Kim Taehyung was used to the spotlight. It loved him as much as he loved it. For years, the public had crowned him their sweetheart: a flawless actor with warm eyes and a voice that could soften the hardest hearts. Every drama he starred in soared in ratings, every smile of his made headlines. On the surface, Taehyung’s life was picture-perfect—an endless reel of flashing cameras, roses, and applause. But beneath it all was the hunger to feel something real, something not scripted for the cameras.

On the other side of the world—or at least it felt that way—existed Jeon Jungkook. A voice, a ghost, an enigma. No one knew what he looked like. He never appeared in his music videos, never performed live, and never gave interviews in person. His songs appeared like secrets slipped into the night, haunting melodies that wormed their way into people’s souls. To the world, he was “JK,” the faceless genius who made music that hurt and healed at the same time.

Then, one night, the internet caught fire.

A fan who had been at a recording studio late caught a blurred photo of a man leaving with his hood half down, head tilted just enough for the streetlights to kiss his face. It wasn’t blurred enough. The jawline was sharp, the lips soft, the eyes hooded and dangerous. Within hours, the picture went viral.

“Is this JK? The faceless producer?”

“He looks like he walked out of a drama.”

“How dare he sound like that AND look like this??”

By morning, Jungkook’s name was everywhere.

Taehyung’s agency noticed. Suddenly, offers that once had Taehyung’s name written in bold were slipping toward the mysterious newcomer. Whispers filled boardrooms: “What if people grow tired of Taehyung’s familiar face? What if this JK becomes the new obsession?”

The solution they crafted was strategic: put the two together. A collaboration between the nation’s sweetheart and the faceless prodigy who wasn’t faceless anymore. Rivalry disguised as partnership.

When Taehyung first walked into the studio to meet him, he expected arrogance. Instead, he found Jungkook—hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, hair falling into his eyes, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor.

“Hi,” Taehyung said, his voice smooth as velvet, extending a hand.

Jungkook stared at it for a second too long before shaking it, his grip hesitant. “I’m… Jungkook.”

“I know,” Taehyung smiled, leaning just close enough to fluster him. “The whole country knows now.”

Jungkook flushed, ears turning red, and something in Taehyung’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

Working together was chaos wrapped in harmony. Jungkook was perfectionist, obsessive about details, and blunt to a fault. Taehyung was instinctive, flowing with emotion, often improvising lines or melodies on the spot. They clashed, argued, teased—but when they finally merged, the result was electric.

Late nights in the studio turned into early mornings, laughter spilling between takes. Taehyung started watching Jungkook more than he should—how he bit his lip while mixing, how his lashes dipped low when he was lost in sound, how he looked startled every time Taehyung touched him, like no one had touched him before.

And slowly, dangerously, Taehyung fell.

He fell in the way one does during a free fall—helpless, exhilarating, terrifying. His chest burned every time Jungkook smiled at him, though those smiles were rare and shy. He wanted to reach across the console and kiss away the shadows in Jungkook’s eyes. He wanted to tell him: You don’t have to hide anymore. Not from me.

But Jungkook didn’t notice. Or maybe he refused to.

The sudden fame weighed heavy on him. Paparazzi camped outside his apartment. Old friends resurfaced with fake stories. Online trolls whispered that he wasn’t talented, just a face. Jungkook kept his hood pulled low, shrinking into himself, even while his music soared.

And while Taehyung burned brighter with every look, Jungkook only seemed more lost. He didn’t see the way Taehyung’s hands lingered. Didn’t recognize that the warmth in Taehyung’s voice was only for him.

One night, after finishing a track that left them both breathless, Taehyung couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Jungkook,” he said softly, catching him as he packed up his things. “Do you ever think about us?”

Jungkook blinked, startled. “Us?”

“The way we fit together. The way… I feel when I’m around you.”

Jungkook froze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. For a moment, Taehyung thought—hoped—that Jungkook would step closer. But instead, Jungkook looked away, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know how to think about things like that. Not right now. The world’s too loud.”

Taehyung’s heart cracked quietly. He forced a smile, hiding the hurt. “Then I’ll wait. Until the world quiets down.”

And so it went: Taehyung loving loudly in silence, Jungkook stumbling through the chaos of fame, never realizing how desperately someone was holding out their hand for him.

Maybe one day Jungkook would notice. Maybe one day he’d turn toward the warmth he’d been running from. Until then, Taehyung stayed—burning, waiting, hoping.

Because sometimes, even the nation’s sweetheart could only be human. And humans, no matter how adored, still fell in love with the wrong timing.

💜