Archive of Our Own

There were plenty of things Kim Taehyung expected when a villain attacked Seoul’s Metro District again: flashing alarms, panicked crowds, the usual mass texts from the Hero League telling everyone to “remain calm” while the sky burned and a building collapsed.

What he didn’t expect was to be elbow-deep in tuna cans at the convenience store when the emergency call came in.

“District 4 breach. Repeat, breach at District 4—Tower Broadcast Center,” the voice crackled in his earpiece, grim and urgent. “High-level fire-class threat. All available units report.”

Taehyung froze, his hand halfway between chili oil and no chili oil. “Seriously?” he muttered, straightening with a groan.

Jimin’s voice chimed in seconds later. “Taehyung, you’re the closest. Go. I’ll meet you in ten.”

“I haven’t even paid yet,” Taehyung muttered, dropping the cans and jogging toward the counter anyway. The cashier, wide-eyed, ducked behind the register as the distant sound of an explosion thudded through the floor like a heartbeat.

Taehyung shoved a few bills onto the counter. “Keep the change.”

He ripped off his hoodie outside, revealing the faint shimmer of his suit underneath—blue and grey, lightweight but charged with tech Seokjin kept upgrading in secret. He pressed two fingers to the earpiece again. “What are we dealing with?”

A pause.

Then Jimin’s reluctant answer: “It’s Jeon Jungkook.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung whispered, already sprinting down the alley toward the glow in the distance.

Jungkook was chaos incarnate.

He wasn’t like the other villains with their predictable monologues and tactical logic. No, Jungkook was heat and smoke, chaos and charisma, that rare kind of threat who made people look twice—for reasons both dangerous and… regrettably hot.

He was also—Taehyung would admit—kind of a showoff.

By the time Taehyung climbed the charred stairs to the 30th floor of the Broadcast Tower, his lungs burned and sweat clung to the back of his neck.

The elevator shaft was melted shut. Of course.

“Jungkook!” he yelled as he kicked through a half-destroyed wall.

The air on this floor was hot and sticky, light distorted by thick, shimmering waves. The place was filled with the scent of burned plastic and ozone. The only sound was the soft crackle of something slowly turning to ash.

“ Baby ,” a voice drawled from somewhere in the smoke.

Taehyung blushed and  stopped in his tracks. “What did you just—?”

“You heard me,” the voice purred.

And then Jungkook emerged—grinning, glowing faintly red from the slow pulse of fire still licking along his forearms. His jacket was tied at his waist, tattoos winding up his arms like vines, sweat on his collarbone.

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

Taehyung did not, in fact, miss him.

He also did not, for the record, panic.

But he may have blurted out, “Put your shirt back on.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “You say that like you don’t enjoy the view.”

Taehyung took a deep breath, grounding his weight. “What’s your deal tonight, villain? Just felt like turning a TV station into a microwave?”

“No,” Jungkook said easily, stepping closer. “I wanted to see you.”

Taehyung blinked. “You set fire to a broadcast tower… for me?”

“I was bored. You’re fun.”

Taehyung turned away, muttering, “This city needs a better villain.”

“And you need to learn how to take a compliment,” Jungkook replied. “Though, I gotta say—you’re cute when you’re mad. Even cuter when you’re bossy.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “You realize you’re cornered.”

“Am I?”

“You’re outnumbered.”

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

“They’re on the way.”

“Uh-huh. And yet, here you are. Just you and me.” Jungkook smiled again, all heat and wicked gleam. “So, Sidekick… what’s your plan?”

Taehyung’s hand crackled with soft light. His energy pulses didn’t burn like Jungkook’s—they shimmered, sharp and focused. More restraint, less drama. He didn’t have the flair of a top-tier Hero, but he didn’t need it. He had instinct, and right now that instinct was screaming:

Do not let him get close.

Jungkook stepped forward anyway.

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “Stop.”

“Or what?” Jungkook teased. “You’ll light up like a glowstick?”

“I’ll knock your ass out, Hyung,” Taehyung snapped, the title sarcastic on his tongue.

Everything went still.

Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung blinked.

Then—

“You called me Hyung .”

Taehyung’s ears went pink. “ No , I didn’t.”

“You did .”

“It was sarcasm.”

“Didn’t sound like sarcasm.”

“I hate you.”

“Say it again.”

Taehyung’s voice cracked. “What?”

“Say it again.” Jungkook stepped closer, face transformed—less smug now, more unhinged curiosity. “Hyung. Say it.”

“You’re ridiculous—”

“Please?”

Taehyung almost forgot they were standing in a crumbling building full of live flames and twisted steel. He swallowed, hard.

“…Hyung.”

Jungkook’s pupils dilated.

“You’re so weird,” Taehyung muttered, shoving him back. “Go commit arson somewhere else.”

But Jungkook didn’t fight. He just laughed. Deep and delighted.

“Hyung likes the way that sounds.”

Jungkook didn’t attack the next day.

Or the day after.

Taehyung kept waiting.

He showed up to patrols like usual, even lingered in areas Jungkook was known to hit—the abandoned power plants, the river district, the old subway lines—but no fiery footprints or smirking taunts came his way.

Just… silence.

It was weird.

Weirder than Jungkook casually exploding a TV station just to flirt.

“Maybe he’s dead,” Jimin said, chewing gum as he scrolled through his tablet.

“Maybe you’re an idiot,” Taehyung muttered.

Jimin arched a brow. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“Of course not .”

“Right. So you haven’t been checking every rooftop like a stray cat looking for snacks?”

Taehyung kicked at a loose tile. “He was annoying. That’s all. And it’s suspicious when someone that annoying disappears.”

“Suspiciously heartbroken, maybe.”

Taehyung didn’t dignify that with a response.

It was three nights later when Jungkook reappeared.

Taehyung found him crouched on top of a parking garage, legs dangling over the edge, staring at the neon lights below like he wasn’t the most wanted man in the city.

He looked… quiet. Unarmed. Almost contemplative.

Which made Taehyung immediately suspicious.

“Plotting something?” he called out.

Jungkook turned slowly, lips curling up like a secret. “You found me.”

“Wasn’t hard. You’re literally glowing.”

“It’s not my fault,” Jungkook said, standing and stretching lazily. “It’s a condition. Sexy villain syndrome.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I was lonely.”

“Oh no,” Taehyung deadpanned. “Not the arsonist getting emotional.”

Jungkook hopped down from the ledge and walked toward him, slowly. Carefully. “You said something to me the other night,” he said.

“Yeah, I said I hate you.”

“No.” Jungkook’s grin returned, sharper this time. “You called me Hyung .”

Taehyung bristled. “Once. And it was to throw you off.”

“Well, it worked,” Jungkook muttered. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Taehyung snorted. “You’ve had weirder obsessions, I’m sure.”

“You said it like you meant it.”

“It was sarcasm!”

“Still. It was pretty.”

Taehyung frowned. “What?”

“The way it sounded. From you.” Jungkook tilted his head. “Do it again.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Go to therapy.”

“I did.” Jungkook smirked. “They told me to confront the source of my attachment issues. Hi.”

Taehyung stared at him for a beat, then burst out laughing despite himself.

“God, you’re unbearable.”

“But you don’t hate me,” Jungkook said softly.

Taehyung’s smile dropped. “Don’t be so sure.”

Jungkook inched closer. “Then stop showing up.”

“Stop blowing things up.”

“Touché.”

The air between them buzzed, too warm for the chill night. Taehyung should have stepped back. Should have called Jimin or launched an attack or at least reminded himself who he was talking to.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Why do you even do it?”

Jungkook blinked. “Do what?”

“Villain shit.” Taehyung’s voice was quiet now. “You’re not like the others.”

Jungkook looked away, jaw twitching. “That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

The silence stretched.

Then Jungkook said, “You ever set something on fire just to see if someone would notice?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Jungkook smiled without humor. “That’s why.”

And then he walked away, flames licking at his boots.

It became routine.

Late night appearances. Rooftop arguments. Jungkook flirting, Taehyung threatening to tase him. Nothing ever escalated into a full battle. Nothing ever quite felt safe, either.

Jimin called it “hero-villain mutual weird kink hour.”

Taehyung called it… complicated.

Because Jungkook was dangerous.

And funny.

And sometimes, when the city slept and the streets were too quiet, he said things that stuck in Taehyung’s chest for days after.

“Do you ever feel like the people you protect would turn on you if they knew the real you?”

“What if being good doesn’t fix anything?”

“Do you think I scare you, or that I could?”

Taehyung never had answers.

But he found himself saying “Hyung” more often. Sometimes to tease. Sometimes to shut him up.

Sometimes because… Jungkook’s eyes did that thing when he heard it—like someone had just handed him a flame he didn’t have to steal.

It was raining the night everything went wrong.

Jungkook hadn’t shown up in over a week.

Taehyung was on edge.

So when an anonymous tip came through about a possible attack on the Ministry Building downtown, he didn’t wait. He went alone.

Bad idea.

The trap wasn’t from Jungkook.

It was from a new player—some psycho calling himself “Apex,” tech-obsessed and chemically enhanced, with a grudge against the Hero Team and the firepower to make it hurt.

Taehyung barely lasted ten minutes.

He was pinned under wreckage, coughing blood, half-conscious from a gas bomb when fire tore through the wall like a demon.

And there was Jungkook—furious, blazing, terrifying—screaming for Apex and ripping metal apart with his bare hands.

“You don’t touch him!”

The last thing Taehyung saw before blacking out was Jungkook kneeling beside him, hands trembling.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispered, voice breaking. “Hey, stay with me. Come on, sweetheart— Hyung’s here.”

When Taehyung woke up, it wasn’t the usual sterile smell of a hospital room that greeted him.

The air was warm and thick with the scent of something faintly sweet—cinnamon? Ginger? He couldn’t quite place it.

His body ached, and he could feel the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. His head was heavy, and there was a dull throb behind his eyes, but beyond the pain, something else lingered. A strange warmth that wasn’t from the soft blankets or the heat of his own body.

And then he heard the familiar sound of Jungkook’s voice—quiet and low, like he was speaking to himself.

“Damn it, Tae,” Jungkook muttered, the words broken. “You scared the shit out of me. I told you… just stay out of it, just once.”

Taehyung blinked and tried to sit up, his movements slow and stiff. But the moment he shifted, a hand pressed gently to his chest.

“Don’t move,” Jungkook’s voice said, firm but soft, close enough that Taehyung could feel the warmth of his breath.

Taehyung turned his head, eyes meeting Jungkook’s worried ones. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and Taehyung didn’t know what to say. A part of him wanted to say something dismissive, like he always did. Another part wanted to thank him. But both options felt too heavy for the quiet between them.

“What happened?” Taehyung finally asked, his voice hoarse from the chemical gas he’d inhaled earlier.

Jungkook sighed, the frustration melting into something softer. “You took a hit. Apex had some kind of nerve agent. You… you almost didn’t make it.”

Taehyung let that settle for a moment. He could feel his pulse hammering in his temples, the aftereffects of whatever had been in the air still lingering inside his lungs. But even more than that, something else lingered—something unspoken, like a tether between them, pulling his attention back to Jungkook.

“You shouldn’t have saved me,” Taehyung said quietly, the words feeling heavier than they should have. “I wasn’t supposed to be there. You could’ve just let me…”

He trailed off, unsure if he even wanted to finish that sentence.

Jungkook didn’t let him.

“I couldn’t,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His hand stayed gently pressed against Taehyung’s chest. “You’re not just some random person, Tae. You’re… I don’t know. Something else. You’re important. ”

Taehyung blinked, trying to process the sudden change in Jungkook’s tone, the seriousness of his words. There was no smirk this time, no fire in his eyes. Just… quiet. Tired. Vulnerable.

For a moment, Taehyung felt the urge to look away, but he couldn’t. His eyes locked with Jungkook’s, the same gaze that had been dangerous only days ago, now soft and worried.

“Hyung,” Taehyung muttered before he could stop himself. The word slipped out like it was something he had been holding back for too long.

Jungkook’s breath hitched at the sound of it, and Taehyung immediately regretted saying it. The moment was too fragile to be disturbed by something so simple, something so… personal. But Jungkook didn’t pull away. Instead, his lips twitched upward, just slightly.

“You really like saying that, don’t you?” he asked, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes.

Taehyung didn’t respond. He just stared at him, heart thudding harder in his chest. The air between them was thick with something he didn’t understand, something that felt too fragile to touch.

Jungkook leaned back in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not saying I care about you or anything like that,” he began, but the words felt strange as soon as he spoke them.

Taehyung arched an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, Taehyung thought he saw something in them—something deeper than anger, or bitterness, or even that mischievous spark. He saw something more human. Something raw.

“Of course I do,” Jungkook replied softly. “I’m not some… monster, Tae. I’m just trying to figure out what all this is.”

There it was again. The same thing Taehyung had felt when he first saw him, all those weeks ago. The pull. The way Jungkook wasn’t like anyone else. The way he was a villain, but not one in the typical sense.

Taehyung didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he focused on the pain in his chest, the sting of his wounds. He focused on his heartbeat, thudding too loudly in his ears.

“I still don’t get why you saved me,” Taehyung said, his voice small now.

Jungkook didn’t look at him for a second, his gaze drifting to the window. The dim light from the city outside cast long shadows in the room, the world beyond seemingly oblivious to the turmoil between them.

“I’m not sure I get it either,” Jungkook said after a long pause. “But I couldn’t leave you there. Not like that.”

There was something about his voice then, something raw and unguarded, that made Taehyung feel like he wasn’t the only one struggling to figure it all out. Jungkook wasn’t just the villain who lit cities on fire. He wasn’t just some guy who smiled like he owned the world. He was… more than that.

And maybe, just maybe, Taehyung could see it.

“You don’t have to explain it,” Taehyung said softly. “I’m not going to tell anyone. You know that, right?”

Jungkook’s lips curled, but it was a tired smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I know. You’re not like the others.”

Taehyung watched him, the silence between them stretching longer than it should have. His mind felt fuzzy, and everything about this—this moment, this strange, awkward understanding—felt too raw. Too real.

“I’ll be okay,” Taehyung said finally, trying to break the weight of the silence. “I heal fast.”

“You always do,” Jungkook murmured, his tone soft.

It was a strange thing for him to say, and it made Taehyung pause. He could hear the faint echo of something unspoken in those words. Something tender, something close to—dare he say it?—concern.

“I’m not going to leave,” Jungkook added, his voice low and quiet now. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re… stuck with me.”

Taehyung swallowed. His heart did a strange little flip at those words. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much. Why something so simple—so unassuming—felt like the world had shifted.

“Fine,” Taehyung said, forcing his voice to sound light. “You’re lucky you saved me. Otherwise, I’d be taking you down next.”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “I’m counting on it.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything else. He just let the moment hang there, both of them sitting in the quiet of the room, unsure of what came next. But for the first time in a while, Taehyung wasn’t in a rush to find out.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe he was beginning to care more than he should.

Jungkook stood up slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. His gaze lingered on Taehyung for a moment longer, his expression unreadable.

“I’ve got things to do,” he muttered, his usual bravado creeping back into his voice, though it was laced with something that Taehyung couldn’t quite place. “But I’ll be around.”

Taehyung didn’t respond. He couldn’t—he wasn’t sure what to say anymore. Jungkook was leaving, and part of him wanted to stop him, to ask why he was really here, why he cared, even if it was just a little. But the other part of him—stronger, maybe—wanted to pretend that the last hour hadn’t happened at all.

He watched as Jungkook walked to the door, paused for a second as though he were about to say something, but then just left. The soft click of the door closing behind him was like a signal. Like the moment everything was about to shift again.

The room, now suddenly quieter without Jungkook’s presence, felt heavier. Taehyung exhaled slowly, his head still buzzing from whatever had been in the air, the quiet pain of the lingering effects of the gas making him feel light-headed.

A few minutes passed, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the silence, on the weight of his own thoughts.

But it didn’t last long.

A knock at the door shattered the stillness. Taehyung sat up straighter, his muscles stiff and sore from the chemicals, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He wasn’t about to let anyone see him for more than what he was—just another superhero recovering from a mission gone wrong. Nothing more.

The door opened, and in walked two familiar faces: Namjoon and Seokjin. The leaders of the Hero Squad.

“Hey, Tae,” Namjoon said gently, his voice careful, as if he wasn’t sure how Taehyung would react. His face was concerned but calm. “We heard you were brought in. How’re you feeling?”

Taehyung smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine. Just… recovering.”

Seokjin stepped forward, studying him carefully. “We saw someone bring you here. We didn’t get a good look at them, though. Do you know who it was?”

Taehyung swallowed, his throat dry, suddenly caught between the need to stay quiet and the weight of the lie he would have to tell. If they knew it was Jungkook—if they knew who had saved him—it would change everything. It would make the situation worse, and that was something Taehyung couldn’t afford.

“It was just someone who knew what was going on,” he said, his voice steady, despite the storm raging inside him. “They didn’t want me to get caught in the crossfire.” He winced slightly as he adjusted his position in the bed, the weight of the lie sitting heavy on his chest. He could feel Seokjin’s eyes narrowing slightly, a hint of suspicion in them.

Namjoon’s gaze softened, but there was something in his expression that made Taehyung uneasy. “That’s… convenient,” Namjoon said slowly, but didn’t press further. “Do you remember who?”

Taehyung shook his head, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “No. They left after they brought me in. I wasn’t conscious when they… when they saved me.” He didn’t elaborate, his words careful, measured. The silence between them felt thick, like they were all just waiting for something that was too big to be said out loud.

Seokjin crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Taehyung replied, his voice hardening slightly, unwilling to let them pry any further. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

The two heroes exchanged a glance, but neither pushed. They were smart enough to know when to back off, even if they weren’t entirely convinced.

“We’ll keep an eye on things,” Namjoon said finally, his voice soft, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. “But take it easy for a while, okay? We don’t need another close call.”

Taehyung nodded, his gaze flicking to the window. He didn’t feel the same level of concern they did. For him, it was just another day, another mission, another fight. But that didn’t stop the weight of their words from hanging over him.

He watched as they lingered at the door, clearly reluctant to leave him alone. He couldn’t blame them—they were his team, after all. They cared. But Taehyung didn’t need their worry. Not now, not when he was still processing everything that had happened.

“I’ll be fine,” Taehyung repeated, his tone firm this time, signaling that the conversation was over.

Namjoon hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, Tae. But remember, if you need us…”

“I know,” Taehyung cut him off, smiling faintly. He appreciated their concern, but it wasn’t the kind of help he needed right now. “Thanks, Namjoon. Seokjin.”

They left quietly, and Taehyung let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The silence in the room was almost suffocating. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog in his head.

But there was no clearing his mind, not when Jungkook’s words kept echoing in his ears.

I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.

Taehyung winced at the thought. He knew Jungkook didn’t mean anything by it—he never did. Jungkook was just… Jungkook. A villain with too many layers and too many contradictions. A man who destroyed cities with the same hands that had held him up when he was weak.

He wasn’t sure what he felt anymore. Everything had changed. The lines between good and bad had blurred, and now, sitting alone in this sterile room, Taehyung couldn’t make sense of it all. He could barely make sense of himself.

Taehyung’s recovery was slow but steady. The bruises from the gas were fading, and the pounding headache that had kept him in bed for days was now only a dull throb. His body was healing, but it was his mind that still felt tangled, like a knot he couldn’t quite untie.

He’d been given some time off, something he didn’t often get. Being a hero sidekick meant constant movement, endless missions, and little to no downtime. But after the ordeal, the higher-ups had insisted on it, telling him that he’d pushed his limits too far.

He tried not to enjoy the break. He tried to avoid letting the stillness of the apartment settle too deeply into his bones. But the truth was, he didn’t know what to do with the sudden quiet. He wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to being alone, not when his mind was constantly racing, trying to catch up to everything happening around him.

For the first time in a long time, Taehyung found himself with the time to think.

And his thoughts? They always went back to Jungkook.

It was strange. Jungkook was a villain, the one person Taehyung was supposed to hate. The one person he was supposed to take down, even if he’d never really tried. Even when Jungkook had done the unthinkable—saving him, looking after him, being there when he was at his lowest—Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to view him as just the enemy.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know better. Taehyung had been trained for years to never let his guard down, to always separate the personal from the professional. But the more time passed, the more Jungkook wormed his way into Taehyung’s thoughts, and the more Taehyung couldn’t get rid of the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to the villain than he cared to admit.

As the days passed and his wounds healed, Taehyung found himself spending more and more time in his apartment, distracted by his thoughts. Every once in a while, there would be a knock at the door, and Taehyung would find a package or a message from his team—quick check-ins, updates on missions, or a reminder to rest up.

But the most frequent visitor was Jungkook.

The first time Jungkook broke into his apartment Taehyung had a heart attack. But of course, villain Jungkook would easily break his way anywhere. He is used to it now but it still surprises him every time Jungkook manages to easily make himself at home. 

Jungkook didn’t knock. He never had to. The door just opened with a creak, and there he’d be, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking as if he owned the place. Taehyung always felt a rush of warmth when he saw him, even if he immediately cursed himself for it.

“Still alive, I see,” Jungkook would say, his voice casual, but his eyes scanning Taehyung as if checking for any signs of weakness.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “You’re not getting any points for that, you know.”

Jungkook smirked, pushing off the doorframe and strolling inside without waiting for an invitation. “I just thought you’d be bored, laying around like this. Thought I’d drop by and keep you company.”

Taehyung sighed, leaning back on the couch, doing his best to ignore the way his heart seemed to skip a beat at Jungkook’s proximity. “I’m fine. I don’t need company.”

“Sure,” Jungkook said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m still here.”

Taehyung couldn’t deny the way his chest tightened, not just from the closeness but from the way Jungkook could shift the atmosphere so easily, so effortlessly. Jungkook always had that effect on him—magnetic, like he was pulling Taehyung into his orbit no matter how hard he tried to resist.

“I can’t even get any peace and quiet around here,” Taehyung muttered, half to himself.

Jungkook chuckled, walking over to the couch and sitting down next to him. Too close. Too close for comfort, but Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to move. “You say that like you don’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t,” Taehyung insisted, even though his body language betrayed him. He was leaning slightly toward Jungkook now, his gaze flicking to his side more often than he cared to admit.

Jungkook, ever the observant one, caught on immediately. He smirked, his eyes narrowing mischievously. “Liar.”

Taehyung flushed, looking away, his heart racing for reasons he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “Whatever.”

For a moment, there was just the sound of soft breathing, and then Jungkook spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “You’re a terrible liar, ya know that?”

Taehyung turned his head to look at him, his eyes narrowing. “I am not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jungkook insisted, his voice soft but firm. “But it’s okay. I like it when you lie.”

Taehyung blinked, unsure of what Jungkook meant. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Jungkook began, his voice low and teasing, “I get to see the real you. Even when you try to hide it. Especially when you try to hide it.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to respond, but he froze. The way Jungkook was looking at him, with that half-smirk, those piercing eyes… it felt like he was reading him, layer by layer. The walls Taehyung had spent years building up were crumbling, one glance at a time, and it made him feel exposed, vulnerable.

“You’re not the only one who hides things, you know,” Taehyung muttered, looking down at his hands, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch as though he were trying to hold himself together.

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone. Just a quiet understanding. “I know,” he said, his voice a little too gentle. “But maybe you don’t have to hide everything.”

Taehyung didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest. He was used to being alone, to not needing anyone, but with Jungkook so close, so… magnetic, it felt like he was unraveling.

“I’m not your hero,” Taehyung said, his voice distant. “I don’t want to be.”

Jungkook let out a breath, the tension between them thick, but he didn’t move away. “You’re not mine, either,” he said softly, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. “But I don’t mind.”

Taehyung opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the sound of his communicator beeped sharply, breaking the moment.

“Duty calls, I guess,” Taehyung muttered, already reaching for his wrist, but Jungkook stopped him, his hand brushing against Taehyung’s arm in a way that sent a jolt through his body.

“Don’t go,” Jungkook said, almost too quietly, like he was afraid Taehyung might vanish if he let go.

Taehyung paused, his breath catching. He turned his head slowly, locking eyes with Jungkook. The space between them seemed impossibly small, like everything was closing in, and for the first time, Taehyung wasn’t sure if he wanted to run away—or stay.

“Hyung,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, before he could stop himself.

Jungkook’s eyes widened, just for a second, before his lips curled up into a slow, knowing smile.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Taehyung added quickly, his voice shaky.

But Jungkook just laughed, low and rich, and that sound… it made Taehyung’s heart skip again.

“I won’t,” Jungkook replied, his voice soft with something Taehyung couldn’t place. But for once, it didn’t matter. Because in this moment, neither of them had to say anything else.

Taehyung never watched the news anymore. It was always the same—shaky footage of flaming buildings, panicked civilians, and exhausted heroes scrambling to control chaos. But today, as he sat alone in the training room cooling off from his morning drills, the mounted TV caught his eye.

Breaking news.

Another villain attack.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

It was strange, seeing him like this. After seeing him all soft and cozy at Taehyung’s apartment. Detached. Feral. A dark blur in a flurry of smoke and destruction. His coat whipped violently behind him as he crashed into a high-rise, sending glass and metal cascading down like rain. Civilians screamed in the background, scattered like ants as Jungkook walked through the street like he owned it. Like he’d built the entire city and decided he didn’t like the floorplan anymore.

Taehyung froze, towel clenched in one fist, chest heaving from his earlier sparring. His eyes locked onto the screen. They zoomed in.

And yeah .

He was beautiful .

Even now, bathed in chaos, surrounded by screaming, muscles flexing beneath his torn black shirt, smoke curling up behind him like a crown—Jungkook was stunning. Undeniably magnetic. The kind of face the media would print on tabloid covers if he weren’t a menace to society. The kind of jawline that made people forget he just sent a city bus through the third story of a corporate office.

And Taehyung hated that he noticed.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, turning away, scrubbing his hand down his face. “You’re a hero. He’s the villain. Get a grip.”

He paced across the room once, twice, heart hammering, then turned back toward the screen again. His legs didn’t listen. His curiosity didn’t either.

The camera feed had switched to one of the top heroes—Solaris—engaging Jungkook midair, light against shadow, fire against cold. Taehyung watched as Jungkook grinned through a hit, eyes wild, dangerous. Alive .

It wasn’t the Jungkook who had sat on Taehyung’s couch last week. It wasn’t the Jungkook who tucked his blanket higher when he dozed off or who leaned in too close with that amused glint in his eye and teased him until he blushed.

This Jungkook was… real. This was what everyone else saw. What the world feared.

A villain. A monster. A nightmare no hero wanted to meet alone.

And Taehyung was going to take him down.

He had to.

It was laughable, really. He was still just a sidekick. Still training. Still stuck doing supply runs and rescue missions and listening in on encrypted comms he wasn’t even supposed to hear. But Taehyung had something no one else did.

Access.

Knowledge.

And a goddamn vendetta brewing in his chest every time he saw that smug face laughing through the ruins of another attack.

He remembered the way Jungkook’s voice softened around him. The way he said “don’t go” that night like it mattered. The way he’d lingered. Looked at him.

Like Taehyung was his.

And Taehyung had almost let him.

Almost .

He sank down onto the floor of the training room, knees pulled to his chest, watching the final moments of the footage. Jungkook had escaped again, laughing like it was all a game. Like the heroes were nothing but wind-up toys.

“I’m going to stop you,” Taehyung whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His jaw clenched. “I’m going to be the one who finally fucking stops you.”

Because someone had to.

Someone had to remember that no matter how handsome Jungkook was, no matter how gentle his voice could be when they were alone, no matter how much Taehyung’s stupid heart beat out of rhythm when their eyes met…

He was still a villain.

And Taehyung was still supposed to be a hero.

Even if sometimes, he wasn’t so sure which of them was really playing pretend.

It was raining when Taehyung saw him again.

Not in some dramatic, smoke-filled alleyway or during a villain ambush downtown—no. Just… the shitty little corner store two blocks from Taehyung’s apartment.

He almost didn’t recognize him at first. Jungkook had a black hoodie pulled low over his head, sleeves bunched over his fists. No glowing eyes. No dramatic entrance. No chaos in his wake. Just a guy standing in the instant noodles aisle like he hadn’t tried to bring the hero headquarters down last week.

Taehyung froze mid-step, holding a soggy bag of cat litter, his mouth parting soundlessly.

Jungkook looked up. Their eyes met.

Taehyung didn’t breathe.

And then Jungkook smiled. Soft. Like they were old friends meeting at a bakery, not enemies on opposite ends of an ideological war.

“Hey, Tae.”

God, his voice. Smooth. Warm. Way too casual for someone who’d probably been on six government watchlists since breakfast.

Taehyung gripped the cat litter like a lifeline. “Are you serious?”

Jungkook blinked. “What?”

“You can’t just be here.”

“It’s a free country.” Jungkook smirked. 

“You’re a wanted criminal!”

“And you’re a sidekick who’s off duty,” Jungkook said, taking a slow step closer, lips quirking. “Or is carrying cat litter now part of your job?”

Taehyung flushed. “My neighbor’s cat—”

“Of course,” Jungkook said gently, like Taehyung was precious and breakable and needed indulging. “Very heroic.”

Taehyung’s heart punched hard against his ribs. “You’re not funny.”

“I think I’m hilarious.”

“You blew up a courthouse.”

“They were embezzling public funds and imprisoning mutants without trial.”

Taehyung faltered. “That doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Don’t do that.” Jungkook’s voice dropped, his smile fading just a little. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s really going on out there.”

Taehyung opened his mouth. Closed it.

Because he did know. Everyone in the system knew. Corruption, surveillance, experimental programs that no hero wanted to talk about. It didn’t make what Jungkook did right, but it also wasn’t so black and white anymore.

And maybe that was the worst part.

“Why are you here?” Taehyung asked instead, voice softer now.

Jungkook looked at him for a long moment, eyes unreadable. “I missed you.”

Taehyung’s stomach did a full somersault.

“No,” he said, backing up a step. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m supposed to stop you.”

“But you haven’t.”

“I will.” Taehyung nodded eagerly. 

Jungkook smiled again. This time it was slower, heavier, and something in Taehyung’s chest pulled tight.

“You’re adorable when you lie to yourself, Taehyung-ah.”

The suffix hit harder than it should’ve. Familiar. Intimate. It made Taehyung’s pulse stutter.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Don’t do what?”

“Act like we’re friends. Or—whatever this is.”

“But you called me hyung .”

Taehyung nearly choked. “That was one time—!”

“Twice- actually. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since,” Jungkook said, stepping close enough that Taehyung could smell him—smoke, rain, a hint of citrus. “You said it so sweetly. I think I could kill for it again.”

Taehyung’s knees went weak, and he hated himself for it.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.” Jungkook leaned in, voice like velvet. “Say it again.”

“Shut up.”

“Say it, Taehyungie .”

Taehyung shoved the bag of cat litter into his chest. “You’re the worst.”

Jungkook caught it, laughing, and let it fall to the floor. “That’s not a no.”

“Go,” Taehyung muttered, turning away before his resolve could crack more. “Before I call in a hero team.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you better than you want me to.”

That shouldn’t have made Taehyung pause. But it did. Just for a second.

And that was enough.

When he turned back around, Jungkook was gone. Just a ghost of warmth where he’d stood, and a half-shelf of toppled ramen packs behind him.

Taehyung exhaled shakily, running a hand through his rain-damp hair.

He needed to get a grip. Fast.

Because if Jungkook kept showing up like this—soft-spoken and magnetic and just there—Taehyung wasn’t sure how long he’d last before giving in.

And saying hyung again.

Willingly this time.

Taehyung couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t the first time, but this time felt heavier. Louder. Like the silence in his apartment was pressing in from all sides. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a hoodie in a ramen aisle, heard “Say it again” in that low, smoky voice.

He groaned into his pillow. “God, get a grip.”

But he didn’t get a grip. Not the next day, or the day after that.

He tried everything—early morning runs, extended sparring sessions, meditating with Jimin at HQ until they both got kicked out for arguing over incense. Nothing worked. The image of Jungkook lingered in his mind like a fever. Jungkook, the villain. Jungkook, the disaster. Jungkook, who said I missed you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

What the hell did that even mean?

Taehyung had exactly zero answers, but his gut told him something worse: this wasn’t ending anytime soon.

So, of course, the next time he saw Jungkook, it wasn’t dramatic or climactic or part of some masterplan. No.

It was night again. Rain again. (Why was it always rain with them?) And Taehyung was walking home from training, exhausted, hoodie soaked through, earbuds in—when he saw a figure leaning against the alley wall beside his building.

Tall. Hood up. Still as a statue.

And yeah. Of course it was him.

Taehyung didn’t even flinch this time.

“You’re lurking now?”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

Taehyung let out a humorless laugh and pushed past him toward the front steps. “You’re gonna get yourself caught.”

“I’ve been caught before,” Jungkook said, following him without hesitation. “Never felt like this, though.”

Taehyung paused on the first step. Turned, slow. “What is this?”

Jungkook shrugged, like he wasn’t saying something absurd. “Whatever this is between us.”

“There is nothing between us.”

“Then why are you trembling?”

Taehyung’s hand gripped the railing.

“I’m cold,” he lied, voice brittle.

Jungkook smiled again—different this time. A little sad. A little knowing.

“You’re scared,” he said softly. “Not of me. Of what it means. That you don’t hate me. That maybe you… like me.”

Taehyung swallowed hard.

Jungkook stepped up onto the stoop with him, their faces barely a breath apart.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Jungkook murmured. “For trying to keep your distance. You were raised in a world that says I’m wrong. That I’m the monster under your bed. But tell me the truth, Taehyung.”

His voice dipped low.

“Do you feel like you’re standing in front of a monster right now?”

Taehyung hated that his answer was immediate.

“No.”

Jungkook’s smile broke into something brighter. Dangerous in a different way.

“Then say it again.”

“No—”

“Just once.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“I am,” Jungkook said. “With your voice. With the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. With how your breath caught that night when you said—”

“ Hyung .”

It slipped out.

Soft. Barely there. But real.

Taehyung’s face went up in flames the second it left his lips.

Jungkook looked stunned. Like the world had just tilted under his feet.

Taehyung backed up. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it—”

But Jungkook was already moving, closing the space between them in two quick strides, and then—

His hand was on Taehyung’s jaw. Gentle. Reverent.

And for a second, Taehyung let it happen.

He let himself be held like that, looked at like that. Like he wasn’t a sidekick or a hero or a weapon-in-training. Just a boy on a rainy night, who didn’t know where the lines were anymore.

He didn’t kiss him.

God, Jungkook didn’t even try.

He just stood there, hand on Taehyung’s cheek, looking like someone who’d waited years to be this close.

And Taehyung’s heart cracked right down the middle.

“I hate you, I'll take you down,” he whispered, voice barely holding together.

Jungkook smiled like he knew that was a lie.

“I know.”

Taehyung didn’t remember stumbling inside his apartment. Or locking the door. Or kicking off his shoes with shaking hands.

What he did remember was the feeling. That unbearable burn just under his skin—half fury, half want. Like his body had caught fire from just being near Jungkook and hadn’t figured out how to cool down yet.

He gripped the edge of his kitchen counter, knuckles white, chest heaving.

“Hyung.”

That word wouldn’t stop echoing in his skull. The way Jungkook had looked at him after. Like he’d been touched by something sacred.

Taehyung let out a ragged breath.

“What the fuck was that.”

And the worst part? He hadn’t hated it. Not the closeness. Not the way Jungkook touched him. Not even the part where he wanted him to do more.

God .

He dropped his forehead against the fridge door.

“This is so bad.”

But from across town, Jungkook sat alone on the rooftop of a half-demolished office building, legs dangling off the edge like a kid on a playground.

He could still feel the shape of Taehyung’s jaw under his palm.

Still hear that voice— “Hyung.”

He closed his eyes, leaned back on his palms, and let the rain soak through his hoodie.

He was smiling. Stupidly.

“You’re so screwed, man,” he muttered to himself.

He was a villain. A wanted criminal. A walking catastrophe. And yet, tonight—when Taehyung had looked at him like that, all wide-eyed and wrecked—he didn’t feel like any of those things.

He felt human.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” a voice drawled behind him.

Jungkook didn’t flinch. “Didn’t know you were following me.”

A woman stepped forward from the shadows of the crumbling stairwell, leather-clad and unimpressed.

Boa. Another villain. Older. Smarter. Not a fan of emotional entanglements.

“I saw the boy,” she said simply. “The hero’s pet. That’s who you’ve been circling?”

“Don’t call him that.”

Boa raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Getting protective now?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. Just looked out over the city, where sirens blurred in the distance like music.

“You know this ends badly,” she continued. “If they find out. If he turns on you.”

“He won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t care.”

Boa let out a soft whistle, amused. “You fell.”

He didn’t reply.

Because yeah. Maybe he had. 

Taehyung didn’t expect Jungkook to be standing there when he turned the corner when coming back home.

But of course he was. Hoodie up, arms crossed, boots damp from the rain. Looking like every warning in every textbook Taehyung had studied back at Hero Training.

The criminal. The killer. The walking natural disaster.

The man who carried him out of a burning building like he was something precious.

Taehyung stopped short, breathing uneven.

“Are you stalking me now?” he asked, heart in his throat.

Jungkook smiled like thunder rolling in the distance. “You told me to meet you.”

“I didn’t—” Taehyung faltered. He had. Yesterday. Like an idiot. He just wanted to prove he can take him down. “I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

“I always show when you call, baby.”

The word hung heavy between them. It didn’t feel mocking. It felt like fire.

Taehyung hated the way it made his chest ache.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did.”

Taehyung’s jaw tensed. “Why are you doing this?”

Jungkook stepped closer, slow, careful, like he was walking up to a wounded animal. “Because I wanted to see you again.”

“You shouldn’t.” His voice cracked. “This is… this is messed up. You’re the bad guy. I’m supposed to take you down.”

“I know.”

“I should take you down.”

Jungkook stopped just inches away, his breath warm in the cold air.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Taehyung’s hand twitched at his side. He’d fought villains stronger than this. Colder. Smarter. He’d looked them in the eye and taken them down without blinking.

But this wasn’t like that.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at him like an enemy.

He was looking at him like—like something sacred. Something he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop reaching for anyway.

“I thought I knew who you were,” Taehyung whispered.

“You still can,” Jungkook said. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“That’s the problem.”

Their eyes locked.

“Every time I see you on TV,” Taehyung continued, voice trembling, “crushing buildings, throwing people into walls—hurting heroes—I want to hate you. But I can’t. Not completely. And that pisses me off.”

Jungkook’s voice dropped low. “You think I don’t scare myself too?”

Taehyung blinked.

“You think I don’t wake up wondering how far I’ll go before I stop recognizing myself?” Jungkook took a breath. “But then I hear you say that word—‘hyung’—and suddenly I remember who I used to be. Who I could’ve been.”

A long silence stretched between them.

The rain had stopped. But Taehyung still felt soaked to the bone—like Jungkook’s presence filled every molecule of the air.

He hated him. He needed him. He didn’t know which one scared him more.

“I should go,” Taehyung said quietly.

Jungkook stepped back. Not pleading. Just letting him choose.

Taehyung looked at him one last time, something breaking open behind his ribs. Then he turned and walked away.

But the whole way home, his heart was whispering one word over and over again.

Hyung .

Taehyung didn’t go home.

Not right away, at least.

He walked, hood up, headphones in with nothing playing. The night was too loud, even in the quiet. The city never really slept—sirens in the distance, neon signs flickering overhead, the low murmur of people living lives Taehyung no longer felt connected to.

His steps weren’t even sure where they were going. All he knew was that his chest felt tight, like something had settled there and made a home of the silence Jungkook left behind.

He should have just kept walking.

Shouldn’t have turned around.

Shouldn’t have called him hyung.

Taehyung grimaced, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and walked faster.

That moment—it was like a glitch in the universe. He didn’t even know why he’d said it. It wasn’t playful or strategic. It wasn’t bait. It had just… come out. Like something inside him recognized something in Jungkook. Something older than either of them could explain.

But the way Jungkook looked at him after?

Like the world had tilted sideways.

Like he had tilted sideways.

Taehyung didn’t want to admit what that did to him.

“You’re still on probation,” Namjoon said gently, tossing him a bottle of electrolyte water. “I wouldn’t recommend showing your face around active missions for a while.”

Taehyung caught it with one hand, settled onto the training bench, and stared at the floor. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“You’ve been off since the warehouse incident,” Namjoon added. “You sure you’re okay?”

Taehyung glanced up. There was no accusation in Namjoon’s voice. Just quiet worry. The kind that wrapped itself around you like a scarf instead of a noose.

He nodded. “Just tired.”

“Was there someone else there?” Namjoon asked suddenly.

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“At the warehouse,” Namjoon clarified. “The medical team found you outside, but no one saw who brought you there. Some civilians said they saw a man—tall, dark clothes. No clear face. But strong. Strong enough to carry someone out of an inferno like it was nothing.”

Taehyung’s throat tightened.

“I was alone,” he lied smoothly.

Namjoon didn’t push, but the pause lingered.

“All right,” he finally said. “Let me know if that changes.”

Taehyung didn’t respond. He just twisted the cap off his drink and stared into it like it held answers.

That afternoon, the screen above the Hero HQ gym flickered with grainy footage.

BREAKING: Villain Jeon Jungkook strikes again—Midtown Power Grid compromised. Casualties avoided thanks to early civilian evacuation.

The clip played on loop: Jungkook emerging from smoke, half-shadowed, eyes glowing like a furnace. He didn’t look rushed. Didn’t look angry. Just… deliberate. Like a man who knew no one could stop him.

He moved like a blade, sharp and exact, even as buildings crumbled around him. Heroes flung themselves into the chaos. He walked straight through it.

“He’s terrifying,” one hero muttered behind Taehyung. “Like, actually. You see the way he looked straight at the camera like he knew we were watching?”

“Terrifying?” another replied. “I mean yeah, but—lowkey? Hot.”

“I’d let him ruin my life,” someone added.

Taehyung stood up abruptly, ignoring the laughter as he left the room.

Because he didn’t want to admit it—but that was the problem.

Jungkook was hot.

Too hot for someone who burned cities to ash.

And Taehyung hated that part of him noticed. The part that remembered the softness in his voice when he said, You okay, baby? The way his fingers lingered a second too long on Taehyung’s wrist before letting go.

How his voice dipped when Taehyung called him hyung .

It was stupid.

It was reckless.

But it was real.

Late night when Taehyung sat in the dark in his apartment, curled up on the couch with a blanket around his shoulders. Not for warmth—just for pressure. Like it could hold him together.

He hadn’t seen Jungkook since the alley.

He hadn’t heard from him either.

Jungkook hadn't broken into his apartment either.

He didn’t know if that was a good thing.

The burner phone Jungkook had once given him sat untouched in his drawer. Taehyung hadn’t dared power it on since that night in the hospital when he first discovered it. Just knowing it was there felt dangerous enough.

But tonight, his fingers twitched.

He pulled open the drawer, stared at it like it might bite.

Powered it on.

One contact. No name.

Just:

‘Unknown’

            You’ll call when you’re ready

Taehyung hesitated.

Then tapped out a single message:

Are you watching the news?

It sent. Instantly read.

A moment later:

Of course, baby. You looked good                on the bench today. Tight black shirt.     Distracted stare. Miss me?

Taehyung flushed.

Don’t call me baby.

Another reply.

You prefer hyung?

Taehyung didn’t answer.

The phone vibrated again, persistent.

          Meet me. Rooftop. You know the one.

        Or don’t. I’ll find you eventually.

Taehyung stared out the window, eyes trailing the skyline until they landed on a familiar rooftop far in the distance.

Something in him pulsed.

He didn’t know what this was. Didn’t know what they were doing. If he was walking into danger or desire or both.

But he did know one thing:

He wanted to see him again.

Even if it meant walking willingly into the arms of a man he was supposed to destroy.

The air on the rooftop was colder than he remembered.

Taehyung stood at the edge, arms crossed tightly over his chest, the wind tugging at the strands of hair that had slipped from his hood. He didn’t know why he came. His body had moved on autopilot, legs taking corners like it was instinct. Like it wasn’t his first time creeping through the shadows toward a villain.

Jungkook was already there.

Sitting on the ledge, back to the city, legs dangling into the void like the drop didn’t faze him. His coat fluttered behind him in the wind, a silhouette half swallowed by night. His face turned slowly when Taehyung approached.

And he smiled.

Not cruelly. Not cocky.

Just… like he was genuinely happy to see him.

“Hey,” Jungkook said.

Taehyung stayed a few steps back. “You’re everywhere lately.”

“You noticed.” Jungkook slid off the ledge and walked over, every step unhurried, controlled. “Didn’t realize you were tracking me.”

“I’m not,” Taehyung said quickly. “You’re just on every damn news channel.”

Jungkook chuckled. “You worried about me, baby?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re full of rules for someone who came all this way just to look at me.”

Taehyung hated that his stomach did a little flip. “You told me to meet you.”

“And you listened.”

Silence fell. The air between them was thick—not quite hostile, but not soft either. Taehyung wasn’t sure which side of the line they stood on anymore.

Jungkook took another step closer. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it, you know.”

“About what?”

“That night. When you said it.”

Taehyung’s heart stuttered. “Said what?”

Jungkook tilted his head, gaze dark and unreadable. “Hyung.”

It was a whisper, but it hit like a gunshot.

Taehyung looked away, suddenly fascinated with the rooftop gravel. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You sure?” Jungkook’s voice dipped, something dangerous and soft threading through it. “Because you looked me in the eye when you said it. Like you meant it.”

“I was injured. Delirious.”

“You were begging me not to leave.”

“That’s not—” Taehyung took a shaky breath. “That’s not what happened.”

Jungkook’s smile was slow. Not mocking, just devastating. “You really want me to believe that you came up here for closure?”

“I came because…” Taehyung trailed off. His throat tightened. “Because I needed to know what you wanted from me.”

Jungkook stepped close enough that Taehyung could see the faint bruising beneath his eyes—evidence of another fight, another day no one had bested him.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” Jungkook said honestly. “But I know I want more of it.”

“More of what?”

“ You .”

Taehyung froze.

Jungkook’s voice dropped again, that same dangerous affection curling at the edges. “I want to see how many times I can get you to say hyung like that.”

“I’m not some toy.”

“I know.”

“I’m not yours.”

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t waver. “Yet.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Electric.

Taehyung’s heart pounded, and he hated how much he didn’t want to move away. How the space between them felt like a gravitational pull, not a warning.

“You scare people,” Taehyung said, barely above a whisper.

“I scare you?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Jungkook’s hand lifted, slow and deliberate. He didn’t touch—just hovered, fingers ghosting near Taehyung’s jaw. “I would never hurt you, Tae.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You’re a villain.”

“And you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like I wasn’t.”

That cracked something.

Taehyung exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

When he opened them, Jungkook had already stepped back, like he knew the moment had burned too hot and pulled away before either of them got scorched.

“I’m not going to stop being who I am,” Jungkook said quietly. “I’m not going to stop doing what I believe in.”

“I know.”

“But you can still come up here. Talk to me. Keep being a little pain in the ass in your sidekick uniform. Keep pretending you’re not obsessed.”

“I’m not—”

“Okay.” Jungkook smirked, already climbing back onto the ledge. “Keep lying. You’re cute when you do.”

Taehyung’s lips twitched. “You’re annoying.”

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“I’ll sleep like a baby.”

Jungkook laughed, and for once it wasn’t sharp or cruel. It sounded real.

Like a real boy, not a monster.

“Night, baby.”

“I said don’t—”

“ Hyung , then.”

Taehyung’s stomach flipped again, the wind suddenly colder against his flushed cheeks.

He didn’t say anything as Jungkook jumped—vanishing into the night with the ease of smoke curling through cracks.

He just stood there on the rooftop, hands curled into fists, heart racing like he’d lost something he didn’t even know he wanted.

Taehyung didn’t sleep much after that.

Not because he was afraid. No, fear had left the equation a while ago—somewhere between Jungkook’s voice in his ear and the way he’d looked at him like he was something precious in a world Jungkook had long stopped caring about.

No, Taehyung couldn’t sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he heard it.

Hyung .

Not him saying it. Jungkook repeating it back to him. Like it meant something. Like it did something to him.

Taehyung hadn’t meant it. Not in the way Jungkook took it. Not in the breathy, desperate, vulnerable way it had come out of his mouth that night. But now…

Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because something inside him was changing. Slow, quiet, but steady. Like the way heat creeps in before a fever breaks.

He avoided the rooftop after that. Took his hero training seriously, stuck to patrol schedules, even showed up early to briefings. Hoseok noticed immediately.

“You’ve been serious lately,” he said one morning, tossing Taehyung a protein bar. “What happened to our usual sleepy sidekick with a coffee addiction and too much hair product?”

“I still have the hair product,” Taehyung muttered.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.

Still, Taehyung caught the look in his eyes. Hoseok knew something had shifted.

And it wasn’t long before others started noticing, too.

Jungkook was back on the news again. Big. Flashy. Dangerous.

Footage showed him tearing through a corporate complex suspected of funneling resources into anti-meta tech. He didn’t hold back—blasts through walls, sirens wailing, screams in the background.

But what caught Taehyung off guard wasn’t the destruction.

It was how graceful Jungkook looked doing it.

God, it was disgusting.

His hair, windswept and wild. That stupid long coat, the way it flared when he moved. His eyes, pitch-black and focused, scanning for exits like he already knew every move the heroes would make.

“Can’t believe no one’s caught him yet,” Seokjin grumbled, eyes on the screen.

Namjoon crossed his arms, jaw tight. “He’s getting cocky.”

“Strong too,” Jimin added. “Not many people can knock out those magnetic drones.”

Taehyung sat at the edge of the couch, quiet.

He didn’t say it, but it sat on the tip of his tongue.

You think he’s hot too, don’t you?

Because that was the problem.

Jungkook was a nightmare. He was dangerous and wrong and a threat to everything Taehyung had ever sworn to protect.

And he was also… beautiful .

It made Taehyung sick how easy it was to think that.

That night, Taehyung dreamed of fire. Not the kind that hurts—but the kind that warms from the inside out. He stood in it, barefoot and still, and Jungkook’s hand rested against his cheek like he belonged there.

You always look at me like that, Jungkook whispered in the dream.

Taehyung blinked. “Like what?”

Like I could be saved.

When he woke, sweat soaked the back of his neck, and he wanted to scream.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep being drawn into Jungkook’s gravity like it wasn’t going to swallow him whole.

He needed to do something.

So he put on his suit. Tightened the mask. Told himself the flutter in his chest was adrenaline and not… whatever this was.

And he went looking for a fight.

Not with Jungkook.

With himself.

It was supposed to be a small mission.

Recon. No contact. A suspicious warehouse down by the docks with rumors of villain tech smuggling. Namjoon had mapped it, Hoseok had briefed it, and Taehyung wasn’t even supposed to be on shift.

But he volunteered.

Because he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He needed to bleed something out of his system—preferably through punches.

“Careful,” Namjoon warned over comms. “Don’t engage if you don’t have backup.”

Taehyung muttered a quick, “Copy that,” then shut his comm off.

He stepped into the warehouse, dark and low-ceilinged, and for a moment it felt like his heart stopped.

Because he could feel it.

That hum. That burn in the air like static crawling over skin. He’d only ever felt it once before.

And sure enough—there he was.

Jungkook stood at the far end of the warehouse, backlit by a broken skylight. He wasn’t in full gear tonight—just boots, dark pants, and a half-buttoned shirt. Like the destruction he’d caused earlier today was just an afterthought.

He turned slowly.

And he smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Taehyung’s hands curled into fists.

“You knew I’d come.”

“I hoped.”

Jungkook took a step forward. Taehyung held his ground.

“Don’t,” Taehyung warned. “Don’t play games with me tonight.”

“No games.” Jungkook stopped a few feet away. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe because you’re a terrorist.”

“You didn’t seem to care about that when you were whispering Hyung into my mouth last week.”

Taehyung flinched. What the fucking fuck is he saying now?

Jungkook’s expression flickered—just slightly—but it was enough to let Taehyung know he’d hit something real.

“You’re not funny,” Taehyung said.

“I’m not trying to be.”

Silence stretched between them like a thread ready to snap.

“I saw the footage,” Taehyung finally said. “You destroyed three buildings. You leveled a lab with people inside.”

“They were developing suppression tech. For metas. For you. For kids.”

“You could’ve done it without killing them.”

“They were armed. And they tried to trap me. I gave them a chance.”

“Don’t say that like it makes you noble.”

Jungkook’s voice dropped. “I’m not noble, Taehyung.”

And god, why did it sound so sad?

“You think I want to be this?” he added. “You think I enjoy this life?”

Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek. “You could’ve chosen different.”

“So could you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jungkook stepped close enough that Taehyung could feel his breath.

“You could’ve turned me in. When I carried you to the hospital.”

Taehyung’s heart kicked painfully.

“I didn’t ask you to save me.”

“No,” Jungkook said softly. “You just said Hyung.”

Taehyung pushed him.

It wasn’t hard. It didn’t even move him. But it meant something.

Jungkook didn’t retaliate. He just looked at Taehyung like he was something fragile and glowing.

“I hate you,” Taehyung whispered, voice trembling.

“You don’t.”

“I should .”

Jungkook leaned down, voice low.

“You do a lot of things you shouldn’t do, don’t you?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Because Jungkook was right.

And because right now, all he wanted to do was close the space between them.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

So instead, he turned around and walked out. Didn’t even do his mission. 

His heart stayed behind.

It started with a knock.

Or maybe it started long before that—with glances, with quiet admissions, with Taehyung breathing Hyung into Jungkook’s mouth and pretending it didn’t mean anything.

But right now, it was a knock. Late. Rain tapping the window like it wanted in.

Taehyung opened the door in sweatpants and a hoodie, bruised eyes and damp curls sticking to his temple from his recent shower.

And Jungkook was there.

Black hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, looking like he didn’t belong on any street in this city but somehow belonged here—on Taehyung’s porch, looking at him like he was something sacred.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Jungkook said quietly.

“I know,” Taehyung replied.

Neither of them moved.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Taehyung’s throat bobbed. “You could’ve gone to hell.”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah. But I wanted to come here first.”

And then—quietly, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for weakness—he added, “You looked at me like I wasn’t a monster.”

Taehyung opened the door wider.

Inside, it was silent.

Not tense. Just quiet.

Taehyung handed him a towel. Jungkook took it. Dried his hair slowly like a stray trying to remember how to be gentle with himself.

“You hungry?” Taehyung asked, heading toward the kitchen.

Jungkook blinked. “You’re offering a villain dinner?”

“You saved my life.”

“You said you didn’t ask me to.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful.”

That silenced Jungkook. He sank onto the worn couch as Taehyung rummaged in the cabinets.

“I only have ramyeon.”

“Perfect.”

They didn’t talk while it cooked.

They didn’t talk while they ate, either.

But once the dishes were in the sink and Taehyung leaned against the counter, watching Jungkook like he wasn’t sure what to do with the heat in his own chest—

Jungkook said, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ve seen the way you flinch.”

“I don’t flinch.”

“You flinched when I said Hyung meant something.”

Taehyung turned away, heart pounding.

Jungkook followed him.

“I don’t need you to say you feel the same,” he said softly. “But I need to know if I’m wrong.”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Not with words.

He turned around. Slowly. Like he was trying to convince himself this was okay.

And then he walked straight into Jungkook’s space, pushed his hands against his chest, and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft .

It was raw , and messy , and the kind of kiss that tasted like all the things they’d both been afraid to say. Taehyung grabbed Jungkook’s hoodie like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground, and Jungkook made a sound halfway between a groan and a whisper.

“Say it again,” he breathed against Taehyung’s mouth.

Taehyung paused. “What?”

“Call me that again.”

Taehyung licked his lips. Whispered, “Hyung.”

And Jungkook melted.

His hands slid to Taehyung’s waist, gripping tight. “Fuck, you have no idea what that does to me.”

“I do,” Taehyung murmured, letting his fingers slide under Jungkook’s hoodie. “I really, really do.”

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

They didn’t need to.

The couch creaked under them as Jungkook pinned Taehyung beneath him, kisses turning fevered and hands hungry. Clothes were peeled back, skin met skin, and for once—for once—there were no sides. No good. No evil.

Just two men who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Taehyung moaned into Jungkook’s ear as the villain’s hands roamed his body. 

Jungkook didn’t say anything as he kissed down Taehyung’s jaw all the way to his chest, Taehyung trembling underneath him. Surrendering himself to the villain. 

“You’re so beautiful, so erotic.” Taehyung laughed. 

“Who says erotic, Jungkook.” Jungkook smirked as his long fingers trailed south, right where the hot spot was waiting for him.

“Me. I do. I say naughty stuff all the time, maybe because you’re a hero, you wouldn’t understand, huh?” Jungkook smirked as his other hand went and pulled off Taehyung’s pants. 

Taehyung laughed and made eye contact. “Just because I’m a hero doesn’t mean I don’t say.. or do naughty stuff, hyung.” 

Jungkook gulped, his cock jumped in his tight suit pants. He can’t wait any longer. He stripped Taehyung and himself immediately. Both naked and both vulnerable at the moment. Built up tension and heat between them finally snapped. 

Jungkook’s fingers found themselves shoved inside Taehyung’s wet hole, scissoring him and stretching him out. 

Taehyung didn’t need to see Jungkook’s cock to know how big he’d be. But he also couldn’t stop himself from straying his eyes downwards and look into said villain’s cock. 

It was big, red and pointy. Hard and throbbing. He was already leaking, all of that was caused by him? Fucking helll. 

Taehyung moaned as Jungkook’s knuckles hit his prostate. Jungkook chuckled, having a hero underneath him felt amazing for his ego. But Jungkook would’ve felt superior a few months ago if this happened. But now he just feels, happy? Excited to finally have Taehyung’s warm body in his arms. Kiss him however he wants and fuck him like he means it. 

Done prepping and done teasing, it was time to get down. Jungkook propped himself on his knees and pulled Taehyung’s waist down to his hips. He held his cock and guided it towards Taehyung’s stretched hole. 

Taehyung gulped. “Jungkook.. you’re fucking huge, don’t rip me apart.” Jungkook chuckled in response. 

“You’ll love getting ripped apart by this monster cock, baby.” Taehyung cringed from the line and Jungkook laughed. He whined for him to put it in already, enough with the talk. 

And Jungkook did. He pushed the head in and bottomed out in one go. Sure he doesn’t want to hurt Taehyung, but the masochist in his villain heart can’t help but enjoy Taehyung’s tears falling down from the stretch. 

Jungkook rubbed against Taehyung, he was a villain sure, but not a monster. So he gave time for Taehyung to get used to him. 

After a few seconds with Jungkook admiring and grazing Taehyung’s body as Taehyung breathed in and out to manage the intrusion inside his body. Taehyung wriggled and whined softly, signaling Jungkook to start thrusting in already. 

Jungkook chuckled and got the signal, with a smirk on his lips he pulled out all the way and thrusted in. He set a pace from the start. His cock driving and drilling inside Taehyung in continuous motions.

Moans and screams were the only sounds heard in the living room. Their skin slapping against each other was drowned by every erotic noise Taehyung made and Jungkook following through. 

And when Taehyung arched into him, breathless and aching, he whispered it again like a prayer.

“Hyung…”

Jungkook nearly broke apart.

He kissed Taehyung like he was something precious. Held him like he couldn’t bear to let go.

And Taehyung, for the first time, didn’t stop him.

After, they laid tangled on the couch, Jungkook’s nose pressed to the side of Taehyung’s neck, arms heavy around him like he didn’t trust him not to disappear.

“You know this can’t last,” Taehyung whispered.

“I know,” Jungkook said.

“I’m still a hero.”

“And I’m still a villain.”

“People will find out.”

“I don’t care.”

Taehyung sighed. “You will.”

Jungkook looked up at him.

“If this is all I get—this night, this moment—then I’ll take it. Happily.”

Taehyung’s chest ached.

Because he meant it.

Because somehow, the man who had nearly burned a city to the ground now looked at him like he was made of stars and soft earth and things that deserved to be protected.

“I don’t think I can turn you in,” Taehyung admitted.

“I’d let you, if you wanted.”

“I know,” Taehyung said.

And he did.

He closed his eyes.

Because whatever tomorrow held—whatever fallout came—tonight, he had Jungkook.

And Jungkook had him.

Even if just for a while.

When Taehyung woke up, the first thing he noticed was the weight.

An arm slung over his waist. A firm chest pressed to his back. The steady breath against the curve of his neck.

The second thing he noticed was the light.

Soft, golden morning creeping through the blinds—merciless in its honesty.

And then the third thing hit him like a freight train.

Jungkook.

Not a memory. Not a dream.

Real.

Still here.

Wrapped around him like he belonged there.

“Shit,” Taehyung whispered under his breath.

He shifted slowly, trying not to wake him, but Jungkook stirred anyway—instinctive, like he could sense Taehyung moving even in his sleep.

“Don’t go,” Jungkook murmured, voice gravel-rough.

Taehyung froze. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” Jungkook buried his face deeper into Taehyung’s shoulder. “You smell nice in the morning. Like mint and guilt.”

Taehyung huffed with a smile. “Shut up.”

But his voice was too soft. Too fond.

They stayed like that for another few minutes. Jungkook’s fingers lightly brushed Taehyung’s side, and Taehyung let himself lean into the warmth.

But eventually—

“I have to go,” he said.

Jungkook didn’t move.

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“I still have… a life. People. A job.”

Jungkook finally pulled back, propping himself on one elbow, hair messy and eyes heavy with sleep.

“Is this the part where you pretend it didn’t mean anything?”

Taehyung met his gaze, heart skipping. “I’m not pretending.”

Jungkook looked at him for a long moment. “I’m not asking you to change sides.”

Taehyung laughed, quiet and bitter. “You kind of are.”

“I’m just asking you to meet me here,” Jungkook said softly. “Like this. Sometimes.”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Not with words.

He kissed him instead—slow and gentle, full of too many unsaid things. Jungkook clutched his hoodie like he wanted to keep that kiss forever.

Then, Taehyung pulled away and stood, heart cracking in ways he didn’t want to think about.

“I won’t say anything,” he said, voice low. “About you being here. About last night.”

“I know.”

“I just need… time.”

Jungkook nodded.

He didn’t fight it.

Didn’t beg.

Just watched as Taehyung walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and turned on the shower like he could wash last night off his skin.

He couldn’t.

Taehyung’s comm buzzed when he was half-dressed and ready to pretend everything was normal.

“Sidekick V, report to base. We have something.”

He stared at it for a long second before responding: On my way.

When he returned to the living room, Jungkook was gone.

No note.

No lingering trace—except the faint indentation on the couch and a black hoodie left draped over the armrest.

Taehyung stared at it.

Touched it.

Held it for a beat longer than he should’ve.

Then shoved it into the back of his closet.

The HQ was buzzing when he got there.

Hero operatives moved in and out of conference rooms. News played on a loop in the background: VILLAIN J HAS STRUCK AGAIN—NO CASUALTIES, BUT ENTIRE BRIDGE DESTROYED—

“Taehyung!”

He turned to see Seo jogging over, tablet in hand. She looked relieved and tense all at once.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” he replied honestly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Something happened?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Seo didn’t buy it—but she let it go.

“We tracked Jungkook, again. He was spotted near the river last night.”

Taehyung’s heart thumped. I know.

“He let a bus full of civilians go untouched. Only targeted infrastructure.”

That was new.

That wasn’t Jungkook’s usual style.

Unless…

Unless he knew Taehyung was watching.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Seo asked, eyes scanning his face.

Taehyung schooled his expression. “I think he’s changing tactics.”

She nodded slowly. “You think he’s getting smarter?”

“Maybe.”

Or maybe—he was getting softer.

And that scared Taehyung more than any weapon could.

Because if Jungkook was capable of mercy…

Then Taehyung might actually believe he wasn’t the villain everyone said he was.

That night, Taehyung couldn’t sleep.

Again .

He laid on his bed, lights off, hoodie still buried in the back of the closet where it shouldn’t tempt him.

But it did.

He could still smell him in the folds of the fabric. Could still feel the imprint of his lips, his voice whispering “Don’t go,” like Taehyung was something worth holding onto.

He sat up.

Got out of bed.

Opened the closet door.

And stared at the hoodie.

Not brave enough to wear it.

But not ready to throw it away.

Taehyung didn’t expect to see him again so soon.

Not in person.

Not like this.

It had been three days.

Three long, weird days of pretending he was fine, throwing himself back into hero work with a tight jaw and a heavier chest. He’d shown up for meetings, nodded in debriefings, even smiled once or twice when Seo cracked a joke. And every time he thought maybe he was moving on—maybe it was just a one-time thing, a stupid lapse in judgment—he’d see Jungkook’s face on the news again.

Every screen.

Every headline.

VILLAIN JUNGKOOK STRIKES AGAIN.

No casualties. No bloodshed. But chaos. A show of power.

And all Taehyung could think was: Why are you still doing this if you were so soft that night?

Why kiss me like that?

Why touch me like I mattered?

Why leave your hoodie behind like you wanted me to remember?

Why make this harder?

It was almost midnight when the knock came.

Not at the door.

On the balcony window.

Taehyung startled, heart jumping to his throat. He crossed the room in quick, quiet steps and pulled the curtain aside.

Of course it was him.

Perched on the railing like he belonged there, all black and windblown, eyes already fixed on Taehyung like he’d been waiting.

Taehyung didn’t open the window.

He stared through the glass, mouthing, What the hell are you doing here?

Jungkook just raised his brows and mouthed back, Let me in, baby.

Taehyung’s glare deepened. No.

Please?

Taehyung groaned, unlocked the window anyway, and slid it open just enough to let the cold air rush in. Jungkook took that as an invitation and stepped inside like he always had the right.

“You have no sense of boundaries,” Taehyung muttered.

“You opened the window.”

“That’s not the point.”

Jungkook shrugged, his smirk too casual. “You missed me.”

“I really didn’t.”

“You really did.”

He was too much.

Too confident.

Too close.

Taehyung turned away before he gave too much away with his face. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You can’t keep showing up like this.”

“Why not?”

“Because—!” Taehyung spun on him. “ Because you’re a villain , Jungkook. And I’m—”

“A hero ,” Jungkook finished for him. His tone wasn’t mocking this time. Just… knowing. “I remember.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“You don’t kiss like it.”

Taehyung’s breath caught.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Jungkook stepped closer. “Don’t say it? Or don’t remind you?”

Taehyung hated how good he looked in the dark like this. Hair tousled, eyes glinting, body humming with something that wasn’t quite danger—but wasn’t safe, either.

“You kissed me back,” Jungkook said quietly. “You held me like you didn’t want to let go. You let me fuck you and touch you, looked me in the eyes like you- you wanted me too.  And I left because I thought maybe you’d need space to figure out what the hell this is. But I saw your face on the news earlier, Taehyung. You’re spiraling.”

Taehyung flinched. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” Jungkook said. “More than you want me to.”

And damn it— he did.

Too well.

Jungkook closed the distance, slowly this time, giving Taehyung space to step back. But Taehyung didn’t.

Couldn’t.

“I hate you,” Taehyung said, but it came out cracked.

“No, you don’t .”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Taehyung looked up at him. “You’re the villain.”

“And you call me Hyung .”

God.

God, he hated him.

Hated the way that word made Jungkook’s mouth soften. Hated how safe he felt hearing it, saying it, like it meant more than it should.

Jungkook reached out, thumb brushing against the side of Taehyung’s jaw.

“Say it again,” he said, almost a whisper.

Taehyung didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

But then—

“Hyung,” he whispered, and it broke something open between them again.

Jungkook surged forward, hands cradling Taehyung’s face, mouth catching his like he’d been starving. And Taehyung—stupid, tired, wanting—kissed him back.

There was something raw in it this time. Less careful. Less restrained.

A mess of fingers and mouths and breath.

They crashed back into the couch, Jungkook’s body pressed against his like it was made to fit there.

“Why are you here?” Taehyung whispered between kisses.

“I told you.”

“No,” Taehyung gasped when Jungkook’s mouth found the side of his throat. “Why now?”

Jungkook pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because everything feels colder when you’re not around. Because I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

Taehyung blinked.

Jungkook’s voice was quieter now. “And maybe that makes me weak. Maybe it makes me reckless. But I’ve spent years being untouchable, Taehyung. I’ve earned the right to be selfish just once.”

Taehyung swallowed hard.

“You’re not selfish,” he whispered. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

Taehyung didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

So instead, he leaned forward again.

And kissed him.

Slower this time.

Like maybe they had time after all.

They fell asleep curled together again. No words. No sex. No plans. Just the quiet of the city beyond the glass and the warmth of someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

And maybe that should’ve been the end of it.

But the world had other plans.

Taehyung knew it couldn’t stay secret forever.

He just didn’t expect the walls to start closing in so soon.

It started with little things. Whispers. The sideways glances in the briefing room. The way Seo’s smile faltered whenever she looked at him now.

He pretended not to notice.

Because that’s what he did best.

Pretending.

He showed up early for training. He stayed late for intel briefings. He laughed when he was supposed to, nodded when the room needed a “yes-man,” and threw himself into every sparring session like he was trying to beat something out of his own bones.

But it didn’t matter how fast he moved.

People noticed anyway.

“Hey,” Seo said one afternoon, catching up to him as they left the training gym. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Taehyung tensed. “Weird how?”

“Like… distracted. Quiet. Less snarky than usual.”

He tried to smile. “Guess I’m growing up.”

Seo gave him a look. “Tae.”

He sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and kept walking. “Just tired.”

“You weren’t in your apartment the night of the last raid, and you got hurt again,” she said suddenly.

Taehyung stopped walking.

Seo’s voice softened. “I’m not accusing you of anything. But… someone carried you into that hospital, again, and the surveillance footage got corrupted right after. No one’s admitting who it was. No one saw clearly. But you were half-conscious and muttering in your sleep when I visited. You said Hyung .”

He swallowed. Eyes widened for a split second before she caught on. 

“You looked scared.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything.

Seo stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “I’m not here to turn you in. I just— I need to know you’re not in danger. If he’s hurting you—”

“He’s not, ” Taehyung said quickly.

Seo blinked. “So it is him.”

Damn it.

Taehyung closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose. “It’s not like that.”

Seo’s voice dropped. “Then what’s it like, Tae?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what to call late-night rooftop visits and stolen kisses between punches. Didn’t know how to explain warmth in the arms of someone who burned cities down. Didn’t know how to justify the way his heart ached when Jungkook left, even though it was easier that way.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said finally. “But I’m not scared of him.”

“You should be.”

“Maybe.”

Seo looked at him for a long time. Then—“Do you trust him?”

Taehyung looked at the floor.

Then at the door behind her.

And then—at the bruises on his knuckles, the ones he never explained, the ones that weren’t from any hero mission.

He thought about the night Jungkook held him on the couch. The way he whispered his name. The way he said baby like it meant something.

“Yes,” he said.

Seo just shook her head. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“I know.”

Later that night, when Taehyung was alone again, he sat on the rooftop of his building and waited.

Just in case Jungkook showed up.

He didn’t.

Instead, the city gave him silence and cold wind.

And a screen full of smoke and sirens.

Another attack. Downtown. No casualties—but buildings collapsed. Traffic frozen. Chaos, perfectly timed.

The camera panned once.

Caught a figure in the dust.

Dark coat. Gloved hands. Black hair slicked back with sweat.

Taehyung’s breath caught.

Jungkook didn’t look at the camera.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Taehyung saw it in his eyes anyway—the storm there. The tension. The way he wasn’t fully there.

Something was shifting.

And for the first time in weeks, Taehyung felt cold in his chest.

He knew this wouldn’t end well.

Not if things kept going like this.

And yet—he couldn’t stop himself from caring.

The next day, Seo gave him a file.

Thick. Marked CONFIDENTIAL .

He opened it in private.

Inside: every known villain target from the past three months. Dates. Times. Patterns.

All of them forming a shape.

A spiral. Centering inward.

All of it leading here.

To him.

Taehyung stared down at the pages.

And understood.

Jungkook wasn’t just acting out.

He was circling him.

It took him a full day to decide.

Another night to convince himself he wasn’t being reckless.

By the time Taehyung climbed out of his window, hoodie pulled up, scarf high over his face, the city was quiet again—too quiet. Like the calm after a disaster. Or the breath someone holds right before they break.

He didn’t text Jungkook.

Didn’t call.

He just showed up—because he knew Jungkook would be there. The abandoned tower in the industrial zone. Fourth floor, north wing. A place no cameras could reach.

A place that always smelled like rust and ash.

Taehyung slipped inside. His boots barely made a sound.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Back to him, hands gloved, chest rising slow and steady. He was staring out through the broken window, city lights glowing against his dark silhouette.

“Were you gonna tell me?” Taehyung asked, voice low.

Jungkook didn’t move. “Tell you what?”

“That you’ve been targeting places I patrol. That you’ve been following my shift reports. That you’re spiraling closer to me with every ‘mission’ you pull.”

Now Jungkook turned. His face was unreadable, shadowed and quiet.

Taehyung crossed the room until he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. “What is this, Jungkook?”

There was a flicker in his jaw. A muscle twitch. “You know what it is.”

“No. I don’t.” His voice cracked. “You—You leave me bleeding in alleyways and then tuck me into hospital beds. You kiss me and then blow up buildings the next day. You hold me and then look like a monster on the news. So tell me—what the hell is this?”

Jungkook looked away. His hand lifted, scrubbed down his face.

“I told you,” he said finally. “You called me Hyung and ruined my life.”

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“You were bleeding out. Barely conscious. And you looked at me like I was someone worth trusting. Someone to save you.” His voice dropped, almost bitter. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Taehyung’s throat went dry.

“I’ve spent years building this reputation,” Jungkook continued, stepping closer now. “Villain. Chaos-maker. The one they all run from. But you—”

He stopped right in front of him now, close enough that Taehyung could smell smoke and aftershave.

“You looked at me like I mattered,” Jungkook said. “And then you whispered Hyung, like I was something good.”

Taehyung’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“So yeah,” Jungkook said, his voice raw. “I’ve been circling you. Like a damn storm. Because I don’t know how to stay away from you, Tae. And I don’t think I want to anymore.”

Taehyung stood still.

Breathing shallow.

“You’re supposed to be the villain,” he said softly.

“I am.”

“Then why do I feel safer with you than I do with them ?”

Silence. Sharp and heavy.

Then—Jungkook reached out. Gently, carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind Taehyung’s ear.

“Tae.”

Taehyung swallowed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be gentle. It makes this harder.”

Jungkook’s hand dropped. “You want me to be cruel?”

“I want you to make sense.”

Jungkook took a breath. “I’m trying.”

Taehyung’s voice cracked. “Then stop dragging me into your storm.”

There was a pause.

Then—Jungkook’s hands came up, hovering near his jaw but not touching. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“But I’m not sorry.”

Taehyung closed his eyes.

Because part of him wasn’t either.

They didn’t kiss that night.

They didn’t hold each other.

They just stood there. Breathing the same broken air. Staring at each other like two people standing on opposite sides of the same shattered mirror.

There was a war outside.

But neither of them moved.

The headquarters were brighter than he remembered.

Sterile, polished, spotless—like nothing had ever gone wrong in these walls. Like no one had ever bled or lied or loved too hard. Taehyung blinked against the white lights and the sharp clatter of hero boots echoing down metal corridors.

“Tae!”

A familiar voice—Jimin—came bouncing up, arms outstretched. “Hey! You’re actually alive.”

Taehyung managed a small smile. “Barely.”

Jimin looked him over, not missing the way he kept his hoodie up and his eyes down. “You’ve been quiet since the hospital,” he said. “Did you ever find out who brought you in?”

Taehyung hesitated. “No. Maybe just… a civilian.”

Jimin gave him a look. “A civilian who carried your broken body to a private clinic and vanished before the security drones caught his face? Doesn’t exactly sound like the PTA type.”

Taehyung offered a shrug. The kind that said drop it.

Jimin did. But not without a sigh. “You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m fine, Jimin.” Sharper than intended.

There was a pause.

Then: “You don’t look fine.”

Taehyung didn’t reply.

They walked the rest of the corridor in silence.

He sat through the debrief later, surrounded by senior heroes and sidekicks-in-training, his face calm while his thoughts spun like knives.

Jungkook’s name didn’t come up directly—but he was everywhere.

In the photos of crumbled buildings. In the surveillance footage of a figure cloaked in shadow and fire. In the panicked tone of the head commander’s voice when he muttered, “He’s getting bolder. We need a counterstrike team ready.”

They talked like he was an animal.

An earthquake.

A problem to contain.

And Taehyung sat still through all of it, heart heavy, fingers curled tight into the edge of the table.

Because yeah, maybe Jungkook was a problem.

But he wasn’t just that.

He wasn’t only that.

Later, after training, Jimin found him again.

“You’re distracted,” he said.

Taehyung kept stretching his legs on the mat. “Am I?”

“You flinched during the simulation. You never flinch.”

Taehyung exhaled through his nose. “Just tired.”

Jimin squatted beside him. “Is this about him?”

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up. “What?”

Jimin shrugged. “You think I don’t notice? You came back with someone’s blood under your nails, you’ve been quiet ever since, and whenever there’s news about Jeon Jungkook, you go blank.”

Taehyung stared. “You think I’m… what? In love with a villain?”

Jimin’s eyes flickered. “I think you’re in something , and it scares you.”

Taehyung didn’t reply.

Jimin stood. “You don’t owe me an explanation. But be careful, okay? People get swallowed whole by him.”

Too late, Taehyung thought.

He was already halfway gone.

He left HQ that night without waiting for his ride.

Walked home alone through the city he’d sworn to protect, wondering who was protecting him from this—from the confusion curling in his chest every time Jungkook crossed his mind.

That man—

That storm—

He was wrong in all the ways that mattered.

But God, he made Taehyung feel more alive than anything else ever had.

He didn’t see him again for two weeks.

Not on rooftops.

Not on the news.

Not in his dreams.

Until—

One night, he heard a knock on his fire escape window.

Low. Rhythmic.

Familiar.

Taehyung’s chest squeezed.

He opened the curtain slowly—

—and there he was.

Leather-clad.

Soot-streaked.

Hyung.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered.

“Hyung…”

That single word crackled in the cold night air, low and unsteady, like a fuse about to burn into something dangerous.

Jungkook didn’t move.

Not at first.

His fingers were curled around Taehyung’s jacket, knuckles brushing the collarbone just under the fabric. His breath came in short, sharp pulls through parted lips. Something in him had stilled completely, like hearing that word had short-circuited everything else.

Taehyung could feel it—the shift. Could see it too, in the way Jungkook’s jaw went slack for a second, in the sudden sharp cut of his gaze that lost all calculation and turned warm. Wanting.

But not just that.

There was something almost—tender in the villain’s eyes.

“…say it again,” Jungkook muttered, voice hoarse.

Taehyung blinked.

“What?”

Jungkook’s grip loosened, hand sliding down the front of Taehyung’s coat until it hovered near his waist. His whole body was coiled with tension, like he was holding himself back with the barest effort.

“I said,” he repeated, more deliberately this time, “say it again.”

Taehyung swallowed, unsure why his pulse had jumped. “You want me to call you hyung again?”

Jungkook exhaled a breath that was more growl than sigh. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to his mouth.

“You sound like you mean it,” he said, voice nearly a whisper. “And no one ever does.”

That made Taehyung freeze.

Because something about that was deeply, deeply sad.

“I meant it,” Taehyung said quietly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

That was the truth. It always had been.

And for some reason, that mattered enough to make Jungkook finally step back, tension easing out of his body like a string cut loose.

The villain let his hand fall to his side.

“I shouldn’t have followed you,” he said, voice back to a lower register, though the fire behind it had dimmed.

“I knew you would,” Taehyung replied, honest. “You always do.”

They stood there, facing each other in the dark. Not enemies. Not quite anything else either. Just two people caught in the tug of something they hadn’t named yet.

Jungkook looked like he wanted to say something more, but then the crackle of distant radios echoed at the mouth of the alleyway.

Hero units.

Backup.

Jungkook looked toward the sound, then back at Taehyung.

“I’ll go.”

Taehyung didn’t stop him.

Didn’t ask him to stay, either.

Because the ache in his chest was already telling him too much.

“Hyung,” he called out again before Jungkook could disappear fully into shadow.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks. Just a silhouette now.

Taehyung hesitated.

“Be careful.”

A long pause.

Then, so softly it was almost carried away on the wind:

“…you too.”

And just like that, Jungkook was gone.

Leaving behind only the heat of his hands and the sound of his name— Hyung —echoing in the alleyway like a promise neither of them was ready to keep.

“Taehyung.”

He blinked once. Twice. The overhead lights were bright. Too bright. Stark white against pale walls. It took him a second to remember—hospital. Right. He was back in the hospital. 

Again.

He fought off a villain yesterday with his mentor but he got harmed most. He found himself once again in the hospital, and memories of who brought him to the hospital immediately flooded his mind. Of course, him.

He shifted slightly on the bed, stiff under the sheets, arm aching from the bandages wound too tight. His ribs throbbed, but it wasn’t unbearable.

What was unbearable was the way everyone was staring at him.

“Taehyung,” said Seokjin again, voice more tired than angry this time. “You were out cold. Your vitals were crashing. But you made it to the hospital in time. Care to explain how?”

The room was full of senior heroes. The team. Namjoon, Jimin, Seokjin. Even Hoseok, arms crossed as he leaned against the window.

Taehyung offered a tight-lipped smile.

“I don’t remember.”

Seokjin raised a brow. “You don’t remember who carried you into a hospital lobby and vanished before anyone could get a name?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I was bleeding out. Sorry if I wasn’t taking notes.”

A small scoff from the corner—Hoseok..

“Security footage was wiped too,” Namjoon murmured, almost to himself. “Clean. Whoever did it had tech.”

“Villain-grade,” Seokjin added. “Very expensive.”

Taehyung kept his eyes on his hands. They were shaking slightly under the blanket.

“Why would a villain save you?” Hoseok asked, voice blunt.

Taehyung looked up. “I guess even villains have weird days.”

They didn’t push further after that. Maybe because they were tired. Maybe because they sensed he wasn’t going to break.

But Taehyung knew the truth: it wasn’t about lying well. It was about believing the lie before anyone else could see through it.

He believed it so hard his stomach hurt.

Because if he stopped… even for a second…

He’d have to admit that the person who saved him, the one whose voice had sounded almost desperate when he said, say it again, was also the same man shown on the news this morning, leveling half a city block and throwing a hero through a bus station sign.

He’d have to admit that he let himself care.

And that was the worst part.

Because he did.

Meanwhile in the villain’s league, Jungkook was sat comfortably, drinking and once again watching the news with his face all over them. 

“You let him go.”

Boa’s voice was ice. Sharp. Deadly.

Jungkook didn’t flinch.

They stood in one of the many shadowy rooms of the villain league’s hidden base—black glass screens glowing on the wall behind her, security feeds flickering with citywide chaos.

Jungkook was still in the same clothes from the night before. He hadn’t slept. His knuckles were bruised again. Not from a fight. Just from the wall he’d punched in the alley after Taehyung said be careful like it meant something.

Boa stepped closer. Her heels clicked against the marble.

“You had him,” she said slowly. “The Hero Squad’s sidekick. You had him and you walked away.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Jungkook said, voice flat. “Next time.”

Her gaze narrowed. “We don’t get next times anymore, Jungkook. You think the League’s happy? You think everyone hasn’t noticed how often you disappear lately? How soft you’re going?”

His eyes flicked up. Dangerous. Cold again. “Call me soft again.”

Boa smirked. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’ve done worse for less.”

A tense silence followed.

Then, after a beat: “He called you hyung , didn’t he?”

Jungkook stilled.

Boa’s smile widened.

“Of course he did,” she said. “Poor little sidekick thinks he can tame the villain if he calls him sweet names.”

Jungkook moved so fast she barely saw it—hand gripping her throat, not choking, just holding. Reminding.

“I’m not tame,” he hissed.

“No,” she agreed, voice rough. “You’re just already leashed.”

He dropped his hand and walked out. Nobody tames him. Till he allows them too. 

They let him leave the hospital the next day.

Said he was on break until he healed up. “Don’t strain yourself, Taehyung.” “Take a few days.” “Use this time to reflect.”

He didn’t reflect.

He watched the news.

He saw him.

Villain footage. Crowds running. Screams. Fire. A blurred figure on the screen, laughing as he crashed through buildings like paper, cape whipping behind him.

And Taehyung stared.

Not because he was shocked.

But because even through the chaos… Jungkook was beautiful.

He hated that.

No—he hated how much he noticed it.

The way his eyes burned with power. The way his movements were smooth and ruthless. Like he was made for destruction. And he was—no one denied that.

Civilians were terrified.

Heroes couldn’t pin him down.

He was chaos wrapped in a gorgeous body with a smirk sharp enough to gut you.

And yet Taehyung’s first thought wasn’t he needs to be stopped.

It was I need to see him again.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

It started like any other quiet day off.

Rain against the windows. A slow afternoon. A kettle whistling in the background. Taehyung sat cross-legged on his couch, one hand idly scrolling through news reports while the other held a half-empty mug.

The footage from the last villain attack looped again—grainy, shaky cam from a civilian’s phone. Screams. Shattered glass. That flash of black and crimson, leaping across rooftops like he owned the sky.

Taehyung turned the sound off. He didn’t need to hear it anymore.

He knew how Jungkook moved. Knew the rhythm of his violence, the pulse of his presence. Like thunder under your skin. Like a voice whispering in your ribs.

He didn’t want to admit he missed it.

So when the emergency beacon blinked across his comm— a solo recon mission, simple perimeter patrol, no expected combat— he didn’t ask questions. He took it. Said yes before he finished reading the details. Maybe he just needed air. Maybe he needed distraction.

Or maybe, somewhere deep in his bones, he knew what was waiting.

The district was quiet. Too quiet.

Old warehouses. Fog settling in thick rolls across the broken concrete. Nothing moved but the rats. Taehyung adjusted his gloves, eyes sweeping the rooftops, ears tuned for anything out of place.

Then—

That sound again.

The familiar crack of landing feet.

The rustle of a cape in the wind.

A voice, low and lazy.

“You patrol alone now?”

Taehyung didn’t turn. He didn’t have to.

“You again,” he said softly.

Footsteps behind him, unhurried. “Disappointed?”

He hesitated. “No.”

Silence.

Then—

“I thought you were trying to kill me,” Taehyung said, still facing forward. “That night.”

“I was.”

“And then you saved me. Again.”

Jungkook’s voice was closer now. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Taehyung finally turned.

Jungkook stood just a few steps away, not wearing his full gear—no mask, no smoke, just him. Tall, broad-shouldered, rain beading on his lashes. There was something quieter in his expression this time. Like a fire that hadn’t gone out but was burning differently. Deeper.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Taehyung said.

“Neither should you,” Jungkook replied. “But you came anyway.”

Taehyung’s heart twisted. “You’ve been hurting people.”

“You knew that before you started thinking about me when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I don’t think about you—”

“You do.”

The words dropped like stone into water.

Taehyung opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

Jungkook’s eyes were steady. “Say it.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Why?”

“Because I know what I heard that night.”

“That wasn’t—” Taehyung swallowed. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“You said hyung like you meant it. You told me you meant it.”

A pause. Just the rain now.

Jungkook’s voice was quieter. Not teasing. Not cruel.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

Taehyung’s chest hurt.

Because he wanted to. God, he wanted to.

He stepped forward, slow. Careful. Like approaching a wounded animal. Or maybe he was the wounded one.

“I hate you,” Taehyung whispered.

“I know.”

“You’re a villain. You’re ruining people’s lives. You—”

“I know.”

Taehyung’s voice cracked. “Then why do you keep coming back?”

Jungkook exhaled. “Because you’re the only thing that makes me feel like I haven’t completely rotted.”

Silence fell.

A long, aching pause.

Then—

“…Hyung.”

Jungkook flinched. Visibly.

Not from the word—but from the weight of it.

Taehyung stepped closer, barely an inch between them. Rain clung to his lashes. His voice was barely a breath.

“I want to hate you,” he said.

“I know.”

“But I don’t.”

Something broke between them then. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… softly. Like two threads pulling toward each other until the tension gave way.

Jungkook leaned down slowly.

And Taehyung met him halfway.

The kiss wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t violent or frantic.

It was quiet. Like apology. Like finally.

Warm lips, damp with rain. Fingers curling into fabric. Chests rising too fast. The world went still around them. Nothing but the sound of breath and heartbeat and something that felt like surrender.

When they pulled apart, Jungkook’s voice was hoarse.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Taehyung laughed, brokenly. “You already do.”

“Then let me stop.” 

Taehyung looked up at Jungkook, their eyes never straying away from each other. Their eyes spoke louder than their words, louder than their actions. 

They didn’t go home together that night.

They didn’t need to.

Something had already been said that couldn’t be unsaid.

And maybe that was enough.

For now.

It started with shadows and silence.

An alley behind a shuttered bookstore. A locked rooftop in a dead zone of city surveillance. A cramped, unlit tunnel that smelled like dust and secrets. They weren’t dates. They weren’t meetings. No labels. No names.

Just them.

Taehyung sat cross-legged on the rooftop, hood pulled low, cheeks pink from the cold. The city sprawled below in flickers of orange and blue, the soft hum of traffic miles beneath where the world couldn’t reach them.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking up.

Jungkook dropped down beside him with a quiet grunt. “You’re early.”

“You said sundown.”

“You never listen.”

“You never explain.”

Jungkook smirked, teeth flashing in the low moonlight. “Touché.”

For a moment, they just sat there. Listening to the wind scrape against old concrete. The beat of their own nerves.

Jungkook passed him a bag of warm roasted chestnuts from a street vendor.

Taehyung blinked. “What the hell.”

“You looked cold.”

Taehyung hesitated, then took them.

“You’re still a villain,” he muttered.

Jungkook leaned back, arms bracing behind him, gaze skyward. “I blew up a weapons facility yesterday. That count?”

“You also caused a blackout in three districts.”

“Collateral damage.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you keep showing up.”

Taehyung didn’t reply. The chestnuts were warm in his hands. His heart was warmer.

They weren’t doing anything wrong, technically. Taehyung had clearance to roam during his off-hours. Jungkook… well. He didn’t answer to anyone.

But it still felt fragile.

Like if someone found out— really found out—it would all come crashing down.

Taehyung turned his head, watching Jungkook’s profile against the skyline. “What are we doing?”

Jungkook glanced at him.

“Meeting,” he said.

“Illegally.”

“You started it.”

“You saved me.”

“You called me hyung .”

Taehyung looked away, ears burning.

“I shouldn’t have,” he said softly.

Jungkook’s voice dropped. “Do you regret it?”

Taehyung was quiet for a long time.

Then, finally: “No.”

Silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so cold this time.

Jungkook sat up slowly, eyes locked on him. “Say it again.”

Taehyung didn’t move.

“You always do this,” he whispered. “You make everything sound like a game.”

“It’s not a game,” Jungkook said. “It’s the only part of my life that feels—”

He stopped himself. Words caught like gravel in his throat.

Taehyung leaned in slightly. “What?”

Jungkook swallowed. “It’s the only part that feels real.”

There. A crack in the armor.

Taehyung stared at him, this man who had the world calling him a monster. Who tore down buildings and made governments sweat. And yet, right now, looked like he could shatter if Taehyung said the wrong thing.

So he didn’t.

He reached out instead, fingers ghosting over Jungkook’s.

No label. No plan.

Just this—this fragile, secret thing.

“I can’t promise anything,” Taehyung whispered.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“I don’t know how this ends.”

“I do,” Jungkook said, eyes sharp with quiet heat. “With you. Me. Together. Even if the world burns.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, lips twitching. “Dramatic.”

“You like it.”

Taehyung didn’t deny it.

He leaned his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, the rooftop suddenly the safest place in the universe.

Maybe this couldn’t last.

Maybe it would fall apart.

But tonight, they had stolen time.

And for now—just now—it was enough.

But the city never stays quiet for long.

And somewhere, not far from where they sat, someone else was watching.

Recording .

Waiting .

The recording wasn’t meant to exist.

It was taken from an old surveillance drone—half-decommissioned, more rust than machine—hovering a few feet too far outside its intended path. The angle was shaky, the sound muffled. But the image was clear enough.

A rooftop. Two figures.

One with a mask pulled low. The other with unmistakable platinum-streaked hair and that leather coat every civilian had come to associate with terror.

Jeon Jungkook.

And by his side, his hand grazing another’s, was Kim Taehyung—the sidekick known as V.

The video never made it past the inner vault of Hero HQ.

But it made it far enough.

Taehyung felt it first in the way his mentor wouldn’t meet his eyes.

In the way the debrief room was colder than usual, fluorescent lights casting his shadow long and accusatory against the floor.

“You’ve been distracted,” Mitch said, arms crossed, tone unreadable.

Taehyung stayed silent.

Mitch studied him. “We tracked an unknown figure dropping you at the hospital. Did you ever remember who it was?”

“No,” Taehyung lied.

She narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t like lying,” she said.

“Then don’t.”

“Taehyung.”

“I don’t know who it was.”

He didn’t flinch when she stepped closer, didn’t move when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve always had good instincts,” she said quietly. “Don’t let them be your downfall.”

And just like that, he was dismissed.

But the weight of her gaze followed him all the way to the exit.

Jungkook’s laugh that night was strained.

“You think they know?”

Taehyung nodded, arms wrapped around his knees, curled on the rooftop where they always met. “They suspect. Mitch won’t say it. But she knows.”

Jungkook sighed, hand brushing through his dark hair. “They’ll try to separate us.”

“They can’t.”

“They’ll try.”

Taehyung’s throat tightened. “Then what do we do?”

Jungkook looked at him. “We don’t stop.”

There was a long pause.

And then: “Even if it gets worse?”

Jungkook’s voice was softer now. “ Especially if it gets worse.”

He pulled Taehyung in, their foreheads touching, breath shared between them in the cool air.

Taehyung whispered, “Hyung…”

The word made Jungkook’s fingers tighten at his back, a tremble running down his spine. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll take you right here if you say it again.”

Taehyung smirked. “Hyung.”

Jungkook groaned.

But their moment was interrupted—again—by the real world.

Jungkook’s comm crackled. An urgent voice. Then another.

He swore under his breath.

“Trouble?”

“Internal,” Jungkook muttered. “My league’s getting suspicious. Someone thinks I’ve gone soft.”

Taehyung stared at him, heart dropping.

“You told them?”

“I told no one.”

“But they know.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “They suspect. And that’s almost worse.”

There it was again—parallel lives spiraling. Heroes watching Taehyung. Villains circling Jungkook. They were walking a tightrope with knives underneath.

“Don’t come here for a while,” Jungkook said. “It’s not safe.”

Taehyung shook his head. “We’ll find another place.”

Jungkook caught his wrist. “ Don’t . Just—just wait for me. I’ll find you.”

His grip was gentle, but the tremor in it made Taehyung pause.

And when he left that night—vanishing into the darkness like a shadow itself—Taehyung sat on the rooftop a little longer than usual.

Alone, this time.

And afraid, for the first time.

Because falling for a villain had always been risky.

But loving one?

That might just be fatal.

It started with a summons.

Taehyung had barely slipped back into HQ when the message appeared on his comm: Immediate debrief. Tower Room. Now.

He thought he was ready for it. He wasn’t.

The Tower Room wasn’t used unless things were serious—city-wide disasters, breaches of protocol, or betrayals.

The moment he stepped in, he knew this wasn’t a regular meeting.

Four higher-ups sat at the round glass table. Mitch was among them, but her expression was different now—closed off, mask-like.

On the screen behind them: a still image from that cursed drone. Blurry but damning. Two silhouettes. One unmistakably him.

Taehyung’s stomach dropped.

“We’ll make this quick,” Mitch said, voice low. “We know it was you.”

Silence stretched long and thin.

“You’ve been seen meeting him. Again and again. This isn’t one slip-up.”

Taehyung’s hands curled into fists. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“You’re a hero, V. We monitor threats. You’re not excluded.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Mitch’s voice hardened. “You’ve compromised this organization. You’re aiding and abetting a criminal.”

“I never—”

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “We’ve got footage. Sound. He called you by name.”

Taehyung closed his eyes.

“You’re suspended ,” someone else said. “Indefinitely. Turn in your ID. Your suit.”

The room spun.

“You don’t understand,” Taehyung murmured. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

No answer came.

Because what could he say?

I met him on a rooftop. He saved my life. He watched me bleed and didn’t walk away. He calls me ‘baby’ with this look in his eyes like I matter. He kisses me like he’s starving and I kiss him back because I am.

Instead, Taehyung stood up, slowly, and unzipped the side of his suit. He laid his badge on the table like a funeral offering.

Mitch didn’t say a word.

As he left the room, the air behind him felt heavy. Final.

And yet—

Some part of him felt lighter .

Because now, there was nothing left to hide.

Jungkook felt it in his bones.

He slammed Boa’s photo against the wall of the underground safehouse, eyes wild with rage. “They cornered him.”

Yoongi—calm, always calm—leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. “You expected this.”

“I thought I had more time.”

“You’re being reckless.”

Jungkook turned sharply. “He’s mine .”

Yoongi raised a brow. “He’s a hero, Jeon. One of them . You think this ends in flowers and rooftop dates?”

“I’m not asking your permission.”

“No,” Yoongi said coolly. “But you might be asking for war.”

Jungkook looked down at the folder in his hands—V’s file. The one his league had pulled. Height, training record, mission history. Everything they’d need to hurt him.

He burned it without hesitation.

“Anyone touches him,” Jungkook said quietly, “I burn this whole city down.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch. “That’s love talking.”

Jungkook glanced up. “Yeah. It is.”

And then he vanished, black smoke curling in his wake.

Taehyung didn’t cry.

He sat on the edge of the same rooftop, looking out over the city that no longer felt like his. Civilians walked below, unaware that everything had changed.

He had nowhere to go.

He couldn’t go home—too many surveillance tails.

He couldn’t go to Jungkook—too dangerous right now.

So he waited.

And when he finally felt the shift in the air, the drop in pressure, he didn’t even turn.

“You came.”

Jungkook stepped up beside him, silent.

Then: “They took your suit.”

Taehyung laughed under his breath. “And my title. I’m just ‘Taehyung’ now.”

Jungkook looked at him. “I like Taehyung.”

“You like the sidekick more.”

“I like the boy who calls me hyung when he thinks no one’s listening.”

Taehyung looked down.

There was a long pause.

Then, suddenly, his voice cracked: “I ruined everything.”

“No.”

“I was supposed to stop you.”

“You still can.”

Taehyung turned sharply, eyes wide.

Jungkook’s gaze was steady. “You could hand me in. I wouldn’t fight you.”

Taehyung stepped closer. “Don’t say that.”

“You think I’m afraid of prison?”

“You think I want to lose you?”

That made Jungkook still.

Then Taehyung whispered, softer this time, “I don’t care what they call me. I don’t care if I’m not a hero anymore.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened just slightly, haven’t expected this. “Then what do you care about?”

“ You .”

A breath.

“I care about you, hyung. ”

The word lanced through them both like lightning.

And before either could think, Jungkook was pulling him in—fierce, desperate, like he was starving again.

This kiss was different from the others.

This one was real.

Because now, there were no secrets left.

No mask. No sidekick. No villain.

Just two boys on a rooftop, in a city that no longer wanted them.

And for the first time, they weren’t afraid.

Not of falling.

Not of loving.

Not even of the war that might come next.

The headlines came screaming through smoke.

“Villain Jeon Jungkook Levels Downtown Block — Civilians Evacuated.”

“Chaos Reigns: Flames Consume Market Street in Unprovoked Assault.”

“The Demon Returns.”

Taehyung didn’t need the news to know. He could feel it in the air—the tension, the heat radiating off the skyline, the way the city trembled again under Jungkook’s wrath.

He stood at the edge of his apartment’s rooftop, hoodie zipped up, hands shoved in his pockets, hair curling from the damp. His badge, his name, his title—all gone. He was just Taehyung now. Civilians crossed the street to avoid his building like they could smell the disgrace clinging to his shadow.

The city didn’t know what to do with him anymore.

Neither did he.

He stared out toward the smoldering ruins of Market Street, sirens wailing faintly in the distance. Orange smoke bloomed in the sky like a second sunset. He could hear them—screaming, running, the same way they used to when Jungkook first arrived on scene. But this time, it felt different.

This wasn’t calculated villainy.

This was rage .

Raw, uncontrollable rage.

And Taehyung knew exactly who it was for

.

“Do you know what they did to him?” Jungkook’s voice crackled, low and terrifying, into the hacked city broadcast feed.

His face filled the massive digital screen in the plaza, wild-eyed and unsmiling, coat dark with soot, hair damp with rain or sweat or both.

“They dragged him through a hearing like he was nothing. They stripped his badge in front of a room full of men who never lifted a finger to save anyone. All because he hesitated once.”

Jungkook raised a hand.

Behind him, a building collapsed into fire.

“They humiliated him. They made him believe he wasn’t enough.”

People screamed.

“They broke my boy .”

The feed cut to black.

Taehyung barely moved when he heard the boots land behind him on the rooftop.

He didn’t turn.

Jungkook didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, chest rising and falling, the quiet tick of scorched metal still cooling under his jacket. Ash smeared across his cheek. He smelled like smoke and wind and fury.

“You’ve been busy,” Taehyung said softly.

Jungkook exhaled. “They had it coming.”

“You’re burning down half the city.”

“They should’ve burned when they turned on you.”

Taehyung turned then, slow and tired. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know.” Jungkook’s voice cracked. “I know you didn’t. But they hurt you, Taehyung. And I—” He stepped closer, jaw tight. “I warned them. I told them what would happen if they took you from me.”

Taehyung’s breath caught.

“You should hate me for this,” Jungkook added, almost bitter.

“I should ,” Taehyung murmured.

But he didn’t move away.

He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flinch at the city’s burning skyline, didn’t scream at the villain who’d set the match.

He just looked at Jungkook like he saw right through him—through the fury, through the chaos, to the core of what was really happening.

“You’re scared,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook flinched. “I’m angry.”

“You’re scared because they took something from you.”

“I’m not scared of them,” he snapped.

“No,” Taehyung replied quietly. “You’re scared of losing me.”

Silence.

Then Jungkook laughed, just once—sharp and sad. “Too late.”

“No,” Taehyung said again, more firmly this time. “It’s not.”

And he reached for him.

Not like a hero. Not like a savior.

Just a boy trying to hold together the pieces of the man who’d once scared the world. 

The city coughed smoke.

Sirens wailed like a never-ending lullaby, and the skies hadn’t looked blue in days. Ash clung to everything, from power lines to rooftop gardens. People walked faster now, heads down, avoiding eye contact. Civilians whispered about him, the villain who kept striking with precision—and the sidekick who had vanished before it all began.

Taehyung’s phone buzzed with a familiar name.

Jimin.

He stared at the screen for a few seconds before picking up.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“You should come down here,” Jimin’s voice was clipped, urgent. “HQ’s losing it.”

Taehyung exhaled. “What happened now? You know i have no business in this now. I’m fired, Jimin.”

“He torched five hero cars in the west lot, Tae. One of them belonged to Chief Mitch—the one who stripped you of your badge.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything.

Jimin’s voice softened. “They’re saying… they think he’s doing it for you. That you’re behind this. That you’ve been talking to him or… encouraging him somehow.”

Taehyung pressed his eyes shut.

“Are they wrong?” Jimin asked, more gently now.

“No,” Taehyung murmured. “They’re not.”

There was a beat of silence.

Jimin sighed. “I’m not calling to fight. I just thought you should know. They’re not gonna let this go. You’re not just an ex-hero to them now. You’re… they think you’re compromised.”

“I am compromised,” Taehyung said, voice barely audible.

Jimin didn’t argue. Didn’t have to. They both knew the truth.

The villain league celebrated like it was a parade.

Jungkook stood in the corner of the war room while glasses clinked and laughter rose, bodies crowding around holo-screens playing footage of his destruction in loop.

“You see how he smoked that tower?!”

“He’s finally unleashed.”

“Who knew losing a pretty little hero would make our boy go nuclear.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

He wasn’t doing it for them .

He didn’t give a damn about their league politics or reputation boosts.

He did it because they hurt Taehyung. Humiliated him. Dragged his name through the dirt and stripped the glow from his face for a single moment of hesitation. They made Taehyung feel worthless—and for that, the world deserved to burn.

He got up quietly and slipped away while the celebration raged on.

Taehyung had the pan sizzling when he felt the air shift behind him.

He didn’t look up. “I figured you’d show up after the smoke cleared.”

Jungkook’s boots padded across the small kitchen floor. “You cooked?”

“You set a police van on fire near my block. I figured you’d work up an appetite.”

Jungkook smirked, shrugging off his coat. “Technically, I burned the car, not the van.”

Taehyung gave him a dry look over his shoulder. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You made bulgogi.”

“Answer the question.”

“No,” Jungkook said, stepping closer. “But I was hoping this smell would make you forgive me.”

Taehyung almost smiled. “It’s a start.”

They ate on the floor, plates balanced on knees, the TV quietly broadcasting drone footage of Jungkook’s handiwork—flames licking up glass towers, heroes scrambling to douse smoke.

“Look at you,” Taehyung said, chewing slowly. “You’re practically a celebrity.”

Jungkook leaned back on one arm, eyes on the screen. “Does it bother you?”

“That they think you’re unstoppable?”

“That they think you made me this way.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away.

“I know you didn’t,” Jungkook said, quieter now. “You didn’t ask me to burn a single thing. That’s all on me.”

“But you did it because of me.”

Jungkook turned to face him. “Because they hurt you. Because they treated you like a pawn. Because I saw your face the night they took your badge, and I wanted the whole damn world to feel the way you did.”

Taehyung swallowed, setting his plate down.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered.

“I’ve always been dangerous,” Jungkook replied. “You just make me honest about it.”

Taehyung didn’t argue. He simply leaned into him—quietly, gently—resting his head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

The TV played on, but neither of them really watched it.

Later, they curled up on the worn couch, plates cleaned and tucked away, the scent of dinner still hanging between them like warmth.

Jungkook rested a hand on Taehyung’s waist.

Taehyung rested his cheek against Jungkook’s chest.

Outside, the city burned. But inside, the room was quiet. Safe. Soft.

“You smell like smoke,” Taehyung murmured.

“You smell like home,” Jungkook replied.

Taehyung’s lashes fluttered.

And then, under the hum of the television, in the middle of a broken city and a world that no longer wanted either of them—they slept.

Together.

By morning, the news was worse.

Seven heroes had been injured in a standoff Jungkook caused in the southern district. None were dead, but three were hospitalized. Footage of crumbling rooftops, panicked pedestrians, and emergency crews filled every screen in the city. Public tension thickened. People cried out for justice. The hero HQ posted an official statement:

“We have reason to believe Jeon Jungkook’s recent violence stems from personal motivations involving ex-sidekick V-Kim Taehyung. We ask citizens to report any sighting of him immediately.”

Taehyung sat at the table in his hoodie, untouched mug of tea going cold in his hands. The words echoed in his mind.

He didn’t flinch when Jungkook stepped in, dressed in black from collar to boots.

“You’re all over the news,” Taehyung muttered without looking up.

“I figured,” Jungkook said, voice low. “They’re blaming you again.”

Taehyung gave a small laugh, bitter and tired. “They’re not wrong.”

Jungkook moved closer, crouched beside him. “You didn’t make me do any of this.”

“No,” Taehyung said softly, “but I’m the reason you want to.”

They stared at each other in that too-quiet moment.

Outside the window, the city churned. Inside, it felt like the walls were closing in.

“Jimin called again,” Taehyung said, leaning back. “He said they might put out a formal warrant. Not for you—for me . For harboring a villain. He told me to leave town before they send heroes to drag me in.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened. “Let them try.”

“No.” Taehyung shook his head. “That’s not how I want this to end.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Jungkook said, “Let’s leave.”

Taehyung blinked.

Jungkook stood, pacing now, jaw tight. “Let’s leave the country. Disappear. We’ll fake names. Start over. Find some place by the ocean where no one knows who we were. Just you and me.”

“Jungkook…”

“You hate what they did to you. I hate what they did to us. Why should we play by their rules anymore?”

Taehyung sat still, torn in a dozen directions.

The thought was tempting. Terrifying. Freeing.

But…

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

Jungkook came back to him, crouched again, eyes sincere for once—not wild with power or fury, just real.

“Baby,” Jungkook said, soft and reverent, “just say the word and I’ll burn the whole damn map if it means we can make one of our own.”

Taehyung closed his eyes at the way the word fell from Jungkook’s lips—like a secret only they shared.

He didn’t answer yet.

But his fingers curled into Jungkook’s jacket, and that was enough.

Meanwhile, across the city, Hero HQ scrambled.

Some heroes wanted to declare Taehyung a traitor publicly. Others hesitated.

“He was one of us,” Jimin argued in the briefing. “And we abandoned him.”

Chief Mitch didn’t budge. “He’s aiding a terrorist. We don’t give second chances to people who betray the badge.”

“But he didn’t—”

“He’s with the villain who’s burned half the city.”

Jimin clenched his jaw.

And outside the war room doors, more heroes whispered… that maybe Taehyung was the only one who could stop Jungkook. That maybe he’d already tamed him. That maybe—just maybe—they weren’t seeing the whole picture.

But none of that mattered to the press.

Or the government.

Or the millions of scared people watching fire swallow steel every day.

To them, Taehyung wasn’t a fallen hero anymore.

He was Jungkook’s flame.

They didn’t run that day.

Or the next.

Instead, they lived in the pause between everything falling apart and whatever would come next. Taehyung made breakfast every morning, quiet and methodical. Jungkook watched him like he was memorizing it—the way he wiped his hands on a dish towel, the sleepy crinkle of his eyes, the way he stirred honey into his tea even though he always said it was “too sweet.”

Taehyung still called him Hyung sometimes. Mostly when he was annoyed.

Or when Jungkook kissed him too softly.

And Jungkook’s mouth would twitch, eyes darkening with something unspeakable each time.

It was the only word that could disarm him. Taehyung had learned that by now.

One night, they sat on the couch together, curtains closed, TV humming with static. The news ran loops of the city in ruin. Footage of Jungkook hurling flames from the rooftops. Footage of the Hero HQ scrambling to maintain control. Footage of Taehyung’s face, blurred at first, then cleared.

The city had named them.

“They’re going to come soon,” Jungkook said, low.

Taehyung’s shoulders tensed. “I know.”

“They won’t go easy on you.”

“I don’t expect them to.”

Jungkook looked over at him. “You should hate me.”

Taehyung didn’t look away from the screen. “Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe I hate that you make it so easy to stay.”

It wasn’t romantic.

It was honest.

Jungkook leaned back into the couch and let the words settle between them like ash.

Later, in the stillness of the kitchen, he unfolded a map across the table.

“What’s this?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook tapped the edge. “Three options. East. West. Or south—out through the back routes I used before I joined the league. No surveillance. No patrols.”

Taehyung traced the red marker line with a fingertip. “You’ve been planning this.”

Jungkook didn’t deny it.

“Since the day they took your badge.”

“Jungkook—”

“I knew it wouldn’t stop,” he said. “I knew they’d keep pushing you into corners. I knew I’d lose you if I didn’t act.”

Taehyung looked up.

He hated how good it felt—to be chosen like that. To be someone’s reason for rage and fire and escape.

Even if it was selfish.

Even if it wasn’t right.

Even if it was everything he wasn’t supposed to want.

“You sure this’ll work?”

Jungkook met his eyes. “If you’re with me, I don’t care if it doesn’t.”

And Taehyung… didn’t say no.

That night, after a half-hearted dinner and an overly emotional rerun of a cooking show Taehyung liked, Jungkook curled around him on the couch again.

“You know,” Jungkook murmured against his hair, “if you want to change your mind, I’ll let you go.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away.

Then: “What makes you think I ever could?”

Jungkook held him tighter.

And in the dark, where no headlines screamed and no heroes glared, they were just two people—scared, tired, in love.

Maybe foolishly.

Maybe forever.

They didn’t pack everything.

Just the essentials—Taehyung’s documents (what few he had left), some clothes, a burner phone Jungkook handed him before, and a small box of photos Taehyung had hidden under his bed since he was seventeen.

“I’ll carry that,” Jungkook said, gently taking the box from his hands.

“You don’t even know what’s in it.”

“I don’t need to,” Jungkook replied, slipping it into his backpack. “It matters to you. That’s enough.”

They waited until the next evening.

Not because it was safer—but because Taehyung spent that morning standing in his bedroom doorway, just… staring .

At the dent in the wall from where Jimin once kicked it.

At the crooked light switch he always meant to fix.

At the spot in the ceiling where rain always found its way through during storms.

Jungkook didn’t interrupt. He just stood behind him and said quietly, “We don’t have to go now.”

But Taehyung turned, kissed him hard and sure, and said, “We do.”

And that was that.

They took the alleyways first.

Jungkook’s fingers laced tightly with Taehyung’s, his hoodie pulled over his head. Even if the street cams couldn’t catch his face clearly, the gait—the walk—was enough for most trained eyes.

Every few blocks, they’d pause, listen.

Distant sirens. A flurry of motion near the city center. The smell of ash still lingering from Jungkook’s spree.

“You really torched their cars?” Taehyung asked, almost teasing.

“I torched their ego.”

“Same thing.”

Jungkook smirked, but didn’t answer.

They stopped just outside an old metro tunnel long since abandoned—Jungkook’s escape route. The first door had been blocked, rusted shut from years of disuse.

So Jungkook blasted it.

Taehyung flinched at the noise, heart thudding.

“ Hyung, ” he said softly, his voice tight.

Jungkook looked at him quickly, alert.

Taehyung didn’t say anything else—just met his gaze with something in his eyes that was part worry, part longing.

And Jungkook softened immediately.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing soot from Taehyung’s cheek. “I’ll be gentle.”

“You don’t have to be,” Taehyung said. “Just… don’t disappear.”

That was always the fear, wasn’t it?

That Jungkook would vanish one day, consumed by rage, swallowed by the world that made him.

But Jungkook only nodded. “I won’t. Not now. Not ever.”

And they slipped into the dark together.

Hours later, they reached a clearing past the city’s outer ring—where the mountains curved like a protective arm around the forgotten edges of the map.

There was a cabin.

Tiny, old. Probably haunted. Definitely cold.

But it had a roof and a lock.

Jungkook had prepped it a while ago, just in case. Back when he first started thinking about what might happen if he really let himself love Taehyung.

The sheets smelled like cedar and dust.

Taehyung collapsed into the bed, letting exhaustion hit all at once.

Jungkook sat beside him, tracing circles along his spine.

“They’ll call you a traitor,” he said softly.

“They already do.”

“They’ll say I ruined you.”

“I let you.”

A long pause.

Then Taehyung twisted to look up at him, eyes clearer than the sky outside.

“Hyung,” he said, quiet but steady, “don’t ever think I regret this.”

And Jungkook—for once—didn’t have anything smug or dramatic to say.

He just kissed him.

Soft.

Sincere.

Like he was finally, finally home.

At first, it felt like peace.

Like something they had only dreamed about in stolen moments and bruised silences.

Taehyung would wake first, drifting into consciousness with the smell of old pinewood and smoke from the fireplace. Sometimes Jungkook was still asleep beside him—hair a mess, shirt riding up, one hand tucked protectively around Taehyung’s waist.

Sometimes Jungkook was already outside, chopping wood, or walking through the misty clearing like he belonged to the land and not the ashes he used to create.

No sirens.

No cameras.

No lectures. No rules.

It was the first time either of them had breathed without the weight of a label.

Villain. Hero. Sidekick. Traitor.

None of it mattered here.

And yet—

Peace, as always, didn’t last forever.

It started with a radio.

A small one Taehyung had found buried in a drawer, still working when he twisted the dial just right. They didn’t use it often, but when they did, it was only for weather or music.

That night, though, they heard a name.

Jeon Jungkook.

Followed by international alert. Not confirmed dead. Believed to be in hiding. Reward increased.

Taehyung turned the volume down quickly, heart hammering. He looked over at Jungkook, who sat at the kitchen table slicing apples like nothing had changed.

“You heard that?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook didn’t look up. “Of course.”

He chewed a slice, unfazed. “I’ve had a bounty on my head for years. This isn’t new.”

“But we’re not—” Taehyung started, and then stopped himself. “We’re not in it anymore.”

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “The world doesn’t care.”

Silence. Just the ticking of the old clock.

Taehyung finally walked over, slid into the chair across from him. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Does it ever get to you?”

Jungkook looked up now, eyes tired.

“Yeah,” he said. “When it hurts you.”

It got colder after that.

Literally—the snow came early this year, blanketing the ground in thick layers that made trips to the nearby town impossible. But emotionally, too, something had shifted.

Taehyung started watching the news more.

Even when he told himself not to.

Jungkook noticed.

He’d walk into the room and see the flicker of that same headline: “Villain Jeon Jungkook still at large. Hero League demands accountability.”

“They’ll never forget,” Taehyung said one night, eyes glued to the screen. “Even if we left it all behind.”

Jungkook sighed, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “Do you want me to be someone else?”

Taehyung turned sharply. “What? No. God, no—”

“Because I was a villain,” Jungkook said calmly. “I did bad things. Some I don’t regret. Some I do. But I can’t change that. I can’t undo it.”

“I know,” Taehyung whispered.

“I can only try to be something better now. For you.”

Taehyung’s throat tightened.

He stood up and crossed the room, curling into Jungkook’s arms, pressing his face against the warmth of his chest.

“You are better now,” he said. “But they won’t see that.”

It wasn’t the world’s memory that hurt the most—it was its cruelty.

When the snow cleared, they tried to visit a nearby town to restock supplies. A small grocery store. Quiet street. New faces.

They paid in cash. Wore caps low. Didn’t talk much.

But someone recognized him anyway.

A woman at the checkout froze when Jungkook leaned forward. Her hand hovered over the panic button. She didn’t press it—but the fear in her eyes was worse.

They left everything behind and walked out before she could call anyone.

Taehyung was silent the whole way back.

Later that night, when Jungkook found him sitting outside on the steps of the cabin, shoulders hunched and fingers curled into his sleeves, Taehyung spoke without looking up.

“I don’t think they’ll ever let us be normal.”

Jungkook sat beside him, voice quiet.

“I don’t think we are normal.”

“I thought we could be.”

“So did I.”

They sat there for a long time. The cold burned their skin, but neither moved.

Then, softly, Jungkook reached for his hand.

“We might not be normal,” he said, “but we’re free. And I’d rather have that—with you—than any hero’s praise.”

Taehyung leaned into him, eyes closed.

“I just wish… the world would stop looking at you like a monster.”

Jungkook exhaled.

“Let them look.”

He turned and kissed Taehyung’s temple.

“You’re the only one who ever really saw me anyway.”

The decision didn’t come easily.

It wasn’t a moment of reckless passion or impulsive anger. It wasn’t born of a single event, but of everything—every cold glance, every whisper behind their backs, every time they tried to walk through a market, a crowded street, a square, and were met with fear.

The world didn’t want them. Not now. Not after everything they’d done, everything they’d been.

And after every report on the news, every vilifying headline, the pressure cracked the final wall between them and reality.

It was one evening, just after a long day spent gathering supplies, that Jungkook came to Taehyung with that look in his eyes—the one that was too calm, too sure.

“Let’s leave,” he said quietly, as they sat side by side on the couch. The fire in the hearth crackled and popped, the only sound in the otherwise quiet cabin. “The world won’t ever accept us here. Not as we are.”

Taehyung didn’t need to ask him why. He knew. Jungkook had never been one to hesitate when it came to making decisions—especially when it involved things he cared about. He had always fought for control, for the upper hand, but now, it was different. Now, there was only a quiet desperation.

Jungkook was looking at him as if waiting for Taehyung to speak, to agree, to make this final leap with him.

But Taehyung couldn’t speak. His heart was too heavy. There were too many thoughts crashing against one another in his mind.

“I don’t want you to go back to your old life,” Taehyung murmured, staring at the floor. “I can’t live with you going back to that… the villain. The chaos.”

“I won’t go back,” Jungkook said firmly, his voice so soft that it almost sounded like a promise. His thumb brushed the back of Taehyung’s hand, a slow motion that seemed to ground him. “I’ll go wherever you want, Baby. As long as it’s with you.”

Taehyung turned his head, finally meeting Jungkook’s eyes. There was no hesitation there, no bitterness, just a quiet, steady determination that made Taehyung’s chest tighten.

“You’re asking me to leave everything behind,” Taehyung said, voice barely above a whisper. “Your life. My life. The people we know. The world we’ve known.”

Jungkook nodded. “Yes. We’ve already lost everything. What’s left?”

Taehyung swallowed hard, the weight of it all pushing against his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t. I’ll be here. Always.”

Taehyung’s heart lurched painfully in his chest.

“I can’t watch you destroy yourself anymore,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

The air between them thickened. Jungkook’s eyes softened, but there was a fire behind them, a desperate, consuming flame that would burn anything in its path.

“I’m not going to destroy myself, Tae,” Jungkook said, his hand curling around Taehyung’s tightly, pulling him closer. “But I will destroy this world if it keeps pulling us apart. And I won’t stop until we’re free.”

Taehyung’s breath hitched. He didn’t want to feel this way. He didn’t want to be a coward, to run from everything he’d known. But the fear of losing Jungkook, of seeing him burn down more cities, more lives, was far worse than the fear of the unknown.

The decision was made.

They didn’t waste any more time.

By the next morning, they were packing what little they had left. Taehyung had already written a letter—an apology to Jimin, to the heroes who might still care for him, and to his family, who would probably never understand why he had done it.

But there was no time for regrets.

The world was watching them, tracking their every move, and the longer they stayed in the shadows, the more they risked being found.

Jungkook, ever resourceful, had already arranged for a safe house. A place far away, hidden deep in another country where they could vanish completely. No heroes. No villains. Just them. If they could find a way to survive without the weight of their pasts.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was all they had.

As they walked through the dense woods that surrounded their cabin, heading for the safe house, Taehyung couldn’t help but feel the burden of their decision pressing down on him.

“What happens when we get there?” Taehyung asked softly, his voice barely carrying in the thick silence. “What’s next? Do we just… live out our lives?”

Jungkook gave him a sideways glance, his eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that clung to him.

“We live, Tae,” he said simply. “We find a way to breathe without looking over our shoulders. We make it our own.”

Taehyung stopped in his tracks for a moment, taking in what Jungkook had said. It felt like a distant dream—living without the weight of their pasts, without the shadows that always followed them.

But for the first time in a long while, Taehyung didn’t feel afraid of the future. With Jungkook by his side, maybe they could make it work. Maybe, just maybe, they could find peace.

They kept walking.

The last night in the cabin was spent in silence, save for the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind outside. They didn’t talk much. There was nothing left to say.

Jungkook held him close, kissed him like it might be their last night together, and Taehyung let himself feel that tenderness, that warmth that he had been starving for. Even if the world would never let them be, at least in this moment, they were together.

And that was enough.

The flight was long.

Neither of them spoke much during the trip. Jungkook kept his cap low over his face and his hand wrapped around Taehyung’s on the armrest, thumb brushing slowly back and forth like he needed to remind himself that Taehyung was real, right there beside him.

Taehyung watched the clouds drift by through the oval window. He tried to imagine what their lives would be like from now on — new names, new habits, a quieter kind of survival. They weren’t fugitives in London yet. Not here. Not technically. But the wrong move, the wrong face caught by the wrong camera, and that could change quickly.

Still, for now, they were anonymous. And that felt like freedom.

They arrived in the soft gray wash of early morning. London was brisk and wet, the sidewalks glistening under last night’s rain. It was noisy, but in a way that didn’t carry their names in it. No one looked twice at them. No one pointed. No one whispered.

For the first time in months, they were just two men, suitcases in hand, trying to figure out which Tube to take.

Jungkook looked around, brows slightly drawn. “You cold?”

Taehyung shook his head, but Jungkook still shrugged off his coat and wrapped it over his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” Taehyung said softly with a soft smile, but didn’t shrug it off. He liked the weight. The scent of him. That protective instinct Jungkook never quite managed to turn off.

Jungkook kept close as they made their way through the crowds, fingers occasionally brushing against Taehyung’s hand, never fully letting go.

Their flat was small — a third-floor walk-up tucked into a quiet part of Hackney. Nothing fancy. White walls, creaky wooden floors, a small window that overlooked a patch of brick and a sliver of cloudy sky. The kind of place no one would think to look.

It was perfect.

The first night was quiet. They unpacked in silence, took turns showering, then sat across from each other on the worn couch they’d bought secondhand that morning. Taehyung’s hair was still damp, his hoodie loose and sleeves pushed up. Jungkook looked tired in the soft yellow lamplight, but his eyes were more peaceful than they had been in weeks.

“Feels weird,” Taehyung said after a long silence.

Jungkook glanced over. “What does?”

“Not being anyone.”

Jungkook leaned back, looking at the ceiling like he was thinking it over. “We’re still someone. Just not… who we used to be.”

Taehyung turned toward him fully. “You ever regret it?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Then, he looked over with a half-smile, tired and real. “I’ve done things I regret. But not this. Not you.”

Taehyung’s chest tightened.

Jungkook reached for his hand again. Taehyung let him. They didn’t need to say anything else.

They settled into a routine.

Mornings were quiet. Taehyung would wake first and put on water for tea, then sit by the window with his knees curled to his chest while the city stretched and yawned beneath a layer of gray. Jungkook usually stirred not long after, eyes heavy-lidded, hair a mess, face soft with sleep. He always found Taehyung first — without fail — and pressed a kiss to his shoulder like it was instinct.

They took up small jobs under fake names — cash-only work at cafes, flower stalls, delivery runs. Jungkook learned to keep his head down. Taehyung learned to smile without fear. They painted the flat together, cooked on weekends, and collected quiet things like books and postcards and coffee mugs.

They didn’t talk about the past unless it came back to haunt them — a face on the news, a name overheard on the street. Sometimes Jungkook would get quiet and tense, and Taehyung would just sit beside him, letting silence do what words couldn’t.

And sometimes Taehyung would wake up from nightmares, heart racing, still feeling the weight of the badge he no longer wore — and Jungkook would hold him tight, murmuring that they were okay now. That no one could take this away from them.

One rainy evening, weeks later, they walked hand in hand through the quiet park near their flat. The rain had lightened to a mist, and the lampposts glowed amber in the dark.

“I miss it sometimes,” Taehyung admitted. “The work. The rush of it. Being a part of something.”

Jungkook nodded. “Me too. But I don’t miss who I had to be to survive it.”

Taehyung smiled, small and bittersweet. “Yeah.”

They walked for a while in silence, shoes soft against wet gravel.

“You ever think we’ll stop running?” Taehyung asked, eyes on the ducks floating in the foggy pond.

Jungkook tightened his grip around his hand. “Maybe not. But I’ll run with you as long as it takes.”

Taehyung looked at him, really looked — this man who had once burned down city blocks without blinking, who used to wear chaos like a crown. And now he was standing here, soaked through, speaking in soft promises.

He pulled Jungkook in and kissed him slow, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that tasted like a future.

“I love you,” Taehyung whispered against his lips.

Jungkook rested his forehead to Taehyung’s, breath shaky. “I love you too.”

The world would never forgive them. But they didn’t need the world’s forgiveness.

They had each other.

And for now, that was enough.