The Unspoken

The silence after the argument felt heavier than any shouting.

Jungkook leaned against the chair, his head tilted back, eyes closed. His fingers rubbed at the tension building at his temples, but the ache wouldn’t go away.

He heard soft footsteps approach.

When he opened his eyes, Taehyung stood there—hands folded politely in front of him, eyes downcast.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Tae said gently.

Jungkook shook his head. “You didn’t.”

Tae hesitated, then looked up slowly. “It’s clear... my presence is creating tension. Between you and her.”

Jungkook looked away.

That silence again.

“I can leave,” Tae offered, his voice barely above a whisper. “If that would make things easier.”

Jungkook looked back at him, really looked. At the delicate way Tae held himself. The way his eyes never judged—just waited. Quiet, open, kind.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jungkook said. “She and I... we’ve been breaking for a long time. You’re not the cause.”

“But maybe I’m the mirror,” Tae said, more to himself than Jungkook.

That struck something in Jungkook’s chest.

He stepped forward. “Stay.”

Tae blinked, surprised.

“I’d rather have something real around,” Jungkook said softly, “than more silence.”

Taehyung held his gaze.

And in that moment, with sun filtering through the high windows, they both stood still in the quiet echo of something they didn’t yet understand.

Not history.

Not fate.

Just... familiarity.

Jungkook set his spoon down slowly, eyes lingering on Taehyung across the table. The weight in the air felt heavier than it should have. There was a stillness in the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... almost familiar.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

Jungkook felt something stirring inside him—a pull, a tug at his chest, like Taehyung could see inside his thoughts. Could hear the things Jungkook kept buried deep.

It was strange. Almost too intimate for someone he barely knew.

But there it was. An unspoken connection, one that went beyond words.

Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet clink of the spoon against the plate.

Jungkook felt the anger still brewing inside him—anger at his wife, at the house, at everything. But when his eyes met Taehyung’s again, something softened. Something stilled.

Taehyung looked at him with those gentle, dark eyes, as if he understood—understood the pain that couldn’t be expressed, the silence that drowned out every conversation. As if he knew without asking.

Jungkook wasn’t sure how to process it.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. He didn’t know what to say to the man across from him, the man who was comforting him, who was... here, when no one else seemed to be.

Taehyung’s eyes flickered, almost like he was reading Jungkook’s thoughts. His lips parted slightly, but then, as if realizing it wasn’t the time, he closed them again.

And that was enough.

Jungkook looked down at his food, feeling a lump in his throat. There was no judgment in Taehyung’s gaze. No expectations. Just quiet understanding. An acceptance of the unspoken.

The silence stretched between them. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating.

It felt... like a moment of peace.

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