Chapter 4: pre debut jitters

The evaluation loomed like a storm cloud, heavy and inevitable, casting shadows over the trainee dorm as the final hurdle before debut approached. It was their make-or-break moment—years of sweat, sleepless nights, and whispered dreams distilled into one performance, one chance to prove they belonged. The practice room buzzed with tension, the air thick with the tang of exertion and the faint hum of the air conditioning struggling against the heat of seven bodies pushing their limits. Jungkook paced near the mirrors, his sneakers scuffing the hardwood, palms slick with sweat that he wiped on his shorts. His voice cracked on a high note during their last run-through—a note he’d hit flawlessly a hundred times before—and the sound echoed in his skull, a taunt he couldn’t shake.

He was sixteen, still growing into the strength he chased, his dark hair falling into wide, restless eyes that darted from the floor to his reflection. Jungkook’s hands trembled as he reset the music, the beat thudding back to life, a relentless pulse that matched the frantic rhythm of his heart. He’d always been the quiet one, the boy who poured himself into every step, every lyric, until his body ached and his mind spun. Debut was so close he could taste it—bright lights, roaring crowds—but doubt clawed at him, whispering what-ifs he couldn’t silence. What if he faltered? What if he wasn’t enough?

Taehyung watched from the floor, sprawled out with a water bottle dangling from his fingers, his trainee jacket unzipped over a faded shirt. Seventeen and bold, he was a contrast to Jungkook’s storm—dark waves tousled across his forehead, a boxy grin flickering even now, though his eyes tracked Jungkook’s every move with a quiet intensity. He’d been humming earlier, a carefree melody that had grated on Jungkook’s nerves, but now he was still, his presence a steady hum beneath the chaos. Taehyung was the spark, the one who lit up the dorm with laughter and wild energy, his voice a deep thread that wove through their songs, his dance a reckless grace that Jungkook envied. But beneath it all was a warmth, a tether he offered without fanfare.

“You’re freaking out,” Taehyung said finally, his voice cutting through the music as he stood, stretching his arms with a lazy yawn. He stepped close—too close—his sneakers brushing Jungkook’s as he stopped the track with a tap. Jungkook froze, breath short, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. “I’m fine,” he lied, but his hands shook, betraying him, and he clenched them into fists, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze.

“You’re not,” Taehyung said, softer now, and he grabbed Jungkook’s hands, his grip firm and warm, fingers curling around Jungkook’s knuckles. “Breathe, Kookie.” His thumbs brushed slow circles over Jungkook’s skin, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge. Jungkook exhaled, shaky and uneven, meeting Taehyung’s eyes—dark, certain, a lifeline in the swirling panic. They stood there, inches apart, the room fading to a blur of mirrors and shadows, and Taehyung’s voice dropped low. “What if I mess up?” Jungkook asked, the words spilling out, small and raw.

“You won’t,” Taehyung said, squeezing his hands once, firm and sure. His lips quirked, a glint of mischief breaking through. “And if you do, I’ll trip on stage to make you look better.” He winked, and Jungkook huffed a laugh, the sound cracking the tension like ice underfoot. “Idiot,” he muttered, but his shoulders eased, the knot in his chest loosening as Taehyung’s grin widened, bright and unshakeable.

They ran the song again, Taehyung beside him, harmonizing low and rich, his voice weaving seamlessly with Jungkook’s. The notes steadied, each step surer, and Taehyung’s presence was a ballast—close enough that their elbows brushed, warm enough that Jungkook felt it through the haze. When they finished, breathless, Taehyung clapped his back, hand lingering a beat too long. “See? You’ve got this,” he said, and Jungkook nodded, still catching his breath, the panic receding like a tide.

That night, the evaluation came—a sterile room with harsh lights, stern faces behind a table, seven boys pouring their souls into every note. Jungkook stood center, mic steady, his voice rising strong and bright, Taehyung’s blending beside him in a harmony that felt like home. The judges scribbled, nodded, and when the last chord faded, the air held still—then exploded with cheers as their names were called, seven futures sealed. Jungkook’s knees wobbled, relief flooding him, and Taehyung was there, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they stumbled out, grinning wide. “Told you,” he said, pulling him close, his voice a warm rumble against the noise.

Jungkook leaned into it, just for a moment, warmth flooding his chest as the others whooped around them—Jimin spinning Hoseok, Namjoon clapping Yoongi’s back. “Yeah, you did,” he said, soft under the chaos, and Taehyung’s arm tightened, a quiet anchor in the storm of almost-made-it. They walked back to the dorm, the city buzzing beyond the glass, Seoul’s lights smearing into a blur of gold and red. Taehyung’s arm stayed, his fingers brushing Jungkook’s neck as they moved, and Jungkook didn’t shrug it off—not then, not yet.

Back in their room, the others collapsed into chatter, adrenaline still buzzing, but Jungkook sank onto his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Taehyung flopped beside him, sprawling out, his knee knocking Jungkook’s again. “You were good out there,” he said, turning his head, eyes soft in the dim light. Jungkook shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You too, hyung.”

“Told you I’m a genius,” Taehyung teased, but his hand found Jungkook’s wrist, squeezing once—a brief, warm press that lingered as he rolled away, staring at the bunk above. Jungkook’s pulse thudded, steady now, and he didn’t pull back. The dorm hummed around them, the night stretching thin, but in that quiet space, something settled—a thread tightening, unspoken but sure.

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