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Chapter Text

The hall was lit with chandeliers. The scent of roses was heavy in the hall. It nauseated him. Cameras clicked. Murmurs were there. It was like the wedding fit for the empires. But no one asked the groom if he wanted any of this. He didn't even like roses, he liked Tiger lilies, his birth flower. Funny how the meaning of his birth flower is ‘please love me.’ the word that he abhors. 

Jeon Jungkook stood stiff in his tailored suit, it was perfectly crafted for him as if he was a mannequin. He looked like the exact image his parents had spent years crafting. Groomed. Presentable. Powerful. But beneath this polished surface he was blank.

Emotionless and unmoved. 

His mother asked him to smile a little. His father didn't even bother to look at him, he just smiled at the business associates. 

He adjusted his cuffs for the nth time now, fidgeting with them and the collar, standing at the end of the long, flower lined aisle. 

“Can you please stop fidgeting, it's annoying.” Yoongi, his cousin/ best friend, called him out. 

“Oh please, everything about this marriage is annoying.” Jungkook rasped. 

“Can you at least pretend to like it? I mean it's not that bad.” Yoongi questioned. 

 “You say this because you are happily married. And secondly you knew Jimin all your life.” Jungkook groaned, making air quotes at ‘happily married.’  

Marriage. 

It meant love to other people like his best friends. To Jungkook, it meant nothing but partnership.  Strategy. Paperwork. Business. Another link in a long chain of decisions made for him. 

He heard the rustle before he saw him.

Kim Taehyung.

He walked down the aisle like he was sunlight in human form. His black suite was embroidered with delicate gold threads, matching his delicate jewellery resting on his neck. His hair fell softly over his forehead. He looked……. Beautiful. 

Jungkook clenched his jaw. All this didn't matter. 

What mattered was that  Kim industries and Jeon Corp were now stronger than ever. Sealed with a bouquet and a groom Jungkook never wanted. 

His eyes briefly met Taehyung’s, he saw him smile, but he just couldn't bring himself to do the same. 

The ceremony began. The priest spoke his part. Jungkook heard his cue and repeated the lines he had prepared, like he was making a business contract. 

“I, Jeon Jungkook, take you, Kim Taehyung, as my partner in this marriage. I will try to fulfill my duties in this union.” His voice was steady. Empty. as he said his vows.

When it was Taehyung's turn, his voice was softer. Earnest. “I promise to walk beside you, through whatever lies ahead. I promise to make things work between us.”

The words Taehyung said made Jungkook flinch. He didn't want anyone beside him, he never had and he doesn't need to. No one ever stuck around long enough to know him completely. They left him. 

And then it was over. Applause echoed in the hall. Camera flashes went off. A light kiss was placed on Taehyung's hand. 

Cold champagne, endless congratulations, and the crushing weight of pretending, held Jungkook. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The entire time he walked down the aisle, Taehyung felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. It wasn't nerves, not the bad kind. It was the soft feeling of hope, that maybe, just maybe, this marriage could be something. 

His parents had always told him that love was something that you built. Brick by brick. Small gestures. Understanding. Daily kindness. Even if it was arranged, it doesn't mean that it has to be loveless. 

When he looked at Jungkook, dressed in that black suit, handsome and cold, he felt a chill run down his spine. He didn't smile. 

Not once. 

But Taehyung smiled anyway, because that's what you do at weddings, right? You hope. You try. You try to believe in beginnings. 

So when he said his vows, he said them not out of duty, but with sincerity. 

He had meant them. 

When their eyes met again during the applause, he saw nothing in Jungkook's gaze. 

No warmth. No relief. No affection. 

Just……..resignation. 

Still, Taehyung smiles for every guest. Bowed politely. Toasted the champagne. Tried to make small talk with Jungkook but the other only gave short nods and kept to himself. 

It hurt a little, but Taehyung told himself he would not give up yet. It was only day one. People need time to open up. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride to their shared penthouse was silent.

Taehyung sat with his hand folded in his lap, the soft fabric of his suit brushing his fingers. Jungkook focused on the road. Not once did he try to make a conversation. The only noise that broke the silence was the roar of the engine, and the soft music that was playing on the console. 

When they arrived, the house was vast. Marble floors. High ceilings. Clean. Pristine. Almost lifeless. 

Jungkook helped Taehyung with his bags, to which Taehyung softly obliged. Jungkook walked ahead without a word, loosening his tie, as they climbed the stairs to the rooms. At the end on the stairs, he paused.

“Your room is the one across the hall. To the right, next to mine.” Jungkook said without turning around. His voice was flat. He walked into the room and shut the door. 

Taehyung was left alone in the hall. 

That night, he sat on the edge of his bed. Looking at the untouched wedding gifts lined neatly by the wall. The house was silent. 

No laughter. No warmth. No welcome. 

Just two strangers, now bound together in a contract that others called marriage. 

He laid down slowly, still in his clothes that he wore for the ceremony, eyes wide open. 

He didn't cry. Not yet. He was still hopeful. But he did wonder about one thing. 

How do you build love… when the other person you are with doesn't even believe in it?

Chapter Text

The first morning of their marriage began in silence. 

Taehyung woke to the sound of his alarm. Momentarily he heard the soft sound of footsteps in the hall, followed by Jungkook's door closing quietly. He turned on his side as the sunlight slipped through the curtains and touched his face. For a moment he forgot– forgot that the man across the hall was now his husband, that they had stood together in vows yesterday, tied in a marriage not born from love 

He sat up, smoothing his hair, listening for any sound of life in the house. By the time he made his way downstairs, the dining table was untouched. Jungkook was already gone, his absence marked by the cup of coffee left by the sink and the faint trail of cologne lingering in the air. 

Soon after, Taehyung poured himself some hot chocolate, and left for the gallery. 

The gallery at least welcomed him. The walls adored his taste in art, the patrons admired his words, and the paintings– oh the paintings, never dismissed him when he spoke. 

Patrons leaned in when he spoke, enchanted by the way he explained each piece, how he made them feel– not just the facts, but with the stories. 

“This one,” he would point at a painting and say, "This was created in a storm, can you see the bold strokes, mirroring the boldness of the storm, yet still being beautiful. Can you feel the chaos?”

And they always could. Because Taehyung made them feel it. 

Here, he was wanted. The famous art curator. Here he was heard. He was loved in the ways Jungkook had yet to allow. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the office, Jungkook buried himself in work. 

Numbers never lied. Spreadsheets didn't demand affection. His meetings made his day predictable. Decisions made with logic and deals made neatly with others. He was Jeon Jungkook, the CEO and he wore that title like an armor. 

Routine was easier. Safer.

He believed in early mornings and strict schedules. He believed in business mergers and choices weighed on reason– not emotions. 

Love? Love was chaos. And he had lived through enough chaos as a child to know he never wanted it again. So, everyday he buried himself deep in his work, clinging to that one identity that mattered, and he was taught to be. 

But sometimes– just sometimes– he remembered the way Taehyung had said “𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔”t the door, voice gentle, almost tentative. Jungkook had nodded briskly, replied a simple “𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜𝑜” and brushed past him, pretending not to notice the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. 

Sometimes, against his will, he noticed small things.   

Like how Taehyung's voice was always soft in the mornings, offering greetings Jungkook coldly returned. Or how he hummed faintly while making hot chocolate in the kitchen, a tune Jungkook faintly remembers. He told himself that he didn't care. That ignoring is easier, distance was safer. 

But then he would find himself standing outside their apartment door, silently trying to listen to that quiet humming. And he hated himself for that. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Evenings, however, were a different story. 

“Did you eat dinner?” Taehyung asked one night, voice soft and careful as Jungkook slipped out of his jacket. 

“Yes,” Jungkook answered shortly, though the untouched portion of his in the refrigerator told a different truth. 

Another night, Taehyung would try again. “How was work today?”

“Busy.” came the answer from the other side. 

And another: “would you like to join me for a movie?It's just a silly rom-com–”

“I don't have time for that”

The rejections piled up like letters put away in a stray drawer, it pricked at Taehyung’s chest. Still he didn't stop trying. He still tried to engage in conversations, he still tried to make things better between them. He was still hopeful

They slept in separate rooms. The hall between them felt longer than it was, like a canyon. 

Taehyung lay awake some nights, staring at the ceiling, whispering promises to himself. 𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑃𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook told himself he didn't notice. That Taehyung’s efforts were wasted because they couldn't reach someone like him. But late at night, when the day closed in on him, he found himself remembering small things that he shouldn't have. 

The way Taehyung hummed softly while stirring his hot chocolate. The way he laughed at a sketchbook doodle when he thought no one was looking. The way he always smiled, even when it wasn't returned. 

One evening, after coming back from work, Jungkook paused at the living room doorway. Taehyung was curled on the couch, a blanket pulled around him, eyes glued on the television screen. A silly comedy movie played, and Taehyung laughed, warm and bright, his hand pressed lightly against his stomach. 

It startled Jungkook. 

It wasn’t laughter that caught him off guard—it was realizing how foreign it sounded here, in this cold house. 

He walked away before Taehyung could notice him standing there. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days turned into weeks. Their lives moved alongside each other, but never crossed. Jungkook carried the weight of an empire whereas Taehyung carried his quiet hope. 

Even under the same roof, in the same marriage, they felt worlds apart. 

Chapter Text

Three weeks into the marriage, Taehyung learned that the house never truly breathed– it waited. 

It waited for the footsteps in the morning, for the front door to open and close at the exact time everyday, with the exact same thud, the tap of the cufflinks on the console table as Jungkook fixed them without looking in the mirror. 

The house held its silences. Everything Taehyung said went unheard, left to fade in the quiet. 

He tried not to count rejections, but even the gentlest hearts remember. 

So he stopped asking big questions and tried the small ones— the ones that didn't feel like a barge, the ones that required only one word answers. “Do you want tea or coffee?” “What are your favourite flowers?” “Do you have any favourite artist?” 

To which he got “No,” “it doesn't matter,” “No” in return. 

Today, it was an early evening. Taehyung finished curating a small pop-up in the noon, native artists, soft palettes and pieces that felt like a warm hug. He came earlier than usual with a small paper bag tucked under his arm. Inside were the ingredients to his mother’s soup recipe. His favourite, it was like comfort in a bowl. 

He cooked quietly, sleeves rolled up, wedding band cool against his skin. He set the table the way he liked: minimal and warm. Two bowls, two spoons and a small vase with a tiger lily and a cluster of white hydrangeas he'd picked on his way home. One bold and the other one soft, side by side, complementing each other. It was simple. It was the beginning. And he told himself beginnings needed patience, the way hydrangeas– his favourite, needed the whole season before they bloomed in full.  

The lock turned at 8:14 p.m. Jungkook entered slowly, eyes tired, neutral face, posture stiff. 

“Welcome home” Taehyung offered, his voice softening despite himself. “I made dinner. It's nothing heavy. Just soup.”

Jungkook glanced at the table. The tiger lily looked too bold and bright, the hydrangeas too tender– together, they felt like words left unsaid, resting between them. “I ate,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. 

Taehyung doesn't believe that. 

“It will take only two minutes,” Taehyung tried, his voice light and careful. “You don't have to finish it. Just…. Try? Maybe”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “I said I ate.”

The ladle trembled in Taehyung's hand. He set it down, swallowed softly. “Right. Sorry. You must be tired. I'll just put it away.”

He began to move the bowls back to the counter, but the silence in the house felt tight, uncomfortable. It felt like a thin string about to be snapped. When Jungkook walked past him, to the sink, his side brushed the table. The vase tripped, the flowers spilled, petals scattering across the floor. 

Something in Taehyung’s chest scattered with them. He crouched quickly, gathering the flowers. “It’s fine,” he murmured mostly to himself. “Everything’s fine.”

He set the vase upright again, his voice searching one last time, soft as cotton. “We could sit for five minutes? You don't even have to talk. I'll do the talking.” he tried once again, voice hopeful. 

Jungkook stayed silent for a moment, staring intently. Then came his voice, flat, tight. “I don't have time for… this.”

“This?” Taehyung asked, his voice echoing. “Dinner? The basic courtesy of—” 

“Of pretending,” Jungkook snapped, and the words landed sharp and final. “Of you trying so hard to make all this look like something it isn't.”

Taehyung straightened slowly, heartbeat thudding. “What exactly am I trying to make this look like, Jungkook?”

Jungkook looked at the surroundings, the bowls, the scattered petals of the flowers. His voice came out rough. “A marriage.”

The pain flared up in Taehyung’s chest. “But we are married.”

“It isn’t–”, Jungkook started to say something but stopped, shaking his head as if even the word tasted wrong.

Taehyung’s voice thinned. “Isn’t what?”

Jungkook lifted his gaze to meet Taehyung’s, his composure careful, as if he was choosing his words with great difficulty. “It isn’t 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.” 

The word hovered between them. Taehyung didn't flinch from it. Jungkook was watching him, face unreadable. Something inside Taehyung broke open. 

“What is your problem, Jungkook?” The words slipped out sharper than intended. “Why do you look at every kindness like its poison?”

Jungkook’s mouth tightened. “Don’t.”

“No, tell me.” Taehyung stepped forward, voice steady despite the ache rising in his throat. “I ask how your day was, you brush me off. I cook for you, you walk away. I smile, you look through me. What is it? What is so wrong with me trying?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. For the first time, the composure cracked. 

“If you didn't want to get married,” Taehyung pressed, his voice trembling, “then you shouldn't have.” 

Something inside Jungkook snapped. “Don’t you dare say that like I had a choice.” His voice was low, sharp enough to cut glass. “My problem–” he broke off, chest heaving. “My problem is the very word that is love. It was not my choice to get married, Taehyung, I was forced.”

The silence after his words was deafening. 

Taehyung’s throat tightened. He could have said a hundred things in that moment– 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑; 𝑠𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝐼. 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤; 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑? But it wouldn’t change anything for someone who had already shut everyone out. 

So he nodded once, a small movement, trying to hold dignity. “Thank you for saying it out loud,” he said. “I’ll clean up.”

Jungkook looked away. 

Taehyung gathered the bowls quietly, his movements careful. “I'm not asking for love,” he said, voice steady again. “I'm asking for respect. For honesty. That's all.”

Then he turned, carrying the bowls to the sink. The clink of ceramic against the steel sounded too loud in the kitchen. 

Jungkook didn't stop him. He couldn't. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook went to his room before the walls caved in. 

He shut the door harder than necessary, leaning against it, breath ragged in his throat. His words still echoed– 𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑚 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

Why did it come out like that? Why did the word burn every time he said it? 

Memories rose uninvited. 

𝐸𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑙𝑑, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝑁𝑜 “𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢.” 𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑑. “𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑝.”

𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑦 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛'𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑙. “𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑝,” 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡.  

𝑆𝑖𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒'𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒–𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑠– 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒'𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑙— 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 “𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑐𝑦.” 𝐻𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑖𝑡. 

Every time he reached for love, it slipped through his fingers. Not because he was worthy of it, but because in his family, love wasn't real currency. Achievement was. Profit was. Legacy was. So he learned to shut it down. To stay cold. To keep love as far away as possible– because longing for it hurts more than living without it. 

And now Taehyung— smiling, hopeful, too gentle for his own god– was pushing at doors he bolted years ago. 

The soup. The vase with flowers. The small, persistent “good mornings.” 

Jungkook clenched his fists, he wanted to tell himself that Taehyung was the problem. That his smiles were fake, his patience pity. But deep down, he knew the truth. 

Taehyung wasn't the problem. Love was. The word itself was like a blade, and every time it was spoken, it cut open the scars Jungkook had tried to seal shut. 

The sound of running water in the sink stopped. For a second the house fell into this eerie silence. Then Jungkook heard it— the soft click of the door across the hall. 

He froze. 

Taehyung always closed his door quietly, but this time Jungkook noticed. He noticed the finality of it. It felt like drawing a line. 

For once, the quiet didn’t feel peaceful—it felt cold.

He sank onto the edge of his bed, palms pressed to his eyes, the word still burning in mouth. 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒. 

He hated it. 

He feared it. 

And worst of all— he noticed that Taehyung hadn't stopped offering it. 

Chapter Text

The rain was relentless that evening, beating against the windshield as the driver steered through traffic. Streetlights ran across the windshield like in the water. Jungkook loosened his tie and pressed his thumb to his aching temple. Three days had passed since their argument. Meetings, charts, endless voices— he had endured them all. Applause came when he delivered results, but applause was never warmth. 

Today, he was leaving the office earlier than usual. His head throbbed with every drop of rain. 

By the time he stepped into the house, his suit was damp at the edges. Silence greeted him, as it had since their argument—but tonight, the voice he hated to admit he missed was there. 

Taehyung’s voice. 

Jungkook paused in the hallway, drawn toward it. It came from the living room, soft and melodious, woven with laughter he had never heard directed at him. 

“Yes, dad, I made sure to eat. Don't worry,” Taehyung was saying, his tone teasing. “I know, I know— you think I skip meals when I get busy at the gallery. But I promise, I'm not starving myself.”

A pause. A soft giggle. “Mom, really? You and dad are worse than Namjoon and Jin hyung put together. I'm fine. Honestly. No, he’s ....he’s quiet, but I'm fine.”

Something twisted in Jungkook’s chest. He couldn't place it at first— envy, maybe, or longing, or some weird combination of both. He stood there, dripping rain on the polished floor, listening to a kind of combination he never had known.

𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒, not really, a memory whispered.  𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝑡𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑠, "𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠.” 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑.  

𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑓 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑛. 𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 

The memory faded, but the ache stayed. 

When Taehyung finally ended the call with a soft “love you, too,” Jungkook couldn't hold back. 

“Looks like you are very close with your family,” he said from the doorway. 

Taehyung startled, nearly dropping his phone. His eyes widened. “Jungkook—” he blinked rapidly, as if trying to confirm that Jungkook had actually spoken to him first, “uh… yes. We're close, very close.”

Jungkook stepped further into the living room, the rain still dripping from his hair, “it's nice,” he said quietly. “Really… nice.”  

For a moment, Taehyung only stared at him, unsure if the silence had finally driven him to hallucination. “It is,” he said softly. “I’m…. lucky that way.” 

Jungkook sank into the armchair across from him, fingers gripping the armrest. He had no idea why the words tumbled out next. Maybe it was the soft pitter patter of the rain. Maybe it was Taehyung’s voice still echoing in the room. Maybe it was simply exhaustion from carrying silence like armour for so long. 

“My parents never asked how I was or how my day was,” he said abruptly. 

Taehyung froze. 

“They never cared if I ate. Never said they were proud of me. Not once.” His throat tightened around the words, each heavier than before. “All they wanted was...a perfect heir. Numbers. Achievements that mattered to them, not those that made me happy. A future CEO. Not a son.” 

The rain poured harder, as though it felt his pain. 

“When I was twelve,” Jungkook continued, voice low, "I won a state art competition. First palace. My teacher hugged me and blessed me. I came home with the certificate, buzzing with excitement, ready to show them. My father glanced at it once, said art was a waste of time, and asked me if I had started my advanced math prep.” 

He let out a broken laugh. “I ripped it up that night. Every sketchbook. Burned them in the fireplace. When Jimin found out, he cried harder than I did.” 

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting his palms. “After that, I stopped trying to want things. I stopped getting excited for anything. Because wanting only got me hurt.” 

Memories started to flood his mind. 

𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦—𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑. 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦. 𝐴𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑. 𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝑁𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒. 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑇𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇𝑜𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑝. 𝑆𝑜 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑–𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝐻𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒.  

“I’ve carried this—” he touched his chest and temple. “This– weight. Panic that comes from nowhere. I know its anxiety. But to them, it was only a weakness. Something to hide. Something shameful.” 

Taehyung’s chest tightened, but he stayed silent, letting Jungkook pour out everything. 

“I've never been told I was enough,” Jungkook said, his voice almost breaking. “Not once. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I worked. There were always expectations, never love. And when expectation is all you get…” He laughed a broken laugh. “...you learn that love doesn't exist. Not for you.” 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung sat perfectly still, heart aching. Outside the rain blurred the city. Inside, Jungkook spoke with raw honesty that hurt. Words he had held in for years. 

He wanted to reach out. To close the space between them, to place a hand over Jungkook’s trembling ones. But something told him not to. Because Jungkook wasn't asking for the comfort of the touch, but rather the comfort of being heard. 

So Taehyung stayed, and he listened. No interruptions, no reassurances that might sound like pity. Just presence and patience. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook looked at his reflection in the window and was surprised to see an image of himself who had let someone in on his weakness.

Taehyung didn't speak. Didn't pity, didn't offer any cliche words like “you are enough” or “you deserve love.” He just sat there, gaze steady, and warmth radiating from those beautiful brown orbs. 

And for the first time in years, Jungkook didn't feel completely alone in a room. It unsettled him. It scared him. But it also…eased something he couldn't point out. 

He stood abruptly, not trusting himself to stay any longer. “Thank you for listening. Good night,” he muttered abruptly and retreaded to his room. 

Across the hall, he heard it again—the soft click of Taehyung’s door closing. The same sound as before. But this time, it didn't feel like abandonment. 

Jungkook sat on the edge of his bed, rain pattering softly against the glass. There was a quietness around him, but it didn't suffocate him. But rather held him. 

Chapter Text

The rainy evening still made appearances in Taehyung’s memory. The sound of Jungkook’s voice cracking open, spilling truths he hadn't shared with anyone–𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ. 

For days afterward, Taehyung caught glimpses of something different. A small flicker of hope. A beginning. Jungkook’s eyes lingered a little longer, his answers stretched past single syllables. He even said “thank you” one morning when Taehyung set out coffee for him. It had been a small word, but to Taehyung, it felt like a door was open.

So he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe Jungkook was letting him in.

But hope is dangerous when it's one-sided. Because just as quickly, Jungkook began pulling back. He went back to his old routine. The early mornings and coming home late at night. The closed doors. The silence grew back again. By the end of the week it was as if the rainy night didn't even happen.

And Taehyung — who had always hidden his patience behind a smile — felt his heart begin to break.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook made a mistake. He made a huge mistake.

Letting Taehyung hear those words– admitting his parents’ neglect, the way he had anxiety– had been a slip up. Vulnerability didn't soothe—it revealed.

And being revealed meant risk. 

So he did what he always had—rebuilt his walls back. Each short reply, each dismissal, each closed door became another layer of safety. 

Yet sometimes, when he saw Taehyung laughing at his phone or doodling something in his small sketchbook, sitting cross legged on the couch looking all soft in his oversized sweater or humming while stirring his hot chocolate, something inside him ached. He hated that. 

So he pushed it down, deeper each time. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, Taehyung waited in the living room—sketchbook closed, the movie he'd been watching paused. He was mentally preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have with Jungkook. He told himself not to expect much—but when Jungkook walked in, his heart did skip a beat.

“Welcome home,” he said softly. 

“Mm.” Jungkook replied shortly. 

“I made dinner. I can heat it up.” 

“Not hungry.” Jungkook dismissed him again. 

The words landed like stones. 

Taehyung rose to his feet, pulse sharp in his veins. “You can't keep doing this, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook stopped mid-step, his hands on his cufflinks, a frown on his forehead. “Doing what?” 

“Pretending.” Taehyungs voice trembled, not with anger but with exhaustion. “Pretending that I'm not here. Pretending that night didn't happen. You opened up. You trusted me, even for a moment. And I thought—” His throat closed and suddenly speaking felt heavy. “I thought maybe something was changing.” 

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “It meant nothing. That night—it was just words, a moment of vulnerability. Don't read into it.”

Taehyung flinched, a choked sound breaking from him. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Nothing?” His voice rose, rough at the edges. “You told me things you've never told anyone, and now you want me to believe it was nothing?”

Jungkook looked away, not daring to meet his eyes. “Its easier if you don't expect anything.” 

Taehyung’s composure shattered. His tears spilled over, and this time he didn't try to hide them. “You refuse to be loved, Jungkook.” His voice was raw and broken. “You refuse every single hand that reaches for you, even when all I want is to stand beside you.”  

Jungkook’s lips parted but no words came out.

“I understand you are scared,” Taehyung continued, tears sliding down his cheeks now. “I know you are. But you can't keep hiding behind fear and calling it safety. Because love—” He swallowed hard, voice shaking with emotion. “Love is not mechanical. It's not a business contract to be signed and filed away. Love is messy, it's beautiful, it's terrifying—but it's worth feeling.” He took a shuddering breath. “And you don't even try.”

That silence that followed was unbearable. Jungkook’s expression was unreadable, his fists clenched at the sides. 

Taehyung wiped at his face with the heel of his palm, a weak laugh slipping out. “Do you know how lonely it feels to give and give, and be met with a wall? I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt, Jungkook.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “You’re not the only one who bleeds in this silence.” 

Then he turned, retreating to his room. 

The soft click of the door closing echoed through the hall, final in a way Jungkook couldn't name.  

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His tears should not have shaken him, but they did. They cut deeper than anger ever could. Jungkook stood frozen, throat tight, every word Taehyung threw at him heavy and sharp. But it was the tears–the way his voice broke—that left him unable to speak. 

Because deep down, he knew Taehyung was right. 

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑.

The words clung to him, harsher than anything he had ever heard. And yet admitting it, letting it in, felt scary. 

Taehyung’s door closed softly down the hall, leaving Jungkook alone in the living room, silence pressing down on him. He sank onto the couch, staring at his hands, the faint tremor in them. Hands that could sign contracts, that could win deals—yet failed to reach for the person who only wanted to hold them. 

He pictured Taehyung curled up under his blanket, shoulders shaking. The thought alone made his chest ache. 

For the first time, he wondered if his silence wasn't an armour at all.

Maybe it was a weapon. One that hurt Taehyung more than it ever protected him.

He leaned back against the couch, the house heavy with silence. 

And for once, the silence didn't feel safe. 

It felt like loss. 

Chapter Text

It took him two days. Two days of silence pressing against his chest like a bruise, two nights of lying awake with Taehyung’s broken voice replaying in his head—𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑.

On the third evening, Jungkook stood in the living room doorway, watching Taehyung curl on the couch with a blanket draped over his legs. A rom-com playing on the television, colours flickering across his face. Taehyung’s eyes were glassy, lower lip trembling. 

Tears again–this time, not because of him, but because of the ridiculous storyline on the screen: two friends falling in love, one realising his feelings just as the other is about to leave for the US, and a last minute confession shouted right before the boarding gates closed. 

Jungkook had no idea what was so moving about it. And yet something about the way Taehyung’s tears spilled freely, tugged at him. 

He cleared his throat. “Taehyung.” 

Taehyung blinked, startled. His eyes were a little red, but his soft smile came slowly, polite as ever. “Yes?” 

Jungkook’s hand flexed uselessly at his side. “I ...I'm sorry.”

Taehyung stilled. His lips parted, but no words came out. 

Jungkook blurted the rest out, awkwardly and in one breath. “For the way I spoke. For dismissing you. For….hurting you.” the last words nearly stuck in his throat, but he pushed them through. “I didn't mean to. I just….don’t know how to do all of this.”

The silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. 

Finally, Taehyung’s expression softened. He nodded slowly. “Thank you for saying that.” His voice soft and welcoming. “That’s all I wanted. Honesty.” 

Jungkook exhaled, a breath he didn't realise he was holding. He didn't expect forgiveness, not really. But he got it. In that simple nod and that gentle tone, Taehyung had given him.

And Jungkook found himself wondering if maybe–just maybe–it was worth trying not to break that trust again.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The changes began small. 

Jungkook noticed the notes first. Scribbled on sticky pads, stuck to the fridge where his Americano waited in the mornings.

𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑑𝑎𝑦! Accompanied by a doodle of a sun with a smiley face.

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒. With a tiny flower. 

𝐹𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔! With a little bunny sketch that looked suspiciously like him. 

At first, Jungkook peeled them off mindlessly, tucking them into his pocket without thinking much. But by the fifth one, he realised he hadn't thrown a single note away. They sat neatly folded in his desk drawer at the office, as if he couldn't quite let them go.

Then there was the tie.

One morning, rushing out late for work, Jungkook fumbled with the knot of his tie. His fingers were too impatient. Seeing this, Taehyung, passing by, stopped. 

“Here, let me do it.” he murmured, stepping close. His fingers brushed lightly against Jungkook’s as he took over, knotting it swiftly, perfectly. His touch was warm. Too warm. 

“There,” he said with a small smile. “Now you look like the terrifying CEO you're supposed to be.” 

Jungkook looked at him and stared at that small smile. He uttered a small ‘thank you’ and left, but the faint warmth of Taehyung’s hands lingered on his collar all day. 

And then there were the greetings. 

Every evening, without fail, Taehyung asked: “How was your day?” 

At first, Jungkook answered with the usual– “fine,” “busy,” “tiring.” But slowly, he caught himself saying more. 

“The meeting ran late.” 

“Yoongi hyung is giving me hell over a deal.”

“Traffic was awful.” 

And everytime, Taehying listened. Not forced enthusiasm, not with empty sympathy, but with genuine interest. Sometimes he hummed softly, sometimes he offered a small smile, sometimes he simply nodded. But he always made Jungkook feel heard. 

Jungkook also began to notice other things too. Not the things Taehyung did for him, but things that were simply…Taehyung. 

Like how he always teared up during rom-coms, even the bad ones. How he couldn't stand coffee but adored hot chocolate, stirring it absentmindedly while humming under his breath. How he arranged fresh flowers in small vases around the house, making it feel less like a showroom and more like a home. 

He noticed the way Taehyung’s laugh filled the room, warm and unrestrained, as though he had never been taught to be ashamed of joy. 

And most of all, he noticed how Taehyung’s heart seemed…pure, childish, almost. But in a way that was soft, unguarded, open in ways Jungkook had never let himself be.   

It unsettled him. 

Because the more he noticed, the more beautiful Taehyung became—not just in the obvious way, with his angelic features and graceful presence, but in the quiet way that seeped under Jungkook’s skin. 

And Jungkook didn't know how to handle it. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One evening, Taehyung cooked again. This time, noodles in broth, simple but fragrant. He set the table for two without saying anything, letting the smell speak for itself. 

Jungkook hesitated at the doorway, then sat down.

Taehyung’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn't comment. He only served him quietly, sliding the bowl across the table. 

Jungkook ate in silence, but when the warmth of the broth settled in his stomach, he found himself muttering, “it's really good.”

Taehyung’s smile bloomed slow and gentle, like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I'm glad you liked it.” Jungkook couldn't help but to stare at that gentle smile. 

Another night, Taehyung dragged a blanket onto the living room couch. “Movie night,” he announced. “You don't have to talk. Just…sit with me.” 

Jungkook almost said no. Almost. But the idea of Taehyung sitting alone on the couch didn't feel right to him. So he sat. watched half of the movie without understanding a word of it, too distracted by the way Taehyung’s head tilted back when he laughed. 

One evening, Taehyung returned late from the gallery. Jungkook was already home, pacing around the house as the time passed. When Taehyung finally walked in– his hair tousled, a little tired, but eyes still shining bright. Jungkook let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. In his hand, Taehyung carried a bouquet of mismatched flowers, a gift from an artist. He placed them in a vase on the console table. 

“They don't match,” Taehyung murmured, fingers brushing a bent stem. “But maybe that's the point. Sometimes the imperfect things still fit together.”  

Jungkook stared longer than he should have–at the flowers, at the smile, at the way the house finally smelled like ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Each small thing pressed against Jungkook, loosening something he'd thought was immovable.

He still didn't understand love. He still didn't trust it. But he was beginning to see what it looked like in motion– in sticky notes, in hot chocolate and in quiet questions at the end of a long day.   

And it terrified him. 

Because if Taehyung kept leaving these pieces of himself– bright notes, warm touches, laughter in the corners. Jungkook feared he wouldn't be able to keep turning away. 

Worse, he feared what it would mean if he no longer wanted to. 

Chapter Text

It started small.

𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑦?

𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒?

𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑. 𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒?

Taehyung nearly dropped his phone the first time Jungkook’s name lit up with a message that wasn't business-like or obligatory. He reread the words twice, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. 

He texted back quickly:𝑌𝑒𝑠, 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 😣

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 🥰

The replies were always simple— “Okay” or “got it” but they made Taehyung’s heart skip anyway. 

Soon, they became a routine. 

𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟?

𝑇𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑦.

Taehyung teased him once: 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝐽𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑝? 

The typing dots appeared for a long time before Jungkook replied: 𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑦. 

Taehyung pressed his lips together to stop the smile that threatened to take over. He set the phone down, his chest filled with warmth. 

Jungkook began showing up in little ways around the house. 

One morning, Taehyung came into the kitchen to find his mug already filled with hot chocolate, steam curling above it. A sticky note clung to the counter: 

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒. –𝐽 

Another night, Taehyung returned late from the gallery. He already texted Jungkook about it. As he entered their home, he found the hallway lamp still on. Jungkook had left his door cracked open, the faint light spilling out. It was as if he had been waiting without admitting it. 

They don't talk much– Jungkook wasn't suddenly a chatterbox– but the silence between them softened. Shared meals weren't silent anymore, it was filled with light talking and the clink of the chopsticks, and once, even a fleeting laugh when Taehyung nearly spilled water on himself. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Thursday, it all shifted. 

Taehyung came home sluggish, coat dragging off his shoulders, body aching with fever. He barely made it to his room before collapsing onto the bed, pulling the blanket around him. His skin burned, fever settling in fat and heavy. 

By the time Jungkook arrived, the house looked different. There was no Taehyung sprawled on the couch, no cheesy rom-com playing on the television, it felt weird to him. He made his way to Taehyung’s room, there he saw him half-asleep, cheeks flushed. 

“You don't look good,” Jungkook said, frowning as he set his blazer aside. 

“Such charm,” Taehyung croaked, attempting a weak smile. 

“Did you eat?”

“No appetite.” 

Jungkook’s frown deepened. He stood there, restless, until his hand twitched toward his phone. A moment later, Yoongi's deadpan voice filled his ear. 

The line clicked. “What?” Yoongi’s voice was flat, unimpressed, the same as always. 

“I need to make soup,” Jungkook said flatly.

A beat of silence, then a laugh was heard. “Soup? Who are you and what did you do with my Jungkookie?” 

“Hyunggg–” Jungkook snapped, though the edges were dulled by worry. 

“Alright, alright,” Yoongi interrupted, amusement still lacing his tone. “What kind?” 

“For fever. Taehyung’s sick. He hasn't eaten.” 

There was a pause, the tone softer now. “So that's what this is. Okay. Do you have ginger? Garlic? Chicken?” 

“Yes.”

“Good. Chop the ginger thin, crush the garlic. Don’t drown it in water, and please don't overcook the chicken. 

Jungkook scowled at the pot as he set the ingredients. “I'm not an idiot hyung. I can follow instructions.”  

Yoongi chuckled, voice softer now. “I know. But you've never done this before– for someone who matters.” 

The words landed heavier than Jungkook expected. He didn't reply, focusing on chopping the ginger, the way Yoongi directed.

For the next thirty minutes, Jungkook followed Yoongi’s instructions, listening to him switch between scolding and encouragement. By the end, the kitchen smelled warm, steam rising gently from the pot. 

“Not bad, kiddo,” Yoongi finally said. “Now feed him. And don't ruin it.”

“I'm hanging up.” 

Yoongi’s chuckle was the last thing Jungkook heard before ending the call.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook carried the bowl carefully into Taehyung’s room. 

“Sit up,” he said softly, waking Taehyung up. 

Taehyung blinked groggily at the steam rising from the bowl, then at Jungkook. “You…cooked?” 

Jungkook lifted his chin. “I can cook pretty well, thank you very much.” 

A laugh slipped from Taehyung, weak as he was. “Didn’t know CEO Jeon had domestic skills.”

“Eat before I change my mind.”  

Taehyung obeyed, sipping carefully. The warmth spread through him instantly, easing the ache in his body. His lips curved. “Its really good, Jungkook.” 

“Yoongi hyung supervised,” Jungkook muttered.

“Still,” Taehyung said softly, eyes warm. “You tried. That's enough.”  

The words lingered between them, heavier than they sounded. Jungkook’s throat tightened, but he said nothing, only nudged the bowl closer. 

Taehyung only managed half the bowl before sinking back against the bed, eyes heavy. Jungkook set the bowl aside, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. 

“You’re terrible at staying still,” Jungkook muttered, tucking the edges in. 

Taehyung peeked up at him, his lashes fluttering. “And you're surprisingly good at fussing.” 

“Im not fussing,” Jungkook argued. 

“You are.” Taehyung’s voice was soft, teasing. “And I don't mind.” 

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but his hands lingered longer than necessary on the blanket.

Later, as Taehyung dozed lightly, Jungkook sat beside him scrolling aimlessly on his phone, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Once, Taehyung shifted, mumbling something incoherent. Jungkook instinctively reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his damp forehead. 

He froze when his fingers lingered against the warmth of Taehyung’s skin. But Taehyung only sighed, leaning slightly into the touch before sinking deeper into sleep. 

Later, when it was time to retreat to his own room, Jungkook hesitated at the doorway. The thought of leaving Taehyung alone—sick, fever still faint—made his chest tighten. 

“I’ll stay here,” he murmured to no one in particular. 

He fetched a spare blanket and pillow, arranging them on the other side of Taehyung’s bed. When he lay down, stiff and awkward, he could hear Taehyung’s soft breaths beside him. 

“Jungkook?” The voice was soft, groggy, barely above whisper. 

Jungkook turned his head. “What?” 

Taehyung’s eyes were half-open, hazy but smiling. “Thank you…for staying.” 

Jungkook swallowed. “Go back to sleep. Give your eyes rest.” 

Taehyung did, a smile still faint on his lips. 

Jungkook lay awake longer, staring at the ceiling, the sound of Taehyung’s breathing filling the room. For the first time, silence didn't feel like emptiness. 

It felt like comfort. 

And as he finally let his eyes close, Jungkook realized he didn't mind the thought of waking up here tomorrow, with Taehyung breathing softly beside him. 

Chapter Text

The first time Jungkook sat down willingly for movie night, Taehyung nearly dropped the popcorn. 

“You’re… here?” Taehyung blinked at him, hovering a big bucket of popcorn in hand.

Jungkook leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. “You said it's tradition. I figured I should at least see what the fuss is about.” 

Taehyung’s grin spread so quickly it almost hurt. “Well then, welcome to 𝑜𝑢𝑟 Friday night tradition. No business meetings allowed, no emails, and no falling asleep five minutes into the movie.” 

“I don't fall asleep that easily.” 

“Mm, we'll see,” Taehyung teased, passing him the bucket. 

The movie was ridiculous— over the top comedy with bad acting and louder sound effects– but Taehyung laughed like it was the best thing in the world. Jungkook didn't care much for the plot, but he found himself watching the curve of Taehyung’s smile more than the screen. 

Halfway through, Taehyung yawned and let his head tip against Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook stiffened at first, every instinct telling him to move away. But then—he didn't. He let it stay, the warmth of it seeping in, grounding him.  

“Seee?” Taehyung murmured, eyes half-closed. “Traditions aren't so bad.” 

Jungkook’s lips twitched, and a laugh could be heard in his voice. “The jury’s still out.”

But he stayed there until the credits rolled. Blanket wrapped around them and with Taehyung’s head on his shoulder. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Routine had crept into Jungkook’s life without his permission. He noticed now when things were off—when Taehyung’s slippers weren't by the door, when the sketch pencils were scattered here and there in the entire home, when the usual hum of Taehyung’s presence was missing. 

That evening, Taehyung was late. Too late. 

Jungkook paced the living room, phone in his hand. 

𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑦?

No reply.

𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒?

Still nothing. 

By the time the clock struck midnight, Jungkook’s chest was tight, his stomach sour with worry. He tried calling. But it went straight to voicemail. He grabbed his car keys, as he was about to wear his shoes and go look for Taehyung. 

When the door finally opened, Taehyung stumbled in, carrying a rolled canvas, some paint smudges on his cheek. 

Jungkook let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Just to see Taehyung safe and sound, gave him a sense of relief. 

“Sorry!” Taehyung exclaimed breathlessly. “The shipment came late and then my phone died and—” 

“You couldn't inform me?” Jungkook’s voice cracked sharper than he intended to be. 

Taehyung blinked. “I—” 

“I thought something happened,” Jungkook snapped, stepping closer. His hands trembled at his sides. “Do you know how scared I was? God, Tae—” 

The nickname slipped out without thought, raw and desperate. Jungkook’s throat burned.

Before he knew it, he was pulling Taehyung into a hug. Tight, almost crushing, his chin pressed against Taehyung’s temple. 

Taehyung froze in shock, then slowly wrapped his arms back around Jungkook's waist. His voice muffled against Jungkook’s shoulder. “You were really scared?” 

“Scared to my bones,” Jungkook admitted, voice low. “Don’t do that again. Text me. Call me. Charge your phone. Send a pigeon if you have to.” 

Taehyung smiled softly into the embrace, even as his heart raced. “I’m sorry. I won't.” 

The hug loosened, their foreheads almost touching as the city noise faded into something far away. Jungkook didn't let go right away. Calling him “Tae” had felt like a quiet claim, and when Taehyung’s hand slipped into his, it should have been overwhelming.

But instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Jungkook did not retreat to his own room. “I’ll just…stay here,” he muttered, tugging at the blanket as if it was the most natural thing. 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk evident. “Oh? CEO Jeon, abandoning his private suite?” 

“Don’t make me change my mind, Tae.” Jungkook warned, already sliding beside him. 

Taehyung chuckled, lying back.  “Fine. But just letting you know, I snore.” 

“You do not.” 

“Would you know?” 

“I know enough.” Jungkook shot him a look, but Taehyung only grinned wider, eyes closing. 

It became a routine after that. Some nights Jungkook would mutter something about being too tired to move, other nights he just climbed in without a word. Soon enough, neither of them questioned it. 

What surprised Jungkook the most was how much he liked listening to Taehyung talk. 

Taehyung talked endlessly—about artists, about gallery mishaps, about how he thought a painting smelled like “rain soaked into stone.” Jungkook didn't always understand, but he found himself…wanting to. 

One evening, Taehyung waved a sketchbook in front of him. “Look at this piece! It's done by one of my juniors—she tried sfumato, blending everything so the edges vanish into each other. It gives the whole thing this softness—” 

“It softens the light,” Jungkook said before he could stop himself. “Makes it almost smoky.” 

Taehyung’s eyes widened. “You know that?” 

“I read about it. Once,” Jungkook said stiffly, taking a slow sip of his tea. “It’s not easy to get it right.” 

A smile bloomed across Taehyung’s face, warm and unguarded. “You pay more attention than you admit.”  

Jungkook didn't answer, but his ears burned. 

Taehyung invited him to the gallery once—hesitant, almost expecting refusal. “There's a showcase this weekend. You don't have to come, but…”  

“I'll be there.” Jungkook simply said, surprising them both. 

The gallery was filled with critics and buyers, but Jungkook only watched Taehyung. He moved through the crowd like light itself, explaining each piece with passion that lit up his whole face. 

When someone asked Jungkook what he thinks of a particular canvas, he answered honestly: "I don't know much about art. But I know it matters to him—and that makes me want to listen.” 

Later, when the showcase ended and everyone left, Taehyung walked with a boyish grin towards Jungkook, who stood in the corner against the wall, and asked softly, “So…did you like it?” 

Jungkook glanced at him, moving his hands out of his pockets. “I liked watching you talk about it.” 

Taehyung stared at him, wide-eyed. Jungkook simply took his hand in his own, like it was the simplest thing in the world, and tugged him along. “Come on, let's go home. It's getting late.” His lips curved into the faintest smile as he looked over his shoulder to see Taehyung staring at their joined hands. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Domestic life was stitched together with tiny threads. 

Taehyung made hot chocolate every morning, and Jungkook pretended not to notice when his mug had extra marshmallows. Jungkook started making tea for both of them at night, grumbling that it was “efficient and that they should drink something hot before bed,” though Taehyung caught the corner of his mouth twitching. 

They argued over the remote, over whether strawberries were better with chocolate or without, over who folded laundry more neatly. Once, Taehyung doodled bunny ears on Jungkook’s to-do list, and Jungkook rolled his eyes but kept the paper anyway. 

One night, as the rain tapped against the windows, they were both curled under the blanket. Taehyung kept chattering about a new artist who mixed sand into their paint so it shimmered like the shore. Jungkook didn't interrupt him, just listened, watching the way Taehyung’s hands moved with each word. 

Finally, when Taehyung paused, breathless, Jungkook said quietly, "I like it when you talk.” 

Taehyung blinked, surprise flickering across his face before his smile spread, soft and slow. “Careful, Kook.” he teased gently. “Keep saying things like that and I might never stop.” 

Jungkook looked away, ears red. He pulled the blanket to his chest and said quietly, while closing his eyes, "I don't want you to.” 

Taehyung heard him, and his heart skipped a beat before he even realized it. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't love. Not yet. The word still sat heavy, terrifying, untrustworthy.

But it was something.

It was Friday night movies with shared blankets.  

It was panicked hugs when Taehyung was late. 

It was listening to him ramble about colours and wax and light. 

It was standing in a crowded gallery and seeing only him. 

It was falling asleep with another’s warmth pressed close. 

Jungkook didn't know how to name it. But for the first time, he didn't feel the need to. 

Because whatever it was—it felt alive. 

And that was more than he'd ever allowed himself before. 

Chapter Text

It had been Jimin's idea, of course. 

“You two are so adorable and domestic already,” he had teased over the phone. “Friday night movies and gallery shows? Please we need a double date. Yoongi and I will bring dessert. You and Jungkook cook dinner. Deal?” 

So now the apartment smelled faintly of garlic and rosemary, and the dining table was dressed with candles Taehyung had insisted on. He and Jimin were sprawled in the living room, gossiping over wine, while Jungkook and Yoongi lingered in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and doing some last minute things. 

From the couch, Taehyung’s laughter rang warm, the sound bubbling over at something Jimin said. Jungkook, knife in hand, found his gaze drifting unconsciously towards the sound. 

Yoongi didn't miss it. Of course he didn't.  

“You’re softer these days,” Yoongi said casually, tossing onions into the pan.  

Jungkook shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Yoongi smirked. “It means I've seen you Jeon Jungkook. Sitting through bad rom-coms, waiting when Tae’s late, cooking soup. You think I don't notice?” 

Jungkook stiffened. “That doesn't mean anything.”

“Mm,” Yoongi hummed, eyes glinting. “Sure. It just means that you're falling in 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.”  

The word landed heavy. Too heavy. Jungkook’s shoulders tensed, his grip on the knife tightening. “I’m not.” 

Yoongi raised a brow. “Really?” 

“I don't love him,” Jungkook blurted, sharper than he actually meant it. “It’s not…that. Don't make it something it's not.”  

The silence that followed was broken only by the sizzling of the garlic. Yoongi studied his face for a long moment, then shook his head in resignation, choosing not to press further. 

But Jungkook’s chest felt tight, his own words ringing harsh in his ears.

But what he didn't realise—just beyond the kitchen doorway—Taehyung had stopped in his tracks, a glass of wine in his hand. Every word sinking into him like a splinter. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung had been on his way to call them for dinner, cheeks warm from laughing with Jimin, heart light with the thought that tonight—maybe—he might finally confess.

But then he heard it. 

𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚.  

The words hit him like someone just poured icy water down his spine. 

For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His chest constricted, the glass trembling in his hand. He waited, hoping for some correction, some softer words to follow. But to his dismay, none came.

He backed away silently, plastering on a smile by the time he returned to the living room. Jimin was still chattering about something, oblivious, and Taehyung nodded at all the right places, his laughter hollow. 

But inside, something fragile had cracked.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. 

He served the pasta, poured the wine, and joined in the banter. When Jimin made a joke about Jungkook being “a secretly doting husband,” Taehyung forced a laugh, hiding the sting in his chest. 

Jungkook sat across the table, eating quietly, occasionally glancing at him. Taehyung didn't meet his eyes, but he could feel something was wrong. 

By the time Jimin and Yoongi left, hugging them at the door, Taehyung’s cheeks hurt from holding the smile in place. 

When they left, Taehyung yawned and said, “Kook, I'm gonna go to bed early. a little tired.”

Jungkook looked at him with concern. “Are you ok? Want me to get something?”

Taehyung tried his best to keep his eyes from getting glossy. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanna rest. Goodnight, Kook.” 

Then he retreated to their bedroom. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The days after blurred together, the shift was small at first, then it was unmistakable.

The sticky note wasn't there on the first day. Jungkook thought Taehyung must have been running late and had forgotten. The same thing happened the next day, and then again. Eventually, the notes stopped appearing on the fridge altogether.  

The Friday movie nights still happened, but Taehyung sat further away on the couch, laughter dimmed, his head no longer leaning against Jungkook’s shoulder.

They still ate together, he still asked polite questions about Jungkook’s day—but the warmth was gone, it was replaced by something distant.

Jungkook noticed. Of course he did. He noticed the empty spaces where Taehyung used to fill the air, the quiet that wasn't anymore. He noticed the way Taehyung smiled without his eyes, the way he excused himself to bed earlier than usual.

And it gnawed at him. Anxiety crept in as memories of being left alone resurfaced without him wanting to. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One night, Jungkook finally spoke. 

“You’re different,” he said quietly, standing in the doorway of their room. 

Taehyung was sitting cross-legged on the bed with a sketch book, he didn't look up from it. “I don't know what you mean.” 

“You’re quieter. I don't know, you are distant. Jungkook’s voice was low, uncertain. “Did I do something, Tae?” 

Taehyung’s pencil stilled. He forced a smile, still not meeting Jungkook’s eyes. “You’re imagining things, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He wanted to push—to point out how ‘𝐾𝑜𝑜𝑘’ had turned back to ‘𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑘𝑜𝑜𝑘’. He wanted to say that if nothing was wrong, then why wouldn't he meet his eyes? He wanted to demand an answer—but the words jammed in his throat. He'd never been good at this—at chasing what was slipping through his fingers. 

So he said nothing more, retreating into silence. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It came days later. When the silence couldn't be taken anymore. 

They were in the living room, the silence heavy, Taehyung sketching while Jungkook sat with a book open but unread. The distance between them felt like a wall. 

Jungkook stole a glance at him. The brightness Taehyung carried, the little smiles—it was all dimmed. Replaced with quiet that pressed at Jungkook’s chest.

Finally, he closed the book and asked again, his voice rough. “Tae…what's wrong? Please tell me.”  

Taehyung set his pencil down. His hands trembled faintly. “Do you wanna know why I'm different?” His voice was quiet, but cut through the silence. 

Jungkook looked up sharply, eyes hopeful. “Yes.” 

Taehyung drew in a breath, chest aching. “That night, when Jimin and Yoongi hyung came over. I was coming to call you both for dinner. And I heard you.” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. “I heard you tell Yoongi hyung you don't love me.” 

Jungkook froze, words dying in his throat. 

Taehyung’s eyes glistened, but he didn't look away. “I was going to tell you that night…that I was falling for you. But then I didn't. Because what's the point? You made it clear. You don't love me.”

The last words trembled out of him, his voice breaking. He pressed his lips together, blinking back tears, but his composure cracked, his shoulders shaking. 

Jungkook’s heart lurched, his chest burning with guilt, but he couldn't force the words past his lips.

And Taehyung, seeing only silence, let out a broken laugh. “That’s what I thought.” 

He turned away, wiping at his face. He got up and went into their room, shutting the door behind him. The room fell into a silence thicker than ever. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook sat there, frozen, his throat tight, his hands trembling in his lap. 

He hadn't meant it like that. He hadn't meant for him to hear. But the damage was done, carved into the tears on Taehyung’s cheeks. And seeing those tears pained him the most.  

And that's when Jungkook realized silence wasn't the solution this time. 

Chapter Text

The week after Taehyung’s words were rough. 

The apartment, once filled with chatter and warmth, had gone quiet. Taehyung no longer rambled about gallery pieces or bad rom-com plots. No more sticky notes on the fridge, no soft laughter echoing in the evenings. 

He still moved around the apartment–cooked meals, folded laundry, kept things tidy–but he moved like a ghost. Efficient, polite as always, present, but  𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡. 

And Jungkook hated it. 

He thought silence was safety. He'd lived his whole life in it, clinging to it like armour. But now, with Taehyung silent, it felt unbearable. 

Every morning, he found himself waiting for Taehyung’s bright “Good luck today, Kook!” Every evening, he caught himself glancing towards the door, expecting chatter, questions, the familiar hum of Tae’s voice. And every time, the absence hit him like a blow. 

He'd gotten so used to the warmth without realizing it. Now the cold made his bones ache. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When his phone rang, Jungkook’s chest tightened at the name flashing on the screen. 

𝐹𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

“Dinner. Tomorrow at home. Bring Taehyung along,” came the clipped command. Not a request, never a request.

Jungkook’s gut twisted. Family dinners never ended well. They looked polished with crystal glasses and white linen, but underneath, every word from his father felt like a weapon. He glanced across the room at Taehyung, sketching by the window, and his throat tightened at the thought of dragging him into this mess. 

But refusing wasn't an option. It never was. 

He ended the call shortly, voice low with dread. “We’ll be there.” 

The house was the same as always—grand, cold, immaculate, lifeless. 

Taehyung walked beside him, calm as ever, dressed neatly and elegantly. Jungkook’s hand itched to reach for his, but he didn't. He didn't know how to. 

They were ushered into the dining room, where Jungkook’s father sat at the head of the table, his mother quiet and distant at his side. 

Dinner began with polite small talk. They began to eat. Jungkook barely tasted the food, tension coiled tight in his chest. He waited–for the first jab, the first strike.

It came swiftly. His fathers voice cut through. 

“I’ve been hearing things, Jungkook.” His tone was smooth, mocking. “That you've been distracted. Losing focus. Letting others step ahead in negotiations you should have won.”  

Jungkook’s fork stilled. His chest tightened. 

“You had promised once,” his father continued. “But lately? You've been sloppy. Unfocused. That's not the son I raised. That's not the CEO this company needs.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, focusing his expression neutral. The words were nothing new. But they still dug in deep, reopening old wounds. 

And then his father’s gaze shifted, slow and deliberate, towards Taehyung. 

“Of course,” he said smoothly, with a thin smile. “Marriage changes a man. Priorities shift. Some… influences take more of his attention than they should.” 

It wasn't direct. Not an outsight insult. But the meaning was clear. 

Taehyung stiffened, though his face remained composed. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He could have stayed quiet. He usually would have, letting Jungkook handle his parents in his own way. But this time–the implication that he was a distraction, that Jungkook was sloppy, that he wasn't enough–it burned him. 

Taehyung set down his glass gently. Took Jungkook’s hand in his hold under the table, then looked across the table. 

“With respect, sir,” he said with smoothness, "I don't think love or partnership should be treated as weakness.” 

The table went still. His mother blinked, startled. His father’s smile thinned. 

“I know how hard Jungkook works,” Taehyung continued, voice steady. “I see it every day. He gives more of himself than anyone realizes. If he's lost focus, maybe it's because he's finally trying to live as a human being, and not as a machine built to please a company.” 

His father’s eyes narrowed, but Taehyung didn't flinch. “And if I'm an influence in his life, then I'm proud of that. Because I would never try to tear him down.” 

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut, Jungkook’s chest constricted. He couldn't breathe. 

No one had ever spoken to his father like that.

Not for him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jungkook had enough. He pushed back his chair, the scraping of wood against marble loud in the silence. 

He stood, shoulders rigid, voice steady even as his hands shook. “We're done here.” 

His father’s eyes blazed. “Jungkook—” 

“No dad. Enough. Say whatever you want about me,” Jungkook cut in, jaw tight, "I'm used to it. I've heard all your jabs before, in fact all my life.” 

His chest heaved. He looked his father dead in the eye. “But don't you dare say a word about my ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑.” 

His voice broke with raw force. “He’s been nothing but kind, patient and understanding. He's given me more than you or anyone in this house ever has.” 

The room fell silent. His father’s face twisted with rage, his mother shifting uncomfortably, but Jungkook didn't care. For the first time, he didn't care.

He turned to Taehyung, took his hand in his. “We’re leaving. And if you wanna talk next time, call when you know how to be civil.”  

And with that they both left from there together. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The car ride back home was silent. Not the suffocating silence of the past week, but a heavy, trembling one—filed with everything unsaid. 

Jungkook didn't let go of Taehyung’s hand the entire ride. His fingers were tight around his, almost desperate, as if it was the only anchor keeping him steady after the storm of his father’s words. Taehyung didn't pull away, didn't question it– he just held on, quiet strength radiating through the simple touch. 

When they finally reached home, Jungkook closed the door behind them and, slowly, reluctantly, released Taehyung’s hand. The absence was immediate, cold. He turned to him, his throat tight, no armour in his voice. 

“Thank you, Tae.” he said quietly. Earnest and raw. 

Taehyung blinked, startled by the weight in his tone. Then he smiles, faintly, tired but gentle. “Whatever I said tonight…it was all true, Kook.” His gaze softened, “And thank you for standing up for me too. It meant a lot to me.” 

Before Jungkook could find an answer, Taehyung gave his hand a final squeeze and walked towards their room, leaving Jungkook standing in the living room, his heart pounding. 

He sank onto the couch, head in his hands. The words replayed in his mind–Tae’s voice steady, unwavering, as he faced his father. 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛. 

No one had ever done that for him. Not once. 

And then it hit him–all at once, all too much. 

The sticky notes on the fridge.

The gentle questions about his day. 

The patience when he snapped. 

The way Tae never forced, only waited for him. 

The way Tae defended him tonight, not out of duty, but out of care. 

It had never been pity. 

It had always been love.

The very thing Jungkook had spent his whole life believing he didn't deserve— Taehyung had been giving it freely, quietly, from the very beginning. 

And he had been too blind, too afraid, to see it. 

Jungkook pressed his palms against his eyes, his chest aching. Love still terrified him, but the thought of not reaching for it scared him even more. 

𝐹𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 

𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑇𝑎𝑒ℎ𝑦𝑢𝑛𝑔. 

Chapter Text

The morning after the dinner at his parents’ house, Jungkook couldn't focus on anything. 

The files spread across his desk blurred into meaningless numbers, his phone buzzed with texts, some from the board, some from his secretary, but the only thing that kept replaying in his mind was Taehyung.

Taehyung’s hand gripping his under the table. Taehyung’s voice, calm and unyielding. The quiet “thank you” in the hallway before walking into their room alone. 

No one had ever done that for him. And he knew that he couldn't keep living behind the walls he had built. Not when someone like Taehyung was waiting on the other side. 

So Jungkook did something he had never done before: he cancelled his afternoon meetings. Ignored his secretary’s baffled look, left the office before lunch, and drove to get some important stuff. One thought in his mind–to make Tae feel wanted. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His errands were deliberate. 

At the florist, he bought armfuls of Hydrangeas in shades of blue and lavender, because he remembered how Taehyung always paused in front of them, his eyes soft, lips curving in the faintest smile. 

At the market, he picked out strawberries—fresh, red, sweet. He took his favourite hot chocolate, and lopsided pastries from the small bakery Taehyung loved. 

Back at home, Jungkook let himself in and stood still for a moment. The place looked cold–too much like him. But not tonight. Tonight, it needed to feel like Taehyung. 

He dimmed the overhead lights and switched on the lamps, filling the rooms with a warm golden glow. He arranged the hydrangeas— one vase on the coffee table, one in the hallway, one on the kitchen counter and one nightstand. The strawberries went into a bowl, placed on the dining table beside the pastries. Two mugs sat at the coffee table, one for his coffee, one for Taehyung’s hot chocolate. 

In their bedroom, he smoothed the sheets and placed a final bunch of hydrangeas on the nightstand. 

When he stepped back. His chest ached. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't extravagant, but it was his effort. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lock turned just after seven. 

“Jungkook? You're home early?” Taehyung’s voice was cautious as he stepped in. His eyes went from the flowers, to the bowl of strawberries, to the hot chocolate—before they found Jungkook standing near the couch with his hands open like he was about to catch something precious. 

“What’s all this?” Taehyung asked, voice careful. 

Jungkook tried to answer and to his surprise words found him easily today. “For you,” he said. “For us. To say what I've failed to say.” 

Taehyung stood very still. He looked beautiful without trying—hair messed up from the wind, paint at the edge of his nail. He looked like the life that had been growing around Jungkook for months–soft and bright. 

“Come,” Jungkook said, and led him to the couch where he'd set two mugs: his coffee and Taehyung’s hot chocolate, already steaming. Taehyung’s fingers curled around the handle automatically. 

“I owe you an apology,” Jungkook began. “A thousand. For shutting you out. For making you feel unwanted. For walking away when you were brave. For making your love feel like something you needed to apologize for.” 

Taehyung’s breath caught, the word stunned them both. But he stayed quiet, listening. 

“And I need to clear something that I should have cleared the night it happened. The double date. The kitchen.” 

Taehyung’s fingers tightened on the mug. “I shouldn't have–” 

“No,” Jungkook said, gentle but firm. “I said it. I own it. Yoongi hyung teased; and I panicked and said, ‘I don't love him.’ you heard me. You were going to confess, and I…hurt you.” 

Taehyung’s throat bobbed. His lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. 

“I didn't mean it the way it sounded,” Jungkook rushed on. “I wasn't afraid of you. I was afraid of the word. I didn't know how to hold it. But it wasn't the truth of how I felt. And I hate that I made you believe it was.”  

He leaned closer, searching Taehyung’s eyes. “I don't know love–not yet. But I want to learn it. With you. Only you. Tae.” 

The name left him like a vow. 

For a long moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Taehyung’s eyes filled, His lips trembled, then curved into a tender smile. He set the mug aside carefully. 

“You mean that?” he whispered. 

“I’ve never meant anything more.” 

Something broke open in Taehyung then, like sunlight after a stormy weather. He laughed softly, wetly, shaking his head. “Then…show me.” 

Jungkook simply cupped his cheek and kissed him. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kiss was soft at first– tentative, testing. Jungkook brushed his lips against Taehyung’s, waiting, asking. Taehyung sighed into it, his hand lifting to curl into Jungkook’s hair. 

The kiss deepened, unhurried but certain, until Jungkook was leaning over him, bracing his weight on one arm while the other slid around Taehyung’s waist, pulling him closer. Their bodies aligned, hearts beating fast. 

Taehyung gasped softly into it, and Jungkook caught it with another kiss–gentle, laced with everything he'd never said out loud. 

“Okay?” Jungkook murmured against his lips, breath ragged. 

“Yes,” Taehyung whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “More than ok.” 

They kissed again, this time deeper. Jungkook’s lips trailed down Taehyung’s jaw, lingering at the hollow of his throat, before returning to his lips like he couldn't stay away. Taehyung let out a breathless laugh, dazed and warm. 

“You’re different, Kook.” he whispered. 

“I’m trying,” Jungkook murmured, forehead pressed to his. “For you. For us.” 

They kissed until their breaths tangled, until Taehyung clung to him like he was afraid to let go. And Jungkook held him like he never would. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later, Jungkook tugged him slowly to his feet. Their fingers laced together naturally as they walked down the hallway, to their bedroom. 

Taehyung paused when he saw the hydrangeas on the nightstand, and how the bed was made. His lips curved into a soft smile. “You remembered.” 

“I’m remembering everything now,” Jungkook said quietly. 

They slipped under the duvet, still in half-loosened shirts, no urgency in their movements. Jungkook pulled Taehyung against his chest, his arm snug around his waist, protective and steady. 

They kissed again, slower this time, tender, lingering. Jungkook pressed his forehead to Taehyung’s whispering, "I'm not walking away again.” 

Taehyung’s reply was a sleepy hum as he nestled closer, legs tangling with Jungkook’s. “Good. Because I'm not letting you go.” 

Jungkook kissed his hair, tightening his hold. “Sleep, Tae. I've got you.” 

The lamp glowed softly, their legs tangled and finally the silence between them wasn't cold–it was peace. 

They drifted to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms, steady and warm, the beginnings of love finally rooting between them. 

Chapter Text

Something changed after that night. 

It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was quiet, like the slow shift of a season. The morning after Jungkook’s confession, Taehyung woke up and found him alone in the bed. 

He padded in the kitchen, hair messy, expecting to see Jungkook already in his suit and tie. Instead, Jungkook was at the counter in sweatpants and black tshirt, slicing fruit with precision. 

“You’re up early,” Taehyung said, voice still a little thick with sleep. 

Jungkook glanced up, and the corner of his mouth tilted. “I thought you'd like breakfast waiting for you once.” 

Taehyung blinked. Then laughed softly, rubbing his eyes. “You’re full of surprises, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Get used to it,” Jungkook muttered, setting a plate in front of him. 

The words came so casually, but they left Taehyung frozen, heart stuttering. He ducked his head quickly, hiding his face behind his mug of hot chocolate. Jungkook chuckled, sliding into the seat beside him, their knees bumping. 

It was small, but it was new. And it made Taehyung ache in the best way. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another difference was that now Jungkook started texting first and oh so often. 

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑝 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦.

𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑢𝑝, 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦?

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑝.

They weren't long messages, but each one made Taehyung pause, cheeks going warm. For so long, he had been the one reaching out. Now, Jungkook was trying too. 

Once, Jungkook even stopped by the gallery unannounced. Taehyung found him standing in front of a new installation, hands tucked in his suit pockets, head tilted slightly, looking handsome as ever. 

“What are you doing here?” Taehyung asked him a little startled to see him here in the middle of the day. 

“I was close by the gallery, and thought why not give you a visit.” Jungkook said as if it was the most obvious thing. 

“So…what do you think?” Taehyung asked, looking at the new piece. 

Jungkook hummed. “It feels…lonely at first. But if you look longer, it feels like it's reaching for someone.” 

Taehyung’s heart squeezed. “You’re…good at this.” 

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Jungkook asked, serious—as if it were some classified information. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I know all this because I listen to the art curator here very intently. He's very beautiful, almost ethereal. It's hard not to look at him,” Jungkook said, with complete seriousness. 

Taehyung played along. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah. And you know what the best part is?” Jungkook muttered oh so softly, eyes fixed on Taehyung. “ I get to call him 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒.”  

Taehyung had to look away, flustered—before his smile gave him away completely. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Evenings changed too. 

Where silence was once very prominent, now their home buzzed with laughter. Jungkook joined movie nights without any coax, sometimes choosing the movie too. He sat pressed against Taehyung, pulling the mustard blanket over their laps like it was instinct. 

One Friday, Taehyung sniffled at a rom–com ending, tissues clutched in hand. 

“You cry at everything,” Jungkook teased, nudging his shoulder. 

“It’s called empathy,” Taehyung sniffled. 

“It's called being dramatic.” Jungkook smirked, then softened his voice. “But it's cute. You’re cute.” 

Taehyung froze, ears turning red, and Jungkook chuckled quietly, satisfied. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But the clearest change showed in the mornings. 

Before, Jungkook left for work with nothing more than a nod. Now, he paused by the door, tie neat, coat in hand, and he leaned down to press a quick kiss against Taehyung’s temple. 

“See you in the evening, baby,” he murmured, the word sliding so naturally from his lips, it made Taehyung’s breath catch.

The first time he said it, Taehyung nearly dropped the toast in his hands. His cheeks flushed, his heart stammered, and he could only manage a quiet, “have a good day, Kook.”

Jungkook smirked, clearly pleased with the effect. Since then, the kisses had become routine—soft pecks on the temple, cheek, or sometimes directly on the lips, quick but grounding. And every time, Taehyung was left a little dazed in the kitchen, his smile lingering long after the door clicked shut. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The nights were different too. 

They didn't sleep on the opposite sides of the bed. Every night, Jungkook pulled Taehyung into his chest, strong arms around his waist, legs tangled. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Taehyung stirred and felt Jungkook’s hand tighten instinctively, as if making sure he didn't slip away. 

“Why do you always hold me so tight?” Taehyung asked once in the dark. 

Jungkook’s lips brushed the top of his hair. “Because I can.” He paused, then added softly, “Because I want to.” 

Taehyung buried his face in Jungkook’s chest, hiding the shy smile he couldn't stop. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day by day, their lives stitched themselves together. Mugs left side by side on the counter. Jungkook’s ties were fixed by Taehyung's gentle fingers in the morning. Strawberries in the fridge because Jungkook remembered. Taehyung hummed as Jungkook typed on his laptop nearby, silence now easy and full. 

Once, Taehyung teased Jungkook about his tie choice. 

“You’d look better in blue today.” 

Jungkook arched his brow. “Are you saying I don't look good now?” 

Taehyung faltered, ears pink. “N-no, I mean—”  

Jungkook leaned in, voice low, playful. “Relax, baby. I'm teasing you.” 

Taehyung swatted his arm, flustered. But his lips curved, and Jungkook’s grin only widened. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had come so far—from stiff silences and cold doors to soft kisses at the doorway, late–night laughter under the blanket, and Jungkook’s quiet endearments spoken like they belonged only to him. 

One night, as they lay tangled together, Taehyung whispered into the quiet, "you've changed, Kook.” 

Jungkook pressed a kiss to his hair. “Maybe. Or maybe I finally let myself be who I wanted to be.” 

Taehyung smiled, eyes closing. “I like this version of you.” 

Jungkook’s arm tightened around him, his voice warm in the soft hue of the night light. “Good. Because this version is only yours, baby.” 

He called out silently. “Tae?” 

Taehyung looked up at him, staring in his eyes. “Yes, Kook?” 

“𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖.” Jungkook said earnestly. 

The words he had feared all his life—the ones he never truly believed in—fell from his lips with ease, as if they were the only truth he'd ever known. 

Taehyung looked at him, teary eyed. 

“𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐𝒐, Kook.” 

And then they fell asleep in each other's arms, peace and love wrapping them. 

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑. 

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒.

Chapter Text

Time had passed in the quietest, gentlest ways. 

A year ago, Jungkook and Taehyung had stood in front of hundreds, vows spoken like contracts, their faces stiff for the cameras. That day looked perfect to everyone else. But they knew better. 

This day was different. 

It was the same date, one year later. But the air was softer. The sky is cleaner. And when Jungkook looked at Taehyung now, he didn't see a stranger he had been forced to marry. He saw the man who had filled his silence with warmth, who had taught him that love wasn't a contract, it wasn't a trap. It was a beautiful feeling. It was a choice. And he had chosen Taehyung. Every day since. 

The proposal had been simple. 

Jungkook had come from the office that evening. It was one of their usual Friday night movie sessions. He’d insisted on setting the snack tray that day, and nestled between the bowls of chips and popcorn sat a small velvet box. 

“Marry me again, Tae,” Jungkook had said, dropping to one knee in front of Taehyung, who sat stunned on the couch.

“This time, not for anyone else. But for us.”   

Taehyung’s answer had been instant. “Always, Kook.” 

And so they planned–not a spectacle of a wedding, just a celebration of love. Not to impress the world, but to choose each other. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The venue was a small garden tucked away from the hustle bustle of the city, all soft arches and fairy lights woven through trees. Hydrangeas bloomed everywhere–blue and purple and white—lining the aisle and filling the glass vases on tables. Small golden light globes kept on the table. The air smelled faintly of summer and rain.

Taehyung had planned every detail with meticulous care, Jungkook had insisted on a few things: the lights should be warm and golden, the music soft, and the chairs close together so no one felt far. 

Their friends filled the rows: Namjoon and Jin hand in hand, Hoseok laughing heartedly as he fixed his tie, Yoongi whispering something that made Jimin smack lightly. No distant business partners, no cold relatives. Just the family they had chosen.

The ceremony was intimate, but it was everything.  

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung walked down the aisle, escorted by Jin, who had tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. Taehyung’s suit was cream with delicate embroidery along the cuffs, purple hydrangea boutonniere pinned neatly against his chest. He walked towards Jungkook standing at the end, smiling so brightly that Jungkook felt the air leave his lungs.  

And Jungkook, his suit black and sharp, but softened with a matching flower tucked into his pocket square. His gaze was locked on Taehyung unwavering.

When they finally stood together at the altar, hands brushing, the officiant smiled. “We're here not to bind two people, but to celebrate their love–the voice they make every day. Taehyung, Jungkook– your vows.” 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taehyung went first. 

He held Jungkook’s hands, his voice steady but eyes shining. 

“A year ago, I stood in front of you, and I smiled even when I was scared, because I believed we could make something out of that situation. And I tried. And for a long time, it felt like I was trying alone. But then…” his voice caught, and Jungkook’s thumb brushed gently across his knuckles. 

“Then you opened up. You let me in, you let yourself be loved. Kook, every day since, you've shown me what love looks like when it's real. In small cats, in quiet texts, in the way you kiss me before leaving for work. You call me ‘baby’ now like it's the most natural thing, and every time you do, I still feel like I might melt. 

“So today, my vow is simple. I'll keep loving you, not just when it's easy, but when it's hard. I'll keep reminding you that you're not alone, that you never were. And I'll keep being home for you, the way you are for me.” 

Tears pricked Jungkook’s eyes. He squeezed Taehyung’s hands, grounding himself in their warmth. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Jungkook’s turn now. 

Jungkook took a shaky breath, but his voice was firm. 

“A year ago, I stood in front of you too. But back then, I didn’t believe in love, I thought it was something other people got to have, and not me. I was told it was a weakness, or worse–a lie.” 

“But then there was you. Tae, you were stubborn enough to keep trying when I pushed you away. Brave enough to love me when I couldn't love myself. You defended me when no one else did. And you never stopped seeing me, even when I made it hard.” 

“So my vow today is: I'll spend the rest of my life loving you. I'll protect you, cherish you, and tease you just enough to see you blush. I'll kiss you in the mornings and hold you at night. And I'll never stop choosing you. Every day. Always.” 

Taehyung’s lips trembled into a watery smile, and Jungkook had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from kissing him right then and there.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You may seal your vows with a kiss,” the officiant said. 

Jungkook didn't wait a second longer. He pulled Taehyung forward, one hand cradling his jaw, the other pressing to his waist, and he kissed him deeply.

It wasn't hurried. It was deep, slow, filled with everything they had walked through to get here. Taehyung melted into it, fingers clutching Jungkook’s lapels, smiling against his lips. 

Their friends cheered, clapped, and laughed. Jimin's voice rang out loudest—”Finally!” —-while Yoongi muttered, “Finally, someone Jeon Jungkook actually listens to.” That made Jimin laugh even harder. 

Namjoon and Jin shared a quick kiss, and Hobi wiped his eyes—very emotional from the vows, but very happy for his baby cousin. 

But Jungkook only saw Taehyung. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The reception was small, cozy, filled with laughter. 

Jimin argued that he would dance with Taehyung, that it was his right as his soulmate, until Jungkook pulled Taehyung into his arms and said, “Sorry, he's taken.” Jimin pouted. Yoongi smirked. 

Namjoon clinked his glass and gave a short toast: “To my brother, and Kook may you both always smile this bright. May you both never forget how far you've come.” Jin slipped his hands into his, beaming. 

Hobi dragged Taehyung onto the dance floor, spinning him until he laughed so hard he nearly fell. Jungkook cut in, steadying him, murmuring low, “Careful, baby. Hobi hyung almost stole you from me.”

Taehyung flushed crimson, shoving at his chest. “Don’t call me that here in front of everyone.” 

Jungkook grinned, leaning down so only he could hear. “Why not? You're mine either way.” 

Taehyung’s heart tripped, his mile breaking wide despite his best effort. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the night went on, their friends lingered around tables, laughter mingling with the soft glow of the golden globes. Jungkook and Taehyung slipped away to the garden’s edge. 

Jungkook laced their fingers together, tugging Taehyung close until his forehead rested against his. “We did it,” he whispered. 

Taehyung’s eyes shone in the golden light. “We did. And it feels…perfect.” 

“It does,” Jungkook agreed, kissing him softly, slowly. “Because this time, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔.” 

And as laughter carried from the tables behind them, as flowers swayed and the golden hue of the lights, Jungkook realized he had finally found what he never thought he'd have: love that wasn't forced, or cold, or conditional. 

 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑇𝑎𝑒ℎ𝑦𝑢𝑛𝑔. 

𝐻𝑜𝑚𝑒. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They wrapped the night the way they had ended so many nights in the past year–wrapped in each other’s arms. But this time, their rings glinted faintly under the moonlight, two bands bound not by duty but by choice, by love.

And when Taehyung drifted to sleep against his chest, Jungkook thought that maybe love had always been waiting for him—he had just needed his Tae to show him how to feel it.  

Forever didn't feel scary anymore. 

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. 

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝑻𝒂𝒆𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒈.