Ashes Between Us

Taehyung does not touch him the way lovers do anymore.
When his hand closes around Jungkook's wrist, it is not desire-it is accusation. Jungkook's omega instincts scream, body folding inward as if that might make him smaller, less visible, less guilty.
"You should have died with them," someone whispers at the funeral.
Jungkook believes it.
He wakes every night with phantom pain where life once existed inside him, palms pressed to a flat stomach that feels like a grave. No one asks about the blood he lost. No one asks why he shakes when footsteps approach. Everyone already knows the story they prefer.
Taehyung never asks.
Hatred becomes routine. Silence becomes punishment. Jungkook learns how to disappear inside rooms that still smell like Taehyung's parents-people who once called him son.
When the truth finally surfaces, it does not arrive gently. It arrives with gunfire, betrayal, and a name Taehyung trusted too much.
Regret does not undo the damage.
Love does not erase trauma.
Recovery is slow, ugly, and uncertain.
But it is possible