Chapter Text
The meager campfire crackled weakly in the center of the forest clearing, casting flickering shadows across the tense faces of six boys huddled close to the warmth. Beneath the dark canopy of the Seoul mountains, the woods were quiet, save for the chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves.
Their so-called “team-building retreat” had lacked any actual meaningful team building and had so far been a tense and uncomfortable camping trip consisting of cold rice balls, itchy mosquito bites, and existential dread about whether BigHit would still exist by the end of the month. They were just six exhausted trainees from a broke label, trying to pretend this team-building trip wasn’t their managers’ last-ditch effort to stop them from falling apart.
“God, this sucks,” Yoongi grumbled, arms crossed tightly over his chest, voice muffled in the oversized hoodie he was using as a cocoon. “We should have waited for a warmer weekend at least.”
“We get it,” Jimin sighed, “You hate nature.”
“Correction. I hate bugs. And cold. And this weird slop Hoseok called dinner.”
Hoseok, from where he was poking at the weak fire with a stick, gasped in mock offense. “That ‘weird slop’ was ramyun and rice. A classic.”
“It was crunchy,” Yoongi deadpanned.
Despite the bickering, there was a fragile warmth to the evening—tentative, like their friendship. The fire snapped and hissed in protest against the damp wood they'd gathered, casting dull fluttering light that danced across the sides of their cheap nylon tents. The clearing they’d found was barely flat enough for their gear, tucked away deep in the foothills of the mountains surrounding Seoul. Cell reception had vanished hours ago. The temperature had dropped with the sun.
Jin adjusted the pot balanced over the fire and gave the others a look that was equal parts maternal concern and dead-eyed resignation. “Everyone better hydrate or I’m force-feeding you electrolytes,” he said, holding up a half-crushed bottle of Pocari Sweat like a weapon.
“Hyung, we’re not toddlers,” Taehyung whined. He was sprawled out in a fleece blanket by the fire, his nose red and his hands tucked into the sleeves of an oversized cardigan he’d stolen from Namjoon.
“You say that, but you fell in a creek earlier.”
“It was a stream! ”
Namjoon chuckled under his breath. “He’s not wrong. You screamed like a drama heroine in slow motion.”
“Both my socks got wet!” Taehyung flailed.
“Character-building,” Namjoon declared, as if that settled it, not looking up from their half-dying fire he was trying to coax back to life.
Jin snorted. “You were one mosquito bite away from crying earlier, Leader .”
Namjoon gave him a withering look, but it lacked bite. “This was supposed to be good for morale,” he said. “Bond with each other. Unplug. Touch grass.”
“I’d rather bond in a heated studio…” Yoongi muttered, under his breath.
“Touch grass ?” Jimin echoed, scandalized. “Hyung, a spider crawled on my pillow.”
“It was small!”
“It had fangs! ”
“And a family,” Hoseok added solemnly.
They all laughed at that—even Yoongi—though it was a tired, nervous laughter. Beneath the humor was an undercurrent they didn’t speak out loud; if they couldn’t debut soon, if BigHit folded before their chance ever came, this might be it. The end. A failed dream with nothing to show but trainee debt and memories of cold nights in the forest.
They fell quiet for a while, each boy wrapped in their own thoughts, eyes unfocused as the fire crackled low.
The stars above were brilliant, the kind of stars you only saw when you left the city behind. The kind of stars that made you feel small in a way that was both terrifying and gratifying. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Leaves rustled. The woods were alive with things that moved just out of sight.
“I think we’re out of wood,” Hoseok said finally, glancing toward the pit.
Namjoon leaned forward and poked at the last few embers, which hissed like snakes in retreat. “We should get more before it dies out.”
“Hyung will do it,” Jin announced with the fake cheerfulness of a man about to drag himself into the darkness and away from their one source of heat, as weak as it was. “This fire isn’t getting any warmer. Come on, Namjoon.” Jin stood, stretching his back with a soft groan.
“Why me?” Namjoon asked, but stood up in solidarity anyway.
“Leader privilege,” Jin replied flatly, already heading into the trees.
“I guess somebody ought to keep you company from your fear of the dark.”
“Ha, ha” Jin said, sarcastic but grateful. He glanced around. “You all good here for a bit?”
Yoongi gave him a two-finger wave without opening his eyes. Hoseok nodded. Jimin had already pulled his blanket over his head like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“Don’t get lost,” Taehyung offered cheerfully.
“Don’t eat my jellies,” Jin countered, pointing at the bag of snacks next to Taehyung with mock severity.
With that, the others watched them disappear into the trees, silhouettes swallowed by the darkness.
The shadows seemed to close in behind them, trees growing thicker, the warmth of the fire quickly vanishing behind their backs. The trail narrowed fast as they pushed further into the woods, flashlights jittering with each step. The night air was chilled, heavy with the scent of pine and earth. Damp leaves and pine needles coated the ground, muffling their footsteps. Namjoon cursed as he tripped over a root.
"Careful," Jin murmured.
“Are you sure this is the way we came before?” Namjoon asked, after they’d been walking for sometime.
Jin hesitated. “I think so. Just need to go a bit deeper for the dry stuff.”
Namjoon was about to reply when a sudden change in the air made them both stop. The breeze shifted. The crisp forest scent soured—metallic, thick, wrong.
“Do you smell that?” Namjoon asked, already turning in a slow circle, nose picking up on the wafting smell being carried by the breeze. If he strained his ear against the wind, he’d almost swear he could hear a soft sort of pitiful chittering in the far off distance.
Jin stopped short. “What is that?”
Namjoon pointed his flashlight into the thick brush lining their path, not able to make out anything further than several feet from how thick the overgrowth of the forest was. Another cry, still distant, but definitely distinctive enough that neither of them could chalk it up to their imagination this time.
He braced himself for a moment, before leaving the trail to push into the overgrown thicket. “Come on. Sounds like something’s hurt.”
“What the hell Namjoon-ah,” Jin whined, but following nonetheless, “you’re going to lead us straight to a pack of wolves, like lambs to the slaughter when we interrupt their dinner!”
“Hyung, wild wolves don’t exist in South Korea anymore, they were hunted to extinction.”
“You’re missing the point! Could be any manner of predators—boars! Korea still has wild boars!” Jin babbled, as they kicked through the branches blocking their way. The breeze shifted, a nauseating cocktail of rust and rot, the odor growing stronger as they edged further into the woods. The strength of it silencing Jin’s complaints.
Then they saw her.
At first, it was just the shape—crumpled in the underbrush, limbs stiff in the pale light. Then the details sharpened, and Jin recoiled with a choked cry.
A hybrid woman. Maybe fox, or lynx, judging by the bloody, matted tufted ears. Her body was twisted, glassy eyes wide and unblinking, staring at nothing. A brutal metal collar was cinched around her neck, the flesh beneath torn and darkened with dried blood. It had been welded shut—no clasp, no escape.
Jin made a strangled sound, hand flying to his mouth. Namjoon’s flashlight trembled in his grip.
“What the fuck…” Namjoon whispered, taking an instinctive step forward. “Is–is she–?”
“She’s dead,” Jin croaked. “Oh god. She’s…”
Then his eyes caught something else.
The hybrid’s arms were locked stiffly around a smaller form. Almost hidden beneath the folds of her body, like a final, desperate shield.
Jin dropped to his knees, fumbling with trembling hands. “There’s a baby—”
A baby. No— a kit. A sugar glider hybrid, going off the widow peak markings on his forehead, no more than a few months old if that. Trembling so hard his tiny body shook. Dark, stunned eyes blinked up at them, too glassy for tears. Silvery hybrid ears twitched. A thin brown tail was curled tightly around himself.
And on his tiny collar, pressed tight around his neck, was a nameplate.
JUNGKOOK
Namjoon was already on his knees, checking the adult hybrid’s neck for a pulse, even though it was obviously too late. Bloodied scratches and deep cuts littered the stiff arms that wrapped around the kit. Despite the litany of defensive wounds covering the mother, the little one seemed to have gotten off easy with only a few scratches on the bit of skin Jin could spy with his flashlight.
“He’s still alive,” Jin whispered. “Oh my god. He’s—she died protecting him.”
Namjoon swore, low and harsh. “We need to go. Now. If someone did this—if they’re still out here—”
Jin didn’t wait for more. He reached down and scooped the kit into his arms. The baby made a soft, cracked noise—more instinct than sound—and clung to Jin’s jacket with clawed fingers.
Namjoon’s heart thundered. “We shouldn’t leave her like this. We should—call someone—”
“There’s no signal,” Jin said, shaking his head at the phone already in one hand. “We’ll try back at camp. But we can’t stay here. Not with him. Not if whoever did this is nearby.”
Namjoon didn’t argue. They turned and ran, the forest suddenly hostile, every snapped twig a threat.
The boys around the fire looked up as crashing footsteps tore through the underbrush. Hoseok stood first, alarmed.
“Hyung? What the hell took so lo—”
“Blankets,” Namjoon snapped, breathless. “Now. He’s freezing.”
Yoongi blinked. “He—?”
That’s when they saw the bundle in Jin’s arms.
Tiny. Shivering. Clutching Jin’s hoodie with clawed fingers, long sugar glider tail twitching beneath the hem of a tattered onesie. Two velvet-soft ears pressed flat against his head, and his eyes—huge and glazed—peeked out like he was expecting the whole world to strike.
“A hybrid?” Taehyung said, stunned. “Is that a hybrid kit?”
Jin didn’t respond. He just sank down near the fire and started wrapping the kit in his jacket, struggling to pull the clawed hands off his front to be able to finish wrapping him fully. “He won’t let go,” Jin murmured.
“Holy shit,” Yoongi muttered, crouching near. “Where the hell did you find him?”
“What happened?” Jimin asked, voice brittle with dread.
Namjoon’s face was pale. “There was… a body. A woman. Hybrid. Dead. She had a choke collar welded shut on her neck. Looked like she was running.”
Silence fell, like a vacuum. Even the fire seemed to shrink.
Yoongi swore. “Someone killed her?”
“They killed her and left a baby out there?” Jimin said, voice cracking. “That’s not—hybrids are worth millions. Why would someone—?”
“No brand or registration tag,” Jin said hollowly. “She wasn’t registered. The collar was—someone made it themselves. Crude. Tight enough to kill. Her hands and arms were torn up like she’d been fighting someone. Like she was trying to protect him before she died.”
“She was holding him when we found them,” Namjoon added. “She must have known she wasn’t going to make it.”
“That means whoever did it…” Hoseok trailed off, hand shaking as he checked his phone. “No signal out here, not even a bar.”
Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “So someone was keeping her off-record. And then—what? Decided she was too much trouble?”
The thought hung heavy in the air.
The kit stirred, letting out a sound like a whimpering chirp. Jin curled tighter around him, murmuring soft reassurances, hand gently stroking behind his ears.
“He’s cold,” Jin murmured. “And scared. But I think… I think he’s okay.”
“What’s his name?” Taehyung asked.
Jin gently shifted the blanket and tugged the small collar into view.
“Jungkook,” he read aloud.
Hoseok let out a breath. “He looks no older than maybe... four months?”
“Less than,” Namjoon said. “In hybrid years, maybe just past infancy.”
“He’s a sugar glider,” Jin murmured. “You can see it in the coloring, the ears. The tail.”
“He’s so small,” Jimin whispered. “He shouldn’t even be out of a hybrid nursery yet…”
Taehyung moved closer and knelt beside Jin. “Can I…?”
But Jungkook’s ears flattened instantly, and he hissed—a tiny, weak sound—but defensive, as he burrowed deeper into Jin’s chest.
“I guess that’s a no,” Taehyung said softly, raising both hands.
“We shouldn’t stay here,” Jimin said, disrupting the moment, his eyes darting to the dark trees. “If someone’s out there, looking for him—or coming back—”
Namjoon nodded. “We hike back at first light. Until then, we keep watch. Someone might come looking for him.”
“But not to help,” Yoongi added grimly.
The firelight flickered across Jin’s face, highlighting the protective steel in his expression. The baby stirred again, eyes drifting closed, exhaustion overtaking fear.
“I’m not letting anyone take him,” Jin said. “We keep him safe. No matter what.”
The others nodded, slowly, the weight of what they’d just walked into settling over them like fog. Everyone looked at the small bundle in Jin’s arms again, and for a long time, no one said a word.
The woods were still cloaked in shadows as the sky barely began to shift into a muted violet. Cold air clung to the group like a second skin, and not one of them had slept. Their gear was already packed in record time, movements robotic and tense.
“Let’s move,” Namjoon said quietly, eyes scanning the treeline again. “We need to be out of here before anyone comes back.”
The others nodded grimly. Not one of them wanted to stay longer than necessary. Even without words, the fear hung heavy—whoever had killed the hybrid woman could still be nearby. Watching. Waiting.
Jin adjusted his arms around Jungkook, who hadn’t let go once. The baby hybrid was silent, except for soft, broken-sounding breath or involuntary tremble. He was wrapped tightly in Jimin’s blanket, tucked close against Jin’s chest inside his jacket like a cocoon. His little tail peeked out, twitching weakly, and every few minutes Jin could feel the tiny claws gripping onto his shirt like he was the only anchor left in the world.
They started down the trail, a slow, cautious hike. Every crack of a twig or snap of wind made someone flinch. Taehyung kept glancing over his shoulder. Yoongi walked with his jaw clenched tight, hand shoved deep in his pocket like he was hiding a weapon he didn’t have. Hoseok’s knuckles were white where he clutched his backpack straps.
Namjoon led the way, checking his phone repeatedly even though they knew they wouldn’t have signal until they reached the van.
“I can’t believe we just left her like that,” Jin muttered once. “The hybrid. She—”
“She’s gone,” Yoongi said, tone clipped, trying to be pragmatic to cover up the helplessness of it all. “We couldn’t carry both.”
“She was already cold,” Namjoon said, barely above a whisper.
Jungkook stirred slightly, and Jin looked down again. He could feel the baby’s breath hitch and stutter against his collarbone. Jungkook’s face was pale beneath the layer of fine silver-gray fuzz that dusted his cheeks and jaw. His tiny nose twitched, and his ears—long and velvety, with tufts of cream at the edges—flattened every time someone raised their voice or stepped too loudly.
The kit’s onesie was still dirty and torn, and Jin could feel every fragile rib when he adjusted his hold. There were tiny scabs on his arms. A raw spot behind one ear. Jin’s chest ached just looking at him.
“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured, stroking the downy-soft back of Jungkook’s head. “I’ve got you.”
“You sure you can carry him the whole way?” Hoseok asked, stepping over a root.
“I am the oldest,” Jin grunted, adjusting his grip. “Besides, he loses it if I even try to hand him off. Ask Taehyung.”
Taehyung shuddered slightly. “He hissed at me like a kettle. Scary little thing.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t passed out yet,” Hoseok said. “Little guy has to be exhausted.”
“He’s holding on like I’m gonna disappear,” Jin murmured, and gently cupped the back of Jungkook’s fuzzy ear with his palm. “It’s like he knows… that we found him too late.”
No one responded to that.
They hiked in silence for a while after that. The forest lightened as they descended the trail, the trees thinning out. Occasionally, one of them would stop to listen, instinctively checking for anyone—or anything—following.
Nothing.
The sun finally crept above the horizon as they descended, casting stark, skeletal shadows across the trail. Their pace quickened. Still no signs of pursuit. Still, they didn’t stop. When the parking lot came into view, the collective sigh of relief was almost loud enough to echo. Their battered old van sat exactly where they’d left it, blessedly untouched.
Yoongi sprinted ahead to unlock it while the others glanced around nervously, but quickly tossing their packs inside.
“Alright. We need a plan.”
“To sneak in a hybrid?” Jimin asked. “Into our dorm? Without getting caught?”
“Exactly.”
Taehyung glanced at the bundle in Jin’s arms. “We can't just walk him through the front lobby. Someone might see his ears or tail.”
“He’s tiny. Maybe we put him in a duffel bag?” Hoseok suggested, then immediately winced. “Wait—that sounds terrible.”
“It is terrible,” Jin said flatly. “He’s not cargo. We’re not doing that.”
“Okay,” Namjoon said, thinking aloud. “Hob-ah, you sit in the back with Jin-hyung. Cover them with a coat if anyone looks in. Taehyung, Jimin—when we get there you’ll go inside the dorm first. Make sure the lobby’s clear.”
“What if we run into manager-hyung? We were supposed to be camping all weekend, he’ll wonder why we’re back so soon.” Jimin asked.
“Tell him we forgot a sleeping bag and had to turn around for it.”
“He’s not going to believe that.”
“Then lie better.”
They all piled into the van, Jin carefully cradling Jungkook against his chest in the back seat. Hoseok shrugged off his hoodie and draped it loosely over both of them, careful to make it look like Jin was napping instead of hiding a rare hybrid kit.
Yoongi drove, fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as the van lurched down the mountain road.The drive was bumpy and full of tension. Every time the van hit a pothole, Jungkook flinched, tiny claws digging into Jin’s shirt. Jin never flinched. He just held on tighter, rubbing soothing circles over the kit’s back.
Jin murmured softly to him the whole way. “It’s alright. Almost there. You’re safe now.”
By the time the city skyline reappeared, normal life was in full swing—street vendors, kids on bikes, morning traffic of people going to work. It felt wrong, like the world had kept turning without knowing something awful had happened in the woods.
“Okay,” Namjoon said from the front seat. “We’re pulling up. Taehyung, Jimin—go now.”
The two of them darted out the side door, trying to look as casual as they could, backpacks slung like shields.
“Coast’s clear,” Jimin’s text pinged a few minutes later.
They moved fast.
Namjoon walked a few steps ahead to create a distraction in the lobby if needed. Yoongi held the front door open, and Jin slipped through, head down, hoodie still wrapped around his bundle like a secret. The lobby was mercifully empty. The baby didn’t make a sound.
The elevator was still broken. Of course.
“Stairs,” Yoongi muttered, already climbing.
Jin didn’t say a word as he carried Jungkook up the four flights. The kit clung to him, unmoving, his breath still shallow, though his ears flicked weakly every few steps.
By the time they pushed through the dorm door, Jin was sweating and slightly shaking.
“Here,” Hoseok said, already clearing the couch. “Lay him down.”
“I can’t, he’ll panic.”
“Then you lay down,” Jimin said. “Let him rest on you.”
Jin did just that—collapsing into the couch, Jungkook still nestled still against his chest, the others hovering like worried aunts.
“Blankets. Water. Maybe some warm milk?” Taehyung offered, unsure.
“Can hybrids even have normal dairy milk?” Yoongi asked, then added, “Whatever. I’ll check the fridge.”
Namjoon crouched beside the couch, watching Jungkook’s ears twitch with every sound. “He’s still not responding much.”
Jungkook’s tail was limp, but no longer as cold.
“He needs rest, and food,” Jin said. “He’s warmer now. But we should find a vet soon. Or—someone who treats hybrids. A hybrid pediatrician?”
“We’ll need money for that,” Jimin said grimly.
They all looked at each other. They were broke. Trainees scraping by on instant ramen and dreams.
But now they had a kit.
Unplanned. Fragile. Illegal.
Jungkook’s eyes opened slowly, dark and glassy, and met Jin’s for the first time. A weak chirring sound left his throat.
“You’re safe now,” Jin whispered. “I promise.”
And somehow, they all knew.
That was a promise they’d keep—no matter what it cost them.