Chapter 110: Homecoming

The ride back from the gallery was steeped in a silence that wasn't hollow—no, it thrummed. It breathed. It echoed between the three men like the last low note of a symphony, still vibrating in the velvet air long after the final string had been plucked.

 

Jungkook sat between the twins in the back of the obsidian Bentley, the city lights blinking through tinted windows like falling stars. His hands were still trembling, not from fear, but from something deeper—like the ghost of a scream that never quite reached his throat.

 

V noticed it first.

 

Without a word, he reached over, his hand enclosing Jungkook’s slender fingers in a warm, firm grip, still smelling faintly of gunmetal and clove. Across the seat, Taehyung watched the movement, then leaned in slightly, resting his palm against Jungkook’s thigh with a featherlight pressure that anchored rather than claimed.

 

They didn’t speak.

 

Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything had already been said—on that stage, under the merciless glare of the world, before Jiheon’s broken cage.

 

Now, all that was left was the after.

 

The penthouse was silent when they returned.

 

The world outside roared—news anchors screaming about the mysterious artist known only as “J”, internet sleuths digging for the truth, Koo’s art skyrocketing in value, galleries issuing desperate public statements—but in here… it was only the soft shuffle of shoes on marble and the muted hum of city wind against glass.

 

Taehyung slipped off Jungkook’s velvet coat with a gentleness that bordered reverence, folding it over his arm like a sacred relic. V took Jungkook’s hand again, leading him into the living room like he was something fragile, breakable, but still divine.

 

The fire was already lit.

 

It cast gold shadows across the bookshelves and painted their skin in amber. Jungkook stood in front of it, arms wrapped loosely around himself, silent. His eyes reflected the flames, but his expression didn’t shift. He just… watched.

 

Until—

 

“Jungkook.”

 

Taehyung’s voice, low, quiet. Not a demand. A call.

 

Jungkook turned.

 

And then the tears came.

 

They didn’t fall with drama or force. They just slipped—quiet streams from those big, wide eyes, pooling at the corners and trailing down his cheeks like watercolors left too long in the rain.

 

V reached him first. He didn’t say anything—he just gathered Jungkook into his arms, holding him like something he’d never let go again. Taehyung followed, arms circling from the other side, his cheek pressing into the crown of Jungkook’s head.

 

There, in the firelight, all three of them folded into each other.

 

No roles. No crowns. No masks.

 

Just warmth. Just breath. Just the sound of Jungkook’s quiet, broken whisper:

 

“It’s over.”

 

And both twins, in perfect unison, answered against his skin:

 

“No, love. It’s just begun.”

 

Later—when the world calmed slightly, and the exhaustion set into their bones like a second skin—they lay tangled on the living room couch, Jungkook nestled in the middle with his head on V’s chest and one leg over Taehyung’s waist.

 

The fire had dimmed, but its heat still lingered in the corners of the room.

 

Jungkook’s voice was a whisper against V’s collarbone. “Do you think… my mother will forgive me?”

 

Taehyung shifted slightly, brushing a soft kiss against his temple. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“But I left her. I didn’t save her.”

 

“You were a child,” V murmured, threading his fingers through Jungkook’s hair. “You survived. That’s the greatest act of love you could’ve given her.”

 

“I want to see her,” Jungkook said. “Before the exhibition. Before anything else.”

 

Taehyung nodded slowly. “Then we’ll go tomorrow.”

 

V's thumb traced soft circles against the nape of Jungkook’s neck. “And this time, you won’t go alone.”

 

The hospital was quiet.

 

Jungkook stood outside the room, watching through the glass as his mother lay curled in a white bed, breathing softly, her frame delicate beneath layers of warm blankets.

 

He hadn’t seen her since the truth unraveled—since Jiheon’s collapse, since his name was spoken again like it belonged to him and no one else.

 

He stepped in slowly.

 

His mother stirred.

 

And when she saw him—truly saw him—her eyes brimmed with something both ancient and infinite.

 

“Jungkook,” she whispered, and in that one word, she said everything.

 

He knelt beside her bed, taking her hand, and for a long, long moment… there was nothing but quiet sobs and the kind of touch that stitched broken years back together.

 

Back at the penthouse, the next storm was already building.

 

News headlines speculated wildly about the real identity of the artist known as “J.” Some theorized it was Koo reborn. Others claimed it was a new entity altogether. A few smart ones suspected he had been Koo all along—but no one had proof.

 

And V intended to keep it that way.

 

“Every gallery wants an exclusive,” he said, scanning messages with cool detachment. “They’re ready to pay eight figures just for a sculpture.”

 

Jungkook, curled on the rug with sketchbooks and pastels, blinked up at him. “That’s… a lot.”

 

Taehyung chuckled from the kitchen, slicing strawberries. “He still doesn’t care.”

 

“Let him stay that way,” V said. “The world doesn’t deserve him yet.”

 

Jungkook giggled, crawling over on hands and knees to rest his chin on V’s thigh. “Then who does?”

 

Taehyung walked over, dropped a piece of strawberry into Jungkook’s mouth, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

 

“We do,” he said softly.

 

And V, ever the quiet storm, reached down to cradle Jungkook’s face, pressing a kiss to his brow.

 

“We always will.”

 

But as dusk fell over the city again, a message arrived—unmarked, unsigned, encoded only in silence.

 

An old symbol scrawled in blood-red paint.

 

Three stars. One eye. A broken crown.

 

And Jungkook, standing at the window once more, felt a chill dance along his spine.

 

Because while one ghost had been buried…

 

Another was waking up.

 

And it knew his name.

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