Archive of Our Own

Jeon Jungkook decided he wanted to be a villain the moment he watched his first city burn.

It was on a TV screen—muted in a quiet hospital room, the smoke from shattered buildings rising like slow ghosts while the hero, Kim Taehyung, stood in the middle of the wreckage. Untouched. Untouchable. A camera drone hovered above him, capturing the way he stared down at the villain collapsed at his feet. No blood. No chaos in his expression. Just cold, victorious calm.

Jungkook was six. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

He was in awe.

It wasn’t the destruction that impressed him—it was the power. The control. The way Taehyung reduced monsters to dust and still walked away like nothing happened. Everyone praised him for being a hero, but to Jungkook, he looked more like a god.

And every god, eventually, needs someone to challenge them.

From that day, Jungkook had one goal: become the greatest villain alive—and kill the greatest hero.

He studied the best. The infamous. The legends. Dr. Kronos. Lady Mourning. King Volt. He memorized their speeches, analyzed their moves, watched their defeats and rewound them again and again to understand what went wrong. None of them succeeded. Every single one of them fell to Taehyung.

“I’ll do it right,” he’d mutter under his breath, alone in his dim room. “I’ll be better than all of them.”

By fifteen, he had notebooks full of blueprints and contingency plans. He trained harder than anyone at the underground academy—no distractions, no excuses. When others partied or flirted or took breaks, Jungkook was in the training rooms, bruised and bleeding and gritting his teeth through every failed attempt at perfecting his control.

Cool. Calculated. Intimidating.

That was who he wanted to be.

He sharpened himself like a blade.

He never smiled unless it was for strategy. He didn’t make friends unless they were useful. And he never said Taehyung’s name unless he was planning how to end him.

Still, Taehyung stayed out of reach—too far, too fast, too perfect. Even after Jungkook graduated from the academy and was placed into the official villain system as an apprentice, he couldn’t get near him. Not yet. He needed experience. He needed a mentor. He needed a name that would echo through the cities like thunder.

Instead, he got assigned to General Boom Boom.

The man introduced himself while chewing a glowstick and wearing fuzzy socks that said “WORLD DOMINATION IS SELF CARE.”

Jungkook blinked. “Are you serious?”

Boom Boom patted him on the back. “We’ll get you looking terrifying in no time. Do you like glitter? What’s your villain aesthetic? You give ‘revenge but pretty.’”

Jungkook wanted to die.

This was not how he envisioned his legacy beginning.

This was not how the villain who would destroy Kim Taehyung was supposed to start.

But he grit his teeth, nodded tightly, and said: “I’m ready to begin.”

His name was small now. Forgettable. Just a rookie.

But soon—soon—Taehyung would know it.

He’d say it with fear in his voice.

He had to.

Even if Jungkook had to climb his way out of this clown show one mission at a time.

Even if he had to become someone Taehyung couldn’t ignore.

By the time Jeon Jungkook turned twenty, he was certain of two things:
1. He was destined to become the greatest villain in history.
2. General Boom Boom was clinically insane.

He had spent nearly a year under Boom Boom’s chaotic wing, and nothing—nothing—had gone the way he expected. Their missions usually involved confusing distractions like flying rubber chickens or noise cannons that screamed “SURPRISE!!” in opera tones. Jungkook had protested, repeatedly, but Boom Boom always replied with something like:

“Theatrics, kid! You think people remember the guy who just throws a punch? No! They remember the villain who steals a bank and leaves behind a giant inflatable duck with ‘BOOM BOOM WAS HERE’ written on it!”

Jungkook had long since stopped arguing. He’d given up hope of learning any meaningful villainy under him, but he couldn’t quit either—not yet. Not until he was ready. Not until Taehyung.

So he pushed through it. He trained on his own. Refused to socialize. Drafted new names for himself in secret: Shadowbite. Monarch. The Vow. Nightjaw. (He later crossed out Nightjaw when he realized it sounded like a toothpaste brand.)

Still, nothing changed the fact that he was… struggling.

He didn’t mean to be bad at villainy. But it’s hard to intimidate someone when you trip stepping off your hoverboard mid-heist and accidentally land in a crate of rubber squeaky ducks. Or when your smoke bombs backfire because you packed them too tightly, and now you’re choking on your own dramatic exit.

Jungkook wanted to scream.
He wanted to be feared.
Instead, people looked at him with confusion. Or, worse—pity.

Boom Boom, of course, thought it was adorable.
“You’re really out there, making a name for yourself!” he beamed after one failed mission. “Everyone’s saying, ‘Hey, who’s that chaotic guy who tried to rob the vault and set off the confetti mines instead of the explosives?’ That’s progress!”

Jungkook stared at him. “That was not confetti. That was a wiring mistake.”

“Still sparkled,” Boom Boom shrugged.

By now, Jungkook had become a walking paradox: a villain with deadly ambition and lethal instincts, trapped in a body cursed by clumsy timing and a streak of very bad luck.

So when the Syndicate announced that he was finally being assigned his first solo mission, Jungkook nearly cried. It was small, low-stakes, almost insulting—but it was his. No Boom Boom. No glitter. No minions dancing behind him with light-up hula hoops.

Just him.

And, unfortunately, Kim Taehyung.

He found out after accepting the assignment.

He was supposed to sabotage a weapons transfer happening under the hero agency’s nose. Easy. Silent. Get in, plant the disruptors, get out. No one expected a hero to be there. And certainly not that hero.

But fate hated Jeon Jungkook.

Because when he rounded the corner of that dim alley, dressed in full black, disruptors buzzing in his backpack, he slammed face-first into a warm, unyielding chest wrapped in a dark blue hero uniform.

Kim Taehyung.

Kim freaking Taehyung.

The man looked down at him with those sharp eyes, like he already knew everything—Jungkook’s name, his plans, the fact that he was about ten seconds away from panicking and screaming like a kettle.

Jungkook’s brain completely blanked.

He had trained for this. Trained years for this. His knuckles had bled for this moment, his muscles ached for it, his mind had played out a thousand different battle simulations—all ending with Taehyung broken at his feet, the world watching, the legend of Jeon Jungkook born in fire and fear.

And now, standing face-to-face with the very man he had sworn to kill, Jungkook opened his mouth—

And screamed:

“YOUR FACE IS ILLEGALLY SYMMETRICAL!!”

There was a silence so awkward even the streetlamp flickered in discomfort.

Taehyung tilted his head, one brow lifting ever so slightly. “What?”

“I—I meant—” Jungkook staggered back a step, fists rising, panic sweat already prickling at his temple. “I STOLE YOUR DOG! Now i have the upper hand HERO!”

“I don’t even have a dog…”

“You know what, never mind. Prepare to die!”

He lunged.

Taehyung stepped aside.

Jungkook flew past him, slammed into a trash bin, and somehow knocked over a stack of very offended pigeons. A soda can rolled dramatically across the alleyway. One of the pigeons squawked.

He scrambled up quickly, brushing feathers off his mask. “Okay. That was a warm-up.”

Taehyung crossed his arms. “You sure you’re not lost?”

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just charged again, this time feinting right and swinging left. Taehyung dodged easily, his body smooth like water, expression unreadable—until Jungkook twisted on the balls of his feet and—

WHAM.

His fist connected with Taehyung’s jaw.

There was a solid crack of impact, and Jungkook froze, eyes wide.

“HOLY SHIT I ACTUALLY PUNCHED HIM?!”

Taehyung staggered slightly—not from the hit, more from the surprise—his hand coming up to touch his chin.

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing the spot. “That’s new.”

Fueled by sudden, giddy disbelief, Jungkook launched again, this time with real form. A clean roundhouse kick. Taehyung ducked, but Jungkook followed with a low sweep that clipped the hero’s knee.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective.

Jungkook grinned. “Boom Boom said I’d be too dramatic for hand-to-hand. Suck it, old man!”

Taehyung exhaled through his nose like someone trying not to laugh. “Who are you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare!”

Jungkook pulled a gadget from his belt and slammed it into the ground—
It popped open and started playing circus music.

“…That was the wrong one,” he muttered.

Taehyung didn’t wait.

He struck back with a palm to Jungkook’s shoulder, spinning him, then landed a clean kick to his back that sent him tumbling into the wall. Pain flared through Jungkook’s ribs, but he forced himself up, coughing.

“WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO HIT ME!?”

Taehyung blinked, lips twitching. “You attacked me.”

“I’m a villain! That’s my job!”

He flung a throwing disc—only for it to bounce off the wall and hit himself in the forehead.

Taehyung stared. “…Is this performance art?”

Jungkook screamed in frustration and charged, using the momentum of his rage more than technique. They clashed again—Jungkook messy, relentless, trying. Taehyung blocked with ease, but he was sweating now. Not from effort—more from the sheer unpredictability of it all.

Jungkook headbutted him.

Taehyung reeled. “Did you just—”

“Desperate times call for forehead crimes!” Jungkook shouted.

He was panting hard now, half his gadgets broken, his hood crooked, his face flushed and wild-eyed. His chest burned with exhaustion, but still—he held his stance.

Taehyung wiped blood from his lip and looked at him for a long moment. His expression shifted—just slightly. Not pity. Not amusement.

Something like… interest?

Then, without a word, he stepped back.

“What?” Jungkook blinked. “Where are you going?”

“You’re not ready,” Taehyung said simply.

Jungkook straightened. “What?! I punched you!”

“You also tripped on your own foot and threatened me with imaginary dogs.”

“That was one time!”

Taehyung gave him a look that said ‘was it, though?’

Then he turned, walking away into the dark. His cape fluttered like a challenge.

Jungkook stumbled forward, arms spread. “Are you crying?! Because you know I’ll beat you?!”

Taehyung didn’t turn around.

He just raised a hand in farewell.

And disappeared into the night.

Jungkook dropped to his knees in the alley, surrounded by feathers, smoke, and the last echoes of circus music still chirping from his misfired gadget.

He whispered to himself:

“I really want you to die right now…”

But he had landed a punch.

And for now… that was enough.

Back at the hideout, Jungkook limped in like a broken action figure.

His pants were scorched. One of his gloves was missing. His backpack of gadgets looked like it had been through a blender. Feathers were still stuck in his hood.

General Boom Boom stood in the middle of the neon-lit lair, holding a smoothie in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

He looked up, blinked once.

Then dropped the smoothie.

“WHAT—IN THE MOTHER OF METALLIC GLITTER—HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

Jungkook collapsed onto the nearest couch and groaned. “I fought him.”

Boom Boom’s goggles nearly fell off his face. “Taehyung?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god. OH my god.” Boom Boom rushed over, pacing in frantic circles like a very loud, very dramatic Roomba. “You weren’t supposed to fight him, you were supposed to disrupt the convoy! You were supposed to be in and out in thirty minutes and not go toe-to-toe with the world’s most efficient human punching machine!”

Jungkook covered his eyes with his forearm. “He was just there. And then I panicked. And then I screamed something about his face being illegal.”

Boom Boom paused. “…I mean. It is.”

“I punched him,” Jungkook said, like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Boom Boom squinted. “On purpose?”

Jungkook moved his arm just enough to glare. “Yes.”

“Okay okay, no need to get spicy.” Boom Boom sighed and sat down beside him, eyeing the singed edges of his pants. “So. You fought him. You got your ass handed to you, didn’t you?”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

Boom Boom frowned. “Did you cry?”

“No!”

“You did, didn’t you?”

“I did not cry. I just—” Jungkook sat up sharply, eyes wide and exhausted. “He walked away. After I fought so hard. After all that training. After I actually punched him. He just said I wasn’t ready and left like I was a… kid. Like I didn’t matter.”

Boom Boom leaned back, hands behind his head. “Well. You are kind of a mess.”

“I’m not trying to be!” Jungkook exploded, arms flying. “I’m not trying to be this clumsy, feather-covered, exploding-smoke-bomb idiot! I trained so hard. I planned everything. I just—stuff goes wrong when I do it. Gadgets glitch, I slip, my hoodie gets caught on fences—”

“You shouted about a dog you didn’t steal.”

“I panicked!”

Boom Boom gave him a look, uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you actually got further than most rookies ever do with Taehyung. You landed a hit. That guy doesn’t even flinch when a tank hits him, but you? You made him look at you. That’s not nothing.”

Jungkook sat in the silence for a moment, jaw tight.

“…He looked at me like I was a joke.”

“Maybe right now,” Boom Boom shrugged. “But that’s now. Doesn’t have to stay that way.”

He stood, stretched, and wandered toward the smoothie remnants still pooling sadly on the floor.

“Next time, aim for his kneecaps,” he called over his shoulder. “No one ever expects the kneecaps.”

Jungkook didn’t move for a while.

He just stared at the far wall, the phantom weight of Taehyung’s gaze still pressing on his chest.

He clenched his fists.

He had landed a punch.

But next time… he wouldn’t be a joke.

After the alley fight, Jungkook didn’t sleep for two days.

Boom Boom told him to “rest and eat something not shaped like a lightning bolt,” but Jungkook ignored him. His body ached, bruises blooming in strange places, but his mind replayed the fight in brutal detail—frame by frame. Every misstep. Every blocked punch. Every dumb word that fell out of his mouth.

And worst of all: that look.

Taehyung hadn’t looked angry. Or scared. Or impressed.

He looked… amused.

Jungkook could not stand that.

So he trained harder. Every morning he beat the sun to the rooftop gym. His knuckles reopened. His thighs burned from sprint drills. He rebuilt every gadget by hand—correctly this time—testing them twice, then again just to be sure.

Boom Boom peeked in sometimes, saw him sweating bullets in silence, and mumbled something like, “If this turns into a training montage, at least let me score it with dubstep.”

But Jungkook didn’t joke. He barely talked at all. Not even to Boom Boom.

He didn’t want to be laughed at again.

Jungkook stared at a shelf full of instant noodles, holding two different flavors like they were blueprints for a nuclear bomb.

He didn’t need food. He could’ve eaten at the hideout. But something about late-night grocery stores made him feel… unjudged. No one cared if you looked like a villain-in-training who hadn’t slept in three days and still had a Band-Aid stuck to his chin.

He picked the spicy kimchi one, because it felt aggressive, and turned down the aisle—

—Right as Kim Taehyung stepped into it from the other side.

Jungkook skidded to a stop. The noodle cup fell from his hand and bounced pathetically across the floor.

Taehyung looked up from where he’d been inspecting a bag of dried mango slices.

He was in civilian clothes. Black joggers, loose hoodie, a beanie tugged low. Casual. Effortless.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was in his backup hoodie (slightly burnt) and fuzzy socks with sharks on them.

Their eyes locked.

Neither spoke.

Somewhere in the background, a muzak version of a pop ballad played softly, absurdly.

Jungkook’s mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

“I don’t regret punching you.”

Taehyung blinked. “…Good. You shouldn’t.”

Silence again. Not tense—just strange. Surreal.

Then Taehyung slowly crouched and picked up the noodle cup from the floor. He offered it to Jungkook without a word.

Jungkook took it, hesitantly.

“You’ve improved,” Taehyung said finally. “Your footwork’s better.”

Jungkook stiffened. “You were watching me?”

“You were in the middle of a public alley screaming about facial symmetry. Kind of hard to miss.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “I meant in the fight.”

Taehyung gave him a half-shrug, then walked past him down the aisle, still holding his dried mango.

Something in Jungkook flared—pride, maybe. Or hunger. But not for food.

He followed, not quite sure why. “What’re you doing here?”

“Getting snacks.”

“You eat snacks?”

Taehyung glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not a robot.”

“I mean, that’s debatable.”

“Would a robot have blocked your headbutt?”

Jungkook scowled. “No, a coward would’ve done that.”

Taehyung stopped by the self-checkout kiosk and placed his items down.

He didn’t respond. Just scanned them slowly, like Jungkook wasn’t hovering three feet away, simmering.

Jungkook folded his arms. “I’m not gonna stop. You know that, right?”

“I expect nothing less.”

“I’ll get better. I’m already getting better.”

“I noticed.”

“I will kill you one day.”

Taehyung finally turned back to him.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t look smug. Just… studied him. The way one studies a storm cloud that hasn’t quite formed yet.

“Then I’ll look forward to it.”

And with that, he grabbed his bag and walked out, as casually as someone leaving a poetry café instead of a midnight tension-charged showdown in aisle five.

Jungkook stood there for a full minute, gripping his noodle cup like a sword.

Something cold twisted in his gut—but not fear.

Just the quiet, infuriating sense that Taehyung saw through him. Not just the villain mask, or the training, or the ego. But the raw, jagged drive underneath.

And worse—he didn’t seem scared of it.

Not yet, anyway.

Jungkook didn’t talk about the grocery store.

He didn’t tell Boom Boom how Taehyung had remembered his footwork, or how his stare had felt like getting punched in the lungs. He definitely didn’t mention how he had followed him around the store like a villainous stray cat while clutching ramen noodles and a crumpled ego.

No, he kept all that locked up tight.

Instead, he doubled down—on training, on planning, on becoming someone Taehyung couldn’t ignore and wouldn’t walk away from next time.

But something had shifted.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even infatuation. Not yet.

It was recognition.

Taehyung had remembered his footwork.

He had looked at Jungkook like he was a storm that hadn’t hit yet—but would.

And now, Jungkook wanted nothing more than to be undeniable.

Meanwhile…

Elsewhere. Hero HQ. Rooftop level.

Kim Taehyung leaned against the railing of the training deck, sipping a cup of hot tea that had long since gone cold. The city spread out below him—flickering lights, muted noise, clean lines. Peaceful. Controlled.

But all he could see was a smudged hoodie, bloody knuckles, and a pair of eyes that didn’t know how to quit.

Jeon Jungkook.

He’d heard the name whispered in villain watchlists. A low-ranking sidekick under Boom Boom. Chaotic, unrefined, generally regarded as more accident-prone than dangerous.

But Taehyung had seen something different in that alley.

Yes—he was clumsy. He made stupid threats and even stupider tactical decisions. His smoke bomb had smelled like cotton candy, for god’s sake.

But his movements hadn’t been random. His hits hadn’t been lucky. They were intentional. Sloppy, sure. But trained. Practiced. Personal.

And the punch that had landed—Taehyung had felt that for three days.

He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek where the bruise had started.

Jeon Jungkook.

He said he would kill him one day.

Taehyung believed he meant it.

And yet, somewhere between the dog theft accusation and the circus music, there was… something. Something raw. Not fully formed.

Taehyung didn’t know if it was dangerous.

But it was definitely worth watching.

Back at the hideout

Boom Boom stormed into the lab, holding a half-eaten banana and wearing goggles he hadn’t taken off in two days.

“Alright, emo boy,” he said, mouth full. “You’re obsessing.”

“I’m focused,” Jungkook muttered, calibrating a new wrist launcher. “Big difference.”

“Nope. You’re obsessed. You’ve rebuilt the same stun disc four times, you haven’t showered since the last moon cycle, and you flinched when I said Taehyung’s name yesterday. Which, by the way, I only said because I was reading an article about how freakishly symmetrical his face is.”

Jungkook didn’t look up. “I will beat him.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Boom Boom said, oddly calm. “But maybe stop thinking about him like he’s a final boss and more like… a mid-season rival.”

Jungkook turned sharply. “He walked away. Like I wasn’t worth finishing.”

Boom Boom chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that must suck.”

“Wipe that smug tone off your face.”

“I’m not smug. I’m supportive. You’re just spiraling. Which is fair, but also kinda boring.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “I’m not spiraling.”

Boom Boom grabbed a notepad off the counter and flipped it toward him. On it were the words:

“How to Make Taehyung Take Me Seriously”
• fight shirtless?
• land 3 punches in a row
• cooler villain name? (VengeanceKid? too much??)
• learn to walk away FIRST???

Jungkook slammed the notepad shut.

Boom Boom just grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Elsewhere again. Hero HQ gym.

Taehyung wrapped his hands with slow precision, listening to the murmur of voices from the hallway—two junior heroes gossiping after patrol.

“Did you hear about that Boom Boom sidekick?”

“Jungkook? The one who tried to gas the train station with glitter fog?”

“No no, before that—he fought Taehyung. Punched him in the face.”

“No way. Did he die?”

“Nope. Taehyung let him go.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Guess he was just too dumb to be dangerous.”

Taehyung tied off the last wrap and stared at the mirror.

He said nothing.

But his reflection smirked—just barely.

The night was humid, thick with the threat of rain and something more dangerous:
Intent.

Jungkook stood atop the scaffolding of an unfinished bank building downtown, cape flapping unevenly behind him (he had cut it himself; the edges were crooked).

Below, chaos brewed.

Sirens. Yelling. Civilians herded to safety. Smoke creeping from malfunctioning tech bombs Boom Boom had sort of calibrated.

But this wasn’t really about the heist.

Not for Jungkook.

He paced along the metal beam, eyes sharp under his hood, waiting. He had left obvious clues. Taehyung would come. He wanted him to.

And then, like a storybook’s page turning on cue—

He heard the whistle of wind behind him.

“Finally,” Jungkook muttered, spinning on his heel just in time to see—

Kim Taehyung.

Landing in a three-point stance like a goddamn movie star. Mask on. Cape perfect. Not a single wrinkle.

Of course.

Jungkook raised his hands, slow and dramatic. “Welcome to my bank robbery.”

Taehyung straightened. “Is that what this is?”

“Well. That, and a formal rematch.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “You’re robbing a bank to get my attention?”

“I’m multitasking,” Jungkook snapped, cheeks pinking.

“Unbelievable.”

“I improved,” Jungkook said, fists clenched. “Try me.”

Taehyung gave a slow nod.

Then blurred into motion.

—

They crashed together like thunder and gasoline—messy, fast, loud.

Jungkook had improved. His punches were tighter, his balance better. He dodged Taehyung’s spinning kick by a hair, landing a counterblow to the ribs that actually connected.

He crowed, “Holy SHIT I hit you again!”

Taehyung tackled him through a stack of metal piping in response.

“OW! Okay! Rude!” Jungkook rolled, flipped up, elbowed air, missed, yelped as Taehyung snagged his cape and yanked.

Riiiiiip.

A chunk of his shoulder seam tore wide open.

Jungkook froze mid-dodge, gasping. “YOU RIPPED MY OUTFIT! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO MAKE THIS?!”

Taehyung blinked. “…You made that?”

“WITH MY OWN HANDS,” Jungkook shouted, clutching the fabric like a wounded soldier.

“You hot-glued feathers to it.”

“IT WAS A CHOICE.”

Taehyung lunged again.

They fought harder.

More hits. More misfires. Jungkook tried to unleash his “smoke net” gadget, but it just made a sound like a dying squirrel and fizzled.

He groaned mid-fight: “Boom Boom’s gonna kill me.”

Taehyung tackled him into a support beam with enough force to knock the wind out of him. They tumbled, grappled, fists locked—

And then Jungkook landed on his back, hard, breath heaving.

Taehyung above him.

Straddling his hips, one gloved hand on his chest, the other gripping his wrist to the floor.

His mask was half-scorched, jawline visible. Eyes like a storm.

Jungkook blinked up at him, stunned.

Taehyung didn’t move.

Then, flatly:
“I’m not gonna kill you.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook—winded, bruised, grinning like an idiot—said:

“So you’re actually not gonna kill me? That’s great because while we were fighting I had a splendid idea on how to kill you.”

Taehyung stared at him.

Blank-faced.

“…You’re insane.”

Jungkook wiggled underneath him. “You sat on me.”

“You tried to drop a chandelier on my head.”

“You ripped my outfit!”

Taehyung’s mouth twitched—just a little. Too quick to confirm if it was a smile.

He stood, stepping off with a final glance down.

“Get stronger,” he said. “Then try again.”

“Wait, again?! You’re giving me a rematch?!” Jungkook sat up, triumphant.

Taehyung didn’t answer.

He just disappeared off the scaffolding in a single graceful leap.

Gone.

Like he hadn’t just wrestled Jungkook through sheet metal and emotional humiliation.

Jungkook sat alone, breathing hard, covered in bruises and duct tape.

He whispered to himself:

“…I will kill that man. But like, in a respectful, well-dressed kind of way.”

Then he winced.

His shoulder really hurt.

The hideout was a mess.

Wires dangled from the ceiling. Smoke drifted from a half-melted toaster Jungkook had tried to weaponize (“imagine a grenade but… breakfast”). Several unfinished gadgets littered the table, glowing faintly. One of them was humming ominously.

Boom Boom stood in the doorway, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Jungkook was slouched in the swivel chair, spinning himself lazily. One eye was bruised, his lip split from the fight with Taehyung a few nights ago. His hoodie was still ripped. He hadn’t bothered to change.

“You gonna sit in that chair all day like a dramatic anime protagonist, or are you actually gonna do something?” Boom Boom asked, voice flat.

Jungkook stopped spinning, eyes slightly unfocused. “I did something. I robbed a bank.”

“You attempted to rob a bank. You did get punched in the face. Again.”

“I landed a punch.”

“One.”

“Two, actually.”

Boom Boom groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve been with me for a year, Jungkook. A full year. And I still don’t know if you’re an idiot pretending to be a villain or a villain pretending to be an idiot.”

Jungkook spun a wrench between his fingers. “Can’t I be both?”

Boom Boom didn’t laugh.

“Why do you even want this?” he said finally. “You act like a clown. You tinker with nonsense. Your gadgets explode backwards. And yet—every time you crawl home with your ribs rearranged, you still have that look in your eyes like you’re doing something noble.”

Jungkook went still. Really still.

Then slowly, without looking up, he said:

“I’m a psychopath making a difference.”

Boom Boom blinked. “The hell does that even mean?”

“It means I’m not doing this for the money. Or the chaos. I’m doing it for him.”

Boom Boom narrowed his eyes. “Taehyung?”

Jungkook’s voice dropped. “He’s untouchable. Unbeatable. He’s… perfect. That’s not natural. That’s not right. Someone has to stop him. And if no one else can, I will. Even if I have to blow myself up trying.”

Boom Boom looked at him. Long. Hard.

Then he turned away, muttering, “You’re gonna blow us up trying.”

He opened a nearby drawer, rifling through parts. “I could’ve trained someone else, you know. Someone normal. Focused. Not someone who screams ‘die, you beautiful bastard!’ mid-fight and then forgets to activate the explosives.”

“I hit him twice,” Jungkook repeated, stubborn. “He remembered me. He watched me.”

Boom Boom slammed the drawer shut.

“Newsflash,” he snapped, turning back. “You’re not the only villain out here with a grudge. You’re just the only one who thinks it’s a romantic comedy.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “You think this is romantic?”

“I think you’re going to get killed—and I don’t even know if I’ll be sad when it happens.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Jungkook looked at him, surprised—but not hurt. Just quiet.

And maybe, in some small part of his heart, a little… proud.

Boom Boom exhaled, slower this time. Tired.

He rubbed his temple. “Just—clean up. And for the love of all things evil, stop trying to solder with a butter knife.”

“Noted,” Jungkook said, already reaching for another screwdriver. “But for the record, it did get hot enough.”

Boom Boom walked out without another word.

But he left the door open.

And Jungkook smiled.

Hero HQ, dusk.

Taehyung leaned against the frame of the observation room, watching footage of the bank scaffolding fight. The replay looped silently, showing Jungkook flailing, fumbling—and punching him, hard, right across the jaw.

Someone walked in behind him. Jimin, a fellow ranked hero.

“You’re watching him again?” He asked.

“He’s getting better.”

“He’s still ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous doesn’t mean harmless.”

He crossed his arms. “You worried?”

“No,” Taehyung said. But then, quieter: “Not yet.”

The annual Hero Awards Gala was approaching again—and Jungkook thought it was the perfect time.

Perfect to make a statement. Perfect to prove himself.
Perfect to get a rematch with Kim Taehyung.

He’d trained harder this time. Sharpened his reflexes. Upgraded his gadgets (sort of). And this time, he wasn’t showing up as some silly sidekick with feathers stuck to his cape and mismatched boots.

This time, he was going to make the entire world remember his name.

It was the unofficial tradition now: every year, one villain would sabotage the Hero Awards Gala. Just enough disruption to land in headlines, break the glamor, and remind the world that behind all the suits and applause, chaos still lurked in the cracks.

And this year? Jungkook wasn’t just going to crash the party.

He was going to steal the show.

The Hero Awards Gala was obnoxiously elegant.

Chandeliers hung like constellations. String quartets played reimagined theme songs from the top five ranked heroes. News drones buzzed quietly above the crowd, capturing every glittering smile and strategic handshake.

Taehyung stood near the back of the ballroom, tux crisp, jaw clenched. He didn’t like galas. He hated speeches. And the wine was always weirdly warm.

But the real reason he was here was simple:

Jungkook was definitely going to crash it.

He’d intercepted Boom Boom’s transmission two days ago. Heard the warning. Heard the threat.

“Don’t. Do. This. Jeon. You interrupt this gala, and I swear I’m dropping you off a rooftop myself.”

Naturally, Jungkook had replied with a thumbs-up emoji and “✌️im already sewing the pants.”

So Taehyung waited.

And—right on cue—just as the Hero of the Year was accepting their award, the roof exploded.

Sort of.

Really, it puffed. A glittery plume of green smoke billowed down from the skylight, followed by a deafening, glitchy speaker scream:

“LADIES AND GENTLEHEROES, PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THE CHAOS ABOVE.”

Taehyung sighed.

Everyone looked up—

And there he was.

Jeon Jungkook, dangling from a repurposed zipline rig, spinning slightly off balance in a tailored purple outfit covered in hand-drawn lightning bolts. He was upside-down.

“DAMMIT,” Jungkook hissed as he spun in a circle. “Hang on—I—almost—”

The rig dropped. He landed on a buffet table with a spectacular crash, sending crab cakes flying.

A beat of silence.

Then Jungkook sprang up, arms wide. “I’m fine! Nobody move! This is a villainous interruption and I trained for this.”

Taehyung was already walking toward him.

Jungkook spotted him and lit up. “Oh, you did come! You clean up nice.”

“I could say the same,” Taehyung said coolly. “Except you’re covered in spinach dip.”

Jungkook looked down at himself. “Oh. Nice. Adds texture.”

And then—fight.

The crowd scrambled out of the way as the two clashed in the center of the ballroom, champagne glasses shattering, Taehyung’s punches meeting Jungkook’s parries in a surprisingly even exchange.

He really had improved.

But Jungkook still had his… moments.

Like when he tried to throw a smoke bomb and accidentally hit a chocolate fountain.

Or when he yelled, mid-punch, “YOU DIDN’T DODGE THAT ONE, YOU ELEGANT RAT!”

Or when he narrowly avoided a sweep kick, stumbled sideways, and yelled—

“I’m sorry, can we pause the fight for a split second? My mom is calling me.”

Taehyung blinked. “…What?”

Jungkook was already digging his phone out of his utility belt. “She has incredible timing, I swear—”

Taehyung actually stopped moving.

Just stood there, incredulous, arms slightly raised like, what the actual hell is happening.

Jungkook held the phone to his ear, turning away. “Hi, Mom? No I’m—no, I’m not busy. Just… fighting a guy. No, not Boom Boom. Yes, the handsome one.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes.

Jungkook hung up five seconds later.

“Sorry,” he said, casually slipping the phone back. “Family’s important.”

Taehyung didn’t respond.

Just launched a roundhouse kick at him that sent them both crashing into the ice sculpture.

Jungkook groaned, splayed across what used to be a swan. “Okay! Rude! Deserved, but rude!”

They fought for another five minutes before Taehyung finally pinned him—again—this time with a knee to Jungkook’s chest, hands gripping his wrists to the floor.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Taehyung asked, breathless. Not angry. Just confused.

Jungkook looked up at him, smiling through bloodied lips and glitter dust.

“Because there’s gonna be a day,” he said, “that I’ll win.”

Taehyung didn’t move for a second. His grip tightened just slightly before he leaned in, voice low and steady.

“I’ll be waiting for that day,” he said. “Don’t keep me bored too long.”

And then he stood.

The music had stopped. The crowd had vanished. Heroes and camera drones hovered along the walls, unsure whether to intervene.

But Taehyung didn’t so much as glance back.

He simply turned, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and walked through the wreckage like it was a runway. His cape swayed behind him, perfectly timed with each step.
Glass crunched beneath his boots. A final gust of smoke curled around his silhouette as he vanished through the ballroom’s broken doors—
Cool, silent, and impossibly unbothered.

Later that night, in the Hero Council’s top floor war room, someone brought up the gala incident.

“Should we arrest the boy?”

“No need,” Taehyung said without looking up from his tablet. “Leave him to me.”

The room went silent. Nobody argued.

Across town, in a dark utility closet-turned-hideout, Boom Boom yanked Jungkook out by the collar of his glittery suit and slammed him into a folding chair.

“You have five seconds,” Boom Boom said, eyes twitching, “to explain what the HELL that was.”

“I landed a punch!” Jungkook chirped.

“I saw! You also set the lobster tower on fire and answered a PHONE CALL mid-fight.”

“My mom was really insistent this time—”

“I am this close to disowning you,” Boom Boom snapped, holding her fingers half an inch apart. “Next time you do something stupid—one more time—and I swear I’m cutting you off. No more gadgets. No more hiding spots. No more backup.”

Jungkook shrank slightly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I mean every word.”

A long beat of silence.

Then, quieter, Boom Boom muttered, “…but nice punch. I’ll give you that.”

Jungkook beamed.

“Thanks. I think he was impressed.”

“You think everything impresses him.”

“Well,” Jungkook said, smirking faintly, “he said he’s waiting for me.”

Boom Boom’s expression dropped.

“God help us all.”

Their next meeting was, like most things between them—accidental and loud.

It was just supposed to be a quiet Wednesday. No gala, no explosions. Just a rooftop, a petty argument over territory lines between two mid-level villains, and Taehyung showing up for cleanup.

Except Jungkook was already there.

Again.

Standing in the middle of a half-dismantled weather satellite with two of his gadgets sparking in opposite directions, clearly doing something he was not qualified for.

Taehyung landed with a dull thud, arms crossed, brow already furrowed.

“What are you doing here.”

“Obviously winning,” Jungkook said without turning around.

“You’re trying to hack a weather satellite with a wrench and a lunchbox.”

“I made modifications.”

“You’re holding the wrench upside down.”

“I like the grip this way.”

Taehyung walked closer. “You do realize this belongs to the international meteorological network. Tampering with it is a federal crime.”

Jungkook stood, brushing off his gloves. “Oh, suddenly you care about the law? Should I call you Officer Taehyung now?”

“I care about not causing a hurricane over the city, you idiot.”

“Why does everyone always assume I’m gonna break something?!”

“Because you usually are—”

“Oh, so the chocolate fountain was my fault now?!”

“You threw a smoke bomb directly into it!”

“It was miscalibrated! Do you know how hard it is to align those?!”

“It’s literally one button!”

Their voices climbed fast, rising with each insult. They circled each other like storm clouds, tension crackling.

“—and your stupid cape always looks like it’s trying too hard!”

“Oh, and your goggles? You look like a steampunk mosquito!”

“I will END you!”

“Then do it!”

Jungkook shoved a tool back into his belt. “You wanna fight, huh?! Right here?! I am ready!”

Taehyung snapped his gloves tight. “Finally, something we agree on.”

They squared off. The air sizzled. Taehyung took a step forward—

And Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“Wait—SHIT, I HAVE TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW, HERO,” he blurted. “I LEFT THE STOVE ON.”

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

Jungkook was already scrambling backward toward the fire escape. “I WAS BOILING RAMEN AND I FORGOT TO SET A TIMER, DO NOT FOLLOW ME, I AM IN DANGER—”

He vanished down the ladder in a blur of clunky boots and panic.

Taehyung stared after him for a long moment, stunned.

Then, quietly:

“…He’s going to burn down half the city before he ever kills me.”

For once, Jungkook wasn’t late.

He’d been tracking Taehyung’s pattern for weeks now. Quiet rescues in district 7, alley stakeouts in the financial quadrant, patrols that always ended near the north bridge at exactly 2:14 AM. It was like the hero had a routine.

Predictable.

Vulnerable.

Tonight, Jungkook was ready. The traps were set. The lighting was dramatic. His cape had no holes in it, and he even packed a backup smoke bomb that wouldn’t explode into glitter.

And, miraculously—he won.

He caught Taehyung off guard. Cornered him. Disarmed him. Pinned him against a wall with his forearm to his chest and a smirk on his lips that practically screamed who’s the mosquito now, huh?!

Taehyung didn’t resist.

Didn’t even speak.

Just stared at Jungkook, almost… curious.

Jungkook’s smirk faded a little.

“I won,” he declared, as if Taehyung hadn’t noticed. “Like, legitimately. No distractions. No feathers. You didn’t even break my arm this time.”

Taehyung tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp beneath the glow of the flickering alley light. “You did.”

“I what?”

“You won,” Taehyung repeated, still calm. Still unreadable.

Jungkook stepped back slowly, cautiously, half-expecting it to be a trap. “Okay, see—now you’re being weird. Why aren’t you yelling? Or flipping me over your shoulder? Or saying something sarcastic like ‘congrats, you almost killed a shoelace?’”

Taehyung blinked. “Is that… what I sound like to you?”

“Look, don’t twist this into some—wait, are you impressed? Is that what this is?”

There was a pause.

Taehyung opened his mouth like he might say something.

Then closed it again.

Instead, he looked down at the busted gadget near his feet and said, distractedly, “You improved your timing. You aimed for my left side more. That’s new.”

Jungkook stood awkwardly, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “I… yeah. Been practicing.”

“You should adjust your stance. Still a little too open.”

“…You’re giving me notes?”

Taehyung finally looked at him, gaze steady. “Would you prefer silence?”

“No, I—yes? I mean—what even is this?! I thought I was gonna have to drag you out of this alley bleeding and broken, not—coach you through my villain arc.”

“I never said you’d break me.”

“Well, I never said you’d become my unsolicited mentor!”

They stared at each other. Close again. Breathing just slightly uneven.

Jungkook felt his heart thudding in a way that had nothing to do with adrenaline.

Taehyung, eventually, stepped past him.

“Next time,” he said quietly, “don’t hesitate. That’s where you lose.”

And then he vanished into the dark.

No dramatic cape swish. No rooftop exit. Just gone.

Jungkook stood frozen for a second.

Then muttered to himself, “Okay but technically I still won. That counts. That totally counts.”

Behind a nearby dumpster, Boom Boom—who had clearly watched the entire thing—slapped a hand to her forehead and sighed so hard it echoed.

Boom Boom threw the empty pizza box across the hideout the moment Jungkook walked in.

It hit the wall, slid down slowly, and flopped onto the floor like even it was tired of him.

“What the hell was that,” she snapped.

Jungkook paused mid-step, holding a bottle of soda and looking far too pleased for someone who’d just barely escaped a second-degree black eye.

“Hey, you saw that punch though, right? Clean. Direct. I think I even made him—”

“You didn’t kill him.”

He blinked. “…I mean, yeah. That wasn’t exactly—”

“That was the plan!” she shouted, slamming her hand down on the worktable. “You cornered him! He was down! You had the upper hand for the first time in your entire glitter-soaked career and you let him walk away!”

“He walked away,” Jungkook said defensively, setting the soda down. “I didn’t let him.”

“Oh, sure,” Boom Boom sneered. “Just like how the microwave ‘accidentally’ exploded, or the time you said the ‘ice ray didn’t come with a reverse button.’ You had him, Jungkook.”

“I was… analyzing,” he muttered, voice smaller.

Boom Boom stared.

“Analyzing,” she repeated flatly.

“Yes,” he said, chin high. “His patterns. His weak spots. His breathing rate. This is strategy, Boom Boom. I’m not gonna just stab someone and call it a win. I’m a psychopath making a difference.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay. First? Stop calling yourself that. You still cry when the bakery sells out of strawberry milk buns.”

Jungkook sat there, silent for a beat, before muttering, “That’s a valid emotional response.”

Boom Boom groaned and dragged a hand down her face like she was physically restraining herself from flinging a chair. “You cannot call yourself a psychopath making a difference if your greatest weakness is a baked good.”

“You’re taking that out of context.”

“Oh am I?” she snapped. “Do you want me to list all the times you got distracted mid-mission? Because I have notes. And sketches.”

Jungkook crossed his arms. “It’s called developing my own villain style.”

“It’s called wasting your potential.”

He fell silent again.

Boom Boom wasn’t yelling now. Which somehow made it worse. Her voice went low and sharp—the kind that meant she meant every word.

“I’ve been covering for you. For months. Every time you mess up, every time you let Taehyung go, every time you screw around like this is a goddamn playground—I’m the one lying to the other villains. I defend you. I make excuses.”

Her jaw tightened.

“But you were supposed to kill him tonight.”

Jungkook didn’t look up.

Boom Boom took a shaky breath, then straightened. “You can’t keep doing this.”

He finally met her eyes. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off.

“You’ve got one more chance, Jungkook. One. If you hesitate again…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll do it myself.”

And for the first time, Jungkook believed her.

She turned and stormed out, her boots hitting the floor with cold finality, leaving him in the dim light of their hideout, alone with the faint buzz of broken gadgets and the sick churn in his chest.

He stared at the wall for a long time.

Then pulled his gloves tighter.

The universe had a sick sense of humor.

That’s what Taehyung decided the moment he reached for a bag of rice and another hand collided with his.

Not just any hand.

That hand.

“—oh for fu—you again?”

Taehyung’s voice was flat, unimpressed. Jungkook, standing on the other end of the aisle in an oversized hoodie and dark sunglasses indoors like a discount spy, froze mid-reach.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jungkook muttered.

“You’re holding a pineapple upside down.”

“It’s how you assert dominance.”

They stared at each other over the produce section, unmoving. A shopper passed between them, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between aisle 7 and 8.

“You stalking me now?” Taehyung said, cocking a brow.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I live three blocks from here.”

“I—okay. Valid. But still.”

They awkwardly reached for their respective baskets. Taehyung’s had rice, bananas, and tofu. Jungkook’s had three cans of whipped cream, painkillers, and a suspicious number of matchboxes.

Taehyung glanced down. “Planning a date or a house fire?”

Jungkook huffed. “Maybe I’m planning your funeral.”

Taehyung leaned one elbow on the shopping cart, just watching him now. “Oh? Planning on finally following through?”

“I am,” Jungkook snapped before he could think. “Next time, I’m going to kill you.”

Taehyung tilted his head.

Jungkook swallowed.

He hadn’t meant to sound so serious. But his chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t adrenaline. He forced himself to hold eye contact, even as something complicated passed between them.

Something warm. Uninvited.

“…Huh,” Taehyung said softly.

“What.”

“You really mean it this time.”

“Damn right I do.”

Taehyung didn’t respond immediately. He just… studied him. Carefully. Quietly.

Too quietly.

Jungkook shifted his weight, uncomfortable. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason.”

“Stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing that thing with your face where you think I’m interesting!”

Taehyung’s lips twitched. “You are interesting.”

Jungkook nearly dropped the pineapple.

His heart tripped over itself and went skidding into a wall. But he stood straighter, clenched his jaw, and scoffed like the very concept was beneath him.

“You’re not supposed to think I’m interesting,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m supposed to kill you.”

Taehyung took a small step closer. Not threatening. Just… close.

“And is that still your only goal?”

Jungkook blinked. “Of course it is.”

Taehyung gave him a long look.

Jungkook gave nothing back. Not a flinch. Not a smile. He couldn’t. He refused.

Because somewhere in the past few weeks, the rhythm of their rivalry had changed. Between rooftop brawls and smoke bombs, between insults and split-second moments of silence—something else had crept in.

And he didn’t like it.

Didn’t trust it.

Didn’t know what to do with it.

He clutched the pineapple tighter. “Don’t look at me like that, hero. I’m still gonna end you.”

Taehyung’s smirk was frustratingly unreadable. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

He turned and walked away, as if nothing had just happened. Like Jungkook’s entire emotional equilibrium hadn’t just been shaken loose next to the apples.

Jungkook stood there a moment longer.

Then muttered under his breath, “This is why villains shop online.”

Boom Boom didn’t say anything at first.

She watched Jungkook from across the hideout, goggles perched on her head, half-disassembled bombs spread out like dinnerware on the table. Her fingers itched to fix them, to work, to do something, but instead she just… watched.

Jungkook was humming.

Humming.

He hadn’t even realized it.

He was hunched over his tools in the corner, trying to recalibrate the smoke release valve on his glitter cannon—the one he swore he’d “never use again because it was embarrassing,” but apparently had secretly been upgrading anyway.

He was focused. Calm. And… smiling?

Boom Boom’s jaw ticked.

She cleared her throat. “You’re awfully cheerful.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looked up, eyes wide behind his safety glasses. “Oh. No, I’m just—uh. Focused.”

“Uh-huh.” She tried to keep her voice even. “Focused on killing Taehyung?”

Jungkook blinked.

He glanced back down at the device. Turned a small screw. Avoided her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Of course.”

Boom Boom narrowed her gaze.

She didn’t push—yet. Instead, she set down her soldering iron and walked over casually, peering over his shoulder.

“Is that rose-scented glitter?”

“…Maybe.”

Boom Boom’s mouth opened, then shut. She counted to three. Then five. Then gave up on inner peace entirely. “You do remember we’re villains, right?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“You’re trying to kill Taehyung.”

“I know.”

“And not give him an aesthetic experience?”

“I know.”

Boom Boom stepped back slowly, like approaching a bomb she didn’t trust. “You’ve been different since that last fight.”

“I’m just improving.”

“No,” she said flatly. “You’re softening.”

Jungkook finally looked up. His face was tired. Serious. “You ever think maybe that’s not a bad thing?”

Boom Boom blinked. Her face hardened. “For a hero, no. For a villain? Yes. It’s a fatal thing.”

He didn’t argue. Just went back to his tinkering, shoulders tight with something unsaid.

Boom Boom stared at him a moment longer. Then forced a small, toothy smile.

“Alright,” she said coolly, backing away. “You’re the boss.”

He smiled faintly, relieved.

And she hated it.

Hated the way his eyes were clearer lately. The way he hesitated just a second longer before drawing a blade. The way he no longer talked about killing Taehyung, but instead about beating him.

She knew that look in his eyes.

It wasn’t bloodlust anymore.

It was confusion.

Doubt.

And worse—

Hope.

Boom Boom sat down at her table again, heart pounding in her chest, hands still.

She wouldn’t say anything yet.

Not until she was sure.

But if Jungkook didn’t figure himself out soon…
She would.

And she’d end it before he ruined everything.

The museum robbery was never meant to be a real job.

Boom Boom had sent him for “practice.” A quick smash-and-grab of an ancient gemstone no one would miss—just a flex to the hero council that he could pull something off alone.

But it wasn’t the security lasers or the three broken display cases that made the air tense.

It was the moment Taehyung stepped into the hall, cape fluttering like a shadow born of light, expression unreadable.

“You again,” Jungkook said, heart already hammering.

Taehyung said nothing. Just walked, slow and steady, until they met under the cracked glass ceiling, moonlight pooling around them.

The silence snapped like a wire.

Jungkook lunged.

They collided hard, grunts echoing through the hall. Taehyung blocked the first punch, dodged the next, but Jungkook had improved. Sharper. Faster. He wanted this.

Taehyung hit the wall once. Twice. Jungkook’s knee drove into his gut. He coughed, staggered, and Jungkook—panting, wild—pinned him to the floor.

A knife pressed against Taehyung’s neck.

Taehyung’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

Jungkook’s hand trembled.

“Do it,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook stared down at him. His lip bled, his goggles were cracked, and his breath came out in ragged bursts—but his eyes—

They were searching.

“Why’d you stop?” Taehyung whispered.

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Taehyung didn’t look afraid. He just looked… tired. “Is this really what you want?”

“I have to,” Jungkook said. “This is the whole point. This is my story—”

“Then write a different one.”

Jungkook’s throat clenched.

“You think being a villain gives you purpose?” Taehyung said, voice low. “You’re not even angry. You’re not cruel. You think the world gave you a reason to hate it, but you don’t. Not really.”

“I looked up to people like you!” Jungkook barked, eyes stinging. “I spent my whole life thinking if I could beat you, if I could end you, that maybe I’d matter.”

“You already do.”

And that broke him a little.

The knife lowered, barely.

His shoulders slackened. His whole body trembled. “Why are you even trying to change my mind?”

“Because I see you,” Taehyung whispered. “Not the villain. You. And I think you want more than this.”

Jungkook swallowed. Hard. His heart felt too big for his ribs.

“I…” he began.

But then—

BANG.

The world froze.

Jungkook’s body jerked violently, and for a heartbeat, Taehyung thought it was another feint, another trick in the long war they’d been playing. But then Jungkook’s breath hitched—wet, sharp. The knife clattered beside Taehyung’s head.

Warmth spilled against his chest. Not love. Blood.

Jungkook slumped forward, arms trembling, weight collapsing onto Taehyung like a wave that had finally stopped pretending it could hold itself back.

Behind them, her voice sliced the air clean in two.

“You were weak,” Boom Boom said, calm as ever. “You fell for him, didn’t you?”

Jungkook didn’t turn. Didn’t even blink. His eyes were locked on Taehyung, wide and glassy and tired in a way Taehyung had never seen before.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispered. “She shot me. That bitch really shot me.”

“Hey—hey, stay with me.” Taehyung’s hands scrambled over his body, trying to hold him up, trying to press against the blooming red just beneath his ribs.

“Don’t do that,” Jungkook murmured. “Don’t make that face. You’re prettier when you’re pissed off at me.”

“This isn’t funny—”

“It’s a little funny.” Jungkook smiled, soft and slow, as blood slid from the corner of his mouth. “I was supposed to kill you, remember? That was my goal.”

Taehyung shook his head, rage and grief colliding in his throat. “Shut up. Don’t say that. Don’t talk like this is over.”

“It is.” Jungkook blinked slowly. “I should’ve killed you a long time ago. God, I tried. Every day. Every fight. But you kept looking at me like I was… more.”

“You were,” Taehyung whispered. “You are.”

Jungkook laughed, weak and broken. “You ruined me. I hated you for so long I didn’t notice when it stopped being hate.”

The words slipped out like secrets from a dying god. “You haunted me. I thought if I destroyed you, maybe I’d understand myself. Maybe I’d be enough.”

Taehyung’s voice was shaking now. “You were enough. You always were.”

Silence stretched between them—too long, too fragile. Then, softly, as if the words were made of glass:

“I think I loved you,” Jungkook said. “And that terrifies me more than dying.”

Taehyung closed his eyes, a tear slipping sideways into his hair. “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know how,” Jungkook whispered. “All I ever knew was how to destroy things.”

He shifted slightly, trying to breathe, but his body was giving up. He pressed his forehead against Taehyung’s, voice barely there now.

“Everything ends, Taehyung. Everything is temporary. This is just one of those things.”

Taehyung shook his head, tears trailing down. “Please. Please don’t go. We could leave. We could run. I don’t care about the past. I don’t care about any of it anymore.”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered halfway closed. “Too late. Always too late with us, huh?”

Taehyung reached up, cradling his jaw. “Can we start over?”

Jungkook leaned into the touch like he didn’t deserve it. “You’d still hate me in the beginning.”

“I’d kiss you anyway.”

That made Jungkook smile again, dazed and soft and unbearably young.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, breath catching. “I like your eyes better when they’re angry.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Still true.” He paused, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry, Taehyung. I’m so tired. I’m just gonna close my eyes for a little while, okay?”

“No...”

But Jungkook was already gone.

His body sagged in Taehyung’s arms like a confession finally exhaled. The warmth left too fast.

Boom Boom stepped forward, calm, unbothered. “He chose the wrong side,” she said. “So did you.”

Taehyung rose with death in his bones and fire in his blood.

One look. One bullet. One perfect end.

She dropped.

Silence returned.

He knelt again, gathering Jungkook in his arms like a man gathering ash, whispering words too late to matter.

“I loved you too,” he said. “I just didn’t know it until I lost you.”

He pressed his forehead to Jungkook’s, voice fraying. “Maybe next time, we’re born softer. Maybe next time we’re not enemies.”

And somewhere in the stillness, maybe Jungkook heard him.

Months passed.

Taehyung didn’t forget Jungkook. He tried to move on—really, he did. But there were cracks in his days where memories slipped in. The way Jungkook used to grin mid-fight, like the whole thing was a game. The stupid jokes, the dramatic entrances, the glitter traps. Life was quieter now. Quieter than he liked.

No funeral. There was no family to call—none Taehyung knew of, anyway. So he buried Jungkook himself, just outside the city in a forgotten patch of green behind an old, rusting fence. A crooked tree stood over the grave, leaning slightly like it was listening. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

He said goodbye. Softly. The way you speak to someone you might still see again.

Time moved. The world didn’t stop for grief.

Things changed. Taehyung changed. He actually had a dog now. It showed up outside his apartment one rainy night, small and scruffy and stubborn, refusing to leave. He never named it. Just called it “You little shit,” the way Jungkook might’ve. The dog reminded him of Jungkook more than he was willing to admit—goofy, loud when it shouldn’t be, and an absurd habit of only chewing left shoes.

Taehyung sometimes wondered if that was Jungkook’s idea of a joke.

Jungkook had never been all bad. He wore the villain role like a costume—dramatic, over-the-top, but never quite believable. Not to Taehyung. Maybe that was the problem. From the beginning, he saw through the theatrics. Under the sharp teeth and cocky lines, there was always a boy who just wanted to matter.

Jungkook could’ve killed him. More than once. But he didn’t.

And Taehyung, with all his logic and sense and careful control, still fell for him. Not in one moment, but in dozens—each too small to notice until it was already too late.

So now, he waited. Not for closure. Not even for peace.

Just for a knock on the door one day. A shadow through the frosted glass. A smirk. A voice that made everything feel just a little less heavy. Maybe Jungkook would show up with a stupid story about faking his death and stealing someone else’s identity. Maybe he’d finally steal the dog for real this time.

Maybe not.

But Taehyung still looked up sometimes when the hallway creaked. Still caught himself setting out two bowls. Still dreamed in color again, because that’s how Jungkook lived—in too much color, too much noise, too much everything.

So Taehyung waited. Quietly.

And the dog waited, too.

Just in case.

Even if Taehyung knew, it would never happen.

But hey, the hero always beats the villain, right?