The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kim Taehyung's penthouse, blurring the Seoul skyline into streaks of neon and grey.
He stood motionless in the darkness of his living room, whiskey untouched in his hand, watching the droplets trace paths down the glass like tears on a porcelain face.
His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again.
Three missed calls from Mr. Jeon.
Taehyung finally answered on the fourth.
"Taehyung." The voice on the other end was strained, gravelled with pain.
Mr Jeon : "I need you to listen carefully."
Taehyung's jaw tightened. He set the whiskey glass down with a sharp clink.
Teahyung : "Hyung. What happened?"
Mr Jeon : "There was an attack. At the warehouse in Incheon. My men-"
A ragged breath crackled through the speaker.
Mr Jeon : "Three of my best are dead. I took a bullet in the shoulder. I'm at a private clinic. It's not safe to share the location."
Taehyung's fingers curled around the phone so tightly the case creaked.
Teahyung : "Who did it?"
"Don't worry about that now."
Mr Jeon coughed, and the sound was wet and ugly. "I need you to do something for me. My son-"
Everything in Taehyung went still.
"Jungkook," Taehyung finished, the name leaving his mouth like a prayer he'd long forgotten how to speak.
Mr Jeon : "Yes. He's at the apartment in Gangnam. Alone."
Mr. Jeon paused, and Taehyung could hear the shallow breathing, the bitten-back groans.
Mr jeon. : "I don't trust my own men right now. Someone talked. Someone inside my circle sold me out. Until I know who, I need my son somewhere no one would think to look."
Taehyung closed his eyes.
"You want him here," Taehyung said. Not a question.
"You're the only one I trust with him. You understand?" Mr. Jeon's voice dropped lower, weaker. "I know what I'm asking. But I also know you. You'll keep him breathing."
Taehyung stood in the silence for a long moment. The phone screen dimmed in his grip, then went black.
*Jungkook.*
The name had lived inside him like a fever for years. A quiet, stubborn heat he had learned-not mastered.
There had been a time when the boy was just a child with too-big eyes and a gap-toothed smile, trailing after his father at gatherings, tugging at Taehyung's sleeve to show him a beetle caught in his palm.
Taehyung had been eighteen then. He had looked down at those wide, trusting eyes and felt nothing but protective fondness.
But that had been before.
Before Jungkook turned sixteen and started filling out his frame. Before the boyish softness sharpened into jawlines and collarbones.
Before Taehyung caught himself watching a little too long at Mr. Jeon's birthday dinner three years ago, when Jungkook had laughed at something across the table and the sound had landed in Taehyung's chest like a bullet.
He had excused himself that night. Locked himself in the bathroom. Gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles went white and stared at himself in the mirror with something close to revulsion.
