The sharp scent of nail polish hung in the air, mingling with the chill of a room too clean, too quiet. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, brushing pale light over sleek surfaces—glass, silver, marble. Every inch of the vanity gleamed, pristine and cold.
Ari—now Jeon Ari—sat poised at its edge like a queen before her mirror, one leg crossed over the other, lacquer brush held between two fingers as delicate as a threat. She didn't glance up when quiet footsteps approached. Her attention was fixed on the even curve of her pinky nail, the glossy sweep of color completing its final stroke.
The only thing louder than the silence was her indifference.
At the doorway, Jungkook hovered like a stain on her perfect frame. His shoes—scuffed, worn—creaked against the hardwood, but he didn't move forward. His scent, faint and nervous, clung to the edges of the room—a soft note of lavender wilted by stress. The air in Ari's room, however, was sharp with polished citrus and control. Omega to Omega, but worlds apart.
"...imo," he said softly.
Ari's eyes flicked toward him. Just once. Then returned to her nails.
"What?"
He swallowed. "Mama's not feeling well. I need to take her to the hospital."
Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "Then do it."
Jungkook shifted, his fingers tightening around the edge of his sleeves. He hated the way he sounded—small. Needy. The kind of Omega others pitied.
"I need a little money. For the taxi. For the doctor…"
The brush stilled.
She looked at him this time—really looked. Not with concern. With cool calculation. A raised brow. A question she didn't need to ask: Again?
"What about the money I gave you yesterday?" she asked, each word enunciated like a blade.
"It went into her meds," he said quickly, eyes on the floor. "And it wasn't enough."
A pause.
Then her laugh—low, amused. Not warm.
"So now I'm being unfair?"
"No—I— I'll pay it back. I swear. As soon as I get a job—"
Ari clicked the polish bottle shut and leaned back in her chair, lips curling in mock affection.
"And what job will you get, Jungkookie?" she purred, voice syrupy with cruelty. "Who will even hire an unclaimed Omega dropout with no credentials and no heat control?"
He winced. The words dug deeper because they were true—at least, in the eyes of this world.
"Poor little Jungkookie," she said sweetly. "You know… this is all your mother's fault. If she hadn't gone and collapsed from that silly little heart attack, maybe you'd have finished school. Maybe you'd have amounted to something."
The words hung like smoke—stinging, cloying, impossible to wave away.
Ari stood and walked toward him, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She stopped just short of him, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something expensive and cold. The kind of scent Alphas liked on a trophy Omega.
"Or," she whispered, so close it made him flinch, "if she'd been capable of being a proper wife and mother, maybe your father wouldn't have married me."
Jungkook's cheeks burned with shame. Heat flared behind his eyes—anger, shame, helplessness. He didn't speak. Couldn't. He didn't say a word. He just turned and walked out—fast. Like running from a fire. Like her words could still burn him if he stayed.
Outside, the wind slapped his face, cool and biting. He paced the driveway, his sneakers scuffing against gravel, breath caught between panic and helplessness. His mother was inside—fading—and he had nothing.
No job. No rank. Not even enough scent suppression to hide his trembling.
Just as he turned toward the front door, another figure stepped out of the neighboring gate.
Wonji.
His neighbor… and probably the only friend he had left.
"Kookie?"
He whipped his head up. Wonji stood with her college bag slung over one shoulder, eyes wide with concern.
She'd always been there, in quiet ways—leaving warm food at their doorstep when his mom couldn't cook, sitting with him in silence when words felt too heavy.
She was Omega too. That unspoken thread bound them tighter than blood—both of them used to keeping their heads down, used to making themselves small in a world where Alphas decided what was allowed. Maybe that's why his father let them talk.
Maybe that's why she understood…
"Noona…" His voice cracked. "Mom…"
Her expression changed instantly. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"She's sick. Really sick…"
"Then take her to the hospital!"
"I can't," he whispered, curling into himself. "I'm waiting for Appa—"
Wonji didn't let him finish. She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. "Here."
He shook his head, backing away. "No, I can't—"
"You can, and you will," she said, grabbing his hand and forcing the money into his palm. Her grip was firm, warm. "I would've come with you, but I've got my exam. My Appa will skin me if I miss it. Now go. Don't waste time."
He didn't thank her. Not with words.
He just ran.
And from the upper floor window, Ari stood quietly behind the curtain. Her arms crossed. Her gaze unreadable.
But her frown wasn't concern.
It was suspicion.
And beneath that…
Something far uglier.
============
The walls of the hospital room were too white — too clean, too quiet — like they were trying to scrub away the fear pressing into Jungkook's chest.
He sat curled in the chair beside the bed, small fingers wrapped tightly around his mother's hand. His scent — sweet lavender with the faintest tinge of worry — wove through the sterile air like a whisper trying to soothe something deeper than flesh. His body, though still, hummed with anxious energy just beneath the skin.
She looked so small beneath the stiff white sheets. Smaller than he remembered. Her once-rosy complexion had faded to a pale grey, and her lips trembled even in sleep.
"Mama…" he whispered, brushing back a strand of hair from her forehead.
Her eyes fluttered open.
And then—she smiled.
"My baby," she murmured. Her voice was thin, but warm. "You stayed."
"I'm not going anywhere." Jungkook tried to return the smile, but it wobbled. "You scared me."
She hummed faintly, her fingers brushing his wrist like she used to when he was sick. "You smell so grown now," she whispered. "All lavender and warmth. Still sweet, though… softer than most alphas would like."
"I'm not trying to please any alphas," he pouted.
She gave a light laugh, then winced faintly — too much effort.
Jungkook leaned forward instantly, fussing without words, fixing the pillow, adjusting the blanket. Doe eye filled with unshed tears. His omega instincts coiled tighter around her, protective, nurturing, terrified.
"I'm fine," she whispered. "Stop fluttering, little dove…"
"You're not fine," Jungkook said, voice cracking. "You're not."
A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment.
Dr. Cho stepped in with a small smile — not the plastic one worn by doctors who've grown numb to tragedy, but something kind, almost apologetic. He bowed slightly toward the bed.
"Mrs. Jeon," he said, voice warm, "How are you feeling now? Has the medication helped ease the tightness in your chest?"
His mother nodded weakly, offering him a faint smile. "I can breathe without it hurting. That's something."
"That's a good sign." He turned to Jungkook, smile still gentle. "Omega Jeon, would it be alright if I borrowed you for just a moment? Just to go over a few forms — nothing urgent. You'll be back before she misses you."
Jungkook hesitated, his fingers tightening around hers. But she gave him a look — soft, patient, telling him without words that she'd be alright.
"Go on," she whispered. "He's just doing his job."
Dr. Cho stepped back and waited respectfully until Jungkook stood and followed him out, casting one last glance back before the door clicked shut behind them.
In the quiet of the doctor's office, the warm tone was gone. Not cruel — just… honest.
Dr. Cho gestured toward the chair, waiting for Jungkook to sit before he spoke.
"I won't waste your time," he said. "This isn't just about forms. I didn't want to alarm your mother, but her test results came back. Her heart is failing faster than we expected."
Jungkook sat still, hands folded in his lap, back painfully straight. His scent faltered, thickened.
"She needs to be admitted immediately," Dr. Cho continued, softer now. "Tonight, ideally. Her vitals are unstable. The medication is only buying us time — hours, not days. If she leaves this hospital, Omega Jeon… she may not come back."
Jungkook's breath hitched. "She said she wanted to go home. Just for a night. She promised she'd come back tomorrow—with my father."
"I understand," the doctor said gently. "But tomorrow might not come. You know that, don't you?"
Jungkook nodded, biting down on his lip so hard he tasted blood.
"I know she's an Omega, and your father is… involved in her care," Dr. Cho added carefully. "But you are her bonded blood. Her child. You can make this decision if she won't. And I need you to think of her right now."
Jungkook's hands trembled in his lap. "But I'm not her Alpha…"
"No," Dr. Cho said softly. "But you are the one who loves her most."
When Jungkook returned to the room, she was sitting up slowly on her own, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed as if trying to prove she still could.
"Mama," he rushed to her side, alarmed. "You shouldn't—why didn't you call someone?"
"I don't want to feel helpless, Kookie," she said gently. "Even if it's only for tonight."
"You're not helpless," he said. "You're just… sick. And you need help."
She looked at him, gaze deep and knowing. "He told you, didn't he?"
"I don't know what you're talking about.. " Jungkook turned away his teary gaze.
"Kookie…" she turned his face by his chin, "You understand why I need to go home. Right?" Her fingers brushed his face. "There are things I have to set in order. I need to… feel like myself one last time."
Jungkook dropped to his knees beside her, head bowed, tears escaping. "Please don't say it like that. You'll come back. You promised."
"And I meant it," she said, cupping his cheeks. "I'll be back with your father tomorrow morning. I'll wear the dress you like — the yellow one."
"You're not strong enough—"
"I will be," she said. "For you. Just give me tonight."
Her voice was barely a whisper, and yet somehow, it silenced the room.
He pressed his forehead to her knee, breath trembling, lavender scent curling mournfully into the air.
"Stay with me… Okay?" he whispered.
She smiled, her fingers threading into his hair. "Always, my sweet omega."
But only if fate agreed. She didn't add.
The moment the front door creaked open, Jeon Hyun was already there — a shadow carved in fury.
His posture was rigid, jaw clenched so tight the veins in his neck bulged. "Where were you? Omegas are not supposed to be out this late…not without telling their alpha" he barked, voice thunderous, cracking through the stillness like a whip.
Jungkook instinctively shielded his mother, an arm looped around her frail form. "I… I took Mama to the hospital," he said softly, his tone submissive, gentle — not out of weakness, but out of exhaustion and the desperate desire not to provoke him.
"You didn't wait for me?" Hyun's eyes narrowed to slits. "I told you I'd take her myself."
"I did wait, Appa—I did. But she got worse, I couldn't just stand there—"
"You should've taken your imo with you," Hyun snapped, stepping forward like a storm. "She offered to go!"
Jungkook's brows furrowed, confused. "No… she didn't. She just—"
In a flash, Hyun's hand was in his collar, yanking him forward with a strength that knocked the breath out of him.
"Are you calling her a liar?" Hyun snarled, breath hot with rage.
"Appa—stop!" Jungkook gasped, hands clawing at the fabric choking him. His feet barely touched the ground.
And then—
"Let him go!" His mother, Soo-ha's voice — trembling, thin, but commanding — cut through the tension like the first crack of thunder before a storm. "Please, Hyun. It's not his fault… He did it for me…"
Hyun froze for a heartbeat.
Then, with a bitter curse, he flung Jungkook away and turned on her instead. "You're right," he hissed. "It is your fault. You coddled him like a damn pup. He's weak yet still so unsubmissive, because of you!"
"STOP IT!" Jungkook screamed, lurching toward her just in time to see her clutch her chest.
She swayed.
Her breath hitched like a skipped heartbeat, fingers trembling as they curled around the front of her blouse.
"Mama—" Jungkook cried out, arms shooting forward just as she collapsed against him.
"No, no, no—Mama!" he sobbed, easing her to the floor, cradling her like she was porcelain. Her scent, usually sweet and comforting, was faint now—flickering, fading.
"Hey! Soo-ha—" Hyun's voice cracked as he dropped beside them, all rage gone, replaced by a fear too late to matter. "Breathe, breathe—please, just hold on—!"
Her eyes were unfocused, distant. But her hand found Jungkook's and clutched it with every bit of life she had left. Her lips trembled as she turned her face toward her husband… and then back to her son.
She looked at Jungkook like he was her whole world—because he was.
Her mate would survive. He always did.
But her omega… her soft-hearted boy who carried too much alone… he needed something more.
"Kookie…" she whispered to Hyun, her Alpha, voice brittle. One last plea. "Take care of him… He only has… you…"
"No, no, Mama—don't say that," Jungkook begged, rocking her gently. "We'll go back. I'll take you back now. We still have time—please…"
Hyun stood abruptly and bolted out the door, shouting into the dark for a cab, fumbling with his phone, but—
It was already too late.
Her fingers went limp in Jungkook's hand.
Her chest no longer rose.
Her head fell against his shoulder, the scent of her beginning to cool — too still, too silent.
"Mama?" he whispered.
Nothing.
"Mama?" A little louder. Hopeful. Pleading.
Nothing.
And then the scream ripped through the house, a raw, piercing wail no human throat should be able to make. It tore through walls and bone, cracked open something ancient and helpless inside him.
"MAMAAAA!" Jungkook wailed, curling around her body as if to shield her from death itself.
His sobs were wet and choking, pulled from the deepest part of his soul — the omega part that begged to protect, to nurture, to keep safe — and had just failed in the most devastating way.
He rocked her gently, whispering apologies, promises, prayers into her now-cold hair.
And then—
A sound behind him.
The creak of the front door, soft and slow.
He turned his head, eyes red and raw.
Ari stood in the doorway.
Arms crossed. Head tilted. Lips curled.
She didn't speak. Didn't gasp. Didn't even look surprised.
There was something cold in her gaze — not sadness, not pity. Just… satisfaction. Like she'd watched a scene play out exactly how she'd hoped it would.
Jungkook blinked, heart split and bleeding on the floor. He watched her turn and walk away.
And in that moment, he realized: it wasn't just his mother who'd died.
It was everything good that ever protected him.
and he called out again...
"MAMA...."
His eyes opened with a loud gasp…
The room was still dark, cloaked in shadows, save for the gentle silver glow of the moon spilling through the half-open curtains. It cast long, quiet shapes across the floor, brushing soft against the walls, soft against the boy curled into the farthest corner of the couch.
Jungkook sat there, knees drawn tightly to his chest, his arms wrapped around them like a last defense. He hadn't turned on the lights. He didn't need to. The moon was enough. The silence was enough.
He had been crying for hours.
Even after the vows and the bite, the ache of his bond freshly etched into his skin and soul, he hadn't found much sleep. The mark on his nape throbbed faintly—a reminder of what had happened. Of what couldn't be undone. The ache wasn't just physical. It was spiritual, primal. Like something in him had been tethered to someone who didn't ask for it. It had taken a great deal of quiet, trembling effort to make his omega heart understand—that he couldn't return the bite. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
"Only if you were here, Mama…" he whispered into the silence."Then maybe I'd have somewhere to go back to…" His voice cracked like broken glass.
He tucked his face into his knees, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest. There was no one. No family. Even the ones he had once looked to had turned away when he needed them most.
And now, he was here. In the corner of a room that wasn't his, in the house of someone who didn't owe him anything. An alpha he was now bound to—without love, without consent, without a choice. He felt like a burden, even to the only person who had saved him, who had held him through like he mattered.
A soft creak interrupted the stillness.
It was past three in the morning when the door quietly opened and Taehyung stepped inside, his presence unmistakable—solid, commanding, tinged faintly with the scent of rain kissed earth and something deeper, something uniquely him. His shoulders sagged beneath exhaustion, eyes rimmed with fatigue, the weight of family arguments still etched into the slump of his posture.
He didn't turn on the lights. Just moved through the shadows with slow, practiced steps and slumped onto the bed without a word.
The mattress creaked beneath his weight.
He exhaled—deep, long, tired. Letting himself melt into the comfort of home. Of safety. Of his territory.
But then something stirred in him. Something instinctual.
The scent of lavender.
Not the usual calm and sweet softness he associated with Jungkook's omega scent. It was bitter right now—sharp at the edges, soaked in salt and sorrow. It didn't just linger—it pierced.
His eyes shot open.
He sat up abruptly, eyes scanning the room like a hunter jolted awake. And there—right there in the dim silver hush—he saw him.
Jungkook, curled up tight, a silhouette carved out of moonlight. Still. Silent.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world stilled. Even in the wreckage of everything—uncertainty, pain, grief—Taehyung's chest tightened, not in panic, but something heavier. Protective. Regretful. His Alpha stirred, not from dominance, but from something far more fragile.
"You're not asleep?" he asked softly, voice dipped in care, afraid to break the fragile quiet.
Jungkook's voice was a hoarse echo. "You're awake too…"
"I'm used to late nights," Taehyung said, forcing lightness into his tone as he stood and made his way to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes passed.
When he returned, a towel slung over his damp hair, he looked more alert—more like himself. Until he stopped.
Froze.
The towel fell still in his hands.
His eyes widened. "Oh my god."
Jungkook flinched, startled by the outburst. Before he could ask what was wrong, Taehyung had bolted from the room barefoot, his steps echoing faintly down the hall.
Minutes passed.
And then he returned, breathless, arms full—with a tray.
The scent hit first.
Warm. Comforting. Anchored in home. Rice. Soup. A side dish or two. Nothing extravagant—but it smelled like effort. Like care.
Taehyung knelt, setting the tray gently on the low table near Jungkook.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice quiet but earnest. "I forgot… you haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. Everything got out of hand. But—you should eat."
Jungkook stared blankly at the food. "Eat?"
"Yeah," Taehyung replied gently, crouching beside the table. "Why? Aren't you hungry?"
How could he explain that hunger was the last thing his body understood anymore? That his stomach felt like an afterthought compared to the gaping hollow in his chest? That food wouldn't reach the parts of him that hurt the most?
Instead, he murmured, "You haven't eaten either. You should eat too."
Taehyung looked like he wanted to argue. But then Jungkook sniffled—barely. His scent shifted again, curling around the room like a dying flower.
So the Alpha gave in.
He sighed, pulling out the chair from his writing desk and sat down across from him.
"Okay. Let's eat together."
Jungkook picked at the food slowly. Mechanically. But he ate—because Taehyung was eating too. Because deep down, past the hurt and confusion, some small part of him still didn't want to be trouble. Still wanted to be wanted.
They ate in silence. But not an empty one.
It was the quiet of two people too bruised to speak. The quiet of a newly bond tugging, uncertain and fragile.
Jungkook found his eyes straying to Taehyung now and then—watching how he chewed, the way his lips pressed softly together, the gentle bob of his throat as he swallowed. It was calming. Human. Real.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Taehyung asked suddenly, eyes lifting to meet his.
Jungkook's heart jumped. "N-Nothing," he said quickly, shaking his head.
A small smile tugged at Taehyung's lips.
"You know," he said, leaning back slightly, "I'm not as good as you think I am. I've got my own mess. My own good and bad sides. You'll learn them all, I guess… as we live together."
"Together?" he asked, looking up at Taehyung with wide, doe-like eyes.
"Hmm," He stood, wiping his mouth with a napkin, voice gentler now. "Get some sleep after you eat, okay?"
Jungkook just nodded.
And then he was alone again.
Except… not really. Not entirely. The bed rustled as Taehyung lay down again, his scent wrapping faintly through the air— still pine and rain and also something warm beneath it all.
The moonlight still spilled into the room, softening the edges of everything.
Jungkook stared at the bowl for a moment longer, then slowly returned to the food, one bite at a time.
And for the first time in days, the silence didn't feel like drowning.
It felt… like breathing.
===============
It hadn't even been a few hours into his sleep when Taehyung felt the world pull him back.
A gentle hand on his shoulder. A soft shake. Then a whisper—anxious, hesitant.
"Taehyungssi…"
He groaned, eyes still closed, voice muffled by the pillow. "What…?"
"I… I think…" The voice paused, and Taehyung could feel the uncertainty in the air. "I think Hana's leaving… You should stop her."
That voice.
He stirred, blinking into the dark, and found Jungkook standing beside the bed—barefoot, shoulders hunched, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his old shirt. His scent—tinged with worry.
"What?" Taehyung sat up in an instant, heart stuttering. "How—how do you know?"
"I saw her… through the window," Jungkook whispered, voice small as if guilty. "She had a suitcase. She was walking toward the exit. I… I didn't know if I should say anything…"
But Taehyung didn't wait for the rest.
He was already moving—grabbing a hoodie, feet hitting the floor with a thud. His body was on autopilot, fueled by adrenaline and the sick twist in his gut that told him this wasn't a misunderstanding.
The corridor was dim and silent at this hour, but his footsteps rang out with sharp urgency. His heartbeat thundered in his ears—not just from panic, but from the finality of it all.
And then he saw her.
Hana. A lone figure moving briskly down the hall. Her suitcase rolled behind her with a soft hum, her back impossibly straight. She didn't look back. Not even once.
"Hana—Hana, wait! Please!"
His voice broke the silence, slicing through the tension like a jagged knife. She stopped. Just for a moment. Then turned, her face lit by the porch light streaming through the front windows.
"Why should I?" Her voice was sharp. Cold. Unforgiving. Her scent—was tightened down, bitter now with betrayal.
"This is madness," he said, breathless, slowing his pace. "You don't have to do this."
She let out a bitter laugh, eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'm the mad one? You're the one who's lost it, Taehyung—not me."
His chest clenched. "Hana, you told me we were best friends. That we'd survive everything—even our mothers' rivalry. That nothing would change us. What happened to that?"
She flinched. "Do best friends do what you did to me?"
Taehyung took a step closer. The bond from few steps away throbbed faintly, like it knew it was the reason for this.
"I never meant to hurt you."
"No," she snapped. "But you did. You chose him."
He paused. "He needed help. He was alone, Hana."
"No." Her voice cracked. "You didn't have to help him. You wanted to. That's the part that kills me."
His throat closed up.
"I could see it," she went on, her voice rising. "From the moment he stepped into your life, you changed. You looked at him like… like he was the only thing in the room. Like he was yours."
"He is mine." The words slipped out before Taehyung could stop them. Quiet. Certain.
Hana blinked. Then laughed—a hollow, disbelieving sound. "So it's true. You didn't even fight it. You just… gave in."
"Hana—"
"You flirted with everyone and I stayed quiet," she whispered, stepping forward. "Because I thought you'd always come home to me. I thought I was your constant."
Taehyung's breath hitched.
"So even when you took him into your private flat, I told myself it didn't matter. That he was just another temporary thing. Maybe a fling. Maybe even a mistress," she spat the word, venomous. "I could've lived with that. I would've let you have him on the side. As long as I was your home."
The silence that followed was deafening.
And then—crack.
The sound of the slap echoed through the entrance hall like a gunshot.
Hana staggered a step back, her hand flying to her cheek in stunned disbelief. Her wide eyes glistened, hair spilling around her face.
"You… hit me?" she whispered, voice barely audible.
Taehyung's hands trembled at his sides. His Alpha was seething—protective, primal, alive. Not for himself. But for the omega waiting quietly upstairs, curled in pain, still smelling like grief.
"Say what you want about me," he ground out, voice low and raw. "Call me weak. Call me reckless. But don't you ever speak about my omega like that again."
She looked at him like she didn't recognize him.
And maybe she didn't. Maybe that boy she grew up with was gone. Or maybe he was just finally standing in his own truth.
He didn't wait for a response.
Taehyung turned, steps hard and purposeful as he walked back into the house, chest heaving with everything unsaid. He didn't look back.
Behind him, Hana stood in the doorway—eyes brimming, hand on her cheek, and years of hope unraveling like thread between her fingers.
The moment Taehyung stepped through the main hallway, the air felt dense—drenched in morning dew and something heavier. Tension. Regret. The scent of it clung to him like smoke.
He moved like a man underwater, every limb weighed down by exhaustion that went deeper than just sleeplessness. As soon as he reached the couch, he sank into it, broad shoulders slumping forward, head hanging low.
The cushions caught him like they knew how close he was to breaking.
He let his eyes close for just a breath. Maybe two. That's all he needed. Just a moment to be no one—to not be the son, the friend, the Alpha, the disappointment.
"Sir, should I set the table for breakfast?"
Sarah's voice came gently from the corridor. Careful. Hesitant. Even her scent was muted, cautious. Omegas always sensed the storm beneath an Alpha's skin before the thunder struck.
"Not yet," Taehyung murmured, his voice rough and low, barely there.
He didn't lift his head. He couldn't. It was too heavy with failure.
Then—
"Sarah. Sarah!"
Mrs. Kim's voice cracked through the quiet like lightning. Sharp. Demanding. Every syllable pulsed with power. Taehyung's jaw tensed, eyes still closed. He knew that tone too well. He'd grown up with it lashing across rooms like a whip.
"Yes, ma'am?" Sarah turned quickly, her stance straightening, hands folding in front of her out of instinct.
"Is breakfast ready?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Set the table. I'm going to get fresh."
Sarah bowed—but before she could move, Eun-jung's voice sliced through again.
"Has Hana woken up yet?"
A pause.
Taehyung didn't open his eyes but.. He could feel it—the shift in Sarah's scent. The faintest tremor of discomfort. A flicker of fear.
"Ma'am… she left," Sarah answered softly.
The hallway went still.
"Left?" Eun-jung repeated. "Where to?"
"She… took her suitcase. She went back to Busan. Taehyung-ssi tried to stop her, but she didn't stay."
For a second, there was silence. Fragile. Then—
"You're telling me she was leaving and no one thought to inform me?" Eun-jung snapped.
"I-I'm sorry, ma'am," Sarah stammered. "You were sleeping, and—"
"I was sleeping, not dead!" she shouted, her voice cracking like thunder.
Upstairs, doors creaked open. The house was waking.
Sang-Ho appeared first, hair tousled, shirt half-buttoned. "What's going on?"
"Hana went back to Busan!" Eun-jung barked.
Jimin followed behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Without saying goodbye—?"
He cut himself off as Eun-jung turned a glare on him like a blade. His gaze flicked to Taehyung, who hadn't moved from the couch—one arm slung over his eyes, his scent heavy with restraint and exhaustion.
"Taehyung," Sang-Ho said sharply, "what is this?"
"How would I know?" Taehyung muttered, not moving. "She came here on her own. She left on her own too."
"You must've said something," Eun-jung snapped.
Taehyung sat up slowly, the Alpha in him dangerously close to the surface. "I didn't force her to come. I didn't force her to leave. Why does everything always have to be my fault?"
"She was your friend," Jimin said softly, his tone cautious. "You could've stopped her, Tae."
"I tried," he said bitterly. "She wouldn't listen."
"You should've told us," Sang-Ho added.
Taehyung huffed a humorless laugh. "And what would that have changed?"
"Enough," Eun-jung snapped, placing a hand over her chest. "I can literally feel my blood pressure rising, taehyung."
Taehyung didn't argue.
He just stood slowly, limbs aching, and climbed the stairs one heavy step at a time.
Every footfall sounded like a clock ticking down something he couldn't name.
When he opened his bedroom door, he did expect it—but it still caught him off guard.
Lavender.
Tight with anxiety.
The omega in his room was trembling beneath the weight of his own emotions—and he hadn't even said a word.
Jungkook stood by the window, sleeves swallowed his hands, lip bitten raw. His eyes lifted the moment Taehyung entered. Wide. Alert. Afraid to be in the wrong place at the wrong time again.
The scent wrapped around Taehyung's senses like a vice. And for the first time since the morning began, something in him stirred—not as a son or a brother—but as an Alpha. A tether pulled taut at the sight of his Omega in distress.
But Taehyung didn't speak.
He didn't want to add to the storm Jungkook was already weathering.
Without a word, he crossed the room, grabbed his wallet and keys from the dresser, and left again.
The door clicked softly behind him, sealing Jungkook alone in a room that still smelled like grief.
But it also smelled like Taehyung—like the hint of safety an Omega could still cling to.
==================
The day passed and so did half of the night.
And the silence in the room was no longer gentle.
It was suffocating.
Jungkook had been waiting all day, curled in the corner of the couch, a forgotten shape in a house that had quietly erased him the moment Taehyung left. No knock. No hushed footsteps checking in. Nothing.
It was as if the walls themselves had agreed he didn't exist.
No one asked if he was hungry. No one asked if he was okay.
He was an Omega in an Alpha's home a mated omega but—unclaimed, unwanted, yet too bonded to be invisible.
The hours crawled by, blurred by his growing anxiety.
But hunger didn't come.
Sleep didn't come.
Only guilt—dense and bitter,
It clung to his lungs like smoke, burning him from the inside out.
He had ruined everything.
He'd watched the way Taehyung stood between him and the storm last night—shoulders squared, voice firm—And Jungkook could only think: This wasn't supposed to happen.
Taehyung wasn't meant to be the one suffering.
Yet here they were.
Taehyung was the one paying for a bond Jungkook had never even asked for.
The guilt gnawed at him, clawing through the silence. Hana was gone. The family was splintered. Taehyung had left, And the world inside this house felt warped—tilted too far, too wrong.
He curled into himself tighter, blanket wrapped around his slender frame, too heavy to be comforting. Every tick of the clock scraped against his ears like a blade, and his eyes burned from hours of fighting sleep.
Then, finally—when the world outside was still and dark and everyone else had long succumbed to rest—the sound of a door creaked open.
It was 4 a.m.
Jungkook sat up immediately, blanket slipping off his shoulders.
And there he was—Taehyung. Silent, composed, as if he hadn't just vanished for a whole day and night. His hair was slightly tousled from the wind, his skin pale from the chill of night, but his eyes were calm. Quietly unreadable.
Without saying a word, he stepped inside and moved to the bed, sitting down with a deep, slow exhale.
The silence stretched—it wasn't uncomfortable, but it was thick with unspoken words.
Jungkook broke it first.
"Where have you been?"
His voice was quiet, rough from disuse, but it held something fragile behind it. Longing, maybe. Or worry.
Taehyung glanced at him, lips parting in faint amusement.
"With friends," he said simply.
Another pause. Another breath.
"Why didn't you come?" Jungkook asked, his words slightly sharper this time. Not accusatory. Just... desperate. Needing an answer.
Taehyung tilted his head slightly, eyeing the younger with quiet surprise. If anyone else had dared to question him like this—especially about his private life—he would've shut them down cold. But this boy…
This soft-spoken, trembling Omega with pain in his big innocent eyes…
He couldn't bring himself to turn away.
"Were you waiting for me?" he asked instead, voice low.
Jungkook dropped his gaze. His fingers tugged at the hem of his sleeve, knuckles white.
He nodded once—small, almost shameful.
Taehyung's heart gave a strange, quiet throb in his chest. Not affection. Not yet. But something close.
His voice softened. "I don't come home the nights I drink,"
He paused, then added gently, "What were you going to tell me?"
"how...?" he looked at him surprised.
"You wouldn't be waiting for me if you didn't have something to say… unless..." He left the sentence hanging on purpose, raising a brow suggestively.
"n.. no.. actually," Jungkook swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking about our problem all day…"
And night, but he didn't say that out loud.
He bit his lip again—right over that small mole Taehyung had begun to associate with his every nervous thought.
Taehyung leaned back slightly, curious gaze lingering on that exposed mole, just shy from hungry. "So? Did you come up with any solution?"
The boy nodded once more, eyes still cast downward.
"And what's that?"
"Break the bond…" Jungkook whispered.
Taehyung blinked… any kind of amusement gone. "What?"
"Break your bond with me… and mate Hana," he said, still not meeting his gaze. "Like it was supposed to happen."
For a moment, Taehyung said nothing.
The word echoed like a cruel bell toll.
Taehyung slowly turned his body toward the boy, fully, slowly. His eyes never leaving the omega.
"So that's your solution?" he asked, voice clipped.
Jungkook nodded again, his hands twisting in his lap.
"That's the only solution," he murmured. "That way you won't have to leave your family. You can go back to them, marry Hana. She really… she loves you…"
Taehyung let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief.
"And what about you?" he asked, tilting his head, voice low.
Jungkook finally looked up, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. Shining with things he hadn't dared say aloud until now.
"What about me?" He whispered. "I don't matter…"
His voice broke. "My life is already done for. I'm just… a problem. Worry about your life,"
His voice trembled, but the words came anyway. "Save yourself, Taehyung-ssi. You still can."
There was a pause.
Then Taehyung stood. Slowly. His gaze fixed on the Omega who had just offered to disappear.
There was silence. Long and heavy.
And then, Taehyung spoke.
"Okay."