The Rebel Property

~chapter 26~

9:12AM

The morning light filtered through the grand hotel windows, painting golden streaks across the pristine room of Park Hyatt Tokyo. The city below buzzed faintly, alive and unaware of the chaos unfolding atop its skyline.

Taehyung stirred, eyelids heavy as he blinked the sleep away, the softness of the bed keeping him cocooned in warmth. For a moment, everything felt still… peaceful.

Until—

Smack.

Something slapped against his lips.

Taehyung jerked back with a grunt, coughing dramatically as he realized—he had just been hit in the mouth by a heel. A very familiar, very bare heel.

He looked down.

There, diagonally spread across the bed like some demonic starfish, lay Jungkook.

His head hung off the edge of the bed, hair flopping down toward the floor. One leg was draped lazily over Taehyung’s chest, the other hooked around his thigh, as if clinging to him even in sleep. His hand, for some godforsaken reason, was curled around Taehyung’s shirt like a baby koala.

Taehyung sat up slowly, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He pushed Jungkook’s leg off his chest, muttering, “Damn jungle gym of a human being.” He grabbed him by the arm gently and tugged the younger fully onto the bed again. “You’re gonna break your own neck sleeping like this, little troublemaker.”

Jungkook stirred, his nose scrunching slightly in sleep, but didn’t wake. Taehyung chuckled under his breath and leaned closer, brushing the boy’s dark bangs aside.

“Wake up, little rebel,” he murmured softly, his voice low, almost musical. “You’ll miss your day in Tokyo, and we’re leaving soon.”

No response, just the soft sound of Jungkook’s breathing.

Taehyung took in the sight—Jungkook’s cheeks flushed pink with sleep, puffed out ever so slightly, lips parted the tiniest bit. There was a tiny smear of chocolate by the corner of his mouth—probably leftover from last night’s snack raid. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his nose twitched cutely with every little breath.

How the hell was he real?

Taehyung swallowed thickly, jaw tightening as a dangerous thought crossed his mind. His fingers brushed Jungkook’s cheek unconsciously, feeling the coolness of the boy’s skin contrast with its heat. He leaned down, breath ghosting across Jungkook’s cheek.

“Can I kiss your cheeks, little dumpling?” he whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside.

Jungkook murmured in his sleep, unintelligible, but soft.

Taehyung froze.

The mafia inside him—the cold-blooded, ruthless strategist—wanted to take that as permission. Wanted to lean in, claim, mark. After all, wasn’t Jungkook his? Beside, he has never ever in his life hesitated to do whatever he wants.

He was a man who demand, who order and instead of conset, he pulled them if he like, use them if he wanted.

You own him, the voice in his mind growled. He’s yours. What are you waiting for?

But another voice—the one much quieter, much more human—fought back.

You own him, yes… but not like that. Not with fear. Not with force like others.

Taehyung sat back, frustrated at his own restraint but proud of it too. He let out a sigh and gently stroked Jungkook’s cheek with his knuckles.

“Not like this,” he said to himself. “I want you to smile when I kiss you. Not flinch away.”