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Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised.
He knew his owner messed around with the wrong people. He wasn’t completely stupid, he knew how to read situations – and letters, for a fact – and he could tell by the way his owner was running around in a panic that things had obviously taken a turn for the worst. He watches as he scrambles for papers, shoving them into a thick briefcase, the one with the broken catch, and when he reaches for the handle to a certain drawer, Taehyung feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Even knowing what he keeps in that drawer… it makes him nervous. Makes him sick to his stomach, woozy and dizzy and he knows to look away, eyes trained to the rug that lies underneath the desk. Taehyung stays in place, unmoving. Just as he’s told to do.
When he’s quiet, when he sits still, when he’s seen and not heard, that’s when he gets a break. With his ears flat against his head and his patterned tail wound around his frame, he blends into the background, used only as a trophy to be paraded when the time calls for it, ignored otherwise.
Taehyung wonders if his owner is leaving, and if his owner will take him along with him. He’s been good lately. Ignoring the aches of hunger in his belly and the sharp shooting pains that seemingly cling to his limbs. He’s been good, he’s behaved, and he doesn’t want to be left alone again. Last time it was over a week, and there are certain things ingrained into his mind like a carving, things he couldn’t disobey even though he actually had to.
Disobeying is worse than starving. Disobeying is worse than bathing in cold water. Disobeying is worse than anything and everything.
“Passport, passport, shit-“ His owner starts to mumble under his breath, walking back and forth, searching for the last thing. He hopes it’s not what he thinks it is. He hopes it’s not a passport. Even now, he remains hopeful, his fingers curling into the loose material of his shorts. He ignores the fading bruises on his skin; right now, they don’t exist to him. He has long since memorised the colours, the way they shift in shades as they heal, the stark contrast of tarnished flesh when looked at the rest of him. He was always told he looks soft – an effect of the ears, he used to reckon – but the bruises make it look true. Like he’s delicate, and gentle, and so easily malleable that he can become pliant with the simple click of fingers.
There used to be a bigger fire inside of him. It’s died a lot lately.
Silence settles too quickly for it to be natural, and Taehyung takes a risk; he looks up, staring at his owner, expecting to see cold eyes or an icier smile, something almost sinister. Or a hand reaching for him, to run through his hair so gently only to grasp at his ears and use them as a leash, and that hurts.
It’s been used so much now that it’s instinctive of him to flinch when anyone reaches for him, his eyes blown and his back straight, ready to run if the situation turns nasty before he can stop it.
“Sir?” He asks softly, his voice quiet, like a whisper that cuts through the room like a knife. It draws his attention in a second, his head snapping toward him and those eyes almost cause him to whimper… it’s only through suddenly looking away that he manages to swallow the sound. Silenced once again, in such a hurry.
The room is so dark that his eyes practically glow. Once upon a time, he would have compared them to stars in the night sky, shining so brightly, a pretty sight that he used to enjoy. It used to be comforting. Now it’s frightening. He’s a deer caught in headlights.
Except a tiger trapped in a cage perhaps seems to be more fitting.
“What?” His voice is deep, gravelly, the result of years of chain smoking and all sorts.
“May I speak?”
His owner just grunts in response, but he’s been with him long enough to know that’s permission enough. Even so, his hands shake a little as he prepares his next question, as he prays what he asks doesn’t result in his fate being sealed in heavy chains and an unbreakable lock.
“Are we going somewhere?”
The question is enough to set his nerves on edge, and Taehyung watches every reaction that his owner exhibits. He’s on alert. He’s waiting for angry to seep from his pores and a hand to reach and wrap around his throat, squeezing the very life out of him. He’s waiting for a bottle, a book, a chair to be thrown in his direction.
It’s frightening.
But his owner just heaves a great sigh, burying his face into his hands if only for a moment, shaking his head. And at first, Taehyung feels the colour drain from his face. He feels that familiar clenching of his chest, the way it tightens, the way it responds to the fact that even though he lives in fear, he would rather be with his owner than by himself.
Abandoned.
It’s happened before.
Even being left behind for that week almost killed him. It almost killed him.
He shifts forward, leaning on his palms, looking with wide, hurt eyes that only change when there are several loud bangs. A flinch, his tail wrapping tight around his forearm and his ears pricking up, trying his best to hide further. But he’s exposed, sat on the floor like the good hybrid he was supposed to be. Only this time, he’s afraid.
“W-What-“
“Silence, Taehyung.” His owner hisses at him, taking one menacing step forward which is enough to make his jaw tighten and his lips to close, no further sound escaping him. “Not one sound from you, do you hear me?”
He only nods in response, curling up a little more. Making himself feel small, making himself look small, it might be the only thing that keeps him safe because within those few precious seconds, the door to his owner’s officer is broken, and too many strangers flood the room.
It’s… too many scents at one time, irritating his nose and making him tense. He recognises none of them. Usually, with his owner’s business partners, he’ll know a few names and faces, familiar with those that visit often enough that they know his name, but none of them, nobody here at least, is somebody he knows.
One of them looks at him, clocking his presence, noting whether or not he’s a threat, and Taehyung lowers his eyes, ducks his head, hopes that whatever happens that this is all a misunderstanding and they’ll go home.
But he’s not stupid. He’s not completely deluded, able to lose himself in lost thoughts and sentiments that don’t make sense. This has bad news all over it; you don’t need a hybrid’s sense of smell to know that much. If he stays quiet, he thinks, perhaps he’ll be overlooked. Perhaps he’ll be able to get away without a scratch. God, he can only pray, he can hope.
He’s turned away, done as he’s told, but there is one image still fresh in his mind, the details vivid and the colours drowning him. Like ropes wrapped around him, squeezing him and holding him in place.
The one who looks, the one that stares, there’s something about him. Maybe it’s the way he looks so incredibly bored, maybe it’s the aegean colour of his hair or those dark eyes, something that pulls Taehyung in, something that makes him want to keep staring. It’s a dangerous quality, something that could get him into so much trouble. But he’s lean, strong. Like he could snap a bone like a twig, no force and no effort, absolutely easy. Child’s play, perhaps in more ways than one, but Taehyung doesn’t want to think about that. Or think, period.
“Did you really think you could just leave?”
One of the strangers steps closer to his owner, who only pulls out his gun, the weapon trembling in his hands. He’s never really handled it, not properly at the very least, and it’s obvious in the way he holds it, aims it, the panicked look in his eye. If Taehyung can notice it, he just knows these men notice it too, especially with the way they chuckle like they’re not even threatened.
Meanwhile Taehyung knows exactly what his owner is like, knows exactly what he’s capable of, and fear runs through him like an electric current. It’s a lump that rises in his throat, it’s feeling his heart in his mouth, it’s pure and unadulterated fear, but being more afraid of the reaction if he shows how he feels. God, it’s messed up, completely fucked, but he dare not do anything, dare not disobey his owner.
But who is he more afraid of?
His owner, the man he’s known for years?
Or these strangers?
How bad is it that he actually doesn’t know the answer?
His lips feel dry, his ears twitching on top of his head, and he gently presses at the ground, as if to push himself into the walls, to disappear entirely from sight. What a skill that would be, truly.
His eyes squeeze shut when there’s sudden movement, a sharp cry of pain from a familiar voice, and something cold hits his foot. When he looks, he notices it’s the very gun his owner had been holding, now discarded.
Guess he can’t hold it with a broken hand.
From this angle, even he can see how his fingers are going purple already, bent at an unnatural angle, and he feels sick at the sight of it.
The gun, the hand, his fingers, all of it adds to the nausea that has been steadily building up. His tail tightens around his arm like a boa constrictor, slowly increasing its pressure until it’s almost painful; Taehyung can’t even feel it, utterly lost at the events transpiring in front of him. He is but a witness, especially when his owner is restrained. Two men on either side holding him in place as the one from before lands blow after blow, the sickening sound of knuckles on skin, the eventual crunch that is followed by another cry, and Taehyung cringes.
He doesn’t want to see anymore.
But he can’t move, can’t leave, can’t make a sound.
Seen and not heard.
“I knew you were stupid, Choi Sunghoon, but really?” The man laughs a little, the sound cold and bitter and it sends a chill down Taehyung’s spine. “Did you really think you would’ve gotten away with it? Screwing me over that much? And leaving a paper trail at that, like really…” He shakes his head, running a hand through his blue hair before it curls into a fist and is another punch against his cheekbone.
When Taehyung shifts a little, the floorboards creaking a little, he can spot the bloody and beaten face of Sunghoon, the hurt knuckles of the stranger, and he finds he… can’t look away.
The very image is strangely mesmerising. He wants to memorise the details, the fine lines and the hidden meanings, to drink everything in until he’s choking. It’s so strange, seeing his owner looking… beaten. Defeated.
It’s not a bad strange, he knows that much.
“So,” that same man speaks again, this time pulling a switchblade from the inside of his boot, twisting the knife in his hand almost apathetically. “Time to butcher the pig.”
“No-“ Sunghoon’s voice is muffled, like a choke, blood dripping from his lips and Taehyung notices a few front teeth missing, only gaps and pink gums left in the space, and his nose scrunches in distaste; he doesn’t like the look of that one bit. “Jimin-“
Another punch, this time to his gut, the knife kept in his weaker hand.
“You lost the right to address me when you tried to sell me out, Choi Sunghoon.” His voice is a lot deeper, darker if that was even possible, and the entire situation shifts the slightest bit, the atmosphere becoming a lot more volatile. Like turning the temperature on the thermostat up. The heat becomes close, and when Sunghoon is pinned down to the desk, his arms held as he weakly thrashes against the hold, the worst thing could have happened, the worst thing ever.
“You can have him!”
And then there are too many eyes on him, on Taehyung, analysing him and he freezes, stuck in his spot. He should run. He could, in theory. Just bolt out of the door, away from this life and whatever he’s about to witness, keep his head down and go. It would be easy, he wouldn’t have an owner anymore, but even so, even that thought makes him nervous. He’s never not had one, he’s not quite sure what that certain type of freedom is.
“W-what…?” Taehyung whispers, his voice cracking a little. “But-“
“His name is Taehyung, he’s some sort of tiger hybrid, I never cared to find out what type, but just take him instead.” Sunghoon speaks so hurriedly that his words almost blend together, one constant stream of thought, like a noose wrapping around Taehyung’s neck.
“That’s funny,” Jimin doesn’t laugh, however. “You thinking I wasn’t going to take him anyway, that’s funny.”
Oh.
Taehyung’s eyes widen as those words dawn on him. Like being drenched in freezing water, chilling him to the bone and with no chance of warmth, no rest. His life is a perpetual rollercoaster, one that never stops. ‘Having a break’ isn’t in his dictionary.
“Wait,” Taehyung tries to speak again, shaking his head, stumbling up from his position on the floor. His ears are still flat, though his tail sways behind him as he moves to join the group. Eyes are trained on him, even Sunghoon looks surprised at his hybrid’s reaction. His hands plant on the desk, and he looks to Jimin. “I don’t want-“
“Sweetheart, with all due respect, you don’t really have much of a choice.” Jimin’s words are surprisingly cold, his eyes running up and down the tiger’s frame. He makes note of far too many things, marks and tarnishes that he’s absolutely certain he never wanted to see. It settles wrong in the pit of his stomach.
There’s a risk that comes with this, with trusting these strangers and allowing them to rip him away from all he knows. But when Jimin looks, when it clicks in his mind just how much of a piece of shit Sunghoon is. Makes his blood boil, makes his skin burn, makes him angry. Makes him angry, clench his teeth, and all of a sudden, all rationality slips from his mind like water through a sieve.
“T-Take him,” Sunghoon’s voice is quiet. “Please.”
It’s a plea for his own life, for his to be spared, even if it means - to the best of his knowledge - pushing Taehyung further into a system that does more harm than good. Belonging to somebody else, belonging to this Park Jimin, who knows what it will entail?
“I don’t want to go!” He doesn’t know he’s shouted until it’s come out, his chest tight, and panic lacing his voice. “Don’t send me away!”
There’s a certain desperation in his tone that makes even Jimin run cold. But enough is enough. He only has to jerk his head in the direction of one of the others for them to do what needs to be done. Before he can do anything, before anything can make sense, arms are wrapping around him and he finds himself being pulled out of the room, his feet scuffling against the floor as he’s dragged.
He fights as best he can, but there is nothing he can do except strain to look over his shoulder, the door to the office shutting, taking him away from his owner and leaving him with Park Jimin.
Taehyung has been sitting at this kitchen counter for a hour or so now, and he’s had enough.
His tail sways behind him, his eyes pricked as he listens for any tell-tale signs of what’s to happen. He was just… dropped there rather unceremoniously, told to wait for Jimin to come back, to see what their apparent ‘leader’ would do with him.
Honestly? He’s nervous, but he dare not show that to them.
He sits on his hands to stop them shaking, he narrows his eyes as best he can whenever one of them comes near, almost baring his teeth when they reach to touch him. They mean well, to be honest even he can see that, but it’s a matter of principle now. They took him from his home, and he doesn’t understand why.
They offered him a drink, a shower - which was extremely insulting, he’s clean, his owner always made sure of that - and eventually a fresh set of clothes. Not making eye contact, not looking at him whenever they asked questions, and it only made him more antsy, make him fidget, make him suppress the desire to run as fast as he can.
Except, now he doesn’t know where to run to. He never left his owner’s house, he doesn’t know where he lives and the car ride wasn’t exactly five minutes.
It is… extremely deflating.
But it’s a nice apartment, at the very least. Modern, lots of light, more than he would have expected considering the obvious nature of this business, he would have thought more windows meant more witnesses. They are quite high up, however, the Seoul skyline is something that waits outside for him, taunting him with a freedom and a fear that he can’t quite stomach. He finds his gaze drawn to it, unable to look away. Perhaps he hopes for a sign that this wait will end soon. He can, of course, only hope.
Still, everything here is tidy, neat but still lived in. Signs of life are littered around - a stack of cookbooks by the pantry, a pair of slippers underneath the coffee table, somebody’s sweater thrown over a chair - but it’s only singular items. One. Like only one person lives here.
It’s too big for one person. It looks so empty, filled with void space and no people, no pictures, nothing really personal. The first thought he has is that it looks like a display home. Given just enough items to make it look pretty, but nothing real, nothing genuine, nothing human.
Plus, he didn’t see anything that indicated another hybrid was here. At least, not yet.
His legs swing a little, his lips pressed together in a rather determined pout before the door opens finally. And in walks Jimin, fiddling with the gloves on his hands; Taehyung isn’t stupid, he can see the way the colour changes, from black leather to being almost covered in a red substance. He knows what it is, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
He hopes Sunghoon is ok.
He shouldn’t but he does. The blood on Jimin’s hands could be more than just metaphorical, and that’s… worrying. He gnaws on the skin of his bottom lip, trying his best to stop his mind from wandering, but that’s a lot easier said than done. It’s a lot easier to just say ‘stop thinking’, but as he looks up at Jimin and notices the look in the other’s eye, it does little to settle the rapidly growing anxiety that builds inside of him. It builds and builds like water against a dam until he is certain it’ll all come spilling out soon enough.
But he dare not show that weakness. He won’t. He’ll swallow it down until he’s back where he belongs.
“He won’t bother you again,” Jimin’s voice is deep, almost gravelly, like he’s been shouting for hours. It strains a little, and Taehyung’s ears flatten against his head.
“Huh?”
“Sunghoon. You won’t have to see him agai-”
“Did you hurt him?”
Taehyung knows better than to interpret, but his cheeks are burning and his eyes are stinging and he hopes that whatever answer Jimin gives, it won’t turn his entire life upside down.
But he’s never really been the most lucky of people.
Jimin looks a little surprised, however. His jaw is slack, lips parted and his brows furrowed, as if he is thoroughly confused at the response. Truly, he had expected the tiger to perhaps be overjoyed, or relieved, or anything other than the panicky, hurt reaction that he’s been presented with instead. It doesn’t feel right. He read the signs correctly, he knew exactly what was going on; why isn’t Taehyung happy?
“I… dealt with my business in the best way possible.”
It’s a colder tone, like stone settling across Jimin’s features. Ice cold, frozen, smooth without a flaw in sight. But Taehyung looks past it.
“What do you mean?”
And then he sighs, shaking his head. But Taehyung waits patiently, not looking away, searching for some sort of answer to his questions. It takes a moment before Jimin just shrugs, not meeting his eye, instead running his palm over his face.
“It doesn’t matter. Look,” Taehyung opens his mouth to speak again but this time, Jimin shoots him a look that makes him almost cower in his seat. “This is your home now. At least for the time being.”
He wants to ask more questions, he needs more answers, but… he’s afraid. Jimin is frightening, and he would rather not test his now new owner’s patience. He doesn’t know the limits, doesn’t know when Park Jimin would snap.
“I want to go home,” his voice is soft, like a simple breath instead of actual words, and he stands up. Moving away from the counter, he clenches his fists at his sides. “Please.”
“Not an option,” Jimin shoots him down straight away. “Sorry.”
It doesn’t sound very sincere. Superficial, said for show, it doesn’t do anything to help Taehyung trust Jimin; his tail wraps around his leg, the tip brushing against his ankle, curling up in himself all over again. At least this way, whatever reaction Taehyung is sure to pull out of the other man, it should limit the damage dealt to his body.
His ribs are still tender from the other day, the skin stained with remnants of his owner’s anger. Or rather, former owner.
But Taehyung broke a rule. It was expected. That’s the point. He knows better than to open his mouth or be clumsy, to do anything other than sit and do as he’s told. Jimin cuts the conversation before there’s anything else to do, before he can even think beyond processing what’s just been said to him.
The worst part? He’s still as confused as he was half a hour ago, except this time with a little bit more worry swirling inside of him.
“Do you at least know where the bathroom is?” Jimin asks, walking past Taehyung to reach the fridge, opening it and immediately withdrawing a carton of orange juice. He shakes it in his hand, tilting his head as he waits for a response from the tiger, who seems to be absolutely fixated on the drink in his hands. “Kim Taehyung.”
That wakes him up. “Oh. Uh, I… no?” He winces a little at the uncertainty in his voice, the grip his tail has on his leg tightening until it’s practically unbearable; he tries to ignore it, but it seems even instinct is telling him to be careful-
Or, perhaps, it’s just been so long since he’s trusted anyone that he’s struggling to do so now.
Jimin opens the carton and brings the drink to his lips, gulping down some of the orange juice with his knuckles beginning to bruise ever so slowly. Taehyung can’t look away. It’s only when he’s finished, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, that Jimin finally continues his train of thought. “You should get cleaned up. Hot water, clean clothes, some food and you’ll feel better.”
“Why?” Taehyung asks, and Jimin steps closer.
It’s an innocent movement. One with no malice or malicious intent but Taehyung still gasps, still flinches, still behaves like somebody about to be struck, and it is with that movement only that Jimin knows he has made the right decision with pulling Taehyung out of that situation. He swallows. He won’t deny the fact it’s hard to see, but that’s the entire point of Taehyung being brought here anyway.
“Because, like I said, this is home.” He wants to play it off, gesturing to the open-planned apartment with one hand, like it’s absolutely nothing at all. “So, treat it like one.”
How does he ask ‘how’?
Instead, Taehyung just nods his head, brushing it under the carpet, as if ignoring it will make it go away.
He looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers, exhaling shakily. Paying attention to each tiny detail is helpful enough when it comes to calming down, gathering his wits and trying to get his thoughts together. Even so, a lot has changed in such a short period of time that he truly doesn’t know how to respond. What’s acceptable, what’s not, what he can and can’t do, all his boundaries suddenly blown out of the water, leaving him in the open space, so close to drowning. So close. Perhaps it would be easier at this point to simply succumb to whatever fate has planned-
A glass of orange juice is placed in front of him.
It’s so out of place that he actually looks up frowning for a moment, meeting Jimin’s eyes once again, and they seem a lot softer than before. Like the mask from earlier has been removed and everything is different, a slight tilt of perspective. That gentler gaze is something he didn’t expect to see on that same face that looked so angry at Sunghoon, each little detail leading to such a stark contrast that it’s surprising.
Either way, he holds his hands out, and takes the glass with a nod of his head, fingers curling around it and only slightly brushing against Jimin’s; it’s enough to make his heart stutter, like a stumble on the race track.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you here,” Jimin walks away. “I promise.”
“He’s in there.”
“Has he said anything?”
“Not really, he’s just locked himself in the bathroom.”
The voices are muffled, even when Taehyung presses his ears against the wood of the bathroom door, straining to hear what they’re talking about. He won’t leave the safety this door gives him, happily holed up in his own little area, but it means he can’t hear what they plan for him.
His tail taps against the cold tile flooring, almost demonstrating just how anxious he really is. It’s gone too quiet, to the point he questions if they left, if they gave up-
If they’re abandoning him here too.
He wants to rush out of the room, beg them not to leave him too, scream about how Jimin said they weren’t going to hurt him and then explain how leaving him is hurting him! His breath picks up, the rhythmic sound of his tail speeding up and up and up until he’s wincing at just how hard it collides with the ground. He doesn’t move away, however, still trained by the door in case of any developments. His bottom lip is irritated, the skin red from just how much he’s bitten it, the flesh raw and sore but he keeps biting, keeps worrying. It’s all he can do right now.
He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he flinches when there is a sudden series of knocks at the door, three solid hits with the back of the hand and Taehyung pushes himself away hurriedly, hands landing on the tile; he inches away a little.
“Can I come in?” It’s an unfamiliar voice, one he hasn’t heard closeby but he recognises it as one of the men who was just talking. “Jimin said you’ve been in here over a hour now.”
Taehyung wants to bare his teeth, his brow furrowing and his hands slowly curling into fists.
“My name is Jungkook,” the voice supplies. “I want to help.”
This time it’s soft, and the previous aggressive, defensiveness that was building up inside of him dissipates in an instant, like popping a bubble. With his lips pressed together - and a slight tingling in his palms - he unlocks the door, shuffling back immediately afterwards as to allow the stranger to enter.
And Jungkook looks nothing he expected.
He looks soft, dressed in comfortable and loose clothes, the type that keep you cozy instead of feeling stiff and too tight. His hair looks soft, his cheeks look soft, and the two bunny ears that hang on either side of his jaw.
“You’re a rabbit.” It blurts out before Taehyung can stop it, but Jungkook giggles, his nose wiggling a little as he does so.
“Technically, lop-eared bunny, but I guess rabbit works too.”
He crouches down in front of Taehyung, giving a better view of the chocolate-coloured ears and the slight bunny teeth, resting his cheeks in his hands and resting his elbows on his thighs. But there is relief. Jungkook doesn’t look hurt, doesn’t look injured or unhappy, so he must have a nice owner.
And maybe Jungkook’s owner wants Taehyung too.
Swallowing through the lump in his throat, he sits up a little, bringing their faces that slight bit closer together and thus their eyes meet. Taehyung holds the gaze, needing sincerity for his next question.
“Am I in trouble?”
For that moment, he expects Jungkook to laugh, to laugh at him and ridicule him, call him all sorts of cruel names. Instead, the bunny hybrid seems to slump a little, like the weight of the world has just been placed on his shoulders, and he shakes his head.
“They’re worried, actually.” Jungkook shifts again so he’s sat down properly on the floor, his legs crossed and his head tilted a little bit, ears following suit. “Why are you hiding?”
“Because I don’t want to get into trouble.” He hates how he sounds like a child, his lips drawn together in a slight pout, and he pulls on a loose thread on his shirt.
Jungkook’s nose twitches again, almost like an indication that he’s thinking so hard, and Taehyung swallows. A soft hum escapes the bunny before he shakes his head. “You’re not in trouble, I don’t see why you would be.”
He still fidgets either way, not quite wanting to admit why he thinks so. It’s been ingrained in his mind, stamped and stickered and carved until that guilt washes over him like a cold shower each and every second of the day. Guilt about things he shouldn’t feel guilty about. Too much for him to actually focus on and categorize, it’s all very overwhelming. But this other hybrid, this Jungkook… he can’t see bruises on him. He can’t see the tell-tale marks of an owner, he can’t see the slight coldness in his eyes, he can’t see anything other than a warmth that surely comes from something akin to happiness.
Slowly, he looks up, nodding his head, surrendering this battle if it means surviving the all-out war. That nod is enough to make Jungkook beam, for those bunny teeth to show and full cheeks and fluff up.
But there still begs the question why he looks so… so happy. Yes, Taehyung has had his own moments where his body hasn’t ached and his hands weren’t trembling, when everything actually felt alright for a while, but it never lasted long enough to leave an impression, a genuine effect on his life.
So he wonders, truly. Lets himself wander down that path with his lips pressed together, with so many questions that he’s sure there isn’t even the time to answer them, not enough time in the world. But then again, he long since gave up searching for answers to things that don’t make sense.
Like why a hybrid needs an owner. Even so, that’s pretty much been hardwired into his system now.
“You… your owner…” Taehyung begins to ask, trailing off and hoping the other understands.
“I don’t have one.” He answers.
“But-”
“I live with Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook gives a quick gesture with his head, pointing over his shoulder to outside the door. Taehyung can vaguely pick up the sound of a deeper voice, one that belongs to somebody other than Jimin, and he doesn’t understand it at first. If he lives with Yoongi, then surely Yoongi is his owner? That’s the only thing that makes sense to him. Hybrids have owners, it’s the way he’s always heard, and to even think of two hybrids living together, that sounds… so weird to him. “He’s in there with Jimin-hyung now.”
Hyung. Jimin-hyung. Yoongi-hyung. Lots of new people in a short period of time, but he just tries to swallow down whatever he can and acknowledges what Jungkook says with the slightest of movements. His tail flicks against the ground again.
“Is he a bunny hybrid too?” He asks, his curiosity piqued.
Jungkook shakes his head again, only cementing that confusion onto Taehyung’s expression. “Yoongi-hyung is a human.” There’s a pause, as if Jungkook is thinking about whether he should say what very clearly clings to his tongue, hanging off the edge with a determined grip. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Now that… is something Taehyung certainly didn’t expect to hear on this regular-ass day.
Human and hybrid relations have always had that power imbalance, where the human holds more power. The word ‘boyfriend’, it was something that was very rarely if ever applied to that sort of relationship… honestly, this is the first time Taehyung has ever really realised that it’s a real thing, let alone be faced with somebody in one of those relationships.
It’s different, but pleasantly so. He’s surprised at the way he wants to smile at hearing that news; he tries to hide that feeling as best as he can.
He’ll do anything for some sort of change in the subject, if only so he can conceal this properly. Anything. Anything at all, if somebody could just throw him a line--
His stomach rumbles loudly, embarrassingly so, and he quickly wraps his arms around himself with a pout, his bottom lip sticking out. He didn’t mean something like that… That’s humiliating, especially with the way Jungkook’s smile dropped, and his head tilted that little bit more. If that was possible.
Taehyung finds himself more inclined to call him ‘puppy’ rather than ‘bunny’.
“Are you hungry?”
He doesn’t shake his head, but he doesn’t admit just how hungry he is either. The familiar pangs of hunger are something he’s used to it, something that has practically become immune to. He bites on the inside of his cheek, though that seems to be indication enough to Jungkook, it seems to tell him exactly what he needs to know.
“Hmm,” Jungkook brings his index finger to his lips, his eyes focused on one of the bathroom floor tiles. He’s thinking so loudly that Taehyung can practically hear it. “Dinner usually isn’t for a little bit, and we usually get takeout.”
Dinner. Even at the thought of it, his stomach starts to rumble again, loudly calling out for some sort of nourishment. And now he’s in a place where he can get fed, where he’s allowed to eat even though he knows he’s misbehaved, he’s been bad. Still, it’s a pleasant thought that he could just walk into the kitchen and - politely - ask for food. But then it clicks. A lightbulb turns on above his head, and Taehyung even hazards a slight smile. The first proper one he’s had for a long time, and he squirms a little in place, pleased with his idea.
Cooking is something that relaxes him. The methodical movement to it, weighing things and timing things, making everything like a routine. It’s calming, it’s easy to just forget how to think and focus on the ingredients, the process, everything like that. He was always cooking at his old home - Jungkook reinforced the idea that this was his home now, at least until he found another - because that was his job, to provide dinner. Sure, part of it was quite demeaning, but Taehyung adapted to cooking like a fish swims in water; it became second nature.
Even without being experienced in this particular kitchen, it comes easy. He finds utensils by flitting through drawers and cupboards, finding bowls and spatulas and pans, turning to look at Jungkook with soft eyes while holding meat or vegetables, asking if he can use them.
Every question is answered with a yes, and an affirmation that he doesn’t have to ask.
He does anyway.
It’s comforting to ask, to be allowed to do things, not only because he fears getting into trouble by doing something wrong but also because… well.. it’s just nice to know it’s ok.
The kitchen is soon filled with a sharp sizzling sound of meat and vegetables frying in oil, the air smelling so distinctly delicious that Taehyung even finds himself salivating, He can’t think beyond the hunger pangs in his stomach, beyond the recipe for his owner’s favourite dish. The rice is on, the vegetables steamed, and Jungkook even let Taehyung use his phone for music. It’s some lofi songs, no lyrics and no words but soft tunes, enough to keep everything peaceful at the very least. He finds his tail sways slightly to some of the music; he doesn’t notice the way Jimin watches it with determined eyes.
Following its every movement like it’s the only thing in the room, the only thing that matters. And then as its owner flits about the kitchen, his eyes follow that movement too, absolutely trained on the other, unable to look away.
In this light, he can see the slight stripes in Taehyung’s hair, and when he smiles, pointed teeth poke out from between his lips. The traits that show how different he is, much like Jungkook’s own.
He’s known Jungkook and Yoongi for years, and even as he sits next to the bunny hybrid at the counter, watching the other hybrid slowly emerge from his shell. But Jungkook has those traits too. The ears, the bunny tail, the slightly larger front teeth and the little habits, like wiggling his nose or thumping his right foot when he’s excited. Part of him wonders… if Taehyung has those little habits too.
He shouldn’t be thinking about it, surely even that is crossing a line, but it’s hard to stop a train of thought once it’s started going. He wonders if Taehyung’s tail flicks in his sleep, he wonders if Taehyung’s nose wiggles like Jungkook’s, he wonders how he shows that he’s happy, excited-
Not sad, or afraid... He’s already seen those.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” Jimin asks quietly, his hands folded neatly atop of the counter. But Taehyung still keeps his attention on the pan, determined to make this food taste good, focusing his effort into making a decent meal. It’s one of the few things he’s confident with doing, something that he knows he can do well, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.
If anything, it’ll just prove to himself that he’s as useless as his owner tells him.
Ex-owner told him. It’s not like that anymore.
He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment before he looks up to Jimin. Meeting his eyes, feeling his stomach clench and curl at this domestic setting, and it’s something Taehyung would have wanted at a certain point in his life, maybe he still does, but… God, he can’t even think like that. Some things are out of reach, sometimes for now, and sometimes forever.
“I know,” he replies quietly, still looking at Jimin, still meeting his eyes, still finding himself getting lost in the various shades of amber and syrup, like honey in the light that streams in from the windows, gaps in the blinds. Shining in and lighting up what is essentially Taehyung’s world now.
It’s different. A lot different, and while he’s still not too sure what to think about it, he’ll take whatever he can get if it means somewhere safe and warm to sleep, food in his belly, and access to a shower.
“But I like doing it.” He shrugs a little, stirring the food again, wanting to stop it burning. Ever had charcoaled dinner? He would rather not serve the people who just saved him bad food, that wouldn’t be very polite or grateful of him.
“As long as you know,” Jimin’s voice pitches, and he clears his throat, ducking his head a little and Taehyung wonders; could the apparent big bad gang leader, the man who held a gun like a paper weight, be shy? “As long as you know you don’t have to do anything. Total free will.”
It’s a concept that Taehyung isn’t entirely used to, but he’s willing to try. So he smiles at Jimin, a bright boxy grin that’s surely the first real one Jimin’s seen at the very least; the little one he gave Jungkook earlier pales in comparison to this.
Jimin wants to keep that smile safe. That… that is definitely something he’s not used to.
Protecting people outside his friends, outside the five he loves so dearly… he’s not completely opposed to adding somebody else to that group, to looking after someone else—
To bringing somebody else close to his chest.
It’s not something to think about now. At the moment, getting Taehyung into a better mindset… helping him heal from whatever he has been through, that is his priority. His only priority. Everything else is a potential, nothing is for certain.
“It’s almost ready,” Taehyung whispers under his breath, running his tongue over his lips, hoping not to mess the last few steps up. “I…”
“I’ll help.”
Before Taehyung can say no, before Jungkook can offer, Jimin is already out of his seat, moving around the island counter to stand next to him. Their hips bump together a little, the slightest bit of pressure and Taehyung can’t help but look at Jimin, his eyes pricked and his eyes wide and staring, unable to look away. Taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the flawless skin, the way those eyes can look both intensely dark and so soft, too many different expressions and sides, all of them he wants to see, to learn, to get to know.
Jimin moves expertly in the kitchen, smooth and fluid, like water in a stream, solving issues before Taehyung even realises they’re problems. And so he keeps on staring, even as Jimin pulls the pan off the heat and gently pries the spatula out of the hybrid’s hand, serving up the food that the tiger had poured his heart into making. He’s not angry, though, or upset, or annoyed that it seems Jimin has come in and taken over. If anything, it’s… almost comforting in this.
He lets it happen, but it’s not somebody taking control forcefully; it’s somebody taking care of him.
He hasn’t felt that before, not properly, but… he likes it.
He smiles softly at Jimin, moving to step back, to allow the other more control in the situation but Jimin doesn’t allow that. His index and middle fingers wrap into the hem of Taehyung’s shirt, tugging him back into place. A slight stumble, his legs twisting a little, and he half collides with Jimin and the island.
He feels his cheeks burn, though it’s surely from embarrassment than anything else.
“I-“
“I’m sorry.”
Jimin speaks before Taehyung can once again, a slightly guilty expression on his features. But Taehyung doesn’t understand why he looks so guilty; instead, he just tilts his head, his ears following suit, if only because he is so not used to hearing apologies, least of all when they're directed to him. So many new things, it all feels so weird, like he's waiting to wake up from a dream, or somebody to pinch him and say 'psych'.
Please don't do that. He wants it to stay, he wants whatever this is to remain. Is that so bad?
"For... what?"
"I shouldn't have touched you without your permission," Jimin shoots him an apologetic look. "Sorry."
Taehyung swallows, utterly dumbfounded at the response, the air completely knocked out of him. He's surprised once again by Jimin, though he can't find himself... hating it, or anything like that at all.
Jimin continues, unfazed by that little interaction, not holding much worth to something that isn't that big of a deal to him.
To Taehyung, it truly means the world.
But then he fucks it up.
He expected it, really. Nothing good ever lasts forever and he knew he would be the reason that everything got messed up.
He didn’t realise the pan was still hot, he didn’t realise the handle had been resting over heat, he didn’t realise that by touching it, he was going to burn himself.
Almost take the skin off his palm, honestly, and God, does it hurt like that.
He had been cleaning up, everyone full and grateful for the meal, Taehyung feeling good about himself and he was eager to do more good things, to make his new family proud, the people who had saved him and the people who seemed willing to keep him safe.
But he touched the handle of the pan, dropping it almost instantly with a loud yelp and an even louder clatter, practically yanking the very bones out of his skin with how on edge that makes him.
And thoughts back to his owner, back to being at home, back to a place he really… really doesn’t want to go to.
His heart hammers in his chest, and at first, the instinctive thought is that he knows he’s in trouble now. He made too much noise. He could have damaged the pan. He probably pissed Jimin and Jungkook and Yoongi off.
And yes, he thinks they’ll hurt him. He thinks he’ll get punished., There are so many thoughts running around in his head right now that none of it makes sense. All too much, like static from the television screaming into his ear. Even a whimper escapes his lips before he can stop it, that instinctive fear sinking into his skin, filling his lungs, drowning him from the inside.
When Jimin rushes toward him, Yoongi already picking up the dropped pan with an oven glove over his hand, and Jungkook is wiping up whatever mess has been made... he flinches, waiting to be struck. Waiting for a palm to hit his cheek, waiting for that familiar stinging pain, and he shuts his eyes, bowing his head. And he waits.
And he waits.
And… he waits.
And nothing happens.
That’s almost more disheartening, something that is… nerve wracking. He knows how to react to that, and it’s only when a hand gently takes his wrist. The touch is as light as a feather, something so gentle that it sends electricity up his skin. The softest brush, fingers pressing into his skin, almost enough to feel the way his heart races, thumping so violently that he can barely breathe.
Jimin is turning his hand over, gently prising open his palm, checking the skin for any injuries. Featherlight, gentle, so many things and not enough words to describe them, a sort of tenderness that Taehyung has never felt. Jimin treats him delicately, like he might break at the slightest of movements, and he wants to feel like that forever.
Forever is a long time.
Then again, he figures… he wouldn’t mind spending it by their sides.
Jungkook and Yoongi.
Jimin.
Jimin.
He feels his cheeks heat up a little, his tail curling around his thigh tightly, squeezing the flesh. His ears lay flat against his head, and he feels meek. Shy. A tiger is meant to be fierce, strong and brave and scary, all sorts. Not this small person, not this shy personality, not like the box he has been forced into.
He never used to be like this.
“Does it hurt? We need to run it under cold water.” Jimin presses a hand to the small of his back, pushing him gently toward the sink. His palm is placed under the faucet, and cold water starts to run over his skin, and he winces. It stings a little bit, his nose scrunching, but Jimin rubs his back, circles through the material of his shirt. “Jungkook, can you get something to wrap his hand in?”
“There’s no need,” Taehyung’s voice is like a breath, quieter than a whisper, the sound of a quick gasp.
But Jimin shakes his head, keeps his wrist under the water, determined to take care of the hybrid because it seems like nobody else surely will. He hasn’t been taken care of before, that much in the way the very state of him makes him obvious. Underfed, dark circles, pale, flinching at every loud noise, he’s not dumb. Jimin saw this with Jungkook, when he plucked him from a similar situation, except now Jungkook has Yoongi to take care of him.
Jimin just wants to comfort Taehyung, to help him get better, to help him heal.
He sees Taehyung in the same place Jungkook was, he knows how awful he had been and how much better he is now. While not completely over what happened, much better is enough. He wants to see Taehyung in the after, not so much the before, and so he’s willing to help.
“You need to take care of yourself. It’s important.” Jimin turns off the water once Taehyung thinks his hand has frozen solid, tapping at his palm with a clean cloth provided by Yoongi. Taking much care with the action, inspecting the skin with remarkable precision, wanting to do it right if he has to do it at all.
“I’m alright, hyung.”
The honorific slips out before he can stop it, and he shuts his mouth fast. Jimin smiles instead.
“Taehyung… we’re the same age, I’m not your hyung.”
Oh.
But Jimin looks… more confident. His shoulders are drawn back instead of hunched over, he walks with an air of ‘don’t fucking look at me’, and he acts like he knows everything. Not in a cocky way, not radiating a sort of arrogance but… a comforting way, almost. The type that means he can trust Jimin, and he manages to smile back.
“I’m sorry I got hurt,” he replies. “I’m alright, I should have known not to touch the pan.”
“Everyone makes mistakes in the kitchen, don’t even worry about it.”
Even now, Taehyung wants to hide in Jimin’s chest and never venture out of it.
He’s handed some dry gauze from Jungkook, whose ears are twitching and fidgeting, those bunny teeth nibbling on his bottom lip; Yoongi comes up from behind, and it’s the first time Taehyung fully notices their height difference, the way Jungkook immediately sinks into Yoongi’s embrace, the way Yoongi’s hands seem to almost cup the other’s elbows perfectly, pulling him away from an apparent private moment. Taehyung didn’t realise it was private, didn’t know how personal it could be. Jimin bandages his hand, wrapping it up--
Taehyung can’t help but inch a little closer.
He’s… never wanted to kiss somebody before.
There’s nothing inherently sexual about it. Don’t get him wrong, Jimin is attractive, but he doesn’t want to rip his clothes off, he doesn’t want to feel the temperature rise until their skin is flushed, sticking to each other. He just wants to kiss him. Wants to press their lips together, run his fingers through his hair, feel the rhythm of his heartbeat in his neck, his wrist, everywhere.
His own lips feel dry, his tongue like sandpaper, and he finds himself stepping closer. More of a stumble, really, his tail flicking more and more. Jimin meets his eyes, and that electricity ripples over his skin again, like pure fucking energy runs off Jimin and moves to shock his heart, to kill him with a single look.
But then those eyes soften, and that electricity turns to gentle waves, soothing and bringing him close. He wants to touch him.
Jimin’s hand moves to rest on Taehyung’s shoulder, and for a split second, he thinks Jimin might kiss him. He thinks Jimin is going to kiss him, he thinks Jimin is going to cup his cheek and bring him in and kiss him, take his breath away, show him what it’s like to be treated nicely.
Instead, it doesn’t… really happen like that.
Jimin just rubs his shoulder, comfortingly, platonically, and there is no kiss. Taehyung’s heart sinks to his stomach, and he’s embarrassed. He’s embarrassed to think he could ever have a chance with Jimin, and he wants to sink into the ground and disappear. He wants to hide, he wants to run, and that instinctive fight or flight feeling is really, really pushing him into bolting out of the door.
It’s surprisingly deflating. Extremely so, really, and he feels himself withdraw, begin to curl back into himself.
Jimin notices, though he tries not to say anything. He doesn’t want to make the hybrid feel even worse.
He takes a deep breath, shooting a look over Taehyung’s shoulder to Jungkook - who is playing with the sleeve of Yoongi’s hoodie - and he receives a sad expression in response. Not one sad for him, but rather… sad for whatever Taehyung has been through to react like this.
It seems Taehyung’s healing might take a little longer than any of them initially anticipated.
But none of them mind one bit.
“Ah, Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the silence. “Do you like music?”
It’s only much later that Jimin and Taehyung are left by themselves. Jungkook and Yoongi had gone back to their apartment with a sweet goodbye and a promise to come back tomorrow. He had clung to Jungkook’s arm, terrified that the other was going to go and not come back, that he would never see him again, and that brought the fear back. Not as bad as earlier, not as bad as before, but still wrapping around his heart, squeezing.
But they took the time to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright. To ease that anxiety that builds up in him. They show that they care, despite the fact they’ve known him mere hours at best, they do their best.
He doesn’t understand it, but Taehyung has long since given up questioning things he’ll never get answers to, asking for explanations that will never make sense.
He’s so grateful for them, that they took him out of that place. He’s not sure if he will ever be able to pay them back.
The front door shuts with a quiet click, Jimin locking it soon after, and Taehyung shuffles in place, not quite sure what he’s supposed to do now.
“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t leave, Taehyung,” Jimin looks over his shoulder at him. “At any point, you’re welcome to, but you’re also welcome to stay.”
His tail flicks again, going from side to side behind him.
“Can I stay?” He asks after a moment, though he ducks his head, eyes trained to the floor, not wanting to look at Jimin, meet those eyes all over again.
“Of course.”
The response is expected but it’s still a nice thing to hear. That need for affirmation and reassurance isn’t something that Taehyung really likes… but it’s something he’s lived with, something he knows he has, and he tries to swallow it down frequently, to hide how he feels most of the time in fear of being told he’s annoying or he’s overthinking, but… Jimin doesn’t seem to mind.
“We should find you something to wear, do you mind sleeping on a couch?” Jimin hums. “I suppose you could take my bed-”
“I don’t want to be a hassle.”
“You’re not, I promise.”
It’s enough for now, at least, and Taehyung lets the conversation settle. The apartment is darker than before, the sky outside filled with scatterings of stars and lights from buildings, lamps turned on and to light up the space. It’s cozy, it feels warm, and Taehyung feels safer here than he did at the last place.
Surely that should say something.
“My room is over there, on the left. You can go and help yourself into anything while I go shower.” Jimin gives him another smile before he goes to move past, walk by Taehyung and into the bathroom, but he reaches out to grab the other’s arm without even meaning to. Jimin looks down at the grip on him, before he looks up to the hybrid. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t go.”
It slips out fast, tumbles out, no way of stopping it. His fingers press into Jimin’s forearm, holding him like he’s a lifeline, the only thing stopping him from drowning. His ears are flat against his head once again, the stripes stark against his brown hair. Soft curls that brush against his neck, but he stares so defiantly at Jimin’s arm. Feeling smooth skin on his palm, and the only thought that runs around his head like it’s on a treadmill is that he never knew how nice touch could be until he met Jimin and the others. He never knew touch didn’t always hurt.
Jimin understands it. He truly does. He knows how Taehyung must be feeling, how Taehyung is using him as a safety blanket. It’s alright. “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers, adjusting the grip on his arm so he can hold his hand instead. The bandaged one hangs by the hybrid’s side, his fingers curling over and over again. “I promise you.”
“But what if you go?” Taehyung looks down at their entwined fingers, noticing how his hands are just that bit bigger than Jimin’s, liking the way their palms fit almost perfectly. He won’t entertain ideas and stories of things that are meant to be and things that are meant to happen if only to prevent disappointing himself, but he can’t help but think those tales fit just as well as their hands do.
“I’m not.” Jimin doesn’t laugh, doesn’t get annoyed, he keeps reaffirming it all and he will keep doing so until Taehyung is thoroughly convinced. “I’ll be here the entire time. You can wait for me here, or outside the bathroom, or my room, wherever you feel most comfortable.”
Taehyung looks down at their hands again before he tilts his head a little, thinking over the options. “I… don’t mind your room.”
He’s never been in there, not had much of a reason to, but Jimin told him to get changed, get comfortable. His thought process is simple. Jimin is safe, his apartment is safe, and if it’s a room in his apartment - Jimin’s room - surely that’s a safe space too.
Safe space, safe space, he doesn’t like that phrase. A space shouldn’t be safe, everything, everywhere should be.
God, he feels weird.
“That’s fine, I won’t take too long.”
He’s pulled again, guided and tugged and brought into Jimin’s room, still treated so nicely that it makes his head spin. And Jimin’s room is… nice. The bed itself looks like he could sleep for a thousand years, worth more than his last owner’s yearly rent, and it’s tidy, like the entire apartment. Everything is almost picture perfect, nothing out of place, nothing wrong with it at all. But it still screams Jimin. Pictures of the others - Yoongi and Jungkook with Jimin - and photos that seem to date back years. He can’t help but want to stare, want to get to know Jimin in more than one way.
Every way. Every single one.
“You’re thinking so loudly,” Jimin is unbuttoning his shirt, rolling down the sleeves. “Anything you want help with?”
But Taehyung shakes his head, picking up one of the frames and looking at it closely, tilting his head. Yoongi and Jungkook, with Jimin. His arms are wrapped around the two of them, his smile so wide it’s all teeth and his eyes are squeezed shut. He looks so happy, a little younger than he is now, but that smile is sweet enough that he might find himself addicted.
No, that word feels wrong. He just wants to be the reason for somebody to smile like that.
He wants to see it in person.
“I want to thank you again.”
Jimin looks at him, shirt unbuttoned but still hanging on his shoulders, still keeping him at least halfway decent; he walks over to him, a hand moving to push that photo frame down and he holds Taehyung’s upper arms. His fingers curl around him, making them face one another once again and Taehyung feels his knees go weak. His expression is so soft. Taehyung can’t help himself.
He leans in to kiss him. It’s a very simple kiss, the slightest of pecks, for gratitude if not for anything else. It definitely shocks Jimin, though, who blinks in response, clearly surprised by the indication of his tense frame, wide eyes, and otherwise no reciprocatory response.
Not that he doesn’t want to kiss Taehyung. He just doesn’t want to take advantage of him.
He can tell that the other is starting to panic by the way he pulls away, by the way apologies are already beginning to form on this tongue, so Jimin leans in and seals their lips again.
It’s a bit firmer that time, an indication of further confirmation, something sweeter than before because this time, there is more emotion behind it. Not just Taehyung’s, but Jimin’s also, even though the guilt settles in before either of them can really stop it.
When Jimin pulls away, Taehyung moves to follow, only to be stopped by an almost sad smile, a gentle squeeze of his arms.
“I… w-we kissed, I thought-”
“Oh, Taehyung,” Jimin sighs. “I… do want to kiss you. But I want you to kiss me because you want to, not just because I’m something… safe.” And it makes sense. It makes sense for Taehyung too. “Being with you now, it wouldn’t feel right. You weren’t treated right, and I want to see you get better.”
Taehyung nods his head along with what Jimin says, the reality of it all settling in. And while he’s certain he wants to kiss Jimin for more than that one reason, he gets it. Truly.
“Can I kiss you another day?” He asks instead, and Jimin smiles, bringing him close, and hugging him tightly. So tightly it practically squeezes the air from his lungs, but Taehyung wouldn’t ask for anything else.
“Of course.”