The pause between heartbeat

It had been two days since the press conference.

Two days since Jungkook’s confession.

Two days since the silence around Taehyung grew heavier than applause.

He hadn’t left the dorm.

The blinds stayed closed. The food Jimin left outside his room stayed untouched. His phone buzzed endlessly, but he couldn’t bring himself to look.

Jungkook had spoken truth to the world—and in doing so, had cracked open something neither of them were ready for.

Now Taehyung was left staring into the void between who he was and who he wanted to be.

⸻

Jimin finally forced his way into the room on the third morning.

“You’re starting to smell like existential dread and old ramen,” he said, flinging the curtains open.

Taehyung hissed at the light like a vampire. “Get out.”

“No.”

“I’m not in the mood—”

“You think Jungkook went through all that for you to rot in bed?”

Taehyung winced. The words hit harder than he expected.

Jimin folded his arms. “Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Then act like it.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, Horizon’s artistic director—Lee Hyesoo, a graceful woman with a voice like velvet and eyes that saw everything—called Taehyung into her office.

She didn’t speak right away, just studied him from across the long desk.

“You’re unraveling,” she said finally.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. But I don’t blame you.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened. “Are you here to punish me?”

Hyesoo tilted her head. “No. I’m here to offer you something.”

Taehyung blinked. “What?”

“A solo project.”

He sat up straight.

“A conceptual art album. All visuals. All emotion. No fluff. We’ll call it Mirror Phase. Total creative freedom.”

“Why?”

“Because the industry wants to erase you right now. But if we tell your story—your real story—we take the narrative back.”

Taehyung stared at her, heart thundering. “You’d let me be… honest?”

“To a point,” she said. “We still have to work the angles. But it’ll be your angles.”

He exhaled slowly. “And what about Jungkook?”

She hesitated, then said carefully, “His name won’t be on it. But his fingerprints will be everywhere.”

⸻

By that night, Taehyung was already writing.

He sat on the floor of the practice room with nothing but a notebook and memories. He scribbled lyrics that didn’t rhyme. He drew symbols. He mapped scenes from dreams he never remembered having.

The door creaked open.

Yoongi stepped in quietly, coffee in hand.

“Thought you might need this.”

Taehyung looked up, surprised. “Thanks.”

“You’re doing it, huh?”

Taehyung nodded.

Yoongi sat beside him, staring at the scattered pages. “It’s going to hurt. You know that, right?”

“I want it to,” Taehyung said. “If it doesn’t hurt, it’s not real.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “You sound like Jungkook.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. “He’s always been braver than me.”

“Not true,” Yoongi said. “He’s loud. You’re steady. Don’t confuse noise with courage.”

⸻

The news of Taehyung’s solo project dropped like a match in gasoline.

“Kim Taehyung Announces Mysterious Art Project Amidst Scandal.”

“Mirror Phase Set to Explore Identity, Pressure, and Truth.”

“Is This Taehyung’s Way of Responding to Taekook Rumors?”

Haters barked. Fans lit candles. The industry held its breath.

And Taehyung… kept creating.

He filmed with masked dancers. He sang in abandoned churches. He wrote a song in one take, barefoot on a beach at dawn.

Each frame was a metaphor. Every lyric a confession without names.

And yet, to anyone who truly watched…

It was always about Jungkook.

⸻

Meanwhile, Jungkook remained suspended.

He spent his days alone—writing, boxing, ignoring the flashes of paparazzi that followed him everywhere.

IU visited once.

They drank tea in silence until she finally said, “He’s making art about you.”

Jungkook looked up. “You saw it?”

“I felt it.”

Jungkook closed his eyes. “I miss him.”

IU smiled sadly. “Then come back. Not for the cameras. For the music. For him.”

⸻

The night Mirror Phase dropped, the servers crashed.

Every platform—Spotify, Melon, YouTube—froze under the pressure.

The opening visual: a boy standing in front of a mirror, his reflection cracking.

The final lyric:

“If I was meant to hide / why did I learn to shine?”

The world exploded.

Taehyung didn’t go online.

He sat alone on the rooftop instead, heart thudding like a war drum.

And then—

A familiar voice behind him: “You shined.”

Taehyung turned around.

Jungkook stood there, holding a single camellia flower in his hand.

“You watched it?” Taehyung whispered.

“I watched you.”

A pause.

Then Jungkook stepped forward and pressed the flower into Taehyung’s palm.

“I’m ready to fight again,” he said. “If you’ll still have me.”

Taehyung smiled for the first time in days.

“I was always yours.”

.

.

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