One shots | Kim Taehyung

His son's mother | Part 2

The sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow across the house as the morning unfolded. Taehyung had already retreated to his home office by the time you stirred awake.

You blinked in confusion, realizing you had fallen asleep in his room. The faint scent of his cologne lingered, a subtle reminder of where you were.

Shaking off the thoughts, you dressed and headed to the kitchen where YeJoon was happily wheeling around in his toy car, his laughter a sweet melody.

"YeJoon-ah," you cooed, kneeling to his level. "Stay here for a moment, hmm? I'll be right back after calling Dada for breakfast."

YeJoon babbled something incoherent but cheerful, clapping his hands in agreement. You ruffled his hair fondly before heading toward Taehyung's office.

Knocking twice, you entered quietly. Taehyung was seated at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. But there was something off—the slump of his shoulders, the way his hand lingered at his temple.

"Breakfast is ready," you said softly. "You should come eat."

He looked up, his eyes clouded with exhaustion, and nodded. "I'll be there."

You hesitated for a moment, noticing the strain in his posture, but decided not to press him further.

As you left, Taehyung leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with a shaky hand.

When he finally joined you in the dining room, his movements were slower than usual. YeJoon, however, lit up the moment he saw his father.

"Da!" YeJoon exclaimed, reaching his tiny arms toward him.

Taehyung managed a weak smile, ruffling his son's hair before sitting down. You watched him carefully as you served his plate, noticing the way his hands trembled slightly.

YeJoon squirmed in his chair, clearly full from the breakfast you had fed him, and began to yawn. "Shewlpy," he mumbled in his baby voice.

You smiled at him. "Alright, let's put you to bed."

Carrying YeJoon upstairs, you laid him down in his crib, smoothing his hair as he drifted off to sleep.

Returning downstairs, you found Taehyung barely touching his food. He pushed the plate away and stood, heading toward the kitchen. But something about his steps felt uneven, unsteady.

"Taehyung?" you called out, concern lacing your voice as you approached him.

Before he could respond, his legs wavered, and he began to stumble. You darted forward, catching his arm just in time.

"Taehyung!" Your voice was sharp with worry. His skin was burning under your touch, his body heavy against yours.

He tried to brush it off, his voice hoarse. "I'm fine—"

"No, you're not." You pressed your palm against his forehead, your heart sinking at the fever scorching his skin. "You're running a fever, Taehyung. You need to rest."

Reluctantly, he allowed you to guide him to your room, his steps faltering as you held him steady. YeJoon was sound asleep in his room.

Settling him onto the bed, you placed a cold compress on his forehead, your hands trembling slightly as you worked.

"You should've said something," you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

Taehyung let out a soft groan, his head falling back against the pillow as he struggled to stay coherent. His fever was high, his body aching as though it bore the weight of all the grief and exhaustion he had carried for months. He wasn't in his senses to respond, his lips trembling as he muttered something unintelligible.