Tides of change

The world had changed overnight.

Taehyung sat on the edge of his bed, the early morning light struggling through the half-closed blinds. His phone buzzed endlessly on the nightstand, but he didn’t reach for it. He didn’t have to. The headlines were already branded into his mind:

“Taehyung & Jungkook: Romance or PR Stunt?”

“Fans Divide Over Idols’ Intimate Moment.”

“#TAEKOOK Scandal Blows Up Social Media.”

It had only been a touch—a brief graze of fingers in the heat of the stage, one second of connection. But the camera had caught it. And now, the world was clawing for an answer.

⸻

In the dorm kitchen, Jimin stirred his coffee with exaggerated slowness.

“You’re trending,” he said as Taehyung walked in.

“I know,” Taehyung muttered, grabbing a glass of water. His hands shook slightly, and he hated that they did.

Jimin tilted his head, eyes flicking to the other’s pale face. “You okay?”

“No,” Taehyung said truthfully. “But I’m breathing. So there’s that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately. He stared into his glass as if the water might offer some clarity. “I didn’t think people would notice. It wasn’t… planned. It was just…” He paused, struggling to explain a moment that didn’t have words. “It felt real.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “Then you should call him. Before the industry turns it into something ugly.”

⸻

At the same moment, Jungkook sat curled on the couch of his own dorm, hair still messy from sleep, phone balanced on his knee. Notifications rolled in faster than he could clear them. His agency group chat was already flooding with damage control strategies.

“Silence is best for now,” one message read.

“Deny personal contact outside the collab,” said another.

He stared at those words, bile rising in his throat.

He didn’t want silence. Not this time.

His phone lit up with a new message from Taehyung:

“Can we talk?”

He exhaled shakily and typed back:

“Name the place.”

⸻

The café was tucked away down a quiet side street near the Han River. The type of place you only found if you were looking for it. Industrial walls, soft lighting, and mismatched furniture gave it a strange kind of comfort.

Taehyung arrived first. He wore a cap and mask, hood pulled up like a shield. He sat in the corner booth, hands tucked beneath the table, staring at the rain sliding down the window.

When Jungkook walked in, he didn’t speak at first. He just slid into the booth, pulling his own mask down slightly, revealing tired eyes and a fragile smile.

They sat in silence for nearly a full minute.

Then—

“I didn’t plan it,” Taehyung whispered.

“I know.”

“It just… felt like the right thing to do in that moment.”

“It was,” Jungkook said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Taehyung finally looked at him. “Then why does it feel like I did?”

Jungkook reached across the table, hand hovering just inches from his. “Because the world we live in makes something beautiful feel dangerous.”

Taehyung’s voice cracked. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.”

“I don’t either,” Jungkook admitted. “But I know I’m strong enough for you.”

That broke something. Or maybe it healed it.

Their hands met between the coffee cups, under the safety of shadows.

⸻

Back at Horizon Entertainment, chaos was spreading.

Namjoon, a senior manager and former idol himself, stood before the board of directors, defending the boys without throwing them under the bus.

“It was a brief moment. There’s no evidence of a relationship,” he said calmly. “Let’s not destroy two careers over a two-second touch.”

One executive leaned forward. “The fans are split. It’s a PR nightmare. We have sponsors to answer to.”

Namjoon stood his ground. “And you have artists to protect.”

Across the street, Nova Entertainment was having a similar meltdown. Jungkook’s team debated public statements, scripted tweets, even a staged photo op with a female idol.

When Yoongi heard about it, he slammed the studio door shut.

“You’re going to break him,” he growled.

“He broke himself,” a PR rep snapped. “We don’t get to let idols fall in love. That’s not part of the brand.”

Yoongi stared her down. “Then maybe your brand needs to change.”

⸻

Late that night, Taehyung couldn’t sleep.

He wandered into the practice room, dimmed the lights, and let the music play. He danced in bare feet, alone, expression raw. Every movement a release, every breath laced with frustration and longing.

Jungkook found him there just after 1 a.m., watching from the doorway. He didn’t speak, just walked in and wrapped his arms around Taehyung from behind, their bodies swaying slightly in the stillness.

“I hate that we have to hide,” Taehyung whispered into his shoulder.

“I don’t want to anymore,” Jungkook replied. “But we’ll do what we have to. Until we don’t.”

They didn’t kiss. Not yet. But it felt like one.

⸻

Meanwhile, news outlets fanned the flames.

Some fans defended them. Others screamed betrayal. Hashtags like #ProtectTaekook and #ScandalStrings trended side by side.

IU, watching from the comfort of her high-rise apartment, felt a strange ache in her chest. She had loved Jungkook once. But this… this was different.

She sent him a message:

“Don’t let them decide your ending.”

He stared at it for a long time before replying:

“Thank you. Really.”

⸻

Days passed.

Their agencies pushed harder, and their relationship retreated underground again. But in quiet corners, in glances across rehearsal spaces, in midnight calls, it remained alive.

Jimin caught Taehyung sneaking back into the dorm at 2 a.m. one night. He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow.

“You know this won’t be easy, right?” Jimin finally asked.

“I know.”

Jimin paused, then smiled faintly. “Then I’ll be here. No matter how hard it gets.”

⸻

At a press event for the year-end music show, the organizers tried to separate them. Their dressing rooms were placed far apart. They were instructed not to interact on camera. Staff swarmed them like watchdogs.

But nothing could erase what was there.

During the final rehearsal, Taehyung walked past Jungkook on stage. Their eyes met—one second, two—and Jungkook smiled.

A real smile.

Taehyung’s heart stuttered.

They could take the narrative. They could spin rumors and pile on fear.

But they couldn’t rewrite the truth.

⸻

That night, as fireworks lit up the Seoul sky and idols took selfies and fans screamed from balconies, Taehyung and Jungkook stood on a quiet rooftop above it all.

“I used to think love was something that happened off-camera,” Taehyung murmured.

“And now?”

“I think love is what happens when the cameras are gone—and you still reach for me anyway.”

Jungkook took his hand.

“I’ll keep reaching,” he said. “Even if no one ever sees it.”

⸻

In the shadows of superstardom, something impossible had taken root.

Not just a scandal.

Not just a fleeting affair.

But the start of something stronger than secrecy.

The beginning of something real.

That night, Taehyung couldn’t sleep.

Even after the rooftop moment, even after Jungkook had left with a whispered promise and the memory of fingers entwined, sleep remained elusive.

He lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, his mind replaying moments he thought he’d forgotten—tiny glimmers of something that, maybe, had always been there.

Their very first meeting had been awkward. Two boys, barely adults, surrounded by polished idols and cold-eyed managers, both forced to smile when they didn’t feel ready.

He remembered how Jungkook had barely spoken that day, how he’d stayed behind to rehearse long after the others had left. Taehyung had snuck back into the room to grab a forgotten water bottle and found him dancing alone, fierce and precise, like he was fighting ghosts.

There was something lonely in him even then.

He should’ve known.

Maybe he had.

⸻

Two Years Ago.

Taehyung had been waiting in a hallway during their first music show crossover, humming into his in-ears, when Jungkook passed him for the first time.

“You sing when you’re nervous?” Jungkook asked casually, though his eyes didn’t meet his.

Taehyung had blinked. “What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“You’re shaking.”

Taehyung laughed, surprised. “So are you.”

They both smiled, just for a moment. And then Jungkook disappeared behind the curtain.

That smile had stuck in Taehyung’s chest for hours afterward. He’d told himself it meant nothing.

But now—lying here years later—he knew better.

It had started then.

⸻

Present Day.

The next afternoon, Taehyung met Jimin in the company’s training room. He hadn’t been summoned—he just needed to move. To burn off the ache.

Jimin was already stretching, hair pulled back, a Bluetooth speaker playing soft lo-fi beats.

“You came back for more emotional damage?” Jimin teased, only half-joking.

“Every time,” Taehyung muttered.

They trained in silence for a while. The familiar rhythm of movement calmed him. Step, spin, drop, breathe. Until Jimin turned down the music.

“Why him?” Jimin asked finally.

Taehyung hesitated. “Because… he sees me.”

Jimin’s brows lifted.

“Not the version on camera. Not the voice or the smile. He sees me—the messy, scared, chaotic part of me. And he doesn’t run.”

Jimin was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. “That’s rare.”

“It is.”

“And worth the risk?”

Taehyung thought about it. Really thought.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Even if it ends in fire.”

⸻

But the fire was already beginning.

That weekend, a photo surfaced online.

Blurry. Grainy. But unmistakable.

Taehyung and Jungkook, sitting side by side at the riverside park, heads leaned close together under a hoodie. A single moment, stolen from their private life, now exposed for millions to dissect.

The headline screamed:

“Taekook Caught Together Late at Night — Romance Confirmed?”

Horizon’s PR office exploded within the hour. Nova’s boardroom followed. Legal teams were involved. Sponsors started calling.

Fans divided again—some heartbroken, some thrilled, others furious.

On Twitter, hashtags clashed:

• #LetTaekookLove

• #TaehyungDeservesBetter

• #NovaFail

• #FireTheirManagers

Yoongi showed up at Taehyung’s dorm unannounced, hood up, jaw tense.

“Pack a bag,” he said. “You’re not staying here tonight.”

“Hyung—”

“Your safety comes first. Let’s go.”

Jimin watched them from the hallway, worry carved into his face. He nodded once, silently promising to keep the wolves away for now.

⸻

Yoongi took Taehyung to his own studio apartment. Quiet, secure, no paparazzi.

Taehyung sat on the worn couch, hands clenched in his lap.

“They’re going to blacklist me,” he whispered.

Yoongi tossed him a soda. “You’re not that easy to erase.”

“They’ve done worse.”

Yoongi crouched in front of him, voice soft but firm. “Listen. The public might be a storm right now, but you’re not alone in it.”

Taehyung’s throat tightened. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Yoongi sighed. “Because you’ve spent your whole career pretending you don’t bleed. And now you finally let someone see.”

⸻

Jungkook called at 2:17 a.m.

“Where are you?”

“With Yoongi-hyung.”

“Are you safe?”

“I am now.”

They didn’t speak for a few seconds, just listened to each other breathe across the line.

“I’ll take the blame if I have to,” Jungkook said.

“No,” Taehyung whispered. “We face this together.”

⸻

The next day, IU released a surprise single.

It was soft, haunting, and laced with heartbreak.

Fans thought it was about an old love.

But in the second verse, the lyrics shifted:

“They told me to hide / that love should be quiet / but how could I ever / mute something golden?”

Social media caught fire.

And under her post, she left a simple caption:

“Sometimes, the world needs to listen.”

Taehyung stared at the screen in disbelief.

“She’s supporting us,” he said aloud.

Jungkook replied: “Maybe the world isn’t as cold as we thought.”

⸻

Later that night, Namjoon invited Taehyung and Jungkook to meet privately.

They arrived through back entrances, caps low, tension high.

Namjoon stood behind his desk, arms crossed, unreadable.

Then he reached into a folder and handed them a document.

Taehyung scanned the title.

“Artist Conduct Policy Revision Draft.”

Jungkook blinked. “What is this?”

Namjoon smiled—just a little. “It’s a start.”

The draft detailed updated language—no more “no dating” clauses. No forced PR relationships. No gag orders about gender.

“If this passes,” Namjoon said quietly, “you won’t have to hide anymore.”

Tears welled in Taehyung’s eyes before he could stop them.

“We’re not promising the world will change tomorrow,” Namjoon added. “But we’re helping it start today.”

⸻

By the time they left the building, it was nearly midnight. The city lights were soft. The air was warm.

Jungkook reached out and took Taehyung’s hand without hesitation.

No cameras.

No spotlights.

Just them.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Taehyung asked.

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah. And even if we don’t… I’d still choose you every time.”

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