The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath Jungkook’s socks. Midnight practice had become his ritual — a way to work off the adrenaline after a concert, or sometimes… to escape his thoughts.
He didn’t expect to find someone already there.
Taehyung sat in the corner of the studio, legs crossed, head tilted back against the mirrored wall. His eyes were closed, earphones in. The low glow of the city lights slipped through the window blinds, casting stripes of gold across his face.
Jungkook froze at the door.
He thought about walking away. But something pulled him in.
“You’re up late,” Jungkook said softly, letting the door ease shut behind him.
Taehyung’s eyes fluttered open, slow like waking from a dream. “Could say the same about you.”
Jungkook moved to the middle of the room, tossing his hoodie on the floor. “Couldn't sleep.”
Taehyung pulled out one earbud. “Same.”
They sat in silence, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken things. Jungkook rolled his shoulders and let the music from his phone fill the room — something slow, with a beat that lingered like rain.
He started to move, body fluid, chasing rhythm with quiet focus.
Taehyung watched from the mirror. “You always dance like you’re hiding something.”
Jungkook’s foot slipped just slightly. He paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Taehyung said, standing up and walking toward him, “you only let people see what you want them to see.”
Jungkook scoffed. “And what do you think I’m hiding?”
Taehyung came close, too close — his breath brushing Jungkook’s neck. “Maybe that you’re scared of what happens if someone sees all of you.”
Their eyes locked in the mirror, two reflections tangled in tension.
Jungkook turned. “You always talk like you’re reading poetry out loud.”
Taehyung grinned. “Maybe I am.”
He reached for Jungkook’s hand. “Dance with me.”
Jungkook hesitated. Taehyung’s fingers curled gently around his, calloused from guitar strings and stage mics. The touch was grounding. Familiar.
They moved together — not choreography, just rhythm. Just instinct.
Jungkook wasn’t sure when dancing became something else. When their fingers laced. When Taehyung’s arm slid around his waist. When their foreheads met, breaths syncing.
“I hate how you do this,” Jungkook whispered.
“Do what?”
“Make it impossible to pretend.”
Taehyung pulled back slightly, eyes searching his. “Pretend what?”
“That this… doesn’t mean something.”
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then Taehyung said quietly, “It means everything.”
Jungkook’s eyes dropped. “We can’t.”
“We already are.”
There it was again — that poetic honesty Taehyung wore like skin.
Jungkook stepped back, needing space he didn’t want. “If we let it happen, everything changes.”
Taehyung’s voice softened. “Maybe it’s supposed to.”
Jungkook looked at him then — really looked. The late-night shadows, the tired eyes, the quiet longing. This wasn’t just friendship on fire. It was something old and inevitable. Something terrifying and true.
He closed the distance.
Their lips met — slow, questioning, real.
No music. No lights. No screaming fans.
Just two hearts breaking rules for a moment they couldn’t resist.
When they parted, Taehyung rested his forehead against Jungkook’s.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.
Jungkook nodded, heart pounding. “Yeah… we will.”
And somewhere, in the quiet between rehearsals, Taekook began.
