The alarm didn’t wake Jungkook.

He had already been sitting on the edge of his bed long before it rang, elbows on his knees, palms pressed over his face. The apartment was silent.. painfully silent. Silence meant he had time to think, and thinking meant remembering.

He hated remembering.

A small rustling echoed down the hallway.

Tiny feet.

Soft breathing.

A slow, hesitant step.

“Dad..?”

Jungkook lifted his head immediately. His shoulders straightened, his expression smoothing into something calm, practiced.

His daughter stood at the doorway, rubbing one eye, hair a messy halo around her small face. Her yellow pajamas were wrinkled, sleeves too long for her arms, and she clutched a stuffed rabbit so worn its ear hung by a thread.

“Eunha,” Jungkook said softly, his voice gentler than anything he used on himself. “You’re up early.”

She nodded, stepping inside quietly, as if afraid she might disturb something fragile.

She always walked gently in the mornings, like she had learned her father’s sadness and didn’t want to tread on it too loudly.

“Had a bad dream,” she whispered.

Jungkook opened his arms immediately, and she climbed into his lap with practiced ease. Her tiny hands held onto his shirt, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“What was it about?” he asked.

“You were gone,” she murmured. “Everyone was gone. I was alone in the dark.”

Jungkook closed his eyes for a moment, a too-familiar ache twisting inside his chest.

“You’re never alone,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Not while I’m here.”

She pulled back slightly and touched his face with both hands, palms cool on his warm skin.

“You look tired, Dad.”

“I’m fine,” he lied smoothly.

Eunha blinked at him, a long, knowing blink. “You always say that.”

Jungkook managed a ghost of a smile. “Because I’m always fine.”

She didn’t believe him.

But she nodded anyway.

By 7:15 a.m., the apartment was alive with soft domestic sounds. Eunha humming while tying her shoelaces; Jungkook quietly preparing her breakfast; the kettle whistling.

Eunha sat at the table, legs swinging, cheeks puffed as she blew on hot porridge.

“Dad,” she said suddenly, “today I’ll draw you a picture.”

“Oh?” Jungkook asked, spreading jam on toast.

“Yeah. Teacher said we draw someone we love for our Monday project.”

Jungkook’s hand paused– just a fraction.

Someone we love.

The words should’ve been warm.

Instead, they scratched against old wounds.

He forced a smile. “I’d like that.”

She grinned, and the room felt less suffocating for a beat.

Outside, the city was awake but grey, clouds heavy as if mirroring the weight inside Jungkook’s chest. He held Eunha’s hand tightly as they walked to the hospital daycare. She skipped, rabbit plush bobbing in her other hand, unaware of the shadows clinging to her father.

“Dad, pick me up early today?” she asked hopefully.

“I’ll try,” he said.

“You always say that,” she said quietly.

And it hurt.

Because she was right.

He knelt in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I promise I’ll try harder today.”

Her eyes softened. She hugged him around the neck, tight, warm, reassuring despite her tiny size.

“Okay, Dad.”

He watched her go, watched the daycare door swallow the only bright thing in his grey world.

Only when she disappeared did his shoulders sag.

 –––

Walking into the cardiology wing felt like slipping into a second skin. One that fits too well, too tightly. Work was where his emotions were buried under routine. Under discipline. Under exhaustion.

The hospital felt colder today.

Maybe it was the rain against the windows.

Maybe it was the exhaustion settling into Jungkook’s bones.

Or maybe it was just another morning he’d woken up without warmth beside him.

Whatever the reason, Jungkook kept his head down, coat clutched tightly around him as he walked through the hallway. Work was predictable. Safe. Quiet. He needed quiet.

He didn’t get it.

“Dr. Jeon?”

Namjoon’s voice echoed from behind. Calm, careful, the tone he always used around Jungkook these days.

Jungkook turned. “Yes, Director Kim.”

Namjoon stepped closer, lowering his voice so the interns wouldn’t hear.

“There’s a new transfer arriving today. Dr. Kim Taehyung.”

Jungkook blinked. “Today? No prior notice?”

Namjoon hesitated. “We.. wanted to make sure the transition would be smooth.”

Smooth.

Everything in Jungkook’s life was supposed to be smooth after the accident.

Predictable. Controlled.

He exhaled slowly. “Which department?”

“Pediatrics rotation, partly under cardiology.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. Pediatrics always hit a sore spot, but he nodded. “I’ll manage it.”

Namjoon gave him a careful look, the same concerned one Jungkook had grown tired of.

“You don’t have to take everything alone, Jungkook.”

“I am.”

“I know.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Before Jungkook could escape, a ripple moved through the hallway, nurses whispering, interns straightening, someone adjusting their coat too fast.

“He’s here,” Hoseok murmured from beside him.

Jungkook ignored at first but commotion made him follow their gaze.

A tall man walked in through the glass doors, rain clinging to the shoulders of his white coat. His hair was slightly damp, framing his face in soft waves. The kind of beauty that made people pause without meaning to.

Taehyung.

Tall. Composed.

Eyes warm but with a shadow behind them, like he carried his own ghosts.

No overly bright smile.

No loud energy.

Just a quiet, calm presence that somehow made the hallway feel.. softer.

Jungkook hated it instantly, that silence behind the eyes he recognized in himself.

Namjoon gestured. “Dr. Jeon, this is Dr. Kim Taehyung.”

Taehyung extended a hand.

“Dr. Jeon… it’s an honor. I’ve heard you run the tightest unit here.”

Jungkook shook his hand stiffly. “I run it efficiently.”

Taehyung’s lips curved faintly. “Efficiency can be comforting.”

Comfort. Jungkook didn’t know what that felt like anymore.

They walked through the ward together, paperwork in their hands. Taehyung reviewed each file carefully, eyes lingering longer than most doctors would.

“You pause too much,” Jungkook said suddenly as they reached the observation room.

Taehyung looked up. “Is that bad?”

“It wastes time.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than polite.

A moment that felt.. Unsettling.

Like Taehyung saw more than he should.

Taehyung nodded once, accepting it without argument.

But there was something unspoken in his gaze, something like, I pause because I don’t trust myself to rush anymore.

Jungkook didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know.

They worked in silence until a soft knock sounded on the door.

Then Namjoon walked up, clipboard in hand.

“Jungkook, Taehyung will be joining your rotations starting today. You two will be handling the pediatric-cardiology overlaps together.”

Jungkook stiffened slightly. “Both of us?”

“Yes,” Namjoon confirmed. “He’s excellent with children.”

Jungkook didn’t reply, but something tightened in his chest. Children meant Eunha. The possibility of someone new entering that part of his life felt dangerous.

Taehyung noticed the shift. Jungkook saw it in the brief flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I’ll do my best not to get in your way,” Taehyung said softly.

Jungkook didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Something about Taehyung’s tone, calm, steady, warm in all the places Jungkook was cold, made something inside him flinch.

Because warmth meant risk.

Warmth meant opening doors he’d sealed shut long ago.

But fate didn’t care.

Because at 11 a.m., while Jungkook and Taehyung stood beside the pediatric ward reviewing charts, a small voice pierced the silence:

“DAD!”

Jungkook froze.

Taehyung looked up.

And Eunha, holding her half-broken rabbit, ran straight into Jungkook’s legs, her small hands clutching him tightly as if afraid he might vanish.

Taehyung’s eyes softened instantly. Shock. Admiration. Something else.

But Jungkook..

He wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Not because he was ashamed.

But because Taehyung saw it.

Saw the single father version of him, fragile, exhausted, human.

And Jungkook had never let anyone see that in years..

For a moment, no one moved.

Eunha’s tiny fingers clutched Jungkook’s coat, her face buried in his stomach as if hiding from the world. Her small body trembled, so faintly no one but Jungkook would have noticed.

Taehyung did.

Jungkook slowly lowered himself, crouching to her level, hands steadying her shoulders.

“Eunha,” he said softly, the kind of softness no one at the hospital had ever heard from him. “What are you doing here? It’s not daycare time yet.”

Her lip wobbled. “They called. They said you need to pick me early.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped. “Why? Did something happen?”

She shook her head, pressing her rabbit tighter. “No.. but I felt lonely. They said I was quiet today and.. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened painfully.

Behind him, Taehyung stood completely still, no judgment, no pity. Just quiet observation, eyes softening in a way Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Eunha whispered, shoulders curling inward. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Jungkook cupped her cheek immediately. “You’re never a bother. Never.”

Something in Taehyung’s expression flickered, like the words hit him too.

He cleared his throat quietly. “If you need to step out, I can handle the charts for now.”

Jungkook stiffened. He hated people seeing his life bleed into work.

“I can manage,” he said curtly, lifting Eunha in his arms. She wrapped herself around him like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.

“But she needs you,” Taehyung said gently.

Not pushy. Not intrusive. Js'.. stating a truth Jungkook couldn’t deny.

Jungkook turned slightly, trying to shield Eunha from the stares in the hallway, his voice low. “I’ll take her to the break room. It’ll only be a moment.”

“I’ll come with you,” Taehyung murmured.

The words made Jungkook tense.

“You don’t need to–”

“I know.”

Taehyung’s eyes met his.

“But I want to.”

Something fragile and dangerous fluttered in Jungkook’s chest.

He nodded once.

Barely.

The break room was quiet. Too quiet.

Eunha sat on the couch, rabbit hugged to her chest, small legs dangling. Jungkook knelt in front of her, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ears.

“Sweetheart.. why didn’t you stay at daycare?”

She shrugged. “I felt.. empty.”

The word hit Jungkook like a punch.

Empty.

A feeling a seven-year-old should never know.

He breathed in slowly, steadying his voice. “Do you feel sick? Did someone say something?”

Eunha shook her head. “I just.. I missed you. And it felt scary.”

Jungkook lowered his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say sorry,” she whispered. “But I don’t want sorry. I want you.”

The ache in his chest grew sharp, slicing.

A chair scraped quietly. Jungkook hadn’t realized Taehyung had sat across from them, hands folded, gaze gentle and unbearably understanding.

“Hi, Eunha,” Taehyung said softly.

She peeked over Jungkook’s shoulder, shy but curious.

“Hello..” she whispered.

“I’m Dr. Kim. I work with your dad.”

He gave her a small smile, soft, not overwhelming.

Eunha blinked. “Are you nice?”

Taehyung pretended to think. “I try to be.”

She studied him a second longer.. then nodded as if deciding he passed some invisible test.

Jungkook looked between them, something tight curling inside him. Taehyung wasn’t just good with kids, he was natural, like warmth that didn’t demand anything in return.

And Jungkook wasn’t sure what scared him more, how easily Taehyung fit into this moment…

or how badly a part of Jungkook wanted him to.

“I’ll take her home.”

Jungkook finally stood, holding Eunha’s hand.

“You don’t have to,” Taehyung said quietly. “I can cover your rounds for the afternoon.”

Jungkook turned sharply. “No. I don’t need–”

“Help?” Taehyung finished gently.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, Jungkook.”

The words landed like a weight.

No sympathy. No pity. Just truth.

Jungkook swallowed.

Eunha tugged his sleeve. “Dada.. are you sad?”

“No,” he said quickly, too quickly. “I’m just thinking.”

She frowned. “You do that a lot.”

Taehyung’s gaze flickered, soft, knowing, aching in a way Jungkook didn’t understand.

Namjoon appeared at the doorway, concern etched on his face. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said.

“No,” Eunha said at the exact same time.

Silence.

Then, softly, Taehyung laughed under his breath.

Jungkook shot him a glare.

Taehyung raised a hand in surrender but his eyes were smiling.

It was the first hint of light Jungkook had seen all day. And that scared him more than anything.

Outside the break room, as Jungkook carried Eunha toward the exit, Taehyung stopped him with a quiet voice:

“Jungkook.”

He paused.

Taehyung looked at him, really looked, like he saw every cracked piece Jungkook had worked so hard to hide.

“You’re a good father,” he said softly. “Even if you don’t feel like it.”

Jungkook froze.

Those words–

simple, direct, undeserved..

made something inside him tremble.

He didn’t reply.

He couldn’t.

He just nodded stiffly and walked away.

But Taehyung’s words followed him down the hall like a whisper he couldn’t shake.

A whisper he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The apartment was too quiet when Jungkook stepped inside.

Eunha’s hand was still in his, small and warm, but her grip had loosened. Her head tilted against his arm, exhaustion beginning to win over her anxious panic.

“Dad.. can I watch cartoons?” she asked softly.

“Not right now,” Jungkook murmured, brushing her hair back. “Let’s get you changed first.”

She nodded without arguing, a sign more worrying than anything.

He helped her out of her shoes, lifted her onto her little bed, and tucked her in with the same rabbit she’d brought to the hospital. She yawned once, then crawled under the blanket on her own, something she didn’t usually do.

“Stay?” she whispered, eyes glassy with sleep.

Jungkook sat on the edge of her bed and smoothed her hair until her breathing evened out. She clung to two of his fingers until the very last moment before drifting off.

Only then did he let out a breath that shook.

A long, heavy one.

He stayed there for minutes, maybe more, staring at her tiny face, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the fragile trust she put in him without question.

And he hated himself for the fear that still gnawed at him.

Fear that he was failing her. Fear that he was not enough. Fear that one day, she’d look at him and see the hollowness he tried so damn hard to hide.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood slowly.

The moment he closed her door behind him, the apartment felt like it cracked open, the silence flooding out, swallowing him whole.

His hands trembled.

He curled them into fists until they stilled.

The kitchen light flickered when he turned it on. The hum of the refrigerator was too loud. The clock on the wall clicked like it was judging him.

A message buzzed on his phone.

From Namjoon.

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook stared at the screen and typed back:

“Fine.”

He deleted it.

Typed again.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Tell Taehyung thanks for helping.”

He deleted that too.

And finally sent nothing.

He didn’t know why the thought of sending Taehyung a simple thank-you made something tighten in his chest.

Or maybe he did.

And he didn’t want to deal with that tonight.

He poured himself a glass of water, but his hand shook halfway to his lips and the glass clinked against his teeth.

“Shit..” he whispered, setting it down with a shaky exhale.

He braced both palms on the counter, leaning forward as if the weight in his chest might crush him otherwise.

He heard Eunha’s voice in his head, small, scared:

I missed you. And it felt scary.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He remembered being seven. He remembered feeling that same emptiness. He remembered crying into his pillow in a house full of people who never heard a thing.

He never wanted that for her. Never wanted her to know that kind of loneliness.

And yet.. today, she did.

His phone buzzed again.

Not Namjoon.

Taehyung.

Jungkook’s stomach flipped.

He hesitated before picking it up.

Taehyung: Did she get home alright?

Jungkook’s thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He typed:

“Yes.”

Then he paused.

Typed again.

“Thanks.”

Deleted it.

Typed:

“You didn’t have to ask.”

Deleted that too.

Finally, he replied with the bare minimum:

“She’s fine.”

He set the phone down as if it burned.

But it buzzed almost instantly.

Taehyung: And you?

Jungkook froze.

Everything in him tensed.

He wasn’t used to people asking about him. Not like that. Not with sincerity that wasn’t sharp or pitying, but gentle, almost dangerous.

His chest tightened painfully.

He typed, hands unsteady:

“I don’t know.”

He stared at those words.

Raw. Too honest. Too exposed.

He erased every letter.

And replaced it with:

“I’m fine.”

He sent it before he could second-guess himself.

Taehyung didn’t reply.

The quiet should have soothed him.

Instead it pressed down like a weight.

He let out a frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair.

Why did Taehyung’s simple concern felt.. invasive?

No, not invasive.

Too close.

Too good.

Too dangerous.

Jungkook pressed his palms to his eyes, as if willing his thoughts to shut up, but then..

A small, frightened sound came from down the hallway.

Jungkook’s heart dropped.

He was at Eunha’s door in seconds.

He pushed it open, and found her sitting upright, tears streaking down her cheeks, rabbit clutched painfully tight.

“Eunha?” he breathed, rushing to her side. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I-I dreamt you left,” she hiccuped, arms reaching for him. “You didn’t come back.”

Jungkook felt something inside him shatter.

He gathered her into his arms immediately, holding her against his chest.

“I’m here,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you’re always tired,” she sobbed. “And sad.”

His breath caught painfully.

She felt that? She saw that?

He held her tighter, eyes burning.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” she cried, shaking her head. “I don’t want sorry.. I just want you.”

The words repeated like an echo of earlier.

And they hit harder this time.

Jungkook pressed a kiss to her forehead again and again until her breathing steadied. He sat with her until she fell asleep on his chest, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline.

His phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

A new message.

Taehyung again.

Taehyung: If you ever need someone to talk to.. I won’t judge.

Jungkook stared at it.

The words were simple. But they hit exactly where he was breaking.

He swallowed hard.

Locked the phone.

And whispered into the darkness, almost ashamed of the truth forming in his chest:

“I don’t know how to need someone.”

But tonight..

for the first time in years..

He wished he did.