61
Third Person Pov
Thirty-six hours had passed.
Taehyung still hadn’t opened his eyes.
Machines kept beeping quietly beside his bed, a rhythm too steady to bring peace, too fragile to trust. The halls smelled of antiseptic and silence. Nurses walked past without meeting anyone’s eyes. No one dared speak too loudly not when the CEO was still in the building.
In the room next door, Gyubin sat on the bed, small and pale, his knees pulled up to his chest. His cheeks were blotchy from crying; his tiny hands twisted the edge of his hospital blanket until his knuckles went white.
Two men stood a few steps away with a tray of food... rice, soup, a few fruits.
“Please eat,” one of them said softly.
Gyubin only shook his head, his lips trembling.
The door opened suddenly. Every head turned. Jungkook walked in.
He looked like a shadow freshly changed but carrying the same blood on his soul. His eyes were blank, yet there was something burning behind them. His men straightened, bowing instantly before stepping aside. They placed the tray on the table and left without a sound.
The room went quiet again.
Gyubin’s little body froze at the sight of him. His gaze lifted slowly up from Jungkook’s polished shoes, up his sleeves, to his cold, scarred face. The boy’s bottom lip quivered.
Then he looked down again, whispering, “Appa…”
Jungkook didn’t answer. His steps were slow, heavy. He walked to the bed and sat down beside the boy, his shoulders wide enough to block the light.
“Come here,” he said quietly.
Gyubin hesitated for a moment, then crawled closer small hands clutching Jungkook’s sleeve as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“My appa…” he said again, barely breathing the words.
Jungkook looked at him. For a second, his face softened barely noticeable, but enough. Then Gyubin threw himself forward, pressing his tear-stained face against Jungkook’s side.
The man didn’t move at first. His hand hovered midair like he was afraid to touch something so fragile. Then, slowly, his palm settled on the boy’s back.
He rubbed slow, steady circles. His voice was low, cracked around the edges.
“Your appa will be fine,” he said. “He’ll wake up soon.”
Gyubin sniffled, but his tears only came harder, soaking through Jungkook’s shirt. The sound of his quiet sobs filled the room... the kind that made your throat burn from holding too much.
Without a word, Jungkook lifted him effortlessly and made him sit on his lap. The boy’s tiny hands clung to his collar.
Jungkook picked up the tray, his fingers steady even when his eyes weren’t. He scooped a spoon of rice and soup, bringing it to Gyubin’s lips.
The boy shook his head. “No… I’ll eat with appa… when he wakes up.”
Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know what else to say... so he went with the truth that would make the boy move.
“If you don’t eat,” he said flatly, “he’ll be mad at you.”
Gyubin blinked, confused.
Jungkook’s tone softened, still low, still cold, but gentler this time.
“He wouldn’t want you to get sick, right? He’d… scold you.”
The boy’s eyes wavered. He sniffled and finally opened his mouth.
Jungkook fed him quietly. Spoon by spoon. Bite by bite. The boy chewed slowly, tears falling between each swallow. Jungkook said nothing. He only watched, eyes fixed on the small bowl like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control.
When the plate was empty, he took the medicine from his man, poured a little water, and handed it to Gyubin.
“Drink.”
Gyubin obeyed, small hands trembling as he held the glass.
“Good boy,” Jungkook murmured finally. His voice came out rough, almost breaking.
From outside the glass wall, Seokjin stood still. He hadn’t spoken a word.
His eyes followed the sight inside Jungkook sitting on that chair, a blood-stained soul holding a trembling child. The same hands that had taken lives now carressed a boy’s forehead with the gentleness of a lullaby.
Seokjin felt something twist in his chest.
For the first time in years, Jungkook didn’t look like a powerful CEO.
He looked… lost.
And yet, the silence between every breath the kind that hung like smoke told him this wasn’t peace. It was punishment.
.
.
.
The room was dim and heavy with the smell of medicine. Machines beeped in a quiet rhythm, the only sign that Taehyung was still there still breathing.
Five doctors sat around his bed, their faces tight with exhaustion. None of them dared to leave. The order had been clear... “Keep a close watch. If anything changes, I want to know immediately.”
No one questioned the CEO’s command.
The door opened softly.
Seokjin stepped inside.
He looked at the scene, the pale boy lying still beneath white sheets, wires and tubes tracing across his skin like fragile threads of life. For a long moment, Seokjin didn’t move. His arms folded across his chest, as if holding himself together.
“What do you think?” he asked finally, voice low, rough.
One of the doctors sighed, glancing at the monitors. “Mr. Kim… we’re just waiting now. His vitals are weak but steady. If he doesn’t wake up soon…” he hesitated, meeting Seokjin’s eyes, “there’s a high chance it could lead to a coma.”
The words hit like a cold wind.
Seokjin’s jaw tightened. He looked at Taehyung so quiet, so pale it was hard to believe this was the same Taehyung he once used to know.
He took a few steps closer. His shoes echoed softly against the floor. He stopped by the bedside, staring at Taehyung’s face... bruised, still, peaceful in a way that hurt to see.
For a moment, Seokjin’s throat closed. He swallowed hard.
His mind drifted, back to that sunny afternoon when Taehyung had accepted flowers from him with a shy smile. He could still remember the way Taehyung’s eyes had lit up when he accepted them... so gentle, so full of quiet warmth.
It felt like another lifetime.
Now that same boy lay there, lifeless. Silent.
Seokjin closed his eyes.
For a second, he wished he could go back stop everything before it spiraled this far.
But wishes didn’t change reality.
When he opened his eyes again, the room felt colder. The doctors were murmuring softly among themselves, checking monitors, adjusting wires. Seokjin just stood there, unmoving, unreadable, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name.
He stayed that way for hours.
Waiting. Watching. Hoping for even the smallest twitch of Taehyung’s fingers... a sign of life.
But the boy didn’t move.
☆☆☆
In another room, far from the cold hum of the machines, Jungkook sat in the dim glow of a single bedside lamp.
Gyubin sat on his lap, small arms wrapped tightly around Jungkook’s waist, The boy’s shoulders trembled with every breath, but his voice kept whispering against Jungkook’s chest, fragile and trembling.
“When Appa wakes up… I’ll tell him I didn’t cry this much,” he mumbled, his words half broken by tiny hiccups.
Jungkook didn’t answer.
He just stared straight ahead at the empty wall, at nothing his jaw set, his face void of expression. His eyes looked alive only from the red veins running through them. The rage from hours ago had drained away, leaving behind emptiness.
Gyubin lifted his head a little, looking up at him with swollen eyes. “He’ll wake up, right?” he asked softly. “Appa always wakes up when I call him.”
Jungkook exhaled. His hand big, cold, steady moved slowly, rubbing gentle circles on the boy’s back. The motion was automatic, the kind you do when your mind is somewhere else entirely.
“He’ll wake up,” Jungkook said finally, voice low and rough. It wasn’t a promise. It was a prayer disguised as one.
The boy nodded against him, clutching tighter. “When he wakes up, I’ll tell him I ate all my food. You’ll tell him too, right?”
Jungkook didn’t reply this time. His gaze stayed fixed on the wall ahead on the cracks in the paint. His hand kept moving on Gyubin’s back, slow and steady, as if the rhythm might keep the boy from realizing that silence had become the only thing Jungkook could offer.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time didn’t mean much anymore.
Gyubin’s murmurs grew slower, sleepier, until they faded completely. The boy fell asleep, cheek pressed against Jungkook’s chest, tiny fingers still gripping his shirt.
.
.
.
The steady beeping of the machines filled the room, a rhythm everyone had grown too used to. It was monotonous, almost hypnotic, yet oppressive in its constancy... a cruel reminder of fragility, of life hanging by the thinnest of threads.
One of the doctors leaned forward to adjust the tube near Taehyung’s lips, his hands careful, practiced, precise. And then he froze.
“His lashes… they’re moving,” he whispered, voice barely above the hum of the machines, almost afraid to shatter the fragile moment with too much sound.
Another doctor immediately stepped closer, peering over the first’s shoulder, and then another, each movement tense, careful, as if they might disturb the delicate awakening.
Seokjin, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, stiff as a statue, shot up from his chair. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, a frantic drum he could hardly control. He hardly breathed, frozen in disbelief, as if stepping forward might shatter the fragile hope he barely dared to feel.
“He’s gaining consciousness,” one of the doctors said, voice measured but filled with cautious hope. “Mr. Kim, he’s responding. He’s… he’s waking up.”
Seokjin didn’t wait. His fingers fumbled with his phone, knocking it slightly against his palm as he dialed Jungkook’s number with shaking hands.
His voice broke when he spoke, betraying everything he tried to hide.
“He’s waking up,” he said, each word trembling, fragile, as if saying it aloud might make it true.
Inside the room, Taehyung’s eyes fluttered... barely, weakly, like fragile wings struggling against a storm. Darkness surrounded him first, thick and suffocating, pressing into his mind, a weight that made every breath a labor.
His skull throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, each faint sound a jagged edge cutting through the haze. Slowly, very slowly, his lashes lifted again. A dim white light stretched into his vision, blurred and harsh, stabbing through his fragile awareness.
A hoarse, raw groan escaped his throat, raspy and pitiful, and his hand trembled as it rose, tentative, almost instinctive, reaching toward his temple as if it might anchor him to reality.
“It’s okay, Taehyung,” one of the doctors said softly, voice gentle, like a lifeline thrown into stormy waters. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. Just breathe slowly. That’s it… just breathe.”
Seokjin stepped closer, eyes never leaving Taehyung’s fragile face. The younger’s gaze was dazed, unsteady, searching. His pupils moved with hesitant curiosity sweeping the room, the ceiling, the harsh light, the unfamiliar figures crowding his periphery. And then, finally, his eyes met Seokjin’s.
For a long, suspended moment, they just stared at each other. Then Taehyung blinked, confusion flooding his features. His lips parted, the shape of words forming, but only a broken, fragile sound emerge... a whisper that cracked the heart of anyone who heard it.
He raised a trembling hand, fingers quivering as they reached out instinctively. Seokjin’s brow furrowed, uncertain, hesitant. Still, he took a careful step forward, positioning himself beside the bed. Just as he moved closer to bridge the gap, the door behind him swung open.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the sterile room.
The CEO entered.
The doctors and guards froze mid-action, breaths caught and held, eyes flitting between the two men.
Even the machines seemed to quiet slightly, the steady beeping now a thin thread beneath the weight of the moment.
Jungkook’s presence was seismic... shifting the air, thickening it, making it heavier, colder, darker.
The room, already tense with fragile life, seemed to constrict around him.
He paused for a second at the doorway, eyes locking onto the pale figure on the bed. For a fleeting heartbeat, the mask of stone he wore cracked. Relief, unnameable and sudden, flickered in his gaze, mingling with exhaustion, something raw, dangerous, and wholly unexpected.
He took a slow step forward, almost hesitant, as though the floor itself might betray him.
Taehyung’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly, and for a moment, the room itself seemed to tilt not from pain, but from fear. His heart hammered violently against his ribcage, breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. His vision spun, the harsh lights blurring into one another, a dizzying carousel.
Without thinking, driven by a pure, instinctive panic, Taehyung lunged toward Seokjin. His hands gripped the older man, pulling him close, hiding his face against Seokjin’s stomach, curling into a trembling, desperate ball.
“N-No… n-no,” Taehyung’s voice cracked, raw and brittle, like glass shattering. His body shook uncontrollably. “D-don’t…”
Seokjin froze, hand hovering uncertainly above Taehyung’s hair. He couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer, comfort him, or simply wait as this fragile human shook before him. Every instinct screamed, but words failed him.
Jungkook stopped in his tracks.
His body stiffened, a statue carved from tension and shock.
For a single, suffocating moment, the world held its breath. The only sound was the machine’s steady beep, a cruel metronome marking the fragile moment.
One of the doctors stepped in softly, carefully, as though approaching a wild animal. “Mr. Jeon, please,” he said, voice gentle but firm. “Don’t go closer. He’s… he’s reacting out of survival instinct. His mind is confused. He can't understand what’s safe yet.”
But Jungkook didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He simply watched... watched the man he had once broken, the man he jumped off a bridge to save, clinging to someone else for comfort.
His throat moved once, but no words came out.
His jaw clenched, his entire body tense with restraint.
Eyes, once sharp and full of anger, now hollow, haunted, stripped bare of pretense.
Seokjin glanced back, uncertain, searching for some hint, some word. But Jungkook didn’t meet his gaze. His head tilted slightly downward, eyes fixed on the floor, silent, withdrawn, a storm contained in stillness.
The doctors observed quietly. Seokjin didn’t touch Taehyung; he simply stayed by the bed, a steady presence, waiting for him to relax at his own pace. The younger man’s trembling fingers slowly loosened around Seokjin’s arm, and with the nurse’s gentle guidance, he laid back against the sheets.
His movements were hesitant, almost cautious, and when his eyes met Jungkook’s across the room, he quickly looked away, turning his back and gripping the sheets as though it could shield him from every memory, every fear.
Jungkook’s gaze lingered on Taehyung, his hands twitching to touch him but he controlled himself.
Meanwhile, the doctors made quick notes in their diaries, observing the reactions, the minute shifts in posture, the faint flutter of eyelashes, the way Taehyung sought safety. When they were ready, one of them turned toward Jungkook.
“Mr. Jeon, please come with us,” the doctor said. His voice was calm but firm, carrying an unspoken weight.
Jungkook followed silently, and Seokjin went after him.
The hallway was quieter here, the sterile hum of the hospital fading as they walked.
They entered a small consultation room..
. a cabin-like space with warm lighting and a table between them.
The doctors gestured for Jungkook and Seokjin to sit, and once they had, the senior doctor began.
“Mr. Jeon… I need you to understand something before you go back in there,” the doctor said, eyes steady on him. “What you just saw Taehyung’s reaction. It was trauma.”
Jungkook's eyes narrowed hearing that.
Seokjin leaned forward slightly, voice calm but insistent. “What exactly do you mean by trauma? He seemed… he recoiled like he was terrified of him.”
The doctor nodded. “He remembers everything. But his mind doesn’t separate the good from the bad anymore. The fear comes first. The rest… is buried underneath layers he can’t yet access.”
Seokjin’s brow furrowed. “So when he saw him… he didn’t recognize Jungkook as the one who saved him?”
The doctor shook his head gently. “No. When he woke up, his brain didn’t see the man who pulled him out of the water.
It saw the one who hurt him physically, emotionally, repeatedly.
He were the center of his world, but also the source of his worst pain.
That contradiction broke something inside him. ”
Seokjin’s hands tightened in his lap. “The accident, the gunshot, the fall… those must have made it worse, right?”
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “Those events only intensified what was already there. His nervous system is still in survival mode. His body reacts faster than his mind can understand. That’s why he flinched, froze, and reached for you, Seokjin-ssi, instead of Mr. Jeon.
His subconscious is searching for safety something familiar, stable. ”
Seokjin’s gaze flicked briefly to Jungkook, who sat silent and still. “So, him holding me… it’s just instinct?”
The second doctor spoke softly. “Exactly. You represent calm. Familiar softness. Stability. To Taehyung, that’s safety. It means his body trusts you not to hurt him.”
Seokjin nodded, understanding, but still worried. “And the way he’s barely speaking… that’s normal?”
The first doctor leaned in slightly, voice gentle.
“He may struggle with speech for a while. It’s temporary, caused by the shock and emotional overload.
His mind is protecting him by slowing down everything.
.. his words, his responses, even his awareness of what’s around him.
Please, don’t force him to talk or remember anything. "
Seokjin’s eyes flicked to Jungkook again, who remained silent, listening, hands clenched slightly in his lap. The doctor continued.
“If you push him right now even a word too loud, a gesture too sudden... his condition could worsen. He could regress into silence, or worse, relapse into panic attacks. You might lose the little progress he’s made just by waking up.”
Jungkook exhaled slowly, absorbing the weight of the words. The senior doctor softened, voice lingering. “He isn’t rejecting you, Mr. Jeon. He’s protecting himself from what his heart still remembers."
Seokjin’s hand went to rest lightly on the table, as though holding some of the tension in the room. “So… what’s the best thing for him?”
The doctor’s gaze was steady, firm. “Mr.Jeon saved his life. If he want to save what’s left of his trust… give him time. Give him space. Let him heal in peace... treat me like a child looking for comfort."
Jungkook’s jaw tightened slightly but he didn’t speak. Every word, every nuance, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. Seokjin, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, understanding, resolved, and perhaps the first time that day feeling a small, cautious sense of hope.
There was a heavy silence when Jungkook finally spoke, his voice low and unyielding.
“I’m taking him back to the mansion.” he said.
The doctor froze, eyes widening. “No… Mr. Jeon, you can’t.... That’s against—”
His words cut off abruptly as Jungkook’s dark eyes fixed on him. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of that gaze. The doctor swallowed hard, his throat dry, and Jungkook stood up, stepping closer, the sound of his shoes echoing ominously against the sterile floor.
“Yeah? Go on. I’m listening,” Jungkook said, his tone flat, but every word carried threat.
The doctor’s hands trembled slightly, but he forced himself to meet Jungkook’s gaze.
“I was… I was only saying that it might be better if he stays here a little longer,” he said carefully.
“This environment... the constant medical attention, it gives him a safer chance to heal. But… if you’re set on taking him, I can assign a special care team for this case.
To monitor him closely, to protect him.”
Jungkook hummed once, almost satisfied.
The doctor continued, softer this time, voice carrying the weight of caution.
“Please… do not force interactions with him. He is… fragile right now. His mind and body are not fully aligned. He may not remember what he said or did moments ago. He needs gentleness. Patience. Treat him as a child would need to be treated... without pressure, without expectations.”
Seokjin looked up at the doctor, frowning slightly, his hands tightening in concern.
“And one more thing,” the doctor said, glancing briefly at Seokjin before turning back to Jungkook.
“Seokjin-ssi… he is the one Taehyung trusts most right now. His presence brings comfort. He feels safe with him. For his healing… for his peace… I strongly recommend that he stays with Taehyung. That familiarity is essential.”
Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. The doctor exhaled, relieved that his warnings had been heard, if not fully accepted.
Seokjin watched Jungkook, feeling the tension in the room like a live wire. Jungkook’s silence spoke volumes, but beneath it, there was the faintest trace of awareness, a recognition of what the doctor had said.
The doctor stepped back, making a note in his file. “I’ll prepare the team and ensure everything. But remember… any sudden movement, any forceful interaction… could set him back. His recovery depends entirely on the gentleness he receives now.”
The silence was defeaning And the doctor realized that Jungkook understood but in his own way, on his own terms.
.
.
.
Gyubin stood outside the hospital room with Seokjin, the hem of his shirt fisted tightly in his small hand. His eyes were red not from crying now, but from trying not to. The corridor was silent, filled only with the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint, rhythmic beep coming from inside.
Seokjin crouched, “He’s awake now,” he whispered, voice gentle, almost afraid to disturb the stillness. “You can go see him.”
Gyubin looked up, hesitant. “Will… will he remember me?”
Seokjin’s throat bobbed as he forced a small smile. “He will.”
But even he wasn’t sure.
Gyubin nodded and pushed the door open. It creaked faintly... a sound too small, yet it sliced through the silence like a knife.
Inside, the room was too white, too cold. The curtains swayed slightly, touched by a winter wind sneaking through the half-open window. Taehyung lay there, still, his face pale under the soft glow of the overhead light. His eyelashes rested against his cheeks, his breathing shallow, almost fragile.
The noise made him stir. His lashes fluttered, eyes opening slowly, unfocused, then darting weakly towards the sound.
He saw Seokjin first. The familiar outline calmed him for a second. But then his gaze landed lower… on the small figure standing half-hidden behind the door.
A kid.
Gyubin froze under his gaze, the way a wounded bird might when seen. His lips parted slightly. His eyes glistened. He didn’t move at first... just stared.
Then, quietly, the word slipped out of his mouth, cracking halfway through.
“...Appa?”
Taehyung blinked, confusion flickering in his dazed eyes. His lips parted, but no sound came. His brows furrowed faintly, his hand twitching above the sheets.
“Appa,” Gyubin said again, stepping closer this time, tears pooling in his lashes. His voice trembled. “Appa, it’s me…”
Seokjin watched from the corner, his own chest tightening.
Gyubin climbed onto the bed slowly, afraid of hurting him, and sat beside Taehyung’s leg. His small fingers clutched the blanket as he whispered again, “Appa.”
This time, Taehyung’s hand lifted trembling, hesitant and came to rest on the boy’s back. His fingers were cold, but the touch was instinctive. He didn’t remember the weight, the warmth… but something in his body did. Something deeper than memory.
“A… appa…” Taehyung murmured, the word clumsy, foreign on his tongue. But soft. So painfully soft.
“I was so scared,” Gyubin hiccuped, voice breaking. “I thought you… I thought you wouldn’t wake up.”
Taehyung didn’t know what to say. His chest hurt not from pain, but from something that felt familiar but not at the moment. His head buzzed, fragments of images flashing behind his eyes laughter, sunlight, a small hand tugging at his shirt and then darkness again.
He couldn’t remember. But he felt.
When the boy’s sobs grew heavier, Taehyung pulled him close, his arms trembling around the small frame. He didn’t think... his body just moved.
“I… w-what…” His voice faltered, breath shaky. The words wouldn’t form, but his hands spoke for him holding tighter, gentler, as though afraid the kid would disappear if he let go.
Gyubin pressed his wet cheek against his father’s chest, sobbing harder.
Taehyung leaned down, lips quivering as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. His voice broke when he whispered.
“B… Binnie…”
The boy froze, eyes widening before he looked up. “Y-yeah… it’s me, appa,” he breathed between hiccups.
Taehyung’s eyes softened, the kind of softness that hurt to look at. His smile trembled, weak but real. “Binnie…” he repeated again, a whisper full of pain, memory, and love all tangled together.
Seokjin turned away slightly, swallowing hard. He hesitantly placed a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, the gesture both grounding and comforting.
The room went quiet. The kind of quiet that feels alive thick with emotion, heavy with breaths that don’t know how to steady themselves.
And outside the door, someone stood motionless.
Jungkook.
He didn’t blink for a long time. His hand rested against the glass, fingers curled slightly as though he wanted to reach through. His eyes dark, empty, burning stayed fixed on them. On Taehyung, fragile and soft in that sterile bed, holding the little boy who called him appa.
He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, maybe. Envy, maybe. Maybe both or something worse, something that crawled beneath his ribs and refused to leave.
The sound of Gyubin’s quiet sobs reached him faintly through the door a sound that felt like it belonged to another world. A world he could only watch from the outside.
Taehyung smiled faintly through his tears, whispering something Jungkook couldn’t hear. Gyubin clung tighter.
And Jungkook… just stood there.
Breathing. Watching. And maybe longing.
The glass between them wasn’t thick but it felt like a barrier.
This was what fate did sometimes.
Cruel in its symmetry, poetic in its punishment.
The man who had once forced his way into Taehyung’s life demanding, unrelenting, consuming now stood behind glass, powerless.
Inside, Taehyung sat surrounded by warmth Seokjin’s steady presence beside him, Gyubin’s small arms wrapped around his waist, their silhouettes framed by the pale hospital light. It looked almost like a painting fragile, imperfect, but whole.
And Jungkook… Jungkook was nowhere in it.
He stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the scene that used to belong to him, or at least, the one he once thought he owned.
The CEO who had controlled everything lives, people, emotions could only watch now as the one person he’d wanted to hold had found comfort in someone else’s shadow.
He could have walked in. He could have ordered everyone out, reasserted his dominance, reminded them all who he was Jeon Jungkook, the man who never lost control.
But this time… something stopped him.
Maybe it was the way Taehyung’s trembling hand clutched Seokjin’s sleeve. Maybe it was the quiet hum in the air, the kind of peace Jungkook had never been able to give him.
Maybe it was the boy small, vulnerable, innocent clinging to Taehyung as though his world depended on it.
The CEO's reflection in the glass looked foreign tired eyes, dark circles, an ache that had no name. The powerful man everyone feared looked like a ghost of his own choices.
For once, he didn’t move. Didn’t demand. Didn’t reach.
He just stood there... watching a picture of peace he could never be part of, realizing that maybe this was what fate had planned all along.
To make him understand what love looked like… only after he’d destroyed it.
The CEO turned around and walked away.
His head held high... the way it always had been like pride was the only thing left holding him together.
His eyes still carried the same power, the same cold command that made men bow and cities bend… but beneath that sheen, there was nothing left. Just exhaustion. Just defeat.
His hands slipped into his pockets, the sound of his shoes echoing against the sterile hospital floor.
Every step felt too heavy, like the ground itself was mocking him... the great Jeon Jungkook, walking away from the only two people who once belonged to him.
He didn’t look back.
Because if he did, he knew the illusion of strength would shatter right there the weight of Taehyung’s flinch, Gyubin’s small cry of appa, Seokjin’s gentle touch on Taehyung... all of it would crush him.
So he walked, head up, shoulders squared, the picture of control.
But behind that quiet composure, defeat lingered in every breath... silent, suffocating, absolute.