Spring Day // Kim Taehyung ( V )

Chapter 33 - the past.

Namjoon's POV (finally a different person)

I found myself watching Taehyung as he slept quietly, a tenderness that feels almost inappropriate to admit. It's not just admiration—there's a deeper care that has quietly grown over the years. It sounds strange, perhaps even unsettling, but his presence has become essential to me. Since our trainee days, I've taken it upon myself to look out for him—emotionally and physically. Seeing him cry over my sister cut deeper than I expected; I wondered why he kept his feelings hidden, especially about George. I understand love that's unreciprocated, even if it's not the kind most people talk about.

But I'm not referring to a girl.

Flashback

"Eomma, are you really leaving us?" I clung to her, desperate to stop her from walking out the door. My small arms couldn't hold her back, but I tried.

She paused, kneeling so our eyes met. Her gaze was cold, lacking warmth or remorse. No tears, no hesitation.

"Namjoon, listen carefully. Your father and I don't love each other anymore," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Her hands cradled my face, cold as ice.

That wasn't true. I saw how my father cried for her every night, how he begged her to stay when she threatened to leave. I saw the pain in his eyes, the desperation in his voice.

"That's not true," I yelled, tears streaming uncontrollably. "Appa loves you. It's you who doesn't love him!"

Her reaction shattered me. She slapped me, hard, without a single tear in her eyes.

"I don't love your father anymore," she whispered, voice trembling. "I love someone else—someone who keeps his promises. Your father—he's failed us. He's failed himself. He has no job, no future. I sacrificed everything for him. For us. But now, I've found someone who can give me what I deserve."

Tears fell from her cheeks—not out of regret, but relief. Regret for what we lost, for what we became.

Without another word, she stood and walked away. I called her name repeatedly, but she never looked back. A car pulled into our modest gate—the man she loved for his wealth.

I sprinted back home, where I found my father, slumped in a broken state, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. He looked utterly defeated.

"She's gone, isn't she?" His voice cracked, eyes unfocused.

I ran to him, collapsing into his embrace, crying as he held me tightly. He rested his chin on my head, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry, son," he whispered.

End of flashback

Our family was never quite whole. Our small home was built by my father's hands, but fortune never smiled upon us. My parents' constant arguments reflected their despair. My mother's words echoed in my mind: "You're just a worthless guy who makes wrong decisions and has no ambition." It became my silent motivation to prove her wrong.

I threw myself into my studies, but my true passion was rap. I dedicated myself entirely—battles, nights in the studio, risking everything. Gambling became a dangerous obsession, a way to chase dreams but also a trap. My father's disappointment in my reckless habits was a harsh reality, and I realized I was squandering his sacrifices.

Then, a call changed everything. A friend informed me about Bighit's auditions. I hesitated, knowing my father wanted me to pursue a conventional career—business, just like he dreamed. But I couldn't ignore the pull of music. I auditioned, risking rejection, knowing it might push my father further away.

To my surprise, he eventually supported me. His initial anger faded, replaced by pride when I succeeded. I managed to buy him a house and a car, tangible symbols of my gratitude. But despite material success, our family remained fractured.

Things shifted when my father moved to the U.S. for work. He found stability, met Aunt Ane, and gradually, he rediscovered happiness. It was as if he had been remade—more resilient, more hopeful. Their presence rekindled a part of him that had been lost for years. For that, I am profoundly grateful.

Now, I see the cracks in our family still remain, but I also see the possibility of healing. And for Taehyung—my friend, my confidant—I hope he finds peace, even if love remains unfulfilled.

Later that evening, I found Jin and Suga sitting in the dim glow of the living room. The air was heavy with unspoken concern, and I hesitated before speaking.

"Have you noticed how Taehyung's been lately?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

Jin looked up, his expression softening. "Yeah. He's been quieter than usual. Usually, he's the one joking around, trying to lift everyone's spirits. But lately... it's like he's carrying something heavy."

Suga leaned back, crossing his arms. "He's been like that since the whole thing with your sister. I think he's trying to hide how much it's affecting him. You know how he is—he doesn't want to show weakness."

I nodded, feeling the weight of their words. "I've been watching him. Sometimes, I catch him staring at nothing, lost in thought. I know he cares for her, even if he doesn't say it. And I can tell he's hurting more than he admits."

Jin sighed, rubbing his temples. "Taehyung's always been the type to keep things bottled up. But I worry. If he keeps everything inside, it'll only get worse."

Suga looked at me, eyes serious. "We should talk to him. Gently. Let him know he's not alone. Sometimes, just knowing someone understands can make a difference."

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I think he needs to hear that. That he's valued, loved even, despite everything."

Jin smiled softly. "We're here for him. Always."

Suga added, "Maybe we can find a way to get through to him. Help him open up. That's what friends do."

As I listened, I felt a little hope stirring. Taehyung might be hurting, but he wasn't alone. We'd stand by him, no matter how difficult it got.

Jin leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle but firm. "The thing is, Taehyung's always been the strongest among us, in his own way. But even strength needs support sometimes. We just have to be patient and let him know it's okay to lean on us."

Suga nodded in agreement. "Exactly. We can't force him to open up, but we can create a safe space for him. Maybe when he's ready, he'll talk."

I looked down, feeling the weight of responsibility. "I just hate seeing him like this—like he's carrying the world on his shoulders. I know he's been struggling with everything—his feelings about George, his pain over my sister, and now... whatever's bothering him most right now."

Jin reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We all have our battles, Namjoon. Taehyung's just more reserved about sharing his. But trust that he appreciates us being here for him. Sometimes, just knowing you're not alone can make all the difference."

Suga looked at the clock, then back at us. "We should check on him later. Maybe sit with him, ask if he's okay, without pressuring him. Just let him know we care."

I nodded, feeling a little lighter. "Yeah. I'll do that. I just want him to understand he doesn't have to carry everything by himself."

Jin smiled softly. "That's what friends are for. We'll get through this together."

As they both nodded in agreement, I couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of responsibility. Taehyung's pain was invisible to most, but not to us. We'd be there—silent, supportive, and patient—until he was ready to share what he was truly feeling.