Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The basement reeked of damp concrete and cigarette smoke. A lone bulb swung from a wire, its weak glow catching the anxious faces of the first-year boys huddled together like sheep waiting for slaughter. The air was thick with nervous breath, whispered prayers, and the scuff of shoes against the cold floor.

Jungkook stood among them, towering, broad-shouldered, his body carved from years of judo and boxing practice. Muscles pressed firm against his thin t-shirt, but his doe eyes, wide and unguarded, made him look almost out of place—like a child trapped in a gladiator’s body. He had come from Busan only a week ago, his life before this filled with salt air, early-morning training, and the steady rhythms of music pulsing in his veins. His innocence clung to him stubbornly, untarnished by city cynicism.

Beside him, Park Jimin—his roommate, fellow Busan native—clutched his arm tightly. Jimin’s lips trembled with both fear and excitement, eyes darting toward the basement door. “Hyung-deul are coming…” he whispered.

The door groaned open, and the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Taehyung entered first.

He moved like he owned the space, each step languid yet sharp, hips rolling with a feline grace. His golden hair caught the light like strands of fire, his long lashes casting delicate shadows over eyes far too beautiful to belong to a man. His body was slender, almost feminine, but wrapped in a presence that could cut through stone. The room stilled, trembling beneath his effortless dominance.

Behind him, the seniors fanned out: Seojoon, tall and smug; Bogum, with his easy grin masking cruelty; Hyunshik, restless and loud; Yeonjun, lean and sharp-edged; and the quieter shadows—Yoongi and Hoseok—who observed with narrowed eyes.

“Fresh meat,” Taehyung drawled, voice smooth, low, and dripping with disdain. His lips curled into a smile that wasn’t kind. “Line up.”

The first-years shuffled, panic clear in their movements. Jungkook, unflinching, simply obeyed, his height dwarfing everyone around him. His innocence was a shield—he didn’t know yet how dangerous Taehyung’s beauty could be, how the world had already broken this boy who now stood before them as both angel and wolf.

Taehyung’s gaze slid over the trembling faces—lingering, assessing, tasting the fear like wine. Then it landed on Jungkook.

For the first time, his smile faltered.

A giant. Muscular, sculpted, the kind of body Taehyung’s gang would normally tear into without mercy. But then he noticed something else—the eyes. Round, wide, almost foolishly pure. They didn’t harden, didn’t glare back, didn’t even lower in submission. They just looked, open and guileless, like a child staring at fireworks.

Something hot coiled in Taehyung’s chest. Annoyance? Amusement? A flicker of something more dangerous?

“Busan boy,” Taehyung said, tilting his head, his tone mocking yet honeyed. “What’s your name?”

“J-Jeon Jungkook,” came the reply, steady but unpolished, his Busan satoori slipping through.

“Mm,” Taehyung hummed, stepping closer, circling like a predator. “Big body. Baby face.” He smirked, brushing his tongue over his lower lip. “Let’s see if you’re as tough as you look.”

The seniors laughed, voices echoing against the concrete walls. Jimin tightened his grip on Jungkook’s sleeve, but Jungkook only blinked, confusion in his gaze, unbothered by the menace.

Taehyung stopped in front of him, so close their breaths touched. For the first time in months, Taehyung felt the sting of curiosity—sharp and unwelcome. This boy didn’t flinch. Didn’t blush. Didn’t even understand.

A child in a giant’s body.
And Taehyung, the most beautiful wolf in the college, had just found his prey.

 

---

 

The basement soon filled with nervous laughter and groans as Taehyung orchestrated his cruel theater. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the trembling first-years obey one ridiculous command after another. Some were made to strip off their shirts and hop on one leg, others forced into squats until their knees shook. The seniors roared with laughter, their jeers bouncing against the damp stone walls.

But Taehyung’s eyes weren’t on them.

They were on Jeon Jungkook.

At first, it was amusement—the way the giant boy followed orders with no trace of fear, no hesitation, no shame. But then Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, lingering. Jungkook’s t-shirt clung tight to a chest that looked sculpted from marble, veins threading his arms, shoulders broad enough to shadow the trembling boys beside him. His skin glowed under the yellow bulb, ivory pale yet flushed with health, smooth as porcelain. His face—round cheeks flushed, lips plump and pink, eyes shining with guileless obedience—was a contradiction, childlike sweetness painted over a body that looked like it had stepped out of an anatomy textbook.

“Busan boy,” Taehyung’s voice cut through the noise, smooth as silk but sharp as a knife. “Take it off.”

Jungkook blinked, head tilting like a confused child. “What…?”

“Your shirt.” Taehyung’s tongue darted across his lower lip, a feline smirk curving there. “Off. Now.”

The room went silent. Jimin’s eyes went wide as he tugged at Jungkook’s sleeve in warning, whispering, “Kook-ah… don’t—”

But Jungkook, unbothered, obeyed. He peeled the fabric off with one effortless motion, revealing a torso that silenced even the rowdiest senior. Pectorals carved, abs etched in clean lines, every muscle flexing with quiet, unthinking power. His childlike face made the sight almost surreal—like someone had grafted the body of a warrior onto the innocence of a boy.

Taehyung’s smirk faltered. His eyes roamed, hungry, devouring. That flawless, milky skin stretched over muscle, the strong cut of his waist, the deep shadow between his collarbones glistening faintly with sweat. The pink lips parted slightly, unconsciously, as if he’d forgotten to breathe.

“Lower,” he ordered, voice rougher now.

Jungkook pushed down his jeans without question, leaving only his boxer briefs hugging his hips. Gasps and snickers rippled among the seniors, Jimin nudging Jungkook desperately, whispering, “Are you crazy?! Stop!”

But Jungkook only blinked down at him with that childlike confusion, as if shame was a language he had never learned.

Taehyung’s throat went dry. His gaze slid lower, catching on the powerful swell of Jungkook’s thighs—thick, muscled, carved like pillars; calves taut and perfect. He imagined the raw strength coiled in those legs, how they could crush, lift, dominate. His lips parted unconsciously, hunger slipping past the mask of arrogance.

“Dips,” he commanded suddenly, his voice cracking with something he couldn’t name.

Jungkook obeyed immediately, finding two crates and lowering himself with ease. His body dipped and rose with fluid precision, every muscle flexing and tightening, his veins standing out under that flawless skin. Effortless. Beautiful.

The seniors whooped, but their noise was a dull echo to Taehyung, whose eyes were fixed, entranced. His gang exchanged looks; Bogum smirked knowingly, Seojoon muttered something obscene, but one gaze had shifted elsewhere.

Yoongi, pale and catlike, lingered in the shadows, his sharp eyes sliding past Jungkook to rest on Jimin. The boy’s soft Busan features, his anxious fidgeting, the way he clutched Jungkook’s sleeve like a lifeline—it tugged at Yoongi’s interest, quiet but undeniable. His lips twitched upward in the faintest smirk, the kind that promised attention Jimin would not see coming.

Jimin buried his face in his hands. “Out of this world… he doesn’t even care…” he whispered in disbelief, sneaking a glance at Jungkook. He didn’t notice the weight of Yoongi’s eyes on him, watching with a curiosity far sharper than Taehyung’s predatory hunger.

----

 

Taehyung stood at the center, golden hair glinting, eyes sharp and unrelenting. His gang had already herded the first-years into ridiculous positions—undressing, squatting, crawling—mocking them for every misstep. Every laugh and shout seemed to vibrate through the air, but Taehyung’s attention had long left the other boys.

Jungkook knelt on the cold floor, his huge frame impossibly tense. Muscles flexed under pale, flawless skin, but his expression was pure innocence, wide-eyed and trembling like a child who didn’t understand the danger he was in. Jimin, beside him, whispered anxiously, tugging at his sleeve. "Kook, it's okay, I am here."

Taehyung’s lips curved into a slow smirk. “Alright, everyone, time to go. Leave the Busan boy for me.”

The other seniors herded Jimin toward the stairs, ignoring his protests. Jungkook’s stomach twisted, a sinking feeling crawling through him as the echoes of their laughter faded.

Now, only Jungkook remained, trembling under the dim light. Taehyung’s gaze slid over him like a predator, assessing a trapped bird. “Crawl,” he said, voice low but commanding.

Jungkook obeyed without hesitation. Hands pressed to the cold concrete, his massive body moving smoothly despite the fear, yet his wide eyes flickered constantly, unsure and wary.

Then Taehyung’s smirk deepened, his eyes catching the small cell at the far end of the basement. Rusted bars and a loose lock beckoned with a dark promise. “In there,” he ordered.

Jungkook froze. His wide eyes flickered with something new—fear. Childlike, raw, immediate. “P-please… d-don’t—” his stutter cracked through the silence, voice trembling like a boy about to be left in the dark.

Taehyung’s chest stirred again, but he masked it with coldness. “Inside.”

He twisted the lock and pushed him gently but firmly into the cell, the door clanging shut with a hollow echo.

Taehyung twisted the lock and pocketed the key, leaning against the bars with a smirk. “Be good. I’ll come back for you.”

He turned, waving a mocking goodbye, lips curling. “Sweet dreams, baby face.”

The door closed behind him.

The basement was suddenly too big, too dark, too empty.

 

Jungkook’s breath quickened. His hands clutched the bars, rattling them weakly. “O-open… p-please… I w-want eomma…” His voice broke into hiccuped sobs, his body curling in on itself. He pressed his forehead to the cold metal, crying like a toddler abandoned. “Eomma… eomma… d-don’t leave me… please…”

No one came. Jimin’s voice was gone. The laughter above had faded. Only Jungkook’s sobs filled the damp air.

His chest tightened, breath stuttering, heart racing out of control. He gasped, clawing at his throat as though air had been stolen. His muscles convulsed, eyes rolling back as panic overwhelmed his body. Then silence—his frame slumped, collapsing naked onto the dirty concrete.

Minutes later, the door creaked open again.

Taehyung stepped back into the basement, his steps lazy at first. He had come back smirking, imagining playful torment, maybe another cruel game. But the sight before him made his blood run cold.

Jungkook lay crumpled on the floor, skin pale under the sickly light, chest rising in shallow, ragged gasps. His tears had dried into streaks on his baby-smooth cheeks. His long lashes clung together, his lips parted as though still whispering for his mother.

“Shit.” Taehyung’s voice cracked for the first time. He fumbled with the lock, shoving the door open, and dropped to his knees beside Jungkook.

“Baby—no, no, wake up.” His hands, once made for cruelty, were suddenly gentle as they dressed him back into his shirt and pants, trembling slightly. He slid an arm under Jungkook, lifting him carefully, brushing dust and filth from his skin. His other hand rubbed slow circles on Jungkook’s back, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “It’s okay, it’s okay… shh… you’re safe.”

Jungkook stirred weakly, lashes fluttering. Then he began to cry again, broken sobs spilling out as he clung weakly to Taehyung’s shirt. “E… eomma… I w..want eomma…” His stutter was soaked in desperation, his voice smaller than a child’s.

Taehyung’s chest clenched painfully. Without thinking, he pulled Jungkook against him, hugging the trembling boy tight. His chin rested in Jungkook’s damp hair as his hand rubbed soothingly up and down the broad back that moments ago he had mocked.

“I’m here,” Taehyung whispered, almost to himself. “Don’t cry, baby face… I’ve got you.”

And for the first time, the most feared senior in Seoul Art College held someone not as a conqueror—but as a shelter.

 

The trembling in Jungkook’s body slowly subsided, though his breaths came in uneven, shuddering waves. Taehyung held him close, careful not to crush or jostle him, rubbing slow circles on his back and threading his fingers through Jungkook’s damp hair. The warmth of his arms, steady and unyielding, became a fragile anchor in the storm that had overtaken the boy’s mind.

Jungkook sniffled, pressing his face against Taehyung’s chest, tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I… I’m s-sorry… I’m s-scared,” he murmured, stuttering, voice cracking with lingering fear.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Taehyung murmured back, voice low, velvet-soft but firm. “It’s okay, baby face… I’ve got you. Always.”

The panic that had gripped Jungkook’s chest slowly melted under Taehyung’s steady presence. The harsh edges of fear softened, replaced by the gentle rhythm of Taehyung’s heartbeat beneath his cheek. His small hands relaxed against Taehyung’s chest, his body finally allowing itself to melt into warmth and safety.

Minutes passed. The dim basement, once oppressive and frightening, now seemed a little less harsh. Jungkook’s breaths lengthened, each exhale quieter, less jagged. His head rested against Taehyung’s shoulder, heavy with exhaustion, eyelashes fluttering as the stuttered sobs slowed to silent trembles.

Taehyung adjusted slightly, cradling Jungkook more comfortably, his strong arms forming a protective cocoon. He felt a strange, unfamiliar tenderness bloom in his chest at the sight of Jungkook’s peaceful, childlike vulnerability.

Eventually, the struggle against exhaustion won. Jungkook’s stuttering whispers faded into soft, uneven sighs. His limbs relaxed completely, his forehead resting lightly against Taehyung’s chest. The faint, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing told Taehyung that the boy had finally fallen asleep.

 

Taehyung exhaled softly, chin resting lightly atop Jungkook’s head. “Sleep well, baby face,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’m right here. Always.”

In that fragile cocoon of safety, the childlike boy slept, unaware that the predator who had once mocked him was now the one who would shield him from all harm.

----

 

The basement door swung open, and Taehyung fell into step beside Jungkook, walking slowly toward the dorm. Jungkook’s broad shoulders brushed past the walls, his long legs eating up the distance effortlessly. He moved with casual ease despite the faint redness around his eyes from crying.

Taehyung couldn’t carry him—not even close. Jungkook’s massive frame would have crushed him—but that didn’t stop him from walking closely alongside, his hand resting lightly on Jungkook’s elbow to guide him, a teasing anchor rather than a lift.

 

When they reached the dorm door, Taehyung gave a small, mocking bow. “Here we are, baby face. Safe and sound,” he said, his golden hair falling into his eyes as he gestured toward the room.

Jimin’s eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He was flabbergasted.

“Gonna take a shower,” Jungkook said casually, voice small but steady, red eyes glimmering from lingering tears. He didn’t flinch, didn’t seem phased by the events that had left him sobbing in the basement only minutes ago.

Jimin’s jaw dropped. After Taehyung left without a word, he turned to Jungkook, fists clenching in anger, veins practically screaming. “I swear, if I ever see that bastard torture you like that again—”

Jungkook’s small voice cut through Jimin’s fury like a bell. “No… no, Taehyung hyungie is… nice,” he said, blinking innocently. His words, soft and childlike, were delivered with the certainty of someone who truly believed them, untouched by the panic and fear he’d just endured.

Jimin froze, heart hammering. He rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling sharply. “I… I don’t know how to deal with this baby-face bodybuilder,” he muttered, voice cracking between frustration and disbelief.

Jungkook disappeared into the bathroom, humming faintly under his breath, the sound strange and calming in its innocence.

Jimin sank onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. “He’s… he’s insane,” he muttered. “And I can’t even—ugh… I just… I just want to punch him!”

But even as he spoke, Jimin couldn’t shake the image of Jungkook—soft, trusting, utterly childlike—sleepily humming in the shower. The boy had been through fear, pain, and panic, and yet he still called Taehyung “nice.”

Jimin leaned back against the wall, exasperated and defeated. “Baby face… bodybuilder… what the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

Chapter Text

It happened like a quiet declaration, swift and absolute. Taehyung made Jungkook his boyfriend—no ceremony, no discussion, no hesitation. Jungkook’s opinion was irrelevant. He trusted Taehyung blindly, his heart simple and unguarded, like a puppy following a hand that reached down to guide him.

From that moment, everything fell into place. After lectures and piano practice, Jungkook’s long strides carried him straight to Taehyung, eyes shining with the devotion of someone who had never known distrust. He ran to him, obedient and eager, the world shrinking to the warmth and presence of the golden-haired senior.

Taehyung smirked, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips as he took Jungkook’s hand, leading him into the campus convenience store. He bought him a banana milk, setting it into Jungkook’s grasp with a casual boast.

“Look at him,” Taehyung murmured, leaning against Jungkook’s side with all the smugness of a king showing off his prized possession. “My boyfriend… can you believe how hot he looks? Everyone’s staring, and it’s all mine.”

Jungkook blinked, mouth slightly open, expression open and innocent, like a child dropped among adults. He didn’t blush, didn’t argue. He simply stared, absorbing every word and every proud glance of Taehyung as if it were gospel.

The other students glanced, whispered, and nudged one another, but Taehyung didn’t care. He flexed subtly, leaned closer, and basked in the thrill of showing off the boy who trusted him utterly, who followed him so willingly it made him feel untouchably powerful.

Jungkook stayed at his side, faithful and wide-eyed, the embodiment of soft innocence that Taehyung both protected and flaunted with smug pride.

Taehyung led Jungkook down a quieter corridor, away from the lingering whispers and wide-eyed stares. The walls were bare, the air cooler, the world outside reduced to muffled sounds.

Taehyung finally stopped, turning to face him, golden hair falling over his eyes as he leaned lazily against the wall. His smirk was back—half teasing, half protective, all smug satisfaction. “See? Everyone got a good look at my perfect boyfriend,” he said, voice low and playful. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re mine. And everyone knows it.”

Jungkook, massive and soft, blinked up at him, wide-eyed and silent. His pink lips parted slightly, a quiet hum of acknowledgment escaping. He didn’t argue, didn’t question. He trusted Taehyung utterly, the boylike obedience in his posture making Taehyung’s chest tighten with pride and something warmer, sharper.

“Look at you,” Taehyung continued, stepping closer, brushing a lock of hair from Jungkook’s forehead. “All soft and huge and… perfect. My Baby Face.” He leaned in, the proximity intimate, teasing yet protective. “I could just keep you like this forever.”

Jungkook shuffled a little closer instinctively, pressing lightly against him. His massive hands hung by his sides, relaxed yet attentive, completely trusting the teasing golden-haired senior. “I… okay,” he murmured softly, childlike in tone, but firm in trust.

Taehyung’s grin deepened. He lifted one hand, gently cupping Jungkook’s jaw, tilting his face up. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, voice low and indulgent. “And I love it. Look at me when I say it—you’re mine. No arguments, no running away, just… mine.”

Jungkook blinked, mouth slightly open, and nodded obediently. “Yes… hyungie,” he said simply, voice soft like a lullaby.

Taehyung chuckled, pulling him into a loose embrace, hands tracing slow, reassuring lines along Jungkook’s back. “Good boy,” he murmured, the smug pride giving way to gentle warmth. “You trust me too easily, you know that? But… that’s fine. I like it.”

Jungkook rested his head against Taehyung’s chest, enormous frame folding neatly against the smaller golden-haired boy, completely at ease. The corridor felt quiet, safe, as if the world beyond the walls no longer existed.

Taehyung let out a contented sigh, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jungkook’s head. “Sleep here if you want,” he whispered, voice a mix of command and comfort. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, exhaustion and trust overtaking him. In that small, private space, the massive, childlike boy fell asleep in Taehyung’s arms—obedient, trusting, utterly soft, while Taehyung held him, smug and proud, yet quietly in awe of how completely this childlike, powerful boy belonged to him.

---

The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the studio window, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floor. Jungkook sat cross-legged on the edge of the piano bench, still humming a soft melody he had been practicing, eyes bright and childlike. Taehyung leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’ve been practicing all day,” Taehyung remarked, voice low, teasing. “You’re supposed to take a break, Baby Face. Come here.”

Jungkook obediently rose, his massive form moving with a softness that contrasted with his size. He stopped just in front of Taehyung, gaze fixed on the golden-haired boy with wide, innocent eyes.

Taehyung reached out, cupping Jungkook’s cheek with one hand. His thumb brushed lightly across the pale skin, lingering over the faint flush from their closeness. “Do you… trust me?”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, stuttering softly, “Y-yes… hyungie.”

That small word, full of unquestioning faith, made Taehyung’s chest tighten. He leaned in closer, enough for their breaths to mingle. “Then… you’ll let me do this?” he whispered, lips barely brushing the curve of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook blinked. “D-do what?”

Taehyung chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Jungkook’s lips. The first contact was brief, almost a touch, but it made Jungkook freeze completely. His pink lips parted slightly, eyes wide, and a soft squeak escaped him. He didn’t move, didn’t know what to do, simply stared with the innocence of a child discovering something entirely new.

“Open your mouth a little,” Taehyung murmured, teasing, but careful not to force him. “Just a little… trust me.”

Jungkook nodded timidly, lips trembling. He leaned forward slightly, unsure and hesitant, a stuttered “O-okay…” slipping past his lips.

Taehyung’s grin softened. He kissed him again, longer this time, gentle and teasing, letting Jungkook explore the strange, new sensation in his own way. Jungkook’s small hands reached up instinctively, touching Taehyung’s chest, gripping the fabric like a lifeline, eyes wide and uncomprehending, heart racing in confusion and trust.

“You’re… so soft,” Taehyung whispered against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him. “And clueless. I love it.”

Jungkook blinked, flushed, not sure if he was supposed to move, pull away, or… do anything at all. His wide eyes locked on Taehyung, and then a small, breathy, “Is… that okay?” escaped him.

Taehyung cupped his jaw, tilting his face gently. “More than okay,” he murmured. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

Jungkook pulled back just slightly, lips trembling, wide eyes staring at Taehyung as if trying to decipher a puzzle he had never encountered. “H-How… do I…?” he stuttered, voice tiny and unsure.

Taehyung’s smirk widened, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes. “You don’t know, do you?” he teased, leaning closer so their noses almost touched. “It’s okay, Baby Face… I’ll show you.”

Carefully, he pressed his lips against Jungkook’s again. This time, he moved slowly, letting the boy feel the sensation without overwhelming him. Jungkook blinked, lips parting slightly, tongue hesitating uncertainly. He mimicked Taehyung in tiny, clumsy movements, barely brushing the lips together, completely unsure if he was “doing it right.”

Taehyung chuckled softly against him, tilting Jungkook’s chin gently to guide him. “Not bad… but you’re supposed to follow me, not just freeze like a deer,” he whispered, voice low and teasing.

Jungkook’s huge hands gripped Taehyung’s shoulders awkwardly, still unsure. His pink lips trembled, a small squeak escaping. “L-like… t-this?”

Taehyung pulled back just enough to peek into his wide, innocent eyes. “Yes… sort of,” he murmured, amusement softening into something warmer. “You’re… hopelessly cute.”

Jungkook’s face flushed, and for the first time, he looked slightly embarrassed, though the embarrassment was wrapped in pure, childlike trust. He leaned forward again, trying harder this time, clumsily mimicking Taehyung’s movements, tongue barely brushing, lips fumbling, but his intention was perfect—he wanted to please him, follow him, trust him.

Taehyung laughed quietly, brushing a hand through Jungkook’s damp hair. “Good boy… that’s my Baby Face,” he murmured, pressing another gentle, teasing kiss to the corner of his lips. “See? You’re learning.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkled with wonder and trust. He didn’t speak, didn’t question, only leaned into Taehyung’s guiding presence, letting the golden-haired senior teach him slowly, tenderly, teasingly, until the awkwardness became something intimate, soft, and entirely theirs.

Taehyung leaned back slightly, letting Jungkook pull away just a little, only to watch the boy blink up at him with wide, trusting eyes. “You know,” Taehyung murmured, voice low and teasing, “you’re hopeless at this. Absolutely clueless. And I love it.”

Jungkook’s lips parted, stuttered softly, “I-I… trying, hyungie…” His huge hands fumbled slightly against Taehyung’s chest, unsure of placement, entirely innocent in his movements.

Taehyung chuckled, golden hair falling over his eyes. He leaned in, brushing his lips teasingly against Jungkook’s again, barely touching, letting him feel the warmth without giving him full guidance. “Mmm… see? You’re learning. Slowly… but surely.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, wide eyes fixated on him. He didn’t speak, just let his massive body lean in, head tilting to match Taehyung’s playful movements, utterly devoted, trusting, obedient.

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Taehyung whispered, pressing a teasing kiss to Jungkook’s forehead. “Like a child who’s trying to be an adult… and failing adorably.”

Jungkook blinked, small lips trembling, then pressed another clumsy, awkward kiss against Taehyung’s mouth, mimicking him as best as he could. It was completely off, messy, and innocent—but it was offered with absolute devotion.

Taehyung grinned, one hand cupping Jungkook’s cheek, holding him in place gently but firmly. “That’s my Baby Face. My huge, soft, perfect Baby Face,” he murmured, leaning closer, brushing hair from his forehead. “Hopelessly devoted… and I love that too.”

Jungkook let out a soft, breathy sound, eyes half-lidded, leaning closer again. He didn’t understand the complexities of kissing, of affection, or of desire—he only knew he belonged to Taehyung, that he trusted him completely, and that being close to him felt like home.

Taehyung pressed a final, gentle, lingering kiss to Jungkook’s lips, smirking as the boy melted slightly against him, wide-eyed, flushed, and utterly innocent. He could tease him endlessly, flaunt him endlessly, but in that moment, all Taehyung wanted was to protect him—his massive, trusting, childlike Baby Face.

----

 

Taehyung’s room was quiet, warm with late afternoon light. Taehyung sat on the edge of the bed, golden hair falling over his eyes, smirking. Jungkook stood before him, massive and soft, eyes wide, completely unsure but trusting him utterly.

“You… you don’t know, do you?” Taehyung teased, voice low and playful, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from Jungkook’s forehead.

Jungkook nodded, stuttering, “N-no… hyungie…” His huge hands fidgeted nervously, unsure where to go, what to do, but entirely obedient.

Taehyung patted the space beside him. “Sit here. Relax. I’ll tell you exactly what to do… follow me, okay?”

Jungkook lowered himself carefully onto the bed, sitting beside Taehyung, chest brushing against him. The smaller boy leaned back slightly, giving instructions in soft, teasing whispers. “First… just touch me gently. Don’t rush, just feel… follow my lead.”

Jungkook’s fingers moved tentatively, brushing as instructed. He blinked up at Taehyung, eyes wide and open, clearly not understanding everything, but following every hint, every direction.

“Good… that’s it,” Taehyung murmured, leaning closer. “Now… a little closer. You’re too stiff. Relax, Baby Face. Trust me. I’ll guide you.”

Jungkook adjusted, sitting closer, breathing quick and shallow, massive body tense but obedient. Taehyung guided his hands lightly, murmuring instructions with a mix of teasing and encouragement. Every small motion, every hesitant shift, was a learning step, and Jungkook followed, trusting him blindly.

“Perfect… you’re doing really well for your first time,” Taehyung whispered, smirking. “See? Just let me guide you. Nothing scary… I like it when you’re this clueless and obedient.”

Jungkook’s lips parted, small whimpers of uncertainty escaping, but his eyes shone with complete trust. He didn’t know the mechanics, the right rhythm, or what was supposed to happen—he only knew he was with Taehyung, and that was enough.

Taehyung leaned back against him, pressing gentle kisses along his jaw and temple, murmuring encouragement. “Keep following me… just like this… good boy. You’re mine, completely… and I love it.”

 

Taehyung gently undressed Jungkook, who obediently stayed still, cooperating like the devoted, trusting boy he was. Every movement was slow and deliberate, a silent agreement between them. Once Jungkook was bare, Taehyung removed his own oversized shirt, revealing honey-tanned, flawless skin and perky brown nipples. A thin gold belly chain rested just under his flat, toned navel, catching the light teasingly.

Jungkook stared, mouth slightly open, taking in the sight. Taehyung’s teasing smirk only deepened as he kicked off his tight jeans, revealing not boxers, but a black thong. He flexed subtly, knowing perfectly well how hot he looked, exuding confidence and control.

Taehyung settled onto the bed beside Jungkook, one leg brushing against his calf, lips parted as he bit his lower lip. In a low, sultry voice, he purred, “What are you waiting for, Baby Face? Come… fuck me.”

Jungkook blinked, completely blank, innocence radiating. “Hyungie… what is… fuck?”

Taehyung groaned, slapping his palm against his forehead in exasperation. “Oh! God… do you live under a rock? Jesus! What am I gonna do with this kid?”

“I… yes, hyungie,” Jungkook said earnestly, spreading his massive arms wide like a child explaining something impossible to grasp. “There’s a biiiiig… rock… behind our house.”

Taehyung groaned again, half amused, half flustered, watching the huge, clueless boy try to rationalize the unknown in his own literal, innocent way. His patience teetered between teasing indulgence and exasperation, and he couldn’t help but smirk at how utterly adorable Jungkook was—even when he had no idea what was about to happen.

 

Taehyung parted his thighs exposing his most intimate parts barely covered by the black thong. Jungkook watched curiously as Taehyung pulled away the thong revealing his cute puckered pinkish brown hole. Taehyung ordered Jungkook,

"Baby face! Open that drawer, yeah the first drawer. Now take out that lube bottle. No you idiot! That's superglue!! I bought to repair my broken slipper! You half nitwit! Do you want me to end up in emergency room? Yeah that one, the LUBE! THE FUCKING LUBE! You're not illiterate, so read the instructions!".

With shaking hands Jungkook took the lube tube and started reading in a monotone like he was asked to read a text at middle-school.

"Preparation....ensure the product is appropriate for sexual activity... Application..apply a sufficient amount to reduce friction on g..genital tissues during intercourse..."

"Stop!" Taehyung’s voice bellowed. Jungkook looked at him alarmed like a child caught doing something bad.

"Arghh..come. I will teach you. Now take some on your finger, yeah open the tube and squeeze it. Yah! Squeeze it man! You have got fucking huge biceps and what is this dude?"

Jungkook squeezed and a large amount of lube splattered on his hand and he looked with fearful huge eyes.

"OK, fine, the more the better. Now put your fingers in my hole. My asshole! Yes there, the ASSHOLE!"

Taehyung screamed instructions as Jungkook hesitantly with shaking hands fumbled with Taehyung’s thong. Taehyung groaned again and gripped Jungkook’s lube finger and shoved it in his hole hissing at the sudden intrusion. Jungkook just kept his finger still inside Taehyung and waited.

"Aarrrhhgg!!" Taehyung rolled his eyes groaning."Move! Move your finger!" Taehyung guided Jungkook and his patience was thining minute by minute.

Jungkook obeyed him, but Taehyung wanted more, he guided more of Jungkook’s fingers inside him and sighed blissfully rolling his hips fucking himself on Jungkook’s fingers.

Taehyung noticed Jungkook’s bulge over his boxers. He ordered Jungkook to remove his boxers and Jungkook’s cheeks were dusted in a dark pink as he shyly tried to cover his intimate parts with his hand.

"Aish! Don't act the damsel in distress with me Jungkook! You are my boyfriend. You don’t need to be shy in front of me."

"O..okay hyungie." Jungkook whispered with a reddened face.

With Taehyung’s guidance they had their first time, Jungkook was larger than Taehyung expected, but he liked the stretch Jungkook’s cock made in his hole. He usually never allowed guys to cum in his hole but this time he changed his own rule. Jungkook, the other hand, who had his first ever actual orgasm convulsed uncontrollably raising Taehyung’s concern.

"Baby? Are you alright? Look at me. Look at hyung!" Taehyung gently tapped Jungkook’s cheeks.

After Jungkook calmed, Taehyung wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s massive back, pulling him onto his chest and kissed his damp hair.

He kissed Jungkook’s head and whispered lovingly.

"You did well baby. My sweet baby, you did well. Now sleep. Hyungie is here."

Chapter Text

Jungkook’s first year in art college passed like a dream, each day colored by the warmth of Taehyung’s love. They shared meals together, wandering the sprawling campus after lectures, the sun casting long golden shadows across cobblestone paths. Sometimes, they went swimming, Jungkook’s massive frame slicing through water with surprising grace, while Taehyung’s lean, lithe form danced effortlessly across the pool, every movement precise and mesmerizing.

Jungkook would sit nearby during Taehyung’s dance practice, eyes wide, heart full of admiration. Taehyung, a dance major, was already a master of versatility—classical ballet, hip hop, contemporary, and even the passionate tangos and flamencos he studied from different cultures. Every lift, every spin, every sway of his slim waist and slightly wide hips was poetry in motion, eyes—those deep blue feline eyes—locking onto Jungkook briefly, a silent promise of ownership.

Afterward, they would retreat to quieter corners, where Jungkook practiced piano. He spent twice as many hours as the other first years, fingers gliding across the keys with focused intensity. Taehyung would lean against the piano, singing in that honeyed, deep voice that was the ocean to Jungkook’s sky-high, delicate notes. Together, they sang duets, the world shrinking until only the piano, the voice, and the presence of each other existed.

When weekends came, they ventured into the night-life of the city. Clubs with pounding bass, flashing lights, and smoke-filled rooms. Taehyung would claim the stage for himself, pole dancing with unapologetic boldness. His slim, toned waist swayed to the music, slightly wide hips accentuating the rhythm, and every head turned to watch. But Jungkook—ridiculously childlike in contrast—stood frozen near the back, mouth slightly open, eyes sparkling with foolish innocence. He couldn’t comprehend the bold magnetism of his hyung, only that Taehyung was dazzling, untouchable, and utterly his.

Tonight, like every other weekend, the club throbbed with life. The club doors opened, and Jungkook’s enormous frame froze at the threshold. His mouth fell open, eyes wide as a child’s, utterly captivated. The colorful beams of light danced across the floor, slicing through the smoky haze, reflecting in every mirrored surface. The bass vibrated through his chest, but he barely noticed—the spectacle of colors and movement held him completely in awe.

Taehyung, already a few steps ahead, leaned back and grinned, glass of wine in hand. “Come on, Baby Face. Let’s have a drink together,” he teased, tilting the glass toward Jungkook.

Jungkook shook his head, earnest and unwavering. “No… hyungie. Mama made me promise I wouldn’t drink.”

Taehyung laughed, leaning closer, eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, c’mon… in two months you’ll turn eighteen. Just one little sip?”

Jungkook’s gaze remained firm, small smile lighting his face. “No… Mama’s promise. I can’t…”

Taehyung chuckled, half-insulting, half-amused in his drunken stupor. “Yah… you’re such a mommy’s boy, Baby Face. Mommy’s little baby boy still! Hahaha… what’s the use of that gladiator’s body, Koo? Oh right… only gladiator’s body, no brain. Hahaha!”

Jungkook just blinked and smiled, completely unbothered by the teasing. His innocence, his childlike trust, made Taehyung’s laughter shift into soft fondness. He gulped another glass of wine, swirling it with a playful smirk, then extended a hand to Jungkook.

“Come on, Baby Face. Dance with me.”

Jungkook hesitated, then followed, clumsily stepping onto the dance floor. His huge body tried to mimic Taehyung’s fluid movements, but his timing was all wrong—arms flailing slightly, feet stomping, too big and too unpracticed. A few girls nearby giggled, some boys hooted. Jungkook’s eyes blinked rapidly, tears welling up, cheeks burning, and he looked down, embarrassed.

Taehyung’s deep feline blue eyes sharpened, icy and commanding. “Yah! What the fuck are you laughing at? You whore! Are you laughing at my man? I swear to God I will rip off your ugly faces, you bastards!”

The crowd froze, and a hush fell over the dance floor. The laughing girls and hooting boys quickly melted away, fear overtaking amusement.

Jungkook’s teary gaze lifted, awe and relief mixing as he looked at Taehyung. “Hyungie…” he whispered softly, sniffing, “you’re… amazing.”

Taehyung’s boxy grin softened, warmth spreading through his features. He stroked Jungkook’s back, enveloping him in a protective hug. “Come, Baby Face. Don’t mind those imbeciles. Come… let’s dance.”

Jungkook sniffled again, eyes gleaming with tears, but he trusted completely. On the floor, he swayed gently to the music, awkward and clumsy, while Taehyung advanced to the stage, every move bold, confident, commanding the attention of everyone present. His slim waist and slightly wide hips swayed to the beat, eyes gleaming like a spell of a siren—not just to Jungkook, but to all who watched.

And in that moment, Jungkook’s childish wonder and Taehyung’s fearless boldness merged, creating a scene of pure, cinematic contrast: innocence and mastery, soft trust and daring confidence, all moving together in the heartbeat of the music.

Taehyung climbed the pole, spinning and leaning, the neon lights casting golden highlights across his honey-tanned skin. Every step, every sway of his hips, every glance of his deep blue eyes was hypnotic—not only to Jungkook, who was practically bouncing in awe, but to the crowd of clubgoers who stared in captivated silence. Jungkook’s enormous hands twitched at his sides, heart hammering in a childish mix of admiration, awe, and utter devotion.

Then the spell broke.

A rich, middle-aged man, clearly drunk, pushed through the crowd. His eyes, leering and entitled, locked onto Taehyung. “Hey, beautiful… want to spend the night with me?” he slurred, voice heavy with arrogance.

Taehyung’s feline eyes narrowed, lips curving into a dangerous smirk. He stepped down from the pole, voice low and commanding, cutting through the music. “No. I’m not interested. Fuck off!”

The man sneered, and signalled to his men, two burly men lurched forward and grabbed Taehyung’s arms. The club erupted in murmurs; the guards moved too slowly.

Jungkook didn’t think—he never had to. His instincts, raw and unfiltered, screamed danger. In his childlike mind, his only thought was: save hyungie.

He charged. Massive, precise, and unstoppable. Within seconds, the two men were crumpled on the floor, blood trickling from their noses and mouths, utterly defeated. The rich man froze, eyes wide with disbelief. Before anyone could react, Jungkook’s strong, muscular arms flexed as his hands were under the man’s armpits, lifting him above his head like a helpless doll. Time slowed—the music, the lights, the crowd—all faded. All Jungkook could see was Taehyung in danger, and his body moved only to protect him.

He opened his mouth, ready to hurl the man, when a firm hand clamped over his own. Taehyung’s deep blue eyes met his, sharp and commanding. “Kook! Stop! Follow me!”

Jungkook immediately obeyed, dropping the man carelessly to the floor. The man let out a howl in pain. Before the guards reached through the crowd, Taehyung acted fast.

Taehyung grabbed Jungkook’s hand, pulling him through the chaos. The massive boy followed like an obedient puppy, each step pounding against the floor, his heart still racing with adrenaline. Outside, the cool night air hit them both, but Jungkook didn’t care—he was safe now, by Taehyung’s side.

Breathless, Taehyung tugged him close, brushing a strand of hair from his flushed forehead. “You… you’re reckless, Baby Face,” he murmured, deep voice honeyed and amused. “Absolutely insane… but I love you for it.”

Jungkook’s hands rested against Taehyung’s chest, chest heaving, voice small and innocent. “Hyungie… I… I just wanted to save you…”

Taehyung smiled softly, pressing a warm kiss to his temple. “I know, Koo. And that’s why you’re mine.”

 

The taxi ride back to the hostel was quiet, the city lights blurring past the window. Jungkook’s enormous frame sat hunched, still flushed from the adrenaline of the club, while Taehyung leaned lightly against him, half-drunken, eyes shimmering with amusement and lingering tension.

When they reached the campus perimeter, the familiar wall loomed high and imposing. It wasn’t an easy climb, but Jungkook offered both hands to Taehyung. “Hyungie… step here,” he instructed gently, steadying Taehyung’s swaying body with his massive hands.

Taehyung, in his drunken stupor, wobbled and clumsily jumped over the wall, a soft “Owww!” escaping him.

Jungkook’s ears perked instantly at the sound. Without hesitation, he scaled the wall with the nimbleness of a monkey, landing on the other side to find Taehyung clutching his foot, illuminated by the pale silver moonlight.

“Hyungie! What happened?” Jungkook bent in alarm, eyes wide, heart racing.

“Ahh, Koo… I think I sprained my ankle.” Taehyung tried to stand, wincing, “Ahh! Fuck!”

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. His massive arms wrapped around Taehyung’s smaller frame, lifting him effortlessly onto his back. With long, confident strides, he carried him across the campus, up the stairs, and into the hostel.

On the second floor, outside Taehyung’s room, the sleepy boy handed Jungkook the key with a tired, trusting smile. “Here… just… place me on the bed,” he murmured.

Jungkook carefully opened the door, laying Taehyung down gently. Seojoon’s absence that night left the room empty, safe. Jungkook knelt, peeling off Taehyung’s boots and socks, inspecting the ankle. It was already swollen. Taehyung hissed softly at the pain.

“Hyungie!” Jungkook’s teary eyes shone, full of worry.

Taehyung froze, surprised. “Why… Baby Face? Did you get hurt too? Where?” He began to check Jungkook, his voice filled with protective concern.

“No… Hyungie… b-but hyungie has ouchie,” Jungkook admitted, voice trembling. “And… and Jungkook… feels pain… hyungie’s pain…”

The innocence in Jungkook’s teary, childlike eyes melted Taehyung’s heart instantly, softening even his usual feline pride. Taehyung’s hands cupped Jungkook’s small, round cheeks, stroking them gently. “Koo-ah… don’t cry, baby. Come… there’s balm in Seojoon’s cupboard. Bring it here.”

Jungkook’s obedience was immediate. He retrieved the balm and applied it to Taehyung’s ankle with featherlight strokes, gentle as if it were made of glass. His large hands moved with surprising delicacy, caressing and comforting, each touch radiating care. Taehyung let out a soft, tender smile, the tension easing from his body.

When Jungkook began to step away, Taehyung called softly, “Baby Face… don’t go.”

He knew sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight. The memories of the club incident would haunt him, as they sometimes did. But he didn’t need to convince Jungkook twice.

Jungkook removed his jacket and Timberlands, his movements slow and careful. Then he helped Taehyung remove his leather pants and jacket, crawling under the sheets beside him.

“Come, baby… let’s sleep,” Taehyung whispered, opening his arms.

Jungkook went willingly, pressing against Taehyung like a child finding safety in a mother’s embrace, burying his face in Taehyung’s neck.

“Hyungie…” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Taehyung responded, tilting his head to listen.

“Hyungie… Jungkook… scared. Bad men… come again?”

Taehyung tightened his protective hold around him, deep blue eyes soft but alert. “No, baby… they won’t. Hyungie is here. Hyungie will protect my Koo. Sleep, baby. Hyungie will sing.”

And then his deep, honeyed voice filled the room with a lullaby, gentle and soothing: It’s a Small World, Jungkook’s favorite.

Jungkook’s eyelids grew heavy, chest rising and falling in time with Taehyung’s comforting hum. Snuggled close, arms wrapped around his hyung, Jungkook drifted into a peaceful sleep, the terror and chaos of the night melting away under the warmth and safety of Taehyung’s embrace.

Outside, the moonlight spilled softly through the window, illuminating the quiet intimacy of the room—a sanctuary for the childlike giant and his fearless, protective hyung.

 

For two full days, Taehyung was nearly immobile, ankle swollen and throbbing, the memory of the club incident still lingering in every sharp ache. Jungkook hovered over him like a devoted guardian, every movement meticulous, every glance brimming with concern.

Breakfast in bed was a careful ritual—Jungkook balanced plates of steaming toast, eggs, and juice on a tray, his enormous hands steady despite his size. Taehyung lay propped against pillows, wincing slightly whenever he shifted, watching Jungkook move with the strange combination of brute strength and delicate precision that always made his heart clench.

“You’re… too much, Baby Face,” Taehyung murmured one morning, wincing as Jungkook bent down to adjust the blanket.

Jungkook’s eyes, huge and earnest, met his. “Hyungie… I just… want you to be okay. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Taehyung’s lips curved into a soft smile, admiration and fondness mixing with his lingering frustration. He let Jungkook lift him carefully from the bed to use the restroom, every movement precise, careful, and guided. Jungkook’s patience was endless, treating Taehyung as if he were made of glass, stroking his hair when he winced, whispering soft reassurances.

Meals, medication, and even the smallest comfort—adjusting pillows, keeping the ice pack on his ankle, holding his hand when a particularly sharp pang of pain shot through—were all handled with that childlike devotion. Jungkook’s massive frame moved around the small room almost silently, like a shadow, always present but never clumsy.

Evenings brought quiet companionship. Jungkook sat by Taehyung’s side, massaging the ankle with gentle, featherlight strokes, humming softly or recounting his day with innocent enthusiasm. Taehyung watched him, body aching but heart swelling, the sight of this enormous, muscular, yet childlike boy devoted to him like a guardian angel moving through a world too rough for someone so pure.

“Hyungie… you’re smiling,” Jungkook observed one night, large hands resting over the bandaged ankle.

“I am… because of you, Baby Face,” Taehyung murmured, reaching to brush a stray lock of hair from Jungkook’s forehead. “You’re… amazing, Koo. Truly amazing.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed, childlike grin spreading across his face, completely oblivious to any deeper meanings, only knowing that he was needed, that he was loved, and that his hyung needed him.

For two days, the small hostel room became a sanctuary—a bubble where the world’s chaos couldn’t reach them, where Taehyung’s pride softened, and Jungkook’s devotion became a tangible force of care and love. And every night, as Taehyung lay resting against pillows, Jungkook stayed close, arms and presence a protective shield, humming lullabies that chased away the lingering shadows of fear from that night at the club.

 

By the third day, Taehyung’s ankle had swollen down enough that he could hobble slowly with Jungkook’s careful support. But he refused to let Jungkook carry him again. Instead, he leaned on Jungkook’s broad shoulder, stumbling slightly, letting the boy guide him through the narrow hostel corridors.

“You’re such a giant, Baby Face… but also such a soft, obedient puppy,” Taehyung teased, wincing at each step. His deep honeyed voice carried both amusement and lingering warmth from their closeness these past two days.

Jungkook’s childlike face flushed crimson. “Hyungie… I’m not a puppy… I’m… Koo… Koo is strong,” he protested, chest puffing up, though he supported Taehyung effortlessly, every movement careful and strong.

Taehyung chuckled, his feline blue eyes glinting mischievously. “Oh, I know, gladiator body and all… but still, my Baby Face obeys me without question.” He leaned a little closer, brushing their shoulders together, making Jungkook’s ears turn pink under the dim hostel lights.

Once inside Taehyung’s room, he collapsed onto the bed dramatically, pretending to groan in exaggerated pain. “Ah… my poor ankle… oh Koo, come save me again,” he teased, arms spread theatrically.

Jungkook’s big hands hovered, unsure whether to kneel, stand, or kneel beside the bed. His wide, innocent eyes mirrored a mixture of awe, concern, and pure devotion. “Hyungie… you don’t need to pretend. I… I will help you.”

Taehyung laughed softly, leaning back against the pillows. “I know… that’s why I love you, Baby Face. You’re ridiculous, obedient, and so… honest. You melt my heart.”

Jungkook’s expression brightened, his childlike smile stretching wide. “Hyungie… you’re amazing. You… you danced at the club… and I… I saw! You’re like a… like a magic…” His words stumbled, but the meaning was clear—his admiration, pure and untainted.

“Magic, huh?” Taehyung smirked, pushing himself up slightly with his hands, careful with his ankle. He leaned close to Jungkook, brushing his nose lightly against the boy’s. “Well, Baby Face… my magic needs a big strong protector too. That’s you.”

Jungkook froze, stunned, cheeks burning. “Hyungie… I… I am strong for you… always.”

Taehyung let out a soft, approving hum and patted Jungkook’s massive shoulder. “That’s my Koo… my obedient, adorable Baby Face.”

Chapter Text

Jungkook’s second year in art college had begun with the same relentless drive he had always carried. He practiced piano twice as long as other students, notes echoing in the small room where he shared a space with Jimin, his roommate and confidant. But one evening, after hours of scales and exercises, something strange began to happen.

His left hand twitched, jerking uncontrollably over the keys. Jungkook froze, staring at his palm with wide, childlike eyes, as if it were a stranger moving against his will. " Jimin hyung… it… it won’t stop,” he whispered, voice trembling, small and uncertain.

Jimin leaned closer, brows knitting with worry. “Kook… your hand… it’s moving on its own. Are you tired? Overworked?”

Jungkook shook his head, innocence and trust radiating from every line of his face. “No… I… I don’t know… it… it just… does this…”

Jimin swallowed, trying to keep calm. “Alright… okay… let’s stop for tonight. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

But Jungkook, as always, refused. His massive frame, muscles built from years of judo and boxing, trembled slightly as he returned to the piano. His right hand began to falter, missing keys, producing clumsy, discordant notes. Panic flickered across his baby-soft face, tears threatening as he whispered, “Jimin hyung… why… can’t I… play?”

 

---

The next morning, walking across the sunlit campus with Jimin, Jungkook’s usually confident stride faltered. One leg dragged slightly, his balance wobbly.

“Kook… wait, what’s happening?” Jimin asked, steadying him. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“I… I keep tripping,” Jungkook admitted softly, voice small, cheeks burning. His large hands fumbled slightly as he tried to steady himself, betraying the childlike vulnerability beneath his gladiator-like body.

Jimin’s chest tightened. “This… isn’t normal, Kook. Maybe we should—”

“No… Hyungie… I… I’ll be fine… just… let me practice…” Jungkook said firmly, innocence and trust radiating from his wide eyes. Even in fear, he believed he could handle it.

 

---

Later that afternoon, back in the hostel, Jungkook sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at his hands twitching involuntarily. Jimin crouched beside him, silent, watching with increasing alarm.

“Kook… look at me. This isn’t normal,” he said softly. “Your hand, your balance… it’s worrying me.”

Jungkook’s lips trembled, small and uncertain, like a child seeking reassurance. “I… I feel… funny… Hyungie…”

Jimin’s hand landed gently on his shoulder. “Hey… I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

Jungkook leaned slightly against him, trusting Jimin completely. In his mind, everything strange could be endured as long as someone he loved—someone he trusted—was near.

 

---

The heavy bag swayed violently on its chain, every thundering punch echoing like gunfire in the cavernous gym. Jeon Jungkook was relentless, a storm caged in flesh. His body, shirtless, moved with terrifying precision, strong powerful muscles coiling and releasing like bowstrings, veins standing proud along his forearms. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, his ivory-milky skin gleamed as if carved from marble and then polished by sweat, a sheen that turned him into a living sculpture—Michelangelo’s David reborn, but alive, panting, furious.

Each swing of his fists made the ridges of his abdomen tighten, muscles rippling across his torso like waves of liquid steel. His back flexed and curved with every hook, shoulders broad and commanding, skin glowing with a pale opalescence that seemed almost too pure for the brutality of boxing. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple, sliding over the sharp cut of his jaw, dripping onto his collarbone, catching the light in a shimmer that made his exhaustion look almost holy.

Seojoon, standing off to the side, found himself struck silent. As Taehyung’s roommate, he had seen Jungkook in the gym countless times—but never like this. Tonight there was something feverish in the boy’s obsession, something desperate in the way he refused to stop. Jungkook’s muscles flexed and strained as though every fiber in his body was fighting against something unseen.

“Jungkook-ah,” Seojoon finally called, his voice tight, “that’s enough for today.”

But Jungkook only shook his head, strands of dark hair plastered to his damp forehead. His chest glistened, ivory skin shining in a sheen of sweat that clung to every dip and ridge of his lean, muscular frame. He looked like both warrior and martyr—unyielding, radiant, but trembling at the edges.

Seojoon’s unease deepened as Jungkook’s movements grew erratic—his left foot dragging, his right hand twitching between strikes. His punches no longer landed with clean precision, but with a tremor that betrayed his weakening control.

“Stop. I mean it.” Seojoon stepped forward. “Something’s wrong with you.”

“Just… one more,” Jungkook rasped, his voice low and frayed. His glove connected once more with the bag—but instead of rebounding strong, he stumbled back, muscles giving out beneath the sheen of sweat, ivory skin paling beneath the flush of exertion.

“Jungkook!” Seojoon lunged, catching him before he collapsed entirely. The boy sagged in his grip, breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving, his once-mighty muscles twitching helplessly like a bow unstrung.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook whispered, though his lips trembled, though his head lolled against Seojoon’s shoulder.

“No, you’re not.” Seojoon was already fumbling for his phone, dialing with urgent fingers. “Taehyung-ah—come quick. It’s Jungkook. He’s down.”

The gym doors burst open minutes later, Taehyung flying in, his eyes widening at the sight of Jungkook limp in Seojoon’s arms. The younger’s body, once blazing with strength and sheen, now looked fragile despite the still-imposing muscles.

“Kookie,” Taehyung’s voice cracked as he rushed to them, dropping to his knees. His hands cupped Jungkook’s face, thumbs brushing the sweat-streaked ivory skin as though handling something sacred. “What happened?”

Seojoon’s throat bobbed. “He wouldn’t stop. His body just… gave out.”

Jungkook stirred faintly, eyes glassy, lips parting with a weak sound that might have been protest—or plea. His ivory skin, once glowing, now seemed drained, each trembling breath betraying his fragility.

Taehyung gathered him close, sweat and all, whispering fiercely, “It’s okay, my Koo. You don’t have to fight anymore. I’ve got you.”

And as Jungkook slumped against him, muscles twitching weakly beneath his sheen of sweat, Taehyung held him as though the whole world might break if he let go.

 

---

 

Days passed, and the subtle tremors, minor clumsiness, and fleeting spasms began to repeat more frequently. Jimin’s concern grew, his usually cheerful demeanor now shadowed by worry. Jungkook, oblivious to the seriousness, continued to practice, to eat, to laugh, to trust, to live entirely in the present with childlike innocence.

And far away, Taehyung, buried in final-year rehearsals and dance projects, noticed small changes during their brief encounters—the way Jungkook’s hands sometimes hesitated over a piano key, or the slightly off-balance way he walked across the campus lawns. His feline blue eyes narrowed in concern, heart tugging with unease, though he had no idea how serious it truly was yet.

Even as Jungkook’s condition subtly worsened, his trust and devotion never faltered. He remained the same gentle, obedient, childlike giant, clinging to the people he loved, unaware that the world around him had started to shift in a way he could not control.

 

It was late evening in the dance studio. The polished wooden floor reflected the golden glow of the hanging lights. Taehyung stretched along the side, sweating from an hour of hip-hop practice, eyes occasionally flicking toward Jungkook, who sat on the edge of the practice platform, notebook in hand.

Jungkook tried to explain the notes he had been composing for their next duet. Mid-sentence, however, his words faltered. “Hy… hyungie… I… I… I…” His lips trembled, voice halting, as if his mouth didn’t know how to finish the sound.

Taehyung’s deep blue feline eyes sharpened, heart tightening. “Baby Face… you okay?”

“I… I… can’t… say… the… words,” Jungkook whispered, frustration creasing his baby-soft face. He looked down at his hands, twitching as if they, too, were embarrassed to perform.

Taehyung immediately crouched in front of him, hands gently holding Jungkook’s. “Hey… it’s okay. Look at me. I’m here. We’ll figure it out.”

Even as Jungkook tried to speak, his voice trembled with hesitation, a childlike innocence shining through. Taehyung’s heart throbbed, rage at the unfairness of the world mixing with a desperate protectiveness.

A week later, during a joint practice of piano and dance, Jungkook’s timing faltered. He was supposed to play a scale in sync with Taehyung’s slow tango steps.

But his fingers struck the wrong keys repeatedly, producing discordant notes. He blinked rapidly, staring at the keys like a lost child, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Baby Face…” Taehyung stopped mid-step, his slim waist swaying as he looked down at Jungkook. “Koo… what’s happening? You… you’re not in sync. Did you miss a step?”

“I… I… can’t… get it right…” Jungkook whispered, shoulders slumping. Even his massive, muscular body seemed smaller, deflated by confusion.

Taehyung crouched, brushing a damp lock of hair from Jungkook’s forehead. “It’s okay… it’s okay. Don’t be afraid, Baby Face. Hyungie’s here.”

----

Days blurred into evenings filled with practice. Jungkook’s once tireless energy began to falter. He collapsed onto a bench after running through scales, hands trembling over the keys, breath shallow.

“Hyungie… I… I’m… tired… I… I can’t…” he admitted, voice small, almost inaudible, but Jimin had gone home, and Taehyung had just arrived, sweat still glinting on his skin.

Taehyung’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Baby Face… you’ve been overdoing it. Come sit here. Rest.”

Jungkook’s hands fidgeted, never used to yielding control, but he allowed himself to slump against Taehyung’s side. “I… just… want… to practice… better… for you…” His eyes glimmered with naïve devotion.

Taehyung softened immediately, stroking his hair, heart melting at the trust and innocence. “Koo… you don’t have to prove anything. I just want you safe and happy. That’s enough, Baby Face.”

----

 

The early morning sun streamed through the window of the hostel room, illuminating scattered sheet music and empty coffee mugs. Jungkook sat slumped on the edge of his bed, shoulders trembling, his massive hands covering his face.

He had just received the results of his first semester in second year. Jimin had passed with flying colors, his composed smile now tinged with worry. Jungkook… had failed.

Tears welled immediately, streaming down his pale, flawless cheeks, shimmering in the soft sunlight like fragile crystal. He sobbed uncontrollably, body rocking back and forth, the giant boy suddenly reduced to a quivering child. “I… I… can’t… do it… hyungie… I… I’m… no good…”

Jimin’s heart ached. He crouched beside him, trying to offer comfort, but the words felt impotent. He placed a gentle hand on Jungkook’s arm. “Koo… it’s okay… it’s just one semester… we can—”

Jungkook shook his head violently, hiccuping between sobs. “No… Hyungie… it’s all… all… my fault… I… I… I…” His voice broke, impossibly fragile despite the powerful body beneath the oversized hoodie.

Jimin’s attempts to console were useless. The room felt suffocating with despair. With a trembling hand, he pulled out his phone and dialed the one person he knew could anchor Jungkook amidst this storm: Taehyung.

 

On the other side of the campus, the dance studio thumped with the steady beat of music. Taehyung was mid-rehearsal, his slim waist swaying, hips flexing to the rhythm of his classical-hip hop fusion, sweat glinting on his honey-tanned skin. He had just nailed a series of intricate tango lifts, perfect for his final-year assessment, when his phone buzzed.

Seeing Jimin’s name, concern immediately sharpened his feline blue eyes. He snatched up the phone. “Jimin… what’s wrong?”

Jimin’s voice trembled. “Taehyung hyung, it's Jungkook… he…well.. he failed the semesters… and he’s… broken down… can you please come…”

The music, the rehearsal, everything around him vanished. Taehyung didn’t pause to think. He bolted from the studio, heart hammering, long legs eating up the distance across campus. Even the other dancers called after him, but he ignored them, mind focused entirely on Jungkook.

 

---

Back in the hostel, Jungkook had curled into himself, tears soaking the pillow beneath his head. Jimin’s voice was barely registering through the storm of sobs. He tried to say something, anything, but Jungkook’s massive body shook with unrelenting emotion.

Then, the door flung open. Taehyung’s silhouette filled the doorway, drenched in sweat from running, hair sticking to his forehead. His deep blue eyes scanned the room, locking on the small, teary figure of Jungkook.

“Baby Face…” His voice was low but commanding, gentle but impossible to ignore. The room seemed to hush in his presence, the weight of his concern anchoring the chaos of Jungkook’s emotions.

Jungkook’s body stiffened at the sound, and then, as if sensing safety, he lunged forward. “Hyungie…” he cried, arms wrapping around Taehyung’s waist, body shaking violently.

Taehyung knelt, enveloping the giant boy in his arms, stroking his hair and back with tenderness and care. “Shh… shh… it’s okay baby… Hyungie’s here… it’s alright… I’ve got you…”

Jungkook sobbed without restraint, his tears soaking Taehyung’s shirt, massive frame quivering as though the weight of the world pressed down on him. He whispered through hiccups, “Hyungie… I… I’m… stupid… bad… useless…”

“You’re not useless, Baby Face… none of that’s true,” Taehyung murmured, his lips brushing Jungkook’s damp hair. “Listen to me… I will never let anything hurt you. Not failing, not anyone… nothing. You’re mine, Baby Face, and I’ll protect you. Do you understand?”

Jungkook nodded violently, pressing his face harder into Taehyung’s chest, inhaling the familiar scent of honeyed skin and faint sweat, trust radiating from every shiver. “Yes… Hyungie… I… I trust… you…”

Taehyung smiled, pulling him closer, rocking him gently. “Good… that’s my boy. Let it all out. Cry… scream if you need to. I’ll be here until the storm passes. Always.”

Hours passed like that, Jungkook sobbing, exhausted, and Taehyung holding him with unwavering patience, murmuring soft lullabies and encouragement. Finally, the sobs slowed, body melting into the arms that had become his only safe place.

By nightfall, Jungkook had curled into Taehyung’s embrace on the floor beside the bed, exhausted and spent, face nuzzled into his hyung’s neck. Taehyung whispered gently, “Sleep now, Baby Face… Hyungie’s here… no one can touch you…”

Jungkook, finally calm, let himself drift into a restless but safe slumber, entirely trusting that his protector, his Taehyung hyung, would shield him from a world that suddenly seemed frightening and unfair.

 

---

 

The tremors had worsened. What began as brief twitches in his right hand now shook Jungkook’s whole arm, the glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the dorm floor, water spreading in small rivers that glistened in the afternoon light. Jimin rushed to him, heart thudding, his own hands trembling as he caught Jungkook before his body pitched sideways. Jungkook’s face twisted—confusion, then frustration, then a childlike sob, lips trembling.

“D–don’t… tell them,” Jungkook gasped, eyes darting as though he could already see Jimin’s hand reaching for the phone. “I’m f–fine.”

But he wasn’t. Not when his body betrayed him with every seizure that jolted him awake in the middle of the night, not when his right leg dragged clumsily across the floor like a puppet pulled by half-broken strings. Jimin held him close, his heart aching with a brother’s love he could no longer disguise. He couldn’t carry this alone.

That evening, against Jungkook’s tearful protests, Jimin dialed Busan. The words stumbled out of him—tremors, seizures, weakness, something is very wrong. On the other end, silence broke into ragged sobs. Mrs. Jeon’s voice, shattered: “Our baby… oh God, our baby…”

They came on the earliest train, the station air heavy with their fear. Mr. Jeon’s hands trembled as he gripped his son’s shoulders, eyes scanning the pale outline of Jungkook’s face, thinner now, lips bloodless. “Why didn’t you say, Jungkook-ah?” he whispered. Jungkook only turned his face away, shame burning in his eyes, as if admitting weakness was a sin too grave to confess.

 

----

 

The sterile corridors of Seoul National Hospital swallowed them next, the walls humming faintly with machines, the scent of antiseptic sharp. Jungkook lay beneath harsh white lights while neurologists murmured, their words weaving a tapestry of dread: adult-onset Rasmussen encephalitis. The syllables struck like blows. Mrs. Jeon clutched her husband’s sleeve, eyes wide, desperate for denial, but the MRI scans told their silent truth—one hemisphere of Jungkook’s brain caught in a war it could not win.

He was admitted. A narrow bed in the neurology ward became his world, white sheets tucked too tightly around his restless body. Machines blinked beside him, their rhythms cruel reminders of fragility. The Jeons wanted to stay, to hold his hand through every night, but life’s merciless hand tugged them back. Their small supermarket in Busan, already fragile under mounting debts, teetered at the edge of collapse. They kissed his forehead, left trembling prayers in the folds of his blanket, and promised to return.

Jungkook wept when they left. Not the quiet tears of a grown man but the full-bodied sobs of a child, his chest heaving, his fists clutching the sheets. Taehyung arrived then, breathless from the run across campus, hair damp with sweat, eyes wide with determination. He sat beside him and gathered Jungkook’s trembling body against his chest, rocking him gently.

“I’m here,” Taehyung whispered, his voice a steady current in the storm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he wasn’t. Not when exams loomed, not when rehearsals demanded his every muscle and hour. He rearranged his world around Jungkook’s fragility, carving out space to hold him, to guide him, to be his anchor when seizures shook him into exhaustion.

Taehyung fed him spoonfuls of rice porridge, blowing gently on each bite until it cooled, pressing it to Jungkook’s lips with the patience of a saint. Sometimes Jungkook refused, pushing the spoon away with a weak hand, tears spilling over his lashes. “I’m useless,” he choked. Taehyung only cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the salt away, and coaxed him back, soft words wrapping around his fragility like silk.

In the dim light of evening, Taehyung took him to the bathroom. Jungkook’s right leg dragged, the muscles sluggish, his balance precarious. Taehyung braced him with arms firm around his waist, guiding each halting step. In those moments Jungkook’s pride broke into pieces, shame pressing his lips into a trembling line. He leaned his forehead against Taehyung’s shoulder and wept again, body wracked with sobs.

Seizures came without warning, stealing his breath mid-sentence, twisting his body until the muscles screamed. Taehyung was there for every one, pressing him gently to the bed, whispering his name, counting the seconds until the storm eased. Afterwards Jungkook clung to him, trembling, whispering apologies that broke Taehyung’s heart into shards.

 

----

Days blurred into nights. Jungkook’s muscles thinned, the sculpted definition of his body softening under the weight of illness. He was now thinner but still strong in silhouette, but the fight inside him was eroding. His eyes, once so bright and sharp, now glassy, searched constantly for reassurance. Sometimes, he cried simply because Taehyung left to fetch water. Sometimes , he cried without reason at all.

And Taehyung stayed. Always. Even when his professors called, even when practice halls echoed with the absence of his steps. He stayed because Jungkook needed him—needed someone to hold his trembling hands, to wipe his tears, to remind him that he was still here, still loved, still more than this cruel disease.

 

The nights were the hardest.

The neurology ward fell silent after nine, the echo of hurried footsteps replaced by the drone of machines, their steady beeping stitching the darkness into something unbearable. Jungkook often woke then, not from dreams but from the seizures that tore through him like storms breaking across a fragile coast. His right arm jerked, his leg stiffened, his breath caught in his throat.

Taehyung, who slept curled awkwardly on the narrow couch by the window, was on his feet at the first sound. His body had learned Jungkook’s rhythms, the tremors before the quake, the small cry that signaled pain. He would press Jungkook gently against the mattress, palm cupping his cheek, whispering over and over, “It’s okay, baby face. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

When the seizures passed, Jungkook clung to him, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to Taehyung’s skin, his body trembling with exhaustion. Sometimes he cried without sound, tears slipping silently as if ashamed. Other times he wailed like a child abandoned, fists beating weakly against Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung never flinched. He held him through every storm.

 

Meanwhile, his parents called every night from Busan, voices breaking over the line. They wanted to be there, but the supermarket was unraveling. Suppliers demanded payments, shelves emptied, debts grew teeth. They poured everything into hospital bills, wiring what little they made, sending promises wrapped in worry. Jungkook listened to his mother’s soft sobs through the phone, tears sliding down his own face, biting his lip so hard it bled.

“Don’t cry, Mama,” he said one night, voice shaking. “Taehyung hyung is here. Hyung’s taking care of me.”

Taehyung, standing by the window with the city lights casting his shadow long and thin, clenched his fists until his nails marked his palms. He had exams in a month. A lifetime of practice, his final year, everything his professors expected—slipping further from his grasp with every hour spent in this hospital room. But when he turned, saw Jungkook’s thin body curled like a child on the bed, he knew there was no choice.

He belonged here.

He tucked the blanket under Jungkook’s chin, kissed the damp hair at his temple, and whispered, “I’ll be here until the end.”

Chapter Text

The hospital bathroom was a small square of white tiles, the air sharp with disinfectant. At first, Jungkook resisted going in, clutching the bed rails as if the short walk were a battlefield. His right leg dragged stubbornly, the muscles weak, his steps uneven. Taehyung supported him, one arm around his waist, the other steadying his trembling hand, guiding him across the cold floor.

Inside, the harsh fluorescent light illuminated Jungkook’s body—still lean, but the proud definition of his muscles blurred into fragility. He kept his head down, cheeks burning, as Taehyung settled him onto the small plastic stool kept in the corner for patients who couldn’t stand long. The humiliation in Jungkook’s eyes was raw, like a wound laid bare.

“I can do it myself,” he whispered, though both of them knew he couldn’t. His right hand hung slack in his lap, fingers curled weakly, his arm trembling as if carrying invisible weight.

Taehyung crouched before him, voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to. Let me take care of you.”

He dipped the sponge into the basin of warm water, squeezing until it trickled like rain. Gently, he pressed it to Jungkook’s shoulder, letting the warmth spread across cold skin. He moved slowly, reverently, washing each arm, each curve of his chest, wiping carefully around the IV cannula taped to his forearm. Jungkook closed his eyes, his lips quivering as tears slid silently down his cheeks.

When Taehyung reached his right side—the side that no longer obeyed—Jungkook turned his face away, whispering, “Don’t… it’s useless.”

Taehyung only shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “Every part of you matters. Even this.” He cupped Jungkook’s limp hand in his palm, washing it with infinite patience, as though polishing a fragile relic.

The hardest moments were after Jungkook relieved himself. The first time it happened, he wept bitterly, his pride splintering. His body no longer listened—sometimes his bladder betrayed him before he reached the toilet, sometimes he couldn’t manage the strength to clean himself after.

Taehyung never flinched. He crouched down, wiping Jungkook gently, his movements clinical yet tender, as though protecting Jungkook’s dignity even when dignity was impossible. “It’s just me,” he murmured, his voice steady against Jungkook’s sobs. “It’s only me. You don’t need to be ashamed.”

Jungkook clung to him afterwards, forehead pressed against his chest, whispering through broken sobs, “I’m disgusting… I’m nothing.”

Taehyung stroked his damp hair, rocking him like a mother soothing her child. “You’re everything,” he said fiercely. “You hear me? You’re everything to me.”

Sometimes, when Jungkook was too weak to walk, Taehyung bathed him entirely at the bedside. He filled a bowl with warm water, wrung out a cloth, and wiped him down piece by piece, changing his gown, combing through his damp hair with gentle fingers. When Jungkook cried—sometimes from pain, sometimes from shame, sometimes from nothing at all—Taehyung kissed his temple and whispered, “Shh, baby face, I’ve got you.”

For every humiliation the illness forced upon him, Taehyung answered with love, turning each act of care into something sacred. What should have been degrading became intimate, almost holy, because Taehyung carried it not as duty but as devotion.

And though Jungkook’s body betrayed him more each day, his eyes—when they lifted to meet Taehyung’s—were filled not only with sorrow, but with a fragile, desperate trust.

 

The night it happened for the first time, Jungkook woke up sobbing.

Taehyung stirred from the narrow visitor’s cot beside the bed, heart lurching at the sound. He rushed over and found Jungkook curled in a wet patch, sheets damp beneath him, his pajama bottoms soaked. Jungkook’s face was twisted in shame, tears streaming, his left hand weakly pulling at the sheets as if trying to hide himself.

“Hyungie… s-sowwy…” Jungkook stammered, voice breaking like glass. “Koo… bad… dirty…”

Taehyung’s chest constricted painfully. He cupped Jungkook’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears. “No, baby. No. You’re not dirty. You’re sick, and it’s not your fault. Do you hear me? Hyungie’s not angry. Hyungie will fix it.”

Jungkook sobbed harder, clutching Taehyung’s wrist with his good hand. His whole body rocked with shame, eyes squeezed shut.

Taehyung pressed a kiss to his damp hair. “Shh… Baby face, look at me. Who’s my good boy? You are. Always. This doesn’t change anything.”

 

Morning came with the rustle of white coats and the squeak of rubber soles on polished linoleum. The neurology team arrived as they always did—three residents trailing behind the attending physician, clipboards tucked under their arms, pens poised like scalpels. Their voices were low at first, a murmur outside the door, then they entered in a small column, their faces professional masks.

Jungkook hated this part. He curled slightly on the bed, thin fingers twisting the edge of his blanket as if it could shield him. His right arm, stiff and heavy, lay across his lap, useless. Taehyung, seated beside him, rose quickly and stood straight, protective, as though his presence alone might soften the questions.

“Good morning, Jeon Jungkook-ssi,” the attending greeted, his voice kind but measured. He was a tall man with graying temples, the kind of doctor who carried authority like a second skin. He scanned the chart, eyes flicking between lines of lab results, MRI notes, seizure logs.

“How was the night?” he asked, though his gaze lingered on Taehyung.

“Two seizures,” Taehyung answered softly. “One around eleven, another at three in the morning. Each lasted about ninety seconds. He was very restless after, a lot of crying.” His voice did not falter, though his eyes burned from sleeplessness.

The resident scribbled furiously. The attending nodded. “And the pain? Any episodes?”

Jungkook’s lips parted, but no words came. His throat worked as if the syllables were too heavy. Taehyung placed a hand gently on his knee. “Yes… he woke up clutching his head, especially on the right side. Said it felt like burning. We gave the prescribed pain medicine, but it didn’t ease quickly.”

The doctors exchanged looks—knowing, grave. The resident asked next, clinical but direct, “Any bladder or bowel accidents?”

Jungkook’s face flushed crimson, eyes darting down. His fingers tightened on the blanket until his knuckles blanched. Tears brimmed. He shook his head in denial though his silence betrayed him.

Taehyung stepped in without hesitation, his tone steady, his chest lifting like a shield. “Yes. It’s happening more often now. At night, and sometimes during the day. I’ve been cleaning him and changing his clothes. He… he’s very embarrassed.”

The attending’s gaze softened, just for a moment. He scribbled a note, then leaned closer, speaking gently. “This is part of the illness, Jungkook-ssi. It doesn’t make you less. Your body is simply struggling. We will manage it.”

But Jungkook couldn’t meet his eyes. His tears spilled over, rolling silently down his cheeks. Taehyung sat back on the bed, pulling him into his side, pressing a kiss into his damp hair. “Did you hear that? It’s not your fault. It’s just the illness. Nothing about you has changed.”

The attending cleared his throat, professional tone returning. “We’ll arrange for incontinence care—adult diapers, better bedding, nursing assistance. But given the close support you’re providing…” His eyes lingered on Taehyung, acknowledging without saying. “…he’s in safe hands.”

The team murmured thanks, turned to leave. As they filed out, the youngest resident glanced back once more, eyes flicking to the way Jungkook clung to Taehyung’s hand like a lifeline. There was something in that look—a silent recognition of devotion that no chart could record.

When the door closed, the ward fell quiet again, only the soft hum of machines and Jungkook’s broken sobs filling the air. Taehyung gathered him up, rocking him slowly. “Shh, baby face,” he whispered. “Don’t cry. I’m here. Always.”

And in that sterile, whitewashed room, where sickness stripped Jungkook of so much, Taehyung’s love rebuilt him piece by piece.

 

That morning, after a quiet, difficult conversation with the doctors, adult-sized diapers were brought discreetly to the room. Taehyung took them from the nurse with steady hands, though his heart ached. When the nurse offered to help, Taehyung shook his head firmly. “I’ll do it. He trusts me.”

Later, when Jungkook had another accident, Taehyung spoke gently as he changed him, treating the moment as tenderly as if he were buttoning Jungkook into a fresh shirt. Jungkook lay there with tears streaking down his face, whimpering, “Hyungie, don’t look… Koo shame…”

“Baby, look at me,” Taehyung whispered, sliding the clean diaper under him with slow, careful hands. “There’s no shame. Do you think I’d love you less because of this? Never. If anything, I’ll love you more. Because now you need me.”

Jungkook sniffled, staring at him through wet lashes. “Hyungie… promise?”

“I promise,” Taehyung said, sealing the tapes snugly and pulling the blanket over him. “You’re mine to care for. Always.” He kissed Jungkook’s forehead as if sealing a vow.

From then on, diapers became part of their days. The rustle of plastic, the sweet scent of baby powder, the way Jungkook would cling to Taehyung’s hand during each change, eyes wide and vulnerable like a child afraid of rejection. And every time, Taehyung soothed him with the same words, steady as heartbeat: You’re my baby. You’re my Koo. You’re not dirty. You’re mine.

 

By the third day, the nurses’ prediction came true. Jungkook’s skin, so pale and delicate, began to flush an angry red where the diaper rubbed against his thighs and lower back. The rash spread quickly, small patches of irritation blooming into raw, tender marks. Each movement made him flinch.

“Hyungie…hurts,” Jungkook whimpered one afternoon, his fingers clutching Taehyung’s sleeve, eyes glossy with tears. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, the rustle of the diaper loud in the quiet room.

Taehyung’s chest tightened at the sight. He had noticed the redness earlier while cleaning him, but now it was undeniable. He excused himself, speaking quietly with the nurse. When he returned, his arms were filled with supplies: gentle wipes, rash cream, soft cloths, a stack of fresh diapers. His face was steady, though inside his heart ached so badly he wanted to cry with Jungkook.

He set everything carefully on the bedside table, then crouched beside Jungkook, smoothing damp hair from his forehead. “Baby” he said softly, “we’re going to take care of this. I’ll be extra gentle, I promise.”

Jungkook’s lips trembled. “D-don’t look… Koo dirty…”

“You’re never dirty,” Taehyung murmured firmly, kissing his temple. “You’re mine, and I’ll keep you clean.”

With slow, reverent movements, he unfastened the tapes and peeled the diaper away. Jungkook whimpered, turning his face to the pillow in shame, but Taehyung never looked away. He lifted Jungkook’s fragile hips with steady arms, sliding a clean towel beneath him. With warmed wipes, he cleaned carefully—every fold, every curve of skin—pausing whenever Jungkook flinched, whispering reassurances.

“Shhh… I know, baby. I know it stings. Just a little more, and it’ll feel better.”

Jungkook sobbed softly, clutching Taehyung’s free hand with both of his. His right hand, weak and trembling, barely managed to hold on, but Taehyung squeezed gently, letting him feel anchored.

When the skin was clean, Taehyung opened the cream, its faint medicinal scent filling the room. He warmed it between his palms before applying, massaging it gently over the rash with fingertips light as feathers. Jungkook whimpered at first, but soon sighed, his tense body easing as the cool ointment soothed the burn.

“There,” Taehyung whispered, as if speaking to a frightened child. “Hyungie’s making it better.”

Fresh diaper under him, tapes sealed snugly, Taehyung covered Jungkook with the soft blanket and pressed a kiss to his damp cheek. “See? All clean. All fresh. My baby Koo.”

Jungkook’s eyes, wet and wide, lifted to him. “Hyungie… you don’t hate me? Like this?”

Taehyung’s boxy smile broke through his tears. “Hate you? Jungkookie, I’ve never loved you more. Do you know why? Because now I get to take care of you. And you let me.”

Jungkook buried his face against Taehyung’s chest then, sobbing quietly. Taehyung rocked him slowly, the faint rustle of the diaper mingling with the sound of Jungkook’s muffled cries.

That night, before tucking him in, Taehyung checked the rash again, cleaning and soothing as gently as the first time. Jungkook clung to him throughout, whispering in a small, broken voice, “Hyungie-mama… don’t leave…”

“I won’t,” Taehyung promised, brushing his lips against Jungkook’s hair. “Not tonight, not ever. You’re mine, baby face. And I’ll protect every part of you—even the ones you think are shameful.”

Jungkook fell asleep like that, curled against him, skin freshly powdered, the faint scent of cream lingering in the room. And Taehyung sat awake long into the night, watching the rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest, guarding his fragile baby against a world that had already taken too much.

 

The late afternoon sun fell weakly across the whitewashed walls of the neurology ward, turning the room into a wash of pale gold. The monitors hummed softly, IV line dripping its steady rhythm into Jungkook’s fragile body. For hours he had been quiet, lying curled under the blanket, his lashes damp against his cheeks from earlier tears. But then it began again—the headache.

It came like a tide swallowing him whole, pressing sharp and merciless into his skull. His brows furrowed, his lips trembled, and suddenly he was whimpering, small broken sounds that pierced the sterile quiet of the room. His fists clutched at the sheets, knuckles whitening, body twisting as though trying to shake the pain away.

“Hyungie… h-hurts,” Jungkook gasped, his voice thin and childlike, eyes wide with fear. “Make it stop… please, make it stop…”

Taehyung was beside him in an instant, dragging the chair close, his large hands cupping Jungkook’s damp face. “Shhh, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing sweat-soaked strands of hair off Jungkook’s forehead. He leaned close, voice low and steady, as though his words alone could build a shield. “Breathe with me. In… out… in… out. You’re not alone.”

But Jungkook shook his head, tears sliding down his temples. His legs kicked weakly under the blanket, his right arm twitching uselessly, the hemiparesis leaving him half-trapped in his own body. “It’s too much, hyungie… my head’s breaking… I c-can’t…” His words dissolved into sobs, choked and raw, the sound of a child who no longer knew how to bear pain.

Taehyung gathered him carefully against his chest, the boy’s thin frame trembling, his damp cheek pressed over Taehyung’s racing heart. He rocked him gently, almost instinctively, like a mother calming a feverish toddler. “You’re my baby, Koo,” he murmured again and again, lips brushing Jungkook’s temple. “You’re safe. Let it out. Cry if you need to. I’ll hold you through it.”

And Jungkook did—he sobbed like a child, clinging with his good hand to the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt, soaking it with tears. Every time a wave of pain surged through his head, he whimpered pitifully, “Hyungie, don’t go… d-don’t leave me…”

“I’ll never leave you.” Taehyung’s arms tightened around him, his thumb tracing soothing circles into the back of Jungkook’s neck. He whispered little promises into his ear, steady as a heartbeat: “I’ll always be here. Even if it hurts, we’ll face it together. You’re not fighting alone anymore.”

The nurses slipped in quietly, checking his vitals, adjusting the IV, one of them preparing an injection for the pain. Jungkook whimpered at the sight of the needle, hiding his face deeper into Taehyung’s chest. “No, no, no,” he cried softly, shaking his head like a frightened child.

Taehyung kissed the crown of his head, murmuring into his hair. “It’s just a little poke, baby. And then the pain will ease. I’ll hold you the whole time. Close your eyes for me, hmm?”

With Taehyung’s voice steady in his ear and his arms a fortress around him, Jungkook let the nurse slip the medicine into his IV. Soon the edge of the pain dulled, his sobs turning into hiccups, his lashes fluttering against Taehyung’s shirt. Still, he clung tightly, his small voice whispering through the tears, “Hyungie… stay… Kook scared…”

“I’ll stay.” Taehyung rocked him slowly, humming a lullaby under his breath, the kind of sound that made even the sterile ward feel like home. He stroked Jungkook’s back until the boy finally sagged, exhaustion taking over, his breathing evening out in broken sighs.

Taehyung leaned down, kissing his damp cheek gently. “Sleep, baby. I’ll keep watch. Your pain is mine now.”

And in that fragile quiet, Jungkook slept cradled against him, while Taehyung sat with eyes wide open, determined to be the shield his baby needed against every shadow.

 

---

The neurology ward was hushed except for the faint squeak of rubber soles and the endless hum of monitors. Taehyung sat in the chair by Jungkook’s bed, his hand absentmindedly stroking Jungkook’s hair as his boyfriend dozed. His eyes were ringed with shadows—ten days until his final dance exams, ten days until everything he had trained years for was decided. Yet he hadn’t stepped foot in the practice halls for weeks. His entire world was this pale figure in the hospital bed.

The door opened. Seojoon and Bogum slipped in quietly, their faces drawn, voices soft at first.

“Tae,” Seojoon began, standing by the bed, “why didn’t you pick up? We’ve been calling all week.”

Bogum crossed his arms, frustration flickering. “Even professors are talking, hyung. They say a student like you—throwing away your finals? It’s a waste. A huge waste. You’ve worked so hard for four years.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. He turned his head, whispering, “I can’t leave him.”

“Tae,” Seojoon pressed, “no one’s asking you to abandon him forever. Just… study, sit the exam, then come back. Jungkook wouldn’t want this either.”

Taehyung’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to Jungkook’s sleeping figure. His heart tore in two directions—his dream and his love. He shook his head finally. “I won’t. Don’t ask me again.”

The conversation moved into the hallway, voices fading. But Jungkook had stirred, his lashes trembling. Though he kept his body still, his ears strained. He caught enough—professors, waste, selfish. Words that stabbed deeper than seizures ever could. His chest burned as though he were choking. When Taehyung went to fetch lunch, leaving Seojoon and Bogum by his side, the whispers grew sharper.

“It’s selfish, honestly,” Bogum muttered. “Taehyung’s whole future, tied down here. Jungkook should at least let him go study.”

“Yeah,” Seojoon sighed. “He’s not the only one suffering. Doesn’t he see Tae is crumbling too?”

Jungkook lay still, eyes shut tight. But tears slipped out, hot trails down his temples. His hand clutched the pillow, and when they finally left, he buried his face in it, biting down to stifle his sobs. His thin shoulders shook, his chest heaved, and still he cried, as though the words had split him open.

When Taehyung returned, balancing a tray with rice porridge and a small glass cup of chocolate mousse, he found Jungkook curled tight, body trembling.

“Baby face?” Taehyung whispered, setting the tray aside. He leaned over the bed, brushing the damp hair from Jungkook’s forehead. Jungkook turned his face, and Taehyung’s breath caught. His eyes were swollen and red, cheeks wet, tears leaking even now.

“Oh, my Koo…” Taehyung gathered him close, lifting Jungkook’s frail body against his chest. “Shh, baby. Hyungie’s here. Why are you crying so much? Did someone tell you something bad? Who dared to make my baby cry, hmm?” His voice was half-coaxing, half-fierce, but Jungkook only shook his head stubbornly, tears dripping onto Taehyung’s shirt.

Taehyung kissed his temple, rocking him gently. Then he settled him back against the pillows, pulling the tray closer. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, blowing on it until it cooled, then pressed it to Jungkook’s trembling lips. “Open up, baby. Just one bite.”

Jungkook sniffled but obeyed, parting his lips. He chewed slowly, swallowing like a child. More tears fell, but Taehyung caught them with his thumb, smiling gently.

“See? That’s my good boy,” he whispered. He fed him spoon after spoon, wiping the corners of his mouth each time. Jungkook opened his lips without protest, like a toddler being fed by his mother, his wide wet eyes fixed only on Taehyung.

When the porridge was gone, Taehyung lifted the mousse. “And now, your favorite.” His boxy smile lit his tired face. “Sweet for my sweet.”

Jungkook’s lips trembled, but he leaned forward obediently for the spoon. The rich chocolate melted on his tongue, and a small sound escaped him, a whimper halfway between sorrow and comfort.

Taehyung chuckled softly. “Hmm? My baby likes it, right?”

Jungkook nodded, another tear slipping down.

Taehyung tipped his head, pretending to pout. “Then tell me, did those two rascals say something to you? Huh, baby? Did they make you cry?” His tone grew mock-threatening, but his eyes stayed soft.

Jungkook shook his head stubbornly again, though he opened his mouth for the next spoonful of mousse, lips trembling as the chocolate slid in.

Taehyung kissed the crown of his head, murmuring, “Doesn’t matter. Even if the whole world says otherwise, you’ll always be my baby. My only Koo.”

And Jungkook, fed and comforted, clung to him, still sobbing, but quieter now—as though wrapped in the only truth he could still believe: Taehyung’s arms, Taehyung’s voice, Taehyung’s endless love.

---

 

One day to the exam.

Taehyung sat on the edge of Jungkook’s bed, his weary eyes full of love and ache. He smoothed the damp strands of hair from Jungkook’s forehead, speaking softly, slowly, the way one explains to a child too fragile for the world.

“Baby… hyungie has to go tomorrow. Just for a little while. Hyungie needs to sit for the exam. If I don’t, all this hard work… all these years… it will go to waste. But listen to me, baby—hyungie will come right back to you. Right back.” His voice was steady, gentle, as if wrapping Jungkook in a lullaby.

Jungkook’s wide doe eyes filled with tears, shimmering under the pale hospital light. His lips trembled, and his frail voice broke into sobs as he whispered, “H-hyungie… please… d-do your best. F-for… J-jungkookie. Jungkook… w-wish you… the best.” His body quivered as he tried to hold back the sobs, but they spilled anyway, fragile and childlike.

Taehyung’s throat tightened, his arms gathering Jungkook close, feeling the sharp bones, the too-thin frame, the pale coldness of his skin. He pressed him against his chest, rocking him softly, whispering, “Yes, baby… I promise. I’ll do my best. For you. Always for you.”

He kissed Jungkook’s temple, tucked him in carefully, and patted his back until at last the younger boy’s exhausted eyes slid shut, lashes wet with tears. “Sleep now, baby Koo,” Taehyung whispered, brushing one last kiss to his cheek. And when Jungkook’s breathing grew deep with sleep, Taehyung slipped away—his heart torn in two—leaving for campus in the cover of night.

But the silence of the ward did not hold. Hours later, Jungkook woke. His eyes opened to emptiness, the space beside him cold. Panic rose. His lips parted, and a weak cry broke free.

“H-hyungie…? M-mama…?”

The sound cracked like glass. His voice grew louder, raw, desperate, “Hyungie! Hyungie! M-mama, don’t l-leave me…!” His frail hands clutched the sheets, his chest heaving as sobs overtook him.

Nurses rushed in, alarm flashing across their faces. They tried to soothe him, speaking softly, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, Jungkook-ssi. Hyung will come back. Shh, don’t cry.”

But he wouldn’t stop. His sobs only grew, ragged and piercing, shaking his thin body. His breathing hitched into gasps, his trembling escalating until suddenly—his body jerked violently, a seizure seizing him like a storm. The monitors screamed. His back arched, his lips turning pale, his fingers clawing at the air as tears still streaked his cheeks.

“Seizure! Get the IV ready!” a nurse shouted. They held him down carefully, voices urgent yet tender. Jungkook whimpered, choking on sobs between the convulsions, still trying to call, “H-hyungie…”

At last, the IV sedatives slipped into his vein, the medicine flooding his fragile body. The tremors slowed. His cries weakened, breaking into pitiful whimpers. And then, finally, his lashes fluttered shut, though his cheeks glistened with the stains of tears.

Even sedated, his lips parted as if whispering one last plea: hyungie… don’t leave me.

The nurses stood there in silence, their hearts breaking at the sight. A boy so young, reduced to fragility, crying himself into seizures for the one person who was his anchor.

 

---

Chapter Text

The hospital room felt emptier than ever without Taehyung. The walls seemed to stretch further away, the night longer, the shadows darker. Jungkook lay curled up on his side, his thin body trembling under the blanket. His lips quivered as he whispered into the silence, “h..hyungie… m..mama…” His voice broke, small and needy, as if calling for someone who had vanished into the dark.

The nurses peeked in often, bringing water, checking on him, but Jungkook wouldn’t meet their eyes. He only clutched the edge of his blanket and whimpered, “koo wan’ hyungie… hyungie come back… pwease…” His doe eyes, red from crying, searched the door every time footsteps passed, as if Taehyung might suddenly appear. But the door always stayed closed.

That first night he cried until his frail body shook, his breath hitching in small sobs. His words tangled together, “no go… no go… jungkookie sowwy… be good… be good…” The nurses tried to comfort him, but he pushed them away, too lost in his fear. His body gave way in a small fit, limbs jerking as his cries dissolved into trembling. They soothed him, gave medicine through his IV, and slowly he sagged back into the bed, weak tears still running down his cheeks even as sleep dragged him under.

The days blurred together. Jungkook hardly ate, his once-strong body shrinking further, ivory skin paling like wax. Sometimes he sat staring at the ceiling, eyes blank, lips moving faintly as if reciting to himself, “hyungie love koo… hyungie no leave… hyungie pwomise…” At other times he reached his arms out suddenly, as though expecting Taehyung to lift him, whispering, “up… hyungie… hold koo up…” before realizing there were only nurses. His face would crumple then, tears spilling silently, childlike sobs muffled against his blanket.

At night, his cries returned, fragile and broken. “mama… hyungie… koo scawed…” His voice echoed faintly in the ward, a sound so pitiful that even the nurses felt their hearts ache. They stroked his hair, tried humming softly, but it wasn’t Taehyung’s warmth, not the embrace Jungkook longed for.

By the third night, his weakness deepened. He no longer cried loudly but whimpered softly, exhausted, eyes glassy. His words slurred, fragile whispers against the pillow: “hyungie… koo wait… koo wait… you pwomise…” He drifted in and out of restless sleep, hands twitching, chest rising and falling unevenly, as though even dreams could not soothe him.

The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for Taehyung to return, while Jungkook’s world crumbled quietly without him.

---

The afternoon light slanted through the blinds, dust motes swirling lazily in the air. Jungkook sat propped against the pillows, his eyes distant, blank as if the world before him was half-faded. When the door creaked open, his head turned slowly, wide doe eyes uncertain, like a child waiting to see if the figure stepping in was friend or stranger.

“Kookie,” Jimin whispered softly, voice filled with a warmth that wrapped the sterile air of the room in gentleness. He came closer, a small smile tugging his lips. “It’s Jiminie hyungie. Do you remember me?”

Jungkook blinked, lips parting. His brow furrowed, then smoothed again, as though memory was a fragile thread slipping through trembling fingers. “Ji…min…?” His voice broke around the syllables, hesitant, as though the name was both strange and familiar.

“Yes, baby,” Jimin said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “Your Jiminie hyungie. We used to walk together on campus, remember? You always liked to sit by the big fountain after class.”

Jungkook shook his head weakly, his lower lip trembling. “N…no…no… d..don’ know…” His chest heaved as confusion tangled with fear, tears welling up in his eyes. He curled his hands in the blanket, clutching it tightly as if to anchor himself. “whewe… hyungie…? why… no ’member?” His voice cracked, small and broken, like a lost child.

“Shh… it’s okay,” Jimin soothed, gathering him gently into his arms, careful of his frail body. “It’s okay, Koo. You don’t have to remember. I’m here, right now. That’s all that matters.”

At first Jungkook resisted, trembling, eyes darting with panic. But then Jimin’s hand stroked his hair the way Taehyung always did, soft and rhythmic, and Jungkook’s rigid body melted against him. He clung desperately, tiny sobs pressed into Jimin’s chest, fingers clutching at his shirt like a frightened toddler afraid to be let go.

“Hyungie… don’ go,” Jungkook whispered between sobs, voice muffled. “Pwease stay… stay wit’ koo…”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Jimin murmured, kissing the crown of his damp hair. “You’re safe. You’re loved. That’s all you need to know.”

Jungkook nodded weakly, though the confusion didn’t leave his eyes. Still, in Jimin’s embrace, the storm of fear quieted for a moment, and he nestled closer, clinging as if Jimin was the only thing keeping his fragile world from crumbling entirely.

 

---

The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound for a long while, each second loud in the quiet hospital room. Jungkook lay slumped against Jimin’s chest, his breaths shallow, hitching softly as though each inhale cost him effort. His doe eyes were glassy, swollen from crying, and his lips trembled with the weight of words he couldn’t quite find.

“Hyungie…” his voice came out broken, no louder than a whimper. “Koo… f-forget evewything… Koo… bad… bad b-bwain…” His hand lifted clumsily, tapping his temple in frustration.

“No, no,” Jimin hushed at once, catching the hand and pressing it firmly to his own chest. “Don’t you ever say that, Baby Koo. You’re not bad. You’re just tired, that’s all. Your brain is tired.” His tone was gentle but unyielding, like a mother refusing to let her child sink into self-blame.

Jungkook’s mouth quivered, his voice muffled against Jimin’s shoulder. “Koo… no ’member you… no ’member fount’n… o-or cam…pus… Jiminie hyungie mad?”

Jimin’s heart cracked open. He tightened his hold, cheek pressed against Jungkook’s damp hair. “How could I be mad at you? Never. Even if you forget every place, every thing, you’ll never forget me here—” he touched Jungkook’s chest lightly— “and I’ll never forget you. I’ll remind you every single time.”

Jungkook whimpered, arms clutching at Jimin’s waist, afraid to let go. His eyes were wide and tear-glossed, like a lost child in the dark.

To soothe him, Jimin reached over to the bedside tray where a small bowl of sliced apples sat. “Baby, open up,” he coaxed softly, picking up a piece with the fork. Jungkook shook his head at first, lips pressed together in a pout, but when Jimin patiently waited, smiling warmly, he parted his mouth and accepted the bite. Jimin fed him slowly, one piece at a time, wiping the juice that dribbled down his chin with a tissue, murmuring, “Good boy. That’s it. My Baby Koo.”

Afterwards, Jimin took the comb from the drawer and carefully ran it through Jungkook’s damp, tangled hair. Each stroke was slow, tender, undoing knots with patience. Jungkook leaned into the touch, his lashes fluttering, looking almost soothed. “Hyungie… like mama,” he whispered drowsily, and Jimin’s throat tightened.

When Jungkook shifted uncomfortably, Jimin realized what he needed. “Come, baby,” he said gently, slipping his arms under Jungkook’s armpits to guide him toward the bathroom. Jungkook resisted weakly, cheeks burning with shame. “N-no… Koo embawass…”

“Nothing embarrassing,” Jimin reassured, steady as stone. “You’re my Baby Koo. Let hyung help.” He kept his tone firm yet tender, lowering his voice as though the world outside didn’t exist. Jungkook trembled but leaned into him, allowing himself to be guided, clutching Jimin’s hand as though it was a lifeline.

Back in bed, Jungkook clung tighter, his voice shaking. “Hyungie… don’ weave Koo…”

“I won’t,” Jimin whispered, tucking him beneath the blanket and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not now, not ever.”

Jungkook’s damp eyes finally fluttered closed, his fingers still gripping Jimin’s shirt as though afraid of being left alone. Even in sleep, he whimpered softly, his lips moving with faint, broken words. Jimin stayed, stroking his hair, humming low like a lullaby, a guardian against the shadows that were stealing Jungkook’s memories piece by piece.

 

---

 

The next morning sunlight spilled weakly across the hospital ward, pale and cold. The door swung open and Taehyung entered with quick steps, his hair damp from the morning air, his face bright with a rare smile. He had done it—finished his exams at last, his final degree work complete. His chest was light with relief, his heart eager to share the good news with the one person he had missed more than breath itself.

But the moment his eyes fell on Jungkook, the brightness drained from his face. Jungkook lay propped up against pillows, his lips parted as if words wanted to come but refused to obey. His once sharp gaze was foggy now, doe eyes wide and frightened, flicking back and forth as though searching for something he could not grasp.

“Baby…” Taehyung whispered, kneeling quickly by the bedside. He brushed the damp hair from Jungkook’s forehead, trying to smile for him, but the boy only blinked at him slowly, his lips trembling without sound.

The doctors entered soon after, white coats whispering against the floor. The atmosphere shifted, heavier, as they gathered around the bed with clipboards in hand. Dr. Kim Namjoon, his voice calm but firm, spoke first.

“In Jungkook’s latest MRI,” he began, glancing at Taehyung with measured gravity, “we see progression. The disease has spread to both hemispheres now. His speech difficulties are worsening because his left hemisphere—the dominant side—is heavily involved.”

Taehyung felt the air leave his chest. His hand tightened over Jungkook’s limp fingers.

The doctor continued, his voice lowering as if gentleness could soften the blow. “Surgery is urgent. Without it, the seizures will escalate. His condition will deteriorate further.”

Behind them, Jungkook’s parents sat stiffly in plastic chairs, their faces ashen. Mrs. Jeon dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, while Mr. Jeon kept his gaze low, fists clenched on his knees.

Dr. Namjoon’s words pressed heavier. “But I must warn you. We will have to remove the left hemisphere. That means Jungkook will lose his ability to speak permanently. He will never talk again.”

Silence fell. The weight of the sentence seemed to still the very air in the room.

Jungkook’s eyes lifted slowly to the doctors, wide and liquid, but empty of comprehension. He didn’t understand the words—only the tones, the heaviness in the room, the way Taehyung’s jaw clenched beside him. He stared at Namjoon blankly, chest rising and falling too quickly, like a child lost among strangers.

“Hyungie…?” Jungkook whispered finally, the syllables broken, the sound trembling out of him like glass about to shatter. He looked at Taehyung with fearful doe eyes, begging for an answer, for safety.

Taehyung leaned close at once, cupping his cheeks, forcing his own trembling lips to curve into something reassuring. “I’m here, baby. Don’t be scared. Hyungie’s right here.” His voice cracked but he steadied it, though his face grew graver than ever. He kissed Jungkook’s forehead, hiding the storm brewing in his chest.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jeon stood abruptly, his decision breaking like thunder. “Do it,” he said hoarsely, his voice rough with both shame and resolve. “Do the surgery. I’ll… I’ll take the loan. Whatever it costs. Just… save my son.”

Mrs. Jeon broke into fresh sobs, clutching her husband’s sleeve. The doctor gave a solemn nod. Arrangements began at once, hushed calls and papers rustling, but for Taehyung and Jungkook, the world shrank to the tiny hospital bed.

Jungkook clung to Taehyung’s sleeve, tears beginning to fill his eyes without him even knowing why. He didn’t understand the words “hemisphere” or “speech” or “loan,” but he understood the grief in the air. His lips moved, soundless, before the broken whisper slipped out again—“Hyungie…”

Taehyung gathered him into his arms, holding his fragile body close, whispering against his hair, “I won’t leave you, baby. No matter what. Even if you can’t speak… you’ll still have me. Always.”

And though his voice was steady, his heart inside felt like it was breaking in two.

 

---

 

That evening, after the doctors left and the signatures were given, the ward felt different. Quieter. Heavier. As though the walls themselves held their breath.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon lingered by Jungkook’s bedside. His mother sat close, her hands trembling as they cupped his face. “My son… my beautiful boy,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You must be brave now. Mama loves you.”

Jungkook blinked up at her, his lips parting. Words tangled at the tip of his tongue, slipping away before they could form. He frowned, his forehead creasing, and tried again. “M…ma…ma…” The sound was jagged, broken, his voice trembling with effort.

Mrs. Jeon’s tears streamed freely as she stroked his cheek. “Yes, baby. Mama’s here. Don’t force yourself.”

But Jungkook was stubborn. His throat worked, his lips moved, he fought with everything he had left. “L…luh… luh…love… Ma…ma…” His voice cracked and collapsed into sobs, frustrated tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

“Oh my baby…” Mrs. Jeon gathered him against her chest, her hand smoothing his hair, her own sobs mixing with his. “I know. I know you love me. And I love you more than the world.”

At last, Mr. Jeon, though silent and stern, touched his son’s shoulder. His calloused hand trembled as he squeezed gently, before helping his wife to her feet. They had to leave—to chase signatures, arrange money, face the shadow of loan sharks waiting outside the hospital gates.

“Rest now, Jungkook,” Mrs. Jeon whispered through her tears. “We’ll come back tomorrow. Be strong for Mama, hm?”

Jungkook stared after them with wide, fearful eyes, his lips still working uselessly, his voice caught in his throat. The door shut softly, leaving only silence—and Taehyung.

Taehyung slid into the chair by the bed and caught Jungkook’s hand in both of his. He kissed each trembling knuckle, whispering, “They’ll be back, baby. You have me tonight.”

Jungkook’s eyes shone wet. His mouth opened and closed, sounds broken and misplaced spilling out—“H…hy…uh… h-hy…ungie…”

“Yes, baby. Hyungie’s here,” Taehyung soothed, brushing his thumb over Jungkook’s hand.

“Luh… luhh…” Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his whole body trembling with the strain of speech. “L…luhh…voo… hy…ungie.”

Taehyung’s chest ached so deeply it felt like it might shatter. He leaned down, his forehead against Jungkook’s damp hair, tears pricking his own eyes. “I love you too, baby. You don’t need words. I feel it in every breath, every touch. My Koo, my baby, my heart.”

Jungkook whimpered softly, a broken smile twitching at his lips. He clung weakly to Taehyung’s sleeve, his voice reduced to fragments: “Koo…hy…ungie…baby…luhhh.”

Taehyung hushed him, gathering his fragile body close, swaying him gently like a child, rocking him against his chest. “Shh… don’t push yourself. I know. I know you love me. Just rest now. Tomorrow, I’ll be right here holding your hand.”

He tucked Jungkook beneath the blankets, smoothing his hair with tender fingers, then sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his back until his trembling eased. Jungkook, eyes fluttering, still whispered through the haze of exhaustion, “Hy…ungie…promise…Koo…”

Taehyung kissed his forehead, whispering into the silence, “Yes, baby. Hyungie promises.”

 

---

The afternoon sun slanted through the hospital blinds, painting pale stripes across the bed where Jungkook lay, body thinner now and fragile, ivory skin almost glowing against the stark white sheets. His right arm twitched restlessly, his eyes wide, unfocused, like he was trying to catch a thought that kept slipping away.

Taehyung knelt beside him, calm and steady, lifting him gently. “Shh… it’s okay, baby. Hyungie’s here. We’ll get you all clean, okay?”

Jungkook whimpered softly, words breaking apart into fragments, “…hy…hy…ungie…k…koo…luh…luh…y…you…” His arms flailed weakly, body trembling, but Taehyung’s hands cupped him carefully, supporting every movement.

“Shh… that’s it, baby. You’re safe. Hyungie’s got you.” Taehyung’s voice was a soft current, soothing and constant. He slid the diaper out slowly, lifting Jungkook slightly. The boy’s weak fingers clenched at the sheets, eyes darting away in embarrassment. “…n…no…no…tae…hyung…” he murmured, face flushed.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, baby. Hyungie’s here. I love you no matter what,” Taehyung whispered. He cleaned him meticulously with warm, soft cloths, making sure every crease was gentle and dry, dabbing baby powder lightly across sensitive skin to prevent rashes. “All clean now… see? So fresh and comfy. Hyungie’s baby is all safe.”

Jungkook’s tiny voice trembled as he tried to form words, “…hy…hy…ungie…co…co…mf…” His body shivered with exhaustion, and he leaned against Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Good job, baby. You’re so brave,” Taehyung praised, sliding the fresh diaper under him with care. He fastened it snugly but not tight, making sure Jungkook felt secure, and tucked the edges smoothly. “All done… hyungie loves you, see?”

Afterward, Taehyung prepared small pieces of soft fruit—pear, melon, banana. Jungkook’s hand shook as he tried to reach for the spoon. “…tae…hyung…food…Koo…eat…” he stammered.

“Here, baby. Hyungie will help. Open wide for me,” Taehyung said gently, guiding the spoon to Jungkook’s lips. He held Jungkook’s hand over his own to steady it. Each bite was a struggle; Jungkook chewed slowly, sometimes spitting slightly, eyes watery. “…n…n…not…tae…hyung…” he whispered, trembling.

“Shh… it’s okay, baby. One bite at a time. Hyungie is right here,” Taehyung soothed. He coaxed, blew gently on each bite, murmured encouragement, and wiped Jungkook’s dribbled lips with soft cloths. Every mouthful was a triumph.

When it was time for the bathroom, Jungkook’s small frame shook with anxiety. “…hy…hy…ungie…af…af…raid…” His legs refused to obey, the right side weak and unresponsive. Taehyung lifted him carefully, supporting his back and legs, whispering, “I know, baby. Hyungie’s right here. Lean on me. We’ll be done in no time.”

The boy pressed his face against Taehyung’s shoulder, sobbing softly. “…k…koo…shame…hy…hyungie…”

“You’re not dirty, baby. You’re my baby. Hyungie loves you no matter what. See? All done soon,” Taehyung whispered, wiping each tear with gentle fingers.

After the bathroom, Taehyung returned him to bed, adjusting blankets around the fragile, trembling form. Jungkook’s lips quivered as he tried to say, “…luh…luh…hy…hyung…I…love…” His words faltered, lost between thought and effort.

“Yes, baby, I know,” Taehyung said, holding him close. “Hyungie loves you too. So much. Always my baby, my Koo.” He stroked the damp hair from Jungkook’s forehead, kissed his temple, and let the boy rest against his chest, shivering slightly but slowly calming.

 

---

 

The morning light seeped softly through the blinds, but the sterile air of the neurology ward was heavy, thick with the weight of anticipation. Jungkook sat on the edge of the narrow bed, small hands clutching the hospital sheets as if they could anchor him to safety. His face, pale and drawn, bore the exhaustion of weeks—his broad shoulders now narrow, muscles softened by illness, a frame that once radiated strength reduced to fragile lines of bone and lean skin.

A nurse approached with a quiet authority, the clippers buzzing in her hand. Jungkook’s wide, doe-like eyes tracked the movement, horror growing with each step. “N…n…no…hyungie,” he whispered, his voice cracking, reaching instinctively for Taehyung’s hand.

Taehyung, kneeling beside him, took both of Jungkook’s trembling hands in his own. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay. It’s just the hair, that’s all. Hyungie is right here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of Jungkook’s hand.

The clippers touched his scalp, and a fine spray of hair fell onto the sheets. Jungkook’s lower lip trembled violently, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pressed against Taehyung. “I… I… Koo… n…no…bald,” he whimpered, his voice breaking.

“I know, baby Koo, I know. But hyungie is here, look at me. Look at hyung. We’re together, always,” Taehyung whispered, gently cradling Jungkook’s face and wiping away the tears with soft hospital tissues. Each swipe of the clippers, each patch of bare scalp revealed, brought more sobs, and Taehyung murmured encouragements, tiny reassurances, praising Jungkook’s bravery like he would a toddler learning a small but scary lesson: “That’s it, baby, you’re so strong. Hyungie’s proud of you. Every cut is just a step closer to feeling better. You’re my brave baby Koo.”

Once the shaving was complete, the nurses helped Jungkook into a sterile hospital gown. The gown was large on his diminutive frame now, the sleeves hanging past his hands. His legs, once powerful and muscular, looked almost delicate under the thin fabric. The gown rustled as he moved, and he whimpered, “I… I… hy…hy…ungie…” struggling with words he could barely form.

Taehyung helped him step into the surgical socks, fastened his ID band gently around his wrist, and brushed a few rebellious strands of short, shaved hair off his damp scalp. “All ready, baby. We’re almost there. Just a little walk, and hyungie will stay with you until you’re asleep,” he said softly, his lips brushing Jungkook’s temple.

Mr. and Mrs. Jeon arrived just as the stretcher was brought to the bedside. Their eyes were red-rimmed, the strain of the past weeks etched deep. Mr. Jeon’s hand gripped Jungkook’s shoulder, while Mrs. Jeon softly held his other hand. Jungkook blinked up at them, fragmented words trembling on his lips: “M…Mama…Pa…Pa…love…Koo…luh…luh…y…you…”

Tears fell from Mrs. Jeon as she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, murmuring, “We love you too, baby Koo. Always.” Mr. Jeon’s voice cracked as he added, “Hyungie is here too. Taehyung will stay with you.”

Taehyung helped the nurses to lift Jungkook’s fragile body carefully onto the stretcher. Taehyung wrapped his arms around the fragile body like a protective cradle. “I’ve got you, baby. Hyungie’s not leaving. Look at me, baby. Everything’s okay. You’re so brave, my brave Koo.” Jungkook clung to him, sobs muffled into Taehyung’s chest, tiny hands gripping the gown.

As they wheeled him toward the operating theatre, the soft beeping of machines accompanied their steps. Jungkook’s eyes were wide, unfocused at times, but every so often he found Taehyung’s gaze and whispered with difficulty, “H…hyungie…love…Koo…” The words were jumbled and broken, yet filled with the purest affection. Taehyung pressed his forehead to Jungkook’s, murmuring back, “I love you too, baby. Always. I promise.”

In the narrow corridor, the final moments before Jungkook would be taken inside, the weight of reality settled on all of them. The Jeons pressed soft kisses to his hands and head. Taehyung adjusted the blanket over him one last time, brushing the sweat-dampened strands of hair from his forehead, murmuring, “Hyungie is right here. You’re safe. I’ll be waiting when you wake up. Sleep, my baby Koo.”

Jungkook’s small hands clutched Taehyung’s wrist as he whispered brokenly, “P…promise…Hyungie…Koo…good…” His tears stained the blanket, and his body trembled with the anticipation and fear of the unknown.

Taehyung’s own chest ached, tears threatening, as he kissed the top of Jungkook’s bald head and whispered again, “Yes, baby. I promise. Hyungie will always be here for you. I love you so much, my baby Koo.”

The nurses guided them into the operating theatre threshold. Taehyung gave one last squeeze to Jungkook’s hand, his voice breaking, “You’re my brave boy. Sleep now. Everything will be alright.” Jungkook’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion and fear mingling in the fragile frame, as the IV lines were checked, monitors connected, and the anesthetic mask lowered.

With a final glance, Taehyung stepped aside, watching the thin, bald, fragile figure—the boy who had once been broad-shouldered and strong—slip under the sedative’s haze. He pressed his forehead to Jungkook’s again, whispering softly, “I’ll see you soon, baby Koo. Hyungie will be here when you wake up. I love you.”

The parents’ eyes glistened with unshed tears, their hands still holding one another, a silent prayer passing between them. The weight of knowing this was the last time they would hear Jungkook speak in full words pressed heavily on their hearts. In the quiet, sterile room, all that remained were whispered reassurances, a soft touch on a bald head, and the hope that love would carry him through.

 

---

Chapter Text

The harsh fluorescent corridor outside the Operation Theatre smelled faintly of antiseptic and bitter coffee. For hours the red bulb above the OT door glared down like a merciless eye. It had been nearly ten hours now.

Mrs. Jeon sat slumped on the row of gang chairs, her head leaning heavily against her husband’s shoulder, handkerchief balled up and damp from endless tears. Mr. Jeon squeezed her trembling fingers with quiet strength, his face pale and lined, though he too had shed tears silently when no one was watching.

Taehyung could not sit still. His body was all restless energy, pacing back and forth in front of the corridor, shoes echoing softly on the linoleum tiles. He glanced up at the red light again and again, like a prisoner counting seconds against his cell bars. His chest rose and fell sharply, the coffee in his hand untouched, already gone cold.

“Son,” Mr. Jeon said gently, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “Sit down for a while… this will take hours more.”

Taehyung sat reluctantly, burying his face into his palms, elbows resting on his knees. His breath came out in a shudder. A minute later, unable to contain himself, he pushed up again. “I’ll get us some more coffee,” he muttered, though nobody really wanted it. He disappeared down the hallway to the canteen, shoulders hunched as if carrying all of Jungkook’s pain on his own back.

Time became a cruel blur. The corridor clock ticked on with unbearable slowness. Then—finally—after what felt like an eternity, the red bulb blinked and went out. For a heartbeat there was silence, then the green light flickered on.

Mrs. Jeon gasped aloud, clutching her husband’s arm. Mr. Jeon stood quickly, his stiff knees protesting. Taehyung, who had just returned with three paper cups of coffee, dropped them clumsily onto the bench, his eyes locked on the OT doors.

The doors hissed open. Dr. Namjoon, dressed in scrubs still flecked with traces of blood, pulled down his mask. His face was calm but heavy with the weight of the news he bore.

All three of them surged toward him.

“Doctor—?” Mrs. Jeon’s voice broke.

Namjoon raised a hand, steady, professional, yet kind. “The surgery is over,” he said softly. “And… it was successful.”

The words landed like stones sinking into water. Relief, sharp and raw, shivered through them—but the doctor’s grave expression told them it was not the end of the story.

“We performed a left functional hemispherectomy,” Namjoon continued. His voice was clinical yet tempered with compassion. “The inflamed and damaged hemisphere has been completely disconnected. This was the only way to stop the progression of the Rasmussen’s encephalitis. The seizures will not return. That much, I can assure you.”

Mrs. Jeon’s tears flowed again, this time mingled with trembling relief. She pressed both hands to her lips.

But Taehyung’s eyes—wide, searching—caught the shadow still lingering in Namjoon’s tone. “Doctor… what about Kookie? What about… after?” His voice cracked on the last word.

Namjoon exhaled slowly, meeting each of their eyes. “There are side effects. Significant ones. With the dominant left hemisphere removed, Jungkook will not regain speech. He will likely never speak fluently again. At best, he may be able to form a few broken words, with years of therapy, but… conversation as you knew it—” He hesitated, softening his voice. “—will not return.”

The hallway seemed to still. Mrs. Jeon covered her mouth, shoulders shaking as silent sobs escaped. Mr. Jeon wrapped an arm around her, his own eyes glistening though he remained upright, nodding as if forcing himself to absorb the truth.

“And his body?” Taehyung whispered.

Namjoon nodded slowly. “There will be paralysis on the right side. His arm and leg. He may walk again with a limp, but his right hand will remain weak, perhaps unusable. Fine motor skills are lost. His vision may also be affected—he could lose part of the visual field on the right. Emotionally, he may cry or laugh suddenly. He will need support for even simple tasks for a long time.”

Taehyung’s chest tightened so painfully he thought it might shatter his ribs. He gripped the back of a chair to steady himself. “But he’s… alive?”

“Yes.” Namjoon’s eyes softened. “He is alive. The disease would have taken his life within months if untreated. Now—he has a future. It will be a difficult one, yes. But a future.”

Mrs. Jeon sobbed into her husband’s chest, murmuring prayers of gratitude through her grief.

Namjoon added gently, “He is in a medically induced coma right now. His brain needs rest after such an extensive operation. We will keep him sedated for several days to reduce swelling. You may see him in the ICU shortly, but he will not wake for a while.”

Silence fell in the corridor, heavy but no longer suffocating. The Jeons clung to each other. Taehyung stood apart, fists clenched, staring at the floor as if gathering strength from the cold tiles beneath his shoes.

Namjoon rested a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “He will need you. More than ever.”

Taehyung lifted his head, his eyes wet but blazing with resolve. “I’ll be there,” he whispered, voice trembling yet firm. “Always.”

And with that, the OT doors closed again, leaving them with a fragile thread of hope stitched through unbearable loss.

 

---

 

The ICU was hushed, filled with the steady chorus of machines—soft beeping monitors, the rhythmic sigh of a ventilator, the faint hiss of oxygen. The smell of antiseptic hung heavier here, and the lights were dimmer, as if the whole ward understood the need for silence.

When the nurse finally led them in, Mrs. Jeon clutched her husband’s arm so tightly her knuckles blanched. Taehyung followed just behind, his breath trapped in his throat.

On the bed lay Jungkook.

His head, once crowned with thick dark hair, was now completely shaven, wrapped in a broad white bandage that curved across his skull. Clear tubes threaded from beneath the dressing, draining fluid into sterile containers. His face, pale as ivory, looked smaller without the familiar frame of hair. His lashes rested still against his cheeks, shadows under his eyes deep. A ventilator tube nestled at his lips, his chest rising and falling in mechanical rhythm.

An IV ran into his arm, a sedative drip carefully calibrated. His right hand lay limp, fingers curled faintly; his left hand was secured gently with soft restraints so he wouldn’t tug at the lines if he stirred.

Mrs. Jeon broke down instantly, covering her face as her body shook with sobs. “My baby… oh God, my baby…” she whispered through her tears, nearly collapsing against her husband’s shoulder.

Mr. Jeon, though his own eyes burned red, held her close, stroking her back, murmuring prayers under his breath.

But it was Taehyung who stepped closer to the bed, as if drawn by gravity. His hands trembled as he reached for Jungkook’s left hand, fingers closing around it carefully, mindful of the IV line. The warmth was faint, but it was there.

“Kookie…” Taehyung’s voice cracked. He bent low, his forehead almost touching the boy’s bandaged temple. “You did so well. Hyungie is here… Hyungie’s not going anywhere.”

The ventilator sighed in answer.

For a long moment, Taehyung just stood there, his thumb brushing over Jungkook’s knuckles, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “They took your pain away, baby… but they also took your words,” he whispered shakily. “Still… even if you never speak again, even if you can’t run or hold me the way you did… I’ll love you just the same. More than the same. Always.”

Mrs. Jeon lifted her tear-stained face to look at him. For the first time since the operation, her sobs quieted, as if something in Taehyung’s devotion gave her fragile strength.

The machines hummed on, indifferent but steady, holding Jungkook between this world and the next. And in that sterile ICU, with its sterile walls and cold air, Taehyung’s voice was the only warmth anchoring him home.

 

---

 

The ICU was hushed, machines glowing faintly in the dark. Past midnight, Jungkook’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy and unfocused. His chest rose unevenly, his lips parting in shallow breaths.

His throat was parched—burning. He turned his head slightly, a weak whimper escaping. “Uh…uhh…” His tongue fumbled, the sound garbled. He tried again, desperate, his hand twitching toward the side table, “Wuh…wuhh…” But nothing more came. His eyes grew wide, panic shimmering in them.

The nurses hurried in. “Jungkook-ssi? You’re awake—shh, lie still.”

But he didn’t lie still. Tears spilled down his temples as he shook his head weakly, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. His mouth worked helplessly, lips stuttering, “M…m…ma…” then collapsing into sobs. He wanted Mama, he wanted Hyungie, but the syllables broke apart, trapped in his throat.

He reached his trembling left hand toward the air, fingers curling as though grasping at someone invisible. The sound from his throat was raw, childlike.

One nurse stroked his arm, whispering, “It’s okay, you’re not alone. Shhh…” But Jungkook’s body only trembled harder. His blank, frightened eyes darted around the room, searching for the one face he needed. He whimpered again, “Hy…h-hhh…” before dissolving into incoherent cries.

The monitor began to beep—heart racing, breaths fast and shallow. His body writhed weakly against the sheets.

“He’s too agitated,” one nurse murmured urgently.

Another leaned closer, trying to calm him, but the boy’s sobs only grew louder. The fragmented sounds—“Ma…m-m…” “Hy…hy…”—ripped through his tears, heartbreaking in their futility.

Finally, the doctor was called. “Sedate him,” he instructed softly.

The medication slid into his IV. Slowly, his cries thinned into hiccups, his trembling easing. His lashes, wet with tears, fluttered closed. Even in half-sleep, his lips still formed faint, broken shapes—ma…hy…—before surrendering to silence.

The machines hummed steadily again, but the room felt unbearably empty without his desperate voice.

 

---

 

The ICU hummed with a low mechanical rhythm, monitors beeping steadily, ventilators sighing in time with Jungkook’s fragile breaths. His head was completely shaven, wrapped carefully in thick white bandages, and his pale, thinner frame lay still beneath the hospital sheets. The broad strength of his body before surgery was gone, leaving only a fragile, vulnerable outline, limbs limp and resting on the crisp hospital linen.

Taehyung and Mrs. Jeon approached slowly, both clad in sterile gowns and masks, gloved hands adjusting the sleeves nervously. Even the act of standing near him felt solemn, reverent, as if approaching a sacred and fragile life.

Jungkook’s eyes opened slightly at their presence, wide, dark, and uncertain. He blinked, unfocused, scanning the sterile ceiling and the masked faces leaning over him. There was fear in those eyes—confusion, a deep, childlike vulnerability. He couldn’t speak; the words that once flowed freely were gone, stolen by the surgery, leaving only small whimpers and soft, unformed cries.

Taehyung reached forward carefully, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. His voice, muffled behind the mask, was gentle, soothing, full of warmth:
“Shh… baby Koo… it’s hyungie… we’re right here… it’s okay…”

Mrs. Jeon’s hands hovered near him, trembling. She could barely speak past her own tears, her voice a whisper of worry:
“Koo… it’s Mama… I’m here… you’re safe…”

Jungkook’s body quivered slightly at the sound of her voice, the slightest tug of recognition, though he couldn’t respond in words. His small, pale hands flexed, fingers trembling, reaching for Taehyung’s gloved hand. Taehyung took it gently, squeezing, guiding Jungkook’s tiny movements with care.

The nurses remained in the background, silently monitoring, adjusting drips and the ventilator. All the practical care—turning him, checking his vitals, keeping his body clean—was performed by them. Taehyung and Mrs. Jeon were present only to comfort him, speaking softly, leaning in, their presence quiet but protective.

Jungkook’s eyes darted back and forth between Taehyung and his mother. A faint whimper escaped him, and Taehyung leaned closer, lowering his voice, whispering like he would to a frightened child:
“It’s okay, baby Koo… hyungie is here… Mama’s here… you’re safe… I’m right here, look at me…”

Mrs. Jeon leaned forward slightly, eyes glistening with tears, and whispered, “We’re not going anywhere, Koo… Mama’s right here… hyungie’s here too…”

Jungkook’s small frame shivered, his lips trembling. He wanted to speak, to tell them he loved them, that he was scared, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he reached out with his hand, weak and uncertain, letting Taehyung gently take it and guide it to his chest, feeling the steady beat of reassurance.

For a long while, they stayed like that—two protective figures leaning over the fragile boy, whispering comfort, letting him know he was not alone in this vast, clinical room. The nurses worked silently, but it was the quiet presence of Taehyung and Mrs. Jeon, the warmth of gloved hands and whispered words, that tethered Jungkook to some small island of safety amidst the cold, impersonal machinery of the ICU.

 

----

The soft hum of machines and muted footsteps filled the neurology ward. Sunlight fell across the pale sheets, but Jungkook barely noticed. He lay on his bed, thin and fragile, bandages and stitches covering his shaved head, the hospital gown loosely draped over him, and the diaper Taehyung had carefully secured beneath. His right side remained weak, his small movements tentative, his eyes large and frightened.

“Uh… uh… Mm… m… mmm… huh… hy… m… ma… ma…” Jungkook whimpered, a soft, pitiful string of sounds, barely coherent but filled with need.

Taehyung adjusted the pillows behind him, ensuring he was comfortable before bringing a spoonful of porridge to his lips. Jungkook tried to help, lifting his weak hand, but most of the food dribbled down the right side of his mouth. Taehyung gently wiped it away with a damp cloth, murmuring:
“It’s okay, baby Koo… just a little spill… it’s fine… you’re doing so well…”

Jungkook whimpered again, letting the spoon brush against his lips. “Uh… uh… mmm… m… mmm… hy… hy… mm…”

Taehyung guided the spoon carefully into his mouth, speaking softly, each word deliberate and kind:
“Here we go, baby Koo… open for hyungie… yes, just like that… good job…”

After a few spoonfuls, Taehyung set the bowl aside and helped Jungkook with a diaper change. Jungkook squirmed slightly, embarrassment mixing with his weakness, his whimpers growing:
“Uh… uh… huh……”

Taehyung lifted his hips gently, cleaned him thoroughly with soft wipes, ensuring the sensitive skin under the diaper stayed unharmed. Every movement was slow, careful, and patient, as if handling something precious and fragile. He spoke all the while:
“Shh… it’s okay, baby Koo… hyungie’s right here… we’ll get you all clean… you’re doing so well…”

Jungkook pressed his forehead lightly into the pillow, letting small whimpers escape. Taehyung adjusted the sheet around him, holding his thin body with reassuring hands, brushing back the bandaged head gently:
“Rest now, baby Koo… hyungie’s right here… you don’t have to say anything… I love you, always…”

Slowly, the whimpers softened into faint moans. Though he could barely communicate, the trust Jungkook placed in Taehyung was clear—his tiny hands twitched toward him, his eyelids fluttered, his body curling slightly against the warmth and care surrounding him. Every feeding, every cleaning, every gentle touch was a reassurance, a lifeline for the fragile boy who had just survived so much.

 

---

 

Two weeks had passed since the surgery. Jungkook lay on his bed in the neurology ward, thin and fragile, bandages finally removed, leaving the stitches exposed across his shaved scalp. The nurse wheeled over the tray with instruments, and Dr. Namjoon entered, calm but professional, clipboard in hand.

Jungkook’s eyes widened as he saw the small scissors and forceps. His left hand trembled. A low whimper escaped his lips:
“Mmm… m… mmm……”

Taehyung, standing beside him, took his hand gently. “Shh… it’s okay, baby Koo… it’ll be over soon… hyungie’s right here…” He squeezed Jungkook’s fingers reassuringly, careful not to startle him.

Dr. Namjoon began removing the first stitch. Jungkook flinched, his body twitching involuntarily. Another whimper rose, trembling, pitiful:
“Mm… m… mmm… uh… uh… ma… ma…”

Taehyung leaned close, murmuring softly into his ear, his thumb brushing over the fragile hand he held:
“You’re so brave, baby Koo… just a little pinch… hyungie won’t let anything hurt you…”

With each stitch, Jungkook whimpered, sometimes letting out a low sob, his fragile body curling slightly under the sheets. Taehyung guided his hand to clutch the edge of the blanket, steadying him, whispering gentle encouragement:
“Good job… yes… that’s my baby… all done soon… I’m right here…”

When the last stitch was removed, Jungkook let out a small, exhausted whimper, eyes glistening with tears. Taehyung leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, murmuring,
“You did so well, baby Koo… hyungie is proud of you… so proud…”

Jungkook pressed his face against Taehyung’s shoulder, soft sobs escaping as he tried to speak:
“Hy… hy…… luh… luh…”

Taehyung held him closer, brushing a gentle hand over his back. “Yes, baby Koo… hyungie loves you too… I know… I know…”

For a moment, the pitiful boy just let himself lean on Taehyung, fragile and vulnerable, finally comforted after the small but terrifying ordeal of having his stitches removed.

----

 

The day Jungkook was supposed to be discharged from the hospital, Mr. and Mrs. Jeon were meant to arrive on the morning train—but they hadn’t. Taehyung had already cleaned him, fed him, and dressed him in a loose cotton t-shirt and shorts. His previous clothes had become far too large, having lost nearly ten kilograms over the past two months. His once round, muscular face was now thinner, and his previously strong body had reduced to something soft, thin, and fragile. Yet his tall frame remained unchanged. Across his left hemisphere, the huge scar stood out starkly against his pale skin.

It was already noon. All discharge paperwork was complete. Hospital bills were settled. Jungkook’s bag was packed and ready. Still, his parents had not arrived. His Busan train was due in four hours. Taehyung decided they would wait.

“Don’t worry, baby Koo… we’ll wait right here,” he whispered, running a hand over Jungkook’s thin shoulders. “Hyungie won’t leave you alone.”

Jungkook made small attempts to speak, monosyllables that were just sounds rather than words, his eyes wide and pleading:

“Uh… uh… m… mmm… hy… hy… ma… ma…”

“That’s it, baby… good… I hear you,” Taehyung encouraged gently. He fed him another spoonful of soft banana purèe, careful to guide it past the drool that often escaped the right side of his mouth. He wiped Jungkook’s chin and cheek, stroked his back, and whispered, “Every little sound counts… hyungie’s so proud of you.”

Taehyung changed his diaper with careful, patient motions, wiping him clean, adjusting him in the loose clothing, making sure he felt safe and comfortable. Jungkook whimpered softly, leaning slightly against him, emitting broken sounds of frustration and longing:

“Uh… hy… hy… ungie… K… koo… luh… luh… y… you…”

“I hear you, baby…hyungie loves you too” Taehyung said, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead above the scar. He guided Jungkook to drink water, cleaned the drool from the right side of his mouth, adjusted his loose shorts, and encouraged him again.

Time passed slowly. Sunlight spilled through the ward windows, and Taehyung continued to talk softly to Jungkook, always praising each tiny attempt to communicate:

“Good job, baby Koo… hyungie’s proud… yes… that’s it… so brave… hyungie loves you…”

Jungkook leaned into him, fragile and small against his care, drooling and making monosyllabic sounds. Taehyung responded to each one as if it were a full word, a triumph, a conversation, encouraging and patient.

They waited. And waited. Every attempt Jungkook made to speak was met with love, attention, and tender care. Taehyung would not leave him. He would not let him feel alone.

 

----

 

Taehyung paced back and forth in the hospital ward, muttering to himself as he repeatedly dialed Mr. Jeon’s number. He had called more than fifty times, each unanswered ring making his chest tighten. “Where have they gone? What are they doing this much time?” he whispered harshly under his breath. The train to Busan was in two hours.

Jungkook sat quietly in his wheelchair next to the bags, pale and fragile. He listened to Taehyung’s restless muttering, his small hands fidgeting in his lap, occasionally making soft sounds:

“Uh… uh… m… mmm… h… hy… ma… ma…”

Jimin had arrived from campus and crouched gently near Jungkook. “Hey, Koo… it’s Jimin hyung,” he said softly, smiling. Jungkook’s eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at him like a baby looking at a stranger. He made soft monosyllabic noises when Jimin tried to make him laugh, a tiny “uh… mm… huh…” that barely registered as a response.

Taehyung snatched the phone again, muttering, “Now we are definitely gonna miss the train.” The phone rang, and his heart leapt. He answered immediately, but the color drained from his face in seconds. “Huh? What?!” he screamed, hand flying to cover his mouth. His body shook violently. He bolted outside, leaving Jimin with Jungkook, who whimpered softly at the sudden absence of his hyung. Jimin wrapped an arm around him, murmuring comforting sounds, stroking his scarred head, and whispering, “It’s okay, Koo… it’s okay…”

Outside, Taehyung’s voice faltered as he listened to the man on the other end. “Is this… Mr. Jeon’s son?”

“No, sir. I am a friend of Mr. Jeon’s son,”

Taehyung’s hands gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“Sir, I am so sorry to tell you this… Mr. Jeon and Mrs. Jeon just passed away minutes ago in Busan hospital. They were burnt alive when we found them.”

“What??!! No!!!” Taehyung screamed, tears spilling freely down his face. “Is this some sort of joke?!” His voice trembled violently, each word breaking apart.

“No, sir. This is the police speaking. We do not play jokes on people’s lives. I heard Mr. Jeon’s son, Jeon Jungkook is in Seoul hospital and has undergone surgery. If you are his guardian now, please take care of him. We will look after the rest of the matters here.”

Taehyung’s hands shook as he gripped the phone. “How… how did this happen?” he managed, barely able to form words.

The policeman’s voice was calm, professional. “Mr. Jeon had taken loans from loan sharks. His supermarket recently went bankrupt. The loan sharks set fire to the supermarket. The Jeons went in trying to save it and, unfortunately, were burned alive.”

Taehyung’s legs gave way. He sank to the floor outside the ward, phone still clutched to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Every thought of Jungkook, sitting alone in the ward, made his heart splinter further.

Chapter Text

Taehyung wiped his face with trembling hands before stepping back into the ward. His eyes were still red, his chest still tight with grief, but the moment he saw Jungkook sitting small in his wheelchair—head bowed, scar visible, lips moving in weak sounds—he forced his tears back. He couldn’t tell him. He mustn’t.

Jungkook looked up at him with wide, unfocused doe eyes, lips trembling as drool slipped from the corner of his mouth. “Uh… uh… m… ma… uh… Pa…” His hands twitched against the armrest, as though reaching for something far away.

Taehyung’s throat closed. He crouched down quickly beside him, stroking Jungkook’s hand. “Baby,” he whispered softly, forcing a smile that shook at the edges, “let’s go home now, hmm? Your parents… they’ll come later. They’ll meet you later, alright?”

Jungkook blinked slowly, tears brimming, his fragile frame shivering in the loose t-shirt and shorts that hung off him. He let out a soft, broken whimper—“Uh… mm… ma…ma…”—before burying his face against Taehyung’s chest when Taehyung leaned forward to hug him. His sobs came out as weak moans, trembling breaths, sounds of a child lost in the dark.

Taehyung held him tight, rocking him gently. “Shh… it’s okay, bunny. I’m here. Hyungie’s here. Don’t cry, baby. We’ll go together, I promise.” His tears slipped into Jungkook’s hairless scalp, but he quickly wiped them before Jungkook could see.

The ride was quiet except for Jungkook’s small whimpers. He turned his face toward the window like he was trying to remember the world passing by but failed, his expression blank and confused. His lips parted again. “Uh…uhh…m…ma…” His left hand twitched weakly, searching.

Taehyung reached across the seat and held it. “I know, baby,” he whispered softly, though his chest burned with the weight of the truth he couldn’t speak. “Mama will come later. For now, hyungie is here.”

Jimin, seated in front, looked back at them more than once, his heart breaking at the sight. Taehyung’s hand never left Jungkook’s.

 

At the hostel gates, the summer sun fell hot and heavy. Taehyung crouched in front of the chair, speaking gently, “Kookie, hyungie will carry you now, okay?” Jungkook whimpered in reply, “Hhhuhhh…uhh…mm…,” hands twitching weakly.

With practiced care, Taehyung bent down, slid Jungkook’s arms over his shoulders, and lifted him onto his back. The boy felt unbearably light now, his bones pressing through skin where muscles once rippled. Jungkook’s head drooped against Taehyung’s neck, his breath hot and shaky as little moans escaped: “Ahhh…uhhh…mmm…ahhuhh…”

Jimin followed behind with their bags, silent, the sight too heavy to comment on. The corridor echoed with Taehyung’s steady steps, Jungkook’s faint whimpers, and the shifting weight of memory.

Inside the dorm room, Taehyung laid Jungkook gently on the bed. He pulled the blanket over his legs, then sat close with a bowl of soft porridge. “Open for hyungie, baby,” he coaxed, spoon raised. Jungkook parted his lips clumsily, swallowing some, but much dribbled out the right corner, trailing down his chin. “Shhh, it’s okay,” Taehyung whispered, wiping carefully with a cloth. “Good boy. Just one more.”

Jungkook moaned, “Mmm…uhhh…huhhh…” eyes glazed, trying to form something. Taehyung smiled painfully, encouraging, “Yes, baby. Hyungie understands. Don’t push too hard.”

After feeding, Taehyung cleaned him tenderly with warm wipes, changed his diaper, and slipped a loose shirt back over his head. Jungkook clutched at his wrist, trembling lips forming pitiful sounds: “Uh…uhh…mmm…ma…aaahhh…”

Tears burned in Taehyung’s eyes, but he forced his voice steady. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Jungkook’s bald crown, and whispered, “Hyungie’s not going anywhere, Kookie. Mama will come later. For now, I’m here.”

That night, Jungkook lay curled beneath the blanket, his scar stark under the pale lamplight. Every few breaths, faint noises slipped from his lips: “Uh…mmmh…ahh…huuuhh…” like a baby murmuring in dreams.

Taehyung sat by his side, stroking his head softly, fighting his own tears. He whispered, “Sleep, baby Koo. Hyungie will stay right here.” And as the night deepened, Jungkook’s soft pitiful sounds lingered in the small room, the fragile proof of what remained after everything had been taken from him.

The hostel room grew quiet as the city outside slipped into its own rhythm — footsteps fading, doors shutting, laughter echoing faintly from the courtyard. Inside, only Jungkook’s uneven breaths filled the dim space.

Taehyung lay on the floor beside his bed, curled on a folded blanket, eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face. Every few minutes he reached up to tuck the blanket around his frail body, as if he might vanish if left uncovered.

At first, sleep came to Jungkook in shallow bursts. But not long after midnight, he stirred — eyes snapping open in the dark. His lips trembled and he let out a choked, broken noise, “uhhh…hhuhhh…mmmnnn…” He shifted restlessly, hands clawing at the sheets.

Taehyung was up instantly, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Shhh, Kookie… I’m here, I’m right here.”

Jungkook’s gaze darted, unfocused, pupils glinting like a frightened child’s. His voice fractured into desperate syllables, “mm…m-mmaaa…p…puhh…pa…” His chest hitched, breaths short and shallow.

Taehyung’s heart squeezed. He gathered Jungkook against his chest, rocking gently as if cradling him back to infancy. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it. Just rest. You’re safe with me.” His hand rubbed slow circles on Jungkook’s bony back, his chin pressed to the crown of his shaved head.

Gradually, Jungkook’s frantic noises softened into whimpers — “nnnn…uhhh…mmm…” — until they blurred into the rhythm of breathing again. Taehyung laid him back down, keeping his hand in Jungkook’s grasp so he wouldn’t feel alone.

 

Morning broke pale and gray, light falling weakly across the hostel room. Jungkook stirred on the bed, his tall frame shrunken into fragility. His eyes opened — but they did not focus. One eye drifted inward, crossing slightly, the other wandering without direction.

His chest rose and fell faster, breaths shallow. His left hand twitched weakly against the blanket while his right side remained completely still, heavy and unresponsive.

A low sound slipped from his lips, broken, faint — “uhh…” It came more like a breath than a voice. A second noise followed, softer still, “mm…” then nothing. His mouth hung half-open, drool trailing down the corner, glistening against his chin.

Taehyung, sitting beside him, leaned close immediately. “Kookie… it’s morning. You’re safe. I’m here.”

But Jungkook’s eyes kept darting, unfocused, as though the room was foreign to him. His brow furrowed, face slack on the right, and another noise cracked out — “nnnhhh…” He swallowed hard but could not form more.

Taehyung’s chest tightened. He gently wiped the drool with a soft cloth, dabbing tenderly along Jungkook’s mouth. “It’s alright. Don’t force yourself, baby. You don’t need words. I understand you.”

Jungkook whimpered faintly again, “ahhh…” barely there. His gaze drifted without control, crossing slightly before rolling away, unable to lock on Taehyung. His left hand curled weakly into Taehyung’s sleeve, trembling.

Taehyung quickly steadied him, adjusting pillows behind his back so he wouldn’t slump to the paralyzed side. “Easy… lean here. I’ve got you.” His voice broke with quiet resolve. “You don’t have to fight it alone.”

He brought a spoon of water to Jungkook’s lips. Most dribbled out, slipping down his chin and dampening his shirt. Jungkook made a pitiful hum — “mmm…” — half protest, half helplessness.

Taehyung wiped him gently, whispering, “I know. I know it’s hard. Just a little. We’ll take it slow.” He tried again, tilting just enough for Jungkook to swallow a few drops.

Jungkook let out a faint sob-like sound — “uhhh…” — his eyes wet, lips trembling.

Taehyung pressed his forehead to Jungkook’s shaven scalp, stroking carefully over the stitched scar that cut across it. “You’re not lost, Kookie. I’m right here. Even if you can’t see clearly, even if you can’t speak — I’ll be your voice, your eyes, your strength.”

 

---

 

Taehyung set the small tray on the bedside table. The porridge steamed lightly, simple and thin, prepared by the hostel cook after Taehyung begged for something soft Jungkook could swallow.

He lifted the first spoonful, blowing gently before bringing it to Jungkook’s lips. “Kookie… open, hmm? Just a little.”

Jungkook blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, mouth parting uncertainly. The spoon slipped in, but as soon as Taehyung pulled it away, half the porridge dribbled out, sliding down the right corner of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Uh…uhhh…” a muffled sound of frustration rose from him. His left hand twitched weakly on the blanket, as if ashamed. His right side remained frozen, limp.

Taehyung quickly caught the porridge with a napkin, wiping his chin gently. “Shh, no, don’t worry. That’s not your fault, baby. Try again, slowly. Hyungie will help.”

He steadied Jungkook’s jaw with tender fingers, holding the spoon carefully. This time Jungkook swallowed a little, though most still spilled. He let out a breathy hum — “mmm…” — tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

Taehyung kissed the crown of his bare scalp softly, whispering, “That’s good enough. You’re trying, and that’s all that matters. You don’t have to be strong right now. You can lean on me.”

Another spoon. A slow attempt. More spillage. Jungkook whimpered, “nnnhhh…uhhh…” his voice cracked with helplessness, lips trembling, eyes wandering crosswise.

Taehyung wiped again, unhurried, murmuring, “I’ve got you. Even if we take an hour for this bowl, I’ll stay right here.” He stroked Jungkook’s cheek where the porridge had smeared, thumb brushing lightly over the drool-wet skin.

Between spoonfuls, Jungkook’s breaths came heavier, chest rising fast as he tried to form a word. “Mmm…m…ma…” It broke apart, no word completed.

Taehyung’s throat burned. He cupped Jungkook’s left hand and pressed it to his chest. “I know, baby. I know you’re calling for mama. But hyungie’s here. I’ll be both for now.”

Jungkook whimpered again, his only answer a faint “ahhh…” that trailed into a sob.

Taehyung kissed his temple, whispering, “Eat a little more, then we’ll rest. You don’t have to fight so hard today. I’ll carry your weight with you.”

 

---

 

Under the pale morning light, the hostel room felt unbearably still. Jungkook lay curled on his side, one arm dangling uselessly, the right side of his body completely paralyzed. His thin frame trembled against the sheets, lips cracked, eyes unfocused and crossed as if trying to find something beyond the walls. Even breathing seemed effortful, shallow and uneven, punctuated by soft, broken whimpers—“uh…uh…mm…m…mmm…m…ma…ma…wuh…wa…”—the tiny sounds that were all he could make.

Taehyung crouched beside the bed, heart clenching at every noise. He lifted the blanket gently, careful not to disturb the fragile boy. The diaper was soaked, clinging to Jungkook’s skin. The edges were red, inflamed, and the areas that had been pressed against the sheets for hours were already starting to show early bed sores. Taehyung’s chest tightened. He had seen children cry like this, but never someone so tall, once strong, reduced to a fragile, trembling body entirely dependent on him.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby Koo… shhh… hyungie’s here,” he whispered, caressing Jungkook's bare scalp. Jungkook’s left hand twitched, fingers curling and uncurling in reflexive helplessness, body quivering. The moment the diaper was peeled away, a harsh whimper broke through—“uhhh…ah…mm…mm…”—and Jungkook’s back arched slightly in discomfort, a tiny, pitiful plea.

Taehyung soaked a soft cloth in warm water, squeezing it until droplets fell in tiny streams, and began cleaning Jungkook’s lower back and thighs with extreme gentleness. Every motion was deliberate; he could feel the raw skin through the thin barrier of the cloth. Jungkook whimpered, rocking slightly with the touch, letting out stuttering cries—“mmm…uhh…ahh…mmm…aahh…wuh…”—his voice nothing more than fragmented sounds of distress. His face was pale, cheeks streaked with tears, eyes wide and searching.

When Taehyung dabbed the medicated ointment on the red patches, Jungkook’s sobs escalated. His body shook, weak limbs trembling violently, his back arching with every careful touch. “Uh…uhhh…m…mm…huh…hy…hy…huh..aahh…” The sounds repeated in rhythm with his sobs, small desperate pleas that carried the weight of a child unable to comprehend why his body betrayed him. Taehyung’s hands were steady but his chest ached with guilt, wishing he could take the pain away with his own body.

The bed sores along Jungkook’s hip and the base of his spine were even more sensitive. Taehyung gently patted around the sores first, letting them cool from the friction of the cloth. He dabbed antiseptic carefully, whispering, “Almost done… shhh… hyungie’s taking care, baby Koo… no more ouchie… no more ouchie…” Jungkook’s body trembled violently, fist curling into the sheets. He let out broken cries—“mm…mm…ahh…uhh…hy…m…ma…wa…”—a sound broken and incoherent, yet full of helpless fear.

Once the ointment was applied, sterile pads were laid gently on the bed sores to prevent further irritation. Taehyung held his hand over Jungkook’s trembling one, murmuring encouragement, but the boy’s sobs didn’t cease. His tiny, stammering sounds filled the room like a frail chorus of pain. “Uh…uh…mmm…ma…ma…ahh…huh…uh…” Every attempt at comfort from Taehyung was met with more quivering, more desperate noise, as if his body couldn’t register relief yet.

With utmost care, Taehyung lifted a fresh diaper under Jungkook, securing it snugly while whispering, “All clean now, baby Koo… all clean… hyungie’s here… see? You’re okay…” Jungkook’s sobs softened to tiny hiccuping noises, but his body still quaked with exhaustion and helplessness.

Taehyung then reached for soft cotton clothes, dressing Jungkook slowly. The thin shorts and loose t-shirt were slid over his trembling legs and fragile torso. Every movement had to be precise; a wrong touch could trigger pain, a sudden sound, a cry. Jungkook’s whimpers continued—“mm…uhh…uh…ahh…ma…ma…”—low, fragile, pleading. When his t-shirt covered his torso, he shivered, crossing his arms weakly over himself, still making those tiny monosyllables, a private language of suffering.

Once dressed, Taehyung helped Jungkook shift slightly, adjusting pillows behind him so he could sit more comfortably. Every breath the boy took was shallow and shaky, tears still glimmering in his eyes. He tried to make sounds, to express his confusion, his pain, his frustration—but it came only as fragmented syllables: “uh…uh…mm…m…mmm…huh…hy…m…ma…ma…wuh…wa…uh…” Taehyung leaned close, softly repeating each attempt with gentle encouragement. “Yes… that’s it, baby Koo… good… hyungie knows… I hear you…”

 

Taehyung sat beside him for long moments, holding his hand, brushing hair from his damp forehead, speaking softly as he stroked the thin, pale arms. He kept repeating comforting words, his voice steady, a tether to reality for Jungkook, who could only reply with the same broken, fragile syllables, every single one a struggle and a plea.

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, warm water, and the soft cotton of fresh clothes, a small cocoon Taehyung had built around Jungkook. Outside, the world continued, but inside, there was only them: the fragile boy making monosyllables that barely sounded like words, and the young man holding him through every cry, every tremble, every pitiful sound.

 

---

 

The sun was slipping lower, its light fractured between the branches, spilling long shadows across the college path. Taehyung’s breath came steady as he carried Jungkook on his back, every step deliberate. Jungkook had grown so light—shockingly light. Just months ago, he had been called the “big muscle guy” around campus, his broad chest and strong arms the envy of many. Now, after the surgery and weeks in the hospital bed, his frame had wasted away. He was still tall, still broad-shouldered in build, but the weight pressing against Taehyung’s spine felt no heavier than a child. His right arm dangled uselessly, swaying with each step, while his left hand clung weakly to the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt.

Taehyung adjusted the wool cap on Jungkook’s bald head, shielding him from the stares he feared would cut too deep. The air was cool, carrying with it the chatter of students, the shuffle of hurried steps. Taehyung’s heart ached with every familiar stone he stepped upon. Just five months ago… Five months ago Jungkook had carried him across this very path, laughing, teasing, strong arms hooked beneath Taehyung’s knees as though he weighed nothing. The memory clawed at his chest. How cruel time was.

“Hyungie’s got you,” Taehyung murmured softly, more to himself than to Jungkook.

But then shadows moved. A group stepped out ahead, smirking, blocking his way. Minho and his friends.

Taehyung’s stomach dropped.

“Well, well,” Minho sneered, circling them like a predator that had caught the scent of weakness. His eyes dragged over Jungkook, fragile against Taehyung’s back. “Isn’t this… precious.”

The others laughed.

“That’s Jungkook? The big muscle guy?” another jeered, tilting his head mockingly. “God, look at him. Used to strut around like he owned the place. Now he can’t even walk. You carrying your baby, Taehyung?”

The words cut like glass. Taehyung’s jaw clenched. He shifted Jungkook higher on his back, determined to move past without a word.

But the mocking didn’t stop.

“Hey, remember how he used to bench twice our weight? Look at him now—bones and diapers.”

Laughter erupted again.

Jungkook stiffened. He didn’t understand all the words, but the tone—sharp, cruel, poisonous—pierced him. His chest trembled, his mouth opened, and the first pitiful whimper spilled out. “Uh…uhhh…mmm…ahhh…” His bald head tucked against Taehyung’s neck, left hand clutching desperately at his shirt.

Taehyung immediately shifted, whispering urgently, “Shh, baby Koo… don’t cry… don’t listen to them.”

But Jungkook’s fear mounted. The voices, the laughter, the circle of mocking eyes—it was too much. His sobs broke free, loud and desperate. “Uh…uhhh…mmm…ma…maaa…wuhhh…uhhh…ahhh…” His cries echoed across the path, raw and childlike. His drool dribbled onto Taehyung’s shoulder as his body shook against his back.

Taehyung stopped walking. He turned slightly, lowering his face near Jungkook’s ear. “Kookie… please, baby, don’t cry. I’ve got you. I’ve got you…” But his own voice cracked with anger, with helplessness. He wanted to fight, to scream, to silence their laughter forever. Instead, he gripped Jungkook’s legs tighter, rocking him gently.

Minho smirked wider. “Look at that—crying like a baby. Guess the mighty Jeon Jungkook really is gone.”

The laughter rang again. Jungkook’s cries rose, desperate and high-pitched. His body writhed weakly, legs twitching, left hand clawing at Taehyung’s shirt as if begging him to make it stop. “Mmm…uhhh…ahhh…mmm…mmm…” His whimpers broke into hiccups, the sound unbearable, animal-like.

“Stop it!” Taehyung finally snapped, his voice booming. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?!”

But they only laughed harder.

Far away, Jimin had just turned the corner of the path. He froze, horror flooding his face as he saw Taehyung cornered, Jungkook sobbing brokenly on his back, the cruel circle around them. Without thinking, he sprinted towards the main gate, his voice hoarse as he shouted for help. Moments later, he returned, breathless, dragging a campus guard with him.

The guard’s barked warning sent Minho and his gang scattering instantly, their laughter fading into the distance.

Silence rushed in, broken only by Jungkook’s sobs. Even after they were gone, he didn’t stop. His chest heaved, sounds pouring out in pitiful fragments. “Uh…uhhh…mmm…ma…muhhh…hy…hy…ahhh…” His drool wet Taehyung’s shoulder, tears soaking through the fabric. His face pressed tighter against Taehyung’s neck as though the world itself was too much.

Taehyung’s heart split open. His legs shook with the urge to collapse, to just fall to his knees in grief. But Jungkook needed him steady. He spotted a wooden bench under the gingko trees and walked over, lowering himself carefully. Slowly, he slid Jungkook down from his back onto the bench, supporting his limp frame.

“Shhh… shhh… baby Koo…” Taehyung whispered, brushing at Jungkook’s wet cheeks. His hand cradled the side of Jungkook’s face, thumb sweeping away tears that only kept coming. “They’re gone, Kookie. They won’t hurt you. Hyungie’s here.”

But Jungkook’s sobs didn’t ease. He sat slumped, left hand trembling as it clutched at Taehyung’s wrist, eyes unfocused and wet, lips trembling. His voice broke in fragments, pitiful sounds that tried to form meaning but dissolved into air. “Uh…uhhh…mmm…maaa…waaa…”

Taehyung gathered him close, pressing Jungkook’s head against his chest, rocking gently as if he were an infant. His own tears fell freely now, soaking into Jungkook’s wool cap. “Don’t cry, my Kookie. Please don’t cry… you’re safe with me. You’re safe.”

Jimin stood a few steps away, chest rising and falling, fists trembling with helpless anger. He wanted to yell after Minho, to curse them to hell. But his eyes softened as he looked at Jungkook, fragile, sobbing, clinging desperately to Taehyung.

The three of them stayed there for a long time—the bench under the fading light, Jungkook’s cries echoing until they broke down into tired hiccups, his left hand still clinging to Taehyung as though letting go would mean being abandoned again.

Taehyung rocked him, whispered to him, his own tears wetting Jungkook’s cap. “It’s okay, baby Koo… hyungie’s got you… and I’ll never let you go.”

 

---

 

The late afternoon heat lingered on the stone benches, though the shadows had stretched long across campus. Taehyung sat with Jungkook nestled against him, the boy’s tall frame awkwardly folded yet so light now, his upper body slumped in Taehyung’s embrace. Jungkook’s bald head rested beneath the wool cap, his scar hidden but never forgotten. His left hand twitched weakly in Taehyung’s shirt while his right hung limp at his side. His breaths came in uneven sighs, soft whimpers slipping out now and then.

Jimin returned, breathless from the canteen run, a bright yellow popsicle clutched in his hand. His eyes lit with memory as he approached. “Look what I found, Kookie,” he said gently, crouching before them. “Banana popsicle. You used to love these, remember? You’d eat three at once on hot days.”

Jungkook’s unfocused eyes blinked at the treat, the faintest flicker of recognition—or maybe just curiosity—passing over his face. His lips parted with a faint sound, “Uh…mmm…ahhh…” His left hand, trembling, slowly lifted from Taehyung’s shirt, reaching out with the clumsy motions of a child.

Taehyung helped him, guiding his fingers around the thin stick. “That’s it, baby… you got it.” His voice was soft, coaxing. With his other hand he tore open the wrapper, peeling it away and slipping the cold yellow treat free. He steadied Jungkook’s shaky grip and lifted the popsicle closer to his lips.

The first touch of cold made Jungkook flinch, his brows furrowing, but then his lips closed over it. A faint hum escaped his throat, a fragile sound of pleasure. He sucked and bit clumsily, syrup dripping almost immediately, trailing down the stick onto his fingers. Taehyung caught it with a tissue, careful not to let it run onto his clothes.

“There you go, baby Koo,” Taehyung murmured, tilting the stick gently for him. “Slow, hmm? Don’t rush.”

Jimin watched, throat tight, as Jungkook fumbled, his movements uncoordinated. He smeared cold syrup on his chin, droplets clinging before sliding down to his throat. Taehyung wiped him tenderly, each gesture as patient as if Jungkook were a toddler learning to eat for the first time.

Jungkook whimpered softly between bites, sounds tumbling out—“Mmm…ahhh…uhh…”—but his lips curled faintly, as if the sweetness unlocked something faint, some echo of the boy he used to be. He leaned heavier into Taehyung’s chest as he ate, eyes half-closed, left hand trembling around the stick until Taehyung held it fully for him.

By the time the popsicle was half gone, Jungkook’s chewing slowed. His eyelids drooped, lashes damp with the remnants of his earlier tears. He gave one last weak lick, a hum of contentment escaping him, before his hand slipped free of the stick.

Taehyung quickly caught it, setting the rest aside. “All done, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over Jungkook’s sticky lips, wiping them clean.

Jungkook gave a soft whimper, “Mmm…ahhh…” before nestling his bald head against Taehyung’s lap. Within minutes, his breathing evened, his long body curled awkwardly across the bench, but his head rested safe against Taehyung’s thigh. His left hand still clung lightly to the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt, as if even in sleep he refused to let go.

Taehyung stroked his temple slowly, eyes glassy as he watched him drift away. “Sleep well, my baby Koo,” he murmured, voice breaking.

Jimin sat quietly beside them, gaze fixed on the boy who once had been the strongest, now asleep like a child soothed only by sugar and safety. His chest ached, but he said nothing, letting the silence wrap them, broken only by Jungkook’s faint sighs.

 

---