Jungkook knew he didn’t belong here.

But he had never felt it more than when Taehyung’s father stood before him, cold eyes raking over him like he was filth.

The older man sat in the grand living room, a cup of untouched tea in his hands. Everything about him screamed power, wealth, and authority.

And Jungkook?

He was just a bodyguard.

A fighter who had nothing but scars and a past he didn’t talk about.

“Is this how you repay my kindness?” Taehyung’s father finally spoke, voice calm but sharp.

Jungkook stiffened. “Sir?”

“You’ve been living here like a king,” the man continued. “Sleeping under the same roof as my son, around my grandson.” His gaze darkened. “Playing family.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

He had expected disapproval. Taehyung’s father had never hidden his disdain for him. But hearing it out loud—so bluntly, so cruelly—made something sink in his chest.

“I’m doing my job,” Jungkook said, keeping his tone even.

Taehyung’s father scoffed. “Your job? Protecting Taehyung doesn’t require you to be in his house, does it?” His voice dipped lower. “Doesn’t require you to touch him. To look at him the way you do.”

Jungkook stiffened.

The man leaned back, watching him like a predator.

“You think I don’t see it?” He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re just like a stray dog who’s been given scraps for the first time. And now you think you belong at the table.”

Jungkook’s fingers curled into a fist.

The words stung.

Because they weren’t wrong.

He had never been needed before. Never had a place in anyone’s home. But here—**with Taehyung, with Jiho—**he had let himself forget.

Forget that he was nothing but a temporary presence in their lives.

That people like him didn’t get to stay.

And Taehyung’s father? He knew it.

That’s why he leaned in, delivering the final blow:

“One day, my son will come to his senses,” he said, voice filled with certainty. “And when he does, you’ll see that you were never meant to stay.”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

He just stood there, silent.

Because what could he say?

What could he argue?

He wasn’t blind. He knew Taehyung deserved better. Someone with a name, with a future. Someone who wasn’t a man covered in bruises, trained to fight and disappear.

Jungkook felt something twist in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, he felt small.

And for the first time since he arrived here—he wanted to leave.