Chapter 5: The Beginning of Silence

It started with silence.

Not the peaceful kind, not the calm after a storm—but the thick, suffocating quiet that presses down on your chest and refuses to let go.

Taehyung spoke to no one that week.

Not in class, not in the library, not even in passing. Professors called his name, and he answered only when required—softly, without inflection, as if every word cost him something he couldn’t afford to give. His scent grew even lighter, diluted by exhaustion and suppression, until it was barely noticeable at all.

To many, he was becoming invisible.

To Jungkook, he was becoming unbearable.

Jungkook told himself it wasn’t his problem.

That he’d done what was necessary. That all he’d ever wanted was to teach the Omega his place, to protect his dominance and remind the school who ruled the food chain.

It should’ve ended there.

But it didn’t.

Because now he couldn’t stop watching.

Taehyung moved through campus like a ghost. His skin was too pale, his shoulders too narrow beneath the heavy fabric of his blazer. Even the way he held his bag—pressed tightly to his chest, arms curled around it like armor—felt like a confession.

I’m not okay.

I won’t ask for help.

But I’m breaking.

Jungkook hated it.

He hated the way the sight of Taehyung sitting alone in the back of the dining hall made his stomach clench. He hated that he noticed when Taehyung stopped writing in his notebooks, switching instead to loose, disorganized sheets—papers he could throw away if they were ruined.

He hated that Taehyung flinched whenever someone walked too close.

And most of all—

He hated that he had done this.

“Are you sick?” The professor asked during Advanced Omega Psychology.

Taehyung didn’t look up.

“No, sir.”

“Then why aren’t you participating? Your answers used to lead discussion. Now you’re barely here.”

Taehyung paused.

Jungkook, sitting two rows behind, leaned forward slightly, waiting for the response.

“I’m just…tired,” Taehyung said quietly.

The professor narrowed his eyes. “Tiredness doesn’t make a genius turn average.”

That stung more than the bruises.

Taehyung didn’t reply.

The silence was awkward.

Jungkook stared at the back of his head, jaw clenched.

He wanted to say something. Wanted to shut the professor up, or shove his own notes forward and say: He’s smarter than you, even now. He’s better than all of us.

But he said nothing.

And Taehyung kept fading.

By midweek, it had spread.

The whispers came back.

“He’s falling behind.”

“Told you he couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“He was just a fluke.”

“Maybe the school’s regretting that scholarship.”

Jungkook snapped his pen in half when he heard that last one.

He didn’t realize until the ink bled into his fingers.

“What’s with you lately?” Seojin asked at lunch. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

Jungkook sat on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard, tossing a bottle cap into the water again and again.

“Do you think… Omegas like that can just… stop being Omegas?” he muttered suddenly.

Seojin blinked. “What?”

“Taehyung. He’s not—he doesn’t act like one. Not anymore.”

She gave a small laugh. “Because he’s probably trying to disappear. Smart Omegas learn to survive that way.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh.

Seojin leaned closer, her voice lowering.

“Why do you care, Jungkook?”

He looked at her.

“I don’t,” he said flatly.

And that was the first real lie he ever told himself.

Later that night, Jungkook found himself walking to the greenhouse.

He didn’t know why. It was almost midnight. He should’ve been asleep, or reviewing notes, or doing literally anything else.

But his feet had carried him here.

He stepped into the warmth, into the humid air and rich earthy scent of soil and chlorophyll. The lights were dim, running on conservation mode. Flowers slept in their pots. Everything was quiet.

And then he saw him.

Taehyung.

Curled on the bench at the back, knees tucked to his chest, head resting against the wall of glass. His eyes were closed. A book was folded in his lap.

He looked even thinner than before.

Jungkook froze.

His throat tightened with something unfamiliar.

Something heavy.

He stepped closer—slowly, softly.

Taehyung didn’t stir.

His breathing was slow, fragile. A faint, natural scent leaked from him now, untouched by suppressants. It was faint. Like lilac petals dropped into snow.

Beautiful.

Painfully so.

Jungkook knelt.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

Didn’t know why his hand reached out, hovered inches from Taehyung’s sleeve, wanting to touch but afraid to break.

He didn’t realize Taehyung was awake until the Omega spoke, voice barely audible:

“Don’t.”

Jungkook pulled back instantly.

Taehyung opened his eyes. Looked straight at him. No fear. No anger. Just something... hollow.

“You don’t get to act like you care,” he whispered.

Jungkook opened his mouth—but no words came.

Taehyung stood slowly, the book pressed to his chest like a shield.