Chapter 76: Blood Between the Lines
The rain had not stopped.
It wept like a secret the sky could no longer hold—just as
Koo had wept in that dim gallery, under golden lights and stolen stares, held
between his two shadows, his Daddy and his Dada. But now, the mansion's windows
were darkened again. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, and the world
outside was hushed by the storm's continued lament. There was no exhibition
tonight, no crowd, no whispers. Just silence—and a slow, pulsing anticipation.
The world had seen Koo.
But the world had not yet known what Koo was.
And the underworld… the one buried beneath art, wealth, and
shadows—it had merely blinked awake.
Inside the mansion, Jungkook sat in a silken robe, legs
tucked beneath him on the library couch. His hair was still damp from the bath
both twins had insisted on drawing together, their hands too gentle, too
possessive as if they'd feared that revealing himself had somehow changed the
boy they adored.
But it hadn’t. Not for them.
And yet, Koo knew… something was changing.
They hadn’t left his side. Not since the gallery. Not even
for a moment. Kim Taehyung had fielded every call with a flat, clipped tone. V
had erased emails before they were even opened, his dark eyes ever so often
glancing at Jungkook as if expecting him to vanish. They didn’t ask about the
exhibition's success. They didn’t mention the world’s breathless praise. All
that mattered—was that he had done it.
But Koo could feel it in their touch, their gazes, their
silence.
They were bracing for something. And it wasn’t love.
It was war.
The kind no one would see coming. Because the world had seen
Koo—the beautiful, enigmatic artist. But it had not seen Jeon Jungkook. Not
yet.
And that was the part he’d buried.
With a soft hum, Jungkook glanced toward the far end of the
library, watching as Taehyung stood by the bar cart, pouring something amber
into a crystal glass. The elder twin hadn’t spoken much since morning, except
for the way his hand had lingered at Jungkook’s nape during breakfast, pressing
gentle circles into the skin. He was brooding. Quiet. But not distant.
And then, there was V.
Leaning by the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest in a
black cashmere turtleneck, watching Jungkook with eyes that held too much
storm. His jaw had been tight all day, ever since the headlines started rolling
in again. “Masked Prodigy Koo Sets Fire to Seoul’s Art World.” “Who is Koo? The
Man Behind the Mystery.”
The world wanted to know.
But the twins… they wanted to bury it.
Not because they were ashamed—but because they knew.
They knew fame was a double-edged sword. And Koo… Koo had
already danced with too many knives.
“I thought you’d be happy,” Jungkook murmured finally, voice
soft as the fire beside them. His fingers toyed with the hem of his sleeve,
twisting the fabric like it held answers. “You always said I should… let people
see.”
V’s gaze didn’t waver. “We said they should see your art,
Jungkook,” he said quietly, voice like dusk. “Not you.”
“But they didn’t see me,” Jungkook said, looking up. “They
saw Koo. That’s not the same.”
Taehyung exhaled behind him, a breath of both restraint and
resignation. “They saw enough,” he muttered, setting the glass down untouched.
“Enough to start asking questions. Enough to pull strings we’ve spent years
knotting shut.”
Jungkook blinked, hurt flickering briefly across his face
before he looked away.
“But… isn’t that what we’re doing now?” he whispered.
“Letting me be seen?”
A pause. Heavy. Sharp.
“You’re ours, Koo,” V said suddenly, walking slowly toward
him, kneeling down before the couch. His voice dropped into something darker.
“You’re not theirs.”
“I know,” Jungkook breathed, chest rising. “But…”
“But you want to be more than just ours,” Taehyung finished
for him, his voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. “You want to be seen for all
of it.”
Koo bit his lip, nodding silently.
V reached out, fingers brushing against the mole under
Jungkook’s bottom lip. His thumb lingered there. Possessive. Tender.
“You will be,” V said. “But on our terms. Not theirs.”
Silence fell again, but it was no longer suffocating. There
was a new tension now—slow, simmering, a shift in the undercurrent of their
bond. And then… it cracked.
Jungkook crawled down from the couch, slowly, movements
almost feline, until he was on his knees before both of them, hands curled in
the carpet, big doe eyes looking up between his lashes.
“Then make me yours,” he whispered. “Again.”
V’s breath caught. Taehyung’s fingers clenched by his side.
“You never stopped being ours, baby,” Taehyung said thickly,
voice low as he stepped forward, circling behind Jungkook. “But if you want to
feel it…”
Jungkook shivered.
“I do,” he said, and his voice softened further. “D-Daddy…
Dada…”
Both twins stilled.
His little space voice had come out like a whispered
lullaby, cracking the air with its sweetness.
And suddenly… the air shifted.
Their perfect artist was gone.
And their needy little boy had taken his place.
Taehyung groaned softly, dropping to his knees behind
Jungkook, arms wrapping around his waist from behind, burying his face in the
soft curve of his shoulder.
“You just had to use that voice,” he murmured, biting gently
at the skin.
Koo giggled.
V leaned in, one hand gripping Jungkook’s jaw gently, thumb
brushing the corner of his mouth.
“Are you trying to distract us, little one?” he asked with
mock sternness.
Jungkook blinked innocently. “Mmm… maybe…”
The quiet mansion had turned into a heartbeat.
Taehyung’s lips brushed his ear. “Then we’ll remind you why
you don’t need the world’s eyes, bunny,” he whispered. “You have ours. Always.”
And the fire crackled behind them—warm, gold, eternal—as
Jungkook melted into their touch, safe between the two names he called home.
Daddy.
Dada.
And outside, the storm finally passed.
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