Chapter 103: The Name Beneath the Blood

 

The morning sky was overcast, a pale wash of gray dimming the golden hues that usually filtered through the glass-paneled walls of the upper-floor gallery apartment. Yet inside, everything remained calm—on the surface.

 

Jungkook stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, dressed in one of V's oversized silk shirts that swallowed his delicate frame. His long sleeves hung past his fingers, the hem brushing mid-thigh. He held a soft brush between his teeth and dabbed pink paint on a fresh canvas. The colors were brighter lately. Softer.

 

More alive.

 

Behind him, Taehyung leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed, silently watching. His dark shirt clung to his tall figure like it belonged there. His gaze wasn’t on the painting though—it was on Jungkook’s bare legs, on the slight tilt of his head, on the streak of yellow paint smudged across his cheek.

 

“How long were you planning to stand there, Dada?” Jungkook finally asked with a teasing lilt, pulling the brush from his lips.

 

Taehyung stepped closer, silent as ever. “Just long enough.”

 

Jungkook giggled and peeked over his shoulder. “Did I do something naughty?”

 

“No,” Taehyung said quietly, drawing near until his chest brushed against Jungkook’s back. His arms slid around Jungkook’s waist, holding him lightly. “But you will.”

 

Jungkook’s lips parted, paintbrush falling into the tray below with a soft clink. The air thickened around them, intimate in its stillness.

 

He felt safe in Taehyung’s arms. But he also felt owned—willingly, possessively, deliciously.

 

And when V entered, closing the door behind him with that heavy, purposeful grace, Jungkook’s heart did a funny skip.

 

His two protectors. His home.

 

Their shadows always reached him before their voices did.

 

“Both of you are staring,” Jungkook whispered, breath fluttering as Taehyung pressed his mouth against the shell of his ear. “Koo didn’t even finish the bunny yet.”

 

“We’ll stare more when you do,” V said, circling the table. He leaned in, his face mere inches from Jungkook’s. “But first, we need to talk.”

 

The softness broke like glass under a sudden weight.

 

Jungkook blinked, sensing the change.

 

The air wasn’t thick with desire now—it was heavy with warning.

 

V placed a file on the table, and Jungkook frowned when he saw his name scrawled in jagged writing across the cover.

 

“Baby…” Taehyung whispered, guiding him gently to sit down on the couch. V followed, sitting across from him, eyes sharp but unreadable.

 

“We need you to see something,” V said quietly, voice like a cold wind through a cracked window. “And we need you to tell us if you remember.”

 

Jungkook’s fingers trembled as they reached for the file.

 

The photos inside weren’t blurry.

 

They weren’t black and white or twisted by age.

 

They were clear.

 

A boy—him—chained to a post.

 

A dirty cage. An auction house. Men in shadows.

 

The stench of blood clung to the glossy surface like it had soaked through time.

 

Jungkook’s breath caught. His hand froze over one particular picture.

 

And then—

 

A flicker.

 

A scream.

 

A hand on his throat.

 

A voice whispering, “You’ll fetch a high price, pretty boy.”

 

Jungkook's vision swam. His knees buckled beneath him, and in an instant, both V and Taehyung caught him before he hit the ground. His head lolled between them, breath shallow.

 

“Shh… Koo, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Taehyung murmured, cradling his face.

 

V’s hand smoothed down his spine, grounding him.

 

“Koo’s safe,” V whispered against his temple. “You’re not there anymore.”

 

But Koo wasn’t responding.

 

Because Jungkook was no longer fully here.

 

—

 

They moved him to the bedroom, laid him gently under the weighted blanket he always used when his episodes got too strong. The room was quiet, bathed in the faintest candlelight. Taehyung held his hand while V paced near the window.

 

“This isn’t just about his past anymore,” V said darkly. “Someone wants him to remember.”

 

Taehyung’s voice was low. “They want to use it against him. Or against us.”

 

“He was trafficked.” V’s voice shook slightly. “As a child. And we weren’t there.”

 

Taehyung’s jaw clenched. “But we’re here now.”

 

—

 

When Jungkook woke later that evening, his voice was hoarse.

 

“…I saw his face,” he said, eyes distant, lips barely moving. “The man who put me in that cage.”

 

Both twins froze.

 

Taehyung sat upright, cupping his cheek. “Who was it, baby?”

 

“I don’t know his name,” Jungkook whispered. “But his hand… he had this ring. Black stone. Carved spider legs on the band.”

 

V stilled.

 

Taehyung’s gaze snapped to his brother’s.

 

“…It’s him,” V muttered. “The one we thought was dead.”

 

“Choi Kyungho,” Taehyung said, the name bitter in his mouth. “The Spider King.”

 

One of the most sadistic crime lords from the past. Supposedly killed in a fire over a decade ago. A man with no real face on record, no official name—just a trail of ruined children and vanished bodies.

 

“He wants Jungkook back,” V said slowly, rising to his feet. “And he’s not working alone.”

 

Jungkook reached out with trembling hands, grabbing onto both of them like they were the only real things left in the world.

 

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Taehyung said, fierce now, gripping him tightly.

 

V leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, his voice dark with promise.

 

“Let them come,” he murmured. “We’ll burn the whole empire down before they lay a single finger on you again.”

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