Taehyung steps into the apartment almost on tiptoe, careful not to make a sound; yet, the moment the door clicks shut behind him, the light at the end of the hallway flicks on.

It’s like going back in time—to when he was a kid, convinced until the last second that his mother wouldn’t catch him, only to find her awake and restless, sitting on the couch with her eyes locked on the ticking hands of the clock. And usually, by that point, he was screwed.

He wonders what’s going to happen now.

“You’re back,” Jungkook says.

His voice is hoarse, like he’d been shouting not too long ago and his throat is still feeling the strain. Taehyung doesn’t need to get closer or catch the scent of alcohol to know Jungkook is drunk—it’s obvious in the way he slurs his words. You’re back. Was he actually waiting for him?

Taehyung stays silent. He bends down to take off his shoes, stepping forward onto the warm floor. He doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected to face Jungkook so soon—not after that insane night they’d had. To Taehyung, it had felt like a fever dream, a blur of adrenaline and key moments, and that damn scent of alpha suffocating him from all sides. But now, back in a familiar space, his mind is sharp again. He’s back to himself.

“Where’s Yuta?” he asks, simply.

Jungkook clicks his tongue against his teeth and pushes himself up from the couch. He’s shirtless, his hair a mess, his expression so furious that for a second, Taehyung barely recognizes him. But he’s not afraid. No, he narrows his eyes because he wants to understand—wants to sink into Jungkook’s twisted mind and decode his actions, just enough to make sense of them, even if only for a moment.

“You almost died,” Jungkook murmurs. “Throwing yourself into the arms of an alpha you barely knew. Almost fucking died. I pulled you out of your own blood and pressed my hands against your wound until the medics arrived—to save your life. Your scent clung to me for days while you were in a coma. I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Every word, each syllable, digs into Taehyung like a blade. He can almost see it—feel the horror, the fear Jungkook must have gone through in those moments. Did he cry? Did he break down? No matter how tough he acts, no one stays composed when death comes knocking. When the reaper’s at the door, all masks fall away.

“And yet, look at you,” Jungkook continues. “Step out of the house once, and you throw yourself into the same fucking situation again.”

Taehyung holds his breath. That’s not fair, he thinks, but he can’t quite put into words why. He just knows Jungkook is using his weaknesses against him, twisting the knife deeper. He won’t let him. He can’t let him.

“Sunwoo isn’t Miguk.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t even know who the fuck Sunwoo is.”

“You’re drunk. I don’t want to talk to you,” Taehyung mutters.

By then, Jungkook is already halfway down the hallway. He raises a brow, the metal of his piercing catching the light as his smirk tilts with mockery.

“I’m not drunk, and I don’t give a damn what you want. You’re not seeing that guy again.”

“Oh, please,” Taehyung snaps, irritation bleeding into his voice. “That’s not your decision to make. I’m grateful you saved my life, I really am. But that doesn’t mean you own it.” Not after the way you threw me away, he adds in his mind.

“Sunwoo’s a good guy. He doesn’t want to use me. He just wants to know me.”

“Bullshit. He’s an alpha,” Jungkook scoffs.

“Not all alphas are the same.”

“Oh, of course not. There are first-class alphas and second-class alphas. But they all have one thing in common—they want to fuck as many omegas as possible until the day they finally decide to mark one and one only.”

Taehyung strides toward his bedroom door. He grips the handle and presses it down, but before stepping inside, he throws a sharp glance over his shoulder at Jungkook.

“That’s how you chose to live your life. That doesn’t mean all alphas are like you.”

Jungkook flinches, caught off guard. How he reacts next, Taehyung doesn’t know—because he shuts the door behind him, leaning against it with a heart pounding so hard it echoes in his ribs.

He just stood up to Jungkook. Fuck. And he doesn’t even know if he won, or lost, or if there was anything to win at all. He only knows it happened. His fingers tremble with the leftover adrenaline, maybe from the effort of keeping it bottled up until now.

He strips off his clothes, letting them fall to the floor. Pulling on an oversized T-shirt, he sits on the bed in silence.

A shower would be nice—scrub off the makeup, rinse away the lingering scent of the club—but he doesn’t want to risk running into Jungkook again. Not tonight.

With a sigh, he reaches for his phone.

After Jimin’s party, he and Sunwoo went for a drink at a nearby place. Sunwoo bought him a non-alcoholic one, and they talked a lot—but only about general things, nothing about the drama that had unfolded earlier that night.

Taehyung noticed that Sunwoo was the considerate type, surprisingly respectful in ways that stood out. It was as if his curiosity always took a backseat to something else—making sure Taehyung was okay. That he was happy, carefree, smiling. It was so sweet it made his stomach flutter.

Lying down, he lifts his phone, staring at the screen. They exchanged numbers, of course. Now he wonders if he should text first or wait for Sunwoo to do it. Will he, though? After witnessing just how messy Taehyung’s life is, he might decide to disappear from the radar completely.

With a sigh, he runs his fingers over the scar on his stomach. Jungkook had brought up the stabbing—so bluntly, so carelessly. And it was only then that Taehyung realized how ashamed he was of it.

Ashamed of Miguk. Of meeting him, trusting him, becoming his prey and then his victim. Ashamed of his own recklessness. He feels stupid for falling for it. He hates these thoughts because they shouldn’t exist—he was the one who suffered something terrible, and Jungkook was just insensitive. To say the least.

Taehyung bites his lip, rolling onto his side. He locks his phone again, wondering what kind of thoughts are running through Jungkook’s mind instead. Is he jealous? Of him getting closer to another alpha?

It wouldn’t make any fucking sense. Taehyung had spent so long kneeling at Jungkook’s feet, only for Jungkook to decide he was done with him. If he had wanted him back, it would’ve taken barely any effort—after all, they lived together. After all, Taehyung is still hopelessly in love with him. And he probably will be for months, before that infatuation curdles into resentment. Or something like it.

Yet…
No. Enough. Thinking about it is pointless.

Taehyung grabs his pillow and hugs it tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Jungkook’s problems are his problems—not Taehyung’s. He needs to focus on the good things. If he wants to see Sunwoo, he will, whether Jungkook likes it or not. The days of hanging onto his every word are officially over.

His phone vibrates just inches from his face. Lazily, he reaches for it. It’s Jimin.

"You okay?"

Taehyung smiles, quickly typing back.

"I’m fine. I kind of had a fight with Jungkook, I think. He wasn’t happy about Sunwoo."

"SUNWOO IS A SWEETHEART. He needs to leave him alone!!! That grumpy ass."

Taehyung laughs at the message, shaking his head.

"Jungkook has no idea what he wants in life."

"No kidding. Is Yuta there?"

"Nowhere to be seen."

"Weird."

"That’s what I thought," Taehyung types, rolling onto his stomach. "Jungkook was pissed and drunk. I bet they fought."

"Probably. They were already about to throw hands at the party."

"Yuta is such a dickhead, anyway."

"Unbearable," Jimin replies. "I don’t even know why Jungkook keeps him around. Actually, I do. He’s an omega, he’s got an ass, he’s cute. That’s enough for him."

"That’s enough for most alphas," Taehyung replies.

"Don’t make excuses for him! Jay’s not like that. At all. And neither is Sunwoo, from what I can tell."

Yeah, Taehyung thinks. And yet, there’s something about Jungkook—something magnetic, something that pulls you toward him, making all his terrible flaws seem… not so bad.

"Can I ask you something?" he types quickly.

Jimin takes a couple of minutes to reply.

"Now you’re worrying me. What is it?"

Taehyung bites his lower lip.

"Jungkook’s scent… his presence. The fact that he’s an alpha. Has it ever affected you?"

Jimin starts typing. Then stops. Then starts again.

Taehyung watches the little dots flicker in and out of existence, his nerves spiking. What the hell does he have to think so hard about?

Then, finally, a long message comes through.

Taehyung’s heart clenches.

Something about this feels off.

"Jungkook is just like that. I don’t think there’s a single omega in the world who wouldn’t feel completely wrecked by his pheromones. He’s different from other alphas, and that’s both beautiful when you’re close to him and awful when you’re not. Everything else feels like it’s never enough after him. It’s like trying heroin and then going back to weed—or at least, that’s how I imagine it feels. I’ve never touched that stuff. It’s just a comparison to say that… whatever Jungkook makes you feel, it ruins everything else. It took me years to recover after we broke up."

After we broke up.

Jimin and Jungkook dated?

What the fuck?

Weren’t they just best friends? They were together? Jungkook wasn’t just sleeping with Jimin—he was actually in a relationship with him?

A wave of nausea rolls through Taehyung. He wishes he didn’t know. He’d be lying if he said he never suspected it, but knowing for sure makes him hate himself for even bringing it up, for leading the conversation straight to this revelation. He doesn’t even know why he feels so sick and restless—he just knows he suddenly wants to cry.

He’s jealous of Jimin.

And at the same time, now he knows that Jungkook isn’t actually against relationships—he just doesn’t want one with him.

There was never anything special between them.

Jungkook consumed him, filled his head with thoughts and fantasies, made him feel like he was something—but to Jungkook, Taehyung was never more than a convenient fuck.

Is that new information? No.

But somehow, this hurts differently.

It cuts deep.

Panic seizes him again. He has to breathe slowly, deeply, just to stop himself from spiraling.

His phone buzzes again.

He ignores it.

He can’t talk to Jimin right now.

He can’t talk to anyone.

He just wants to disappear.

If oblivion could swallow him whole, it would be perfect.