyes heavy-lidded but calm now, as if the storm inside him had finally settled. A lazy smirk curved his lips.
He cleaned himself. Zipped his pants ans shook his head in amusement.
“He always sounds the same,” he murmured, buttoning his shirt with ease. Finally relaxed.
He straightened his posture, sliding the phone back into his pocket, and adjusted his collar. The faint scent of cologne and tension lingered as he left the bathroom, each step measured, composed... like nothing had happened at all.
On the other aside, Taehyung frowned at the phone still glowing. The number was unfamiliar, and the call had ended without a word. He sighed softly, shaking his head. “Strange,” he whispered, glancing toward his son, who stirred in his sleep.
Back in the mansion, Jungkook poured himself another drink. The city stretched beneath him, lights scattered like sparks across the dark. He lifted the glass to his lips, that faint smirk still ghosting there.
“Sleep well.” he said quietly, more to the night than to anyone at all.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, a faint smirk on his lips. The bed behind him didn’t tempt him anymore; sleep felt irrelevant.