The boy had been in the ICU for two days. Two long days of beeping monitors, hushed footsteps, and the sterile, biting smell of disinfectant. Each sound—every cough, distant voice, or creak of the floor—made him flinch. His thin body trembled uncontrollably, fingers clutching the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white. He seemed trapped not only by the machines and walls around him but by memories and fears he could not escape.
Even the shadows of the room seemed alive, crawling along the walls, shifting with a life of their own. Sometimes, he buried his face in the pillow, hoping they would vanish, praying for something—anything—to make the fear stop.
The nurse who came to check on him noticed immediately. She knelt by the bedside, trying not to startle him.
“Doctor Kim,” she whispered urgently into the phone, her voice low. “The boy… he’s trembling again. I don’t think he’s just sick. He’s… terrified. He hasn’t stopped since he came in.”
Taehyung’s heart clenched at her words. He had seen fear before, even trauma—but the intensity in this child was unlike anything he had encountered. It was raw, unfiltered, and alive.
Later that evening, across the city, Dr. Kim Taehyung returned home. His coat hung loosely from his shoulders, and his hands shook slightly—not from exhaustion alone, but from the images he could not erase from his mind. He sank onto the couch, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to push down the echoes of the boy’s trembling form.
The apartment was quiet, almost oppressively so. Only the warm glow of the lamp on the table cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the walls.
The door opened softly. Jungkook stepped in, briefcase in hand, immediately sensing the tension radiating from his husband.
“How is he?” Jungkook asked gently, his calm tone belying the sharpness of his concern.
Taehyung leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Still trembling. Still terrified. Two days in the ICU, and it’s like he’s reliving everything he’s ever suffered. His past… there’s something there. Something horrible, buried so deep it’s poisoning him even now.”
Jungkook put his briefcase down and moved closer. “You want me to help?”
“I need your influence,” Taehyung said, his voice almost breaking. “There are adoption papers I can’t access, orphanage files hidden or destroyed. I can’t reach everything. But you… you can dig where I can’t. If I don’t know the truth, I can’t help him. He can’t survive another secret.”
Jungkook’s eyes darkened, determination settling over his features. “Then we’ll find it. Whoever tried to erase his past won’t stay hidden. I’ll pull every record we can. Every scrap of paper. Every file.”
Taehyung swallowed hard, gripping Jungkook’s hand tightly. “For the boy… I can’t let him face another secret alone. Not after everything.”
“Then he won’t,” Jungkook said firmly, squeezing his hand. “We’ll uncover it all. Every detail. No one gets to hide from us.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence, listening to the distant city sounds outside—the indifferent hum of life moving on. But inside, a plan was forming.
The boy’s past had been locked in shadows for too long. Every bruise, every trembling moment in the ICU, every flash of terror in his eyes—they were fragments of a story that had been buried. Taehyung and Jungkook would uncover it all.
And when they did, the boy would finally have a chance at safety, at being seen, and at finding even the smallest shred of peace.
