THEIR MUTE BROTHER (BTS X KTH)
Unseen and Unheard
In a spacious living room, a young man in his late twenties sat on the couch, his expression calm and composed, holding a coffee cup in one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other. His demeanor was unbothered, exuding an air of habitual quiet.
The sound of approaching footsteps from behind broke his focus, prompting him to glance up from his phone. Without realizing it, a gentle smile formed on his lips. He didn’t react when two arms draped around his neck from behind, except for the smile on his face growing even wider.
He asked softly, setting his phone and coffee cup on the side table before gently holding onto the arms embracing his neck.
Jungkook
“Nothing, hyung,”
A sleepy voice whispered from behind as the figure snuggled closer to him.
Jin
“Yah, Jungkookie, stop being so clingy. Your morning breath stinks,”
The older boy said with a chuckle. Despite the teasing remark, he pulled Jungkook—who was now grumbling softly—around to sit beside him. Jungkook slumped into the seat with a pout, but before long, the man wrapped an arm around the younger’s shoulders and drew him into a warm embrace.
Jungkook
"You’re always so mean, Jin-hyung,”
Jungkook muttered under his breath. Despite his words, he didn’t seem offended. Instead, he nestled closer to Jin, looping his arms around the older boy’s neck once again and shutting his eyes in a bid to steal a few more moments of comfort.
Jin shook his head with a soft laugh. He let Jungkook settle against him, picking up his phone once more while his free hand absentmindedly ruffled the younger’s messy hair in a soothing gesture.
Moments later, the sound of soft footsteps descending the stairs caught his attention. Jin’s warm expression faded instantly, his features sharpening into his usual impassive mask. Without turning around, he spoke in a cold, authoritative tone.
Jin
“Is it finally time to wake up?”
The boy behind him froze mid-step, startled by Jin’s sudden voice. He hadn’t noticed Jin’s presence earlier, and now he stood rooted to the spot, swallowing nervously.
Jin sighed audibly, his irritation evident. He turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze landing on the boy.
Jin
“I asked you a question, Taehyung. Is this the time you’ve decided to wake up? It’s past 10 a.m.”
Taehyung, the youngest of the three, looked down at the floor under the weight of Jin’s piercing stare. His shoulders tensed as he shook his head, his gaze fixed on his feet. A small, apologetic bow followed—his silent way of conveying an apology.
Jin scoffed, rolling his eyes dismissively before turning back to his phone. His expression suggested he wasn’t in the mood to ruin his morning over something so trivial. However, there was an underlying tension in the air, as if Jin was suppressing a deeper irritation, one he was tempted to direct at Taehyung.
Taehyung remained where he was, frozen in place as he awaited more scolding. When none came, a quiet sigh of relief escaped him. Still, the cold dismissal and lack of acknowledgment left an ache in his chest. His gaze lingered on Jin and Jungkook, who were engrossed in their own world, completely oblivious to his presence.
His hand tightened on the railing as he watched them, his eyes heavy with longing and pain. It was an all-too-familiar feeling—the sting of being ignored and treated indifferently. Though he had endured this treatment for as long as he could remember, the hurt never dulled. Despite the years of neglect and distance, his heart yearned for even the smallest sign of affection from his hyung.
I stood there silently, my gaze fixed on my brothers, huddled close together on the couch. The sight of them, so at ease and connected, brought a familiar pang of discomfort to my chest. It wasn’t jealousy—I had long since stopped fantasizing about being included. I knew better than to entertain such hopes. Instead, the scene before me felt like a cruel reminder of how unworthy and unwanted I was in this house.
Perhaps I was their brother in name, but was that all? Why else would they tolerate someone like me if not out of obligation? Yet, is this how siblings are supposed to treat each other? I didn’t know. Maybe this treatment was reserved for someone like me—quiet, awkward, and easily overlooked.
I’ve always been alone, even in a crowded room. I’m used to being ignored, to being left out. I’m not approachable, I know that. I keep to myself, rarely speaking, and when I do, it’s only through nods or shakes of my head. Conversations, at least the kind others share, aren’t something I experience.
And it’s not as if I chose this silence. I can’t speak—not in the way that others do. I watch, I listen, but I never respond, and that seems to give people permission to treat me differently. Even my brothers. But does being unable to speak make me less of a person? Does it make me undeserving of basic kindness?
My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a presence moving past me. I flinched instinctively, startled out of my spiraling thoughts. My eyes darted to Yoongi hyung, who walked by without a word. He spared me a glance—a quick, sharp look that sent my heart racing—but he said nothing, instead heading toward Jin hyung and Jungkook.
I stayed frozen on the staircase, unsure of what to do. I’d only come down for water, but now I felt trapped. Should I return to my room or continue to the kitchen? I didn’t do either. Instead, I remained there, unmoving, like a statue.
Yoongi approached the others and sat down across from them, his usual cool demeanor softening slightly as he took in the sight of Jungkook nestled in Jin’s arms.
Yoongi asked, glancing at Jungkook’s closed eyes as Jin ruffled his hair. The younger let out a muffled whine at the disturbance.
Jungkook
“I was up late last night,”
Jungkook mumbled groggily, finally cracking his eyes open.
Yoongi
“Who told you to play video games all night?”
Yoongi chided, though his words were accompanied by a faint smile.
Jin
“Come on, it’s his holidays,” Jin interjected, his voice light and indulgent. “You can’t expect him to sleep early now.”
Jungkook
“Exactly,” Jungkook agreed, stretching his arms with a small grin. “It’s my vacation. I can do whatever I want.”
Yoongi shook his head, letting out a soft scoff.
Yoongi
“Once a brat, always a brat. No offense.”
Jin chuckled at their playful banter while Yoongi adjusted his watch and smoothed his hair, preparing to leave for work. As he stood, his gaze shifted toward me.
I flinched again when our eyes met, but I couldn’t look away. He raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning my presence. I wanted to speak, to explain myself, but as always, the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I just stood there, silent and frozen, waiting for whatever judgment would come next.
Yoongi
Yoongi: "What? Why are you just standing there? And why are you even home? Don’t you have college to attend?"
Yoongi’s voice was firm, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the younger boy. His gaze swept over Taehyung’s disheveled state—the oversized clothes swallowing his small frame, his messy hair obscuring his eyes, and the slight tremble in his posture. The sight only deepened Yoongi’s irritation.
Jungkook
(glancing back at Taehyung) "He can’t exactly walk properly to attend college."
He pointed at Taehyung’s visibly bandaged left foot.
Yoongi
(Letting out an exasperated sigh) "Can you, for once in your life, stop being such a pain for us?"
His voice was sharper now, carrying the weight of his frustration. Just as he was about to say more, Jin gave him a subtle gesture to let it go. Yoongi rolled his eyes but begrudgingly complied, shooting one last irritated look at Taehyung.
Yoongi
"Anyway, I’m leaving for the office,"
He said to Jin, ruffling Jungkook’s hair briefly before leaving the house without another glance at Taehyung.
As the front door shut behind Yoongi, Taehyung instinctively turned to retreat to the safety of his room. However, Jin’s stern voice froze him in place.
Jin
"Where do you think you’re going? Come here, in front of me." Jin’s tone was cold and commanding.
Jungkook, meanwhile, remained focused on his phone, paying no attention to the exchange.
Taehyung turned slowly, his wide, fearful eyes betraying his reluctance. He descended the remaining stairs with careful, limping steps and stopped a few feet away from Jin.
Jin
(gesturing for Taehyung to move closer) "How many times do I have to remind you to stay out of Yoongi’s sight?"
Taehyung hesitated, clutching the hem of his shirt tightly before taking small, unsteady steps toward Jin.
When Taehyung was close enough, Jin grabbed his wrists, holding them tightly in his hands.
Jin
"Are you deaf as well as mute? Don’t you understand what I tell you? Or do you just enjoy making him angry?"
His voice was sharp, and his grip on Taehyung’s wrists tightened. Jin could feel the warmth radiating from the younger’s skin—a clear sign of a fever—but it did nothing to soften his anger.
Taehyung didn’t respond. He simply lowered his head, his silence only fueling Jin’s frustration. The older man’s grip on his wrists became painfully tight, drawing a small wince from Taehyung.
Jin
"If I see you around him again, you’ll regret it. I’ll make sure you understand me next time. Got it?"
Jin squeezed Taehyung’s wrists one last time, the force leaving angry red marks behind.
Taehyung nodded quickly, his head bobbing as he bit back the pain. Jin finally let go of him with a rough shove.
Jin
"Now go back to your room. And don’t come out unless you’re told to."
Jungkook glanced up briefly, letting out a dismissive scoff as Taehyung limped back toward the stairs.
Tears pricked at Taehyung’s eyes as he slowly made his way to his room, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through his injured foot. Once he reached the relative safety of his room, he closed the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, his emotions spilling over.
He stared down at his wrists, the skin still bearing the red imprint of Jin’s grip. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks as he gently rubbed the sore spots, the sting serving as a bitter reminder of his place in the household. Letting out a shaky sigh, Taehyung wiped his tears away, but the ache in his chest refused to subside.
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Scars in Silence..
Once again… (I sighed as tears silently rolled down my cheeks). I can never understand why Yoongi-hyung hates me so much. What have I done to make him despise me to the point where even my presence irritates him?
I sat up on the bed, staring blankly out of the window. My head throbbed, and my vision blurred, a mix of exhaustion and tears clouding everything. It always feels worse when I remember—I can’t even cry properly. I can’t make a sound, not even to express my pain to myself.
My gaze dropped to my lap, my hands clenched tightly as I tried to recall any moment in my life where I might’ve done something so horrible to deserve this treatment. But… my memories are faint, as if my existence itself is a blur. I can’t remember doing anything wrong—nothing that would warrant this kind of rejection.
Jin-hyung, the eldest, is 28 years old. He’s the Deputy Commissioner at Seoul Station. His job is as impressive as his aura—calm, elegant, and composed. But that composure doesn’t extend to me. To outsiders, he’s cold and intimidating, but with my other brothers, he’s warm and affectionate. At least he acknowledges me—though the attention is always harsh and biting. Still, even his scolding reminds me that I exist.
Yoongi-hyung, the second eldest at 26, is a CEO managing the family business. To the world, he’s approachable and friendly. At home, he dotes on Jungkook-hyung and Mom. But when it comes to me, it’s pure hatred. I’ve always felt his disdain, even when I was younger. I’ve wracked my brain to figure out why he’s this way, but there’s no answer. He just hates me, and I’ve resigned myself to that.
Jungkook-hyung, the youngest of the three, is 21 and a university student. He doesn’t even see me. To him, I might as well be invisible. Maybe I don’t exist in his eyes. But what haunts me most about Jungkook-hyung isn’t his indifference—it’s the unpredictability. He has the kindest heart when it comes to others, but with me? He can turn violent in an instant. One moment, I’m a shadow he doesn’t notice; the next, I’m the target of his anger. My injured foot is a reminder of that. (I sighed.) But that’s a story for another day.
And then there’s Mom. She doesn’t live with us. I’m not even sure why, but it doesn’t matter. Her absence mirrors my own insignificance. Just like my presence doesn’t matter to anyone, hers doesn’t affect me. I haven’t seen her in years; I can’t even remember her face. She still meets my brothers, though. They visit her often, sharing stories of their time together when they return. I overhear their conversations, the laughter, the joy—but I’m never part of it. They never even mention me. Sometimes, I wonder if they forget I’m deaf and can hear their voices, or maybe they talk loudly on purpose. Either way, it only deepens the ache in my chest.
I laid back down on my bed, pulling the blanket tightly around me. It’s summer—I shouldn’t need a blanket—but it’s the only thing that offers me comfort. It’s my only source of warmth, the only thing that feels like home.
And then, there’s me. Taehyung, 18 years old, a mere college student. My absence wouldn’t haunt anyone because my presence has never mattered. My brothers hate me, and I’ll never know why. No one has ever taken the time to sit with me, to talk to me, to understand me. I don’t speak, but that doesn’t make me incapable of feeling. Most people look down on me because I’m different.
I’m not living—I’m surviving. Because as much as I hate this life, the thought of death terrifies me more. I’ve spent countless nights wondering: If I die, would anyone care? Would they even notice? Would anyone visit my grave? Who would give my eulogy? Would anyone shed a single tear? The answer is always the same: no one. And that thought terrifies me more than anything else.
I turned onto my side, letting a few more tears slip out. Crying feels uglier when you’re completely alone. My stomach growled faintly, reminding me I haven’t eaten since last night. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t go downstairs to make something for myself. Jin-hyung would be furious.
I guess I’ll just sleep through the hunger—like I do every other day. Just survive. Just exist.
And so, I closed my eyes, wrapping myself tighter in the blanket, hoping for sleep to take me away from the ache in my heart. Even if just for a little while.
The next time I opened my eyes, it was the middle of the night. Did I just sleep through the whole day? Probably. I can’t really remember. I pushed the blanket aside, only to be met with the overwhelming heat radiating from my body. Was it fever? Or was it because I stayed wrapped in covers on such a hot day?
Shaking my head, I pushed myself to stand. My legs felt like jelly, trembling under my weight. Every step was a battle, but I forced myself to walk to the bathroom. Once I stood in front of the sink, I soaked a handkerchief in cold water and pressed it against my forehead, wiping my face and neck. If this was fever, it would help. If it was just the heat, it should cool me down.
Minutes passed as I stood there, leaning heavily on the sink. The cold cloth did nothing to ease the burning sensation. My body felt boneless, weak, and fragile, as if I could crumble at any moment. And I did. I sank onto the floor, too exhausted to fight gravity any longer, my back pressed against the cool tile wall.
I sat there quietly. Tears fell silently down my cheeks, but no sound escaped me. Not even a whimper. Even now, I can’t voice my pain, my discomfort. I can only let my tears speak for me.
An hour passed—or maybe more. Time had no meaning anymore as I sat there in my own helplessness. My eyes, blurred with tears, wandered to my sleeves. I hadn’t even realized when I’d pulled them up. My gaze settled on the faint scars lining my arms. Memories of my own actions rushed back to me—the scratches, the cuts, the wounds.
It started as a single scratch, then a line, and eventually became a map of pain etched across my skin.
At first, it was barely visible—a thin red mark. Then it became deeper, a stream of crimson running down my arms.
It began with my wrists. Then my chest. Then my upper arms. Now, it’s on my thighs too.
At first, it was my shirt catching on my wrists, then on my chest. Now my trousers are caught too.
I haven’t worn shorts since then. I can’t wear sleeveless shirts or fitted clothes anymore. The marks are a constant reminder of what I’ve done, of what I’ve been through.
The memories haunted me, clawing at my mind. My hand trembled as I yanked my sleeves back down, covering the scars. My inner demons clawed at the edges of my sanity, whispering to me, urging me to give in again. But I refused. Not this time.
I promised myself never to do it again. I won’t break that promise.
I wiped my face with trembling hands, my tears subsiding as I repeated a silent chant to myself: I love myself. I care for myself, even if no one else does.
It was the one mantra that brought me back to reality when the darkness threatened to consume me.
With what little strength I had left, I forced myself to stand. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror one last time before heading back to my bed.
I Slid under the covers, pulling them tightly around me once more. The still, lifeless fabric embraced me like an old friend, and I whispered softly in my heart: I’m okay. I will be okay. I love myself.
I love myself so much that I ache pain into my skin, letting the blood speak where words fail.
I love myself so much that I skip meals, calling it strength, then shatter mirrors to avoid my reflection.
I love myself so much that I embrace hurt like an old friend, scratching away the face I can’t bear to see.
I love myself so much that I mask my wounds with lies.
The night passed in restless silence. Sleep evaded me as my thoughts took hold, dragging me deeper into the pit of my own mind. I don’t understand why, in our darkest moments, our mind recalls every bad memory, every regret. It’s cruel, the way it worsens the pain instead of soothing it.
People say the opposite of love is hate. But they’re wrong. The opposite of love isn’t hate—it’s apathy.
Hate is fiery, raw, and alive. It breathes. It has energy.
But apathy? Apathy is the absence of everything. It’s a void where nothing remains—no feelings, no anger, no tears. Just emptiness. It’s silence. It’s hollow.
And my brothers? They don’t hate me. They’re apathetic toward me.
They feel nothing—not even pity.
And that’s what scares me most.
It terrifies me that I can’t even return their cruelty. I can’t hate them, no matter how much they hurt me. I can’t bring myself to be like them.
Jimin and....
Taehyung was already awake, lying on his bed in silence. His eyes were fixed on the door, a flicker of hope lingering in them, though he wasn’t sure for what. Blinking away the thought, he pushed himself to get ready for college.
Dragging his aching body to the bathroom, he freshened up and dressed in his uniform. With slow and careful steps, he made his way downstairs, hoping to avoid anyone’s attention. As he neared the door, his heart skipped when a voice called out from behind.
The sudden command froze Taehyung in his tracks. Slowly, he turned around to face Yoongi, who approached with his usual composed demeanor.
Yoongi
“I’m going to the office. I’ll drop you at college.”
Without another word, Yoongi gestured for him to follow. Taehyung hesitated, a mix of fear and relief settling in. Fear because he would be alone with Yoongi, but relief because he wouldn’t have to walk the entire way with his injured foot and feverish body.
Silently, he followed Yoongi to the car and slipped into the back seat, keeping his gaze lowered. The ride was quiet, the air thick with unspoken tension, until Yoongi’s voice broke the silence.
Yoongi
“You don’t know sign language?”
Taehyung looked up at Yoongi through the rearview mirror, unsure why he’d asked. His heart raced as he nodded, indicating that he did.
Yoongi didn’t respond, his gaze returning to the road. The silence resumed, leaving Taehyung staring out the window.
When they reached the college, Taehyung climbed out of the car with some difficulty. Standing at the door, he bowed slightly to express his thanks before turning to walk inside without looking back.
Yoongi, still sitting in the car, watched him enter the campus. His expression remained unreadable, though he let out a quiet sigh before driving away.
Taehyung dropped his bag onto his usual desk and sat down tiredly. His body ached, each movement feeling heavier than the last. Resting his head on his folded arms, he closed his eyes, seeking a moment of peace.
The tranquility didn’t last long.
Jimin
“Hey... That’s my seat!”
Startled, Taehyung looked up at the cheerful voice. A boy stood before him, smiling brightly. Taehyung tilted his head in confusion. This was his seat—he sat here almost every day, except for yesterday when he was absent. And he didn’t recognize this boy at all.
Jimin
“What? I sat here yesterday. Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
Taehyung shook his head slowly, his chin resting on his palms. Though confused, he found himself enjoying the attention. It was rare for anyone in class to speak to him, let alone notice him.
Jimin
“Oh, so you were absent yesterday, huh? Thought so! Let me introduce myself—I’m Jimin. I’m 19, and I just joined yesterday. Nice to meet you.”
Jimin extended his hand, his smile warm and inviting.
Taehyung stared at the offered hand, then at Jimin’s face. He was trying to process the situation when another boy from the class approached.
Ryle
“He’s Taehyung. And he can’t speak, dude. You don’t want to be friends with him. Come sit beside me—the chair’s free.”
Before Jimin could respond, Ryle grabbed his hand and dragged him to another seat, dismissing Taehyung without a second thought.
Taehyung watched them walk away, a faint sigh escaping his lips at Ryle’s words. It wasn’t the first time he’d been treated like this, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.
Placing his head back on his arms, he closed his eyes once more, retreating into his quiet world, hoping to escape the sting of reality.
The day crawled by painfully slow. Despite my body’s protests, I stubbornly attended all the lectures. My hands trembled as I took notes, my vision blurring slightly from the fever. But what unsettled me the most was Jimin’s gaze. I could feel his eyes on me throughout the day, burning into me. His expression was hard to read—was he judging me, pitying me, or just curious?
I sighed under his scrutiny. It was no different from the others, I told myself. People always looked at me like I was a puzzle they couldn’t solve. They either avoided me altogether or stared, assuming I was broken because I couldn’t speak.
When the break came, I headed to the infirmary for some medicine. My fever and headache were unbearable. After that, I grabbed a small lunch and climbed up to the rooftop to eat in solitude, my usual escape from the noise of the cafeteria.
Except today, I wasn’t alone.
Jimin followed me—to the infirmary and the rooftop.
I looked up, startled. He stood in front of me, arms crossed, his tone direct.
Jimin
“I know you can hear me. You answered me this morning. Don’t ignore my question now. Why did you go to the infirmary earlier? Are you okay?"
I Stared at him, too stunned to respond. Concern? For me? It was alien. Nobody had ever asked if I was okay before, even when it was obvious I wasn’t. His persistence felt overwhelming and… frightening. Was this genuine, or some cruel joke?
Jimin
“I know sign language. You can tell me through gestures.”
His offer was sincere, but I didn’t know how to respond. My mind raced, wondering why he cared. As his eyes trailed over my oversized clothes, I felt a familiar panic creeping in.
Jimin
“Isn’t it hot? Why are you wearing so many layers? Are you sick?”
Before I could even think of answering, a classmate chimed in.
Reha
“He always wears baggy clothes, no matter if it’s hot or cold. As for sign language, I don’t think he knows it. We’ve never seen him communicate with anyone—he just nods yes or no.”
She laughed, her words cutting deeper than she probably intended.
Jimin
“You don’t know sign language? How do you talk to your family then?”
I let out a sigh, wishing I could tell him the truth—that I do know sign language but never use it because no one talks to me. My family doesn’t need my words; they have their own ways of silencing me.
Jimin sighed too when I didn’t respond. He stepped aside, giving me space to walk past. I slipped into my seat without meeting his eyes.
After college, I walked home alone. My fever had subsided, but the pain in my foot persisted. Each step was agonizing, and I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath.
A voice called from behind. Turning around, I saw a man in an office suit, sunglasses perched on his face, and a bright smile as he extended his hand.
??
“I noticed you limping. Let me help you.”
Before I could process his words, another voice rang out.
Jimin
The man turned to shush Jimin, who had appeared out of nowhere.
??
“Quiet down, Jiminie. I was just offering help—this young man seems hurt.”
Jimin’s eyes flickered to me, concern evident on his face.
Jimin
Jimin: “What’s wrong?”
??
"Nothing ...He might have twisted his foot , I saw him walking with difficulty so offered help ..Kids these days have so much energy that they manage to strain their body ( shook his head ) Come On , Let us drop you home" ( He said forwarding his hand to tae )
He extended his hand again, but I shook my head, declining his offer. Bowing slightly in gratitude, I continued my slow walk home, ignoring the whispers behind me.I hear their murmurs behind me , I know they might be discussing me ..But without sparing them any second look I walked away from them
Reaching home, I felt the familiar weight of dread as Jungkook Hyung stood by the door, arms crossed. His cold eyes bore into me as he stepped closer.
Jungkook
"Had a nice day, huh?”
He grabbed my arm, shaking me slightly. The sudden grip made me wince, but I forced myself to stay steady, keeping my eyes down not wanting to see the hatred for myself in the hyung's eyes .
Jungkook
“Do you think we were done yesterday?”
He released my arm with a rough jerk, his voice growing colder.
Jungkook
Jungkook: “I let you go because of your foot. But it seems like you’re perfectly fine now.”
My head spun, my body still weak, but I braced myself for what was to come. The pain of his words was worse than anything my body endured.
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