His Darkest Desire ||Taekook||

chapter twenty

"My mother was a bitch," Jungkook says bluntly.
Taehyung quickly sits up, startled, his mouth falling open in shock. The harshness of Jungkook's words catches him off guard—especially since he's speaking about his own mother.

"Jungkook, that's a bit—"
Taehyung's words die in his throat when Jungkook turns to look at him, teeth clenched and fists twisting tightly into the bedsheets.

"No, Tae. She was a horrible mother," Jungkook says, his voice low and unwavering.

He tries to push away the memories of the day she left him, but they linger at the edges of his mind. Still, it's as if he's stopped caring altogether—whether she's alive or dead no longer matters to him.
Taehyung frowns at the confession, concern flickering in his eyes, but he stays silent, waiting for Jungkook to go on.

"She left me when I was six. The only parent I thought actually loved me... just left," Jungkook says, his voice barely above a whisper.
He feels exposed, as if he's peeling back layers he's spent years hiding—showing a side of himself no one else has seen, except Taehyung.
The older man gasps softly, heart aching at the rawness in Jungkook's voice. Without a word, he reaches for Jungkook's hand, their fingers intertwining. He gives it a gentle squeeze, a quiet gesture of comfort and solidarity.

"I get it, but that doesn't mean you can call her that. She... she kind of raised you," Taehyung says gently, though even he isn't sure it's the right thing to say.

He knows he shouldn't press too hard—he wasn't there, didn't live through it—but still, a part of him wants to understand. Wants to believe that maybe it wasn't all bad.
But Jungkook shakes his head quickly, almost desperately, his bangs falling over his eyes, hiding the storm gathering behind them.

"Tae... what kind of mother leaves her six-year-old crying, begging her to stay?"
Jungkook's voice trembles, his anger barely contained beneath the surface. "What mother looks her child in the eyes with disgust... and says he's just like his father?"
He pauses, his throat tightening, eyes stinging.
"And what m-mother," he stammers, the word catching, "tells her kid he's a m-monster?"
Silence stretches between them—heavy, suffocating. Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, chest rising and falling as if the weight of those words has finally been freed.

Taehyung says nothing. He doesn't rush to respond or try to fix it. He just holds Jungkook's hand tighter, his quiet presence the only comfort he can offer as he waits for the storm to pass.

Jungkook feels something wet on his cheeks.
Confused, he reaches up and brushes his fingers across his skin—tears. More of them follow, slipping down without permission.
He's never cried. Not since his father drilled it out of him—taught him to stay still, to swallow every feeling, to become unreadable. Emotionless. A shadow when needed.

But before he can process the ache behind his eyes or the tightness in his chest, he feels two warm hands gently cup his face.

Startled, his head turns slightly—and there they are.
Taehyung's soft brown eyes, steady and unflinching, looking right into his. Not judging. Not afraid. Just... there.

Present. Holding him together when everything else threatens to fall apart.

Gentle fingers brush the tears from his cheeks, and Jungkook exhales a shaky breath.
"Shh... it's okay. You don't have to talk about it," Taehyung whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. He can see how much it's taken out of Jungkook, how fragile he's become just speaking it aloud.

Jungkook watches quietly as Taehyung picks up the remote and switches off the TV, the soft glow of the screen fading into darkness. Then, without a word, Taehyung lowers himself down onto the bed and gives a gentle tug at Jungkook's arm.