75
Third Person Pov
It was a sweet, golden morning,
the sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains and painting soft lines across the bedroom floor.
The house was quiet except for the gentle sounds of breathing and the occasional soft coo from the baby and mewls from Daisy the lazy cat who was sleeping after eating.
Taehyung had woken before the alarm. Maybe because baby was already awake, blinking up at him with those big round eyes, drinking her milk with a seriousness that made Taehyung smile every time.
Gyubin was nestled against his side, already awake and dressed but pretending not to be, his face against Taehyung’s arm, legs stretched out like a lazy cat.
“Binnie,” Taehyung murmured, brushing his fingers on his head. “you’re getting late for school.”
Gyubin made a small noise of protest, nose scrunching. “Appa… five minutes more,” he said, leaning closer to the baby.
The baby paused mid-sip as Gyubin kissed her tiny fingers. She blinked once, then her lips curved around the bottle as she giggled, drool bubbling at the corners.
Taehyung felt his chest swell at the sight his little family fitting perfectly into a single frame.
“Appa,” Gyubin said suddenly, tapping Taehyung’s thigh, “what can we name her?”
Taehyung shifted, looking down at the baby girl. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she kicked her blanket lightly, making a soft squeak.
“I already thought about it,” he said, voice quiet and thoughtful. “Her name will be Gyuri. Gyubin’s sister… Gyuri.”
Gyubin’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at him with a bright, wide smile.
“Gyuri…?” he repeated, saying the name like it was something magical.
“Mhm.”
Taehyung leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to Gyubin’s forehead, lingering just a little longer than usual.
Turning back to the baby, he whispered,
“Gyuri… your name is Gyuri, baby.”
Gyuri blinked, utterly confused, sucking on the bottle while her free hand floated in the air.
“Appa,” Gyubin said, sounding serious again, “Riri looks confused.”
Taehyung chuckled softly at the nickname.
“That’s because Riri doesn’t understand yet,” he said, tapping the baby’s chubby cheek.
Gyuri responded by letting go of the bottle, grabbing Taehyung’s shirt collar, and immediately trying to bite it.
“Ah—yah, sweetheart, that’s not food,” Taehyung muttered, shifting her slightly.
Just then, a loud honk echoed from outside.
The school bus. It had been coming regulary now since Taehyung signed up for the bus facility... something he’d done early because he knew he wouldn’t always manage morning drop-offs.
Gyubin’s smile dimmed the moment he heard it.
His fingers curled around the edge of Taehyung’s shirt, eyes lowering.
Because he remembered.
He remembered how Mr. Jeon used to pick him up, and drop him at school every day.
Taehyung saw the silent shift like someone dimming a light inside him.
He exhaled softly.
He lifted Gyuri with one arm and reached out his free hand toward Gyubin. “Let’s go, Binnie,” he said gently.
Gyubin hesitated. Only for a second but Taehyung felt it. That tiny tremble of sadness.
Taehyung crouched a little, bringing himself to Gyubin’s eye level.
“Hey,” he said softly, brushing his thumb across Gyubin’s cheek, “At the end of the day, it's you and me. Always together.”
Gyurin let out a small huff against Taehyung’s shoulder, still nibbling on his shirt collar like a stubborn kitten.
Gyubin finally nodded, his little hand slipping into Taehyung’s.
“I know Appa,” he whispered.
Together, they walked out of the room.
The morning air was cool as they stepped onto the porch, the sound of the bus engine humming softly at the gate.
Taehyung adjusted Gyuri in his arms she was staring at the bright sky with awe, her fist still clutching his shirt like she owned him.
Gyubin tightened his grip on Taehyung’s hand for a second.
Taehyung squeezed back.
“C'mon Binnie-boo...” Taehyung asked.
Gyubin nodded again, this time with a small smile. And the two of them walked toward the bus together.
Taehyung leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to Gyubin’s cheek as the little boy climbed into the bus. The morning sun was gentle, soft golden light brushing over Gyubin’s round bald head like a blessing.
His small hands gripped the metal rail tightly before he paused, turning back with that familiar mixture of excitement and hesitation that only an 8-year-old could carry.
“Bye, appa!” he called out with a bright smile but the faint sadness lingering in his eyes didn’t escape Taehyung. Not after everything. Not after losing their old routines, their old life, their old people.
“Bye, baby,” Taehyung murmured, lifting his hand in a slow, gentle wave—the kind that hung in the air even after the bus began to rumble forward. His fingers remained raised for a moment longer, as if refusing to let go.
Gyuri, perched comfortably in his other arm, stared at the departing bus with her big, curious eyes, blinking as though trying to understand why it was taking her brother away.
The bus pulled away, tyres crunching softly over gravel, kicking up a thin cloud of dust that sparkled in the sunlight.
Taehyung stayed rooted in the same spot, watching the bus until it completely vanished around the far corner.
It had become a habit, he always waited until he couldn’t see it anymore.
Only then did he let his shoulders drop.
A long sigh left him.
A sigh that felt like releasing all the heaviness pressed inside his chest.
He shifted the baby in his arms, her tiny head bobbing slightly against his shoulder.
“look at you... so adorable,” he murmured affectionately.
As if understanding him, Gyuri let out a squeal, a high-pitched sound... her little fists grabbing onto his shirt collar with shocking strength for such a tiny body. She shoved the fabric into her mouth, chewing it with the determination of someone who believed the shirt was her mortal enemy.
Taehyung chuckled under his breath, pressing a soft kiss to her warm forehead. The sweet scent of baby shampoo and milk made him coo.
“Already so naughty.”
He nudged the door shut behind him with his foot and walked inside. The house felt different the moment Gyubin left quieter like the walls themselves missed him. The morning breeze slipped through the window, making the curtains sway like ghostly hands brushing past.
Taehyung walked to the bedroom, his steps soft so he wouldn't startle the baby. He placed Gyuri gently on the mattress, surrounding her with pillows. She immediately kicked her legs, tiny feet rubbing on the bedsheet as she grabbed a corner of her blanket and tried to stuff that into her mouth too.
Taehyung let a small, helpless laugh escape.
“Everything goes into your mouth, huh?”
She squealed in response, rolling onto her side.
But Taehyung’s smile slowly faded as his eyes wandered without meaning to toward the side table.
There it was.
That delicate waist chain.
The one thing he hadn’t touched since the night everything collapsed.
The only thing in this house still whispering Jungkook’s name.
He froze for a moment, expression sharp, before he finally moved drawn to it like a magnet. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, fingertips brushing the cold metal.
It was cold now.
But his memories… weren’t.
In his mind, it was warm.... warm from Jungkook’s palm, warm from his lips brushing Taehyung’s skin, warm from the softness in his voice that Taehyung could not forget even if he tried.
Taehyung swallowed hard.
He lifted the chain with both hands, holding it gently, reverently. It felt like holding a memory.
He should’ve thrown it away. Anyone else would have. But he couldn’t.
Because this wasn’t just a waist chain.
It was the last piece of a moment that had once meant hope.
The last time Taehyung had felt… loved.
“Jungkook…” he whispered, and the name tasted bitter and sweet against his tongue.
He stared at the chain for a long time too long as if it were a lifeline. His chest felt tight, his breath uneven. His eyes softened in a way he hated in a way he fought every day.
“I… I miss you…” he admitted quietly.
The second the words left him, the room seemed to hold its breath.
His shoulders curled inward, heart sinking. It wasn’t a confession. It was a truth that had been buried too deep, for too long, waiting to be spoken.
He leaned back against the bed frame, the chain dangling loosely from his fingers.
“Sometimes… sometimes I just wish to run back to you,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges.
“Just once… just to see you.”
Gyuri let out a small gurgle, grabbing at the air, unaware of the man's heart breaking quietly, silently, right beside her.
“But then…” Taehyung continued, wiping at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand.
“Then a part of me.. a stubborn, hurting part–-stops me.”
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if trying to steady the storm inside him. The chain slid along his fingers, cold against his palm.
He breathed out softly, voice trembling.
“Even after everything… I still catch myself thinking how you’re eating… how you’re sleeping… if you’re okay.”
His grip on the waist chain tightened, knuckles whitening.
“I wonder how you are now, Mr. Jeon…”
The silence that followed felt like a wound.
And Taehyung sat there, half in the present, half trapped in a memory holding a chain that still felt like Jungkook’s touch.
.
.
.
Jeon Jungkook’s sharp eyes were fixed straight ahead as he walked through the sleek corridors of the company building.
The morning light cut across the polished floors, casting tall reflections that stretched and shrank with every step he took. His expression was sharp yet again, his posture disciplined, his presence as cold as the chrome edges of the elevators.
Back to being that cold Mr. Jeon, after a lonely night spent as just Jungkook, clutching at the shards of his broken memories
To everyone watching him pass, Jungkook looked like a man with a clear direction, a firm spine, and unwavering resolve.
But Jungkook’s mind… was wandering.
Wandering where it had no right to be.
He was turning a corner when it happened...
A janitor slipped. The bucket tipped forward, water spilling over like a small wave, the mop clattering loudly against the tiles. The man flinched as though expecting to be yelled at. He stood up quickly, bowing repeatedly, muttering apology after apology with trembling hands.
Jungkook paused.
Just a second. Just long enough for something inside him to shift.
The janitor scurried away, shoulders hunched, head lowered.
And Jungkook… stood there, staring at the droplets of water glistening on the white marble.
Because it reminded him.
Too vividly.
Taehyung.
Taehyung, who used to sweep this exact floor every morning before even the earliest employees arrived.
Taehyung, with his messy hair, face tanned, always dressed simply, blending into the background like a ghost with chores.
Taehyung who moved carefully... too carefully as though afraid a single wrong sound would get him scolded or noticed.
Taehyung who thought he was invisible.
Taehyung who thought Jungkook never looked his way.
But Jungkook noticed.
Every morning, Jungkook would walk past with his usual blank expression, cold eyes, and hurried steps but he noticed. The way Taehyung’s fingers shook when he wrung the mop. The faint shadows under his eyes. The slow, heavy movements that didn’t match the youth of his age.
Jungkook didn’t notice out of affection.
He didn’t notice because he cared.
He didn’t even notice because he liked him.
He noticed because it irritated him.
Because it bothered him that this man.... this man who kept his head bowed, who never asked for anything, who seemed buried under a weight no one else could see pulled Jungkook’s curiosity toward him without trying.
Why did he look so burdened?
Why did he carry himself like he had lived a life too heavy for his shoulders?
Why did he look like he was constantly holding himself together with trembling breath?
Jungkook hated that he wondered.
He hated that he looked twice.
He hated that some part of him remembered the shape of Taehyung’s downcast eyelashes, the quiet way he moved, the fragility that wasn’t weakness but exhaustion.
No one had ever managed that.
No one had ever made Jungkook pause mid-step, made him think for reasons he couldn’t name. No one had ever pulled his attention without effort.
Until Taehyung.
Only Taehyung.
He inhaled slowly, jaw flexing, forcing his steps forward again.
There had been one incident Jungkook could never erase from his memory.
An insignificant moment, really.
Something that should’ve been forgotten the next day. But it stayed.
It replayed now, crisp and vivid, as if the corridor’s silence had pulled it out of him.
☆☆☆
Taehyung had been cleaning Jungkook’s office that morning earlier than usual his sleeves rolled up, hair falling over his forehead as he wiped the glass table with slow, careful motions.
The room smelled faintly of lemon disinfectant, sunlight filtering through the blinds in thin lines that cut across his face.
He looked tired.
He always looked tired.
Jungkook had pushed the door open without warning, stepping inside with his usual sharp presence.
Taehyung froze.
He straightened so fast the cloth in his hand slipped slightly. His eyes widened, startled, almost panicked at seeing the CEO this early. He bowed immediately, voice quiet and shaky.
“Sorry—good morning, sir—Mr.Jeon.”
His movements turned clumsy as he grabbed his equipment, trying to make himself small, invisible, ready to leave the room before Jungkook could be even remotely bothered by him.
He was halfway to the door when his expression changed, realization hitting him.
His cleaning cloth. He had placed it on Jungkook’s chair earlier.
And Jungkook was sitting on that chair now, phone in hand, completely absorbed.
Taehyung’s lips parted. He bit them once embarrassed but forced himself to turn back.
He stepped toward the desk, eyes lowered.
“Mr. Jeon…” he said softly.
Jungkook didn’t look up.
Didn’t even acknowledge him.
Taehyung frowned, offended despite himself. He tried again, a bit louder.
“Mr. Jeon—”
Jungkook’s voice cut through the air, cold and razor-sharp.
“I heard you," his tone didn't waver. "Finish it or get out."
Taehyung blinked, stunned.
His jaw clenched just, a flicker but he quickly masked it, refusing to show his anger. He swallowed, forcing his voice steady.
“My cleaning cloth is… on the chair you’re sitting on.”
For the first time, Jungkook’s fingers stilled over his phone. His eyes lifted slowly.
Taehyung instantly felt the pressure of that cold stare. He gulped once before quickly dropping his gaze again.
Jungkook raised a brow, exhaling quietly as he got up.
But when Taehyung stepped forward, the chair was empty. His eyes darted around, confused.
“I… I kept it here,” he whispered, baffled.
Jungkook didn’t comment.
Instead, he reached toward the other chair.... the one Taehyung hadn’t noticed and picked up the cloth.
Without warning, he tossed it. On Taehyung's shoulder.
Taehyung got startled but caught it, breath hitching from the sudden movement.
He looked up. And Jungkook was staring at him. Really staring.
Not with warmth, not with interest but with that usual piercing expression that always made Taehyung feel like Jungkook was trying to figure out something he couldn’t name.
Taehyung blinked, then bowed stiffly.
They stayed like that locked in a silent, strange moment that neither of them understood.
Taehyung was the first to look away.
The first to break it.
He stepped back, clutching the cloth, and quickly left the office with hurried footsteps.
And Jungkook…
Jungkook kept watching the empty space where he had been.
As if something in that space lingered.
As if something had been taken with Taehyung when he walked out the door.
Something Jungkook never admitted, but never forgot.
Now, as Jungkook thought about that morning in the office, he could hardly believe the irony of it all.
The man he had barely noticed… the janitor who had brushed past him daily, whose presence he had once dismissed without a second thought…
was the same man who now occupied his every thought.
The one whose absence made his chest ache, whose smile haunted the edges of his mind.
He stepped into his cabin, the polished wood gleaming faintly under the soft overhead lights. Seokjin was already there, casually leaning against the corner of the table, a folder in hand and that sharp knowing smile playing on his lips.
“I thought you wouldn’t come again,” Seokjin said, voice light but carrying an undertone that suggested he already knew more than he was letting on.
Jungkook didn’t reply. He simply sank into the leather chair behind his desk, the leather creaking softly beneath him. His sharp eyes remained fixed on the skyline outside the window, though his mind wandered far from it.
“Taehyung has a new family member,” Seokjin continued, eyes flicking toward Jungkook to catch any reaction.
“I’m aware,” Jungkook said simply, voice steady, almost too steady, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.
Seokjin raised a brow. “I thought you wouldn’t follow him… since Taehyung told you not to cross his words.”
“I never crossed his words,” Jungkook replied without hesitation, almost mechanically.
Seokjin tilted his head slightly, observing.
“The commissioner informed… make sure he doesn’t face any problem. Especially with those loan sharks. Although I’ll have a personal talk with them tonight.” Jungkook said as a matter of fact.
Seokjin hummed in acknowledgment, but there was no warmth in it. He knew what “personal talk” meant. He didn’t need explanation, it was a warning wrapped in the promise of consequences.
Seokjin leaned back, lowering his voice. “Did you see the baby girl, though?”
Jungkook shook his head, his gaze still distant.
“You’re really following Taehyung’s words,” Seokjin said.
Jungkook just hummed nodding, his eyes fixed on the laptop as he read some article.
“Th baby's mother is dead. I found out… they killed her,” Seokjin said.
Jungkook’s jaw clenched, a low hum escaping him.
“Poor girl,” Seokjin added.
“That’s life.” Jungkook replied, his voice flat, as if it didn’t touch him.
Not until it was about Taehyung.
Seokjin hummed, watching him closely, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire.
Jungkook’s eyes didn’t waver; they were sharp, precise, alert.
Yet behind them, behind the mask of control and icy composure, there was a thread of something unspoken.
. a part of him that kept breaking every time Taehyung's name was mentioned.
He didn’t answer, didn’t volunteer more. He didn’t need to. Seokjin already knew the weight of what that meant. Jungkook was breaking in silence and there was no one to pick those pieces up.
And even as he sat there, still, calculating, Jungkook couldn’t deny it to himself. He was watching.
Always watching.
Always thinking of Taehyung.
Always wondering.
“So… are you not going to get them back?”
Seokjin’s question lingered in the air, soft but pointed, cutting through the quiet of the cabin.
Jungkook didn’t answer immediately.
He sat there with his fingers steepled against his lips, eyes lowered on the screen... not lost, not uncertain, but thinking. Deep thinking. The kind that only the CEO was capable of. His jaw flexed once, the smallest shift, before he finally spoke.
“I’ll be going to him,” he said.
His voice was calm. Final. “Tomorrow.”
Seokjin straightened, brows knitting. “Taehyung wouldn’t like that.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
“He doesn’t have to like it,” Jungkook murmured. “I’m not going for him.”
Then Jungkook’s lips curled softly, subtly into something Seokjin hadn’t seen in days. Not warmth, but amusement. A quiet, dangerous amusement. The expression of a man who had finally uncovered a solution to a puzzle that had tormented him for too long.
Seokjin blinked, taken off-guard.
Jungkook leaned back in his chair, eyes dark but sharp with determination. “I’ll be going as his neighbour."
His voice dropped lower, steadier, each word deliberate. “I won’t bother him. Keep my distance. Just… stay close enough to see him. That's all."
His fingers tapped once on the desk before he added, almost like revealing a truth to himself,
“Because I’ve come to the realization that I cannot stay away. I've tried...”
The air shifted.
Seokjin stared really stared taking in the sight of Jungkook. The once CEO who used to pride himself on having no weaknesses… now confessing the biggest one of all without shame. His posture was strong, his expression collected, but there was something raw underneath.
Jungkook continued, tone firm, almost stoic, “If he feels suffocated in my world then.... I’ll learn how to live in his world instead. Not as Jeon Jungkook, CEO. Not as anyone powerful.”
The silence that followed was thick almost reverent.
“Just… as a man who wants to exist near him.”
Seokjin didn’t speak. He simply watched.
Because the Jeon Jungkook he knew the man who loved his wealth, his control, his power, would never willingly walk away from the empire he built with blood, sweat, and brutal ambition.
Yet here he was.
Ready to trade penthouses for cramped apartments.
Ready to swap imported suits for cotton shirts.
Ready to abandon prestige, reputation, and half a kingdom…
All to stand near a man he once couldn’t even spare a second glance at.
Seokjin exhaled slowly, the breath trembling out of him, leaving him almost speechless.
He loved Taehyung too... painfully, quietly but his love was the kind that knew when to let go.
Jungkook’s wasn’t.
Jungkook held on, even when it hurt, even when everything around them was falling apart. He wanted to build something better for them… something Seokjin knew he could never give.
Because in the end, Seokjin loved his brother more. And choosing his brother meant giving up the one thing his heart wanted.
And now he could only stare at the CEO.
The same Jungkook who once avoided him, misunderstood him, resented him…
Now crossing oceans of pride, walking away from every luxury he once basked in.
All for Taehyung. All because Taehyung was the only person Jungkook couldn’t unlove once he started.
Seokjin smiled shakily. “That’s not something the old Jungkook would ever do.”
Jungkook gave a low hum. His gaze sharp. “The old Jungkook didn’t know what it meant to lose something real.”
.
.
.
Back to Taehyung…
It was night... quiet, cool, and a little breezy. The old bulbs hanging from the landlady’s porch flickered softly, casting warm yellow halos over the empty yard.
Taehyung was standing there with Gyuri in his arms, swaying gently as she drank her milk. His voice was low, a soft hum half lullaby, half comfort. Gyuri’s small fist clutched the fabric of his shirt, her lashes fluttering with every suckle.
The landlady pushed open her front door with her hip, wiping her hands on her apron. “Taehyung,” she called softly.
He looked up immediately, brows knitting for a second before relaxing.
“Yes, ma’am?” he asked, shifting Gyuri higher in his arms so her head rested comfortably on his shoulder.
She leaned in to coo at Gyuri, who paused mid-drink to blink up at her, milk droplets still shining on her lips.
“I have a new tenant,” she said with a proud little smile. “He’ll be here by tomorrow.”
Taehyung mirrored her smile... warm, polite. “That’s good. You finally rented that room out.”
“Mhm,” she hummed, then watched as he used his thumb to gently wipe the trail of drool from the corner of Gyuri’s mouth. The baby made a soft sound, content.
The landlady moved to sit on the old wooden bench under the tree. It creaked beneath her, familiar, as Taehyung continued pacing in slow circles, humming again. She watched him with a fond, almost maternal softness in her eyes.
She had reminded him countless times to inform the police…
to let someone know about the baby, to take some legal step.
But Taehyung always had some excuse.... always gentle, never rude, but firm enough that she eventually stopped bringing it up.
After all, Taehyung was taking more care of this child than most parents she had ever seen.
More care than her own mother might have taken.
And Taehyung seemed… genuinely happy these days. Happier than when he first arrived with those quiet eyes and that exhaustion buried underneath his skin.
Gyuri let go of the bottle for a moment just to poke Taehyung’s jaw with her tiny fingers. Taehyung chuckled, nose scrunching, his earlier worries dissolving like smoke.
“Yah… you’re always attacking me,” he whispered playfully.
From inside the house, the faint scratching sound of a pencil could be heard, Gyubin was still bent over his homework at the dining table, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.
Daisy, the kitten, was most likely sitting right beside him on the chair, tail curled around her paws, watching him like the little supervisor she fancied herself to be.
The yard felt peaceful. Safe. Like a small world Taehyung had stitched together with his bare hands... quiet nights, warm lights, and the comfort of tiny routines.
And he had no idea that the peace he had built… was about to be disrupted by the arrival of that “new tenant.”