[SILENCE HAS A NAME]
Seoul, three weeks later.
The quiet between them had become a seco nd skin.
They rehearsed, performed, laughed on camera—every smile shaped like a blade. Every glance, rehearsed. Too polished. Too safe.
They hadn’t touched since Paris.
Not in the way that mattered.
But the night before the group’s new concept shoot, Taehyung found himself standing outside Jungkook’s door again.
No excuse. No reason.
Just... need.
He didn’t knock. The door was already open.
Jungkook sat cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, sketching something in a notebook. His bare shoulders gleamed under the dim yellow light. A tank top clung to his chest, fabric worn soft from sleep.
Taehyung’s throat tightened.
Jungkook didn’t startle. Didn’t speak. Just looked up with those eyes—dark, knowing, aching.
Taehyung stepped inside and closed the door.
Silence, again.
Then Jungkook whispered, “Couldn’t sleep?”
Taehyung shook his head.
They didn’t say anything else.
---
[THE GAZE THAT BURNS]
It started slowly. The way fire does. A fingertip brushing against a wrist. A breath held too long. An exhale that trembled.
Jungkook rose from the floor and crossed the space between them.
One hand cupped Taehyung’s jaw. The other slid into his hair.
“I missed this,” Jungkook breathed, eyes flicking to his lips.
Taehyung closed the distance first.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was hungry. Months of restraint cracked open like thunder. Jungkook pushed him back until he hit the wall, mouths pressed too close, teeth grazing.
Taehyung gasped when Jungkook’s lips moved to his neck—wet heat and teeth dragging along the skin just under his jaw.
He felt it in his knees.
“God,” Taehyung whispered, breath shaky.
“You still taste like Paris,” Jungkook murmured against his throat.
And then Jungkook’s mouth was on him again—kissing like he was starving. Like Taehyung was the only thing keeping him alive.
Clothes became obstacles. Their bodies pressed flush. Jungkook’s hand gripped the back of Taehyung’s thigh, pulling it up around his waist.
Heat. Pressure. Friction.
Taehyung moaned softly into his mouth, head falling back as their hips moved—slow, heavy rolls. Not rushed. Just needed.
Jungkook kissed down his collarbone, biting gently.
“You okay?” he murmured, lips still on skin.
Taehyung nodded, eyes glazed. “Don’t stop.”
---
[NOTHING BUT SKIN AND HEARTBEAT]
They ended up on the bed, tangled.
Taehyung on top now, straddling Jungkook’s waist, breathless and flushed.
He leaned down, their foreheads touching, hair falling like a curtain around them.
“You make me feel insane,” he whispered.
Jungkook’s hands slid under his shirt, running up his spine, slow and reverent. “You are insane.”
Taehyung smiled. Then kissed him again—slower this time. Deep, wet, and dizzying.
The kind of kiss that says: I’m yours.
And also: I shouldn’t be.
Fingers roamed. Taehyung’s hips ground down. Jungkook groaned—low, rough, and wrecked.
Taehyung bit his lower lip. “You like when I do that?”
Jungkook’s hand slid into his hair, tugged. “Say it again and I’ll show you how much.”
Taehyung did.
Again. And again.
---
[AFTER]
The air between them was thick with sweat and heat. Their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces.
Jungkook lay back, chest rising fast, lips swollen.
Taehyung traced patterns on his collarbone. “This… this can’t be real.”
“It’s not,” Jungkook said, staring at the ceiling. “But it’s the only time I feel like I can breathe.”
Silence.
Taehyung rolled to his side, facing him. “You think they’ll find out?”
“They already know,” Jungkook whispered. “They just haven’t decided how to punish us yet.”
A pause.
Then softly: “You regret it?”
Taehyung didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed him again—tender this time. Almost loving.
Jungkook didn’t pull away.
Because no matter how fake it all was…
This part had always been the truth.
By~~~~~
𝕸𝖎𝖉𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖘
