The days after the confrontation felt heavy, like an invisible curtain had dropped between Taehyung and the rest of his family. His father refused to answer his calls, and when Taehyung returned home to plead, the door stayed shut. His sister avoided his eyes at the gate. For the first time, Taehyung felt like an orphan in his own house.
Jungkook, on the other hand, noticed the silence settling on the boy. The way Taehyung smiled less, the way his hands fidgeted as though trying to hold on to something slipping away. Jungkook hated it.
He found himself watching Taehyung when Taehyung wasn’t looking — the tilt of his head when he was lost in thought, the stubborn way he brushed his tears before anyone could see. Something inside Jungkook tightened.
One evening, after his shift at the tattoo shop, Jungkook dragged Taehyung to the boxing gym.
“You’re too soft,” Jungkook muttered, throwing Taehyung a pair of gloves. “Try it.”
Taehyung blinked. “Boxing?”
“Outer pain,” Jungkook smirked, strapping on his own gloves, “is better than the shit that eats you inside. Hit me.”
Taehyung hesitated but swung, sloppy and weak. Jungkook caught his wrist and shook his head. “No. Don’t pity me. Don’t pity yourself. If you’re angry, let it out.”
The words cracked something in Taehyung. He punched again, harder this time. His knuckles stung, his wrists ached, but for a fleeting second the weight in his chest lightened.
When he dropped onto the bench, panting, Jungkook handed him a water bottle. Their fingers brushed — a fleeting touch, but enough to make Taehyung glance away quickly.
Jungkook, though, only smiled faintly. “Not bad. You’ve got more fight in you than you think.”
---
Meanwhile, Taehyung’s father was battling his own storm of thoughts. A small part of him had considered forgiving Taehyung, letting him return. But each time he saw his son walking beside that boy — the tattooed fighter with bruised knuckles and an air of rebellion — his anger deepened. To him, it was proof Taehyung had stayed further.
One night, Mr. Kim stood at the balcony, watching from afar as Taehyung laughed faintly at something Jungkook said near the shop. The laughter, instead of soothing him, burned him.
“He’s ruined,” he whispered bitterly to himself. “That boy has ruined my son.”
The evening was colder than usual, as if the air itself carried the weight of unspoken words. Taehyung stood outside the house, still shaken from his father’s earlier scolding. For a fleeting moment, he had thought his father might finally soften, might see the truth of his intentions. But then… there was Jungkook. Always Jungkook — the boy with tattoos, scars, and rumors trailing behind him like shadows.
His father’s voice had thundered: “You think this boy will bring you respect? He will only ruin you further!” The words still echoed in Taehyung’s chest, sharper than the winter wind.
-----
Later that night, when the streets grew quiet and the city’s lights blurred into the darkness, Jungkook sat alone in his small room above the tattoo shop. The smell of ink and metal lingered in the air, but his mind was far away.
A memory clawed its way back — uninvited, merciless.
Blood.
Sticky, hot, staining his small hands.
A knife glinting under dim light, its blade trembling as he held it.
A child’s voice crying — broken, helpless — echoing against the walls
The sound of footsteps rushing in—voices raised, disbelief sharper than any blade.
And then… nothing but cold silence.
Jungkook’s eyes snapped open. He dragged in a breath, his chest tight. For a second, the buzzing needle sounded like screams, and he quickly switched it off.
And his own breath, fast, shallow, as fear swallowed him whole.
Jungkook shut his eyes, pressing his palms into them until stars burst in the dark. But the images didn’t vanish. They never did. The helplessness was etched too deep. The feeling of being unheard, unseen… unloved.
He leaned back against the wall, fists clenching until his knuckles ached. Boxing had been his escape, tattoos his shield — ways to carry pain outside his skin so it wouldn’t drown him inside.
He had learned to fight because fists and bruises were easier to carry than those broken images that clawed at him every night. But no matter how much ink he poured into his skin, some scars stayed invisible—burning, buried.
And now, with Taehyung in his orbit, those shadows felt closer than ever, threatening to spill out.
But tonight, Taehyung’s smile flashed through the storm of memories. Soft, fragile, unguarded. And for the first time in years, Jungkook wondered if maybe—just maybe—someone could look past his shadows.
He exhaled, long and shaky, whispering into the silence.
“Not again… I won’t let anyone break like that again.”
The buried deep memories are crawling back..will he be able to withstand those or will crumble against it?
More and more taekook interactions are on the way🥳
I hope you are enjoying the story
Have a happy and peaceful day <3
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Serendipity
أدب الهواةWhen a so called bad boy fall in love with a kind hearted boy..and his love lead him to his own self that was once buried deep in his mind.. But will he be able to treasure his love Or again lose everything? For all my hopeless romantic readers thi...
