Chapter 5: Spotlight edge

Debut night crashed over them like a tidal wave, a surge of light and sound that drowned out the years of sweat and doubt. The stage was a blaze—spotlights searing, screams rising in a wall of noise that vibrated through the floorboards, adrenaline threading through their veins like a live wire. Jungkook stood center, seventeen now, his dark hair slicked back, mic steady in his grip. His voice cut through the roar, strong and bright, honed by countless nights in the practice room, but his heart pounded—a frantic beat beneath the calm he forced into his stance. He’d grown sharper, stronger, his frame filling out with muscle, but beneath it lingered the quiet boy who sketched dreams when the world pressed too hard.

Taehyung was a step behind, harmonizing low and rich, his voice a deep current that anchored Jungkook’s higher notes. Seventeen and bold, he moved with a reckless grace—dark waves falling into his eyes, a boxy grin flashing under the lights despite the chaos. His trainee days of wild energy had sharpened into something magnetic, a presence that drew the crowd’s gaze, but his warmth stayed, a tether Jungkook felt even now. The song built, their voices weaving together, and as the final chord rang out, Taehyung’s hand brushed Jungkook’s back—brief, steadying, a touch swallowed by the storm of applause. Jungkook exhaled, grounding himself, and they bowed, seven silhouettes against the glare, the crowd’s roar washing over them like a baptism.

Backstage was a whirlwind—staff shouting directions, managers clapping shoulders, the air thick with sweat and relief. The others spilled into the chaos—Jimin spinning Hoseok in a giddy circle, Namjoon laughing as Yoongi dodged a hug—but Taehyung found Jungkook, weaving through the crowd, his eyes bright with the afterglow. “You were amazing, Kookie,” he said, voice cutting through the din, his hand ruffling Jungkook’s hair with a grin. Jungkook ducked his head, shy under the praise, a flush creeping up his neck. “You too, hyung,” he mumbled, and Taehyung’s smile widened, a flash of teeth that lit up the dim corridor. “We did it,” he said, slinging an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, pulling him close for a moment before the others swept them apart.

But fame settled fast, a heavy cloak that draped over their shoulders in the days that followed. The dorm became a revolving door—schedules packed with rehearsals, interviews, photoshoots, the quiet of trainee life replaced by a relentless hum. Taehyung’s energy fueled them all, his laughter a spark in the grind—cracking jokes on set, belting melodies in the van, his voice a constant thread through the chaos. Jungkook watched him, a silent shadow, marveling at how Taehyung thrived where he faltered, the spotlight fitting him like a second skin. But the closeness of those late-night ramyeon sessions, those snowbound moments, blurred under the weight of it all. Taehyung was everywhere—flashing smiles for cameras, bantering with Jimin, harmonizing with Jin—but less with him, the space between them stretching thin.

One night, weeks later, the dorm was empty, a rare quiet after a whirlwind of promotion. The others were out—Hoseok at a dance studio, Namjoon meeting a producer, Jimin and Jin grabbing food—but Jungkook stayed, sinking onto his bunk with his sketchbook. The city hummed beyond the window, Seoul’s lights smearing into a blur of gold and neon, and he flipped open the pages, pencil scratching over paper. He drew Taehyung—sharp jaw, soft smile, eyes that crinkled at the edges—instinct guiding his hand as it had so many times before. The lines were rough, smudged with frustration, but they captured him, filling the hollow that had crept into Jungkook’s chest.

He flipped back, tracing older sketches—stick figures Taehyung had scribbled, a ramyeon stain marking a page from months ago, a memory of laughter and warmth. His fingers lingered, the ache sharpening, and he wondered when it had shifted—when Taehyung’s absence started to sting, a quiet wound he couldn’t name. The dorm was too still, the silence pressing against him, and he shaded Taehyung’s grin darker, as if the graphite could bring him closer.

The door creaked, startling him, and Taehyung stepped in, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair mussed from the wind. “You’re still up?” he asked, voice soft, dropping his bag by the door. Jungkook closed the sketchbook fast, heart thudding, and slid it under his pillow. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, avoiding Taehyung’s eyes, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his blanket.

Taehyung flopped onto the bunk beside him, close enough that their knees brushed, his warmth cutting through the room’s chill. “Missed you out there,” he said, nudging Jungkook with an elbow, his tone light but his gaze steady. Jungkook shrugged, throat tight. “Was tired,” he mumbled, staring at the floor, the scuffs on his sneakers.

Taehyung studied him, quiet for once, his grin fading into something softer. “You okay, Kookie?” he asked, leaning closer, his shoulder pressing against Jungkook’s. The question hung there, simple but heavy, and Jungkook nodded, too quick. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice wavered, and Taehyung’s hand found his wrist, squeezing once—a warm, firm press that steadied him.

“Get some rest,” Taehyung said, standing, ruffling Jungkook’s hair again as he moved to his own bunk. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.” He paused, glancing back, his eyes catching the dim light. “You did good tonight, you know. On stage.” Jungkook looked up, meeting his gaze, and managed a small smile. “Thanks, hyung.”

Taehyung grinned, soft and warm, then turned away, the bunk creaking as he settled in. Jungkook lay back, staring at the ceiling, the ache still there—sharp, unnamed, tied to the boy across the room. The dorm hummed around them, the night stretching thin, and he pulled the sketchbook out again, tracing Taehyung’s face in the dark, a quiet tether to something he couldn’t yet grasp.

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