Chapter Text
The Queen stepped carefully through a thick layer of snow, wandering deeper into the palace gardens. The sky was dark; not a star twinkled in its depths. But, the full moon shone brightly, illuminating the white blanket at her feet.
“Your majesty! Come back inside! It’s not good for the baby!” a voice sounded, too muffled by the wind to know from where it came.
Her hand moved to her swollen belly. Only a few more days until she would meet her little prince.
Ignoring the troubled voice, the Queen continued through the garden until she came upon the rarity she was searching for.
Growing from an imposing briar was a single rose, frost crystallizing on its crimson petals. Her fingers caressed the velvety blossom. “My sweet boy, I think it blooms for you.”
The Queen pressed her palm against her abdomen. The gesture was met with a gentle flutter beneath her fingertips. She smiled softly, wrapping her arms around her belly. She didn’t yet know the prince, but could already sense his peculiarity. He would one day make a remarkable king: creative, inquisitive, revolutionary.
A tickle rose in the back of the Queen’s throat and a small cough escaped her lips. She frowned at the interruption. Her coughing fits had only become more frequent as her pregnancy neared its completion. The doctor warned her that the infection would only continue to worsen without treatment, but she feared his ministrations could harm the baby. What was chest pain to a mother devoted to protecting her unborn son?
She began her way back to the palace with enough sense to know that the cold air was not aiding the matter. The Queen trod carefully, her head pounding with each step. The moonlight was so bright, she had to close her eyes to lessen the pain. When she opened them again, she didn’t recognize where she was. As she spun in search of a waypoint, she found nothing but snow. It soaked through her skirts and chilled her hands as she tried to regain her footing.
Another gasp for air. Her throat was burning. Her breaths were nothing but shallow wheezes. She tried to call out for help but choked out something warm instead.
Deep red droplets shone on the sparkling white snow. The crimson was beautiful, just like the rose that bloomed in the winter. Just for her little prince. Just for Taehyung.
🥀
Cold winter air whipped around the archery range, sending a chill down Taehyung’s spine. He squared his feet and rotated his chin over his shoulder, aiming at the wooden target once again.
The light snowfall obscured his line of sight, but it was nothing he hadn’t trained for.
He drew back on the bowstring and let out a breath.
Thunk. His arrow struck the bullseye, landing just beside the two he had shot prior.
“Great work, Prince Taehyung! Everything appears to be in order for your coronation tomorrow. Our work here is done.” The trainer bowed and extended his hands to take Taehyung’s bow.
The prince rolled his eyes and surrendered the weapon. If only handling a kingdom were the same as a bow. Then he would have no reason to feel uneasy over taking the crown.
Taehyung peeled off his quiver and arm guard. Before he had the chance to worry about where to set them, a steward rushed over to take them out of his hands. He traded him for his cloak, immediately swinging it over his shoulders. It was much too cold to be outside of the palace.
He bowed his thanks to the men before rushing back toward his home. Keeping his head down, he hurried along the stone path and through the resting garden.
He slowed as he passed under its arbors. Taehyung much preferred the gardens in the summer, when he would bask all day in the warm sun and leave each evening smelling of jasmine. But he couldn’t miss out on this rare bit of tranquility.
He hadn’t had a moment’s rest in what felt like weeks. Along with the nerves, Prince Taehyung’s coronation brought with it countless hours of archery practice, fittings, and speech writing. And that wasn’t even including the preparations for the ball!
Taehyung wandered off the path, further into the gardens. He paused in front of a briar that crept up a metal archway. In the more temperate months, this particular vine grew the prince’s favorite flower: a rose. But these roses were unlike any other in the garden. Their petals were large and of the deepest crimson. He would take his time to choose the most beautiful to pluck between his fingers, careful to avoid its thorns.
Oh, how enchanting its sweet scent was as he rubbed its velvety petals against his skin! Taehyung was so caught up in his daydream he failed to notice he was acting out his performance, hand poised to pluck a rose that existed only in his imagination. Not until he felt the prick of a thorn on his finger was he brought back to reality.
His eyes snapped open and he pulled his hand back from his assailant, a droplet of blood forming on his fingertip. He turned his hand from side to side, pondering the wound for a moment before sticking his finger in his mouth and continuing his journey back to the palace.
He bounded up the steps to the entrance and the door was pulled open for him before he reached the main threshold. He knew the doorman stationed just inside watched for him through a cut-out in the solid wood. Taehyung only wondered how long after he left his surveillance began.
“How did archery fare, Your Highness? The weather is most unpleasant.”
“Splendid,” Taehyung deadpanned, removing his cloak and handing it to the doorman.
“Very good, sir. I was told to inform you that the Queen had your new suit delivered to your room. She requested you try it on before tomorrow morning.”
The doorman turned away to store his cloak and Taehyung rolled his eyes. He crouched down to unlace his boots, pulling them off before he could be lectured for tracking mud onto his stepmother’s perpetually-polished floors.
He nodded his thanks when the doorman took away his boots and made his way across the foyer to the overambitious marble staircase. A light shone from the parlor down the hall. Taehyung noted his stepmother’s present location before padding up the stairs, the chill of the stone seeping through his socks.
When he reached his bedroom, the door was already open. The doorman’s warning had been unnecessary; Taehyung always left it closed. But at least he could avoid the sickening anxiety of wondering what his stepmother had been doing in his room.
Taehyung closed the door, shutting out the light from the hallway. He could just make out the new addition in the darkness, hanging austerely from his changing screen. It stood as though it were another prince there in the corner, just waiting to take his place.
He pondered the idea, feeling for the matchbox on his dresser. A second prince could relieve him of many of the difficulties of becoming king. Having someone else to write speeches, manage the ledgers, and, most importantly, have dealings with his stepmother would leave Taehyung’s days free to do as he pleased.
His fingers found a match and he struck it against the box’s rough edge. The small glow offered enough light to find the wick of the oil lamp, and the darkness of the room disappeared along with his delusions.
Once again a lifeless garment, Taehyung’s suit was no less foreboding. He ran a hand along its golden filigree and imagined himself wearing the deep blue fabric. Sitting upon the gilded throne while a crown was lowered onto his head of black curls, he would be as rigid as the stiff wool the coat was made from.
Taehyung loathed every fitting he had endured to create this end result. He always struggled through appointments where he had to remain still; his body begged to wriggle and squirm whenever he felt agitated. And not once was he asked his opinion on how he should be embellished for the event. His stepmother had assumed all control over his coronation ceremony, including the details of his dress.
She had said he looked ‘refined’ when he stepped out wearing the near-finished suit at his final fitting. Taehyung thought ‘stuffy’ was a more appropriate term.
But at least all the pin-prickings had amounted to something.
Just as Taehyung was about to remove the coat from its hanger, a knock sounded at his door. He felt a small satisfaction at the interruption. He could delay donning his bindings for a bit longer.
Taehyung opened the door expecting to find the reticent gaze of one of his stepmother’s many servants summoning him down to the parlor. Instead, he was met with a simple wooden box at his feet. Atop the interloper rested an ivory envelope, blank. It allowed him a few more moments of curiosity as he carried the package inside and set it atop his bed.
Opening the envelope first was the obvious choice. He ran his fingers across the smooth paper, breaking an unmarked wax seal. He pulled out a card, ivory like the envelope, and flipped it over.
Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat when he saw whose hand the letter was written in. He had seen it throughout the palace his entire life: in the margins of books and on past ledgers. But he had never seen her script so unsteady, as though she had penned the message in a hurry.
To my rose who blooms even in the harshest winter,
How I wish I could be there to offer you this gift with my own hand, as it was once passed down to me from my own father.
On the eve of your coronation, I would like to lend you a piece of advice: Your heart is pure. You will come across many who wish to take advantage of your sincerity. Protect yourself from those who possess a false devotion toward you, but do not keep your heart so guarded that you become isolated from a love that is true.
Remember, my son, the adoration I have for you will never wither.
Mother
He clutched the letter to his chest for a moment, allowing her words to swell through his heart. Then, he set it gingerly to the side and focused his attention on his mother’s gift.
Taehyung slid off the box’s lid to reveal its contents. Inside, lay a short knife sheathed in brown leather. Its hilt was exposed, a vine of briars encircling the metal. He traced a swirl around the knife’s stem. Then, he carefully plucked it from its sheath.
Taehyung gasped. The pattern of vines extended onto the blade, engraved roses blooming across its silver surface. Albeit small, the knife remained an undeniable display of authority. The delicate petals dancing atop its face seemed even more fragile next to the razor-sharp edge of the blade.
He spun the knife’s point on his fingertip, threatening to draw out a drop of crimson to color the silver. The gift boasted all the qualities of a king that Taehyung wished to wield: vulnerable and sweet, but also prudent and cunning.
It would take deft hands to handle this blade with the reverence it demanded. At his first opportunity, Taehyung would find someone who could teach him the proper way to handle such a weapon.
Until then, he slid the knife back into its covering and attached the sheath to his belt. Now, Taehyung would be armed with his own thorn.
Stowing away the box and the letter brought a new question to the forefront of Taehyung’s mind: Who had his mother entrusted with this gift for all these years?
It wasn’t that Taehyung never trusted any of the palace staff, but he didn’t feel safe revealing his personal matters to anyone lest their loyalties were simply with the crown and not him directly. He feared hearing the thoughts he shared in confidence come back to him on his stepmother’s tongue.
But knowing that there still remained someone in the palace that his own mother had trusted filled his heart with a new hope. Having a confidante by his side as king would make his new position less painful. And perhaps Taehyung could learn more about the woman that was taken from him by an illness before he could even speak.
He decided now would be the best time to find this mysterious courier, before he assumed the throne and it became even more difficult to heed his mother’s warning.
Closing the door quietly behind him, Taehyung made his way downstairs. The light was still on in the parlor and he suddenly felt grateful for his stepmother’s aversion to dirty floors. Sneaking past the doorway in silent socks would be a much simpler matter.
“It is imperative that everything goes according to plan,” her hushed voice came from behind the partially-closed door. Taehyung rolled his eyes at the way she spoke to her staff. They were more than capable of executing their duties in time for the coronation. In fact, most of the preparations had been completed already.
“Of course, my Queen. He won’t suspect a thing,” a second, gruffer voice sounded. Taehyung stopped in his tracks.
Before thinking better of it, he crept over to the door and peered through the crack. His stepmother was silhouetted by the fire but a second figure was indiscernible in the low light.
“That boy has been in my way long enough. Once you’re done with him, they will finally consider me a legitimate monarch. No more regent nonsense.”
The second figure turned, grabbing for something at his waist. With a flash of silver, a sword was illuminated by the firelight.
Taehyung stumbled back from the door. In his state of disbelief, he was unsure where to turn. Did he continue on his search for his faithful ally? Or did he return to his room as though he had never become aware of his stepmother’s plot?
But neither option would save Taehyung from his certain fate.
Instead, he made a split-second decision and walked purposefully toward the foyer.
“Oh! Hello again, Your Highness. I was just about to take my leave for the evening. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Indeed there is. Will you fetch my cloak and boots, please?” Taehyung replied. Despite his racing heart, he kept his tone passive.
The doorman’s brow furrowed, but he obeyed. When he turned to fulfill his request, Taehyung let out a shaky breath. He glanced over his shoulder, light still emanating from the parlor.
“Are you certain you should leave the palace at this hour, sir? The weather has not let up since you came in.”
He helped Taehyung into his cloak and handed him his boots. He shoved his feet into the leather, lacing them up as quickly as his trembling fingers would allow.
“I only need to make a short trip to the gardens. I was practicing my speech earlier and I must have left my notes on one of the benches,” Taehyung replied.
The doorman must have believed his fabrication, only saying, “Please hurry back, sir. I would hate for you to fall ill before your coronation.”
Taehyung waved away his concern.
“I’ll be fine. And, please, don’t extend your duty for me. You may retire from your post for the night.”
The doorman gave him a curt nod and opened the door, bitter air pouring into the warm foyer.
Taehyung set out into the night, choosing the path that took him through the gardens. Despite relieving him of his post, the prince knew the doorman would still be watching. He only hoped that seeing him disappear amongst the greenery would be enough to send his onlooker to bed.
He found his way to the gate at the backside of the garden, now far enough from the palace for him to go unseen, and slipped through the iron bars.
In spite of the danger he was in, Taehyung silently relished this new experience. At his stepmother’s request, the prince had never been permitted to leave the palace grounds. Now, that order seemed a bit more deliberate. Had she been planning his demise all this time?
He was just a boy when his father left him to join his mother, promising that, one day, Taehyung himself would become king. Until then, his stepmother would act as Queen Regent and exercise all royal duties on the prince’s behalf.
Looking back on his childhood, Taehyung wondered how he ever missed the signs that his stepmother wanted the throne to herself. She became a different person once she held the power that the title offered, seeming to revel in the grip she had on the kingdom’s reins. By keeping Taehyung out of sight until he was disposed of, the people would never have the opportunity to miss the true heir to the throne.
With no plan of where to go, Taehyung lost himself in the woods. He hoped he would eventually come across a village or at least some sign of life—preferably human—but had no concept of his location. He continued to travel in what he hoped was one direction. This, he thought, would give him the best chance of finding refuge.
The wind seemed to grow more excited as the hours ticked by, whipping through his hair and sending a chill down his spine. Taehyung tried in vain to keep his cloak wrapped around him, but after snagging against briars and branches, it did little to keep him warm.
His toes were frozen and aching in his boots. His clothes were soaked through by the snow and covered in mud. No matter the direction he turned, he was met with the same anonymous trees. Their gangling arms reached for him from faceless torsos.
By the time the sun rose over the horizon, Taehyung felt ready to surrender to the forest. He reasoned that curling up in a snow drift and allowing the elements to take him was a preferable alternative to the huntsman’s blade.
When a small cottage appeared in his field of vision, he thought he must be dreaming. Perhaps he had already fallen unconscious in the snow and his mind was playing tricks on him to force him awake. But as the structure grew larger, Taehyung realized that it was no hallucination.
He hurried up to the stone shelter and peered into the front window. What appeared to be a living space was shrouded in darkness, the only light source being the glass that Taehyung currently had his nose pressed against. Shadows stretched away from him toward a cramped kitchen at the back of the room.
Deciding that no one was home, Taehyung tried the front door. The knob turned easily in his hand, granting him entrance to this tiny sanctuary.
“Hello?” he ventured, stepping across the threshold.
The lack of response confirmed his suspicions. He crouched down to unlace his boots, concluding that tracking mud into his savior’s residence would be impolite.
“Now where do they keep the matches?” he wondered aloud, wandering further into the cottage on bare feet. After finding a box tucked neatly away in a kitchen drawer, Taehyung lit the nearest lamp and assessed the space.
The kitchen was larger than he previously noted, some of the counters obscured under a staircase in the corner. Between it and the sitting area near the window stood a simple wooden dining table, with only one chair tucked under it.
A single place setting was atop the table, a spoon and fork sitting on opposite sides of an earthenware bowl. Upon closer inspection, Taehyung found stray water droplets around its rim, as though it had been freshly washed and set back in its place.
“How peculiar…” he trailed, making his way over to the fireplace on the opposite wall. He knelt in front of it and considered the set of iron instruments hanging from their stand. He had never built a fire on his own before but had watched servants do it countless times.
Taehyung chose a large log from the nearby stack and placed it inside the fireplace. He struck a match and set it under the log, but it burnt out before fire could catch. He frowned.
“That’s not right.”
He remembered the servants at the palace placing smaller sticks around the larger ones before they lit the fire, but where would they be kept?
Taehyung searched until he spotted a metal box on the mantle. Sure enough, he found a variety of options for kindling. He wasn’t sure how to choose between the curling spirals of wood shavings or the longer twigs, so he placed both shapes around the log and lit another match. This time, the fire took.
He sat back on his heels in relief. Now illuminated by the fire, Taehyung could see how filthy his clothes really were. He glanced over to the staircase he assumed led up to a bedroom. Would it be ill-mannered to borrow a fresh set of clothes?
“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Taehyung said aloud. After all, wouldn’t it be worse to sully their house with mud?
He headed over to the stairs, stopping to judge his appearance in the small mirror hanging at their base. He could hardly recognize himself. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and tears streaked his dirt-stained cheeks.
“Maybe a bath is in order as well.”
The cottage listened politely to Taehyung’s ruminations but offered him no advice. He could only hope that its owner was as tolerant of guests as it was.
🥀
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Jungkook murmured. He stroked a gloved hand gently over his quarry’s gnarled skin.
He picked up his nearby axe as he stood from his crouch, then lifted the dull-steel blade over his head.
It fell with a smooth thunk, splitting the rigid torso in two. He pulled the sections apart to inspect its center.
Jungkook had selected this particular tree out of many potential alternatives, carefully considering its size, the density of its wood, and its location in the forest before making his judgment.
As he traced over the concentric circles at the tree’s core, he was pleased with the decision. Sugar maple was always one of Jungkook’s favorites to work with. He was fascinated by the way its near-white sapwood contrasted with its dark red heart. With the tree split neatly at his feet, it was easy to imagine the pieces he would carve from its length.
He considered his orders for the week as he wrapped a chain around one of the logs. The requests were simple: a new peel for the town baker, a set of bowls for the woman who lived above the bookshop, and an updated sign for the tavern that seemed to be under new ownership every fortnight.
Jungkook hooked the stretch of chain to the winch at the top of his pulk and gathered a second set of chains to act as an anchor, wrapping it around the thick trunk of a nearby tree.
Maybe if he was clever enough with his cuts, he would have wood left over to work on one of his own carvings. He didn’t allow himself the indulgence often, wanting to conserve resources whenever possible. But whatever spare lumber didn’t end up as firewood always seemed to find its way back to Jungkook’s workbench, yearning to be transformed by his hand.
The winch now secure, he pushed down on the lever and drew the log onto his pulk. He had crafted the sled himself after growing tired of skidding logs back to his workshop by hand. Having a means of carrying his cargo meant fewer trips into the woods and more hours to work on his craft.
Both satisfied Jungkook greatly. He had each day structured just to his liking, and having extra time meant he could fit more into his schedule. Like watching the fauna of the forest, for example.
Just today, he had taken his time to admire a little grey rabbit munching on fallen pine needles. He couldn’t help himself from copying the scrunch of the furry creature’s nose as it sniffed around the base of the tree.
Watching the wildlife thrive reminded Jungkook of why his careful work was so important. By spending all the time he did on selecting which trees to fell he could ensure the health of the entire forest, plants and animals alike.
Despite what many believed, it was best to leave the strongest trees alone. Come spring, they would drop their seed and help to rejuvenate the wood with trees in equally good health. After a few seasons, this left the forest with a body less susceptible to infestation or rot.
But achieving this ideal wasn’t without a cost. No matter how skilled of a woodcarver Jungkook was, a craftsman was only as good as his materials. And by choosing to forgo the highest quality wood for the sake of the forest, his work was rarely free of imperfection. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. After all, the quality of his work would matter little if there was no more forest to harvest from.
Jungkook loaded the second log even more quickly than the first, once again wrapping the thick chain around its breadth and winching it snugly next to its other half.
After wrapping up his chain and collecting some smaller branches off the forest floor to replenish his stock of kindling, Jungkook hooked the pulk to his belt and began the slow journey back to his cottage.
As he made his way home, the creatures of the forest settled into their nightly routines. Squirrels nestled into their hollows and deer curled up in the shrubbery. A pair of distant owls called out to each other across the wood, reaffirming their bond with requited hoots. Even the trees themselves seemed to wish each other goodnight as they relaxed their snow-laden branches.
Eventually, Jungkook passed a familiar downed log, which meant that he, too, would soon get to begin his own nightly routine.
Upon moving to his cottage, he had quickly learned that, like the strongest trees, the weakest played an important role in keeping the system in balance. Woodpeckers hollowed out holes in snags that they, and other creatures, could live in. And once those snags fell, the logs became homes for frogs and fungi.
In the spring, Jungkook would hear their comforting croaks again, but for now, they were hibernating safely away from the harsh winter weather.
Apart from the knowledge he had gained about the forest, Jungkook’s favorite part of living amongst the wildlife was the freedom it offered him. Sequestered from society, he could be himself without judgment from prying eyes. No one called him ‘odd’ when he showed a preference for animals over other people. He could spend all day mimicking the rabbits of the forest if he wanted to!
Jungkook glanced up at the sun, much lower in the sky than usual. Perhaps he had spent too much time today admiring that rabbit…
He quickened his pace, eager to return home to the book he had purchased the last time he made a delivery to town. He was just getting to the part where the handmaiden discovered her lover’s true identity when his eyes betrayed him and he fell asleep on the sofa.
Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn’t dream of the handmaiden’s prince as he slept. With such a regal face and charming personality, it was no wonder she fell in love with him at first sight. But Jungkook would never be as dense as she was. If a prince were to come into his life, he would be able to discern his status immediately.
As he approached his cottage, the thick layer of snow on the forest floor began to thin into the well-worn path that Jungkook took into the woods each day. He could just barely see his home peeking through the trees, a golden light radiating from its front window.
Jungkook froze. Surely he didn’t leave a lamp burning when he left that morning. He moved closer and saw a thin billow of smoke rising from the chimney. He knew he would never leave a fire unattended.
Someone else had to be in his house. They must have broken in and were in the process of ransacking his belongings at this very moment!
But why would a thief start a fire and light all the lamps? That wouldn’t be very covert. At any rate, this gave Jungkook the upper hand. He was aware of this trespasser’s presence before they knew of his.
Instead of taking his usual path up to his front door, Jungkook skirted the tree line around the backside of the house. There were no windows on this side of the property, allowing him to remain concealed as he unhooked his pulk and stowed it behind his workshop.
He crept along the side of his cottage and pressed his back to the door. He wished to peek inside the window to catch a glimpse of the intruder, but it would be too risky. What if they saw him and his cover was blown?
So, he pulled a dagger from his belt with one hand and placed the other on the doorknob. With a final exhale, he eased open the door and slipped through the crack.
But what Jungkook found inside was the furthest from what he had expected.
Someone—a boy—was lounging on his sofa, feet propped up on one armrest, head resting on the other. He looked up from the book he was reading and met Jungkook’s bewildered look with an impassive one.
“I was wondering when you would show up,” he said.
Jungkook was taken aback. Was it his apathetic tone or the rich voice that the words were spoken in?
The boy returned his gaze to his book and Jungkook took the opportunity to regard the stranger. His skin was smooth and soft, dark curls feathered over his brow. If he were some sort of bandit, he surely didn’t look like one.
Jungkook faltered with his dagger.
“What are you doing in my—wait, are those my clothes?”
Upon closer inspection, Jungkook realized that this boy had not only appropriated his sofa but also his wardrobe. It seemed as though he had tucked one of his nightshirts into his only pair of formal trousers. A curious choice, but a becoming one nonetheless.
“I didn’t think you would want me tracking dirt all over your living room,” he replied simply.
Jungkook was baffled by the boy’s brashness. What was going through this stranger’s mind to think he could just walk into someone’s home and act as if he lived there?
“You know those are pajamas.” Jungkook couldn’t help himself from pointing out.
The boy looked down at his blouse and shrugged. “I think I pull it off quite well, don’t you?”
Jungkook shook away the voice in his head telling him to agree. He moved to stand over the mysterious boy, forcing him to look up at him.
“What are you doing in my house?” he tried again.
The boy sat up slowly, setting his book beside him on the cushion. When he looked up at Jungkook, his face was stricken with grief. Tears welled in his bright blue eyes and Jungkook suddenly felt overcome with heartache.
“It’s my grandmother! I was supposed to go stay with her at her cottage, but when I got there she had been eaten by a wolf!”
He let out a choked sob and gripped the front of Jungkook’s shirt, leaving tear stains on the fabric.
Jungkook patted his head of black curls, not sure how to react to his sudden shift in mood.
“I-I’m sorry to hear that. Were you two close?”
The boy looked back up into Jungkook’s eyes, his bottom lip stuck out in a small pout.
“I never even got the chance to meet her! And now I never will.”
He sighed and looked longingly out the front window, mourning the relationship that never was.
Jungkook shook his head, once again in utter disbelief at the boy before him. He allowed his gaze to linger and found himself enamored by his features. Tiny droplets clung to his long eyelashes, emphasizing his piercing eyes. He watched as a single tear streaked down his soft cheek and trailed along his sharp jaw before falling off his chin. This boy was much more beautiful than the swains he knew from the village. Who was he?
He looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, and tried to find something else captivating enough to hold his attention. His eyes settled on the book the boy had been reading when Jungkook came in but did a double-take upon reading the title.
Tales of Times Past, Jungkook’s favorite book of bedtime stories as a kid. He scoffed at his own obliviousness and looked back to the storyteller before him.
“At least let me have your name, or do you think ‘Little Red’ suits you best?”
The boy’s eyes widened, realizing his prevarication had been exposed. He stood from the sofa abruptly, bringing their eyes to the same level. Jungkook stumbled back from their sudden closeness.
“Okay, look. I was…turned out by my stepmother and I only need a place to stay for a few days. Then I will be out of your life for good. I swear it.” He faced his palms toward Jungkook in a show of sincerity. He thought he saw a glimpse of fear in the boy’s eyes but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. “And my name is Taehyung.”
Jungkook looked Taehyung up and down, eyes catching on the sheath attached to his belt. While he wasn’t keen on the idea of allowing a stranger to stay in his home, he surely was not going to allow an armed stranger that luxury. He put out his hand.
“Your knife.”
“W-what?” Taehyung stuttered, his hand instinctively reaching toward his hip.
“You want to stay? Hand over your weapon.”
Taehyung sighed, unhooking the sheath and placing it in Jungkook’s outstretched hand.
“Just…be careful with it. Okay?”
“I’m well trained with a blade, but thank you for your concern.”
Jungkook pocketed the knife before sitting down on the sofa to pull off his boots. He grimaced at the wet grime on their soles. He would have to clean up all the mud he tracked in later.
Taehyung hovered next to him, unsure if he was welcome to join Jungkook on the sofa. To save him from having to make a decision, Jungkook stood once more.
“I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he stated, walking back towards the door. He was surprised to see Taehyung’s boots in Jungkook’s usual place. At least he had enough manners to take his shoes off before invading his home. He set his pair down next to their new companion.
“Oh, I know. I saw your name written in one of your journals,” replied Taehyung.
“You found my journals?” Jungkook felt his ears growing warm at the notion of Taehyung reading through his private thoughts.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t read much. Your handwriting is a bit difficult to decipher.”
Jungkook let out a sigh of relief, willing his face to cool.
“Well, I think that’s enough of this for tonight. I’m going to bed.” Jungkook made for the staircase across the room. His stomach was reminded of its hunger as he passed by the kitchen and growled at him in protest. But he could endure one night of hunger pangs if it meant he could escape the boy’s smug demeanor.
Taehyung turned to follow him and Jungkook put out a hand.
“You can stay down here.”
“Down here? You expect me to sleep on the couch?”
“You’re lucky I’m letting you stay here at all.”
Taehyung frowned. “Can I at least have something to eat? I haven’t had anything since yesterday.”
Jungkook scanned his kitchen, eyes landing on the basket of fruit on the counter. He pocketed a clementine for himself and chose a glossy red apple for Taehyung, tossing it to him without a second glance.
“Enjoy.”
Taehyung caught his dinner with deft hands, earning a raised eyebrow from Jungkook. Good thing he took his knife; the boy might not be completely helpless after all.
He left Taehyung alone with his apple and climbed the staircase to his narrow bedroom, ducking his head under an exposed beam on the ceiling. Another wave of embarrassment hit when he opened his wardrobe. The thought of Taehyung looking through his clothing was enough, but to know that he was wearing them was almost too much to bear.
Jungkook pushed the image from his mind and dressed for bed, brooding over his forgone evening routine. He comforted himself with the knowledge that this unforeseen intrusion would not last forever.
It would only be a few days. Then he would be free to enjoy his solitude again.