Jungkook's mind was slow to catch up with reality.

His body ached, his head was heavy, and his mouth was dry, but none of that mattered as much as the scene before him.

A mother and child.

The young man—**angelic, delicate, with warm brown eyes—**sat just a few feet away, his baby tucked safely against his chest. The baby suckled quietly, tiny fingers gripping onto the man's robe, completely at peace.

Jungkook swallowed. His pulse pounded in his ears.

For a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot how he got here. All he could do was stare.

The man noticed his gaze, his expression softening into something hesitant.

"You're awake," he murmured.

Jungkook licked his cracked lips, his voice raspy from disuse. "Where...?"

"You're in my house."

Jungkook's brows furrowed. House? He turned his head slightly, scanning the dimly lit room. The place was warm, cozy—a spacious living room with soft cream-colored couches and elegant furniture. A rich man's home.

Jungkook tensed.

"What happened?" he croaked, pushing himself up slightly. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, revealing his bare arms, his bruises, the faded remnants of a life spent fighting.

The man frowned. "You collapsed outside."

Jungkook's chest tightened. Right. The rain. The exhaustion. He barely remembered dragging himself through the streets, body battered from his last underground fight. He must've blacked out.

His fists clenched. I was careless.

The man continued, shifting his baby into a more comfortable position. "I couldn't leave you out there."

Jungkook's gaze flickered back to him.

Why?

Why would someone like him—soft-spoken, delicate, obviously wealthy—bring in a complete stranger?

It was stupid.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, sitting up fully. His muscles protested, his body sore all over, but he ignored it.

"I should go." His voice was rough, but firm.

The man blinked, lips parting slightly. He looked surprised. Then, something like concern flickered across his face.

"You can't."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

"You have a fever." The man tightened his grip around his child, voice gentle but unwavering. "And you're injured. You need to rest."

Jungkook scowled. "I'll be fine."

The man sighed, shifting his baby higher on his chest. "You barely made it through the front gate. If you step outside right now, you'll collapse again."

Jungkook said nothing, his jaw clenching. He didn't like this. Didn't like feeling weak.

But... the exhaustion was real. He could still feel the lingering heat of his fever, the way his limbs felt heavier than usual. He knew if he tried to stand now, he wouldn't make it far.

The man seemed to read his hesitation.

"Just stay until morning," he said softly. "I'll help you then."

Jungkook's eyes narrowed. Why are you helping me?

He wanted to ask.

He didn't.

Instead, he exhaled through his nose and sank back against the couch, his body betraying him.

The man gave a small nod, as if satisfied. "Good."

For a while, silence settled between them. The only sounds were the soft pattering of the rain outside and the quiet suckling noises from the baby.

Jungkook shifted, suddenly aware of how intimate the scene was.

The man still had his robe loose, cradling his baby against his chest, completely unbothered by Jungkook's presence. His long curls cascaded over his shoulders, his skin glowing in the dim candlelight.

He was beautiful.

Jungkook looked away. This is none of my business.

But then, the baby made a tiny noise—a whimper, a fuss.

Jungkook glanced back just as the man pulled the baby away from his chest, adjusting him carefully. Jiho, he realized. That's the baby's name.

"Someone's full," the man cooed, gently patting the baby's back. Jiho let out a soft, sleepy sigh, nuzzling closer.

Jungkook's throat felt dry again.

This kind of softness... He wasn't used to it.

His life had been filled with violence, with blood-stained knuckles and sleepless nights. This warmth, this gentleness—it was foreign.

"Who are you?" The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The man turned to him, surprised. "Oh. Right. I never introduced myself."

He gave a small, shy smile.

"I'm Taehyung." He rocked Jiho gently, looking down at his son with warmth in his eyes. "And this is Jiho."

Jungkook stared.

Taehyung.

It suited him.

After a moment, Taehyung looked back up. "And you?"

Jungkook hesitated. He never liked giving his name to strangers. It felt like a weakness—like letting someone get too close.

But Taehyung had already taken him in, tended to his wounds, let him into his home.

He owed him something.

"...Jungkook." His voice was quieter than he intended.

Taehyung's smile widened just slightly. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook."

Jungkook looked away, suddenly feeling too warm.

⸻

Later that night...

Jungkook couldn't sleep.

He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic breathing of Taehyung and Jiho from the bedroom.

Everything felt too quiet. Too soft.

This house, this warmth—it wasn't for people like him.

Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair. I need to leave in the morning.

He would take what little strength he had and walk away before he got too comfortable.

Because if there was one thing Jungkook knew for sure...

He didn't belong here.