Linger, my Love

by Wolfie10

Summary:

Taehyung, a hopeless romantic with a heart full of daydreams and zero real-life romance, has lived his 24 years untouched by love - or even interest. Constantly teased and mocked by friends and coworkers for his eternal single status, he makes a bold decision: he'll flirt his way into someone's heart - anyone's heart.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

The target of his spontaneous plan? Jeon Jungkook - cold and intimidating CEO. Known for his standards and icy silence, Jungkook is the last person anyone would dare to charm. He loathes inefficiency, disobedience, and distractions - and Taehyung happens to be all three.

 

What do you do when love starts with a game - but ends up being the only thing you want?

 

Copyright 2025. @wolfie10 All rights reserved.

Chapter 1: Cupid, you missed.

---

 

“Welcome to Aurexa Biotech,” a soft yet clear voice echoed in the hallway as a tall boy greeted the VIP guests, guiding them toward the conference room.

 

That boy is Kim Taehyung.

 

Twenty-four years old. Fluffy hair. A smile so gentle it could melt anyone’s heart. Working as the personal assistant in one of the top biotech companies in South Korea. From the outside, his life looked perfectly in place — a stable job, good pay, polished shoes, and pressed shirts. People would think he had it all figured out.

 

But there is one tiny problem.

 

He is still single. Hopelessly, pathetically single.

 

To make matters worse — still a virgin. Never kissed. Not even once. And no, it wasn’t because he didn’t try. Back in university, he had attempted to flirt. Smile a little, lean casually, drop some pick-up lines he'd practiced in front of a mirror. But right when things seemed to be going well...

 

The devil would show up.

 

Jeon Jungkook.

 

Every. Single. Time.

 

His ultimate bad luck in life. Jungkook had been his senior at university, a walking Greek god with tattoos, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and that unfortunate charm that made girls go weak in the knees. And because fate had a cruel sense of humor, he also happened to be friends with Taehyung’s only friend — Jimin. So every time Taehyung hung out with Jimin, Jungkook would magically appear, stealing all the attention and, along with it, any chance Taehyung had with a girl.

 

Taehyung hated him.

 

And just when he thought their paths would never cross again, life tossed another surprise at him.

 

Jeon Jungkook was now his boss.

 

CEO of Aurexa biotech, the company that had recently merged with zyenth pharma. The devil had leveled up.

 

He graduated earlier and after two years they met again professionally. Well in university, they never interacted much. He was epitome of rich kid. So, they never talked. 

 

It had been a year since then he joined this company. A full year of pretending to smile while organizing his meetings, fetching his coffee, and listening to his impossibly high standards. One time, a single sheet in a file was slightly out of alignment, and Jungkook looked at him like he had committed murder.

 

Taehyung had smiled politely then — the kind of smile that covered an unspoken wish to throw the nearest stapler at the man’s head. Hard enough to erase all his memories. Preferably forever.

 

But he couldn’t do that.

 

Because this was the best job in the country. Because Jimin was still here. And because, despite everything, Taehyung had made peace with his unlucky stars. Sort of.

 

Now, his only goal left in life? To make someone — anyone — fall for him. Just once. No more being the background character. No more lonely dinners and pretending not to feel anything when he watched couples holding hands.

 

This was the year he would change that.

 

Hopefully.

 

Unless Jeon Jungkook decided to ruin that too.

 

Back to Reality

 

Taehyung stepped aside, letting the guests enter the conference room. One by one, they settled into their seats around the long, polished table.

 

He made his way to his designated seat, casting a quick glance toward the head of the table — where Jeon Jungkook sat, legs crossed, in deep conversation with Min Yoongi.

 

Oh, so mighty. As always.

 

At least Yoongi was somewhat normal. Calm, quiet, and blessedly not obsessed with symmetry like someone else in the room.

 

“Mr. Jeon, the guests have arrived,” Taehyung said softly, gesturing toward the seated investors.

 

Jungkook acknowledged him with a brief glance and a nod, before turning toward the guests, offering a formal greeting. A few words exchanged, polite smiles shared.

 

Then his eyes flicked back to Taehyung.

 

“Where’s the file for today’s meeting?”

 

Without hesitation, Taehyung stepped forward and placed the document neatly in front of him. He had double-checked everything earlier — angles, order, alignment. God forbid a paper stuck out half an inch. The devil had a sharp eye for that kind of thing.

 

Jungkook opened the file and began skimming through the presentation slides Taehyung had spent nights preparing. The room was quiet, the guests waiting. But the CEO made no move to start the meeting.

 

Taehyung’s gaze lingered on him. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He’d worked so hard on that presentation — perfect formatting, charts, even the product design mockup. Was something wrong?

 

Jungkook looked up, meeting his eyes.

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, tone flat.

“Should I invite you to start the presentation?”

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened. Him? Why him?

 

His heartbeat picked up. This was a new project. Jungkook never mentioned he’d be the one presenting it. He leaned forward slightly, voice hushed as if they were friends sharing a secret.

 

“But… isn’t that your part?”

 

Jungkook didn’t even blink.

“Are you the boss here?”

 

Taehyung swallowed the lump in his throat. He glanced at the room — all eyes now on him — and slowly stood, connecting the laptop to the screen. He adjusted the microphone, inhaled sharply, and turned to face the audience.

 

His lips moved silently in Jungkook’s direction.

“Jerk.”

 

Then he smiled brightly at the guests.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Kim Taehyung, Personal Assistant to Mr. Jeon. Today, I’ll walk you through our upcoming project — NeuroCalm.”

 

He clicked to the first slide.

“This is a collaborative product between Aurexa Biotech and Zynth Pharmaceuticals. NeuroCalm is a mild neuro-sedative developed through safe biosynthesis, designed to assist patients suffering from sleep disorders and anxiety-related symptoms. Our aim is to keep it non-addictive and accessible across a broader demographic, including pediatric and geriatric cases.”

 

He moved to the next slide, keeping his voice steady.

“Aurexa Biotech will lead research and production, while Zynth Pharmaceuticals will handle packaging, distribution, and commercial rollout. Min Yoongi, CEO of Zynth Pharma, will now speak briefly on the distribution phase.”

 

Yoongi stood and delivered his part with characteristic calm. Afterward, one of the investors spoke.

 

“It’s a promising project. The market demand for a safe neuro-calmer is growing. We’re impressed with the direction.”

 

The meeting wrapped up shortly after. Chairs scraped, pleasantries exchanged, and the guests gradually left the room.

 

Taehyung stayed behind, gathering the files, organizing them meticulously. From the corner of his eye, he saw both CEOs standing and discussing something quietly.

 

No words of appreciation. Not even a passing “Well done.”

 

Taehyung pressed his lips together and sighed.

 

Typical.

 

Taehyung neatly arranged the last set of files on the table, giving them one final glance to make sure everything was in perfect order. With a small sigh, he turned toward his laptop, ready to shut it down. The soft click of the conference room door closing caught his attention.

 

Someone had just left.

 

He didn’t look. He assumed it was Jungkook.

 

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, powering off the laptop. “Someday, I swear, I’ll punch that smug face. Right between those eyes. He’ll remember the name Kim Taehyung till his last breath.”

 

Feeling proud of his imaginary rebellion, he grabbed the laptop and turned around—

 

—and his soul practically left his body.

 

A loud yelp burst out of him as his hand slipped, the laptop hit the floor with a horrible thud, and the screen let out one flicker before going black.

 

Dead.

 

Very dead.

 

And worse?

 

Jungkook was still standing there.

 

Not gone. Not even halfway out the door. Just... there. Watching.

 

So Yoongi was the one who had left.

 

Taehyung froze, then forced a trembling smile as if nothing had happened. “Well, Mr. Jeon, you know... sometimes, accidents, you know, they just—happen.”

 

Jungkook said nothing at first, hands calmly in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

 

“Next time,” he said coolly, “try to make the slides less colorful.”

 

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

 

Taehyung stared at the closed door in disbelief. Then silently stomped his foot on the floor, mouth opening in a frustrated scream that only came out as a breathless wheeze.

 

“What the hell, Taehyung? Why can’t your mouth stay shut for once?!”

 

This wasn’t even the first time Jungkook had caught him badmouthing. And every single time, Taehyung was sure it’d be his last day at Aurexa. But somehow, he always survived — probably thanks to Jimin. He had to believe that.

 

Muttering curses under his breath, he picked up the shattered laptop with a groan.

“Perfect. Now I need to pay for a new one too.”

 

He marched out of the conference room and returned to his desk. The office was alive with quiet typing and murmurs — the buzz of a new project beginning. Everyone seemed focused. Professional.

 

Taehyung just wanted to disappear under his desk.

 

Jimin appeared beside him, holding a tablet and grinning.

“What happened, Secretary Kim?”

 

Taehyung slumped into his chair like a dying flower.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

 

“Did you mess something up again in the meeting?” Jimin asked, clearly amused.

 

Taehyung scoffed. “I didn’t mess up anything. Your devil friend just threw the presentation on me out of nowhere.”

 

Jimin laughed. “To be fair, your presentations are always good. Maybe that’s why he asked you.”

 

“No. He just likes watching me panic. That’s all.”

 

“Alright, alright. Can I get the file for the presentation?”

 

Taehyung handed it over. “You guys did well on this project. When I was making the slides, everything was so organized. Seriously, good job.”

 

Jimin gave a modest smile. “Thanks, Tae.”

 

The two shared a small nod before returning to work — the chaos behind them, for now.

 

After working non-stop for hours, Taehyung finally checked the time.

Lunch break.

 

He glanced around. Most of the staff were already heading toward the cafeteria, chatting and stretching their limbs.

 

“Taehyung, come on! I’ll get your lunch. Hurry up!” Jimin called out, already walking away with a few coworkers.

 

Taehyung stretched, groaning softly as his muscles cracked. He stood and, without thinking, glanced toward the CEO’s office. Through the glass doors, he spotted Jungkook — sleeves rolled up, specs perched perfectly on his nose, eyes glued to the screen as he typed furiously.

 

Well… if nothing else, the man worked hard.

 

Still a jerk though.

 

With a sigh, Taehyung rolled his eyes and made his way to the cafeteria.

 

He hated lunch breaks.

 

Not because of the food — that was decent. But because lunch was when people got a little too chatty. Especially about relationships. And considering some of his coworkers were from his university days, they knew exactly how single he still was.

 

He spotted Jimin already seated at a table, surrounded by a group of overly excited colleagues — the self-declared office socialites. He took his seat quietly; Jimin had already gotten lunch for both of them.

 

“Valentine’s Day is coming, guys!” Eun Bi squealed. “My boyfriend booked a table at a five-star restaurant. Ugh, he’s the best!”

 

“Seriously?” another coworker sighed dreamily. “That’s goals.”

 

Taehyung had barely touched his spoon when someone turned to him with a teasing smirk.

“Taehyung, want me to set you up on a dating app? Or are you still waiting for someone to knock on your office door?”

 

The table erupted in light laughter.

 

“Yeah, Taehyung,” Eun Bi chimed in, “I honestly can’t believe you’re still single. What do you even do on weekends?”

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, there are plenty of things to do in life. I hang out with Jimin.”

 

Jimin nearly choked on his food.

Taehyung threw him a sharp look — Don’t you dare.

 

“But wait—” one of them squinted. “Isn’t Jimin dating?”

 

“He’s not,” Taehyung quickly said. “He broke up.”

 

Eun Bi turned her full attention to Jimin. “Wait, what? You and Bae Hana broke up?”

 

Jimin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Worst girl I’ve ever dated. Trust me, I did myself a favor.”

 

The conversation could’ve ended there.

 

But of course, it didn’t.

 

“Still, Taehyung,” another coworker grinned mischievously, “how have you never dated anyone? Are you, like... impot—”

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror.

“I’m not!” he snapped, glaring at everyone. “What is wrong with you people?!”

 

Thankfully — mercifully — the doors of the cafeteria opened and silence fell across the room.

 

Enter: Jeon Jungkook.

 

Dressed sharp, calm, intimidating. He stopped in the center of the room, scanning the tables. His eyes briefly flickered — and landed on Taehyung. A moment passed and he still did not Avert his eyes. 

 

Taehyung squinted and leaned toward Jimin.

 

“What’s he looking at?”

 

“Your face,” Jimin whispered, barely holding back a laugh.

 

“What?”

 

“There’s food... on the side of your mouth.”

 

Taehyung grabbed a tissue, dabbing frantically at his lips. He glanced back up to see Jungkook finally look away.

 

He mumbled under his breath, “Great. Now his OCD wants my face clean too.”

 

Jungkook finally spoke, addressing the entire cafeteria.

“Our new project officially begins today. To celebrate, there’s a team dinner scheduled for tonight. Everyone’s invited.”

 

Cheers broke out around the room.

 

“I expect everyone to give their best effort for this project,” he added — eyes briefly locking with Taehyung’s one last time — then turned and walked out.

 

Taehyung stared at his plate and sighed.

“Why is he always looking at me like he’s planning something?”

 

Jimin shrugged with a sly smile. “Maybe he is.”

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes and returned to his food, pretending not to be affected. But his appetite had mysteriously shrunk

 

---

 

Taehyung sighed for what felt like the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

 

He sat stiffly beside his colleagues at the long table in the restaurant, half-heartedly poking at his glass of water. The room buzzed with conversation — mostly about Valentine's Day, boyfriends, spa dates, and candlelight dinners.

 

He wasn’t listening anymore.

 

His mind still clung to what Eun Bi had said during lunch. That question. That jab. It stuck like gum on a shoe, annoying and impossible to ignore.

 

He groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam his forehead on the table.

 

“Where are you going?” Jimin asked as Taehyung abruptly stood.

 

“They’re about to serve dinner.”

 

“I just need some air,” Taehyung muttered.

 

“Wait, I’ll come with you.”

 

They slipped outside into the open air, the soft hum of the city surrounding them. Taehyung leaned against the wall, staring blankly into the distance.

 

Jimin watched him quietly for a second.

 

“What’s bothering you?”

 

Taehyung shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Nothing.”

 

“Your face has been like that since lunch,” Jimin said. “Is it about what Eun Bi said?”

 

Taehyung stayed silent.

 

“It’s all that devil’s fault anyway,” he muttered after a moment. “If Jeon Jungkook hadn’t shown up every time I tried to flirt in uni, maybe I’d have had a girlfriend by now.”

 

Jimin chuckled. “Well, yeah, Jungkook was the campus heartthrob. But you know he never dated any of those girls, right?”

 

Taehyung turned to him, surprised. “He didn’t? Not even once?”

 

“Nope. Not in uni. After that, I’m not sure. He’s private. And honestly, a total work maniac. Never asked.”

 

“Huh...” Taehyung hummed, his eyes narrowing.

 

“Now tell me you’ve never had a crush?” Jimin raised a brow. “Not even a passing attraction?”

 

“I tried with girls,” Taehyung sighed, “flirted, smiled, even bought a fake bouquet once. But I never really felt anything.”

 

Jimin grinned. “Then maybe try with a man.”

 

Taehyung blinked at him. “What?!”

 

“Come on, let's make it fun,” Jimin said. “We'll go back inside, and the first guy who enters the restaurant — you flirt with him.”

 

“That’s insane! What if he’s fifty and married with three kids?”

 

“Then you’ll politely walk away,” Jimin said, laughing. “But I bet he won’t be. Just go with it.”

 

Reluctantly, Taehyung followed him back inside. They returned to their seats as the waiters began serving dinner. Plates clinked. People chatted.

 

And both of them had their eyes fixed on the entrance.

 

Taehyung exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “Please let him be normal-looking…”

 

Jimin suddenly gasped.

 

Taehyung’s eyes shot open. “Tell me. He’s not ancient, right? Or wearing socks with sandals?”

 

Jimin leaned in, barely containing his laugh.

“Well, Taehyung… he’s definitely good-looking.”

 

Taehyung turned his head.

 

And froze.

 

Right there, walking through the entrance, was Jeon Jungkook.

 

Taehyung screamed.

 

A sharp, startled squeal that made every head at the table turn toward him — including Jungkook’s.

 

The CEO halted mid-step, blinking at him in confusion. Taehyung, mortified, slapped a hand over his mouth.

 

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, and he briefly glanced over his shoulder like he was checking if something was behind him. But no — all eyes were on Taehyung.

 

Without another word, Taehyung sprang to his feet and bolted out of the restaurant.

 

“No, no, no... This cannot be happening,” he muttered as he paced outside, looking down at the pavement, hands in his hair. “Why him? Of all people, why him?!”

 

In his flurry of panic, he turned too quickly—

—and bumped right into someone.

 

“Ouch—” he winced, then looked up.

 

His stomach dropped.

 

Jungkook stood there, arms crossed, brows slightly lifted.

“Can you explain why this is the second time today you’ve screamed at me?”

 

Taehyung stood frozen like a statue.

 

He forced his expression into something remotely innocent, though internally he was already preparing his resignation speech.

 

But instead, his mouth moved on its own.

 

“Are you single, Mr. Jeon?” he asked deadpan.

 

Silence.

 

Even Taehyung looked shocked at his own words. But there it was — out in the open. No taking it back now.

 

Jungkook stared at him, clearly caught off guard.

 

Taehyung watched in real time as confusion flickered across his CEO’s face.

 

And he knew.

 

He had officially, completely, royally messed up.

 

---

 

Notes:

Character Introduction:

1: Kim Taehyung

24 years old
Work as Personal Assistant

His life is going good. Happy family, job and stable in life except relationship. And too much clumsy.

2: Jeon Jungkook

26 Years old
Owner of Aurexa Biotech

Too much Workaholic and perfectionist. Don't want any little mistakes in work. Has OCD.

3: Park Jimin

26 Years old
Work as Manager

Clean and mature in his life. Was a senior of Taehyung in his university life. Little softie for him.

4: Min yoongi

27 years old
Owner of Zynth Pharmaceuticals

Too composed in his life, private person.
His company are in business with Jungkook.
( Biotech+ pharma)

Chapter 2: Rain, Regret and Jeon Effect

---

 

Kim Taehyung had done some questionable things in his life. Once, he tried to impress a girl by reciting Shakespeare during chemistry lab. Another time, he spilled hot coffee on his professor and still asked for an A.

But nothing — absolutely nothing — compared to what he did right now. 

Taehyung wasn’t sure what was worse — the awkward silence, the cold stare Jungkook was giving him, or the fact that he’d just asked his boss if he was single.

The second the words “Are you single, Mr. Jeon?” left his lips, Taehyung regretted everything. His brain short-circuited. His soul attempted to escape his body. He might’ve even stopped breathing.

Jungkook blinked once.
His face remained unreadable.
“Excuse me?”

Taehyung coughed, eyes darting around like he could find a time machine in the bushes. “I-I mean—like, professionally single? Not busy? For work? Like availability! For meetings. Obviously.”

He laughed. Alone.

Jungkook stared at him for a moment that felt like a lifetime, then said in a voice colder than ice,
“You seem drunk. Get some air.”

And just like that, he turned and walked back inside.

Taehyung stood outside the restaurant, fists clenched at his sides.
He looked up at the sky.
“Dear God. End me.”

 

---

 

Kim Taehyung didn’t sleep that night.

 

It wasn’t because of caffeine. Or the broken laptop screen he still had to replace. Or the endless teasing voices in his head repeating:

 

“Are you single, Mr. Jeon?”

Are you single, Mr. Jeon?

Are you—

 

No. It was because he said that to Jeon Jungkook — his boss. The man who rarely spoke, never smiled, and whose idea of friendliness was not breathing down someone’s neck for placing a stapler an inch off-center.

 

He stared at the ceiling in his dark room, phone held against his chest. He groaned into his pillow and reached over to his phone typing into the search bar with dead eyes.

 

|| How to make someone fall in love with you at work without making it weird.

 

|| Subtle flirting at workplace.

 

|| Can you seduce your boss if he hates you?

 

He scrolled.

 

Step 1: Eye contact.

Step 2: Casual compliments.

Step 3: Physical touch (light, respectful).

Step 4: Make them laugh.

Step 5: Confidence is attractive.

 

Taehyung leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “I’m going to die alone.”

 

Taehyung stared at the screen. “Eye contact? I can barely breathe when he walks past.”

 

He slumped into the bed, hands in his hair.

But something inside him whispered: Challenge accepted.

 

“I’m not trying to actually fall in love. I just need someone — anyone — to fall for me. For science. For dignity.”

 

He slammed his phone shut.

“This is now officially Operation: Thaw the CEO.”

 

---

 

Taehyung stood near Jimin’s desk, arms folded, eyes locked onto Jungkook’s office like a soldier planning a battlefield ambush.

 

Jimin, noticing the intense stare, blinked in confusion. “What’s with that face?”

 

Taehyung didn’t look away. “I’m going to war.”

 

Jimin raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Okay… what did you eat this morning?”

 

Taehyung’s lips curled into a dramatic smirk. “Jeon Jungkook.”

 

Jimin choked on his saliva. “What?”

 

“I’ve made up my mind.” Taehyung stood taller, chin lifted with fake confidence. “Jeon Jungkook will fall for me.”

 

Jimin burst out laughing. “You’re not serious.”

 

“I’m very serious.” Taehyung finally turned to him. “He’s the reason I’m still single. All those girls I tried to talk to in university? He always showed up out of nowhere like some stupid K-drama male lead and ruined everything.”

 

Jimin tried to hold back another laugh.

 

Taehyung pointed dramatically at Jungkook’s office. “He doesn’t like asymmetry? Great. He’ll fall for asymmetry. For chaos. For me.”

 

Jimin shook his head, struggling not to laugh. “This is going to end in flames.”

 

“Wish me luck,” Taehyung said, already walking toward the office.

 

“Good luck, Cupid’s enemy,” Jimin muttered, waving lazily behind him as he turned back to his screen.

 

Jungkook’s office, as always, looked like a photoshoot for a luxury brand’s concept of “minimal stress.” Spotless desk. Perfectly aligned files. Air that felt like it had been filtered for dust and emotion.

 

Jungkook sat behind the desk, sleeves rolled just right, eyes on his screen, typing with the kind of quiet aggression that only perfectionists seemed to master.

 

Taehyung stepped in, clutching the equipment report like it might protect him from public humiliation.

 

“Good morning. I have today’s report.”

 

"Leave it on the desk." Jungkook kept typing.

 

Taehyung placed the file on the desk carefully, hesitating.

 

This was his moment. The internet said eye contact. Compliment. Confidence.

 

He cleared his throat and said, a little louder this time, “Are you made of copper and tellurium?”

 

That made Jungkook pause. His fingers stopped. Slowly, he looked up at Taehyung.

 

Expression unreadable. Eyes blank.

 

Taehyung swallowed. “Because you’re… Cu–Te.”

 

Nothing.

 

No blink. No twitch. Not even a change in breathing.

 

The silence that followed could be bottled and sold as pure secondhand embarrassment. It was the kind of silence that screamed. That had its own weight. That made the ceiling fan suddenly sound like a thunderstorm.

 

Taehyung’s smile awkwardly. “Alright,” he whispered, giving a stiff nod to the air, and turned around to leave.

 

He walked out of the office with the energy of someone who just handed their crush a valentine and got handed their own obituary in return.

 

Within seconds, he dropped into the chair beside Jimin’s desk like he’d been shot.

 

Jimin looked up from his monitor. “Why do you look like someone ran over your dignity?”

 

Taehyung slowly turned his head to him. “I just called Jeon Jungkook ‘Cu-Te.’”

 

Jimin stared. “You what?”

 

“I used the copper and tellurium line.”

 

“You—” Jimin’s voice cracked as he leaned back. “You told Jeon Jungkook, that he’s Cu–Te?!”

 

Taehyung groaned, face in hands. “I need a new identity. And a passport. Maybe a plane ticket to a country where eye contact is illegal.”

 

Taehyung groaned and dragged his hands down his face. “He didn’t even react. He just… blinked. Or maybe not. I’m not sure. He might have been asleep with his eyes open.”

 

“I’m genuinely amazed you’re still employed,” Jimin said, laughing. “You’re either brave or just suicidal.”

 

Jimin snorted. “You’re trying too hard.”

 

“I am not trying too hard. I’m trying like a normal person who doesn’t want to die alone while everyone else in the cafeteria is out celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

 

“Your normal is terrifying,” Jimin said, flipping a page of his schedule. “Just don’t get fired. He already doesn’t like noise or disorganization and you’re basically both of those things with hair.”

 

Taehyung scowled. “I am charming chaos.”

 

“You’re a walking HR warning sign.”

 

"He will fall. " Taehyung said flipping his hair and going back to his desk. 

 

---

 

After slumping over Jimin’s desk and declaring the end of his career, Taehyung had eventually dragged himself back to his own station. 

 

He sat down with a deep sigh, clicking open the outgoing mail list. The cursor blinked at him like it was judging his flirting choices.

 

He didn’t dare look back at Jungkook’s office again.

 

But fate, apparently, wasn’t done bullying him yet.

 

While carrying a stack of sealed files toward the printing corner near the conference lounge, Taehyung rounded the hallway and nearly bumped into Jungkook.

 

They both paused. No one else around. Just the sound of distant printers and the hum of ceiling lights.

 

Taehyung panicked slightly. He forced a casual smile. “Long day, huh?”

 

Jungkook didn’t stop walking. Didn’t even look his way.

 

“I mean,” Taehyung added quickly, a little softer, “a lot of meetings and everything—”

 

Still nothing.

 

The only sound was Jungkook’s footsteps fading down the hall, sharp and even.

 

Taehyung stood there for a beat. Thenturned and muttered, “Cool. I’ll just go flirt with the office printer next.”

 

The office began to thin out. Staff filtered out one by one, their voices fading behind goodnights and beeps of elevator doors. Taehyung was still at his desk, tapping at keys and occasionally glaring at an Excel cell like it personally offended him.

 

He caught a glimpse of movement.

 

Jungkook was walking toward the elevator, coat on, dark and elegant as ever.

 

Taehyung glanced away… only to freeze when he noticed Jungkook had paused by his desk.

 

His heart did a nervous flip. “Yes?”

 

Jungkook didn’t look at him. His eyes were fixed on something small, mundane..

 

“The folder.” he said blankly. “It’s uneven.”

 

Taehyung blinked. “Oh. Right. I’ll fix it.”

 

Jungkook gave a single nod and walked off.

 

Taehyung stared at his back like he was trying to decode a cryptic language.

 

He sat back down with a heavy sigh, reopened his browser, and typed into the search bar:

 

|| How to flirt with someone who has no emotions.
Level: Extreme boss mode.

 

He stared at the screen.

 

Then slowly closed the lid and groaned into his hands. “This is going to take forever.”

 

---

 

The office was silent.

 

Everyone had gone home hour ago. The overhead lights had dimmed into evening mode, casting pale shadows across empty desks and quiet glass partitions.

 

Taehyung was still at his, sorting the final shipment reports and outgoing mail lists. A pile of documents stared at him like it had a personal vendetta.

 

By the time he shut his laptop, it was well past nine. He stretched his back, groaned, and slung his bag over his shoulder.

 

When he stepped outside, the city was soaked in black and silver.

 

Rain poured from the sky in thick curtains, drumming onto the sidewalk and rooftops like nature’s version of a breakup song.

 

He stopped just under the building’s small exit awning, watching the water splash into the gutter.

 

"Romantic weather,” he murmured to himself. “And still single.”

 

Figures.

 

He hugged his coat tighter, debating a half-sprint to the bus stop or calling a cab. Neither option looked appealing.

 

That’s when headlights turned the corner.

 

A sleek black car pulled up close to the front steps. The engine hummed low, and a suited man stepped out holding a large umbrella.

 

Taehyung straightened slightly, startled.

 

Mr. Kim?” the man called over the rain. “Mr. Jeon asked if you needed a ride.”

 

Taehyung blinked. “Oh—um, no. It’s fine, really. I can manage.”

 

The driver gave a polite nod. “Alright, sir.”

 

He turned to walk back—

 

But Taehyung’s mind stalled.

 

This is a chance. A perfect chance. Privacy. No coworkers. No interruptions. For the mission.

 

“Wait!” he called out. “I’ll come.”

 

The driver turned back with a small smile and opened the door.

 

Taehyung ducked into the car, heart racing slightly from the rain and nerves.

 

As soon as the door shut, he looked up—

 

—and immediately looked at Jeon Jungkook.

 

Jungkook was seated on the far side of the seat, leaning slightly toward the window, phone in hand, expression unreadable.

 

His coat was dry. His hair, slightly tousled. His presence, exactly as overwhelming as usual.. 

 

A privacy screen rose behind them, sealing the car from the driver.

 

Taehyung swallowed.

 

The silence sat heavy. The sound of rain was the only thing keeping him from screaming.

 

His brain said: Do something.
His heart said: Run away.
His mouth said:

 

“…Nice weather we’re having.”

 

Jungkook didn’t respond.

 

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Well—not nice. Just wet. I mean, the rain, not me—I’m not wet—well, I am, but like—not in that—”

 

Jungkook finally looked at him.

 

Sharp eyes. Blank face. Zero help.

 

Taehyung immediately shut up and stared forward like the leather seats were his last lifeline on earth.

 

Mission: Flirt was going terribly.

 

This was it.

 

He glanced once at the screen. Back to Jungkook. Took a breath.

 

"Funny thing about umbrellas… they only ever betray you when you actually need them."

 

Silence.. 

Jungkook looked out the window.

 

Taehyung smiled nervously, rubbing his palms together. “Or maybe… it’s the universe telling us something.”

 

Still nothing.

 

The air between them was cold. Not uncomfortable — but sharp, like glass that hadn’t broken yet.

 

Taehyung leaned slightly forward, trying again.

 

" If silence is your way of keeping me curious… it’s working."

 

Jungkook turned his head slowly.

 

Their eyes met.

 

Taehyung froze under the weight of that stare — dark, unreadable, like a locked room you couldn’t quite figure out how to enter.

 

The seconds stretched thin.

 

And then Jungkook looked away again.

 

Nothing said. No response. Not even a raised eyebrow.

 

The silence screamed louder than any rejection.

 

Taehyung sat back in defeat, exhaling softly.

 

Another website turned out to be fake. Taehyung thought. He needs to research more.

 

The rest of the ride was quiet. Just the soft sound of rain tracing over the windows.

 

When the car finally stopped in front of Taehyung’s apartment, he muttered a tired “Thank you,” and reached for the door.

 

Before his hand could touch the handle—

 

“Mr. Kim.”

 

The voice was low. Controlled.

 

Taehyung froze.

 

His hand hovered near the door, breath caught. Slowly… he turned. “Yes?”

 

Jungkook didn’t look at him.

 

He sat perfectly still, gaze fixed on the rain-slick window. His expression unreadable — like the world outside was far more interesting than the one inside.

 

The car was so quiet now. The rain tapping against the roof sounded almost too loud. Taehyung’s heart beat once. Then again.

 

Then—

 

“You’re not my type.”

 

Four words. Sharp. Precise. Not cruel — but cold enough to sting.

 

No pause. No explanation. No glance.

 

Just that.

 

A clean slice.

 

The door unlocked with a soft, indifferent click.

 

Taehyung stood there for a moment, too stunned to move.

 

Then, stiffly, he nodded — even though Jungkook still wasn’t looking at him — and stepped out into the rain.

 

The car door shut behind him with a dull thud, muffled by the storm.

 

He didn’t turn around.

 

Didn’t watch the car drive off.

 

He just stood there on the sidewalk, the rain soaking through his jacket, sticking his hair to his forehead. Water trailing down the side of his face like something unspoken.

 

His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

 

His jaw tensed.

 

He exhaled — once — hard.

 

“…Seriously?” he muttered to himself.

 

He tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a beat as rain dotted his lashes. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. And somehow… not surprising.

 

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite anger.

 

And then—

 

He laughed.

 

Just once. Quiet. Low.

 

Then the corner of his mouth pulled up.

 

A slow, dry smirk.

 

Not defeat. Something else.

 

“But he still felt the need to say it.”

 

He looked toward the glowing lights of his apartment, blinking the rain away.

 

" I will see how you change your type. Now, this is on my diginity." He flick his hairs. " You will fall for me then I will dump you. "

 

---

 

Chapter 3: Cups, crumbs and Cold stares

---

 

The next morning, the office had never seen such a blinding level of effort.

 

Taehyung walked in with his head held high, shirt tucked just right, shoes polished, hair perfectly curled, and just the slightest touch of BB cream and highlighter — not that he’d ever admit to it.

 

“Wait a minute,” Jimin said, practically tripping over his own steps as he turned from the copier. “Is that... my Taehyung?”

 

Taehyung tossed his curls with dramatic flair. “You mean this glowing icon of style and romantic ambition? Yeah, that’s me.”

 

Jimin narrowed his eyes, circling him. “You’ve never looked this... efforted. You ironed your shirt. That’s new. Did you—? No, tell me you did not contour your cheekbones.”

 

Taehyung grinned. “Not contour. Just gentle encouragement.”

 

Jimin raised a brow. “What got you all styled up like a k-drama second lead ready to get his heart broken?”

 

“Jeon Jungkook,” Taehyung said with absolutely no shame.

 

Jimin threw his head back laughing. “Oh my god. You’re really serious.”

 

“Deadly. And I did my research.”

 

“Research?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Taehyung hooked an arm around Jimin’s shoulder. “This time, I’m not flirting.”

 

“You’re not flirting?” Jimin blinked. “What happened to operation ‘Jungkook Fall in Love and Call Me Baby’?”

 

“This time,” Taehyung said with a confident smirk, “he will flirt with me.”

 

“You’re delusional.”

 

“Manifesting.”

 

They walked to their desks, only to be greeted by the usual morning noise.

 

“Well well well,” Eun Bi sang from across the office, “Someone’s going on a date?”

 

“The day I get in a relationship, Eun Bi, you’ll be the last to know,” Taehyung said, tossing his bag onto his chair.

 

He slid into his seat, fixing his posture just a little straighter than usual. From the corner of his eye, he saw them: Jungkook and Yoongi, stepping into the office with their typical quiet power-walk energy. Taehyung didn’t look up.

 

Rule no. 1: Do not glance. Indifference is hotter than desperation.

 

Staff around them greeted the CEOs. Taehyung stayed silent, eyes glued to the report he wasn’t reading.

 

But Jungkook's gaze — Taehyung felt it. The briefest flicker across his side profile before the man moved into his office with Yoongi in tow.

 

Victory.

 

Twenty minutes later, Taehyung had the day’s itinerary prepared. He smoothed his sleeves, picked up the file, and headed toward the dragon’s den.

 

He entered without drama, greeting them evenly, eyes only flickering toward Yoongi with a smile.

 

“Today’s schedule,” he said, placing the folder on Jungkook’s desk, perfectly aligned.

 

For once, Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. He looked up. His eyes didn’t scan the file — not at first. They lingered. A second too long. Taehyung pretended not to notice but internally screamed “BINGO”.

 

Finally, Jungkook nodded and opened the file.

 

“We’re visiting the labs after lunch,” Jungkook said. “Arrange the clearance.”

 

Taehyung bowed slightly. “okay.”

 

As he turned to leave, he resisted the urge to strut.

 

He returned to his desk and pumped a silent little victory fist.

Rule no. 1 — executed flawlessly.

 

Now... Rule no. 2.

 

But for that, he needed Jimin — and Jimin’s desk was suspiciously empty.

 

He looked around.

 

Not at the copier. Not at the window desk. Break room?

 

He headed that way, papers in hand, about to open the staff lounge door when he froze.

 

Voices.

 

He leaned just slightly, hearing the muffled conversation. He recognized them instantly.

 

Yoongi.

And... Jimin.

 

“I didn’t mean to push,” Yoongi said quietly. “I just... noticed you don’t even talk to me anymore. ”

 

Jimin’s voice was calm. Distant. “We don't have anything to talk? You are my Boss's partner nothing else. ”

 

There was silence. Taehyung’s brows furrowed.

 

“I hope you understand that. ” Jimin continued. 

 

Yoongi sighed. “I care for you don't you see. You are hurting yourself along with me.”

 

“I am not hurting.” Jimin said. “and I don't care what you do or not.”

 

Taehyung’s heart pinged, but he had no idea why. He didn’t understand the weight in Jimin’s voice, or the way Yoongi didn’t answer.

 

Then came the sound of a chair moving — shoes shuffling on the linoleum floor.

 

Panic.

 

Taehyung spun on his heel and ran.

 

Literally ran.

 

By the time he reached his desk, he was out of breath, nearly paperless, and clutching the poor stapler like it owed him protection.

 

He stared at the screen in front of him.

 

Okay. So Jimin and Yoongi… definitely have history.

And I’m officially not ready to unpack whatever the hell that was.

 

Still, somewhere in the middle of it, Taehyung smiled faintly.

Because while they were drowning in awkward tension...

 

He had his own plan to execute.

 

And today… Jungkook looked. 

 

---

 

The cafeteria hummed with low chatter and the clatter of trays. The fluorescent lights flickered faintly above, casting everything in a slightly washed-out glow that made the food look even more unappetizing than usual.

 

Taehyung sat across from Jimin, poking at the sad excuse of a sandwich on his tray like it had personally offended him. “This cafeteria sucks,” he muttered, squinting at the overly dry bread. “I think this mayo expired with my last relationship.”

 

“You never had a relationship,” Jimin said, half-laughing as he stirred his instant soup.

 

“Exactly,” Taehyung replied, gesturing toward the sandwich. “Proof.”

 

Jimin chuckled softly, then fell quiet. His spoon slowed a little, gaze drifting toward the window behind Taehyung. His smile didn’t reach his eyes this time.

 

Taehyung tilted his head. “You okay?”

 

Jimin blinked back to the moment. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

 

Taehyung’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer. Was it because of what he heard earlier? He didn’t ask — not now. Instead, he leaned back with a sigh.

 

“Well, when Jungkook becomes mine,” he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand, “first order of business: changing the cafeteria staff. Maybe importing a chef from Italy. Or at least someone who knows what salt is.”

 

Jimin huffed a laugh. “You’re getting bold. Planning reforms before the first date?”

 

Taehyung rested his cheek on his palm. “I’m in phase two now.”

 

Jimin raised a brow. “Phase two?”

 

“Yep.” He sat up straighter, lowering his voice like they were planning a heist. “For this part, I need your help.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes.”

 

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “What kind of help?”

 

“I need to know what Jungkook does on weekends.”

 

Jimin leaned back, arms crossed. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes, Jimin. The weekends are when the magic happens. That’s when people drop their CEO masks and become human.”

 

“I don’t know, Tae. We don’t really hang out outside the company.”

 

“But you two were glued together in university,” Taehyung pointed out. “You must know something.”

 

Jimin’s jaw tensed for a second — just a flicker — before he shrugged and looked away. “Things change,” he said softly. “After uni, he got busy. Work became his whole life. He doesn’t let many people in.”

 

Taehyung’s curiosity flared again, but he bit his tongue. Not the time.

 

“Okay,” he said gently. “But anything you do remember?”

 

Jimin tapped his finger on the table, thinking. “He used to go to this café a lot. Every weekend, almost religiously. It wasn’t even fancy — he just liked the coffee and the quiet. Said he could focus better there.”

 

Taehyung sat up straighter. “Do you remember the name?”

 

“I think it was… Pale Moon Café? It’s close to the company, a few blocks down. Not sure if he still goes there, though.”

 

“Oh my god, Jimin, you’re a national treasure,” Taehyung whispered, clapping his hands together. “This is exactly what I needed.”

 

Jimin looked skeptical. “You’re not planning to ‘accidentally’ bump into him there, are you?”

 

Taehyung grinned like he absolutely was.

 

Jimin shook his head. “Tae, don’t get yourself in trouble. You know how he is. He might be tolerating you because you were his junior, but... there’s a limit.”

 

“Please,” Taehyung scoffed. “He doesn’t tolerate me. He endures me. With teeth grinding. And glares. And judgment.”

 

“That’s my point,” Jimin said.

 

Taehyung leaned in, smirking. “But he hasn’t fired me, has he?”

 

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Only because no one else can survive his OCD wrath. Do you even remember what happened to his last assistant?”

 

“Oh, I do,” Taehyung said proudly. “Three assistants in two months. One of them cried in the break room over a misaligned spreadsheet.”

 

Jimin laughed into his soup. “You’ve lasted a year. That’s got to mean something.”

 

Taehyung flicked his hair with exaggerated flair. “Exactly. I’m built for this.”

 

Jimin just shook his head. “Built for chaos, maybe.”

 

“Chaos,” Taehyung said, reaching for his drink like a toast, “is exactly what love needs.”

 

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Just don’t start a fire.”

 

“No promises.”

 

---

 

The office hummed with its usual quiet rhythm — the sound of keyboards clicking, phones buzzing low, occasional footsteps echoing in the halls. But in CEO Jeon Jungkook’s office, silence reigned like a stubborn monarch.

Taehyung stepped in quietly, a cup of freshly brewed Americano balanced in one hand and a neatly wrapped honey pastry in the other — not too sweet, not too flaky, just how Jimin thought Jungkook might like it.

Without saying a word about the items, Taehyung placed the coffee on the right side of Jungkook’s desk — precisely 1.5 inches from the edge — and the snack on a tissue beside it. All while keeping his eyes mostly on the document in his other hand, as if the coffee had floated there by accident.

“I emailed all the files from the investors,” he said softly, placing the investor file parallel to the keyboard. “You can go through them anytime.”

Jungkook didn’t look up. But Taehyung could feel the stare — the kind of intense gaze that could peel the labels off water bottles. His breath hitched for a second, but he bowed slightly and turned to leave before the silence got louder.

Outside the office, he bumped into Jimin standing too close with folded arms and one very knowing brow raised.

“What was that?” Jimin asked.

Taehyung waved him off. “Nothing. Just working on Rule No. 2.”

Jimin blinked. “What’s Rule No. 2?”

“Oh, you know,” Taehyung grinned, adjusting his lanyard with flair, “spoil them.”

He turned with a small skip in his step and returned to his desk, the mischievous smile refusing to leave his lips.

And that’s how it began.

Every day. Same time. Same spot.

An Americano and one carefully selected snack — low sugar, minimal crumbs, elegant. Taehyung placed them wordlessly on the edge of Jungkook’s desk, tucked files beneath them, and walked out like it was the most casual, meaningless gesture in the world.

And every day, Jungkook didn’t touch them.

He didn’t look. Didn’t sniff. Didn’t twitch a finger toward the coffee. Sometimes, he moved it slightly to the side with an expressionless face, the way someone might push aside a paperweight that wasn’t symmetrical enough.

But Taehyung noticed. The slight glance. The brief stare at the pastry wrapping. The way Jungkook’s hand would linger in the air, hovering.

Until a week later, everything changed.

Taehyung walked in as usual. “These are the signed letters from the Zynth board—”

He froze for just a second.

Jungkook’s hand was resting lightly on the coffee cup. The lid was off. Half-empty.

And the pastry?

Gone. Only the wrapper remained, folded neatly.

Taehyung didn’t smile. Not then. He just bowed like usual and left the room — and the hallway couldn’t contain his smugness.

“Bingo,” he whispered to himself.

It going on for two more days and the third day Taehyung was off.

Just a regular leave — personal errands, laundry, absolutely nothing romantic.

But when he returned the day after, Jimin met him with a hushed voice near the printer.

“You missed quite the show yesterday.”

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“Jungkook,” Jimin said, glancing around, “was... not himself.”

“Define not himself.”

“Eun Bi tried to take him the updated schedule file — the one you usually handle.”

Taehyung raised a brow.

“He lashed out at her. Didn’t even let her speak. Said she formatted the weekly in an outdated version and misplaced the lab time slots. She cried. I mean— cried, Taehyung.”

“Oh my god.”

“I haven’t seen him like that in ages,” Jimin whispered, voice low. “Honestly… I think he was pissed you weren’t here.”

Taehyung’s lips parted slightly. “Because of work?”

Jimin raised a brow. “You sure it’s just about work?”

Taehyung shrugged it. Smiling at his victory. 

 

---

 

Taehyung made his usual rounds — checked the lab report inbox, answered client emails, and re-synced the schedule.

 

But he didn’t make coffee.

 

He didn’t bring snacks.

 

He walked into Jungkook’s office with only a file in his hand, intentionally making sure his hands were noticeably empty.

 

“Here’s the week’s compliance report. Let me know if any—”

 

Jungkook was staring.

 

At his hands.

 

Taehyung saw it — just for a fraction of a second. His boss’s brows furrowed, eyes dropping to the empty space near the keyboard.

 

No coffee.

 

No snack.

 

No symmetry.

 

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling and left the room, barely holding in a giggle.

 

The day went on, but something was… different.

 

Jungkook’s steps were sharper.

 

His corrections on documents came faster, red-lined and circled with surgical precision.

 

He didn’t respond to one manager’s project summary — just stared until the man trailed off mid-sentence.

 

By late afternoon, everyone walked on eggshells.

 

Even the usually energetic Eun Bi asked for an early break and disappeared.

 

And then it happened.

 

The storm broke during a project review meeting.

 

The staff had gathered in the mid-size conference room. Taehyung sat beside Jimin, idly flipping his pen between his fingers. Jungkook stood near the presentation screen, arms crossed.

 

“Why is this design still misaligned?” Jungkook’s voice was colder than the air conditioner above.

 

The employee — a junior marketing designer — stuttered, “I—I adjusted it per last week’s feedback—”

 

“You adjusted the color,” Jungkook said, cutting through his words, “not the structure. Do you understand the meaning of symmetry?”

 

The designer shrank. Jimin shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Yoongi gave a silent look of caution.

 

But Jungkook didn’t stop there.

 

“Is this what you expect me to present to the investors?” he snapped. “This disorganized mess? Am I the only one in this room who cares about precision?”

 

There was silence. Tension curled into the corners of the room.

 

And then Jungkook’s eyes landed — for a second — on Taehyung.

 

Just a flash.

 

Just a twitch of irritation.

 

He didn’t say anything, but his glare burned.

 

So this is what happens when his symmetry gets shaken, Taehyung thought, crossing his arms.

 

The meeting ended in heavy silence, leaving most of the staff to flee the room with low murmurs and downward stares.

 

Taehyung stayed behind.

 

He stacked the papers in slow, careful movements, letting the silence settle between them like fog.

 

Jungkook stood by the presentation screen, arms still crossed but jaw tighter than before. His voice came out low — clipped.

 

“You didn’t attach the updated budget in the investor file.”

 

Taehyung turned, brows slightly furrowed. “I did.”

 

“No, you didn’t.” Jungkook’s tone sharpened, colder than usual — not furious, but closer to frustrated.

 

Taehyung blinked, stepping forward slightly. “Page four. I emailed it last night. You have to scroll—”

 

“Then maybe next time, format it properly,” Jungkook cut in, voice taut. “So I don’t have to waste time digging through your—”

 

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Taehyung interrupted — softly, but firmly.

 

Jungkook’s lips parted, like he was ready to say something more. His brows furrowed, and for a split second, something flickered in his expression. He wasn’t just annoyed.

 

He was… rattled.

 

And he didn’t know why.

 

Taehyung saw it. That half-beat of confusion — of emotion just beneath the surface. Jungkook’s mouth opened again, this time slower, like whatever he was about to say might be different.

 

But Taehyung stepped back.

 

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Really. I’ll check it again.”

 

His tone wasn’t passive. It was careful. And somehow… hurt.

 

Taehyung's lashes dropped low. Shoulders tense. The innocent kind of hurt that came not from pride, but from someone trying hard not to show it.

 

Then he bowed slightly, turned, and began walking toward the door.

 

Behind him, Jungkook groaned — low, frustrated — like someone who just realized he kicked a puppy and immediately regretted it.

 

Taehyung didn’t look back.

 

He didn’t need to.

 

Because inside, he was smiling.

 

And as the door clicked shut softly behind him, he exhaled with a quiet smirk and murmured to himself,

 

“Rule No. 3: Starve the devil.” 

 

And he did it. 

---

 

Chapter 4: Oops, my Heart

---

 

Taehyung never really believed that putting in effort would actually change anything — especially not in love. But here he was, proving himself wrong, step by step. If he could curl his hair, survive awkward flirting, and handle Jungkook’s deadpan stares without crumbling into dust, maybe he could make something shift.

 

Still, he often wondered — why had no one ever fallen for him before? Was it the way he talked? The way he dressed? Or maybe it was because he never truly tried. Not like this. Not with anyone.

 

Well, no matter. His dignity was still intact.

 

And Jungkook? Jungkook once said Taehyung wasn’t his type.

 

Cute. Real cute.

 

Taehyung scoffed under his breath as he sat beside the café counter, glancing at his reflection in the polished surface. We’ll see who’s not whose type when you’re begging me to go out with you, Jeon Jungkook.

 

And when Jungkook would finally fall for him? Oh, Taehyung was going to dump him. Cruelly. Dramatically. With fireworks in the background, preferably.

 

Because this was revenge. Not love.

 

Definitely not love.

 

He rolled his eyes at himself.

 

“This guy ruined my love life and my peace of mind,” Taehyung muttered, propping his chin on his palm. “And now I’m working weekends at a café. For free. Just to win a game he doesn’t even know we’re playing.”

 

Yep. Jeon Jungkook was his villain origin story.

 

The small bell over the café door jingled, bringing him out of his thoughts.

 

“Taehyung, order for table three!” the café owner called from the back.

 

“Coming!” Taehyung called, adjusting the apron he borrowed and hopping off the stool.

 

He grabbed the tray. Still nothing. No sign of him.

 

He glanced at the clock again, lips tugging downward.

 

Maybe he stopped coming. Maybe he found another café with better symmetry and cleaner tables.

 

Just as he sighed in defeat, the bell chimed again.

 

His head snapped up.

 

Here he is. 

 

Jeon Jungkook stepped in, brushing raindrops off the sleeves of his dark green hoodie. His hair was slightly tousled, bangs falling loosely into his eyes. Cargo pants. Casual. Effortless.

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

Mouth parted.

 

Oh no. He looks… human. And soft. And stupidly attractive.

 

He quickly ducked back behind the counter, slapping both cheeks lightly.

 

“No. Snap out of it. Get straight, Kim Taehyung. He’s a rude, cold, emotionally constipated CEO. He made your first six months at this job feel like military service,” he hissed to himself.

 

He peeked again. Jungkook sat at his usual corner table — second from the window, near the potted plant he moved exactly 2 inches to the left.

 

He set his laptop down, adjusted it with his usual obsessive precision, and put in one earbud. Then he leaned back, fingers already typing something as his eyes focused on the screen like the world outside didn’t exist.

 

Taehyung sighed again, almost dramatically.

 

“So it begins,” he whispered.

 

He tightened his apron, picked up the order, and stepped out onto the café floor.

 

Operation: Espresso Heartache — officially in motion.

 

---

 

“Where are your manners, boy?”

 

A male voice rang out casually from the side.

 

Jungkook looked up from his laptop, blinking once before registering the familiar presence. A man in his late twenties stood with a relaxed posture, hands tucked into his apron pockets and one brow raised.

 

Jungkook exhaled a small laugh. “Hi, Seokjinie-hyung.”

 

Seokjin rolled his eyes and gave the top of Jungkook’s head a light swat, the kind only a big brother figure could get away with.

 

“You brat,” Seokjin muttered, shaking his head. But the corners of his lips twitched up. “Mom dad haven't seen you for weeks. Visit them someday."

 

“I’ve been busy. New project’s about to launch,” Jungkook replied, tone warm but still reserved. “I’ll visit them soon. Promise.”

 

Seokjin hummed knowingly. “They asked about you. You better.”

 

Taehyung stood half-hidden behind the corner near the counter, eyes wide as he observed the interaction. Jungkook — the human iceberg, the CEO of utter silence, Mr. ‘That Folder is 2mm Off’ — was laughing.

 

Laughing.

 

His jaw dropped slightly.

 

“Holy crap…” Taehyung whispered. “He has teeth when he smiles.”

 

He smacked his cheeks lightly and shook his head. “Nope. Cleanse the thoughts. Devil is not cute. Devil is not cute.”

 

Meanwhile, Seokjin headed back toward the counter, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

 

“Table five,” he said casually to Taehyung. “Coffee — low sugar, medium roast, no milk, just a splash of hot water. Oh, and a low-sugar pastry. I’m gonna check stock in the back, you prep.”

 

Taehyung blinked. His eyes followed Seokjin, then drifted back toward table five.

 

That was… Jungkook’s order.

 

Exactly the same combo he’d been serving him all week at work.

 

He slowly turned toward Jungkook, who was seated exactly how he always was — laptop open, posture perfect, fingers dancing over the keyboard like they had choreography.

 

A small smile curled on Taehyung’s lips before he could stop it.

 

“I knew it,” he murmured.

 

He prepared the coffee carefully — medium roast, low sugar, no foam. He placed the cup on the tray along with a neatly wrapped pastry he selected with annoying perfection.

 

Then he walked it over to Jungkook’s table, placing everything down with textbook symmetry — napkin folded just so, cup aligned with the edge, spoon diagonal at 45 degrees.

 

Jungkook glanced toward the tray and muttered without looking up, “Thanks, hyu—”

 

His words died mid-sentence.

 

His eyes met Taehyung’s smirk.

 

Jungkook pulled out one earbud, slow and suspicious. “What… are you doing here?”

 

Taehyung crossed his arms. “What does it look like? Working. Unlike you who came here to disturb my peace.”

 

Jungkook frowned, not quite buying the answer, but also not the type to press if it wasn’t essential. He looked back at his laptop without another word.

 

Taehyung tilted his head. “So... you do like the coffee I made.”

 

Jungkook didn’t respond. But his fingers paused ever so slightly on the keyboard — a microsecond break.

 

Taehyung saw it.

 

Smirk: activated.

 

“I mean,” he said lightly, circling the table like a cat, “you didn’t drink coffee as much as I know you. But the week I make it for you? Gone in minutes.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up, narrowed slightly. “You must not like your job very much.”

 

Taehyung’s grin faltered.

 

And there it was — that cold tone. The ice in Jungkook’s voice could frost over a cup of hot espresso.

 

Taehyung exhaled, frustrated. “Why are you always so hard-headed? Can’t you just…” he waved vaguely at Jungkook’s face, “smile? Or… I don’t know, be normal to me?”

 

Jungkook said nothing.

 

That silence? It echoed.

 

Taehyung scoffed and turned on his heel, stomping off to the counter. He paused only once — to shoot Jungkook a half-hearted glare and childishly stick out his tongue before disappearing behind the register.

 

Jungkook stared out the window, eyes distant.

 

And just for a moment, so brief that it could’ve been imagined, a small puff of amusement escaped his lips.

 

Taehyung didn’t see it.

 

But maybe, just maybe — if he’d turned his head an inch to the right — he would’ve caught the tiniest smile on the devil’s face.

 

---

 

After a while, Seokjin returned to the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth, a small grin tugging at his lips.

 

“Well,” he said, leaning on the counter and eyeing Taehyung, “keeping you might not be a bad idea after all.”

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, stretching his back with a low groan. “Told you I’m great help. Might even double your sales if I stay longer.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, amused. The two of them chatted for a while between clearing the last few orders. The hum of the coffee machine had faded, chairs were being stacked, and the lights had dimmed slightly. It was closing time, and only one customer remained.

Jungkook.

Still seated in the far corner of the café, laptop open, fingers gliding over the keyboard, posture unreadably relaxed — yet somehow not relaxed at all.

Taehyung caught a glance as he rolled his sore shoulders. He hadn’t noticed, but Jungkook had stayed for hours. Long after the regular crowd had left. That wasn’t just about coffee anymore.

He watched Seokjin walk over to Jungkook’s table. They exchanged a few casual words, Jungkook said something Taehyung couldn’t hear, and Seokjin gave a light-hearted nod. Then he returned to the counter.

“Are you two… close?” Taehyung asked, drying his hands as he tilted his head toward the lingering figure at the back.

Seokjin glanced behind him before answering, “He’s my cousin brother.”

Taehyung mouthed a silent “Oh,” tucking that information carefully into the back of his mind. Family — good. That meant inside access. Maybe he could ask Seokjin about Jungkook’s habits, likes, dislikes… something useful.

Before he could fish for more, he saw Jungkook walking toward the counter.

Taehyung straightened instinctively, arms folding, trying not to look like he’d been watching the whole time.

Jungkook’s eyes flicked over to him — briefly — before shifting to Seokjin.

“You should think about hiring better staff, hyung,” he said blandly. “Or you’ll lose customers.”

Taehyung’s eyes flew wide open.

His mouth opened to retaliate, “Excuse me—!”

But before the protest could leave his lips, Jungkook gave Seokjin a subtle wave and walked out of the café like nothing had happened.

Taehyung turned dramatically to Seokjin. “Don’t listen to him, hyung. He’s lying. I’ve been amazing. Customers literally asked for me.”

Seokjin chuckled, clearly unconcerned. “Relax. I’m not firing you. If anything, he just likes getting under people’s skin.”

Taehyung exhaled in relief. “Yeah, well. He’s good at it.”

“Go home,” Seokjin said, motioning toward the back. “It’s now closing time. ”

Taehyung untied his apron and grabbed his phone. After waving goodbye, he stepped out into the cool night air. The breeze was gentle, the sky a deep navy blue with soft clouds, and the streets were mostly empty.

He didn’t rush to the bus stop.

Instead, he walked — slow and loose-limbed, hands in his coat pocket, smiling like a boy who just passed the first stage of a secret mission.

“See, Jeon Jungkook,” he muttered to himself, kicking a small rock along the pavement. “I’m everywhere now. Office, café… It’s only a matter of time.”

And just like that, the days rolled forward.

Two weeks passed.

In the office, Taehyung smiled more. Greeted Jungkook with just enough charm, spoiled him with perfect schedules, hand-prepared coffee, and snacks that matched his every weird preference. He was always one step ahead, as if Jungkook’s brain lived rent-free in his own.

In the café, his tone was cheekier. He’d lean in a little more. Tap his fingers along the counter when Jungkook ignored him. Make comments that could almost be flirting — if they weren’t delivered with a perfectly innocent face.

Jungkook didn’t say much.

Didn’t respond most of the time.

But he didn’t stop him either.

And Taehyung noticed the subtle shifts — the way Jungkook's eyes always found him in the room, the way he asked for “Taehyung” without even realizing when someone else offered to handle a task.

Once, Eun Bi had offered to deliver the daily coffee to Jungkook’s office while Taehyung was in the lab. Later that hour, Jungkook showed up in the lab, arms crossed, standing behind him like a silent shadow.

“Mr. Kim,” he said, tone firm. “You have responsibilities in this office. ”

Taehyung had turned, startled. “You… came all the way here for coffee?”

Jungkook blinked. “And the report.”

Sure.

But Taehyung had smiled anyway. That was the first real bait Jungkook had taken.

And then, there was that moment.

Late one afternoon, they were reviewing logistics over a batch of product testing results. Jungkook had leaned in, his hand brushing over Taehyung’s desk as he reached to adjust a file.

Taehyung looked up.

Their faces were too close.

He didn’t move.

And neither did Jungkook.

For a second — just one stretched, lingering heartbeat — Jungkook looked at him not like a boss, not like a cold perfectionist. But like something else. Something sharper. Something that made Taehyung feel like he was standing too close to the edge.

Predator. That’s what it felt like.

His gaze dropped to Taehyung’s lips, then flickered back up. And just like that, he straightened again, backing away as if nothing happened.

But Taehyung saw it.

He felt it.

The crack in the armor.

He turned back to his desk, biting back a grin, fingers fidgeting with his pen.

“Got you,” he whispered under his breath.

The game was still on.

And Jungkook was starting to slip.

Jimin had been busy lately — swamped with reports, meetings, and Yoongi’s looming presence in the company halls. He and Taehyung barely exchanged more than a few rushed greetings between deadlines. Still, Taehyung had noticed the way Jimin sometimes zoned out during meetings, how his shoulders stiffened whenever Yoongi entered the room. But there had been no time to ask.

 

Taehyung hadn’t even told Jimin what was happening between him and Jungkook.

 

He was just about to get up and look for Jimin when Eun Bi’s voice rang from across the office.

 

“Taehyung! There’s someone here to meet Mr. Jeon. Can you check?”

 

He blinked. “There’s no meeting scheduled today,” he muttered to himself. Jungkook had clearly instructed: no disturbances for two hours.

 

Still, he made his way to the guest lounge — and paused at the doorway.

 

A girl was sitting on the plush waiting sofa, scrolling through her phone casually. She was… elegant. Pretty in a polished kind of way. Confident. Put-together.

 

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. May I ask why you’re here to meet Mr. Jeon? He’s requested not to be disturbed for a while.”

 

She looked up, her gaze sharp, almost offended by the question.

 

“I don’t need an appointment to meet my fiancé.”

 

The air left Taehyung’s lungs in one solid punch.

 

Fiancé?

 

She stood, straightening her designer coat. “Show me his office.”

 

Taehyung nodded, almost on autopilot. He led her down the hallway, each step echoing too loud in the silence. The words spun in his head.

 

Fiancé. Fiancé.
He has a fiancé?

 

Why did that feel like someone had just pulled a rug from beneath him?
Was it because now he couldn’t flirt with Jungkook anymore? Or… was it something else?

 

He knocked on the door, opened it, and stepped in.

 

Jungkook looked up from his desk, his eyes flicking between Taehyung and the girl. And for a split second — just one — Taehyung saw something flash in his gaze. Surprise? Confusion? Guilt?

 

It vanished quickly.

 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung said, voice cool, but his jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked. “Your fiancée is here.”

 

Jungkook blinked. But didn’t respond immediately.

 

Taehyung didn’t wait. He turned on his heel and left.

 

His legs carried him back to his desk faster than he intended. He dropped into the chair with a huff, arms crossed like a barrier across his chest. His jaw twitched.

 

“Who made you mad now?” Jimin’s voice came from beside him.

 

Taehyung didn’t look up. “No one. Just the devil again.”

 

Jimin raised a brow. “Jungkook?”

 

“He has a fiancée,” Taehyung said flatly.

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“What?” Jimin’s eyes widened. “Wait—Jeon Jungkook?”

 

“Yep. Girl’s in his office right now,” Taehyung muttered, still staring at his screen, though he hadn’t registered a single word.

 

Jimin leaned back, his tone playful. “Are you… sad?”

 

Taehyung whipped his head toward him. “Why would I be sad?”

 

“Because,” Jimin grinned, “your crush just turned out to be taken.”

 

“He’s not my crush!” Taehyung snapped. “I hate him. He’s rude. Cold. Intolerable. If I got the chance to remove one person from this planet, I’d choose Jeon freaking Jungkook.”

 

Jimin snorted. “And yet you’ve been trying to make him fall for you since phase one.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“How?”

 

“Because he said I’m not his type,” Taehyung said, voice dropping to a soft pout. “And I just want to prove him wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me, right?”

 

Jimin chuckled, reaching over to flick his forehead. “Nothing’s wrong with you, idiot. But maybe stop chasing him if he’s engaged.”

 

“She’s not that pretty,” Taehyung grumbled under his breath.

 

“Still a fiancée,” Jimin teased. “You didn’t say he isn’t into her.”

 

Taehyung didn’t answer.

 

Because his stomach was twisted in knots and he didn’t even know why.
Why did this matter so much? Why did he feel like someone just closed a door in his face?

 

He looked down at the keys on his keyboard, pressing random ones with a dull thud.

 

Jimin stood, stretching. “Anyway, I came to ask you to email me yesterday’s files. I’ll leave you to… sulk in peace.”

 

“I’m not sulking,” Taehyung muttered.

 

Jimin only laughed and walked off.

 

Taehyung turned back to his screen.

 

But his mind — it was still at that door.

 

Still watching Jungkook’s face.

 

Still replaying the way his chest had tightened hearing the word fiancé.

 

And still… still unsure of why it hurt so much.

 

---

 

Chapter 5: I just ask him out?

---

 

Taehyung slumped onto the chair behind the counter, shoulders drooped, lips pushed out in a quiet pout. His chin rested on the palm of his hand as he stared at the empty café door.

 

No sign of Jeon Jungkook.

 

Not since that so-called fiancée showed up.

 

And now, he didn’t even come to the café. Not even for his usual quiet coffee and silent judging.

 

Taehyung didn’t know why he was bothered. Why his chest felt a little tight. Why his mood refused to lift.

 

Why did it feel like he was being dumped from a relationship that never existed?

 

“Why do you look like a kicked puppy?” Seokjin’s voice came from behind the counter as he stepped out, drying a glass.

 

Taehyung quickly straightened up. “Nothing.”

 

“Then why your face looks like you’re sulking into next week?”

 

“I’m not,” Taehyung said, shaking his head. “Just… tired.”

 

Seokjin gave him a half-smile — the kind that didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to push. “Then you should be home, resting. I still don’t get why you’re working weekends when you’ve got a full-time job already.”

 

Taehyung looked away, eyes falling to his hands in his lap.

How could he tell him he only took this café job to tame the devil that is Jeon Jungkook?

 

A devil who apparently already belonged to someone.

 

His entire plan was falling apart — no, crumbled — yet here he was, still waiting like some hopeless character in a drama he never auditioned for.

 

Seokjin checked the clock, then clapped his hands. “Alright. Let’s wrap up. I’m taking you somewhere.”

 

Taehyung blinked, lifting his head. “Where?”

 

“You’ll see. Come on, don’t ask questions. Move!”

 

They closed up the café, locking the glass door behind them. The evening breeze had turned cool, brushing against their arms as they jogged down to the bus station.

 

They hopped on a nearly empty bus. Seokjin sat by the window while Taehyung sat beside him, stretching out his legs tiredly. The city lights dimmed as they moved out of the main streets. A quiet buzz filled the silence.

 

Taehyung turned his head, leaning it against the window. His reflection looked tired.

 

Everything from the past few weeks ran in loops in his mind — from carefully placed coffees to shameless flirting to glances he tried not to read into.

 

And now... Jungkook had a fiancée.

 

His chest hurt more than he was willing to admit.

 

Seokjin stole a glance at him and noticed the way his face was pressed against the glass, a far-off look in his eyes. The younger was always dramatic, but this silence was different.

 

“Hey,” Seokjin said gently, “how do you know Jungkook?”

 

Taehyung’s body tensed. Great. This was the one question he didn’t want to answer.

 

He tried to play dumb. “Huh? What makes you think I know him?”

 

Seokjin scoffed. “Please. I’ve known Jungkook since he was twelve. That guy never looks up at people unless they’re his laptop or an Excel sheet. But with you… he looked. A lot.”

 

Taehyung hummed, eyes still on the road. “I work at his company.”

 

Seokjin turned fully now, brows rising. “For how long?”

 

Taehyung hesitated. “Almost a year.”

 

Seokjin’s face twitched. He didn’t say much after that, only nodded slowly with a thoughtful hum. The bus jolted gently as it took a turn off the main road.

 

They got off a few stops later and started walking alongside a narrow fence. The city lights were behind them now. Ahead, the path gently sloped upwards, lined with small lamps that glowed like fireflies. Trees swayed on both sides.

 

It was quiet. Peaceful.

 

“Where are we?” Taehyung asked softly.

 

“You’ll see,” Seokjin replied, hands in his coat pockets.

 

They reached a private-looking farmhouse nestled in the hills. A small wooden house stood near the top. There was a patio just outside, lit with fairy lights, and a table where four people sat laughing softly over drinks.

 

The air smelled like grass and bonfire smoke. Somewhere nearby, music was playing low — not loud enough to be heard clearly, just enough to make the night feel warm.

 

Taehyung slowed down, his eyes drifting toward the cozy scene. It felt like something out of a memory. Peaceful, settled, and… far from the chaos of Jeon Jungkook.

 

Maybe he needed this.

 

Just for tonight.

 

 

“Hello there, fellas!” Seokjin called out cheerfully, voice echoing into the warm, dim evening.

 

All four heads at the outdoor table turned toward them. Taehyung’s steps slowed. His eyes landed on two unfamiliar faces—then froze on the other two.

 

His breath hitched.

 

Jungkook?

 

And beside him— Jimin?

 

He whispered again under his breath, disbelief curling around the name like it wasn’t real. “Jimin?”

 

Jin looked between the three of them, brows raised. “Wait… you two know each other?”

 

“He’s my best friend!” Taehyung blurted before he could stop himself, eyes wide and filled with sudden excitement.

 

“Best friend?” Jin echoed, blinking.

 

Before anyone could say more, Taehyung broke into a grin and rushed forward, throwing his arms around Jimin with a soft, affectionate laugh. “I thought you went home!”

 

Jimin let out a low chuckle, ruffling his hair fondly."Just happened to be here."

 

Taehyung pulled back with shining eyes, only then noticing how quiet the others had gone.

 

He glanced sideways.

 

Jungkook had already sat down again, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead like none of it mattered. Like Taehyung’s voice hadn’t even reached him.

 

Taehyung’s smile faltered—just a flicker—but he quickly turned toward Seokjin, masking the drop in his chest.

 

“Let me introduce you,” Jin said, leading him forward again, tone lighter. “This is Hoseok.”

 

The man flashed a bright, contagious smile and waved enthusiastically.

 

“And this is Namjoon.”

 

Tall, dimpled, and calm-eyed, Namjoon gave him a gentle nod. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Taehyung smiled politely back. “Likewise.”

 

“And guys, this is Taehyung. He’s been working at my café for a while now,” Jin added, nudging his arm.

 

They all took seats again. Taehyung instinctively chose the one beside Jimin, still avoiding Jungkook’s direction.

 

“You didn’t tell me about them,” Taehyung whispered, nudging Jimin as the conversation resumed around them.

 

Jimin gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t usually join them. But Seokjin-hyung texted me and said I had no excuse today—it’s been too long.”

 

Taehyung nodded slowly. “So… you’re friends with all of them?”

 

Jimin shrugged vaguely. “You can say so.”

 

He glanced at Taehyung, eyes curious now. “What about you and Seokjin-hyung? Wait—” his eyes widened. “Don’t tell me… did you join the café for_”

 

Taehyung groaned and slapped his thighs lightly. “We’ll talk later.”

 

Jin’s voice cut in from across the table. “Where’s Yoongi?”

 

Taehyung noticed it instantly—how Jimin’s posture shifted. Shoulders tensing, gaze falling to the table.

 

Jungkook, without looking up, answered flatly, “He messaged. He’ll be here in a moment.”

 

Right on cue, Yoongi arrived, greeting the group with a simple nod. Taehyung watched closely, feeling Jimin beside him grow still. He didn’t even look Yoongi’s way.

 

Something was off. Taehyung could feel it.

 

But before the tension could settle too deep, Seokjin returned with plates of BBQ and drinks. The delicious aroma quickly became a distraction, and soon the group was eating, laughter flowing more easily.

 

“You’re such a shiny person, Taehyung,” Namjoon said warmly. “No wonder Seokjin-hyung connected with you.”

 

Taehyung smiled at the compliment. “Thank you.”

 

“So what do you do, though?” Hoseok asked curiously. “Jin-hyung said you had a stable job—why the café?”

 

The question made Taehyung pause. His body stiffened slightly as he felt every pair of eyes shift toward him. But only one mattered.

 

He glanced at Jungkook.

 

The younger man was sipping his drink, barely paying attention, his eyes focused on his phone.

 

Before Taehyung could form an answer, Jin spoke up instead. “He’s working in Jungkook’s company.”

 

That got everyone’s attention again.

 

“Oh wow,” Hoseok said. Then, with a mischievous grin, he turned to Jungkook. “So how is he at work, huh? Is he really that cute and shiny even there?”

 

Taehyung’s gaze snapped toward Jungkook—hope flickering quietly in his chest, though he tried to shove it down.

 

Jungkook finally looked up at him. Their eyes locked.

 

And Taehyung waited—quietly, foolishly—hoping for something kind. Something small.

 

Jungkook shrugged. “He’s fine.”

 

Fine.

 

Taehyung blinked. His face stiffened for a beat, then his brows creased in disbelief.

 

Fine? That’s all?

 

He scoffed under his breath, turning to Hoseok with narrowed eyes. “Ask me about him,” he said through slightly gritted teeth.

 

Hoseok burst into laughter. “Alright, tell me—how is Jungkook?”

 

“Oh, where do I begin?” Taehyung said with exaggerated drama. “He’s rude, arrogant, probably born with tiny horns under that hair. A two-legged menace who knows exactly how to get under your skin.”

 

The whole table broke into laughter, even Namjoon chuckling.

 

Except Jungkook.

 

Jungkook was just staring at him, eyes hard but silent, the corner of his lip twitching—not into a smile, but something unreadable.

 

Taehyung met his gaze and stuck his tongue out playfully.

 

“Looks like someone just held a mirror to his face,” Namjoon joked.

 

“I think Taehyung is drunk,” Jimin murmured beside him, tone soft but knowing. “His feelings are leaking out.”

 

“I’m not drunk,” Taehyung pouted, puffing his cheeks. “He’s just… mean. He never smiles at me. Even when I do everything right at work. I didn’t even know he had teeth until I saw him laughing with Seokjin-hyung.”

 

Hoseok cackled. “He’s so cute.”

 

“Right?” Seokjin added, grinning ear to ear.

 

But Jungkook didn’t say anything. He just stared at Taehyung again.

 

And Taehyung, even through his pout, felt it—the weight of that gaze. Heavy, unreadable, burning a little too deep into him.

 

Even when Jungkook didn’t speak… Taehyung could hear everything in the silence.

 

Taehyung was just about to say something—probably a dumb, dramatic declaration about Jungkook and how he had plans—when Jimin grabbed his wrist and gently pulled him away.

 

“Come with me,” Jimin said lightly, smiling for the sake of anyone watching. “He needs some fresh air.”

 

They stepped toward the railing of the rooftop, away from the low hum of laughter and the scent of grilled meat still lingering in the air.

 

Taehyung opened his mouth, half-drunk truth ready to pour out.

 

“I joined the café for him, Jimin. Literally. I had this ridiculous idea that I could… I don’t know, tame him,” he said with a dramatic sigh, tossing his head back. “Can you believe me?”

 

“You need to go home,” Jimin said, cutting in gently. “You’re drunk already.”

 

“I’m not! I’m just—he needs a reality check!” Taehyung huffed, eyes wide, voice full of fire and no filter. “I try so hard. I show up, do everything perfectly—smile, flirt, even learned to make that stupid complicated coffee he likes—and he doesn’t even look at me properly!”

 

“Why are you mad at him?” Jimin asked, voice careful. “Because he has a fiancée?”

 

Taehyung’s mouth parted. “W-Why would I be mad about that?” he scoffed, far too defensive. “He can get married, move to Mars, raise cactus babies for all I care! I just—at least he could appreciate me. I’m not invisible.”

 

“You’re not invisible,” Jimin said softly. “You’re perfect in your own way, and you know Jungkook’s not good with words.”

 

Taehyung didn’t reply. He just hummed, lips pressed into a pout, eyes flicking toward the rooftop door.

 

He was about to say something else—maybe apologize for unloading—but then his eyes caught someone stepping toward them.

 

Yoongi.

 

“Jimin,” Yoongi said, voice lower than usual. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

 

Jimin looked away, hands tightening on the rail. “I don’t want to.”

 

“Just a moment,” Yoongi repeated, this time stepping closer, gently reaching for his arm.

 

Taehyung saw the tension in Jimin’s shoulders and instinctively took a step forward, concern pulling at his features as Yoongi led him back inside.

 

But just as he moved, a hand wrapped around his arm—firm, still.

 

He froze.

 

Then turned.

 

Jungkook.

 

His breath caught—stuck somewhere behind his ribs.

 

“Let them talk,” Jungkook said, voice low, calm.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flicked to the rooftop door again, uncertainty all over his face. “But… he didn’t look okay.”

 

Jungkook’s gaze stayed steady. “Yoongi knows what he’s doing.”

 

The grip on his arm remained for a second longer—just long enough to feel it—before Jungkook let go, stepping back.

 

Taehyung blinked. His arm still tingled. He didn’t know what to say… or do. The last conversation he'd had about Jungkook was a drunken rant about how he was the “devil in Dior,” and now the man himself was standing inches away, calm and unreadable.

 

Taehyung is still little bit angry but suddenly the face jungkook is making is not helping at all. 

 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth.

 

“I—”

 

But they both spoke at once.

 

A short pause.

 

Taehyung exhaled quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You first,” he said, his voice soft, a little breathless.

 

Jungkook glanced away, hand shifting into his pocket. He looked down, then off to the side—as if words were harder than they should be.

 

“Are you…” Jungkook stopped. His jaw flexed. “…mad at me?”

 

Taehyung blinked again.

 

What?

 

The question wasn’t loud. It wasn’t demanding. It came out flat and quiet—like Jungkook had debated for a while before deciding to say it at all.

 

“No,” Taehyung said quickly, eyes softening. “I’m not.”

 

Another pause.

 

Jungkook’s fingers fidgeted slightly in his pocket. “Yesterday,” he said. “That girl. In my office.”

 

Taehyung tilted his head, brows furrowed. “…your fiancée?”

 

Jungkook gave the tiniest nod. “She’s not my fiancée.”

 

Taehyung’s lips parted.

 

The way he said it—like it mattered that Taehyung knew—like he needed him to know. That wasn't like Jungkook at all.

 

“She’s not?” Taehyung asked, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Jungkook shook his head, gaze still not meeting his. "She is not.”

 

Taehyung stood still, pulse thudding. The wind was gentle, but everything felt still—like time had crouched down beside them just to watch what Jungkook would say next.

 

He stared at the man in front of him.

 

Silent. Cold. Usually unreadable.

 

But not right now.

 

Right now, Jungkook looked a little… unsure.

 

His brows slightly furrowed, his lips parted just enough to speak but not quite sure how.

 

And his next words came out even quieter.

 

“I just want to tell you I’m not taken.”

 

Taehyung’s breath caught. Just like that.

 

They stared at each other. The space between them wasn’t wide—but it felt loaded. Like something had shifted, tilted ever so slightly off-balance.

 

Jungkook look like the boy Taehyung met in uni three years back. 

 

Taehyung’s heart stumbled over itself. It wasn't a confession. It wasn’t even that bold.

 

But from Jungkook? It was everything.

 

“I…” Taehyung started to say something—anything—but the words dissolved.

 

Then Jungkook looked at him again. This time slower. Longer.

 

“…Can I drop you home?”

 

It was said so quietly, Taehyung almost didn’t hear it.

 

But he did.

 

And his heart did a full flip inside his chest.

 

He looked away quickly, staring off into the night. He was blushing. He could feel it rising to his ears.

 

“…Y-Yeah,” he mumbled.

 

He bit the inside of his cheek, barely suppressing a smile.

 

You’re fine, Taehyung. Totally fine. You’re just overthinking. He’s being polite.

 

Except Jungkook shifted slightly—like he relaxed.

 

And then, almost imperceptibly… smiled.

 

Barely there. But it was. 

 

Taehyung’s heart jumped again.

 

No.

 

He was not fine.

 

---

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

And blinked again.

 

Jungkook had just—opened the door for him?

 

He stood frozen for a second beside the passenger side of Jungkook’s sleek black car, waiting for the universe to explain itself. No divine intervention. Just Jungkook, standing there coolly, one hand on the car door like a perfect gentleman out of a drama scene.

 

‘What in the chaebol boyfriend behavior is this?’ Taehyung’s brain stuttered.

 

He awkwardly slid into the seat, still processing.

 

Jungkook walked around, slipped into the driver’s seat, and—oh no—turned toward him. Fully. Silently. Like a man with something intense to say. Taehyung's breath hitched.

 

'Why is he staring? Should I run? Can I still escape? Maybe I should roll out of the car…'

 

But before his overactive imagination could finalize a plan, Jungkook leaned in closer.

 

Too close.

 

Panicking, Taehyung threw a hand in front of his chest like a shield. A very weak shield. One that said: “Please don’t attack me, hot mafia boss.”

 

Jungkook paused. Glanced at the hand between them. Then at Taehyung’s face.

 

“…What are you doing?” Taehyung whispered, voice caught somewhere between horror and embarrassment.

 

And then Jungkook chuckled.

 

A low one.

 

Oh no.

 

He leaned in further. Taehyung's eyes widened.

 

CLICK.

 

Taehyung blinked and looked down.

 

The seatbelt?

 

Jungkook smirked and leaned back into his own seat, starting the car like he didn’t just give someone a mini heart attack.

 

Taehyung groaned internally and rolled his eyes. Of course.

 

“You just defended yourself against the same person you’ve been flirting with for a whole month,” Jungkook said, not even looking at him, voice teasing.

 

Taehyung swallowed. Loudly.

 

Wait—he noticed?

 

‘He thinks I like him?’

 

“I-I’m not used to being this close to people…” Taehyung mumbled, pulling at his seatbelt like it suddenly became too tight.

 

Jungkook didn’t respond. He started the engine. Silence fell.

 

Taehyung turned to the window, watching the world blur outside.

 

Should he stop the game now? Or… keep playing?

 

Jungkook seemed like he was falling for it. But what if he was the one getting played? Was this Jungkook’s counterattack? He didn’t seem that smooth, but who knew? Maybe he had drama male lead energy hidden under all that stoicness.

 

He squinted suspiciously at Jungkook.

 

“Stop gawking,” Jungkook said, still eyes on the road.

 

“I’m not,” Taehyung muttered, looking away instantly.

 

Another beat of silence.

 

They reached Taehyung’s place.

 

He stepped out, and to his surprise, Jungkook did too. Talk about unexpected consistency.

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Taehyung said politely.

 

Jungkook gave a nod and turned as if to head back to the driver’s seat.

 

And then… Taehyung hesitated.

 

Was this the moment? The next phase of Operation Flirt?

 

“Wait!” he called out. Jungkook turned to him, brows slightly raised.

 

Taehyung’s heart raced. “Are you free tomorrow?”

 

Jungkook frowned a little, probably calculating the suspicious energy. Then his face shifted into something unreadable.

 

“I am. Why?”

 

“I… I want to take you somewhere,” Taehyung blurted out.

 

Then his eyes widened at his own words.

 

Abort mission!

 

Without waiting for a reply, he dashed to his door and flung it open like he just confessed on national television.

 

Jungkook blinked.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll text you!” Taehyung shouted from behind the door. “Bye!”

 

Door slammed.

 

Inside, Taehyung slumped against it, groaning dramatically.

 

“What. Am. I. Even. Doing.”

 

---

 

Chapter 6: He didn't come for me!!

Notes:

Playlist:

1: Happy - NF

2: Cry baby - the Neighborhood

3: Wasted love - Dal. JJ

4: Black Friday - Tom O'Dell

5: Prey - The neighborhood

6: Bags - Cairo

---

Taehyung was starting to seriously question all his life decisions.

 

First, he decided to tame Jeon Jungkook—yes, the Jungkook with mood swings, perfect jawline, and the ability to make anyone question reality with just one smirk.

 

Second, and more importantly… he asked him out.

 

Okay, technically, he didn’t call it a date. But come on. Any sane person could tell when an employee invites his boss for an outing on the weekend, at a place known for couple sightings—it’s a date. A bold, confusing, no-going-back kind of date.

 

And now here he was, standing in front of his wardrobe, hair a fluffy mess from sleep, staring at what looked like a fabric battlefield. Clothes were everywhere—on the bed, on the floor, draped over the chair, and maybe a pair of socks on the lamp too.

 

"What should I wear now?" he groaned, flopping onto the bed dramatically before shooting up again like a man on a mission.

 

“I don’t need to impress him that much. Just wear whatever, Taehyung.”

Liar. He didn’t believe himself for a second.

 

Still, he grabbed his black pants, a simple white top, and a fancy printed button-down shirt. Casual but nice. It said “I care but not in a desperate way.”

 

His phone buzzed. Jungkook had messaged.

 

“I’ll reach there in an hour.”

 

Panic? Not yet. But the countdown had begun.

 

Taehyung got ready, ran a hand through his messy hairs, and stared in the mirror. They flopped perfectly over his forehead. He added a few rings, a chain, maybe a subtle touch of lip tint and concealer. No big deal. Just enough to look... accidentally beautiful.

 

With 15 minutes to spare (because God forbid he’s late and face Jungkook’s judging stare), he grabbed a taxi.

 

The ride was smooth. His heartbeat? Not so much.

 

His stomach twisted. He felt like he was on his way to a high-stakes exam he didn’t study for. Which, honestly, wasn’t that far from the truth. He hadn’t been out like this with anyone. And certainly not someone who could crush his ego with a glance and still make him giggle like a schoolboy later.

 

Jungkook was suspicious lately. Warm one moment, cold the next. Like hot coffee served in a glass cup—you want to hold it, but it burns. Still, Taehyung was going on with his plan. 

 

“You just need to act lovey-dovey,” he whispered to himself.

“Once he confesses, there’ll be no need to keep pretending.”

...Right?

 

He had spent half the night scrolling through the internet, typing things like “How to act like a boyfriend without being a boyfriend?” and “How to flirt casually but make him fall in love?”

 

He even read an article titled “Five Cute Gestures That’ll Make Him Yours”—and now had two out of five memorized.

 

But none of that prepared him for what he saw when the cab pulled up to the place.

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

He checked Google again.

Yep. It literally said: “Popular date spot for couples who want a quiet, aesthetic place to talk and fall in love.”

 

He stared at the place. Then at himself. 

 

“Oh my God… what am I doing?”

 

And yet… he got out of the cab.

 

Taehyung scanned the area—and there he was.

 

Leaning casually against his sleek black car, arms crossed, Jungkook looked like he walked straight out of a movie. His black shirt hugged his frame perfectly, paired with simple jeans and silky hair that caught the golden sunlight just right. He checked his watch, like some effortlessly cool CEO with a modeling contract.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

 

Why does he always look like this? Why does his face not have bad days?

Well… that’s exactly why half the university had a crush on him.

 

Taehyung took a step forward, pulling himself together. “Hi,” he said softly.

 

Jungkook straightened at the sound of his voice, looking at him—actually looking. Taehyung noticed the way Jungkook’s gaze lingered, trailing just a second too long across his shirt and curls. Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes.

 

But then—

 

“You’re late. About five minutes,” Jungkook said flatly.

 

And there it was.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “ we’re not in the office.”

 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Let’s go.”

 

They walked through the entrance together. It felt a little awkward—silent, but not in a bad way. More like something hung in the air between them.

 

Jungkook looked around the place and said, “Aren’t we too old for this?”

 

Taehyung shot him a look. Seriously? First no compliment, now amusement park slander?

Google literally said this was a great place for bonding. Couples come here all the time. But he can't say that to jungkook.

 

“It’s a good place to enjoy. ” Taehyung replied, trying not to pout.

 

Jungkook just gave a noncommittal hum and walked toward the ticket booth. Taehyung followed, ready to implement step one from Google: Buy the tickets yourself to impress and show initiative.

 

But before he could even move, Jungkook turned to him.

 

“Wait here. I’ll be back.”

 

Taehyung blinked. “Huh?”

 

Next thing he knew, Jungkook was already at the counter, paying.

 

What happened to the plan?

Was Jungkook flipping the script on him?

 

Jungkook returned a minute later and handed him a ticket without much fuss. “Let’s go.”

 

They stepped into the park, and the air shifted. There were kids running around, couples holding hands, cotton candy in the air. It was a bit dreamy. A little chaotic. And surprisingly… fun.

 

They walked side by side—well, not exactly side by side. There was an awkward arm’s-length distance between them, like a couple in denial or two people in a three-legged race who refused to tie their legs together.

 

Taehyung glanced at Jungkook.

 

Step two from the article: Start casual physical touch. A gentle brush of fingers, an innocent shoulder bump…

 

Casual, huh?

 

So, he waited until they neared a stall selling popcorn and accidentally brushed his fingers against Jungkook’s.

 

Jungkook immediately pulled his hand back.

 

Taehyung swallowed. Okay, maybe too early for step two.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

 

“Why?” Jungkook asked, tone unreadable, eyes on the stall. “It’s a public place.”

 

Was… that sarcasm? Or was it permission?

 

Before Taehyung could overthink it into oblivion, Jungkook spoke again.

 

“Do you want that?” He nodded toward the popcorn.

 

Taehyung perked up. “Only if you’re getting one too.”

 

Jungkook gave him a flat look. “That wasn’t the question.”

 

Still, he bought two.

 

They sat on a bench near a flower garden. Taehyung tried not to let the silence eat him alive. He peeked at Jungkook from the corner of his eye. The man was calmly eating popcorn like he wasn’t a walking enigma.

 

“You know…” Taehyung began, then instantly regretted starting. But it was too late. “I read somewhere that sharing food increases affection.”

 

Jungkook turned his head, one eyebrow raised. “Are you researching how to hang out with me now?”

 

Busted.

 

“No. Just general trivia.” Taehyung cleared his throat. “Popcorn psychology. Totally a thing.”

 

Jungkook hummed, clearly unconvinced but too bored to argue.

 

They walked again. This time, Taehyung let their shoulders brush—not enough to be weird, just enough to register. Jungkook didn’t move away.

 

Success? Possibly.

 

They passed a shooting booth.

 

“Wanna try?” Taehyung asked, already walking toward it.

 

Jungkook looked at him like he just asked him to sing karaoke in public.

 

“I don’t really—”

 

“You scared you’ll lose?”

 

That did it.

 

Jungkook stepped up without a word. The staff handed over the fake rifle, and Taehyung watched in slow-motion awe as Jungkook raised it with one hand, aimed, and knocked every single target down like a sniper in a K-drama.

 

The staff clapped. Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

 

“I take it back,” he said. “You can absolutely sing in public. You’ve earned that right.”

 

Jungkook handed the rifle back and turned to him. “Pick a prize.”

 

“What?”

 

“You wanted to come here. Might as well make it worth it.”

 

Taehyung’s heart did a tiny, embarrassing somersault. He pointed at a soft brown bear with a ribbon.

 

“Really?” Jungkook asked. “That one?”

 

“Why? You don’t like bears?”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

He handed over the tokens and the vendor passed the plush bear to Taehyung, who hugged it with exaggerated affection.

 

“He’s adorable. I’ll name him Jungkookie.”

 

Jungkook stopped walking for half a second. “Excuse me?”

 

“Too soon?” Taehyung teased, walking ahead.

 

He didn’t have to look back to know Jungkook was still following. That was victory enough.

 

They explored more—rides, snacks, little garden trails. Jungkook stayed quiet, but he didn’t walk away. He listened when Taehyung talked about how cotton candy always stuck to his nose. He handed him tissues when it actually did. He even laughed—laughed, a soft scoff-like sound—when Taehyung nearly fell off a spinning ride and blamed the laws of physics.

 

When the sun started dipping, they found a quiet bench near the edge of the park. Couples passed them hand in hand. Taehyung noticed Jungkook’s gaze following one of them briefly before returning to his own hands.

 

It was now or never.

 

Taehyung leaned back. “You know, you didn’t have to come.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You did anyway.”

 

“I was curious.” Jungkook turned slightly toward him. “I wanted to see what this was all about.”

 

Taehyung’s heart thudded.

 

“And… what do you think it is?”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. The breeze rustled the leaves, kids laughed in the distance, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only ones in the world.

 

“You’re not subtle, Taehyung.”

 

Taehyung swallowed. “I didn’t want to be.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes met his, steady, unreadable.

 

Taehyung could’ve sworn there was a hint of something—softness, warmth, confusion—but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

 

He smiled anyway. “So… next weekend?”

 

Jungkook stood up.

 

“Let’s see if I survive this one first.”

 

And yet—he didn’t walk away alone.

 

He waited, silently, for Taehyung to fall in step beside him.

 

After the bear incident and an accidental ice cream war (where Taehyung got a suspicious drip on his shirt and Jungkook silently handed him his napkin like a disapproving mom), they continued wandering through the park.

 

That's when Taehyung spotted it—a small, vintage-style photo booth tucked between a row of snack stalls and a cotton candy cart.

 

“Let’s go,” he said, pointing.

 

Jungkook gave it one glance and then turned away. “No.”

 

“What? Why not?”

 

“It’s childish.”

 

Taehyung crossed his arms. “You just destroyed ten plastic ducks with a fake rifle and won me a teddy bear. You're already halfway there.”

 

Jungkook sighed. That long, world-weary sigh Taehyung was starting to find secretly fond. “Fine. But just one.”

 

They squeezed into the cramped booth. It was… tight. Their knees brushed. Their arms were pressed together. Taehyung tried not to combust.

 

The machine blinked with a cheesy heart animation.

 

“Look here,” Taehyung said, nudging Jungkook. “We have to pose.”

 

“I’m not good at this,” Jungkook muttered.

 

The first photo: Taehyung grinned. Jungkook blinked like he wasn’t ready.

 

Second photo: Taehyung threw peace signs. Jungkook stared at the screen, deadpan.

 

Third photo: Taehyung turned to Jungkook and made a dramatic shocked face, pretending Jungkook confessed. Jungkook raised one brow but didn’t move.

 

Fourth photo…

 

Just before it clicked, Jungkook suddenly leaned slightly closer—barely noticeable—and Taehyung froze.

 

Click.

 

When the strip printed, Taehyung stared at the fourth one the longest. It wasn’t romantic or cheesy. But the way Jungkook was looking at him—like he was studying a puzzle he couldn’t solve—it made Taehyung’s stomach flutter in the worst/best way.

 

"You know, in uni's festival we took photos in the booth.That was the first time we interacted. You are still the same. " Taehyung said looking at him. 

 

" I don't remember it. " Jungkook said flatly. But Taehyung saw something flickering in his eyes. 

 

Taehyung didn’t say anything as he carefully folded the photo strip and tucked it into his wallet.

 

Later, as the sky darkened and the park’s lights began to sparkle, they made their way to the exit. The atmosphere felt heavier now. Like the day had been a dream that was slowly ending.

 

Jungkook didn’t say much.

 

Not when they walked out.

 

Not when they reached his car.

 

Not even when he opened the passenger door for Taehyung, a silent gesture that somehow said more than a full sentence.

 

The ride was quiet. Not awkward, but not comfortable either. The radio hummed softly, some mellow R&B track playing low.

 

Taehyung kept glancing at him.

 

The jawline.

 

The lashes.

 

The impossible-to-read expression.

 

He looked like a boy carved from moonlight, dipped in silence.

 

And Taehyung?

 

He was a mess of emotion sitting beside him with a bear on his lap and a heartbeat out of sync.

 

As they pulled up in front of his apartment building, Taehyung hesitated. The car idled, headlights catching the outline of the bushes near the gate.

 

“Hey,” he said quietly.

 

Jungkook didn’t look at him, just kept his gaze on the road.

 

Taehyung wet his lips. “ I was shocked when you said you will join me today."

A pause. The engine hummed softly.

 

Taehyung tried again. “Why you wanted to clarify to me that you are not taken?”

 

Jungkook finally turned to him.

 

His eyes were unreadable. Still. Cold. But his voice was calm, even.

 

“I came to see if I could do this.”

 

Taehyung blinked. “Do what?”

 

Jungkook finally turned to him, his face calm—too calm. “Be someone’s boyfriend. Without it getting complicated.”

 

The words landed like a quiet blow.

 

Taehyung did not understand what even Jungkook's is saying. 

 

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

 

Jungkook inhaled, then said it—like it was just business. “Be my boyfriend.”

 

Taehyung’s heart stopped.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught. “So that’s what today was.”

 

Jungkook didn’t deny it.

 

“My family wants to move forward with a proposal. Engagement talks are already happening. I need to stop it.”

 

Taehyung’s lips parted, but no words came.

 

Jungkook continued, still expressionless. “If I had someone beside me… someone convincing—it would work.”

 

Taehyung stared at him, something cold beginning to pool in his chest. “Convincing?”

 

Jungkook met his eyes. “You’re charming. People like you. They’ll believe it.”

 

Taehyung let out a slow breath. “So… you want me to fake-date you.”

 

A nod.

 

“For your family,” Taehyung said bitterly.

 

Another silence.

 

Taehyung gave a quiet, hollow laugh. “So you dropping me off yesterday, showing up today, letting me think—”

He shook his head, eyes suddenly glassy. “All of that was just you testing if I’d fit the role.”

 

Jungkook didn’t respond.

 

That hurt more than any answer would’ve.

 

Taehyung nodded slowly. “Right.”

 

He opened the door, stepping out into the still night.

 

Before closing it, he looked back once.

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

Then he shut the door gently behind him.

 

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Taehyung let out a shaky breath.

 

He tossed the plush bear onto his bed and sank down beside it, elbows resting on his knees, fingers pressed tightly to his lips.

 

His heart was loud—too loud—in the silence.

 

But something inside him cracked, small and sharp.

 

“Karma hits fast, huh?” he muttered, bitterly laughing to himself. “I was the one playing the game… and he flipped the board.”

 

His eyes fell on the bear lying crooked on the sheets, and his throat tightened.

 

“But why does it hurt?” he whispered. “I didn’t even like him like that.”

 

A pause.

 

“That was the plan. That was always the plan.”

 

Still, the ache lingered—uninvited, unfamiliar.

 

He leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut as the weight of it settled into his chest. A heaviness he couldn’t name, but couldn’t ignore either.

 

“He came just to test if he could fake it,” he whispered.

 

“And I’m the idiot who got tested.”

 

---

 

Chapter 7: A mess you wanted

Notes:

Song Recommendation:

K - Cigarettes after sex

 

"Think I like you best when you are with me and no one else"

---

 

He was messier than usual this morning, but not in the charming, tousled-hair kind of way. More like a ghost who lost sleep over a guy who didn’t even flinch.

 

Taehyung stood in front of the mirror, glaring at the dark circles under his eyes like they personally offended him.

 

He groaned. Loudly. Nearly tragically.

 

Then:

“Jeon Jungkook,” he hissed at his reflection, hands tugging at his own cheeks. “You devil-mouthed, emotionally constipated—”

 

He paused, sighed, and dropped his hands.

 

Of course he hadn’t slept last night. That date — or whatever tragic joke it ended as — replayed in his head like a broken tape. The laughter. The popcorn. The photo booth. The way his heart thudded at every accidental glance.

 

And then... that proposal. That perfectly deadpan “be my boyfriend” like he was offering Taehyung a business card.

 

Taehyung scoffed to himself.

“He thinks I’m easy. He thinks I’ll just agree because his face looks like sin and his voice sounds like it ends wars.”

 

He narrowed his eyes, poking his cheek with one dramatic finger.

“Guess what, Jeon? Today I reject you. Gracefully. Cruelly, even.”

 

He stomped to his closet like a man preparing for battle.

“If I’m going to turn down the CEO of emotional coldness, I might as well look better than him while doing it.”

 

 

But..... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All that courage — all that morning fury — crumbled the moment he stepped into the office.

 

Because she was there.

 

The so-called fiancée.

 

Sitting on the edge of Jungkook’s desk like she belonged there, legs crossed, fake laugh echoing like nails on a chalkboard.

 

Taehyung paused in the doorway, clutching the file against his chest like a shield.

 

Her laugh rang out again.

 

He blinked.

 

What’s she laughing at? Jungkook didn’t even smile. Is she crazy? 

 

“-im,” Jungkook’s voice broke through. “Mr. Kim.”

 

Taehyung flinched.

 

“Huh?”

 

“How long are you planning to stand there?”

 

Oh. Right. He was literally loitering in the doorway like a nosy old neighbor saying goodbye.

 

He stumbled in and tried to close the door coolly — except it slammed into his knee, causing a yelp.

 

The girl laughed again. This time with a full-snort bonus.

 

“Oh wow. Jungkook, you didn’t tell me your staff was this clod,” she giggled. “Aren’t these the kinds of people you hate?”

 

Taehyung look at her how she is trying to look cool. His jaw tensed so hard it could crack a diamond.

 

"Do you always keep such..... decorative employees around. Jungkook? " She said  laughing. 

 

Taehyung bite his lips. Trying to compose himself. 

 

He looked at Jungkook, waiting for him to say something. Anything. But the man just stared — blank as always.

 

Great.

 

Even silence was better company than this.

 

Taehyung walked forward, forcing his face into full neutral mode. He placed the file on the desk, fingers trembling only slightly.

 

“Schedule update,” he said, voice low but steady. “Mr. Min emailed this morning. He won’t be coming today. The meeting’s moved to tomorrow.”

 

He avoided eye contact. Jungkook’s presence was like a cold draft at the back of his neck. Still, he managed to sound professional. Detached.

 

But when he finally glanced up—just a peek—his breath caught.

 

Jungkook was staring at him. Not blinking. Not looking away.

 

And Taehyung hated that.

 

He hated the part of him that still wanted that look to mean something.

 

He bowed slightly, turning to leave, when Jungkook’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

 

“Apologize to him.”

 

Taehyung froze mid-step. The words weren’t loud, but the chill in them made his spine tighten.

 

She blinked, clearly not expecting it. “What?”

 

Jungkook didn’t repeat himself in the same tone this time.

 

“I said apologize to him. Mi Young.”

His voice dropped a note lower — cold, flat, final. Taehyung had heard him speak to investors, directors, even reporters. But this? This was colder than all of it. It made even him want to apologize on her behalf just to stop it.

 

Mi Young turned stiffly to Taehyung. Her smile was gone now, replaced by a flat, forced look.

“I’m sorry,” she said without emotion, like she was being forced to compliment an enemy.

 

Taehyung didn’t say anything. He just nodded politely, jaw tight.

 

Jungkook barely glanced at her.

“You can go now.”

 

She stood, clearly offended, heels clicking sharply as she passed Taehyung—throwing a glare at him like this was somehow his fault.

 

The door clicked shut.

 

Taehyung turned to Jungkook again and gave a small bow, silently asking to leave. He didn’t want to stay here a second longer.

 

But before he could take a full step, Jungkook reached across the desk and grabbed his arm.

 

The warmth of his hand startled Taehyung more than the action itself.

 

He turned, glaring. His eyes still glossy, cheeks flushed from the tension.

 

He wasn’t used to this. Being embarrassed. Being insulted.

 

He was clumsy, yes. Emotional, loud, dramatic even—but no one ever made him feel lesser for it. Jimin would hug him when he cried, his parents would pat his head and buy him ice cream, and even Jungkook—cold, stoic, unreadable Jungkook—had never said anything cruel. Until now, by silence.

 

“Now what?” Taehyung asked flatly, eyes narrowed. His voice was firm, but inside he was still unraveling.

 

Jungkook moved around the desk, hand still holding his arm until he was standing right in front of him. Too close.

 

Taehyung looked away, jaw tight.

 

“It won’t happen again,” Jungkook said, voice low but steady.

 

Taehyung looked up, surprised—not by the words, but by the fact Jungkook even said them.

 

“I hope it doesn’t affect our commitment,” Jungkook added, like they were talking about a business contract.

 

Taehyung frowned. Then he understood. His eyes widened a bit.

 

And he jerked his arm free.

 

“You’re such a—” he started, then caught himself, teeth digging into his lower lip.

 

Jungkook raised a brow. “Such a…?”

 

Taehyung crossed his arms tightly. “Forget it.”

 

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, calm as ever. “So what you thought ?”

 

Taehyung inhaled slowly, remembering Mi Young’s smug face.

 

He wanted to say no. He’d planned to say no.

 

But now?

 

Now it felt personal.

 

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly.

“But—”

 

“But?” Jungkook echoed.

 

“I have conditions.”

 

That got Jungkook’s full attention. He tilted his head slightly, waiting.

 

Taehyung lifted his chin, determined.

“No mocking. No gaslighting. No putting me in awkward situations to watch me squirm. And no dating anyone else while this… thing is going on.”

 

He raised a single brow, like he just threw gold on the table. Take it or leave it.

 

Jungkook stared at him for a long second, tongue pressing against his cheek like he was biting back a reaction.

 

“Deal.”

He paused.

“I have conditions too.”

 

Taehyung sighed. “Of course you do.”

 

“There will be physical intimacy involved if needed—to convince others. You’ll have to play along.”

 

He froze for a second, mind spiraling.

 

Physical intimacy?

Oh. Like... hand holding?

Maybe a hug.

Or two.

 

He internally nodded, as if calming himself.

Yeah. Just that. That’s normal.

He could do that. He’s seen it in dramas—fake couples holding hands, leaning close at parties, pretending to laugh at jokes while their fingers brushed.

 

He forced his voice to stay even.

“That’s fine.”

 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking up with a small tilt of his head.

 

“You sure?” he asked, voice calm, but something in the air shifted just slightly.

 

Taehyung turned his head fast. “I said I’m fine.”

 

A pause.

 

Then Jungkook went back to his chair like nothing happened.

“Be ready tomorrow morning at 10. We’re meeting my family.”

 

Taehyung blinked. “Tomorrow?”

 

“Unless you changed your mind?”

 

Taehyung grabbed the file off the desk. “No. I’ll be there.”

 

And then he walked out, heart pounding, trying not to look back.

 

---

 

Taehyung stood frozen at his apartment door, his night shirt awkwardly half-tucked into his pants like it had given up halfway. His hair was a wild halo of sleep and static, and his eyes nearly popped out when he registered who was ringing the bell.

 

Jeon Jungkook.

 

In a black coat, crisp as frost. Sharp eyes. Sharper jaw.

 

Taehyung’s heart flipped. Then dropped. Then twisted a little bit for fun.

 

Why the hell was Jungkook standing outside his apartment? At ten in the morning?

 

Well. Ten-fifteen, now.

 

The bell rang again—fourth time—and Taehyung jolted like the sound slapped him. He scrambled to run a hand through his hair, trying to tame the bird’s nest of regret and shampoo, then opened the door with a hopeful smile that looked like it had been stitched together with panic.

 

“Hi,” he croaked.

 

Jungkook looked him up and down.

 

From his sleepy eyes to his wrinkled pajama pants. And blinked once.

 

Taehyung laughed awkwardly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

 

“I did,” Jungkook replied, voice flat. “I told you yesterday. Ten sharp.”

 

Taehyung’s brain played a rerun of the conversation.

 

Right. He did say that.

 

Taehyung facepalmed. “Uhm… I forgot.”

 

Jungkook blinked at him again. No expression. Then—without a word—he pushed past him and stepped inside.

 

Taehyung turned to close the door, panic bubbling in his throat now.

 

The living room. Oh no.

 

He followed Jungkook like a man walking into his own crime scene. Towels on the floor. Empty glasses on the coffee table. A plate with two days-old fries watching them like a witness.

 

Jungkook stopped in the middle of the mess. He turned slowly, eyes sweeping across the disaster zone like he was calculating the probability of catching a bacterial infection just by breathing.

 

“You live like this?” he asked, frowning.

 

Taehyung crossed his arms. “Yeah. You got a problem?”

 

Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted—just one—and it said more than an entire speech.

 

Taehyung grumbled, tugging down his shirt. “Can you wait? I’ll get ready.”

 

Jungkook nodded once, cool and composed, as if he hadn’t just stepped into domestic Armageddon.

 

Taehyung grabbed the nearest acceptable outfit—plain white tee, jeans, socks that didn’t match—and rushed to the bathroom.

 

He changed fast. Tried to tame his hair. Lip balm. Deodorant. The essentials. His mind buzzed with mortification and confusion the whole time.

 

Why was Jungkook here? What kind of fake boyfriend shows up early and acts like a live-in therapist-slash-maid? Was this normal? Was Jungkook normal?

 

He stepped out  may be half an hour later.

 

And froze.

 

His apartment… wasn’t his apartment anymore.

 

The couch cushions were back in place. Towels gone. Dishes washed and lined neatly on the drying rack. The old fries had been laid to rest. The floor even smelled like citrus. Or judgment.

 

And Jungkook stood there in the middle of it all, arms crossed, looking too casual for someone who’d just cleaned a stranger’s home.

 

Taehyung stared at him.

 

Jeon Jungkook.

 

Standing calmly in the middle of his chaos, like he belonged there.

 

A weird ache thudded in Taehyung’s chest.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, quietly. Almost guilty.

 

Jungkook looked over his shoulder. His eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have. Not soft. Not warm.

 

Just intense.

 

Like he was reading something on Taehyung’s face Taehyung didn’t know was written there.

 

“It was nothing,” Jungkook said.

 

But it wasn’t nothing. And they both knew it.

 

The air between them turned quieter, heavier. Taehyung swallowed.

 

Jungkook looked at him for another second, then turned toward the door.

 

“Let’s go,” he said, voice low.

 

Taehyung followed, heart slightly uneven in his chest, as if it had missed the cue for how to beat when someone saw you messy—and didn’t walk away.

 

---

 

Seriously?

That was the only word Taehyung’s brain could form as he stood in front of a glowing Gucci storefront. He blinked once, twice, hoping the logo would morph into a café or bookstore.

 

It didn’t.

 

He squinted at Jungkook walking ahead, already pushing the door open.

 

Do I really look that bad in my clothes?

 

Before he could protest, a rush of sharply dressed staff greeted Jungkook like he was royalty, offering practiced smiles and bows. Taehyung barely got a glance.

 

Rich people perks, he muttered internally.

 

Jungkook turned back, eyes raking Taehyung up and down, before striding toward him with the kind of purpose that made Taehyung instinctively tense.

 

Then Jungkook grabbed his arm.

 

And placed a hand on his lower back.

 

Taehyung's brain short-circuited.

 

“Show the best pieces you have in his size,” Jungkook said, eyes fixed on the staff.

 

Taehyung felt the shiver race down his spine like a traitor.

 

The moment the staff disappeared to retrieve clothes, he took a step back and peeled Jungkook’s hand off with a dramatic frown.

 

“Do you always manhandle people you hire?” he whispered, voice half teasing and half scolding.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just went and sat on a velvet couch, as if the whole store belonged to him.

 

Taehyung stood awkwardly for a second. Then wandered toward a shelf, eyeing accessories like they were fragile artifacts. He spotted a cap. Beige, with tiny tiger embroidery. Kinda cute.

 

He tried it on, glanced at himself in a mirror.

 

Not bad.

 

He adjusted the brim, tilting it just right—and smiled at himself like a five-second celebrity.

 

Then he heard footsteps. The staff were back.

 

He yanked the cap off and tossed it back like it burned.

 

Dozens of shirts—color-coded, high-end, and very much not his budget—were laid out for inspection.

 

Jungkook stood again. Calmly checked a few, brushing fingers against the fabric like he was testing how worthy they were.

 

He handed over one. Then another. And then another. Until the pile in his hands was practically a small mountain.

 

Finally, he turned to Taehyung.

 

“Try them,” he said simply.

 

Taehyung blinked. “All of them?”

 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 

Taehyung scoffed, clutching the clothes. “I’ll get tired.”

 

“Then take a nap after,” Jungkook replied, already sitting again. “Try.”

 

Taehyung huffed and disappeared behind the curtain, muttering something about dictatorship under his breath.

 

He slipped on the first shirt and stepped out, tugging the sleeves awkwardly.

 

Jungkook looked at him. Blinked once.

 

Then mouthed, next.

 

And so it began.

 

Shirt after shirt.

 

Each time Taehyung stepped out, Jungkook’s face remained carved in stone. No smile. No nod. No approval. Just: next.

 

After the fifth one, Taehyung nearly tripped on the curtain hem out of frustration.

 

By the eighth, he was visibly pouting.

 

By the tenth, he stood outside the dressing room in silence, arms dangling by his side, wearing a navy silk shirt that honestly looked amazing—but apparently not enough to earn a reaction.

 

“What exactly are you trying to do?” he mumbled, eyes narrowed.

 

Taehyung wore the last shirt and stepped out, slower this time, but the stomp in his walk still lingered.

 

Jungkook stood up, gaze traveling over him in quiet assessment.

 

Then, flatly: “This isn’t it.”

 

Taehyung's shoulders dropped. He scoffed under his breath. “What exactly do you want me to look like?”

 

He busied himself with fixing a button that didn’t need fixing, eyes narrowed.

 

Jungkook didn’t blink. “The way you looked this morning. When you opened the door.”

 

Taehyung froze, fingers pausing at his collar.

 

His chest tightened.

 

“That was a mess,” he said, voice softer. “I looked like a mess.”

 

Jungkook turned back to the rack, eyes gliding over the fabric. “I want that mess.”

 

Taehyung stood still for a beat too long, something warm flickering in his throat. He blinked it down.

 

“You have OCD,” he said finally. “You don’t want mess.”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer—just handed him a black oversized shirt and a pair of jeans without meeting his eyes.

 

Taehyung took the clothes in silence, stepping back into the fitting room with a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His hands trembled faintly, just enough to feel it.

 

He’s confusing. He doesn’t even know what he wants. And here you are, catching your breath because of a sentence.

 

He changed slowly, letting the oversized fabric fall around him, ruffling his hair just the way it had been this morning. No polish. No effort.

 

Just… Taehyung.

 

When he stepped out, Jungkook was already watching.

 

His stare—quiet, intense—met him halfway. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

 

Just looked at him.

 

Like he was deciding something.

 

It made Taehyung shift under the weight of it.

 

Jungkook turned to the staff, eyes unreadable. “Pack this one. And all other shirts of this style. Same size.”

 

Taehyung’s mouth opened in protest. “That’s—too many. I don’t want that much. And it’s expensive.”

 

Jungkook’s voice stayed calm. “Consider it an investment.”

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. “In what, exactly?”

 

No answer.

 

The staff packed everything quickly and disappeared with the bags. Jungkook handed over his card without blinking.

 

Taehyung stepped outside to wait, arms folded across his chest. His fingers fidgeted with his new shirt as he looked out at the street, tapping his foot against the edge of the sidewalk.

 

A moment later, footsteps behind him.

 

He turned instinctively—but was caught off guard.

 

Without warning, Jungkook was suddenly in front of him, slipping a soft cap onto his head.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

 

His hands flew up out of reflex, touching the edges of the cap, adjusting it slightly. He looked up slowly.

 

Jungkook didn’t say anything. Just watched him for a second too long.

 

At least warn me next time, Taehyung thought, cheeks warm.

 

Jungkook walked past him and opened the passenger side door. Silently, he gestured toward the seat.

 

Taehyung slipped in.

 

His hand moved to the seatbelt and clicked it in himself—maybe a little too quickly. Just in case, Jungkook try to lean towards him to do it. 

 

Jungkook sat beside him, briefly looking at him, started the engine, and pulled into the street without a word.

 

The silence stretched between them, filled with things unsaid. Jungkook’s hand rested on the gear, and Taehyung stared out of the window, unsure if he should breathe too loudly.

 

Then—

 

“Do you know what physical intimacy means?”

 

The question broke the silence like a crack in glass.

 

Taehyung turned slowly, squinting at him. “Why are you asking me that?”

 

Jungkook didn’t look at him. “Just making sure you understand the deal.”

 

Taehyung scoffed lightly. “I’m not a kid.”

 

“Didn’t say you were.”

 

Taehyung crossed his arms. “It means… holding hands. Some light touching. Stuff like that.”

 

Jungkook finally glanced at him. His gaze unreadable.

 

He wet his lips once. “Right.”

 

Taehyung looked away first, pressing his cheek to the cool window.

 

But the weight of Jungkook’s stare lingered.

 

It always did.

 

 

 

Chapter 8: Ripples don't lie

Notes:

Song:

505 - Arctic Monkeys

" I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck."

---

 

Taehyung fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, fingers tugging gently at the fabric like it might give him something to hold on to. His leg bounced restlessly where it was crossed over the other, heel tapping softly against the car floor. His eyes kept drifting to the window—trees, buildings, streets passing by in a blur. He wasn’t even looking at them, not really. Just trying to distract himself.

 

This wasn’t a date. He knew that.

 

But it also… kind of was.

 

He was going to meet Jungkook’s family, and even if it was all for show, the thought made his palms clammy.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jungkook glance over. “Relax,” Jungkook said, voice low and calm, like always. 

 

Taehyung nodded without meaning it, lips quirking in a dry smile.

 

A beat of silence passed.

 

Then—“Can we stop somewhere and get a lollipop?” he asked suddenly, turning toward Jungkook and batting his lashes in mock desperation.

 

Jungkook looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you five?”

 

Taehyung shrugged. “Lollipops help with anxiety.”

 

“We’ll be late.”

 

“But I’ll behave if I have candy,” Taehyung said with a hopeful pout, eyes wide like a cartoon character begging for a toy.

 

Another long pause. Jungkook’s face gave nothing away.

 

Then, without a word, he turned the wheel and pulled into a small convenience store parking lot.

 

Taehyung blinked. “Wait—really?”

 

Jungkook didn’t reply. He just unbuckled his seatbelt with that same unreadable expression.

 

Taehyung beamed and practically launched out of the car, making the door swing wider than necessary. He disappeared inside with a lightness in his steps that made Jungkook sigh quietly to himself.

 

Inside the store, Taehyung grabbed lollipops. And then chocolates. And sour gummies. And one of those tiny marshmallow-filled cups that always looked better than they tasted. He was halfway through the self-checkout when a black card slid smoothly onto the counter beside him.

 

He turned to see Jungkook standing there, face blank, fingers tucked back into the pocket of his slacks like this was the most normal thing in the world.

 

“I was gonna pay,” Taehyung said, voice light.

 

“You’re already taking payment,” Jungkook replied without emotion.

 

Taehyung blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“For pretending to be my boyfriend,” Jungkook clarified, as if he were talking about a spreadsheet.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes and grabbed the bag of candy.

 

Back in the car, he plopped down in the passenger seat and immediately unwrapped a cherry-flavored lollipop, sticking it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. The sugar helped. A little.

 

Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat. He didn’t start the engine right away.

 

Instead, he just… stared.

 

Not obviously. But long enough that Taehyung felt the weight of it. He shifted in his seat, cheeks warming.

 

“What?” he asked around the candy.

 

Jungkook blinked, eyes pulling away. “Nothing.”

 

The engine came to life with a quiet purr.

 

But Jungkook’s glance lingered in the next red light a moment too long, and Taehyung knew.

 

Nothing meant something.

 

And he didn’t know what to do with that yet.

 

---

 

They were standing just outside the venue—gilded doors, soft music slipping through, laughter behind thick walls. Nothing about it screamed private. It screamed rich. Lavish. The kind of place where chandeliers judged you.

 

Taehyung blinked at the long line of luxury cars parked out front, men in suits, women in pearls.

 

“This is your definition of ‘meeting my family’?” he asked, lips parted in disbelief. “This looks like the Met Gala for CEOs.”

 

Jungkook didn’t even glance at the crowd. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and replied smoothly, “Don’t worry, baby. We’re just going to walk in and let them know Jeon Jungkook is gay.”

 

Taehyung’s soul briefly left his body.

 

He gaped at him, eyes wide, heart lurching into his throat. Did he just called— “Are you actually out of your mind?” he whispered harshly, tugging on Jungkook’s sleeve. “You said family.”

 

Jungkook, calm as ever, pulled a black mask from his pocket and handed it over. “Wear this. And the cap. Don’t lift your head.”

 

Taehyung took the mask, still frozen. “It’s not about hiding my face,” he muttered. “I don’t have shame in being called gay.”

 

That made Jungkook pause mid-adjustment. He turned slightly. “Then what’s the issue?”

 

Taehyung glanced toward the door again, breath a little shaky. “I just thought we were keeping this fake boyfriend thing private. Family-level private. Not... business-partners-and-ex-fiancées private.”

 

A pause. Then Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “So, you don’t like being publicly called mine?”

 

Taehyung groaned quietly and palmed his face. Why did I even say anything?

 

Because of course—of course Jungkook would throw that line like it was nothing. No weight. No tension. Just another ice cube in his glass of straight-faced audacity.

 

“I didn’t say that,” Taehyung muttered, trying to control the racing of his heart.

 

“You want to back off?”

 

He looked up.

 

Jungkook was staring at him—expression unreadable, gaze unreadable, but it still made his stomach tighten.

 

“How long do we have to stay inside?” Taehyung asked, clearing his throat.

 

“Ten minutes,” Jungkook replied. “Fifteen max. I don’t like to stay here either. ”

 

Taehyung exhaled slowly. His fingers fidgeted with the mask.

 

“Look,” he mumbled, “if anything happens—like, if it turns weird or someone faints or throws wine or Mi Young starts crying or—”

 

“I’ll handle it.”

 

The words were said softly. Almost too softly.

 

Jungkook took a step forward and adjusted the cap on Taehyung’s head, gently tucking a curl behind his ear. Then, with almost no space between them, he leaned in and mouthed, “Safety.”

 

And just like that—Taehyung’s face ignited.

 

His heart fluttered violently in his chest, thudding like it had forgotten how to behave.

 

He looked away instantly, ears burning under the brim of the cap. What the hell was that?

 

He didn't know if it was the word, the closeness, or the calm conviction in Jungkook's voice—but something about it made Taehyung feel like he had just jumped off a roof and landed in soft sand. Panic and softness colliding.

 

He barely had time to gather his thoughts when Jungkook slipped his hand into his—casual, firm—and led him toward the door.

 

Breathe, Taehyung told himself.

 

Just breathe.

 

He’d done many ridiculous things in his life, but walking into an event full of chaebols, holding Jungkook’s hand while pretending to be his boyfriend so he could cancel an engagement with Mi Young? This one topped it all.

 

As they entered the hall, Taehyung blinked at the luxurious chandelier above and the people scattered across the grand space. All of them familiar with Jungkook. All of them old money.

 

And there she was.

 

Mi Young.

 

Standing beside Jungkook’s parents—shoulders stiff, smile painted, gaze sharp. She looked like she already owned the room.

 

Beside her stood Jungkook’s father, tall and unimpressed. And next to him—Jungkook’s mother, graceful but guarded. 

 

Taehyung swallowed hard. His fingers instinctively tightened around Jungkook’s.

 

The room quieted a little as they approached.

 

Everyone’s eyes subtly followed them—especially Mi Young’s. Her brows twitched the moment she noticed the held hands. Her smile faltered for just a second.

 

Taehyung almost grinned.

 

She’s gonna need a seat for this.

 

But instead, he kept his head low, pretending to study the floor tiles. His heart pounded with every step, but strangely, Jungkook’s hand didn’t let go.

 

And Taehyung didn’t want it to.

 

Jungkook’s lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile as he looked toward his parents. Calm. Cold. But his eyes—sharp and defiant—betrayed the tremble beneath.

 

Taehyung stood beside him, still gripping the edge of his cap, knuckles white.

 

“What is this, Jungkook?” Mi Young’s voice sliced through the air, high and trembling.

 

He turned to her like it was routine, like it wasn’t the beginning of chaos. “This?” he repeated, then tightened his fingers with Taehyung’s.

 

“He’s my boyfriend.”

 

A hush. No—a gasp, loud and collective, like the air itself had cracked in the middle of the venue.

 

Taehyung could feel it. The shift. The eyes. The weight of every stare pinning him in place like needles through paper.

 

“Jungkook—” his father’s voice cut in, sharp and already disapproving. “What are you doing? People are watching. Stop being dramatic.”

 

Jungkook’s face didn’t change, but Taehyung noticed it—his jaw tightening, the faintest flinch near his eyes.

 

“I’m not being dramatic, Father,” Jungkook said quietly. “I’m being honest. Something you all never let me be.”

 

“I’m gay.”

 

Taehyung’s heart lurched.

 

He blinked up at Jungkook, startled. Was that the truth? Or just part of this fake show? Something in his chest twisted sharply. The grip Jungkook had on his hand hadn’t loosened—it was trembling slightly now, the pressure uneven, as though he wasn’t even aware of it.

 

“Stop this nonsense, Jungkook,” his mother’s voice whispered. Polished and brittle. “You’re going to be engaged to Mi Young. You can’t keep embarrassing us like this.”

 

Jungkook gave a breathy, bitter chuckle. “How many times do I need to say it? You knew. You always knew I never liked girls. Not even a little.”

 

Then suddenly, Jungkook’s arm slid around Taehyung’s waist and pulled him closer. The move was abrupt, sudden, grounding.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat.

 

“He’s the only one I want.”

 

His voice didn’t waver, but Taehyung could feel it now—the storm inside him. The way Jungkook’s fingers were clenched slightly too tight, how his posture was straight like steel but his breath just a fraction too quick.

 

The shame in the room wasn’t subtle. It slithered through the silence like smoke—unspoken, but loud. Everyone looked. No one smiled.

 

His father stepped forward, jaw locked, voice like iron. “We did not raise you to shame this family, Jungkook.”

 

Jungkook didn’t even flinch. “You stopped considering me part of this family the moment you found out who I was.”

 

And that… that did something to Taehyung. A quiet ache bloomed in his chest, foreign and heavy. He hadn’t known Jungkook long, not really, but in that moment—he saw it. The child in him, standing alone at a table full of names and expectations, saying nothing. Enduring everything.

 

Mi Young’s voice cut through. Sharp. Enraged.

 

“All of this… because of him? Him? That’s why you’re rejecting me? Why is he even hiding his face? Let us see what you’re so proud of.”

 

Jungkook’s head snapped toward her. “He’s not hiding. He’s protected. Because people like you don’t deserve to look at him.”

 

Taehyung froze. His eyes widened slightly, breath hitching again.

 

The grip Jungkook had on his hand tightened just enough to ground him—reassuring, but restless.

 

“Don't send her.” Jungkook muttered. " I just came here to tell you this. ”

 

And with that, he tugged Taehyung with him, not once looking back as they pushed through the whispers and out of the hall.

 

The doors slammed behind them.

 

Outside, under the quieting evening sky, the air finally shifted.

 

Taehyung’s heart was still racing—rattling in his chest like it didn’t know where to go. He hadn’t said a word. Not since the moment Jungkook called him “baby.” Not since he held his waist like he was something real.

 

They got into the car. Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, loosened his tie with a jerk, and sat back, eyes staring blankly at the windshield.

 

Taehyung removed his mask, swallowing the dryness in his throat.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

 

No response.

 

Taehyung glanced at him. Jungkook’s jaw was tight, his eyes unmoving.

 

He didn’t push. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of candy, and held it out without a word.

 

Jungkook looked at him.

 

It helps,” Taehyung said gently.

 

Their eyes met for a long moment—tired gaze into concerned one. And for the moment, Taehyung saw something in those eyes looking for something in him. Disgust? Shame? 

 

Jungkook finally took it and placed it in his mouth, his eyes briefly closing.

 

He started the engine. The hum of the car filled the silence between them.

 

And Taehyung didn’t ask anything more.

 

He didn’t ask if the words were true. He didn’t ask why it felt like Jungkook had actually meant them. He didn’t ask why his own heart felt like it was floating and falling at the same time.

 

Because truthfully… he wasn’t ready for the answers.

 

And maybe… neither was Jungkook.

 

They drove in silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. It sat between them, quiet and warm, like a secret being kept gently in the space where no one else could reach.

 

---

 

Taehyung looked outside the car window as the vehicle came to a halt near the Cheonggyecheon stream. The city noise had faded somewhere behind them, swallowed by the hush of golden hour.

 

Jungkook didn’t say much. He simply unbuckled his seatbelt and muttered, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

 

Then he stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

 

Taehyung watched him go, watched the soft curve of his back as he walked toward the water, hands buried in his pockets like he was holding himself together.

 

He sat there for a few seconds, the silence inside the car pressing a little too tightly against his ribs. Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and followed.

 

The air outside was cooler. The sky, orange and bruised with the setting sun, hung low above the rippling stream. Taehyung caught sight of Jungkook standing near the edge, motionless, like a statue carved from tension and bone.

 

He walked up beside him, but didn’t get too close.

 

“You could’ve asked me to join,” he said softly, his voice trying to balance somewhere between teasing and careful. “It was getting suffocating in the car.”

 

Jungkook turned his head slightly, gaze flicking to him. And for a moment, Taehyung forgot how to breathe.

 

Because this wasn’t the Jungkook he was used to—aloof and composed. There was something frayed in his expression. Something that looked like it had been held in for too long and now didn’t know where to go.

 

Taehyung quickly looked away, blinking.

 

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good at this part—the aftermath, the quiet weight of feelings no one wanted to name. He felt the nerves crawl up his spine and coil around his throat.

 

The silence stretched. Jungkook said nothing.

 

Anxious, Taehyung kicked the sand at his feet, watching grains scatter like excuses. And then—impulse. A ridiculous, borderline dumb idea entered his mind, and before his brain could talk his body out of it, he was already moving.

 

He stepped closer to the edge, slipping off his shoes and placing them neatly to the side. The water came in little waves, brushing against the rocks and pulling back like breath.

 

He crouched and dipped his hand in, the cold surprising him. But it felt real. Grounding.

 

He peeked up at Jungkook, lips twitching.

 

Jungkook frowned immediately. “Don’t.”

 

But it was too late.

 

Taehyung flung a handful of water, a soft splash that hit Jungkook right across his face.

 

He straightened quickly, giggling as he took a step back—laugh small and nervous but warm.

 

And then froze.

 

Jungkook was just staring at him, water dripping from his chin, deadpan expression unreadable.

 

Taehyung’s heart dropped into his stomach.

 

Did I… cross a line?

 

The ripples echoed between them. Taehyung stood awkwardly, still barefoot, still watching him. Waiting.

 

Taehyung blinked in confusion when he saw Jungkook removing his shoes. And then, without a word, Jungkook began sliding off his blazer—folding it casually over a boulder nearby.

 

This was a cue.

 

Taehyung’s instincts kicked in. He took a cautious step back, suddenly unsure of what chaos was about to be unleashed.

 

“I’ll throw you in the river, just wait,” Jungkook said, low and teasing—too calm to be trusted.

 

Taehyung gasped and bolted before the threat could become real.

 

"Yah! You're insane!" he laughed over his shoulder as his feet pounded against the soft sand.

 

The sun was setting behind them, casting golden shadows over the stream. Their hair danced in the wind, laughter breaking the stillness of the air. The warmth of the moment wrapped around Taehyung’s heart like it belonged there.

 

He glanced back and stuck out his tongue at Jungkook, giggling like a child drunk on sugar and adrenaline.

 

Jungkook’s lips twitched in amusement.

 

And then—he caught him.

 

Strong arms wrapped around Taehyung from behind, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His feet dangled in the air as he shrieked between uncontrollable giggles.

 

“Stop! Jungkook!” he choked out through breathless laughter.

 

“Oh, now you want me to stop?” Jungkook’s voice was dangerously close to his ear, low and thick with something that wasn’t quite laughter. A chill ran down Taehyung’s spine that had nothing to do with the breeze.

 

“Look—I’m sorry, okay? Don’t throw me in. It’s cold!”

 

Jungkook didn’t reply, just shifted him into a bridal carry like he weighed nothing. His grip steady, secure. Intimate.

 

Taehyung blinked up at him, arms curled around Jungkook’s neck by reflex. Their faces were close. Too close.

 

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook said, lips twitching into a smirk. “I’ll wrap you in a blanket after.”

 

Taehyung pouted, wide-eyed. “You can’t do this to your savior! I helped you today!”

 

Jungkook didn’t laugh—but the corner of his mouth softened. He stared at Taehyung for a moment longer, then slowly bent to lower him onto the ground.

 

But he didn’t let go.

 

Taehyung landed gently, but Jungkook’s hand stayed. One arm still loosely circling his waist. Taehyung’s own hands rested on Jungkook’s chest—halfway between protest and surrender.

 

And then, something shifted in the air.

 

The laughter faded. Only the sound of wind brushing past the stream, water lapping gently at the shore.

 

Taehyung swallowed. His gaze flicked up to meet Jungkook’s, and time slowed.

 

There was something different there now. Heavy. Quiet. Intent.

 

Jungkook didn’t move, but his gaze dropped. From Taehyung’s eyes to his lips.

 

Taehyung froze.

 

And then—just as quickly—Jungkook blinked, seemed to snap out of it, and stepped back.

 

His hand fell from Taehyung’s waist like it had burned him.

 

“We should leave,” he said, voice unreadable. Controlled. A little too even.

 

Taehyung didn’t speak. He just stood there for a beat too long, heartbeat rattling in his chest like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

 

The ride back was silent.

 

Taehyung stared out the window, hands gripping the edges of his seat. He kept reliving it—the closeness, the look, the sudden withdrawal. His fingers trembled slightly on his lap, like they remembered the weight of Jungkook’s touch.

 

No words passed between them. And somehow, the silence was louder than conversation.

 

When the car finally stopped outside his apartment, he reached for the door handle, half-expecting nothing more.

 

But Jungkook’s voice broke through, soft but certain.

 

“…Thank you. For today.”

 

Taehyung froze.

 

He turned slightly to look at Jungkook, who was still in the driver’s seat, eyes on the road ahead.

 

And for some reason, those words—so small, so genuine—felt heavier than anything else that day.

 

Taehyung nodded once, lips parting to say something… anything… but no words came.

 

He opened the door, stepped out, and paused one last time before closing it.

 

Jungkook was watching him now, eyes shadowed by something he couldn’t name.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard, then quietly shut the door.

 

He walked into his apartment and stood in the hallway, unmoving.

 

His breath came out shaky.

 

He touched his waist, the spot where Jungkook’s hand had lingered.

 

That wasn’t just a joke. That wasn’t just a game.

 

And Taehyung is afraid now. 

 

 

Chapter 9: And yet, you said nothing

Notes:

Song Recommendations:

Labyrinth - Taylor Swift

Hate you - Jungkook

---

 

 Oh no, I am falling in love. 

 

---

 

Flashback:

 

The corridors were flooded with soft golden light, afternoon sun spilling lazily through the long windows of the university’s east wing. The walls hummed with student chatter, paper shuffles, and echoing footsteps. And somewhere in that glowing maze of classrooms and open doors—

 

"Jiminie hyung!"

 

The voice was unmistakable—light, breathless, a little dramatic.

 

Jimin paused mid-step, turning just in time to see a fluffy-haired boy sprinting toward him, a wild mix of oversized cardigan, tangled brown locks, and the unmissable pout.

 

Taehyung skidded to a stop in front of him, hands on his knees, catching his breath. His backpack was slipping off one shoulder, and his cheeks were flushed pink with the run.

 

Jimin chuckled softly, ruffling his hair. “Yah, you’re gonna trip and break that cute nose of yours one day.”

 

Taehyung beamed. “It’s insured. I came to see you.”

 

Jimin raised a brow. “Me? Why?”

 

Taehyung straightened up, eyes shining. “It’s my first semester, and I still don’t have any real friends. Except you.”

 

There was no trace of bitterness in his voice—just innocent honesty, like it was simply a fact of the day.

 

Jimin smiled, fond. “You can come to me whenever you want, Taetae. You don’t need to ask.”

 

“I know,” Taehyung said, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “But actually... I came to ask you something.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I have a small performance in two days. The seniors picked me to sing, and... I want to sing something original. But I suck at writing lyrics.” He said it like a confession, whispering dramatically. “Hyung, please save me.”

 

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “You really are something.”

 

“So will you help me?”

 

“I’ll try my best,” Jimin said. “If I can’t, I’ll find someone who can.”

 

Taehyung flashed him a boxy smile and gave him a two-fingered salute. “You’re the best. I gotta run—class is starting!”

 

And just like that, he turned and darted down the hall, long limbs and messy hair bouncing as he disappeared around the corner.

 

Jimin watched him leave, amused.

 

Then a quiet presence stepped beside him.

 

“Damn, Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin muttered, slightly startled. “At least make a sound when you walk.”

 

The man didn’t reply. He stood with his hands in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed in the direction Taehyung had run. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a flicker of something caught between interest and contemplation.

 

Jimin followed his gaze.

 

“Who was that?” Jungkook finally asked.

 

“Junior from our department,” Jimin replied. “Kim Taehyung.”

 

Jungkook nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t waver. It lingered, tracing back over the space where Taehyung had just been, like he was still trying to process something.

 

Then, after a pause, Jimin’s tone changed—casual, but a little too calculated. “Hey... Jungkook.”

 

He didn’t respond immediately.

 

“Can you write song lyrics?”

 

Jungkook glanced at him. “Why?”

 

“Taehyung—the junior you just saw—he needs lyrics for the performance. Thought you might be interested.”

 

Jungkook was silent again. Not indifferent, but thoughtful. His jaw tensed slightly.

 

Jimin nudged him. “Come on. You’ve got notebooks full of verses you never use. Might as well give someone a reason to sing them.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Jungkook said simply, his voice unreadable.

 

But even as he turned to walk away, his head dipped ever so slightly—one last glance in the direction Taehyung had gone.

 

Taehyung sat alone in the corner booth of the campus café, a soft hum of espresso machines and low chatter filling the air. His phone rested on the table, screen glowing faintly while he absentmindedly scrolled, half-biting into his sandwich.

 

He had been waiting for Jimin for the past fifteen minutes, tapping his foot lightly to the rhythm of the indie track playing overhead. Just as he reached for his drink, a text popped up:

 

Jimin:

Taehyung, I gave your number to my friend. He’ll help you with the lyrics.

 

Taehyung smiled, his heart a little lighter.

 

Taehyung:

I knew you'd come through, Jiminie.

 

He returned to his food, chewing slowly while eyeing his phone now and then. A few minutes passed, then—

 

 

Unknown no:

What kind of song do you want?

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

No hello. No name. No punctuation. Just straight to business.

 

Taehyung: 

Hi, I’m Taehyung. :) 

 

A pause. Then the reply came. 

 

Unknown no:

This is not an answer to my question.

 

Taehyung frowned, his brow twitching.

 

Taehyung:

You're a bit... direct, huh?

 

No response to that.

 

He sighed.

 

Taehyung:

Any soft love song. 

 

Almost instantly:

 

Unknown no:

Do you got a girlfriend?

 

Taehyung blinked.

 

Taehyung:

What does that have to do with lyrics?

 

Unknown no:

It has. I don’t write for people who are committed.

 

Taehyung just stared at the screen for a few seconds.

 

What the hell?

 

Who is this guy? A lyricist or a therapist?

 

Taehyung: 

Well, good news for you. I don’t have a girlfriend.

Now can we focus on the actual lyrics? Please?

 

 

 Unknown no:

Got it.

 

Short. Cold. To the point.

 

Taehyung set his phone down slowly, chewing the last bite of his sandwich, eyes narrowing slightly.

 

Weirdest conversation of the week... and the week had just started.

 

He slung his bag over his shoulder, left a tip on the table, and made his way to class—still wondering who the hell this no-nonsense mystery writer was. 

 

---

 

Present Time 

 

Taehyung stared at his email for the fourth time.

 

Read.

 

Re-read.

 

Edited a word.

 

Then stared again.

 

And finally… sent.

 

It felt like pushing a boulder off a cliff — only to realize it had been tied to his ankle.

 

He leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. His gaze landed on the black screen in front of him. Off. Just like everything else lately. Like the way Jungkook had been avoiding him for the past week. Not completely, not obviously, but enough that Taehyung could feel the distance settle like fog between them.

 

He rubbed his forehead, fingers lingering at his temple.

 

It wasn’t like they were dating. They weren’t even close enough to be called friends by most standards. But still, whatever they were… this coldness wasn’t it.

 

After that day — the event, the confrontation, the cap, the hands, the silence in the car — something had shifted.

 

Taehyung had seen a side of Jungkook that afternoon he hadn’t expected: vulnerable, raw, and openly hurting. He had held it for a moment — just briefly — before Jungkook had slammed the door shut again.

 

And now, it was as if that door was locked from the inside.

 

“Maybe he didn’t like me seeing that version of him,” Taehyung mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on the reflection in his dark screen. “Maybe now that the engagement is off… he just doesn’t need me anymore?”

 

His thoughts were cut short when someone knocked lightly on the side of his cubicle.

 

“Taehyung?” one of the junior staff peeked in. “The event manager’s here.”

 

Taehyung blinked, straightened. “I’ll be right there.”

 

He stood and walked off, expression smoothing into something neutral. The launch was tomorrow — a huge day for the company — and everything had to run like clockwork. No time for spiraling.

 

But it still followed him. Like a weight around his ankles.

 

Half an hour later, Taehyung returned to his desk, shoulders stiff and mind fried. He dropped into his chair like a lifeless sock and tilted his head back with a groan. He closed his eyes. Just a second. Just—

 

He opened one eye.

 

12:42 PM.

 

Lunch break.

 

Everyone had started filtering toward the cafeteria. Jimin had gone to the labs to finalize specs with the production team. The office was quieter now, buzzing low with printers and the occasional chair scraping.

 

Taehyung’s eyes drifted to Jungkook’s office.

 

He hadn’t left all morning.

 

No coffee. No lunch. No sign of movement.

 

And still, Taehyung felt the itch in his chest. That irrational pull. The need to try.

 

Maybe he was stupid. Maybe he was clinging.

 

But he stood anyway.

 

Five minutes later, he reappeared at Jungkook’s door with a coffee in one hand and a wrapped sandwich in the other. He entered quietly and placed them on Jungkook’s desk, neatly, in line with his pens.

 

Jungkook didn’t look up.

 

Didn’t say a word.

 

Taehyung hovered for a moment, then cleared his throat gently.

 

“I figured you’d need something,” he said, voice soft.

 

Silence.

 

And then, just when Taehyung thought maybe Jungkook wouldn’t speak at all—

 

“It’s over now. You don’t have to pretend.”

 

The words hit colder than the office air conditioning.

 

Taehyung blinked, feeling a hollow bloom in his chest.

 

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady.

 

Jungkook finally looked up, eyes sharp and unreadable.

 

“But we have to pretend. Isn’t that the deal?” His tone wasn’t angry — it was worse. It was distant.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught.

 

He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Words caught on the lump forming in his throat.

 

Jungkook’s eyes went back to his files.

 

Dismissed.

 

Taehyung stood there a second longer, his gaze dropping to the untouched coffee.

 

Fine.

 

He reached over, snatched the cup off the desk with the snack, unnecessary flourish. “I’ll drink it myself, then,” he muttered.

 

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up, brow lifting slightly in amusement — like he hadn’t expected Taehyung to have the nerve.

 

Taehyung raised his chin a little, defiant, and turned on his heel with the coffee in hand.

 

“And for the record,” he called over his shoulder, “this coffee cost me exactly six minutes in line, twenty-five seconds of arguing with the barista, and my last nerve. So… enjoy imagining that while you read your very important files.”

 

He didn’t look back.

 

And Jungkook didn’t stop him.

 

But when the door clicked shut behind him, Jungkook’s eyes lingered on the empty space where Taehyung had stood.

 

---

 

“All the guests are checked,” Eun Bi sighed, slumping into the nearest chair beside Taehyung.

 

Taehyung barely responded, his eyes fixed blankly on the table in front of him. His fingers toyed with the pen in his hand, but his mind was far from here — lost somewhere in the liminal space between memory and longing.

 

Jungkook.

 

Again.

 

How easily he slipped back into that cold mask — like nothing had happened between them. Like the stolen moments, the held gazes, the silent rides home, none of it had ever existed. Just two professionals, strictly back to business.

 

And it hurt.

 

God, it always hurt.

 

He hated the way Jungkook could erase him like that. As if their closeness was something disposable. As if Taehyung hadn’t stayed up at night wondering what any of it meant. If it meant anything at all.

 

“Why am I being sulky?” he muttered to himself, chucking the pen onto the table.

 

Eun Bi flinched at the sudden sound. “What the—? Are you okay?”

 

Taehyung blinked, realizing what he’d just done. He stood abruptly, brushing off the question. “Nothing. Don’t sit here — the event’s about to start. Go make yourself useful.”

 

He didn’t wait for her response. His long strides carried him to the side of the stage, where he busied himself checking cables, mic levels, and screen alignment. The auditorium was beginning to fill now, murmurs rising like smoke from velveted chairs.

 

And with everything nearly ready, only one task remained.

 

Check on Jeon Jungkook.

 

Taehyung's feet dragged a little slower toward that door. The one with the bold letters.

 

JEON JUNGKOOK

He stared at it for a second too long. A deep, annoyed breath left his lips.

 

“I helped you. I got worried for you. And you—ugh. The audacity to gaslight me and then act like I’m the one imagining things.”

 

He raised a hand toward the door, nearly punching the nameplate, but before he could make contact—

 

Click.

 

The door opened.

 

Jungkook stood there, hair perfectly in place, dark suit sharp, eyes unreadable.

 

Taehyung stumbled back, startled. His hands flailed for balance and, in a wild reflex, he grabbed the nearest thing—

 

Jungkook’s tie.

 

Which, in turn, made Jungkook stumble toward him, their chests colliding slightly as Jungkook caught him by the waist to steady them both.

 

The world stilled.

 

Taehyung sucked in a sharp breath.

 

This was every cliché drama scene. Too close. Too fast. Too much.

 

Jungkook’s hand on his waist, Taehyung’s hand still gripping the fabric of his tie, their faces inches apart — both wide-eyed and breathless.

 

Taehyung bit his lip, released the tie, and awkwardly patted the area of Jungkook’s chest he’d wrinkled. “It… it didn’t crease,” he muttered.

 

Jungkook’s eyes twitched. “You’re getting on my nerves now.”

 

Taehyung scoffed, stepping back. “Nerves, right. You should get yours straight. The event’s starting, Mr. Jeon.”

 

He said, shoulders stiff.

 

Jungkook adjusted his blazer wordlessly and walked ahead, the quiet between them weighted — not peaceful, but tense, like a string stretched too tight.

 

Taehyung couldn’t take it anymore. He wordless fight with him to say or not but then he said it anways.

 

“I hate it when you act like that same, devil” he muttered.

 

Jungkook stopped in his tracks.

 

Taehyung did too, almost bumping into him.

 

Jungkook turned slowly, his gaze locking with Taehyung’s, sharp as glass and just as fragile underneath.

 

“When I act?”

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened. He looked up defiantly, heart pounding.

 

“Yeah. Act. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

 

Jungkook's expression didn’t shift much, but something in his eyes flickered. “Well not only when I act, You’ve always hated me,” he said, low and almost emotionless.

 

“Good that you know,” Taehyung snapped. “And don’t act like you didn’t hate me first. You’ve hated me from the day we met. I saw it on your face.”

 

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The tension in his frame was unmistakable, like he was holding himself back from saying something more, something sharp.

 

But instead, he straightened his spine, eyes going cold again.

 

“Glad you notice details. It’s good for your job.”

 

Then he turned and walked away, as if the conversation hadn’t just carved open something raw between them.

 

Taehyung stood still, chest rising and falling rapidly, his fists curling at his sides.

 

Back to square one.

 

Same old Jungkook.

 

Same ache.

 

But this time… this time, they weren’t avoiding it. This time, they were fighting. Speaking. Hurting each other in real time — not in silence.

 

And somehow, that was worse.

 

 

 

The event went off without a hitch.

 

Taehyung stood beside Jungkook during the presentation, close enough to catch the edges of his cologne but far enough to remind himself that whatever this was — had always remained undefined.

 

Jungkook spoke eloquently. Calm, confident, CEO-mode activated. 

 

Guests milled around after, examining the product displays and whispering approvingly. Jimin looked relaxed for once, even smiling as he chatted with Yoongi by the refreshments. Taehyung didn’t ask — he figured Jimin would share when he was ready.

 

His own head throbbed faintly. Fatigue? Or something heavier he couldn’t name. And yet, the night wasn’t over.

 

There was still the staff afterparty.

 

Taehyung stayed back to help with final wrap-up, organizing the crew and checking tech dismantles, until a familiar voice called his name.

 

“Taehyung…”

 

He turned to see Jimin walking toward him, brows furrowed with concern.

 

“You okay?” Jimin asked, scanning his face. “You look like someone just stepped on your soul.”

 

Taehyung forced a laugh. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

 

Jimin gave him a look but didn’t press. “You want me to drop you home?”

 

“Nah.” Taehyung shook his head. “Not every day we get free booze and loud regrets. I’m coming.”

 

Jimin grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Then let’s go together.”

 

They left the venue, stepping into the humid night. Taehyung glanced around, eyes instinctively searching for a certain black car… but Jungkook had either already left or hadn’t planned to join at all.

 

---

 

 

The club was loud — bursting with bodies, sweat, and neon. Music throbbed through the floor. Staff and guests had already turned loose: some dancing, some slumped on couches, others laughing far too loud.

 

Jimin led him straight to the bar, where they found a quieter edge and settled on two stools.

 

“Light drinks,” Jimin told the bartender, raising two fingers.

 

Soon, two glasses were slid across the counter.

 

Taehyung sipped quietly, letting the burn settle in his throat, when Jimin leaned in a little.

 

“I… wanted to tell you something,” he said.

 

Taehyung looked up, blinking. “Yeah?”

 

“I’m dating someone.”

 

Taehyung's eyes widened.

 

“Who?”

 

“…Yoongi.”

 

Taehyung stared at him for a beat. So that’s what was happening between them.

 

“Is he good to you?” he asked softly.

 

Jimin smiled, gaze fond. “He is. He’s… too good for me sometimes. I broke his heart more than once. When he confessed, I panicked. Next day, I brought a girlfriend to show him I didn’t care.”

 

Jimin paused, lips tightening as if the memory still stung. “He didn’t get angry. Just… waited. Patient. Quiet. Always there.”

 

Taehyung reached over, wrapping his arms around his friend in a warm hug. “I’m happy for you, Hyung. I hope he makes you laugh more than you cry.”

 

A voice came from behind. “I will.”

 

Taehyung turned to see Yoongi standing there, hands in pockets, gaze calm.

 

He didn’t know him well — their interactions limited to brief project overlaps — but in this moment, something about his presence felt grounded. Steady.

 

Yoongi stepped closer, placing a casual hand around Jimin’s waist.

 

“He’s precious to me,” he said, meeting Taehyung’s gaze directly. “I’ll take care of your friend.”

 

Taehyung smiled, a small twitch of warmth pulling at his chest.

 

“Can I steal him now?” Yoongi asked, tone soft but teasing.

 

Taehyung blinked, then threw both hands in the air dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Just don’t bring him back broken.”

 

Jimin laughed and ruffled Taehyung’s hair affectionately before letting Yoongi lead him into the crowd — Yoongi’s hand never leaving his waist.

 

Taehyung watched them go.

 

And something inside him… ached.

 

Not jealousy. But… something like longing.

 

He touched his own waist lightly, where another hand had once rested just days ago. Warm. Protective. Confusing.

 

He reached for his drink again, sipping deeper this time. The music behind him blared louder, like it was trying to drown something out.

 

But it didn’t.

 

Because no matter how crowded the room was, no matter how many laughs echoed off the walls —

 

Taehyung felt alone.

 

“Hell. Pathetic life I have,” Taehyung muttered, slouched against the edge of the bar, his glass tilting in his hand.

 

His eyes roamed the room, blurry from alcohol and too much thinking. All around him, laughter echoed, couples leaning into each other — hands brushing, heads on shoulders, fingers intertwined.

 

Everyone looked like they belonged somewhere.

Everyone… except him.

 

He scoffed. Bitter.

 

His gaze flickered across the club — then stopped.

 

There. On the velvet lounge couch.

 

Jeon Jungkook.

 

Seated like he owned the place. Back leaned, expression unreadable, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

 

And right beside him — a woman. Dressed in something glittery, her fingers on Jungkook’s thigh.

Comfortable. Laughing.

 

Taehyung’s chest clenched at the sight, breath stalling mid-air.

 

Didn’t he say he didn’t like girls?

Liar.

 

He stared harder. Trying to find a flicker of discomfort, a trace of rejection on Jungkook’s face.

 

But Jungkook wasn’t even pushing her hand away. He just… sipped his drink.

 

Taehyung scoffed. Looked away. But something twisted sharp in his chest.

 

He felt stupid. Burning. Cold.

 

Then he looked back again — and this time, Jungkook was looking at him.

 

Well now the girl's hand is not there. 

 

Eyes met.

Heavy.

Sharp.

 

Taehyung blinked — then narrowed his eyes in a sloppy glare. His throat burned as he set his glass down too hard and walked off.

 

He staggered into the restroom, vision slightly spinning.

 

He wasn’t sure how many drinks he’d had. Just enough to make his limbs heavy and thoughts louder.

 

Taehyung reached the basin, twisting the tap with effort, and splashed water on his face again and again — trying to chase away the tightness in his chest.

 

He didn’t hear the door. Didn’t hear the footsteps.

 

Only felt it — a palm against his back.

 

Wrong.

It felt wrong.

 

He froze, then immediately turned and shoved the man behind him.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung snapped, slurring slightly, but his voice still firm. Angry.

 

The stranger held his hands up lazily. “Relax. I didn’t do anything.”

 

“You—” Taehyung tried to steady himself, blinking. “You just touched me.”

 

The man took a slow step forward. “Here?”

His hand slapped against Taehyung’s butt.

 

Taehyung’s body stiffened. Something snapped.

 

Fury clouded his drunken mind, and he swung a punch at the man’s face. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough.

 

The guy stumbled back, cursing.

 

“Try that again and I’ll break your damn teeth,” Taehyung hissed, stumbling slightly as he stepped back toward the door.

 

But before he could escape, the man grabbed his arm tightly, yanking him back.

 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going after punching me, pretty boy?”

 

“Let—let me go!” Taehyung struggled, his feet unsteady. He tried to yank free, but the man twisted his arm behind his back harshly.

 

Taehyung yelped, kicking out with instinct.

 

The man fell, but not for long. His rage multiplied, and before Taehyung could regain balance, the man punched him square in the face.

 

Taehyung collapsed to the ground with a groan, the taste of blood and alcohol mixing in his mouth.

 

The world tilted.

 

His breath caught. Limbs weak. The man stepped toward him again, but the door creaked open and someone entered.

 

The stranger froze.

 

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out — vanishing like a rat into the crowd.

 

Taehyung lay there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. His cheek throbbed. Lip split.

 

He forced himself up, swaying slightly, and caught his reflection in the mirror. Blood on his mouth. Red forming on his cheekbone.

 

He stared.

 

His eyes dulled. Face a mess.

 

With trembling hands, he dabbed at his mouth with tissues from the counter.

 

“Today’s just full of bad luck, huh?” he muttered, voice thick.

 

A bitter smile tugged at his lips — a pathetic attempt to pretend the ache didn’t reach deeper than just skin.

 

Taehyung opened the restroom door, just wanting to disappear. The dull ache in his cheek, the throb in his lip, and the sting in his chest were too much to carry.

 

But fate had other plans.

 

Standing right outside, backlit by neon signs and the flicker of club lights — was Jeon Jungkook.

 

His tall frame blocked the way, and his eyes immediately searched Taehyung’s face. The flicker of confusion turned quickly into something sharper — alarm, maybe. His brows furrowed, a crease forming between them.

 

Taehyung dropped his gaze, unwilling to meet that stare. He didn’t have the strength. Not tonight. Not after everything.

 

He stepped forward to walk past him.

 

But Jungkook’s hand shot out, catching his arm.

 

Taehyung yelped, flinching in pain, his bruised body sensitive to even the smallest touch.

 

Jungkook’s frown deepened.

“What the hell happened to you?”

 

Taehyung jerked his arm free, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. Without another word, he grabbed Taehyung’s wrist again — more firmly this time — and dragged him toward the exit.

 

Taehyung struggled. “Let go of me!”

 

But Jungkook didn’t stop until they were outside, the buzz of music now muffled, the parking lot dim under overhead lights.

 

As soon as Jungkook’s grip loosened, Taehyung ripped his arm back.

 

“Don’t touch me. Ever,” he spat, his voice trembling from pain and fury.

 

Jungkook blinked. “What did you say?”

 

“I said,” Taehyung took a shaky breath, “don’t touch me.”

 

A muscle ticked in Jungkook’s jaw. “And why not?”

 

Taehyung scoffed bitterly. “Why should you? You just do whatever you want. Act like I’m nothing one day and then—”

 

Before he could finish, Jungkook stepped forward and pressed him against the side of the car, not roughly — but enough to make Taehyung gasp.

 

“You think I’m the one playing?” Jungkook’s voice was low, angry, but not loud. “You really think I’m the one who throws people away like they don’t matter?”

 

Taehyung's eyes burned. He pushed Jungkook’s chest with both hands.

 

“When did I play with you?” he snapped, voice cracking. “You’re the one who used me — dragged me in front of your entire family, turned me into your shield just so you could cancel your precious engagement—”

 

He sucked in a breath, but his voice broke.

 

“—and then threw me away like I meant nothing.”

 

Tears streamed down his cheeks before he could stop them. He hated crying. Especially in front of Jungkook.

 

Jungkook’s face twisted. “Why are you crying....?” His voice softened, barely above a whisper.

 

Taehyung shoved him again. “Because of you!”

 

He took a step back, chest heaving. “Go back inside. Go find that girl again. Let her touch you however she wants. You lied. Said you didn’t like girls — all lies.”

 

Jungkook stepped forward, grabbing Taehyung’s wrist again.

“I wasn’t with her. I don’t like her. I don’t like anybody, damn it—why can’t you just understand me?”

 

“I don’t want to understand you!” Taehyung shouted, pulling his arm free.

 

“Right. You never did,” Jungkook muttered, fists clenched. “Not once.”

 

And then, just like that, silence fell.

 

Taehyung stood frozen, staring at him. Breath uneven. Eyes swollen from tears.

 

Jungkook’s words—always vague, always like riddles—dug deep like splinters. And still, Taehyung couldn't reach the truth behind them. He never could.

 

They stood like that—still, under streetlights, in the heavy silence of a thousand things unsaid.

 

And then—

 

“Taehyung!” Jimin’s voice called from across the lot. “Want a ride?”

 

Taehyung turned slightly, lips parted.

 

Jungkook didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at him again.

 

He just opened his car, slid inside, and drove off.

 

No glance back.

 

Taehyung stood frozen, fingers limp by his side. His heart thundered beneath his ribs like it wanted out.

 

He blinked away the leftover tears, wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, and walked slowly toward Jimin’s car.

 

No words. No answers.

 

Just ache.

 

 

 

Chapter 10: Thread

Notes:

Song Recommendation:

We Hug now - Sydny Rose

---

Sometimes I go to sleep

And I'm still 17

You still live down my street

You're not mad at me

- We hug now

---

 

Flashback:

 

Taehyung sat at the piano, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tapping his fingers lightly against the keys—not playing, just thinking. A few scattered pages rested on the stand, incomplete.

 

He glanced at the empty spot beside them and frowned.

 

"He said he’d dr op it off twenty minutes ago," he mumbled to himself.

 

The door creaked open.

 

Taehyung turned slightly, expecting someone else.

 

But there stood a boy—black hoodie, expression unreadable, hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. In his hand was a single page.

 

He didn’t speak. He walked toward the piano and placed the lyric sheet down, aligning it precisely with the others.

 

Their eyes met.

 

Taehyung blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in the other’s gaze—not harsh, not soft either, just... still.

 

“You’re Jungkook?” Taehyung asked.

 

Jungkook gave a short nod.

 

No smile. No greeting.

 

He turned to leave.

 

Taehyung scoffed under his breath. “Rude.”

 

The door had almost closed behind Jungkook... but for half a second, he paused—just slightly—hand resting on the frame. His head tilted the faintest bit, like he’d heard it. But he didn’t turn.

 

Then he walked out.

 

Taehyung stared after him, lips pressing into a thin line.

 

“What’s his deal?” he muttered.

 

But he glanced at the newly placed lyrics, neat handwriting, corners uncreased. Someone had carried them carefully. Folded once. Then unfolded before arriving.

 

 

🎵 “When I First Saw You” 🎵

When I first saw you, the world went still,
Like time held its breath against its will.
A stranger's face, yet something known,
Like echoes of a heart I used to own.

 

No words were said, but something stirred,
A silent song I somehow heard.

 

I didn’t know your name, but I knew your light,
Like stars that burn into the night.
A thousand days couldn’t feel this true,
But it only took a glance... to fall for you.

 

The crowd around, but I saw just one,
A quiet spark beneath the sun.
Eyes that held a secret flame,
And suddenly, I wasn’t the same.

 

Taehyung swallows. Something in the lyrics lingers, a strange kind of pull. He looks up at the now-empty doorway.

 

Taehyung softly, to himself
“Rude guy writes love songs, huh?”

 

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t notice the small smile tugging at his lips.

 

And then… a small smile bloomed. Gentle. Unaware. The kind of smile that slips out when no one’s watching.

 

Except someone was.

 

Outside the glass window, Jungkook stood half-shadowed by the corridor wall. His eyes caught that smile—briefly.

 

His gaze flickered, unreadable.

 

Then, without a sound, he turned and walked away.

 

 

 

 

 

---

Present:

 

 

Taehyung was absolutely hating it now — hating himself for even trying to make a move on Jungkook. It was entirely his fault, and now the sting was settling deep into his chest. He should’ve known from the start — known that the man was emotionally absent, unreadable, cold in the most frustrating of ways.

 

He still remembered the day he joined the company — how Jungkook had looked right through him as if they’d never known each other, like they hadn’t spent a year breathing the same campus air. Two years had passed, and Jungkook had forgotten he ever existed.

 

And now, in just two months, too much had happened. He had seen cracks in Jungkook’s walls — flashes of emotion, the softness of something that might’ve meant more. But whatever fragile thread was there, it had snapped. And Taehyung didn’t know why he allowed himself to reach for it again, when he knew Jungkook was the kind of man who would never reach back.

 

Jimin had dropped him at his apartment. His hyung had asked about the bruising on his face, concern evident. Taehyung had brushed it off, mumbling something about bumping into a wall under alcohol’s influence. Jimin hadn’t believed him — he could see it — but Taehyung insisted he was fine. Just tired. Just needed rest.

 

Once inside, he let the door click shut behind him and slumped onto the couch, pressing his palms to his temples. His head throbbed relentlessly. His chest ached in that quiet way it always did when the disappointment settled in too deep. His throat tightened, the sting rising in the back of his eyes.

 

Today had been hell. That man at the club — the fear — the humiliation — it was still crawling on his skin. He hadn’t even had a chance to process it properly. And Jungkook… God, Jungkook. His stupid, stubborn heart. If only he didn’t have that much pride, if only Jungkook wasn’t so emotionally constipated, he would’ve asked for a hug. Just one hug. Just something. But he wasn’t the kind to beg. And Jungkook wasn’t the kind to offer.

 

And now here they were— once again, on opposite sides of a silent storm. Jungkook had left without a backward glance.

 

The apartment was too quiet. The air too still. He was still shivering — the aftermath of the club incident clinging to his nerves. He probably should’ve let Jimin stay. But now he was alone, and everything suddenly felt terrifying.

 

He was sitting there, curled on the couch, when the doorbell rang.

 

He flinched.

 

His heart kicked in his chest. Who could be at the door at this hour?

 

He stood slowly, carefully — each step toward the door deliberate and cautious. He looked through the peephole.

 

No one.

 

His brows furrowed. He didn’t open it. Maybe it was a mistake.

 

But the bell rang again. Louder.

 

His hands began to tremble.

 

He grabbed the closest thing — a metal rod from the cleaning supply rack near the door. Just in case.

 

Again, he looked out.

 

Still no one.

 

His stomachdropped. Cold sweat broke at the back of his neck.

 

Was it that man from the club? Had he somehow found his address? Had he followed him

 

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

 

His vision blurred slightly as tears threatened again. Panic prickled at the edges.

 

And then the bell rang again — this time longer, sharper, more urgent.

 

Taehyung stumbled back, the sudden sound of the doorbell still echoing in his ears like a warning bell. His heel caught the edge of the rug, and he crashed down onto the cold floor, knees hitting hard. A shaky breath tore from his lips as he instinctively curled into himself, arms wrapping tight around his chest, hands rising to press against his ears — to block out the ringing, the panic, the possibility of what he thought might be on the other side.

 

The silence stretched for only a second before it was shattered again — this time by a loud, harsh knock. Fist pounding against the door. Once. Then twice. Then again, faster. Louder. Demanding.

 

His name echoed from the hallway. Muffled. Urgent.

 

But he couldn’t hear it clearly — not through the deafening throb of his own pulse, not through the tremor rattling through his bones. His body was frozen in place, trembling violently, the memory of earlier — of that man — clinging like oil to his skin.

 

And then—

 

Beep. Beep. Click.

 

The sound of the door unlocking —the passcode being entered.

 

His heart stopped. Completely. Breath caught in his throat like glass.

 

The door creaked open. 

 

He screamed.

 

He scrambled back with all the strength his panic could offer, heels scraping against the wooden floor, palms slipping. He thrashed, pushing his arms and legs toward the dark silhouette that stepped in.

 

“Don’t touch me!” he cried out, voice cracking. “Stay—stay away from me!”

 

“Taehyung!” came the voice — firm, familiar, breathless.

 

A voice he knew.

 

A voice that made something inside him unravel and twist.

 

“It’s me. Jungkook. It’s just me.”

 

The trembling didn’t stop. The tears had already welled, spilling down his cheeks as he forced his eyes to focus. And there he was. Jeon Jungkook. Staring close at him, breath slightly uneven, eyes wide and searching.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched as if his lungs forgot how to work. His hands, still trembling, dropped from his ears to his lap,and his gaze locked with Jungkook’s.

 

“J-Jungkook...?” he whispered, voice barely there. 

 

A sob broke past his lips. One. Then another. And then they kept coming — messy, uncontrolled, from somewhere deep inside. His fingers clutched at the fabric of his own shirt, gripping it tight against his chest like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

 

And then Jungkook moved.

 

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask. He just stepped forward and dropped to his knees. He reached out — not to force or restrain, but to gather. Gently. Carefully.

 

He wrapped his arms around Taehyung and pulled him close, pressing the crown of his head against his chest.

 

No words. Just the silence between sobs. The raw, quiet comfort of presence.

 

Taehyung didn’t resist.

 

He let himself be held.

 

And slowly — gradually — his cries softened. His shoulders still shook, but the storm inside him was beginning to settle.

 

Minutes passed. Long, still minutes. Until the only sound left was his uneven breath against Jungkook’s chest.

 

Eventually, Jungkook shifted slightly, still holding him close. “Come on,” he said softly, helping Taehyung up without letting go. He guided him gently to the couch, lowering him down like he might break apart again if moved too quickly.

 

Taehyung sat, legs tucked under himself, head down. Jungkook didn’t leave. He walked toward the kitchen, poured a glass of water with slow hands, and came back.

 

He knelt again, offering it wordlessly.

 

Taehyung blinked, lips slightly parted. His hands, still trembling, reached out and took the glass. Their fingers brushed.

 

He took a sip. Just one. Then two.

 

Jungkook stood beside him, close — but not too close. Silent. Watching.

 

And in the quiet that followed, Taehyung stared down at the glass in his hands, his voice finally a whisper, cracked and raw:

“…Why did you come?”

 

The question hung there — unanswered.

 

But the presence beside him said everything his words never did.

 

Jungkook took the glass, his fingers brushing against Taehyung's — and still, even in this mess, he didn’t forget to glare.

 

The audacity.

 

Here Jungkook was, showing up at his place at this hour, after running away without a backward glance. After ignoring him completely — like he hadn't seen his fear, his bruised face, or the tears threatening to spill earlier in the night.

 

Now, he had the nerve to sit?

 

He saw Jungkook sitting on the couch.

 

“Don’t you dare sit on my couch,” Taehyung muttered, voice hoarse but firm.

 

Jungkook froze mid-step, eyes quietly lifting to meet his.

 

Taehyung looked right at him — through him, even. If I shouted at him, pushed him away, shouldn’t he have still stayed? Isn’t that what people who care are supposed to do?

 

Wasn't he the one who pretended like I didn't exist?

 

The word echoed like a cruel reminder in his head.

 

You never understood me.

 

Taehyung blinked. I didn’t understand him? How could I, when he never even let me in? When every time I tried, he zipped his mouth shut and disappeared behind that cold exterior. And when he finally did speak—it was always the wrong words. Words that pushed me further away.

 

But now… now he’s here?

 

Why?

 

"Why did you come here now?" Taehyung asked, voice low but laced with accusation

.

Jungkook blinked. Silent for a second.

 

Then, wordlessly, he reached into the crook of his arm and placed a small shopping bag on the table.

 

Taehyung’s gaze flickered to it, then back at Jungkook. Suspicion stirred in his chest.

 

What now? Is this guilt? Pity?

 

He sniffled quietly, biting back the shame of crying in front of someone who once looked at him like he was a stranger.

 

But why did Jungkook’s looking at him like that? Why this softy look?

 

He hated that softness. It made him want to cry all over again. 

 

He reached for the bag with shaky fingers, cautiously pulling it open. His breath stuttered when he saw what was inside: a few different ointments, pain patches, a strip of painkillers… and—

 

 

Lollipops.

 

His chest tightened, something unbearably tender flashing behind his eyes — but he didn’t let it show.

 

No. He wouldn’t go soft. Not now.

 

He set the bag back down with practiced indifference, eyes lingering on it just a second too long.

 

Then Jungkook spoke, voice steady but edged with something that sounded like fear.

 

“What happened at the club?”

 

Taehyung didn’t answer. His hands curled into fists against his knees.

 

“You were scared,” Jungkook said, stepping forward, slower now. “Just now.”

 

Still, Taehyung didn’t meet his eyes.

 

Jungkook’s steps echoed quietly on the floor as he approached, each one heavier than the last.

 

“I’m asking you something, Taehyung.” His voice cracked with urgency. “Please.”

 

“Why do you care?” Taehyung muttered under his breath, finally standing up. His body swayed slightly, fatigue washing through his limbs. “Whatever happened… it’s over.”

 

He glanced down at Jungkook’s shirt — damp from where Taehyung had cried into it earlier. His lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t amusement. It was shame.

 

“And I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon, for your shirt. I’ll buy you another one.”

 

He turned away to walk off — but Jungkook’s hand caught his wrist.

 

Taehyung flinched.

 

His body tensed so suddenly, so completely, that Jungkook instinctively let go.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught, uneven and shallow. 

 

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Jungkook stepped forward, slowly, carefully, and cupped Taehyung’s face with both hands — forcing him to look up.

 

His voice came out raw. “Did he… did he touch you inappropriately?”

 

Taehyung’s gaze darted away. He couldn’t say it. His throat burned with the words, but they wouldn’t come.

 

The room was still — silent enough to hear the soft tremble in Taehyung’s breath.

 

And then Jungkook saw it.

 

The faint dampness gathering in the corner of Taehyung’s eyes.

 

His fists clenched at his sides.

 

Guilt cracked across his expression like a storm brewing quietly behind his eyes — too late, too sudden, too deep.

 

And neither of them spoke.

 

Because some things... don’t need words. 

 

Taehyung’s fingers grazed the shopping bag, his eyes lifting slowly to Jungkook.
A flicker of confusion, then guardedness, passed over his face.

 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured, voice clipped, holding back the tangle of thoughts fighting to rise. “You can go now.”

 

Jungkook didn’t move. He just stood there, unmoving—watching him with something unreadable in his gaze.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said finally, voice quiet.

 

Taehyung stilled. His lashes fluttered.
He almost laughed, bitter and soft, but swallowed it.

 

Sorry for what?
The words floated at the edge of his tongue, but he bit them back.
He didn’t want to ask—because what if the answer wasn’t the one he wanted?
What if this was all Jungkook could give?

 

What did he even want from Jungkook now?

 

The silence stretched between them like a fraying thread.

 

Then Jungkook reached out and gently took the shopping bag from him. Without a word, he rummaged through it, pulled out a small ointment tube and a Q-tip, and twisted the cap open with care.

 

Before Taehyung could react, Jungkook stepped closer and—
In a slow, measured motion—dabbed the ointment against the corner of Taehyung’s bruised lip.

 

Taehyung inhaled sharply.

 

His breath caught in his throat, not from pain, but from the sudden intimacy of it all.
This man—cold, detached, infuriating—was now tending to his wound with all the quiet attention of someone who had never truly left.

 

Just hours ago, they were standing on opposite sides of pain, yelling, blaming, unraveling.
Now this.

 

Taehyung remained frozen, eyes locked on Jungkook’s face, trying to understand—who is he right now?

 

“We have to report tomorrow morning,” Jungkook said softly, breaking the quiet.

 

Taehyung blinked, the spell breaking.

 

“You remember his face?” Jungkook asked again, the stern undertone returning.

 

Taehyung only nodded, barely trusting his voice.

 

Jungkookgave a slight nod in return, placed the ointment back into the bag, and without another word, walked over to the kitchen.

The faint hum of the fridge filled the room as he opened it, pulling out a cold water bottle.

 

Taehyung watched him, brows furrowed.

 

The domesticity of it all felt like a scene from someone else’s life.
One moment they were clawing at each other’s pride, and the next—Jungkook was standing in his kitchen, like he belonged there.

 

He watched the rise and fall of Jungkook’s shoulders, the way he casually twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip.
Like it was normal.
Like this was normal.

 

Taehyung’s mind swirled with quiet storms.

Taehyung watched him from across the room, brows pinched, arms folded loosely.
Jungkook sat there back on couch like he owned the place—cool, composed, sipping water, and now rearranging the glassware on the table like he hadn’t just crashed his night.

 

They were just throwing words like knives earlier, and now… this?

Jungkook in his kitchen. 

Like they shared grocery bills?

 

Taehyung frowned harder. “Are you not leaving?” he asked, voice low, almost hesitant.

 

If situation was different may be he will ask. Are you staying?

 

Jungkook didn’t even blink. “I’ll stay here.”

 

Taehyung’s heart tripped. “What?”

 

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, like it wasn’t obvious. “It’s late. I’m… not in the mood to leave.”

 

Taehyung scoffed, arms tightening around himself. “Are you Afraid to leave at this time? Don’t joke. Even ghosts would pack their bags and leave if they saw your face.”

 

Jungkook raised a brow at him.

 

" I am not afraid of you now. Even if you fire me."

 

Jungkook calm leaning back at couch. “ Why would I fire you. I can't get a cartoon like you easily. ”

 

Taehyung’s mouth fell open in offense. “Cartoon?” He pointed at himself dramatically. “Excuse me—I’m the visual of this century. Pretty, cute, ethereal. Look properly.”

 

He marched closer, batting his lashes ridiculously as he leaned in. “Like this.”

 

Jungkook blinked, unimpressed. Without saying a word, he reached out and poked Taehyung’s forehead gently, pushing him back like one would a clingy cat.

 

“Go to sleep,” he said, stretching out on the couch like it was his own.

 

Taehyung just stood there, fuming. Staring at his stupid face. His annoyingly calm expression.

 

Then, with a huff, he stomped to his room.

 

A few moments passed.

 

Then he stomped back out.

 

Jungkook barely moved, eyes closed now—but opened one lazily as something soft hit his chest.

 

A blanket.

 

He blinked up.Taehyung stood over him, arms crossed.

 

“I’m not offering my room,” Taehyung muttered. “You don’t deserve it.”

 

Jungkook chuckled quietly, adjusting the blanket like it was a prized gift.

 

Taehyung turned on his heel, disappearing into the room again.

 

Taehyung sat at the edge of his bed, fingers twisted in the sheets, eyes blurry with thoughts.

 

Why is he he re?

Why does he come close just to pull away again?

And why—why do I still care if he does?

 

He lay back against the pillow, heart ticking too loud for comfort.

 

Jungkook, in his house.
On his couch.

 

Again.

 

Like nothing happened.

 

Is he going to stay? Or is this just another moment before he disappears again?

 

Taehyung didn’t have the answer.

 

He only had the ache in his chest and the sound of silence between two closed doors.

 

Somewhere in the quiet, sleep finally pulled him under.

 

Jungkook stared at the ceiling, his smile slowly fading into something distant. His chest rose and fell with a heavier with breath.

 

"Funny how three years of distance came undone in two months" He whispered to no one, eyes fixed on the ceilings. "Just from a little attention you didn’t even mean to give."

 

---

 

I have a feeling you got everything you wanted

And you're not wasting timestuck here like me

You're just thinkin' it's a small thing that happened

The world ended when it happened to me

 

-We hug now

---

 

Chapter 11: The space we keep

Notes:

Song Recommendations :

Car's outside - James Arthur

Death by a thousands cuts - Taylor Swift

Damn those eyes - Ashley sienna

 

 

 

---

 

 

We weren't together, 

So how could we break up? 

-Lany

 

 

---

 

When Taehyung woke up, the first thing he noticed was the silence.

 

The couch was empty-blanket half-rolled and pillow lopsided like someone had left in a hurry. The soft hum of the fridge was the only sound echoing through the apartment.

 

He scoffed quietly to himself, rubbing his eyes.

 

Right. Of course. What did I expect?

 

The warmth from last night-those quiet moments, that embrace-meant nothing. Probably just guilt. A reaction. Reflex.

 

He pulled himself out of bed and moved through his morning routine like a ghost. Brush, wash, emails. Even though it was the weekend, his mind refused to rest. His body was on autopilot, but his heart hadn't found the stop button yet.

 

Because it all kept replaying-Jungkook's arms around him, steady and warm. That breath he felt against his hair. That heartbeat.

 

Why did he do it?

 

Why did he always do this?

 

Give pieces of himself away just enough to make Taehyung wonder. Just enough to make him ache.

 

The lock on the door clicked.

 

Taehyung flinched-reflex. His body tensed automatically as he stood up, already on edge.

 

Jungkook walked in like it was just another morning. Like he belonged here.

 

He shut the door behind him, kicked his shoes off without even looking, and walked to the coffee table, placing a small box down like he had a purpose.

 

Taehyung's heart... fluttered. Against his will.

He didn't let it show.

 

He crossed his arms. "First of all, why are you here again? And second-how the hell do you know my passcode?"

 

Jungkook didn't answer right away. He picked up the box, opened it. Inside, something sleek and black. A watch? No-some kind of smart gadget.

 

"I put random numbers," Jungkook replied, voice flat.

 

Taehyung frowned. "Wow. What a coincidence you just randomly guessed my birthday."

 

Still, no reaction. Just calm, composed indifference.

 

Taehyung didn't have time to question it further, because suddenly Jungkook reached out and grabbed his wrist.

 

The contact was electric.

 

Taehyung froze, eyes widening slightly. His breath hitched and he instinctively tried to pull back-but Jungkook's grip was steady, gentle but firm.

 

The watch was secured on his wrist within seconds.

 

His pulse jumped beneath it.

 

Jungkook pulled out his phone, tapped something, then pressed a button on the device. A soft notification pinged.

 

Taehyung leaned forward slightly, curious-but Jungkook had already slipped the phone back into his pocket before he could get a glance.

 

"If you're ever afraid," Jungkook said, eyes still not meeting his, "press the button."

 

Then he let go of his wrist.

 

Taehyung didn't move. Couldn't. The spot Jungkook had touched still tingled like it had been marked.

 

He looked up slowly, trying to read his face.

 

Nothing.

 

That same wall. Cool, unreadable, untouchable.

 

But Taehyung's heart... it didn't care for walls. It was already flipping.

Stupid heart.

 

"Why are you doing this?

Taehyung's voice came quiet, barely above a whisper, but the question hung heavy in the air between them. His eyes searched Jungkook's face-not for answers, really. Maybe just for something to hold onto. A flicker. A crack. Something.

Something real.

 

But Jungkook didn't even blink.

 

"We made a commitment, didn't we?" he said simply.

 

For a second, Taehyung just stood there, confusion flashing in his eyes. And then it clicked.

 

His lips twitched-not in amusement, but in disbelief. Followed closely by something sharper.

 

Anger.

 

"Don't tell me..." he began, voice cold and rising, "you're doing all of this-showing up, that ridiculous 'sorry,' this whole overprotective act-just because of that fake boyfriend deal?"

 

He kept his eyes trained on Jungkook's, waiting for even the smallest sign of denial. A flinch. Hesitation. Regret.

 

But nothing changed.

 

That unreadable mask stayed in place.

 

Taehyung laughed, but it came out bitter. He reached for the watch on his wrist with shaky fingers, fumbling at the strap.

 

Jungkook grabbed his wrist gently, but firmly.

"You said," he said quietly, "that you wanted me to protect you. And in return, you'd help me. I'm doing the same."

 

The words were calm, rational. Logical.

 

And yet, they burned.

 

Taehyung yanked his arm back. His jaw clenched tight as he took a step away, breath shaking. "Now you need me again?" he said. "To tame your family for you? Like a puppet?"

 

Jungkook didn't react to the accusation. "There's a business trip to New York. Soon. I want you to come with me."

 

Taehyung blinked, momentarily thrown.

 

"What?" he asked. Then- "Why?"

 

"Mi-young's going," Jungkook said, like that explained everything.

 

And maybe it did.

 

Taehyung's chest tightened. Mi-young. That name never sat right. There was something about her. Something he didn't trust. But that wasn't the point, was it?

 

The point was, Jungkook still saw him as a role.

 

A function.

 

He wanted to say no. To walk away and never look back.

 

But instead, he said, "And if I say no?"

 

Jungkook took a step toward him, expression unchanged.

 

"You won't."

 

Taehyung's nostrils flared.

 

"Then try me," he hissed, ripping the watch from his wrist. He grabbed Jungkook's hand and slapped the device onto his palm with trembling fingers.

 

Jungkook's gaze dropped to the watch... then slowly lifted back to Taehyung.

 

The silence pulsed between them.

 

Taehyung's voice was low now, almost quiet again. "Close the door on your way out."

 

Then he turned and walked to his room.

 

The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed faintly in the apartment.

 

He sat on the edge of his bed, back straight, hands clenched. His whole body buzzing with something he couldn't name. Anger, maybe. Sadness. Disappointment.

 

"The audacity," he muttered under his breath. "Jeon Jungkook... Why are you so emotionally constipated?"

 

His chest ached. Not the sharp kind of pain, but the dull, heavy kind that spreads and sinks in slowly.

 

Why couldn't Jungkook be like last night? Just... normal. Human. Kind.

 

Why couldn't he stay soft?

 

Taehyung stopped.

 

What am I even thinking?

 

There's nothing between us. There never was.

 

He let out a shaky breath and raked a hand through his hair.

 

Then... silence.

 

A few seconds later, the apartment door shut softly.

 

He left.

 

Of course he did.

 

Taehyung rose from the bed and padded back into the living room. The place felt colder now. Too quiet.

 

His eyes landed on the table.

 

The watch sat there.

 

Unmoving. Innocent. A stupid piece of metal and tech that somehow held too much meaning.

 

Taehyung grabbed it. His fingers curled around it like he was going to throw it across the room-but he didn't.

 

His hand just dropped to his lap. His grip loosened.

 

He stared at the floor. Then dropped onto the couch with a sigh and curled forward, elbows on his knees, fingers buried in his hair.

 

What is this?

Why does this hurt?

 

Why does it feel like the end of something that never even began?

 

---

 

"This is the third time I'm telling you, Junwoo," Taehyung snapped, voice sharper than he intended. "Why are you still making the same mistakes?"

 

His words echoed too loudly in the office space. Junwoo flinched, shrinking a little under his gaze.

 

Taehyung wasn't usually like this. Not with interns. Not with anyone. But today... today he couldn't seem to stop the irritation brimming in his chest.

 

Junwoo's voice came out small. "I did it the same way you told me to..."

 

Taehyung sighed, rubbing at his temples like he could press the frustration away. His patience was wearing thin, and it had nothing to do with Junwoo, really. The problem had started long before the intern even walked in this morning.

 

Before his coffee.

 

Before his shower.

 

Before he opened the damn meeting schedule.

 

And saw that name.

 

"What's going on here?" Jimin's voice broke through the tension. He appeared beside them, gaze flicking between Taehyung's fuming face and Junwoo's anxious one.

 

"You, back to your desk," Jimin said firmly to Junwoo.

 

Junwoo nodded quickly, bowing slightly before scurrying off like a kicked puppy.

 

"What's wrong with you?" Jimin asked, turning to Taehyung with arms folded and concern etched into his face.

 

"Nothing," Taehyung muttered, dropping into his chair with a thud and slouching like the air had been knocked out of him. His fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the desk.

 

"You've been off since morning," Jimin said. "You didn't even tell me what happened at the club that night. You're just... holding it all in."

 

Taehyung glanced up at him.

 

How could he even begin to explain it?

 

That everything was one confusing mess. That the man he was supposed to fake-date was showing up with real concern, only to turn back into an emotionally distant stranger the next day. That he was mad-burning, irrationally mad-because Jungkook will be in a meeting today... with them. The company whose daughter he'd rejected with Taehyung by his side.

 

Sure, it was Yoongi's design deal now, not Jungkook's. Sure, it wasn't even that deep.

 

But still. It stung.

 

He hated that it stung.

 

"I'm just tired," Taehyung lied, voice flat. It was easier than unraveling the knot in his chest.

 

Jimin softened. He reached out and patted his shoulder gently. "I don't know what's eating you up inside, but... I'll just say this-listen to your heart, Tae. Like you always do."

 

Taehyung swallowed, trying not to let the words settle too deep. Trying not to acknowledge how true they were.

 

"This gloom doesn't suit you," Jimin added with a small smile. "You're meant to be bright."

 

A flicker of guilt passed through Taehyung's chest. He offered a tiny, tired smile in return.

 

"I have to check the conference room," he said quietly, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his shirt.

 

Jimin nodded, watching him go.

 

And as Taehyung walked off, he tried not to think about how loud the silence was in his own head.

 

---

 

Taehyung sat down on one of the chairs in the conference room, his eyes scanning the setup one final time. Everything was in place. Water bottles. Presentation file. Tech checked. Room neat.

 

Perfect.

 

At least the room looked fine-unlike the chaos in his chest.

 

He was trying not to think. Not to feel. Just focus on the meeting, on work, on breathing.

 

But then the door clicked open.

 

He didn't have to look to know who it was.

 

The sound of polished shoes tapping steadily across the floor was distinct, calm-too calm. He heard the quiet rustle of fabric, the subtle tug of a cufflink being adjusted.

 

Taehyung didn't look up.

 

He stood, quickly and without a word, snatching his phone from the table like it had personally offended him. He didn't trust his face to stay neutral.

 

Jungkook stepped into view and stilled, his gaze flicking once to Taehyung's wrist.

 

The empty wrist.

 

And then, back to his face.

 

Taehyung felt the stare, sharp like a pin pressed against skin.

 

"What?" he snapped, lifting his eyes in a pointed glare.

 

"Nothing," Jungkook replied, tone flat.

 

Taehyung scoffed, biting back the thousand things he wanted to say.

 

Jungkook walked toward his seat, pulling out the chair like he owned the room-and maybe he did. He flipped open a file casually, as if nothing had happened. As if Taehyung hadn't nearly thrown the stupid watch across the room last night.

 

"Asking for a friend-" Taehyung said, voice laced with bite, "-are you happy to meet your fiancée today?"

 

Jungkook looked up slowly, one brow arching, his face unreadable.

 

"I don't mix business with personal matters," he said coolly.

 

Taehyung let out a hollow chuckle. "Funny," he said, "you did it with me."

 

There was a pause.

 

Jungkook closed the file and placed it gently back on the table. Then he walked toward him.

 

His steps were slow, steady, calculated.

 

Taehyung hated how his heartbeat responded to each one.

 

"You're an exception," Jungkook said, voice low.

 

There it was.

 

That stupid, polished tone.

 

Those lines-designed to crack him open without effort.

 

Taehyung's lips twitched, not into a smile but a bitter, biting curve.

 

"Wow," he said, dry as bone. "You should work in dramas. Your acting's award-winning."

 

Jungkook tilted his head, amused. "You think so?"

 

But before he could say more-before Taehyung could fire back or storm out or pretend none of this affected him-the door opened again.

 

And she walked in.

 

Mi-young.

 

Every ounce of Taehyung's blood seemed to boil in slow motion.

 

There she was, cool and composed, eyes sharp but her mouth curved in a diplomatic smile. She looked first at Jungkook-of course-and then at Taehyung.

 

Her smile didn't falter, but there was something behind her gaze. Something tight. Controlled.

 

Taehyung stood his ground.

He didn't leave.

He wouldn't.

 

Let her look. Let her smile. Let her pretend.

 

He was done playing the background character in someone else's show.

 

Not today.

 

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, her gaze flicking toward Jungkook before glancing at Taehyung, subtle and pointed.

 

Taehyung's jaw tightened.

 

There it was.

 

That quiet little power play.

 

She wanted privacy.

 

Of course, she did.

 

His fists curled at his sides

.

She didn't even need to say it outright-her eyes had done the asking already: Please leave. This is between us.

 

Well, too bad.

 

He wasn't going anywhere.

 

Because the second Jungkook told him to leave-even so much as hinted it-Taehyung swore to every star above, he'd punch him right in that perfectly sculpted face.

 

But Jungkook, to his credit, didn't flinch.

 

"Speak," he said calmly.

 

Mi-young's lips thinned. "I want to talk to you alone," she repeated, her voice softer this time, but her words still slicing through the air like a carefully placed dagger.

 

"He's not a stranger," Jungkook said without missing a beat. "You can talk."

 

Taehyung almost smirked. Good answer. One point for Jeon Jungkook.

 

But Mi-young... oh, she didn't like that.

 

Her expression shifted for a blink-a flash of something tight and displeased-before she painted on that perfectly rehearsed smile again.

 

"What happened between us," she began, "I know you did it in impulse. You didn't mean it."

 

Taehyung blinked slowly.

 

Is she serious?

 

He frowned, turning his head toward her like she'd grown two heads.

 

Jungkook had rejected her-publicly. Clearly. Even if it was through a lie, even if he used Taehyung as a scapegoat... it was done. Final.

 

But here she was, still spinning it like it had been some heat-of-the-moment blunder.

 

Delusional.

 

"I'll try my best," she continued, her voice dipped in sugar, "and then we'll see what steps we can take in our life. Lee Do won't do anything to piss you off, don't worry."

 

Taehyung's expression flattened entirely.

 

So that's it. That's why Jungkook offered to bring him again. She wasn't letting go. And Jungkook... was he entertaining this?

 

His eyes flicked to the man in question.

 

Jungkook's jaw had ticked at the mention of Lee Do, whoever that was-but aside from that, he looked calm. Too calm.

 

Why wasn't he saying anything?

 

Why wasn't he shutting this down?

 

Mi-young finished speaking, clearly waiting for some reaction. But Jungkook remained silent.

 

Stone-faced. 

 

Still.

 

Taehyung watched her carefully.

 

Why was she so eager to win Jungkook back? Was it really just affection-or was it strategy?

 

Her father's eyes had been ice during the meeting, and yet, they'd gone through with the contract with Yoongi's company.

 

Was this about more than just Jungkook?

 

Some sort of move? Some bigger plan?

 

Taehyung didn't know. But the way she kept stealing glances at Jungkook-then at him-made his blood simmer beneath the surface.

 

It wasn't subtle either.

 

Two, maybe three times, she looked directly at Taehyung during the meeting. Not exactly hostile, but not exactly friendly either.

 

It felt... performative. Like she was trying to say something without saying it.

 

He's still mine.
You're temporary.
I can take him back whenever I want.

 

Taehyung didn't flinch, but he noted every look.

 

By the time the meeting ended, his patience was already wearing thin.

 

He stood, making his way toward the coffee area-each step heavy with pent-up annoyance.

 

He didn't need caffeine.

He needed a break.

From her.

From Jungkook.

From pretending he didn't care.

 

Just as Taehyung reached for the coffee pot, a voice cut through the quiet like a knife.

 

"I knew it was you that day."

 

He turned, brows furrowing.
Mi-young stood there, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with something sharp. Not curiosity. Not amusement. Something colder.

 

"What are you implying?" Taehyung asked, straightening slightly.

 

She took a step closer, chin lifted.
"He took his PA to break off an engagement. Come on," she said with a short laugh, "you really think people are buying that you two are together? He's clearly not in a relationship."

 

Taehyung's jaw tensed. He swallowed the urge to roll his eyes.

 

Who gave her the confidence?

 

"And who said we aren't in a relationship?" he replied coolly, tilting his head. His tone stayed calm, but inside his chest, things were already starting to churn.

 

Mi-young blinked, visibly caught off guard.
Taehyung didn't stop.

 

"Ask him," he said, arms folding across his chest. "How he's head over heels for me."

 

The words were out before he could catch them.

 

A lie. Of course, it was a lie.
But the idea of her thinking she had the upper hand-it stung.

 

He'd check the consequences later. Right now? He was too pissed to care.

 

Mi-young let out a short laugh, cold and sharp.

 

"Head over heels? And him?" she scoffed. "I've known him since childhood. If there's one thing I know, it's that Jeon Jungkook doesn't do real feelings. He can never be serious about relationships."

 

Taehyung's mouth tightened.

 

Every word she spoke was a subtle blow. She knew how to aim them well. But Taehyung wasn't going to let her win.

 

"You must've missed that moment, then," he replied, voice low. "That day-you saw how serious he was for me."

 

She shook her head, still smiling, but there was venom in her voice now.

 

"He hates relationships, Taehyung. Has since forever. You want to know why? Go ask him about his parents."

 

She turned, heels clicking on the floor, but then paused and glanced back.

 

"Let's see how long this 'head over heels' fantasy lasts. I've got time."

 

And then she walked away.

 

Taehyung stood there, unmoving, the bitterness of her words settling under his skin like cold rain.

 

Who does she think she is?

 

But it wasn't just her words that rattled him. It was the part about Jungkook's parents.

 

He hates relationships... because of them?

 

That didn't make sense. Jungkook never talked about his family. Never hinted at anything beneath that cold exterior. But now... Taehyung wasn't sure what was real and what was just smoke and walls.

 

And worse-he remembered what he just claimed. Told Mi-young they were real.

 

Oh, damn Taehyung.

 

He told Jungkook he wasn't accepting his offer. Said it like he meant it. Like he could walk away clean. 

 

But seeing Mi-young, seeing the way she looked at Jungkook-as if he still belonged to her-it made his blood boil.

 

Jungkook might be a devil, but even the devil deserved better than her.

 

"Taehyung, Mr. Jeon is asking for you," Eun-bi called softly from the doorway.

 

Taehyung blinked out of his spiral, turning his head.

 

He nodded once, forcing his shoulders to relax, and headed toward his office.

 

He'd think about the rest later.

 

---

 

Taehyung stepped into the office, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Jungkook was already inside, standing near the desk, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was straight, composed-just like always.

 

He turned the moment he sensed movement. Their eyes met for the briefest second before Jungkook ended the call with a swipe, slipping the phone into his pocket.

 

He started walking toward him.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes and turned slightly, pretending to inspect the minimalist bookshelf on the far wall-anything to avoid direct eye contact.

 

But from the corner of his eye, he caught the faint twitch of Jungkook's lips. Amused. Always amused. Like Taehyung was some kind of mild entertainment.

 

"We leave for the New York trip in two days," Jungkook said, tone flat and professional again. "Book the hotels in advance. Double-check the itinerary. Everything needs to be in place before we land."

 

Taehyung nodded curtly. "Got it."

 

A pause.

 

"Why are you pissed?" Jungkook asked, voice low.

 

Taehyung turned slowly, lifting a brow.

 

"Who wouldn't be," he said, "after seeing your face first thing in the morning?"

 

Jungkook's brows rose, and he took another step forward. But Taehyung didn't flinch or back away-he kept his gaze defiant, angled just enough to the side to avoid looking at him directly.

 

Then he caught something in the reflection of the narrow window beside them.

 

Mi-young. Approaching. Purpose in her walk.

 

Taehyung's expression changed.

 

He flicked his gaze toward Jungkook, then toward the door.

 

Jungkook's brows furrowed, confused. "What-?"

 

But before he could say more, the door clicked softly-someone testing the knob.

 

And Taehyung moved.

 

He grabbed Jungkook's arm and, with the same reckless ease he used when bluffing through a presentation, pulled him close-arms looping around his neck. Jungkook instinctively caught him at the waist, hands firm, grounding them both.

 

His eyes widened slightly, scanning Taehyung's face for answers.

 

And then he looked at the door.

 

Mi-young stood there.

 

Frozen. Watching.

 

Taehyung gave her a dazzling, almost smug smile, resting his head against Jungkook's shoulder like it belonged there. His lips brushed close to his neck, breath ghosting over his skin.

 

"I'm tired," he murmured in a childish whine, just loud enough for the hallway to hear. "Can't you carry me, baby?"

 

Jungkook's head tilted just slightly, tongue poking into his cheek. His jaw clenched, but not out of anger-something else flickered in his eyes.

 

Possibly disbelief. Possibly something more dangerous.

 

He turned to glance at the doorway again.

 

Mi-young's expression had cracked-lips drawn tight, eyes burning. She shut the door with more force than necessary and walked away.

 

Taehyung exhaled quietly, watching her retreat through the small window panel.

 

He loosened his hold, ready to step back-but Jungkook didn't move. In fact, his hands were still on his waist... tighter now.

 

Taehyung looked up. 

 

Their eyes met-closer than before. His heart gave a stupid, traitorous jolt.

 

He'd meant it to be a show. A performance. Just another card to play in this weird, tangled game they were both pretending not to play.

 

But Jungkook wasn't letting go

And now Taehyung wasn't sure who was really acting anymore.

 

His breath hitched. "Jungkook..."

 

The name came out softer than intended.

 

Jungkook stared down at him, unreadable.

 

And Taehyung realized-he'd just played a dangerous game.

 

And maybe... he wasn't winning.

 

"Baby?" Jungkook smirked, the word slipping out like a challenge.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard. Great. Just great. Now this was the real problem. How on earth was he supposed to deal with the aftermath of that?

 

Instinctively, he pushed Jungkook-just a little-but Jungkook didn't budge. Not even an inch.

 

"You said I'm an actor," Jungkook murmured, voice low but amused. "But honestly? I think it's the opposite."

 

Taehyung frowned, caught off guard. "So... you want it to be real?"

 

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

 

Jungkook's face flickered-just for a moment-before settling back into that calm, unreadable mask.

 

The air between them shifted. Jungkook closed the distance, slow and deliberate, making Taehyung's fingers instinctively clutch at his shirt.

 

"So," Jungkook asked, voice teasing but sharp, "is this a yes?"

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, the heat rising in his cheeks. "Do you really think I'd throw myself on you in front of Mi-young for any other reason?"

 

Jungkook's gaze searched his face, unreadable but intense. Then he leaned in.

 

Taehyung's heart slammed hard against his ribs.

 

He tried to lean back, but Jungkook was faster.

 

A swift, light kiss landed on Taehyung's jaw.

 

His whole body tensed, eyes fluttering closed at the unexpected warmth. The touch-it felt... right. So painfully right.

 

Blinking open, he looked up at Jungkook, who was watching him with that familiar calm.

 

"It's a thank-you gift," Jungkook said quietly. "For today."

 

Taehyung pushed him away gently, fingers trembling as he smoothed down his shirt.

 

"Thank-you gift?" he said, half-laughing, half-annoyed. "Are we French now?"

Jungkook said nothing.

 

Taehyung took a few steps toward the door, forcing himself to breathe normally.

 

"Wear your watch," Jungkook called after him. "It's for your safety."

 

Taehyung glanced back, a smirk tugging at his lips.

 

"It'll keep me safe from others," he said, voice teasing. "But what about you? Who's going to keep me safe from Jeon Jungkook?"

 

Jungkook chuckled-a low, soft sound that sent a shiver down Taehyung's spine.

 

"No one," he replied.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, shook off the chill, and left the room.

 

Not forgetting how his heart did flips after flips in his chest. And not to forget he just let Jungkook win again. 

 

---

 

Flashback from earlier

 

 

Jungkook stirred awake, his phone buzzing sharply beside him. He answered the call with a tense jaw, listening silently. Without a word, he cut the connection, then grabbed his blazer and headed out.

 

In the car, he dialed a number. The line clicked and an irritating voice greeted him with mockery.

 

"Hello? Wah man, you're calling me from where the sun rises today."

 

"Where are you?" Jungkook asked, voice cold and sharp.

 

A pause.

 

"Why? You rejected Mi Young and now you're calling me? What's the deal now?"

 

Jungkook's muscles tightened as he turned sharply on the road. "Lee Do, count your time," he warned, cutting the call abruptly.

 

The car stopped before a sprawling house. Jungkook stepped out, moving with purposeful strides. The security guards barely glanced his way, allowing him through.

 

Inside, he scanned the quiet rooms until a startled maid caught his eye.

 

"Where are the idiots of this house?" he demanded.

 

Before she could answer, Lee Do appeared on the stairs, a fresh bruise marking his face.

 

Jungkook's lips twitched in anger. Without hesitation, he closed the distance, grabbed Lee Do by the collar, and punched him hard in the face.

 

"What the hell, man?" Lee Do hissed, clutching his jaw, but Jungkook was relentless. Another punch landed in his stomach, folding him over.

 

Lee Do crumpled to the floor. Jungkook grabbed him again, shaking him roughly.

 

"Can't you stay in your pants?" Jungkook growled. "If it bothers you that much, maybe cut it off."

 

Lee Do grabbed his mouth to stifle the pain.

 

Suddenly, footsteps echoed-the rest of the family rushing in: Mi Young and their parents.

 

"What is going on?" Mr. Lee demanded, eyes narrowing. "Jungkook, how dare you humiliate us - and now beat my son?"

 

Jungkook barely glanced at him. He adjusted his hair, then landed another punch on Lee Do before turning to face the family.

 

Mrs. Lee rushed forward but was stopped by Jungkook's cold glare.

 

"You didn't teach your children how to behave," he said flatly. "So I'm giving free lessons." He jerked Lee Do to his feet, who stumbled and fell again.

 

"What are you doing, Jungkook?" Mi Young demanded through gritted teeth.

 

Jungkook's gaze was sharp. "You both-sister and brother-like to throw each other on people."

 

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked toward the door, tension coiling in his muscles.

 

Mi Young ran after him. "You can't do this to me, Jungkook. We've known each other forever. Whatever Lee Do did, it's not my fault."

 

Jungkook didn't answer. He opened the door to his car.

 

"Your secretary..." Mi Young called out, voice catching his attention. "That's who you came with that day."

 

He stopped and slowly turned.

 

"He is..." she faltered, uncertainty in her eyes.

 

Jungkook took a step forward. She recoiled, heart pounding.

 

"Dare to touch him," Jungkook said low, his voice a whisper that sent chills down her spine, "and I will erase your entire existence."

 

Frozen, Mi Young clenched her fists, fury and fear warring within her.

 

Jungkook turned and left without another word.

 

She stood alone a moment, then chuckled darkly.

 

" let's see Jeon Jungkook."

 

 

 

Chapter 12: Half a step away

Notes:

Song recommendation:

Things that I miss - awfultune

 

---

 

You will always be on the list

Of all the good things that I miss. 

 

---

 

The day had started badly.
Not the kind of badly where you spill coffee on your shirt or miss your bus, but the quiet, heavy kind—where the universe hands you a verdict and walks away without explanation.

 

His ticket was cancelled.
No mistake. No workaround. Just a curt email and an apologetic phone call. New York, the conference, the chance to be at Jungkook’s side on the trip—gone before he’d even finished breakfast.

 

By the time Taehyung walked into the meeting room, the news sat in his chest like a stone. The team buzzed with talk about schedules and hotel check-ins; he sat at the far end of the table, pen in hand, dragging slow, absent loops in the corner of his notes.

 

The door opened.
And with it, the air shifted.

 

Jungkook stepped in—sharp suit, unhurried stride. Conversations faltered. Chairs straightened. All the usual signs that Jeon Jungkook had entered the room.

 

Except Taehyung didn’t move.

Didn’t drop his pen. Didn’t even pretend to type something on his laptop. Not until Eunbi nudged him hard under the table, forcing him to stand, nod once in perfunctory greeting, and sink back into his chair before Jungkook reached his seat.

 

When Taehyung finally glanced up, Jungkook was already looking at him.
Calm. Unreadable. But not absent.

 

The meeting began. Jungkook’s voice carried through the agenda—measured, deliberate—but Taehyung barely absorbed the words. Every point on the list was another reminder of what he wasn’t going to be part of. Another reminder that someone else would be standing where he should have been.

 

When the last agenda slide faded from the projector and the staff began filing out, Taehyung gathered his laptop and notes, moving for the door.

 

"Why the long face? You told me you are happy that you don't have to go? "

The question cut clean through the low hum of departing chatter. He froze, halfway through the doorway, then turned just enough to catch Jungkook’s gaze over his shoulder.

 

"Who says I have one?"

 

"You’re quieter than usual."

 

Taehyung’s mouth twitched—half a smile, half a warning. "Maybe I finally learned how to behave in meetings."

 

For a fraction of a second, Jungkook’s lips curved. It wasn’t a smile. Not quite.
"It’s a shame you’re not coming. I thought you’d like there."

 

The words were almost casual, but Taehyung felt them press somewhere under his ribs.
"No, I am happy I will stay away from you. " he said, aiming for carelessness and missing by a few degrees.

 

"Will you?" Jungkook’s voice was mild. But it lingered, like he knew the answer.

 

This time, Taehyung turned fully toward him.
"Five days away from you? I think Its a bonus for me. "

 

Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes—there and gone before Taehyung could place it.
"Mi Young will be there too."

 

It landed harder than it should have. He kept his tone light, as if the name meant nothing.
"Good for her. Maybe she’ll keep you company."

 

He left before Jungkook could respond.

 

Back at his desk, Taehyung set his laptop down harder than necessary.
"Jeon Jungkook," he muttered, "is he trying to make me jealous huh? "

 

Ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.

Taehyung and jealous no way. 

 

But the rest of the day moved strangely. Meetings blurred together, emails felt heavier, and every so often, his eyes drifted toward Jungkook’s office door—half-expecting it to open, half-hoping it wouldn’t.

 

Near the end of the day, Taehyung was at the printer when he caught sight of movement down the hall. Jungkook had stepped out of his office, coat over his arm, phone pressed to his ear. His pace was unhurried but certain, the kind of stride of someone heading somewhere important.

 

Taehyung stayed where he was, papers in hand, pretending to read as Jungkook passed by. Their eyes met for the briefest moment—just long enough for Taehyung to register the cool, unreadable look in his. Then Jungkook turned away, heading for the elevators.

 

The low chime echoed a few seconds later, followed by the soft slide of the doors closing.

 

And that was it.
No goodbye. No see you later.

 

Taehyung told himself it didn’t matter, that he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. But as he gathered his things and left for the day, the empty space beside him in the elevator felt heavier than it should have.

 

---

 

"Jimin-shiiiiii…"

 

The drawn-out whine drifted from the bedroom, followed by a muffled sigh. Taehyung was sprawled across the bed like a fallen starfish, his hair an unruly halo, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes.

 

It had been almost an hour of this—low, disjointed rambling, little bursts of self-pity, the occasional accusation thrown in Jimin’s direction.

 

Jimin, currently folding shirts into his cupboard, glanced over his shoulder. "You’ve been sulking since you got here. Should I even ask, or will you keep acting like I broke your favorite toy?"

 

"You are a bad friend," Taehyung mumbled without lifting his arm.

 

Jimin chuckled. "And why’s that, Your Highness?"

 

"You didn’t even try to cheer me up. Why bringing me in your apartment then?"

 

"Because you haven’t told me what the problem is." He turned back to the shirts, voice casual. "For all I know, you’re just pouting because your favorite coffee shop ran out of whipped cream again."

 

Taehyung peeked from under his arm, lips pulling down. "You know I wanted to go there."

 

"To New York? It’s just a conference. Not like you’re missing a carnival."

 

"Not the point," Taehyung grumbled.

 

Jimin closed the cupboard with a soft click. "Isn’t it a good thing, though? You get to stay here, rest, and avoid your so-called ‘devil’ boss for a week."

 

Taehyung sat up abruptly. "No!" The sudden sharpness in his tone startled even him. "You don’t understand. Mi Young will be there."

 

That made Jimin pause mid-step. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint.

"Don’t tell me…" He dragged the words out. "Are. You. Jealous?"

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened. "What? Jealous? Me? Of who? Mi Young? And for whom? Jungkook?" He scoffed, almost too fast. "What does he have besides… besides a pretty handsome face."

 

Jimin pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking. "You’re doomed, Kim Taehyung."

 

Taehyung flopped back down, staring at the ceiling, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He tried to tell himself it was fine—Jungkook could go, he could spend time with Mi Young, he didn’t care.

But… his stomach churned at the thought anyway.

 

If Jungkook actually got close to her…

 

Taehyung squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t. Would he?

 

"Why don’t you just call him if you miss him so much?" Jimin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

 

Taehyung snatched the nearest pillow and lobbed it across the room. "Why would I miss him? I don’t miss him!"

 

"Sure, my lord," Jimin said dryly.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. "Aren’t you missing Yoongi-hyung? He went too, right?"

 

"He’ll be back right after the conference. Not staying the extra five days," Jimin replied, almost smug.

 

Taehyung’s eyes softened despite himself. "Wow. He really loves you a lot… can’t even stay away."

 

"Yeah," Jimin said simply, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Whipped."

 

Taehyung wrinkled his nose, rolling onto his side to face the wall. But the word lingered in his head, looping back to someone else entirely. Could anyone ever be whipped for me?

 

His chest tightened unexpectedly. He pushed the thought away, burying it under the blanket and the quiet hum of the city outside. Sleep, he told himself. He just needed sleep.

 

---

 

Two full days had passed.

Two very long, agonising days.

 

And Kim Taehyung was sulking like it was his full-time job.

 

The reason? He had seen the live conference.

And there Jungkook was—standing far too close to Mi Young.

Close enough that Taehyung could almost hear her laugh through the screen.

Close enough that his own stomach had twisted for reasons he was not willing to put into words.

 

Worse—two different articles had been published since then.

Is Mrs. Lee and Mr. Jeon Hiding Something?

Unexpected Chemistry on the Conference Stage.

 

“Unexpected chemistry?” Taehyung scoffed into his pillow. “Unexpected headache, more like.”

 

And Jungkook… hadn’t even called.

Not a text. Not a “you didn’t come so I’ll update you.”

Nothing.

Then again, maybe Taehyung knew why—because technically, they weren’t that close. Not close enough to expect calls. Not close enough to miss each other.

 

Right.

 

Jimin had looked at the articles too, casually pointing out, “It’s probably his parents. Wouldn’t put it past them to tip off the media themselves.”

 

Now, standing at Taehyung’s doorway, Jimin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Kim Taehyung… we’re getting late. Get your ass here.”

 

Taehyung lay flat on his bed, burrito-wrapped in his blanket, refusing to move. Jimin had to meet Jin hyung tonight, and apparently decided Taehyung would be better off going with him rather than marinating in his own bitterness at home.

 

“I don’t want to go,” Taehyung mumbled from under the covers.

 

The blanket was yanked away.

“We’ll go to your favourite ice cream parlour,” Jimin said, deadpan.

 

Taehyung peeked up at him.

“I’m not a child.”

 

“Sure you’re not. Now get up.”

 

With a defeated sigh, Taehyung finally rolled off the bed. Pouting. Of course.

It had been ages since he last met Jin hyung—ever since leaving the café, he hadn’t visited once. He felt a little guilty about it. Jin hyung must be annoyed at him.

 

Still, when Taehyung stood in front of the mirror, fixing his hair, his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Or rather—on someone else.

Someone who was in New York right now, probably still standing next to Mi Young.

 

Jimin didn’t push. He simply drove, the quiet hum of the car filling the silence.

 

It was only when they turned into a familiar road that Taehyung sat up a little straighter.

The same private farmhouse area where Jin had once brought him.

 

He remembered the first time—the late afternoon light spilling across the fields, Jin laughing at something Taehyung said, the air smelling faintly of flowers.

Now, the memory mixed uncomfortably with the present.And the same place where everything started between him and Jungkook. Where first time Jungkook talked to him so softly. 

 

They parked, stepped out, and began walking the gravel path towards the house.

Taehyung’s heart was heavy, his thoughts messier than ever.

 

And somewhere, far away, Jungkook hadn’t called.

 

Taehyung walked with his hands in his pockets, the tip of his shoe nudging a small stone along the gravel path. It bounced ahead, and he followed it with lazy kicks, eyes fixed on the ground.

 

Jimin glanced sideways at him, smirking.

“I’m just curious… when exactly did you start missing the person you claim to hate the most?”

 

Taehyung’s head snapped up, face blank.

“I’m not missing anybody. I’m just… bored.”

 

“Sure,” Jimin said, the sarcasm dripping but his tone casual enough to avoid a fight.

 

“Hey, lads!”

Jin’s voice carried from a distance, warm and loud enough to break whatever sulk Taehyung had been wrapped in.

 

Jimin lifted a hand in greeting, and Taehyung—despite himself—smiled faintly.

 

“So you finally have time for me,” Jin said as he approached, arms already opening for a hug.

 

Taehyung let himself be pulled in. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against Jin’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, I was joking,” Jin replied, patting his back before stepping away. “Come on, I’ve made dinner for you guys.”

 

Inside, Namjoon was already seated. Taehyung greeted him politely before settling in at the table. The smell of home-cooked food filled the air—warm, grounding. Jin moved easily between the kitchen and the table, placing dishes in front of them.

 

They talked. Or rather, Jin and Jimin talked. Taehyung… kept glancing at his phone every couple of minutes, as if it might suddenly light up.

 

“Taehyung, your food’s getting cold,” Jin said, breaking his trance.

 

Taehyung blinked, mumbled a quick “Sorry,” and took a bite. The food was good, but it didn’t reach him the way it usually did.

 

“Why didn’t Hobi join us?” Jimin asked between mouthfuls.

 

“He’s busy,” Jin replied. “And Yoongi and Jungkook are both out of the country, you know.”

 

The words hit harder than they should have.

Jungkook.

Right—he wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for two days. So why did Taehyung’s chest feel like someone had taken a slow, deliberate twist to it? Was it because they’d been stuck together almost every day for the past two months, and his absence was… noticeable? Habitual?

 

He shook the thought off, stabbing at his food.

 

“But at least you two could make it,” Jin continued. “Work’s been exhausting. I just wanted one dinner with friends.”

 

Jimin smiled, then his phone buzzed. One glance at the screen, and his lips curved even more.

 

“It’s Yoongi. I’ll be back in a sec,” Jimin said, pushing his chair back.

 

Taehyung watched him leave the table, something sour curling in his chest.

Yoongi had time to call.

Jungkook, apparently, didn’t.

 

Would it really kill him to send one message? One line?

No. Probably too busy. Probably laughing with Mi Young.

 

Taehyung swallowed down the thought with another bite of food, but it didn’t go away.

 

Jimin returned to the table, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

 

“What happened?” Jin asked, concern flickering in his voice. “Everything alright?”

 

“Yeah,” Jimin said casually, though his eyes briefly flicked toward Taehyung with that annoyingly knowing glint. “Yoongi just said he won’t be able to come back early. He has to stay a bit longer.”

 

Jin nodded in understanding.

 

Taehyung caught the glance Jimin threw him and frowned. But before he could say anything, Jimin was already back to his food, as if nothing had happened.

 

Taehyung reached for the soju bottle, his fingers wrapping around the cold glass like it might somehow steady him. At least today, he needed it.

 

“No way, Taehyung,” Jimin said, catching his wrist. “I am not dealing with you drunk. I can barely manage you sober.”

 

Taehyung pulled the glass back, eyes narrowing. “I can manage myself.”

And before Jimin could snatch it away, he downed it in one gulp, the burn making his throat tighten.

 

 

They left Jin and Namjoon’s place an hour later, the night air cool against Taehyung’s flushed cheeks.

 

By the time they got to the car, his face was a warm shade of red, the alcohol humming softly in his veins.

 

“Drop me at my apartment,” Taehyung said as soon as he buckled in.

 

“No, Taehyung,” Jimin replied firmly, starting the car. “You’re tipsy, and Jungkook told me what happened that day. I’m not leaving you alone.”

 

The name hit like a pebble to the ribs.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook,” Taehyung snapped, voice low but sharp. “Stop saying his name. He doesn’t care. At all. And I’m not a baby. Drop me at my apartment.”

 

“Alright, alright—relax,” Jimin said, hands up in mock surrender before returning to the wheel.

 

The rest of the ride was quiet except for the hum of the engine. Taehyung stared out the window, his reflection flickering in the glass—frown fixed, jaw tight.

 

 

They pulled up in front of his building.

 

Taehyung got out without looking back, already punching in the code.

 

“Taehyung, I’ll stay—”

 

“Go back,” Taehyung cut him off, not even turning around. His voice was flat, but the glare over his shoulder was enough to shut Jimin up.

 

The door clicked shut behind him.

 

Inside, the apartment was dim, shadows spilling across the floor. Taehyung didn’t bother with the lights.

 

He walked to the couch and sank into it, the silence wrapping around him like a heavy blanket.

 

His phone sat on the coffee table.

Dark.

Still no message.

 

Stupid Taehyung.

 

In just two days, you’ve managed to turn into a zombie—because he didn’t call you.

Pathetic.

He’s probably not even thinking about you. And when he does need you, it’ll only be to say something ridiculous like, “I need a boyfriend for a day—help me.”

 

His breath came uneven, chest tightening with each thought. The alcohol humming in his veins made everything sharper, like his heart had lost its armor.

 

He reached for his phone, thumb brushing over the screen.

No notifications.

 

Of course not.

 

But then again… he hadn’t called Jungkook either.

Why would he? It should be Jungkook taking care of him—checking in, making sure he’s fine.

He should be.

 

Can’t he see how cute I am?

Why can’t he be whipped like Yoongi hyung?

 

Can’t he see how cute I am?

Why can’t he be whipped like Yoongi hyung?

 

The thought made his lips twitch into a bitter smile… until another thought came creeping in.

Or maybe… Mi Young was right.

 

Jungkook doesn’t do emotions.

His parents had ignored him all his life, so maybe this—working nonstop, keeping everyone at arm’s length—was all he knew.

 

He was about to open the messaging app when the link to that cursed article flashed on the screen again.

 

And there it was.

That picture.

 

Jungkook, standing next to her.

 

Elegant. Polished. Perfect for him.

She fit in with his world—rich, confident, already running parts of her family’s business. The kind of woman who could stand beside him without ever looking out of place.

 

His throat felt tight.

Taehyung… he was nobody. Why would Jungkook want him? He wouldn’t. He never would.

 

But then—why did it hurt so much to think about it?

 

He stared at the picture until his vision blurred, then tossed the phone onto the couch like it had burned him.

 

Something warm slid down his cheek.

A tear.

 

“Why the hell am I crying?” he whispered, quickly swiping at his face as if the act could erase the moment.

 

“Taehyung… get a grip,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed the first bottle of water his hand found. The cold was grounding as he gulped it down, but the ache in his chest refused to fade.

 

He set the water bottle back on the counter, but his eyes caught on something—his wrist.

 

The watch.

 

He stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over the smooth edge. A silly thought crept in, uninvited.

 

Should he press the button?

Would Jungkook even come?

 

He wasn’t here. He was probably still overseas, standing next to Mi Young, laughing about something charming and sophisticated. Even if he were here… would he come for him?

 

…Maybe he would at least call?

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened.

He hurried back to the couch and sat down, pulling his phone close, like he needed to have it ready—just in case.

 

There was no harm in checking. No harm at all.

 

He took a deep breath, eyes closing briefly, and pressed the button.

 

Seconds passed.

Nothing.

 

His eyes opened to silence, the kind that makes the room feel colder.

 

He frowned and pressed it again.

And again.

And again—like maybe persistence would force the world to move.

 

Still… nothing.

 

A lump formed in his throat. Was it broken?

Or… had Jungkook seen it and decided not to respond?

 

The thought stung in a way he didn’t want to name.

 

He yanked the watch off his wrist and tossed it onto the couch, watching it land uselessly against the cushions.

 

His lips trembled before curling into a bitter scoff.

Maybe Mi Young was right.

Maybe Jungkook doesn’t do emotions. Maybe she’d laugh at him if she saw him now, sitting here pressing a button like some foolish lovesick idiot.

 

He grabbed his phone and walked into his bedroom, crawling under the blanket. The apartment’s silence felt heavier tonight, almost oppressive, as if it was pressing against his ears.

 

A faint unease crawled into his chest. Not fear exactly, but a lonely kind of vulnerability he didn’t want to admit to.

 

He reached for his bear plush and pulled it close, fingers curling around its soft fur.

 

One last time—just one—he unlocked his phone, checked the screen.

 

No call.

 

Nothing from Jungkook.

 

His chest ached as a single thought whispered in the dark—

If he really was in danger… would Jungkook even care?

 

He stayed curled under the blanket, face pressed into the pillow as the warmth beneath it grew damp.

 

“Stupid watch,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have pressed the button… then I wouldn’t have to cry like this.”

 

His sobs grew louder—messy, unrestrained, the kind of crying Taehyung only ever allowed himself when no one was watching. It filled the silent apartment, every hiccup and sniffle bouncing back at him from the walls.

 

And then—

 

Bzzz.

 

He jolted, hiccup catching in his throat. His phone buzzed again, still trapped somewhere in the folds of the blanket. His fingers fumbled for it, and when the screen lit up, his breath hitched.

 

Jungkook.

 

Now? After all this time? Wasting all his tears on someone who probably didn’t even notice?

 

He hit decline.

 

The phone buzzed again. Persistent.

 

With a frustrated sniff, he swiped to answer and tossed it onto speaker.

“Why are you calling?!” he snapped, voice thick.

 

There was a pause on the other end. Then—

“…Why the hell are you crying?” Jungkook’s voice, low but sharper than usual.

 

Taehyung frowned into the dark. Two days without a word, and that’s the first thing he says?

“I’m watching my life movie. Wanna join?” he muttered.

 

“That’s not a movie,” Jungkook said flatly.

 

Taehyung blinked, a little thrown. “What do you mean?”

 

“Why did you press the button?”

 

His throat tightened. So… Jungkook knew. And still took fifteen whole minutes to call?

“I was checking the watch,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “But looks like it doesn’t work.”

 

“Who said it doesn’t work?”

 

Taehyung scoffed. “Well, if it does work, then you should be here in my apartment asking me in person—not calling.”

 

Silence. Just the faint sound of Jungkook’s breath on the line.

 

Then—

“…I think you should get out of your bed to check if it worked or not.”

 

Taehyung shot upright, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

“What?”

 

What did he mean? Jungkook was fifteen hours away—he’d seen the pictures, read the articles. There’s no way… right?

 

His fingers tightened around the blanket.

No. Jungkook wouldn’t—

…Would he?

 

“What should I check? There’s nothing to check here,” Taehyung muttered, hugging the blanket closer.

 

“Are you coming out or not?” Jungkook’s voice was calm, almost casual, but it sent a strange shiver through him.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard.

He… couldn’t be here. Could he?

 

Without another word, Taehyung scrambled out of bed, throwing on whatever was closest. His phone stayed pressed to his ear as he bolted to the door, pulse racing in his throat.

 

“Where?” he demanded the second he stepped outside. “Look, if this is a prank, I will dig your grave myself—”

 

“Look back.”

 

The words came through the phone, but the impact hit somewhere deeper—straight into his chest.

 

Slowly, Taehyung turned.

 

A few steps away, Jungkook stood with one hand in his pocket, the other still holding his phone. His face was unreadable—calm in a way that made Taehyung’s heart ache.

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. It was ridiculous—like the lead in some over-the-top K-drama, seeing the person you’ve been aching for suddenly appear. And God, he wanted to run forward and hug him, just bury his face in that stupid jacket.

 

But he couldn’t. There was still a line between them—a wall that hadn’t yet come down.

 

“Are you coming,” Jungkook’s voice was steady, “or should I come to you?”

 

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to come running when the button gets pressed?” Taehyung shot back, voice softer than his words.

 

Jungkook chuckled—a low, short sound. Then he ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket, and walked toward him.

 

Taehyung froze, his hands twitching at his sides as Jungkook stopped just in front of him. The man’s gaze was steady, unreadable, and far too close.

 

Taehyung hiccupped without meaning to.

 

“Now tell me, Kim Taehyung…” Jungkook’s voice dipped, “did it work or not?”

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened. “How… how are you here?”

 

“I had some work to do,” Jungkook said simply, though his eyes never left him.

 

 

Taehyung’s fingers twisted into the hem of his own shirt, a nervous habit he didn’t even realize he had.

Jungkook’s gaze was fixed on him—steady, unreadable—but every now and then, his eyes dipped lower, brushing over Taehyung’s lips before darting away again.

 

The tiny flickers made Taehyung’s stomach coil. He bit his bottom lip without thinking, the faint taste of skin grounding him for just a moment.

 

Jungkook glanced around them, scanning the quiet street, before returning his eyes to him.

 

“What… what work?” Taehyung finally managed, though his voice wavered.

 

Jungkook took a step forward—unhurried, deliberate—closing the space between them until Taehyung had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. His hand came up, warm and solid, resting against the back of Taehyung’s neck.

 

“A lot,” Jungkook said, voice low enough that it curled in Taehyung’s ears. “Yoongi-hyung stayed there for me.”

 

Taehyung’s eyes blinked rapidly, the rest of the world falling away. The touch at his neck wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to hold him still, like a quiet claim.

 

“J–Jungkook?” His name came out more like a plea than a question.

 

“Shhh.”

 

The single syllable was soft, but it rolled through him like a command.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught. He could hear the faint rustle of Jungkook’s jacket when he shifted closer. The air between them thickened, heavy with something he couldn’t name.

 

Jungkook leaned in—not fast, not certain, but slow, giving Taehyung every heartbeat to feel it. His lashes lowered slightly, and Taehyung’s knees felt suddenly unreliable.

 

He could feel Jungkook’s breath now, warm against his skin. His chest ached from how hard his heart was pounding. Was this it? Was this how it felt just before—

 

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered shut.

It did not feel real. Jungkook is here in front of him?  He in the arms of that man. The same man whom he was missing badly the whole two days. Did he really took flight and came straight to him? 

 

Every sound seemed to fade, the night shrinking until it was just him and the man in front of him.

 

---

 

 

Taehyung stood in the middle of his room, phone trembling faintly in his grip.

The article blazed across the screen, its headline feeling far too loud for the stillness of the morning.

 

Sunlight leaked through his curtains, soft and warm—but it didn’t touch him. His chest felt heavy, his pulse loud in his ears.

 

Without thinking, he grabbed his jacket, slipping it on over the T-shirt he’d slept in.

He stepped out of his apartment, the early hour making the hallway unusually quiet, almost like the building was holding its breath.

 

The taxi ride felt endless. He kept his eyes on the phone, on the image burned into his mind.

 

It can’t be true. He wouldn’t. He can’t.

 

When the taxi finally stopped, he was out the door before the driver could even tell him the fare. His shoes hit the pavement hard as he made his way up the steps.

 

He rang the bell. Once. Twice.

 

The faint sound of movement inside, and then the lock clicked.

 

The door opened to reveal Jungkook—hair still tousled from sleep, wearing loose morning clothes, skin catching the pale sunlight from the hallway. His expression was calm. Too calm.

 

Taehyung didn’t wait for an invitation. He brushed past him, the faint warmth of Jungkook’s presence grazing his shoulder as he entered the living room.

 

The morning light was spilling in through the windows, cutting across the coffee table, but it didn’t soften the air between them.

 

Taehyung turned, the article already open in his hand.

 

He stepped forward, holding the phone up until the screen hovered in front of Jungkook’s face.

 

“Did you do it?”

His voice was low but steady, carrying an edge that came from somewhere deep.

 

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the phone.

The bold headline sat between them like a third presence:

 

JEON’S SON CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF NIGHT , KISSING HIS LOVE. Is this the end of the rumours with Mrs Lee? 

 

He looked back up, his expression unreadable.

 

Taehyung’s grip on the phone tightened, his jaw clenching. His heart was pounding—not just from anger, but from something far more dangerous.

 

“Did you?” he asked again, softer this time, but sharper, like the quiet after a slammed door.

 

The sunlight felt too bright now, the air thick enough to choke on. Neither of them moved.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13: Fractures feat Yours

Notes:

Songs Recommendations:

Yours - conan gray

Don't say you love me - Jin

 

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I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who’s been giving love to this fic. I’m truly grateful, especially since I’m neither a professional nor even a casual writer—this is actually my first time writing in my life. Because of that, there might be moments that don’t quite make sense or even small plot holes, and I sincerely apologize for that. This story comes entirely from my imagination, with characters loosely inspired by some personal experiences. So if anything feels off, please know it’s not intentional. I’m far from perfect at creating plots—perhaps my only strength lies in weaving emotional moments. Thank you for understanding and for being here with me on this journey.

 

Also may be from next chapter Jungkook's pov will be added.

 

Enjoy reading.....

Author : Liz <3

 

 

 

---

 

So tell me that it's time for me to go

'Cause you know I can't do it on my own

The only thing that's harder than sleepin' alone

Is sleepin' with your ghost

 

---

 

 

"Jungkook, I’m asking you…" Taehyung’s voice was quieter now, tight around the edges, as if holding itself together with threads.
"Did you tip them to publish this article?"

 

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His gaze held Taehyung’s for a few long seconds before he moved—unhurried, deliberate—dropping onto the couch like this was a casual evening conversation and not a confrontation that had been clawing at Taehyung all morning.

 

"Why does it matter?" Jungkook said finally, his tone maddeningly even as he looked up at him. 

 

Taehyung’s jaw clenched. "Why does it matter?" He let out a small, incredulous laugh—too soft to be amused. "It’s about me. About you. The article is about us." The words scraped against his throat, sounding smaller than he wanted them to.

 

"You’re not even visible in the photo," Jungkook replied, leaning back and crossing his legs, his posture unbothered. His eyes didn’t leave Taehyung’s face. "Then why does it matter?" He paused—just long enough to make the air heavier. "Is it about the article, or…"
He tilted his head slightly, studying him, "…because it said we kissed, and we didn’t?"

 

The way he said it—steady, almost lazy—made something cold run down Taehyung’s spine.

 

He froze. His fingers tightened around his phone until his knuckles ached.

 

Kiss.
Why was he angry? Why did it twist so painfully in his chest? His name wasn’t mentioned. His face wasn’t there. Just two words: lover and kiss. Words he had no claim to… and maybe that was the problem.

 

"No," Taehyung said, his voice lower, shaking just slightly. "It’s about you almost kissing me just for that damn article." His fists clenched tighter. "You were just going to act for them." His throat tightened, eyes blurring despite his best effort. He blinked hard, holding them back.

 

Jungkook’s expression didn’t shift much, but something flickered in his eyes. He stood, slow and deliberate, each step toward Taehyung deliberate enough to make him want to step back.

 

"You’ve already decided what happened," Jungkook murmured. His gaze traced over Taehyung’s face—too direct, too knowing. "So why come here for answers?"

 

Those eyes… they weren’t just calm. They were dangerous. The kind of gaze that made it impossible to tell if you were standing in front of thetruth, or something designed to look like it. 

 

"We didn’t kiss, Taehyung," Jungkook said quietly. His voice dropped just above a whisper, so low it seemed to move through the air rather than over it. "We didn’t."

 

The words should have been final. But instead, they felt like the beginning of something neither of them could name.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard.

"This isn’t my answer," he said quietly, eyes fixed on Jungkook. "Just tell me—did you come to my apartment just for the article? Yes or no."

 

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

 

The silence pressed in.

Taehyung’s heartbeat climbed higher, each second stretching too long. Why isn’t he answering? Why isn’t he denying it?

Deny it. Please, Jungkook. Just deny it.

 

They stood there, motionless. Taehyung’s lips trembled despite the way he pressed them together. His eyes stung, vision blurring at the edges. No tears. Not here. Not in front of him.

 

"If you’re holding grudges against your family," he said finally, voice unsteady, "then why… why drag me into this bullshit?"

 

Jungkook’s eyes didn’t leave him. They were steady—too steady—but something faint flickered beneath.

 

Taehyung blinked hard against the sting in his eyes, his jaw tightening until it ached.

"We’re done, Jeon Jungkook," he said, forcing each word out evenly. "I don’t want the fake boyfriend crap. I don’t want any of this."

 

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped it away quickly, harshly.

"I thought you came for—"

His voice caught, a small break he couldn’t disguise. The rest stayed lodged in his throat.

 

Jungkook still didn’t speak.

 

When Taehyung turned to leave, his arm was caught and pulled back. Jungkook’s grip was firm, unyielding.

 

"Let go," Taehyung snapped, shoving at him, but Jungkook didn’t move. Instead, his arm slid around Taehyung’s waist, holding him still.

 

"What was our commitment?" Jungkook’s voice was low.

 

Taehyung’s head snapped up, breath uneven, pulse hammering. Commitment? Right. That stupid agreement. And then—his own memory turned sharp—Jungkook’s words about keeping it purely physical. No feelings.

So that was all this was.

 

"And what about it?" Taehyung asked, his lashes damp, eyes locked on him.

 

"I told you," Jungkook said, his tone calm but softer now, something faintly fraying at the edges, "we did this comittment because I didn’t want feelings involved."

 

The words twisted in Taehyung’s chest.

Right. He chose me because I was easy.

Right. And yet Taehyung kept forgetting. Forgetting it wasn’t real. Forgetting what Mi Young had told him—that Jungkook didn’t do feelings.

 

And yet… why did it hurt so much to be reminded?

 

Taehyung let out a shaky breath, a broken smile forming. "Yeah. My fault. I forgot." He blinked quickly, fighting the blur creeping back into his vision.

 

He swallowed hard. "Did you really come… just for that article?" His voice wavered at the end despite himself.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. But the answer didn’t come.

 

The silence felt like the only truth Taehyung was going to get.

 

 

---

 

The smell of warm toast and eggs still lingered in the small apartment. Jimin set his plate on the coffee table and folded himself onto the couch, one leg tucked under the other, phone in hand.

The morning light spilling through the blinds caught in his hair, and for a moment, the world was simple—soft laughter under his breath as he read Yoongi’s latest message.

 

One more day, my love. I’ll be there for you. Eat healthy. I don’t want to see only bones on you.

 

Jimin grinned, his thumbs tapping out a reply—heart emojis, more than strictly necessary. He reread Yoongi’s words once, twice, letting the warmth settle in. Then, with his breakfast cooling on the table, he opened his email.

 

Halfway through skimming a thread from the staff, his expression faltered. One subject line stuck out.

 

[MEDIA ALERT] Article circulating—Jeon Jungkook

 

His brows knitted as he tapped it open.

The moment the headline appeared, he felt the first twist in his stomach.

 

Jeon’s son caught in the middle of the night kissing his love.

 

The attached pictures loaded slowly, grainy under the compression. In every frame, Jungkook was sharply in focus, his face turned just enough to be unmistakable. The other figure, though—always on the edge of the frame, too blurred, swallowed by shadows.

 

Jimin leaned forward, zooming in on one, then another. The details refused to sharpen, but something about the place…

 

He stared longer, fingers tightening around the phone.

 

The faint curve of a streetlamp. The brick pattern on the wall behind them. The slope of the road disappearing into dark.

It tugged at something in his memory until—

 

His eyes widened.

“…Isn’t that Taehyung’s neighborhood?”

 

The words left his mouth in a whisper, more to himself than anyone else. His chest tightened.

 

“Damn it.”

 

Jimin shoved his plate aside, standing so quickly the couch cushions sprang back. He pressed the phone to his ear, dialing Taehyung.

 

The call rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Come on, come on…”

 

It went to voicemail.

 

“Pick up, Taehyung,” he muttered, pacing the narrow space between the couch and kitchen counter. The air felt heavier now, his breakfast cold and forgotten.

 

He tried again. Same result.

 

His jaw set. Without hesitation, he scrolled to Jungkook’s name and pressed call.

 

The call connected after a few beats.

 

“Jungkook?” Jimin asked, sharper than usual. “What’s that article? Is it Taehyung?”

 

A pause followed—long enough for Jimin to hear the faint background hum from Jungkook’s side, as if he were pacing in his apartment.

 

“It’ll be removed in a moment,” Jungkook said finally, voice clipped.

 

Jimin’s grip on the phone tightened. “Most of the people have already seen it. The article was published by anonymous member. Who can it be? ”

 

Silence again. The quiet on the other end was heavier this time, like words were being held back.

 

When Jungkook finally spoke, his tone was too casual for the question he asked.

“… he reached your place yet or not?”

 

It wasn’t just curiosity. There was something there—too quick, too sharp—like the words had slipped out before he could smooth them over.

 

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, catching the edge beneath that calm. “Damn it. So Taehyung was at your place—”

 

The sound of his own front door unlocking cut him off. He turned sharply, watching Taehyung step in, the air around him charged, his jaw tight.

 

Jimin’s chest loosened in relief despite himself. “He’s here,” he said into the phone.

 

Taehyung’s gaze dropped immediately to the device in Jimin’s hand. Without a word, he crossed the room, movements brisk, and took it from him. Seeing Jungkook’s name on the screen, he hit speaker.

 

“I’m not dead,” Taehyung’s voice was ice over fire, “and I won’t go that easily. I’ve still got my revenge to take on you. So you just wait.”

 

The click of the call ending was louder than it should’ve been. Taehyung tossed the phone toward Jimin, who caught it in surprise.

 

“If I see you talking to him—” Taehyung’s voice trembled, not from weakness but from the effort of keeping it steady, “—I swear I’ll cut all ties with you.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin said quickly, raising both hands. “Relax.”

 

But Taehyung didn’t.

His breathing was too fast. His shoulders were too stiff.

And Jimin couldn’t help but think—maybe Jungkook’s voice on the other end had been just as unsteady.

 

Taehyung dropped himself onto Jimin’s couch like his bones had given out. His jaw was locked so tight it almost hurt.

 

“How can I relax, Jimin?” he said, staring at the floor. “I want to hit his head against a wall. But I can’t do it—obviously—because it’ll hurt me in the end.”

 

Jimin sighed and sank into the seat beside him, leaning forward on his elbows.

 

“Why can’t he be normal for once?” Taehyung’s voice cracked, not with tears but with sheer frustration. “Why is he so damn… stupid?”

 

Jimin hesitated before asking, “What happened last night? Did you both… really kiss?”

 

Taehyung’s head whipped toward him, his glare sharp enough to slice through the air.

“We did not,” he said flatly, eyes dropping to his lap after the words left him.

 

“Why?” Jimin asked, disbelief dripping from his tone. “I clearly told him you were sulking and he didn’t even kiss you? Then what the hell is that article supposed to be?”

 

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a second… you told him what?”

 

Jimin bit his lower lip, a flash of guilt crossing his face as he straightened. “Look, Taehyung, I just… I thought I was doing you a favour, okay? Your mood was down, so—”

 

“My mood was down,” Taehyung cut in, his voice rising, “and now what? Now he’s made it ten times worse!”

 

Before Jimin could move, Taehyung lunged forward, trying to grab him.

 

“Yah—” Jimin scrambled backward, darting to the other side of the couch.

 

“He might’ve been nervous to kiss you,” Jimin said quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Maybe he thought you wouldn’t like it—”

 

“Nervous?” Taehyung followed him around the couch. “He wasn’t nervous, Jimin. He angled himself so the picture would come out good for that damn article.”

 

Jimin’s brows drew together. “What are you saying?”

 

“You wait—” Taehyung stopped in front of him, hand outstretched. “Show me your phone. Show me exactly what you sent him.”

 

Jimin gave him a sheepish smile, hands half-raised like he was already surrendering.

“Okay, okay, I’ll show you. But first—promise me you’re not going to hit me.”

 

Taehyung planted both hands on his waist, eyebrows drawn low.

“I won’t. Now give me your phone.”

 

Jimin tossed it onto the couch without another word.

 

Taehyung snatched it up, only to look back at him with a flat stare.

“You changed the password.”

 

“Oh—yeah.” Jimin bit his lip. “It’s… Yoongi’s birthday.”

 

Taehyung just blinked at him. “Oh, Jimin. What happened to you?”

 

“It’s romantic!” Jimin defended, quickly grabbing the phone to unlock it. He tapped in the date and handed it back.

 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on him for a moment—before he scrolled through to Jungkook’s contact. His thumb hesitated before opening the thread.

 

His heart gave a small, traitorous kick.

 

Jungkook:

Bring him to your apartment tonight. He shouldn’t be alone.

 

Jimin:

When did you become so careful with him? Huh? 

 

(Conversation end)

 

Jungkook:

What’s he doing? 

 

Jimin:

Sulking. Says the coffee didn’t taste right. But… I think he’s missing someone.

 

Jungkook:

Send me his picture.

 

Jimin:

Really?

 

Jungkook:

Should I have to ask you twice now? 

 

There it was—the attached photo.

Taehyung sprawled across Jimin’s bed, starfish position, frowning at the ceiling like the world had personally wronged him. He didn’t even remember that moment, but now, seeing it… he felt oddly exposed.

 

Jungkook:

Keep him with you. Don’t let him go anywhere alone.

 

Jimin:

You know… you could just call him yourself.

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened. His eyes stayed fixed on the words, reading them again, slower this time. Jungkook hadn’t been talking about the article here. No games. Just… making sure he wasn’t alone.

 

He lifted his head toward Jimin, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Look, he asked, so I sent it,” Jimin said. “I didn’t think too much about it. Honestly… I thought maybe you missing him and honestly he looks like he was missing you too.”

 

Taehyung scoffed, but it lacked bite. “missing? He took a flight just to—” He stopped himself. The words were too sharp for the way his stomach was twisting now.

 

Because those messages… they didn’t sound like someone plotting an article. They sounded like someone keeping distance but still looking out for him.

 

Jimin, oblivious to the shift in Taehyung’s thoughts, started to back away, half expecting a chase. “Anyway, don’t kill me.”

 

Taehyung didn’t follow this time. Instead, his gaze dropped back to the screen. That last line from Jungkook—Don’t let him go anywhere alone—sat heavy in his chest.

 

What was Jungkook thinking? Was it really only about that damn article? Or was there something else buried under all the things he refused to say?

 

The memory of last night came back sharp and blurred all at once. The look in Jungkook’s eyes when he’d said we didn’t kiss. The way his voice had dropped low, almost vulnerable.

 

Taehyung let out a slow breath, a strange determination settling over him. If Jungkook thought he could keep hiding behind that wall, he was wrong.

 

If Jungkook was emotionally constipated, then fine—Taehyung could be too. And this time, he wasn’t going to let him slip away with half-answers.

 

---

 

The bass from the club thumped through the walls, a low, steady pulse that seemed to vibrate through the floor. Mi-young slid into the booth beside her friends, the faint scent of perfume and alcohol clinging to her clothes. The table was littered with half-empty glasses, cigarette butts crushed into ashtrays, and a few lines of powder that nobody was bothering to hide.

 

She reached for her glass without a word, taking a slow sip. The liquor burned faintly down her throat, but it steadied her breathing.

 

“So,” one of the girls leaned in with a smirk, “you’ve got your prince charming in your hands after all.”

 

Mi-young tilted her lips upward, just enough to pass for a smirk of her own. She didn’t answer.

 

Another voice cut in, sharper. “But he wasn’t paying attention to you at the conference. And then—” the girl’s smile turned pointed, “—he left New York.”

 

Mi-young’s jaw tensed. The warmth of the drink suddenly felt sour in her mouth. “He can’t cling to me all the time,” she said evenly, though the steel in her tone was obvious. “He’s not like your low-key one-night stands, Yoora.”

 

Yoora’s expression faltered, her lips pressing into a thin line.

 

But before the air could cool, another girl glanced down at her phone. Her brow arched. “Wait a minute, Mi-young…” She looked back up, her eyes glinting. “Looks like he really didn’t cling to you.”

 

Mi-young’s fingers twitched before she snatched the phone out of the girl’s hand. Her jaw flexed as she scanned the screen. Then she forced herself to smile, sharp and thin. “It’s fake. There’s no face of him in there.”

 

“He’s in Korea,” Yoora said from across the booth, her voice dripping satisfaction. “And we’ve got some news saying he’s into someone else.”

 

“I said it’s fake.” Mi-young’s gaze cut to Yoora like a blade, and the other woman fell silent immediately.

 

She drained the rest of her glass and set it down hard enough to make the ice clink. “I have to go. You should enjoy yourselves,” she said, already sliding out of the booth.

 

The hallway outside the booth was quieter, but not by much. The beat still thumped faintly under her feet as she strode out of the club, muscles tight with barely restrained anger.

 

By the time she reached her hotel room, her pulse was pounding in her ears. She slammed the door shut, leaning against it for a beat before crossing the room in quick strides.

 

The glow of her phone lit up her face as she unlocked it. She opened the article, scrolling past the grainy, dark photos—his figure unmistakable, the other person blurred but close.

 

Her lips curled back. “Taehyung… Taehyung,” she muttered. “So you went to him, huh? That little bitch. He has the audacity to kiss what’s mine?”

 

The words tasted bitter. She paced the length of the carpet, fingers drumming against her thigh before she hit dial.

 

The line clicked.

 

“What the hell is your problem now?” Lee-do’s voice came, laced with irritation.

 

Mi-young’s tone dropped, low and precise. “You want me to clear your name from the company so father doesn’t have to know?”

 

---

 

 

Flashback:

 

 

“J–Jungkook?”

 

His name slipped from Taehyung’s lips more like a plea than a question, fragile in the quiet night air.

 

“Shhh.”

 

The single syllable was soft, almost tender, but it rolled through him like a command, leaving no room for argument.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught. Somewhere in the stillness, he heard the faint rustle of Jungkook’s jacket as he shifted closer. The space between them thickened—dense, weighted—until it felt like the world beyond this moment had ceased to exist.

 

Jungkook leaned in—not with confidence, but with deliberate slowness, as if testing invisible boundaries. Every fraction of movement gave Taehyung another heartbeat to anticipate, another moment for his pulse to stumble.

 

His lashes dipped slightly, and Taehyung’s knees wavered.

 

The warmth of Jungkook’s breath brushed his skin, a ghost of contact. His chest ached from the force of his own heartbeat. Was this it? Was this the moment he’d thought about, dreamt about, dreaded?

 

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered shut. His pulse roared in his ears. He waited.

 

And waited.

 

Too long.

 

The press of lips never came. Only silence. His eyes opened again, confusion tightening in his chest. He searched Jungkook’s expression for a hint—anything—but found only unreadable eyes. Jungkook glanced briefly away, scanning the darkness around them, before looking back at him.

 

They stayed there, suspended in a gaze that felt like it could shatter with one wrong word.

 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said finally, his voice low. “It’s late.” He hesitated, his jaw flexing once. “Tonight… staying at your place doesn’t feel right.”

 

He reached up, his palm warm against Taehyung’s cheek in a fleeting pat, then gestured toward the door.

 

Something in Taehyung’s chest crumpled—quietly, but enough to leave a mark. He nodded once, quick, and turned away before his face could betray more. His footsteps carried him inside, faster than he meant them to.

 

Outside, Jungkook opened his car door and sank into the seat, head tipping back against the rest. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes closed, his breath slow but uneven.

 

Then he reached for his phone.

The number connected on the first ring.

 

“Check the area on CCTV,” he said quietly, already typing something into his screen. “Around the location I’m sending. See if anyone was there… watching.”

 

The call ended without a goodbye. The car’s engine hummed to life, and he pulled away from the curb.

 

Ten minutes later, the phone lit again.

 

“There was a man,” the voice on the other end said. “Stayed for about half an hour. Taking pictures.”

 

Jungkook’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel until the leather creaked. “Catch him,” he said, his tone like ice. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

 

The line went dead. His eyes stayed forward, the streetlights washing his face in fleeting bands of gold and shadow.

 

Chapter 14: The way you ruin me feat Breathe

Notes:

Playlist :

3:15 sped up - Russ ( today's chapter main meal)

Those eyes - new west

Sweater weather - The neighborhood

Memories - conan gray

 

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.
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Italics writing- flashback

 

---

 

How could you hurt a little kid?

I can't forget, I can't forgive you

'Cause now I'm scared that

everyone I love will leave me. 

 

 

---

 

A small boy ran across the backyard, his tiny hands pushing a red toy car, the sound of its wheels scraping against the stone path mixing with his soft giggles. His laughter came in uneven bursts, breaths catching from the effort of chasing after it, but his joy was bright, unrestrained.

 

Then, without warning, a sharp sound broke the air. A stone flew, landing squarely on the toy. Plastic cracked, splintering into jagged pieces that scattered across the ground.

 

The boy froze. His little chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes fixed on the fragments of what had just been his favorite toy. The smile that had lit up his face faltered, dissolving into trembling lips. Slowly, he stumbled forward and crouched, gathering the broken pieces into his small hands as though holding them together might fix them. His lashes grew heavy with tears, blurring the toy in his palm.

 

When he lifted his head, another boy stood a few steps away. Older. Taller. A shadow of anger darkening his face.

 

It wasn’t the first time.
Not the first toy broken.
Not the first cruelty endured in silence.

 

“Why… why did you do this?” the younger boy’s voice wavered, thin and fragile.

 

The other boy didn’t answer right away. A slow smirk curved his lips, a look too cold for someone his age.

 

“You don’t belong here,” he said at last, voice laced with disdain. “This is my house. My toys. Dad only took you in because he felt pity.”

 

The younger boy shook his head, tears spilling freely now. His words tumbled out in a sob.

 

“No—he’s my dad too. You’re lying!”

 

The boy’s denial only fueled the other’s cruelty. He stepped forward, shoving him hard. The smaller boy fell, the rough ground scraping his hands and knees. Pain stung, but it was nothing compared to the ache spreading through his chest.

 

“Your mother,” the older boy’s voice bit sharply, “took my mother’s place. He’s not your dad. Nobody loves you.”

 

The words cut deeper than the fall. The little boy pressed his lips together, his whole body trembling. For a moment, he didn’t know whether to cry harder or to scream. He wiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, forcing himself to stand, fragile legs quivering beneath him.

 

“My dad loves me too,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud could make it more real.

 

The older boy tilted his head, a cruel glint flickering in his eyes.

 

“Want me to prove it?”

 

The younger boy’s heart lurched. Before he could move, the other threw himself backward with a practiced thud, landing on the ground. His arm struck the earth as he let out a piercing wail.

 

“Appa! … Appa!” he cried, his voice echoing with feigned pain.

 

The younger boy froze, fear draining the color from his face. His small fingers still clutched the broken toy pieces.

 

Within moments, hurried footsteps pounded against the ground. A man appeared, rushing toward the sound, a woman just behind him.

 

And the boy—who had already lost so much—stood trembling, watching everything unravel in front of him.

 

“Hyunwoo… what happened, my love?”

 

The man’s voice was soft, frantic, as he crouched to gather the crying boy into his arms. His hands cupped Hyunwoo’s face with a tenderness that seemed infinite, his brows furrowed with worry.

 

The man looked up then—looked toward the other boy. Toward Jungkook.

 

The younger one stood there frozen, ten years old, with dirt smeared across his scraped knees and tear streaks staining his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate bursts. And yet, despite the ache in his small chest, there was a flicker in his eyes.

 

Hope.

Maybe this time… maybe Appa would believe him.

Maybe, finally, he would be seen.

 

“He did it, Appa.” Hyunwoo’s voice cracked, hiccupping through practiced sobs. “He pushed me… he told me I should die… just like my mother.”

 

The words pierced through the silence like glass shattering.

 

Jungkook’s eyes widened. His throat closed, panic clawing up his ribs. He turned quickly, looking at the woman standing behind—the only other chance he had.

 

“Mom,” Jungkook’s small voice broke as he stepped toward her. “I didn’t… I didn’t do it. He—he fell himself. Appa, I swear—”

 

But the man’s gaze never shifted back to him. Instead, it lowered to Hyunwoo, to the boy cradled against his chest.

 

Something inside Jungkook twisted. The hope in his eyes dimmed, flickering like a candle caught in the wind.

 

Hyunwoo buried his face in their father’s chest, and when no one else could see, the corner of his lips curled into a smirk. A victorious, cruel little smirk.

 

The man turned, carrying Hyunwoo inside. And Jungkook… Jungkook remained standing in the yard, broken toy clutched tight in his fist, staring at the back of the father he longed for.

 

“Jungkook.”

 

His mother’s voice snapped like a whip. Before he could lift his gaze, the sting of her hand landed hard against his cheek. His head jerked sideways, tears springing hot to his eyes.

 

“How many times have I told you to behave?” she hissed, gripping his arm.

 

Jungkook lowered his head, silent, his lips pressing together so hard they almost bled. Silence had always been safer.

 

“Because of you, Sungmin barely looks at me anymore,” she spat, dragging him by the wrist. “I didn’t give birth to you for this. I thought—when you came—at least he’d come back to me. But you only pushed him further away.”

 

Her words weighed heavier than the slap. Each one pressed into him, suffocating.

 

She marched him inside, her grip bruising against his small wrist. Into the living room, where Hyunwoo sat on the couch, their father bent over him with an ointment, doting carefully on the scrape along his arm.

 

She pushed Jungkook forward, so hard he nearly stumbled. “Go,” she ordered, her voice sharp. “You will apologize.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to the small wound on Hyunwoo’s arm. The blood was already smudged, barely more than a scratch. Still, his father touched it as though it was the most fragile thing in the world. His eyes went to his own wounds. 

 

Slowly, Jungkook lifted his gaze. He swallowed. His throat burned.

 

“I’m… sorry,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

 

Hyunwoo blinked up at him, lashes wet, eyes wide and innocent. He tilted his head with practiced softness. “It’s okay, Jungkook.” His voice dripped with sweetness that only deepened the cruelty beneath.

 

Jungkook looked at his father then—looked desperately for something, anything. Just a glance. A hand. A word. But Sungmin didn’t spare him either.

 

Like always.

 

“Appa…” Jungkook’s voice cracked, trembling as he tried again. “I—”

 

“Enough.” His father’s voice cut through, low and cold. He rose to his feet, his face hardening. “Mira, take him. Teach him properly. This is the last time. Next time, I’ll send him to boarding school.”

 

The words dropped like a blade, final and merciless. He left without another look, footsteps fading down the hall.

 

Jungkook stood there in silence, staring at the place his father had been, his small fists trembling at his sides.

 

Hyunwoo slid off the couch and walked toward him. His hand fell lightly on Jungkook’s shoulder, the gesture mimicking affection. But his voice—his voice was poison, quiet enough for only Jungkook to hear.

 

“What’s mine,” Hyunwoo whispered, his lips almost brushing his ear, “is always mine. You can’t take even a piece of it. Not a toy. Not Appa. Not anything.”

 

Jungkook’s throat tightened. His vision blurred. And still, he said nothing. He only stood there, the broken toy pieces biting into his small palm, the sting of his father’s absence burning sharper than any slap ever could.

 

 

---

 

 

Taehyung stirred at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Wake up.”

 

Jimin’s tone carried a teasing lilt, but it pulled Taehyung out of the haze where his head rested against the desk. He blinked, sluggishly lifting his gaze, the dull ache in his neck reminding him that he hadn’t truly slept at all.

 

If you asked him, he would swear there had been no sleep in the first place. Only thoughts. Restless, unyielding thoughts of Jungkook—cold, confusing, yet threaded with something that felt dangerously close to care. It was maddening. Jungkook hurt him, whether knowingly or not, and Taehyung felt the sting of it every time.

 

But this time… he had promised himself something.

He would not let his guard fall again.

 

No matter how warm Jungkook’s fleeting kindness seemed, no matter how much his heart wanted to soften, Taehyung knew he had to resist. To be strong. To break through that unreadable mask Jungkook wore.

 

And for strength, last night, he had turned to the only place that always claimed to have answers—Google.

 

Simple words, typed in desperation. How to ignore someone. How to stop caring.

And the advice had been laughably simple.

Ignore them. Be cold.

 

Yes. Taehyung could do it. He had to do it.

 

Surely Google was right.

Surely.

 

He raised his head finally, forcing a smile at Jimin, though the edges of it trembled with exhaustion.

 

“God, look at you. Your face looks horrible,” Jimin teased, his laughter light, though his eyes held a flicker of concern.

 

Taehyung stood, dragging a hand across his face, as if he could wipe away the evidence of a sleepless night. “Why? I put in effort today… how can it be horrible?” His lips pouted, half in jest, half in frustration.

 

Jimin chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Effort, huh? For whom, exactly? He just came in. Go, check the schedule.”

 

The words hit harder than they should have.

That stupid person again. Always him.

 

For a heartbeat, Taehyung’s heart skipped—foolishly, helplessly.

But then he remembered his new vow.

 

Be cold. Ignore him.

Be strong.

 

Even as a bitter thought crossed his mind: since when had Google ever worked for him?

 

Taehyung’s footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor, each one measured, deliberate—as if slowing down could steady the small storm inside his chest. His heart thudded just a little too quickly, his throat tight with the memory of their last encounter. The air between them had been left raw, unsettled, and now, facing Jungkook again felt heavier than it should.

 

Awkward. That was one word for it.

But beneath the awkwardness, if he dared admit it, was something else—an eager pull. A stubborn hope to see him. Even a flicker of worry, because last night was horrible for Taehyung. 

 

He paused outside the office door, his knuckles brushing lightly against the wood.

A voice from inside, low but clear. “Come in.”

 

Taehyung drew a deep breath and entered. He didn’t look up—not even a glance—just walked forward and placed the folder neatly on the desk.

 

“The summary of the conference is inside. All the necessary attachments have been added,” he said, his gaze darting anywhere but at him. His voice was steady, though his hands betrayed him, curling slightly at his sides.

 

A silence followed, long enough for Taehyung to think he had succeeded in keeping it businesslike—until Jungkook’s voice broke through, quiet yet cutting.

“So, now we are back to being professionals huh? ”

 

The words caught Taehyung off guard, dragging his eyes upward despite himself.

 

Jungkook sat behind the desk, face unreadable, as though carved from restraint. The pale tint of his skin hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor the glasses perched neatly on his nose. A shield. Either for the work… or to hide something he didn’t want others to see.

 

Dark circles, faint but real. They hadn’t been there before.

 

Taehyung swallowed, his chest tightening.

 

“We were always professionals… weren’t we?” His own reply came softer than intended, more fragile than sharp.

 

Jungkook blinked, then looked back down at the file as though it was suddenly the most important thing in the room. As though he hadn’t heard the strain in Taehyung’s voice. Like always—diverting, slipping away from what mattered.

 

Taehyung watched him for a moment longer, helplessly, before forcing his eyes away. All his late-night Google theories—ignore him, be cold, don’t care—crumbled in front of this man without Jungkook even lifting a finger.

 

It was ridiculous. Infuriating.

How could one person unravel him so easily?

 

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry.

He wanted Jungkook to just look at him. To see him. To say the words he had been aching to hear.

 

But Jungkook didn’t. He only raised his head slightly, lips parting as though about to speak.

 

That tiny flicker of possibility was enough to break Taehyung’s resolve. His fists clenched, desperate to keep himself together, and before he could betray anything more, he turned sharply and left the office.

 

The sound of the door closing lingered like a final note in a song unfinished.

 

Jimin found him not long after in the hallway, leaning against the wall, eyes lowered, shoulders tense as if carrying too much weight.

 

“Hey,” Jimin said carefully, stepping closer. “You look… rough.”

 

Taehyung tried for a smile, but it faltered halfway. His lips curved, then broke, leaving only a trembling line. His gaze was glassy, unfocused.

 

“Jimin…” His voice cracked, barely there. “Why does it hurt so much… just to see him?”

 

Jimin’s chest tightened at the sight. Taehyung looked less like his usual vibrant self and more like someone hollowed out, his brightness dimmed to nothing but quiet embers.

 

Jimin didn’t press, didn’t tease. He simply placed a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and held it there, steady. Silent.

Because sometimes silence was the only thing strong enough to keep someone from falling apart.

 

---

 

Mi Young entered her room with a sharp toss of her bag onto the bed. The leather straps slapped against the sheets, echoing faintly in the quiet. Her voice, sharp and commanding, followed almost immediately.

 

“Get my suitcases out of the car.”

 

A maid hurried in, bowing her head quickly.

“Yes, Miss.”

 

“And where is Lee Do?” Mi Young asked without looking at her, adjusting her earrings in the mirror.

 

“In his room, Master is… occupied.”

 

Mi Young exhaled through her nose, half scoff, half sigh.

“Fine. You can go.”

 

The maid bowed again and slipped out. Mi Young pulled the jacket from her shoulders and dropped it onto the bed. Her fingers raked through her hair, setting her expression into something sharper before she strode across the hallway.

 

Without hesitation, she kicked open Lee Do’s door.

 

Inside, the thumping sound of some game echoed through his headphones, his face lit by the screen. She scoffed, striding forward and tugging the headphones away in one swift move.

 

Lee Do flinched, cursing under his breath. “What the—” He stopped short when he saw her, his expression softening into reluctant recognition. “So, you’re back?”

 

Mi Young’s lips curled into disdain. “You’re playing games? That’s what you’re doing while I asked you to handle something?”

 

Lee Do tossed the headphones onto his desk, then slouched back against the bed with a humorless laugh. “Handle something? You think I’m insane? Jungkook already spared me once. If I try again, I won’t survive the second time.” He leaned forward, voice dropping lower. “And if he finds out you were the one who told me to go after that boy, do you even know what he’ll do to you?”

 

Mi Young’s eyes flashed. She stepped closer, her voice sharp, almost venomous.

“Watch your mouth. You dare speak like that, I’ll kill you with my own hands.”

 

Lee Do didn’t flinch. His smirk was cold, practiced. “You think Jungkook stays quiet because he can’t fight back? No, Mi Young. He just doesn’t want to drag that boy into the mess. He knows the moment it blows up, that boy will be forced into the light. Everyone will know his face.”

 

He reached for a file sitting on his desk and tossed it at her feet. The folder landed with a thud, papers spilling slightly from the edge.

 

Mi Young frowned, crouching down to pick it up. “What is this?”

 

“A favor,” Lee Do said, leaning back lazily. “Now you cover for me with Dad.”

 

She flipped the file open, her brows furrowing as her eyes scanned the contents. Slowly, she looked back up at him. “So the article… it wasn’t Jungkook?”

 

Lee Do’s laugh was humorless. “You really think he’d put the person he likes in danger like that? He took the article down himself.”

 

Mi Young froze, blinking once. Her lips parted slightly. “… Then who—”

 

“Guess who actually published it?” Lee Do’s smirk widened, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He leaned in, savoring the moment.

 

“Hyunwoo.”

 

The name hung in the air like a sharp blade.

 

Mi Young’s eyes widened, shock flashing quickly before something else settled in its place—something darker. Slowly, her lips curved into a smirk of her own.

 

“Well then…” she murmured, snapping the file shut. “I suppose it’s time I meet my brother-in-law.”

 

---

 

Jungkook leaned back in his seat, shoulders slouched from exhaustion. He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling, until the buzz of his phone broke the silence.

 

His jaw tensed when he saw the name, but he still answered.

 

“You finally picked up, huh?” a voice drawled on the other end.

 

Jungkook’s grip tightened around the phone.

“Why the hell are you calling me?”

 

The voice chuckled softly, feigning hurt.

“I’m wounded, Jungkook. You didn’t even come to see me. I’m back in Korea for two weeks.”

 

Jungkook stayed silent.

 

“Don’t ignore me. You know I hate that,” Hyunwoo’s tone sharpened, before twisting into a smirk. “Forget it. How was my welcome gift?”

 

Jungkook’s jaw clenched.

 

“You erased that article so quickly. Didn’t even call to thank me. I helped you, Jungkook. Mom and Dad were thrilled when they saw it.” Hyunwoo laughed, low and mocking. “But you just removed it. Is your little lover that angry at you?”

 

Jungkook shut his eyes. His jaw tensed. 

“What do you want?”

 

“What do I want?” Hyunwoo let out a dark laugh. “Its a big debate Jungkook. Forget it. I expect to meet you. How long you will stay alone. Don't you miss us? " He took a pause. " Or I have to do something to get your attention again? "

 

---

 

Taehyung’s fingers trembled around the rim of his glass, his lips quivering as though even words weighed too much. His voice cracked as it left him, small, almost desperate.

“I can’t do this, Jimin…”

 

There was a sheen in his eyes—too much alcohol, maybe. Or maybe it was just the truth spilling out after holding it too long.

 

Jimin sighed, his patience stretched thin but still rooted in worry.

“Stop rambling. And stop drinking now.” His tone sharpened, but underneath it was affection. “I’m not carrying you home tonight, I’m telling you.”

 

Taehyung lifted his head slowly, his pout trembling, his expression collapsing into something childlike. His voice broke into a near-whisper.

“Ahhh… nobody loves me. Am I that bad?”

 

Jimin shut his eyes tight, as if bracing himself against the words. He hated hearing this from him.

“Damn it… everyone loves you.”

 

But Taehyung shook his head, stubborn, his eyes glazed but heavy with pain.

“No… someone doesn’t.”

 

Silence pressed between them. Jimin leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on Taehyung’s shoulders, grounding him. His voice softened, urgent.

“You should talk to him. Both of you are too damn stubborn. I thought I was bad with Yoongi but—” he let out a short laugh, almost bitter, “—you two are worse.”

 

Taehyung hiccuped, the sound fragile in the thick air.

“He doesn’t want me. He came for that stupid article and then… he just shuts his mouth in front of me. He doesn’t answer me, Jimin.”

 

Jimin studied him carefully, weighing every word before speaking.

“I don’t think he published that article. Think about it—if he cared so much for your safety that he asked me to take you to my apartment when he wasn’t around, then why would he expose you like that?”

 

Taehyung’s glassy eyes lifted to him, confusion flickering.

“What do you mean? He didn’t deny it…”

 

“Maybe he feels guilty,” Jimin said softly. “Maybe he blames himself because it happened at all. But I swear, Tae… it doesn’t add up. You just need to try and understand him a little. Or—” Jimin leaned back, exhaling sharply, “—do you want me to talk to him? Smack some sense into that head of his?”

 

A shaky breath escaped Taehyung. He bit down on his lip, hard, before reaching for another glass. His voice dropped into something close to a whisper, edged with self-mockery.

“No. It’s wasted. He already said he doesn’t do feelings. And me?” His laugh was bitter, hollow. “My first stupid feelings had to be for him. How unlucky can I be?”

 

He lifted the glass and downed it in one go, wincing as it burned down his throat.

 

Jimin reached toward him, alarmed.

“Tae, take it easy—”

 

But Taehyung only smiled, a fragile, broken curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m good. Don’t worry.”

 

He pushed himself up, stumbling slightly, and grabbed his phone with unsteady hands.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Wait here.”

 

“Let me come with you,” Jimin offered quickly, rising halfway from his seat.

 

Taehyung shook his head, already walking toward the exit with uneven steps.

“No. You wait here.”

 

And then he was gone, leaving Jimin sitting there with worry gnawing at his chest.

 

Jimin grabbed his phone. Opening his contacts. "Damn it " He whispered. 

 

 

Taehyung’s heart pounded unevenly, his chest rising and falling as though even breathing had turned into a task. His hands trembled around his phone, his steps unsteady as he stumbled out of the crowded hum of the club. The alcohol in his veins made the world sway just slightly—but the heaviness pressing on his chest had nothing to do with the drinks.

 

He moved forward blindly, but the sudden jolt of impact startled him—his shoulder colliding against someone’s chest. His phone slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

 

“Aish…” Taehyung hissed softly, crouching down in reflex. But before his shaky fingers could reach it, another hand was already there.

 

The stranger straightened first, holding the phone out to him. Taehyung, with heavy lids and eyes half-dropped, slowly lifted his gaze. The man was handsome. A perfect smile plastered across his face, one that felt a little too smooth, a little too practiced.

 

“Here,” the man said lightly, still looking at him longer than necessary

 

Taehyung’s lips parted, his voice faint, fragile.

“Thank you.”

 

The stranger’s smile deepened, eyes lingering.

“No worries.”

 

But Taehyung couldn’t hold the weight of that gaze. He turned, body swaying slightly as he forced himself to walk away. His steps carried him toward the quiet of a more secluded corner.

 

Behind him, the man watched, lips still curved into that same knowing smile, before disappearing back inside.

 

Taehyung didn’t notice. Couldn’t notice. His world had shrunk too small.

 

He lowered himself against the wall, knees folding weakly as he slid down until he was seated, the cool surface pressing against his back. His phone rested heavy in his palm, the one thing anchoring him. He pressed the button, the screen lighting up faintly, cracks spreading across it like tiny fractures—like his own heart, splintered and fragile.

 

He swiped at it with trembling fingers. His breath stuttered. His chest tightened. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for until he found it.

 

And then his throat closed.

 

The picture appeared, distorted slightly by the black blotch spreading across the screen from the fall, but still there. That picture—his favorite, his secret.

 

His finger traced the glass, hovering over Jungkook’s face as though the warmth of his skin could bleed through pixels. His vision blurred, a tear slipping down before he could stop it.

 

“Damn it…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking.

 

A sob escaped, broken and raw.

 

He swiped again, and another memory lit up—one from their fake date. Then another, of them shopping. Then another. Each picture he had taken quietly, without Jungkook knowing. His little collection of stolen moments, hidden away. Because Jungkook never knew. Because Jungkook never looked at him like he wanted.

 

And now, he never would.

 

Taehyung pressed his forehead against the phone, his shoulders shaking.

“Why…” His voice broke apart as the word slipped out. “Why does it hurt this much…”

 

The laughter and music from inside the club felt miles away. Out here, in the dim quiet, it was just him—and the memories glowing faintly from his cracked screen.

 

He sobbed again, harsh and unrestrained, every picture tearing him open a little more. Every smile of Jungkook’s in those photos felt like a knife.

 

And still, Taehyung couldn’t stop swiping. Couldn’t stop looking. Because even in his pain, Jungkook was the only thing that felt real.

 

“Guess what?” Taehyung whispered to the glowing screen, his thumb brushing over Jungkook’s face as though the pixels could respond. His voice was barely audible, thick with tears.

“I tell myself I’m not that into you…”

 

A shaky laugh left him, broken halfway into a sob.

“Stupid alcohol,” he murmured, eyes glassy. But the truth sat heavier than the drink ever could. It wasn’t the liquor that was stripping him bare—it was everything he had buried, clawing its way to the surface.

 

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. Couldn’t pretend to be strong. Not tonight.

 

His chest ached with every inhale, ragged and uneven. Those stupid eyes, that stupid face—it haunted him. Kept him awake at night, burned through him during the day, left no corner of his heart untouched.

 

And the tears just wouldn’t stop.

 

What had he been thinking? That first time, when he decided—half playfully, half recklessly—that he would flirt with Jungkook. Make him fluster. Maybe even make him fall.

 

Now look at him.

 

“Damn it, Taehyung,” he whispered bitterly, voice trembling. “You’re down bad.”

 

He hadn’t known it could cut this deep. That it would grow into something dangerous, something that left him here—sitting on the cold ground, crying over a man who barely let him close. His heart wouldn’t quiet, it wouldn’t calm. Every beat was a bruise.

 

Whenever Jungkook stood in front of him, his mind went blank. Breath uneven, chest pounding, hands trembling—his entire body betrayed him.

 

But what hurt most was the simplest truth:

He wanted to be held. Just held. In those arms he had dreamed of.

 

And Jungkook… Jungkook wasn’t holding him.

 

The loneliness hollowed him out, leaving nothing but want. Want and pain.

 

“It hurts” Taehyung choked out, his sobs breaking louder, chest heaving. “It hurts so bad…”

 

People passing by glanced his way, curious, maybe even pitying. But Taehyung curled into himself, lowering his head onto his knees. Let them stare. He couldn’t care. He was too busy breaking, piece by piece, for someone who might not even see him. Might not even care.

 

His sleeve dragged roughly across his wet face as he tried to collect himself, tried to push his body upright. His legs felt weak, swaying beneath him as he forced himself to stand. But his phone slipped again, clattering harshly against the ground.

 

“Shit—” He bent quickly, sniffing, reaching out with trembling hands—

 

And then froze.

 

Because another hand had reached faster.

 

Fingers brushing the phone before he could.

 

And Taehyung’s heart sank. His chest caved.

 

He didn’t need to look up. He didn’t need to see.

 

He knew.

 

He knew from the scent in the air, the cologne that had burned itself into his memory long ago. He hated it, hated that his body recognized it instantly. That his heart, for all its pain, still skipped helplessly in his chest.

 

He didn’t dare lift his head. Didn’t dare confirm it.

Because knowing it was him… hurt more than anything else.

 

Jungkook bent down, his fingers curling around the fallen phone. The cracked screen lit up faintly, Jungkook’s eyes catching on the image frozen there—Taehyung’s thumbprint smudged over it, a picture far too intimate, far too revealing.

 

Before he could say a word, Taehyung snatched the phone back, clutching it to his chest as though Jungkook had stolen a part of his soul. His throat burned, but no words came out. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t even know how Jungkook got here, why he was always here—everywhere—when Taehyung was least ready to face him.

 

He turned, desperate to leave, but Jungkook’s hand shot out, wrapping around his arm.

 

Warm.

Too warm.

 

Taehyung froze. His heart betrayed him instantly, hammering against his ribs. That familiar touch—always soft, always steady—made him weak. Made him hate himself for craving it.

 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned to look. Jungkook’s eyes met his, sharp yet unsettled, and Taehyung knew he could see the dried streaks of tears on his cheeks.

 

“Why the hell…” Jungkook’s voice cracked, uncharacteristically raw. “…are you crying for me?”

 

The air between them stilled.

 

Taehyung stared back at him, lips trembling, then let out a wet chuckle that hurt more than the tears.

“I cry for whoever I want,” he whispered bitterly, “why do you care?”

 

Jungkook’s chest rose and fell, his gaze tracing every inch of Taehyung’s face, searching for something—anything—he could hold onto. He exhaled sharply, and then his hand lifted, almost against his own will.

 

Fingers brushed Taehyung’s cheek, wiping away a tear. The touch was too tender, too much.

 

And it broke Taehyung further.

 

More tears spilled, spilling faster because Jungkook was right there, giving just enough to ruin him but never enough to keep him.

 

“This is why…” Jungkook’s voice was low, strained, his thumb trembling slightly against Taehyung’s skin. “I told you. No feelings. Didn’t I?” He swallowed hard, jaw clenching. “Then why… why are you hurting like this?”

 

Taehyung jerked back, breaking Jungkook’s hold with a shaky tug. His voice rose, splintered.

 

“Don’t—don’t talk to me.” His breath hitched, shoulders trembling. “We’re not in the office. I’m not obliged to answer your questions. You—” his voice cracked harder, “you should just go work your ass off. And when I’m in danger, I’ll press your stupid watch, and then you can come—save me, play the superhero. Okay?”

 

His laugh was bitter, hollow, falling apart in the spaces between his words. His body shook with each syllable.

 

“Maybe that’s why you’re here tonight, huh?” His eyes glistened, lips trembling as he forced the words out. “For your commitment. To make sure your fake boyfriend stays… good. So you can use him. Right?”

 

The silence that followed was unbearable. Jungkook stood there, rigid, saying nothing—his restraint was a wall Taehyung kept breaking himself against.

 

“Damn it, Jungkook!” Taehyung’s hands pushed weakly at his chest, his voice hoarse, cracking under the weight of everything he had been holding back. “Can’t you just tell me why you’re like this? Huh?!”

 

His palm dragged across his own wet face, frustration spilling out in broken sobs.

“Maybe I could fix it. Maybe I could fix you. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you see it?”

 

The words hung there, trembling in the air between them, both of them unraveling—one begging for cracks, the other trying so hard to stay whole.

 

 

Jungkook looked at him, really looked at him.

And for the first time, Taehyung saw it—the desperation hidden in those dark eyes. It was like Jungkook was holding himself together by threads, like he was always one step away from shattering.

 

And it hurt.

It hurt Taehyung more than anything.

 

Because he had seen that same look before.

On the riverbank, when Jungkook held him back from falling.

Outside his apartment, when Jungkook lingered but never stepped in.

 

Always there. Always holding.

But never letting himself be held.

 

Jungkook’s voice came low, rough, as if dragged out of a place he didn’t want anyone to touch.

“How can you fix … when you don’t even know what’s broken?”

 

The words sank into Taehyung like stones, heavy and impossible to swallow.

 

Something inside him churned, twisted.

 

He stepped forward, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands trembled as he lifted them, hesitating for just a breath before pressing his palm against Jungkook’s cheek.

 

Jungkook didn’t stop him.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move away.

 

Taehyung’s voice cracked with desperation, every syllable a plea.

“Let me in. Just once, Jungkook… I won’t disappoint you. Can’t you trust me one time?”

 

Jungkook’s lips parted, but nothing came.

No words.

Only silence—and those hollow eyes, deep as if even the idea of trust was too dark, too dangerous for him to touch.

 

And Taehyung’s heart sank.

What the hell had been done to him… what kind of wounds had his family carved into him, that even trust looked like a trap?

 

Taehyung began to lower his hand, ashamed, afraid he was pressing too much. Afraid he was wrong.

 

But then—

Jungkook’s hand lifted, covering his. His palm warm, steady, holding Taehyung’s trembling fingers in place against his cheek.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched. His heart stumbled.

 

And then—suddenly, without warning—Jungkook’s arm slid around his waist, pulling him in so hard Taehyung’s chest collided with his.

 

His lungs forgot how to work. His breath stuttered, stuck.

And before he could even think—

 

Jungkook’s mouth was on his.

 

The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft.

It was rough, consuming—like a man starved, like Jungkook had been holding this in for far too long and now couldn’t stop himself.

 

Taehyung gasped, his eyes spilling tears even as they fluttered closed. His hands moved on their own, sliding up to the back of Jungkook’s neck, clutching him desperately, needing him closer.

 

Jungkook held him tighter, molding his body into his own, not giving him an inch to escape—as if he would never allow it.

 

And Taehyung’s knees threatened to give out. His whole body trembled under Jungkook’s touch, his lips burning under the urgency of the kiss. He felt devoured, undone.

 

And God—he didn’t want it to stop.

 

Because in that moment, in Jungkook’s arms, Taehyung finally understood.

He had fallen.

So badly.

So completely.

 

There was no way back now.

All he wanted… was this.

These arms.

This hunger.

This kiss that made him believe—for a breath—that he was the only one Jungkook wanted in the world.

 

---

 

I'm not in love, it's just a game we do

I tell myself I'm not that into you

But I don't wanna sleep, it's quarter after three

You're in my head like, breathe

I'm not in love, it's just a game we do

 

---

 

Chapter 15: Little Fist

Notes:

Song recommendations:

Daisies - Justin Bieber

Closer to you - jk

 

---

 

Throwing petals like do you love me or not

Head is spinning and it don't know when to stop

 

---

 

Taehyung’s voice cracked with desperation, every syllable a plea.

 

“Let me in. Just once, Jungkook… I won’t disappoint you. Can’t you trust me one time?”

 

Jungkook’s lips parted, but nothing came.

No words. 

 

Only silence—and those hollow eyes, deep as if even the idea of trust was too dark, too dangerous for him to touch.

 

And Taehyung’s heart sank.

 

What the hell had been done to him… what kind of wounds had his family carved into him, that even trust looked like a trap?

 

Taehyung began to lower his hand, ashamed, afraid he was pressing too much. Afraid he was wrong.

 

But then—

 

Jungkook’s hand lifted, covering his. His palm warm, steady, holding Taehyung’s trembling fingers in place against his cheek.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched. His heart stumbled.

 

 

And then—suddenly, without warning—Jungkook’s arm slid around his waist, pulling him in so hard Taehyung’s chest collided with his.

 

His lungs forgot how to work. His breath stuttered, stuck.

 

And before he could even think—

 

Jungkook’s mouth was on his.

 

The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft.

 

It was rough, consuming—like a man starved, like Jungkook had been holding this in for far too long and now couldn’t stop himself.

 

Taehyung gasped, his eyes spilling tears even as they fluttered closed. His hands moved on their own, sliding up to the back of Jungkook’s neck, clutching him desperately, needing him closer.

 

 

Jungkook held him tighter, molding his body into his own, not giving him an inch to escape—as if he would never allow it.

 

And Taehyung’s knees threatened to give out. His whole body trembled under Jungkook’s touch, his lips burning under the urgency of the kiss. He felt devoured, undone.

 

And God—he didn’t want it to stop.

 

Because in that moment, in Jungkook’s arms, Taehyung finally understood.

 

He had fallen.

 

So badly.

 

So completely.

 

There was no way back now.

 

All he wanted… was this.

 

These arms.

 

This hunger.

 

This kiss that made him believe—for a breath—that he was the only one Jungkook wanted in the world.

 

 

The sky broke open above them, pouring hard, heavy sheets of rain. It drenched them both, running down their faces, soaking into their clothes. And still—Jungkook didn’t let go. His mouth moved against Taehyung’s like a man drowning, and Taehyung clung back, because he was drowning too.

 

Tears blurred with rain, stung his eyes, slid down his cheeks. His chest ached with too much want. Too much fear. Would Jungkook regret this later? Was he only giving Taehyung a moment he’d snatch away when morning came?

 

The thought stuttered through him, breaking him open. He could barely breathe.

 

And then—

 

The kiss broke.

 

Jungkook pulled back, chest heaving, lips parted. His hand slid from Taehyung’s waist, leaving behind only the ghost of his warmth.

 

Taehyung trembled, his whole body rejecting the space between them. His heart staggered inside his chest like it was begging—don’t. Not yet. Don’t leave me.

 

Rain drummed harder on the concrete, drowning everything.

 

Was he leaving?

 

He couldn’t.

 

Not now.

 

Jungkook took a step back, his movements steady, almost deliberate. The sound of rain hitting the pavement filled the silence as he slowly slipped his blazer off his shoulders.

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. The cold rain soaked through his thin shirt, the fabric clinging to every line of his trembling body. He shivered, but the chill outside was nothing compared to the storm inside him. What would he do if Jungkook walked away now?

 

His thoughts refused to line up, scattering like drops of water sliding down his face. Without thinking, he stepped forward, his hands gripping Jungkook’s shirt as though it was the only thing keeping him upright.

 

Wide, desperate eyes searched Jungkook’s face.

 

For a moment, Jungkook only stared back. His gaze unreadable, as if he were caught between understanding and restraint. Then, with a quiet certainty, he moved closer. In one fluid motion, he draped the blazer over Taehyung’s shoulders, the warmth of the fabric a sharp contrast to the rain. His fingers brushed Taehyung’s damp hair from his eyes, the touch tender, almost fragile.

 

Taehyung’s heart stuttered, then flipped over itself, his chest tightening painfully.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jungkook whispered, his voice hoarse, as if dragged raw from somewhere deep within.

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, fighting the sting of tears. Why was every word from this man cutting him open today? Why did it all hurt so much, yet feel like the only thing he needed to hear?

 

Jungkook’s hand tightened around his arm, grounding him.

“Let’s go. You’ll catch a cold.”

 

There was no room left for protest. Taehyung simply followed, letting himself be led.

 

Jungkook all but ran ahead, rain splashing under his shoes as he reached the car. He opened the door with an urgency that made Taehyung’s chest ache. Gently, he guided him inside before circling around to the driver’s side and slipping in beside him.

 

For a few moments, neither spoke. The sound of the engine hummed softly when Jungkook started it. The wipers dragged across the windshield, clearing streaks of water only to have more fall again.

 

Taehyung turned his head, his voice small, uncertain.

“Jungkook… Jimin?”

 

Jungkook’s eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. His knuckles were pale against the steering wheel.

“He knows,” he said, his tone low but steady. “Don’t worry.”

 

The car rolled forward, headlights slicing through the curtain of rain.

 

Across the street, another car sat hidden in the blur of night. Inside, Mi Young’s hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her nails digging into her skin.

 

“I think you’re right,” Hyunwoo’s voice broke the silence beside her. His eyes followed Jungkook’s car. “Maybe it’s not so bad to be allies.”

 

Mi Young turned to him, her expression twisted with rage.

“I want him gone. Out of Jungkook’s life. I can’t even stand the sight of him. How dare he?” Her voice cracked, filled with venom. “We’re supposed to be engaged. I swear, I’ll kill him with my own hands.”

 

Hyunwoo chuckled darkly, leaning back. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I want the same.”

 

---

 

Jungkook quietly turned on the heater, the soft hum filling the car. The warmth spread slowly, but it did nothing to ease the storm inside Taehyung’s chest. He sank into the seat, eyes fixed on anywhere but him, refusing to meet the gaze that weighed too heavy. His heart was still stumbling, not yet ready to calm.

 

His fingers fidgeted restlessly in his lap, betraying him. He tried to focus on the outside world instead—the way the rain slid down the glass, heavy drops racing each other, blurring the city into something shapeless. He pulled Jungkook’s blazer tighter around himself, clutching it as though it could anchor him. The fabric was warm, carrying the faintest trace of Jungkook’s scent. It steadied him, but only just.

 

What happens now?

What does Jungkook think?

Was it only a momentary weakness, a reckless spark meant to fade?

Will he regret it? Run from it? Run from him?

 

The questions pressed in on him like a weight too sharp, too heavy. He couldn’t ask—his courage had bled out long before. Yet he couldn’t step back either; the thought of distance carved him open more than silence ever could.

 

He had no map for feelings like this. Jungkook was the first, and in ways Taehyung was too afraid to name—he already knew he was the last too. His chest pounded with something so violent, so tender, it terrified him.

 

The rain softened, a whisper now against the windows, but inside the car the silence deepened, thick, suffocating. Taehyung pressed his forehead to the cool glass, shutting his eyes. The world outside blurred further, fading. His arms tightened around Jungkook’s blazer, holding it closer, as though by holding the fabric he could hold the man himself—keep him, just for a little longer.

 

Where were they going?

Would Jungkook leave him somewhere again—alone, empty?

 

A small, fragile part of him still wished—no, pleaded—for something else. For Jungkook to drive him somewhere hidden, somewhere safe. To a place where Taehyung could exist pressed against the beat of his heart, without questions, without fear.

 

But for now, all he could do was sit in the quiet, drowning in warmth that felt borrowed, clutching something that was never his to keep.

 

The car rolled to a stop after a moment. Taehyung blinked, realizing they were in front of Jungkook’s apartment.

 

Jungkook cut the engine and stepped out. Taehyung followed quietly, their clothes still damp, sticking uncomfortably to their skin.

 

Without a word, Jungkook unlocked the door, and they both walked inside. The apartment’s warmth wrapped around them instantly, chasing away the chill of the rain. Jungkook slipped off his shoes and headed toward the living room, Taehyung trailing behind, silent and hesitant.

 

Jungkook moved ahead of him, the sound of the keys dropping softly on the table. Taehyung’s heart stuttered in his chest when Jungkook turned. Their eyes refused to meet, both avoiding each other as though a single glance might make the silence louder.

 

Then Jungkook stepped closer. Taehyung’s breath caught, his wide eyes trembling as Jungkook’s hand reached for his—warm, steady, grounding. His heart hammered, confused and restless.

 

Jungkook said nothing. He only led him toward his room, pushing open the door. Taehyung froze at the threshold, overwhelmed. It was his first time seeing Jungkook’s room. Spacious. Everything in black and grey. It felt like stepping into a part of Jungkook he wasn’t supposed to touch.

 

Jungkook finally let go of his hand and walked to the wardrobe. Taehyung stood still, big doe eyes following every move, his chest tight.

 

When Jungkook returned, he held out a pair of sweatpants and a loose hoodie.

 

Taehyung hesitated before taking them, his fingers trembling as they brushed Jungkook’s. He clutched the clothes to his chest, gulping nervously. When he looked up, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on him for a moment—then he stepped aside, silently giving him space to the restroom.

 

The silence was suffocating. Taehyung could barely breathe. His legs carried him quickly, almost running, until he closed the bathroom door behind him. His breath stuttered out in uneven gasps.

 

What was happening? Why was Jungkook so silent? Why couldn’t he say anything either?

 

He changed into the clothes, his fingers brushing against the fabric. The hoodie smelled of Jungkook’s cologne—warm, clean, and intoxicating. Taehyung’s cheeks flamed as he buried his nose in it for a second before quickly pulling away. “Why am I acting like a teenager?” he muttered, hitting his own forehead. Still, nothing felt real—being in Jungkook’s room, in his clothes, after that kiss.

 

When he finally stepped out, the room was empty. Jungkook wasn’t there. Maybe he had gone to freshen up too.

 

He adjusted the hood again. It was big on him, swallowing his frame, the sleeves hanging loose enough to cover his hands. He tugged at them unconsciously, the fabric giving him a small sense of safety as if it could shield him from the weight pressing against his chest.

 

The soft creak of the door followed when he pushed it open. He stepped out, slow and hesitant, into the vast silence of the living room. The space was too large, too luxurious, the kind of place that echoed with emptiness. For a brief moment, Taehyung thought it was strange—how Jungkook could live here alone, in all this quiet grandeur.

 

A faint clicking sound broke the silence, drawing his attention toward the kitchen. He followed it, each step measured, careful, as though he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to see.

 

And then he did see—Jungkook.

 

His back was turned, broad shoulders relaxed but steady, movements deliberate as he worked at the stove. Strands of hair had fallen forward, brushing his forehead in soft waves, unstyled and loose. The clothes he wore were nothing more than trousers and a shirt, too plain for the image Taehyung had always associated with him, and yet… he looked striking like this. Raw. Unfiltered. Just like that first time in the café. This was only the second time Taehyung was seeing him like this, and it unsettled something deep inside him.

 

Maybe Jungkook sensed his presence—because suddenly he turned.

 

Their eyes met.

 

For a heartbeat too long, Jungkook’s gaze lingered on him, dark irises flickering with something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. Or something heavier. Taehyung’s breath faltered under it. Jungkook’s eyes swept slowly, from the oversized hood down to the sleeves curling around his hands, before resting back on his face.

 

Taehyung tugged at the hood’s edge again, shifting it as if that might block the intensity of the stare. He curled his fingers tighter inside the fabric, pressing his nails against his palms, grounding himself in the sting.

 

Don’t squint. Don’t look away. Don’t let him see—

 

He forced himself to step forward, small, cautious steps that sounded too loud in the silence stretching between them. His lips parted, words stumbling out before he could think.

 

“What… what are you doing?” His voice was softer than he intended, fragile in its attempt to loosen the thick tension hanging in the air.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. Not with words. He only turned back with a quiet composure, finishing what he was doing. The sound of liquid pouring into a cup filled the space instead of his voice.

 

Then, without a word, Jungkook walked toward him.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched. His feet wanted to step back but froze, heavy in place. His heartbeat thudded louder with every step Jungkook took closer.

 

Jungkook placed the cup on the counter between them. A small, ordinary gesture. Yet, in that silence, in that closeness, it carried a weight Taehyung couldn’t name.

 

Taehyung looked at the cup on the counter, then up at Jungkook. His brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his damp lashes. He didn’t understand. 

 

But before he could gather his thoughts, Jungkook stepped closer.

 

Without warning, strong arms wrapped around his waist. Taehyung’s entire body jolted, a shiver tearing down his spine as though he’d been struck by lightning. His breath caught, his pulse spiking so violently it felt like it might leap straight out of his chest. Instinctively, his hands pressed against Jungkook’s chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

 

And in one fluid motion—swift, effortless—Jungkook lifted him onto the counter.

 

Taehyung’s breath stumbled out, shaky, disbelieving. He gripped the edge of the counter with trembling fingers, his knees brushing against Jungkook’s body, the closeness unbearable and yet intoxicating.

 

But then… Jungkook’s hands slipped away. The warmth of his hold disappeared, leaving a hollow ache in its absence.

 

Instead, Jungkook took his arm gently, the kind of tender care Taehyung had only seen in those dramas—the ones he never thought he’d live through. Slowly, carefully, Jungkook tugged the long sleeves back, exposing Taehyung’s wrist, his skin paling under the light. Taehyung felt dizzy from it all—his heart flipping over and over, unsure if this was real or some cruel dream.

 

Then Jungkook reached for the cup. He guided it into Taehyung’s hands, curling his fingers around it with steady insistence.

 

Taehyung blinked down at the warm cup, then back up at the man before him. His lashes trembled. Two problems immediately tangled inside him—first, Jungkook was too close, so close he could count the faint moles on his face, memorize every line, every shadow. And second—inside the cup was milk. And Taehyung hated milk.

 

“Uhmm… w-what is this for?” Taehyung whispered, his voice fragile, breaking as he bit his lip to steady it.

 

“Drink it,” Jungkook said simply. His voice was deep, low enough to make Taehyung’s insides twist and burn. He didn’t move away.

 

Taehyung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He tried for a small smile, though it faltered halfway. This much attention from Jungkook—it was overwhelming, too much. Jungkook never acted like this, never gave him so much of himself.

 

“I… I don’t like milk,” Taehyung admitted softly, almost sheepish.

 

“I know,” Jungkook replied without hesitation.

 

Taehyung frowned, blinking at him. “If you know… then why are you giving it to me?” His voice held the faintest edge of a pout, his lips trembling as though he didn’t mean to sound so childish.

 

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s good for your health,” he said, firm and calm. “Now drink it.”

 

Taehyung’s heart twisted, flipping again. It shouldn’t feel like this—like every word, every look was carving itself into him—but it did. And yet, he was grateful too. Because at least Jungkook was speaking. At least they weren’t drowning in silence anymore.

 

“My health is already good,” Taehyung murmured, trying to deflect, though his lips curved faintly, betraying the flicker of warmth curling in his chest.

 

“Right, that's why you weigh like a small monkey,” Jungkook said suddenly, voice even but laced with something teasing.

 

Taehyung froze, eyes widening. His mouth parted in disbelief.

 

He slammed the cup down on the counter with a soft thud, milk sloshing dangerously near the rim.

 

“Did you just… call me a monkey?” His voice rose, shaky with offense, but his wide eyes betrayed the fluster beneath his anger.

 

“Yes,” Jungkook replied, unwavering. “A talkative monkey who doesn’t listen to what elders say.”

 

 

Taehyung huffed, glaring at Jungkook, who stood there infuriatingly calm. Crossing his arms tightly against his chest, he muttered,

“When elders are stubborn like you, it’s better not to listen to them. I will not drink this.”

 

His eyes narrowed, holding Jungkook’s gaze as if daring him to insist.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. His dark eyes stayed on him—steady, unreadable—making Taehyung’s throat tighten.

 

Taehyung swallowed but did not waver.

 

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asked at last, his voice low, almost teasing, as he picked up the cup again.

 

“I’m a hundred percent sure,” Taehyung snapped, giving Jungkook a light push before sliding down from the counter. His footsteps echoed faintly as he walked away, deliberately turning his back, but not without throwing him one last glare.

 

Really? Milk? Did Jungkook bring him all the way here just to feed him milk? Were they not going to talk…? Or—Taehyung’s stomach twisted—cuddle?

What was he even expecting from him? Jungkook wasn’t in some movie. He wasn’t the type to suddenly lean close, whisper something sweet, and pull him in again.

And yet Taehyung’s chest ached because he had cried in front of him, laid his heart bare, and what did he get? Jungkook calling him monkey.

 

He sank into the couch, curling his legs up as if to shield himself from the weight in his chest. A sigh escaped him.

It hadn’t even been that long since their kiss, and already… it felt like nothing had changed. Like it had been swallowed by silence.

 

Footsteps approached. Taehyung stiffened, his eyes darting anywhere but Jungkook. He heard the quiet clink as the cup was placed on the table, followed by the sound of Jungkook lowering himself onto the couch.

 

Not beside him—of course not. On the other end. Always at a distance.

 

Taehyung shifted further into his corner, pressing himself against the cushions as if distance could protect him from the confusion storming inside.

 

Jungkook leaned back, his arm draped over the armrest, his head resting against his hand. His gaze, however, never strayed from Taehyung.

 

It burned at the edge of his vision until he could no longer pretend to ignore it. Slowly, hesitantly, Taehyung turned his head, frowning at him.

 

“What are you glaring for?” he muttered, the sharpness in his tone betraying how unsteady his heart felt.

 

Jungkook’s lips curved, just faintly, and his eyes softened in that way Taehyung despised—because it made his chest flutter against his will.

 

“The view of a monkey.” Jungkook replied smoothly. 

 

Taehyung’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“You…” His voice rose as he leaned forward, eyes wide. “From where do I look like a monkey to you? Hm?” He jabbed a finger toward his own face, the pout tugging at his lips almost comical. “Look at me properly—Jimin said I’m cute!”

 

Jungkook’s brow lifted slightly, that almost-smile refusing to leave his lips, quiet amusement flickering in his gaze.

 

Taehyung scoffed, heat creeping into his cheeks.

“And don’t forget—you kissed that monkey.” He let out a laugh, words slipping before he could catch them. “Oh, Mr. Jeon Jungkook… you kissed a monkey. You must be thrilled.” His grin widened as he leaned closer, teasing, but his voice shook with nerves.

 

Jungkook didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink. His eyes searched Taehyung’s face, steady and intent, like he was looking past the words into something Taehyung wasn’t ready to give.

 

The air shifted.

 

Taehyung blinked once. Then realization slammed into him. His stomach dropped, his throat tightening as the words he had just thrown out echoed back at him. His eyes widened.

Oh God. What did he just say?

 

He jerked back, looking anywhere but at Jungkook, desperate to escape that gaze. His eyes landed on the cup of milk sitting on the table. Perfect. A distraction. He grabbed it with both hands like it was his lifeline.

 

Jungkook’s stare didn’t falter.

 

Taehyung shut his eyes and downed the milk in one go, the taste making him want to gag but the silence pressing harder than anything. He slammed the cup back onto the table and stumbled to his feet.

 

“we should sleep,” he muttered, eyes darting around the room. His voice cracked as he corrected himself, “I should sleep.”

 

He groaned softly into his hand, palm dragging down his face.

What was with this mess? With him blurting out nonsense? And Jungkook—sitting there like a damn rock, not a flicker of reaction, just staring.

 

Wasn’t he the one who kissed him first? And now… now it felt like it hadn’t mattered at all. A dull pang throbbed in Taehyung’s chest. Maybe Jungkook had kissed plenty of people before. Maybe it meant nothing. He just want him to react like, give something in return so taehyung can hold onto. Like that moment mattered between them. Not this stupid cul of milk. 

 

His head lowered, and for a moment he just stared at the floor, afraid to meet those eyes again. Then something in him snapped.

 

He looked up sharply at Jungkook, still lounging there on the couch as if none of this storm mattered.

 

Taehyung’s glare hardened.

So that’s it. They kissed, he bring me here, give me a cup of milk… and then what? Sit there like a child and go to sleep?”

 

His hands clenched. He grabbed a cushion and hurled it at Jungkook. The sudden motion startled him enough to make him catch it clumsily.

 

“The most idiotic, stupid person I’ve ever met in my life,” Taehyung spat, chest heaving.

 

Turning on his heel, he marched toward the bedroom like the apartment was his own. His fingers curled around the doorknob, but before he pushed it open, he twisted back one last time.

 

“And listen,” his voice trembled, half-angry, half-wounded, “if I’m a monkey, then you—” he paused, searching for the sharpest word— “you’re a gorilla. No… not even that. At least gorillas have more emotions than you.”

 

His eyes burned. He didn’t wait for an answer.

 

The door slammed shut behind him.

 

He stormed onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow.

Ahh… what had he even expected when coming here? A fairytale? A perfect ending?

He let out a muffled groan, kicking at the sheets. He should really stop watching those romantic films from now on. They had ruined him.

 

For a long moment, he just lay there, staring at the door. His chest rose and fell unevenly, hope tugging at his insides. Maybe… maybe Jungkook would come back. Maybe the door would creak open. Maybe that kiss hadn’t been just a slip of the moment.

 

But ten minutes passed. The door stayed shut. His heart sank—quietly, painfully. He clutched the blanket tighter to his chest, pressing his face against it.

 

So that’s it then. All my crying, all my trembling… wasted. That kiss—just gone. A mistake, maybe. Something to be erased by silence.

 

His throat tightened. What are we now? he thought bitterly. Don’t couples… cuddle after kissing? Don’t they at least talk?

 

He turned to the other side, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting the sting behind them. His lashes shimmered faintly with tears. With a frustrated kick at the air, he let out a broken laugh.

“Why bring me here then, huh? Just to leave me alone? There’s not even anything to hold onto when I sleep…” he mumbled into the dark, his words falling like secrets no one would hear.

 

Then, louder, more desperate—

“Jeon Jungkook,” he whispered into the pillow, “I should grab you and kick you. You stole my first kiss and now… now you’re just—ahh, you idiot!”

He screamed into the mattress, muffling the sound as he thrashed, finally hurling the pillow in frustration.

 

And that was the exact moment the door opened.

 

The pillow smacked Jungkook squarely in the chest.

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror. He froze, staring at the man framed in the doorway, Jungkook equally startled, holding the pillow like evidence.

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, panic flooding his face. In an instant, he yanked the blanket over himself, pulling it all the way up to his nose until only his wide eyes peeked out.

 

Embarrassing as hell. His heart thudded so hard he thought Jungkook could hear it. This wasn’t the first time Jungkook had caught him in an unguarded moment, but if—if he had heard what Taehyung just said, then he was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

 

The door closed softly. Silence stretched. Then—

 

The mattress dipped beside him.

 

Oh no.

Oh damn.

 

It was happening.

What was happening. 

 

Taehyung’s entire mind short-circuited, sparks flying in every direction. He buried himself deeper in the blanket, body rigid, thoughts racing. He had wanted Jungkook here—he had begged for that closeness, for that intimacy—but now that it was happening, he could barely breathe.

 

A moment passed. Then another.

 

Had Jungkook… fallen asleep already?

 

When he didn’t hear Jungkook’s voice or even the faintest movement, Taehyung dared to lower the blanket—just enough so his eyes peeked out, the rest of his face still hidden.

 

His breath caught.

Jungkook was lying on his side, staring directly at him. Not blinking. Not moving. Just… staring.

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, his heart doing violent flips. Calm down, Taehyung. Relax. Look at him—he’s so calm. He’s just Jungkook. The same Jungkook you can push around, tease, bully without fear. Calm down. Calm…

 

“So it was your first kiss,” Jungkook said suddenly, his lips curving into a smirk.

 

The words hit Taehyung like a dart. His throat went dry. His heart lodged somewhere near his mouth. What kind of tone was that? Why does it sound like he’s holding something over me?

 

He inhaled shakily, still keeping half of his face buried in the blanket, as if it could shield him.

“So what?” he managed, his voice coming out weaker than intended. “You gonna give me a medal for that?”

 

Jungkook didn’t reply right away. He just stared a little longer, unreadable. Then, suppressing a laugh, he lay back on the bed, one hand resting casually on his stomach.

 

Taehyung frowned deeply. What the hell is he laughing at? First calling me a monkey, now this? The frustration burned hotter than his embarrassment. He threw the blanket aside, pushing himself up on his elbows, glaring at Jungkook.

 

“What are you laughing at?” he snapped, irritation sharpening his tone.

 

Jungkook turned his head lazily, one arm tucked behind it like he had all the time in the world. His gaze locked on Taehyung, heavy and unwavering.

“You really want to know?” he asked, voice low, almost amused.

 

A shiver rolled through Taehyung’s body, but he rolled his eyes hard to cover it. “Keep it to yourself,” he muttered, sticking his tongue out in defiance. “Gorilla.”

 

But the act of bravado didn’t quiet the storm inside him. Not when Jungkook’s eyes stayed on him, steady, dark, unblinking.

And then, uninvited, another thought crept in. Has Jungkook kissed before?

 

Of course he must have. He was handsome, intimidatingly so, the kind of man who drew stares wherever he went. In university, girls had followed him with their eyes, whispering about him in hallways. Even now, in the business world, people gravitated toward him, their admiration almost shameless.

 

The weight of the thought pressed on Taehyung’s chest, and before he could stop it, a pout tugged at his lips.

 

Taehyung hadn’t even realized when the words slipped out of his mouth, soft and careless—

“When was your first?”

 

The question lingered in the air, heavier than he expected, pulling at the silence between them.

 

Jungkook stilled for a moment, his dark gaze flickering toward him, unreadable. Instead of answering, he shifted suddenly, reaching to grab the blanket tangled near Taehyung. The movement was abrupt, and Taehyung, unprepared, lost his balance. With a small gasp, he tumbled forward, landing awkwardly against Jungkook’s waiting arm.

 

“Ouch…” he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating at how clumsy he must have looked.

 

But Jungkook didn’t tease. He didn’t push him away either. Instead, with quiet certainty, he tugged the blanket over both of them. The warmth settled around them like a secret they weren’t supposed to share. Jungkook’s hand found its place at Taehyung’s waist, firm and steady, pulling him closer until there was barely any space left to breathe.

 

Taehyung’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, eyes blinking rapidly. His heart was in chaos, pounding so fast it felt as though it would give him away. Oh… damn. Every beat echoed inside him, wild and unstoppable.

 

The air between them shifted, heavy, magnetic. Jungkook pushed him even closer, until Taehyung’s palm splayed over the solid warmth of his chest. The other hand trembled as it hesitated, then instinctively reached for Jungkook’s waist, holding on as though steadying himself.

 

“Let’s talk about my second…” Jungkook’s whisper brushed against his skin, low and deliberate, curling straight into his veins.

 

Taehyung froze. “Huh?” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the short-circuit inside him. His lashes fluttered, confusion and something else swirling in his wide eyes.

 

And then—it happened.

 

Without giving him time to think, without letting him escape the gravity between them, Jungkook tilted forward. In one decisive motion, he caught Taehyung’s lips with his own.

 

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careful either. It was raw, unrestrained—like something Jungkook had held back for far too long. Taehyung gasped softly, lips parting in shock, and the sound was swallowed whole. His mind spun, body burning where Jungkook touched him, breath stuttering as warmth consumed him.

 

Jungkook’s lips moved against his with quiet insistence, coaxing, claiming. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a shattering of the silence that had been stretched thin between them, a confession without words.

 

When Jungkook finally pulled back, it left Taehyung undone. His eyes remained closed, lashes trembling against flushed skin, chest rising and falling unevenly. His breath escaped in shallow bursts, as though one kiss had stolen all the air from his lungs.

 

The world felt impossibly quiet. And in that silence, Jungkook’s gaze stayed fixed on him, watching every tremor, every unspoken question lingering on Taehyung’s lips.

 

Jungkook’s hand rose, almost hesitantly, as though fighting against his own restraint. His fingers brushed along Taehyung’s cheek, tracing the soft curve with a care that made Taehyung’s chest tighten. His thumb lingered, gliding up to his swollen eyes, pressing gently as if to soothe the ache there.

 

Taehyung’s lashes fluttered open, and he found Jungkook staring back at him. Their gazes locked—raw, heavy, unguarded.

 

“If this happens a third time…” Jungkook’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling against the silence, “…I’m going to get addiction.”

 

The words sank deep into Taehyung’s chest, pulling something out of him he didn’t know he had. His hands, almost instinctively, clutched at the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, holding on like he might disappear.

 

Jungkook searched his face—his swollen eyes, his trembling lips, the quiet despair etched in every corner of him. Taehyung wanted to hide, wanted to believe he looked too ruined to be seen this closely. And yet… Jungkook leaned in, caught in his own ragged breath, and pressed the warmest kiss against Taehyung’s eyes.

 

Taehyung froze. He felt the world tilt, spin, then still completely.

 

Before he could even breathe it in, Jungkook pulled him close, pressing Taehyung’s face against his chest, shutting out the world, shutting out the chance to see anything more.

 

Taehyung’s heart leapt so violently it almost hurt. His breath fanned shakily against Jungkook’s neck, and the proximity burned—too intimate, too dangerous, too much. He wanted to pull away, yet greed won. He tightened his hold around Jungkook, burying himself deeper in the warmth, inhaling the faint sweetness of his scent. This couldn’t be real. Nothing this tender could belong to him.

 

But Jungkook held him still.

 

“Why do you always make it so hard for me to let go” Jungkook whispered, his voice low, thick, as if even he couldn’t understand what Taehyung was doing to him.

 

Taehyung’s stomach sank, a flutter and an ache all at once. His throat tightened, words spilling before he could stop them, trembling but resolute.

“Then don’t let me go. No matter what, I’ll stay… I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

 

The room fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was full—of breaths, of unsaid confessions, of hearts that had already betrayed their owners.

 

That night, they stayed like that, clinging as though the world outside didn’t exist. Taehyung’s restless heart calmed in the arms of the one he loved, and Jungkook—for the first time in his life—fell asleep being held, not holding himself together.

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

An uneasiness stirred him awake. His lashes fluttered, and a faint wince crossed his face when he realized the weight of his arm was gone. Slowly, he lowered his gaze.

 

There, curled against his chest, was the small fluff of warmth—Taehyung, breathing evenly, his features softened by sleep. Jungkook’s expression remained calm, almost unreadable, but his eyes betrayed the stillness

They trailed first over Taehyung’s face, lingering at the serenity etched there, before slipping down… and stopping.

 

His thumb—trapped in the delicate curl of Taehyung’s hand. The fist clutched it as though it was the only anchor keeping him safe, holding on with a quiet desperation that tightened something inside Jungkook’s chest.

 

He stared at that fragile grip far too long, an ache spreading beneath his ribs, until Taehyung shifted in his sleep. The hand loosened, thumb slipping free.

 

In that small release, Jungkook felt it—like something had been ripped out of him, leaving behind a hollow throb.

 

And yet, he could do nothing. Only lie there in silence, eyes heavy with a weight he would never name.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16: Until I found you

 

---

 

I care for you still and I will forever

That was my part of the deal.

 

---

 

Taehyung stirred in his sleep when a sharp stream of light slipped past the curtains and fell across his face. He blinked slowly, eyelids heavy, trying to adjust to the brightness. The other side of the bed was empty.

 

His eyes lingered on the vacant space. The sheets were still creased, carrying the warmth of someone who had been there. His heart sank a little, though he didn’t want to admit why.

 

The silence pressed against him—thick, almost unsettling. Only the faint rustle of curtains broke it. Jungkook was nowhere in sight.

 

Had he gone outside? When did he leave? Why hadn’t Taehyung felt him move? Questions piled up in his mind, one after another, but they all led back to the same center—fear. A quiet, constant fear that never left him. Until he understand the reason behind Jungkook’s restraint, he knew this fear will remain.

 

He dragged himself to the restroom, washed his face, and tried to shake away the heaviness in his chest. But when he returned, the weight of unanswered thoughts still clung to him.

 

Just then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The cracked screen flickered faintly. He squinted, unable to properly read the caller ID, but answered anyway.

 

“Hello?” His voice was rough, low.

 

“Taehyung? Are you alright?” Jimin’s worried tone spilled through the speaker. “I’ve been calling, messaging… you didn’t answer for so long.”

 

Taehyung leaned back against the headboard, one hand pressed against his temple where the ache was sharpest. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

 

There was silence for a beat. Then Jimin’s voice softened. “Should I come to you? You don’t… sound fine.”

 

“No. It’s okay,” Taehyung replied quietly, though the words felt heavier than he meant. “I’m fine.”

 

“You don’t like being alone when you’re down,” Jimin insisted, his tone firmer this time. “I’m coming to your apartment.”

 

Taehyung’s lips parted. His gaze fell on the unfamiliar room around him. “No… I’m not at my apartment.”

 

Another pause followed, heavier than before.

 

“…What do you mean?” Jimin asked slowly. “Jungkook told me he would take you himself. Where did he take you?”

 

Taehyung froze, brows knitting. A strange unease coiled in his chest. “Wait—” his voice broke the silence. “You called Jungkook yesterday?”

 

On the other side, Jimin hesitated. Taehyung could almost imagine him biting his lip.

 

“Uhmm… I’m sorry,” Jimin confessed softly. “Look… you were sad. Because of him. He should take responsibility.”

 

Taehyung almost shut his eyes. Yeah responsibility. But now, where is he? His soon-to-be boyfriend was lying in the bed, and he left somewhere and here Taehyung was, chatting on the phone instead of getting pampered by him. The thought made his lips twitch into a pout, though his chest felt strangely light.

 

Because if Jungkook hadn’t come last night… Taehyung wasn’t sure what might’ve happened. He might have broken apart completely—crying until his body gave up, drowning in the ache of heartbreak. Jungkook had unknowingly saved him.

 

“I’ll sue you one day, Jimin,” he teased suddenly, his tone lighter than how he actually felt.

 

Jimin chuckled softly on the other end, the kind of laugh that always managed to ground him. “Forget everything else for a moment. Tell me—did you two talk? What happened? And… where are you right now?”

 

Taehyung hesitated, exhaling slowly. “…We didn’t talk much. I’m at his apartment.”

 

There was a pause—long enough for Taehyung to hear his own heartbeat in the silence. Then Jimin’s voice came again, playful yet edged with curiosity.

“Wait. Did something happen between you two?”

 

“Jimin, stop it,” Taehyung protested quickly, though his cheeks warmed. “There’s nothing like that.”

 

“As you say,” Jimin hummed, though the teasing lingered in his voice. After a moment of quiet, his tone softened. “You may think I’m being biased, but… Jungkook is different. If you give him time, Tae, I’m sure he’ll be the best for you.”

 

Taehyung bit his lip, eyes drifting down to his hands. Memories from last night pressed into him—the way Jungkook had held him, the quiet desperation in his embrace, the kiss that still lingered on his skin like a secret no one else could touch. Jungkook felt something, too. He had to. Because without a spark, why would he have come so close?

 

“And Taehyung,” Jimin added gently, “you’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”

 

The words cracked something open in him. His throat tightened, and he let out a shaky breath. “I just… can’t stay away from him, Jimin. I don’t even know how it happened, but my heart breaks—just breaks—even when he only looks at me. It’s too much.” His voice wavered, his eyes turning misty despite his best effort to hold steady.

 

There was silence for a moment, and then Jimin spoke in the kind of voice one only saved for family.

“You know I’m always here for you, right?”

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. “I know,” he whispered. Then, firmer, “But I want him too.”

 

“He’ll stay,” Jimin said, quiet but sure.

 

Taehyung let out a short laugh that carried more hope than humor. Before he could answer, the sound of a door opening reached his ears. His head lifted instantly.

 

“Jimin, I’ll call you later,” he said quickly.

 

“Okay. Take care of yourself,” Jimin replied warmly.

 

Taehyung murmured a goodbye, setting the phone back on the nightstand. His heart picked up pace as he pushed himself up, almost hurrying to open the bedroom door, eager to step into the living room—eager to see him.

 

Jungkook bent down, slipping out of his shoes with the same composure he carried in every movement. He had already changed out of his nightclothes—fresh, neat, and impossibly calm, as though nothing in the world could ruffle him. His face gave away nothing, not even the smallest flicker of thought. How did he manage that? Taehyung wondered, chest tightening. How could someone be so expressionless all the time?

 

When Jungkook straightened, he was holding something in his hand. His gaze lifted, catching Taehyung’s off guard. For a breath, the world narrowed—his lungs forgot their purpose. Jungkook’s eyes lingered, unreadable as ever, before he turned away, striding silently toward the kitchen.

 

The sound of a bag rustling followed, soft against the quiet morning. He set it down on the counter with precise care. Taehyung, curious and restless, padded closer.

 

“Why are you barefoot?” Jungkook’s voice came low, almost careless, his back still facing him.

 

Taehyung glanced down at his own feet. Bare, yes. But who asked this dumb head to notice? And why did his stomach flip because of it? Because of him, he’d forgotten everything—shoes, time, air.

 

“I like to walk like this,” Taehyung muttered, brushing past him to peek inside the bag. His fingers tugged at the handles, revealing its contents. Bread. A jar of spread. Cartons, bottles.

 

His brows shot up. “Woah, it looks like your house is completely empty. You had to buy the entire store,” he teased, half-expecting at least a smirk in return.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. He simply reached for the bread, hands steady, pulling items out with the same rhythm as someone assembling puzzle pieces.

 

Taehyung frowned, sliding onto the counter with ease, legs dangling, watching. Jungkook’s shirt pulled snug when he moved, his head tilted slightly down as he focused on the small act of making breakfast. Each slice placed just so. Butter spread evenly. Knives aligned at the side.

 

Taehyung’s lips twitched, nearly curving. The scene pulled him backward in time—university days, Jimin dragging Jungkook into the café, the younger boy always adjusting everything in sight. Aligning cups, straightening napkins, even once pausing mid-step just to fix the tilt of Taehyung’s pencil. It used to drive him mad, that unnecessary precision.

 

Now, years later, the same habit made something in his chest ache—warm, sharp, unbearably fond. Strange, how fast everything could change. How easily annoyance could turn into something else.

 

Jungkook filled two cups of coffee, the faint steam curling in the air between them. He reached for the sandwiches and placed one plate near Taehyung, setting it beside his coffee with quiet precision.

 

Taehyung stared at the plate for a long moment. Something so simple—bread and coffee—yet his chest ached at the thought. Jungkook, standing there, making breakfast for him. How painfully domestic it felt, how dangerously close to something he should not long for. He bit his lip hard, pressing the smile back into his throat. Jungkook could never know.

 

Jungkook remained still, one hand resting on the counter, eyes fixed on the plate as if debating something only he could hear. Taehyung’s gaze flickered up at him, searching, confused by the hesitation.

 

Then, slowly, Jungkook lifted a sandwich, his movements deliberate, almost reluctant, and extended it toward him.

 

Taehyung blinked. His heartbeat faltered before racing on unevenly. His breath caught, tangled in his chest. Jungkook’s eyes were calm on the surface, yet Taehyung saw it—the storm beneath, the war of impulses he could not name.

 

His fingers, cold from clutching the edge of the counter, hesitated before reaching forward. Carefully, almost reverently, Taehyung set his hand over Jungkook’s. His lips parted as he leaned in, taking a bite.

 

The smile came before he could stop it—soft, unwilling, helpless.

 

Jungkook’s gaze did not waver. There was something in it, too heavy, too unspoken. A storm, a barricade, a secret Taehyung longed to tear down. How could a man look so detached and yet betray such care in a single gesture?

 

Taehyung slid the sandwich from Jungkook’s hand, breaking the contact. Jungkook let it go without protest, lowering his gaze as though embarrassed by his own action. The sudden retreat tugged at Taehyung’s chest.

 

So he offered it back. Gently, like returning a truth unspoken, he extended the sandwich toward him.

 

“Here…” Taehyung’s voice was quiet, carrying a smile that reached his eyes this time.

 

Jungkook paused, just for a breath, as if caught off guard.

 

Jungkook looked at him, then down at the piece of sandwich where Taehyung had just taken a bite.

Taehyung blinked, wide-eyed, like a startled doe, already understanding what Jungkook must be thinking.

 

“Oh—I forgot. OCD,” Taehyung mumbled, pulling back his hand. He reached for another piece, but before he could touch it, Jungkook leaned in swiftly, catching his wrist. Without hesitation, Jungkook bent down and took a bite from the same sandwich. His lips mouthing the piece. Taehyung eyes went to his lips. He averted his eyes. 

 

Taehyung’s heart did flips after flips—like it was practicing for a marathon. Damn this domesticity. He’s going to give me a heart attack one day.

 

Jungkook let go of his hand casually, as if nothing had happened, then picked up his coffee mug and leaned against the counter, sipping.

 

Taehyung shoved the rest of the piece into his mouth, chewing furiously while avoiding Jungkook’s gaze. Anywhere but him… Because how could he forget the bed kiss? The same lips. The same mouth. God, don’t remind me—

 

Silence stretched comfortably between them until Jungkook’s phone rang. He answered it briefly, his tone calm, just a soft “Okay” before hanging up. When he looked back at Taehyung, Taehyung was still munching with narrowed eyes, trying not to look too curious.

 

“Jin-hyung is throwing a party tonight,” Jungkook said. “It’s for his parents’ anniversary.”

 

So, Jungkook has to go tonight… he thought of spending a little more time with him today since they finally have a break from the office.

 

“Do you want to go?” Jungkook asked.

 

“Uhmm… no, no. It’s your family function. I don’t want to be an outcast,” Taehyung said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“You’re not an outcast,” Jungkook replied without hesitation. “And Jin-hyung probably called you already—you just didn’t pick up.

 

Taehyung scratched at his neck again, embarrassed. “Oh… my phone’s a little broken.”

 

“So, you want to go?” Jungkook pressed, his gaze steady.

 

Taehyung fidgeted with his fingers. He had no experience with these kinds of parties—fancy, crowded, overwhelming. It would definitely be awkward. But… a little more time with Jungkook sounded worth it.

“Uhmm… okay,” he said softly.

 

Jungkook gave a small nod, gathering the empty plate and cup before moving them to the sink.

 

Taehyung stayed seated on the counter, legs dangling, before finally hopping down. He walked toward the living room, but stopped in his tracks when Jungkook’s voice came from behind—

 

“I know it’s your place, but you can offer to take part in helping me,” Jungkook said casually, holding out the cup toward him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes, suspicious, lips pressing together before he answered, “But… isn’t it elders who are supposed to take care of their babies?” He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence, though the faint curl at the edge of his mouth betrayed him.

 

Jungkook’s brows arched, slow and deliberate, his voice a lazy drawl. “Since when did a monkey turn into a baby?”

 

Taehyung’s glare sharpened instantly. “If you say monkey one more time,” he warned, his tone clipped and threatening, “you’ll be murdered in your own house.”

 

The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Then how will the baby live without his elder?” he murmured, the teasing laced with a softness that lingered just long enough to unsettle.

 

Taehyung froze, his face betraying him—heat spread across his cheeks, a flush creeping up despite his best efforts to remain unfazed. He deadpanned to cover it, muttering, “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Jeon.”

 

His attempt at dignity failed the moment he stomped his foot, turning sharply toward the room. But his heart was no ally—it betrayed him with the rush of warmth, the pull in his chest that made him want to look back. Inside, Taehyung was smiling. Because this—this Jungkook, the one who teased and leaned close enough to rattle his defenses—was the Jungkook he had been starving for without even realizing it.

 

 

---

 

 

“Are we gonna sit in this room and do nothing?” Mi Young huffed, pacing back and forth restlessly.

 

Hyunwoo leaned back on the couch, rolling his eyes.

“Can you stop your nonsense? You’re really irritating. I’m not free to listen to your whining.”

 

Mi Young’s glare sharpened.

“You don’t understand. He humiliated me because of that leech! I couldn’t sleep the whole night, and now he’s with him while you’re sitting here with your broken mind—”

 

The sudden crash of glass against the wall cut her words short.

 

Mi Young froze, her whole body locking in place.

 

Hyunwoo rose from the couch, walking toward her with deliberate steps. He stopped just inches away, his presence suffocating.

“You really don’t care about your life, huh?” he said, his voice low and sharp.

 

Mi Young blinked, fear flashing across her face.

 

“I don’t like people like you,” Hyunwoo continued, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know your place. If you run your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to cut your tongue.”

 

He turned away, settling back onto the couch with a casualness that made his earlier threat even more chilling. Closing his eyes, he added almost lazily,

“I don’t attack people without knowing them first.” His gaze flicked back to her, a dangerous smirk curving his lips. “First I have to know him.”

 

Mi Young exhaled shakily.

 

Hyunwoo’s smirk deepened.

“He took my brother’s heart, after all. And the things Jungkook likes…” he let the words hang, leaning back comfortably, “…are never ordinary.”

 

 

---

 

Taehyung shut the car door, his gaze sweeping over the venue. Seokjin was definitely rich—the hall looked absolutely breathtaking.

 

He smoothed down his shirt, the very one Jungkook had bought him back during that ridiculous fake-date era. His eyes wandered, unwillingly, to Jungkook, who was tucking his phone into his pocket before walking over.

 

Of course, he had to look unfairly handsome—black shirt, sleeves rolled, and two buttons left open like he was starring in some drama.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes.

 

Jungkook noticed, brows lifting.

“What?”

 

“Why don’t you just come without a shirt?” Taehyung muttered, rolling his eyes.

 

Jungkook blinked at him like he’d grown two heads.

“First, we’re late because you just had to go back to your apartment. And second—”

 

“Oh please, Mr. Jeon Punctual,” Taehyung cut in. “I have my own list too. Want to hear it?”

 

Jungkook stepped closer, one hand pressing lightly to Taehyung’s back, voice low and amused.

“Yes. Please elaborate.”

 

Taehyung’s heart thudded wildly, though he tried to keep his face neutral.

 

“First, you’re the one who sat on my couch like a statue while I changed into ten different outfits. Second, you gave me the exact same face every single time. How on earth was I supposed to know which one looked good?” Taehyung snapped, glaring at Jungkook with enough heat to burn a hole in his face.

 

Jungkook didn’t flinch. Instead, he tugged Taehyung closer with two fingers on his shirt, fixing the crooked collar like he had every right to.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes, refusing to soften. His glare was a weapon tonight.

 

“Oh, monkey’s wild,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, lips quirking.

 

Taehyung’s hand shot up, fisting Jungkook’s collar and yanking him down a fraction. “Oh, this monkey bites too. Wanna see?” His tone was half warning, half challenge.

 

For a fleeting second, Jungkook almost broke—his shoulders trembled like a laugh was about to slip free. Almost.

 

But the moment shattered before it bloomed.

 

A voice cut through the room like ice splintering glass.

 

“I really thought, for once, you would behave with dignity for this family. But no—you insist on dragging humiliation with you wherever you go.”

 

The words fell from Jungkook’s father’s mouth with the weight of accusation, as though Jungkook had just committed a crime instead of adjusting someone’s collar. His gaze was sharp, cold, condemning.

 

Taehyung turned, startled, and his eyes landed on the couple standing in the doorway. Jungkook’s parents.

 

But there was someone else behind them. A man, younger, smiling too brightly—so out of place in the tense air of the room. Taehyung’s brows knit together. He knew that face.

 

It hit him then. The man from outside the club—the one who had bumped into him so hard his phone had cracked against the pavement. What is he doing here?

 

Before he could make sense of it, Taehyung felt Jungkook’s hand tighten sharply on his waist, a silent grip that said more than words could.

 

He glanced up at him. Jungkook’s jaw was rigid, his eyes hard. Every line in his body screamed tension.

 

He really does have a bad relationship with them, Taehyung thought. And why does his father always treat him like an enemy waiting to strike?

 

Jungkook said nothing. His silence was heavy, deliberate.

 

His father’s stare lingered, dripping with disdain, before shifting to the smiling man who finally stepped forward. That same blinding grin didn’t falter as he stopped in front of them.

 

He looked at Jungkook, then at Taehyung, as if he was inspecting something amusing, his grin only widening.

 

And then he spoke.

 

“Aren’t you going to greet your brother, Jungkook?” Hyunwoo said, his voice honey-sweet.

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened before he could stop himself. Brother?

Jungkook had a brother? He had never mentioned it—not once. But then again, Jungkook never really shared much about himself. Even Jimin had said back in university that he was too private, too guarded.

 

Still, the man standing before them… he looked nothing like Jungkook. He was bright, almost too bright, the kind of light that drew attention instantly. And yet, Taehyung could sense something else—something heavier simmering beneath that brightness.

 

Jungkook said nothing. Absolutely nothing. His silence weighed more than words. Taehyung could only feel the tension radiating from him, stiff and unrelenting.

 

“I came after seven years, Jungkook,” the man—Hyunwoo—spoke, his voice carrying both accusation and ache. “You didn’t even feel sorry to me. Not even a hug.”

 

Taehyung blinked, taken aback. What does he mean? His gaze flickered to Jungkook again and that’s when he noticed it—the clenched fist at Jungkook’s side, hidden almost, but trembling faintly.

 

“Hyunwoo.” Jungkook’s father’s voice cut through the air, heavy and final. “Let’s go inside. I don’t want people to see and talk again.”

 

Hyunwoo ran a hand through his hair, as though smoothing away years of absence, then turned toward Taehyung. His smile was soft—too soft, as if meant to charm—but there was something unreadable resting in it. A brief glance, a curve of lips, and then he followed after his father. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, echoing with an odd weight as he disappeared inside.

 

The breath Taehyung didn’t realize he was holding escaped slowly. He turned, eyes searching Jungkook’s face. But Jungkook was already pulling away, the warm arm that had been around Taehyung’s waist slipping back as though it had never been there.

 

“Jungkook—” Taehyung started, unsure what he even meant to ask.

 

“We’re already late.” Jungkook’s voice cut cleanly, stripped of warmth, stripped of softness. “Let’s go.” He moved forward without looking back.

 

Taehyung blinked at his retreating figure, his chest tightening. Just minutes ago, Jungkook had felt so close, so alive beside him. Now, in a breath, he had become that cold, unreachable man again. Taehyung followed quietly, his gaze fixed on the tense line of Jungkook’s shoulders.

 

And yet, the words Hyunwoo had thrown lingered the most, circling in his mind like a thorn—sharp and unsettling.

What did he mean by that?

 

They walked inside together, the buzz of laughter and music wrapping around them like a wave. Taehyung spotted Jimin first, standing beside Yoongi and the others, his grin wide when he noticed them.

 

Jin turned at the same time, his eyes lighting up.

“Oh my god. Look at the VIPs,” he teased, smiling warmly.

 

Taehyung returned the smile, leaning forward to hug him.

“Thank you for inviting me, hyung.”

 

“How could I not? You’re family,” Jin replied, his gaze flicking—just briefly—towards Jungkook.

 

Taehyung’s lips curved softly. He didn’t miss it.

 

Jin pulled Jungkook into a hug next. For a heartbeat Jungkook stiffened, shoulders tight, but under Jin’s steady hand he seemed to let go, his body relaxing into the familiarity. When they broke apart, Jin’s palm stayed on his shoulder, a quiet reassurance, like he could sense the weight Jungkook carried but chose not to name it out loud.

 

They moved to the table. Taehyung, instinctively, started toward the empty seat beside Jungkook. But Jungkook, without even glancing his way, slipped to the other side and sat down next to Yoongi.

 

Taehyung blinked, the small sting of confusion catching in his chest, before quietly settling beside Jimin instead. Jimin, too excited to notice the shift, leaned in and eagerly showed him the necklace Yoongi had brought from New York. Taehyung smiled, nodded, murmured his admiration—but his eyes strayed, just once, to Jungkook.

 

Jungkook was sitting there, posture perfectly straight, gaze unfocused. Yoongi said something to him—something that made Jin laugh across the table—but Jungkook only nodded faintly, the smile never reaching his lips.

 

The party bloomed around them—lights, laughter, the rich scent of cake filling the air. The cake was cut, cheers erupted, glasses clinked. Everyone’s faces glowed in celebration. Everyone’s, except his.

 

Because just minutes ago, Jungkook had been bright. Walking in, there had been a flicker of warmth in his eyes, his body a little lighter at Taehyung’s side. But now, as though a switch had been pulled, it was gone. His brightness dimmed into something unreadable, as though his mind had been dragged somewhere else entirely.

 

And Taehyung felt it. Every time he tried to step closer, Jungkook’s silence built a wall. Every attempt, subtle or not, was met with avoidance. A sidestep. A turned shoulder.

 

Why?

 

They had been fine just a moment ago. Even laughing. Was it because of his parents? Taehyung’s gaze flicked toward them—lavish, careless, delighting in conversations with the richest faces in the room, oblivious to the son who sat hollow-eyed only a few feet away.

 

When Jin called his name, Jungkook rose without hesitation, his chair scraping softly against the floor. He went, his shoulders squared but his face still shadowed, carrying a storm no one else seemed to notice.

 

Taehyung regretted coming now. Jimin was sweet, pulling him into conversations, but his attention was elsewhere—glued to Yoongi, who had only just returned after a week. The two of them clearly missed each other, and Taehyung didn’t want to be the one to intrude.

 

So he excused himself softly, weaving through the crowd with an uneasy heart. Maybe, just maybe, he’d find Jungkook.

 

He drifted toward the drinks table, lips jutting into a faint pout when he saw no trace of him. With a small sigh, he reached for a glass.

 

But just as his fingers brushed the rim, another hand appeared beside his. The sudden closeness startled him. His grip slipped.

 

The glass tumbled from his hand, shattering against the floor, liquid splashing over his shoes and the hem of his pants.

 

Taehyung sucked in a breath, stepping back quickly.

 

“Oh—did I frighten you?”

 

The voice was calm, almost apologetic. Hyunwoo stood there, brows furrowed, his face arranged into a mask of worry.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flicked down to his clothes, damp and sticky. He bit back a groan. Who on earth walked up this close to someone?

 

“I’m fine,” he muttered curtly, snatching a tissue from the table to dab at his pants. His irritation grew heavier, piling on top of the worry that had already been gnawing at him about Jungkook.

 

But when he looked up again, Hyunwoo wasn’t wearing that worried expression anymore. He was glaring at him—sharp, direct, like he was trying to cut through him.

 

Taehyung’s brows knitted. What was that look?

 

And then, in a blink, it was gone. Hyunwoo smiled, soft and charming, like the glare had never been there.

“Now I understand why you have all my brother’s attention,” he said smoothly. “You’re stunning.”

 

A faint shiver slid down Taehyung’s spine. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. But he steadied himself, straightening, refusing to shrink away. This man—this so-called brother—was nothing like Jungkook. Nothing at all.

 

Hyunwoo took a slow sip of his drink, leaning casually against the table as though they were old friends chatting. His eyes, though, never left Taehyung.

“I suppose… he didn’t tell you about me?”

 

Taehyung met his gaze head-on, his voice steady.

“Maybe you weren’t important enough to discuss.”

 

Hyunwoo chuckled lowly, the sound amused but edged.

“That’s an understatement, my love. Because if you asked Jungkook… he would disagree with you.”

 

Taehyung frowned, his chest tightening.

“Why should I ask him something that hurts him?”

 

For the first time, Hyunwoo’s smile faltered. His eyes flickered with something—hurt, surprise, maybe even a shadow of guilt.

“…Is that what he told you?” His voice dropped, quieter, almost wounded.

 

He was good at this. Too good. His expression shifted seamlessly, carrying the weight of someone misunderstood, someone wronged.

 

But Taehyung didn’t waver. His voice was softer now, but his words sharper.

“I don’t need to ask him. I can see through his eyes how he feels. And he doesn’t feel good around you.”

 

The mask slipped again. Hyunwoo scoffed, lips twisting, though his eyes glimmered with something darker.

“Of course he wouldn’t. How could anyone feel good around someone they once tried to kill?”

 

The world tilted.

 

Taehyung’s body froze, the words echoing in his skull. Kill?

 

But Hyunwoo looked so genuine when he said it—so pained, so believable—that Taehyung’s chest constricted in confusion.

 

“What… are you saying?” Taehyung managed, his voice thin.

 

Hyunwoo’s expression softened instantly, as if catching himself. He shook his head lightly, brushing it off.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, placing his glass carefully back on the table. His smile returned, warm but unreadable.

“Just… take care of him. I care about him a lot.”

 

And with that, he walked away, leaving Taehyung rooted to the spot—his shoes sticky, his heart racing, his mind a storm of questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to.

 

Taehyung stood frozen, his mind blank. Kill? What the hell had he just said? Jungkook did what?

 

His steps carried him almost unconsciously down the corridor, heart hammering against his ribs. He needed space—anywhere to breathe, to think, to shove down the sharp-edged words Hyunwoo had left him with. His thoughts clashed like broken glass, replaying the conversation on a loop, louder and heavier with each step.

 

That was when he caught sight of Mrs. Jeon storming out of one of the rooms, her expression furious, her movements clipped. Taehyung barely processed it before he saw Jungkook emerge as well, his tall frame heading toward the restroom.

 

A pang hit his chest. Two hours into this party and he hadn’t spoken to him once—Hyunwoo’s voice, Jungkook’s silence, his own confusion—it was all eating him alive. He needed to see him. Needed to anchor himself to something before the weight dragged him under.

 

Taehyung almost jogged, shoving the restroom door open a little too quickly. He entered, breathless, his eyes finding Jungkook at the basin, sleeves rolled, washing his hands. The sight made him stiffen—half relief, half hesitation.

 

“I was looking for you,” Taehyung said, the words tumbling out with a soft smile—only for that smile to falter when his gaze caught on the angry red mark blooming across Jungkook’s left cheek.

 

His heart sank. The air thinned around him.

 

For a second, Taehyung’s thoughts stopped spiraling about Hyunwoo’s insinuations and landed here, on this mark, this unspoken wound Jungkook was trying so calmly to pretend didn’t exist.

 

Taehyung knew him enough by now to recognize the disguise. Knew that Jungkook would rather hide behind composure than let someone touch the pain.

 

So he didn’t ask. He didn’t push. He did what instinct told him to do.

 

“I’m bored here,” Taehyung said instead, voice gentler than he intended. “Can we leave?”

 

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. His posture softened, shoulders losing some of their steel.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Taehyung replied quickly, almost too quickly. He turned to the tap, pretending to fuss with a stain on his pant leg, buying a breath to steady himself before straightening again with a small, almost boyish grin. “Now we can go.”

 

It wasn’t just about the party anymore. It was about escape—escape from Hyunwoo’s words clawing at his mind, escape from the storm in Jungkook’s eyes, escape to somewhere they could just exist without masks for once.

 

Jungkook nodded and walked ahead, leaving Taehyung biting his jaw in frustration. He quickly composed himself, following until they reached the parking area.

 

On impulse, Taehyung grabbed Jungkook’s hand, halting him.

Jungkook turned, eyes questioning.

 

“Can I drive?” Taehyung asked softly.

 

Jungkook stared for a long moment, blinking once before nodding.

 

A grin spread across Taehyung’s face. He hurried to open the car door for him.

“Allow me,” he said with a mock bow.

 

Jungkook slid inside without a word.

 

Taehyung lingered for a second, watching him, before circling around to the driver’s seat. He adjusted the GPS absentmindedly, though his gaze kept flickering toward Jungkook, who sat quietly, staring out the window.

 

Something twisted painfully in Taehyung’s chest. He wanted to wreck the whole evening, just to stop this silence from swallowing him. Instead, he started the engine.

 

The drive stretched out, heavy and wordless. Half an hour later, Taehyung pulled the car to a stop. Jungkook finally glanced at him.

 

Taehyung smiled faintly.

“It’s a great view,” he murmured.

 

Without a word, Jungkook opened the door. They both stepped out, the salty wind of the sea brushing against them as they walked toward the shoreline.

 

 

All the memories from the past come crashing into Taehyung the moment his feet touch the familiar sand. This was the place. The place where Jungkook had first held him without hesitation, as if the world couldn’t touch them. The place where the fire had quietly begun—ignition disguised as innocence.

 

They walk side by side along the shore, the waves curling softly at their ankles, but silence weighs heavier than the sea breeze. Taehyung dares to glance at Jungkook, only to find him staring straight ahead at the horizon, face carved in calmness.

 

His chest tightens painfully. How can he stand there like that? Taehyung’s throat aches with questions. How can he look so unshaken when all I want is to drown these feelings in the ocean? How can Jungkook pretend so easily, when I’m burning alive right here beside him?

 

“Stop staring,” Jungkook’s voice breaks the quiet, low and steady, but there’s a flicker beneath it. “It’s embarrassing.”

 

Taehyung swallows hard, caught. “Why?” His voice comes out restrained, almost trembling, as though he’s afraid of what he might hear.

 

Jungkook turns then, slow and deliberate, meeting his eyes. For a heartbeat, the world narrows down to just them—no waves, no shore, only the pull of his gaze.

 

Taehyung feels his body move before his mind catches up, hesitant steps closing the distance. His thoughts flash like lightning—his brother’s warnings, his father’s harsh words, the suffocating weight of expectations. And yet, here he is, drawn by the softness of Jungkook’s cheek, by the vulnerability he hides so fiercely.

 

Isn’t she his mother? Are not they all  family. Why they are treating him like that? The thought stabs him unexpectedly, confusing him, making the line between pity and love blur into something far more dangerous.

 

“If you’re going to pity me…” Jungkook’s voice cuts sharp, his jaw tightening, his fists curling at his sides. “I don’t need that.” His eyes harden as they pin Taehyung in place.

 

“Don’t look at me with those eyes, Kim Taehyung.” The words are raw, biting. His voice cracks on the edges, betraying the storm beneath.

 

“I fucking hate it.”

 

Taehyung bit back his words, his chest rising and falling like he was holding back a storm. His heart was wild—so wild it almost hurt. He took slow, tentative steps toward Jungkook, his fingers brushing against the sleeve of his arm before holding onto it. Then, without giving himself the chance to rethink, he wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s waist.

 

“I’m cold,” he whispered, eyes shutting tightly as if the darkness could protect him from rejection. He wasn’t asking for warmth, not really. He was asking for something deeper—acceptance, trust, the silent promise that Jungkook wouldn’t push him away again.

 

Jungkook stood frozen, unmoving. The absence of his embrace stung, and Taehyung’s eyes burned, moisture threatening to spill. He didn’t know the whole truth—didn’t know what kind of chains Jungkook’s family had bound him with, or why he seemed so determined to harden himself against the world. But one thing was clear: Jungkook wasn’t what his brother painted him to be. He wasn’t cruel, or heartless, or incapable of love. Taehyung could feel it in the uneven rhythm of his breathing, in the faint tremor beneath his stillness.

 

His voice broke softly against Jungkook’s chest.

“I trust you.”

 

It wasn’t just a confession—it was a key, handed over with trembling fingers. Taehyung understood now. It had never been about whether Jungkook could trust him. Jungkook was never afraid of giving his trust to taehyung.

 

He was afraid- afraid of being trusted. Afraid that no one would ever believe in him enough to stay.

 

And in that fragile second, something shifted.

 

As though those words had cracked the armor, Jungkook’s arms finally came around him—slowly, firmly—holding him like he was something precious that might slip away if he wasn’t careful. Taehyung’s heart nearly burst at the warmth that enveloped him, grounding him, steadying him. He tightened his hold desperately, burying his face in Jungkook’s chest as if he belonged there.

 

The world outside the hall, the noise of the city, the whispers of family expectations—all of it blurred away. There was only this moment. Two hearts beating unevenly, finding their rhythm together.

 

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how much more pain was waiting for them, but tonight… tonight, he had Jungkook’s arms around him. And that was enough.

 

Chapter 17: Under your influence

Notes:

Song recommendations:

Under the influence - Chris Brown

I wanna be yours - Arctic monkeys

Christmas tree - V

Sweet night - V

 

 

---

 

 

He stayed there, holding the cold body with his warm hands as though his palms alone could bring Jungkook back to life. When his breath finally evened, he broke the hug slowly, reluctantly, like pulling away from something that tethered his soul. Jungkook’s hand loosened around him, but never fully left.

 

Taehyung gulped, gathered whatever fragments of courage he had left, and looked up with unsteady eyes. Calmness. That maddening calmness that lived in Jungkook’s gaze—so steady, so collected, as if storms never touched him. How? He didn’t get it. He never got it.

 

His gaze drifted downward, betraying him. To the pale cheeks, to the faint shadows beneath the eyes, to the slight trembling at the corner of Jungkook’s mouth. Taehyung’s jaw tightened. His fist clenched at his side as if to restrain himself. Slowly, against every logical voice in his head, he reached toward Jungkook’s face. His thoughts tangled, knotted tightly around the man before him.

 

But before his fingertips could graze that skin, Jungkook’s hand snapped up, wrapping around his wrist. The contact was sudden, scorching, making Taehyung shiver. His throat bobbed in a nervous gulp. Both of them stilled, staring at each other, suspended in a silence that pressed down on their chests. Taehyung did not waver. He would not.

 

A moment passed. Then another. The world outside ceased to matter.

 

“Tell me one thing. Honestly,” Jungkook’s voice was low, barely a whisper, yet it echoed through Taehyung’s entire body. “Do you even know what you are doing?”

 

Taehyung blinked. Confusion flashed across his eyes. He looked back at Jungkook, wide-eyed, almost innocent in his bewilderment.

 

“I’m just—” His words stuttered, broke midway. What could he say? That seeing Jungkook this way, hollow and distant, made his chest ache as though the pain were his own? That every ounce of suffering etched on Jungkook’s face carved itself into his heart too? He almost laughed at himself. Who could feel another person’s pain like that? Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he was gaining some absurd, cursed sixth sense.

 

“Why does your little head overthink before speaking all the time, monkey?” Jungkook’s voice sliced clean through his storming thoughts, sharp but laced with a faint curl of amusement.

 

Taehyung froze, frown tugging at his brows. Monkey? His squint narrowed, and heat rose in his chest. Leave it to Jeon Jungkook to turn what could have been a fragile, delicate moment into the opening act of a WWE match. Monkey. Overthinking. Who the hell gave him the right to diagnose when it was Jungkook himself who made his brain spiral with every look, every breath, every maddening silence?

 

Taehyung yanked his arm back, shoving Jungkook lightly in the chest. The push carried more frustration than strength.

 

Jungkook hardly moved. He only leaned back a fraction, a smirk tugging lazily at his lips, amusement flashing in his eyes like a quiet taunt.

 

Taehyung let out a quiet, relieved breath. Jungkook looked... better. Cleaner. The stiffness from the party had softened — the pale cheeks had a trace of color, the jaw wasn’t set like a locked gate anymore. For a foolish second Taehyung felt victorious, like he’d somehow fixed something merely by being nearby.

 

Then the stupid word resounded again in his head.

 

Monkey.

 

Heat pricked at his ears. Of all the insults, of all the nicknames, of all the ways Jeon Jungkook could reduce him to a punchline — monkey? Really? Taehyung straightened until the vertebrae in his neck complained and planted his hands on his hips, posture theatrical and very deliberately challenging.

 

“Say monkey one more time,” he warned, voice too small to be scary but all the menace he could muster curled at the edges. “And you’ll regret ever meeting me.”

 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, amused like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all day. He stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth for a beat — a tiny, human tic — then crossed his arms and took a slow step forward.

 

Sand gave under Taehyung’s feet. He stepped back in reflex; the grains swallowed his toes with a soft sound. For a heartbeat the world narrowed to Jungkook’s face: the easy calm, the faint curve of lips that could be smug or tender depending on the light.

 

“Really?” Jungkook tilted his head, searching, playfully clinical. “What will you do, monkey?”

 

There it was again. The word landed and something inside Taehyung fizzed: irritation, indignation, embarrassment — and embarrassingly, a foolish flutter he did not want to name. Why did his chest do summersaults over insults? Why did Jungkook’s mockery land like a small, pleasant wound? He scolded himself internally for watching too many melodramas, for letting a man who’d been cold as stone have this effect on him.

 

He felt ridiculous. He felt exposed. He felt incandescent.

 

He squeezed the metal thing in his hand until his knuckles lightened. The tension sharpened into a grin of its own — half mischief, half dare.

 

A smirk spread on his face. It surprised him more than it probably surprised Jungkook.

 

Without looking away from him, Taehyung lifted his hand and thrust the phone forward, the screen catching the overwash of grey sky for a moment.

 

“I will throw your phone in the water,” he said, flat and deadly serious. The words were absurdly small and absurdly final.

 

Jungkook blinked. The faint confusion flickered across his calm face — an almost human misstep — and then the corner of his mouth twitched. Not anger. Not even amusement quite; more like curiosity at a puzzle he didn’t yet want solved.

 

Jungkook looked at his phone, then back up at him. His eyes steady, testing.

Well… that was the weak point. Because Jungkook loved his phone — his files, his work, everything he never let slip out of reach.

 

Taehyung remembered it clearly — how he always kept the device close, even when stepping out for a minute, even when going to the restroom. It was more than habit; it was instinct.

 

“How did you get that?” Jungkook asked, his tone quiet but curious.

 

Taehyung’s lips parted, a pause slipping in before his own voice.

“The moment we were—” he stopped, blinking, realizing he was answering the wrong question. He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing.

“That’s not the point, Mr. Jeon.” His grip tightened around the phone. “Listen. Stop calling me monkey. Promise me… otherwise I’ll throw this into the deep water.” He turned his arm slightly, pointing toward the black stretch of sea beside them.

 

The waves rolled, a low growl of the ocean filling the space between them.

 

Jungkook’s expression shifted — faint amusement curving his mouth, like he was already certain nothing would happen.

 

“You won’t,” he said softly, and then, with deliberate sharpness, “MONKEY.” Each syllable dropped clear, like a challenge.

 

Taehyung’s face went blank, his chest clenching. His voice broke through in a deadpan murmur.

“Why? Why?” His throat felt tight. “Tell me… why am I a monkey?”

 

Jungkook slid his hands into his pockets. His gaze drifted downwards, slowly, deliberately — from Taehyung’s feet buried in the sand, up along the line of his legs, lingering at his arms, before finally meeting his eyes.

 

Taehyung shivered under that stare, his fingers clenching tighter around the device as though it burned his palm.

 

“Your habits,” Jungkook said at last, voice low. “You cling… like a monkey. You eat… like a monkey.”

 

He paused. His hand twitched faintly, lifting slightly, as if to grab — his mouth shaping the next words, “And you grab with your—”

 

But he stopped midway.

 

That was it. Taehyung’s body moved before his thoughts could catch up.

 

With a sharp motion, he lunged forward, arm slicing through the air.

 

The phone left his hand.

 

A hollow splash followed — sharp, final — cutting through the silence.

 

And then… nothing.

 

Pure silence.

 

Even the waves seemed to hold back their breath.

 

Taehyung snapped his head back toward him, anger flashing.

“What did I ever cling to you, huh? You liar!” he shot back, voice sharp. His chest heaved with frustration. “Why would I cling to you? Your body—this gorilla type—” he spread his arms wide, almost mocking, his face animated, eyes and hands exaggerating his words. “In your arms I would hide… you’re this big—”

 

He stopped.

 

The air thickened with silence.

 

Taehyung’s eyes darted to Jungkook, who stood there, glaring at him, not saying a word. His throat went dry. And then it hit him—shit. The phone.

 

Oh damn. He’d forgotten. He’d just thrown Jeon Jungkook’s phone into the water.

 

He had only meant to tease him, push his buttons, maybe win the last word. But when did his temper run this high?

 

Taehyung took a cautious step back.

 

His breath caught when Jungkook stepped forward, calm—too calm. His expression unreadable, steady like the sea itself.

 

“Look, I was just kidding,” Taehyung said quickly, forcing a smile onto his lips. “You’re rich, right?” He flung his hands out in mock exaggeration. “You can buy ten phones—no, twenty!” His words tumbled out, but his feet kept shifting back, sand sinking beneath him.

 

Jungkook advanced slowly, each step deliberate. His gaze didn’t waver.

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened when Jungkook’s hand lifted, fingers brushing against his arm, holding him just for a second—before Taehyung twisted away. His skin burned where Jungkook touched, but instinct took over.

 

He ran.

 

His feet hit the cold sand, grains slipping beneath his soles, air sharp against his lungs.

 

“You just wait,” Jungkook’s voice carried behind him, low and steady, almost dangerous in its calm.

 

Taehyung’s heart leapt into his throat. He looked back—and saw him. Jungkook chasing after him, his stride powerful, relentless.

 

Wind whipped against them, pulling at their clothes, tossing Taehyung’s hair into his eyes. The world blurred into the rush of sea foam and silver moonlight.

 

His breath caught again, but not from the running.

 

Because Jungkook’s face… it wasn’t the same anymore.

 

The tension that had shadowed him all night—the weight, the silence, the walls—was gone. His expression was open now, alive. The faintest trace of something unguarded slipped through, something Taehyung hadn’t seen in so long.

 

Relaxed. Free.

 

And Taehyung’s chest swelled, memories crashing against him, reminding him of the times when they ran like this.

 

Taehyung’s laugh slipped out before he realized his steps had slowed. The sand dragged against his ankles, his lungs pulling sharp breaths, and that one second of carelessness was all it took—

 

Arms closed around his waist, strong and certain.

 

He gasped as the world spun, the sea and sky blurring, and in the next breath his feet were no longer on the ground. His legs dangled uselessly, the cold air rushing beneath them.

 

“Gotcha,” Jungkook murmured, amusement lacing his voice, his laugh low and rich against Taehyung’s ears.

 

Taehyung’s hands moved on their own, clutching Jungkook’s shoulders, anchoring himself against the sudden shift. His chest hammered. And then—his gaze met Jungkook’s. Too close. Too much. His heart thudded so hard it rattled inside his ribs.

 

Jungkook adjusted his hold, pulling Taehyung higher against him, closer, faces brushing distance. Taehyung’s breath stilled. His throat worked, gulping against the silence.

 

“W-what are you doing?” His voice cracked, his legs dangling helplessly as he wriggled. “Put me down. On the ground.”

 

Jungkook’s steps were unhurried, his eyes unreadable. “And if I don’t?” His tone softened, almost playful, but the weight beneath it pressed against Taehyung’s skin. “Aren’t you the one who deserves punishment? For what you did to my innocent phone?”

 

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, irritation bubbling to mask the pounding in his chest.

“Innocent?” he repeated, scoffing. “Nothing about a devil’s things can be innocent.”

 

Jungkook’s lips curved slightly, his brows lifting. “Devil?”

 

“Yeah,” Taehyung huffed, eyes narrowing. “You’re a devil. And a chimpanzee. And a gorilla too.”

 

For a second, silence. Then Jungkook tongued his cheek, his expression unreadable, and began walking. Each step deliberate, sand crunching beneath his shoes as he headed toward the darker stretch of the shore.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched. His pulse raced.

 

“Wait—wait,” he stammered, eyes wide, throat dry. He tilted his head, watching the dark water loom closer. His body tensed in Jungkook’s arms, his heart stumbling over itself. “You’re not—You’re not going to throw me in there, are you?”

 

Jungkook’s stride slowed. He stopped, the sound of waves filling the space between them. His eyes lowered to Taehyung, sharp and searching.

 

“If I throw you,” Jungkook asked quietly, “then what?”

 

Taehyung blinked rapidly, his fingers tightening against Jungkook’s shirt until the fabric bunched. His voice faltered, softer now, almost pleading.

 

“Your phone… it wasn’t that expensive. You can buy another one,” he whispered, his lashes fluttering as he searched Jungkook’s face. “But you—” he swallowed hard, batting his eyes, trying, hoping— “you can’t buy Taehyung. Right?”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer.

 

He only stared.

 

Stared like a predator eyeing prey. Like someone weighing choices. Like someone who held all the control and knew it.

 

Taehyung’s stomach twisted. His breath came shallow. His mind screamed he wouldn’t—Jungkook wouldn’t—but the longer those eyes lingered on him, the less certain he became.

 

The water was so close now. So black. So cold.

 

And Taehyung’s body trembled, every nerve caught between fear and the sharp, dangerous thrill of being held in Jeon Jungkook’s arms.

 

Taehyung felt the world steady beneath his feet as Jungkook lowered him back onto the sand. For half a breath he let himself believe he was safe — ridiculous and fragile, but safe. Jungkook’s hands stayed at his waist a moment longer, warm and grounding, before the man moved away.

 

Taehyung exhaled, ridiculous relief bubbling up in a laugh that died on his lips when Jungkook crouched suddenly, grabbed something from the sand, then—before Taehyung could think—wrapped an arm under his knees and scooped him up in one smooth motion.

 

His heart stuttered so violently it felt like it might turn somersaults in his chest. He dangled, horizontal now, and every OCD alarm in his head screamed. Vertical. Diagonal. Horizontal. All wrong. He could see his own life as a string of tiny, stupid defeats: first the phone, then this—being carried like a child, toppled out of control. He felt absurd, simultaneously furious and oddly flattered. Of all the people in the world to be carried by, of course it had to be Jeon Jungkook.

 

“I will buy you another phone,” he babbled, words tumbling out to hide the tremor in his voice. “Look, the water is cold, you can’t— I’ll freeze—”

 

His protest faded as he realized Jungkook wasn’t heading toward the shore at all. They were moving toward the car. Taehyung blinked. Shoes appeared in Jungkook’s other hand; he was carrying Taehyung like it was the most natural thing in the world. Heat and panic heated his cheeks.

 

“Uhm… I can walk,” Taehyung said too loud. His fingers dug into Jungkook’s shirt because it was the only thing to hold on to while everything inside him rattled.

 

“You won’t be able to after tonight,” Jungkook said, deadpan and perfectly calm, like he was talking about tied shoelaces instead of Taehyung’s dignity.

 

Taehyung blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

A small smile ghosted Jungkook’s mouth for a fraction of a second—vanishing before Taehyung could decide if he had imagined it. Jungkook put him gently down in the passenger seat, set the shoes by his feet, then walked around and slid into the driver’s side. Up close, behind the wheel, he looked composed again, but something in the set of his shoulders had eased, as if being near Taehyung steadied him too.

 

“What are you going to do?” Taehyung asked, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. He tried to sound threatening, fierce even. “If anything happens to my legs—”

 

“I’ll break yours,” Taehyung finished for him, arms crossed over his chest in mock menace.

 

Jungkook’s lips twitched; the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement. It was small, flickering, almost ashamed of itself. He glanced at Taehyung then, not with the clinical appraisal he often wore, but with something softer—like someone checking the temperature of a room by touch.

 

“You’ll know soon,” Jungkook said instead, and his voice was low enough that Taehyung had to lean forward to catch it. There was no malice in it, only something taut and secretive, like a promise half-formed.

 

Taehyung squinted at him, trying to read it. Jungkook’s thumb rested against the steering wheel, knuckles pale. The man started the engine; the hum filled the otherwise quiet interior. The heater sighed to life, blowing warmth toward Taehyung’s damp clothes. It felt absurdly domestic and, for reasons he couldn’t untangle, that hit him like a physical thing — a tenderness that made his chest ache and his limbs go pleasantly soft.

 

 

---

 

 

The car rolled to a stop inside the garage, the engine quieting into a low hum before cutting off completely. Jungkook’s hand left the steering wheel, deliberate, unhurried. He stepped out, the door shutting with a muted thud.

 

Taehyung turned quickly to grab his own handle, eager to leave the silence behind, but his fingers froze when Jungkook’s voice cut through—low, firm.

 

“Stay there.”

 

It wasn’t loud, yet it sank into Taehyung’s skin like ice water. His hand slipped off the handle. He sat back, pulse skipping.

 

Jungkook rounded the car with long, steady strides, and before Taehyung could prepare, the door swung open. Air rushed in, cool and sharp, then Jungkook leaned down. Two strong arms slid beneath him—one under his knees, the other braced against his back. In one smooth motion, Taehyung was lifted.

 

A sharp gasp escaped him, breath caught midair. His arms flew up instinctively, locking around Jungkook’s neck. The car door closed with a kick, the echo trailing into the night as Jungkook carried him toward the house.

 

“What is with this treatment, huh?” Taehyung muttered, trying to sound unaffected though his heart was hammering like a drumline. This—this was too much. Too close. Too good.

 

Jungkook said nothing. His silence pressed heavier than any reply. He typed the door’s password, the small beeps breaking the quiet, then slipped off his shoes without pause.

 

Taehyung, held close, stared at his profile—the hard line of his jaw, the steady set of his brows. His own grip tightened around Jungkook’s shoulders. Strange. He’s acting strange. Not like himself at all. Suspicion flickered in his mind. Is this some setup? A trick? He’ll carry me sweetly now, and later—revenge for the phone. Strangling me in his room? No, no… Jungkook might hate me, but nah. I’m too cute to strangle.

 

Jungkook stopped in front of his room door. His gaze shifted down, locking on Taehyung. “The way you’re sulking… it’s gonna be harder.” His voice was calm, but the weight of it landed sharp.

 

Taehyung’s throat went dry. His fingers clutched at Jungkook’s shirt, knuckles pale. “And why are you looking at me like… like those hunters in National Geographic?”

 

Jungkook’s tongue pressed against his cheek, a faint smirk threatening at the corner. He turned away, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. His pace slowed, deliberate again, each movement stretched thin with intent.

 

He set Taehyung down. The chill of the floor reached through his feet instantly, grounding him. Before Taehyung could speak, the sharp click of the door echoed—the lock sliding home. His heart stuttered against his ribs.

 

Jungkook turned, his blazer sliding off his shoulders, tossed onto the couch. Fingers moved to his shirt, undoing buttons with ease, cuffs adjusted with a quiet precision.

 

Taehyung’s eyes followed, confused, unsteady. His toes curled inside his pants, his hands tugging at his sleeves. What is he doing? Why like this? Is this really about the phone? No way…

 

He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet. The room felt smaller with every second Jungkook stayed silent.

 

 

Jungkook’s gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, from Taehyung’s feet to the line of his face. Each second of that look stretched thin, heavy, almost unbearable. Then he began to move—one step, then another—measured, steady, as though he had all the time in the world.

 

“Wait—wait,” Taehyung blurted, stumbling back a little, his arm shooting out between them to keep the space intact. His palm hovered, a fragile barrier against the press of Jungkook’s nearness.

 

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic rhythm inside his chest. “Listen,” he began, his words rushed, tumbling over each other. “We can… we can negotiate, you know. Your files are safe in your laptop. So really, no concern. I can—I can work overtime if you want, okay?” His teeth worried at his lip, betraying the nerves he tried to mask.

 

Another step. Jungkook’s chest brushed his hand, pushing against his resistance.

 

“Hey—hey, stop,” Taehyung whispered, the sound thin, cracking under the weight of silence.

 

Jungkook stilled, only inches away, his eyes locked onto him.

 

Taehyung’s gaze darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape or at least a distraction. “Did you forget about me?” His voice wavered, but he pushed on, firmer the next second. “I’m more precious than your phone. I’m human. Humans are more beneficial—” He faltered, words tangling into a mess. “What am I even saying…” He shook his head, then lifted his eyes with sudden determination. “Look.”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. He only stared, his expression unreadable, lips twitching faintly at the corners.

 

Taehyung swallowed. His voice softened, breaking into something almost pleading. “Did you forget we… we shared good moments? Right?” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “For the sake of that kiss, can’t you—”

 

The sentence never finished.

 

Jungkook’s hand shot out, firm and sure, wrapping around Taehyung’s wrist and dragging it down from his chest. The pull was strong, undeniable, and in the next moment Taehyung’s body collided with his. Air rushed out of his lungs as he was molded against Jungkook’s frame—unyielding, close, too close.

 

Then lips—demanding, urgent—claimed his.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flew wide, then fluttered shut as his world tilted. His hands trembled, uncertain, before anchoring desperately against Jungkook’s shirt. His entire body buzzed, his pulse pounding everywhere at once.

 

Jungkook’s grip held him captive—one arm caging his body tight, the other sliding up, curling firmly around the back of his neck, keeping him in place. The kiss deepened, hungry, stealing every breath Taehyung tried to take until his lungs ached and his chest burned.

 

When Jungkook finally pulled back, it was only for the smallest breath, the briefest pause—enough for Taehyung’s head to spin, his lips parted in shock. He wasn’t given a second longer. Warm lips found his neck, trailing down with heat and wetness, tracing the vulnerable line of his throat.

 

Taehyung’s knees weakened. His fingers clenched tighter into Jungkook’s shirt, twisting the fabric. His throat worked, struggling to swallow, his breathing broken and uneven. His heart stuttered, tripped, then raced, faster than it ever had.

 

Moisture gathered in his eyes before he even realized, blurring his vision. He didn’t know why—why the sting behind his lids, why the tremor in his chest. The warmth spreading through him felt overwhelming, terrifying, too much all at once.

 

Jungkook’s mouth pressed lower, steady, unrelenting, marking each inch of his skin as if he owned it. Taehyung’s head tilted instinctively, giving way, his body betraying him. His breath hitched, sharp and fragile, caught somewhere between surrender and fear.

 

The silence of the room wrapped around them, broken only by the sound of uneven breathing, the faintest hitch of lips against skin.

 

 

Jungkook dragged him effortlessly, as if Taehyung weighed nothing at all, and in the next heartbeat his back hit the mattress. The sheets crumpled under his grip as his fingers curled tight, clutching for balance, for something to ground him. Jungkook leaned over, his presence consuming the space, lips trailing warm, deliberate kisses along the line of his jaw, down the fragile stretch of his neck.

 

Taehyung’s heart stuttered, then raced wildly, the sound roaring in his own ears. His breaths came uneven, shallow, and his body trembled beneath the press of weight and heat. He had never imagined this, not like this—never thought of being touched in ways that felt both dizzyingly warm and utterly overwhelming.

 

He chewed at his lips, eyes fluttering shut, trying to catch a steady breath but failing. His fingers clenched harder into the sheets, as though they could hold him together while the rest of him unraveled.

 

“J–Jungkook…” The name slipped out, barely above a whisper, fragile, trembling. His eyes opened, glossy and unfocused, blinking up at the man above him.

 

Jungkook stilled, lifting his head to look down at him. His gaze swept slowly across Taehyung’s face, sharp and searching, as though reading every crack and falter in him.

 

Taehyung’s teeth caught on his lower lip, worrying at it. His hand, pale-knuckled around the sheets, trembled.

 

Jungkook’s palm came up, firm but not harsh, cupping his face. “Hmm?” he hummed, low, his eyes roaming steadily, lingering on the smallest shifts in Taehyung’s expression.

 

Taehyung’s toes curled inside his pants, every inch of him taut with nerves. “I—” His voice wavered, broken. “This was not… I think I—” The words tangled and died before they could find shape.

 

Jungkook reached down, prying gently at his clenched fist until his fingers loosened from the sheets. He held his hand steady for a moment, letting the tremor run its course, then leaned down. His lips brushed against Taehyung’s forehead—soft, unhurried, almost tender.

 

Taehyung’s eyes slipped shut at the touch, his breath hitching, his chest swelling with something he couldn’t name.

 

When Jungkook pulled back, Taehyung sat up slowly on the edge of the bed, his wide eyes following him, confusion etched into every line of his face.

 

“I have to wait a long time, I guess,” Jungkook murmured, the words so soft they almost dissolved into the air.

 

Taehyung blinked. “Huh?” His voice was small, uncertain.

 

Jungkook’s gaze softened for a fleeting second before his hand came up, brushing lightly across Taehyung’s cheek. “For your punishment.”

 

Taehyung frowned, lips parting. “We can negotiate. There’s no need to punish me. I’m not a five-year-old,” he muttered, a pout tugging at his voice.

 

A quiet chuckle left Jungkook, he adjusted taehyung's shirt, smoothing the fabric, then brushed a hand absently through his hair. He said, sound short but deep. “You’re the one punishing me right now,” he said, a hint of amusement shadowing the words, “not even negotiating.”

 

Taehyung’s heart gave a violent stutter, heat creeping up his neck. He stared at him, confused, lost in the weight of words he couldn’t quite grasp.

 

Jungkook’s eyes lingered a moment longer, unreadable, then he turned away. His steps carried him toward the restroom, deliberate, calm. His voice came back over his shoulder, steady, low:

 

“Lay down. You must be tired after this much drama of my life.”

 

The bathroom door shut behind him with a soft click, leaving Taehyung sitting frozen on the bed—heart pounding, fingers trembling, still feeling the ghost of lips on his skin.

 

Taehyung pressed a trembling hand against his chest, trying to calm the erratic thundering beneath his palm. Damn, no way… His breath hitched as the memory replayed in his mind, scattered and yet sharp—the heat of Jungkook’s lips brushing along his jaw, the weightless dizziness that came with every kiss down his neck. His toes curled again at the mere recollection.

 

Did they just… make out? No, no way. That was— He swallowed hard, pacing across the room like a restless shadow. Butterflies, fire, all those stupid things people talk about… and it actually felt like that. Jungkook did that… with me? Willingly? With… feelings?

 

His toe slammed against the nightstand. “Damn it,” he hissed, clamping his hand over his mouth to stifle the yelp. His whole body folded as he sat on the bed, clutching his foot and rocking slightly like a wounded child. The sting in his toe was nothing compared to the storm clawing inside his chest.

 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered into the quiet, voice shaking.

 

Restless, he scanned the room for distraction, anything to anchor him. His gaze fell on the half-open drawer. Almost without thought, his fingers tugged it open further. The sight stopped him cold. Rows of pill bottles lined up neatly, too many for comfort. His breath faltered as he picked one up, eyes scanning the label, heart tightening with unasked questions.

 

The bathroom door clicked open. Taehyung shoved the bottle back and slammed the drawer shut, almost too quickly. His pulse jumped.

 

Jungkook stepped out, changed into nightclothes, his hair damp at the tips. The sight should’ve been ordinary, but Taehyung’s eyes lingered too long before he tore them away. He stood abruptly, brushing past Jungkook, trying to mask his agitation. The pills. The kisses. The confusion. It all tangled too tightly in his head.

 

Inside the restroom, he leaned against the door, closing his eyes. Don’t think. Don’t ask. Just breathe. He changed into the same clothes he wore the night before, tugging his hood up like a shield. When he finally pushed the door open, the room had shifted—lights dimmed to a muted glow.

 

Jungkook was seated on the edge of the bed, turning something slowly in his hands. Taehyung’s watch. His chest pinched.

 

Wordlessly, he crossed to the other side of the bed and lay down, stiff on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Silence stretched between them—so heavy, it felt almost alive.

 

The mattress dipped slightly as Jungkook lay down too. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of their breaths filling the dimness. Then—

 

“Taehyung.”

 

The way his name left Jungkook’s lips was unrecognizable. Slow. Strained. As though it had been wrestled out of him, heavy with something unsaid.

 

Taehyung’s heart stumbled. He froze, fingers fidgeting against the blanket, afraid to move, afraid to answer.

 

He swallowed, voice barely audible. “Hmm?”

 

He didn’t dare turn his head. Didn’t dare meet Jungkook’s eyes.

 

But the silence after was worse—the way Jungkook seemed to be gathering words carefully, like each one could tip the balance of everything.

 

And Taehyung, caught between dread and anticipation, thought wildly, What does he want to say? What is he thinking?

 

The name fell between them like a soft warning.

 

“Why are you like this?” Jungkook’s voice was small, almost a whisper—so low Taehyung had to lean in to hear it. It carried a tiredness that made the room tilt.

 

Taehyung bit his lip, confused into silence. He turned his face toward the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks in the plaster as if they might answer for him. “Like what?” he managed, voice thin.

 

Jungkook’s exhale was a quiet thing, part frustration, part something else—something fragile. “You’re driving me insane.”

 

The words landed and settled with a heat that threaded down Taehyung’s spine. His pulse skittered against his ribs. He wanted to laugh, to deny, to push the moment away with one of his usual jokes. Instead he felt small, honest in a way he hadn’t expected to be.

 

Jungkook shifted; the mattress made a soft sound. For a moment there was only the measured rhythm of two breaths.

 

“I can’t understand you,” Jungkook said, slow, each syllable carefully chosen as if he were arranging glass on a table. “I can’t understand why you hold my shirt while saying things that make me unsteady.” He paused, and Taehyung felt the pause like a held note. “I can’t understand why your body trembles every time I touch it.”

 

Those words were ordinary and impossible all at once. Taehyung’s fingers curled into the blanket until his knuckles paled. He remembered—too clearly—the way his hand had slid to Jungkook’s waist that night, how his breath hitching had sounded like admission. He felt seen and vulnerable and absurd.

 

Jungkook’s voice dropped lower, rawer than before. “I want to know why I wanted to burn myself when you were crying outside the club because of me.”

 

The confession hit with the weight of a stone. Taehyung’s chest constricted; the room seemed to tilt on its axis. He hadn’t known he could make someone feel that—an edge so sharp it cut right through the armor Jungkook wore like second skin.

 

“I can’t understand why—” Jungkook swallowed. The next words came out almost afraid to be spoken. “—when I wanted to end it, seeing you made me want to keep going. Just to see you again.”

 

Tears blurred the edges of Taehyung’s vision. He tasted salt on his lip and smiled, ridiculous and trembling—a small, unsteady thing that surprised him with its honesty. He had thought himself the only one unravelled by the other’s presence; hearing those fragile admissions, feeling them steer toward him, made something inside unclench.

 

He wanted, knee-jerk and foolish and tender, to deny how much it meant. But denial would be a lie, and Jungkook’s voice had pulled the truth out by its sleeve, soft and unrelenting.

 

Taehyung inhaled. The breath came shallow, then deeper. He let the small smile hold on his lips a moment longer, feeling the shape of it. In the dim light, their shadows mingled on the ceiling—two shapes that had learned how to find one another in the dark.

 

 

He felt the arms tighten around him before Jungkook suddenly shifted, turning him with a smooth motion until they were face to face. Taehyung blinked, startled at first, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. Their closeness made the air heavy, every inch of space between them dissolving.

 

“Why this long speech?” Taehyung asked, his tone laced with mock nonchalance, though the slight quiver in his voice betrayed him. Inside, his heart was leaping, cartwheeling, dancing wildly, but outwardly he forced a shrug. “You can just straightforward say that Taehyung is making you human.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes stilled on him, dark and unreadable for a long moment. Then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to Taehyung’s lips. The softness of it made Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut instantly, silencing him more effectively than any words could. When Jungkook pulled back just enough to breathe, his voice came low, steady, and certain.

 

“Yes,” he murmured, gaze fixed on him. “You are making me feel like a human.”

 

The words landed in Taehyung’s chest like a strike, his heartbeat stumbling and then racing uncontrollably. He froze, staring at him in disbelief. Did he really… say that? To me? His lips parted, but no sound came out, only the sharp inhale of air he suddenly needed.

 

And then, almost as if his body decided before his mind, Taehyung’s smile bloomed wide and bright. He lifted his hand, placing it carefully against Jungkook’s cheek, the warmth of his skin grounding him. His thumb brushed along the curve of his jaw, and he leaned in with a small giggle, bumping his nose gently against Jungkook’s. The sound was soft, bubbling, unrestrained joy spilling from him.

 

Jungkook’s chest shook with a small laugh of his own. He pulled Taehyung tighter against him, his arms unyielding, protective, as though he never wanted to let go. “Sleep well, monkey,” he said, his voice roughened with affection.

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened a little, and he gave a half-hearted swat to Jungkook’s chest. “Chimpanzee,” he shot back, lips curling as he spoke, his tone sharp but playful.

 

Jungkook’s chuckle deepened, quiet but rich, before his eyes slowly closed, his face easing as if he had finally found some rest.

 

Taehyung stayed still, watching him, feeling the steady rise and fall of Jungkook’s chest beneath his palm. His own heart hammered so wildly it felt like it might leap out of him. How… how did the day turn into this? He thought of the countless emotions that had piled one after another, threatening to break him, and yet—at the end of it, here they were. Together. That was what mattered.

 

But as Taehyung nestled closer, burying himself in the warmth of Jungkook’s embrace, his smile faltered for only a fleeting moment. His mind flickered back to the bitter shadows of Jungkook’s family—the cruelty, the sharp voices, the way they treated him as if he were less than human. Monsters, he thought. They’re nothing but monsters. How could they ever raise their voices at him? This lovely, broken human who deserves nothing but gentleness?

 

The thought cut deep, but Taehyung only tightened his arms around Jungkook, pressing himself closer, as though he could shield him from every storm waiting outside these walls. His lips curved again, a quiet smile, not of giddiness this time but of determination and love.

 

In that moment, wrapped in Jungkook’s hold, he felt safe, cherished, and—despite the shadows still looming—completely unwilling to let go.

 

Unaware of how much more pain the world was preparing to hurl at them, Taehyung shut his eyes, clinging tighter, holding on with everything he had.

 

 

---

 

Hyunwoo grabbed the bottle, tilting it to pour himself another drink. The liquid splashed into his glass, and he downed it in one long swallow.

 

 

On the opposite side, Mi-young crossed her legs, rolling her eyes with visible irritation.

 

Lee-do caught the gesture and stifled a laugh, lifting his own glass.

 

“Bruhh… I’m witnessing the downfall of my sister before World War III even begins,” he said, placing his drink back on the table with a smirk.

 

Hyunwoo chuckled under his breath, swirling the glass in his hand.

 

“A mere secretary took your peace in a month,” he said casually. Then he let the corner of his mouth twitch. “Well… I can’t blame Jungkook. He is a sight to see.”

 

The moment the words left him, Hyunwoo’s jaw tightened. He set the glass down with a sharp thud that made Lee-do flinch.

 

“Watch your language,” Hyunwoo said coldly.

 

Mi-young frowned, her gaze flicking up to study his expression, as if weighing every twitch of his face.

 

Lee-do only shrugged, leaning back into the couch with deliberate ease.

 

 

“What are you thinking?” Mi-young asked finally, her tone sharp. Her muscles tensed as if bracing herself. “Don’t tell me you’re—”

 

“He will leave him,” Hyunwoo interrupted, his voice steady, deliberate. “Don’t worry. He will.”

 

“Taehyung will never leave Jungkook,” Mi-young countered firmly.

 

“Who said Taehyung will?” Hyunwoo replied, eyes glinting as he leaned forward.

 

Mi-young’s frown deepened.

 

 

Lee-do let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Ahh… so you’re planning to start from the basics.”

 

Hyunwoo leaned back, the corner of his lip curling as he winked.

 

Mi-young sat stiffly, leaning into the couch, her expression sour. She didn’t bother hiding the disgust she felt toward him.

 

 

Lee-do raised his glass lazily, tilting it toward Hyunwoo.

 

“Cheers to the mighty power of Jeon Hyunwoo,” he said with mock reverence, clicking his glass against Hyunwoo’s.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18: Happier than ever

 

---

 

 

“...Tae—Taehyung.”

 

Jimin’s voice tugged him back. The syllables cut through the haze in his mind like a pebble skipping across still water. Taehyung blinked, turning his head toward the coffee table where Jimin stood, arms loosely crossed, eyebrows raised.

 

“Where is your mind wandering? I’ve been calling you for a whole minute.” Jimin’s tone carried both concern and that familiar teasing lilt. “Are you okay?”

 

Taehyung’s fingers tightened around the porcelain cup in front of him, the faint steam curling against his face. His mind coming back from the drawer full of medicins to reality. He forced himself to nod, lips parting with a delayed, “...Yeah. I’m okay.”

 

The weight of the moment pressed on him, and so he lifted the cup to distract himself. The dark liquid rippled softly.

 

Jimin’s eyes flicked to it, then back at him. “Is that... for Jungkook?”

 

The words dropped casually, but Taehyung froze all the same. His gaze shifted down to the cup in his hands as though caught red-handed. And then—just as Jimin leaned in—the heat bloomed. First in his cheeks, faint and betraying, then spreading until he felt it reaching the tips of his ears.

 

“Oh my god.” Jimin’s voice nearly cracked with amusement, his eyes widening as if he had stumbled upon a treasure. “Kim Taehyung—you’re blushing.”

 

Taehyung immediately raised a palm to one cheek, as though shielding the evidence. But the warmth beneath his skin only deepened at the reminder.

 

How was he supposed to stop? It wasn’t just a blush—it was everything pressing in at once. Night had replayed again and again in his head: Jungkook’s arms holding him like he was something fragile, something worth holding on to; the way his touch carried both command and a gentleness that unmoored him completely. How could anyone not blush after that?

 

But—no. He couldn’t walk around glowing pink at every mention. Not when Jimin looked at him like this, a cat ready to pounce on his every reaction.

 

“Come on,” Taehyung muttered, aiming for casual and missing it by miles. “It’s not... that deep.”

 

“Ohoo...” Jimin sing-songed, eyes twinkling. He nudged Taehyung’s shoulder with the back of his hand, grin curling wide. “Look at you. Sparkling boy ever since that night at the club. He must be treating you very well.”

 

 

Taehyung didn’t give much away. His face remained calm, maybe even unreadable, though inside his chest there was a heaviness he couldn’t quite shake. Yes—Jungkook was treating him well. Better than well, if he was honest. And yet... that honesty was exactly what unsettled him. Because if things were this good now, what came next?

 

The thought pressed like a shadow against the back of his mind. He didn’t know what the future held, and the uncertainty made his heart restless, his mind tight with worry.

 

So he deflected. He always did.

“Why are you roaming here, anyway?” he asked, setting the cup down with more focus than necessary. “Don’t you have work?”

 

Jimin slipped easily into the space beside him, an arm curling over his shoulder like it belonged there. “I came to ask you,” he said lightly, “what you’re wearing today.”

 

Taehyung frowned, head tilting. “What do you mean?”

 

Jimin pulled back just enough to look at him directly. “Don’t tell me you forgot.” His brows arched, voice dripping with disbelief. “You have your school reunion today, don’t you?”

 

Taehyung blinked. His eyes widened a beat too late, guilt washing over his face. “Oh... I actually forgot.”

 

“Exactly.” Jimin straightened, smug in his reminder. “So you should leave early from work. Otherwise, you’ll drag yourself there tired.”

 

The thought of leaving early—of having to ask Jungkook—made Taehyung’s chest tighten in a different way. He hesitated, then muttered, “Uhmm... yeah. I’ll ask Jungkook, then.”

 

Jimin’s lips curled instantly, pouncing on the opening. “Yeah. Ask your Jungkook.” He turned to switch off the coffee machine, his grin evident in his tone as he reached for his cup.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at him, voice laced with warning. “Jimin.”

 

“What?” Jimin turned with mock innocence, laughter already spilling as Taehyung glared.

 

 

---

 

 

Taehyung took a deep breath, steadying his hand before knocking on the heavy office door.

A soft “come in” answered almost immediately—too quick, too certain. As if Jungkook already knew who stood there.

 

It made Taehyung pause, warmth crawling up his neck. These small things, these little unspoken recognitions… he was starting to notice them now. Starting to savor them. And they were making him giddy, even when he tried not to be.

 

He pushed the door open, peeking his head inside first. Jungkook was already looking up, dark eyes catching his like it was the most natural thing in the world. Of course he is, Taehyung thought, chest swelling with a ridiculous pride. As he should.

 

Stepping in fully, he walked toward the desk, carefully setting the coffee cup down in front of him. Only then did he look up, and Jungkook’s gaze was still fixed on him, unwavering.

 

“...Uhm. Hi,” Taehyung said, awkwardly, the sound of his own voice unfamiliar in the stillness between them. His ears burned. After everything that had been happening lately—after last night—how was he supposed to act? Shy? Bold? He didn’t know. He didn’t even know how to be shy, not really, but suddenly his body was betraying him.

 

Jungkook’s lips curved, amusement sparking in his eyes.

“What is with that ‘hi,’ monkey?” he asked, voice low, teasing in a way that made Taehyung’s skin prickle.

 

Taehyung straightened immediately, crossing his arms in front of his chest like armor. Anything to cover up the way his stomach had just flipped over itself. “It’s called a greeting,” he said coolly, lifting his chin. “Something called manners. The thing you clearly lack.”

 

Jungkook tongued his cheek, and the faintest huff of laughter slipped past his lips. He reached forward, sliding his glasses off and setting them down on the desk with deliberate slowness before rising to his feet.

 

Taehyung startled, shoulders twitching before he could stop himself. It was ridiculous how every small gesture—every adjustment of Jungkook’s posture, every shift in his tone—did something to him now. But it did. It absolutely did.

 

And yet, beneath the fluster, Taehyung could see it clearly. The change in Jungkook’s expression, subtle but undeniable. His features had softened; there was lightness in his eyes he hadn’t seen before.

 

He was happy.

 

Happy with him.

 

The realization made something fierce and proud unfurl in Taehyung’s chest.

 

 

Jungkook moved closer, until the desk no longer felt like a barrier but a stage for something else entirely. Taehyung tried—he tried—to keep his arms crossed, chin tilted up in defiance, but it didn’t last long. Jungkook’s eyes searched his face, steady and unreadable, and then suddenly his hand closed around Taehyung’s arm, tugging him forward with ease.

 

Taehyung jolted, nearly stumbling, before finding himself pressed into the circle of Jungkook’s arms. His throat went dry instantly.

 

The hug was firm, grounding. Too grounding. And then—just as his heart started to trip over itself—Taehyung felt it. A warmth brushing the side of his neck, light as breath. A kiss, fleeting and soft, like the brush of butterfly wings against fragile petals.

 

By the time Jungkook drew back, Taehyung’s lungs had forgotten how to work. He stared, wide-eyed, air trapped somewhere in his chest.

 

“You should greet properly then, dummy,” Jungkook murmured, casually brushing a strand of hair out of Taehyung’s eyes, as if he hadn’t just undone him completely.

 

Damn it. What was this? Why was Jungkook—Jeon Jungkook, who had once kept his distance so ruthlessly—becoming clingier by the day? Taehyung’s poor heart couldn’t take it. It felt like it was exploding out of his ribcage, every beat hammering his body with proof that he was alive, alive in a way that was dizzying.

 

He pushed weakly at Jungkook’s chest, more instinct than actual resistance. The shove barely made a dent, just enough to create a sliver of space between them. But even that Jungkook didn’t allow for long. His hand snaked forward, fingers curling around Taehyung’s wrist before tugging him right back into place—chest to chest, close enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

 

“I should tie up your hands,” Jungkook said, voice pitched low, almost offhand, but heavy enough to shiver straight through Taehyung’s body.

 

Taehyung froze, his brain scrambling. His gaze locked on Jungkook’s, unblinking. Tie up? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Tie up in the way he’d once overheard in movies late at night? No way. Absolutely no way.

 

His entire body shivered despite himself. Heat flared up his neck and ears. “Why… why are you saying things like that all the time?” he managed, eyes narrowing into a suspicious squint.

 

The problem was, his voice didn’t sound as firm as he wanted. It sounded breathless. Too curious.

 

 

“Like what?” Jungkook asked, his thumb brushing lazy circles over the back of Taehyung’s hand, as if coaxing the truth out of him.

 

Taehyung’s lips parted, then pressed shut again. His mind tripped over itself, hunting for words that wouldn’t make him combust on the spot. “…Tie up?” His voice dropped low, barely above a whisper. “It’s not a good word. I know it.”

 

That made Jungkook tilt his head, amusement sparking in his eyes. He bit the inside of his cheek as though suppressing a laugh. “Mm. What do you know, Taehyung?”

 

The question shouldn’t have felt like a challenge, but the way Jungkook said it—like every syllable was weighty and deliberate—had Taehyung’s stomach twisting. His hand slipped free, only for Jungkook to catch him again, this time at the waist, warm fingers firm against his side.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, because what else could he do when his insides felt like sparklers? “I know everything.” He paused dramatically, but his throat betrayed him, tightening mid-sentence. “They…”

 

“They what?” Jungkook pressed, gaze steady, unrelenting.

 

Taehyung looked everywhere but at him, chewing his bottom lip, shoulders tightening like he was caught in the act of a crime.

 

“In movies,” he said finally, gulping. His voice trembled against the words. “They tie—”

 

He broke off, because Jungkook wasn’t just listening. He was staring. Intensity in those dark eyes that made Taehyung’s breath stumble, like he’d been caught saying something forbidden.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Taehyung asked, squinting suspiciously, as though glaring could save him from whatever storm was brewing.

 

Jungkook’s brows lifted, his expression unreadable save for the corner of his mouth twitching in the ghost of a smirk. “And why,” he murmured, “do you change the subject every time I’m close to getting what I want?”

 

Taehyung blinked at him, scandalized. His heart dropped straight into his stomach before ricocheting right back into his throat. “So you—you want to tie me up and kiss me like in those movies?” The words tumbled out before he could catch them. “We can do that without tying! It works better that way.”

 

Silence stretched between them.

 

Taehyung looked up hesitantly, cheeks hot, only to find Jungkook still staring at him, unreadable, like Taehyung had just handed him the most fascinating puzzle of his life.

 

Taehyung’s voice cracked under the weight of that gaze. “Now what?”

 

“You know what…” Jungkook said, voice trailing off as though he was about to drop something profound. Then, without warning, his finger flicked forward, landing lightly against Taehyung’s forehead.

 

“Ouch!” Taehyung yelped, clutching his head with both hands like he’d been grievously injured. His pout was instant, lips pushing forward in exaggerated misery.

 

Jungkook only shook his head, rounding the edge of his desk, casual in a way that irritated Taehyung more. He sank back into his chair, lifted the coffee cup, and took a deliberate sip. “You should stop watching your stupid films.”

 

Taehyung’s eyes snapped up, glaring. “Yeah? And you should start watching some. Maybe you’ll learn a lesson or two.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes flickered upward, amused. A chuckle slipped from him, low and soft. “Suggest me some then.”

 

Taehyung stared back at him with a deadpan expression, silence stretching just long enough to sting. “…Based on you, zombie ones suit you best. You both lack brains.”

 

The corner of Jungkook’s lip twitched upward as he leaned back in his chair. “I lack brains?”

 

“You didn’t know?” Taehyung said, widening his eyes, feigning alarm so dramatically it almost looked real. “That explains a lot.”

 

Jungkook arched a brow at him, unbothered.

 

Taehyung huffed, arms crossing firmly over his chest. He had to stop himself from smiling, because damn it, Jungkook always managed to twist him into knots—whether it was with a kiss or a stupid forehead flick. Remembering why he’d come in here in the first place, he took a breath. “Are you free this evening?”

 

Jungkook’s gaze sharpened, amusement glinting under his lashes. “Why? You want to ask me out again?”

 

Taehyung’s glare was immediate, his cheeks threatening to heat. “It’s your biggest achievement, I know, but don’t flatter yourself.”

 

Jungkook’s tongue flicked over his lips, a slow motion that shouldn’t have been distracting but absolutely was. A smile crept onto his mouth, quiet but sharp.

“I should take back all my words. My lord.”

 

Taehyung’s chin lifted proudly, as though he had just won a duel. On the outside, his posture screamed confidence, almost regal. Inside, however, he was nothing more than a blooming child—heart fluttering, skin warm, nerves a mess.

 

The universe, of course, had to ruin it.

 

A sharp buzz from Jungkook’s phone cut through the moment. Instantly, Taehyung watched the faint smile vanish, replaced by that stoic, unreadable mask. Jungkook leaned forward, picked up his phone, eyes scanning the screen before his thumbs moved swiftly across the glass. Reply sent. Phone down. His expression calm again, as though nothing had shifted.

 

And that was the problem. Sometimes Taehyung swore he could read Jungkook’s every flicker, every twitch of emotion. Other times… he was a wall. Silent, impenetrable.

 

“So… answer me?” Taehyung pressed, his voice a little sharper than intended.

 

Jungkook glanced back at the phone before lifting his gaze. “I have an appointment.”

 

The disappointment in Taehyung’s chest was immediate and heavy. “Which appointment? You don’t have any—I checked your schedule.”

 

That earned him only a slight movement: Jungkook’s gaze drifting aside, fingers grabbing onto a file that didn’t need grabbing. “It’s outside office work.”

 

Taehyung’s lips pulled into a pout before he even realized it. “Always work.”

 

“Stop sulking,” Jungkook said, tone even, as if that solved everything.

 

“I’m not,” Taehyung shot back, though his puffed cheeks betrayed him.

 

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly as if testing him. “What’s the problem?” He set the file down again—deliberately, quietly—and gave him full attention.

 

Taehyung felt his chest swell at that shift, though he forced himself to play it cool. His eyes darted around the room before returning to him with an air of mock authority. “The problem is… I have a school reunion today.” He lifted his brows pointedly, as though announcing something grand. “So I was thinking that—”

 

Jungkook’s gaze, which had been idly skimming the surface of the file, snapped up again. For a heartbeat, his expression was unreadable. Then his lips tugged into something faint, amused, almost light. His eyes held him—bright in a way that made Taehyung stumble for a second.

 

Taehyung blinked, a little thrown. Why was he looking at him like that?

 

“So you’re thinking what?” Jungkook said, voice low, drawn-out, as if daring him to finish.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes, squinting as if Jungkook’s face alone offended him. Ah—so that was it. He wanted Taehyung to ask outright, like a child begging for pick-and-drop service. In his dreams.

 

“So I want leave,” Taehyung said finally, chin lifted, glaring at him as though daring him to deny it.

 

Jungkook’s brows arched, the smallest curve of interest forming at the corner of his lips. “What will you even do going there?”

 

“It’s none of your business,” Taehyung snapped, arms crossing tight over his chest, as if the fold of his elbows could shield him from the way Jungkook’s gaze stripped right through his defense.

 

Jungkook leaned back into his chair, gaze fixed and steady, not rushing. “Oh, it’s a hundred percent my business when you want me to pick and drop you.”

 

Taehyung’s teeth ground together. Always. Always this man had a backup fire, a counter shot ready. Jeon Jungkook—he needed lessons. Lessons in how to treat someone beautiful, pretty, cute, irresistible. 

But he is a brat. Always a brat.

 

“Keep your imaginations to yourself,” Taehyung shot back, tongue sticking out as his last defense.

 

He spun on his heel, heading for the door with triumphant indignation. But halfway through shutting it, he couldn’t resist turning his head back, words tumbling from his lips with smug finality. “I’ll enjoy there freely without you.”

 

The door clicked shut, but not before Jungkook’s low chuckle followed after him.

“Go there safe, monkey.”

 

Taehyung’s foot lashed out instinctively, kicking the door with a satisfying thud.

“Chimpanzee!” he muttered under his breath, spinning around—only to freeze.

 

Every single staff member was staring at him. Wide-eyed.

 

Taehyung blinked. Once. Twice. “What?” he barked, hands flaring defensively.

 

In an instant, papers shuffled, keyboards clacked, pens scratched. Everyone pretended to be immersed in their work again, as though nothing happened.

 

Taehyung huffed, shoulders rigid, storming his way back to his desk. “Keep your mood good,” he muttered to himself as he dropped into his chair. “You’re going to meet a lot of your friends from school.”

 

He set his fingers on the keyboard, typing furiously, as though the letters could absorb his wrath. I should find a new man. This one is clearly dumb.

 

---

 

Taehyung bowed politely to the taxi driver after handing over the fare. His hand slipped into his pocket, fishing out his phone. The moment the cracked screen lit up, he groaned.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, thumb brushing over the splintered glass. It looked like a relic, not a phone.

 

Shoving it back into his pocket, he lifted his eyes. The restaurant’s soft lights spilled warmly onto the pavement. His chest fluttered—not just from nerves, but something like excitement. He was about to see his school friends after years. They had all gone their separate ways after high school—different universities, different cities, different lives. But now… now, he’d finally meet them again.

 

He walked inside, scanning the tables, when a familiar face caught his eye. A hand shot up in a wave.

 

“Taehyung!”

 

He grinned, lifting his hand back. His steps quickened as he reached the table.

 

“Man—” one of the guys stood up, pulling him into a hug before he could even sit. “You look like a celebrity!”

 

A small laugh tumbled from Taehyung’s lips. “As always.”

 

The table erupted with laughter, the years of distance melting away in an instant. He slid into an empty chair, warmth pooling in his chest as the waiter arrived to set down dishes and glasses of water.

 

They fell into easy chatter, the kind that felt both nostalgic and fresh at once. Someone leaned in, curiosity flashing in her eyes.

“Taehyung, one of my friends works at your company.”

 

He blinked up from his plate, chopsticks paused mid-air. “Oh? Don’t tell me—” a groan escaped him. “I hate him already.”

 

She chuckled, shaking her head. “But he doesn’t hate you. He actually said you’re the real gem there.”

 

Taehyung stilled, chopsticks clinking back onto his plate. His brows knit. “What do you mean?”

 

Her smile lingered, soft but knowing. “He said… every time their boss is angry, you’re the one who saves them.”

 

The words landed heavier than he expected, his chest tightening. His heart skipped—a beat too loud, a beat too fast. He blinked, confused, staring at her as though she had just spoken in riddles.

 

He swallowed. “I… don’t understand.”

 

But deep inside, something was stirring.

 

“he said that ever since you joined their company, her CEO never stays angry when you’re in the room,” one of the girls explained, grinning as though she’d just uncovered a secret.

 

Another friend leaned in, laughing. “You know how it is—our Taehyung charms everyone. Definitely his boss can’t stay mad. Who could?”

 

The whole table burst into laughter, teasing smiles thrown in his direction.

 

Taehyung, on the other hand, felt his ears grow hot, his cheeks blooming pink. He ducked his head, fingers curling loosely around his glass, trying to calm the sudden skip in his heartbeat. Damn Jeon Jungkook. Even here, even when he wasn’t in the room, his presence clung to him—through words, through stories, through the faint tug in Taehyung’s chest.

 

He lifted his glass and took a sip, hoping the coolness of the drink would anchor him back. But the calm shattered at the sound of his name.

 

“Taehyung.”

 

His head snapped up, the familiar voice cutting through the hum of chatter. And just like that, his mood soured.

 

There, standing a few feet away, was Jeon Hyunwoo.

 

“Ah, it’s really you,” Hyunwoo said, smile sharp and practiced. “For a moment I thought I’d mistaken you for someone else.”

 

The table went still, laughter dissolving into silence. Curious eyes darted between them. One of his classmates leaned forward, whispering just loud enough for the group to hear. “Wait—Taehyung, you know him?”

 

Taehyung forced his lips into a line, turning back toward the table. “Yeah… kind of,” he said, voice clipped, trying to brush it off.

 

But Hyunwoo wasn’t one to let go so easily. He tilted his head, feigning hurt. “Ah, don’t say it like that, Taehyung. You’ll hurt me.”

 

The silence around the table thickened. The weight of his friends’ stares pressed into his skin. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as his fingers tightened around his glass. The night he had been excited for—the warm nostalgia, the laughter—was already at risk of unraveling, all because he had walked in.

 

“Hyung, you should sit down,” one of Taehyung’s classmates said, his tone warm and welcoming.

 

Taehyung’s head snapped toward his friend, eyes narrowing. He leaned closer, whispering through gritted teeth. “Why are you inviting him?”

 

His friend blinked at him, unbothered. “He’s my brother’s friend. How could I not?”

 

Taehyung’s brows furrowed in disbelief, but before he could protest, Hyunwoo lifted his hands in mock surrender, his expression carefully composed.

 

“You guys enjoy,” Hyunwoo said smoothly, voice carrying a false humility. “I was just leaving.”

 

“No, no, hyung.” His classmate reached out, eager. “We’re meeting after so many years. How can you leave like that? Please, join us.”

 

Taehyung’s fingers tightened around his glass. Of course. The night was slipping from his hands already, and he hadn’t even touched half of his food. He raised the drink to his lips, swallowing the bitter taste—not of alcohol, but of irritation.

 

Hyunwoo, playing the part of the reluctant guest too well, pulled out a chair and lowered himself directly across from Taehyung. Their eyes met, briefly, and the corner of Hyunwoo’s lips curved—not a smile, but something far sharper.

 

Taehyung kept his gaze fixed on his drink, pretending not to notice. But the prickling weight of Hyunwoo’s stare wouldn’t relent. Finally, he looked up, his patience thinning.

 

“What are you looking at?” His tone came out harder than intended, edged with the sharpness he couldn’t swallow back.

 

Hyunwoo chuckled low, a sound that grated against Taehyung’s nerves. “Nothing.”

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, focusing on his plate instead. His friends continued chatting, laughter rising and falling around the table as if nothing was wrong. But for him, every bite of food tasted faintly of bitterness, every word blurred in the air.

 

Because across from him sat Jeon Hyunwoo—the man whose presence alone tightened something in his chest. The man he had started to hate with every passing day.

 

Taehyung set his empty glass down on the table, the sound louder than he meant. His head swam just enough to remind him he’d overdone it. Damn… too much. He rubbed at his temple, willing the dizziness away.

 

Leaning toward the classmate beside him, he whispered, his voice low and thick. “I’m leaving. Office tomorrow… can’t stay longer.”

 

His friend gave a quick nod of understanding, already turning back to the ongoing laughter at the table.

 

Taehyung pushed himself up, swaying for a second before steadying his steps. His chair scraped faintly against the floor, a sound that felt louder than the chatter around him. He made his way out of the warm restaurant into the cooler open air, breathing deeply as if the night breeze might clear his head.

 

His phone buzzed in his hand. He blinked down at it, trying to focus, but the screen swam before his eyes, bright and unreadable. Still, he managed to answer, pressing it clumsily to his ear.

 

“Hello?” His voice came out rough, touched with irritation. Hyunwoo’s face at that table had already soured his mood.

 

“It was harsh, monkey.”

 

The familiar low timbre froze him in place. Jungkook.

 

The change was immediate—like a light flicking on in the darkness. His lips curved without permission, soft and fond. “Jungkook…” he breathed, his voice slipping into a smile.

 

“You’re drunk?” Jungkook’s question was blunt, but beneath it lay something that felt like concern.

 

Taehyung straightened a little, stubborn. “No. I’m not.” His words slurred against each other. “And I enjoyed so much… witho—” He hiccupped, correcting himself clumsily. “With… you. Without you.”

 

A chuckle drifted through the line, warm and amused. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

 

Taehyung shook his head, though Jungkook couldn’t see. “I don’t want to,” he muttered, words running together. “I’ll go—”

 

But the sentence broke as the phone was yanked from his grip. His eyes widened. He spun around, ready to lash out, only to freeze when he saw who held it.

 

Hyunwoo.

 

The older man held the phone easily to his ear, ignoring Taehyung’s scowl. His voice was calm, almost too polite. “He’s with me. I’ll drop him.”

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened with fury. How dare he—

 

But Hyunwoo didn’t end the call. His gaze flicked to Taehyung, and he spoke again, voice steady, smooth, carrying an edge only Taehyung could hear.

 

“Don’t worry, brother. You know the things I start to like… I take care of them a lot.”

 

The words crawled over Taehyung’s skin, colder than the night air. A shiver ran through him, his stomach twisting. He swallowed hard, throat dry, unable to tear his eyes away from Hyunwoo’s smile.

 

At last, Hyunwoo ended the call. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his full attention back to Taehyung, expression softening into something that looked almost gentle. Almost.

 

“Shall we go?” he asked lightly, as though nothing had happened.

 

Taehyung’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him that nothing about this was as harmless as it sounded.

 

 

 

Chapter 19: Leaves of Autumn

 

---

 

 

Don’t worry, brother. You know the things I start to like… I take care of them a lot.”

 

The words crawled over Taehyung’s skin—slow and venomous, sinking into his bones. The air around him seemed to thicken, heavy and unyielding. A faint tremor passed through his fingers before he managed to steady them at his sides. He could feel his pulse hammering somewhere between his throat and his ears.

 

When Hyunwoo finally ended the call, the sharp click of the phone felt deafening. He turned, movements deliberate—calculated in that way people move when they know they have control. The faint smile that played on his lips didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Shall we go?” he asked, his tone deceptively light, almost tender, as though the threat from moments ago hadn’t been real.

 

Taehyung’s jaw tensed. He could feel the unease coiling in his stomach, but he forced his voice to stay even. “Why would you think I would go with you?”

 

The silence that followed stretched, taut and thin. Hyunwoo’s low chuckle broke it, too calm for the situation. He took a slow step forward, then another—each one closing the space between them like a quiet, measured warning.

 

Taehyung held his ground. He wasn’t afraid. He told himself he wasn’t afraid.

 

“Because I’m saying you would go with me,” Hyunwoo murmured, voice dropping low, almost intimate. The faintest curl of a smirk ghosted his lips.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched despite himself, his eyes flickering with something uncertain—confusion, defiance, fear. He couldn’t tell which was stronger.

 

Hyunwoo tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, as if that could erase the tension, as if the gentleness in his voice wasn’t more terrifying than anger. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Taehyung’s whole body trembled—the kind of shiver that came from deep inside, from something colder than the night air. That smile on Hyunwoo’s face—it wasn’t kind, it wasn’t even smug—it was wrong. It crawled under his skin, irritated him to his core.

 

Why the hell did you drink so much, Taehyung? he scolded himself silently. His head was swimming, his eyelids heavy. He could barely focus. Everything around him felt too close, too sharp—and the man standing in front of him was watching him with a gaze that made his stomach twist.

 

He opened his mouth to tell him off, to say get lost or don’t touch me—anything—but the words never came.

 

Hyunwoo’s expression softened suddenly, almost gentle, and before Taehyung could step back, the man lifted a hand. With the back of his fingers, he traced along Taehyung’s cheek.

 

Taehyung froze. The contact was feather-light, but it sent a jolt through his entire body. His breath caught, his chest tightening with something close to panic. He shoved Hyunwoo’s hand away immediately, voice trembling when he managed to speak.

 

“W-what are you doing?”

 

The words barely came out. His throat felt tight, the echo of old, buried memories flashing behind his eyes—dark corners, unwanted touches, that helpless feeling he thought he’d left behind.

 

Hyunwoo only smiled again, that infuriating, calm smile, and placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Why are you afraid of me?” he asked softly, almost teasing. “Doesn’t Jungkook touch you too?”

 

The sound of Jungkook’s name in that man’s mouth made Taehyung’s stomach churn. That was enough. He didn’t care about the phone anymore—he’d throw it away, buy ten new ones if he had to. He just needed to leave. Now.

 

He turned to go, stumbling slightly—but before he could take more than a step, a rough hand shot out and grabbed his arm, yanking him backward.

 

Taehyung gasped, eyes flying wide. He tried to pull away, but Hyunwoo’s grip only tightened, fingers digging into his sleeve.

 

“Why are you so complicated to handle?” Hyunwoo murmured, voice barely above a whisper—low, deliberate, and heavy with something that made Taehyung’s blood run cold.

 

Taehyung’s pulse pounded in his ears. He struggled, trying to pry Hyunwoo’s hand off him, but it was useless. Then, with a quiet, unnerving sort of calm, Hyunwoo tilted his head, eyes dropping to Taehyung’s wrist.

 

Before Taehyung could react, Hyunwoo’s fingers brushed against his skin, and in one swift motion, he unclasped the watch Jungkook had given him.

 

The world seemed to slow.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched. His jaw clenched as he reached forward instinctively, trying to snatch it back—but Hyunwoo had already stepped away, holding the watch up to the dim streetlight like it was something precious.

 

“How sweet,” he murmured, turning it over in his hand, the faint smirk returning. “He really cares about you, doesn’t he?”

 

Taehyung’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest.

His voice came out thin, shaking. “Give it to me.”

 

He tried to sound firm, unaffected, but even he could hear the tremor beneath his words.

His body betrayed him—the same old fear creeping up from somewhere deep inside. Damn it. Why was it always like this? Why was that night at the club—the fear, the helplessness—replaying all over again?

 

He’d never been built for this. For cruelty. For people who toyed with others just because they could. He’d been loved, cherished even, all his life… so why did the real world have to be this cruel?

 

Hyunwoo tilted his head, that smirk stretching wider across his face. “I don’t want to.”

 

Taehyung’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His breath came unevenly through his nose, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

 

Hyunwoo laughed then, loud and cruel, the sound cutting through the quiet night.

“Oh, damn,” he said, stepping closer, eyes glinting. “Look at your face. You’re such a crybaby. No wonder Jungkook loves to fuck you only like a toy.”

 

The words hit him like a slap.

Air caught in Taehyung’s throat, choking him. His vision blurred for a split second, a flash of disbelief, of burning humiliation.

And then—anger. Pure, trembling anger.

 

His muscles tensed. He was about to lunge forward, to shove, to scream, How dare you talk about him like that?

How dare you call what they have a toy, a thing, something filthy—when it’s his everything.

 

But before he could move, a sharp, sickening sound stopped him cold.

 

A dull crack.

 

He froze, eyes widening as Hyunwoo dropped the watch onto the pavement—and then, with a slow, deliberate twist of his shoe, crushed it beneath his heel.

 

The sound echoed in the quiet air.

A smirk curved on Hyunwoo’s lips as he ground it further into the ground, the metal giving way with a faint crunch.

 

Taehyung’s gaze fell to the fragments scattered across the concrete.

For a heartbeat, everything went silent.

 

His jaw tightened, every muscle in his body locking. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms.

That watch…

 

Jungkook’s first gift.

The one he’d worn every day since. The one that marked the beginning of them.

Every second of laughter, every shared glance, every unspoken promise—it all felt like it shattered with that sound.

 

His throat tightened. He looked up, fire burning behind the gloss of unshed tears.

 

Hyunwoo just chuckled, amused by the fury in his eyes. He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing Taehyung’s trembling form.

“I hope,” he murmured, his voice soft but cutting, “that next time I see you… the distance between us won’t be this wide.”

 

He gave a small smirk—mocking, confident—and turned away, his footsteps fading into the dark.

 

For a long moment, Taehyung couldn’t move. His body felt numb, the night air cold against his burning skin. The alcohol, the fear, the helplessness—they all tangled together until he could hardly breathe.

 

When his knees finally gave in, he lowered himself to the ground. Slowly. Carefully.

 

He reached out with trembling hands, gathering the shattered pieces one by one.

 

Tiny shards of glass. Bent metal. The faint, broken outline of the watch face.

 

He gathered them all in his palm, holding them close, his breath uneven.

And as the world spun quietly around him, a single tear slipped down his cheek—soundless, fragile, but heavy with everything he couldn’t say.

 

He sat there on the cold pavement, knees bent, his weight folding in on itself.

The broken watch lay in his trembling hands like something alive, sharp edges digging into his palms. He pressed it to his chest, as though he could hold the pieces together with the warmth of his body. His head lowered until his chin nearly touched his knees.

 

Every part of him ached—his arms, his heart, even the skin where Hyunwoo’s fingers had lingered. He rubbed at those spots without thinking, as if he could wipe them off, but the touch still burned.

The words burned worse.

 

Toy. Crybaby. No wonder Jungkook…

 

He blinked hard, once, twice, trying to force the tears back where they came from.

But they hovered, clinging stubbornly at the edges of his lashes.

 

He stayed like that for what felt like a long time, body curled in on itself, the night quiet around him except for his own shallow breathing.

 

And then—a car door slammed.

Hurried footsteps. The sound of someone running, hard, across the pavement.

 

Taehyung’s head snapped up.

He scrambled to his feet, unsteady, his lips trembling from the alcohol, from the aftershocks of Hyunwoo’s words.

 

Jungkook’s figure emerged through the dim streetlight, nearly breathless, his eyes sharp and frantic. He reached him in seconds, hands closing firmly but gently around Taehyung’s arms.

 

“What happened? Huh?” Jungkook’s voice cracked on the words. “Did he hurt you?”

 

Taehyung looked up at him, blinking through the haze. His mind felt like a mess of wires, tangled and sparking. What could he even say?

 

Tell him that his brother had spat poison at them?

Tell him about the watch?

Tell him he was just tired, that he wanted to sleep, that he didn’t want to feel like this anymore?

 

Why was life so complicated?

Why did reality always crash in like this, cruel and fast, when moments ago he’d been laughing with old friends?

 

“Taehyung?” Jungkook’s voice came again, softer this time, but more desperate. His hands slid up to Taehyung’s shoulders, holding him steady, as if he might collapse. “Did he do something? Tell me. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

 

Taehyung’s eyes dropped to the ground. He felt the sting of tears at the corners again, heavy and unrelenting.

 

“I don’t like him,” he murmured at last, voice small, raw. “I don’t want to see him again.”

 

Jungkook’s hands moved to his face then, palms framing it firmly, lifting it until their eyes met. The intensity there almost broke Taehyung’s composure completely.

 

“You won’t,” Jungkook said, low but steady. “You will not. I’m sorry. Huh? Tell me… why are you crying like this?”

 

Taehyung swallowed, but his throat wouldn’t open.

His knuckles brushed against his own damp cheeks as he tried to wipe them dry, the broken watch still clutched tightly in his fist like a lifeline.

 

“I want to go home,” he whispered. “I’m tired.”

 

The last word cracked as it left his mouth. His shoulders trembled again.

Jungkook didn’t speak for a moment—just stood there, still holding his face, thumb brushing the edge of a tear away, eyes dark with something Taehyung couldn’t read but could feel, deep in his chest.

 

Jungkook was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He reached out and patted Taehyung’s head—softly, almost uncertainly.

“Yeah… let’s go,” he murmured.

 

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them—measured, careful, holding back the tremor in his voice. Taehyung could feel it, the effort it took for Jungkook to stay calm, to not show the storm beneath his steady expression.

 

And that made it worse somehow.

Because Jungkook trying his best always broke something fragile inside him.

 

Jungkook’s hand slipped around his shoulders as he guided him gently toward the car. The motion was protective, not possessive—quietly deliberate, like he was afraid Taehyung might fall apart if he wasn’t careful. He opened the passenger door, waiting until Taehyung sat down, before closing it with a soft click.

 

Within seconds, Jungkook was on the other side, sliding into the driver’s seat. The air inside the car was heavy—dense with things neither of them knew how to say.

 

Taehyung didn’t look at him. His gaze was fixed outside the window, the city lights blurring behind the thin film of tears still caught in his lashes. His hand stayed closed around the broken watch, the metal edges pressing into his skin.

 

“Please… drop me at my apartment,” he said quietly.

 

Jungkook’s hand froze halfway to the ignition. He blinked once, eyes turning toward him.

But Taehyung didn’t turn to meet his gaze. He just sat there, still as a photograph.

 

Jungkook said nothing. He started the engine instead. The quiet hum filled the silence between them, but it didn’t soften it—it only made it heavier.

 

The ride back felt endless. Neither spoke. The world outside the windows passed like a film reel, but all Taehyung could hear was the echo of Hyunwoo’s words and Jungkook’s quiet breathing beside him.

 

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Taehyung’s building, the night had already deepened.

He opened the door without looking back. The moment the cold air hit him, he felt his chest tighten.

 

Jungkook followed, stepping out as well.

 

Taehyung walked toward his door, each step feeling heavier than the last. The key trembled slightly in his fingers. When he pushed the door open, the familiar space felt foreign—like a place that no longer belonged to him.

 

He paused on the threshold, keeping his gaze low.

“I’m good,” he said, the words coming out too softly. “You should go back… now.”

 

Jungkook’s answer came immediately, low and firm.

“You think I’ll leave you after seeing you like that?”

 

Taehyung’s throat worked as he swallowed. He forced his eyes upward, meeting Jungkook’s gaze for the first time that night. His lashes trembled.

“You have the office tomorrow,” he managed. It sounded like an excuse even to him.

 

Jungkook stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then he sighed quietly, stepped forward, and caught Taehyung’s arm—not rough, just decisive.

 

The door swung open wider as Jungkook guided him gently but firmly inside. The air shifted as the door clicked shut behind them.

 

He stopped only once they reached the center of the small living room, finally letting go of Taehyung’s arm. His voice, when it came, was steady but threaded with something fragile.

 

“What happened?” Jungkook asked, eyes searching him. “Why are you trying to push me away right now? You never do that.”

 

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing—one too calm, the other uneven and shallow.

Taehyung didn’t answer. He just stood there, broken watch still clutched in his hand, the pieces glinting faintly under the light like fragments of a promise he wasn’t ready to let go of.

 

Taehyung stared down at his hands for a long moment—at the trembling fingers still curled around the broken pieces. His throat worked once before he forced the words out, soft and uneven.

 

“I’m… tired,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just want to sleep.”

 

He didn’t look at Jungkook again. He turned and walked toward his bedroom, his steps quiet and dragging. The sound of the door closing behind him felt final—like a fragile line being drawn in the air.

 

But Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He followed, the soft creak of the floorboards marking his steady, determined steps. The door clicked shut once more, sealing them both inside the dim room.

 

Taehyung lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over himself like armor. His face was half-turned toward the wall, the faint lamplight catching the sheen of tears on his cheek. Jungkook stood there for a moment, just watching him, the tension in his jaw visible even in the soft shadows.

 

Finally, Jungkook moved closer. He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. Taehyung didn’t turn toward him—didn’t move at all except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

 

Jungkook lifted a hesitant hand, brushing it gently through Taehyung’s hair. His voice came low, steady, but careful—as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.

“Are you not going to tell me, huh? How was your day?” he asked softly. “You didn’t tell me all the details. Did you… meet all your friends?”

 

The question hung in the air for a moment before the silence broke—quietly, painfully.

 

Taehyung bit his lower lip, hard enough that it trembled. His chest tightened, his breath catching as he tried to hold everything in—but the dam gave way. A tear slipped down his cheek, then another, and soon he was shaking, small sobs breaking free from somewhere deep inside him.

 

Jungkook’s eyes widened, his hand stilling.

“Hey… hey,” he said quickly, panic rising in his tone. He moved closer, cupping Taehyung’s face in both hands, trying to wipe away the tears that kept coming faster.

 

Taehyung sat up then, his shoulders trembling, his sobs raw.

 

“I’m so weak,” he choked out, his voice breaking mid-sentence. “I can’t protect you…” His fingers fumbled against his wet cheeks, trying to wipe the tears away only for more to fall.

 

Jungkook’s brows drew together sharply. He shook his head, his grip on Taehyung’s face tightening just slightly—as if to anchor him.

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly, voice low but filled with something close to anger. “Did he say that to you?”

 

Taehyung didn’t answer. He only shook his head, eyes glistening, breath trembling in his throat. Then, slowly, he extended his hand between them, palm open.

 

Jungkook looked down—and froze.

 

In Taehyung’s palm were the crushed pieces of the watch. The one he’d given him. The one that had never left his wrist since that day.

 

Jungkook looked back up, his expression unreadable—half disbelief, half heartbreak.

 

Taehyung’s voice came next, quiet and hoarse.

“I couldn’t even… protect this,” he whispered. “How will I ever keep you safe?”

 

The words fell like glass shattering in the dark.

 

And Jungkook—who had never been easily shaken—just sat there, watching him, his throat tightening, his chest aching with something he couldn’t name.

 

He didn’t have an answer.

 

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on him, quiet but heavy. The air between them was still, almost suffocating.

 

“So,” he said finally, voice low and measured, “you’re thinking of leaving me then?”

 

The question hit Taehyung like a spark. His lips parted, his eyes widening just slightly—hurt flashing through them before he could mask it.

 

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His voice was small but steady. “No, I’m not.”

 

Jungkook tilted his head, studying him carefully. “Then why did you push me away just now?”

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then forced the words out—each one trembling, like they were cutting him on their way out.

“He said I’m a crybaby,” Taehyung whispered. “And that’s why you… you love to just fuck me.”

 

The silence that followed was sharp. Jungkook’s jaw flexed, his eyes darkening. A muscle ticked near his temple as he forced a small, bitter smile.

 

“Do you think like that too?” he asked quietly. The question was gentle—but the emotion beneath it wasn’t.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flickered up at him, startled. He blinked rapidly, trying to form words, but what came out was something else entirely—soft, unplanned, disarming.

“We didn’t even… do that yet.”

 

For a moment, Jungkook froze. Then, slowly, his expression softened. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through the storm in his eyes.

“So,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing in the quiet, “my Taehyung just wakes up now, huh?”

 

Taehyung looked away, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. His ears turned red, and he swallowed hard.

 

Jungkook’s smile faded into something warmer. He let out a slow breath and shifted, climbing onto the bed beside him, removing his shoes quietly so the sound wouldn’t disturb the fragile calm that had settled over them.

 

He reached out then, his touch steady, coaxing Taehyung’s hands gently. “Come here.”

 

Taehyung hesitated—but Jungkook’s voice left no room for distance. It wasn’t an order. It was care, disguised as insistence.

 

He allowed himself to be guided, moving closer until Jungkook pulled him softly into his lap. Taehyung’s body stiffened for a moment, unsure where to place his hands, but Jungkook only adjusted him carefully, one arm sliding around his waist, the other holding his hand, thumb tracing slow circles over his skin.

 

Taehyung’s head rested against Jungkook’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat—steady, calm, grounding. It made something in his chest loosen.

 

“How was the meetup?” Jungkook asked after a moment, his tone quieter now, soothing. “You didn’t tell me yet.”

 

Taehyung blinked against his chest, voice muffled. “It was… okay.”

 

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgment, his thumb still caressing the back of Taehyung’s hand.

 

The silence that followed wasn’t suffocating anymore. It was soft—like a place to rest.

 

Jungkook’s hand continued its slow rhythm—thumb tracing lazy, soothing circles against Taehyung’s knuckles. The silence between them had softened now, no longer heavy or cold. Just quiet. Just them.

 

Then, softly, Taehyung’s voice broke through.

“Jungkook…”

 

Jungkook hummed, the sound deep in his chest, a wordless answer.

 

Taehyung hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly in Jungkook’s grip. His voice came out small, trembling at the edges.

“He… he won’t leave us alone.” He took a breath. “I’m afraid.”

 

Jungkook’s movements stilled. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a quiet exhale, his jaw tightened. “Nothing will happen,” he said finally, steady but low. “Don’t worry.”

 

Taehyung looked up at him. The shadows under his eyes deepened, but there was something fierce flickering there—like a small, stubborn flame refusing to go out.

 

He straightened, shifting so he was face-to-face with Jungkook, and looped his arms gently around his neck. “I was drunk today,” he muttered, his lips brushing near Jungkook’s shoulder. “Next time, I’ll punch his face.”

 

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitched. A soft laugh escaped him, muffled by Taehyung’s hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re the brave little monkey.”

 

Taehyung giggled quietly, a tiny, tired sound that still managed to warm the air. He settled back down, resting his head against Jungkook’s chest again. The steady thump of Jungkook’s heartbeat filled his ears. It was grounding—too grounding. Because even as he tried to relax, Hyunwoo’s words still echoed somewhere deep inside him, faint but sharp, like a splinter lodged under skin.

 

He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out until it turned into soft, exhausted snores.

 

Jungkook stayed like that for a while, his hand still moving through Taehyung’s hair. Watching him. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breath.

 

When he was sure Taehyung was asleep, he carefully shifted—lifting him just enough to lay him down on the bed. He tucked the blanket around him, letting his fingers linger on Taehyung’s cheek. For a brief second, Jungkook’s eyes softened completely.

 

Then he stood, exhaling through his nose as he left the room.

 

In the living room, the quiet was different—colder, heavier. Jungkook sat down on the couch, pulling out his phone. He stared at the screen for a moment before typing something quickly. His leg bounced once, twice—impatience barely contained.

 

A few moments passed. Then his phone buzzed. A message.

 

He opened it.

 

The screen lit up with a video—grainy, but clear enough. His jaw set instantly. His fist tightened around the phone until his knuckles went white.

 

He didn’t finish watching. He didn’t need to.

 

He stood, grabbed his car keys from the table, and walked out.

 

The drive was silent except for the low hum of the engine. His hands gripped the steering wheel, veins standing out under his skin. His expression was unreadable—but the tension radiated off him in waves.

 

When the car came to a stop, it was in front of a grand bungalow, lights spilling faintly across the driveway. The guards straightened immediately.

 

“Sir,” one greeted, but Jungkook didn’t slow down. He didn’t even acknowledge them.

 

He pushed open the front door and strode inside, steps firm, purposeful.

 

The sound of voices drifted from the living room.

 

“Dad, it was—”

 

Hyunwoo stopped mid-sentence when he saw Jungkook standing there, eyes dark, cold, and burning all at once.

 

The air shifted instantly—thick with something dangerous, something heavy that even the walls seemed to feel.

 

 

 

---

 

Taehyung stirred when the warmth beside him vanished. The bed felt suddenly too wide, too cold. He blinked the haze of sleep from his eyes, frowning softly as his hand brushed against the empty sheets.

 

A faint sigh escaped him. He sat up, ruffling his hair in a daze, the quiet of the apartment pressing against his ears. The dim light from the living room slipped through the crack of the bedroom door, soft and golden. He pushed the blanket away and stood, bare feet touching the cool floor as he padded toward it.

 

When he opened the door, the sound of the city outside hummed faintly through the windows. Jungkook was there—silhouetted against the faint glow of the streetlights. He stood near the window, posture rigid, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze fixed on something distant beyond the glass.

 

Taehyung’s frown melted instantly, replaced by a quiet warmth that rose up before he could stop it. Even from behind, Jungkook’s presence was magnetic—steady, grounding, somehow always too much and never enough.

 

He walked closer, slow steps almost soundless. Then, without a word, he slipped his arms around Jungkook’s from behind, interlocking them gently. His cheek brushed the soft fabric of Jungkook’s sleeve.

 

Jungkook turned his head slightly, looking down at him, the faintest surprise softening his expression. “Why did you wake up?” he asked, voice low, roughened by the late hour.

 

Taehyung tilted his face up. “You didn’t sleep?” he asked back, eyes tracing his features—the slight tension in his jaw, the faint lines of exhaustion.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on Taehyung’s face, searching, almost unreadable. Then, quietly, he reached out and took Taehyung’s arm, guiding him so they stood face to face. “Should I?” he asked, tone light but threaded with something deeper—something heavy he wasn’t saying.

 

Taehyung smiled, small and soft, as if trying to ease the air between them. He raised a hand and patted Jungkook’s head playfully. “Yeah,” he said teasingly. “You should.”

 

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth curved upward—just a ghost of a smile. A low chuckle escaped him, quiet but warm. And before Taehyung could pull his hand away, Jungkook moved.

 

He crouched slightly, strong arms slipping around Taehyung’s waist in one fluid motion.

 

Taehyung gasped, instinctively looping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. “Hey—what are you—”

 

Jungkook only hummed, holding him close, his head pressed lightly against Taehyung’s shoulder. “You told me to,” he murmured, voice softer now.

 

Taehyung blinked, caught between laughter and a fluttering in his chest that refused to calm down. He let out a small, helpless chuckle, the kind that carried both affection and disbelief.

 

Moments stretched quietly around them—slow, delicate, like the city outside had paused just to let them breathe.

 

“Then let’s go, my Lord,” Jungkook murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips.

 

Taehyung giggled, the sound light and breathy in the stillness of the room. Jungkook carried him carefully, setting him down on the bed with a tenderness that contradicted the storm still lingering behind his eyes.

 

He climbed in beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Taehyung immediately shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s waist and pressing his face against his chest. The familiar warmth was there—steady, comforting—but something in the air felt heavier, quieter than usual.

 

Jungkook’s arms came around him too, pulling him in with a quiet, almost desperate strength. Taehyung could feel the way Jungkook’s chest rose and fell, slower than normal, but deliberate.

 

His own heart squeezed at the silence. Something about it felt wrong—like a calm right before a storm. He loosened his hold slightly, tilting his head up to look at him.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

 

Jungkook’s gaze flickered down, the edges of his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said, voice even.

 

Taehyung smiled anyway, trying to ease whatever tension clung between them. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch.

 

Taehyung giggled again, the sound barely above a whisper, and Jungkook’s eyes slowly opened—dark, searching. For a moment, he simply stared at him. Then his hands clenched faintly at Taehyung’s sides, the weight of his restraint visible even in the subtle tremor of his fingers.

 

Without warning, Jungkook tugged him closer—so suddenly Taehyung gasped—and pressed his lips to his.

 

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It carried a heat that startled Taehyung, rough and uneven, more emotion than control. His breath caught, hands fisting in Jungkook’s shirt, unsure whether to pull him closer or to breathe.

 

When Jungkook finally broke the kiss, his breath was heavy against Taehyung’s lips. He didn’t let him go, not even for a second. Instead, he pulled Taehyung into his arms again—tighter this time, like he was trying to hold everything inside him together.

 

Taehyung’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He buried his face in Jungkook’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his ear. It was too fast. Too human.

 

Neither spoke. Jungkook closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as if fighting against the weight of his own thoughts.

 

And Taehyung, trembling slightly, held on—because whatever this was, whatever burned between them, it was real enough to hurt.

 

---

 

 

The living room fell into a different kind of silence the moment Hyunwoo’s words cut off. He had started to explain — Dad, it was… — but the room already knew the answer it wanted: Jungkook.

 

Sungmin and Mira turned as one, their faces composed into the careful masks they wore at every social fracture. They didn’t bother to hide it; their dislike for him was an old, practiced thing, sharpened into expression. The house felt colder for it, like a window left open on a winter night.

 

Jungkook moved before anyone could think to stop him. He closed the distance with the slow, inevitable certainty of someone who had rehearsed restraint for too long. His hand closed on Hyunwoo’s collar — not a threat so much as a containment. The fabric creaked under the pressure.

 

“Jungkook.” Sungmin’s voice cut across the room, brittle and small, as though the name itself might keep the peace.

 

Jungkook didn’t look at his father. He looked at Hyunwoo. The glare was not loud — it needed no volume; it was a held thing, a coal that could flare. “What do you want?” he asked, low.

 

Hyunwoo’s smile never wavered. He leaned into the grip with theatrical ease, as if the sweep of attention was exactly what he’d come for. “I just wanted my brother’s attention,” he said, light and insolent. “Look — I got it.”

 

Something in Jungkook bunched and tightened. He clenched his fist, and for a breath the room waited for the containment to fail. Mira’s voice sliced across the tautness like she could cut the moment in two. “Jungkook,” she commanded, a mother’s order sharpened thin with embarrassment. “Leave him.”

 

For a moment, his head turned to her — a look that held decades of unspoken things — and then he moved. He moved with the quick, clean violence of a man who had practiced making hard choices, and Hyunwoo went backward at the contact. The sound of the punch was small in the cavernous room but it landed with all the force of something that had been building for years.

 

Mira’s hand flew to her mouth. Sungmin’s face was a study in offended dignity; he rose as if the ritual demanded he take offense. Hyunwoo steadied himself, fingers pressed to the split lip Jungkook had just opened, his jaw hardening into anger rather than fear.

 

Jungkook’s reply was a narrow thing. He stepped forward until his face was close enough that Hyunwoo could feel the heat in it, and he spoke without the theatrics Hyunwoo had been using. “I don’t care what you did to me,” Jungkook said, each word measured. “You can make me the villain in your stories, make them hate me. Nothing matters anymore. But,”—his voice tightened, and the air around them seemed to hold—“if you ever touch him, if he is ever hurt because of you, I will burn you alive.”

 

Mira moved; she reached for Jungkook’s arm and tried to make him look at her with the soft fury of a mother who’d been taught to erase hard things. “Haven’t you done enough to make my life hell?” she accused, breathless. “Now you punch your brother?”

 

Sungmin’s voice rose, performative and grand: “Who are you telling to behave? When did your son ever let us live in peace?” He had rehearsed this paternal scolding a thousand times; it fit his lips like a sermon.

 

Jungkook’s jaw flexed until the muscle stood out hard. He stared at Hyunwoo, and the look in his eyes could have been carved from winter. Hyunwoo, for his part, shrugged into the role of the provocateur as if it amused him. “You made me react in ways I couldn’t for years,” he said, thumb pressing at his lip as if to measure the damage, the proof.

 

When Sungmin glanced past Hyunwoo and away from his own son, the decision was made. He left — not with a flourish but with the small, certain motions of a man who preferred distance to mess. Mira followed him, a clack of heels, averted eyes, the ritual retreat of people who wash their hands of what they cannot control.

 

Hyunwoo watched them go with an expression that folded easily into triumph. Then he stepped closer to Jungkook, close enough that the air between them seemed taut. “Don’t you think that by coming here and punching me you proved he’s your weakness?” he said, chuckling low, the sound more cruel than charming. “I touched it, and you reacted like that.”

 

Jungkook lunged — muscle memory, fury, unfinished business. Hyunwoo didn’t flinch; he stepped out of reach with the featherlight grace of someone who knows how to withdraw before consequence can cling.

 

“What do you want from me?” Jungkook finally demanded, raw and ragged.

 

Hyunwoo’s smile was small and steady. “I just don’t want you to be happy,” he said, turning to leave as if that alone explained everything. Then, at the doorway, he looked back once. “If you really want me to stop — leave him,” he advised quietly, the words wrapped in menace. "I don't know Jungkook why you gave your heart when you clearly know I will not let you get it."

 

 

 

Chapter 20: I fell in love in the rain I

 

---

 

 

People ruin people, 

I don't wanna ruin you

 

 

 

---

 

The bell rang, and the teacher’s voice carried over the low chatter.

"Alright, that’s it for today. Your exams are coming up, so make sure you prepare well," she said before gathering her papers and leaving the room.

 

The classroom immediately filled with noise—chairs scraping, laughter echoing, footsteps rushing toward the door.

Jungkook sat still for a moment, the strap of his worn bag tangled in his fingers. He reached for his notebooks, stacking them neatly, brushing away the chalk dust that clung to the corners of his desk.

 

The surface beneath his hands was carved with words—Weirdo. Creep. A few doodles that weren’t his. His fingers paused on one of the lines, tracing it absently, before he exhaled through his nose and shut his bag.

 

He slung it over his shoulder and stood, adjusting his cap low enough that it shadowed his eyes.

 

Behind him, laughter erupted.

“Hyunwoo hyung!” someone called out, loud and admiring. The tone made Jungkook’s shoulders tense. He didn’t need to look; he knew that voice, that name, that kind of energy that seemed to belong everywhere he didn’t.

 

He stepped toward the door, silent as always.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunwoo grin, his usual charm lighting up the group that surrounded him. But when Hyunwoo’s gaze caught Jungkook’s retreating figure, the grin changed—sharper, curious.

 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Hyunwoo said easily, breaking away from his friends.

 

Outside the classroom, footsteps followed Jungkook down the hall.

 

“Hey.”

A hand landed on his shoulder—too casual, too familiar. Jungkook didn’t stop walking. The pressure stayed there for a second, light but persistent.

 

“You didn’t make any friends here, huh?” Hyunwoo said, voice soft with mock concern. “Dad transferred you to my school for a reason. Maybe I should teach you how to behave.”

 

The words slid under Jungkook’s skin like a blade dulled by repetition. He didn’t respond. He just reached up, peeled Hyunwoo’s hand off his shoulder, and kept walking.

 

The gate loomed ahead—rusted, half open, sunlight spilling through the bars.

He stepped through without looking back, his silence louder than anything he could have said.

 

Hyunwoo’s smile faltered into something sharper. Before Jungkook could move on, Hyunwoo’s fingers closed around his wrist and spun him around so their faces were almost nose-to-nose.

 

“Why won’t you answer me?” Hyunwoo asked, voice low but edged with a kind of theatrical hurt.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. The cap shadowed his eyes, but the glare was all there—cold, practical. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, each word careful, measured. He didn’t step back; the stillness was as much defense as anything else.

 

Hyunwoo let out a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Anything,” he said. “I like it when you fight back.”

 

“Fight back for what?” Jungkook’s voice stayed flat. The question hung in the humid corridor between them—no invitation, no warmth.

 

“Will you stop interfering in my life?” Jungkook snapped, the words sharper than he intended. They left his mouth like a stone skimming the surface of something much deeper.

 

Hyunwoo’s expression softened into a patronizing smile. “No.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if Jungkook’s temper were a private joke. “You’re getting smart.”

 

There was a twitch at the corner of Jungkook’s mouth that could have been anything—a reaction to a memory, to old anger—but he didn’t answer. He felt Hyunwoo’s gaze on him like a weight.

 

Hyunwoo reached into his pocket, producing his phone with a casual flick. He aimed it and took a picture before Jungkook could react. The camera click sounded small and vicious in the hallway.

 

“You coming home late these days?” Hyunwoo said, voice syrupy. He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Working part-time to earn your keep? Trying to leave the family at eighteen?” The performance—sympathy folded into accusation—was practiced. It landed like a deliberate prod.

 

Jungkook let the words pass over him. He didn’t flinch.

 

Hyunwoo’s smile turned brittle. He thumbed the screen, glancing at the picture of Jungkook—straight-backed, expression closed—and then put the phone away slowly, as if closing a file.

 

“At least show your face to dad once a year,” Hyunwoo said, the sentence laced with a thin, corrosive courtesy. “So I don’t have to do this kind of job.” He gave a bitter little laugh, the sound cutting. “I have to take care of the child born of a one-night mistake.” The words were precise, chosen to bruise.

 

Jungkook’s hand tightened on his bag strap; his fingers went white for a moment. He didn’t answer. He only watched Hyunwoo turn away—watching the way the other boy’s shoulders moved as he walked off, the easy step of someone who believed he’d gotten under another man’s skin.

 

Hyunwoo glanced back once, over his shoulder, smiling that same sharp smile. Then he left, leaving the hall suddenly quieter, the echo of his footsteps fading slow.

 

Jungkook shut his eyes for a moment, willing the tightness in his chest to ease. The air around him felt heavy, thick with the quiet snickers and pointed stares of his classmates. When he opened his eyes, he caught a few of them still looking — whispers following him like shadows.

 

His hands curled into fists at his sides. He lowered his gaze to the floor, his lashes hiding whatever flickered behind them, and started walking. One step. Then another. The world blurred at the edges.

 

From his pocket, he pulled out a black mask and slipped it on, the soft fabric pressing against his skin — a small barrier between him and the rest of them. Without looking up, he pushed through the doors, his strides quick and purposeful, almost desperate to outrun the noise still echoing behind him.

 

By the time he reached the small café where he worked, the sun had already dipped low, painting the glass windows with tired orange light.

 

“You’re late, kid,” his manager said from behind the counter, not unkindly — more like someone used to saying it.

 

Jungkook bowed slightly, his voice low. “Sorry, sir.”

 

He hurried toward the back, hanging his bag on the hook and slipping behind the counter.

 

“Table six,” the manager called. “Order’s ready. Serve it.”

 

Jungkook nodded, pulling down his mask and ruffling his hair into place before picking up the tray. His movements were quiet, practiced. He walked over to the table, set the plates down carefully, and bowed before returning to the counter.

 

The shift dragged in silence. The café’s lights buzzed softly; rainclouds gathered outside, dimming the world to a dull gray.

 

When the last customer left, the manager let out a tired sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Terrible day today,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.

 

Jungkook slipped off his apron and folded it neatly, placing it back in its spot. He adjusted his hoodie and glanced up at the clock on the wall. Seven o’clock.

 

He reached for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and turned to bow to his manager.

 

“Hey, wait.”

 

Jungkook stopped mid-step and looked back. The manager reached under the counter and placed an envelope on the surface between them.

 

“Here.”

 

Jungkook hesitated, eyes flicking between the envelope and the man’s face.

 

“You’ve been working hard,” the manager said, a faint smile softening his features. “A little extra — for your university fees.”

 

Jungkook’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. He shook his head faintly.

 

“I’m not giving it to you for free,” the manager added, chuckling. “You’ve been doing overtime all week. You earned it.”

 

Jungkook looked down again. Slowly, almost carefully, he reached out and took the envelope. He bowed deeply.

 

The manager nodded, his smile lingering. “Now go. It’s getting dark — and looks like it’s about to rain. Don’t get caught in it.”

 

Jungkook nodded once more.

 

Outside, the air was thick with the scent of rain. He pulled his hoodie up, mask back in place, and slipped the envelope carefully into his bag.

 

The streetlamps flickered to life as he reached the crosswalk. He stopped at the edge, waiting for the light to change, his reflection rippling faintly in a puddle forming at his feet.

 

The city around him blurred — laughter, voices, footsteps — all blending into a distant hum that barely reached him. Jungkook’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, unfocused. People passed by in clusters, their conversations weaving through the air like music from a world he didn’t belong to.

 

Across the street, a small family caught his attention. A young couple walking hand in hand with their son, the boy hopping playfully between them. The father reached down, pinching his son’s chubby cheeks.

 

“We’re going to eat Sunoo’s favorite dish today,” the man said, grinning.

 

The little boy grabbed his father’s thumb, bouncing on his toes. “Yay!” he squealed.

 

The mother laughed softly, brushing her hair from her face. “Ahh, why does Sunoo only love his dad?”

 

The child turned toward her, taking her hand with his tiny one. “I love Mom and Dad both!” he declared, his voice bright and innocent.

 

Their laughter filled the air — warm, whole, effortless.

Jungkook just stood there, watching.

 

The pedestrian light flicked green. People began to move, crossing the road. The family walked ahead, the child still swinging their joined hands as they disappeared into the crowd.

 

But Jungkook’s feet wouldn’t move. He stood still as the light turned red again, frozen in place while everything around him shifted and flowed. A hollow ache bloomed quietly in his chest.

 

Then — a single raindrop hit his cheek.

 

He blinked, looking up. The sky had opened. Rain began to fall in soft, slanting sheets, darkening the pavement and washing away the warmth of the world. His hood dampened almost instantly, water dripping from its edge onto his lashes. Still, he didn’t move.

 

People ran for shelter — umbrellas bloomed like dark flowers — but Jungkook stayed in the middle of it all, standing quietly under the downpour. The rain poured harder, soaking through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. His mind was blank, emptied out by the sound of it — that endless patter that drowned every voice, every thought, every memory.

 

Until suddenly, it stopped.

 

Or at least, it stopped falling on him.

 

He blinked slowly, lifting his head. Above him, a dark blue umbrella was tilted to cover his body. He turned his gaze sideways — and there he was.

 

A boy stood beside him. Younger, maybe his age. Soft features, eyes that smiled before his lips did. His hair was a little messy from the rain, his expression bright and disarmingly open.

 

“You need a savior,” the boy said, his voice light and melodic, barely audible over the rain.

 

Jungkook just stared. He couldn’t look away. The boy’s smile deepened — boxy, radiant, the kind that reached his eyes.

 

“You look scary with the mask and hood,” he said, nose scrunching adorably. “Are you a mafia cosplayer or something?” He laughed, the sound like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat felt too tight.

 

The boy tilted his head, frowning slightly. “You’re rude, young man.” Then, his expression softened again. “I know you’re sad,” he said. “But look… life goes on, right? Don’t be sad.”

 

He pointed at his own pocket. “Look, I bought a lollipop today. But a rude guy bumped into me and it dropped.” He sighed, dramatic but smiling. “I should’ve cried, right? But I didn’t. Because… we just have to bear some things in life.” He looked at Jungkook, eyes earnest and warm. “You understand that, don’t you?”

 

The words hit somewhere deep — somewhere Jungkook had buried long ago. He said nothing. Just stood, rain still dripping from his hood, staring at this strange boy who talked as if the world was still kind.

 

“Ahh, you’re boring,” the boy said finally, puffing his cheeks. He glanced up at the dark sky, then back at Jungkook. “Ah— I’m gonna be late!”

 

Before Jungkook could react, the boy reached out and grabbed his hand. Jungkook stiffened — the unexpected warmth startling against his cold skin.

 

Then the boy pressed the umbrella into Jungkook’s hand.

 

Jungkook blinked at him. “What are you—”

 

But the boy was already removing his own bag and lifting it over his head like a shield.

 

He took a few steps back into the rain, completely drenched now but still smiling.

 

“Don’t be sad!” he yelled, his voice ringing through the sound of the rain. “Smile! And don’t forget me!”

 

He grinned wide, that same boxy smile lighting up the gray air. “Yours—today’s angel!” he shouted, then laughed — a bright, airy sound that tangled with the rain.

 

Jungkook’s fingers tightened around the umbrella handle. The boy waved once more, then turned and ran — the bag still over his head — until he disappeared into the curtain of rain.

 

Jungkook stood there long after he was gone, staring at the spot where the boy had been.

Then slowly, he looked up at the umbrella still open in his hand.

 

The rain fell harder. He turned, finally crossing the road — away from where the boy had gone.

 

He didn’t look back.

Even if he wanted to.

Because he already knew —

some things weren’t meant for him to chase.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Everything was set neatly across Taehyung’s desk — files stacked in measured symmetry, screens dimming to standby, and the faint hum of printers filling the quiet office. He moved with careful precision, adjusting the edge of a document here, closing a drawer there, his tone even but firm.

 

“Everything should be arranged properly,” Taehyung said, glancing toward the young intern who was fumbling with a pile of reports. “Nothing should be out of place.”

 

The intern nodded quickly, clutching the folders as if they were made of glass. “Yes, sir.”

 

Taehyung crouched slightly, pressing the laptop lid shut with a soft click. His movements carried a certain grace — calm, controlled — but his eyes held a quiet weariness that didn’t quite match the tidy calm of the space around him.

 

“Ah, my little friend is so busy these days,” came a familiar voice, warm and teasing.

 

Taehyung blinked up. “Jimin.”

 

Jimin leaned casually against the desk, one hand resting on Taehyung’s shoulder. “You’ve got time for me now?” he said with mock offense, his lips quirking into a grin.

 

Taehyung let out a small laugh, standing up straight and brushing off invisible dust from his sleeves. “Look who’s talking. You’re the one who disappears for days.”

 

Jimin gasped dramatically. “Woah, woah — is that my Taehyung calling me neglectful?”

 

Taehyung laughed again, softer this time. “Maybe.”

 

Jimin’s grin softened, his eyes scanning Taehyung’s face. “How was the meetup with your friends?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.

 

For a moment, Taehyung froze. His fingers, which had been smoothing a paper edge, stilled completely.

His chest tightened before he could stop it.

 

“It was… okay,” he said finally, voice quieter. “I left earlier.”

 

Jimin studied him for a second, but didn’t push. He nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

 

A beat passed before Jimin leaned closer, bumping Taehyung’s shoulder lightly. “And how’s it going with Jungkook?” he asked, a playful lilt in his voice.

 

The question made Taehyung’s breath hitch just slightly. A small flush crept up the side of his neck — but the warmth was tangled with something heavier.

 

He hadn’t seen Jungkook since last night. When he woke, the other side of the bed was already cold. The apartment felt too quiet, the absence pressing. He didn’t even know when Jungkook left his place— and somehow, that uncertainty sat in his chest like a stone.

 

“Taehyung?” Jimin called, snapping him back to the present.

 

He blinked, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s fine.”

 

“Just fine?” Jimin teased, leaning his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder.

 

Taehyung chuckled weakly and turned away, pretending to adjust his desk again. “Go back to work, Jimin. We have too many meetings today.”

 

Jimin sighed, feigning defeat. “Alright, boss,” he said, saluting lazily before walking away.

 

As soon as Jimin left, the laughter in Taehyung’s expression faded. His hand lingered on the edge of the desk, thumb tracing idle circles against the wood.

 

He walked towards the coffee room. 

The faint scent of roasted beans lingered in the air as Taehyung stirred the coffee in slow circles, watching the surface swirl before stilling. The steam brushed softly against his face — warm, comforting, but somehow it did little to ease the quiet weight sitting in his chest.

 

He picked up the mug carefully, thumb resting on the handle, and began walking down the corridor toward Jungkook’s office. The hallway lights reflected dimly against the marble floor, every step echoing in the silence.

 

He stopped outside the glass door and peered in.

 

Jungkook was there — standing near the window, phone pressed to his ear, his back turned. His posture was tense, shoulders drawn tight beneath his black shirt. Whatever he was discussing, it seemed heavy.

 

Taehyung waited, fingers tightening slightly around the mug. The moment Jungkook turned halfway, eyes catching his through the reflection on the glass, he ended the call abruptly.

 

Taehyung exhaled slowly and knocked softly before stepping in.

 

Jungkook turned fully now, his expression composed — too composed. He walked toward his desk, motioning briefly for Taehyung to come closer.

 

Taehyung crossed the room and set the coffee down gently beside the stack of documents. “Here,” he said, his voice lighter than he felt. “You didn’t get your morning one.”

 

Jungkook gave a faint nod, flipping open a file without looking up. “Thanks.”

 

Taehyung leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, watching him for a moment. “Why did you leave without me today?” he asked softly. “You always wait.”

 

There was a pause. Jungkook’s pen stilled.

 

“I had a meeting,” he said finally, eyes still on the page. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

 

Taehyung tilted his head, smiling — a little teasing, a little fond. “When did you turn so considerate, hmm?”

 

At that, Jungkook looked up. His gaze met Taehyung’s, dark and steady, but there was something fragile beneath it — a hesitation that didn’t belong to the Jungkook everyone else knew.

 

“You cried because of me,” he said quietly. “The least I can do is try not to make it worse.”

 

The words hung between them like a thread, trembling with unspoken things.

 

Taehyung’s smile faltered. His fingers curled slightly against the desk. “It’s not like that,” he murmured. “I was drunk, Jungkook. I’m fine now. You know me — I’m strong. I can—”

 

“Are you free today?” Jungkook cut in.

 

Taehyung blinked, his breath catching at the interruption. He looked up, meeting Jungkook’s gaze again — this time, softer, searching.

 

Jungkook’s voice dropped lower. “I want to take you somewhere.”

 

Taehyung froze mid-step, his fingers still lightly resting on the desk’s edge. His gaze lifted slowly, searching Jungkook’s face.

“Why?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… asking me out?”

 

The question lingered between them, soft and uncertain.

 

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard for a second. His eyes darted briefly away before settling back on Taehyung. “I’m just… tired,” he said finally, his tone quiet but even. “And too alone to visit a theme park by myself.”

 

There was a flicker in Taehyung’s chest — a strange, quick warmth cutting through his hesitation. “Park?” he repeated, his lips parting in surprise before curving upward. “So you did enjoy it that day, didn’t you?”

 

Jungkook exhaled through a small, dry chuckle. “Maybe.”

 

The word — simple and restrained — somehow made Taehyung laugh, a bright sound that softened the air between them. For a fleeting second, the uneasiness that had been pressing against his ribs eased.

 

“So,” Taehyung said, folding his arms and tilting his head, the familiar playfulness returning to his tone. “Will you pick me up from my home?”

 

“I will.” Jungkook’s reply came steady, almost too steady, like he didn’t trust his own voice to waver.

 

Taehyung smiled — wide, unguarded. “Okay then.” He turned toward the door, tossing the words over his shoulder. “Mr. Jungkook, your boyfriend will see you on your date.”

 

The words were teasing, but they carried an undertone — light, nervous, and trembling with something unnamed.

 

He had almost reached the door when Jungkook’s voice stopped him.

 

“Taehyung.”

 

Taehyung turned, his brows lifting slightly.

 

Jungkook’s eyes held his, a quiet kind of plea hidden behind the calm. “Can you wear the black shirt I bought for you?”

 

For a moment, Taehyung didn’t breathe. He blinked once, twice, his heart fluttering at the simplicity — the intimacy — of the request. Then he nodded slowly, his voice softening. “I will,” he said, smiling.

 

And then he left the room.

 

The smile lingered on his lips as he made his way down the corridor, though his chest felt a little too tight, his pulse a little too loud. Something about Jungkook’s tone — the carefulness of it — stirred an ache he couldn’t quite name.

 

When he reached his own desk, he sat down, still replaying the moment in his head. The way Jungkook had looked at him — hesitant, as if afraid of being too close yet unable to pull away — stayed with him longer than it should have.

 

A light knock broke his thoughts.

 

“Mr. Kim,” a junior employee said, setting a small parcel on his desk. “This just came for you.”

 

Taehyung blinked, dragging himself back to the present. “Ah—thank you,” he murmured.

 

When the employee left, he pulled the box closer, frowning slightly at the neat handwriting spelling his name across the label. His fingers worked at the wrapping carefully, peeling the tape as if it were something fragile.

 

Inside — he froze.

 

There it was. The watch. The same one. The same one Jungkook gifted him previously. 

 

A slow smile spread across his face, unbidden but deep. “This devil,” he whispered under his breath, shaking his head.

 

He lifted the watch gently, running his thumb over the familiar surface, the metal cool against his skin. When he fastened it around his wrist again, it fit perfectly — as if it had never left.

 

He smiled — truly smiled this time — and turned back to his work, the steady ticking of the watch now echoing faintly like a promise beneath the hum of the office.

 

---

 

 

 

“Jimin-shi!” Taehyung’s voice echoed from the bathroom, half panic, half despair.

 

Jimin groaned, rolling off the bed with his hair sticking in every direction. “What now?” he mumbled, trudging toward the sound.

 

The door swung open, revealing Taehyung — his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, a towel hanging loosely around his shoulders. He was clutching a hair dryer like it had betrayed him.

 

“Jimin!” he squealed, eyes wide and voice nearly cracking. “It’s not working! The dryer’s dead! Jungkook will be here in ten minutes and I—” he gestured dramatically at himself, “—I didn’t even do anything to my face yet!”

 

Jimin blinked, trying not to laugh at the chaos in front of him. “Relax, baby,” he said, reaching for the dryer. “Your hair’s not even that wet. Come on, we’ll do your makeup first.”

 

Taehyung let out a dramatic groan and stomped toward the mirror. “I look like a mess, Jimin. He asked me out for the first time, and I look like this!” His pout deepened as he examined his reflection, running his fingers through his damp hair like it might magically fix itself.

 

Jimin sighed, shaking the dryer once before smacking it lightly. “You said yourself he likes you messy, didn’t you?”

 

Taehyung shot him a glare through the mirror. “That doesn’t mean I want to look messy.”

 

Click.

 

The hair dryer suddenly whirred to life.

 

Both of them jumped, startled, before breaking into a fit of laughter. “Oh my god, it worked!” Jimin shouted, waving it triumphantly.

 

Taehyung laughed, a small, genuine sound that filled the quiet apartment. Some of his panic melted away.

 

“Alright, sit down, my prince,” Jimin said, gesturing dramatically to the chair. “Let me groom you for your king.”

 

Taehyung giggled, covering his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“And you’re late,” Jimin shot back, gently blow-drying his hair while humming under his breath. The room filled with the soft hum of the dryer, the faint scent of Taehyung’s shampoo, and their quiet chatter.

 

When Jimin finished, he dabbed a bit of powder on Taehyung’s cheeks and tapped his chin. “Perfect,” he whispered. “Your man’s not ready for this kind of beauty.”

 

Taehyung looked at himself in the mirror. His reflection blinked back — neat, soft, just enough color in his lips. He adjusted his black shirt, the one Jungkook had asked him to wear, and smiled faintly. “It’s… good,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

 

His phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced down.

 

Jungkook: I’m outside.

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped, a soft flutter beneath his ribs. He grabbed his bag, smoothing his shirt one last time. “I’m going,” he said, his voice light but trembling just a little.

 

Jimin lounged back on the bed, smirking. “Go melt his cold little heart,” he said, waving lazily. “And don’t come back early.”

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Bye, Jimin.”

 

He slipped out the door, pulse quickening with each step — the soft rhythm of excitement and nerves weaving together. The night waited outside, and somewhere in it, Jungkook.

 

Taehyung waved goodbye as he stepped out of the apartment. The hallway lights flickered faintly behind him, fading as he walked toward the familiar car waiting by the curb. Jungkook’s car.

 

He took a slow breath before opening the door and sliding inside. The faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne lingered in the air — warm, steady, grounding.

 

Jungkook sat in the driver’s seat, dressed in casual pants and a button-down shirt, just like always. His hair was down, a little messy, soft in the glow of the streetlight. He looked effortlessly real — and painfully beautiful.

 

“Hi…” Taehyung said, his voice light, carrying a small smile.

 

Jungkook turned slightly, his gaze lingering on Taehyung for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Hi,” he replied softly, before starting the engine.

 

The car moved through the quiet evening, the city lights reflecting in the windows. Neither of them spoke for a while — the silence wasn’t awkward, but filled with the sound of their own unspoken thoughts.

 

Taehyung turned to the window, watching the world slide by. The hum of the tires and the faint music from the radio blended into a soft rhythm. He tried to calm his heart, but every glance Jungkook stole made it harder.

 

When the car finally stopped, Taehyung blinked, realizing they’d arrived. The park was alive with light — strings of warm bulbs hanging between trees, laughter floating from somewhere inside.

 

They stepped out together. The air was cool, brushed with the scent of roasted chestnuts and autumn leaves.

 

“Wait here,” Jungkook said gently. “I’ll get the tickets.”

 

Taehyung nodded, watching him walk away. His figure moved easily through the crowd, confident, familiar. When Jungkook returned, he stood in front of Taehyung, extending his hand quietly.

 

For a moment, neither spoke.

 

Taehyung looked down at the open hand — steady, waiting — and then smiled softly as he placed his own into it. Jungkook’s fingers closed around his, warm and sure.

 

Their hands lingered there, a silent connection neither dared to break.

 

And then, still holding on, Jungkook led him toward the lights.

 

 

The park glittered like a dream — strings of lights swaying above, laughter floating through the cool night air. Taehyung’s eyes sparkled as he tugged Jungkook toward the Ferris wheel, excitement spilling from him like sunlight.

 

“Come on, it’s moving! Let’s go!” he said, dragging Jungkook along before he could even answer.

 

Inside the cabin, Taehyung pressed close to the glass, watching the world shrink below them. The lights became tiny stars scattered across the ground. He laughed — that deep, carefree laugh that always made Jungkook’s to not look away.

 

Jungkook didn’t look outside. He looked at him.

 

Taehyung’s smile, the way his nose scrunched when he laughed too hard, the way his eyes caught the reflection of the lights — it was all too beautiful, too fleeting. 

 

Taehyung turned toward him suddenly, holding up his phone. “Smile!”

 

Before Jungkook could react, the flash went off.

Taehyung giggled at the photo — Jungkook’s startled expression and his own wide grin. “You look so serious,” he teased.

 

Later, they ducked into a photo booth tucked between stalls. Taehyung threw on a pair of oversized sunglasses and a glittery hat, grinning.

 

“Your turn!” he said, tossing Jungkook a silly headband with bunny ears.

 

Jungkook rolled his eyes but put it on anyway. Taehyung clapped, delighted. “You look cute!”

 

The flash went off again and again — Taehyung laughing, Jungkook smiling faintly beside him, both framed in flashing bursts of color. When the strip of photos slid out, Taehyung snatched it first, admiring their faces.

 

“Look! This one’s my favorite,” he said, pointing to the last one where Jungkook had glanced at him instead of the camera.

 

They walked hand in hand down the crowded path, the lights washing over them in gold and white. Jungkook’s gaze drifted — over the stalls, the prizes, the people — until it stopped.

 

A familiar game booth.

The one with the rows of plush toys hanging above.

 

He slowed his steps.

 

Taehyung followed his gaze, then smiled softly. “Oh… last time, you won a bear for me here.”

 

Jungkook’s lips curved faintly. “What do you want now?”

 

Taehyung tilted his head, thinking, before pointing toward a small white bunny. “That one.”

 

Jungkook nodded, stepping forward. He picked up the air rifle, lining it up with quiet focus. One by one, the targets fell — clean, steady hits.

 

The crowd nearby clapped softly, impressed.

“He’s good,” a girl murmured to her friend.

 

Taehyung turned, pride glowing in his expression. “He’s my boyfriend,” he said, voice bright and full of warmth. “He’s winning for me.”

 

The girl smiled. “You’re lucky,” she said.

 

Taehyung only laughed, glancing back at Jungkook — who stood there with the softest smile, eyes lingering on him just a little too long.

 

Taehyung laughed, the sound ringing through the night like something warm and familiar. When he turned, Jungkook had already finished the game — the last target knocked cleanly down.

 

“You did it!” Taehyung clapped, excitement overflowing as he ran up to him, wrapping his arms around Jungkook.

Jungkook froze for a second, then returned the hug, holding him just a little too tightly — as if he could store the feeling for later.

 

Taehyung pulled back, grinning as he took the plush from the stall owner.

“Look,” he said, holding it up proudly. “I just won you.”

 

Jungkook blinked, frowning slightly. “Me?”

 

Taehyung pointed at the small bunny plush, its ears drooping to one side. “From every angle,” he said between giggles.

 

Jungkook couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him. “From which angle, exactly?”

 

“Every angle,” Taehyung repeated, turning away with a playful shrug, walking ahead. The bunny dangled from his hands, and he smiled down at it as if it really were something precious.

 

Jungkook followed a few steps behind, eyes tracing the sway of Taehyung’s shoulders, the sound of his quiet humming blending with the crowd’s distant chatter. He didn’t say anything — just watched, memorizing the way Taehyung’s hair caught the light, the way his laughter made the air feel alive.

 

“It’s cute,” Taehyung muttered, glancing at the bunny again. “Let’s eat ice cream!”

 

Before Jungkook could respond, Taehyung was already half-running toward another stall.

“Two, please!” he said, flashing that easy smile at the vendor.

 

Jungkook paid, watching as Taehyung hurried toward a nearby bench. He sat down, legs crossed, already waiting with that childlike impatience that Jungkook secretly adored.

 

When Jungkook handed him the cone, Taehyung took it with a grin and started eating immediately, his lips already stained with a trace of cream.

 

Jungkook sat beside him, ice cream in hand, but his eyes stayed fixed on the horizon — the glow of lights reflected in his pupils, hiding a thousand thoughts he couldn’t voice.

 

Taehyung noticed.

He glanced sideways, catching the faraway look on Jungkook’s face. Something in his chest ached at the distance he couldn’t name.

 

Then, with a sudden mischievous glint, Taehyung leaned forward — quick and unexpected — and snatched Jungkook’s hand.

 

Before Jungkook could react, Taehyung leaned closer and took a small bite of his ice cream, retreating just as fast, laughing breathlessly.

 

“Hey—” Jungkook started, startled, but the sound melted into a quiet chuckle.

 

Taehyung licked his lips, still giggling. “You should eat,” he teased, eyes twinkling. “Otherwise I’ll finish yours too.”

 

Jungkook looked at him — really looked. The way his laughter softened into a smile, the way his eyes shone in the golden park lights — all of it felt fragile, temporary, like a dream he didn’t want to wake from.

 

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, eyes fixed on Taehyung. The corner of his lips lifted — that familiar, small smile that always made Taehyung’s heart stumble.

 

Without warning, Jungkook leaned closer.

The space between them shrank, and Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat.

 

Jungkook’s thumb brushed gently against his lower lip, wiping away a faint trace of ice cream. His touch was slow, deliberate — almost reverent. Taehyung froze, eyes wide, the world around them fading into a blur of golden light and soft music from the park.

 

Then Jungkook drew his hand back… but not far. He looked at the smear of sweetness on his thumb — and before Taehyung could move, he brought it to his mouth, his eyes never leaving Taehyung’s.

 

“You can eat it,” Jungkook murmured, his voice quiet, almost teasing — but there was something fragile underneath. “I won’t mind it.”

 

Taehyung blinked, the air suddenly thick between them. His heart fluttered so fast it almost hurt. He turned away quickly, trying to hide the warmth rising to his cheeks.

 

“Why aren’t you teasing me today?” he asked, forcing a laugh to ease the silence. “You’re making my heart weak by doing this.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes flickered, his smile faint and unreadable. He turned his gaze forward — to the crowd, to the lights, anywhere but Taehyung’s face.

 

He didn’t answer.

The silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, but heavy, like words were hovering there, just waiting to fall.

 

The faint hum of the park filled the space — children laughing, a song playing from a nearby carousel, the distant crackle of popcorn.

 

Then Taehyung’s phone buzzed on the bench, breaking the stillness.

 

He picked it up.

A message from Jimin blinked across the screen:

 

 I left your place just now. Locked the door.

And you’re not coming home for sure.

Enjoy at Jungkook’s.

 

 

 

Taehyung’s face flushed pink. He locked the phone quickly and set it down beside him, trying not to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

 

When he finally looked up, Jungkook was already standing. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense — his gaze distant again.

 

Taehyung tilted his head, watching him.

The soft night breeze brushed between them, carrying the sweetness of vanilla and something unspoken that lingered longer than either dared to name.

 

Taehyung stood as well, brushing his hands against his jeans out of habit. Before he could say anything, Jungkook reached out — fingers wrapping around his hand gently, almost hesitantly.

 

They began walking.

Neither spoke.

The sound of their footsteps blended with the distant hum of laughter from the park, now growing fainter behind them. The lights dimmed the farther they went, replaced by the soft glow of the street lamps flickering above.

 

Jungkook’s grip was firm, yet somehow trembling — as if he was holding on and letting go at the same time.

 

When they finally stopped, the world around them felt quiet. The wind brushed through the trees, rustling leaves across the path.

 

Jungkook turned, slowly, until he was facing Taehyung.

 

Taehyung lifted his gaze, eyes meeting his — expecting another teasing smile, a soft joke, something familiar. But Jungkook only stared back, silent. His expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were full of something heavy.

 

Taehyung’s smile faltered.

“Jungkook?” he whispered, a small frown forming.

 

Jungkook’s hand slipped away from his, the loss immediate — like warmth leaving skin.

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped. “What happened?” he asked softly, worry threading through his voice.

 

For a long moment, Jungkook didn’t speak. He looked down, took a slow breath — and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost breaking.

 

“We have to end this.”

 

The words hung in the air, cold and fragile.

 

Taehyung blinked, confusion clouding his features. “End… what?” His voice wavered, the edges trembling.

 

Jungkook looked up. His jaw clenched, eyes glistening under the dim light.

“This,” he said quietly. “Us. We have no future, Taehyung.”

 

Taehyung felt the ground tilt beneath him. The sounds around them — the distant laughter, the rustling wind — faded into nothing.

 

“What do you mean?” His tone cracked, desperate, searching. “How do you know that? Am I—” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Am I not making you happy?”

 

Jungkook’s lips parted, but no words came. He stared at Taehyung — at the tremble in his voice, at the hurt in his eyes — and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Happy?” he whispered finally, the word trembling in his mouth.

 

He took a slow step closer, voice barely audible now.

“You make me alive, Taehyung.”

 

And the way he said it — so full of truth, and sorrow, and love — felt like the kind of confession that could break a heart in silence.

 

Taehyung’s lips trembled, his voice barely more than a breath.

“Then why?”

 

The question broke through the air like something fragile and desperate. He took a small step forward, eyes searching Jungkook’s face for anything — an answer, a reason, a flicker of hesitation.

 

But Jungkook stepped back.

 

The motion was quiet, but it felt like a storm tearing through Taehyung’s chest. He froze where he stood, the distance between them suddenly feeling endless. The soft glow of the streetlight caught on Jungkook’s hair, but his face stayed hidden — shadows clinging to him like guilt.

 

“Jungkook…” Taehyung whispered, voice cracking. “Please… don’t do this.”

 

His words trembled as they left his lips, heavy with disbelief, with the kind of fear that comes when love starts slipping through your fingers.

 

Jungkook didn’t move.

Didn’t even look up.

 

His head hung low, eyes fixed on the ground as if it hurt to see what he was breaking. His shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths, the silence between them louder than any sound.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard, the ache in his chest spreading until it hurt to breathe. His hands curled at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out, to hold on.

 

“If you didn’t grab my hand just now,” Taehyung said softly, voice shaking, “I wouldn’t even look back at you after this.”

 

The words came out like a promise — or maybe a plea.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. His breath caught, and for a brief second, his eyes flickered upward — meeting Taehyung’s.

 

And in that single glance, everything was there.

The love.

The regret.

The goodbye.

 

Then, just as quickly, he looked away again.

 

The night around them felt unbearably still, as if even the air refused to move — afraid to disturb the moment that was already breaking apart on its own.

 

Chapter 21: I fell in love in the rain II

 

 

---

 

 

And I fell for you like raindrops

 

 

---

 

 

Jungkook jolted from his thoughts when he heard Seokjin calling his name. He looked up, startled, meeting the older man’s concerned eyes.

 

Seokjin’s brows were slightly furrowed as he studied him.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, placing a gentle hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

 

Jungkook blinked, then looked away, his gaze dropping to his lap.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. “I just came to meet you. It’s been so long since I visited your café. There were a lot of assignments to do for my university projects so was little busy. "

 

Seokjin didn’t buy it—not for a second. He sighed, setting the steaming cup of coffee in front of Jungkook before sliding onto the seat beside him. The shop was nearly empty; closing time was close enough that he could afford a few quiet minutes with his friend.

 

“When did you ever visit me just to meet?” Seokjin teased lightly.

 

Jungkook smiled faintly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was distant, fragile—like it could shatter if Seokjin said one more kind word.

 

“I’m your human diary from your childhood, remember?” Seokjin said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“Yeah, you are,” Jungkook murmured.

 

“Then tell me,” Seokjin said, leaning forward a little, voice soft but steady. “What’s bothering you?”

 

Jungkook’s fingers traced the rim of his cup slowly, his eyes unfocused. “My heart,” he whispered.

 

Seokjin tilted his head. “What about your heart?”

 

Jungkook hesitated, his voice coming out low, almost trembling.

“It crossed the line. It shouldn’t have.”

 

For a moment, Seokjin just looked at him—then smiled gently, brushing a hand through Jungkook’s hair in that comforting, older-brother way.

“Shouldn’t we celebrate that, you fool?”

 

Jungkook shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No… it’s dangerous.”

 

Seokjin frowned, his tone softening even more. “Why? Why is it dangerous?”

 

Jungkook’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Because I don’t trust myself,” he said. His voice cracked slightly. “What if I hurt that person in the end? What if he gets hurt because of me?” His eyes glistened, the emotion finally surfacing. “What if I make him miserable like me?”

 

“What are you gonna do,” Seokjin asked gently, “if you got feelings?”

 

Jungkook bit his lip, staring down again. After a long pause, he whispered, “I shouldn’t have feelings in the first place.”

 

Seokjin exhaled quietly. “But what if you get them, even when you try not to?”

 

Jungkook looked lost. “Then I should let him go,” he said finally, voice soft but heavy.

 

Seokjin studied him for a long moment, his tone turning firm but kind.

“And if letting go will hurt him more?”

 

Jungkook froze. His fingers tightened around the cup. 

 

“What if,” Seokjin continued, his voice a whisper now, “he loves you back and doesn’t want to let you go? Will you still hurt him?”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just sat there—still, silent. His eyes flickered with something fragile and breaking, as if the question itself had unraveled the last of his defenses.

 

He looked away.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

“If you didn’t grab my hand just now,” Taehyung said softly, his voice trembling, “I wouldn’t even look back at you after this.”

 

The words hung between them, heavy and trembling — like a thread about to snap.

 

Jungkook’s senses blurred.

The world around him seemed to fade — the lights, the soft rustle of wind, even the sound of their breathing. Everything went still.

Only Taehyung’s voice lingered in his ears, echoing again and again until it burned.

 

Taehyung’s eyes stung, his throat tightening. He looked at Jungkook — really looked — and saw how hard he was trying to hold himself together. The small twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly, the way his eyes refused to lift — as if one glance might break him completely.

 

And maybe it was foolish, maybe it was his heart being too soft — but Taehyung suddenly wanted to do something. Anything.

 

“Okay,” he said quietly.

 

The single word made Jungkook’s head lift — eyes wide, as if he hadn’t expected that.

 

“If you want this,” Taehyung continued, forcing steadiness into his voice, “then go ahead.”

 

Jungkook froze. His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, sharp and uneven. His eyes stayed locked on Taehyung, searching for anger, for tears — but all he found was a calm so fragile it looked like it could shatter with one breath.

 

Taehyung’s hands moved slowly. He unbuckled the watch from his wrist — the one Jungkook had given him — the metal catching the faint light as it slipped free. His fingers lingered on it for a moment before he looked up again.

 

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, the muscles in his face tightening as if holding back a thousand things he couldn’t say.

 

The air between them was thick — heavy with everything they had been, and everything they were about to lose.

 

 

“You know that if this ends here,” Taehyung said quietly, eyes trembling but steady on Jungkook, “I’ll probably never speak to you again. Not here. Not professionally. You know me well enough.”

He took a slow breath that shook on the way out. “I’ll never see your face again. I’ll probably hate you for the rest of my life. Are you… are you okay with that?”

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. His throat worked, but no sound came.

 

Taehyung gave a small, bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So I should throw away what belongs to you too, right?”

 

Before Jungkook could react, Taehyung lifted his hand. The watch — the one that still carried the warmth of Jungkook’s wrist — slipped from his grasp and hit Jungkook’s chest with a soft thud before falling at his feet. The small bunny plush followed right after, bouncing once on the pavement before resting beside the watch.

 

The sound was quiet — but it felt like the shattering of something much bigger.

 

Jungkook’s eyes lowered to the ground, staring at the fallen pieces of what used to mean them. His breath caught, rough and uneven, before he slowly looked up.

 

Taehyung met his gaze, his own eyes glistening, searching Jungkook’s face as if trying to read what was left there — guilt, love, maybe both.

 

“Now what?” Taehyung whispered, his voice barely holding. “Why are you looking at me like that?” His words cracked on the last note.

 

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

 

The night felt still, almost cruelly so.

 

“I can’t protect you,” Jungkook finally said. His voice was low, almost breaking, but sure.

 

Taehyung frowned, confusion cutting through the ache.

“What? When did I ever ask you to protect me? I can do—”

 

“No.” Jungkook’s voice hardened, sharp enough to slice through the air. His jaw tightened, eyes dark. “The day I came into your life, you started crying. First, because I was an asshole. Then because of that night at the club — that trauma, that pain — all of it happened because of me. Hyunwoo hurt you because of me.”

 

He exhaled, shoulders trembling. “Can’t you see? I’m the reason you keep breaking.”

 

“And what about now, when you leave?” Taehyung’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “Won’t I cry then? Won’t it hurt just the same?”

 

Jungkook froze. The words hit him like a storm, each syllable cutting deep. His throat tightened; he blinked hard, trying to hold himself together. His fists clenched by his sides — one holding nothing, the other holding everything.

 

But he said nothing.

 

Taehyung looked at him for a long moment, and in that silence, everything between them seemed to fade — all the laughter, the touches, the nights they couldn’t stop looking at each other. It all hung in the air like smoke, disappearing slowly.

 

“I think you’ve made up your mind,” Taehyung said softly. He didn’t let Jungkook speak, even though he saw the boy’s lips part — the words stuck somewhere between his heart and throat.

Maybe Jungkook wasn’t done. But Taehyung was.

 

“I shouldn’t cling to you if you don’t want me, right?”

His voice broke at the end — a small, cracked sound that felt like the last thread snapping.

 

Then he nodded, jaw tight, eyes glistening. “Goodbye.”

 

The word fell heavy — a quiet storm that shook everything inside Jungkook.

 

He watched Taehyung turn away. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the hollow space between them — one step, then another, then another.

Jungkook didn’t move. Couldn’t.

 

He just stood there, watching the back of the only person who ever made him feel alive walk away. Each second stretched longer than the last, cruel and slow, until Taehyung disappeared completely — swallowed by distance, by silence, by goodbye.

 

And then Jungkook’s breath shattered. His chest heaved as if something was being ripped out from inside him. He was still frozen in place, eyes fixed on the spot where Taehyung had vanished — as if staring hard enough could bring him back.

 

In his hand, the photo they had just taken was crumpled between his shaking fingers.

A memory. A wound.

 

He looked down at it — their smiling faces pressed together, caught in a moment that now felt like a lie. His vision blurred as a tear slipped down his cheek, falling onto the photo and smearing the ink. 

 

Jungkook’s eyes dropped to the ground.

The watch.

The small plushie.

Both lying there, soaking quietly in the dirt — the last traces of Taehyung’s warmth.

 

He stared at them for a long, silent moment. His breath uneven. His vision blurring.

He didn’t even notice the tear that slipped down his cheek. Or the second one that followed.

 

Slowly, he crouched down — fingers trembling as he picked them up one by one. The watch felt colder now, the plushie heavier than it ever should. His chest tightened, his lips quivered.

 

And then — the tears came freely.

Without permission.

Without mercy.

 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried. Maybe years ago. Maybe never like this.

But now, the tears wouldn’t stop. They fell until the world around him blurred into nothing but water and memories.

 

A single drop landed on his wrist.

Then another.

And another.

 

The sky began to cry with him.

 

The drizzle turned into rain, soft at first, then heavier — the kind that soaks through skin and bone.

The day he met him to the day he left. Both are weeping. 

 

He closed his eyes.

Behind his eyelids, he could still see Taehyung — those soft eyes, that fragile smile, the way he looked back one last time. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, breath hitching as if every inhale hurt.

 

When he looked down again, the photo in his hand was drenched — the ink bleeding, the image fading.

He couldn’t tell what fell faster anymore — his tears or the rain.

 

For a long moment, he just stayed there — on the wet ground, drowning in everything he couldn’t say.

 

Then suddenly, something inside him broke loose.

 

He stood up, breath ragged. His feet moved before his mind could think.

He ran.

 

The rain hit harder now — puddles splashing under his shoes as he sprinted through the nearly empty street. His chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but he didn’t care. He just kept running — eyes scanning, searching, desperate.

 

No.... No. 

 

The world around him blurred — lights, sounds, everything. All he could hear were Taehyung's words echoing in his head:

 

“If you didn’t grab my hand just now,

I wouldn’t even look back at you after this.”

 

 

 

The words struck him again, harder this time — slicing through him like thunder in the rain.

He stumbled for a moment, breath breaking into sobs, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

 

And there, under the downpour, Jungkook realized —

this was what it felt like to lose the only person who ever made the world feel warm.

 

He was late.

Too late.

 

Jungkook stopped in his tracks near the pavement, his legs trembling, breath uneven. The world around him blurred — rain falling heavy and constant.

 

So… it ended?

Did it really end?

 

He stood there, chest heaving, trying to breathe past the tightness curling in his throat. His eyes kept searching — corners, streets, shadows — anywhere Taehyung could still be.

Maybe he didn’t leave yet.

Maybe he waited.

 

Because that’s what Taehyung always did — he waited, even when Jungkook didn’t deserve it.

 

He messed up too many times.

Still, Taehyung had chosen him — again and again.

 

So maybe, just maybe, he would give him one more chance.

 

But the more Jungkook searched, the emptier it felt. The spaces between streetlights, the reflections in the puddles — none of them held Taehyung’s silhouette.

 

And when he finally realized he was gone, really gone — something inside him sank like stone.

 

He lost.

 

The rain didn’t stop — neither from the sky nor from his eyes. His vision swam as he looked down, his hand still clutching the soaked photo, the edges wrinkled, colors fading.

 

He wiped at his face — once, twice — his hands unsteady and trembling.

Tears mixed with rain as he rubbed his cheeks with his palms, over and over, like a child lost in a storm trying to make it stop.

But it didn’t.

Everything kept falling.

 

He sniffled quietly, breath hitching, eyes burning. His heart ached so badly it felt hard to stand.

He just wanted to see clearly — to find him — to stop the blur that made it all worse.

 

And then — suddenly — the sound of rain changed.

 

It softened.

Faded.

 

The drops no longer hit his skin.

 

Confused, Jungkook slowly lifted his gaze. Above him, an umbrella — navy blue, trembling slightly from the wind — hovered over his head.

 

His breath caught.

 

And then, a voice — soft, quiet, cracking at the edges — broke through the sound of the storm.

 

“First time in my life… you’re late.”

 

Jungkook froze. His world stopped spinning.

 

That voice — even drenched in rain and pain — still sounded like home.

 

He turned slowly.

And there he was.

 

Taehyung stood behind him, soaked from head to toe, one hand holding the umbrella above both of them. His lashes were wet, his lips trembling as he spoke again — voice smaller this time, breaking halfway through.

 

“You took ten minutes to come out…” he whispered.

“My legs were hurting… standing outside.”

 

Jungkook just stared.

 

He couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t move.

 

His heart was racing too fast, his chest aching too much — but Taehyung was there.

Still there.

 

And in that single moment, under the soft shelter of the umbrella, everything hurt a little less — even if just for a heartbeat.

 

“When you knew you couldn’t do this,” Taehyung said quietly, his voice trembling, “then why did you pull this stunt? You ruined our date.”

 

His eyes were glossy, rain still clinging to his lashes.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. His lips quivered — just slightly — but Taehyung saw it.

That small, desperate struggle to stay composed.

To not break.

To not cry again.

 

But he had already cried. And Taehyung saw it. 

 

And seeing him like that — broken, silent, trembling — something inside Taehyung cracked open.

 

Because Jungkook… he was always the strong one.

The one who held everything in, who stood like nothing could touch him.

 

Taehyung never thought he’d see him cry.

And never, not even once, imagined those tears would fall because of him.

 

It hurt — painfully, deeply — because even if Jungkook was the one who decided to end it, Taehyung could see it now.

He was hurting too.

So much that it showed in every tremble, every shaky breath.

 

And Taehyung’s heart squeezed. He hadn’t wanted this.

He hadn’t wanted to make him cry.

 

Even when Jungkook said they had no future, Taehyung knew he didn’t mean it.

He knew him too well — better than anyone ever had.

He’d spent enough time learning the way Jungkook’s eyes softened for taehyung, how his jaw tensed when he tried to lie, how his silence was just another way of saying I’m hurting.

 

All Taehyung had wanted was to make him feel.

To show him he wasn’t a stone — that he had a heart that could ache and love and break just like everyone else’s.

And maybe… he’d succeeded.

 

“So you’re not gonna say anything?” Taehyung whispered, though his own voice shook at the end.

 

Jungkook finally looked up. His eyes glistened beneath the soft light, rimmed red from crying.

 

When he spoke, his voice came slow, low — like it took all his strength just to let the words out.

 

“I didn’t want you to hear the shake in my voice.”

 

 

 

Taehyung swallowed hard. His chest tightened, his lips parting slightly — because that one sentence hurt more than any goodbye.

 

 

“Taehyung…” Jungkook’s voice came so soft, it nearly got lost beneath the rain.

 

Taehyung blinked through the drops, barely hearing him. 

 

Jungkook’s throat moved as he swallowed, his lips trembling.

“Love,” he whispered, the word breaking apart halfway through. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

The tears came again, sliding down his cheeks — blending with the rain until it was impossible to tell which was which.

 

Taehyung felt his own eyes sting. His heart beat so fast it almost hurt.

"Calling me love"he said, his voice trembling. “ and then ruin it by saying bullshit. When will you understand?”

 

Jungkook’s breath shuddered out of him. He looked at Taehyung — really looked — and for the first time, all his walls were gone.

 

“How can I understand, Taehyung?” his voice cracked. “I never understand anything when you’re around.”

 

He took a step closer, rain dripping from his lashes, words spilling like confessions he’d kept buried for years.

 

“I don’t understand why my heart forgets how to beat whenever you’re near.

I don’t understand why — when everyone else left — you stayed.

Why you held me when even my parents didn’t.”

 

His voice grew smaller, trembling with every word.

 

“I don’t understand why your hands… when they grab my shirt, make me lose my mind.

Or when you sleep — and hold my thumb — why I can’t even breathe when you let go.

I don’t understand…”

 

He stopped, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling.

 

“…why I sometimes wish we’d never met.”

 

The words broke him — his voice almost a whisper now, shaking apart.

 

“Because....you’re too hard to forget”

 

And before the echo of his name could fade, the world fell silent for a heartbeat — then the rain hit harder, washing over them both.

 

The umbrella slipped from Taehyung’s hand, falling to the ground with a soft thud.

 

Jungkook didn’t have time to react.

 

Taehyung moved forward, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him in — their lips crashing together in the middle of the storm.

 

Jungkook’s eyes fell shut instantly.

 

The kiss was desperate — not gentle, not careful — just real.

All the pain, the longing, the love they couldn’t say — poured out through trembling lips and wet cheeks.

 

Jungkook melted against him, his hands finding Taehyung’s waist, holding him as if the rain could wash them away at any second.

 

The world around them blurred — rain, thunder, breath — everything became a single heartbeat shared between two breaking souls.

 

And even when the rain softened, the kiss didn’t stop.

It only slowed — until breath became harder to find.

 

Taehyung pulled back first, just enough to see him.

Their foreheads almost touched, their breaths mingling in the damp air.

 

Jungkook’s eyes were still closed — his face calm, almost peaceful now.

Raindrops rested on his lashes like glass tears.

 

Taehyung’s gaze softened. He leaned forward again — just slightly — and pressed a tender kiss near the corner of Jungkook’s lips.

 

That small touch made Jungkook’s eyes flutter open — wide, dazed, searching.

 

And in that moment, with the storm fading around them, they both knew —

some feelings don’t end.

They just learn how to live inside the ache.

 

They both stood there — the rain slowing to a gentle drizzle around them — and Jungkook just stared at him. His chest was still rising unevenly, breath trembling between guilt and relief.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice low and breaking.

 

Taehyung smiled through his tears. “You came back,” he said softly, “so I forgave you.”

 

Jungkook blinked, rain still clinging to his lashes. “But you shouldn’t forgive me so easily,” he murmured.

 

Taehyung gave a small, watery chuckle. “Yeah… you’re right.” He tilted his head, the corner of his lips curling. “Then what punishment should I give you, hmm?”

 

Jungkook’s voice came out small but steady. “Anything.”

 

“Then promise me,” Taehyung said, stepping closer. His voice shook, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Promise me you won’t do this again. Promise me you’ll stay with me. That my Jungkook won’t make his Taehyung face the word leave ever again.”

 

Jungkook swallowed hard, his eyes glistening. “I will,” he said, nodding. “I promise.”

 

Taehyung exhaled, his voice trembling as he said, “This is how you’ll protect me.” He emphasized every word, as if carving them into both their hearts.

 

Jungkook nodded again, slower this time. “I will.”

 

Taehyung’s gaze softened, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then this is your punishment,” he said. “You have to protect me… for life.”

 

“I will,” Jungkook repeated, his voice heavy with truth.

 

Taehyung’s lips curved faintly as he whispered to himself, And I’ll protect you. 

 

When he looked back up, Jungkook was still staring at him — eyes raw, filled with the kind of devotion that made Taehyung’s chest ache.

 

“We should go,” Taehyung said gently, reaching for his hand. “Otherwise, we’ll catch a cold.”

 

Their fingers intertwined — cold, trembling, but together.

 

They both reached the car, drenched from head to toe. The rain hadn’t spared a single inch of them. Taehyung’s breath trembled as he sank into the passenger seat, water dripping from his hair onto his sleeves. Jungkook slipped quietly into the driver’s seat, his fingers still clutching the plushie, the watch, and the photo — all pressed tightly in one hand as if they were lifelines.

 

He started the engine without a word.

The low hum filled the silence between them.

 

Taehyung’s heart still hadn’t calmed. Not even a little. At first, he’d been terrified when Jungkook said they should break up. But later — when he saw Jungkook’s face, pale and broken under the rain — that fear turned into something deeper. Because at that moment, Taehyung realized it wasn’t just heartbreak Jungkook was fighting. It was himself.

 

And that terrified him more.

 

Because Taehyung had seen it — from the day Jungkook kissed him for the first time, he’d given a part of himself away.

And today proved it. Jungkook needed him — maybe even more than he needed Jungkook.

 

When Jungkook had realized Taehyung was gone, he hadn’t been able to hold himself together. He’d collapsed — and cried.

 

Taehyung never thought he would see that.

Never thought he’d see Jungkook cry like that.

 

He turned his head slightly, watching him from the corner of his eye. Jungkook was driving quietly, eyes fixed ahead, knuckles white around the steering wheel — still holding onto that plushie and picture as if letting go would make Taehyung vanish again.

 

And Taehyung’s heart squeezed painfully.

This wasn’t the 27-year-old Jungkook everyone else saw — the confident, composed man.

This was the child inside him — scared, trembling, holding on.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard and turned his gaze to the window, blinking away the sting in his eyes.

 

The car ride stayed silent, the sound of the rain their only company. When they finally stopped outside Jungkook’s apartment, neither moved for a moment. Then Jungkook quietly stepped out, Taehyung following behind.

 

Inside, Jungkook placed the plushie, the watch, and the photo carefully on the table — as if setting them somewhere safe.

 

“We should get changed,” he said softly, his voice hoarse from crying.

 

Taehyung just nodded and followed him into the bedroom. Jungkook handed him a towel and one of his shirts. The faint scent of Jungkook’s cologne clung to the fabric — clean, familiar, heartbreakingly him.

 

Taehyung slipped it on, the cotton warm against his skin.

 

Jungkook grabbed the towel and walked toward Taehyung.

Taehyung looked up at him, a little startled when Jungkook closed the distance between them — close enough that Taehyung could feel his uneven breath.

 

Without a word, Jungkook lifted the towel and placed it gently over Taehyung’s head. The gesture was simple, but it made Taehyung’s heart stutter. Jungkook began to dry his hair softly, his fingers brushing through the damp strands.

 

Taehyung froze. The warmth of Jungkook’s touch, the gentleness in his movements — it was too much, too tender. He reached up, catching Jungkook’s wrist.

 

“I… I’ll do it,” he said quietly, his voice trembling just a little.

 

Jungkook hesitated, then gave a small nod. He stepped back, lowering his gaze.

 

He picked up his own towel, rubbing his hair with quiet, slow movements — still not looking at Taehyung. The silence between them was thick, the kind that wrapped around the room and pressed down on both their chests.

 

Taehyung wanted him to say something. Anything.

And maybe Jungkook was just as restless, because he finally spoke.

 

“Do you remember,” Jungkook began, voice low, “you once told me you trust me?”

 

Taehyung looked at him. Of course he remembered. That night, those words. He nodded silently.

 

Jungkook’s hand fell to his side, the towel slipping from his fingers and landing softly on the floor. Taehyung’s heart skipped at the sound.

 

“What I said before… about leaving you,” Jungkook said, his voice cracking on the last word. “Can you please—erase that? Forget I ever said it.”

 

He lifted his eyes, and for a moment Taehyung saw everything — the guilt, the fear, the quiet pleading.

 

“I’ll never repeat it. I swear,” Jungkook whispered. “If something hurts, I’ll find another way. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything—anything—but I won’t leave you again.”

 

The last words hung in the air, trembling between them like a fragile vow.

 

Taehyung stared at him, his throat tightening. He swallowed hard before he managed to speak.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” he said quietly, voice trembling around the edges.

 

“I didn’t,” Jungkook replied, his voice low, almost fragile — like it would break if he spoke any louder.

 

“Then forget it,” Taehyung said, forcing a small smile. He took a few slow steps toward Jungkook. “We should forget today ever existed.”

 

But Jungkook didn’t move. His eyes followed Taehyung, deep and unreadable.

And then, softly, he said, “But what if I make it memorable for you?”

 

Taehyung froze. His heart skipped.

“I… I don’t understand,” he said, blinking, his voice barely a whisper. His pulse was racing too fast, the air suddenly feeling heavier.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer. He just took one step closer.

Then another.

 

The air between them shrank until Taehyung could feel the warmth radiating from him — the scent of rain still clinging to his skin, the quiet tremble of his breath. Taehyung’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves, trying to find an anchor.

 

And before he could gather his thoughts, Jungkook reached out.

He caught Taehyung’s hand gently, pulling him closer — until Taehyung found himself caught in Jungkook’s arms.

 

The movement was so smooth, so careful, that it left Taehyung breathless.

Jungkook’s hand rested lightly on his waist, fingers hesitant, trembling just slightly. The other hand rose, brushing softly against Taehyung’s cheek, tracing the damp strands of hair that clung there.

 

“Will you allow me?” Jungkook whispered, eyes locking with his.

 

The question lingered between them — soft, trembling, dangerous.

And Taehyung’s heart forgot how to beat.

 

“Huh?” Taehyung breathed, eyes wide, his fingers curling tightly into Jungkook’s shirt — like holding on to him might help his racing heart steady itself.

 

“Allow me,” Jungkook said again, voice low, steady. “To make up for today. To tell you…” he paused, eyes searching Taehyung’s face, “…that I’ll submit to you forever now.”

 

Taehyung blinked, his breath hitching. The words hit him too deeply, his chest tightening.

He swallowed hard, eyes trembling as he looked up at Jungkook.

 

“H–How will you… submit?” he asked, his voice small, almost fragile — even though his mind was already a haze, drowning in the way Jungkook’s voice wrapped around him.

 

“As you say,” Jungkook whispered.

 

Taehyung blinked, confused and flustered. “Is this… some kind of romance thing?” he asked, stopping mid-sentence, batting his eyes as if to shake himself awake. “What are you even saying?”

 

“Maybe,” Jungkook murmured, his lips curling slightly as his hand traced a slow circle over Taehyung’s waist.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught again. “Why do you talk in riddles?” he asked, half frustrated, half trembling.

 

Jungkook smiled — a soft, heart-tugging smile that felt both teasing and achingly sincere. His fingers brushed against Taehyung’s cheek, lingering there.

“Nothing,” he said gently. “We’re just going to cuddle.”

 

Taehyung frowned faintly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “But you said it would be memorable.”

 

Jungkook’s gaze softened.

“I don’t want to take your innocence away,” he said quietly, the words melting into the air between them. “I adore it too much.”

 

Taehyung’s cheeks flushed deep red.

“I know what fucking is actually,” he mumbled, words tripping over themselves. But he froze when Jungkook let out a quiet laugh — soft, almost fond.

 

Without a word, Jungkook reached out and took Taehyung’s hand, leading him gently toward the bed. They lay down side by side, the quiet hum of rain still echoing faintly in the distance.

 

Jungkook shifted closer, the space between them shrinking until Taehyung could feel his warmth. Jungkook’s arm slipped around his waist, the touch careful, almost reverent. His thumb traced idle circles on Taehyung’s bare skin below the fabric, and the simple touch made Taehyung shiver.

 

“I will not fuck you.” Jungkook whispered. His voice was steady, but his eyes gave him away — full of something aching and raw.

 

Taehyung looked at him, brows knitting. “Then what will we do? Dance on the beach. ” he said softly, trying to sound teasing but his voice broke halfway through.

 

Jungkook smiled faintly, his breath brushing Taehyung’s face. “We’ll make love. ” he murmured. “Together.”

 

And then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Taehyung’s forehead — barely there, but enough to steal the air from Taehyung’s lungs.

 

For a long moment, they just stayed like that — tangled in silence and heartbeat. Jungkook’s hand found its way to Taehyung’s back, drawing small, calming patterns, as if memorizing the shape of him.

 

“It won’t happen again,” Jungkook said quietly after a while, his voice trembling just slightly. “I’ll never do that again. Just… don’t turn away from me like you did today.”

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened painfully. He swallowed hard, his fingers clutching the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt.

 

“But… don’t I have the right to leave?” Taehyung whispered. “When it feels like my feelings don’t matter?”

 

Jungkook’s arms tightened around him — firm, almost desperate.

“You have,” he whispered. “You still have.”

His breath trembled. “That’s why I’m ready to beg.”

 

Taehyung’s heart stumbled in his chest.

He shifted a little, trying to look up at Jungkook’s face, but Jungkook kept his head down — refusing to let Taehyung see the emotion pooling in his eyes.

 

“Jungkook…” Taehyung called softly. His voice wavered.

 

“I’m not perfect,” Jungkook murmured, the words coming out like a confession. “I know I’m not. But I’ll try.”

 

Taehyung’s lips curved into a faint smile — sad and full of warmth at the same time. He wrapped his arms around Jungkook in return, holding him close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his own.

 

“You did try,” Taehyung said quietly. “From the day you slept on the couch in my apartment… till now.” His voice softened even more. “I know you were terrified. Because I cried, and he made you think it was your fault. But it wasn’t, Jungkook.”

 

He took a small breath, eyes glimmering. “You deserve me… just as much as I deserve you.”

 

For a while, Jungkook said nothing. Then a small, shaky chuckle escaped him.

“When did you grow up this smart?” he murmured, brushing his fingers through Taehyung’s hair.

 

Taehyung smiled against his chest, voice muffled.

“I had to,” he said. “Someone has to take care of a big gorilla like you.”

 

Jungkook laughed quietly, the sound finally easing the tension in the air. “You monkey,” he muttered fondly.

 

Taehyung’s smile lingered, even when Jungkook’s breathing began to slow — his eyes closing, exhaustion finally pulling him under. Taehyung lay still, listening to the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s heart beneath his ear.

 

But his own heart refused to rest. His eyes stayed open, glinting softly in the dim light.

Because he knew — this peace wouldn’t last unless he did something.

Something to keep Hyunwoo away.

Something to make sure Jungkook never felt that pain again.

 

And deep down, Taehyung already knew where he had to go.

 

---

 

 

Seokjin was wiping down the counter. The café was quiet—almost closing hours—when the soft chime of the bell echoed through the space.

 

“It’s closed,” he said without looking up, but the moment he did, a small smile pulled at his lips.

 

“Taehyung,” he said warmly, stepping out from behind the counter.

 

They met halfway, and without a word, hugged each other. The kind of hug that said they hadn’t met in a while but still shared an easy bond.

 

“How insane,” Jin chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to see Taehyung’s face. “I was just thinking about you.”

 

“Really?” Taehyung asked, a shy curve forming on his lips.

 

“Yes,” Jin replied with a teasing grin. “Because of so much work, I miss my part-timer.”

 

Taehyung laughed quietly, the sound light and nostalgic. They both took a seat at one of the corner tables, the same one Taehyung used to sit at during his shifts.

 

“How’s business going?” Taehyung asked, resting his chin on his hand.

 

“Good,” Jin said, shrugging casually. “You know that even if it doesn’t go well, my father is rich.” He smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a hobby.”

 

Taehyung chuckled, the corners of his eyes softening. For a moment, silence filled the air—comfortable but heavy enough to hold something unspoken.

 

“Hyung…” Taehyung said finally, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. His tone had changed—lower, unsure. “I came today… for someone.”

 

Jin blinked, tilting his head slightly. The teasing glint returned for a brief second.

“Oh? Why? What happened? Is Jungkook not listening to you again?” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

 

Taehyung looked down, a faint, nervous smile flickering and fading.

“I wanted to ask…” he paused, his throat tightening a bit, “…about his childhood.”

 

 

Chapter 22: I am yours

 

 

---

 

 

The door slammed before the small boy could even breathe.

 

“Appa… I didn’t do it.”

His tiny fists pounded against the wood, each hit trembling rather than strong. The room behind him swallowed what little light was left, the shadows drifting up the walls like living things. He hated the dark. He always had.

 

But the door did not open.

 

“It will not open until you learn your lesson,” his father’s voice cut through the hallway—cold, sharp, too loud for his small ears. “You pushed your brother. What if he had died? His arm is broken.”

 

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

“I didn’t! He slipped!” He shouted, the words tumbling, desperate. “Appa, please—open the door!”

 

A softer voice followed, but it didn’t bring relief.

“He won’t do it again… open it, honey…” his mother tried.

 

But his father’s anger swallowed even that.

“If you open it, I’ll throw you away too. I regret the day I brought you both here.”

 

Then footsteps. Fading. Leaving.

Leaving him.

 

Jungkook’s small hands pushed harder on the door, palms stinging.

“Appa…” the word broke into a sob. “Appa, please—please…”

 

His mother’s voice returned, tired, sharp in a way that hurt more than yelling.

“I told you to behave. You never listen. You make my life miserable.”

 

“Eomma… open it… please…”

His voice cracked, becoming so small it barely reached the other side of the wood.

“It’s dark… I didn’t do it… I didn’t…”

 

Silence.

 

Not even her footsteps this time.

Just nothing.

 

Jungkook turned, inching back from the door. The darkness seemed thicker now, like the corners of the room were breathing. A chill crawled up his spine. He had been shut in before, but every time it felt different—worse, heavier.

 

Then the voices began.

 

Not real voices—just the ones that came when the room stayed dark too long. Whispering. Murmuring. Their shapes flickering in his imagination like shadows wearing faces. Too many faces.

 

He pressed his hands to his ears and choked on a sob.

“Stop… stop… go away… please… someone open it…”

 

His fists slammed the door again, weaker this time, every hit more air than strength.

 

“Open it… open it… please…”

 

The whispers grew louder, crawling around him, under his skin, in his head—until they blended into a ringing nothingness.

 

His small body finally gave out.

 

He sank to the cold floor, pulling his knees to his chest. Tiny armswrapped around his legs, forehead pressed down, trembling too hard to breathe right.

 

He stayed like that.

Alone in the dark.

Waiting for someone who never came soon enough.

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Taehyung stepped out of Seokjin’s café, the soft chime of the door fading behind him.

The evening air felt colder than it should. He exhaled long and shaky, trying to blink away the moisture clinging to his lashes. His throat tightened. He bit down on his lower lip, attempting to steady the wave rising in his chest.

 

People brushed past him—some walking fast, some running to catch a bus, some laughing loudly with friends. A couple strolled by hand in hand. Two siblings chased each other across the street, their giggles floating in the air like tiny bells.

 

Taehyung watched all of them with a strange heaviness in his chest.

 

He had grown up surrounded by love.

He had always been someone’s son, someone’s cherished child. His parents had never once let him sleep without comfort, never let him face a shadow alone. Even now, when he visited rarely because of work, they stayed up the entire night talking—his mother stroking his hair, his father dragging him to the farm to show him the chickens he named after celebrities.

 

Taehyung had lived a life wrapped in affection.

 

So he didn’t know—couldn’t understand—what it meant for a child not to be loved.

Not until today.

 

He took a slow breath, but it didn’t stop the ache.

 

He had gone directly from the office to Seokjin’s café, hoping for answers. Hoping to understand just a little piece of the boy he loved. Seokjin was one of the few people Jungkook had allowed close, one of the few who had known him as a child.

 

But even Seokjin hadn’t told much.

Just enough to shatter Taehyung’s heart.

 

Just enough to make him understand why Jungkook was never wanted to have feelings because trust had always been a dangerous place for him.

 

“He left home at eighteen,” Seokjin had said, voice low.

“And no one asked him why he is leaving. Not even his mother. ”

 

Taehyung’s fingers curled at the memory.

Eighteen. Still practically a child.

Leaving home with nothing but the belief that he was a burden.

 

Seokjin had tried to make him stay. Offered him a place, a room, safety.

 

But Jungkook refused.

 

He had been carrying that belief for years—that he only brought trouble, that he only took space, that he should not let anyone in too deeply.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard.

His eyes stung again.

 

Jungkook… who held a plushie and his watch like lifelines…

Jungkook… who collapsed today thinking Taehyung had left…

Jungkook… who begged, even though Taehyung never wanted him to…

That Jungkook had once sat alone in a dark room, crying for a door that never opened.

 

Taehyung wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling the evening breeze bite at his skin.

 

He understood now.

 

Jungkook didn’t fear losing Taehyung because of love.

He feared losing Taehyung because he believed he had always been discardable.

 

Why is it that people cheat…

Why do they build homes on lies, then look at the child born from those lies as if he is the sin itself?

 

Taehyung’s steps slowed near the zebra crossing, the city lights blurring through the sheen of tears in his eyes. His chest rose and fell unevenly, breath catching against the weight inside him.

 

What fault does a child ever have?

 

What fault did Jungkook ever have?

 

The questions burned through him, sharp and relentless, as if they’d been waiting for years to be voiced and finally found someone who cared enough to ask them.

 

People cheat, destroy, and then blame the child who never asked to be born into that mess. They build a battlefield and hand the smallest one the wounds. And maybe—Taehyung swallowed hard—maybe that was why Hyunwoo hated Jungkook, why he projected that bitterness onto him instead of onto the father who caused all of it.

 

But it still didn’t make sense to Taehyung.

 

Why him?

Why Jungkook?

 

Why did they ruin his childhood, that part of life meant for joy and innocence? Instead, Jungkook had spent it hiding behind his own fears—fear of being abandoned, fear of being scolded, fear of being unseen, unheard, unwanted.

 

Fear of existing.

 

Even now, grown and successful, stronger than anyone gives him credit for—he still carried that fear like a shadow stitched to his ribs.

 

Taehyung shut his eyes for a moment, standing by the crossing as cars rushed by. His lashes trembled; his eyes burned.

 

When he first met Jungkook, he had never imagined this.

People called him spoilt, cold, privileged.

Taehyung had believed that rumor too—until Jungkook’s cracks began showing beneath all the indifference, until Taehyung saw the softness he guarded like an injury.

 

Life is unfair—mercilessly so—for some people.

 

Not everyone grows up wrapped in their mother’s love.

Not everyone gets goodnight kisses or warm dinners or rooms filled with childhood laughter.

 

Some children grow up learning silence instead of happiness.

Distance instead of affection.

Fear instead of comfort.

 

And that distance becomes who they are.

 

Taehyung still remembered Jungkook’s voice—flat, emotionless, as if stating a fact that had no room for pain.

 

“I don’t do feelings.”

 

At the time Taehyung had rolled his eyes, thought Jungkook was just being dramatic or cold.

 

But now…

Now Taehyung understood.

 

How can someone who never received love expect it from the world?

How can someone who was treated like a burden ever believe they deserve to be held gently?

 

Jungkook never rejected feelings.

He simply never learned what safety felt like.

 

And Taehyung’s heart ached—deep, raw, protective.

 

Because now that he knew… now that he understood the scars Jungkook carried…

 

He wasn’t going to let him face those fears alone again.

 

Taehyung’s heart squeezed so painfully it almost made him fold.

He couldn’t stop picturing that small boy Jungkook used to be—tiny hands banging on a locked door, voice cracking, tears falling into darkness no one cared to open.

 

How lonely…

How unbearably lonely he must have been.

 

Taehyung pressed his lips together, swallowing the ache before it broke into tears. He inhaled shakily, blinking fast to clear the gloss in his eyes.

 

Just then his phone buzzed in his hand.

 

He looked down, breath catching when he saw the name on the screen.

 

Jungkook.

 

His fingers tightened instinctively around the phone, as if holding a lifeline. He pressed the answer button.

 

“...Hello?” Taehyung spoke softly, trying so hard not to let the tremble in his voice reveal what was going on in his chest.

 

A beat of silence.

Then—

 

“Are you not gonna cross the road,” Jungkook’s voice came through, warm and teasing, “or do I have to wait here all night?”

 

Taehyung’s head snapped up.

 

His breath stopped in his lungs.

 

Across the zebra road, under the streetlight glow, Jungkook was standing—leaning casually against his car as if the whole world wasn’t tilting in Taehyung’s chest.

 

One hand held the phone to his ear.

The other held a bouquet wrapped in soft ribbons, colors gentle and warm—like apology, like affection, like him.

 

Taehyung just stared.

His throat tightened to the point of pain.

 

Jungkook smiled at him—the soft, shy one he reserved only for Taehyung—and lifted the bouquet a little, waving it lightly.

 

“Do you see me, monkey?” Jungkook chuckled, his voice a soft echo across the road.

“Or am I invisible today?”

 

The lump in Taehyung’s throat nearly broke him open.

 

He saw him.

He saw everything.

 

Taehyung’s lips trembled before he could stop them.

He stood there, frozen on his side of the road, phone still pressed weakly to his ear. His heart was trying to beat and break at the same time.

 

Seokjin’s words echoed too loudly in his head.

The picture of that little boy alone in the dark wouldn’t leave him.

 

A tear slipped down before he even realized—and he wiped it away quickly. Too quickly.

But maybe… maybe Jungkook still saw.

 

“What happened?” Jungkook’s voice came through the phone, suddenly sharper, worried.

He took a step forward but cars rushed past, forcing him to stop.

 

“Everything alright?” Jungkook asked again, voice lower now, the kind he used only when something scared him.

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened painfully.

No words came out.

 

And that silence was enough to make Jungkook panic.

 

The moment the light changed green, Jungkook bolted across.

Taehyung’s breath caught at the sight—Jungkook running through the night air, flowers still clutched in his hand, hair bouncing, eyebrows pulled together in a deep worried frown.

 

He looked unreal.

Too bright.

Too heartbreakingly beautiful.

 

He stopped in front of Taehyung and grabbed him by the shoulders, still breathless from running.

 

“Hey—hey, you’re crying.” Jungkook’s voice cracked with panic. He didn’t even ask if he was; he knew.

 

Taehyung looked up, and Jungkook’s eyes searched his quickly, desperately.

 

What could Taehyung even tell him?

 

That the pain he carried from childhood—Taehyung felt it in his own chest now?

That the image of Jungkook being unloved as a child shattered him?

Or that Jungkook showing up like a movie hero—with flowers, with gentleness, with a voice trembling in worry—broke him in a completely different way?

 

Taehyung didn’t know which truth to speak.

He just knew both made him cry.

 

And Jungkook was standing in front of him, holding flowers, breathing hard from running, looking like the one thing Taehyung never wanted to lose.

 

Jungkook tried again, voice quieter this time, “You’re making me worried now. Did Jin-hyung say something?”

 

Taehyung let out a tiny laugh, shaky but real.

“What’s up with you today?”

 

But Jungkook only frowned deeper, like he couldn’t understand why Taehyung was smiling through tears.

 

So Taehyung lightly hit his chest.

“What’s with this k-drama hero moment? Carrying flowers and all?” he said, chuckling.

 

Jungkook blinked, then lifted the flowers a little, almost shyly.

“Oh… this? I was passing by and thought I should buy them.”

 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

“Oh really?”

 

Jungkook nodded, suddenly looking like a boy caught doing something innocent and sweet.

 

Taehyung stared at him again — really stared — and his throat tightened all over.

Why was everything feeling so overwhelming today?

If he wasn’t careful, Jungkook would notice something was wrong. He needed to breathe. Calm down.

 

So he forced a pout.

“Where’s my hug? Didn’t your search engine tell you to hug me along with giving flowers?”

 

Jungkook blinked once. Then again.

And without another word, he wrapped his arms around Taehyung, pulling him close.

 

Taehyung melted into him instantly.

He rested his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, eyes closing as his arms circled him back.

Warm. Safe. Too safe.

 

For a moment, the world felt quiet.

Just the two of them holding each other in the soft night air — Taehyung trying not to cry again, and Jungkook holding him like he already knew.

 

 

“Next time, I’ll hug you without you telling me. It’s noted,” Jungkook murmured, his voice low and warm against Taehyung’s ear. “And… tell me what you want. I’m not good with these things. You know that.”

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened painfully.

His hand slid up to Jungkook’s neck, fingers brushing through his hair in a soft, shaky caress.

Tears welled in his eyes again.

 

“Jeon Jungkook… is asking me to tell him?” he whispered, trying so hard to keep his voice steady.

 

Jungkook pulled him closer, tightening his hold.

“Because you’re the only one who makes Jeon Jungkook speechless.”

 

Taehyung let out a watery smile, tears clinging to his lashes.

“That’s the biggest lie, isn’t it?” he said with a tiny chuckle.

 

“It’s the truth,” Jungkook whispered back.

Then, gently, “And tell me… why are you crying?”

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched.

He didn’t even get to speak because Jungkook added softly, arms tightening again,

 

“And don’t say that you’re not.”

 

Taehyung blinked and let out a small laugh.

“I’m just overwhelmed,” he said, wiping his face quickly.

He didn’t want Jungkook to think the tears were because of him — Jungkook would overthink it to death.

 

Taehyung placed his hand back in Jungkook’s hair, leaning in and resting his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder, nuzzling into the warmth.

 

“I’m just… used to a different Jungkook.”

 

Jungkook pulled back, breaking the hug just enough to look at him.

His eyebrows softened.

 

“You’re not liking it?”

 

Taehyung laughed again, shaking his head.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just a bit weak for these… movie kind of scenes.”

 

Jungkook stared at him for a long, quiet moment.

 

Then he reached out, gently taking Taehyung’s hand and interlacing their fingers.

With his other hand, he lifted the flowers and placed them into Taehyung’s free hand.

 

Taehyung froze.

 

God.

Jungkook would be the end of him.

His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was trying to escape his chest.

All because of this boy’s softness… this unintentional cuteness… this sincerity.

 

Jungkook started walking toward the other side of the road, still holding Taehyung’s hand.

Taehyung followed beside him, trying to calm the storm inside his heart.

 

As they walked, Jungkook glanced at him and said,

 

“Let’s make a list of the scenes you want to recreate.”

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat.

"Wow… that was such a cheesy line to say", he said, trying to brush away the warmth rising to his cheeks.

 

They walked slowly toward the car, the evening air brushing against their skin, lifting their hair gently.

Taehyung swung their joined hands lightly, unable to hide how good it felt.

 

When they reached the curb, Jungkook glanced sideways at him.

 

“Look who’s talking,” he said.

“Wasn’t Kim Taehyung the one using cheesy lines on his CEO to get him? Not to forget—getting a part-time job just to see him every day.”

His tone was playful, teasing.

 

Taehyung’s eyes went wide.

He stopped.

“…You—you knew?”

 

And when Jungkook let go of his hand, even for that small second, Taehyung hated how he immediately missed the warmth.

 

Jungkook chuckled, leaning closer.

“Of course I knew. And to be honest… you were a dummy monkey.”

 

Taehyung gasped.

“Hey—I was not dumb!” he said, slightly offended.

“And stop calling me monkey!”

 

Jungkook only laughed, opening the passenger door for him.

“I will not stop,” he said, absolutely lying, “because you are a monkey.”

 

Taehyung huffed dramatically as he slid into the seat—but his heart felt warm, glowing almost.

He couldn’t help it.

 

Seeing Jungkook this happy… this relaxed… it loosened something tight inside him.

 

Maybe Seokjin had been right.

Taehyung really did make Jungkook happy.

 

Actually, no—there was no “maybe.”

Taehyung knew he did.

And he was proud of it.

And he would keep making him happy—always.

 

But right now?

 

Right now he was dying of embarrassment.

He still cringed thinking about the way he used to flirt with Jungkook—dramatic lines, silly attempts, all those hopeless ways he tried to catch his attention.

 

He hid his burning face behind the flowers Jungkook bought him.

 

God. He had been so silly back then.

 

And somehow, Jungkook had known all along.

 

Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door with a soft thud.

He glanced sideways.

 

“Stop sulking.”

 

Taehyung huffed.

“If you knew it… then why didn’t you say anything? Now I’m embarrassed.”

 

Jungkook clicked his seatbelt, turning toward him with a completely straight face.

 

“Why would I say anything,” he said slowly, “when a pretty—”

he exaggerated every syllable,

“handsome… cute… and se—”

 

“Stop.”

Taehyung slapped his arm, face going bright red.

“You should really use filters! Why do you say things so easily?!”

 

Jungkook frowned slightly, as if genuinely confused.

“But I’m saying the truth.”

 

Taehyung pressed a hand over his heart dramatically.

“But some people have weak hearts, Jungkook. You’re really something”

 

Jungkook turned the engine on, lips twitching as he tried so hard not to laugh.

 

Taehyung glared at him.

“…What?”

 

Jungkook finally let a smile slip.

“You like it, don’t you?”

 

Taehyung blinked.

“Like what?”

 

“Me making your heart flutter.”

 

Taehyung nearly choked on air.

“Jeon Jungkook—focus on the road if you don’t want to die at a young age.”

 

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, the sound warm and soft in the small space of the car.

 

Taehyung puffed his cheeks, turning to sniff the flowers Jungkook had given him.

He looked out the window as the city lights passed slowly.

 

“Where are we going? This isn’t the way home.”

 

“Dinner,” Jungkook replied simply.

 

Taehyung turned to him sharply.

“But we can eat at home.”

 

“Jimin and Yoongi-hyung suggested it,” Jungkook said, making another turn.

 

Taehyung crossed his arms.

“He didn’t tell me.”

 

“Maybe someone was too busy with Jin-hyung and didn’t check his phone,” Jungkook said, eyes on the road.

 

Taehyung rolled his eyes so hard he could see the back of his skull.

 

There was a small pause—quiet, but not uncomfortable.

 

Then Jungkook asked, carefully,

“What did you both talk about?”

 

Taehyung stiffened.

His gaze drifted to the window.

 

“…Nothing. I hadn’t met him in a long time. I just visited him.”

 

Jungkook hummed softly in response.

He didn’t push.

 

And Taehyung felt a breath of relief leave his chest.

 

Because he really, really wasn’t ready to talk about what he learned.

 

Jungkook parked the car, shutting the door with a soft click.

The two of them stepped into the warm glow of the restaurant.

 

Immediately, Jimin’s eyes caught them.

He waved enthusiastically, a bright grin lighting his face.

 

Taehyung’s face softened. Without thinking, he hurried to Jimin’s side.

“Hey…” he said, sliding into the seat close to him.

 

Jungkook moved to sit across, beside Yoongi, keeping a quiet, calm demeanor.

 

“Are you guys meeting after a century or something?” Yoongi teased, raising an eyebrow.

 

Taehyung frowned, trying to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Basically, yes. Because a certain someone is always being territorial.”

 

Yoongi leaned back, smirking.

“Well… it’s not my fault yours isn’t.”

 

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Yoongi, eyes sharp.

“Who said I’m not?”

 

Taehyung’s cheeks heated immediately, a faint pink rising as he fiddled with the edge of the plate in front of him.

“Oh damn…” Jimin exclaimed, eyes widening.

“Is it you, Jungkook? I’m not believing my ears.”

 

Jungkook tilted his head at Jimin, expression calm but playful.

“What?”

 

Taehyung shoved a small piece of food at him, muttering,

“He needs filters.”

 

Jungkook’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“But… I am territorial, aren’t I? Am I not…?”

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat. He stole a glance at Jungkook, then quickly shifted toward Yoongi and Jimin. Both were muffling quiet laughs, trying not to be obvious.

 

“What is wrong with him today?” Taehyung whispered to Jimin, his voice low.

“He’s acting like differently.”

 

Jimin leaned closer, smirking.

“I think he’s searching Google like you—‘How to tame my crush.’”

Jimin burst into laughter, shaking his head.

 

Taehyung groaned, pressing his fingers against his temple.

 

“Ok, guys, you both eat. Me and Jungkook have to discuss the upcoming event. We’ll be over by the other table—we don’t want to ruin your time,” Yoongi said smoothly, glancing between them.

 

“Yeah,” Taehyung muttered, not looking at Jungkook.

 

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before flicking to Jimin.

“Look after him—he shouldn’t drink too much.”

 

Taehyung frowned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“Hey… I’m not a baby.”

 

“Yes, you are.” Jungkook said, ruffling Taehyung’s hair before standing up.

 

Taehyung swatted his hand away, trying not to let his pulse betray him.

 

Jimin scrunched his nose, observing the playful scuffle, then glanced at Yoongi with a blinking of his eyes.

 

Yoongi chuckled quietly, he ruffling his hair.

“Eat. It’ll get cold,” he said, Jimin smiled shyly and Taehyung watched as both Jungkook and Yoongi walked toward the other corner of the restaurant.

 

Taehyung filled his glass with wine, fingers trembling slightly. 

 

“Hey…” Jimin interrupted, noticing the look on Taehyung’s face.

 

“Today, I need alcohol, more than anything,” Taehyung said quietly, almost to himself.

 

“Why?” Jimin asked, tilting his head with concern.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flicked toward Jungkook for a brief moment, then back to his glass.

“It’s been… kind of a rough day,” he murmured, swirling the wine gently, trying to steady his racing heart.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The room door burst open, making Hyunwoo groan in annoyance. The girl who had been sitting on his lap scrambled to her feet, glancing nervously toward the doorway before slipping out.

 

Hyunwoo glanced after her, expression flat, before straightening his night suit and grabbing the glass of alcohol on the side table.

 

Mi-young stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp as daggers. Lee Do smirked, first watching the girl leave, then shifting his gaze back to Hyunwoo.

 

“You always do the things your father hates, and then dump your anger on Jungkook. You’re… pathetic,” Mi-young said, her voice low but cutting, as she seated herself on the couch.

 

Hyunwoo looked at her like she had just spoken nonsense, a silent say something else and leave written in his eyes.

 

Lee Do chuckled, leaning back.

“I don’t know why you both are so boring. There’s nothing fun happening? Two ‘evil’ people together, and yet I haven’t even heard a single mischievous thing in enemy territory.”

 

Mi-young’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Because he’s a loser,” she muttered, shooting a sharp look at Hyunwoo. “I told you I can handle him. My blood is boiling right now. I just saw them on the road… romancing. And he—he never spared me a glance. He was laughing with him… that leech.”

 

Hyunwoo didn’t move, settling back on the bed and scrolling through his phone, completely unmoved by her fury.

 

“Are you even listening to us?” Mi-young’s voice rose, tinged with frustration.

 

He finally looked up, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

“Relax, babe. I was just… playing with them but they are not fun.”

 

He lifted his glass casually, as if the tension in the room was nothing more than background noise.

 

Mi‑young’s jaw tightened. The room felt heavy, toxic, charged with something cruel.

 

“If you’re done playing,” she said slowly, “I want him out of Jungkook’s life.”

 

Hyunwoo didn’t even blink.

“Then do it.”

 

Mi‑young stared, stunned.

“What?”

 

“Do whatever you want,” he repeated, voice flat, bored, almost yawning. “I genuinely don’t care.”

 

For a moment she didn’t breathe.

 

Then Hyunwoo’s eyes gleamed with the sick amusement he hid beneath his monotone.

“Let me give you an idea, though.”

He leaned back, tapping his finger on the glass.

“Drug him. Make him fuck you. And then—boom—Taehyung leaves him.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Simple.”

 

Mi‑young’s spine stiffened, a shadow crossing her face.

 

“Or,” he snorted, swirling his glass, “you could just kill Taehyung.”

 

“Hyunwoo.” Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with fury.

 

“I’m kidding,” he said lightly, though nothing about his tone felt like a joke.

 

His expression shifted—something sharper and more calculating settling in.

 

“Aren’t we having a grand event in two days? Not to forget, are not we have to discuss our new project we are presenting.”

He tilted his head. Chuckling. Then his expression turned serious. 

“That’s your chance. Your playground. Do something fun.”

 

She studied him for a long moment.

“And you won’t interfere? Whatever I do?”

 

He raised a hand, palm open.

“Never. Do your thing.”

 

Lee Do groaned dramatically. “Oh god, here we go—”

 

But Mi‑young ignored him. She slowly turned toward Lee Do, her lips curling into a slow smirk.

 

Lee Do blinked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“We should invite your friends to the event,” she purred.

 

His face dropped. “Are you insane? My dad hates when I show up at business events—I'm not dragging my friends into—”

 

“Your sister is with you, idiot,” Mi‑young said, rolling her eyes.

 

Hyunwoo watched them from the bed, swirling his drink.

A smile—small, mocking, cruel—tugged at his lips.

 

Always like this, he thought.

Letting others dirty their hands for him.

Letting others take the fall.

 

“Pathetic losers,” he muttered under his breath, taking another drink.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

“Jiminshi…” Taehyung murmured, swaying slightly, his chin resting on the table. A lazy smile curved his lips, eyes half‑closed, a soft warmth spreading through him. “Why… why are there two Jiminshi?” His cheeks burned bright red, his voice a shy whisper.

 

Jimin looked at him, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“Congrats, you got a superpower,” he said, grinning.

 

Taehyung let out a small huff, burying his head on the table.

“I’m… sleepy,” he mumbled, voice soft. “We should go home…”

 

“Let’s call your boyfriend to take you home,” Jimin teased, standing with a playful smirk.

 

Taehyung’s eyes snapped open, wide with shock.

“Boyfriend? I have a boyfriend?” he hiccupped, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

 

“Oh, there he is,” Jimin said, grinning, stepping aside.

 

Taehyung squinted through the dim light, trying to focus. His gaze landed on Jungkook, who was standing just in front of him. Heart fluttering, Taehyung’s lips parted slightly, and he instinctively raised a hand to cover his mouth, eyes wide and unsteady.

“Jimin… he’s… so handsome,” he whispered, voice trembling with awe and disbelief.

 

Jungkook blinked, taking in Taehyung’s flustered expression. He turned his gaze toward Jimin, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“I told you not to let him drink,” he said, calm but layered with concern.

 

Jimin shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Do you think he’s listening?” he muttered, walking toward Yoongi.

 

“Hey… where are you going?” Taehyung called out, his voice wobbling as he tried to stand, swaying on unsteady legs.

 

Jungkook was immediately there, his hands firm around Taehyung’s waist, steadying him. Taehyung looked up at him with wide, startled eyes, biting his lips. He glanced toward Jimin, shyly admitting,

“He… he’s holding me.”

 

Jimin turned to Jungkook, grinning.

“Looks like he drank a little too much,” he said with mock sympathy. “Good luck, man.” He chuckled and walked away with Yoongi.

 

Jungkook let out a soft sigh, adjusting his grip on Taehyung to keep him steady.

“Can you walk?” he asked gently, eyes searching Taehyung’s face.

 

Taehyung squinted at him, trying to maintain some dignity.

“Of course… I have two legs,” he said, voice slightly defiant, though uneven. He shot a glance at Jimin before looking away, muttering under his breath, “Is he dumb?”

 

Jimin’s laughter rang from the distance, and Yoongi joined in, smirking as they disappeared from sight.

 

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly, shooting a glare at the retreating duo before turning his attention back to Taehyung.

 

By the time they reached the cars, Jungkook helped Taehyung slide into the seat, ensuring he sat safely. Taehyung’s gaze remained locked on Jungkook, wide-eyed, like he’d just seen a ghost. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted slightly, and his body still trembling from the alcohol and adrenaline.

 

Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, eyes immediately finding Taehyung’s. The way Taehyung stared, unblinking, barely conscious, made Jungkook’s chest tighten. His fingers flexed slightly on the steering wheel as he took a steadying breath, his own heart responding to the fragile vulnerability in front of him.

 

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered slightly, caught between focus and fatigue, still completely captivated by Jungkook, unaware of the way his gaze clung to him. The silence between them was heavy, electric, and almost unbearably intimate.

 

Jungkook smiled as he came closer, his presence calm and grounding. Taehyung immediately raised a hand toward him, hesitant but instinctive.

 

Jungkook stopped mid-step, eyes locking on Taehyung.

“What are you d-doing?” Taehyung’s voice wavered slightly, eyes dropping to the floor, trying his best to stay composed.

 

“Seatbelt, my lord,” Jungkook said softly, gesturing toward the straps. Taehyung’s gaze flicked down, then back up at him, slowly lowering his hand.

 

Jungkook muffled a quiet laugh and gently fastened Taehyung’s seatbelt, their faces close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Taehyung blinked, momentarily frozen, and instinctively touched the seatbelt with his fingers.

 

Jungkook straightened back in his seat, adjusting his own belt. He started the engine, the soft hum of the car filling the space around them. Leaning back, he whispered under his breath,

“I should make you drunk more.”

 

Taehyung let his head sink back against the seat, eyes heavy but still flicking toward Jungkook. The alcohol made his words slur slightly,

“you’re my boyfriend.”

 

Jungkook glanced at him briefly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I am,” he replied firmly, calmly.

 

Taehyung’s face heated, lips parting as he murmured,

“My… boyfriend…”

 

Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and warm.

“Yeah… yours,” he said gently.

 

Taehyung buried a hand into his own face, cheeks burning.

 

Jungkook laughed quietly, a sound so soft and intimate that it seemed to fill the car with a sense of calm and peace.

 

“Rest,” Jungkook said, his voice low and steady, “I’ll let you know when we reach home.”

 

Taehyung exhaled softly, closing his eyes completely, letting himself drift, safe in Jungkook’s presence.

 

Jungkook parked the car and, without waking him, gently opened the door. Taehyung, half-asleep, barely stirred, his body sinking into Jungkook’s warmth as he scooped him into his arms. Taehyung nuzzled closer, eyelids fluttering, caught between sleep and consciousness.

 

“We… reached?” Taehyung whispered, voice heavy with drowsiness.

 

“Yeah,” Jungkook murmured softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head.

 

Jungkook carried him up the stairs, quiet, careful with every step, as if afraid the world outside might intrude on this fragile moment. He opened the room door and eased inside.

 

Taehyung’s eyes cracked open slightly, peeking up at him, still nuzzled against his chest.

 

“Jungkook…” he whispered, voice small, hesitant.

 

Jungkook looked down, his lips curling in a soft chuckle.

“So you’re sober now,” he said, warmth threading his voice.

 

“Jungkook…” Taehyung murmured again, a little more insistently.

 

“Yes,” Jungkook replied, voice low and steady, his gaze holding Taehyung’s like an anchor.

 

“Jungkook…” he tried once more, softer this time, almost fragile.

 

“Yes… baby,” Jungkook answered, stepping closer to the bed, careful not to jostle him.

 

“I… I have to say something,” Taehyung whispered, his hands rising to Jungkook's neck as if drawing courage from it, nuzzling closer, searching for reassurance in Jungkook’s steady presence.

 

“Yes… I am listening,” Jungkook said softly. Instead of laying him down, he sat on the bed, cradling Taehyung carefully in his arms, holding him close as if the world could disappear around them.

 

Taehyung’s eyes were closed, but his small, trembling hand moved from his neck to Jungkook’s cheek, fingers brushing over skin that felt impossibly warm.

 

“You… you are hearing my voice?” he whispered, voice small, hesitant.

 

“I am,” Jungkook replied, voice low, steady, comforting. Their hearts beat in a syncopated rhythm, fast and uneven, echoing in the quiet room.

 

“Tell me,” Jungkook teased softly, thumb brushing along Taehyung’s jaw, “why is my monkey hesitating to say something to me, hmm?”

 

Taehyung’s hand lingered a moment longer on Jungkook’s cheek, trembling slightly before dropping to clutch at Jungkook’s shirt. His lips parted, a soft sigh escaping him.

 

“I wished… I wished to be drunk, so I could say these things to you,” he murmured, voice low, swaying slightly, vulnerable in a way that made Jungkook’s chest tighten.

 

Jungkook tightened his arms around him instinctively, holding him closer, feeling the faint tremble of his body against his own, heartbeat racing.

 

“I needed to be drunk,” Taehyung continued, pausing, as if summoning courage from deep within, “so… I could open my heart to you.”

 

Jungkook’s hand went up to Taehyung’s hair, caressing gently. He didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. He just held him closer, letting Taehyung say whatever his heart had been carrying. Jungkook wanted to know—what Taehyung felt, what he hid, what he feared.

 

“I used to think…” Taehyung murmured, voice soft and unsteady. “Am I hard to love? Am I…” he paused, breath catching, “…cold to touch?”

 

Jungkook’s fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their soft strokes.

 

“But then I met you,” Taehyung whispered, hiccuping slightly. “You made me feel—” another hiccup, “—I was wrong.”

 

Silence settled between them, thick and fragile, filled only with their breaths and the pounding of their hearts.

 

“Jungkook…” Taehyung’s voice trembled, his eyes still closed but tears shimmering at the corners, threatening to fall. His lips quivered.

“I hope I die first… ’cause I don’t wanna live without you.”

 

Jungkook’s throat tightened painfully, his arms instinctively tightening around Taehyung’s body as if he could shield him from every hurt he ever felt.

 

“Your monkey…” Taehyung whispered, voice barely there, “…don’t ever wanna learn… how to sleep without you.”

 

Jungkook gulped, his throat tight. His eyes glistened, the edges wet, threatening to spill over.

“Tae…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. But then he froze, every nerve in his body alert, as Taehyung’s next words cut through the air. His chest constricted, and he felt Taehyung’s hand tighten on his shirt—anchoring him, holding him in place.

 

“I love you,” Taehyung whispered. Tears slid down his closed eyes, his voice trembling with raw vulnerability. “I… I have fallen for you.”

 

Jungkook closed his eyes, a single tear escaping and trailing down his cheek. His heart hammered in his chest, a mix of fear, relief, and disbelief.

“Why?” he whispered, the word breaking from him like a fragile glass. His voice shook, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on him.

 

Taehyung opened his eyes, looking straight at him, the sincerity in his gaze piercing through every wall Jungkook had built. He straightened himself on his lap, placing a trembling hand gently on Jungkook’s cheek.

“Because you… began to feel like home,” Taehyung whispered, voice soft but unwavering.

 

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He stared back, eyes glossy, unable to look away. The word home echoed in his mind, stirring something he had buried for years. He had always felt like a stranger to the world, untethered, and here was Taehyung—his constant, his safe place. A lump formed in his throat as warmth spread through his chest.

 

“Is it worth it?” he whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer, yet desperate for reassurance. His voice was small, fragile, and raw. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, but hesitant to break the moment.

 

Taehyung’s fingers cupped his cheeks, warm and steady, and he closed the distance between them, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Jungkook’s lips. The touch made Jungkook’s heart leap, his body melting into him, every fear and hesitation dissolving under the weight of this confession.

 

“Why would it not be?” Taehyung whispered, voice breaking with emotion. “Isn’t it obvious? You are meant for me.”

 

Jungkook’s chest tightened further. He felt the tears falling freely now, wet and warm against his skin, mingling with his racing heartbeat. He can freely cry now. Taehyung is not gonna judge him. 

 

Tears ran freely down Taehyung’s face, and he caressed Jungkook’s cheeks again, brushing away the stray drops. “I am made for loving you, Jungkook,” he whispered.

 

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat. Tears slipped from his eyes, hot and unrelenting. Without a word, he gently but firmly lifted Taehyung, laying him down on the bed. His hands found Taehyung’s waist, drawing him close, and his lips claimed his in a kiss that was no longer soft—urgent, desperate, full of restrained longing finally released.

 

Taehyung’s hands instinctively tangled in Jungkook’s hair, holding him as if letting go would mean losing him. Jungkook’s eyes were squeezed shut, breaths hitching, every heartbeat a drum against the other’s chest. Taehyung felt the intensity, the raw need behind the kiss, and he responded in kind, grasping Jungkook’s lips, teasing, pulling, until he tasted every ounce of emotion Jungkook poured into it.

 

When Jungkook finally broke the kiss, their chests heaving, Taehyung blinked rapidly, trying to catch his breath. His eyes found Jungkook’s, and he saw the storm behind them—the same storm that mirrored his own.

 

Jungkook stared back, unwavering, then captured Taehyung’s lips again, fiercer this time. Taehyung’s hands tightened on his shirt, trying to ground himself.

 

“Jungkook…” he gasped, voice trembling, fingers clutching at him.

 

Jungkook’s hand shot up, pinning Taehyung’s to the bed, holding him in place as if letting go was impossible.

 

Taehyung looked up, chest rising and falling unevenly, his heart hammering.

 

“I… I can’t control myself now,” Jungkook admitted, his voice low but raw. “Push me away if you don’t want this.”

 

Taehyung froze, gulping, eyes glossy. He could only blink, helpless to resist.

 

Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned in again, lips pressing to his with a tenderness that belied the fire of the previous kiss. His hands traced the contours of Taehyung’s body, memorizing every inch, every reaction, every shiver.

 

When they finally broke apart again, they stayed locked in each other’s gaze, breaths uneven, hearts racing, the quiet hum of their connection filling the room.

 

“Oh… when you look at me like that,” Jungkook whispered, his voice low, trembling just enough to make Taehyung’s chest skip. “You look so… pretty. And damn… I love this view.”

 

Taehyung’s heart stuttered. He bit his lips, trying to steady himself, trying not to lose control under Jungkook’s gaze. But every word, every look, sent shivers through him.

 

“For you…” Jungkook whispered again, eyes locked onto Taehyung’s, unwavering. “I want to cross every line… with you.”

 

Taehyung’s throat tightened. He gulped, the words stuck somewhere between fear and desire. His body was betraying him, responding to every brush of Jungkook’s hand, every flicker in his gaze.

 

Jungkook closed the distance without hesitation, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. One hand pinned Taehyung’s to the bed, keeping him in place, while the other traced over his body, memorizing him, worshiping him. The hand moved down to his waist, to the hem of his shirt, tugging gently until it fell away.

 

Their bodies moved in sync, fitting together as if they were always meant to. Jungkook’s lips trailed from Taehyung’s mouth to his jaw, to the sensitive skin of his neck, eliciting soft gasps that made him tighten around Jungkook instinctively.

 

Taehyung’s breathing was uneven, his heart hammering in his chest, every nerve alive, every touch magnified. He was exposed—physically and emotionally—but under Jungkook’s care, he felt safe, cherished, and desired in a way he had never known.

 

Now, naked, body to body, soul to soul, Taehyung surrendered fully—not just to the moment, but to Jungkook. And Jungkook held him with a gentleness that made the world outside disappear, guiding him, leading him, loving him in a way that made Taehyung fall deeper, again and again, into something irreversible.

 

Every heartbeat, every touch, every whispered word bound them closer. There was no turning back now. He was Jungkook’s, wholly, and Jungkook was his.

 

They lay together, tangled in the soft sheets, the world outside completely forgotten.

 

“I will be gentle,” Jungkook murmured, his lips brushing against Taehyung’s, his hands warm and steady, guiding every movement. Taehyung’s heart felt like it would burst from the intensity of it all—gentle, yet overwhelming. Jungkook kissed him endlessly, softly, insistently, grounding him in a way he hadn’t known he needed.

 

Taehyung didn’t feel pain, only warmth, safety, and a kind of love that made everything else fade. They made love together.

When it was over, Jungkook laid him down carefully, cleaned him. Then he settled beside him, their bodies still entwined, like two pieces finally finding their place.

 

Taehyung lifted his arms slightly, making little grabby hands, almost shy but desperate for closeness.

 

“Hug me,” he whispered.

 

Jungkook immediately held him, arms wrapped around him, tracing delicate patterns along his back. Every line of his body pressed against Taehyung’s, comforting, grounding, intimate. Taehyung’s eyes fluttered low, half-shut, overwhelmed by everything he was feeling.

 

There was silence until jungkook broke it. 

 

“I… I’m scared, Tae,” Jungkook whispered, voice trembling just enough to make Taehyung’s chest ache. “Scared because… you’re loving me.”

 

Taehyung nuzzled closer to his chest, fingers tangling in his hair, hand brushing over his neck. He listened, heart open, absorbing every word, every heartbeat.

 

There was a long silence, heavy with emotion, broken only by the quiet sighs of relief and belonging. Then Jungkook tightened his hold around him.

 

“Because nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do,” he whispered, voice low and raw.

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped. He leaned closer. “Isn’t it… beautiful?” he murmured, voice trembling but soft.

 

“It is, Taehyung… it is,” Jungkook replied, brushing a kiss to his temple, to the curve of his jaw.

 

" You are doing well. " Taehyung whispered. " Don't be scared,your presence heals me too. "

Jungkook did not say much. After that. Only their breathing  was heard in the room. 

 

He held him tighter, cradling him gently against his chest, pressing soft kisses to his head.

 

“Good night, Tae,” he whispered, eyes closing, surrendering to the quiet intimacy.

 

“Good night,” Taehyung whispered back, voice barely audible, yet full of trust, love, and a heart finally at peace.

 

Chapter 23: Not a chapter

 

 

 Dear Readers

 

I have to inform that I have an important interview and upcoming entrance test on 9th of December. So I will be gone for these days. I thought I should inform to people who are reading this story. Thank you for giving love and support. I will be back with new chapter soon. 

 

Author Liz<3

Chapter 24: My Love Mine All Mine feat fluff

 

 

---

 

 

Moon, tell me if I could

Send up my heart to you?

So when I die, which I must do

Could it shine down here with you?

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Taehyung blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the pale morning light spilling across the room.

Instinctively, his hand reached to the other side of the bed — empty, already cool.

Jungkook was up. He lay there for a moment to remember each inch of what happened yesterday's night. 

 

He pushed himself into a sitting position, arms wrapping around his own torso as if holding onto the warmth Jungkook had left behind. A small, foolish smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.

 

His gaze fell to the button-up shirt hanging loosely on his body — Jungkook’s shirt.

He brought the sleeve close to his nose for a second, cheeks flushing at how ridiculous he must look. But he couldn’t help it.

Last night still lingered on his skin like a soft echo.

 

He bit his lips as he stood, trying to scold himself internally for acting like some shy teenager.

But how could he not?

This was the first time he had given himself to someone so completely — heart, body, everything he had kept guarded for so long.

It scared him… but the fear felt gentle. Manageable. Because it was Jungkook. And loving Jungkook didn’t feel wrong. It felt right, like something he had been quietly hoping for without realizing.

He wash his face to adjust himself a bit. 

He stepped out of the bedroom, heart thudding a little too fast.

Part of him wanted to see Jungkook immediately. Part of him was nervous — afraid of catching something unreadable on Jungkook’s face.

Today, more than ever, he needed to understand him. To read him.

 

The living room was empty.

A faint sound from farther down the hall told him Jungkook was probably in the study.

 

Taehyung walked there slowly.

He reached the door… and paused. Fingers curled around the doorknob, hesitating.

The quiet moment before opening the door felt strangely heavy — a breath caught between hope and fear.

 

Why am I nervous?

Taehyung scolded himself quietly. You’re the one who blurted out I love you last night.

He sighed, steadying his breath before he slowly pushed the door open.

 

Inside, Jungkook was hunched over the desk, pen moving across a page.

The moment the door creaked, Jungkook’s head snapped up — eyes locking with his.

 

Taehyung’s throat went dry.

 

Oh god.

 

And suddenly last night flashed through him — Jungkook’s voice low against his skin, whispering I can’t control myself now.

Heat crept up his neck.

 

Jungkook blinked once, then calmly closed the page he’d been writing on, sliding it between a book.

He rose to his feet, gaze fixed on Taehyung with a softness that only made Taehyung more aware of his own heartbeat.

 

“Why are you standing there?” Jungkook asked gently. “Come.”

 

Taehyung managed a weak smile as he stepped inside, but he kept a little distance between them.

He looked anywhere but at Jungkook — the bookshelves, the window, the corner of the desk.

The air felt thick, too full of everything they had done and everything they hadn’t yet said.

 

Why does it feel awkward now?

Why is his chest tight?

Because you had a sex with jungkook. 

Damn it. 

 

He forced himself to glance around the study again just to avoid those eyes he could feel burning into him.

 

When he finally looked back, Jungkook was staring — steady, unblinking, almost too openly.

Taehyung immediately tore his gaze away.

 

Why is he looking at me like that?

Look away. Don’t stare.

 

But another voice in him whispered just as loudly:

Weren’t you the one who wanted to see his eyes the very first thing in the morning?

 

“Oh—I… I first t-time came in this room,” Taehyung blurted, stepping back when Jungkook looked like he might come closer.

He drifted toward the bookshelf, fingertips brushing lightly over the spines as if they could distract him from the heat climbing his neck.

 

Jungkook folded his arms, watching him for a moment before following with calm, slow steps.

 

Taehyung slipped to the other side of the shelf the second Jungkook approached, pretending to examine book titles he wasn’t even seeing.

 

“Did you renovate this room?” he asked quickly, eyes darting everywhere but at Jungkook. “The tiles on the wall are… pretty.”

 

“Wood panels,” Jungkook corrected softly.

 

“Huh?” Taehyung looked up, startled by how close his voice sounded.

 

Before he could step away again, Jungkook reached out—hands firm around Taehyung’s waist—guiding him back a little.

 

Taehyung gasped, hands flying up to Jungkook’s chest to steady himself.

His back almost touched the wall, Jungkook’s presence warm and impossibly close.

 

“It’s wood panel,” Jungkook repeated, nodding toward the wall.

 

Taehyung mouthed a breathless little oh.

He lifted a hand, touching the panel beside him to regain some sense of composure, tracing the grain with shaky fingers.

He kept his eyes turned to the side, pretending the wall needed all his focus.

 

“Oh… it is,” he stammered, voice embarrassingly soft.

 

But then—slowly, hesitantly—he turned his head.

 

And Jungkook was staring at him.

 

Not blinking.

Not looking away.

Just watching him like Taehyung was the only thing in the room.

 

The air stilled.

Taehyung’s breath caught.

His fingers curled against the wood, grounding himself against the way Jungkook’s gaze made his own heartbeat stumble.

 

Taehyung gulped, throat suddenly too tight.

 

“C-Can you stop looking at me like that…” he whispered, the words tumbling out before he could swallow them back.

 

“I always look at you like that,” Jungkook replied quietly, leaning in just enough for Taehyung to feel his breath.

 

“No…” Taehyung protested, voice pitching up before dropping to a trembling whisper. “This is… different.”

 

He pressed a hand to Jungkook’s chest—meant to push, but it barely counted as a touch.

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around that hand instantly, firm and warm, and Taehyung’s heart lurched.

 

“How different?” Jungkook asked, eyes searching him with quiet intensity.

 

Taehyung held his gaze, lips parting.

“You—”

But the words tangled in his throat. He shut his mouth, panic sparking in his eyes.

 

Jungkook raised a brow, silent, waiting—inviting him to finish.

 

Taehyung looked away so fast his hair swayed.

“Are… are we not supposed to be at the office?” he blurted. “We have to prepare for the event. Only a day left, and— and we shouldn’t waste time—”

 

Jungkook didn’t even blink at the diversion.

 

“How different, Taehyung?” he repeated, deeper now, voice brushing down Taehyung’s spine like a shiver.

 

Taehyung swallowed hard.

“I don’t… I don’t want to tell,” he whispered, eyes glued to Jungkook’s collarbone.

 

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. The corner of his tongue pressed against his cheek as if he was fighting a smile—or patience.

 

Then his hand slid fully around Taehyung’s waist.

And in one effortless, fluid motion—

 

He lifted him.

 

Taehyung startled, breath knocking out of him as his feet left the floor. His arms flew around Jungkook’s neck on instinct, clinging.

 

“J-Jungkook—!” he stammered, voice trembling.

 

His heart was a storm.

Jungkook’s arms were steady.

And the air between them felt charged enough to crack.

 

Jungkook walked toward his desk as if carrying Taehyung was the most natural thing in the world. He grabbed his laptop with one hand—Taehyung still cradled securely in the other.

 

“H-Hey…” Taehyung tried, leaning back to catch his eyes. “Why are you carrying me?”

 

“You said we have to work,” Jungkook answered, calm and unfazed, already stepping out of the study room with Taehyung still in his arms.

 

Taehyung blinked at him, baffled.

“Then you— you have to put me down. And go to office.”

 

Instead, Jungkook pushed open the bedroom door with his shoulder.

He walked straight to the bed and lowered Taehyung onto the mattress, slow, deliberate—hovering over him for a heartbeat before placing the laptop on Taehyung’s lap.

 

“I’m working from home today,” he said simply.

 

Taehyung stared at the laptop, then at Jungkook, then back at the laptop.

 

What is he doing?

Is Jungkook trying to make him die of a heart attack?

 

Jungkook adjusted the screen angle gently, his fingers brushing Taehyung’s.

“I’ll be back with your breakfast. Meanwhile, open all the files I need to review.”

 

He turned toward the door as if he didn’t just ruin Taehyung’s ability to breathe properly.

 

Taehyung inhaled shakily, the warmth where Jungkook’s hands had been still buzzing.

He opened the laptop with trembling fingers, trying—failing—to calm his racing heart.

 

Jungkook stepped out of the room, and Taehyung let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

Taehyung leaned back against the pillows, trying to focus on emailing Jimin to send over the drafts. His fingers hovered over the keyboard longer than they should—his mind kept wandering back to how Jungkook had looked at him earlier. How close they had been. How close they still were, somehow, even now.

 

He hit send and took a slow breath.

 

Jungkook returned after almost half an hour, balancing two plates in his hands. He set them on the nightstand with quiet care, then lifted the blanket and slipped under it—right beside Taehyung.

 

Taehyung’s heart did a small, startled flip.

 

“I’ve opened all the tabs for you to review,” he said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. He tilted the laptop toward Jungkook. “And these are the slides you’ll present tomorrow. I finished them in the office, and then reviewed them again. You can—”

 

His words cut off.

 

His breath stuttered.

 

Because suddenly, without warning, he was being lifted—effortlessly, like he weighed nothing.

 

“J-Jungkook—” he gasped softly.

 

Jungkook guided him into his lap, settling Taehyung against his chest as if this had been planned all along. Jungkook leaned back against the headboard, arms sliding securely around Taehyung. Then he rested his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder—warm breath brushing his neck—and began scrolling through the slides as if this position was perfectly normal.

 

Taehyung swallowed, hard.

 

His heartbeat was way too loud in his ears. His hands were stiff on the laptop. He was too aware of Jungkook’s arms around him, too aware of how their bodies fit together with a familiarity that shook him.

 

Sure, he had been in Jungkook’s lap last night—bold, drunk, reckless.

 

But sober Taehyung?

 

Sober Taehyung had absolutely no immunity to this.

 

He felt Jungkook’s breath against his skin. Felt the steady beat of his heart through his back.

Felt… clinginess. A lot of it.

 

And Taehyung couldn’t help wondering with a flutter of panic and fondness—

 

Is this because I confessed?

Is this what happens when Jungkook knows  I love him?

 

Because if this is the result…

Taehyung wasn’t sure his heart would survive the day.

 

“Taehyung?”

 

Jungkook’s voice pulled him back from whatever dreamy fog he’d sunk into.

 

“Hm?” Taehyung turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder.

 

Jungkook lifted the plate in his hand. “Sandwich.”

 

Taehyung let out a tiny laugh and took one. Jungkook put the plate back on the nightstand and continued scrolling through the laptop—still holding Taehyung securely against him, chin resting lightly on his shoulder.

 

Taehyung couldn’t stop staring at him.

 

Sandwich in hand. Sitting on Jungkook’s lap. Wrapped in Jungkook’s arms like it was the most natural place in the world.

 

Oh god… how domestic can this be?

 

His lips curved unconsciously. He took a small bite, then glanced at Jungkook.

 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted the sandwich toward Jungkook’s mouth.

 

Jungkook—eyes still on the laptop—leaned forward and took a bite without hesitation.

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened. Something warm and painfully tender unfurled in him.

 

He leaned back into Jungkook’s chest, melting into that warmth. Jungkook kept reviewing the documents, eating calmly from Taehyung’s hands, as if feeding each other in bed was already part of their routine.

 

“What were you saying about the slides?” Jungkook asked, dragging the cursor to the next page.

 

“Oh—” Taehyung straightened a little, shifting the laptop. “I prepared them after we finished testing the product. It’s all done.”

 

He tapped the trackpad and brought the slideshow to the front. His tone softened, unconsciously gentle. “You can check and add anything you want. I tried to make everything clear for your presentation.”

 

His eyes lingered on the screen. He put a lot of efforts to prepare it. 

 

This project matters to Jungkook.

The event tomorrow matters.

The competition is huge, full of established giants—and Taehyung knows how much Jungkook wants to win, not for validation, but because he believes in what they built.

 

And Taehyung wanted—needed—to help him shine.

 

Even if his heart was racing wildly from being held like this.

Even if Jungkook’s quiet breaths against his neck made it impossible to think straight.

 

He swallowed, gaze softening.

 

Please like it… he thought, though he didn’t dare say it out loud.

Please see how much you mean to me in every slide.

 

Taehyung glanced up at Jungkook, searching for any hint of reaction on his face.

 

Jungkook’s gaze stayed fixed on the screen for a long moment.

 

“I will not present this,” he said quietly.

 

Taehyung’s chest tightened. His expression faltered, and he looked back at the slides, the neat pages laid out on the laptop.

 

“Is it… not good?” he asked softly. “I prepared it just like you wanted.”

 

“I didn’t say it’s not good,” Jungkook said, his tone flat but firm.

 

Taehyung blinked, confused.

 

“You will present it at the event,” Jungkook added, finally meeting his eyes.

 

Taehyung froze. “Huh? Me?”

 

Jungkook nodded once.

 

“My god… this is so important for the company. It’s not just a simple conference,” Taehyung said, his voice rising slightly, a mixture of panic and disbelief.

 

“I know,” Jungkook said calmly, scrolling through the slides. “And who has the most experience presenting in our meetings?” His eyes flicked toward Taehyung, sharp but gentle.

 

“But… that was you just do always to tease me before,” Taehyung said, fidgeting with the corner of his shirt. “It was never serious.”

 

Jungkook chuckled softly, leaning closer, his shoulder brushing against Taehyung’s. “I never did it to tease you. You’re meant to present with me.”

 

Taehyung’s heart lurched, flipping over itself. The thought made his chest tighten and his lips part slightly.

 

“But Jungkook… all the CEOs will be there, showing their ideas. And what about yoongi hyung....” His words wavered, doubt creeping in despite the warmth curling in his chest from Jungkook’s nearness.

 

Jungkook closed the laptop and placed it on the nightstand. Then he wrapped his arms around Taehyung from behind, leaning back against the headboard, pulling him close until their bodies fit together easily.

 

“Whether you present or I do, it’s the same, monkey,” he said quietly. “I already told hyung. Don’t worry.”

 

Taehyung’s chest warmed at that. He blinked, staring at the painting on the wall as if it could hold his thoughts together.

 

“You know you’re putting years of your effort in my hands,” he said after a moment. “What if I mess it up?”

 

Jungkook’s hold tightened, firm and reassuring.

 

“You put everything in my hands,” Jungkook said softly. “And you never questioned me.”

 

Taehyung bit his lip, his heart doing slow somersaults at the words.

 

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, voice low but steady. Then, almost reluctantly, he added, “But for that, we should go to the office.”

 

He tilted his head slightly to look back at Jungkook, aware of how often he’d been doing that—stealing glances, checking for reassurance, as if afraid it might disappear.

 

Jungkook tightened his arms again and buried his face into Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung’s breath hitched instantly.

 

“Not today,” Jungkook said, his voice muffled against warm skin. “I planned to spend it with you. Stay in this room all day.”

 

Taehyung’s heart skipped.

 

He let out a soft laugh, trying to keep things light. “What are two adults supposed to do in a room all day? Pillow fights?”

 

Jungkook shifted, pulling him even closer, his face still tucked into Taehyung’s neck.

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

Warm lips brushed his skin—soft, barely-there kisses that made Taehyung’s breath falter.

 

This is going to kill me, Taehyung thought, his heart racing, caught between nervous laughter and the quiet realization that this—this closeness—was becoming dangerously easy to want.

 

A soft moan left Taehyung’s mouth when he felt teeth graze his neck—gentle, almost playful. He froze instantly, lifting his hand to cover his lips as if the sound itself had betrayed him.

 

Jungkook looked up at once.

 

In one smooth motion, he caught Taehyung by the waist and turned him in his lap so they were facing each other. The sudden shift made Taehyung’s breath stumble.

 

His eyes widened—and then he felt it.

 

Jungkook stared at him, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“We’ve got a problem,” Jungkook murmured, voice low. “My love.”

 

Taehyung swallowed hard.

“What problem?”

 

He knew. Of course he did. But pretending not to was almost instinctive—his way of hiding when things felt too intense, too close.

 

Jungkook let out a quiet breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.

 

“The problem,” he said softly, “is right beneath you.”

 

Before Taehyung could respond, Jungkook leaned in, hands firm on his waist, and in a swift movement laid him back against the mattress, hovering above him. The world narrowed to the space between them.

 

“I told you,” Jungkook whispered, eyes dark, unwavering, “once I get a taste, I get addicted.”

 

Taehyung’s throat bobbed as he looked up at him, lips parting without permission. His toes curled against the sheets.

 

“What taste?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound steady. “I’m not food.”

 

Jungkook leaned closer, closer, until his lips brushed the shell of Taehyung’s ear.

 

Taehyung’s fingers clenched the sheets.

 

“You’re the strawberry ", Jungkook murmured, voice sending a shiver straight down his spine. “And I am gonna lick you now. ”

 

Taehyung closed his eyes, breath uneven, heart racing—caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay exactly where he was.

 

 

“Didn’t you lick enough yesterday?” Taehyung blurted out.

 

The moment the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a wave.

Shut up. Shut up right now, he scolded himself. Why are you always like this?

 

But his mouth never listened. It never did—especially not around Jungkook.

 

Jungkook paused, then slowly raised an eyebrow. There was something dangerous in the way his lips twitched, amusement glinting in his eyes.

 

“That,” Jungkook said lightly, “was emotional licking.”

Then he leaned in just enough for Taehyung to feel his breath.

“Now I want to do a cheerful one.”

 

Taehyung frowned, heart flipping violently in his chest. Jungkook didn’t joke like this.This version of him felt unfamiliar, thrilling… terrifying.

 

“Cheerful?” Taehyung echoed.

 

“Yes,” Jungkook replied, smirking now. A real one. “A cheerful moan. That’s what you’re going to give me.”

 

Taehyung’s eyes widened, heat rushing straight to his face.

“J-Jungkook—mmh—”

 

The rest of his protest was swallowed whole.

 

Jungkook caught Taehyung’s wrists in one swift movement, lifting them above his head as he leaned in and crashed their lips together. The kiss was sudden, confident—nothing like the slow, careful kisses Taehyung was used to.

 

A startled gasp slipped from him, muffled instantly as Jungkook deepened the kiss. Taehyung’s fingers curled instinctively, then slid into Jungkook’s hair, gripping like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

 

Jungkook hummed softly, pleased.

 

His hands moved over Taehyung’s body with an ease that made Taehyung’s head spin—warm, firm, deliberate. Jungkook didn’t pull away even once. Instead, he brushed his tongue against Taehyung’s lips, coaxing, asking.

 

Taehyung gave in without a second thought.

 

The kiss deepened—slow, unrelenting, dizzying. Taehyung’s breath turned uneven as his hands dragged down Jungkook’s back, clutching his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until there was no space left between them.

 

Through the kiss, Taehyung felt it—Jungkook smiling.

 

That alone nearly undid him.

 

Jungkook finally broke away, only to trail his mouth down Taehyung’s jaw and to his neck. Taehyung’s head tipped back on instinct, eyes fluttering shut as a soft sound escaped him.

 

His arms wrapped around Jungkook’s back, desperate, pulling him closer. When Jungkook nibbled at his collarbone, Taehyung’s nails dug into his back—frustrated by the fabric in the way.

 

He didn’t want cotton.

He wanted skin.

 

“Jungkook…” Taehyung breathed, voice trembling.

 

“What is it, baby?” Jungkook murmured, teasing warmth in his tone.

 

Taehyung swallowed, hands clutching tighter.

“Your shirt,” he whispered. “Take off the damn shirt.”

 

Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm and unbearingly smug.

“Look at you,” he teased. “Now who’s needy?”

 

Taehyung shot him a glare, but it did nothing to slow his racing pulse. His chest rose and fell unevenly, heat pooling low in his stomach.

“Do you want to do this,” he shot back, voice low and daring, “or should I just push you down on the bed?”

 

For a moment, Jungkook only stared—then he bit his lip.

 

Slowly, deliberately, he straightened and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. There was a soft smile on his face, playful and utterly unlike the Jungkook Taehyung knew—the serious one, the careful one.

 

“What?” Taehyung asked, still glaring, though his voice wavered.

 

Jungkook didn’t answer.

 

Instead, he grabbed Taehyung by the waist and pulled him forward, settling him effortlessly onto his lap. Taehyung gasped, instinctively wrapping his legs around Jungkook’s waist, arms sliding around his neck as if they belonged there.

 

Jungkook’s hand slipped beneath Taehyung’s shirt, warm against his skin, pulling him closer before capturing his lips again. The kiss was deeper this time—hungrier, slower—stealing the air from Taehyung’s lungs.

 

Taehyung melted into it.

 

Jungkook’s hands traced familiar paths along his body, learning him all over again until fabric became nothing more than an obstacle. Moments later, Taehyung’s shirt was gone too, discarded somewhere forgotten. With that, both are naked in a second. 

 

Their bodies pressed together, heat bleeding into heat, breaths mingling as if neither of them remembered how to pull away.

 

Hands wandered. Fingers tightened.

The world narrowed down to warmth, mouths, and the way they clung to each other like they’d been starving all along.

 

“Ah—nghh… J-Jungkook…”

 

Taehyung’s voice broke into a helpless moan when Jungkook’s hand closed around his cock. The sensation sent a sharp wave through him, stealing the air from his lungs.

 

Jungkook didn’t give him time to recover.

 

He pushed Taehyung back onto the bed, firm but careful, lifting his thighs and settling them over his shoulders. The position left Taehyung exposed, vulnerable, breathless.

 

His eyes fluttered shut immediately, lashes damp as his hands clenched the sheets, knuckles whitening.

 

“Easy,” Jungkook whispered.

 

His hands were warm as they caressed Taehyung’s thighs, thumbs brushing soothing circles before his lips followed—soft kisses pressed into trembling skin, trailing slowly downward.

 

Taehyung’s heart thundered in his chest.

 

“Ah—nghh…”

The sound tore from him when Jungkook’s breath ghosted over his inner thighs, followed by wet heat as Jungkook licked along sensitive skin.

 

Taehyung bit down hard on his lip, stifling the noise, body already reacting despite himself.

 

Jungkook moved closer.

 

And Taehyung felt it.

 

“Ah— it h-hurts…” he gasped, voice shaking as his body tensed.

 

Jungkook immediately leaned up, hands gentle as they cradled Taehyung’s face. He pressed soft kisses to his cheek, grounding him.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “Grab me.”

 

Taehyung released the sheets instantly, fingers tangling tightly in Jungkook’s hair, the other hand clutching at his back like an anchor.

 

“Ah—nghh… J-Jungkook…”

His nails dug into Jungkook’s skin as another broken breath escaped him. “It hurts…”

 

“Baby… just a minute,” Jungkook whispered before capturing Taehyung’s lips, kissing him deeply—silencing every shaky sound, every fractured breath.

 

When Jungkook moved, Taehyung’s entire body shuddered violently, a hoarse cry trapped against Jungkook’s mouth. His grip tightened, nails dragging down Jungkook’s back, leaving faint marks in their wake.

 

Jungkook pulled back just enough to wipe the tears from Taehyung’s cheeks, thumbs gentle, reverent. Then he kissed him again—slow, reassuring—muffling every whimper.

 

Soft words followed, whispered against Taehyung’s ear. Praise. Comfort. Steady breaths meant to calm him.

 

Taehyung clung to him, still trembling.

 

“It’s over, baby,” Jungkook murmured. “Relax.”

 

Taehyung immediately curled closer, arms wrapping around Jungkook’s body, holding on like he needed to feel him there. Jungkook shifted beside him, snaking his arms around Taehyung and pulling him into his chest.

 

“You did so good,” Jungkook said softly, hand moving in slow, calming strokes along Taehyung’s back.

 

Taehyung pressed his face into Jungkook’s chest, voice small but satisfied.

“Cheerful one… is better.”

 

The room slowly settled into silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

 

Taehyung lay curled against Jungkook’s chest, limbs loose now, the tension finally ebbing out of his body. His heartbeat gradually slowed, syncing with Jungkook’s steady one beneath his ear. Every rise and fall grounded him.

 

Jungkook’s arms stayed firm around him—protective, unmoving—as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

 

His hand traced slow, soothing patterns along Taehyung’s back, thumb brushing gently over overheated skin, lingering whenever Taehyung twitched or sighed. Each touch was careful, deliberate, full of quiet reassurance.

 

“You okay?” Jungkook murmured, voice softer than it had been all night.

 

Taehyung nodded against his chest, then hummed quietly, the sound warm and content. “Yeah… just—” He shifted closer, tucking himself further into Jungkook’s embrace. “Tired. In a good way.”

 

Jungkook let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He pressed a kiss to Taehyung’s hair, lingering there.

“Good.”

 

They stayed like that for a while—no teasing, no heat, just closeness. Jungkook’s fingers kept moving, slow and patient, like he was afraid Taehyung might slip away if he stopped touching him.

 

Taehyung’s hand rested over Jungkook’s heart, feeling it beat strong and steady beneath his palm. The realization settled deep in his chest, warm and heavy.

 

“Let’s take you to the bath,” Jungkook said quietly. “You need a warm shower.”

 

“No,” Taehyung protested weakly, voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t want to.”

He traced idle patterns over Jungkook’s chest, fingertips warm, unhurried. “You’re warmer.”

 

Jungkook let out a small laugh, fond and helpless all at once.

“It’ll hurt later if you don’t,” he said gently. “Come on.”

 

Taehyung leaned back just enough to look at him, lips pushed into a pout.

“I don’t have the strength to bathe,” he murmured.

 

Jungkook’s expression softened. He cupped Taehyung’s cheek, thumb brushing slow and tender.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll help.”

 

He shifted away reluctantly. “I’ll fill the tub for you. Wait here.”

 

When he came back a few moments later, the room was quiet.

 

Taehyung’s eyes were closed now, lashes resting softly against his cheeks. Jungkook’s shirt was clutched in his hands, held close to his chest like something precious.

 

Jungkook felt his heart swell.

 

He reached out, fingers threading gently through Taehyung’s hair.

“Tae,” he whispered. “Come on. Open your eyes.”

 

Taehyung hummed in response, a sleepy sound, eyes still closed.

 

Jungkook didn’t push him again. Instead, he slipped an arm beneath him, gathering him carefully, and lifted him into his arms.

 

“I’m putting you in the tub,” Jungkook said lightly, a tease hidden beneath the care.

 

Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at him, still half-dazed, lips curved into a faint pout.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I’m not letting you touch me.”

 

Jungkook smiled, holding him a little closer as he carried him forward.

 

“I’ll help you,” Jungkook said quietly. “You don’t have to do anything, okay?”

 

Taehyung only answered with a lazy pout, too tired to argue.

 

Jungkook carefully lowered him into the bathtub, already filled with warm water and soft soap bubbles. The scent lingered faintly in the air. He climbed in after him and settled behind him, arms slipping around Taehyung’s waist, holding him steady.

 

“Lean back on me,” he whispered.

 

Taehyung did, trusting without thought, eyes drifting shut as his back rested against Jungkook’s chest.

 

Jungkook picked up the soap and began slowly, gently—washing Taehyung’s arms, careful and unhurried, moving up to his chest with the same tenderness.

 

Taehyung’s breath hitched with every touch, soft and uneven. Jungkook’s hands moved down, over his stomach, then back to his arms again. He took Taehyung’s hands in his own, wiping them carefully, as if memorizing every inch.

 

“Taehyung,” Jungkook murmured.

 

Taehyung hummed in response, eyes still closed, body relaxed against him.

 

Jungkook continued to caress his hand, slow circles traced with his thumb, while his other arm rested securely around Taehyung’s stomach. His voice dropped, quieter now.

 

“What you said to me last night…” he began, then paused.

 

Taehyung’s eyes opened. He stared ahead, heart suddenly loud in his chest. The words from last night rushed back to him all at once—bare, honest, impossible to take back. He stayed still, waiting, feeling Jungkook’s hand never stop its gentle motion, his arm still warm around him.

 

Jungkook spoke again, voice low, careful.

“Can you wait a little… until I return those words to you?”

 

Taehyung felt Jungkook’s heartbeat beneath his back—steady, real—and it settled something deep inside him.

 

Taehyung slowly straightened, turning in the tub until he was sitting in front of Jungkook, facing him fully. Water rippled softly between them.

 

Jungkook was already looking at him—there was something uncertain in his eyes now, unguarded in a way Taehyung had rarely seen.

 

Taehyung leaned closer and gently adjusted Jungkook’s hair, fingers brushing through it before tucking the strands back behind his ears. The touch was careful, almost reverent.

 

“Love doesn’t need anything in return, Jungkook,” he said softly.

 

His hand moved to Jungkook’s cheek, fingertips tracing slow, familiar lines.

“I didn’t confess to burden you,” he continued, voice steady, honest. “Or to demand something from you.”

 

His thumb brushed over Jungkook’s skin again, lingering.

“I confessed so you could demand from me.”

 

Jungkook blinked. His eyes shimmered, gloss catching the light as his breath hitched just slightly. Taehyung smiled at him—small, warm, sure.

 

Jungkook held his gaze for a moment longer, then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Taehyung’s lips. It was soft, unhurried. He pulled back just as quietly.

 

Taehyung’s breath caught for a second.

 

They stayed there, close, looking at each other, until the tension eased into matching smiles—easy, fond, real.

 

“Let’s go back to the room,” Jungkook said.

 

Taehyung nodded.

 

Jungkook grabbed two towels, wrapping one carefully around Taehyung before draping the other over himself. They dried off slowly, the air still warm between them, before slipping into fresh clothes.

 

Jungkook didn’t bother putting on a shirt.

 

Taehyung noticed immediately—and rolled his eyes, lips twitching despite himself.

 

“Let me put lotion on you,” Taehyung said, squeezing a generous amount into his palm.

 

“Tae, that’s a lot,” Jungkook protested, glancing down.

 

“It’s not,” Taehyung giggled, reaching up and grabbing Jungkook’s face, squishing his cheeks without mercy.

 

“Tae—ow—” Jungkook’s voice came out muffled as Taehyung laughed harder, his shoulders shaking.

 

Taehyung finally let go, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

“Do you want me to dry your hair?” he asked, still giggling. “I can do it for you.”

 

“No, thanks,” Jungkook said with a small huff, catching Taehyung’s hands and turning his face away so he wouldn’t get attacked again.

 

Taehyung was still smiling—until his gaze drifted lower.

 

His laughter faded.

 

He inhaled sharply.

 

Jungkook frowned and looked back at him.

“What?” he asked. “What happened?”

 

Taehyung blinked, then slowly lifted his hand, pointing.

“Your back,” he said quietly.

 

Jungkook turned toward the mirror, peeking over his shoulder.

 

His back was marked—thin red scratches scattered across skin still warm from the bath, unmistakable evidence of their moment.

 

“Oh,” Jungkook mouthed, staring for a second longer.

 

Then he glanced back at Taehyung, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re an artist, monkey,” he said lightly.

 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung said, glaring at him—but his ears were already turning red.

 

He lifted his hands in front of him, flexing his fingers slowly, eyes never leaving Taehyung.

“Mine is better,” Jungkook said, gaze drifting pointedly to Taehyung’s neck.

 

Taehyung gasped and immediately covered his neck with both hands.

“Yah!” he exclaimed, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it straight at Jungkook.

 

Jungkook caught it easily, laughing.

“You’re such a pervert,” Taehyung said, climbing onto the bed with a huff.

 

Jungkook only smirked.

“At least now I can say things like that freely,” he replied, walking closer.

 

Taehyung narrowed his eyes and tossed another pillow at him.

“Go outside.”

 

“Why?” Jungkook asked, amused.

 

“I don’t trust you,” Taehyung said seriously. “What if you start undressing me again?”

 

Jungkook laughed out loud.

“Hey—this is character assassination.”

 

Taehyung stuck his tongue out at him, turning his face away in mock offense.

 

Jungkook moved closer to the bed anyway, slow and deliberate.

 

“If you come onto the bed,” Taehyung warned, glaring at him, “I’m leaving the room.”

 

Jungkook stopped just short of it, eyes soft. 

 

Jungkook pursed his lips, clearly offended.

“This is not fair,” he said quietly. “l only want cuddles. I promise.”

 

“No,” Taehyung replied at once, pulling the blanket up to his chin and shutting his eyes with finality.

 

For a moment, Jungkook stayed silent.

 

Then—

“If someone lets me cuddle,” he said carefully, “we’ll go to his favorite ice cream place tomorrow. After the event.”

 

Taehyung’s eyes opened.

 

Slowly.

 

He turned his head, squinting at Jungkook as if weighing something very serious.

“…Is that a bribe?” he asked.

 

Jungkook shook his head, lips curving.

“A request,” he said, innocence worn a little too neatly.

 

Taehyung felt a smile bloom inside him before he could stop it. He lifted one hand from under the blanket and made a small, reluctant gesture.

“Okay. Come.”

 

Jungkook’s face lit up instantly. He all but launched himself toward the bed, throwing his weight onto Taehyung.

 

“Ow—” Taehyung breathed out. “You hulk.”

 

Jungkook only giggled, tugging the blanket around them both and curling in close. This time, Taehyung adjusted first, cradling Jungkook’s head against his chest. Jungkook’s arms slipped around him easily, familiar already.

 

Taehyung draped one leg over him without thinking. Jungkook had become his pillow, warm and solid and impossibly real.

 

His fingers threaded gently through Jungkook’s hair.

A soft smile settled on his lips as his eyes finally closed.

 

For once, nothing felt uncertain.

Just this—quiet, warm, and theirs.

 

 

 

---

 

 

My baby here on Earth

Showed me what my heart was worth

So when it comes to be my turn

Could you shine it down here for him?

 

 

---

 

Notes:

Thank you all for the comments and for wishing me luck. Unfortunately, my interview did not go well, but that’s life—it goes on.

I was a little sad, and in that sadness, I wrote this chapter, which may just be a filler, so please bear with it. I wrote it in two hours and later regretted it because this chapter was not planned at all. I kept thinking yesterday about whether to post it or not, but then today I heard the song “My Love Is Mine All Mine”, and there it was—I decided to post it.

Well, enjoy it. I’m not very good at writing smut since I’m a first-time writer and have never written scenes like these before.

I don't want to disappoint anyone with my writing but I am not an expert as this book was supposed to be me ranting, but it turned into something else.

Oh I talk too much sometimes..... Enjoy your weekend and vacations as well.

Author Liz <3