chapter : 18 A day of us

The dorm lay quiet under a rare Seoul afternoon, a fragile stillness settling over BTS after the tour’s chaos and the seismic shift of Jungkook and Taehyung’s confession. Jungkook stood by the window in the living room, seventeen and trembling on the edge of something new, the city sprawling beyond the glass—a tapestry of towers and neon softened by a thin veil of clouds, the air carrying the faint scent of rain and street food from below. His dark hair, tousled from a late morning, fell into his eyes, longer now, brushing his lashes in a messy curtain, and he shifted his weight, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, his breath uneven as the weight of I love you pulsed through him, a truth now shared with Taehyung that reshaped every corner of his world.

He was Jeon Jungkook, the quiet one, the boy who’d carved himself into a cornerstone of their rise, his voice a lifeline that carried their songs, his body a testament to years of relentless pursuit. The stage was his proving ground, each cheer a shield against the doubts that gnawed at him, but off it, he was raw—exposed by a love he’d confessed on the balcony, a pull toward Taehyung that had grown from their first shared steps in the practice room into this: a heart laid bare, beating too loud, too fast, too real. The days since Chapter 17 had been a tentative dance—stolen glances, brushed hands, a closeness that felt both thrilling and terrifying—and today, with the others gone, promised a space to breathe it in, to figure out what us meant when the world wasn’t watching.

Taehyung emerged from the hallway, eighteen and radiant even in the dorm’s dim light, his dark waves a chaotic tumble as he padded barefoot across the hardwood, wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants, his grin soft but bright as he carried two mugs of ramyeon, steam curling upward in lazy spirals. He’d been the spark through it all, his warmth a constant that held them together, but the confession had deepened him—his laughter quieter, his touches deliberate, a tenderness that caught Jungkook’s breath every time their eyes met. The others had scattered—Jin and Yoongi at a cooking class, Hoseok and Jimin shopping, Namjoon at the studio—leaving the dorm to them, a rare gift of solitude after months of shared spaces, and Taehyung’s presence filled it, a hum Jungkook couldn’t ignore.

“Made us some food,” Taehyung said, setting the mugs on the coffee table, his voice warm as he flopped onto the couch, patting the space beside him. “Come on, Kookie. You’ve been staring out there like the city’s gonna run away.” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes searched Jungkook’s, catching the tension, the shy flicker of uncertainty, and Jungkook’s ears heated, a flush creeping up his neck as he shuffled over, sinking into the cushions beside Taehyung, close enough that their knees brushed.

“Thanks,” Jungkook mumbled, taking a mug, the warmth seeping into his palms as he stirred the noodles, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze. The dorm was silent save for the faint hum of the fridge, the distant roar of Seoul a murmur through the walls, and the quiet amplified everything—the rustle of Taehyung’s shirt, the soft clink of his chopsticks, the way his shoulder pressed against Jungkook’s in a way that felt deliberate, grounding. “You didn’t have to,” Jungkook added, softer, and Taehyung’s grin widened, his elbow nudging Jungkook’s side.

“Wanted to,” Taehyung said, simple, leaning back, his thigh resting against Jungkook’s now, a casual closeness that sent a jolt through Jungkook’s veins. “We’ve got the place to ourselves. Feels like old times, huh? Just… different.” His voice dipped, a thread of something deeper weaving through, and Jungkook nodded, throat tight, the different hanging between them—a love confessed, a bond shifting, a day to figure out what it meant when no one else was watching.

They ate in companionable silence, the ramyeon a familiar comfort—spicy, warm, a taste that carried memories of trainee nights, snowbound talks, moments that had built them into this. Jungkook stole glances at Taehyung—his messy hair, the way his lips curved around the chopsticks, the faint hum he let slip between bites—and his chest ached, a tangle of love and fear that hadn’t settled since the balcony. Taehyung caught him looking, his grin turning sly, and he nudged Jungkook’s foot with his own. “You’re staring,” he teased, and Jungkook’s face flamed, ducking his head, the mug a shield.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but his lips twitched, a reluctant smile breaking through, and Taehyung laughed—deep, warm, a sound that filled the room and sank into Jungkook’s bones. “You’re cute when you’re shy,” Taehyung said, setting his mug down, shifting closer, his arm draping along the couch behind Jungkook’s shoulders, a casual move that felt anything but. Jungkook’s pulse raced, the proximity a spark that lit his nerves, and he set his own mug aside, hands fidgeting in his lap, unsure where to put them, unsure how to be now that I love you was real.

“What do we do?” Jungkook asked, voice low, finally meeting Taehyung’s eyes—dark, steady, a lifeline in the storm—and Taehyung’s grin softened, his hand sliding from the couch to Jungkook’s shoulder, squeezing once. “This,” he said, simple, his thumb brushing Jungkook’s collarbone through the hoodie, a touch that sent a shiver down Jungkook’s spine. “Just… us. No rush.” His voice was a promise, gentle but sure, and Jungkook’s breath hitched, the fear easing under the weight of it, the love a light he couldn’t dim.

They stayed like that, the afternoon stretching slow and soft, Taehyung’s arm a steady warmth as they talked—about the tour, the cities, a fan who’d waved a drawing of them in Manila. “She had us holding hands,” Taehyung said, grinning, pulling out his phone to show a blurry photo, and Jungkook’s ears burned, a flush creeping up his face. “They see it,” Taehyung added, softer, scrolling through more—Taekook trending, fans screaming—and Jungkook nodded, throat tight, the world’s notice a mirror to what he felt inside. “Guess they’ve known longer than us,” he mumbled, and Taehyung’s laugh was a burst of brightness, his hand finding Jungkook’s, lacing their fingers in a slow, deliberate tangle.

“Guess so,” Taehyung said, his thumb brushing Jungkook’s knuckles, and Jungkook let it stay, let the touch ground him, a quiet intimacy that felt both new and ancient. They moved to the floor, sprawling out with a deck of cards Taehyung dug from a drawer, playing a messy game of Go Fish that devolved into cheating and laughter— Taehyung hiding cards under his leg, Jungkook snatching them back, their hands brushing, lingering, a dance of closeness that built with every round. “You’re terrible,” Jungkook said, grinning, and Taehyung leaned in, his breath warm against Jungkook’s cheek. “You love it,” he teased, and Jungkook didn’t argue, the truth settling heavy between them.

The day unfolded, a tapestry of small moments—ramyeon shared, cards scattered, Taehyung pulling Jungkook to the couch again, their legs tangled as they watched a movie, some action flick neither cared about. Taehyung’s head rested on Jungkook’s shoulder, his breath steady against Jungkook’s neck, and Jungkook stiffened, then relaxed, his hand finding Taehyung’s, holding tight. “This okay?” Taehyung murmured, half-asleep, and Jungkook nodded, voice caught. “Yeah,” he whispered, letting the weight stay, letting Taehyung stay, a love unfolding in the quiet.

Later, as dusk painted the sky in purples and oranges, they ventured out—hoodies up, masks on, slipping into Seoul’s streets, a rare freedom without the others. They wandered through Myeongdong, the air thick with the scent of tteokbokki and fried dough, the crowds a hum around them, and Taehyung’s hand brushed Jungkook’s, then held it, hidden in the folds of their sleeves. “No one knows,” Taehyung said, grinning, and Jungkook’s heart raced, the touch a secret they carried through the chaos—past stalls, under lights, a moment stolen from the world. They bought street food, sharing skewers, Taehyung feeding Jungkook a piece with a laugh, and Jungkook’s ears reddened, but he smiled, real and wide, the fear fading under the warmth.

Back in the dorm, night settling heavy, Taehyung flopped beside Jungkook on his bunk, their shoulders pressed, his hand finding Jungkook’s wrist, squeezing once. “Good day?” he asked, voice low, and Jungkook nodded, the ache softer now, the love a steady hum. “Yeah,” he whispered, turning to meet Taehyung’s eyes—dark, warm, home—and Taehyung’s grin was everything, a promise they’d keep, a day of us etched into the shadows, a bond they’d build, step by step, heart by heart.

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