Chapter 4: The First Wound

The bruises bloomed slow and deep.

It started at the base of Taehyung’s ribs—a dull ache when he breathed in too sharply. Then the tender throb on his forearm, where a boot had pinned him against the brick wall outside Omega Wing. Purple splotches formed beneath pale skin, hidden beneath long sleeves and silence.

He told no one.

There was no one to tell.

The elite Omegas pretended he didn’t exist. The Betas avoided him, unsure how to interact with someone who didn’t play the status games. And Alphas—well, the Alphas had already chosen what he was.

A threat.

A target.

A lesson.

He was in the library when the pain peaked.

His hands shook as he tried to copy equations from his calculus text, but the numbers blurred. His chest felt tight, lungs too shallow. He’d skipped lunch again—not by choice, but because the cafeteria staff “accidentally” threw out his food token. Again.

He bent his head lower, trying to concentrate.

His pen dropped from his hand.

His vision swam.

No one noticed when he slid to the floor.

Jungkook was walking past the library windows when he saw the fall.

At first, he thought it was someone dropping a book. Then he saw the thin frame, the familiar mess of dark brown hair crumpled on the floor. Taehyung wasn’t moving.

Something pierced through Jungkook’s stomach. Sharp. Cold.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed open the doors and stormed through the hushed silence of the reading hall, ignoring the startled glances. Students moved aside like water.

He knelt beside Taehyung and touched his shoulder.

“Taehyung.”

No response.

His skin was hot. Damp. His breathing—shallow and uneven.

Jungkook felt his scent shift, flickering at the edge of distress.

A pre-heat spike?

No. Too early. This wasn’t pheromonal.

This was collapse.

He slid one arm beneath Taehyung’s knees, the other behind his back, and stood. The Omega was frighteningly light. His head lolled against Jungkook’s chest, strands of hair brushing Jungkook’s neck.

A few people gasped.

“Did he…just carry him out?”

“What the hell is going on?”

Jungkook ignored them.

For once, his ego didn’t respond to the stares.

He just walked.

The infirmary was dim and quiet.

Jungkook laid Taehyung gently on the examination bed, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. The nurse took one look and immediately began checking his vitals.

“Malnourished. Slight fever. Faint bruising along the abdomen…” she muttered, scanning the body with soft beeps and light pulses.

Jungkook didn’t speak.

He stood back, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Taehyung’s unconscious face.

So pale. Lips dry. Skin translucent under the lights.

Why?

Why did he look like that?

Why had Jungkook’s chest gone tight when he saw him fall?

The nurse frowned as she recorded results on her tablet. “He’s showing signs of stress suppression. Like he’s been deliberately repressing his cycle, maybe even his scent.”

Jungkook said nothing.

“Don’t suppose you know what happened?” she asked without looking at him.

“…No,” he lied.

She sighed. “He needs rest. And real food. He’s on the edge of a health collapse.”

Jungkook lingered even after she left the room.

He sat beside the bed.

Watched.

Waited.

Taehyung woke slowly.

The world came back in pieces—light first, then sound, then pain. His body ached like he’d been run over. His throat was dry. His eyes were sore.

Then he realized someone was beside him.

He turned his head.

Jungkook.

Sitting there. Silent. Watching him.

Taehyung froze.

His breath hitched.

Jungkook stared at him a moment longer, then said, voice low:

“You passed out.”

Taehyung said nothing.

“I carried you here.”

Still nothing.

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “You haven’t been eating.”

Taehyung looked away.

He didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to need anything from this person—this Alpha who ruled the school, who let others hurt him, who was the hurt in a thousand invisible ways.

“Why?” Jungkook asked, quieter now. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Taehyung turned back to him, eyes dim. And finally, he spoke:

“…You wouldn’t have listened.”

His voice was soft. But the words cut deep.

Jungkook didn’t reply.

Later, when the nurse came to release him, Jungkook stood first, helping him sit up carefully. Taehyung winced.

“You’ve got bruised ribs,” she said gently. “Try not to strain too much. I’ll write a note for your professors.”

“No,” Taehyung murmured.

They both looked at him.

“I’ll go to class,” he said, slower this time. “I don’t want to fall behind.”

Jungkook stared at him, stunned.

The nurse just sighed. “Stubborn thing.”

She left.

Jungkook stayed behind.

He walked beside Taehyung all the way to the north hallway. Neither of them spoke.

At the classroom door, Taehyung stopped.

He looked up at Jungkook, his voice fragile but clear:

“Don’t follow me.”

Then he walked inside.

And for the first time since Jungkook arrived at Sohae, someone walked away from him first.

That night, Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

He lay in bed, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His room was quiet, his scent mask dulled. The faint flicker of the moonlight lit the corners of his wall.

He kept seeing that look in Taehyung’s eyes.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Just…tiredness.

A kind of quiet surrender that said: You’ve already won. There’s nothing left to break.

And somehow, that didn’t feel like victory.

It felt like guilt.

Sharp. Unexpected.

New.

He didn’t understand it.

Didn’t want to.

But it was there.