#poly bts

Yoongi’s gaze flickers briefly toward the tray, then back to you. “You keep saying that,” he says, his tone low but not unkind, “you think it’ll make us trust you?”

The words catch you off guard. “I just think it’s better than starving.”

He studies you for a long moment, eyes narrowing just a little, as if searching for the catch. “You humans and your kindness,” he mutters. “It always comes with a price.”

You bite the inside of your cheek before answering. “If there’s a price, it’s just making sure no one dies in my house.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. 

Finally, Yoongi exhales, shifting slightly in the sheets. “We didn’t ask to be here.”

“I know,” you reply. “But you are. And until you can walk without looking like you’re about to pass out, it kinda looks like you’re staying.”

He studies you for a long moment, eyes narrowing just a little. When he finally looks away, you can’t tell if it’s in acceptance or restraint.

Finally he breaks the silence. “You shouldn’t keep the curtains open,” he says quietly. “Too easy to spot movement from outside.”

You glance toward the thin strip of light spilling through the gap in the fabric. “Are you saying someone’s watching?”

He shrugs, “they could be. You have two hybrids in your house. I’m sure you’re smart enough to tell we were being hunted.”

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe evenly. The word hunted sits heavy in the air.

“Then I’ll close them,” you say softly, and move to do just that.

Neither stops you. But you can feel their eyes follow you until the very last sliver of daylight disappears behind the fabric.

You gulp before turning back around, “who’s hunting you?” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He looks tired, worn in a way that no amount of sleep could fix. “If you’re lucky,” he says, voice quiet enough to barely carry, “you won’t have to find out.”

The room falls silent again. Only the soft tick of the clock fills the air, slow and steady. You think about the untouched food, the drawn curtains, the way Taehyung hasn’t taken his eyes off the window.

Then, cutting through the heavy quiet, comes a low, unmistakable sound.

Your eyes flick toward Yoongi. His stomach growls softly, breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping.

He exhales through his nose, almost embarrassed, looking away. “Ignore that,” he mutters.

You blink. “You haven’t eaten since you got here.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I can practically hear your stomach begging you to be reasonable.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer.

From the corner, Taehyung lifts his head slightly, golden eyes watching the exchange with quiet awareness. His tail flicks once, slow and deliberate, like he’s judging the situation and finding both of you equally foolish.

You cross your arms. “You don’t have to trust me. But at least trust the fact that you’re still alive because I didn’t let you die in my shed.”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours again, sharp despite the fatigue in it. “And what do you expect me to do? Sit here and pretend everything’s normal? That you’re helping out of kindness?”

“I expect you to eat,” you say simply. “That’s it.”

For a long moment, neither of you move. The sound of the clock down the hall ticks faintly between your words.

Finally, Yoongi sighs. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

You send him a smile, “nope. If you’re gonna be here awhile you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

His eyes narrow, but in the next moment he reaches out for the bowl of ramen on the tray. His hand trembles just slightly as he lifts it, and you notice him glance toward Taehyung before taking a small cautious sip.

Taehyung’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t move closer. He just keeps watching, chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

For a while, the only sound in the room is the faint clink of the spoon against the bowl. Yoongi doesn’t eat much, but it’s more than nothing and for now, that’s enough for you. You watch the lines in his face ease slightly as the warmth settles into him.

Then, from beside the bed, there’s a low huff.

You turn, and there’s Taehyung. You hadn’t realized he hopped off the bed until he’s right next to you. His fur brushing lightly against your leg as he nudges you with the side of his head. The movement startles you at first but there’s no aggression in it. Just a slow, deliberate push, like he’s trying to get your attention.

You blink, unsure what to do, “what is it?”

Yoongi makes a low sound that might be a sigh. “He wants you to feed him.”

You glance between them. “You’re serious?”

Yoongi lifts one shoulder lazily, leaning back against the wall.

You look back at Taehyung. His eyes meet yours and then he nudges the tray of food gently with his nose, a soft rumble vibrating in his chest.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re just one giant house cat,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the plate.

You hold out two strips of bacon, and he moves forward with surprising gentleness for something so large. His nose brushes your fingers before he takes it carefully like he knows he could hurt you if he’s not. His tongue grazes your hand, warm and rough, before he pulls back to chew.

Another quiet rumble rises from his chest, deep and content.

“See?” you murmur, handing him another piece. “Not so scary when you’re fed.”

Yoongi watches from the bed, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t get too comfortable with him,” he says after a moment. “He’s still a predator.”

You glance up at him. “So are you.” 

For a heartbeat, neither of you look away. Then Yoongi exhales softly, looking toward the window instead.

Taehyung finishes the last piece and nudges your hand once more, a quiet, grateful sound rumbling low in his throat.

You can’t help the faint smile that slips through. “Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” You brush your fingers against his fur; “by the way… why is he a tiger?” you finally ask, glancing at Yoongi. “I thought hybrids were… half human, half animal.”

Yoongi leans back against the pillows. “We can shapeshift,” he says simply. “I’m just too weak right now to shift. It takes too much energy.”

You frown, glancing at Taehyung. “So… he’s keeping this form because he doesn't want to change?”

Yoongi nods slowly. “We’re stronger in our animal form. Sometimes we choose to stay in these forms because we’re scared.”

You glance at Yoongi, his golden eyes fixed on you, sharp and probing despite the fatigue and fever that still lingers in his features. Taehyung’s massive head rests lightly against the floor by your feet.

“Why are you helping us?” Yoongi asks, breaking the silence

You blink caught off guard by the question, setting the plate down slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Because… I’m a nurse,” you say, voice tentative but steady. “It’s what I do. I don’t care what species you are. Hurt people need help. That’s it.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches again, heavy and cautious, punctuated only by the soft hiss of the wind outside. You can feel the weight of his scrutiny, but it doesn’t feel hostile. Just… uncertain.

Suddenly a thought crossed your mind. 

You push yourself up slowly, stretching your legs. “I’m going outside for a bit,” you say, your voice careful, almost casual.

You glance at him, then at Taehyung who’s still lying low, watching. “I need to clean the blood from the shed. If someone’s been hunting you… having that out there isn’t helping anyone. We’re practically asking for them to come find you.”

His eyes widen in surprise. Taehyung, still in his tiger form, shifts slightly, ears pricked forward. Neither of them expected you to care this much.

You don’t notice their reactions, too focused on creating a mental checklist on what to buy from the store. 

Yoongi’s voice, quieter than usual, cuts through the air: “You… really mean that?”

You pause, rags in hand, and glance toward the window. “I mean it,” you reply firmly. “I don’t know who’s out there, but I’m not leaving this for them to find.”

The quiet that follows is telling. Even Taehyung doesn’t move, his massive head tilting slightly as if trying to process that a human—you—would care enough to act, even for hybrids like them.

You step out, shutting the guest room door behind you with care, leaving them watching from the safety of the room. The crisp morning air hits your face, filling your lungs as you move toward the shed. Every footstep feels deliberate, not just because of the blood you’re about to clean, but because you know they’re watching, waiting to see if you’ll actually follow through.

By the time you reach the shed, the full weight of the situation hits. “Okay,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, “let’s get this done.”

You kneel to inspect them, frowning. The wood’s rough texture has already absorbed too much. You realize you don’t have everything you need. All you had was a rag and some dish soap. No hydrogen peroxide, no scrub brush, nothing to really get it deep into the wood grain.

Still, you do your best. Dipping the rag into soapy water, you scrub at the worst spots, rinsing and wringing repeatedly. It doesn’t disappear completely, but at least the surface looks cleaner, and the sharp metallic smell fades slightly. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than leaving it untouched.

A sigh escapes you. Looks like a trip to the store is unavoidable. You glance back toward the window where Yoongi and Taehyung watch silently. “Don’t move. I’ll be back in an hour,” you call, trying to keep your voice calm, though your stomach knots at the thought of leaving them even for a few minutes.

The two of them remain still, their eyes tracking your movements as you head toward the car, determined to come back armed with the right tools to erase every trace.

The drive to the store is quiet. By the time you park, you’ve already made a mental list: bleach, gloves, scrub brush, disinfectant spray. Everything that will let you clean the shed properly without leaving traces behind.

You step through the sliding doors of the store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. A part of you can’t help but glance around nervously. Each aisle feels like it could be a stage, every other shopper a silent observer of your secret.

Grabbing a shopping cart, you start moving down the cleaning aisle. Bleach, disinfectant spray, hydroxide—you check off the items quickly. You mutter under your breath, “god, I hope no one thinks I’m covering up a murder scene…”

Pushing the cart toward the meat section, your mind drifts back to Yoongi and Taehyung. Not that you need to worry about normal grocery decisions for yourself, but… what kind of meat does a panther like Yoongi prefer? Or a tiger like Taehyung? You stare at the rows of beef, chicken, and pork, trying to imagine what would appeal to them in their current state.

Yoongi, still weak, probably won’t have a big appetite but you want something he can actually eat. Something familiar, something that will make him feel a little more like himself. 

You pick up a few pounds of steak and some raw chicken. You pause, feeling a sense of surrealism. Shopping for meat for wild creatures in your own house wasn’t something you ever imagined you’d be doing.

Just as you reach for a package of chicken, two men step into your aisle. Their uniforms catch the fluorescent light, and your stomach drops. 

One of them steps closer, eyes scanning you carefully. “Evening,” he says, voice clipped. “Do you live around here?”

You nod, keeping your tone calm. “Yeah, just down the street,” you lie.

The other man tilts his head, studying you carefully. “We had reports of large animals. Seen or heard near your property?”

You tilt your head, “large animals? You mean like large wild animals?”

They exchange a quick glance. “Yeah exactly. It’s nothing to worry about but you see we just wanted to ask a few questions.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your expression neutral. “I understand,” you say evenly. “Ask away.”

The taller man leans slightly closer, his eyes scanning you with a measured curiosity. “Did you notice anything unusual around here lately? Any signs of large animals that aren’t native in these parts of the world?”

You shrug, keeping your tone calm. “No. I haven’t seen anything like that. Just shopping, that’s all.”

His partner flips open a small notebook, jotting something down. “And you’re certain? No sounds, no tracks, nothing odd?”

“I’m certain,” you reply, keeping your hands visible on the counter. “I didn’t see anything.”

The men exchange a brief look, then nod. “Alright. Thank you Miss.”

You offer a polite nod. “Of course.”

You keep your distance, pretending to browse the meat, but your eyes follow them. The two men approach another shopper, asking similar questions. You notice the person flinch slightly at their presence, but quickly nod and answer.

You let out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders easing slightly. Glancing back at the meat section, your focus sharpens. The stakes are higher than ever, but for now, the men have moved on, and your priorities are clear: pick the right food and get back to Yoongi and Taehyung.

You shove the last grocery bag into the trunk, the plastic crackling under your hands. You pull out of the parking lot and onto the road leading toward the outskirts of town. The city slowly fades behind you, replaced by fields, then scattered houses, then the familiar thick wall of forest that closes in around the winding road.

You thought the drive home would be uneventful. That was until something massive lunged from the trees.

“Shit—!”

You slam the brakes.

Your car screeches. Your body snaps forward, seatbelt digging into your chest. You can hear what sound like all of your groceries tumbling in the back seat.

But you barely pay any attention to that. Because right in front of your car stands a bear

Your heart stops. Sure you live in the woods but you’ve never come across an actual bear before. 

The bear turns his head slowly toward you. And your eyes lock. That’s when it dawns on you.

This isn’t a wild animal staring at your car. This is something intelligent. Something aware. And that’s when you see it—

The unmistakable glint of metal tag, one that looked identical to the one you found in your backyard.

Your breath catches.

Then, without warning, he darts across the rest of the road and disappears into the trees, his massive form swallowed by the underbrush.

You sit there in the middle of the lane, stunned, hands trembling against the steering wheel.

“Am I dreaming?” you breathe, voice barely audible. But the skid marks on the road say otherwise. Before you can piece your thoughts together, branches snap loudly from the same direction the bear came.

You tense, expecting another big animal to make an appearance. 

Two men burst out from between the trees, panting hard, their clothes snagged with twigs and leaves. You narrow your eyes, those aren’t officers, or trackers, or anyone official-looking.

Just regular men. Late thirties maybe. Work boots.

One spits into the dirt. “I told you it went this way,” he huffs.

The other mutters, “Damn thing’s faster than it looks…”

As they straighten up, one of them finally notices your car. A clear view of your pale face behind the windshield along with your car angled awkwardly across the road.

He nudges his friend and points toward you. The men exchange a quick look before walking toward your car, not slowly, not cautiously.

Your pulse spikes.

One of them stops by your window, leaning down just enough for you to see the sweat on his forehead. He gently knocks at your window, motioning for you to roll it down. You open your window just a crack, just enough to communicate without your whole face being exposed.

“Evening Miss,” he says, trying to sound casual but failing. “You, uh… you see something run through here just now?”

The other man stays a few steps back, scanning the trees, looking impatient, like they’re terrified of losing the trail.

Your hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. The two men stare at you, waiting for your answer.

You force your voice out, thin but steady enough. “I… yeah. I saw a bear.”

The men exchange a look and something about that expression makes your stomach twist.

But in that split second, an image flashes through your mind:

The silver tag glinting at the bear’s neck. 

You glance at the woods, heart hammering. If you tell them the truth, they’ll cut straight into the brush where he vanished. They’ll find him. They’ll corner him. And they won’t treat him like anything but a trophy.

You lift a shaky hand and gesture in the opposite direction of where the bear actually fled.

“I think it ran that way,” you say, pointing down the road, toward a shallow ditch.

The men whip their heads in that direction. “You sure?” the taller one asks.

“Yeah. Positive. He almost hit my car and bolted that way.”

They don’t question it further.

The shorter man exhales hard. “Damn. We must’ve scared him off. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You nod quickly, hoping your face doesn’t betray what a bad liar you are.

“Be careful driving,” the taller one adds. “Don’t wanna hit the thing if it circles back.”

Then they hurry off, not into the woods where you saw the hybrid disappear… But down the road in the direction you pointed.

Their heavy boots thud against the pavement, echoing until they fade into the distance. Only when they’re gone, when the forest is quiet again and the road is empty, do you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

You tell yourself you need to keep moving and get back home. You reach for the gear shift, ready to pull forward, when something on the pavement ahead of your bumper catches the light.

You lean forward, squinting through the windshield. A small metal item lies on the asphalt, reflecting a thin stripe of sunlight. 

It’s the tag.

The same one you saw hanging from the bear’s neck only moments ago, and the same style as the tag you found in your backyard the day Yoongi and Taehyung first appeared. Your heart sinks with the realization that he must have lost it in the scramble across the road.

You put the car in park and step out carefully, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you walk toward it. When you crouch down, the metal feels faintly warm from the animal’s body heat. You turn it over in your hand and recognize the faint scratches and worn edges you had seen before. It truly is the same tag.

However, something new catches your attention. When you flip it to the back, an engraving you didn’t notice before stares up at you. A clean, deliberate marking that stands out sharply against the metal surface: 903.

You stare at the number for a long moment, unsure how to process it. The inscription looks official and systematic. Whoever this bear is, someone assigned him a number. Someone gave him this identifier. 

Standing in the quiet road with the metal tag clenched in your hand, you feel a shifting awareness settle over you. Whatever is happening with hybrids is far more organized and far more unsettling than you initially understood. The idea that these creatures are being cataloged or controlled in some way makes your skin prickle.

You finally straighten, the forest still pressing in around you. The bear is long gone, lost somewhere among the trees, but the lingering impression in his eyes stays with you in a way you can’t shake. You take a slow, steady breath, glance once more into the woods, and hold the tag tightly before returning to your car.

Once your hands stop trembling enough to hold the wheel, you start the engine again. The tires roll slowly over the asphalt as you ease back onto the road, casting one last glance at the tree line. 

As your house finally comes into view through the trees, your chest tightens. You don’t see anything unusual from the outside, but you still feel the lingering tension of earlier events prickling along your skin. You pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and glance again at the silver tag sitting on the passenger seat. The number 903 reflects faintly in the dim light.

You grab the groceries, tuck the tag safely into your pocket, and step out of the car with a single thought running through your mind.

You need to check on Yoongi and Taehyung before anything else happens.

You unlock the door and slip inside, closing it behind you as quietly as possible.

You set the grocery bags down in the kitchen, not bothering to put anything away yet. Your focus is fixed on the hallway leading to the guest room.

Your footsteps soften instinctively as you make your way down the hall. The closer you get, the more aware you become of the tension coiling in your stomach. What if they tried to leave, even in their condition? What if the hunters followed the scent? What if something happened while you were gone?

You reach the guest room door and pause for a moment, your fingers brushing the handle. You push the door open gently.

The room is still cool, shadows stretching across the floor. Yoongi is awake, still propped against the wall. His eyes lift immediately when you enter.

Taehyung is lying near the bed, still in his tiger form. His ears twitch the moment the hinges creak, and his head lifts. Golden eyes fixed on you as if scanning you from head to toe for any sign of injury.

You take one step inside and Yoongi’s gaze sharpens. “You took longer than you said you would,” he grumbles.

You close the door behind you. “I know I’m sorry. Something happened on the way here.”

Yoongi studies your expression, his eyes narrowing slightly at the tension in your shoulders.

Before he can ask anything else, there’s a low, rumbling sound beside the bed.

Taehyung slowly pushes himself up from his resting spot, wincing a little but determined. His tiger form is massive up close, and the sudden movement makes your breath catch for a moment. You still aren’t completely used to having a creature his size so near, especially one capable of flattening you with a single swipe if he ever wanted to.

But instead of acting threatening, he pads toward you with slow, deliberate steps. His head lowers, his whiskers brushing your hip as he starts sniffing around your side.

You stiffen, confused, your hand hovering uncertainly in the air. “What… what are you doing?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, of course, but he nudges more insistently at your pocket. His ears flick in concentration, nostrils flaring as he inhales again, deeper this time. Yoongi watches the scene from the bed, his brows pulling together.

Taehyung nudges your pocket once more, then lets out a low rumble that sounds almost impatient.

Only then does realization strike you.

You reach inside, fingers closing around the cool piece of metal you almost forgot was there. When you pull the tag out and hold it up, Taehyung’s pupils expand immediately, his tail going still behind him.

Yoongi doesn’t react at first.

But then he sees the tag fully.

His eyes widened.

The change is subtle but unmistakable. “Where,” Yoongi says quietly, “did you get that?”

You glance between him and the tag, suddenly getting nervous at how shaken he suddenly looks. “I… found it on the road. A bear ran in front of my car and dropped it. I think it’s the same one I saw in the yard before.”

Yoongi’s stare doesn’t soften.

If anything, it grows heavier.

Yoongi doesn’t move at first. He simply stares at the tag in your hand as if the sight of it reaches somewhere far deeper than pain or exhaustion. 

Taehyung steps closer, lowering his head beside your hand. He sniffs the metal again, and a low, uneasy rumble vibrates through his chest. It isn’t aggressive; it sounds like recognition laced with worry.

Yoongi’s hands tighten in the sheets. His voice, when it finally comes, is quiet in a way that feels almost dangerous. “That tag…” He swallows, his jaw tense. “It belonged to one of my brothers.”

The words settle heavily in the room.

Your breath catches. “Your brother?”

Yoongi nods slowly, eyes locked on the tag. “There were seven of us.” His gaze softens for the briefest moment, though the exhaustion in his face turns that softness into something mournful. “We were always kept together… until the night everything fell apart.”

Taehyung shifts beside you, his large body leaning in slightly, confirming Yoongi’s statement without words. His ears flatten in quiet distress.

You stare down at the tag, suddenly aware of how cold it’s become in your hand. “This number… 903,” you murmur, turning it over gently, “that belonged to your brother?”

Yoongi’s jaw clenches. “Yes. He’s the youngest.” He exhales shakily, and you realize he’s not just tired. He’s rattled in a way he can’t fully hide. “His name is Jungkook.”

Taehyung lets out a soft, low chuff that sounds painfully sad.

A chill spreads down your spine.

Your grip tightens around the small metal disc as the weight of the situation sinks in. The bear you nearly hit wasn’t just a random hybrid. He was their family.

Yoongi looks back at you, the intensity in his gaze returning with startling force. “You need to tell me exactly what happened on that road,” he says quietly. “Every detail.”

You sit down slowly at the edge of the bed, the tag resting in your hand like it weighs far more than a scrap of metal should. Yoongi’s gaze stays fixed on you with a level of focus that cuts straight through the fatigue you’d seen in him moments ago. Taehyung settles beside you, still in his tiger form, his presence warm and tense at your side as if bracing himself for what you’re about to say.

You clear your throat. “I was coming back from the store. I had just gotten past the city and into the tree line when a bear ran out of the forest and almost hit my car.”

You continue, speaking carefully so you don’t miss anything. “I stopped in the middle of the road. He stood right in front of me. And when he turned his head… I saw the tag.”

You swallow, “he got scared and bolted into the woods. And a few seconds later, two men came running out from the same spot. They weren’t in uniforms. They just looked like regular people who’d run themselves ragged chasing something through the forest.”

Yoongi’s eyes sharpen, darkening with something colder than anger. “Hunters.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m pretty sure they were hunting him.”

You pull in a breath, remembering the way the men stared you down. “They came to my car and asked if I’d seen anything. I panicked and just told them I saw a bear run across the road. But I pointed them in the wrong direction so they wouldn’t follow him.”

Yoongi's eyes widen slightly, and for a moment his face softens, “thank you.”

You continue softly, “He dropped the tag when he ran. That’s how I found it.” You carefully present the tag to him. He hesitates but with trembling hands he reaches out nonetheless and clenches it tightly in the palm of his hand. 

Yoongi’s jaw tightens again, but his voice steadies as he asks, “How did he look?”

You hesitate. “He looked exhausted. Scared. Like he’d been running for a long time.”

Taehyung lowers his head, resting his chin lightly on the edge of your knee, a gesture that is both grounding and heartbreaking. His tail curls close to his body.

The moment stretches uncomfortably, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You suddenly feel small standing in the middle of something you barely understand—hybrids, hunters, escaped family members, numbers engraved into cold metal. Everything feels too big, too dangerous.

Your fingers close around the tag again, gripping it until the metal presses into your palm.

“Yoongi…” you say, voice softer now, almost unsure. “I don’t know what to do here.”

Yoongi’s eyes shift to you immediately.

“I mean—” you continue, swallowing hard, “I don’t know how to help you. Or him. Or if I even should. I don’t know the rules, or what’s too risky, or what could get all of us killed. Hell, just a few days ago I didn’t even think your kind actually existed. I thought maybe it could’ve all just been one big conspiracy theory.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze.

“Just tell me… what should I do?”

For the first time since you’ve met him his gaze seemed to have softened. Then, almost painfully slow, he looks away. His shoulders sink just a little. The sadness on his face is quiet, restrained, but unmistakable.

“I don’t think you want to be involved with our kind,” he murmurs.

The words aren’t sharp or defensive. They’re tired, almost defeated, like he’s already bracing himself for disappointment. Taehyung lowers his head beside you again, watching Yoongi with ears slightly back, as if he disagrees but doesn’t know how to argue.

“The humans we have met,” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “They don’t know the meaning of kindness. They’re powerful and dangerous individuals.” 

He still refuses to look at you, his eyes fixed on the floor as though the truth is easier to say when he’s not facing your reaction.

“I don’t want you caught in that,” he finishes quietly. “Not because you’re weak… but because you don’t deserve the consequences that follow hybrids like us.”

His expression stays turned away from you, but the room feels heavier now.

His words hang in the air between you. It’s not meant to push you out, but to protect you from something he’s certain you can’t handle. Taehyung stays close, his presence warm against your side, and you feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You swallow hard.

“I am scared,” you admit, your voice low but honest. “All of this is… a lot. You, Taehyung, your brother, the hunters. This entire world of hybrids that barely anyone even knows exists. It’s terrifying.”

Yoongi’s shoulders tense, and for a brief moment he closes his eyes, as if bracing himself for you to pull away from everything entirely.

“But,” you continue softly, “being scared doesn’t mean I’m just going to walk away.”

His eyes open again at that, lifting slightly in your direction though he still doesn’t fully turn to face you.

“I didn’t ask to find you,” you say, fingers brushing lightly over Taheyung’s fur, “but I did. And you weren’t dangerous. You were hurt. Taehyung was hurt. Whoever your brother is… he looked terrified out there. And I can’t pretend I didn’t see that.”

You draw a slow breath, your heart pounding, but the words come easier now.

“I’m scared because I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to help you or what the right move is, and I’m worried I’ll make things worse.” You glance between the two hybrids, your expression softening. “But I’m even more scared of what might happen to you if I don’t do anything at all.”

Taehyung’s ears perk at that, a small surprised flick. 

Yoongi finally turns his head enough to truly look at you. His expression is still guarded, but something in it eases.

“You shouldn’t be afraid on our behalf,” he says quietly.

You manage a small, shaky exhale. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile, but something close to one.

You continue before your nerve slips. “So… if I’m already involved, and I’m not walking away… just tell me what I need to do. I don’t want to make decisions blindly.”

Yoongi studies you for a long moment, his golden eyes steady and unreadable. Then, for the first time, he nods.

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice softer than before. “If you truly want to help… then we need to track our brother.”

You freeze for a moment, the weight of Yoongi’s words sinking into your chest. Tracking him down. That isn’t a small task. But the look on Yoongi’s face tells you this isn’t optional for them. This is family.

You take a slow breath. “Okay… but how? I don’t even know where to start.”

Yoongi’s gaze flicks toward Taehyung, who responds before he even speaks. The tiger pushes himself to stand, muscles trembling slightly from the effort. He tilts his head toward the door as if already preparing to leave.

“We follow his scent,” Yoongi says. “Taehyung can track better in his animal form. Even injured, he’ll know where Jungkook went.”

You glance at Taehyung, who is now watching you with expectant golden eyes. Even in his tiger form, there’s a sharp intelligence there, and a quiet plea tucked beneath it.

“But you can barely walk,” you whisper.

Yoongi clenches his jaw. “That doesn’t matter. He’s alone. And if those hunters catch him before we do…” He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. The implication burns in the silence.

You shift your weight, thinking fast. “Then I’ll drive. It’ll be faster than walking, and Taehyung can guide us.”

Taehyung’s ears perk up at that, and he gives a firm, approving chuff.

Yoongi hesitates, tension pulling across his shoulders. “…You’re sure?”

“No,” you admit honestly, voice quiet but steady. “I’m terrified. But we can’t leave your brother out there. Not after what I saw.”

Yoongi looks away for a brief moment. But not in rejection this time, but in something fragile, like he’s trying to swallow a sudden surge of emotion he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time.

When he meets your eyes again, he looks more grounded. More certain. “Then we go now,” he says.

Taehyung steps forward, brushing his head lightly against your side as if urging you toward the door.

You nod, your heart pounding, and grab the tag from the bed. “Okay. Let’s go find him.”

The three of you move down the hallway, each step echoing with a mixture of urgency and unease. Yoongi keeps one hand against the wall for balance, refusing to let his exhaustion slow him down. Taehyung stays close at his side, his shoulder brushing Yoongi’s hip every few steps as if silently offering support.

You grab your keys from the counter and push open the front door, the cool air brushing across your skin like a reminder that the outside world is still unpredictable.

Taehyung steps out first. The moment his paws touch the porch, his demeanor changes. His shoulders lift, ears angling forward, nostrils flaring as he draws in a deep breath of the open air. He’s searching already.

Yoongi steadies himself against the doorframe and takes in the scene outside. “He’ll pick up Jungkook’s scent faster out here,” he murmurs. 

You glance back at him. “Are you going to be okay walking to the car?”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and there’s a faint dryness in his voice when he answers, “I’ve been through worse.” But when he takes a step forward, his legs tremble more than he wants to admit.

You instinctively reach your hand out to hold his waist. His whole body tenses. You half expected for him to growl at you, but instead, his body eases just slightly and with your support he begins to walk towards your car. 

You try not to react, but internally you’re freaking out and considering this a win. 

Taehyung notices immediately. He lets out a quiet huff.

You walk ahead, unlocking the car and opening the back door. “Yoongi, you should sit in the front. Taehyung can take the space on the floor or the backseat if he fits.”

Taehyung lets out a soft snort, as if offended at the idea of not fitting but he squeezes himself in with surprising grace, lowering his huge body onto the floor behind the front seats, curling his legs beneath him. His tail flicks once, tapping the seat lightly before going still.

Yoongi climbs into the back with effort, gripping the door frame to ease the strain on his injured ribs. Once inside, he presses a hand against his side, breathing slowly until the pain settles. 

You slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. You pull away from the house, the engine humming low beneath you as the tires press into the gravel. The trees are tall enough that they swallow most of the remaining daylight. You keep your eyes on the winding road while the weight of Taehyung’s breathing and Yoongi’s quiet presence fills the car.

Neither of them speaks at first. Taehyung shifts occasionally behind you, his claws gently tapping the floor as he adjusts his position to smell the air more clearly. Yoongi watches the passing trees through the window, his posture tense but focused.

You tighten your grip on the wheel and guide the car toward the stretch of road where you’d nearly collided with the bear earlier. Every bend feels familiar now, every shadow pulling at your memory. The closer you get, the heavier the atmosphere becomes inside the car.

Taehyung stiffens before you even reach the exact spot. His head lifts, ears angling sharply forward. He presses his nose near the cracked window, drawing in long, deliberate breaths. His pupils narrow, body leaning subtly toward the right side of the car.

Yoongi notices immediately. “Slow down,” he murmurs, voice steady despite the tension behind it. “We’re close.”

You ease your foot off the gas and let the vehicle roll gently forward. “There,” you whisper, recognizing the section of pavement instantly.

The skid marks from your sudden stop are still faintly visible, stretched across the asphalt like a reminder of what happened. A few disturbed branches and crushed leaves line the edge of the road where the bear had fled into the forest.

You bring the car to a slow stop right where your tires had screeched before. The forest on either side stands unnervingly still, the night pressing in deeper now that the sun has dropped lower behind the trees.

Taehyung rises partway onto his feet, bracing himself against the seat with surprising grace for his size. He leans closer to the window, nostrils flaring again, more urgently this time.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, eyes fixed where Taehyung is focused. “His scent should still be strongest here.”

You take a slow breath and open your door, the cool air immediately brushing across your skin as you step out onto the road. The forest feels different now that you’re returning to it on purpose. 

Taehyung slips out right behind you, landing on the asphalt with a soft thud. His size is impressive out in the open; even crouched low, he looks powerful and alert. He keeps close to your side for a moment, his shoulder brushing your hip, before instinct pulls him forward. His nose goes straight to the ground near the crushed leaves and disturbed brush.

Yoongi climbs out slower, deliberate in each movement as he keeps a hand against the car for balance. He winces when he straightens, but the moment Taehyung lets out a short, sharp huff, Yoongi pushes himself upright despite the pain.

Taehyung sniffs the same patch of ground again, then moves a few feet to the left, following something only he can detect. His ears flick, his tail stiffens, and he makes a soft chuff — a sound you’re beginning to understand as a signal.

“He’s got it,” Yoongi says quietly, moving to stand beside you. “The trail starts here.”

You crouch down near the place where the bear had lingered earlier, noticing details you hadn’t before. The ground is scuffed where something large skidded briefly, leaving long grooves in the dirt. A few strands of dark fur cling to the edge of a low branch, fluttering faintly with the breeze.

“Shedding?” you murmur.

Yoongi shakes his head. “No. Pulled out, probably when he crashed through.” His expression tightens slightly. 

That adds a new layer of urgency to the air.

Taehyung moves toward the tree line, and for a moment you think he’ll charge straight in, but he pauses and turns to look back at you with wide golden eyes. They’re expectant, waiting, almost asking permission.

Yoongi notices and lets out a quiet breath. “He wants you close. If anything happens, you need to be near him or me.”

You take a small step forward. “Are you sure it’s safe for me to be in the woods with hunters nearby?”

“No,” Yoongi answers honestly, “but leaving you alone is worse.”

That does nothing to calm your nerves, but the truth in it feels grounding.

Taehyung dips his head once before turning back toward the forest. He pushes through the first line of branches, weaving silently into the underbrush.

You meet Yoongi’s eyes, and without speaking, the two of you follow.

The moment you cross into the trees, the world changes. The forest floor muffles your footsteps, and the canopy above swallows most of the remaining light. Taehyung moves several paces ahead, his tail brushing leaves aside as he follows the trail, but he never goes far enough to lose sight of you.

You duck under a low branch, your shoulder brushing Yoongi’s briefly as he steadies himself on a nearby tree trunk. His breathing is tight, but he keeps moving.

“Just a little farther,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Suddenly Taehyung freezes, every muscle in his body coiled tight. Yoongi’s hand shoots out, lightly grabbing your wrist before you can take another step.

Before you could even begin to ask, in the distance, it’s faint but unmistakable, you hear something shift. A soft rustling, like something heavy dragging across leaves.

You listen again.

Another rustle.

But now the sound is clearer. They’re heavy footsteps, uneven, slower than before. Not an animal. Not a hybrid struggling to move.

Voices drift through the trees, low and frustrated.

You tense. “Is that—?”

Yoongi nods once, sharply, “hunters.”

Taehyung immediately drops low to the ground, his body melting into the brush so smoothly you almost lose sight of him. Yoongi pulls you downward beside him, crouching behind a fallen log thick with moss. His breathing quickens, strain tugging at the edges of his voice.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers.

You nod, heart pounding so loudly you’re terrified they’ll hear it.

The footsteps get closer.

Through the dense leaves, you finally see them. It’s the same two men who approached your car earlier. Their shoulders sag now, their clothes dirtier, their faces flushed with irritation and exhaustion. One drags a branch out of his way with unnecessary force, tossing it aside like it personally offended him.

“No tracks. Nothing,” the first mutters, kicking at a pile of leaves. “Damn thing vanished.”

The second wipes sweat from his brow. “That damn bitch must’ve lied to us.”

Your stomach flips.

Yoongi’s grip on your wrist tightens slightly, not painful, but protective.

The second man snorts. “This whole hybrid nonsense is getting out of hand. Dangerous animals, mutations, whatever you wanna call it… Someone’s gotta get ahead of this before they breed or something.”

Taehyung’s ears flatten, a low rumble forming deep in his chest, vibrating through the ground. Yoongi reaches out and touches his fur, the contact grounding him instantly.

The first man shakes his head, “yeah but that bounty money will make all of this worth it.”

The hunters move slower now, dragging their feet through the underbrush, not searching anymore. Just irritated. Just tired. Their failure hangs around them like a thick fog.

They never even look in your direction.

Still, you barely breathe.

When the men finally pass out of sight, their voices fading into the distance, Yoongi doesn’t rise immediately. He waits. Listens. Judges the timing with careful, practiced instinct.

Only when the forest grows quiet again does he release a slow breath and ease his hold on you.

“They didn’t find him,” you whisper, your voice shaking just a little.

“No,” Yoongi replies, his gaze scanning the trees. “But they might come back.”

Taehyung lifts his head slightly, nostrils flaring again, and looks toward the deeper part of the forest that the hunters didn’t check.

It’s an unspoken message.

Yoongi meets your eyes. “If Jungkook’s still out here… he’ll be hiding where they weren’t.”

You nod, the adrenaline still buzzing under your skin.

“Then we need to move before they circle back.”

Yoongi exhales slowly and braces a hand against the moss-covered log before pushing himself upright. You move with him, careful not to snap a twig or rustle a leaf. 

Taehyung steps ahead, lowering his head to the forest floor. His nose sweeps through the scattered leaves, tracking invisible lines of scent only he can understand. He moves a few paces in one direction, pauses, pivots, then moves in another, more decisive direction.

Yoongi follows him with a wince as he adjusts his stance, and you stay close, matching his pace.

“He’s picking up the trail again,” Yoongi murmurs. “Jungkook must’ve gone this way after he left the road.”

“How can you tell?” you whisper, stepping carefully around a fallen branch.

Yoongi nods toward Taehyung. “He’s calmer now. Focused. If Jungkook’s trail had gone cold, he’d be restless or frustrated. But he’s tracking with confidence.”

You watch Taehyung move, his movements sharper now, more purposeful. His tail remains still behind him—a clear sign of concentration.

When he stops suddenly, you almost bump into him. He lowers his head toward a cluster of ferns, gently nosing them aside. As he pushes deeper, something catches your eye.

A patch of dark fur tangled in the brush.

You crouch down, brushing the leaves aside with trembling fingers. The fur matches the bear’s coloring exactly—thick, coarse, slightly curled at the tips. But what catches your attention more is the faint smudge of something staining the leaves.

Not fresh.

But unmistakably blood.

Your chest tightens. “He’s hurt…”

Yoongi crouches beside you with visible effort and examines the spot. “It’s not enough to be life-threatening,” he murmurs. “Probably scraped himself trying to get away. But it means we’re close. He didn’t have much energy left when he passed through here.”

Taehyung lifts his head, ears pricked, eyes locked on a narrow break in the trees ahead. He gives a soft, urgent chuff and glances back at the two of you.

Yoongi nods. “He went deeper. Toward the creek.”

You straighten and look between the path ahead that was slowly beginning to darken as the sun was slowly starting to go down. “Will the hunters come this way?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not unless they find a reason. They stuck to the easier routes. Jungkook always knew how to avoid human patterns.”

Taehyung flicks his tail, waiting.

You take another breath and step forward.

“Then let’s keep going.”

The three of you slip deeper into the forest, following the narrow trail Jungkook made—broken branches, disturbed ferns, faint prints in the soft earth. As the trees thicken and the sound of distant running water grows louder, the tension shifts.

Something is close.

Taehyung stops again, his entire body going still, head turned sharply toward the right. His ears flatten, not in fear, but recognition.

Yoongi stiffens beside you.

Taehyung stands completely still, every muscle pulled taut as he listens. His ears twitch once, twice—then angle sharply toward the right, deeper into the trees where the canopy thickens.

Yoongi steps closer to him, his posture shifting instinctively into something protective despite the pain etched across his features. His hands curl slightly at his sides, and his breath comes shallow, controlled.

You swallow hard. “Do you see something?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not see. Hear.” He nods toward Taehyung. “And he smells it.”

Taehyung takes one slow step forward, then another, drifting toward the sound of running water in the distance. His body moves with a different kind of urgency now, he’s no longer searching, but closing in.

You follow without hesitation, keeping your steps light and careful. Yoongi moves beside you, one hand brushing tree trunks here and there as he steadies himself. The deeper you go, the colder the forest feels, as if the temperature drops with every footstep.

The murmur of water grows louder. The trees thin slightly.

And then—

Taehyung stops again, but this time the motion is abrupt, his claws digging slightly into the earth to anchor himself. His chest expands with a deep inhale, and a quiet, almost pained sound rumbles from him.

Yoongi freezes.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

“What does that mean?” you whisper.

Yoongi’s voice is barely audible. “He found something.”

You exchange a quick glance before the three of you push past a dense cluster of ferns. The forest opens into a small clearing near the edge of a shallow creek. 

Your breath catches.

Something is lying near the water’s edge.

A large body, dark fur matted with dirt and leaves, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven pulls. One foreleg is tucked awkwardly beneath the body, the other stretched forward as if it had collapsed mid-step. The water near his paws is disturbed, ripples spreading outward from where he must have stumbled.

It’s the bear.

The same one you saw earlier.

But now that you’re closer, the truth becomes impossible to ignore. The trembling in his flank, the labored breaths, the way his head barely manages to lift when Taehyung steps forward.

He tries to lift his head, but the strength seems to drain out of him halfway through the motion. His eyes land on Taehyung first, dull but aware, filled with exhaustion and relief that flickers weakly beneath the fear. Then his gaze drifts toward Yoongi, widening the slightest bit in recognition.

Taehyung moves first, inching forward with soft, careful steps. He lowers his head until his forehead touches Jungkook’s, a gentle greeting that carries more comfort than words ever could. A faint chuff escapes Jungkook’s throat in return.

Yoongi’s breath shudders as he drops to one knee, ignoring the pain it sends through him. “Jungkook…” he whispers, voice cracking under the weight of it.

Finally Jungkook’s gaze drifts toward you, slow and hazy, his vision struggling to focus. At first, there’s nothing but exhaustion in his expression, but the moment he realizes you’re not a hybrid, not one of his own, everything inside him tenses.

His pupils widen.

His breathing quickens.

A soft, rattled sound escapes his throat.

He tries to pull back even though he barely has the strength to lift his head. His claws dig weakly into the dirt as he attempts to shift away from you, fear overriding his exhaustion.

Yoongi reacts instantly.

“Jungkook—hey. Hey,” he says softly, leaning closer despite the sharp pain it causes him. He places a steadying hand near his shoulder without touching him yet, careful and grounding. “It’s alright. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Taehyung steps in next, lowering his tiger form beside his brother. He presses his forehead gently against Jungkook’s jaw, a reassuring gesture that sends a low, soothing rumble through the ground. Then he turns his head and nudges toward you as if telling Jungkook this human is safe.

But Jungkook’s gaze stays locked on you, his fear flickering beneath the exhaustion. His breaths come quicker, shallow and uneven, the instinct to flee warring with the reality that he can barely move.

You take the smallest step back, hands raised slightly to show you mean no harm. “It’s okay,” you murmur, voice as soft as the forest around you. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just… want to help.”

Yoongi hears the tremor in your voice and turns to Jungkooks again. “She saved us,” he says, his tone thick with an honesty that leaves no room for doubt. “If it wasn’t for her, Taehyung and I wouldn’t be here.”

Jungkook’s trembling slows, if only barely. His gaze flickers to Taehyung, who nudges him again, more insistently this time, before looking at you and letting out a short but reassuring chuff.

Yoongi follows that silently with, “You can trust her. She’s on our side.”

Yoongi’s words settle over the clearing with a kind of quiet weight. She’s on our side.

Hearing him say it out loud makes your chest tighten in a strange, unexpected way. 

Jungkook’s frightened gaze keeps flicking back to you, searching for a threat he’s expecting to find. You feel your breath catch as you meet his eyes. The fear there isn’t sharp or aggressive. It’s raw, wounded, the kind you’ve seen on patients who’ve been mistreated and don’t know who to trust.

You swallow and speak softly, keeping your tone warm even though your heart is beating too fast. “I know you don’t know me. I know this is scary. I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your voice wavers a little on the last word, and Yoongi notices, his eyes soften just slightly, though he tries to hide it.

Taehyung nudges Jungkook again, urging him to look at you, to listen, to feel that you’re not a threat. His breathing slows another fraction, but he still looks unsure and you can’t blame him.

You take a slow breath and lower yourself a little more, not close enough to overwhelm him, but not so far that you seem afraid. “You don’t have to trust me yet,” you say gently, “but I’m going to help you anyway. I won’t let them find you.”

Jungkook’s ears twitch at that. His muscles loosen by a degree, and the tension in his shoulders eases when Taehyung presses his forehead to his again.

Yoongi watches you quietly, something flickering across his face, not quite gratitude, not quite relief, but something in-between. Something he isn’t used to showing.

You straighten very carefully, keeping your movements slow. “Just tell me what you need from me. Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out.”

Jungkook watches you again, but this time, his fear doesn’t spike. His eyes soften just a little, the smallest shift, but enough for you to know he’s starting to believe Yoongi and Taehyung.

You wrap your arms around yourself for a moment, more to keep your hands from shaking than for warmth. Jungkook’s fear is no longer pointed directly at you, but it’s still there.

“Alright,” you murmur, mostly to ground yourself, “how are we getting him to my car.”

Yoongi adjusts his position next to Jungkook and winces, one hand pressed lightly to his ribs. His voice is steady, but the strain behind it is unmistakable. “First, we need to see if he can shift back. We can’t move him like this. He’s too heavy, and Taehyung and I aren’t in any condition to carry him far. And you definitely can’t carry him.”

“Ok ouch.”

He rolls his eyes, a tired but unmistakably sarcastic gesture. “Please. Go on and prove me wrong.” He stretches out his hand in a sweeping motion toward the enormous bear lying in the grass. “Pick him up.”

You stare at Yoongi.

Then at Jungkook.

Then back at Yoongi.

“He weighs like—what—six hundred pounds?” you whisper in disbelief.

“Seven-twenty last time he shifted,” Yoongi mutters.

Taehyung huffs in agreement, as if backing the math.

You cross your arms. “Right. So clearly I could lift him, I’m just choosing not to.”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “Of course.”

Jungkook watches the exchange with wide, exhausted eyes, clearly not following every word but definitely aware that he is the subject of discussion.

Taehyung steps closer, brushing his head against Jungkook’s jaw in a slow, comforting gesture. The deep rumble vibrating from him seems to settle his trembling a little, but only just.

Yoongi leans in, bracing himself on one knee. “Jungkook,” he says quietly, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, “you need to try. Just once. If you can shift it’ll make this easier on all of us.”

Jungkook opens his eyes at that, the emotion in them raw and too heavy for someone his size. He looks at Yoongi first, then Taehyung… and finally at you.

He tries.

You can see it—the tension along his back, the way the fur ripples unevenly, the faint shimmer beneath his skin like something is trying to change shape. But it lasts only a few seconds before his body shudders and the effort collapses. His sides heave with the strain, a weak groan slipping out of him.

Taehyung lowers himself beside his brother again, pressing close in quiet support.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook with pain written clearly in his expression, and when he finally speaks, his voice is tight but controlled. “Alright. That’s enough. Don’t try again.”

He turns his gaze to you.

“Well,” he sighs, rubbing his temples, “we’re going to have to figure out another way to get him back.”

You nod slowly. “Okay. So… what’s Plan B?”

Yoongi opens his mouth to answer—

But then Taehyung’s head snaps up. His body goes rigid.

You freeze, glancing between him and Yoongi.

Yoongi’s face darkens immediately. “That’s not good.”

You swallow. “What is it?”

Taehyung rumbles low in his chest—a warning, not a greeting.

Yoongi meets your eyes. The exhaustion is gone.

“They’re coming back.”

Taehyung’s low warning rumble vibrates through the ground, deeper and sharper now. He rises to his feet despite the stiffness in his ribs, positioning himself between the trees and his nearly unconscious brother. His tail lowers, sweeping behind him in a slow, tense arc.

You whip your head toward the forest line, heart hammering.

You don’t see anyone yet. But you hear it. Branches cracking. Leaves shifting under heavy boots.

Yoongi’s jaw clenches. “They must’ve come back to check. Maybe they picked up on him.” He presses a hand against his ribs and forces himself upright, moving to stand on the opposite side of Jungkook.

You rise too, adrenaline sparking under your skin. “Okay—okay, what do we do? We can’t move him. They’ll see him any second—”

“Stay low,” Yoongi instructs, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down behind the nearest thicket of brush. “If they see you with us—”

He doesn’t finish, but the implication sends a chill down your spine.

Taehyung doesn’t hide. He stays in front of Jungkook, massive body low to the ground, ears pinned back, ready to lunge if he has to. He won’t leave his brother exposed. Not for anything.

The footsteps are getting closer now.

You huddle lower, keeping your breathing as steady as possible. Yoongi crouches beside you, face pale from pain but eyes sharp and focused. His gaze flicks constantly between the approaching direction and Jungkook’s unmoving form.

The voices sharpen.

“…I swear it came through here—”

“We’re not leaving empty-handed—”

“If it came back, it’s hurt. It can’t be far—”

Yoongi tenses. “Damn it, they’re getting close.”

Your pulse spikes in your throat. “We need a distraction.”

“Don’t,” he whispers harshly, his grip on your wrist tightening. “Don’t even think about it.”

You glance at the hunters again. They’re too close. If they take even ten more steps, they’ll see Jungkook lying in the open, unable to move. Taehyung could hide, Yoongi could hide — but Jungkook can’t.

“We don’t have time,” you whisper back. “If we don’t stall them now, they’re going to walk right into the clearing.”

Yoongi pulls you closer, desperation in the shake of his breath. There’s fear in his eyes now. 

“Listen, earlier they didn’t suspect anything when I talked to them on the road,” you remind him quietly. “They saw me as just… another person doing errands. Someone normal. Someone harmless.”

“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous,” Yoongi hisses, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Humans like them react unpredictably when they’re desperate. They’re angry, tired, frustrated. They won’t think straight. If they think you saw something, or if they even suspect you’re hiding something—”

He breaks off, his voice tightening like something painful is stuck in his throat.

You inhale slowly. “I won’t let them walk right into this clearing. I can’t.”

Jungkook’s huge form trembles faintly behind you. He’s trying to lift his head again, but it drops back heavily against the dirt. His breaths are too shallow. Too fast. He won’t survive being discovered.

Taehyung shifts closer to him, almost shielding him with his body.

You look back at Yoongi — at the fear in his eyes.

“It’s me or Jungkook,” you whisper. “And I’m the only one who can walk up to them without starting a fight.”

Yoongi shakes his head, jaw clenched. “I can’t let you—”

“You don’t get to ‘let’ me,” you whisper back, not harsh, but steady. “This is the only option we have.”

His grip loosens, but only because his hand is shaking. His eyes burn into yours, the panic there unmistakable.

“You’re human,” he murmurs, voice rough with fear he can’t hide. “I don’t want anything happening to you because of us.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over his. “And I don’t want anything happening to your brother because we were too scared to do something.”

Yoongi’s breath stutters. He looks at you like he’s caught between a dozen conflicting instincts. But the hunters are almost at the clearing now, and there’s no more time to hesitate.

You squeeze his hand once, softly. “I’ll be fine.”

He swallows hard, visibly fighting himself.

Then, barely audible, he whispers, “Please… be careful.”

You nod, slip free of the brush, and step out into the trees. You walk toward the hunters with your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

Behind you, Yoongi and Taehyung lower themselves deeper into the shadows, watching every move with terror and hope tangled into one. The darkening sky provides some protection.

You step out from the brush, forcing your breathing into some kind of steady rhythm even though your pulse is racing so fast you can feel it in your fingertips. The forest opens slightly ahead, and the hunters’ flashlights swing in sporadic, frustrated arcs across the trees.

They hear your footsteps before they see you.

“What the—?” one of them snaps, jerking his light in your direction.

You lift your hands a little, palms open, trying to look harmless. “Hi—sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Both men tense immediately. Their shoulders stiffen, their grips tighten, not on weapons yet, but close enough that your stomach drops.

“What are you doing out here?” the taller one demands, stepping forward. “This isn’t a place you should be wandering alone.”

You swallow, keeping your expression confused but not panicked. “I know… I know. I saw flashlights and voices, and I thought maybe someone was lost. I didn’t want to just ignore it.”

The shorter man squints at you. “You again? From the road?”

Your heart lurches, but you force a nervous laugh. “Yeah. I live around these woods. I come across a lot of lost hikers all the time. Wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

Behind the brush, Yoongi stiffens so sharply the leaves rustle. Taehyung’s low, rumbling growl vibrates faintly through the ground, warning but contained as he stays curled protectively around Jungkook.

The tall hunter narrows his eyes. “You followed us into the woods?”

“No—no, I didn’t follow you,” you say quickly. “I thought I heard something, so I called out. I guess I wandered a little farther in than I meant to.”

They exchange a look. You can’t tell if it’s suspicion or annoyance, but neither reaction is good.

“What’d you hear?” the shorter one asks, stepping closer. His light flicks behind you, toward the clearing you just left. Toward the direction of Jungkook.

Your stomach tightens painfully.

You force yourself to stall. “Honestly? I thought it was a dog at first. Or maybe a big raccoon.” You give an awkward shrug. “I don’t know animals very well.”

The taller hunter doesn’t laugh. His eyes scan the ground around you. “Hear anything heavy? Big branches moving? Something with weight?”

“Uh… no?” you lie smoothly. “I mean, unless you count me tripping over a root.”

The shorter hunter sighs loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Another false lead.”

He looks tired, irritated, and your goal is to keep him in that emotional space. Annoyed and ready to leave.

You push gently. “So… did you guys ever find the bear? Or whatever you were tracking?”

The taller one steps forward, too close, his flashlight hitting your face. “What did you see earlier exactly? Describe it again.”

Your heartbeat spikes.

“A big bear,” you say honestly enough that your voice doesn’t shake. “Brown. Fast. Scared.”

“Brown?” he presses. “Not black? Not mottled? No strange things on him?”

“No,” you say, steadying your breath. “Just… a bear. I think.”

The shorter one groans again. “I told you she probably saw a normal animal. We’re wasting daylight.”

You feel Yoongi watching you from the shadows behind.

“Look,” you say gently, forcing your shoulders to relax, “maybe you should call it for tonight. You both look exhausted.”

The tall hunter eyes you once more, but something in his posture shifts. The exhaustion is winning out. The uncertainty. The doubt.

Finally, he mutters, “We’ll sweep the creek and head out.”

Your stomach drops. The creek is exactly where Jungkook is. You need to redirect them now.

“You mean the creek down that way?” you ask, pointing confidently, but in the completely wrong direction, deeper into the woods and far from Jungkook.

They both turn to look.

“Yeah,” the shorter one says slowly. “Down that ridge.”

You nod. “I thought I heard splashing earlier, but… it was probably nothing.”

He curses under his breath. “Whatever. We’ll check it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a weak smile. “And be careful. It’s getting dark.”

The tall one nods curtly and gestures to his partner. “Come on. Let’s sweep the ridge.”

You watch them go.

Their flashlights fade.

Their voices become distant.

Only when you’re sure they’re far enough does the breath you’ve been holding collapse out of you.

You glance back at the clearing.

Jungkook is still lying in the grass, trembling faintly but no longer panicking. His eyes are half-open, watching you with a dazed mixture of confusion and gratitude he can’t quite express.

Taehyung emerges beside him, still in his tiger form, staying low and protective over him. His ears flick back as he looks at you, as if checking with his own eyes that you’re actually safe.

Yoongi moves first.

He closes the distance in a few quick, pained steps, grabbing your forearm, his hand trembling just enough for you to feel it.

“That was dangerous.” he whispers, anger thinly layered over raw fear. “I can’t believe you walked straight up to armed hunters alone.”

“Yoongi… the alternative was letting them walk right into this clearing.”

He shakes his head sharply. “No. You don’t get it. They’re not just regular humans. They’re hunters. If they found out you were lying—“

“You’re safe,” you say quietly. “All three of you and that’s all that matters.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. He finally releases your arm… only to take your hand instead. The gesture is small but intentional, his thumb brushing once across your palm as if he needs the reassurance that you’re real and unhurt.

“Please don't do that again,” he says softly, the anger fading into something rawer.

You swallow, realizing he isn’t scolding you. He’s scared. For you. “I had to,” you whisper. “I’d do it again.”

He closes his eyes briefly like the answer both frustrates him and shatters him a little.

Before he can respond, Taehyung nudges him sharply, then looks down at Jungkook, letting out a low, meaningful rumble.

Yoongi’s eyes snap open. “Right. We need to move him before they circle back.”

You nod, grounding yourself with a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand once before letting go, turning his focus back to Jungkook. “Then we move fast,” he says, voice firm again. “And we do it together.”

Yoongi crouches beside Jungkook again, ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs. You kneel on the other side, close enough for Jungkook to see your face clearly. His eyes flutter open at your movement, still cloudy with exhaustion, still scared… but not as much as before.

You smile at him gently. “We’re gonna get you somewhere safe, okay? But we need your help too.”

Jungkook lets out a faint, trembling huff.

Yoongi nods at him, his expression softening in a way you’ve never seen. “We just need you to stand. No shifting. Just get your feet under you.”

Jungkook closes his eyes for a second, gathering strength from somewhere deep and then he tries. His huge paws press into the dirt, claws digging in, muscles bunching with effort. His legs tremble violently. His shoulder nearly collapses.

Taehyung moves instantly, bracing himself beneath Jungkook’s weight so the bear can lean against him. Yoongi reaches out as well, placing both hands on his fur to steady him, though you can see the strain it costs him.

You rise and place a hand lightly against Jungkook’s stomach, steadying him from the other side. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He lifts his head a few inches. It wobbles, but it stays up.

“That’s it,” Yoongi murmurs. 

It takes nearly a full minute, but Jungkook manages to shift himself into a weak, unsteady stand. His breathing is ragged, but his body holds.

Barely.

You look at Yoongi. “Can he walk?”

“Not far,” Yoongi admits. His eyes flick to the darkness behind you where the hunters disappeared. “But he doesn’t have to. We just need to get him close enough to the road. Taehyung and I can lift the rest.”

You nod. “Then let’s move.”

Taehyung positions himself under Jungkook’s injured side, taking most of his brother’s weight with a soft grunt of effort. Jungkook leans heavily into him, almost collapsing twice before Taehyung steadies him with a bump of his shoulder.

Yoongi limps to the other side, jaw clenching each time he braces Jungkook. You can tell he’s in pain, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

You take the spot behind them, keeping your hands near his back and flank, ready to catch or support him if he falters.

“Alright,” Yoongi mutters, voice tight. “Slow and steady. Follow Taehyung.”

Taehyung starts forward, guiding Jungkook with careful, measured steps. The forest path is uneven, and each shift of his weight sends tremors through his legs. You stay close, murmuring quiet reassurances whenever he stumbles.

Jungkook struggles, but he keeps going, driven by the closeness of his brothers, the pressure of Taehyung’s side against his, the soft rhythm of your voice beside him.

Yoongi glances at you once, the faintest expression flickering across his features before he looks away again.

You walk for several painstaking minutes, Jungkook’s steps dragging deeper into the forest floor. Every rustle of leaves feels too loud. Every distant crack of a branch makes all three hybrids stiffen.

Finally, Taehyung stops and flicks his ears toward the right.

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. “We’re close to the road.”

You step ahead and push through a thin line of brush and there it is. The narrow forest road where you parked earlier. Your car sits only a dozen yards away, half-hidden behind the trees, waiting.

You turn back, relief flooding through you.

“We made it.”

Jungkook sways, nearly collapsing, but Taehyung catches him before he can fall. Yoongi stabilizes him from the other side, though the strain on his face makes it clear he can’t take much more.

You rush forward and open the trunk door of your SUV. “Okay — Taehyung, Yoongi, how do we get him in?”

Yoongi wipes sweat from his brow, breathing hard. “We’ll guide him up. You get in the front and help pull if we need it.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

He gives you a tired but certain nod. “We’ll manage. Just be ready.”

Guiding Jungkook to the car is a slow, excruciating process. Every few steps, his legs wobble, and Taehyung braces under him, taking the strain without hesitation. Yoongi presses a steadying hand to Jungkook’s side, wincing each time the weight shifts toward him.

“Easy…” Yoongi murmurs, voice strained. “Just a little closer.”

You scramble into the front seat and twist around, reaching back to offer your hands as Taehyung and Yoongi maneuver Jungkook toward the back door.

Jungkook hesitates, his huge frame trembling at the unfamiliar shape of the car.

You lean forward, voice steady. “It’s okay. It’s just for a moment. Then we’ll go home. I promise.”

His eyes meet yours, they look tired, scared, but trusting. And slowly, leaning heavily into Taehyung’s strength, Jungkook steps toward the car. His huge form towers at the edge of the car, and for a brief moment it seems impossible. He’s simply too big, too heavy, too exhausted.

You lean over the seat, extending your hand. “Jungkook… we need you to climb in, okay? We’re almost done. Just this last part.”

Jungkook breathes hard, his sides heaving, but his eyes meet yours. He listens. Slowly, he lifts one massive paw and sets it inside the vehicle. The car groans underneath the shift in weight.

Taehyung shifts position and nudges his brother from the side, offering silent encouragement. Jungkook lifts his other front paw in, his body sagging with effort. As his weight shifts into the backseat, the car dips sharply,  the suspension dropping several inches with a heavy, low creak.

You wince. “My poor car…”

Taehyung, squeezing in behind Jungkook, adds his weight too. The vehicle dips again. It’s almost comical, a small SUV sagging under the mass of two hybrids in one cramped space, but the worry in the moment overshadows any humor.

Yoongi huffs a weak breath through his nose. “Should’ve bought a truck.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly planning for… hybrid transport,” you whisper back.

Taehyung curls around Jungkook protectively, positioning himself so he can lean against him, his large head resting on Taehyung’s shoulder. The tiger adjusts until Jungkook is wedged securely, no risk of him sliding if you brake too suddenly.

Jungkook gives one soft, exhausted huff before his eyes close.

Yoongi limps around to the passenger side. He lowers himself into the seat with a shaky exhale, reclining it halfway until he finds a position that doesn’t make him grimace.

You close all the doors, circle back to the driver’s side, and climb in behind the wheel. The car’s back end still sits noticeably low, the weight of two fully-grown hybrids making your headlights tilt a little higher than usual.

You glance into the rearview mirror.

Jungkook is unmoving, breathing shallow but steady.

Taehyung’s golden eyes stare back at you, protective and alert from behind Jungkook’s massive form.

Yoongi watches the road ahead, jaw clenched, one hand pressed lightly against his ribs.

“Ready?” you ask.

Taehyung gives a slow, firm chuff.

Yoongi nods once.

You grip the wheel, exhale shakily, and put the car in drive.

“Hold on and lay low,” you whisper.

With everyone finally inside the car, you pressed your foot to the gas and left the forest behind, hoping the night wouldn’t catch up to you before you made it home.

A/N: Thanks for reading!! Let me know how you think of the story so far! As always have a wonderful day!

Love, Liz

Taglist

Yeri chuckles. “Careful what you wish for. You know the hospital doesn’t even have a protocol for treating hybrids? If one shows up bleeding out, we’re technically not authorized to operate unless—”

“Unless it’s life-threatening,” you finish, rolling your eyes, “I read the policy memo,” you smirk as your fingers tab against the coffee cup, “but do you really think someone half-wolf cares about hospital policy?”

That earns a laugh from Nayeon, but it fades quickly. “They say some can’t control it. Their behavior, I mean. It’s tied to emotion. Anger, fear…” She lowers her voice, glancing toward the darkened hallway. “You ever think about how many of them are just… hiding? Living normal lives until something snaps in them?”

“They’re wild animals,” Yeri exclaims, “of course they’re gonna snap eventually.”

You don’t answer. Not knowing whether to agree or disagree to that statement. 

The clock on the wall ticks louder than it should. 

“Anyway,” Yeri says, stretching, “if more hybrids do exist, they’re probably smart enough to stay far away from us. Humans have a habit of ruining what they don’t understand.”

Nayeon hums in agreement, stacking her paperwork, “still, if I ever see one, I’m running the other way.”

You smile faintly. “Same.”

The rest of your shift remains uneventful. Minus the occasional gossip sessions and questions on what their plans for the weekends are. 

When your shift finally ends you wave goodbye to your friends before parting ways to your parked car. Despite it being hours ago the hybrid conversation still lingers in your mind. The thought of hidden eyes, of instincts stronger than reason. Of creatures half human.

You shake it off and remind yourself it’s just another long shift, another round of wild hospital rumors. Everyone gets delirious at some point during a 12 hour shift. 

Still, as you walk toward your car, the wind moves through the  parking lot in a way that makes your skin prickle. And that’s when you hear it. A sudden howl off to the distance causes your body to flinch. It’s low and echoing, carried by the night air.

You tell yourself it’s just a dog.

You always tell yourself it’s just a dog.

You hurriedly unlock your car and rush inside. 

The drive home is quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after midnight, when the world feels suspended between days. The streets are nearly empty, the hum of the city fading with every mile until all that’s left is the sound of your tires on the damp road.

Your neighborhood sits near the edge of the woods, where civilization meets the wild. It’s peaceful most nights, with sounds of crickets, the occasional owl, and the wind shifting through trees that have stood long before your house was built. You usually love that serenity. 

But tonight for some reason feels different.

You attempt to just shrug it off thinking Nayeon's words were finally getting to you.

The night air bit at your cheeks as you stepped out of your car, exhaustion clinging to your bones like a second skin. Twelve hours at the hospital would drain anyone, but tonight had been especially brutal.

You rub the back of your neck, half out of habit, half because something about the stillness makes you uneasy.

Inside, your house is dim but welcoming, the warm amber light spilling from the lamp you forgot to turn off that morning. You kick off your shoes, drop your keys in the bowl by the door, and exhale for what feels like the first time all day.

Your scrubs are wrinkled and stained with coffee and your hair is escaping its bun. You don’t care. You were off the next day anyway. The plan for tonight was simple: shower, tea, bed.

But apparently the night has other plans for you.

Just as you reach to turn on the kettle, a loud thud echoes from outside.

You freeze.

It isn’t the usual creak of branches or the scurry of small animals. This sound has weight as if something solid hitting the ground, followed by a faint metallic clang, like a tool being knocked over.

Your gaze flicks toward the back window. The motion sensor light has turned on, casting a pale glow over the yard. The shed at the edge of the property stands half in shadow. When you lean against the window you notice the door slightly ajar.

Your stomach tightens.

“Probably just the wind,” you mumble under your breath, even though you don’t believe it.

Another sound follows, heavier, deliberate, as if something large shifted inside the shed. Your breath catches in your throat. This time convinced you were either about to encounter an animal or worse, human.

You grab the nearest thing resembling a weapon. A broom. You creep toward the back door trying to ignore your pounding heart. The night air slips in when you crack it slightly open, just enough for you to feel the cool and damp air. The light flickers outside, shadows bending strangely at the edge of the shed.

Then. Silence.

You stare for several long seconds, the quiet pressing against your ears until you swear you can hear a low growl.

Nope.

You shut the door quickly, lock it, and pull the curtain tight. Whatever’s in there, you’ll deal with it in the morning when it feels less like a horror movie and when you’re not bone-tired and running on caffeine fumes. Before heading upstairs you make sure all the windows are locked tight and shut. It was times like these you wished you adopted a dog to keep guard.

Still, as you finally make your way to your bedroom, you can’t shake the feeling that something, or rather someone, is watching you from the dark.

And outside, under the dim light, a pair of glowing eyes blink once from the shadows of the shed… then vanish.

You wake before your alarm, in that half-lucid state where your mind hovers between sleep and consciousness, muscles heavy but your thoughts sharp and uneasy. For a moment, the tightness in your chest feels like a phantom ache, but then the memory hits: the thud, the shed. Your stomach knots as if it remembers something your brain wants to forget.

You slap your cheeks together as a form of motivation, “ok Y/n, it’s time to be a big girl and check the shed. What’s the worst that can happen,” you mumble. 

Even as you put on some sweatpants and wrap your robe around you, your hands tremble slightly. The whole thing feels ridiculous, “it’s probably nothing,” is what you try to convince yourself with but your heart doesn’t seem to care. 

The uncertainty of what you might encounter gives you more anxiety than you would’ve liked first thing in the morning. 

Morning sunlight filters weakly through the blinds, painting stripes of gold and shadow across the floor. Everything looks ordinary, mundane even. The teacup you left on the counter, the faint aroma of last night’s espresso lingering in the air, the slight hum of the refrigerator. Ordinary enough to make you doubt yourself. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe caffeine, maybe a trick of your imagination.

You shuffle toward the window, robe brushing the floor, and that’s when you freeze. The shed door is wide open. Your pulse spikes. “I guess it wasn’t my imagination after all.” The paint is chipped along the edges of the old wooden door as if an animal was clawing at it to open. You blink hard. 

“It’s a raccoon, it’s a raccoon,” you chant under your breath like you were trying to cast a spell in hopes of your manifestation becoming true. You move to the kitchen and grab a knife. A weapon that seems a little more suitable for the situation regardless of how ridiculous you felt. 

Your throat feels dry as you step outside. The grass is still damp with last night’s dew, cool against your slippers, and the air carries that earthy, metallic scent that always comes after rain. Leaves and small branches litter the yard.

You take the knife from your hands, holding it with both palms as if it’s a lifeline, and approach the shed slowly. Every step crunches softly on wet grass, and the faint sound of your heartbeat fills your ears. The door swings slightly with the breeze, groaning on its rusted hinges. 

You take a peak from the already open door. Inside, everything seems normal. The gardening tools hang neatly, the lawnmower rests against the far wall, and cobwebs sway lazily from the ceiling beams. But your eyes catch the muddy prints crossing the floor. But that’s not what frightens you the most. They’re human footprints. Human-sized, irregular footprints trailing from the door into the shadows. The prints are smeared, as if being dragged, leaving streaks that darken the pale wood.

Your gaze follows the trail, and your stomach twists as it stops near a dark, wet patch. At first, it looks like dirt, but the glossy crimson reflection in the sunlight makes your skin crawl. The metallic tang finally hits your nose. 

Blood. 

Not a lot, but enough to make your throat dry and your hands tremble.

“Oh fuck,” you curse. You pat your body and it dawns on you that you failed to bring your phone to call the authorities.

You were about to run back into your house but something shiny glinted by your feet. You crouch cautiously, heart hammering, and brush away the dirt. A small silver tag lies there, engraved with a single letter: Y. The edges are scratched, slightly worn, catching the morning light like a warning.

A soft exhale.

You freeze.

The breath didn’t belong to you.

You go still, every muscle in your body locking up. Your brain immediately starts screaming at you to move, but your feet have apparently decided they’d rather die confused than cooperate.

Another sound follows, this time a low, pained groan. Definitely human.

“I did not sign up for this today,” you whisper, shaking your head.

You tighten your grip on the knife, which now feels less like a weapon and more like a glorified butter spreader. You take one careful step inside, the wooden floor creaking under your slippers. You glance toward the back corner where the light doesn’t reach. That’s where you hear it again. A shaky, uneven breath.

“Hello?” you call out, voice cracking halfway through, “if you’re a murderer, I should warn you, I scream really loud and my neighbors hate noise.”

No response. Just another soft groan, followed by a weak shuffle.

You swallow, your pulse pounding so hard it feels like your heartbeat’s trying to crawl up your throat. “Okay. Cool. Love that for me,” you mutter, inching forward.

Your eyes adjust slowly to the dim light, and that’s when you finally see him.

A figure slumped against the back wall, chest rising and falling shallowly. He’s shirtless, skin slick with sweat and streaked with dried blood. His hair is dark and matted, and what’s left of his clothes look torn, almost shredded. For a brief second, your brain can’t quite decide if you’re looking at a man or something else entirely.

Because that’s when you notice them. The ears.

Large black cat ears poking through his messy hair, twitching faintly as if trying to catch the faintest sound. His pupils, though barely open, are narrow slits of gold that glint when the light hits.

You stumble back, bumping into the doorframe hard enough to rattle the hinges. “Oh my god. I must be hallucinating. This is what sleep deprivation looks like.”

A sound tears through the air, more animal than human. A growl. A warning.

You flinch, holding up your free hand in surrender. “Whoa, easy, I’m not— look, I live here, okay? I’m just—” you glance around helplessly, “checking on my shed, as one does when strange cat-men break into it.”

He bares his teeth slightly, something between a snarl and a grimace. His jaw flexes as a sharp breath escapes him. He’s pressing a trembling hand to his side.

Despite the panic clawing at your throat, the nurse in you pushes forward. You can’t help it.

You take a shaky breath. “You’re hurt.”

His eyes flash open, golden, sharp, and animalistic. He growls again, louder this time, chest rumbling like distant thunder.

You flinch back, your knife wobbling dangerously in your grip. “Okay! Okay! You’re hurt, I’m terrified, and we’re clearly both having a rough morning, so maybe let’s just take a minute and breathe?”

Silence. Then a low, rasping voice. “Stay back.” His voice is rough, almost feral, as though the words hurt to form.

For a long, tense second, he studies you like he’s waiting for you to flinch, to prove you’re a threat. His claws flex faintly against the dirt, shoulders rising and falling with each uneven breath. Finally, he groans softly, the fight in him faltering.

You take a cautious step closer, lowering the knife. “Look, I’m a nurse. I help people for a living. And right now, you count as… close enough.” He watches you as you drop your knife into the floor with a thud. Raising your hands so they remain in his line of sight at all times.

His hand twitches, claws scraping faintly against the wooden floor. His gaze narrows. “Humans don’t help my kind,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You blink. “Well, clearly you haven’t met the right human.”

For a long, tense second, he studies you  like he’s waiting for you to flinch, to lie, to prove you’re just another threat. Finally, with visible effort, he slumps back against the wall, chest heaving, but you notice something that makes you hesitate. There’s no fresh blood. The wounds along his ribs are dark and half-healed, but the skin around them is an angry shade of red, swollen, and slick with sweat. Even from here, you can tell it’s infected. Badly.

You crouch a little, trying to get a closer look without getting too close. “Okay… that’s not just a scratch,” you murmur, “you’re burning up.”

His head lifts sharply, gold eyes narrowing into slits. “Don’t,” he growls, voice low and gravelly.

“Don’t what? Diagnose you?” you shoot back before you can stop yourself. “Too late. You’ve got a fever, and whatever clawed you didn’t exactly clean its nails first.”

The growl deepens, chest rumbling like distant thunder. “I said stay back.”

“Listen dude, you’re half-delirious and about two hours away from sepsis,” you snap. “So maybe you stop giving orders and you let me help before you pass out and ruin my morning.”

He stares at you for a long second before finally looking away. His breathing is uneven, shallow, as if every inhale costs him energy he doesn’t have.

“I can help, but not here. You need cleaning and antibiotics like, yesterday. My house is just a few steps away. I can help you.”

His head jerks up immediately, eyes narrowing. “No,” he growls, voice rough and low. “Not going in there.”

You blink. “It’s a house, not a trap.”

His ears twitch, tail flicking once behind him, a flash of sleek black fur you hadn’t noticed before. His voice is strained, but the warning in it is still clear. “Humans. Traps. Same thing.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay, look if I wanted to trap you, I’d call animal control, not offer free healthcare.”

That earns you a rumbling growl that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. He tries to stand and immediately wavers, one hand bracing against the wall. The second his knees buckle, instinct takes over and you dart forward before thinking. “Hey hey! Easy!”

He stiffens instantly, baring his teeth in warning. You freeze, hands hovering inches from him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” you say softly. “But if you keep moving like that, you’re gonna pass out. And honestly, I’m not strong enough to drag your big cat ass all the way to the house.”

His eyes narrow at you. “You talk too much,” he mutters hoarsely.

“You growl too much,” you shoot back. 

He blinks slowly, as if deciding whether or not you’re insane. Then, finally, with a reluctant huff, he lets you move closer. Together, you manage to get him into the house. The morning light filters through your kitchen window, warm and ordinary against how utterly not ordinary this situation is.

“See?” you mumble. “No traps. Just bad coffee and worse lighting.”

He doesn’t answer. As soon as you stepped inside, he stiffened, nostrils flaring as his eyes darted across the room scanning exits, shadows, anything that could be a threat. The low rumble in his chest returns.

“Relax,” you murmur, noticing how tense his body had become. “If anyone’s dangerous here, it’s you.”

That earns you a sharp look, one that would’ve been terrifying if not for the way his knees give out a second later.

“Whoa—hey,” you catch him, your arm bracing his side. “Alright, easy, kitty. Let’s get you to the couch.”

He doesn’t resist as you steer him toward the couch. His breathing is rough, eyes half-lidded but still watchful. He drops onto the couch with a heavy exhale, muscles coiled tight. You can tell he’s seconds away from bolting if you move too fast.

“Stay there,” you say quickly, pointing a finger at him. 

He doesn’t reply, but his gaze stays locked on you. His wary, unreadable, golden eyes flickering in the morning light.

And for the first time since you met him, you get the strange feeling beneath all that distrust… He’s just as afraid of you as you are of him.

You rush down the hall to the bathroom, adrenaline spiking. You fling open the cabinet and start grabbing everything you can think of: antiseptic, gauze, saline, gloves, thermometer, antibiotic ointment, bandages, and even a small vial of oral antibiotics from your emergency stash. Your hands shake the entire time, bottles clinking as you shove them into your hands.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter under your breath. “Big scary cat in my living room, possibly septic. It’s just another casual morning.”

When you return, he’s right where you left him, watching the doorway like a cornered animal. His pupils are wide in the soft light.

“Good, you stayed,” you say, forcing a weak smile. “That’s progress.”

Something flickers in his expression. It looked like doubt, maybe confusion, but it’s gone before you can read it. He doesn’t relax, exactly, but he doesn’t bolt either.

You kneel again, slowly this time, making sure he can see every movement. “I’m just cleaning the wound, alright? No tricks. No needles.”

He watches you with quiet intensity, every breath a warning. 

“Alright. This is going to sting, and by sting, I mean you’re probably going to want to rip my arm off.”

He eyes the bottle warily, nostrils flaring. “What is that?”

“Disinfectant,” you explain carefully, twisting the cap off. “Kills the infection before it kills you.” You pour a small amount onto a cotton pad and move slowly toward his side. “Don’t. move.”

The moment the antiseptic touches his skin, he snarls, a raw, guttural sound that reverberates through the room. His back arches, claws digging into the couch cushion, tail flicking in a violent shudder of pain.

“Shit! I know, I know, I’m sorry!” you yelp, instinctively jerking your hand back. “You’re fine, it’s fine, it’s supposed to burn!”

His teeth bare in a warning growl, the sound more animal than human. “You—” his voice is a rasp, trembling with restrained anger, “burn me again, and I’ll—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll maul me, I get it,” you cut in quickly, waving the bottle like a white flag. “Just breathe, okay? It means it’s working.”

He growls again, quieter this time, but doesn’t pull away when you lean back in. His breathing stays rough, his body tense, but he lets you clean the rest of the wound.

By the time you start applying the ointment, the worst of the trembling has eased. You glance up at him, catching his gaze briefly. The distrust is still there, but so is something else, something tired, wary, and deeply human.

“There,” you whisper, voice softening. “Done.”

He exhales slowly, the rumble in his chest fading. “You’re reckless,” he mutters finally, voice rough but quieter now.

You huff out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, you broke into my shed. I think we’re even.” You lean back on your heels, exhausted. “You need rest. There’s a bed in the other room. I’ll help you get there.”

His eyes flash. “Not your den.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “It’s a guest room. You can leave once you’re not burning up like a furnace.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps staring. His gaze follows every tiny movement you make, and it feels less like he’s looking at you and more like he’s trying to decide if you’re lying.

“Your temperature’s high, and if it’s an infection, you’ll need fluids and antibiotics.”

His lip curls slightly, a flash of sharp canines. “Don’t need your medicine.”

“Right. You’ll just growl at the infection until it gives up,” you mutter under your breath, but his ears twitch, he heard that.

His golden eyes narrow dangerously. “You think this is funny?”

You freeze. “No. I think this is terrifying actually. You barged into my shed, nearly passed out, and I’m trying not to shit my pants. So yeah, excuse me if sarcasm’s all I’ve got left.”

He doesn’t answer, but his posture shifts.

“Come on,” you say softly, keeping your tone even. “You can’t stay in the shed. It’s cold, damp, and there’s… well, spiders.”

A long, silent pause stretches between you. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t growl. He just watches. His tail flicks slowly, one, two, three times. Then, finally, he takes a single step forward. He falters and you instinctively reach out your hands to catch him. 

He flinches hard, grabbing your wrist in an instant. The growl that rips out of him is deep, guttural, pure instinct. 

Your breath catches. “Okay okay,” you whisper quickly, raising your free hand. “No touching. Got it.”

You take a careful step back, pulse still racing from how fast he’d reacted. His grip loosens, but his eyes stay locked on you, golden and sharp. It takes a full five seconds before he finally releases your wrist. You don’t move right away, neither of you do, the air between you is heavy with something taut and unspoken.

When you finally find your voice, it’s softer, steadier than you feel. “Alright,” you murmur, keeping your distance. “Let’s just… take it slow. The guest room’s this way.”

He follows you with cautious, uneven steps that’s not exactly following, but tracking you, like a predator making sure the prey doesn’t bolt.

“It’s the only clean room left,” you say lightly, forcing a nervous smile. “Sheets are fresh, door locks from the inside if that helps.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking, his breathing is still slightly uneven, muscles tensing with every unfamiliar creak of the floor.

When you reach the doorway, you step aside and gesture toward the bed. “Here. You can rest here.”

He stops dead in his tracks. Doesn’t move forward. Doesn’t sit. Just stares at the bed. His tail flicks once, slow and uncertain.

You watch him quietly, unsure if saying anything would help or make it worse. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. He steps closer to the edge of the mattress, sniffing the air like he’s trying to decode it. The faint scent of detergent, linen, and you. His gaze darts to you, sharp and questioning, like he’s waiting for you to reveal the catch.

You lift your hands again in quiet surrender, “it’s just a bed. You can lie down, or not. Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

He shifts his weight, scanning the corners of the room, the window, the door. You can practically see him cataloguing every exit, every sound, every scent. Finally, with a low, uncertain rumble in his chest, he sits on the very edge of the mattress. He’s stiff, ready to spring back up at the first wrong movement.

You don’t move closer. You just watch quietly as he tests the fabric beneath him, pressing down once as if trying to understand the softness. You can’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. “Not much of a bed person, huh?”

His head turns sharply toward you, golden eyes narrowing, and the smile fades from your face instantly. 

You take a small step back, keeping your tone calm. “I’ll get you some water. And something to bring your fever down.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, just staring down at the blanket like it’s something too fragile to touch for long. You back toward the door slowly, careful not to turn your back fully, leaving him the space he clearly needs. 

And as you leave the room, you catch one last glimpse of him  still sitting there, rigid and silent, a wild creature in a place that feels too soft, too safe, and too unfamiliar.

The kitchen feels colder than before.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, staring blankly at the half-full glass of water in front of you. The quiet hum of the refrigerator fills the silence. Everything feeling too normal for what’s happening.

An actual hybrid is sitting in your guest room. In your house.

You press a hand to your forehead and let out a shaky breath. “What the hell am I doing?” you whisper to yourself.

It’s absurd. You should’ve called animal control. Or the hospital. Or someone who actually knows what to do with half-human creatures. Instead, you’re here making sure he’s comfortable like you invited a stray cat inside. A muscle-covered, potentially dangerous stray cat with big claws.

You glance toward the hallway, as if you might somehow hear him moving but it’s silent. Which somehow feels worse.

You exhale, shaking your head. He looked so completely lost. Not just wary, but unsure. Like the concept of being offered something without a catch didn’t make sense to him.

You grab the medicine bottle from the cabinet, shaking two tablets into your palm. The sound of the pills rattling against the plastic echoes loud in the stillness. You hesitate, staring at them for a long moment.

What if he refuses again? What if you push too far and he bolts or worse, lashes out at you?

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the pills away. You fill a glass with water and set both down on the counter, biting the inside of your cheek. Logic tells you to keep your distance and wait until you can think clearly. But there’s something else tugging at you, a quiet voice buried under the anxiety.

He’s alone, hurt, and afraid.

And for whatever reason, he trusted you enough to stay.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “God, I’m going to regret this.”

Because no matter how much you try to rationalize it, the truth lingers at the edge of your thoughts.

You didn’t just bring a hybrid into your home.

You invited something wild, something dangerous, into your life.

Just then from the corner of your eye, you catch movement outside the kitchen window. It was fast, low, and much too big to be a regular animal native to these woods.

You freeze mid-step, pulse spiking.

At first, you think it’s him, maybe he slipped out somehow, already bolting back into the woods. But then your brain catches up. The shape was wrong. Taller. Broader. And it moved differently. More erratic, like it was hunting for something rather than running away.

You edge closer to the window, careful not to make a sound. Your fingers tighten around the counter as you lean forward just enough to peer outside. Beyond the yard, the tree line sways gently with the breeze until something moves through it, fast. You catch just the blur of motion, there and gone before your mind can even process it.

Your stomach drops. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper under your breath. You step back slowly, heart pounding so hard it hurts. 

You stumble backward, fumbling for the deadbolt with shaky hands. The metallic click of the lock sounds deafening in the silence that follows. You double-check it then grab the sliding bar and shove it across for good measure.

Your mind races. That thing outside was not the hybrid you brought into your house. The shape, the movement, the sound, it didn’t match. Panic builds in your chest before you can stop it.

“As if this morning couldn’t get any worse” you whisper, glancing toward the hallway. Your feet start moving towards the guest room. Heart still hammering against your chest. The bedroom is still cracked open, just like you left it.

“Please still be here,” you whisper under your breath.

You push the door open quietly.

He’s still there.

The hybrid sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, eyes half-lidded but alert. His chest is heaving as if it’s taking everything in his body to just breathe. He looks up immediately when you enter, pupils narrowing into thin slits.

You stop short, still breathing hard.

He tilts his head slightly, as if sensing your tension. The air between you shifts. His tail flicks once against the blanket, a quiet thump.

You try to find your voice. “You… you didn’t hear anything outside, did you?”

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you. But his ears twitch once, toward the window, before shifting his gaze outside.

You follow his stare, heart hammering, but see nothing except the lazy sway of branches in the breeze. The world outside looks calm.

Then, faintly, a crack, like twigs snapping could be heard right outside the closed window.

His ears flick again. His tail stills.

You whisper, “You heard that too, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t look at you, but the low rumble in his chest answers for him a deep, instinctive growl that vibrates through the quiet room.

The growl deepens and before you can ask what’s wrong, he moves. In one smooth motion, he crosses the room, his movements silent and eerily graceful. You barely have time to process before he’s unlatching the window.

“Wait—what are you doing?” you whisper harshly, stepping forward. “You can’t just—”

But he’s already pushing it open.

He leans forward slightly, inhaling deeply through his nose. You can see the subtle twitch of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes shift from gold to something darker. But then in a moment his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders softens, not completely, but enough that the hostility flickers into something else.

You hesitate and raise a brow while watching him closely. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer, but he straightens his back. His ears perk toward the woods. The tail that had been flicking slowly before now stills, almost rigid.

Then, quietly you hear him exhale one word under his breath that’s barely audible.

“…Brother.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Wait what? Did you just say—”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He leans further out the window, scanning the treeline with sharp, predatory focus. For a moment, his pupils dilate, and the low rumble in his chest returns. Except this time it’s not a warning growl. It’s something closer to concern.

Your skin prickles. “There’s another one out there?” You mumble, more to yourself than to him.

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes now. A silent debate flickers across his features, like he’s trying to decide whether to tell you the truth or keep you in the dark.

Finally, he mutters something low and strained, almost reluctant. “He’s hurt.”

You blink, unsure if you heard right. “Hurt? As in hurt like you were, or hurt like I should be calling an ambulance?”

He doesn’t answer, but his claws flex slightly against the windowsill, the wood creaking under his grip. His tail flicks once, sharp and impatient. 

You glance out the window, scanning the trees, but all you see is the gentle sway of branches. “What do you want to do?” you ask quietly.

He shifts, muscles tightening beneath his skin as if preparing to move. His gaze is fixed outside. The faint rumble in his chest vibrates the air.

You step forward, instinctively putting yourself between him and the window. “Wait—”

He cuts you a sharp look that stops you cold. It isn’t threatening, not exactly. It’s a warning.

“You can’t just go out there,” you say, trying to keep your tone calm, even though your pulse is climbing. “You’re still recovering. You barely made it out of the shed this morning—”

He bares his teeth, just slightly, like he’s done being reasoned with. His tail lashes once behind him.

You hold your ground. “Look, I’m not saying no to helping him. Let me go outside instead.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

His ears flick back, and he stares at you like you just suggested juggling knives blindfolded. You can practically hear the thought in his head: This human has lost her mind.

You swallow, forcing a shaky smile. “You’re still weak,” you say, trying to sound logical instead of suicidal. “If you go out there like this, you could make things worse. You'll collapse halfway there, and then I’ll have two hybrids in my backyard.”

Something flickers across his face. You think it might be frustration, maybe even guilt, but it passes quickly. 

A low growl vibrates the air between you, deep enough that your ribs feel it. His tail lashes once, sharp and irritated.

“Right. You hate that idea,” you mutter, pacing half a step back. “If anything you can stay by the window and watch from here.”

That earns you a flicker of hesitation, his gaze darts between you and the window, then back again. Finally, with an agitated exhale, he steps back, muscles still tense, but at least he’s cooperating.

“Thank you,” you mutter, though it comes out more nervous than grateful.

Walking past him, you leave the room, heart pounding against your ribs, as you prepare to step outside into the morning air again. One very clear thought crosses your mind.  

This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.

You can only imagine the look on Nayeon and Yeri’s face when you share this story the next time you see them at work.

The air hits colder than you expect as you step outside. The grass crunches faintly underneath with each step you take. Somewhere above, a crow lets out a sharp caw that makes your pulse spike for no good reason. You keep walking, following the faint imprint of pawprints near the edge of the yard. You tilt your head surprised, expecting to see human footprints.

You crouch briefly, brushing your fingers over the impression. The soil’s still damp.

A soft rustle, one that’s heavier than a squirrel, too light for a bear. You snap your head toward the sound, heart thudding against your ribs.

“Hello?” you call out, instantly regretting it. “If you’re… um… hurt or something, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just,” you hesitate trying to find the right words, “a friend of your brother’s.” It was at that moment you realized you haven’t even gotten the poor guy's name, much less introduced yourself. 

It’s silent, but you know you’re not alone. 

Then you hear it, a deep, guttural sound. A growl, drawn out and strained, the kind that vibrates through the air and straight into your bones. Every instinct in your body screams run, but your feet don’t listen. You inch closer instead, because apparently you’ve lost all sense of self-preservation.

You push past a low branch and freeze.

That’s not a hybrid. That’s not even close.

It’s a tiger. A full-grown tiger who is easily twice your size, muscles shifting beneath slick fur streaked with blood and dirt. His chest rises unevenly, each breath rasping, shallow and pained.

Your brain short-circuits. “Oh my god,” the words come out in a choked whisper. You stumble back a step, almost tripping over a rock. “That’s… that’s not a hybrid. That’s a literal tiger!”

The tiger’s eyes snap open at the sound, gold and bright, and locked right on you.

You go completely still. For a moment, neither of you move, suspended in a standoff of shared disbelief. Then the tiger exhales sharply, a warning growl rumbling through the fog.

For a split second, your brain short-circuits. “Oh my god, I’m going to die before I even eat breakfast.”

His fur, once a brilliant orange and black, is dulled with mud and streaked with crimson. Each breath he takes is shallow, ragged, steam rising faintly from his body in the cold air. Even from here, you can tell he’s hurt, badly.

The tiger’s golden eyes snap open, locking onto you instantly. They’re wild, sharp, and full of warning. A low growl rumbles through his chest. It didn’t sound like a threat, but more like a reminder to not get too close.

Your brain scrambles. This has to be him. The brother. The air feels heavier now, pressing down on you.

“Hey,” you manage, voice trembling. “You’re hurt. I can help you, but you’ve gotta promise not to, uh… eat me.”

The tiger lets out a snort, a disbelieving one if that’s even possible, before lowering his head again, watching you through half-lidded eyes. He doesn’t move to attack, but his tail flicks once.

“Taking that as a maybe,” you mutter.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven gasps as the tiger’s growls taper off into a low rumble. His breathing is still labored, but he doesn’t lunge. Instead, his eyes flick past you and toward the house in the distance and then back.

You slowly kneel again, hands shaking. “Please,” you whisper, softer now. “If you’re really one of them… if you’re that cat hybrid’s brother… let me help you.”

He doesn’t move. And just when you were about to speak again, with visible effort, the tiger lowers his head to the ground, not trust, but surrender.

You let out a trembling breath and slowly start making your way towards him. Until you hear it, the sound of a door creaking open.

You look up sharply toward the house. You make eye contact with the cat hybrid on the porch. He’s watching you in silence, his expression unreadable.

You narrow your eyes, “what did I say about resting in bed.”

He bares his teeth as if about to snarl, “you were taking too long and your heart was beating so fast I thought you were about to have a heart attack.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I was expecting to see a humanoid hybrid. Not a 400 pound apex predator,” you were already regretting helping this cat.

You barely have time to process what’s happening. One second, the tiger is half-laying in the grass, chest rising unevenly and the next, he’s on his feet, muscles tensing, a deep rumble tearing through his throat as he charges toward the porch.

“Wait!” you cry out, stumbling backward to get out of his way.

The black cat stumbles forward once, twice, and drops to one knee. The tiger lets out a sound you can’t describe part roar, part chuff, raw and desperate as he stops right in front of him

“He’s hurt,” the man rasps, voice hoarse and strained.

You nod quickly, forcing your feet to move even though your legs feel like jelly. “So are you,” you mutter under your breath, rushing toward them, “you can barely stand.”

The black cat shoots you a glare sharp enough to stop you mid-step. For a moment the glare fades into a grimace.

The tiger huffs weakly and presses his massive head against the mans shoulder, as if trying to steady him. The sight makes your chest twist painfully.

“Alright,” you breathe, scanning them both. “You’re both a mess. Let's go inside before my neighbors look out their windows and think I’ve started a zoo.”

The man’s tail flicks in irritation, but he doesn’t protest. He takes a few uneven steps toward the porch, one hand still braced against his ribs. You hover nearby, not close enough to touch, but close enough to catch him if he collapses. You see the tremor in his legs, the slight wince with every breath. He’s pushing himself too hard. Every few steps, he stumbles, and each time your hands twitch, ready to help, but you’re scared he’s just gonna growl at you in return. Besides, you’re not the only one trying to support him as the tiger is using his body to steady him.

By the time you reach the guest bedroom, his breathing is ragged, you can see the sheen of sweat on his skin, the strain in every line of his body.

“Here,” you say softly. “Lay down, the both of you.”

The man gives a final, warning growl as if to remind you not to come closer. He then collapses onto the edge of the bed, his brother beside him. You watch as he presses a shaking hand to his ribs, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight.

“I’m gonna go get supplies.”

You rush off, heart hammering, muttering under your breath, “Two injured cat hybrids before noon… this is fine.”

You fling open the drawers, grabbing anything remotely useful. With everything in your arms you hurry back before you lose your nerve.

The moment you step into the bedroom, both pairs of golden eyes snap toward you. The man’s posture immediately stiffens in a protective stance. He sits up beside the tiger. The air feels heavier with him watching you like that, as though every move you make is being weighed and judged.

You raise your hands slightly, voice soft but steady. “I’m just going to clean his cuts. That’s all. You can… supervise if you want.”

“I’m Y/n,” you say carefully, keeping your voice low, calm. “Human, obviously,” you introduce yourself awkwardly. 

The hybrid doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even blink. He just watches you, eyes sharp, head tilted slightly as if he’s trying to decide what to make of you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself not to look away. “And you are…?”

Silence.

You nod slowly, already half expecting not to receive an answer. “Okay, mystery cat it is. Y/n and the mystery cats.”

Your voice trembles just a little at the end, but you try to smile anyway, a small, awkward, and genuine one. “Let’s just make sure your brother doesn’t bleed out on my sheets first, yeah?”

He doesn’t answer. His tail flicks once. Then, after a few long seconds, he shifts just enough to give you space.

You take that as permission and kneel carefully beside the tiger. Up close, you can see the damage better. Shallow gashes across his shoulder and flank, dried blood matted into the fur. He must’ve been in a fight.

“Hey, big guy,” you whisper, reaching slowly for a towel. “We’re just cleaning you up, okay? Nothing scary.”

The tiger’s massive head twitches slightly toward your voice. His ears flick, but he doesn’t growl. You take that as a good sign.

When you pour antiseptic over the first wound, the tiger jerks violently, letting out a guttural, pained growl that makes every hair on your body stand up. Instinctively, you flinch back, your heart hammering so hard it hurts.

The man moves instantly, a sharp sound leaves his throat, not quite words, more like a low command. Except it wasn’t directed at you for once, but at the tiger. He stills almost immediately, though his breathing stays rough.

You blink, surprised, but you don’t dare ask what he said.

“Sorry,” you murmur softly, dipping the towel in water to wipe away the excess blood. “I know it stings. You’re doing great.”

You work quietly, cleaning each wound as carefully as you can. Every once in a while, the tiger huffs softly. When you finish bandaging the worst of the scratches, you sit back on your heels and exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“There,” you say quietly, glancing between the two of them. “Nothing too deep. He’ll be fine as long as he rests.”

For a long moment, the three of you sit in silence. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint sound of wind outside.

Finally, you clear your throat. “He can also stay here while he recovers,” you say softly, gaining both of their attention. “But you both need rest. And food. I’ll… figure that part out.”

The cat hybrid says nothing, but his eyes aren’t as narrowed as before.

You turn to walk away until a low voice rumbles behind you.

“Yoongi.”

You glance back, unsure if you heard him right. He’s still sitting on the bed, his tail flicking lazily behind him, but his gaze is steady now, no longer entirely guarded. In fact his eyes were no longer golden. Right now you’re staring at very human-like eyes. 

“That’s my name,” he says after a pause, “I’m a panther hybrid.” His eyes flick briefly toward the tiger stretched out on the bed. “This is Taehyung. My younger brother.”

You blink, processing that for a second. “Right. Yoongi and Taehyung,” you repeat softly, like you’re trying the names on your tongue. “Nice to officially meet you both… under extremely weird and mildly terrifying circumstances.”

Yoongi huffs quietly.

“Get some rest,” you add, gesturing toward the bed. “I’ll prepare some food”

He tilts his head, one ear twitching, and for a fleeting moment, you think you see something almost human in his expression, maybe curiosity.

You close the door behind you, giving them some privacy. 

Leaning against the wall, you exhale slowly, the tension finally catching up to you. Less than twenty-four hours ago, your biggest problem was an overdue shift report. And now you’ve got two big cat hybrids sleeping under your roof.

You press a hand to your forehead, muttering to yourself, “what the hell did I just get myself into?”

You just have to remind yourself that this is temporary. They’ll leave once they’re all healed and haven’t killed you.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this is only the beginning.

A/N: As you can see I did end up writing a new story haha. I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter! Let me know what you think :) One of my favorite parts of posting a new story/chapter is getting to read your guys reviews :))

Love, Liz

Taglist

You rub the back of your neck, half out of habit, half because something about the stillness makes you uneasy.

Inside, your house is dim but welcoming, the warm amber light spilling from the lamp you forgot to turn off that morning. You kick off your shoes, drop your keys in the bowl by the door, and exhale for what feels like the first time all day.

Your scrubs are wrinkled and stained with coffee and your hair is escaping its bun. You don’t care. You were off the next day anyway. The plan for tonight was simple: shower, tea, bed.

But the night has other plans for you.

Just as you reach to turn on the kettle, a loud thud echoes from outside.

You freeze.

It isn’t the usual creak of branches or the scurry of small animals. This sound has weight as if something solid hitting the ground, followed by a faint metallic clang, like a tool being knocked over.

Your gaze flicks toward the back window. The motion sensor light has turned on, casting a pale glow over the yard. The shed at the edge of the property stands half in shadow. When you lean against the window you notice the door slightly ajar.

Your stomach tightens.

“Probably just the wind,” you mumble under your breath, even though you don’t believe it.

Another sound follows, heavier, deliberate, as if something large shifted inside the shed. Your breath catches in your throat. This time convinced you were either about to encounter an animal or worse, a human.

You grab the nearest thing resembling a weapon, a broom. You creep toward the back door. The night air slips in when you crack it slightly open, just enough to feel the cool and damp air. The light flickers outside, shadows bending strangely at the edge of the shed.

Then. Silence.

You stare for several long seconds, the quiet pressing against your ears until you swear you can hear a low growl.

Nope.

You shut the door quickly, lock it, and pull the curtain tight. Whatever’s in there, you’ll deal with it in the morning when it feels less like a horror movie and when you’re not bone-tired and running on caffeine fumes. Before heading upstairs you make sure all the windows are locked tight and shut. It was times like these you wished you adopted a dog to keep guard.

Still, as you finally make your way to your bedroom, you can’t shake the feeling that something, or rather someone, is watching you from the dark.

And outside, under the dim light, a pair of glowing eyes blink once from the shadows of the shed… then vanish.

You wake before your alarm, in that half-lucid state where your mind hovers between sleep and consciousness, muscles heavy but your thoughts sharp and uneasy. For a moment, the tightness in your chest feels like a phantom ache, but then the memory hits: the thud, the shed. Your stomach knots as if it remembers something your brain wants to forget.

Morning sunlight filters weakly through the blinds, painting stripes of gold and shadow across the floor. Everything looks ordinary, mundane even. The teacup you left on the counter, the faint aroma of last night’s espresso lingering in the air, the slight hum of the refrigerator. Ordinary enough to make you doubt yourself. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe caffeine, maybe a trick of imagination.

You shuffle toward the window, robe brushing the floor, and that’s when you freeze. The shed door is wide open. Your pulse spikes. You guess it wasn’t your imagination after all. The paint is chipped along the edges of the old wooden door as if an animal was clawing at it to open. You blink hard. 

“Alright Y/n. Don’t be a bitch and go outside,” you attempt to motivate yourself before moving to the kitchen and grabbing a knife. A weapon that seems a little more suitable for the situation. 

Your throat feels dry as you step outside. The grass is still damp with last night’s dew, cool against your slippers, and the air carries that earthy, metallic scent that always comes after rain. Leaves and small branches litter the yard, some catching tiny droplets of sunlight like scattered gems. 

You take the knife from your hands, holding it with both palms as if it’s a lifeline, and approach the shed slowly. Every step crunches softly on wet grass, and the faint sound of your heartbeat fills your ears. The door swings slightly with the breeze, groaning on its rusted hinges. 

You take a peak from the already open door. Inside, everything seems normal. The gardening tools hang neatly, the lawnmower rests against the far wall, and cobwebs sway lazily from the ceiling beams. But your eyes catch the muddy prints crossing the floor. But that’s not what frightens you the most. They’re human footprints. Human-sized, irregular footprints trailing from the door into the shadows. The prints are smeared, as if being dragged, leaving streaks that darken the pale wood.

Your gaze follows the trail, and your stomach twists as it stops near a dark, wet patch. At first, it looks like dirt, but the glossy crimson reflection in the sunlight makes your skin crawl. The metallic tang finally hits your nose. 

Blood. 

Not a lot, but enough to make your throat dry and your hands tremble.

“Oh fuck,” you curse. You pat your body and it dawns on you that you failed to bring your phone to call the authorities.

You were about to run back into your house but something shiny glinted by your feet. You crouch cautiously, heart hammering, and brush away the dirt. A small silver tag lies there, engraved with a single letter: Y. The edges are scratched, slightly worn, catching the morning light like a warning.

A soft exhale.

You freeze.

“Control,” he said. “Not force. You think strength alone will carry you, but it won’t. You’re a siren, Y/N, yes, but that’s only one part of who you are. Don’t forget the rest of yourself.”

You exhaled sharply, muscles burning, but you forced yourself into another stance. “I can do this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

Calvin only shifted his weight and observed you critically. Then he moved around the dummy, demonstrating a strike. “Watch. Precision over power. Every motion has a purpose.”

You mirrored him, swinging, pivoting, trying to match his movements. Sweat ran down your face, hair plastered to your forehead. Calvin’s eyes never left you, correcting angles, adjusting stances, guiding without ever touching.

“Again,” he said, and again you struck, harder this time, yet controlled. “Better,” he finally admitted, though his tone was still firm. “But you let frustration dictate your pace. Anger isn’t your ally here. Technique is.”

The wooden dummies were scattered across the training hall, some upright, some already bearing marks of repeated strikes. Sweat dripped down your temple as you wiped your damp hair back with the sleeve of your shirt, glaring at the nearest dummy. “We’ve been doing this for hours already! I need a break!” you snapped, your voice echoing slightly.

Calvin chooses to ignore this. He grabs a dummy and sets right in front of you. “Break it,” he barked, voice low.

You let out a loud groan but nonetheless you swung with all your power. The dummy barely budged. Again and again, you struck, sweat stinging your eyes, determination flaring. With one swing, the dummy successfully broke. A thrill of success coursed through you.

Calvin strode toward another dummy, however something about the dummy caught his eye. His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, towering over you, every line in his face tight with controlled anger. He grabbed another dummy, inspecting the edges, and his gaze hardened when he noticed the same small chips in the wood. As if they’ve been chipped before the training session. His jaw clenched. “What’s this?” His voice was low, dangerous, and sharp as a blade. “These weren’t here before.”

You straightened your posture, stubbornness flaring despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you said.

Calvin’s piercing gaze locked onto yours, unyielding. “Don’t lie to me, Y/N. I want honesty. Now.” He pointed at the chips, stepping closer until the wood was inches from your face. “What is this?” 

You froze, trying to mask your heartbeat. “I… I used the woodpeckers to… weaken some of them at night.” Your words spilled out in a rush, your cheeks heating.

Calvin’s eyes widened slightly, just enough that you caught it, but he didn’t speak immediately. The room was quiet, the only sound was the distant echo of birds surrounding you.

Finally, he let out a low, controlled exhale. “You… cheated,” he said, each word precise, carrying both disbelief and the weight of authority. “Deliberately manipulated your training instead of doing the work.”

Calvin’s chest rose and fell with tension. His jaw clenched as he took a step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I asked for your strength! Not this… cheating!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words could mask the flicker of guilt. Calvin slammed a hand on the dummy nearest him, making the wood tremble. “Do you even understand what you’re doing? Every shortcut you take chips away at your survival! You think strength is just breaking wood? No! It’s control, precision, honesty with yourself. You could be hurt. Or worse, unprepared when it really matters!”

You nodded quickly, swallowing hard, but the lesson sank in deeper than any words could. Calvin’s eyes burned into yours, sharp and unrelenting. One that was full of anger that only came from caring too much to be gentle.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open and Lucas stepped in, arms crossed, a grin playing at the edges of his mouth. “Alright, alright,” he said, voice bright and firm, “enough drama for one morning. Let’s not push our princess to the point of collapse before breakfast.”

Calvin’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “This is serious, Lucas,” he said, his voice low but loaded with authority. “Discipline cannot be compromised. She-”

Lucas raised a hand, cutting him off. “I get it, Cal. Strength, focus, perseverance. I’ve heard the speech.” He gestured toward you, whose chest rose and fell with the remnants of frustration and exertion. “Look at her. She’s wiped out. You think hammering her on one more dummy is going to make her stronger, or just make her hate training forever?”

Calvin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, his tone still gruff. “Fine,” he muttered, “call it a day.”

Lucas stepped closer to you, patting you lightly on the shoulder. “See? Told you it was time. Breakfast waits and so do you. Let’s get you cleaned up before you start looking like a mess of sweat and defeat.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension get released from your shoulders, though Calvin still stood near the dummies. His fists clenched slightly, muttering under his breath about wasted effort. Lucas glanced at him with a smirk, shaking his head as he guided you toward the door.

You cast a glance back at Calvin, catching the faintest trace of something softer behind his stern expression though he quickly masked it with another furrow of his brow. 

“Oh geez birdie you look awful,” Hoseok comments in the early morning as he passes by you with a plate full of eggs and bacon, fully ready to devour it all the moment he sets it down.

You didn’t have the energy to snap back, but in your mind, a million ways to get back at him were running through your head. Instead, you focused on your plate, stabbing at the eggs with a little more force than necessary.

From right beside you, Lucas chuckles, “careful Hoseok, princess has a knife,” he said with a grin, leaning back slightly as he scooped a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Hoseok opted to sit a couple of chairs away from you, just to be safe. “I’m just teasing, dear,” he said gently. “What’s wrong, honey? Couldn’t sleep last night?” His eyes softened, his concern genuine amid the playful atmosphere.

You just shake your head, not wanting to explain, your fingers still gripping your fork tightly.

Hoseok frowned, glancing at Lucas for a clue. The older man merely tilts his head to the side, motioning towards the door with a slight smirk. 

Hoseok raises a brow but nonetheless turns his attention and sees Calvin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed with a scowl etched on his face. Stifling back a laugh as he looks between you two, only now noticing the similar expressions, “oh my, did daddy dearest and birdie get into an argument so early in the morning.” 

You scowled at him, unaware that Calvin was mirroring your expression almost perfectly behind you.

“I’m not her father,” the man corrects immediately, voice flat. 

“Yeah, he’s not!” Lucas exclaimed, looking offended as if Hoseok had insulted him too.

Hoseok scrunched his face at Lucas but didn’t comment further. Turning back to Calvin, he asked, “Well… what happened?”

Calvin lets out a huff of air before turning his entire body to the side, “go on Y/n, tell him,” he urges. 

You stab at your eggs aggressively before answering, “I cheated,” you mumble.

Hoseok knits his brows together as you had said that in a quiet voice that he could barely hear you. He leans on his elbows trying to get closer to you, “I’m sorry can you repeat that.” 

“She cheated,” Calvin said, striding closer to the table. He pointed at you with a finger that somehow made you feel both guilty and annoyed. “We were working on strength and conditioning with some wooden dummies. I wanted her to try and break them.”

Hoseok tilts his head not quite understanding where the problem is, “and… are you mad she wasn’t able to do that?”

Calvin shakes his head, “oh no she was able to do it,” he looks at you, “with a little help,” he adds a second later with a slightly annoyed tone. 

“You were asking for too much!” you shot back, throwing your hands up in defeat, “how do you expect me to just break them with my bare hands.”

“So that automatically means you control those damn woodpeckers to weaken the wood enough for you to break them,” Calvin’s tone was incredulous, as if you’d committed a crime.

Hoseok couldn’t contain himself any longer. He burst into laughter, clutching his stomach, eyes squeezed shut with amusement, “that’s why you two are fighting!” His grin stretched ear to ear as Lucas struggled not to smile, turning his head away to hide it.

“It’s not funny!” you barked, glaring at both of them.

“It’s a little funny,” Hoseok said between laughs. Eventually his laughter dies out but his wide smile never leaves his face, “here I was thinking it was a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Calvin counters back almost immediately, “you can’t always rely on your powers to get you through your troubles,” he reasons.

“Well what’s the point of being a siren if I can’t even use my powers?” you snapped, frustration dripping from each word, your fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

Calvin didn’t miss a beat. “And what do you think will happen if you can’t use your voice? What will you do then?”

Silence fell over the room. You stared at your plate, struggling to find an answer, your thoughts tangled.

Calvin exhaled, his gaze softening but only briefly, “you think it’s just training, Y/N, but it’s not. Out there, people will use any weakness they find and your power will paint a target on your back. I’m not doing this for nothing.” He held your gaze for a long moment before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his boots echoing against the marble floor.

Silence lingered like fog.

Hoseok cleared his throat softly. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “that killed my appetite.”

Lucas sighs, leaning back in his chair, “told you not to tease the princess before breakfast.”

You glared at both of them but couldn’t shake the chill Calvin’s words left behind. For the first time that morning, you weren’t just annoyed, you were uneasy.

The manor gardens glowed beneath the sunset, the air warm and heavy with the scent of blooming flowers surrounding you. You walked slowly along the cobblestone path, the hem of your dress brushing against the grass. Your fingertips trailed through the water of a nearby fountain watching the ripples distort your reflection.

After Calvin’s words that morning, the silence of the garden was a welcome escape, no harsh voices, no training, no expectations. Just the quiet hum of cicadas and the flutter of wings from the occasional bird overhead.

“Beautiful evening,” a voice said softly from behind a hedge.

You were a fool to think you’d have one moment to yourself.

Taehyung steps into the light with a faint, polite smile. His hands are tucked in his pockets, posture casual but alert like someone who wants to appear harmless while knowing exactly where every exit is.

“You’re out late,” you say, voice teasing but cautious.

“Couldn’t sit still,” he replied easily, letting a hand brush the fountain edge. “Figured I’d enjoy the garden before the sun fully disappeared.”

Your eyes flick over him noticing his calm and composed nature. “Most people in this house try to avoid the garden around this hour,” you say, your tone light but testing. “The birds get territorial.”

Taehyung’s lips quirk. “I’ll take my chances.”

There’s something about his voice, smooth and deliberate, that makes it hard to read him. He’s not like anyone else in the manor. Not loud. Not pushy. He simply existed there.

From the shadow of the trellis Jungkook crouches low behind a flowering bush, eyes narrowed in suspicion. And right next to him, Yoongi leans against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with that lazy but calculating stare of his.

Neither of them says a word. They don’t have to.

“Do you always wander alone?” Taehyung asks, his tone casual, though his gaze flickers toward the bushes. The man sharp enough to have already noticed your guard dogs.

You raise a brow, “you sound concerned.”

“Just curious,” he says with a shrug, “you don’t seem like the type who needs looking after.”

A faint smirk tugs at your lips. “You’d be surprised.”

The quiet stretches comfortably between you, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant drip of water from the fountain. You finally sit at its edge, “So,” you say, not looking up, “what brings you here? Still trying to learn everyone’s secrets?”

Taehyung’s smile deepens slightly. “Something like that. I like learning what makes people who they are.”

Your eyes lift, meeting him. “And what have you learned about me?”

He hesitates, just long enough for you to notice. “That you don’t let people in easily,” he says at last. “But when you do, it’s because they’ve earned it.”

You tilt your head, curiosity flickering behind your guarded expression. “And you think you can earn it?”

“I can try,” he says simply.

From the shadows, Jungkook mutters under his breath, “Try harder.”

Yoongi doesn’t move, but his eyes follow Taehyung’s every gesture. He can tell the man is trained based on the balance in his stance, the precision in his movements, the way he never once turns his back fully on an opening. Subtle signs, but obvious to someone who knows what to look for.

“Careful,” Yoongi murmurs under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, “he’s not just some random.”

Your gaze softens slightly, though you mask it with a teasing smile. “You talk like someone who’s used to being watched.”

Taehyung’s lips curve faintly. “Maybe I am.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension isn’t sharp, it hums low, steady, curious. When you finally break eye contact, you exhale, the corner of your mouth twitching. “You’re strange,” you begin, “most people here either talk too much or not at all. You… choose your words like you’re afraid they’ll bite back.”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath. “Maybe I just like choosing carefully who I speak to.”

That earns him a glance. “You’re smooth,” you say, standing up, “but I don’t trust smooth.”

“I wouldn’t either,” he replies easily.

That simple honesty catches you off guard. For the first time that day, you don’t have an immediate retort.

Before you can even answer, a rustle bursts from the nearby hedge. You spin around just in time to see Jungkook and Yoongi emerge from the bushes, both looking less than subtle about their sudden entrance.

Jungkook’s expression is sharp, protective, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as if to keep from balling them into fists. Yoongi, on the other hand, looks bored but dangerous. His half-lidded eyes tracking Taehyung with quiet calculation. Both of them move as if by instinct to position themselves between you and the newcomer.

“Thought I heard voices out here,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung’s posture shifts ever so slightly, shoulders straightening as he meets Jungkook’s gaze. “Just enjoying the view,” he says smoothly.

“Funny,” Yoongi drawls. “Most people don’t enjoy the view alone with her unless they’ve got a reason.” 

It’s not an empty jab. It’s true. Everyone else in the manor keeps their distance from you. The staff, the guards, even some of the newer recruits, they all move around you like you’re made of glass and fire at the same time. Too dangerous to anger, too valuable to touch. Maybe it’s your temper. Maybe it’s your power. Maybe it’s the stories whispered along the halls about what happens when someone crosses you.

But Taehyung doesn’t seem fazed. He meets Yoongi’s stare calmly, that faint smile never wavering. “Maybe I just like the company,” he says.

Yoongi raises a brow. “That’s new.”

You roll your eyes, though a faint unwilling smile tugs at your lips. “You make it sound like I bite,” you tease trying to ease the tension in the air.

Jungkook mutters, “You have bitten someone before.”

You shoot him a warning look, and he lifts his hands in mock surrender. You roll your eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”

Jungkook glances at you. “We’re just being cautious. You know how many strangers walk into this place?”

“He’s not a stranger,” you reply, though your tone wavers slightly. “He’s… new.”

“Exactly,” Yoongi mutters. “New means unknown.”

Taehyung doesn’t flinch under their scrutiny. Instead, he offers an easy smile, the kind that might have charmed anyone else, but here, under Yoongi and Jungkook’s twin stares, it looks more like a test. “You’ve got good friends,” he says, his tone calm. “Protective.”

“Smart,” Yoongi corrects, eyes narrowing.

Jungkook folds his arms, glancing at you again. “You sure you want to be alone with him?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You two are acting like I’m about to be kidnapped. He was just talking.”

“Talking can get dangerous,” Jungkook mutters.

Taehyung looks between them and you, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” he says, voice light but sincere. “I just wanted to get to know her.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicker. “Why?”

Before Taehyung can answer, a new voice cuts through the air. Ones that's warm, teasing, and unmistakably familiar.

“Because he’s clearly braver than the rest of the house,” Hoseok calls as he strolls down the path, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. His grin is wide and disarming, but his eyes turn briefly to Taehyung with that same quiet calculation the others share.

You exhale, the tension easing from your shoulders. “What’s up Hoseok,” you say, crossing your arms.

Hoseok gestures toward the manor behind him. “Dinner. The table’s already set. If you make me sit next to Calvin again, I swear I’ll start throwing food.”

Despite yourself, you laugh under your breath. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Realistic,” he nods seriously. Then, his gaze softens. “Come on, birdie. You’ve been hiding out here for hours. The food's getting cold.”

“I’ll be right there,” you tell Hoseok, though your voice is softer than you intend. “But if Calvin starts another argument, I’m leaving.”

“Noted,” Hoseok replies with a grin. Then, as he falls into step beside you, he lowers his voice, just enough for you to hear. “He seems alright, that Taehyung guy. Quiet. But don’t let that fool you.”

You glance at him, arching a brow. “You don’t trust him either?”

“I trust what I see,” Hoseok says simply. “And what I see is someone trying very hard not to stand out.”

You huff a small laugh, part exasperation, part amusement. “You guys are impossible.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok says with an easy shrug, turning slightly to walk ahead of you. “But someone has to keep you from getting into trouble.” He glances back over his shoulder, a teasing glint in his eyes. “And from what I’m seeing, trouble has a face now.”

You shake your head, you don’t see the danger in Taehyung. 

Not yet.

But Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi do. And they’re already preparing for the day your curiosity turns into something much riskier.

The manor felt different at night. The chatter of the day had dimmed, replaced by the low hum of clinking silverware and soft laughter echoing down the corridors. Warm light spilled from the chandelier, glinting off polished mahogany as the long dining table came to life with plates of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and the faint sweetness of wine.

You sat between Hoseok and Jungkook. Hoseok, being grateful that luck had spared him from sitting beside Calvin. Yoongi sat across from you, his usual calm unreadable face beneath the light. Lucas lounged at the head of the table, a glass of wine already in his hand. Meanwhile Calvin occupied the seat beside him, straight-backed and composed, as if he were attending a council meeting rather than dinner.

Wendy arrived last, slipping gracefully into the seat beside Yoongi with a warm smile. “I hope I’m not late,” she said softly.

You felt a small flicker of comfort as you smiled brightly at her.

“Finally,” Lucas said with a grin, gesturing toward your group as you all gathered. “The rest of the circus has arrived. I was beginning to think you’d all starved somewhere between the garden and the kitchen.”

Hoseok laughed lightly. “Blame her,” he said, jerking a thumb toward you. “She wanted to stop and wash up after rolling her eyes at me all the way here.”

You elbowed him under the table, “I wasn’t rolling my eyes. I was ignoring you.”

“Same thing,” Jungkook muttered, earning a smirk from Yoongi.

Lucas chuckled, clearly entertained. “Ah, it’s good to see my favorite chaos crew back together.” His tone softened as his gaze moved to you. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Still mad at Calvin for making you break his precious training dummies?”

You glance at Calvin cautiously. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes meet yours. Then he sighs, setting down his utensils.

“About that…” His voice is quieter than usual, though it still carries weight, “I may have been… harsher than I intended this morning.”

Jungkook blinks in surprise. 

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, almost impressed.

Calvin continues to maintain eye contact, “You’ve grown stronger, and I sometimes forget you don’t need the same lessons you once did. You did well today, even if your methods were… unconventional.”

You hesitated, then looked down at your plate. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sincere. “I shouldn’t have used the woodpeckers to weaken the dummies. I just wanted to succeed, but I know it wasn’t the right way.”

Calvin’s gaze softened slightly, though his stance remained firm. “You don’t need the woodpeckers’ help. You’re stronger than you think.”

A small smile touches your lips. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

Lucas lets out a hearty laugh, “careful, Y/n. You might never hear one again if you call him out on it.”

Calvin shakes his head but the faintest smirk betrays him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Wendy leans in toward you, voice gentle. “Don’t worry. You’ve always surprised me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Wendy reassures, reminding you that not everyone sees you as someone to control or fear. Some people simply see you.

You nod slightly, letting her words settle in. “Thanks, Wendy,” you murmur softly, the weight of the morning’s frustrations easing just a little.

The tension that lingered since morning dissolves, replaced by the comfortable hum of shared laughter. Hoseok reaches for another roll, Jungkook starts piling food onto his plate like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, and Yoongi simply observes the chaos, sipping his drink in peace.

Dinner continues in an easy rhythm. The sound of cutlery, bits of teasing conversation, and the occasional quiet smile shared between you and your chosen family. For the first time all day, the tension in your chest begins to ease.

Yet beneath the comfort, something still lingers. The echo of Calvin’s warning from this morning, and the memory of Taehyung’s eyes meeting yours in the garden. Curious, intent, and unreadable.

Lucas catches your distant expression but doesn’t press. He just leans back, watching you with a warmth only he can carry. “You’re thinking too much again, kid,” he says softly. “Try to just eat. The world can wait till morning.”

You smile faintly and nod, letting the sound of laughter and the flicker of candlelight fill the silence that words can’t. Wendy gives you a reassuring glance, and for once, you let yourself relax.

Taehyung walked slowly along the stone path, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound that could be heard. He paused at the edge of the main fountain, watching the water catch the moonlight and scatter it across the garden. Everything about the scene was calm, almost serene. And yet a tension lingered in him, a reminder of why he was here, and what he needed to accomplish.

He lifted his gaze toward the manor, hearing faint laughter from inside, the voices of you and your friends echoing softly. For a moment, he let himself imagine being part of that warmth, blending into a world so unlike the one he was used to. But the reality of his mission tugged at him, sharp and unrelenting.

Taehyung knelt by the fountain, dipping a hand into the cool water. The ripples spread outward, reflecting the moonlight and he stared at them longer than necessary. He was alone, yes, but it gave him time to think, to plan, and to wonder how he could ever truly earn a place in that circle without breaking the delicate trust Y/N had just begun to offer.

Taehyung closed his eyes briefly, taking it all in. In that quiet moment, the mission, the danger, and the secrets felt far away. Although that moment of peace didn’t last for very long.

From the shadows of a bush, a man stepped out carrying a small lantern and a basket of what looked like freshly picked vegetables. Even from a distance, Taehyung could sense the tension radiating off him.

The man’s eyes briefly flicked toward the fountain and then quickly back toward the manor. “Hmm…” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. He paused, adjusting the lantern so that the warm light fell across the path, revealing the faint outline of his sharp, lined features.

Taehyung stayed still, unsure if the man was going to speak or simply retreat back into the night. The figure shifted again, muttering, “I should tell her… no… yes I should...”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know this man, yet there was something familiar in the careful, measured way he moved. As his eyes adjusted to the lantern’s warm light, recognition slowly settled. The gardener, Jin.

“Late night?” Taehyung asked, his voice cutting softly through the quiet night. 

Jin flinches, only noticing him by the fountain. His posture was careful, alert, as if even the quiet garden might hold hidden dangers. The lantern’s glow highlighted the faint lines around his eyes, the tautness of his jaw, and the subtle way his hands flexed around the handle.

Taehyung tilted his head slightly, studying the man. “I’m Taehyung,” he said, offering a small, cautious smile.

Jin’s posture relaxed just a fraction, the hard edge in his shoulders softening. “Yeah I know. You’re the new guy. My name’s Jin,” he said, nodding toward Taehyung. “Gardener here. Been tending the grounds for some time now.”

“Good to meet you, Jin,” Taehyung said, letting his gaze wander briefly to the flowering hedges, the glint of moonlight on the fountain’s water. 

Jin’s eyes linger on the fountain for a moment before meeting Taehyung’s gaze. “Not many are out here at this hour. Most of the manor prefers to stay inside once night falls.”

“Quiet out here,” he admitted, “gives a moment to breathe.”

Jin’s expression softened just slightly, though his posture remained upright and rigid. “I suppose it does,” he said, placing his basket gently on a nearby bench. “I like being here at night too. Feels calmer than the rest of the manor.”

Taehyung nodded, sensing the careful restraint in Jin’s tone. “I get that,” he murmured, watching Jin reach for a pair of pruning shears and snip a stray branch, “seems like someone has to keep an eye on things, even when everyone else is asleep.”

Jin gave a faint, wry smile. “You could say that. Quiet nights like this are rare and worth keeping an eye on.” He glanced at the fountain, then back at Taehyung. “Not that I know you, but I’d guess you’re here for the same reason.”

Taehyung paused, considering the man’s words. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe I’m just passing the time.”

Jin chuckled lightly, the sound low and almost guarded. “Passing the time, huh? Fair enough. Just be mindful of the paths. The garden can be tricky in the dark, even for someone used to it.” His glance swept across the cobblestones, the lantern light casting long, wavering shadows between the hedges.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jin gave a faint, approving nod, lifting the basket slightly as if to shift his weight before stepping toward the flowerbeds, “good. Well I should finish my rounds. Night work waits for no one.”

“Of course,” Taehyung replied. “Good night, Jin.”

“Good night, Taehyung,” Jin answered, lifting his basket and stepping lightly toward the flowerbeds.

Taehyung watched him go for a moment, the quiet settling over the garden once more Alone again, he exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain. He returned his gaze to the garden, the moonlight scattering across the water, reflecting his own thoughts. Unseen observers. Walls around Y/N tighter than he expected. Every move had to be careful, every step measured.

And so he remained there, alone in the garden at night, watching, thinking, and waiting for the right moment to step closer.

Stepping closer into your world.

Hours later, long after the staff had settled and the manor had grown silent, your father remained at his desk. The clock ticked past midnight, the dim light casting long shadows across the polished floor. The office was quiet, the only sound was the occasional creak of the manor. Yet, beneath the calm, a tight coil of worry had begun to twist in his chest.

Lucas stood near the desk, glancing at a stack of reports, his fingers tapping impatiently. “Levi, another one,” he said quietly, sliding a folder across the polished surface. “Warehouse on the east side. Gone.”

“Another one…” your father muttered, leaning back in his chair and letting out a slow sigh. “Warehouse seven… then twelve… now three?” The sequence of attacks made no sense, each report more fragmented than the last, each one raising a whisper of unease in the back of his mind.

Calvin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his stoic expression unreadable. “Do you think it’s connected?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know,” Levi admitted, rubbing his temples. “Every warehouse hit has a different pattern. Nothing consistent, nothing we can anticipate. It’s like someone’s testing the waters.”

Calvin’s jaw tightened. “We can’t let them think we’re unprepared. Even if it’s just random chaos, it could turn into something bigger if we don’t stay sharp.”

Lucas hesitated, then said carefully, “It’s just… unusual. Nothing like this has happened before.”

Levi didn’t flinch. “Unusual doesn’t change what we do. Whether connected or not, the result is the same. We stay ready. We tighten security, check every angle. No gaps. No mistakes.”

He paused, eyes briefly lingering on the empty chair by the window where Y/N might sometimes sit. “And keep an eye on Y/N.”

Lucas gave a small nod, sensing the weight behind Levi’s words. “She’s strong. She’ll handle it.”

Levi’s expression hardened, the lines of responsibility cutting across his face. “She will,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Lucas or Calvin. “But strength isn’t just power. Awareness. And knowing when to step back. If she forgets that, mistakes will be costly. Not just for her, but for everyone who depends on her.”

Calvin leaned back slightly, his stoic expression unreadable, but his tone carried weight. “We’re doing everything we can to prepare her. She won’t be caught off guard.”

Lucas offered a small, reassuring smile, trying to ease the tension without undermining Levi’s authority. “And we’ll make sure she knows when to step back, too. Don’t worry, sir, she’s not alone in this.”

Levi’s gaze returned to the city lights beyond the window, sharp and calculating. “I don’t intend to worry,” he said matter of factly, voice low but firm. “I intend to make sure nothing slips through. Keep her safe. Make sure everyone around her knows the stakes.”

There was a pause, the only sound was the faint hum of the city below. Levi straightened, tapping a finger against the desk with quiet precision. “Now go. Make sure everything is in order. I’ll be here, watching, planning. No surprises.”

Lucas and Calvin exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. They turned toward the door, their steps measured but resolute, leaving Levi alone in the office. He didn’t sit back down immediately. Instead, he lingered by the window a moment longer, eyes tracing the shadows of the manor gardens, thinking of Y/N and the responsibility he carried.

Finally, he allowed himself a single, slow breath. Duty didn’t pause for exhaustion, doubt, or fear. And neither would he.

Especially not with your life at stake. 

A/N: Long time no see, huh? Yeah… I know it’s been, what, three years since the last update. For that, I truly apologize. Life got a little hectic, inspiration wavered, and well… time slipped away. I can’t promise consistency, so please don’t hold me to that. BUT I can promise it won’t take another three years to post again, haha. 

Thank you for sticking around, for your patience, and for caring about this story as much as I do.

Love always,

Liz

Taglist: (those in bolded letters, I apologize but it seems I wasn’t able to tag you, im sorry. Also if I happened to forget to tag anyone, please comment under this post and I’ll add you in the next one, thank you)

Jeongguk had changed. Not just physically. Sure, he had gotten taller, much taller. And his hair had been left to grow out; cute little curls had even formed. Had his hair always been curly? He had bulked up, no longer a scrawny teen approaching adulthood. Jeongguk, physically, had become a man. But his mentality still seemed far behind. Childish. The combination of a man's body and an immature mind had your chest aching with anxiety. Jeongguk had seemed to become more confident, more desperate. He had never approached you like that. Never begged with so much need.

Jeongguk has become desperate, and that is a problem. It had never been something you wanted to acknowledge, but there was something deeply wrong with the panther hybrid. You had wanted to pin it down to puberty, to the new life he had been given. He needed to prove himself to not only you, but also your family, to be accepted as a permanent fixture in the home. You realize now that that was never the case. Jeongguk had never cared for your family's acceptance. The look in his eyes tonight had confirmed everything you had feared. Jeongguk is unbalanced.

Too lost in your own buzzed thoughts, the broad body in front of you didn’t catch your attention until it was too late. The man barely budged from the impact. His hand quickly wrapped around your arm as you stumbled backward, catching your heels in the hem of your dress. “Whoa, you okay?”

The gentle grip on your bicep had your heart rate tripling. The voice was unfamiliar, but the touch was far too similar to the hold you had just been caught in.

“Hey, hey– it's alright.” They cooed, their fingers releasing their hold on your arm. “I’m sorry.”

Your skin tingles where the man had held you, making you subconsciously rub at the spot. This was so embarrassing. You could feel the heat on your cheeks, and the longer the man stared down at you, the hotter it burned.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was soft, concern lacing each word.

Shaking your head, you finally pushed your embarrassment aside to finally get a proper look at the man who saved you from falling on your ass. He was cute. Roughly around Jimin’s height, but muscular like Jeongguk and Namjoon. He was exactly the kind of guy you would have crushed on during your school days. His thick lips were pulled in a shy smile, dimples denting his cheeks. His attention seemed to be solely on you, and you were sure by now you had turned completely red.

He was exactly your type.

“I’m so sorry.” You spluttered, your brain short-circuiting. This whole thing was beyond embarrassing. You were humiliating yourself in front of the man of your dreams.

He laughed softly, his fingers leaving your skin once he was sure you were stable on your feet. Taking a small step back so he wasn’t crowding your space anymore, he cleared his throat and held out his hand. “I’m Chan.” He introduced.

His hand was warm in yours, fingers wrapping gently around yours. The heat that flushed into your cheeks embarrassed you further. For whatever reason, you felt embarrassed, and you hated it. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any experience with men. You had gone on dates, had a few relationships that didn’t last very long, but you weren’t a total hermit.

“Y/n.”

You only lasted another two hours amongst the other guests, having overdrunk in an attempt to calm your nerves. Instead of your nerves easing, you only felt more on edge, eyes fluttering across every inch of the room, desperate to catch sight of Jeongguk, to have real evidence that he was spying on you. Instead, you had made yourself hysterical. Jeongguk was nowhere in sight, and now neither was Yoongi. Your parents were still in the same spot, Chungho’s parents having closed in the gap Yoongi had left behind. How long has he been gone? You were sure you had seen him when you returned from the kitchen. Jeongguk had left you so frazzled that you couldn’t remember what had happened after leaving the kitchen, and the shots coursing through your system weren’t helping either. Chan had left about 30 minutes ago, and that was when your anxiety had spiked. He had been like a comforting wall, blocking away all the invisible eyes you had convinced yourself were pinned to you. You had both drunk a copious amount, turning it into a competition until he had to be hauled away by his sister to get back to their motel. As soon as he left, it felt like eyes were burning into your skin again.

The crowd had started to dwindle, and you finally deemed it appropriate for you to slink away to the comfort of your bedroom. Your legs were jelly, shaking with every attempted step. Your fingers clung to the wall to keep you upright. The last thing you needed was to fall over and have your sister accusing you of trying to steal her spotlight.

The staircase proved its enemy status once more, your heels long forgotten as you crawled on all fours up the stairs, pleading to whatever entity was watching over you that you’d make it to bed in one piece. Making it to the top platform had you ready to collapse and sleep where you kneeled. But instead of giving in to your weak body, you pushed forward. Staying on all fours, you crawled your way into the bathroom, thankful that the toilet had its own separate room. The bathroom you shared with your sister was steamy, making you assume maybe Yoongi had already showered and gone to bed.

Not having to face Yoongi for another day was relieving, but also disappointing. Seeing your roommate sleeping on a makeshift ‘bed’ on the floor made your heart ache. You invited him here, and now you have ignored his existence. You know your actions were justified, but the guilt still ate away at you. Things have gotten so complicated, and it is only going to get worse before you can try to make it better.

Huffing, you pushed off the doorway you had used to keep yourself upright. The steam felt heavy in your lungs, and you were unsure if you stayed too long, you would throw up. Grabbing your toothbrush, you got to work. You just needed to brush your teeth, change, and make your way back to bed without throwing up or falling. Easier said than done.

Taehyung was frozen. You were clearly drunk. Very drunk. Because how else could you have missed all the signs of an occupied bathroom? Sure, the bathtub was connected to the shower and had a curtain drawn around it, shielding him from your sight, but the clothes he left littered everywhere and the steam that filled the room should be evidence enough?

It felt like his lungs had locked in a permanent intake, his eyes glued to the roof as he attempted to release the breath stuck in his chest. It's not like he had done anything wrong. In fact, you were the one who intruded. Sure, he isn’t supposed to use this bathroom and had been warned by Jin and Namjoon multiple times, especially now that everyone was home, but he couldn’t help himself. He has to share a bathroom with 5 other men! And, they don't have a tub. So, yes, maybe he took advantage of it sometimes. That's not a crime! He wanted to relax, too.

Your gentle off-key singing echoed off the walls, muffled by your toothbrush. He couldn’t quite make out the words, and he wasn’t sure if it was even a real song or something you were making up on the spot. It was endearing. The singing turned to humming, your bare feet tapping against the tiles to the terrible rhythm. Taehyung was certain you were making up your own little song; the beat your foot made was all over the place, and the humming didn’t match. It had him snort out a laugh before he could realise. He froze, and the humming stopped.

Shit shit shit.

“Taehyung?” Your voice was barely a whisper, and it sent shivers down his spine.

He didn’t answer, sinking lower into the water. How long would it take to drown himself? You called his name again, slightly louder. He couldn’t tell if it was because you were moving closer or raising your voice to be heard better. Either way, it had his body locking up in fear.

Huffing, your fingers curled around the curtain. “You're in here, aren’t you?” The teasing knowingness.

“No! Don’t!” He yelped, trying to reach for the curtain. Unfortunately, he couldn’t move quickly enough, slipping slightly and sending water over the edge of the tub. Your eyes connected with his, and you laughed, your face blazing red (much like his likely was.)

Before you could say anything, Taehyung was scrambling. Despite feeling humiliated about the state he was in, the panic he felt about being scolded overpowered that. Yanking the curtain from your fingers and all the way open, he stumbled out of the tub and onto the floor, pressing his forehead to the tiles.

“Forgive me, Master, I was impudent. Punish me however you see fit.” The words were perfectly rehearsed, drilled into his tongue from years of training. They were taught that most humans would dish out their punishments swiftly, mostly in beatings. But your prolonged silence had every nerve on edge. Why weren’t you saying anything?

Taking a risk, he peeked up at you. You towered over him like this. It was a strange change. You weren’t short by any means, but you weren't incredibly tall either. Yet this position made you loom over him like a God. Perhaps you were. You certainly looked the part right now. The tight-fitting dress you had worn for the wedding hugged your body perfectly. He was certain you outshone everyone– including his owner, the bride. You looked at him, but it seemed like your eyes weren’t registering his presence. The glazed-over look in your eyes snapped him out of his admiration. He slowly slid across the tiles, pressing his lips to your foot.

“Master, please.” He choked out, the anxiety in his chest starting to get too much. Never in all his years in this home with his Master Jiyoo. Not even in the training facilities and adoption centres did he feel this way. The fear of disappointing a human. Not even HIS human. He was scared of disappointing you. To have upset you. The thought of being the reason you're experiencing any sort of negative feelings made his stomach twist so uncomfortably that he feared he was going to throw up the wedding cake Jimin and he had pinched earlier.

The kiss seemed to do the trick, your eyes widening in horror. You quickly pulled your foot away from the crouched man. Taehyung felt some relief wash over him as you quickly grabbed a towel, throwing it at him with flaming cheeks, begging him to cover up. He was quick to do as instructed, the towel tightly held around his waist.

“I’m not going to punish you, Taehyung.” You said after a few beats, your voice soft and slurred. The embarrassment you had seemingly experienced moments ago had cleared, now replaced with pity.

You looked at him with pity.

The look pissed him off. Another first. Taehyung didn’t get pity often– if at all. He can’t really recall a time he had gotten it before. But seeing it oozing from your eyes irked him beyond belief. There was nothing happening in this moment for you to look at him like that.

“You will do it tomorrow?” He asked, brow raised. You shook your head. No? No punishment tomorrow? Are you going to make him wait? Did you need time to think up something? A punishment to fit the crime.

You seemed to know he was thinking. Stepping forward, you gripped his biceps. “Not at all. Never.” Your words were stern and final.

Taehyung frowned. No punishment? It made no sense. He had purposefully disobeyed rules, and worse, was caught. How did this not warrant punishment? Something like this could lead to a hybrid being returned to its ‘manufacturer’ and put to rest. A defiant hybrid is a useless hybrid.

“Please punish me.” You stayed silent. “Please.”

He could feel it. The borderline hysteria. The panic. His chest was constricting, his airflow cutting off. The cool tiles were back against his knees, back hunched over as he tried to beat the air back into his lungs. This isn’t how it's supposed to go. This isn’t what's supposed to happen. He has to be punished. He needs to be. Was this your way of punishing him? It had to be. Or maybe you truly weren’t going to. Maybe you were going to tell Jiyoo and leave the decision up to her. He couldn’t let that be the case. It had been years since Jiyoo had been home, and he hadn’t even seen her yet. She would be furious to know he had broken a rule– been breaking rules.

The sound of knees popping had Taehyung looking up through his soaked hair, your hazy eyes coming into view. Soft hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to maintain eye contact. You looked at him sadly, your thumb stroking his cheek. “It’s okay, TaeTae, slow breaths.” You cooed, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it after a few seconds. “Like that, yeah?”

Nodding, Taehyung followed your instructions. Deep breath in, hold, and release (slowly, slowly!) and then repeat. It went on like this for a while, only the mixed sounds of his breath and yours filling the room. The steam had long faded, making it a little easier to breathe. Your eyes were shut, your legs finally giving way to the uncomfortable squat you had been in. Dropping onto your ass, you rested your head against the wall. Taehyung didn’t say a word, just watched. Your breathing evened out, and your body went lax. You had fallen asleep. He hadn’t seen you sleep before, but he had heard Jeongguk talk about it a lot. Jeongguk had been absolute when he said that his Master was the prettiest sleeper on the planet. You looked so relaxed; the peaceful expression was unusual to see. It was a pleasant change.

Taehyung took advantage of the moment to give you a proper look over. Your dress was a dark wine red, tight-fitting at the bust and waist before flowing out over your legs. There was a long slit up the side of the dress that had parted widely, showing off your pretty long legs. Taehyung's fingers twitched by his side. He shouldn’t. It was bad enough that he had already been caught breaking into your shared bathroom; he can’t push his luck.

And yet here he was. Pushing his luck.

You were soft under his palm. He was taking his time, freezing whenever you twitched under in his hold. Starting from your foot, Taehyung slowly moved higher and higher. Your skin gets smoother and smoother the higher he gets. It was exhilarating.

Taehyung wasn’t completely clueless when it came to women. Jiyoo often had friends come over throughout their teen years, and they were all keen to experiment and learn. Jiyoo was happy to share. Every weekend and most days after school, Jiyoo had friends over, usually the same ones, but occasionally a new one would come for an hour or so, only to never be seen again. It had started off harmless enough, easy things. Just teenage girls wanting to practice kissing. Taehyung and Jimin had happily obliged; it was what their Master wanted after all. They did the same thing with her all the time as well. But as Jiyoo got older, she wanted to explore further. She didn’t want to come across as inexperienced to her crushes, and so she used Taehyung or Jimin as a way of ‘self-exploration’. Taehyung wasn’t comfortable with it in the slightest, but he didn’t have options. Jimin, however, wasn’t entirely opposed. He was just as curious as it seemed. They had done just about everything but penetrative sex with their Master.

It was odd. The feeling he had now was vastly different from how he felt all those years ago. Back then, he had felt dirty and distressed, but right now his stomach was tight yet fluttery. His nerves were buzzing, and his hands trembled in anticipation as they reached higher. He stopped, not because he wanted to. Your thighs were pressing together, preventing higher access. Frowning, Taehyung had a moment of clarity. He should stop. He needs to stop. But, he won't. He just has to move carefully. No rushed movements.

With almost professional experience, Taehyung gently glided his hand between your thighs. Pausing when you shifted slightly. The movement worked in his favour as he managed to slide higher as you shifted to find a more comfortable position. Impossible, really, you were drunk, asleep on the bathroom floor. Taehyung couldn’t help but think how lucky you were that it was him who found you, his thumb stroking gently on the meat of your thigh. What if some perverted creep found you? There were so many strangers milling around the property still, you could’ve been lured away.

A shuddering breath broke Taehyung from his thoughts, his hand freezing. In his lost thoughts, he had absentmindedly found himself in a position where he couldn’t go any higher. His knuckles had brushed against the fabric that covered your most intimate part. Your thighs had tightened around him, leaving his hand trapped against you. What a wonderful blessing.