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🔞 WARNING ⚠️

Everything in this story is purely fictional and created from the writer’s imagination. It has no connection to the real lives of the characters.

This story contains themes such as:

• Arrest and crime • Male × Male relationship • Violence / beating • Mpreg • Smoking, drugs, smuggling, etc. • Kissing and some mature scenes

Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

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Yoonseok's Bedroom

The dimly lit bedroom felt cold, the shadows stretching across the modern furniture like silent observers of the tension thick in the air. The large windows looked out into a dark, unforgiving forest, mirroring the storm brewing inside the room.

(a/n: This is how yoongi looks like)

Yoongi’s voice tore through the silence, a raw, jagged scream that vibrated against the walls.

Hoseok entered the room, his footsteps heavy and hesitant. He walked slowly, his eyes downcast, each step appearing to take a monumental effort.

(a/n: This is how Hoseok looks like)

Hoseok stopped a few feet away, looking small in the expansive, dark room.

Yoongi demanded, his eyes scanning the surfaces of the room with frantic energy.

Hoseok blinked, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his pale face.

The response seemed to snap the last thread of Yoongi's patience. He let out an angry, guttural scream that made Hoseok flinch.

Hoseok’s breath hitched, and a shimmer of tears began to glaze his eyes. The hurt was a physical weight in his chest.

Yoongi bellowed, cutting him off before he could find the words to defend himself. He turned away, his jaw tight.

Hoseok whispered, his voice cracking. He turned to leave, his shoulders hunched as he tried to swallow the sob rising in his throat.

As Hoseok reached the door, Yoongi’s voice followed him, sharp and loud enough to ensure it hit its mark.

The word lingered in the air long after the door clicked shut, leaving the room feeling colder than ever before.

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Yoonseok's Kitchen

The kitchen was a masterpiece of cold marble and polished black surfaces, a sterile environment that felt more like a showroom than a home. The sharp, bright lights overhead reflected off the counters, making the room feel even more exposed.

Hoseok moved through the space with a forced rhythm, his hands trembling as he prepared Yoongi's meal. A sudden, sharp pang shot through his midsection, and his hand instinctively flew to his large, round stomach. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he rubbed the firm curve of his belly, trying to soothe the internal pressure.

He couldn't stop. Not now. He bit his lip, forcing the pain into the back of his mind as he began to set the plates on the heavy dining table.

He pressed a hand against his side, leaning momentarily against the cool marble of the island. He leaned down, whispering softly to the life stirring within him,

Yoongi’s roar echoed from the other room, vibrating through the floorboards.

Hoseok shouted back, the effort of raising his voice making his head swim.

He moved quickly—too quickly. As he rushed to serve the food, a jagged flare of pain caused his knees to buckle. He stumbled, his balance compromised by his heavy frame. The plate tilted, and a small portion of the meal splashed onto the pristine table.

Before he could even gasp an apology, Yoongi was there. In a blur of motion, Yoongi stood up and his hand connected with Hoseok’s cheek in a sharp, stinging slap.

Hoseok didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. His face remained a mask of hollow numbness, but the physical agony in his body was too much to contain. Silent, heavy tears began to track down his face—not because of the blow, but because of the relentless, cramping pain deep in his stomach.

Yoongi didn't stay to watch him cry. He simply turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving the food untouched and the air heavy with resentment.

Left alone in the silence of the kitchen, Hoseok sank slowly onto a chair, his body trembling with exhaustion. He began to wipe the spilled food from the table with a shaking hand, his quiet sobs the only sound in the room. Just then, a powerful, rhythmic kick landed against his ribs, making him gasp.

He cradled his large, balloon-like stomach with both arms, his tears falling onto the marble.

He whispered into the empty room, his voice breaking as he felt another shift inside him.

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Yoonseok's Bedroom

The shadows of the night seemed to press into the room, suffocating and heavy. Hoseok’s breath came in ragged, terrified gasps as he backed away, his hands instinctively shielding the prominent swell of his stomach.

Yoongi’s expression didn't flicker. With a cold, calculated movement, he reached out and grabbed Hoseok’s arm, his grip like iron. He shoved the younger man back onto the mattress, the force stealing Hoseok’s breath.

The night became a blur of agony and betrayal. Hoseok’s pleas and cries of "no" were ignored, drowned out by the cold cruelty of a man he once looked to for protection. As the hours passed, the physical and emotional torture left Hoseok hollow, his spirit fracturing in the darkness. In that moment, he truly hated the life he was forced to lead.

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The morning light was unforgiving, spilling across the bed where the two sat, back-to-back, in a silence so thick it felt physical. Every muscle in Hoseok’s body screamed in protest. His legs felt like lead, and a dull, throbbing ache radiated from his hips. Still, he forced himself to rise, dragging his exhausted body through the motions of his morning routine.

He stood near the edge of the bed, his voice trembling as he spoke to the man who refused to look at him.

Yoongi finally turned, his eyes raking over Hoseok’s fragile frame with a look of pure disdain.

Hoseok swallowed hard, his fingers twisting in the fabric of his oversized shirt.

Hoseok bowed his head and quietly retreated, the door clicking softly behind him. Left alone, Yoongi’s cold mask finally shattered. He reached into his nightstand drawer, pulling out an old, worn stack of family photos. As he looked at the faces in the pictures, his eyes filled with hot, bitter tears.

He stared at the images, the anger burning in his chest like a fever.

With a final, sharp movement, he shoved the photos back into the drawer and began to dress for work.

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After the sound of Yoongi's car faded into the distance, Hoseok crept back into the bedroom, sinking onto the edge of the bed. He let out a long, shaky breath and placed a hand over his stomach, feeling the heavy life within.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot across his lower back, making him cry out.

Panic began to flare in his chest. His mind raced through a thousand terrifying possibilities.

Another wave of pain rolled over him, and he let out a choked cry, but as quickly as it had come, the contraction ebbed away. Hoseok let out a long, trembling sigh, looking down at the curve of his belly with tear-filled eyes.

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Yoonseok's House Hall

The grand hall was bathed in the warm, artificial glow of the chandeliers, yet the atmosphere remained as frigid as ice. Yoongi sat on the plush sofa, having already traded his work suit for more comfortable clothes. A thin trail of smoke drifted from his cigarette, curling toward the high ceilings as he stared blankly into the distance, seemingly indifferent to the world around him.

Hoseok stood a few feet away, his hands resting protectively over the heavy weight of his stomach. He hesitated, his heart hammering against his ribs before he finally found his voice.

Yoongi snapped, the word cutting through the smoke. He didn't even turn his head.

Yoongi finally shifted, his gaze sliding over to Hoseok with a rude, piercing sharpness.

Yoongi didn't offer a word of comfort. Instead, he maintained his cold silence as he reached for his phone. He dialed the number with clinical efficiency, pressing the device to his ear.

He lowered the phone and looked up at Hoseok, his expression unreadable.

A wave of relief washed over Hoseok, so intense it made his knees feel weak. A small, genuine smile flickered on his lips. To him, the fact that Yoongi had even made the call felt like a victory—a sign that perhaps, deep down, he cared about the life they had created.

The brief moment of connection shattered instantly. Yoongi took a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes turning back to stone.

He said, his voice dropping back into that familiar, icy chill. He turned away, leaving Hoseok standing alone in the center of the beautiful, lonely room.

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Few days later

The days bled into one another, a repetitive cycle of cold shoulders and sharp tongues. To any outsider, the mansion was a sanctuary of luxury, but to Hoseok, it was a gilded cage where the gold had begun to rust.

Yoongi had returned to his true self—the man who viewed Hoseok not as a partner, but as a possession to be used and discarded.

In the dead of night, the silence of the bedroom was often broken by the sound of muffled, broken sobs. Hoseok would wake up, the weight of his ninth month and the crushing loneliness of his reality becoming too much to bear. He would sit up, cradling his stomach, his tears soaking into the expensive silk sheets.

Yoongi would growl from the other side of the bed, his voice thick with sleep and irritation.

Hoseok would quickly press a hand over his mouth, stifling his cries until his chest ached, but deep down, a new resolve was hardening. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't let his child grow up in this house of shadows. He had to leave. He had to take his baby and go somewhere far away, where the air didn't feel like poison.

But the path to freedom was a jagged one.

He had no family to run to. The bitter irony burned in his throat—Yoongi had been the one to snatch his parents away, their lives ended by the very hands that now held his. Yoongi had lured him into this nightmare with a web of beautiful lies, whispering "I love you" until Hoseok was blinded by the light of a false promise.

By the time Hoseok had arrived at this estate, he had been in a grief-stricken daze, his mind too clouded to mark the path or memorize the turns. Now, as he looked out the reinforced glass windows at the dense, towering trees surrounding the property, the world outside looked like an impenetrable jungle.

He was trapped in a labyrinth of green and shadow, with no map, no family, and a husband who was his greatest enemy. But as the baby kicked against his ribs, a reminder of the life he had to protect, Hoseok knew he would find a way out—even if he had to carve it through the darkness himself.

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Yoonseok's Bedroom

The air in the bedroom felt unusually still that evening. Yoongi stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the fading light, before he finally spoke. His voice was devoid of its usual bite, replaced by a strange, flat tone.

Hoseok, resting against the headboard to ease the pressure on his spine, nodded slowly.

Hoseok froze. A sudden heat rushed to his cheeks, a deep, stunned blush spreading across his skin. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear this time, but from pure, unadulterated shock. In all the years of their twisted life together, through all the cold nights and cruel words, Yoongi had never once offered his time. He had never prioritized Hoseok over his work or his vengeance.

Yoongi finally turned, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of Hoseok’s expression.

Hoseok quickly raised his hands, shielding his burning face from that piercing gaze.

Yoongi let out a low, noncommittal hum and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the door clicked shut.

Left alone in the quiet, a small, fragile smile bloomed on Hoseok's lips. He looked down at the massive curve of his stomach, his eyes shimmering with a hope he knew was dangerous. He began to stroke the taut skin with trembling fingers.

But the moment of peace was short-lived. A sudden, violent cramp seized his lower abdomen, far more intense than any he had felt before. Hoseok’s breath left him in a sharp hiss as he doubled over, his fingers digging into the mattress.

He gasped, his voice straining under the weight of the agony. It felt as if his body were being pulled apart from the inside.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as another wave rolled over him.

He whimpered, the pain vibrating through his entire frame.

Deep inside the darkness of the room, the silence was broken only by his ragged breaths and the terrifying realization that the "tomorrow" Yoongi spoke of might be starting right now.

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Two Days Later

The past forty-eight hours had been a grueling marathon of false starts and shattered hopes. Twice, the contractions had mounted into a rhythmic, soul-crushing intensity that made Hoseok certain the end was near, only for the pain to recede into a dull, mocking ache. The baby remained stubbornly tucked away, leaving Hoseok’s body battered and his spirit exhausted.

True to his word, Yoongi had stayed. But his presence was far from a comfort.

He paced the bedroom like a caged predator, the air thick with his growing resentment. Yoongi loathed the hospital—he hated the sterile smells, the prying eyes of the staff, and the inconvenience of the back-and-forth travel. To him, these two days were a waste of his precious time, a flaw in the plan he couldn't control.

Yoongi snapped, his voice sharp with irritation as he glared at the younger man.

Hoseok lay back against the pillows, his face pale and slick with a thin layer of perspiration. Every time the labor stalled, Yoongi’s scolding grew louder, his words filled with a bitter impatience that would have broken Hoseok months ago.

Surprisingly, the harsh words didn't cut as deep as they once had. Hoseok didn't take the anger to heart; he was too consumed by the heavy, rhythmic pulse of the life within him to care about Yoongi’s bruised ego. He simply watched the man pace, a strange, distant calm settling over him.

He knew Yoongi was angry because he couldn't dominate this process. Nature didn't follow Yoongi's orders, and the baby didn't care about his schedule.

As another mild cramp tightened across his stomach, Hoseok just closed his eyes and breathed through it. He didn't argue. He didn't cry. He simply waited, knowing that despite the scolding and the coldness, the final moment was drawing closer with every tick of the clock. Yoongi could rage all he wanted, but the life inside Hoseok was the only thing that truly mattered now.

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Yoonseok's House Outside

The grand, multi-tiered estate, usually a beacon of modern luxury, felt suffocating tonight. The elegant glass and stone structure loomed over the expansive backyard, where the fire pit was the only source of warmth against the creeping twilight. Yoongi was alone on the plush patio sofa, the bottles of wine scattered around him a testament to his escalating fury.

His frustration was a physical thing. Two days wasted. Two trips to the hospital, and yet no baby. He was losing his mind, trapped here, unable to go to work, his meticulous schedule in tatters. The alcohol was flowing like water, a desperate attempt to drown the irritation, but it was only making him meaner, more volatile.

He was deep into the bottle when Hoseok appeared from the glass doors. Hoseok looked exhausted, his ninth-month weight making his slow steps across the tiles painful. He was coming to check on Yoongi, but when he saw the younger man’s slurred condition, he couldn't just walk away.

A cruel laugh escaped Yoongi’s lips, punctuated by a messy hiccup.

A sudden flare of anger pierced through Hoseok’s exhaustion.

Hoseok’s breath hitched. That day. The accusation he had heard a thousand times.

Before the words could leave his mouth, Hoseok doubled over, his body contorting as a visceral, bone-deep pain ripped through his midsection. He clutched his giant belly, letting out a raw, guttural scream that echoed off the glass walls.

Hoseok squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.

A tear escaped Hoseok’s squeezed-shut eyelid, tracking down his nose.

Yoongi didn't budge. He took another long swig of wine, his gaze hardening.

Rage. Pure, untainted, primal rage exploded in Hoseok’s chest, overriding the physical pain. He couldn't take it anymore. The verbal abuse, the blame, the constant reminder of a past that wasn't his fault.

Hoseok screamed, the raw power of his voice startling Yoongi out of his drunken stupor.

Yoongi stared at him, slightly shocked. Hoseok had never yelled. He had never fought back. This new side of him, combined with the alcohol, only pissed Yoongi off more.

Hoseok’s anger quickly dissolved into desperation. He reached out, grabbing Yoongi’s sleeve with a white-knuckled grip.

Hoseok let go of Yoongi's hand, looking around the expansive yard in despair. There was only one car, and that meant it was Yoongi’s. The keys, of course, were with Yoongi, and somehow, he knew Yoongi wouldn't give them up. The pain hit him again, a wave so powerful it made his knees buckle.

His foot slipped on a damp tile, and in the next second, gravity took over. He went down hard, his massive belly slamming violently into the edge of the low glass table. As he fell to the ground, the force of the impact jarred the table, and the half-empty wine bottle that had been sitting there fell, shattering directly on Hoseok’s forehead. Blood instantly began to ooze from the cut, mixing with the tears.

As he lay there, stunned and broken, he felt a warm rush from below. He knew his water had broken. But there was nothing he could do. He lay on the cold ground like a lifeless body, the backyard lights blurry through the blood and tears.

Somewhere in the foggy distance, he heard his name.

It was Yoongi's voice, but it didn't sound angry anymore. It sounded sad. Broken. Filled with guilty sobs. He saw Yoongi above him, his face a mask of regret. Hoseok summoned his last ounce of strength, giving Yoongi a single, piercing look—a look that screamed, "I hate you, and I will never forgive you for this."

Before Hoseok’s eyes closed, and darkness finally claimed him, he saw Yoongi crying, the tears streaming down his own face, but Yoongi himself didn't seem to realize he was weeping.

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(A/N: If you want to read this like Wattpad style, i published in Wattpad too. This is available in YouTube too.)

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To Be Continue 🫀

Words 4400

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Hospital

The hospital lobby was vast and sterile, the air smelling of antiseptic and silence—until Yoongi shattered it. He burst through the double doors, his breath hitching as he carried Hoseok’s limp, bloodied body in his arms.

He screamed, the raw power of his voice making the very walls vibrate.

Medical staff scrambled, the rhythmic clicking of a stretcher echoing against the polished floors as they rushed toward him. Yoongi lowered Hoseok onto the thin mattress with trembling hands. Before he could follow, a nurse stepped in his path, blocking his way to the emergency wing.

Yoongi watched as the swinging doors swallowed them whole. He stood frozen for a moment before his legs gave out, and he sank onto a nearby sofa. His hand instinctively went to his face, touching the wetness on his cheeks. He pulled his hand away, staring at his damp fingers in total shock.

He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as the reality began to sink in.

Even for a man like Yoongi—a mafia leader with a heart of stone—the silence of the hospital was too much. He sat there, caught between the ghost of his murdered parents and the dying image of Hoseok’s broken body. He had called his family doctor on the way, the only person he trusted in this sterile hellscape.

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Five hours crawled by. The world around him was a blur of movement—nurses changing shifts, families whispering in corners—but Yoongi remained a statue on that sofa. He was trapped in a void of his own making.

Finally, forty-five minutes into the sixth hour, a hand settled heavily on his shoulder.

Yoongi looked up, his eyes bloodshot and hollow.

Yoongi breathed, the word barely audible. The world felt like it was tilting on its axis.

Yoongi managed to grunt, forcing his emotions back into a dark corner of his mind as he stood up.

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Yoongi followed the doctor like a ghost, his pen scratching across the legal documents with a numb mechanicalness. Every fiber of his being wanted to scream, to wail until his lungs gave out, but he held it in. He was led to the room where the small, lifeless forms lay. He stared at them, the physical proof of everything he had lost before he even had the chance to hold it.

He knew the doctor had visited Hoseok first. In the room down the hall, Hoseok was crying a river of grief, his soul bared to the world. The doctor had warned him not to stress, to stay calm for his own recovery, but how could a person be calm when their world had ended?

Yoongi stood outside Hoseok’s door, his hand hovering over the handle, but he didn't turn it. He knew the look in Hoseok’s eyes before he fainted. He knew that if he walked in now, he would only see hatred and a fire that would never be extinguished.

He leaned his head against the cold wall of the corridor.

He shook his head rapidly, trying to dislodge the guilt that was suffocating him.

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Patient room

The hospital room was bathed in a soft, artificial glow, but the atmosphere inside was heavy with a silence that felt like lead. Hoseok sat perched on the edge of the pristine white bed, his gaze fixed on the window. Outside, the world continued to turn, indifferent to the wreckage of his life.

His hand, trembling and pale, rested flat against his now-empty stomach. The ghost of a weight—the memory of three lives moving within him—sent a fresh wave of agony through his chest. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to ask Yoongi a thousand questions.

But the questions died in his throat. Even if he asked, even if he begged, it wouldn't bring his babies back. They were gone, and a part of him had died with them.

He was so deep in the hollow ache of his thoughts that the sudden, violent crash of the door hitting the wall made him jump. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. The heavy, demanding aura of the room changed instantly. Hoseok remained still, watching quietly as Yoongi stormed toward him.

Yoongi’s face was an unreadable mask of granite. Whatever tears he had shed in the hallway were gone, buried under layers of cold, calculated indifference. He had turned his heart back to stone, sealing away the guilt with a vengeance that was even sharper than before.

Without a word of greeting or a single look of sympathy, Yoongi reached down. His movements were rough and hurried as he grabbed Hoseok’s hand. With a brutal tug, he ripped the glucose IV needle out of Hoseok’s vein.

Hoseok winced, a sharp, stinging pain radiating up his arm, but he didn't make a sound. He refused to give Yoongi the satisfaction of seeing him hurt again.

Yoongi didn't stop. He leaned over and violently whipped the bedsheets back, exposing Hoseok’s frail, bandaged form. Despite knowing that Hoseok had barely recovered, that his body was still healing from the trauma of the birth and the accident, Yoongi reached out and grabbed him by the arm with a bruising grip.

He began to haul Hoseok off the bed, dragging him toward the door. He didn't care that Hoseok’s legs were shaking, or that every step felt like treading on broken glass. To Yoongi, the grief was over; the punishment was just beginning.

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Hospital Bathroom

The hospital bathroom was a stark, clinical white, the fluorescent lights overhead humming with a maddening buzz. The smell of bleach and sickness hung heavy in the air as Hoseok doubled over one of the sinks.

The sound of his retching echoed off the polished tiles, a raw and painful noise that seemed to tear at his already weakened body. He gripped the edge of the porcelain so hard his knuckles turned white, his frame shaking with every heave.

Yoongi stood just a few feet behind him, his shadow long and imposing against the wall. For a fleeting second, his hand twitched—an instinctive urge to reach out and hold Hoseok’s head, to offer even the smallest shred of support. But he froze. The stone he had placed around his heart wouldn't allow it. He pulled his hand back, clenching it into a fist at his side.

He had dragged Hoseok too fast through the corridors, his impatience overriding the fact that Hoseok had barely begun to heal. The sudden movement, combined with the lingering trauma, had sent Hoseok’s stomach into a tailspin. He had only just managed to pat Yoongi’s shoulder before stumbling toward the nearest restroom, with Yoongi following in a tense, silent stride.

Yoongi watched him, his face an unreadable mask of cold indifference, until the vomiting finally stopped. He waited in the stifling silence as Hoseok shakily splashed water onto his face and rinsed his mouth, the younger man's movements slow and fragile.

Hoseok didn't answer. He slowly straightened up, water dripping from his chin, and simply turned to stare at Yoongi. His eyes were hollow, filled with a silence so deep it was louder than any scream. He looked at the man he had once trusted—the man who was now his tormentor—with a gaze that held no hope left.

He didn't wait for a response. Once again, Yoongi reached out and gripped Hoseok’s arm, his fingers digging into the skin. He began to drag him out of the bathroom and back into the hallway, his pace showing no mercy.

He knew Hoseok was miles away from recovery. He knew the physical and emotional toll was staggering. But the taste of revenge was more important than the weight of his guilt. He chose to mistreat the broken man at his side, pushing his vengeance to the forefront, determined to make Hoseok pay for a past that had already cost them everything.

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Few days later

The silence that filled the mansion was no longer empty; it was heavy, suffocating, and charged with a resentment that felt like a living thing.

A few days had passed since the burial, and the house had become a tomb of its own. Before the tragedy, Hoseok’s voice would ring through the halls, calling out "Hyung" with a warmth that even Yoongi’s coldness couldn’t fully dampen. Now, that voice was gone. If Hoseok spoke at all, it was a hollow, clipped "Mm" that barely acknowledged Yoongi’s existence.

Hoseok’s heart was a blackened landscape of grief and fury. He had watched Yoongi during the funeral—watched him stand there like a statue carved from ice, his eyes dry and his posture rigid. To Hoseok, it was the ultimate betrayal. He told himself he shouldn’t have expected anything less from a monster, but seeing that lack of emotion while their three children were lowered into the earth had broken the last string of connection he felt toward the man.

But behind the granite mask, Yoongi was screaming.

Every nerve in his body ached with the primal urge to wail, to fall to his knees and beg the universe to breathe life back into the tiny, still bodies of his children. He wanted to wrap his arms around them, to feel the warmth that would never come. But he couldn't. He had built a fortress of revenge and pride, and he was now a prisoner within its walls. He felt the weight of the eyes on him at the service—the muffled whispers, the judgment from the few who knew them. They thought he was a devil with a heart of stone. He let them think it. It was easier than admitting he was shattering from the inside out.

Unable to face the suffocating atmosphere of the house, Yoongi had retreated to his private bar. He drowned himself in expensive scotch until the world blurred, eventually collapsing into a dark, dreamless sleep on the leather sofa.

When he finally returned home two days later, disheveled and smelling of stale alcohol, he braced himself for a confrontation. But Hoseok didn't even look up. There were no questions, no demands, no tears. To Hoseok, Yoongi’s presence or absence was now equally meaningless.

As the days crawled by, Yoongi noticed a change in Hoseok’s behavior. The younger man was constantly clutching a small card, his eyes fixed on it for hours at a time. He would sit by the window or on the edge of the bed, tracing the edges of the card with a haunted, obsessive focus.

Yoongi watched him from the doorway, his chest tightening with a strange mix of guilt and annoyance.

He decided not to interfere. He let Hoseok cling to his grief, unaware that the card held a truth far different from the memories of the dead. He didn't take it seriously, assuming it was just another part of the slow, agonizing funeral they were both still living through.

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Sope's Bedroom

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the master bedroom. Hoseok sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room pressing against his eardrums. His fingers brushed against the small card he had been hiding for days, and as he stared at the sharp print, the world around him faded into the past.

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**Flashback**

The sterile white of the hospital room felt like a shroud. Hoseok was alone, his body aching and his soul shattered. Before the doctors had officially delivered the news, he had heard their hushed voices while he drifted in the hazy borders of unconsciousness. 'Triplets. All three. Gone.'

Even in that semi-conscious state, his mind had conjured one name: Yoongi. It was because of him. Because of his rage, his drinking, and his thirst for a revenge that had finally claimed the innocent.

As Hoseok lay there, his tears soaking the hospital pillow, the door creaked open. An older man, his face etched with lines of experience and wearing an expression that mirrored Hoseok’s own father, stepped inside.

Hoseok looked at him, a spark of annoyance lighting up his dull eyes. He didn't know this stranger, and he didn't want anyone dissecting the wreckage of his marriage.

He reached into his coat and held out a small, elegant business card.

He turned to the door, but stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

With those final, chilling words, the man vanished. Hoseok had quietly tucked the card into his pocket just moments before Yoongi had stormed into the room to take him home.

**End Flashback**

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Hoseok was so lost in the memory that he didn't hear the door open. He didn't hear the heavy footsteps on the carpet.

Yoongi’s deep voice sliced through the silence like a blade. Hoseok shivered violently, his heart leaping into his throat.

He instinctively shoved the card behind his back, his eyes wide and panicked. Yoongi noticed the movement, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't ask.

Yoongi watched him for a long beat, noting the sheer nervousness radiating off the younger man, before turning toward the bathroom. The moment the door clicked shut, Hoseok exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He scrambled to find a new hiding spot, tucking the card deep into a crevice where he thought it would be safe.

Thinking he was in the clear, Hoseok headed downstairs to the kitchen. But Yoongi was a man built on suspicion. As soon as he was sure Hoseok was gone, he emerged from the bathroom. He began to tear the room apart.

He tossed pillows, ripped open drawers, and moved furniture with a frantic, cold energy. By the time he was done, the bedroom was a disaster zone—linens on the floor, clothes strewn everywhere. He was still searching when he heard a soft gasp from the doorway.

Hoseok stood there, staring at the mess. His head throbbed. All he could think about was the hours it would take to clean this. Yoongi looked up, looking uncharacteristically flustered for a moment.

Hoseok just looked at the wreckage of the room, his voice hollow.

Yoongi asked, his tone shifting from cold to oddly expectant.

Hoseok turned and left, a cold dread settling in his stomach.

Yoongi eventually gave up his search. Frustrated, he began to move things back—not out of kindness, but because he hated the disorder. He shoved items back into place haphazardly. As he finished and turned to leave for his bath, his foot stepped on something small and firm.

He looked down. There, near the doorframe, was the card.

Yoongi picked it up. As he read the name and the family crest on the card, the blood in his veins turned to fire. His jaw tightened until it clicked. He marched to his hidden locker, his fingers flying over the keypad.

Click.

He reached inside, pulling out a handgun, a small vial of poison, a serrated knife, and a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. He grabbed his leather belt from the closet, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, murderous light.

He didn't walk downstairs; he descended like a storm. His voice roared through the house, shaking the very foundations.

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To Be Continue 🫀🫀

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Sope's house hall

The vast hall of the Min manson, usually a symbol of absolute power and cold elegance, was now the stage for a psychological war. The warm glow of the chandeliers did nothing to mask the ice in Yoongi's voice as he stood over the man he had once broken.

Hoseok stood still, his body a map of healing scars and fresh exhaustion. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

Yoongi roared, slamming his fist onto the mahogany table so hard the crystal glasses rattled.

Hoseok slowly lifted his head, his gaze meeting Yoongi’s with a terrifying blankness.

Yoongi hissed, his eyes flashing with an extreme, volatile rage.

Hoseok’s eyes drifted to the surface of the table. Spread out before him was a macabre collection of endings: a vial of dark poison, a coil of rough rope, a loaded handgun, and a heavy leather belt. Yoongi watched him, waiting for the familiar scent of fear, for the trembling hands and the desperate pleas for mercy.

But Hoseok’s eyes remained as steady as a calm sea.

In a blur of movement, Yoongi crossed the distance between them. He reached out, his fingers tangling in Hoseok’s hair, and brutally yanked his head back. Hoseok let out a sharp grunt of pain, his neck straining under the force, but the sadness Yoongi expected was absent. Instead, there was only fire—a deep, burning hatred that flickered in Hoseok’s pupils.

Hoseok stared at him, the memory of his lost children fueling his defiance. If his babies were here, if he were holding them in his arms right now, he wouldn't have even touched that card. But they were gone.

Perhaps it wasn't Yoongi's fault, or even Hoseok's. Perhaps it was the cruel hand of fate, punishing Hoseok for the sin of falling in love with a monster. As the thought of his children crossed his mind, a single, involuntary tear welled up in his eye, but he quickly blinked it away.

Yoongi, blinded by his own fury, didn't see the grief. He saw only defiance. He threw Hoseok onto the cold floor with a sickening thud and lashed out with the belt.

Crack.

Hoseok’s body arched, a visceral scream tearing from his throat. He didn't beg. He didn't ask him to stop. He only screamed, the sound echoing through the empty hall until Yoongi, panting and flushed with rage, threw the belt aside.

To Yoongi’s shock, Hoseok didn't curl into a ball. He pushed himself up, a bloody smirk playing on his lips. Yoongi, his nerves frayed, pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the cherry glowing bright in the dim light.

Hoseok stood up, his movements slow and agonizing, and walked toward him. He looked at Yoongi with a haunting intensity, his tongue darting out to lick the copper-tasting blood from his split lip.

A heavy silence fell. Yoongi studied him for a long moment before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out another cigarette and his lighter. Hoseok let out a pained grunt as he took it, placing it between his lips. Yoongi watched, mesmerized and disturbed, as Hoseok drew in a deep breath and blew the smoke out through his nose and mouth with practiced ease.

Yoongi wondered if he even knew this version of Hoseok. Had he always known how to smoke like this, or was this the birth of a stranger?

Yoongi turned away, taking a sharp drag of his own.

Hoseok watched him for a second longer, then dropped the cigarette onto the expensive floor. He ground the glowing tip into the wood with his foot, rubbing it until it was nothing but ash.

Yoongi stood still, watching Hoseok’s retreating back. The younger man walked with a limp, one hand clutching his bruised side, until he disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

Left alone, Yoongi reached onto the table and picked up the business card. He clicked his lighter, watching the flame consume the name and the family crest until only black flakes remained. He felt a strange, hollow sense of relief.

He turned toward the kitchen, needing the burn of wine to quiet the screaming in his head. The war was far from over, but for tonight, the house returned to its deadly, silent peace.

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Sope's Bedroom

The bedroom was a masterpiece of dark wood and modern stone, but for Hoseok, it was merely another room in a prison. He stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, a single towel tied low around his waist. His skin was pale against the dark gray tiles, and he moved with a ginger slowness, his body screaming from the wounds Yoongi had inflicted earlier.

He walked to the large, dark closet. Reaching deep into a hidden pocket of a garment, he pulled out a small slip of paper—a card identical to the one Yoongi had just burned downstairs. A dark, jagged chuckle vibrated in his chest. Yoongi thought he had erased his escape, but Hoseok was always one step ahead. He tucked the card back into its hiding place and began the grim task of applying medicine to the bruises and cuts on his torso.

After a few moments, he pulled on one of Yoongi’s oversized white dress shirts and a pair of boxers. The fabric swallowed his frame, offering a small sense of comfort as he sat on the edge of the large, plush bed to finish treating his side.

The door groaned open. Yoongi stumbled in, the stench of wine clinging to him like a second skin. He was so intoxicated he could barely find his footing, his movements erratic and clumsy. Hoseok looked up, surprised; he had seen Yoongi drunk, but never like this—completely unraveled. Choosing silence, Hoseok turned back to his wounds, pretending the man in the doorway didn't exist.

Yoongi stared at him, his vision blurring. As he looked at Hoseok in his own shirt, a sudden, unholy thought flickered through his mind, quickly followed by a wave of self-loathing. He raised a hand and slapped himself hard across the face.

Hoseok watched the self-punishment from the corner of his eye. As Yoongi began to lurch toward the bed, Hoseok felt a traitorous heat creep into his cheeks, a soft pink hue he couldn't control. But as Yoongi drew closer, the drunken man's mind suddenly filled with the haunting image of the children they had lost.

The weight of the grief broke Yoongi’s final defenses. A strangled, guttural sob escaped his lips as he collapsed. Hoseok bolted upright, his instinct to comfort overriding the scars on his back. One part of his mind screamed at him to stay away, but his heart couldn't bear the sound of Yoongi—the stone-hearted mafia leader—crying like a broken child.

Hoseok knelt on the floor beside him, placing a gentle, hesitant hand on Yoongi’s shaking back.

Hoseok knew every word was the truth. He knew Yoongi was responsible for the wreckage of their lives, yet seeing him this vulnerable was a different kind of torture. He wrapped his arms around the older man, bracing himself.

Yoongi was a dead weight, his senses nearly gone. With every ounce of strength he possessed, Hoseok hoisted Yoongi up, draping a heavy arm over his shoulder to guide him toward the bed. They stumbled, their feet tangling on the dark floor.

With a sudden lurch, they both tumbled onto the mattress. Hoseok landed directly on top of Yoongi, their faces inches apart. For a breathless second, Hoseok stared into Yoongi’s eyes, his heart hammering so violently against his ribs it felt as though it might burst out of his chest.

The intimacy was too much. Hoseok scrambled to get off, but the sudden movement sent a white-hot flash of agony through the stitches in his abdomen. He collapsed onto the floor at the foot of the bed, clutching his stomach as the physical pain merged with the sudden, crushing memory of his babies.

There, in the corner of the dark room, Hoseok curled into a ball and wept silently. Above him, on the bed, Yoongi remained lost in his drunken stupor, his voice a faint, pathetic murmur as he continued to beg for a forgiveness that felt worlds away.

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Early morning

The early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the master bedroom, casting a dim, gray glow over the remnants of the previous night’s chaos. Hoseok was the first to stir, his body stiff and protesting as he woke on the cold, hard floor. A dull, throbbing headache hammered behind his eyes, and a sharp, localized ache radiated from his stomach—the physical price of a night spent on the ground without warmth or comfort.

Tracing the source of the pain, Hoseok looked down at himself. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed dark, wet stains of blood blossoming through the fabric of the oversized white shirt. It wasn't a large amount, but the sight of it sent a jolt of panic through his tired heart.

He instinctively glanced toward the bed, where Yoongi remained deeply asleep, lost in the heavy slumber of his intoxication. The panic in Hoseok’s chest quickly subsided, replaced by a bitter, hollow realization: Yoongi wouldn't take this seriously anyway. To Yoongi, blood and pain were just part of the landscape they lived in. With a resigned sigh, Hoseok forced himself to stand up.

The morning felt heavier than usual. He had missed his nightly pill, and the brutal beating Yoongi had delivered with the belt the night before was taking a severe toll on his weakened frame. He felt a small, dark sense of relief that Yoongi’s rage had been directed at his back and shoulders rather than his stomach.

Trying to push the discomfort to the back of his mind, Hoseok decided not to overthink the blood or the pain. He convinced himself it would be fine—it had to be. He moved quietly to the bathroom to start his morning routine, the steam of the shower masking the quiet hiss of pain as the water hit his bruised skin. Once finished, he dressed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his hands moving mechanically as he began to prepare a meal for himself and the man who was both his husband and his captor.

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Sope's house Kitchen

The marble kitchen island gleamed under the cold morning lights as Hoseok moved mechanically, setting the plates for a breakfast that would likely be eaten in a suffocating silence. The clack of dress shoes echoed against the stone floor, announcing Yoongi’s arrival. He was dressed for the office, his sharp suit a stark contrast to the hollow, exhausted man he had been just hours before. The air between them grew heavy, an uneasy tension settling over the room as it always did when they were forced into the same space.

Hoseok interrupted, his tone flat and devoid of the warmth that used to define him.

Yoongi took his seat, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

He muttered, the apology sounding strange coming from his lips.

Hoseok placed the plate in front of him without a word.

The question hung in the air like a physical weight. Hoseok stopped, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features. He hadn't expected Yoongi to care, let alone ask. Yoongi watched him intently, his eyes searching for an answer that wasn't there.

Yoongi went quiet, absorbing the weight of the reply. After a moment, he let out a heavy sigh.

As Yoongi pushed his chair back to stand, Hoseok let out an involuntary grunt of pain, his body betraying him. Yoongi froze, his initial instinct to regret the question quickly overshadowed by a surge of worry he didn't want to acknowledge.

Yoongi asked, his voice reverting to a cold, professional edge to mask his concern.

Yoongi didn't believe him for a second. He closed the distance between them, stepping into Hoseok’s personal space until they were only an inch apart. Hoseok stood his ground, his gaze meeting Yoongi’s with a new, hardened strength.

The pain was a constant, throbbing presence in Hoseok’s side, but he refused to give Yoongi the satisfaction of knowing. He needed a distraction—something to sharpen his focus away from the ache of his body and the memory of his children.

Hoseok simply turned his head away, ignoring the comment.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, snatching the cigarette from Yoongi’s fingers.

Years ago, Hoseok had fallen for Yoongi even when the man had sought to break him; now, as their minds struggled with the wreckage of their past, neither knew if love could ever bloom in such poisoned soil. Yoongi looked at the man before him—the "old" Hoseok was dead, and the anger that usually fueled Yoongi had vanished.

Moving with a sudden, decisive grace, Yoongi grabbed Hoseok by the waist and hoisted him up onto the marble kitchen island.

A smirk touched Hoseok’s lips.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, but didn't pull away.

They collided in a heated, desperate kiss, the bitter taste of smoke mingling between them. Hands moved frantically, discarding clothes onto the kitchen floor. But as Yoongi’s eyes fell upon the jagged stitches on Hoseok’s stomach, his breath hitched. A single, hot tear escaped Yoongi’s eye, falling onto Hoseok’s thigh.

Hoseok noticed the moisture, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Yoongi’s silent grief, and he pulled the man into a tight, grounding hug.

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To Be Continue 🫀🫀🫀

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