"The Calm Before"

The sound of the wheel turning was the only rhythm Taehyung had come to rely on. Clay between his fingers, wet and earthy, grounding him in ways the past month had refused to. A month since the last time Jungkook had appeared. A month since the dream where faceless lips had pressed against his neck, where phantom fangs had grazed his skin. A month of waking up, clutching at the back of his neck with trembling fingers, only to find nothing.

The dreams hadn’t stopped. If anything, they came more frequently. Sometimes he saw only shadows. Sometimes he felt the heat of breath, the weight of a hand pressing into his chest, lips lingering too close. Every morning his pillow was damp with tears he couldn’t explain. He had begun to wonder if he was losing his mind.

And yet, here he was, trying to live normally again. Orders had been piling up—neighbors, small art shops, even the occasional tourist wanting handmade pottery. Work gave him something tangible to focus on. Something not made of whispers and shadows.

The clay vase under his palms was starting to take shape when a voice slipped through the quiet.

“Make a vase for me.”

The wheel stilled. His heart slammed hard against his ribs, clay slipping from his grip. Taehyung’s eyes lifted, and there he was.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the doorway, the late sunlight spilling across him like it had been waiting just for him. His dark coat brushed the wooden frame, his figure almost unreal against the warmth of the afternoon. His presence wasn’t suffocating this time, not a looming storm—but calm, steady, dangerous only in how much Taehyung had missed it.

“You—” Taehyung’s throat tightened. His hands still trembled against the clay. “You disappeared.”

Jungkook tilted his head, as though the words didn’t quite matter. His lips curved, not into a smile exactly, but into something softer than the mystery that usually cloaked him. “I told you before. I come and go.”

The same calm tone. The same deep timbre that felt like it belonged in another time, another century.

Taehyung swallowed. His chest ached with questions, with months of confusion, with nights of faceless touches and unshed tears. But the words that came out were simple. “Why a vase?”

“Because I want to see what you’ll make for me.” Jungkook stepped closer, his boots quiet against the wooden floor. His eyes—dark, bottomless, ancient—didn’t leave Taehyung’s. “Something to hold what doesn’t last.”

Taehyung didn’t understand, but he didn’t push. His hands found the wheel again, shaping clay with nervous precision. He could feel Jungkook’s gaze heavy on him, yet it wasn’t suffocating. It was… grounding, in a twisted way.

For the first time in weeks, the silence wasn’t unbearable.

Later, when the vase stood drying on the shelf, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet again.

“Walk with me.”

It wasn’t a question. Still, Taehyung hesitated. “Where?”

“Nowhere dangerous.”

That earned him a dry laugh from Taehyung. “How would I know what you call dangerous?”

Jungkook didn’t answer—just waited, watching him with the patience of stone. And somehow, Taehyung found himself obeying. He washed the clay from his hands, hung his apron, and stepped out with him into the late evening air.

The sun was low, staining the sky with bruised pinks and golds. The path they took was quiet, lined with tall grass that swayed against the wind. It wasn’t ominous. It wasn’t suffocating. It was… almost normal.

For a while, they didn’t speak. Taehyung’s heart thudded too loud in his ears. Beside him, Jungkook walked like the earth itself adjusted to his steps, calm yet unshakable.

Finally, Taehyung broke the silence. “You left me with… with those dreams.” His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t stop. “Every night. I see someone. I feel him. And when I wake up, I—” He stopped, biting his lip, eyes burning. “Do you know what that’s like?”

Jungkook’s steps slowed, but he didn’t look at him. “Yes.”

The single word carried too much weight. Too much history.

Taehyung’s breath hitched. He wanted to ask more. He wanted to demand answers, to grab Jungkook by the coat and shake the truth out of him. But the air between them felt fragile, like glass, and breaking it now would shatter something he wasn’t ready to lose.

So instead, he whispered, “Then why me?”

This time, Jungkook finally turned his gaze. His eyes were unreadable, dark as the twilight settling around them. “You remind me of something I shouldn’t have forgotten.”

The words made Taehyung’s skin prickle. His chest tightened with confusion, longing, and fear all at once.

The rest of the walk was quiet. But Taehyung couldn’t stop glancing at Jungkook, couldn’t stop feeling the pull that terrified him. It wasn’t just the mystery. It wasn’t just the dreams. It was something else—something older, deeper, something his heart wanted even though his mind screamed against it.

By the time they returned, night had wrapped itself around the town. Jungkook paused at the doorway of Taehyung’s studio.

“Finish the vase,” he said, voice low but steady. “I’ll come back for it.”

And then, like always, he was gone.

Taehyung stood there, hand pressed to his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop racing. The quiet of the studio felt heavier than ever, but this time, he didn’t cry.

Instead, he walked back to the wheel, touched the clay, and whispered into the emptiness, “I’ll wait.”

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