Chapter 96: The Crown of Thorns
It started with a painting.
The manor Jungkook had unconsciously drawn—brooding,
surrounded by mist—wouldn't leave him alone. For two days, he dreamed of it.
Cold stone corridors. Voices echoing through hollow halls. Shadows that moved
without light. And always... always that crown of thorns carved above the
massive doors, as if it were watching him.
He began painting it.
Not the exact structure. But the feeling. The emotion. The
weight of dread and fate stitched into its walls. Charcoal smudged his fingers,
black ink seeped beneath his nails, and oil paints dried against his wrists. He
didn’t eat. Barely drank. And didn’t speak unless one of the twins guided him
gently away from the canvas.
By the third day, both V and Taehyung stood before the
half-finished piece in silence. It wasn’t just haunting. It was familiar.
“I’ve seen this symbol,” Taehyung murmured, gaze drawn to
the thorned crown etched onto the painted stone gate.
V’s jaw tightened. “In the underground archives. The lost
syndicates.”
Jungkook, sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby with a
smudge of black paint on his cheek, looked up slowly.
“You know it?”
V nodded, kneeling before him, his voice heavier than usual.
“There were five founding families in the syndicate history. Everyone remembers
the Orchid Clan because it ruled last. But the Thorn Crown... that family
vanished over thirty years ago. Rumor was, they turned their own estate into a
prison.”
“A prison?” Jungkook echoed, voice small.
Taehyung, seated beside him now, gently pulled him into his
lap again. “For what?”
V’s eyes were on Jungkook, searching. “For their heir.”
The silence was louder than any thunderstorm.
Jungkook felt his stomach turn.
“But I’ve never—”
“Don’t panic,” V interrupted, softer this time. “It’s a
lead. That’s all. It could be coincidence. But if you are connected to the
Thorn Crown... it explains why your identity was hidden so thoroughly. Why your
parents raised you the way they did.”
Jungkook trembled in Taehyung’s arms, lips parting to
speak—but all that came out was a whimper.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“You won’t,” Taehyung said immediately, arms tightening. “We
won’t let anyone take you.”
The artist buried his face in Taehyung’s chest, voice
muffled.
“Daddy… Dada… I’m scared.”
The way he used both words so naturally made both men freeze
for a beat—then melt. Jungkook hadn’t used them since the stormy night when his
little space had first surfaced. But now, he wasn’t giggling or pouting or
mispronouncing breakfast. This time, his voice was soft and scared, and very,
very grown.
V lowered himself beside them, brushing Jungkook’s inky
fingers with his own.
“You don’t have to be scared, baby,” he said, his tone
warmer than usual. “That place, that past—it can’t hurt you anymore.”
Jungkook looked up, eyes glossy and wide, the mole under his
lip trembling as he asked something no one expected.
“Can I be Koo again? Just for tonight?”
V and Taehyung exchanged a glance.
Then Taehyung smiled and pulled him tighter. “You never
stopped being him.”
“But I feel like… Jeongguk is too heavy right now,” the boy
whispered. “Koo is lighter.”
V leaned in, brushing a kiss to his temple. “Then tonight,
you’re our Koo.”
“And tomorrow?” Jungkook blinked.
“Tomorrow,” V whispered, brushing a streak of ink from his
jaw, “we’ll teach you how to be both.”
Later that night...
Koo reemerged in full force.
Wearing one of Taehyung’s oversized silk shirts—blue with a
little bunny stitched on the pocket—he crawled onto the king-sized bed with a
tray of cookies he’d half-burnt in the oven and three sippy cups filled with
strawberry milk. One for each of them.
V, who had just stepped out of the ensuite in a robe,
blinked at the sight.
“Is that my signed Basquiat tray?”
Koo blinked innocently. “I wiped it with my blankie.”
“...Of course you did,” V murmured, sitting beside him with
a soft sigh.
Taehyung chuckled from the lounge chair, a sketchbook
balanced on one knee. “Let him be. He was crying like a kitten an hour ago.”
“I was not!” Koo pouted, crawling over with a dramatic flop
into Taehyung’s lap. “I’m brave.”
“Yes, baby, you’re very brave,” Taehyung soothed, stroking
his hair.
V took the other sippy cup and sat cross-legged on the bed,
eyes amused but affectionate. “So what’s the plan tonight? Cookie crumbs in the
sheets and pink milk mustaches?”
“Yep!” Koo beamed, then wriggled out of Taehyung’s lap to
crawl into V’s. “And cuddles. Lots.”
“You’re demanding,” V muttered, but his hand came up to
cradle the boy’s cheek instinctively. Koo’s eyes closed at the touch.
“Daddy soft today,” he giggled, nuzzling in. “I like.”
Taehyung set his sketchbook down and stood, joining them on
the bed. “You like when we’re soft?”
“Mhmm,” Koo hummed, eyes half-lidded now, face warm with
milk and affection. “But I like when Daddy gets growly too. And when Dada gets
quiet and… low and close.” He shivered dramatically. “It makes my tummy all
funny.”
That earned a genuine laugh from both twins.
“You’re ridiculous,” V murmured, pressing a kiss to his
hair.
“You love it,” Koo mumbled.
“Yes,” Taehyung whispered as he leaned in from behind and
hugged him tightly. “We do.”
Outside, the manor was quiet, veiled in darkness.
But deep in the underground vault of the house, beneath
three layers of security, something stirred in the archives.
The Thorn Crown was no longer forgotten.
And Koo was no longer hiding.
The war had not yet begun.
But the boy they wanted—the weapon, the heir, the untamed
soul—was no longer asleep.
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