chapter 14: fight

The tour had stretched BTS into a taut wire, each city a new strain on their rhythm, their unity fraying under the weight of exhaustion and relentless schedules. Jungkook sat in a hotel room in Singapore, seventeen and frayed, the city’s skyline a humid blur beyond the window—towers piercing a haze of lights, the air thick with the scent of rain that clung to the glass. The room was a sterile cage—beige walls, a bed too firm, the air conditioner’s hum a constant drone that grated on his nerves. His dark hair, damp from a shower, fell into his eyes, longer now, brushing his lashes as he slumped against the headboard, his phone idle in his lap. The tour was a marathon, each show a victory etched in sweat and cheers, but the pace had carved hollows into his face, a weariness that seeped into his bones and sharpened the ache he carried for Taehyung.

He was Jeon Jungkook, the quiet one, the boy who’d traded youth for a dream that now towered over him, his voice a honed blade, his body a testament to years of grit. The stage was his proving ground, each roar of the crowd a lifeline, but off it, he was softer—guarded, retreating into sketches when the world pressed too hard. His bag lay by the bed, sketchbook tucked inside, its pages a gallery of Taehyung—grins, glances, moments frozen in graphite that held him together when the distance grew too vast. The tour had split them, Taehyung’s warmth a fleeting presence in rushed moments, and Jungkook felt it—a bruise that deepened since the midnight call in Chapter 13, a longing that gnawed at him in the quiet.

Taehyung was in the same hotel, floors apart, his schedule tangled with Jimin’s for a promotional event while Jungkook rehearsed with Namjoon. Eighteen and luminous, Taehyung shone under the tour’s glare—dark waves styled for the spotlight, a boxy grin that charmed thousands, a voice that wove through their songs and steadied Jungkook’s heart. He was the spark, the one who thrived in chaos, but the distance had stretched even him thin, his laughter rarer, his closeness a memory Jungkook clung to. The call from Sydney had bridged them, a thread of warmth across the miles, but the days since had frayed it, their interactions clipped by fatigue and the tour’s relentless pull.

Tonight, the tension snapped. The group had gathered in a rehearsal space downstairs, a makeshift studio carved from a conference room—mirrors propped against walls, the floor scuffed from their steps, the air thick with the musk of effort. They’d run the setlist twice, voices hoarse, bodies aching, and the choreographer’s critiques had sharpened—tighter, faster, together. Jungkook moved through it, sweat dripping, his focus razor-edged, but Taehyung played—twirling Jimin mid-step, laughing when Hoseok stumbled, his grin a flash that lit the room but pricked at Jungkook’s nerves.

“Focus, hyung,” Jungkook snapped, resetting his stance, his voice cutting through the music, and Taehyung spun toward him, grin faltering. “Relax, Kookie,” he said, light but edged, brushing past with a nudge. “It’s just practice.”

“It’s not just anything,” Jungkook shot back, louder now, the others pausing—Hoseok mid-stretch, Jimin glancing over. “We’re a mess out there.” His chest heaved, frustration spilling over, and Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, stepping closer. “You’re the one messing up, glaring at me like that,” he said, voice low, teasing gone. “What’s your problem?”

“You,” Jungkook said, too quick, too sharp, and the room stilled, the music looping on without them. Taehyung blinked, then laughed—short, incredulous. “Me? What’d I do?” He stepped into Jungkook’s space, shoulder brushing his, and Jungkook shoved him back, hands trembling. “You’re always screwing around,” he said, voice rising. “With Jimin, with everyone. It’s not funny anymore.”

Taehyung’s grin vanished, his jaw tightening. “Screwing around?” he echoed, stepping closer again, heat radiating between them. “I’m keeping us sane. You’re the one sulking like a kid.” His voice was steady, but his eyes flashed, dark and wounded, and Jungkook’s stomach twisted, anger and something else—guilt, want—clashing in his chest. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy playing, I wouldn’t have to,” he spat, and Taehyung’s hand shot out, grabbing Jungkook’s wrist, firm and hot.

“Stop it,” Taehyung said, low, a warning, and Jungkook yanked free, chest heaving, the others staring—Jin stepping forward, Namjoon calling, “Hey, cool it”—but Jungkook turned, storming to the door, the music a dull thud behind him. “I’m done,” he muttered, slamming it open, and the hallway swallowed him, the air cooler but no less suffocating.

He paced the corridor, hands clenched, the fight replaying—Taehyung’s laugh, his grip, the sting of his words. It wasn’t just the rehearsal; it was the distance, the way Taehyung’s warmth had slipped through his fingers, shared with Jimin, with the world, when Jungkook needed it most. He sank against the wall, head back, breath ragged, and the ache sharpened, a jealousy he couldn’t name, a fear that Taehyung was drifting too far to pull back.

Footsteps echoed, and Taehyung appeared, jacket off, hair mussed, his expression a mix of anger and something softer. “What the hell, Kookie?” he said, stopping short, voice rough. “You can’t just walk out like that.”

“You don’t get it,” Jungkook muttered, avoiding his eyes, arms crossed tight. Taehyung stepped closer, too close, his warmth a blade against Jungkook’s skin. “Then explain it,” he said, firm but quiet, and Jungkook’s resolve cracked, the words spilling out. “You’re always with him,” he said, voice breaking. “Jimin. Laughing, touching—I can’t—” He stopped, face heating, and Taehyung’s eyes widened, realization dawning.

“You’re jealous,” Taehyung said, soft, almost a question, and Jungkook flinched, turning away, but Taehyung grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Hey, look at me.” His voice was steady, grounding, and Jungkook met his gaze—dark, searching, closer than ever. “Jimin’s my friend,” Taehyung said, slow. “You’re… different.” His hand lingered, thumb brushing Jungkook’s sleeve, and the air thickened, charged with a truth neither named.

Jungkook’s heart thudded, loud and fast, and he pulled free, stepping back, the wall cool against his spine. “I don’t know what you mean,” he lied, voice shaky, and Taehyung’s grin returned—small, real, a flicker of warmth. “Yeah, you do,” he said, soft, stepping away. “I’m not going anywhere, Kookie. Figure it out.” He turned, walking back, and Jungkook watched him go, the ache a storm he couldn’t calm, a fight that left them raw but tethered, teetering on the edge of something vast

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