Chapter 3: Cracks in the Cold

The storm outside had softened into a steady drizzle by morning. The sky, once dark and violent, now glowed a soft gray through the large windows of the room Jungkook had spent the night in—not his room, but Taehyung’s.

He stirred awake slowly, the silk sheets cool against his skin. At first, he was confused—until the memories returned.

The hallway. The storm. Taehyung opening the door. The way he’d said, “You can stay.”

Jungkook turned his head, expecting to see the bed empty. But Taehyung was still there, sitting in an armchair by the window, fully dressed, his gaze fixed on the rain outside.

“You didn’t sleep?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

Taehyung didn’t turn. “Didn’t need to.”

That was it—no further explanation. But there was something gentler in his tone today, like the edge in his voice had dulled, if only slightly.

Jungkook sat up slowly, brushing his long bangs behind his ear. “I’m sorry for barging in last night.”

“You didn’t,” Taehyung said without looking at him. “You knocked.”

That simple correction made Jungkook’s heart stutter. It wasn’t kind, exactly—but it wasn’t cruel either. It felt… human.

They stayed in silence for a while, the only sound being the rhythmic tap of rain against the windows. And somehow, that silence felt different now. Less cold. Less heavy.

Jungkook slid off the bed and moved to stand near him. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched him. Studied the profile of a man who was supposed to be untouchable, impenetrable. Taehyung looked tired—no, not physically, but emotionally. As if he was always holding something in.

“Why did you agree to this?” Jungkook asked quietly, his eyes fixed on him.

Taehyung finally turned his head, meeting Jungkook’s gaze. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but something flickered in them.

“Because your grandfather asked. And my father trusted him.” His jaw tensed slightly. “And because power is easier to protect when it’s shared.”

There it was again. Business. Strategy. Nothing personal.

Jungkook looked away. “So I’m just a symbol.”

“You were never supposed to be you,” Taehyung said, almost too bluntly. “But you showed up. And you didn’t run.”

His words stung, but not in the way Jungkook expected. There was no malice in them—just truth. Cold, indifferent truth. And yet, there was something behind them that made Jungkook's chest tighten.

“You thought I would run?” he asked.

Taehyung tilted his head, studying him like he was something complex. “Most people would.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” Taehyung said quietly, “you’re not.”

That moment hung between them like a fragile thread. Jungkook wanted to say more. He wanted to break through the walls Taehyung kept so carefully constructed. But before he could speak again, Taehyung stood.

“I’ll have someone bring you breakfast. Rest more if you need it.” And just like that, the cold mask returned, the vulnerable moment gone.

---

The days that followed fell into a strange routine. They didn’t talk much, but Jungkook began noticing little things.

Taehyung never raised his voice. He was never unkind. Distant, yes—but never cruel. He’d begun eating breakfast in the same room, sometimes in silence, sometimes with soft, passing questions about Jungkook’s studies. Jungkook always answered. Taehyung always listened.

One afternoon, Jungkook found himself wandering into the garden. The roses were in full bloom, and the scent of them filled the air. He sat by the stone fountain, the soft breeze tugging at the sleeves of his shirt.

He didn’t expect Taehyung to find him there.

“You like flowers?” Taehyung asked, voice behind him, startling him.

Jungkook turned. Taehyung was dressed in all black again, the gold chain around his neck glinting under the sun.

“They’re quiet,” Jungkook said simply. “They bloom, even when no one’s watching.”

Taehyung stepped closer. “You sound like one.”

Jungkook looked up at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s an observation.”

Jungkook smiled faintly. “Still sounds like a compliment.”

They stood there, silence stretching again—but this time, it felt peaceful. Not tense.

And that night, when Jungkook returned to his room, there was a small white rose on his pillow.

---

The cracks began to form slowly in Taehyung’s walls. Small things.

He began asking about Jungkook’s favorite foods. Then he had them cooked by the estate’s chef.

He began leaving books in Jungkook’s study corner, marked with small tabs where Taehyung thought he’d enjoy a quote.

One night, Jungkook came down with a fever. He tried to hide it—he didn’t want to seem weak. But Taehyung noticed.

And when Jungkook woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and half-delirious, Taehyung was beside him, pressing a cold cloth to his forehead.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asked, lips dry, breath uneven.

“Because you’re mine,” Taehyung said, eyes dark, voice low.

And that was the first time he said something that wasn’t wrapped in duty or distance. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a command.

It was a truth.

---

By the end of the second week, Jungkook realized something terrifying.

He was falling for him.

Not the ruthless businessman. Not the mafia king.

But the quiet man who sat with him during thunderstorms.

The one who noticed the smallest things.

The one who never said the words, but showed them instead.

Jungkook fell slowly.