Chapter : 2 Doodles and Ramyeaon

Trainee life was a relentless machine—hours of vocal drills, dance rehearsals, and dreams stitched together with exhaustion and hope. Jungkook carved his sanctuary in the margins, headphones clamped over his ears, sketchbook splayed across his lap. The dorm buzzed around him—Hoseok’s laughter, Namjoon’s muttered lyrics—but he tuned it out, pencil scratching lines into a world he could control. A cityscape took shape under his hand, jagged rooftops against a dusk sky, a quiet escape from the grind.

Taehyung was the opposite—a tempest of sound and motion, sweeping through the dorm like a gust of wind. He’d bounce between the others, pulling pranks, belting off-key notes just to make Jin scowl. Jungkook watched from his corner, walls up, content to stay on the edges. But Taehyung didn’t let edges stand. He’d spotted Jungkook’s retreat early, and like a moth to a flame, he kept coming back.

It started one humid night, the air sticky after a grueling dance session. The others had collapsed into their bunks, snores rumbling through the dorm, but Jungkook sat on the couch, sketching a faceless figure mid-leap. Taehyung flopped beside him, uninvited, his trainee jacket half-off, hair a mess of dark waves. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning in, his shoulder brushing Jungkook’s.

Jungkook flinched, pencil skidding across the page. “Nothing,” he mumbled, angling the book away, but Taehyung’s hand darted out, snatching it with a grin. “Hey—give it back, hyung!” Jungkook lunged, face heating, but Taehyung held it high, flipping through the pages with exaggerated curiosity.

“Calm down, Kookie,” he teased, pausing on the cityscape from earlier. His eyes softened, tracing the jagged lines. “This is cool. You’re good at this.” He grabbed a pencil from the table, scribbling a stick figure in the corner—wild hair, a goofy smile, arms flung wide. “That’s me,” he said, handing it back with a flourish. Jungkook stared, caught between annoyance and a flicker of warmth. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, but he didn’t erase it. The figure stayed, a smudge of Taehyung in his quiet world.

The next night, Taehyung escalated. Jungkook was sprawled in the kitchen, nursing a glass of water, when Taehyung burst in, ramyeon packets clutched in his hands. “You need to eat,” he declared, dumping the noodles into a pot without asking. The dorm was silent, the clock ticking past midnight, and Jungkook hovered by the counter, hesitant. “I’m not hungry,” he said, but his stomach growled, betraying him.

Taehyung grinned, triumphant, stirring the pot as steam curled upward, sharp with spice. “Too late. Sit.” Jungkook sighed, sliding onto a stool, and soon they were hunched over bowls, chopsticks clacking. Taehyung poked Jungkook’s cheek with a noodle, smirking. “Live a little, Kookie. You’re too serious.”

“Stop calling me that,” Jungkook grumbled, swatting him away, ears red. But the words lacked venom, and Taehyung leaned closer, knee bumping Jungkook’s under the table. “Nope. It’s mine now.” His grin was infectious, a flash of teeth under the dim kitchen light, and Jungkook ducked his head, hiding a reluctant smile. The broth was warm, the silence softer than usual, and when Taehyung slumped back, full and lazy, he patted Jungkook’s arm. “Good, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook admitted, quieter than he meant. Taehyung’s hand lingered, fingers warm against his sleeve, and Jungkook didn’t pull away. The moment stretched, simple but heavy, until Taehyung yawned, stretching dramatically. “Next time, you cook,” he said, and Jungkook snorted, rolling his eyes. But the promise of a next time settled in his chest, steady and sure.

It became a ritual—late-night ramyeon when the dorm hushed, Taehyung’s chatter filling the gaps Jungkook left empty. On bus rides back from practice, Taehyung would steal an earbud, their shoulders pressed together as a ballad hummed through the wire. One night, the road stretched long, the city lights smearing past the windows, and Taehyung’s head lolled onto Jungkook’s shoulder, breath soft against his neck. Jungkook stiffened, heart thudding under his ribs, then relaxed, letting the weight settle. The music played on, a slow thread between them, and he didn’t move—not when Taehyung’s hand brushed his, not when the bus jolted to a stop.

Taehyung stirred, blinking awake, voice thick with sleep. “Sorry, Kookie.” Jungkook shrugged, looking out the window to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “It’s fine.” But it wasn’t fine—it was something else, something warm and unsteady, seeping into the cracks of his guard. Taehyung didn’t notice, or didn’t say, stretching as they climbed off the bus, but he stuck close, his elbow nudging Jungkook’s as they walked.

Back in the dorm, Jungkook flipped open his sketchbook, the stick figure staring back. He added to it—broad strokes for Taehyung’s jacket, a curve for his grin—until it felt alive. Taehyung crashed onto the couch beside him again, peering over. “Me again?” he asked, teasing, but his tone was softer, curious. Jungkook closed the book, fast. “Maybe,” he muttered, and Taehyung laughed, low and warm, leaning back.

“You’re stuck with me now,” Taehyung said, casual, but his eyes lingered, dark and steady. Jungkook didn’t reply, but the truth sank in—he didn’t mind. Not really. The storm that was Taehyung had breached his walls, and slowly, against every instinct, Jungkook let him stay.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***