Please don't look too deep

by justtryna

Summary:

Some ghosts aren’t dead—they live in the spaces between moments, in the silence of things left unsaid. Jungkook knows this better than anyone. He’s spent his whole life running, pretending, building walls high enough that no one could ever reach him. But when a moment of vulnerability pulls him into the orbit of an unlikely group of friends, he finds himself standing at the edge of something terrifying—genuine connection. Old wounds refuse to stay buried, and the past threatens to catch up with him, but there’s something different this time.

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

It was a usual morning in the Jeon household, the kind that made 11-year-old Jungkook feel safe and happy. The sun streamed through the kitchen windows, casting golden light over the breakfast table. His mom hummed softly as she flipped pancakes, her warmth filling the room like the scent of vanilla in the air.

“Don’t forget your lunchbox, Jungkook,” she said with a smile, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of him. “I made your favorite—peanut butter and jelly.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Jungkook mumbled through a mouthful of syrupy goodness, his words muffled but heartfelt.

His older brother, Jung-Hyun, lounged at the other end of the table, scrolling through his phone. “Big game today, squirt,” Jung-Hyun teased, tossing a crumpled napkin at Jungkook. “You ready to carry the team?”

“Obviously,” Jungkook shot back, grinning. Jung-Hyun always had a way of making him feel confident, like he could do anything.

Their dad, on the other hand, barely acknowledged them. He sat at the head of the table, sipping his coffee and scanning the morning paper. His cold silence wasn’t unusual—Dad was always distant, more focused on his work than his family. Jungkook had grown used to the way his father’s gaze slid right past him, like he wasn’t even there.

“Will you be home for dinner tonight?” Mom asked softly, her voice tentative.

“No,” Dad replied curtly, folding the paper and standing up. “Don’t wait up.” He kissed her cheek mechanically, his expression unreadable, and left without another word.

Jungkook didn’t think much of it. This was just how things were—his mom was the sun, Jung-Hyun was his hero, and his dad was… well, a shadow.

 

Things started to change a few days later. In the school hallways, whispers followed Jungkook and his best friend, Hoseok, like ghosts.

“Did you hear?

“Hoseok’s… you know…”

“Do you think Jungkook is, too?”

Jungkook didn’t fully understand what the rumors meant, only that they made Hoseok quieter and more withdrawn. It didn’t matter to Jungkook if Hoseok was gay or not—he was still the same Hoseok who loved video games and could make him laugh until his stomach hurt.

But the whispers didn’t stop. And one evening, when Jungkook’s dad came home early for once, the fragile balance of his world shattered.

Jungkook was in his room, working on his math homework, when he heard the front door slam. The sound of his dad’s heavy boots followed, then muffled voices from the kitchen. He couldn’t make out the words, but his dad’s tone was sharp, and his mom’s responses were low and strained.

The door to his room burst open.

“Get downstairs,” his dad barked.

Jungkook froze. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”

Trembling, Jungkook followed him to the living room. His mom stood by the counter, wringing her hands, her face pale. Jung-Hyun stood near the door, arms crossed, watching their father with wary eyes.

“I heard about your little friend,” his dad spat. “That Hoseok kid.” He said Hoseok’s name like it was poison. “Are you like him? Huh?”

“What?” Jungkook stammered, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” his dad snapped, stepping closer. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I—I’m not—” Jungkook began, but before he could finish, his dad’s hand lashed out, striking him across the face.

“Don’t lie to me!” his father roared.

“Dad, stop!” Jung-Hyun shouted, stepping between them. “You’re crazy!”

“Stay out of this, Jung-Hyun,” his father growled.

Jungkook’s world blurred. His cheek burned, and his chest ached with confusion and fear. His mom stood frozen in the corner, tears streaming down her face, but she didn’t move. She didn’t stop him.

After that night, everything changed. Jungkook wasn’t allowed to leave the house. His father’s anger was a constant presence, simmering just beneath the surface.

Hoseok, not understanding why Jungkook had stopped coming to school, showed up at the door a week later.

“Jungkook!” Hoseok called, knocking loudly. “I know you’re in there! Why won’t you talk to me?”

Jungkook’s heart raced. He wanted to see Hoseok, to explain everything, but the fear of his father kept him frozen.

“Go away,” Jungkook said through the door, his voice trembling.

“Why?” Hoseok demanded. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything!” Jungkook shouted back, tears streaming down his face. “Just leave, okay? Please!”

Behind him, he heard the familiar thud of his father’s boots.

“Who’s at the door?” his father growled.

“No one,” Jungkook said quickly, trying to block the way.

His father shoved him aside and wrenched the door open. Hoseok stood there, wide-eyed and startled.

“You little—” his dad started, reaching for Hoseok, but Jungkook slammed the door shut, locking it.

“Get out of my way!” his father roared, grabbing Jungkook by the collar.

“Leave him alone!” Jung-Hyun yelled, rushing into the hallway. He grabbed their father’s arm, trying to pull him off Jungkook.

In the chaos, their father swung wildly. Jungkook watched in horror as Jung-Hyun stumbled back, hitting his head on the corner of the table. He crumpled to the floor, motionless.

They left the town within days. No one knew the truth of what happened that night. Their father told everyone Jung-Hyun’s death was an accident, and Jungkook never dared to speak otherwise.

From then on, his father’s anger turned colder, sharper. “It’s your fault,” he would say, over and over again. “If you hadn’t been so soft, Jung-Hyun would still be alive.”

Jungkook’s world became a prison of guilt and fear. His mom’s warmth dimmed, her sadness a silent echo in their new home. Hoseok became a distant memory, and the boy Jungkook had once been faded into the shadows.

Chapter 2: This is harder than it should be

 

The alarm blared at 7:00 a.m., cutting through the stillness of Jungkook’s dorm room like a sharp knife. His hand shot out from beneath the blanket, blindly searching for his phone until his fingers found it and silenced the sound. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, trying to summon the will to move. He’d set the alarm last night with a vague hope that today might be different—that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally get his act together. But as usual, that hope evaporated the moment he opened his eyes.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut, keeping the outside world at bay. It was easier that way. The clutter from days, maybe weeks, of neglect filled every available surface. His desk was a chaotic mix of empty coffee cups, takeout containers, and unopened textbooks, each one a reminder of a task he hadn’t completed. The air in the room was stale, heavy with the scent of old food and the kind of stillness that made everything feel frozen in time.

At 7:45 a.m., the alarm went off again, startling him. He didn’t remember hitting snooze, but there it was, demanding his attention once more. He groaned, rolling over and muttering, “Five more minutes,” as he buried his face in the pillow. He knew he was lying to himself. Those five minutes could easily stretch into hours if he let them.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet met the cold floor, sending a shiver up his spine. He rubbed his face, trying to shake off the fog in his head. “You can do this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. But the words felt hollow, as if saying them out loud made them even less believable.

 

By 10:00 a.m., Jungkook had managed to drag himself to class. He slipped into the lecture hall just as the professor began speaking, taking his usual spot in the back corner. He kept his hood up, shielding himself from prying eyes, and popped in his earbuds—not to listen to music, but as an added layer of insulation from the world around him. He glanced at the professor, who was writing something on the board, but his words barely registered.

Jungkook’s attention was elsewhere, lost in the endless loop of thoughts running through his mind. You’re falling behind. You’re a failure. Everyone else is managing their lives just fine—what’s wrong with you?

His notebook lay open on the desk, its pages mostly blank. The few scribbles he’d made during the first week of the semester were now meaningless; he couldn’t even remember what they were supposed to be about. Around him, the other students were fully engaged, typing notes on their laptops, raising their hands to ask questions, and whispering to each other in hushed tones. Their laughter, soft as it was, seemed to echo in Jungkook’s ears, making him feel even more out of place.

He wasn’t surprised that no one spoke to him. He’d spent weeks building walls, isolating himself from everyone, and now those walls were impenetrable. He told himself it was better this way—that he didn’t need anyone. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the sting of loneliness

 

Lunch was a granola bar he’d stuffed into his backpack days ago. It was slightly squished but still edible. Jungkook sat on a bench outside the library, far away from the crowded dining hall. He couldn’t handle being in there, surrounded by groups of friends laughing and sharing meals. The sound of their conversations would only make him feel more alone.

As he chewed, his eyes scanned the passing students. They moved in clusters, their laughter carrying on the breeze. He couldn’t help but wonder, Do they even notice me?

Part of him wanted someone to stop and say hi, to ask him how he was doing. But the thought of having to answer that question, of explaining how he felt, made his stomach twist. What could he even say? I feel empty all the time? I don’t know how to keep going? No one wanted to hear that.

 

By 3:00 p.m., Jungkook was back in his dorm room. He sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone. Social media was a minefield of perfect lives. Pictures of smiling faces, group outings, and achievements flooded his feed, each one a reminder of everything he wasn’t. He knew it was all curated, that no one’s life was as perfect as it seemed, but that didn’t stop the comparisons.

Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t I just… be happy?

The hours slipped by in a blur of scrolling and self-loathing. Jungkook glanced at the unopened laptop on his desk, the essay he was supposed to be working on still untouched. The thought of starting felt overwhelming, like staring up at a mountain he had no strength to climb.

 

By the time night fell, the day felt like a complete waste. He hadn’t accomplished anything. Dinner was another pack of instant noodles, eaten in silence as he sat on the edge of his bed.

At 11:00 p.m., Jungkook turned off the lights and crawled under the covers. The room was silent, save for the occasional hum of the mini-fridge in the corner. But the quiet wasn’t comforting—it was suffocating.

His thoughts grew louder, filling the void. You’re wasting your time here. You’re going to fail. No one cares about you.

Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over and soaking into the pillow. He didn’t bother wiping them away. Crying felt pointless, but holding it in felt even worse.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

But as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of doubt. Tomorrow was just another day, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to face it.

 

---

 

Jungkook used to think college would be different. That the change in environment would somehow change him too.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it only makes the loneliness worse.

There are no bullies waiting to shove him into lockers. No taunts echoing through hallways. No fists raised in warning.

But there’s no one else, either.

Jungkook exists in a strange sort of limbo. A ghost. Unnoticed and unimportant. He walks the same paths as everyone else, but no one ever really sees him. No one acknowledges his presence. No one cares.

And sometimes, on the worst nights, Jungkook thinks that maybe being hated was better than being invisible. At least then, he mattered. At least then, his presence meant something, even if it was something ugly.

Now, he’s just… nothing.

Every morning, before stepping out into the world, Jungkook stares at his reflection in the mirror and forces a smile.

“You’re okay, Jeon Jungkook,” he tells himself. “You don’t need anyone but yourself.”

He repeats it like a mantra. Like an affirmation. Like a prayer.

But prayers only work if you believe in them.

Jungkook isn’t sure he does.

So he copes. He keeps his head down, gets through the day, and convinces himself that he’s fine. That he’s used to this. That loneliness is a familiar companion, and pain is just another thing he can learn to live with.

And for the most part, it works.

Until it doesn’t.

Until he’s sitting in a coffee shop, staring blankly at the open laptop in front of him, and hearing laughter from a nearby table.

A group of friends—smiling, talking, existing together in a way that feels so foreign to him now.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten around his coffee cup. The warmth seeps into his skin, but it doesn’t reach the cold inside him.

Something stirs in his chest. A deep, aching longing.

Please see me. Please notice me. Please don’t let me disappear.

But Jungkook knows better. Knows that wanting things only leads to disappointment. Knows that the moment he reaches for something, it’ll slip right through his fingers.

So he stays quiet. Keeps his head down. Pretends he’s fine.

Because it’s safer that way.

And yet, a part of him still dares to hope. Still wonders what it would be like if someone picked up the scattered pieces of himself and tried to make sense of them. If someone saw him—really saw him—and didn’t turn away.

But people don’t bleed for someone like him.

They never do.

So he leaves.

He always leaves first—before anyone else has the chance to.

Because if he’s the one who walks away, then at least he won’t have to watch them do it first.

At least he won’t have to see them realize that he was never worth staying for in the first place.

 

 

---

 

The next day began much the same for Jungkook. His alarm screamed at 7:00 a.m., but he barely registered it. When he finally dragged himself out of bed, it wasn’t out of determination or hope—it was because staying in bed any longer would make him feel even worse. He went through the motions of getting ready like a robot: brushing his teeth, pulling on his hoodie, and grabbing his bag. His reflection in the mirror was pale and tired, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

By the time he reached class, the room was already buzzing with chatter. Jungkook slipped in unnoticed, taking his usual spot in the very back row. He kept his hood up and his eyes down, avoiding the curious glances of classmates. The hum of conversations felt like white noise as he stared blankly at his notebook.

The professor’s voice droned on, barely breaking through the fog in Jungkook’s mind, until the words “Work with a partner” cut through. His chest tightened, and he gripped his pen harder than necessary.

Here we go again.

He risked a glance up, watching as students began pairing off with effortless ease. Glances were exchanged, nods and smiles passed back and forth as friends gravitated toward each other. No one even glanced his way, and why would they? He was practically invisible.

Jungkook stared at his notebook, pretending not to notice. I like working alone, he thought, repeating the familiar lie. But the sting of being left out never failed to find its way in.

 

When class ended, Jungkook hurried to pack his things, hoping to slip out before anyone noticed him. He was halfway through zipping up his bag when a voice startled him.

“Hey, I’m Park Jimin,” the boy said, sliding into the seat next to him.

Jungkook froze. He turned to find a bright smile and an outstretched hand. His heart skipped a beat, his palms already starting to sweat.

Jimin’s hand hung there for a moment before he lowered it, unfazed by Jungkook’s lack of response. “I was wondering if you’d like to partner up for the project,” he said, his tone friendly, almost casual.

“Why?” Jungkook blurted, his voice more defensive than he intended.

Jimin blinked, then laughed lightly. “Well, I don’t have a partner yet, and it looks like you don’t either.” He shrugged, his smile never faltering.

Jungkook stared at him, trying to process the situation. He’d seen Jimin around campus—this guy had friends, lots of them. He didn’t need to partner with someone like Jungkook, so why was he here?

“Uh… yeah, okay,” Jungkook muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’m Jungkook.”

Jimin grinned, pulling out his phone. “Great! Let me get your number.”

Jungkook fumbled to exchange contact info, feeling awkward and exposed. As soon as the task was done, he slung his bag over his shoulder and muttered a quick “See you later” before bolting out of the room.

 

Instead of heading to his next class, Jungkook went straight to the library. The quiet, structured space was a refuge, a place where being alone didn’t make him feel like an outsider. He found an empty corner, set up his laptop, and began skimming through research material for the project. He didn’t want to let Jimin down; the thought of being a burden to someone else was unbearable.

For a while, he managed to focus. But then his stomach growled, and the spell broke. He sighed, shutting his laptop and gathering his things.

 

By the time he got home, the sun was already starting to dip. Dinner was a pack of instant noodles, eaten in silence at the edge of his bed. Afterward, he collapsed onto his mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

His thoughts drifted back to Jimin. The guy was the complete opposite of him—warm, confident, effortlessly social. Jimin was the kind of person who drew others in, who made people feel comfortable just by being around him.

That’s the kind of person I’ll never be, Jungkook thought bitterly. The ache in his chest was familiar, a dull throb that never really went away. He wished things were different, but wishes didn’t change reality.

 

---

 

A few days later, Jungkook’s phone buzzed with a text from Jimin.

Jimin: “Hey, want to meet up to start the project? My place is pretty close to campus. I can send you the address!”

Jungkook hesitated before replying. He didn’t like going to other people’s places—it always felt like walking into a minefield. Everyone had unspoken rules about their space, and he was terrified of breaking one without realizing it.

Still, he didn’t want to come across as difficult.

Jungkook: “Yeah, sure. Just send me the address.”

The nerves hit him hard as he got ready to leave. He spent more time than usual making himself presentable, double-checking that he had everything he might need. When he finally stepped out, his heart was racing.

Jimin lived in a quiet neighborhood near campus. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a cozy, welcoming vibe that put Jungkook slightly at ease. He stopped outside the door, taking a deep breath before ringing the bell.

The door opened almost immediately, and there was Jimin, smiling as brightly as ever. “Hey, come on in!”

Jungkook stepped inside, muttering a soft “Hi” and keeping his gaze down. The warmth of Jimin’s apartment was a sharp contrast to his own cold, cluttered dorm room.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jimin said, gesturing toward the couch.

Jungkook nodded, clutching his bag tightly. His heart was still racing, but for the first time in a while, it wasn’t entirely from fear.

"My roommate's out, so it's just us," Jimin said casually as he set a glass of water down in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook mumbled a quiet thanks, keeping his eyes on anything but Jimin. He took a hesitant sip, using the moment to glance around the room.

The apartment was nothing like the cramped, bare dorm rooms Jungkook was used to. Having a whole living room as a student—with a TV and everything—felt almost luxurious. The roommate explained why, but even so, the space felt special.

The room was tidy but not sterile, somehow managing to feel both neat and inviting. To the left was a plush couch, probably the softest Jungkook had ever sat on, upholstered in a rich fabric that practically begged you to sink into it. In front of it was a polished wooden coffee table, its surface adorned with a few tasteful coasters and a small stack of books. Beneath it lay a large rug, its intricate pattern softening the room even further.

Jungkook’s gaze traveled to a wall covered in an eclectic but harmonious arrangement of paintings and framed prints. Each piece seemed carefully chosen, like it told a small story. The rest of the room was dotted with plants—some hanging in macramé holders, others sitting in ceramic pots of varying sizes. The greenery gave the space life, a vibrant contrast to the muted tones of the furniture.

It was the kind of place that felt warm just to be in, like it reflected the personality of someone who truly cared about their surroundings. Jungkook wondered, fleetingly, if he’d ever be able to create such a space. He doubted it. People like Jimin—people who were warm and magnetic—seemed to have a knack for turning even the simplest spaces into something special.

"Jungkook?"

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts by Jimin’s voice.

"So… should we get started?" Jimin asked, his tone light but patient.

"Yeah, uh… sure," Jungkook stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He set the glass down and fumbled to pull out his notebook, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts.

Jimin flashed him another smile, one that seemed to say relax, it’s all good. For some reason, it helped, even if just a little.

Jungkook shifted in his seat as Jimin spread out their project materials on the coffee table. Despite his awkwardness, he couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly Jimin took the lead, guiding their work with a natural ease.

"Okay, so I was thinking we could split this part of the research," Jimin said, tapping his pen on a sheet of paper. "I can handle the theoretical stuff, and you can tackle the practical application. What do you think?"

Jungkook nodded stiffly. "Yeah, that works," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Great!" Jimin beamed, his enthusiasm almost contagious. "And if you need help with anything, just let me know, okay?"

"Okay," Jungkook replied, not meeting his gaze.

As they worked, Jungkook found himself gradually relaxing—just a little. Jimin had a way of keeping the atmosphere light, throwing in the occasional joke or anecdote about his day. Jungkook even caught himself smiling a few times, though he quickly looked away, worried Jimin might notice.

"You're really good at this," Jimin said suddenly, glancing at Jungkook’s neatly organized notes.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly. "Uh… thanks."

Jimin tilted his head. "You don’t hear that often, do you?"

Jungkook froze, unsure how to respond. He shrugged, pretending to focus on his laptop.

Jimin didn’t push, instead redirecting the conversation back to the project. By the time they finished for the day, they’d made significant progress, and Jungkook felt a strange sense of accomplishment—not just from the work but from the fact that he’d managed to survive the interaction without completely embarrassing himself.

 

Walking back to his dorm, Jungkook replayed the afternoon in his mind.  He has never had a partner quite like Jimin-

He had already prepared himself for the worst—another awkward, forced partnership where they would only speak when necessary, where Jungkook would do most of the work alone because his presence made people uncomfortable, because no one ever really wanted to be paired with him. He had already braced himself for the wary glances, the stiff formality, the unspoken relief when the project would finally be over, and they could go back to pretending he didn’t exist.

But Jimin wasn’t like that.

From the moment they sat down together, Jimin had smiled at him like he wasn’t a stranger. Like Jungkook wasn’t someone people avoided. His presence was warm—soft in a way that Jungkook didn’t know how to process. He was easy to talk to, effortlessly carrying the conversation even when Jungkook struggled to contribute. There was something about him that made the air feel lighter, like he knew how to make space for people without making them feel like they were taking up too much room.

It wasn’t that he was overly nice, not in the way that some people were, where their kindness was artificial, stretched too thin like they were just waiting for an excuse to snap. Jimin’s kindness felt real. Natural. Like he didn’t have to try to be good, like it was just something that lived in his bones. The way he laughed, the way he filled silences before they could grow heavy, the way he looked Jungkook in the eye when he spoke, like he actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

He caught himself thinking—just for a second—that Jimin was probably the best partner he had ever had. That maybe, if things were different, if Jungkook weren’t the way that he was, he would have actually wanted to be friends with him. That maybe, in another life, they could have been.

But then reality set back in, crashing down like a cold slap of water.

Jimin was just being polite.

That’s all this was.

Jungkook wasn’t special. He wasn’t different. Jimin was the kind of person who was kind to everyone, even the broken ones, even the ones who didn’t deserve it. This wasn’t anything more than that.

Because someone like Jimin—someone warm and bright and full of life—would never choose to be friends with someone like Jungkook.

So Jungkook reminded himself not to get used to it.

Still, there was a tiny flicker of hope, one Jungkook was almost too scared to acknowledge. What if Jimin actually liked working with him? What if this wasn’t just a one-off thing?

 

---

 

Jungkook was already seated in his usual spot when Jimin sauntered into the lecture hall. He expected the other to take his usual seat somewhere else—maybe near the middle, where people actually wanted to be. Instead, Jimin slid into the chair beside him with an air of finality, dropping his bag onto the desk as if he had been doing this for months.

Jungkook stiffened, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced at Jimin from the corner of his eye, waiting for an explanation.

“You don’t have to sit here,” he muttered, keeping his voice low. He knew people were watching. He always knew when eyes were on him.

Jimin shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “No, you don’t.”

Jimin turned to look at him then, eyes alight with something stubborn and unwavering. “I want to.”

Jungkook swallowed, pressing his lips into a thin line. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He didn’t get people like Jimin—people who were bright, social, and unafraid. People who had everything they needed to blend in but still chose not to.

Still, he tried one more time. “Look, you don’t have to be nice to me outside of our project.”

“I’m not being nice,” Jimin shot back, tilting his head like Jungkook was being dense. “We’re friends now.”

Jungkook blinked, unable to hide his bafflement. That was a leap. No one just decided to be friends like that, especially not with him.

But before he could argue, a voice cut in.

“Oh my god, Jimin, really?”

Jungkook barely had time to turn before a guy and a girl—both well-dressed, both carrying that effortless confidence that came with belonging—approached their desk, looking at Jimin like he had just committed social suicide.

“You’re actually doing a project with this freak?” the girl sneered, arms crossed.

Jungkook tensed, his body going rigid as his stomach twisted in familiar anticipation. Ah. There it was. The way people always reduced him to a single word. Freak. Outcast. Nobody.

Jimin, however, didn’t immediately respond. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, Jungkook thought he saw the other hesitate—like this confrontation had been brewing for a while.

The guy scoffed. “What’s next, huh? Are you gonna start wearing all black and brooding in the corner, too?” He motioned vaguely to Jungkook, as if he wasn’t even worth addressing directly.

Jungkook gritted his teeth, inhaling sharply. He didn’t even know these people. Hadn’t so much as looked at them before. Yet here they were, speaking like he was some unfortunate disease Jimin had caught.

Jimin finally sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “What do you want, Sungjae?”

“What do I want?” Sungjae echoed, laughing mockingly. “I want to know why you’re hanging around him.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “You know, it was bad enough when you started ditching us for them—” she spat the word out like it was venomous “—but this? This is pathetic.”

Jimin scoffed. “Right. Because being friends with Taehyung, Namjoon, and Yoongi is so much worse than being stuck with you guys.”

Who are these guys and what did they have to do with this? Jungkook felt even more uncomfortable now. It seems this fight barely has anything to do with him he just makes Jimin an easy target just by being near him.

The girl placed a hand over her chest, feigning offense. “You used to be fun, Jimin. Now you’re just embarrassing.”

Jimin clenched his jaw but didn’t respond.

Jungkook had learned a long time ago that stepping in when he wasn’t wanted only made things worse. So, he lowered his gaze, sinking into his seat, forcing himself to let it go. This wasn’t his fight.

Jimin barely looked up for the rest of class, clearly still stuck in thought and Jungkook wanted to help but he felt it wasn't his place. This was clearly something personal, something Jungkook shouldn't get involved in. At least that's what he tells himself but deep down he knows- everyone knows- that he's just a coward. So for once he actually listened to the lecture, because he'd feel too guilt ridden whenever he'd look at Jimin.

But now Jungkook is at home and he can't stop thinking about it. About the way Jimin sat there, small but unwavering, his usual sunshine-drenched warmth dimmed under the weight of Sungjae and Mina’s words. About how Jungkook had just sat there, silent, watching the way Jimin’s expression flickered—just for a second—before he forced his easygoing smile back into place like it didn’t sting. But it did. Jungkook knew it did. He had seen the way Jimin’s hands curled subtly into fists at his sides, how his shoulders stiffened, how the light in his eyes dulled just a little when Mina had called him ebarrassing, like Jimin was some kind of joke.

And Jungkook had done nothing. He could have said something—should have said something—but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, thick and immovable, and instead of speaking up, he had just looked away. He had let the conversation shift to something else, let it slip by like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. And now, hours later, Jungkook is still thinking about it, about the way Jimin had laughed a little too easily afterward, about how he had kept glancing at Jungkook as if searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or just proof that Jungkook wasn’t like them. But Jungkook had failed him.

Because the truth is, defending Jimin would have been easy. It would have taken just a few words, just a second of courage, just one firm, “That’s not fair,” and yet he hadn’t done it. He had let the moment slip by, let Jimin take the hit alone, and the guilt of it sits heavy in his stomach, a leaden, awful thing that he doesn’t know how to fix. He wishes he could go back, do it over, say what he should have said, but he can’t. And worse than that—he doesn’t know if Jimin noticed. If Jimin had seen Jungkook’s silence and decided that maybe he wasn’t worth defending after all.

That thought—the possibility that Jimin might have walked away from that conversation feeling more alone than before—makes Jungkook feel sick.

 

---

 

Over the next couple of weeks, they met up several more times to work on the project. Each session felt a little easier than the last. Jimin had a way of drawing Jungkook out, even if just in small increments. He’d ask about Jungkook’s interests, crack jokes that actually made him smile, and never once seemed to judge him for his awkwardness. It also helped that Jimin talked a lot so Jungkook didn't feel pressured to fill any uncomfortable silences. He's got an interesting life, alsways telling stories about the crazy things he and his frinds do.

One day, after wrapping up a particularly productive session, Jimin leaned back on the couch and grinned. "You know, I’m really glad we paired up. You’re a lot cooler than you let on, Jungkook."

Jungkook’s cheeks burned. "I’m not… cool," he muttered, fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

Jimin chuckled as he reached into his bag, pulling out a pouch of brightly colored candies. “Sure you are, Jungkook. You just don’t see it yet. Here—" he tossed the bag onto the table with a grin. "We could both use a little sugar rush.”  

Jungkook hesitated before reaching for one. He plucked out a strawberry-flavored candy, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. The artificial sweetness wasn’t usually his thing, but there was something nostalgic about it. He’d always had a soft spot for anything strawberry.

Jungkook will never admit it, but he’s grown terribly fond of Jimin. It’s dangerous, how easily Jimin fits himself into Jungkook’s life, how effortlessly he makes a home for himself in a place Jungkook thought was too hollow to be filled.

And Jungkook hates it.

Because Jimin is the kind of friend he’s always wanted—the kind of friend he’ll never deserve.

So when Jimin cracks a stupid joke that makes Jungkook’s lips twitch, he forces himself to look away, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dig into his palms. He doesn’t deserve this—not even these fleeting moments of warmth. If Jimin notices how Jungkook stiffens, how he withdraws the moment things feel too real, he doesn’t say anything. He just stays.

Jimin keeps talking, keeps touching his shoulder in casual gestures, keeps treating Jungkook as if he’s something more than a project partner who will fade into the background once the semester ends. It’s not happiness—not quite—but for the first time in a long while, Jungkook feels like he can breathe.

And for just a second, he wonders—maybe, maybe, maybe—if this could be real.

But then he looks at his hands, at the scars and the ghosts of all the things he’s done, and he remembers. He remembers that people like him don’t get to have things like this.

Jimin is too bright. Too kind. Too good.

And Jungkook refuses to be the thing that ruins him.

But it’s like Jimin knows—like he can see straight through the cracks, like he understands that Jungkook has spent years trying to unstick the broken pieces of himself but doesn’t know how. Jimin is careful with him, strangely attuned to his shifting moods, like he knows when it’s safe to touch him and when to keep his distance.

Jungkook shouldn’t let this happen. He should push Jimin away before it’s too late.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Sorry I’m a mess, Jungkook wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

Jimin pulls him out of his thoughts, leaned back, watching Jungkook with an almost mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, by the way, I talked to a friend of mine. He said you could join him sometime.”  

Jungkook frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. “What friend?”  

“The guy who has access to the music studio. Remember? You mentioned you wanted to learn producing, so I figured I’d hook you up.”  

Jungkook blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Wait, wasn’t he your roommate’s friend?”  

Jimin rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation. “Can’t you just say thank you?” Without warning, he grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and chucked it at Jungkook.  

The pillow landed with a soft thud, and for a moment, Jungkook just stared at Jimin, unsure of how to respond. Then, to Jimin’s surprise, a quiet laugh escaped him. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, but it was genuine.  

Jimin’s face lit up at the sound. “See? You’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be.”  

Jungkook shook his head, still smiling faintly as he tossed the pillow back onto the couch. “Thanks, I can't eve-" before he could finish his sentence the Front door opened, followed by a voice announcing, “I’m home!” Jungkook assumed it was Jimin’s roommate.

“We’re in the living room!” Jimin called back, shooting Jungkook an apologetic grimace and mouthing, sorry.

Jungkook didn’t have time to ask why Jimin was apologizing before the roommate entered the room. Jungkook’s gaze immediately snapped to him, and he couldn’t help but stare. The man was tall, with soft brown hair that looked like it had been spun from silk. His warm, tan skin contrasted sharply with his sharp, deep brown eyes, which seemed to cut through Jungkook’s very soul.

Their eyes met, and the roommate made a beeline straight for Jungkook, completely ignoring Jimin’s presence.

“Hey, I’m Taehyung, but you can call me Tae,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Jungkook’s spine. Taehyung extended a hand, his eyes darting over Jungkook’s face, as if committing every detail to memory.

Jungkook froze, his brain short-circuiting. He stared at Taehyung’s outstretched hand, his mouth slightly open but unable to form any words. His gaze wandered down to Taehyung’s hand—strong and manly, veins prominent along his lean fingers. His eyes slowly trailed up Taehyung’s arm, admiring the subtle muscle definition, over his broad shoulders, and finally landing on his full, soft-looking lips.

Taehyung. What a nice name. The thought floated unbidden through Jungkook’s mind.

The spell broke when Taehyung chuckled softly and withdrew his hand. Jungkook snapped out of his stupor, cheeks flushing a deep red. Taehyung left the room, but the weight of the moment lingered.

Jungkook felt his heart pounding against his ribs as he stared at the floor, too embarrassed to even glance at Jimin. The silence stretched, unbearably heavy, until Jimin suddenly burst out laughing.

“What—what was that?” Jimin half-yelled, practically wheezing as he clutched his stomach.

Jungkook relaxed, but only slightly. The laughter was contagious, though, and he felt a sheepish grin pulling at his lips. He grabbed a pillow and buried his face into it, muffling his groan. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Jimin cackled even harder, barely able to catch his breath. “You looked like you’d seen a god descend from the heavens! I mean, Taehyung’s handsome, sure, but damn.”

Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from laughing, too, despite how mortified he felt. His face burned as he peeked over the pillow. “He caught me off guard, okay?”

“Caught you off guard? Jungkook, you were checking him out. Don’t even try to deny it!”

Jungkook groaned again, this time louder, before pulling the pillow back over his face. Despite the embarrassment, though, he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.

 

That night, Jungkook lay in bed, staring at the faint glow of his phone screen. He scrolled through their text exchange from earlier—simple messages about meeting times and project details, but they felt significant somehow.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt something other than the dull ache of loneliness. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him going.

Maybe, he thought, as sleep began to pull him under, it’s okay to let someone in.

 

Chapter 3: Maybe I can do this

Jungkook didn’t know why he said yes. When Jimin had casually mentioned the food festival happening that weekend, his initial reaction had been to make an excuse. Crowds weren’t his thing, and the thought of navigating through a sea of strangers made his chest tighten. But Jimin had a way of asking that made it hard to refuse. When he’d said, “It’ll be fun, I promise. We can try all kinds of food,” with that warm, contagious enthusiasm, Jungkook had found himself nodding despite the anxiety already pooling in his stomach.

Jungkook stands at the entrance of the festival, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders curled inward against the biting cold. The night air is crisp, sharp against his skin, turning his breath into little clouds of white that vanish almost as soon as they appear. The streets are buzzing with life—laughter and chatter weaving through the air, smell of sizzling meat, spicy stews, and freshly grilled pancakes clinging to the cold breeze. Brightly colored lanterns hang from strings above, their warm glow flickering against the dark sky, casting a golden sheen over the bustling crowd. People move in clusters, bundled up in thick coats and scarves, their excitement palpable, infectious. But Jungkook doesn’t feel it. Not really. All he can feel is the steady thrum of his pulse, the nervous energy coiling tight in his stomach, making it hard to breathe.   

He shouldn’t be this anxious. It’s just Jimin. Jimin, who is loud and bright and so effortlessly kind that it unsettles Jungkook sometimes. Jimin, who is the first friend he’s had in years. And that’s exactly the problem. Because Jungkook isn’t good at this—at friendships, at keeping people around. He’s never had to before, never let himself. But Jimin had somehow slipped through the cracks, wormed his way past Jungkook’s defenses before Jungkook even had a chance to build them up properly. And now he’s here, stomach twisting itself into knots, terrified that he’s going to ruin this before it even really begins.   

He shifts from foot to foot, fingers tightening into fists in his pockets. What if he says something stupid? What if he does something wrong? What if Jimin realizes that Jungkook isn’t worth the effort and decides to walk away just like everyone else has? The thought makes his chest feel hollow, makes the cold seep into his bones in a way that has nothing to do with the weather. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t be this desperate to hold onto something that was never promised to him in the first place. But he is. And it terrifies him.   

Jungkook inhales deeply, trying to ground himself, but it does little to ease the tension locking his muscles. The festival is too loud, too bright, too much. The laughter, the flashing lights, the sea of unfamiliar faces—it all blurs together, pressing in on him from all sides, making his skin itch with the urge to retreat. To leave before he can screw this up. But then—he spots him. A familiar figure weaving through the crowd, bundled up in an oversized coat, cheeks dusted pink from the cold, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he scans the entrance. And just like that, the noise fades, the tension eases just a little, and for the first time all night, Jungkook feels like maybe—just maybe—he can do this.

“Jungkook!”

Relief washed over him as he saw Jimin jogging toward him, a bright smile on his face. His presence, as always, felt grounding in a way Jungkook didn’t fully understand.

“Sorry I’m late!” Jimin said, slightly out of breath but cheerful as ever. “There was this elderly lady in line ahead of me at the bus stop, and she needed help with her bags. Anyway, ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replied, though his voice lacked conviction. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, willing himself to keep calm.

Jimin didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. He was already leading the way into the festival, his excitement palpable.

As they stepped inside, the atmosphere hit Jungkook like a wave. The path was lined with stalls on both sides, each one bustling with activity. Vendors called out their offerings in sing-song voices, trying to attract customers. The sizzle of frying pans, the rhythmic thud of knives chopping vegetables, and the cheerful hum of music blended into a symphony of sound. It was overwhelming.

Jungkook’s eyes darted around, taking in the colorful displays. Stalls offered everything from steaming bowls of tteokbokki to skewers of chicken and pork glistening with sauce. He saw trays of gimbap, golden hotteok, and bubbling pots of spicy jjigae. The smells were intoxicating, yet they added to the sensory overload.

“Let’s start over there,” Jimin said, pointing to a stall with a line of people clutching plates piled high with food.

Jungkook followed closely, his gaze fixed on the ground. The crowd jostled around him, and he felt like he could barely breathe. His hands clenched into fists inside his pockets, a small attempt to steady himself.

The line moved quickly, and soon they were at the front. Jimin stepped up confidently, chatting with the vendor like he was an old friend. He ordered with ease, tossing in a joke that made the vendor laugh.

When it was Jungkook’s turn, he froze. The menu board was crammed with options, and his mind blanked.

“Do you want me to pick for you?” Jimin asked, turning to him with a reassuring smile.

Jungkook nodded, grateful. “Yeah, please.”

A minute later, Jimin handed him a plate loaded with bulgogi, japchae, and kimchi. “Here, try this. It’s a classic combo.”

They found a spot at a nearby bench, balancing their plates on their laps. Jungkook took a cautious bite, his tension easing slightly as the sweet, savory flavors melted on his tongue.

“This is really good,” he murmured, surprised at how much he liked it.

“Told you,” Jimin said, grinning triumphantly.

As they ate, Jimin kept the conversation light, talking about everything from his favorite festival foods to funny stories from his childhood. Jungkook listened more than he spoke, but Jimin didn’t seem to mind. His easygoing nature made it less intimidating to respond, and Jungkook found himself chiming in more than he usually would.

After finishing their plates, Jimin insisted on visiting more stalls. “You can’t come to a food festival and only try one thing,” he said, dragging Jungkook toward a stall selling hotteok.The warm, sticky sweetness of the filled pancakes was a revelation. Jungkook couldn’t help but let out a small, satisfied hum as he took his first bite. Jimin laughed. “See? I knew you’d love it.”

They wandered through the festival for hours, sampling dishes and sharing bites. Jimin’s energy was infectious, and though the crowds still made Jungkook uneasy, it wasn’t as suffocating as he’d feared. Jimin had a way of making the chaos feel manageable, even enjoyable.

Jungkook barely registered Jimin’s hasty excuse about going to the bathroom before he disappeared into the bustling crowd. The moment Jimin was gone, the full weight of the chaos around him hit like a tidal wave. The chatter of a hundred voices blurred into an indistinguishable roar, the heat of bodies pressing too close, the bright lights from the stalls glaring in his vision. He clenched his fists, focusing on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

It wasn’t working.

Jungkook tried counting to ten, something that had helped in the past, but each number slipped through his mental grasp, overtaken by the noise. His pulse quickened, and a familiar tightness built in his chest. His gaze darted around, searching desperately for an escape, but all he saw was a mass of strangers moving in every direction. He felt trapped, rooted to the spot as panic clawed its way up his throat.

And then, as if by fate, his eyes locked with a familiar face. Taehyung.

The older man stood just a few feet away, his sharp brown eyes fixed on Jungkook. His expression softened into a lazy smile as he began weaving his way through the crowd. Taehyung moved with an ease that Jungkook could only envy, his confidence palpable in the way he carried himself.

“Hey, Jungkook, right?” Taehyung asked, his smirk playful but his gaze piercing.

Jungkook swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Uh, hi… yeah.”

It was pathetic, really. His words barely came out above a whisper, and the effort to keep his panic under wraps was painfully obvious. Jungkook was mortified—not just by his anxiety but by the fact that Jimin’s absurdly attractive roommate was witnessing it firsthand.

“Don’t tell me you’re out here all alone,” Taehyung said, crouching slightly to catch Jungkook’s eye.

“No, I’m not... I mean, Jimin… bathroom,” Jungkook stammered, the words tumbling out in disjointed fragments.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed in concern, and before Jungkook could say anything else, Taehyung reached out, gently tilting his chin upward. The touch was firm but careful, and when Taehyung got a good look at Jungkook’s face, his expression shifted to one of quiet understanding.

“You’re not okay,” Taehyung said softly, more a statement than a question.

Jungkook didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His trembling hands and rapid breathing spoke volumes.

Without hesitation, Taehyung stepped closer and placed a hand on the back of Jungkook’s head, guiding him into a firm embrace. The warmth of Taehyung’s body was immediate and grounding, a stark contrast to the cold panic that had consumed Jungkook moments ago.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung murmured. “Just breathe.”

Jungkook let himself relax, the tension slowly bleeding out of his body. The sound of Taehyung’s steady heartbeat in his ear and the solid weight of his arms around him were oddly comforting. For a moment, the chaos of the festival faded into the background.

When Jungkook’s breathing finally evened out, Taehyung leaned back slightly, keeping a hand on his shoulder. His other hand came up to gently brush against Jungkook’s cheek, his touch featherlight.

“Feeling better?” Taehyung asked, his voice low and soothing.

Jungkook nodded, though the blush creeping up his neck betrayed how flustered he felt.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook blurted out, his voice shaky. His embarrassment was overwhelming, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes for an entirely different reason now.

Taehyung gave him a soft smile, his thumb brushing against Jungkook’s cheek before moving down to graze the corner of his lips. The touch was fleeting but left Jungkook breathless.

“Don’t apologize,” Taehyung said, his tone firm yet kind. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

Jungkook’s heart raced, not from panic this time but from the sheer intensity in Taehyung’s gaze. His deep voice, his steady presence—it all felt too much, and yet he didn’t want it to end.

Just as Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, the moment shattered.

“Tae! Hey, what’s going on?”

Jimin’s voice cut through the air, his presence like a splash of cold water. Taehyung stepped back, his hand falling away from Jungkook as he turned to greet Jimin.

“Hey, just ran into Jungkook here,” Taehyung said casually, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he glanced back at Jungkook. “Figured I’d keep him company while you were gone.”

Jimin’s gaze flicked between them, suspicion evident on his face. “Right… well, thanks, I guess.”

Taehyung grinned, the easy charm returning to his demeanor. “No problem. Anyways, I should get back to Joon. See you guys later.”

With one last glance at Jungkook—a glance that felt far too meaningful—Taehyung turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Jimin turned back to Jungkook, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You look kind of… I don’t know, flustered.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook mumbled, avoiding Jimin’s gaze. “Let’s just keep going.”

Jimin didn’t press further, though Jungkook could tell he was still curious about what had just happened. For now, Jungkook was grateful that Jimin let it go.

But as they walked through the festival, the memory of Taehyung’s embrace lingered in Jungkook’s mind. His touch, his words, the way he seemed to see right through Jungkook—it was all too much to process. And yet, a small, unshakable part of him didn’t want to forget it.

The rest of the festival passed in a blur for Jungkook. He trailed after Jimin, occasionally nodding at his enthusiastic chatter about the various stalls and performances, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was stuck on Taehyung.

The way Taehyung had looked at him, touched him—it was unlike anything Jungkook had experienced before. It wasn’t just the physicality of it, though that alone had been enough to set his heart racing. It was the quiet understanding in Taehyung’s eyes, the way he’d known exactly what Jungkook needed without him having to say a word.

Jungkook found himself replaying the moment over and over, dissecting every detail. Had he imagined the intensity in Taehyung’s gaze? Was it possible that someone like him—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—could genuinely care about someone as awkward and reserved as Jungkook?

By the time they left the festival, Jungkook felt like his brain was tied in knots. Jimin noticed his quietness but didn’t comment, simply waving goodbye when they parted ways near campus. Jungkook was grateful for that.

When he finally got home, he dropped his bag by the door and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The events of the evening played out in his mind like a movie reel, but one scene stood out more than the others.

The way Taehyung had held him.

He could still feel the warmth of Taehyung’s arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against Jungkook’s ear. It had been grounding in a way nothing else ever had, and the memory of it sent a shiver down his spine.

“Get it together,” Jungkook muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it was overwhelming and unfamiliar, and he wasn’t sure how to process it.

 

---

 

Over the next few days, Jungkook tried to push the incident out of his mind, throwing himself into his coursework and the project he and Jimin were working on. But Taehyung seemed to be everywhere.

He’d come into the kitchen when Jungkook was over at Jimin’s place, casually leaning against the counter as he chatted with Jimin about some event they were planning to attend. He’d brush past Jungkook in the hallway, offering a quick smile or a teasing comment that left Jungkook flustered and unsure how to respond. Jungkook would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention but he was so painfully bad at flirting, he felt like a fool.

Despite his best efforts to stay focused, Jungkook found himself growing more aware of his surroundings in a way he hadn’t before. It wasn’t just Taehyung—though he was certainly the most distracting presence—it was everything. The way Jimin had started waiting for him outside of class, the way people’s gazes lingered a little longer when they passed by, the way whispers sometimes died down when he walked into a room. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he was imagining things, but the uneasy feeling in his chest never fully went away.

So when he stepped into the lecture hall a few days later, the tension in the air registered before he even spotted Jimin.

Jungkook started automatically making his way toward the back where he and Jimin sat. Jimin was already there, but he wasn’t alone. Sungjae and the girl—Mina, was it?—stood in front of his desk, laughing while Jimin stared down at his hands, tense and unmoving. His mind went back to a few weeks ago, when Sungjae and Mina had made fun of Jimin for simply partnering with him. How he hadn't defended Jimin then although he was the reason Jimin was getting picked on in the first place.

Jungkook slowed, something gnawing at his chest.

He knew what it was like to be laughed at like that. To be outnumbered. To feel trapped in a conversation you never wanted to be a part of. He knew what it was like to be the outsider. He had learned to live with it.

But Jimin—Jimin wasn’t used to this. Jimin wasn’t like him.

This time is going to be different, Jungkook thought to himself.

This time I'm going to stand up for my friend.

Before he could second-guess himself, Jungkook stepped forward. His pulse hammered against his ribs, and his throat felt too tight, but he forced the words out anyway.

“Leave him alone.” It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t confident. His voice wavered slightly, his palms clammy. But it was enough to make the laughter stop.

Sungjae turned, eyebrows shooting up in surprise before a smirk curved his lips. “Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?”

Jungkook clenched his fists at his sides. He wasn’t a fighter. Never had been. And they could tell. They saw the way he shifted uneasily, how his shoulders curled in slightly, how his voice didn’t carry the weight of someone who was used to speaking up.

Sungjae’s smirk widened before he suddenly grabbed Jungkook’s collar, shoving him back against the wall. Jungkook barely had time to react before the cold surface met his back.

“Oh, look at you,” Sungjae drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “So brave.”

Mina giggled, pulling out her phone. “Hold on, let me get this on camera—”

A small crowd had begun forming, students pausing to watch but not stepping in. They never did.

Jungkook’s heart pounded in his chest. His hands twitched at his sides, torn between pushing back and staying still.

But before he had to decide, another voice cut through the tension.

“Get the fuck off him.” Jimin’s voice was sharp, furious. And then—before anyone could process what was happening—he shoved Sungjae off of Jungkook, hard. Sungjae stumbled back, looking momentarily stunned.

Jimin’s eyes were ablaze with anger, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. “I mean it,” he hissed. “Don’t ever touch him again.”

Sungjae scoffed, rolling his shoulders before muttering, “Not worth it, anyway.” He shot Jimin a disgusted look. “Have fun with your freak.”

With that, he turned and walked off, Mina following close behind.

Silence stretched between Jimin and Jungkook.

Then Jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before turning to Jungkook. His expression softened instantly. “You okay?”

Jungkook nodded, but he didn’t feel okay. Not really.

Still, when Jimin grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the exit, he didn’t resist.

 

Sitting on a bench outside, Jimin let out a sigh, sipping on his drink. “I used to hate Taehyung,” he admitted suddenly.

Jungkook turned to him, caught off guard.

Jimin chuckled dryly. “He moved in with me, and I thought my life was over. He was too cocky, too messy, acted like nothing was ever a big deal. And then he brought his friends over—Yoongi and Namjoon.” He shook his head. “They were weird. Awkward. Grumpy. That's actually why Sungjae and Mina stopped hanging out with me.”

Them. Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon. Jungkook finally pieced it together. That’s why they hate him so much.

Jimin had lost his old friends because of Taehyung and his group. And now, instead of cutting his losses, instead of clinging to what little social currency he had left, he was doubling down—choosing people who didn’t fit the mold over those who did.

Jungkook wasn’t sure whether that was admirable or incredibly foolish but he kept listening silently.

“But… they’re my family now.” Jimin’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

Jungkook swallowed the lump in his throat. I want that.

He wanted a family like that.

But he didn’t deserve it.

Jimin turned to him suddenly, his expression unreadable. "You should join us sometime."

Jungkook blinked. "What?"

"Come hang out with us," Jimin repeated, nudging Jungkook’s knee with his own. "I think you’d like them."

Jungkook hesitated. For a split second, something inside him ached to say yes.

But then reality came crashing back, the weight of his own self-doubt smothering the tiny flicker of hope before it could grow into something dangerous.

"Maybe," he said finally, voice hollow.

Jimin didn't push. He just hummed, taking another sip of his drink, letting the silence settle between them.

And for now, that was enough.

 

---

 

After the final touches on their project, Jungkook lingered in the living room longer than he intended. He wasn’t sure why—maybe he was delaying the inevitable goodbye. With the project wrapped up, there was no real reason for him to stick around anymore. That thought left a pit in his stomach. This whole experience, as nerve-wracking as it had been, had opened a door to something new—a connection he didn’t want to lose.

He was about to mumble an excuse and make his exit when Jimin spoke up, his voice casual but warm. “You know, we’re having a movie night tonight. I’d really like you to join.”

Jungkook froze, his mind racing. His first instinct was to politely decline. Social situations were a minefield, and the idea of meeting new people made his chest tighten. But then he looked at Jimin, who was watching him with an expectant smile, and he thought of Taehyung’s easy kindness and quiet reassurances. Pushing them away now felt... wrong.

But Jungkook isn’t used to this—he isn’t used to belonging anywhere. And yet, here he is, tucked into the heart of Jimin’s world, being offered a place to stay for the night, an invitation to meet the people Jimin calls his family. He should want this. He does want this. But the anxiety clawing at his chest makes it hard to breathe, hard to think.

He swallows, his throat tight, gaze darting to Jimin, who’s looking at him expectantly. He wants to say yes. He wants to stay. He wants to prove to Jimin that he’s a good friend. But at the same time, the thought of meeting Jimin’s friends—the people who love him, who truly know him—makes his stomach twist painfully. Because what if they see what Jungkook sees in himself? What if they take one look at him and know that he doesn’t belong, that he isn’t good enough to be here? What if they tell Jimin that he’s making a mistake by keeping Jungkook around?

Jimin’s been so patient with him, so relentlessly kind, and Jungkook doesn’t know how to handle it. Doesn’t know how to accept something so simple as friendship without feeling like he’s about to ruin it just by existing. And if he stays, if he meets these people, it’ll only make things harder when Jimin finally realizes that Jungkook isn’t someone worth keeping. Because people don’t keep him. They never do. And Jungkook doesn’t think he can survive it if Jimin looks at him one day with anything less than warmth in his eyes.

But then—Jimin nudges his shoulder, grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners, and says, “You’ll love them, I promise.” And it’s that simple. Jungkook wants to believe him. Wants to believe, just for tonight, that maybe he doesn’t have to run. Maybe, just maybe, he can stay.

Swallowing his nerves, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Jimin’s smile widened. “Great! There’s still some time before everyone gets here. I’m gonna freshen up real quick, so make yourself at home.”

With Jimin gone, Jungkook wandered into the kitchen, his anxiety bubbling up again. He decided to make a hot chocolate—a small comfort to calm his nerves. As the milk began to heat, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“You’re still here,” a familiar, low voice said, laced with sleep.

Jungkook turned to see Taehyung leaning against the doorway, his hair sticking out in every direction, dressed in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He looked effortlessly good, even half-asleep.

“Yeah, uh... Jimin invited me to movie night,” Jungkook stammered, focusing intently on the pot in front of him. “Did you just wake up?”

Taehyung chuckled, grabbing a mug and moving to make himself some coffee. “Took a nap,” he confirmed.

Jungkook hummed in response, keeping his answers short and his eyes low. Taehyung always seemed to appear when Jungkook was teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic spiral, and his presence—though oddly comforting—made Jungkook hyper-aware of every movement and word.

When the milk was ready, Jungkook quickly poured his drink and made his way to the living room, hoping to escape before his anxiety betrayed him further. But Taehyung followed, settling on the couch beside him, his coffee in hand.

“You’re avoiding me,” Taehyung said matter-of-factly, his tone soft but unwavering. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

The concern in his eyes made Jungkook’s chest tighten. He immediately shook his head, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “No! You could never! It’s just—I-I guess I’m just nervous.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. “Nervous?” he echoed, his voice dipping lower, as if trying not to startle Jungkook further.

Jungkook nodded, his hands trembling slightly around his mug. Without a word, Taehyung reached over, gently taking Jungkook’s hands in his. His thumbs traced soft circles against Jungkook’s skin, a silent reassurance that worked better than any words could.

For the first time that evening, Jungkook felt himself begin to breathe a little easier. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let the warmth of Taehyung’s touch ground him.

Then the doorbell rang.

Taehyung stood to answer the door while Jungkook stayed frozen on the couch, clutching his mug like a lifeline. 

The first to arrive was Jimin’s friend Jin, who swept into the apartment like a whirlwind of energy. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a face so striking it could have belonged to a model. But any intimidation his appearance might have caused was immediately dispelled by the goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Taehyung-ah! Long time no see!” Jin exclaimed dramatically, pulling Taehyung into an exaggerated hug.

"Oh, yeah, we haven't seen each other in a whole week" he stated, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You brat." Jin shot back, glaring at Taehyung "And who’s this?” he asked, turning his attention to Jungkook with a curious sparkle in his eyes.

“Uh, Jungkook,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, so you’re the mysterious project partner!” Jin said, clasping Jungkook’s hand in a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Jin, but you can call me hyung—everyone does.”

Before Jungkook could respond, Jimin reappeared, greeting Jin with a bright smile and an affectionate hug. “Jin-hyung! You’re a bit early,” Jimin teased, earning a playful nudge from the older man.

"Yeah, I had to make up for Hobi- he said he'll join us later." Jin replied, layering his voice in fake annoyance.

Not long after, the doorbell rang again, and Taehyung’s friends Yoongi and Namjoon arrived. Yoongi was the first to step inside, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead. His expression was neutral, almost cold, as his sharp eyes scanned the room. Namjoon followed closely behind, his tall frame slightly hunched as he adjusted his glasses.

“Yoongi, Namjoon—this is Jungkook,” Taehyung said, motioning toward him.

“Jimin tells me you’re interested in producing,” Yoongi said, his tone blunt but not unkind. “If you’re serious, I could show you the ropes.”

Jungkook blinked, startled by the offer. “Oh, um—thank you. I’d- uhh really appreciate that.”

Yoongi nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response, and moved to sit down.

Namjoon, sensing Jungkook’s discomfort, stepped forward with a warm, albeit slightly awkward, smile. “Don’t mind Yoongi. He’s always like this,” he said, his voice kind. “I’m Namjoon. Nice to meet you.”

As introductions continued, Jungkook struggled to keep his nerves at bay. But each time he felt himself flounder, Taehyung was there—a brief touch on his arm, a reassuring smile, a quiet comment whispered just for him. Slowly, the tension in Jungkook’s chest began to ease.

Jimin tugged Jungkook down to sit between him and Yoongi. The movie began, the screen flickering in the dimly lit room, but the storyline blurred as the energy of the group took over. Jin and Jimin were the loudest, cracking jokes at every opportunity, their laughter contagious and loud enough to rival the film’s soundtrack. Namjoon occasionally chimed in with clever quips that sent everyone into hysterics, while Taehyung leaned against the armrest, chuckling softly but always turning his gaze to Jungkook after something particularly funny was said or done.  

Jungkook didn’t join in the banter, but he found himself smiling more than he expected. Despite his usual discomfort in group settings, the camaraderie was oddly comforting. Yoongi, sitting quietly on the other side of him, seemed just as reserved. The older man’s calm presence grounded Jungkook, making him feel less out of place.  

When the movie ended, the group naturally shifted into casual conversation, the energy mellowing but still warm. Jin sprawled on the couch, recounting an embarrassing story about Namjoon that had the room erupting into laughter, while Namjoon groaned in mock protest. Jimin leaned forward, gesturing animatedly as he told Taehyung about the incident in class, painting Jungkook as some type of hero.  

Jungkook tried to ignore that, finding himself drawn into a quieter conversation with Yoongi about music. At first, his stuttering made him hesitant, but Yoongi’s patience and straightforward nature felt reassuring. They talked about their favorite producers, techniques Jungkook wanted to learn, and Yoongi’s experiences in the studio. By the end of it, Yoongi had slipped his phone out to exchange numbers with Jungkook, promising to take him along to the studio sometime.  

Jungkook wasn’t suddenly more confident—his voice still faltered, and he struggled to hold Yoongi’s gaze for too long—but the encouragement he felt was undeniable. The realization that someone like Yoongi, someone so composed and talented, was willing to help him was a small but powerful boost to his courage.  

As Jungkook tucked his phone back into his pocket, the doorbell rang, and Jimin hopped up to answer it. He barely registered the sound, too engrossed in his conversation with Yoongi, until a sharp exclamation shattered his focus.  

“Jeon Jungkook?!”  

The voice startled Jungkook, and he looked up, his eyes widening in shock. Standing in the doorway was none other than Jung Hoseok, a face he never thought he’d see again. A face tied to memories he’d buried as deeply as he could.  

“Hoseok,” he whispered, the name barely audible.  

“You two know each other?” Jimin asked brightly, smiling as he glanced between them, completely oblivious to the tension thickening the air.  

“Yeah, we’re old friends,” Hoseok replied, his tone flat and clipped. His eyes, however, spoke volumes—anger, betrayal, and something darker burned within them as they bore into Jungkook.  

Jungkook’s chest tightened, his breath hitching as the weight of Hoseok’s gaze dragged him back to memories he’d spent years trying to suppress. He saw the tears in Hoseok’s eyes when the kids at school teased him, the fear on his face when Jungkook’s father had charged at him in a drunken rage, the blood pooling beneath his brother’s head as his eyes dimmed.  

This is your fault.  

The words echoed in his mind, a merciless mantra that sent his heart racing. His lungs constricted painfully, his vision blurring as panic clawed at him. He couldn’t stay here—not with Hoseok’s accusing eyes on him, not with the ghosts of his past threatening to drown him.  

“I-I need to go,” Jungkook blurted, his voice shaking as he grabbed his bag and bolted for the door. He didn’t wait for Jimin’s protests or Hoseok’s reaction. He just ran.  

Once outside, he didn’t stop. He turned a corner and stumbled into an alley, collapsing onto his hands and knees. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, his lungs burning as he desperately tried to draw in air. His mind was blank, overwhelmed by the suffocating weight of his panic.  

Gripping his hair with trembling hands, he pulled hard, the pain sharp and grounding. He didn’t stop until his vision swam and his arms went limp, his body slumping against the cold ground. For a fleeting, terrifying moment, he let the darkness creep in, welcoming its numbing embrace. 

 

The cold, damp ground beneath Jungkook’s cheek was the first thing he became aware of as he stirred awake. His head throbbed with an ache so deep it felt like his skull had cracked. A low groan escaped his lips, barely audible in the stillness of the alley. It was dark now, the weak light of a flickering streetlamp casting long, ominous shadows across the walls.

He blinked slowly, his vision blurry and unfocused. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and something else he couldn’t quite name. Every muscle screamed in protest as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his arms trembling from the effort.

For a moment, he sat there, hunched over, his breath visible in the crisp night air. His mind was a blank canvas, and then, all at once, the memories of the evening slammed into him like a freight train.

Hoseok.
The way his former friend had stared him down, the barely concealed anger in his eyes.
The way he had run.

Jungkook wrapped his arms around his knees, burying his face in them as the first tear slipped down his cheek. He hadn’t even thought about Hoseok in years. Not really. He had done everything he could to bury those memories—his mistakes, his cowardice, the pain he had caused. And now, it was as if the universe had conspired to drag them all to the surface, forcing him to confront the one person he never thought he’d face again.

The shame burned deep, a toxic flame licking at the edges of his already fragile psyche. He couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as sobs tore through him, violent and uncontrollable. The emptiness of the alley only made the sound of his crying louder, echoing back at him like a cruel reminder of just how alone he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his hair so tightly that his nails dug into his scalp. It wasn’t just Hoseok. It was everything—years of trying to hold himself together, trying to pretend he was okay, when deep down, he had always known he wasn’t.

The cold seeped into his skin, chilling him to the bone, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. What was the point? His mind spiraled, sinking into a dark abyss of self-loathing and regret. He had thought, just for a moment, that things were getting better. Jimin and Taehyung had been like a lifeline, pulling him out of the isolation he had wrapped himself in for so long. But it was all a lie. He didn’t deserve them.

A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and humorless. “Of course it would end like this,” he muttered to himself. 

Jungkook tilted his head back, staring up at the narrow strip of night sky visible between the buildings. The stars were faint, barely visible through the city lights, but they were there. He envied their stillness, their distance.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his family—his father’s stern face, his brother’s laughter. Memories that once felt warm now only served as painful reminders of everything he had lost, of everything he had ruined. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his head, sharp and unforgiving: You’re weak, Jungkook. You’ll never be enough.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, frozen in place. Minutes? Hours? Time felt meaningless, a blur of anguish and exhaustion. His body was numb now, the cold a welcome distraction from the storm raging in his mind.

Eventually, he forced himself to his feet, though his legs shook beneath him. He stumbled as he walked, his steps uneven and aimless. The streets were empty, the city quiet in a way that felt unnatural. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward him, every sound amplified in the oppressive silence.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back—not to Jimin’s apartment, not to Taehyung’s warm gaze, not to Hoseok’s accusatory stare.

His footsteps echoed against the pavement as he wandered, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts he couldn’t sort through. The world felt surreal, like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

As he turned a corner, he found himself by the river. The water glimmered faintly under the moonlight, its surface calm and unyielding. He stopped at the edge, staring down at his reflection. The face that stared back was pale, gaunt, and utterly unfamiliar.

Jungkook sank to his knees, his hands trembling as they rested on the cold stone at the water’s edge. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up—this charade of being okay, of pretending he could piece himself back together.

For a fleeting moment, he thought about disappearing entirely. Just slipping away, leaving everything behind. Would anyone even notice? Would they care?

But as quickly as the thought came, it was chased away by an image of Jimin’s smile, Taehyung’s warm laugh. They had cared. They had tried.

His hands curled into fists, gripping the stone beneath them as he let out a ragged breath. He wasn’t ready to face them—not now, maybe not ever—but he couldn’t bring himself to give up completely. Not yet.

For now, he would stay here, alone in the cold, with only the river and the stars to keep him company. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to get through the night.

Chapter 4: Old wounds tend to scar

The next few days went by in a haze, a shapeless blur that Jungkook couldn’t quite pin down. There was no rhythm, no sense of time guiding him through the hours. He didn’t wake up at a specific time—or at least, he didn’t think so. Mornings bled into afternoons, afternoons into nights, and sometimes, he wasn’t even sure he’d woken up at all.

He would open his eyes to a ceiling he didn’t remember staring at or a room he didn’t remember walking into. His mind was a foggy, detached mess, like he was watching himself from outside his body, going through the motions of living without actually living.

Sometimes, he’d find himself in the middle of a lecture hall, sitting stiffly in a seat at the back, staring blankly at the professor. His notebook would be open in front of him, the pen in his hand poised as if ready to take notes, but the page remained blank. He had no idea how he’d gotten there or what the lecture was about. The words the professor spoke sounded like they came from underwater, garbled and meaningless.

Other times, he’d blink and find himself in the strangest places. One night, he came to his senses while sitting in the middle of the road, the dim glow of a streetlamp casting his shadow across the pavement. He didn’t know how long he’d been there or why he’d chosen that spot, but the chill of the cold ground beneath him was enough to remind him he was still alive. A car horn blared in the distance, and he shuffled to the curb, his movements slow and mechanical, like a marionette being dragged by invisible strings.

The fog was relentless, wrapping itself around his mind like a suffocating shroud. It wasn’t just his thoughts that felt muted, but his emotions too. Happiness, sadness, anger—none of them touched him. It was as if someone had turned the volume all the way down on his life.

On the rare occasions when the haze lifted, it was like coming up for air after being submerged in deep water. He’d blink in confusion, taking in the world around him with a strange mix of clarity and unease. But those moments were fleeting, lasting mere seconds before the fog rolled in again, swallowing him whole.

He couldn’t remember the last proper conversation he’d had with anyone. Jimin and Taehyung had texted him a few times, but he hadn’t replied. He’d see their names light up on his phone screen, and a pang of guilt would prick at the edge of his consciousness, but it wasn’t enough to make him respond. What would he even say? That he didn’t know how to exist right now? That he was scared they’d see him like this and realize he wasn’t worth the effort?

His apartment had become a graveyard of half-finished meals and empty bottles of water. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and his bed remained unmade. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He’d lie down, staring at the ceiling for hours, his mind as blank as the walls around him. Sleep came sporadically, if at all. When it did, it was shallow and restless, plagued by fragmented dreams that vanished the moment he woke.

Once, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, ringed by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights. His hair was a mess, sticking up in odd directions, and his clothes hung loosely on his frame, as if he’d shrunk without realizing it. The person staring back at him looked like a stranger, and he turned away quickly, unable to face it for more than a few seconds.

He’d made the mistake of blinking again and found himself slumped against a tree on campus. The sky above him was overcast, its gray tones perfectly mirroring the dull haze clouding his mind. Jungkook rubbed at his temple, a faint ache blooming there, as he tried to piece together how he’d ended up here. He reached into his pockets for his phone, but they were empty. A fresh wave of frustration washed over him, and he let his head fall back against the bark of the tree.

When he glanced up, his bleary vision focused on a figure standing above him. Yoongi. His calm, indifferent demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked furious, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared down at Jungkook.

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” Yoongi spat, his voice sharp, slicing through the fog in Jungkook’s mind. The words startled him—though not as much as the intensity in Yoongi’s expression. Jungkook blinked, trying to process what was happening, but the meaning behind the words didn’t quite sink in.

“Jimin and Taehyung have been worried sick about you!” Yoongi continued, his frustration bubbling over.

Jungkook stared at him, uncomprehending, his mind still sluggish. “What?” he mumbled, his voice weak and scratchy, like it hadn’t been used in days.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Yoongi shot back, exasperation bleeding into his tone.

It took a moment, but Jungkook finally began to register the weight of Yoongi’s words—and the anger beneath them. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky, “I... I don’t know.” He glanced around, confusion etched into his features, then tried to push himself up from the ground. His legs buckled, and he stumbled, nearly falling back down.

“Man, are you okay?” Yoongi’s anger softened, replaced with concern as he reached out to steady Jungkook.

“No,” Jungkook admitted before he could stop himself. The word tumbled out, raw and unfiltered.

Yoongi let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You feel like skin and bones. When was the last time you ate?”

Jungkook frowned, genuinely trying to remember, but his mind came up blank. Before he could answer, his stomach growled loudly, betraying him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Yoongi muttered. “Come on. It’s my treat.”

Jungkook didn’t have the energy to argue. He let Yoongi guide him to a small restaurant just off campus. They slid into a booth, Yoongi sitting across from him, and the older man promptly ordered lamb skewers and soda for them both.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Jungkook kept his gaze fixed on the table, his hands twisting together in his lap. When the food arrived, the aroma alone was enough to make his stomach twist with hunger. He didn’t even realize how ravenous he was until he started eating.

He devoured the skewers quickly, barely pausing between bites. Yoongi watched him, occasionally checking in with a soft “You good?” but mostly letting him eat in peace. Jungkook didn’t care if he looked desperate—he probably did—but the food tasted too good, and the act of eating felt grounding in a way he hadn’t experienced in days.

When he finally set his utensils down, his plate clean, he noticed Yoongi had barely touched his own food. Without a word, Yoongi pushed his plate toward Jungkook, who hesitated for a moment before muttering, “Thanks.”

“So,” Yoongi began after a few minutes, breaking the quiet, “do you want to talk about it? I know it’s about Hoseok. He tried to deny it, but I’m not stupid, so don’t even bother.” His voice was calm now, but his eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his appetite suddenly gone. “I… It’s just…” His voice wavered, and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Seeing him reminded me of a time that—that I’d rather not think about.”

“That’s okay,” Yoongi said simply, leaning back in his seat. He didn’t press further, didn’t ask for details or explanations, and for that, Jungkook was grateful. Instead, Yoongi casually shifted the conversation, as if sensing that Jungkook couldn’t handle any more heaviness.

“So,” he said, “how about you come to the studio tomorrow? Work on some music, clear your head.”

Jungkook’s first instinct was to decline. The idea of being around people, of putting himself in a vulnerable position, made his chest tighten. But then he remembered how rare it was to get access to the university studio. People fought tooth and nail for the chance, and here Yoongi was, handing him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“…Okay,” Jungkook murmured after a moment. “I’ll come.”

 

---

 

The next day, Jungkook found himself standing outside the studio, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He hesitated for a long moment before finally pushing the door open. The space inside was sleek and modern, filled with high-end equipment that looked both intimidating and enticing.

Yoongi was already there, seated at the mixing console. He looked up when Jungkook walked in and gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “You made it.”

Jungkook shuffled inside, feeling out of place but determined not to let it show. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“Come on,” Yoongi said, gesturing for him to join him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jungkook sat down hesitantly, his fingers brushing over the keyboard. The familiar feel of the keys under his hands was comforting, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Yoongi watched him silently, letting him find his rhythm.

For the next few hours, Jungkook played, experimenting with melodies and chords while Yoongi offered quiet guidance. It wasn’t just about the music—it was about reclaiming a piece of himself he thought he’d lost. For the first time in days, the fog in his mind began to lift, if only slightly.

By the time they wrapped up, Jungkook felt exhausted but lighter somehow. As he left the studio, Yoongi clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “You’re good, Jungkook. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded. But as he walked back to his apartment, the faintest spark of hope flickered in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him moving forward.

 

---

 

Over the next few weeks, Jungkook found himself spending more and more time in the studio with Yoongi. Their sessions had a natural rhythm now, the initial awkwardness melting away as they worked together. Namjoon, a mutual friend of Yoongi’s who produced music as a hobby, occasionally joined them, his easygoing nature adding a lighthearted touch to the otherwise focused environment. The three of them formed a quiet camaraderie, punctuated by bursts of laughter whenever Namjoon accidentally knocked something over or Yoongi muttered sarcastic comments about Namjoon’s “experimental” approach to music. For Jungkook, the studio became a sanctuary—a space where he could lose himself in melodies and beats, free from the weight of everything else. 

But the weight was still there, lurking outside the studio walls. One day, Jungkook decided he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He called Jimin and asked to meet him, a lump in his throat as he walked to the café they’d agreed on. Jimin was already there when Jungkook arrived, sitting at a table by the window with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. His usual warm smile was absent, replaced by an expression that was unreadable but heavy with tension. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook blurted out as soon as he sat down. His hands trembled slightly, so he hid them under the table. “For running off that night. For not answering your calls. I wasn’t in a good place, and I didn’t know how to face anyone.” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Jimin stared at him for a long moment, his gaze piercing. Finally, he sighed, setting his mug down. “Jungkook, I get that you were going through something. But…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the table. “Hoseok told me what happened. About what you did to him. How you… betrayed him.”

Jungkook froze, his breath catching in his throat. He had suspected this moment would come, but hearing it out loud still hit like a punch to the gut. “Jimin, I—” He reached across the table, desperate to explain, but Jimin pulled back slightly, his face clouded with something between apprehension and disappointment.

“I don’t know if I can just accept your apology, Jungkook,” Jimin said softly but firmly. “Not after what I’ve heard. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He looked away, his voice trembling as he added, “Hoseok’s my friend too, and he’s hurting. I can’t just ignore that.”

Jungkook feels it before he fully processes it—the sharp, hollow ache that opens up in his chest like a wound torn fresh, like something raw and exposed that he has no way to protect. Jimin’s voice still lingers in the air, soft but firm, filled with regret but unwavering. “I think we should stop hanging out for a while… for Hoseok’s sake.” The words play on a loop, drilling deeper and deeper, each repetition driving home what he already knew—what he always knew. That this was inevitable. That he let himself believe in something that was never his to have. That the warmth Jimin offered was borrowed, temporary, a kindness extended with an expiration date. And now, just like every other time, it’s being ripped away.

He knew it was coming. Of course he did. He saw the signs—the way Jimin hesitated before speaking, the way his usual brightness had dimmed with unspoken tension. And yet, despite knowing, it still feels like being gutted from the inside out. He swallows hard, but his throat feels tight, like it’s closing in on itself. His hands curl into fists in his lap, nails pressing deep into his palms, but he barely feels the sting. Because this—this is worse than pain. This is proof. Proof that no matter how much he tries, no matter how much he wants to believe he can have something good, he is always, always left behind in the end.

Hoseok must have painted Jungkook in the ugliest shades of betrayal, and Jimin—Jimin believed him. Maybe he didn’t mean to. Maybe he’s just trying to do what’s right. Maybe he thinks he’s being fair, that he’s doing what’s best. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Jimin is hurting too, that his voice was lined with guilt when he said it. What matters is that he chose. Hoseok or Jungkook. And it wasn’t even a question.

It’s pathetic, how much it hurts. How much he wants to beg Jimin to change his mind, to fight for him the way Jungkook has never been fought for before. But he doesn’t. He won’t. He knows better than that. People only stay until it’s inconvenient. Until he becomes too much. Until something—or someone—reminds them of what he really is. And then they leave. They always leave.

Jungkook nods numbly, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t ask if this is forever. He doesn’t ask if Jimin will come back when things settle. He doesn’t ask if their friendship meant anything at all. He just nods. Because what else is there to do?

“I understand,” Jungkook whispered, his voice barely audible. His hands clenched into fists under the table, nails digging into his palms as he fought back tears.

When he leaves, the weight in his chest is unbearable. The cold outside sinks into his bones, but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness spreading inside him. He tells himself he should have known better. That this is what happens when he lets people get too close. But somehow, no matter how many times it happens, it never hurts any less.

Jungkook wandered aimlessly after leaving the café, the cool evening air biting against his skin, but it barely registered. His chest felt hollow, the weight of Jimin’s words echoing in his mind like a cruel refrain. Guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, as images of Hoseok’s betrayed expression flashed before his eyes. Sadness wrapped itself around him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. He thought of all the times he’d hurt people, the trail of mistakes he couldn’t undo, and a familiar sense of worthlessness crept in, whispering that maybe he deserved this—deserved to be alone, to be abandoned.

What made it worse was the thought of Taehyung. He hadn’t seen much of him since the night of the movie, and the worry clawed at him relentlessly. Did Taehyung know? What had Jimin told him? Did he hate him now? The idea of Taehyung looking at him with the same disappointment as Jimin, or worse, with disgust, was unbearable. He wanted to reach out, to try to explain, but the fear of rejection kept his fingers frozen over his phone screen. How could he face Taehyung when he couldn’t even face himself? He walked faster, as if he could outrun the storm of emotions swirling in his chest, but the ache only deepened with each step.

 

---

 

The next time Jungkook went to the studio, his chest felt heavy, anxiety gnawing at him with every step he took closer to the door. Now that Jimin knew, it seemed inevitable that the rest of the friend group did too. Including Yoongi. If that were true, the studio—his only sanctuary in the whirlwind of chaos—might no longer feel safe. The thought of losing that scared him more than he wanted to admit. He almost turned back, the temptation to isolate himself again pulling at him like a riptide, but he forced himself forward. Yoongi had been kind to him, patient even when he didn’t have to be. It would feel unfair—selfish—to avoid him just because Jungkook was too afraid to face the consequences of his own actions.

Pushing the door open, Jungkook stepped inside and froze just past the threshold, shifting his weight nervously. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie as he stared at the floor, willing himself to move closer. He couldn’t shake the nagging thought that today could be the day everything fell apart.

“Are you planning to stand there all day?” Yoongi’s voice, calm yet teasing, cut through Jungkook’s spiral. The older man didn’t even bother turning around from the console, his back to the doorway as he tinkered with some settings.

“Uh, no… Should I sit?” Jungkook’s voice wavered, his awkwardness palpable.

That was enough to make Yoongi spin his chair around, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned Jungkook’s face. He leaned back, crossing his arms, and let out a small sigh.

“Look—I know,” Yoongi said simply, his tone blunt but not unkind. Jungkook’s heart sank, and his wide eyes shot up to meet Yoongi’s, dread pooling in his stomach.

“I…” Jungkook started, but Yoongi held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t. I don’t want some overdrawn explanation or apology. Jimin, Hoseok, and Jin have always been close, and every single one of them has a flair for the dramatic. Frankly, I think they’re overreacting.” Yoongi’s gaze softened slightly, though his voice stayed firm. “If you want to keep making music, then sit down. Otherwise, the door’s right there.”

Jungkook blinked, stunned. Relief washed over him so suddenly that he almost felt dizzy. Without another word, he nodded and shuffled to a chair, sitting down with a quiet “Thank you” as a small smile tugged at his lips. He fought back tears, knowing Yoongi wouldn’t appreciate an emotional display.

The session went on as usual, the atmosphere lightening with each beat they pieced together. By the time Yoongi announced he was going to grab takeout for lunch, Jungkook was finally starting to relax. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone,” Yoongi warned before leaving, and Jungkook gave a half-hearted nod, already zoning out as he stared up at the ceiling.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts. Jungkook sat up straight, expecting Yoongi, but froze when he saw Taehyung step inside.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook’s voice was small, almost scared. He shot up from his chair, leaning against the edge of the table for support as his knees threatened to give out. His heart raced, bracing himself for an outburst or some cutting remark. But Taehyung didn’t look angry.

“Jungkook, what's up?" he asked nonchalantly, as if nothing happened; as if Jungkook hadn't been avoiding him and as if he didn't know about his history with Hoseok. Maybe he didn't- maybe no one had told Taehyung about his past. He sat down on the couch, throwing a lazy smile Jungkook's way.

"Hey...are you- is everything okay?" Jungkook asked, fidgeting with his hands. 

Taehyung smiled big at that "Now that you're talking to me again everything's perfect."

Just then the door opened, and Yoongi walked in, balancing a bag of takeout. He raised a brow at Taehyung, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Stealing free food from my favorite Hyung,” Taehyung replied smoothly, already reaching for one of the boxes with a cheeky grin.

Yoongi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, grumbling under his breath about Taehyung’s shamelessness. Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, the lightness of the moment filling the room. For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe. 

 

The days following Taehyung’s impromptu lunch visit to the studio settled into a new routine. Taehyung began showing up more often, lounging on the worn couch tucked into the corner of the room while Jungkook and Yoongi worked on tracks. Sometimes Namjoon joined them, and though his presence was more sporadic, it added a unique dynamic to the sessions. Taehyung’s excuse was that winter break had stripped him of any real plans, but it quickly became apparent that he enjoyed the atmosphere of the studio—the low hum of creativity, the banter, and perhaps even the proximity to Jungkook.

Despite the lingering romantic tension between Jungkook and Taehyung, their interactions remained platonic. Taehyung would tease Jungkook, poking fun at his concentration face or dramatically offering unsolicited advice on beats, but these moments were interspersed with genuine conversations. They talked about music, art, and little observations about life. Jungkook found himself opening up more than he ever thought he would, drawn to Taehyung’s easygoing nature. Taehyung, in turn, learned to navigate Jungkook’s quieter personality, discovering that beneath the shyness was someone thoughtful and surprisingly funny.

Yoongi, meanwhile, had taken on a sort of mentor role for Jungkook. His approach was unassuming, offering guidance through subtle suggestions and moments of shared silence. There was a rawness to Yoongi’s presence that made it easy for Jungkook to confide in him.

One late night, long after Taehyung had left and Namjoon had bowed out for the evening, Jungkook finally told Yoongi his side of the story. 

They sit side by side on the rooftop of the studio, legs dangling over the edge. He spoke in hushed tones about Hoseok and the fallout from their friendship—about the betrayal, his father’s anger, and the guilt that had followed him like a shadow ever since. He tried to keep himself short and not reveal too much, like his father's abuse and brother's death. Yoongi listened, his expression unreadable but his focus unwavering.

“You were a kid,” Yoongi said finally. “You did the best you could in an impossible situation. I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

Jungkook blinked, surprised by the simplicity of Yoongi’s response. He had expected condemnation or at least a lecture, but Yoongi’s calm reassurances carried more weight than he’d anticipated.

Yoongi… Yoongi sees through all of it. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t push, doesn’t demand anything from Jungkook that he isn’t ready to give. He just understands. In a way no one else does, in a way that makes Jungkook feel both seen and exposed, comforted and terrified all at once. It’s in the way Yoongi watches him when he thinks Jungkook isn’t looking, like he recognizes something in him that no one else has ever bothered to. It’s in the way he never forces conversation, never asks Jungkook why he disappears sometimes or why he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Instead, he just knows. Like someone who has been there before. Like someone who carries the same ghosts.

They sit in silence now, it’s late, the city stretching out beneath them in a sea of distant lights, the cold biting at their skin. Jungkook doesn’t know how long they’ve been up here, only that it’s easier to breathe in Yoongi’s presence, easier to pretend that for just a little while, the weight of everything isn’t crushing him.

“Your dad,” Yoongi says suddenly, voice quiet but steady. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Jungkook stiffens. His fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, his breath catching for just a second too long. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. Because Yoongi isn’t asking. He’s stating it, like he already knows the answer. Like it isn’t even a question.

Jungkook swallows, throat tight, gaze fixed on the skyline. “…Yeah,” he exhales, barely above a whisper. “He did.”

Yoongi nods like he expected that. Like it was something he’s known all along. “Mine too,” he admits after a pause, voice even quieter now, like he’s handing Jungkook a piece of himself that he doesn’t share with just anyone. “He was the reason why things were so fucked up growing up.”

Jungkook turns to look at him, surprised. Yoongi isn’t the type to talk about himself. He’s always been an enigma, his past a mystery that no one really dares to ask about. But now, with the way his shoulders are tense, the way his fingers are curled into the sleeves of his jacket, Jungkook realizes—this isn’t easy for him either. This isn’t something he talks about.

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. They just sit there, the weight of unspoken things settling between them. But it isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it feels… grounding. Like, for the first time, Jungkook isn’t completely alone in this.

“You survived,” Yoongi murmurs after a while, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “And you’re still here. That means something.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens. His grip on his hoodie loosens. He doesn’t have the words to respond, doesn’t know how to articulate the way Yoongi’s presence feels like an anchor when everything else feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

Instead, he just nods.

And for now, that’s enough.

 

---

 

Namjoon, on the other hand, was a different story. Though he remained polite and cordial, there was a distance to his demeanor whenever Jungkook was around. Namjoon had always been fiercely loyal to his friends, and the tension in their group didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t cruel or dismissive, but Jungkook could feel the skepticism in his gaze, a silent reminder that acceptance from everyone wasn’t guaranteed.

As the days bled into weeks, Jungkook realized he hadn’t seen Jimin since their confrontation. With winter break in full swing, Jimin could very well have left the city to visit family, but the uncertainty gnawed at Jungkook. He missed Jimin’s warmth, his teasing smile, the way he seemed to make everything feel lighter. But reaching out felt impossible. Jimin’s words had stung deeply, and Jungkook couldn’t shake the fear that their friendship was irreparably damaged.

 

One day Yoongi had sent Jungkook on a coffee run. What he hadn't expected, was to see Hoseok and Jin that day—not when he had been so careful to avoid places where they might cross paths. But life had other plans, and there they were, standing in line at the same coffee shop. Jungkook had frozen when he spotted them, his breath catching in his throat. He debated leaving, but it was too late—Jin had already seen him.

“Jungkook?” Jin called, his tone cautious but not unfriendly. Hoseok, who had been staring at his phone, looked up sharply at Jin’s voice.

Jungkook swallowed hard and managed a nod, stepping forward as Jin waved him over. Hoseok’s expression darkened the moment their eyes met. He tensed visibly, his posture stiffening as if preparing for a fight.

“Hey, Jin. Hoseok,” Jungkook said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to keep his gaze steady, but the weight of Hoseok’s glare made it impossible. Jin gave him a small, polite smile, but Hoseok’s face was a storm cloud.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asked sharply, his voice cutting through the air. The tension between them was palpable, drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons.

“Just… getting coffee,” Jungkook replied, holding up the empty cup in his hand as if it were proof of his innocence.

“Of course you are,” Hoseok muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Always showing up where you’re not wanted.”

“Hoseok,” Jin said warningly, but Hoseok ignored him. He took a step closer to Jungkook, his eyes blazing with barely restrained anger.

“Do you think you can just walk around like nothing happened? Like you didn’t destroy everything?” Hoseok’s voice rose, drawing more attention from the other customers. Jungkook’s cheeks burned with shame as he shook his head.

“I’m not trying to—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Hoseok snapped, his voice cracking with emotion. “You stole my friends, betrayed me, and now you’re standing here acting like the victim?”

“Hoseok, stop,” Jin said firmly, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. But Hoseok shrugged him off, his focus entirely on Jungkook.

“Do you even understand what you did to me?” Hoseok continued, his voice trembling with rage. “You turned everyone against me. You made me out to be the bad guy when you were the one who abandoned me!”

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt and helplessness, his heart aching at the raw pain in Hoseok’s voice.

“Say something!” Hoseok demanded, his voice breaking. “At least have the guts to admit it!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said finally, his voice barely audible. “I never meant to hurt you, Hoseok. I—”

“Don’t,” Hoseok interrupted, his tone laced with venom. “Don’t you dare apologize. You think sorry fixes this?”

Jin stepped forward again, trying to diffuse the situation. “Hoseok, this isn’t the place—”

“What’s the point, Jin?” Hoseok snapped. “He’s just going to keep playing the victim. He always does.”

Jungkook's phone buzzed in his pocket, the sound faint but enough to break the fragile thread of Hoseok’s control. He glanced down instinctively, and when he saw Taehyung’s name flash across the screen, his face twisted with fury.

“Of course,” Hoseok said, his voice a low growl. “Taehyung. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger too, don’t you? First you turn your back on me for being gay and now you do this shit?”

“Hoseok, it’s not like that,” Jungkook said quickly, his voice pleading. But the mention of Taehyung seemed to snap something inside Hoseok. His fists clenched, and before anyone could react, he swung.

The punch caught Jungkook square on the jaw, snapping his head to the side. He stumbled back, crashing into a table. Gasps rippled through the crowd as people turned to watch the scene unfolding. Jin grabbed Hoseok’s arm, but Hoseok jerked away, advancing one more step and landing a second punch—just as hard, but with less fury, more desperation.

Jungkook still didn’t raise a hand to defend himself.

That second hit didn’t make Hoseok feel any better.

He stood there, breathing hard, looking down at Jungkook who now sat dazed on the floor, lip split, cheek blooming with the beginning of a bruise. A flicker of something passed over Hoseok’s face—regret, maybe. Guilt, maybe. Just a moment of stillness, staring at a boy who didn’t fight back. A boy he used to love like a brother.

Then Jin grabbed his arm again, firmer this time. “Let’s go. Now.”

Hoseok didn’t argue. He let himself be pulled away, but his eyes stayed locked on Jungkook’s crumpled form until the coffee shop door closed behind him.

Jungkook sat there long after they were gone, the murmurs of the onlookers fading into the background. He felt numb, his body aching but his heart hurting more. It didn’t matter what he did or how hard he tried—he would always be the boy who ruined everything.

Taehyung had been waiting for Jungkook to return with their coffee for what felt like forever. At first, he’d brushed it off, thinking maybe the line was just long. But as the minutes dragged on, unease began to creep in. Something didn’t feel right.

Deciding to check, Taehyung left the studio and headed toward the coffee shop. As he approached, he noticed a small crowd gathered outside, their faces marked with curiosity and concern. His heart sank when he spotted a familiar figure sitting on the ground just inside the shop.

“Jungkook?” Taehyung called, pushing past the onlookers. His voice was laced with panic as he knelt beside him. Jungkook’s face was a mess of bruises and blood, his eyes unfocused and distant.

“What happened?” Taehyung asked urgently, his hands hovering, unsure of where to touch without causing more pain.

Jungkook didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on a point far away. Taehyung’s chest tightened at the sight. He gently slipped an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, helping him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

The walk back to the studio was agonizingly slow. Jungkook leaned heavily against Taehyung, his steps unsteady. Taehyung kept glancing at him, his worry growing with every second of silence. By the time they reached the studio, Yoongi was waiting by the door, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to outright alarm when he saw them.

“What the hell happened?” Yoongi asked, stepping forward. “Who did this?”

“Random guys,” Jungkook muttered, voice cracked and thin.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he grabbed a first aid kit from the corner and began cleaning Jungkook’s wounds with practiced care. Taehyung hovered nearby, his fists clenched at his sides, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“Random guys, my ass,” Yoongi muttered under his breath. But he let it go, focusing instead on patching Jungkook up.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere in the studio grew heavy. Taehyung stayed close to Jungkook, his presence a quiet comfort. Yoongi sat nearby, his gaze occasionally flicking to Jungkook as if trying to piece together the truth. They didn’t push him for answers, giving him the space he needed.

But Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were closing in. The weight of everything—Hoseok’s words, his fists, the guilt that had been fest

Jungkook still feels the pain hours later—the deep, aching throb radiating through his ribs, the sharp sting on his cheek where Hoseok’s knuckles split his skin. But the pain is nothing compared to the exhaustion that settles in his bones, sinking into him like dead weight. He’s just so fucking tired. Tired of fighting, tired of proving himself, tired of things always going wrong no matter what he does. He leans against the cold wall of his apartment, head tilted back, eyes unfocused as he stares at the ceiling, but all he can see is Hoseok’s face twisted in anger, the raw fury in his voice as he spat accusations Jungkook could never take back. You betrayed me. Maybe he did. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe this is just another thing he has to add to the long list of ways he’s ruined everything.

He swallows, his throat tight. His body is screaming at him, his mind racing with thoughts he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Would it really be so bad if it all just stopped? The idea creeps in before he can push it away, the thought slithering through the cracks in his mind like something inevitable, something that’s always been waiting for him to break enough to listen. He hates that it doesn’t even scare him. That, right now, with bruises blooming under his clothes, the idea of not waking up tomorrow feels almost relieving.

And then there’s Taehyung. Fuck. Taehyung saw Jungkook on the ground, covered in blood and bruises. Does he think Jungkook is weak now? A burden? Does he regret standing by him, regret trying to help? Jungkook clenches his fists, nails biting into his palms. Of course, he does. Who the fuck would want to deal with this? Who would want to stay? No one ever does. Maybe Taehyung just got caught up in whatever this is—maybe he’s realizing now that Jungkook isn’t worth it, that he’s just dragging him down like he always does with everyone who tries to care. Maybe he should make it easier for him and just disappear before Taehyung realizes he should leave too.

But then he thinks about the way Taehyung looked at him, the way his hands had hovered uncertainly as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he should. There was something in his eyes—concern, maybe. Or something softer, something Jungkook isn’t sure he deserves. It would be so much easier if Taehyung did think he was pathetic, if he would just cut him off like everyone else. At least then, Jungkook wouldn’t have to deal with this awful, twisting hope that refuses to die, the hope that maybe—just maybe—Taehyung doesn’t see him as weak. That maybe he wants to stay anyway.

Jungkook lets out a slow, shaky breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do with that. Doesn’t know how to stop the voice in his head that keeps whispering, maybe you’re just not meant to be happy. Maybe this is all there is for him—pain, exhaustion, people leaving.

 

---

 

The days after the coffee shop incident stretched endlessly for Jungkook, each one bleeding into the next. His apartment became a cocoon of isolation, the curtains drawn tight against the outside world. The bruises on his face were healing, the purples fading to greens and yellows, but the ache inside him remained raw and unrelenting. Every time he passed a mirror, he avoided looking too closely, as though seeing his reflection would force him to confront everything he wanted to bury.

He told Taehyung and Yoongi that he was staying home to recover. It was partly true—his jaw was still sore, and his body felt like it had been through a war. But the deeper wound, the one that left him feeling hollow and foggy, had nothing to do with his physical injuries. Guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving. It whispered in his ear at night, reminding him that he was the common denominator in all this chaos, the one who had ruined everything.

By the time New Year’s Eve arrived, Jungkook felt like he was drifting. The hours passed in a blur as he sat on his couch, staring blankly at the muted television. He didn’t even flinch when there was a knock at the door, assuming it was a neighbor or a delivery he hadn’t ordered.

But then the knocking became insistent, followed by Taehyung’s familiar voice. “Jungkook, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

Jungkook hesitated, his heart sinking. He had promised Taehyung weeks ago that he would go to the New Year’s Eve party, back when the idea of being surrounded by people didn’t make his skin crawl. He considered pretending he wasn’t home, but the thought of disappointing Taehyung made him feel even worse.

With a deep breath, he shuffled to the door and cracked it open. Taehyung stood on the other side, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, his expression a mix of determination and concern.

“Hey,” Taehyung said, stepping inside before Jungkook could protest. He took one look at him and frowned. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook mumbled, though his voice was flat and unconvincing.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not. But that’s why you need to come with me. You promised, remember?”

“I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” Taehyung interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’m not leaving without you.”

There was something in Taehyung’s voice, a quiet stubbornness that told Jungkook he wouldn’t win this fight. So, with a resigned sigh, he nodded and went to get ready.

---

Jungkook stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hands braced against the sink as he stared at his reflection. His hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to his forehead, and his jaw throbbed faintly beneath the fading bruise. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, every movement weighed down by reluctance. From the living room, he could hear Taehyung humming to himself, the sound occasionally punctuated by impatient tapping against the coffee table. “Are you doing your taxes in there, or are you actually getting dressed?” Taehyung called, his voice dripping with playful exasperation. 

“Maybe both,” Jungkook shot back, cracking the bathroom door open to glance at Taehyung. “You’re the one who barged in here and decided to babysit me.”

“Someone had to. You were this close to flaking on me,” Taehyung replied, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart for emphasis. His grin was dazzling, the kind of smile that made it impossible for Jungkook to stay irritated. 

“I wasn’t going to flake,” Jungkook muttered, voice quiet but firm as he stepped back into the bathroom. His fingers twitched against the sink, gripping the cool porcelain a little too tightly. “I just… needed time.”

Taehyung lingered in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The teasing glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something steadier, something patient. “I know,” he said, and somehow, he really did know.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging just slightly. He should be used to this by now—the way Taehyung always seems to get him without needing an explanation. It’s terrifying, really, how easily Taehyung can read between the lines of what Jungkook doesn’t say, how he always seems to know the perfect thing to say back.

A silence settled between them, thick and charged, until Taehyung stepped forward, closing the distance like it was the easiest thing in the world. His fingers were gentle as they reached up, brushing along the faint yellowing bruise on Jungkook’s jaw. The touch was light—barely there—but Jungkook still felt it all the way to his bones.

“I won’t let anything like that happen again,” Taehyung murmured, thumb lingering against Jungkook’s skin. His voice was steady, full of quiet conviction. “Ever.”

Jungkook should say something, but his throat was tight, his pulse loud in his ears. The intensity in Taehyung’s gaze made his chest ache. It was too much, too good, too soft—like he was someone worth protecting. Someone Taehyung actually cared about.

So he did what he always did when emotions got too big—he deflected.

“You’re so corny,” Jungkook blurted out, rolling his eyes. His heart was hammering so violently it felt like it might break through his ribs, but he kept his face impassive, ignoring the warmth pooling in his stomach.

Taehyung only grinned, slow and knowing. “Only for you.”

And then—before Jungkook could brace himself—Taehyung tilted his chin up and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

Jungkook barely had time to react before the warmth spread through him like wildfire. It was ridiculous, how something so simple could unravel him so completely. Taehyung’s lips were the softest thing he had ever felt, and his stomach twisted with something dangerously close to giddiness, like he was sixteen again and falling for the first time.

His breath hitched, cheeks igniting despite himself. “You’re so annoying,” he mumbled, swatting at Taehyung’s hands in a weak attempt to push him away—but his movements lacked any real strength. If anything, his body betrayed him, leaning into Taehyung’s touch instead of away from it.

“And yet, you keep me around,” Taehyung hummed, his voice light but his gaze unwavering.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy in the best and worst way, filled with something fragile and unspoken. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold onto it or shatter it completely.

Then Taehyung pulled away, and Jungkook felt the loss immediately—like a rug had been yanked out from under him, like the warmth had been stripped from the room in an instant. He hated how quickly he missed it.

“But if you keep stalling,” Taehyung teased, stepping backward with a lazy smirk, “we’ll be ringing in the New Year in this bathroom.”

Jungkook swallowed around the lump in his throat, shaking his head as he unplugged the hairdryer and reached for a plain black shirt. “Fine, fine. You’re a real pain, you know that?”

“I know,” Taehyung said, his smirk widening as he grabbed his coat. He tossed Jungkook’s at him with a wink. “But someone’s gotta make sure you have fun tonight.”

Jungkook scowled, but his lips twitched—just slightly, just enough that Taehyung noticed. And when he turned back to the mirror to fix his hair, he ignored the way his reflection was still flushed pink.

 

---

 

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived, the warm glow of string lights spilling onto the snowy lawn outside. Laughter and music poured out as Taehyung led Jungkook inside, keeping a protective hand on his shoulder.

Jungkook felt the noise hit him like a wave, his chest tightening as his eyes darted around the crowded room. There were too many people, too much movement. His hands fidgeted at his sides, his pulse quickening.

“Hey,” Taehyung said softly, leaning closer so only Jungkook could hear. “We can leave whenever you want, okay? Just stick with me.”

Jungkook nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Taehyung’s presence was a lifeline, grounding him in the chaos.

They wandered through the party, Taehyung introducing him to a few friends and making light conversation. Jungkook stayed quiet, offering polite smiles but saying little. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of relief—Taehyung was good at creating a bubble around them, a sense of safety even in the middle of the noise.

It wasn’t long before they ran into Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi in the living room. Jungkook stiffened as Jin’s gaze landed on him, his expression shifting to something unreadable.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jin said after a moment, stepping forward. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Jungkook’s heart sank, but he nodded, casting a quick glance at Taehyung before following Jin to a quieter corner of the room.

“I wanted to apologize again,” Jin began, his voice low. He hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “And I also wanted to thank you—for not telling anyone what happened. I… I didn’t want them to hate Hoseok.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, a bitter taste rising in his throat. He didn’t care about Hoseok’s reputation, not after everything. But he forced himself to nod, his voice quiet but steady. “Okay.”

Jin seemed to sense the distance in his tone and stepped back, giving a small, awkward smile before walking away. Jungkook returned to Taehyung’s side, his chest heavy with a mix of anger and sadness.

As Jungkook returned to Taehyung’s side, his thoughts churned like a storm. Jin’s words had struck a nerve he didn’t want to acknowledge. Why did Hoseok’s reputation matter more than the pain he’d caused? Jungkook knew Jin meant well, but it felt like another reminder that his feelings always came second. He felt his pulse quicken, the suffocating weight of guilt and resentment clawing at his chest. His gaze flickered to Taehyung, who was chatting animatedly with Yoongi. The sight of Taehyung’s easy smile grounded him momentarily, but the sharp ache inside him refused to fade. He felt like an intruder in his own life, unsure of where he belonged or if he even deserved to be here.

When Taehyung turned to look at him his face betrayed the conflict swirling inside him. Taehyung noticed immediately, tilting his head as he placed a hand on Jungkook’s waist. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You okay? What did Jin say?” Jungkook shook his head, not trusting himself to speak without his voice cracking. “Nothing important,” he murmured, avoiding Taehyung’s gaze. But Taehyung didn’t push. Instead, he gave Jungkook’s waist a reassuring squeeze. “We can leave if you want,” Taehyung offered, his tone gentle. The sincerity in his words caused a lump to form in Jungkook’s throat. “No,” he said, forcing a faint smile. “I’m fine. Let’s just… stay for now.” Taehyung nodded, his hand lingering as though to silently remind Jungkook he wasn’t alone.

Not long after, Jimin and Hoseok appeared. Jungkook’s stomach dropped as Hoseok’s eyes met his. Jimin’s gaze flickered to the fading bruise on Jungkook’s jaw, concern etched into his features. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, glancing at Hoseok.

Hoseok, however, didn’t hesitate. He walked straight toward Jungkook, his expression filled with regret. Jungkook instinctively stepped back, his breath hitching as fear spiked through him. Taehyung noticed immediately, moving closer to Jungkook, his body tense like a shield.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok said quietly, his voice strained. “I… I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have hit you. I know I went too far.”

Jimin’s eyes widened in shock, his head snapping toward Hoseok. “Wait… you hit him?”

The room went still for a moment, but the silence didn’t last.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Taehyung exploded, stepping forward as Yoongi grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“You seriously beat him up?” Yoongi demanded, his voice ice-cold.

Namjoon started to speak, his tone defensive. “It’s not—”

“Don’t,” Taehyung cut him off, his voice sharp with fury. “Don’t even try to justify this.”

Jin, clearly panicked, tried to mediate. “Let’s all calm down—”

“Calm down?” Taehyung’s voice cracked. “He put his hands on Jungkook! And you want us to calm down?”

The argument spiraled out of control, voices rising and overlapping as accusations and insults flew. Jungkook stood frozen in the middle of it all, his chest tightening with every shout. The noise was too much—the anger, the tension, the guilt he carried all crashing down at once.

His knees buckled as he slid down the wall, his hands tangling in his hair. He pulled at it desperately, trying to drown out the chaos around him. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Jimin, who had been watching the argument with growing unease, noticed Jungkook’s state first. Without saying a word, he crouched beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jungkook,” Jimin said softly, his voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jungkook didn’t respond, but he let Jimin guide him to his feet. The cold night air hit his face as Jimin led him outside, the noise of the party fading into the background.

They sat on the steps in silence, Jimin rubbing soothing circles on Jungkook’s back as he sobbed quietly.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispered, his tone steady and calm. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Jungkook clung to the sound of Jimin’s voice, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of his words, feeling a small glimmer of safety amidst the chaos.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook mumbled through his sobs, his voice trembling and raw. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen." His fingers gripped his knees tightly as if trying to ground himself, but the weight of everything crushed him further.

"This isn't your fault," Jimin said softly but firmly, his voice a grounding presence in the chaos of Jungkook’s spiraling thoughts. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. The warmth was reassuring, but it didn’t stop the flood of guilt pouring from Jungkook’s chest.

"I should have just stayed away from you guys," Jungkook choked out, his head dropping further into his hands. "But I couldn’t let go. I don’t have anyone else. That was selfish of me."

Jimin frowned, his expression softening further. “No, Jungkook. You don’t get to put this on yourself.” His tone was calm but carried a resolute edge. “We were mean to you. Honestly, none of us had any right to get mad about something that happened seven years ago, something we weren’t even part of. That’s on us, not you.” 

Jungkook lifted his tear-streaked face, searching Jimin’s eyes for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. Jimin’s gaze was steady, regret woven into every word. “And Hoseok… that he hit you—that’s just unacceptable.”

A faint whisper escaped Jungkook’s lips. “Thank you.” His voice wavered, but there was genuine relief in his tone as he leaned forward, pulling Jimin into a tentative hug.

“You forgive me?” Jimin asked, his tone betraying his surprise.

“Of course I do.” Jungkook’s reply was soft but certain. “You were the first person to be kind to me.” He wiped at his puffy eyes and nose, his lips twitching in an almost-smile.

Jimin couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound breaking the tension just a little. He wrapped his arms around Jungkook again, this time tighter. “You’re too cute. I’m never letting you go again!”

“Hyung, stop,” Jungkook mumbled, feigning annoyance, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Before either could say more, Taehyung came rushing out the door, his expression stormy. His anger was palpable, but the second his eyes landed on Jungkook—his tear-streaked face, the redness of his nose and cheeks from crying—it melted away like snow under the sun. “Hey,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of Jungkook. His voice was low, soothing. “You scared me.” Guilt etched into his features as his hand lifted to gently wipe at the tears still clinging to Jungkook’s cheeks.

Jungkook flinched slightly at the touch, not because it hurt but because the tenderness only deepened the guilt gnawing at his insides. He couldn’t meet Taehyung’s gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere near the ground.

"I'm sorry- I didn't notice-" Taehyung started, but he was quickly interrupted by Jungkook.

“Please don’t apologize,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “It’s my fault.”

Taehyung’s brows knit together, his expression shifting from concern to frustration. “Don’t say that,” he said firmly, but Jimin interjected before he could continue.

“How’s the situation inside?” Jimin asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Taehyung sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “It was bad when I left. Everyone was still yelling, but I think they’re calming down now. They’ve started separating a bit.”

Jungkook’s fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. “I don’t want you to hate Hoseok for what he did,” he pleaded, his voice small but urgent. 

Taehyung’s eyes darkened, his soft gaze hardening into something sharper. “Jungkook,” he began, his tone heavy with barely restrained anger, but Jungkook cut him off.

“He was just hurt,” Jungkook whispered, the guilt flooding back. “He didn’t mean—”

“That doesn’t excuse what he did,” Taehyung snapped, but his words were laced with concern more than anger. 

Before they could continue, the door opened again, and the rest of the group spilled out, ushered by two muscular men who had clearly had enough of their antics. Hoseok, still visibly upset, stormed past everyone, tears streaking his face. Jungkook froze as their eyes met, panic surging through him. He stood abruptly, ready to bolt, but Hoseok didn’t stop. Namjoon hurried after him, muttering about not letting him be alone right now. 

The others gathered on the cement steps, their faces weary and drained. Jin and Yoongi sat down heavily, their silence speaking volumes. Jungkook, overwhelmed by a fresh wave of guilt, stayed on his feet, glancing at each of them. He hated this. He hated being the reason everyone looked so tired, so broken. He hated that Hoseok was alone. He hated that New Year’s Eve was being spent on cold concrete stairs. 

Yoongi was the first to break the silence, his voice low. “That was rough.”

“Yeah,” Jin agreed, leaning back against the stair railing. “Guess there was a lot on everyone’s mind.” 

Jungkook stayed silent, staring at the ground, the words bubbling in his chest but refusing to come out.

Jungkook sat back down on the cold cement steps, curling his arms around his knees as the others settled into an uneasy silence. The night air was brisk, biting against his cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to shake the weight pressing on his chest. His mind buzzed with fragments of everything that had happened—Hoseok’s rage, the fight inside, Taehyung’s worried eyes, and Jimin’s comforting presence. He felt like a magnet for chaos, and no matter how much he tried, the people around him kept getting caught in the mess.

Taehyung sat down beside him, his shoulder brushing Jungkook’s in a gesture that was subtle but grounding. He didn’t say anything, just leaned close enough for Jungkook to feel his warmth. Taehyung always seemed to know when to talk and when to stay quiet, and for now, the silence was exactly what Jungkook needed.

Jimin, meanwhile, had perched on the other side of Jungkook, watching him carefully. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice breaking through the thick fog of Jungkook’s thoughts.

Jungkook nodded, though it was more reflex than truth. “Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice scratchy from crying. “Just tired.”

“That’s an understatement,” Yoongi remarked from where he sat a few steps down. He rubbed at his temple, exhaustion etched into his features. “That was probably the worst New Year’s party I’ve ever been to.”

“Same,” Jin muttered, though there was a faint hint of humor in his tone, like he was trying to lighten the mood. “Guess we really know how to ruin a celebration.”

Jungkook’s stomach churned. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.

Yoongi glanced up at him, frowning. “For what?”

“For everything,” Jungkook said, his voice cracking. “If I hadn’t come, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Don’t,” Taehyung cut in sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t on you, Jungkook. It’s on all of us. Hoseok included.”

Jimin nodded in agreement, his hand resting lightly on Jungkook’s arm. “Taehyung’s right. We’ve all been holding onto things we should’ve let go of a long time ago. That’s not your fault.”

“But Hoseok—” Jungkook began, only to be interrupted by Jin.

“Hoseok made his own choices,” Yoongi said firmly. “What he did that day wasn’t okay, no matter how hurt he was. And, for the record, none of us hate him. But that doesn’t mean we’re excusing his actions either.”

Jungkook didn’t respond, his throat tight with emotion. He wanted to believe them, but the guilt was too deeply ingrained, too heavy to shake off so easily.

The group lapsed into silence again, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional sound of cars passing by on the nearby street. Above them, the sky was dotted with stars, their light faint but steady. Jungkook stared up at them, wishing he could feel as constant, as unwavering.

After a while, Jin stood, brushing off his pants. “Well, since we’re already out here, anyone want to go find some place still open? I’m starving.”

Yoongi gave him a flat look. “It’s almost midnight, Jin. What’s even open?”

“Convenience stores,” Jin replied without missing a beat. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”

Taehyung chuckled softly, the sound easing some of the tension. “I could eat. What about you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook hesitated, glancing between Taehyung and Jimin, both of whom were looking at him with quiet encouragement. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice small but steady. “I could eat.”

Jin clapped his hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the stillness. “Great! Let’s go, then. No point sitting here freezing our asses off.”

As they all stood and began walking down the street Jungkook felt a bit lighter. They each bought themselves some instant noodles, settling down on the pavement to eat as the fireworks started, illuminating Seoul's night sky. Jungkook looked around him and he couldn't help but feel grateful. The night hadn’t gone how anyone had planned, and the scars it left behind would take time to heal. But for now, they were moving forward, together. 

 

Chapter 5: when push comes to shove

Jungkook had never struggled in school before.

He wasn’t the best student, but he was disciplined enough to get things done. He’d pull all-nighters if needed, cram hours before an exam, and submit assignments right before the deadline. It was stressful, but it worked. But ever since connecting with the group, his focus had started slipping. At first, he told himself it was just an adjustment period. He hadn’t planned on getting tangled up in so much drama—on feeling so deeply about people who had once been strangers to him. But now, between the tension with Hoseok, his shifting dynamic with Taehyung, and his own insecurities about his place in their group, Uni had become the last thing on his mind.

That’s why, when his professor pulled him aside after class, he already knew what was coming.

“Jungkook, I see potential in you, but you’re falling behind. I can’t give you passing grades if you don’t make an effort to catch up.”

Jungkook nodded, shame burning in his gut.

“I’m willing to offer you an alternative assignment,” the professor continued. “It’s a group project—an extracurricular study where you’ll work with others in the same boat. If you put in the effort, you’ll get the credits you need to pass.”

A group project.

Jungkook almost wanted to laugh. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another group dynamic. But he didn’t have a choice.

 

That’s how he ended up sitting in a small, empty classroom, forced into a group with three people he barely knew.

The first meeting went about as well as expected. Mira and Jiyeon, the two girls in the group, were more interested in gossiping than working. They barely acknowledged him or Minho before leaving early, muttering half-hearted excuses about other obligations.

That left just Jungkook and Minho.

At first, Jungkook thought he had lucked out. Minho was engaging, easy to talk to, and—most importantly—actually interested in getting the project done. He was charming in a way that made Jungkook relax, and for the first few meetings, he felt like he could finally breathe knowing someone was in this with him.

But then Minho started acting… different.

The first few compliments seemed harmless enough.

“You’re really talented, you know?” Minho said one evening, flashing an easy grin. “I bet everyone’s always looking your way.” Jungkook laughed awkwardly, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t used to being flattered so openly, at least not by people outside his friend group.

Minho was friendly—too friendly. And Jungkook tried, he really did, to convince himself that he was overreacting. That Minho leaning too close, his breath warming Jungkook’s cheek as he whispered about their assignment, was just him being personable.

But then the girls would leave, and suddenly, Minho’s arm was slung over the back of Jungkook’s chair, fingertips ghosting the nape of his neck. “Why do you always look so tense?” Minho murmured one evening, voice laced with amusement.

Jungkook’s entire body went rigid as Minho’s palm smoothed over his back, fingers pressing into his spine like he had a right to touch him.

“I’m not,” Jungkook forced out, shifting in his seat.

Minho laughed softly. “You don’t have to act tough around me, you know.”

Jungkook swallowed, nausea curling in his gut. He needed to leave.

“Actually,” he said quickly, pushing his chair back. “I forgot I had something to do—I should go.”

Minho’s smile faltered. “Already?”

Jungkook grabbed his bag without answering. He didn’t look back as he walked out.

And that became the pattern.

The first time Minho’s hand landed on his thigh and stayed there, Jungkook felt his entire body lock up. He pretended not to notice, shifting slightly in his seat, but the hand didn’t move. His breath caught in his throat, a cold unease slithering down his spine.

For every meeting after that, Jungkook would barely last an hour before making up an excuse to leave. He started choosing seats that kept as much distance as possible between them, shoulders hunched, eyes darting away whenever Minho looked at him.

He felt like a coward.

He hated it.

But he hated the way Minho touched him even more. And so, he avoided the meetings altogether. Instead, he spent long nights at the library, drowning himself in work, determined to finish the project on his own.

Jungkook felt sick. Every time Minho so much as brushed against him in passing, his skin crawled, a disgusting, lingering sensation that refused to fade no matter how many times he scrubbed at himself in the shower. It wasn’t always blatant, wasn’t always obvious—Minho was too careful for that. A hand lingering too long on Jungkook’s waist, fingers grazing the small of his back under the guise of guiding him through a crowd, lips close to his ear when he spoke, breath hot against his skin. Each touch, each moment felt like a chain tightening around his throat, a quiet warning that he wasn’t in control. That Minho could do whatever he wanted, and Jungkook would let him. Because what choice did he have?

He wanted to tell someone. Needed to tell someone. But the words lodged in his throat every time he tried, thick and heavy like cement. Who would even believe him? Minho was charming, well-liked—popular. He was the kind of guy people flocked to at parties, the kind of guy professors doted on, the kind of guy who always seemed to be at the center of attention, smiling and effortless. He was untouchable. And Jungkook—Jungkook was nothing. Just some quiet, fucked-up kid barely holding himself together. Just another person Minho could sink his claws into without consequence.

Besides, what could anyone even do? Minho had a way of making him feel small, of making it seem like none of it was a big deal. He was just being friendly, just messing around. That’s what Minho always said when Jungkook stiffened under his touch, when he flinched away.

Don’t be so uptight, Jungkook. Relax a little. You’re so tense all the time. Just let me take care of you.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

Instead, he bit his tongue, swallowed it all down, and let it fester.

But tonight, with Jimin sitting across from him, laughing at something on his phone, Jungkook felt the words bubbling up, raw and desperate, clawing at the back of his throat. Jimin was kind, was safe—Jimin would listen. Jimin would believe him.

He wet his lips, fingers twisting in the hem of his hoodie. “Jimin, I—” He hesitated, pulse thundering, throat dry. He could feel himself trembling, just barely. Jimin looked up, blinking in surprise at the seriousness in his tone.

“What’s up?” he asked, setting his phone down. His expression softened when he noticed Jungkook’s tension, the way his hands had curled into fists in his lap. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. Say it. Just say it. But then—then he thought about the fallout. About how Jimin would react. What if he got mad? What if he blamed Jungkook for not stopping it sooner? What if he pitied him? What if he told the others? What if—

No. No, he couldn’t.

He forced a shaky exhale and plastered on a weak, unconvincing smile. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I just—wanted to say thanks. For, you know. Being my friend.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed, searching his face. “Jungkook—”

“I’m fine.” The lie tasted bitter, but it rolled off his tongue with practiced ease. “Really.”

Jimin didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, giving Jungkook’s arm a squeeze before picking up his phone again.

Jungkook felt like he was going to be sick.

He didn’t tell anyone.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he felt like he couldn’t. He had already dumped so much drama onto his friends. He had just barely started mending things with them, and he didn’t want to seem like he was constantly dragging problems into their lives.

So, he stayed quiet.

 

And that’s how he ended up here, late at night, drowning in notes, feeling like his brain was slowly melting. Then, across the library, he spotted Namjoon. At first, he almost didn’t recognize him. The older man was hunched over his laptop, his eyes staring blankly at the screen, looking completely drained. Jungkook hesitated before getting up and buying two cups of coffee from the vending machine. When he returned, he placed one in front of Namjoon, sliding into the chair across from him.

Namjoon blinked, pulled from his daze. “Huh?”

Jungkook just pushed the coffee toward him. “You uh- you look like you might need it.”

Namjoon sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip. “I think I’m dying.”

Jungkook snorted. “Same.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then, Namjoon finally exhaled and said, “I’m just so overwhelmed, man. Between school, music, and… everything else, I feel like I’m about to collapse.”

Jungkook frowned. “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”

Namjoon let out a hollow laugh. “That’s funny coming from you.”

Jungkook opened his mouth, but Namjoon just shook his head. “It’s fine. I get it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence.

"You know," Namjoon starts, his voice quieter than usual, "I've been thinking a lot about the group lately." He exhales, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. "About everything that’s happened. I don’t know… I just feel like we’re all drifting apart." He glances at Jungkook, something vulnerable in his expression. "I don’t want that to happen."

Jungkook looks down at his drink, guilt curling in his stomach. "I know," he murmurs. "It’s my fault, isn’t it?"

Namjoon shakes his head. "It’s not about blame. I just… I don’t know how to fix this. Hoseok… He’s been acting like he’s fine, but I can tell he’s not. And Jimin—" He exhales sharply. "He's trying to be strong, but he's torn between both of you. And then there's Taehyung, who’s so protective over you that he can’t even be in the same room as Hoseok without looking like he’s about to start a fight. Even Yoongi—he doesn’t talk about it, but I know he’s pissed too."

Jungkook presses his lips together, a lump forming in his throat. "I don’t want things to be like this either," he admits. "I never wanted to come between you guys. And I don’t—" His voice falters. "I don’t want to keep fighting with Hoseok. But I don’t know what to do anymore."

Namjoon studies him for a moment, his brows knitting together. "What exactly happened between you two?" he asks, voice softer now. "I know the broad strokes, but... I never really heard your side of it."

Jungkook swallows hard. His fingers tighten around his glass, and he exhales slowly. "It’s... a lot," he warns.

Namjoon nods. "I’m listening."

Jungkook stares at the condensation on his glass, watching as a droplet slides down the side. "I grew up in a really strict household," he starts. "Strict is putting it lightly, actually. My father… He was—" He hesitates, but Namjoon’s patient silence urges him forward. "He was abusive. Physically, emotionally. Everything had to be perfect. Every grade, every behavior. And when it wasn’t..." He gestures vaguely, but Namjoon understands.

Jungkook’s fingers start trembling slightly, so he sets the glass down on the coffee table. "Hoseok and I were best friends when we were kids. We did everything together. But then, in middle school, he got outed." His throat tightens. "People started treating him differently but I didn't really care. But when my father found out that I was friends with him... He lost it. He told me I wasn’t allowed to see him anymore. That if I kept being friends with him, I’d end up just as ‘disgusting’ as he was."

Namjoon inhales sharply, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Jungkook shakes his head, jaw clenching. "I was twelve. I was terrified. My father had already made it clear what would happen if I disobeyed him. So I did what I always did—I listened. I avoided Hoseok. I ignored his calls, his texts. And he... he thought I abandoned him."

Jungkook feels the words clawing at his throat, but he forces himself to continue. "Then one day, he showed up at my house. There he was, standing outside, banging on the door. Yelling at me to come out and face him. He was so angry—so hurt. I wanted to run to him, I wanted to explain, but..." His voice wavers. "right after I opened the door my father came running."

Namjoon’s hands tighten into fists.

"He was furious, so I shut the door quickly" Jungkook says, voice hollow now. "He dragged me away from the door, started screaming at me. Calling me a disgrace. Then my brother—" His breath catches. "My brother tried to stop him. He tried to protect me."

Namjoon’s eyes widen slightly.

"And my father—" Jungkook swallows. "He killed him."

The words fall like lead between them, heavy and suffocating.

Namjoon looks stunned. His mouth parts slightly, but no words come out. His hands slowly unclench, but they tremble slightly against his knees. "Jungkook..." he breathes.

Jungkook forces out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Hoseok left after that. He didn’t know. He still doesn’t know. But in his eyes, I was a coward. I didn’t come out to face him, I didn’t fight for our friendship. And by the time I could even think about explaining, it was too late."

Namjoon exhales shakily, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "God, Jungkook... I—I had no idea."

"Of course you didn’t," Jungkook mutters. "I never told anyone."

Namjoon looks at him with something like regret, shaking his head. "I judged you without even trying to understand. I thought... I don’t know, I thought you were just another person who hurt Hoseok. And I let that blind me." He clenches his jaw. "I’m so sorry."

Jungkook shrugs, but it’s forced. "It doesn’t change anything. Hoseok still hates me. And honestly... I don’t blame him."

Namjoon leans back, exhaling. "I don’t think he hates you, Jungkook," he says carefully. "I think he’s hurt. I think he’s been hurting for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with it anymore."

Jungkook scoffs, but it lacks conviction. "Even if that’s true, what am I supposed to do? The last time I saw him, he beat the shit out of me."

Namjoon flinches. "Yeah," he mutters. "That was... That was bad."

Jungkook’s shoulders sag. "I don’t know if I can face him again. I don’t know if I want to."

Namjoon watches him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he sighs. "I get it. And I won’t push you. But... I think if you told him the truth, he’d understand."

Jungkook shakes his head. "It’s been too long."

"It’s never too late," Namjoon argues. "I know Hoseok. He might be angry, but he’s not heartless. He just needs to hear it from you."

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And what if it makes things worse? What if he just hates me more?"

Namjoon gives him a small, sad smile. "Then at least you’ll know you tried."

Jungkook exhales shakily. His chest feels tight, his head heavy. He doesn’t know what to do. But Namjoon’s words echo in his mind.

At least you’ll know you tried.

He doesn’t know if he’s ready. But maybe—just maybe—he has to try.

"Come on we both studied enough for today. I'll walk you home" Namjoon said as he started packing his things. Jungkook accepted without complaint, not really in the mood to walk the darks streets of Seoul alone, after talking about something so traumatic.

 

---

 

A few nights later, Jungkook found himself sprawled on Jimin’s couch, a blanket draped over his lap as some ridiculous horror movie played on the screen.

Jimin tossed a piece of popcorn at him. “You’re not even watching.”

Jungkook caught it in his mouth, grinning. “I am.”

“You so aren’t.”

Before Jungkook could defend himself, the front door swung open.

Taehyung stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on Jungkook. A slow smile spread across his lips. “Well, well, well. Look who’s finally taking a break from brooding.”

Jungkook chucked. “What do you want?”

Taehyung walked over, plucking a stray piece of popcorn from Jungkook’s blanket and popping it into his mouth. “Just came to borrow something.” His gaze flickered over Jungkook’s messy hair and oversized hoodie. “You look cozy.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but his face was already heating up. “I am.”

Taehyung hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Cute." he said, effectively causing Jungkook's cheek to turn tomato-red.

Taehyung just laughed, ruffling Jungkook’s hair before grabbing whatever he came for and heading back out. “Don’t miss me too much,” he called before the door shut behind him.

Jungkook stared at the closed door, his face burning.

Beside him, Jimin snorted. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

Jungkook flinched. “What?”

Jimin grinned, turning to fully face him. “You and Taehyung. That. Are you guys flirting?”

Jungkook’s whole soul left his body. “We are not—”

Jimin threw his head back laughing. “Oh my God, you totally are.” causing Jungkook to groan, burying his face in his hands.

Jimin nudged him. “So? What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing!” ´he protested, voice muffled.

Jimin smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Jungkook groaned louder. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Then, sensing a much-needed change of topic, he muttered, “ I met Namjoon at the library a few days ago. Jimin, he’s really stressed. I want to do something nice for him.”

"Oh..." Jimin’s eyes lit up. “His birthday is next week.”

Jungkook blinked. “Wait, really?”

Jimin nodded. “And Namjoon—he loves big parties. We should throw him a surprise one.”

Jungkook hesitated. “Do you think we can pull it off?”

“Oh, absolutely not. But we’re going to try.” Jimin grinned.

What followed was a week of absolute chaos.

Jimin and Jungkook spent the entire week leading up to Namjoon’s party in a whirlwind of preparation, their days filled with errands, whispered planning sessions, and an excessive amount of laughter. From the moment they first sat down to map everything out, sprawled across Jimin’s bed with notebooks, markers, and a half-empty bag of chips between them, Jungkook found himself getting swept up in the excitement. “Okay, so hear me out,” Jimin said, tapping his pen against his lip, eyes glinting mischievously. “What if we don’t go with those boring metallic balloons and instead get ones shaped like, I don’t know… dinosaurs?” Jungkook had snorted, throwing a pillow at him. “Dinosaurs? You do realize this is a birthday party, not a five-year-old’s playdate, right?” But in the end, they did buy the dinosaur balloons—Jimin made sure of it.

Their first real challenge came during their trip to the party store, which quickly spiraled into chaos. Jimin, the perfectionist, insisted on inspecting every decoration option, while Jungkook grew impatient within the first ten minutes, repeatedly groaning, “Jimin, just pick something, I beg you.” But Jimin was relentless, holding up different sets of streamers and making Jungkook judge them like they were priceless works of art. “This one gives sophisticated celebratory vibes, but this one says I’m fun and mysterious—which one is Namjoon?” Jungkook rubbed his temples. “Namjoon is a guy who wouldn’t care as long as we don’t set something on fire.” In the end, they compromised—Jimin got his aesthetically pleasing decorations, and Jungkook snuck in a ridiculous party hat with a giant “Birthday Genius” sign on it, claiming it was essential.

Then came the grocery run, which was just as chaotic, if not worse. What should have been a simple task of buying snacks and drinks quickly turned into an all-out debate over which chips were superior, with Jimin standing on his tiptoes to snatch a bag of honey butter chips while Jungkook hoarded three bags of spicy ones in his arms. “No one even likes those except you,” Jimin complained, poking at Jungkook’s stash. “And yet, I am someone,” Jungkook countered smugly, tossing another bag into the cart for good measure. Their biggest struggle, however, was carrying everything home—both of them having underestimated just how much they had bought. By the time they got back, arms sore and fingers red from the weight of plastic bags digging into their skin, they collapsed onto Jimin’s couch in a breathless heap. “We did not think this through,” Jungkook panted. Jimin wheezed. “No, you didn’t think this through. I told you we should’ve taken a taxi.”

But the real test of their teamwork came with the cake. Neither of them had any business being in a kitchen, and it showed. What started as an innocent attempt to follow the recipe quickly turned into a war zone of flour explosions, sugar spills, and egg shells in places they definitely shouldn’t be. “This does not look right,” Jungkook said, frowning at the suspiciously lumpy batter. Jimin squinted. “Did you measure correctly?” Jungkook hesitated. “...Define correctly.” Jimin smacked his arm with the spatula. “Oh my God.” But despite the disaster in the making, they kept going, working together to salvage what they could. Jimin piped frosting onto the cooled cake with all the concentration of a surgeon, tongue poking out as he carefully wrote out “Happy Birthday, Joon!” while Jungkook, ever the menace, stood behind him with a can of whipped cream. “Don’t you dare—” Jimin started, but it was too late. Jungkook squeezed the nozzle, sending a puff of whipped cream straight into Jimin’s hair. There was a beat of silence. Then Jimin turned, eyes alight with vengeance. “You’re dead.”

By the time the cake was done (and their kitchen was thoroughly destroyed), they were left breathless with laughter, leaning against the counter, licking frosting off their fingers. It wasn’t perfect—far from it, actually—but it was theirs, and Jungkook felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the sugar rush.

As the week came to a close, standing amid a pile of decorations, snacks, and a slightly lopsided cake, Jungkook realized something: this was the most fun he’d had in a long time. And for the first time in years, he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop—he was just here, in the moment, with a friend who made him forget, even if only for a little while.

Once the invitations were sent out, he hesitated before sending one to Hoseok.

Namjoon would want him there. Even if the others were still mad, Jungkook knew deep down that Namjoon would rather have Hoseok at his side than missing from the celebration.

Hoseok read the message but didn’t respond. Jungkook tried not to be disappointed but he felt bad, for both their sakes. He knew Namjoon wouldn't be able to enjoy himself fully without Hoseok there and he also knew that Hoseok was sorry and grieving the loss of their friendgroup. Jungkook wished he could just undo everything but he couldn't. He could only hope that Hoseok realizes how much of a mistake it would be if he didn't attend.

 

---

 

 

The night of the party, everyone (except Namjoon and Hoseok) gathered at the venue to set up. Jungkook was hanging streamers when the door opened.

Hoseok stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Everyone froze. After a moment, Jin forced a smile. “You’re early.”

Hoseok nodded. “I figured you guys could use help.”

Jungkook’s heart clenched. Although things were awkward, everyone was clearly trying to be civil. So Jungkook made the first step, giving Hoseok some balloons "You could help blow some of these" he felt vulnerable with everyone watching their interaction. Hoseok just took the balloons, muttering a small thanks before getting to work.

Taehyung on the other hand was not okay with this. He just scoffed. “Just try not to punch anyone,” he muttered, barely hiding his hostility.

Hoseok stiffened but didn’t argue.

Jungkook sighed. It was going to be a long night.

The final decorations were barely in place when the first guests started arriving.

Jungkook barely had time to process how quickly the apartment filled up. They had planned a short 30-minute window between the start of the party and Namjoon’s arrival, and that time was vanishing fast. People streamed in, chatting in hushed voices, careful to keep the surprise intact. The atmosphere hummed with excitement, the anticipation thick in the air.

Despite the growing crowd, there was no music yet—just soft conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses. The quiet murmur of voices filled the space, setting an oddly tense yet electric tone.

Jungkook had settled into a casual conversation with Jin, doing his best to appear engaged, though his focus kept flickering. Hoseok lingered nearby, just within earshot but not quite part of the conversation. Jungkook could feel his presence—heavy, hesitant, like he wanted to join but didn’t know how.

Every time Jungkook spoke, there was a barely concealed huff from Hoseok, a sharp exhale of annoyance that twisted something deep in Jungkook’s gut. The pointed tension, the way Hoseok refused to look directly at him, made Jungkook’s skin prickle. It was exhausting, pretending not to notice, acting like it didn’t sting.

For the sake of the group, for the sake of his own sanity, he swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat and made the conscious decision to walk away. He told himself it wasn’t running—it was self-preservation.

He needed air.

Jungkook maneuvered through the crowd, scanning the room for Taehyung and Jimin. He caught a glimpse of them near the kitchen, engrossed in conversation with some mutual friends, their laughter easy and carefree. He made his way toward them, eager for the comfort of their presence.

But just as he was about to step through the doorway, someone grabbed his arm.

The pull was sudden, forceful—enough to make him stumble slightly. Before he could catch himself, he collided into a firm chest, the unexpected contact making his breath hitch.

The grip on his arm tightened, steadying him.

Jungkook barely had time to register what was happening before he looked up—and felt his stomach drop.

Minho.

He was grinning down at Jungkook, mischief dancing in his eyes, his hold lingering in a way that made Jungkook’s skin crawl.

“Jungkook,” Minho practically purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Jungkook stiffened. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to step back, to put distance between them, but Minho’s grip made it difficult.

His mind reeled. What the hell was he doing here?

Jungkook’s voice wavered as he forced out, “Uhh… I—I didn’t know you were invited.”

He attempted to pull his arm free, but Minho barely moved, instead shifting closer as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook’s pulse pounded in his ears. Too close. He’s too close.

Minho’s grin widened, unfazed. “Really funny,” he chuckled. “As if you didn’t invite me yourself.”

Jungkook froze.

What?

He definitely hadn’t invited Minho. But—oh. His stomach churned as realization dawned.

He had mentioned the party in passing, using it as an excuse to leave their last meeting early. That must have been it. He really thought I wanted him here?

A sick sense of regret pooled in his gut. I should have been more careful. I should have known this would happen.

Minho’s fingers were still wrapped around his arm, a possessive touch that made Jungkook’s skin prickle with unease. His breath felt too shallow, his chest too tight. I need to get out of here.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something—anything—someone stepped in.

“Jungkook.”

Jimin’s voice cut through the air like a lifeline.

Jungkook turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Jimin was standing beside them now, eyes flickering between the two of them, his expression shifting ever so slightly as he took in the scene.

Minho’s grip. Jungkook’s stiff posture.

His brows knitted together, suspicion flashing across his face, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he looked at Jungkook and said, “Namjoon’s going to be here any second. Let’s go to the front.”

It wasn’t a request.

Jimin’s hand wrapped around Jungkook’s wrist, pulling him away without waiting for a response.

Jungkook barely had time to register the relief that flooded him as Minho’s grip finally loosened. Minho let him go easily, his face unreadable, though Jungkook didn’t miss the way his smile faltered just slightly.

Jimin didn’t bother with pleasantries, offering Minho only the tightest of smiles before dragging Jungkook away.

Jungkook didn’t look back.

By the time they reached the front of the apartment, Jungkook felt like he could breathe again.

His heart was still hammering, his skin still tingling with the uncomfortable ghost of Minho’s touch, but the sight of his friends—the people who actually made him feel safe—helped ground him.

The energy in the room had shifted. Everyone was on edge, but in the best way possible—eyes flicking toward the door, voices lowering to excited whispers as they awaited the guest of honor.

Then, finally—

The front door swung open.

Namjoon and Yoongi stepped inside, completely unaware of what was about to hit them.

“Surprise!”

The room exploded with cheers.

Namjoon visibly jolted, staggering back a step as his eyes widened in shock. The sheer force of the collective shout had practically knocked the air out of him.

For a split second, silence hung in the air. Then, the laughter came.

Namjoon clutched his chest, his head falling back as he let out a loud, incredulous laugh. The tension in his shoulders melted away as he took in the sight before him—the people, the decorations, the effort that had clearly gone into all of this.

Jungkook watched as realization dawned across Namjoon’s face, his shock morphing into something softer, something warmer.

He looked happy.

And in that moment, Jungkook knew that every bit of stress leading up to this had been worth it.

The music kicked in. The main lights dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of the party lights. Drinks were passed around, laughter and conversation filling the space as the celebration truly began.

Jin clapped his hands together, calling the group over. “Come on! First shot of the night for Namjoon!”

Jungkook wasn’t much of a drinker, but he wasn’t about to sit out on this.

They gathered in a loose circle, each with a shot glass in hand. Namjoon looked around at them, a smile tugging at his lips, but there was something else in his eyes when he spotted Hoseok in the crowd—relief.

For a moment, the tension of the past few weeks seemed to dissolve.

Jin raised his glass. “To Namjoon!”

“To Namjoon!” the group echoed, clinking their glasses before tossing back the shots.

Jungkook grimaced as the burn spread down his throat. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t sure if he even liked it—but when he looked up and saw Namjoon’s radiant grin, he couldn’t help but smile.

Namjoon, still riding the high of the surprise, turned to Jimin and Jungkook. “This was you guys?”

Taehyung nudged him with an elbow. “You should be thanking them. It was their idea.”

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. Before Jungkook could react, Namjoon threw his arms around him and Jimin, pulling them into a crushing hug.

“Thanks, guys,” he murmured, voice thick with sincerity.

Jungkook laughed breathlessly. “I can’t breathe.”

Jimin groaned. “I second that.”

The group erupted into laughter as Namjoon finally let go, ruffling Jungkook’s hair with a knowing smile.

As the night unfolded, the apartment transformed into a chaotic, alcohol-fueled haze. The once-muted conversations had grown into a roaring symphony of laughter, music, and reckless excitement. The dim lighting cast shifting shadows across the walls, the neon party lights flickering over flushed faces and tangled limbs.

Jungkook wasn’t sure when he had started feeling the warmth of the alcohol settling into his bones, only that, by his third—or was it fourth?—drink, everything felt softer, looser. The world buzzed pleasantly around him, the weight in his chest momentarily forgotten. His inhibitions dulled, making him laugh louder, smile easier. The bitterness that had clung to him earlier—the tension with Hoseok, the unease from Minho—had all but dissolved into the steady pulse of music and blurred movements of the people around him.

Jimin was absolutely thriving in the party atmosphere, his energy infectious. He had taken over the living room, pulling unsuspecting victims into impromptu dance battles, laughing breathlessly as he twirled from person to person. At one point, he had successfully convinced Taehyung to join him, their bodies moving fluidly in sync, their laughter ringing out over the music. The sight made Jungkook smile, something warm curling in his chest.

Taehyung, for his part, had fully leaned into the chaos, grinning lazily as he lounged on the couch between rounds of dancing. He had a bottle of soju in one hand, sipping it like it was water, his other arm draped over the back of the couch as he watched the party unfold. His usual composed demeanor was slipping—eyes hazy, words slower—but he looked happy, and that was enough.

Jin had stationed himself in the kitchen, playing bartender for the night. He took his self-appointed role way too seriously, mixing drinks with a dramatic flair, winking at whoever was lucky enough to receive one of his creations. He kept claiming he was "completely sober," despite the fact that he had been taking shots in between pouring drinks.

Yoongi, unsurprisingly, had found his way to the quieter corner of the room, nursing a whiskey glass like it was his lifeline. He wasn’t much of a partier, but he had a small, amused smile on his face as he observed the others descend into drunken chaos. Every once in a while, Jin would drag him out of his secluded spot to take a shot, much to Yoongi’s groggy protests.

Namjoon was—well, Namjoon was wasted.

The man of the hour had completely given up on pacing himself, grinning goofily as he clung to anyone who came within arm’s reach. At some point, he had decided he was philosophical while drunk, attempting to deliver heartfelt speeches about life and friendship to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, his slurred words and swaying posture made it hard to take him seriously.

Hoseok… was complicated.

He had been drinking, that much was clear. His usual bright energy was subdued, but he wasn’t ignoring Jungkook anymore. In fact, he was actively hovering nearby—never quite speaking to him, but never fully leaving his orbit either. It was confusing, and Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else entirely that made him ache at the almost-ness of it all.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook was… drunk. There was no other way to put it. The drinks had snuck up on him, turning his limbs light and his mind fuzzy. But for once, he didn’t mind. The weight that usually sat heavy in his chest had lifted, replaced by something warm, something easy.

For the first time in a long time, he let himself get lost in the moment.

That was until Minho started hovering and suddenly Jungkook's whole mood changed. Now being drunk didn't feel freeing anymore.

No, this was the kind of drunk that made him feel slow, made everything loud, made it impossible to keep his guard up like he usually did. He had lost track of how many drinks he’d had—enough to feel dizzy, to feel detached, like he wasn’t quite inside his own body.

And it wasn’t helping. Not really. Not when Minho was here.

Minho, who had been blending in so effortlessly with the rest of the group, charming them in the way that only he could. Jungkook watched as he laughed at something Namjoon said, the others reacting just as easily, as if he belonged here. As if he was safe. And maybe he was—to them. They didn’t know what Minho was really like, didn’t see the subtle ways he took.

No one noticed the way Minho’s fingers kept brushing against Jungkook’s waist, his knuckles grazing skin when his shirt rode up just slightly. No one noticed the way he let his hand rest on Jungkook’s hip too long when he squeezed past him, thumb pressing in, making Jungkook flinch. No one noticed the way he leaned in when he spoke, voice too soft, too close, breath warm against Jungkook’s neck like it belonged there. It made Jungkook feel dirty. Made his skin crawl. But Minho was good at this. Good at touching just enough that it didn’t look bad, but felt wrong.

Jungkook needed air.

He slipped away, weaving through the crowd toward the drinks table, fingers tightening around his empty cup like a lifeline. He just needed a second—just a moment to breathe, to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sensation of Minho’s hands on him. But before he could even reach for the bottle of soju, Minho was there.

Jungkook tensed, his stomach lurching as Minho casually slid up beside him, close enough that their arms brushed.

“Having fun?” Minho asked, his voice light, easy—like they were just two friends making small talk.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away, focusing on pouring his drink, his grip stiff. Ignore him. Ignore him and maybe he’ll leave.

Minho chuckled, positioning himself behind Jungkook under the guise of grabbing a beer, but his hand wandered over Jungkook's behind—briefly, barely noticable, but deliberate. Jungkook flinched violently, his breath catching in his throat.

Minho leaned in, voice dropping lower. “Relax, baby. You’re so tense.”

Jungkook felt his entire body go rigid, nausea curling in his gut at the nickname. He forced himself to step back, putting space between them, but Minho just smirked, taking a slow sip of his beer like he enjoyed this. Like this was all just some game to him.

Jungkook’s skin burned where Minho had touched him. He needed to get away.

He turned sharply, making a beeline for Taehyung. It wasn’t even a conscious decision—his body just moved, like muscle memory, like instinct, because Taehyung was the only one who made him feel safe. His safe place. By the time he reached him, his hands were shaking, his pulse a frantic, erratic thing in his throat.

Taehyung turned at the feeling of Jungkook’s fingers fisting the sleeve of his sweater, brows lifting in surprise. “Kook—”

Jungkook didn’t give him the chance to ask anything, just pressed in, chest to chest, arms curling around Taehyung’s waist in a clumsy, desperate embrace. His face buried into Taehyung’s shoulder, the scent of his cologne grounding, his warmth soothing. Taehyung stiffened for only a second before melting into him, strong arms looping around Jungkook’s back, holding him securely.

“You okay?” Taehyung murmured, voice quiet, just for him.

Jungkook didn’t answer, just held on tighter. He wasn’t okay, but he couldn’t say that. He didn’t want to ruin the night. Didn’t want to drag Taehyung into this.

Taehyung exhaled softly, rubbing slow, lazy circles into Jungkook’s lower back, pressing their bodies closer like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jungkook breathed, tension bleeding from his shoulders, just for a moment.

When he pulled away, he didn't completely let go. Not ready to step out of his safe space yet, he pulled Taehyung's arm around his own waist and pressed into his side. Taehyung turned, blinking down at him in surprise, but if he was caught off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply shifted, letting Jungkook press up against his side without a word. He didn’t question it, didn’t push him away. Just let him. And Jungkook clung, hand tightening around Taehyung’s wrist like an anchor.

Taehyung chuckled, ruffling Jungkook’s hair. “Didn’t know you got all clingy when you were drunk,” he teased, voice fond.

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just curled in closer, taking solace in the warmth of Taehyung’s body, in the steady, grounding presence that Minho wasn’t.

But when he dared to look up, his stomach twisted.

Minho was watching them from across the room, the charming, easy-going mask slipping just slightly—just enough for Jungkook to see the sharp glint in his eyes, the displeasure curling his lip. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like that Jungkook had turned to someone else.

Jungkook swallowed hard, gripping Taehyung’s sweater tighter.

He suddenly had the terrible feeling that things were about to get so much worse.

Chapter 6: Up in the mountains

Jungkook was giggling over something ridiculous that Jin had said when he tugged on Taehyung’s sleeve, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and the warmth of the night’s festivities. “Tae,” he whined, swaying slightly where he stood, his lips forming a pout that could crumble even the toughest resolve. “Walk me home?” His voice was softer than usual, slightly slurred but undeniably endearing. Taehyung had been watching him the entire night, always lingering nearby, making sure he was okay, and now, as Jungkook blinked up at him, wide-eyed and expectant, Taehyung couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. “Obviously,” he said, like there had never been another option. “I wasn’t gonna let you stumble home by yourself, dummy.”

Jungkook grinned in satisfaction, swaying forward until he could wrap his arms around Taehyung’s shoulders in a loose, lazy hug. He smelled like a mix of alcohol and vanilla cake, and his hair was still ruffled from where someone—probably Jimin—had run their hands through it earlier in the night. “You’re the best, Tae,” he murmured before pulling away, immediately reaching for Taehyung’s hand as if it was second nature. Taehyung let him, his fingers easily slotting between Jungkook’s, his grip firm and warm.

They said their goodbyes to the others, with Jimin smirking knowingly at the sight of their interlocked hands and Namjoon giving them a brief, amused nod before getting pulled into a conversation by someone else. As they stepped outside, the cold air hit them, making Jungkook shiver slightly. Taehyung squeezed his hand in response, subtly pulling him closer as they started walking. The streets were quieter now. The streetlights cast a golden glow on the pavement, and their shadows stretched long behind them as they walked, their pace slow and unhurried.

Jungkook, still feeling giddy and affectionate from both the alcohol and Taehyung’s presence, leaned into him more than once, bumping their shoulders together. “I can’t believe Namjoon Hyung knocked over the entire snack table,” he snorted, kicking at a stray pebble. “Did you see his face when the bowl of chips landed on him?”

Taehyung chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly? I was too busy watching Jimin nearly die of laughter. He was wheezing.”

Jungkook let out a breathless laugh, nodding. “Yeah, I thought he was gonna pass out.” He swung their joined hands slightly, enjoying the way Taehyung let him, never pulling away or acting like it was strange. “And you,” Jungkook continued, turning his head to look at him, his expression half-playful, half-soft. “You were surprisingly tame tonight. No dramatic speeches? No standing on tables?”

Taehyung scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I have class, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hummed, unconvinced. “Tell that to the video Jimin sent me of you aggressively dancing to Dynamite with an empty champagne bottle as a mic.”

Taehyung groaned, dramatically throwing his head back. “Please delete that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Jungkook only smirked, clearly not planning to delete anything. As they reached his apartment building, he slowed to a stop, turning to face Taehyung properly. There was something about the way the streetlight illuminated his features—soft and golden, making the warmth in his eyes even more pronounced—that made Jungkook’s chest tighten. He didn’t want the night to end just yet.

“Tae,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost shy. Taehyung tilted his head in question, their hands still linked. “Sleep over?” Jungkook asked, blinking up at him, his free hand curling slightly into the sleeve of Taehyung’s coat. “I promise cuddles,” he added, as if that was the most convincing argument in the world.

Taehyung’s lips twitched, the fondness in his gaze unmistakable. “You had me at ‘Tae,’ but the cuddles are a nice bonus,” he teased.

Jungkook grinned, pulling him toward the entrance without another word. And as they stepped inside, hands still clasped together, Jungkook felt something settle in his chest—a quiet kind of happiness, one that he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

 

---

 

Jungkook woke up to an empty bed, his body instinctively reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. His fingers grasped at nothing but the cool sheets beside him, and for a brief, heart-pounding moment, panic clenched at his chest. Did Taehyung leave? His breath hitched as he pushed himself up, the faintest scent of Taehyung’s cologne lingering on the pillow, a mix of something woodsy and sweet that made Jungkook’s stomach twist. He swallowed hard, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping in, his mind flashing back to the times he had woken up alone before—when his mother had finally given up fighting for him, when his brother had been ripped away, when Hoseok had left him behind without looking back. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing those thoughts away. Taehyung wouldn’t do that.

Just as he was about to throw the blanket off and search the apartment, a different scent hit him—warm, buttery, and unmistakably pancakes. His shoulders sagged in relief, tension ebbing out of him as he slumped back against the pillows. Of course, Taehyung wouldn’t just leave. He was still here, just in the kitchen. Jungkook exhaled slowly, pressing his palms over his face, trying to ground himself in that fact.

But then, as he lay there, the comfort of Taehyung’s presence in the apartment wasn’t enough to keep the storm of thoughts at bay. Memories from last night started creeping in, slow at first, then all at once. Minho’s hands—too firm, too familiar, touching him in ways that made his skin crawl. The way he had leaned in too close, whispered things that made Jungkook’s throat close up, all while keeping that charming smile for everyone else to see. The way no one had noticed because Minho was so good at making it look casual, making Jungkook doubt himself even now.

His fingers curled into the sheets, his chest tightening. He hated how powerless he had felt, how he had let it happen, how he still didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell someone, but who would believe him? Minho was Minho—charming, popular, well-liked. If Jungkook spoke up, would it even matter? Or would it just turn into another thing he had to carry alone? He thought about telling Taehyung, but the idea of putting that on him, of being a burden yet again, made his stomach turn. And Jimin… Fuck. Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut again. Jimin had already distanced himself once. Would he think Jungkook was just bringing more drama into their lives?

He felt sick. His body was still exhausted from drinking, his head pounding, but more than that, he felt lost. Stuck in this place between wanting to scream and wanting to disappear altogether.

A soft sound from the kitchen pulled him out of his thoughts—a gentle clatter of a plate, the faintest hum of a song he couldn’t quite make out. Taehyung. He was still here.

Jungkook inhaled shakily and forced himself to sit up. He couldn’t stay in bed forever. But as he swung his legs over the edge, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how much warmth Taehyung brought into his life, there were some things that still left him unbearably cold.

Jungkook dragged himself out of bed, still feeling the weight of the night before clinging to him, but the moment he stepped into the kitchen and saw Taehyung—his Taehyung—standing by the stove in nothing but an old sweatshirt and sweatpants, everything felt just a little lighter. The soft morning light filtered through the window, casting a golden glow on his friend’s face, his hair an endearing mess, slightly tousled from sleep. He was humming—off-key, Jungkook noted with amusement—as he plated a stack of pancakes, his brows furrowed in concentration like this was some high-stakes culinary masterpiece. It made something warm unfurl in Jungkook’s chest, something that made him forget about everything else, if only for a moment.

“Morning, sunshine,” Taehyung greeted without turning, voice thick with sleep, like he’d only been awake for a little while himself. “How’s the hangover?”

Jungkook scrunched up his nose as he padded over to the counter, rubbing at his temples. “Could be worse.” His eyes flickered to the plate of pancakes, then back to Taehyung. “Are you… bribing me with breakfast?”

Taehyung smirked, finally looking at him, and Jungkook felt a rush of something stupid and fond when he saw how effortlessly soft he looked, all slow, sleepy blinks and a lazy grin. “I’m rewarding you for being an absolute menace last night.”

Jungkook groaned, already dreading whatever memory Taehyung was about to bring up. “Oh god. What did I do?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Taehyung slid the plate toward him before taking a seat, resting his chin in his hand as he regarded Jungkook with playful eyes. “Just clung to me like a koala all night, kept telling me I smelled nice. Said I was your favorite person in the whole wide world—”

Jungkook nearly choked on his first bite of pancake. “Shut up.”

“—And then, right before you fell asleep, you made me pinky promise to sleep over because, and I quote, ‘I need maximum cuddle privileges.’”

Jungkook groaned, dropping his fork as he buried his face in his hands. “No, no, no. I refuse to believe I said that.”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, smug as ever. “Swear on my life.”

Jungkook peeked at him through his fingers, utterly mortified. “You could be lying right now, and I would have no way of knowing.”

“But you do know,” Taehyung pointed out, amusement lacing his voice.

Jungkook pouted but shoved another bite of pancake into his mouth anyway. He hated how good they were—fluffy, just the right amount of sweet, like Taehyung had somehow made them with love. He really was unfair. They ate in easy silence for a while, and Jungkook let himself relax in the ease of it, in the fact that—for now—things still felt okay.

When they were done, Taehyung started collecting the plates, moving toward the sink, but Jungkook—on instinct more than anything—grabbed him by the sleeve before he could. “Nope,” he mumbled, tugging him back, taking the plates out of his hand and putting them down again.

Before Taehyung could react, Jungkook suddenly stood up and placed both hands on his shoulders, gently but firmly pushing him backward until Taehyung fell onto the couch with a surprised huff.

“What are you—”

Jungkook didn’t let him finish. He clambered onto the couch, draping himself across Taehyung’s chest, his arms sneaking around his waist. He buried his face against the soft fabric of Taehyung’s sweatshirt, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him. “Let’s just stay here all day,” he murmured against his chest, voice thick with something Taehyung couldn’t quite place. “Forget dishes, forget everything. Just movies and naps.”

Taehyung blinked down at him, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden affection. But then his arms came up naturally, wrapping around Jungkook’s back, holding him there like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re being extra clingy today,” he noted, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. He just pressed himself closer, as if trying to disappear into Taehyung’s warmth. “So?”

Taehyung felt the way Jungkook’s fingers curled slightly against his sweatshirt, gripping just a little tighter than necessary. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t push. Something was off, but if Jungkook wasn’t ready to talk, then Taehyung wouldn’t force him. Instead, he just let his hand smooth up and down Jungkook’s back in slow, lazy strokes. “So nothing,” he murmured, pressing his cheek against the top of Jungkook’s head. “I was just gonna say… I don’t mind.”

Jungkook exhaled, a quiet, content sound. Taehyung could still feel the tension in him, the way his body wasn’t fully relaxed, but he let it go for now. If Jungkook needed to just exist in his arms for a while, then Taehyung would let him. He’d give him all the time he needed.

“But if we’re watching movies, you have to pick. And no sad shit. It’s too early in the mornin for an existential crises.”

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh against his back. “Fine.”

And for now, that was enough.

 

---

 

After Namjoon’s surprise party, Hoseok started hanging out with the group again—tentatively, hesitantly, like he was stepping onto unsteady ground, unsure if it would hold his weight. He wasn’t there for every movie night, wasn’t there for every casual hangout, but every now and then, he’d show up. Sometimes it was planned, sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes he’d arrive with Yoongi, the two of them exchanging quiet looks as they walked in together, and other times he’d come alone, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, an unreadable expression on his face as he took in the familiar space that now felt foreign.

Whenever he did join them, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t outright hostile—no one wanted to make things worse—but it was tense, charged with something that no one knew how to address. Conversations that had been flowing moments before his arrival would falter, laughter would die down, and a quiet, uncomfortable awareness would settle over the room. No one knew how to act, how to bridge the chasm that had formed between them, how to make this feel normal again. They were all trying, in their own ways—except Taehyung.

Taehyung was the only one who didn't walk on eggshells- and no, not in a positive way. Taehyung had not gotten over the Incident and would leave crude, hostile remarks. Hoseok would try not to react and the others didn't know what to say either so they would usually end up changing the topic quickly, drawing the attention away from the ever so thick tension in the air.

Namjoon, ever the mediator, was the one who made the most effort to keep things civil, though it was clear the weight of it all exhausted him. He would smile too much, laugh too easily, and make sure to include Hoseok in whatever they were talking about, even when it was obvious Hoseok wasn’t sure if he wanted to be included at all. Jimin was quiet around him, cautious in a way he never used to be, his eyes darting between Hoseok and Jungkook whenever they were in the same room, like he was waiting for something to go wrong. Jin tried his best to keep things lighthearted, cracking jokes to fill the silences, but his laughter didn’t ring as freely as it once had. Yoongi was perhaps the most unchanged, but that was only because he had always been more reserved in group settings—still, there was something watchful in his gaze when Hoseok was around, something guarded.

And then there was Jungkook.

Jungkook didn’t know how to act around him. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to hold himself. Every time he looked at Hoseok, he could feel the ghost of their last encounter pressing down on his chest—Hoseok's eyes blazing with anger, fists clenched at his sides, You don’t get to be the victim here. He could still feel the bruises on his skin, even though they had long since faded. But more than that, he could feel the guilt, the shame, the heavy, suffocating weight of knowing that Hoseok had every right to hate him.

Hoseok didn’t look at him much. When he did, it was fleeting, his expression unreadable, his gaze skimming over Jungkook as if he wasn’t worth lingering on. He never spoke to him directly, never addressed him in conversation unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, his tone was curt, distant. It shouldn’t have hurt—after everything, Jungkook should have expected this—but it did. It hurt in a way he didn’t know how to articulate, in a way that made his stomach twist and his hands clench into fists in his lap.

But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to force a conversation, didn’t try to bridge the gap between them. What would be the point? Hoseok didn’t want to talk to him. Hoseok probably still hated him. And honestly? Maybe that was fair. Maybe that was deserved.

So they continued like this—dancing around each other, existing in the same space without ever truly interacting, while the others struggled to find the balance between treating Hoseok like he was still their friend and acknowledging that things weren’t the same anymore. It was a delicate, uncomfortable limbo, and no one knew how long it would last.

 

 

---

 

As if Jungkook didn't have enough on his mind already, Minho had started sending him messages. At first, they were just passive-aggressive, guilt-tripping texts about Jungkook skipping their usual group meetups. Then they got worse. Threats laced with cruel words, and then, as if that wasn’t sick enough, sometimes the messages would shift entirely—flirty, vulgar, things that made Jungkook’s stomach churn with disgust. You know you liked it. Don’t act shy now. Missed my hands on you? I could sneak in after dark.

It made his skin crawl, but he thought all of this would end after the project.

He was wrong.

The messages never stopped. Morning, noon, night—Minho’s name would flash across Jungkook’s screen, each notification setting his nerves on edge. 

Jungkook thought he was good at pretending nothing was wrong, but the others weren’t stupid. He felt their eyes on him every time his phone buzzed and he flinched, every time his grip on his fork tightened at dinner, every time he instinctively moved closer to Taehyung after reading another unwanted message. Taehyung noticed the most. His touch was always easy, always grounding—warm fingers slipping over Jungkook’s wrist when they sat together, an arm loosely draped over his shoulders when Jungkook curled into him on the couch. It helped, but it also made Jungkook feel pathetic. Like a scared kid hiding behind someone bigger, too weak to handle his own problems. He hated it. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in every time, from seeking out Taehyung’s steady presence whenever his pulse started to race.

Even Jimin seemed to be watching him more carefully now. He’d side-eye Jungkook whenever he silenced his phone too quickly, whenever he suddenly stopped contributing to the conversation at lunch. “You good?” Jimin asked once, nudging him lightly. “You’ve been weird lately.”

Jungkook forced a smirk. “That’s just my natural state.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. But he didn’t press. No one did.

And maybe that was the worst part—how easy it was to keep lying when no one wanted to push him into telling the truth.

So why weren’t they saying anything? Why did they always let him off so easy? It made his stomach twist with something bitter, something ugly. Was it because they didn’t care enough to push? Because he was so exhausting that they didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever mess he was dragging around this time? Or—maybe worse—did they think he would break if they did? That he was too fragile to handle a little confrontation? The thought made his chest ache, made his pulse thrum with frustration. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some helpless victim who needed someone else to fix things for him.

And yet… wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? Clinging to Taehyung like a lifeline, letting his presence settle the shaking in his hands, the nausea in his stomach. Letting them look the other way because it was easier to pretend he was fine than to admit he was terrified.

Maybe they knew that. Maybe they were giving him an out because they figured he’d talk when he was ready.

 

---

 

The studio was quiet except for the soft hum of the computer and the occasional click of a mouse. Yoongi had been focused on adjusting levels for the past twenty minutes, while Jungkook sat off to the side, pretending to be invested, when in reality, he was just glancing in his phone, dreading the inevitable. The moment his screen lit up again, another notification flashing across it, he felt it—that shift in the air, the way Yoongi’s attention flickered from the screen to him in a fraction of a second. Jungkook swallowed hard and locked his phone, slipping it into his pocket as if that would make it disappear. As if he didn’t already know what was coming.  

“You gonna tell me what the fuck that’s about?” Yoongi’s voice was calm, too calm, but Jungkook could hear the sharp edge underneath. He didn't look up, instead fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, his fingers twitching slightly.  

“It’s nothing.” He hated how weak his voice sounded, how obvious the lie was.  

Yoongi scoffed, swiveling his chair to fully face him now. “Bullshit. You flinch every time your phone goes off. You get this look—like you’re bracing yourself for a punch. And don’t even try to tell me it’s just stress or some assignment pissing you off.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark eyes never leaving Jungkook’s face. “Talk to me.”  

Jungkook clenched his jaw, looking anywhere but at Yoongi, because if he met his eyes, he knew he’d break. Knew that Yoongi would see right through him, just like he always did. “It’s complicated,” he muttered.  

“Then uncomplicate it.”  

Jungkook inhaled sharply. His chest felt tight, like something was caving in on itself, and he hated this—hated being cornered like this. The walls of the studio suddenly felt smaller, the air too thick to breathe properly. His palms felt clammy. But Yoongi wasn’t letting up, wasn’t backing down like the others did, wasn’t pretending not to notice. It made something inside Jungkook snap.  

“It’s someone I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together so hard they hurt. “Someone at Uni,” he admitted after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “They won’t leave me alone. Keep texting, keep saying—” He exhaled shakily, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would keep the words from spilling out. “Saying all kinds of shit. Threats. And...other stuff. And I don’t know what to do.”  

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, his entire body going rigid. His fingers curled into fists where they rested on his knees, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp, angry. “Who.”  

Jungkook immediately shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”  

“The hell it doesn’t,” Yoongi snapped, sitting up straighter. “Jungkook, are you serious right now? Someone is threatening you, fucking harassing you, and you think it doesn’t matter?”  

“It’s—” Jungkook licked his lips, panic rising like bile in his throat. “It’s not that big of a deal.”  

“Not that big of a—” Yoongi let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jungkook, do you even hear yourself? You think it’s normal to flinch every time your phone goes off? You think it’s normal to look like you’re gonna be sick every time you check your messages?”  

Jungkook forced a shaky smile. “I’m handling it.”  

“No, you’re not.” Yoongi’s voice was sharper now, frustration leaking through the cracks. “And you shouldn’t have to. Jesus, Kook, why the hell haven’t you told anyone? Does Taehyung know? Namjoon?”  

Jungkook stiffened, his breath catching. His mind instantly supplied an image of Taehyung’s face if he ever found out—his easygoing expression twisting into something dark, something furious. “No. And you’re not telling them either.” His voice was suddenly firm, desperate. “Yoongi, please.”  

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, studying him, and Jungkook felt like a bug under a microscope. “Why the fuck not?”  

“Because it’s not their problem!” Jungkook’s voice cracked as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “They already have enough to deal with, okay? I don’t—I don’t want to add to it.”  

Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”  

Jungkook swallowed hard, chest heaving, and tried to steel himself. “Just—just leave it alone, okay?”  

Yoongi’s stare was unwavering, his gaze piercing through every single one of Jungkook’s weak defenses. The worst part was that he wasn’t just angry—he was worried. Deeply, genuinely worried. And that scared Jungkook more than anything.  

Finally, Yoongi exhaled, his jaw still tight, his knuckles still white. “For now,” he said, but his tone was anything but. “But if you don't handle this soon. I'm going to do it my way.”

Jungkook left the studio with his head down, his thoughts a tangled mess of panic and frustration. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but it did little to ground him, did nothing to stop the way his pulse pounded in his ears.

Yoongi knew.

Not everything, but enough. Enough to look at him differently, enough to be watching his every move now.

Jungkook had felt it for the rest of their studio session—Yoongi’s sharp gaze tracking every twitch of his fingers, every forced laugh, every time his phone vibrated and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He tried to act normal, tried to brush it off, but it was like trying to carry a cracked vase and hoping no one noticed the water leaking out. It was only a matter of time before everything shattered.

And what then?

He had no plan, no solution—just the raw, unbearable truth that he was terrified. Completely and utterly terrified of Minho. Of what he’d do if Jungkook ever pushed back. Of what he’d say, what he’d twist, what he’d make everyone else believe. Because Minho was untouchable, wasn’t he? He was the charming one, the one everyone liked, the one people would side with if it ever came to that. And Jungkook—Jungkook was the broken one, the one with too many shadows clinging to him, the one who had already been accused of being a liar, a traitor.

Even if they did believe him, what could they do? What could anyone do?

 

---

 

The warm buzz of conversation filled Namjoon’s apartment, the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter adding to the easy, laid-back atmosphere. The scent of takeout lingered in the air, remnants of their celebratory dinner still scattered across the coffee table, a mix of half-empty plates and abandoned chopsticks. The semester had officially ended, and while exhaustion still clung to all of them, there was an undeniable sense of relief—of finally being able to breathe again. Namjoon had insisted they come over for dinner and drinks to mark the occasion, and though some of them had been hesitant at first, everyone had eventually agreed. Even Hoseok had come, sitting near Yoongi, not saying much but still there. It was progress, in its own way.

Jungkook sat on the floor between Taehyung’s legs, his back resting against the couch while Taehyung absentmindedly played with the strands of his hair, fingers gentle and soothing. He wasn’t drinking much—just nursing a single beer, taking slow sips every now and then. He wasn’t entirely sure he was in the mood to celebrate, not with the way his mind had been lately, but the atmosphere was light, comfortable, and he figured he could let himself pretend for one night.

Then Jin clapped his hands together, his voice rising over the murmur of conversation. “Alright, so,” he began, grinning as he glanced around at everyone. “That time of year has come again, and we need to start planning. Where are we going this time?”

Jungkook blinked, glancing up in confusion. “Going where?”

Silence.

He didn’t miss the way all their faces shifted at once—Namjoon’s eyes widening slightly, Jimin biting his lip, Jin looking like he’d just remembered something very important. Even Taehyung’s fingers stilled in his hair for half a second before continuing, more hesitant this time.

“Oh,” Jin said after a beat, dragging a hand down his face. “Right. We never told you about the trip.”

Jungkook frowned, glancing between them. “What trip?”

Jimin let out a sheepish laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. “Uh, so… every year, after finals, we rent a cabin together for two weeks,” he explained. “Just to, you know, relax, unwind, escape from everything for a while. It’s kind of… a tradition?”

Jungkook’s stomach twisted. “And you just… forgot to tell me?”

There was an awkward shuffle of guilt around the room. Even Hoseok looked a little uncomfortable.

“Not on purpose!” Namjoon interjected quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just… we’ve been doing it for years, and I guess we just assumed you already knew.”

Jungkook let out a breathy laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Well, I didn’t.”

Taehyung’s hand dropped from his hair, and Jungkook didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed behind him. “Kook…”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook muttered, reaching for his beer again. But it wasn’t fine. Not really.

He knew it probably was just an oversight, knew that with everything that had happened this year—their fights, the fractures in their friendship, the mess of emotions none of them knew how to deal with—things had been complicated. But it still stung, that they had all been making plans without him, that no one had thought to bring it up, that he hadn’t even crossed their minds until now.

Jin, ever the peacemaker, leaned forward with an easy smile. “Well, you are invited, obviously. And we do need to decide on a place.” He turned to Taehyung. “Didn’t you want to try the mountains?”

Taehyung nodded, glancing at Jungkook before answering. “Yeah. I figured a little nature would be nice for a change.”

“I second nature,” Jimin said, raising his hand. “I could really use some sun.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement. “As long as we get a place with air conditioning.”

“You’ll survive a little heat,” Namjoon teased.

Jungkook stayed quiet, staring at the beer bottle in his hands.

Taehyung nudged him gently. “You are coming, right?”

Jungkook hesitated. He wasn’t sure. The thought of being away with all of them for two whole weeks, especially with Hoseok still avoiding him, with things still unspoken between him and some of the others—it felt daunting. But then he glanced up, and Taehyung was looking at him, brows slightly furrowed, expression soft, like he was hoping Jungkook would say yes. And something about that made it hard to refuse.

“…Yeah,” he said eventually. “I’ll come.”

The group seemed to relax, the tension melting ever so slightly.

“Good,” Jin said, clapping his hands again. “Then up to the mountains it is.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was really ready for this. But when Taehyung’s hand found his again, squeezing gently, he figured he could try.

 

---

 

The morning air was crisp, the scent of summer just beginning to settle into the city as Jungkook stood outside his apartment building, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The group had insisted on picking him up, but even as he waited, nerves twisted uncomfortably in his stomach. A part of him still wondered if they really wanted him there, or if this was just them trying to be nice, trying to smooth over the cracks that had formed between them. Maybe they felt obligated—like they couldn’t just leave him behind, not after everything that had happened. Maybe it was pity. The thought made his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag, an uneasy weight pressing against his chest.

Then the car pulled up, Jin leaning halfway out of the driver’s side window with an exaggerated grin. “Get in, loser, we’re going on vacation!” he called, and despite himself, Jungkook let out a small huff of amusement.

Taehyung was in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on his nose, one hand lazily draped out of the open window. Jimin waved excitedly from the backseat, shoving the door open before Jungkook could even reach for the handle. “Hurry up! You’re the last one, and Jin’s already threatening to leave without you.”

“Damn right I am,” Jin added. “Another thirty seconds, and I was going to pretend I never knew you.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but climbed in anyway, settling into the backseat next to Jimin. He’d purposely chosen this car—there was no way he was going to sit in a cramped space with Hoseok for hours. Even if the other hadn’t outright refused to ride with him, Jungkook was sure neither of them wanted that tension hanging over the trip before it had even started. He glanced out the window, watching as Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok piled into the other car parked just ahead. Hoseok didn’t look his way, and Jungkook tried not to let it bother him.

Jimin nudged him as Jin pulled away from the curb. “We got snacks,” he said, holding up a plastic bag filled with an assortment of junk food. “And drinks. And a playlist specifically curated for this trip.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Curated by who?”

“Me, obviously,” Jimin said proudly.

“Then we’re doomed,” Taehyung muttered from the front, but there was a fondness in his voice.

The first twenty minutes were a little awkward—Jungkook felt stiff, unsure of how much he was allowed to relax, if it was okay to laugh, to let himself enjoy this. But Jin was in full road-trip mode, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, cracking dumb jokes every few minutes, and Jimin kept feeding him snacks, tossing chips into his mouth and grinning whenever Jungkook actually caught them.

And then, somewhere between their first rest stop and the open highway, something shifted.

It was the music first. Jimin’s playlist was chaotic, bouncing from pop to old-school ballads to the most absurd trot songs Jungkook had ever heard. But then a familiar song came on—one they all knew, one that carried memories of late nights and too much alcohol and Taehyung dramatically belting out the lyrics like his life depended on it.

The second the intro played, Taehyung turned in his seat, sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Oh, you did not put this on here.”

Jimin smirked. “Oh, I absolutely did.”

Jin groaned, already shaking his head. “No. We are not doing this.”

But it was too late—Jimin was already singing, and Taehyung joined in a second later, throwing his whole body into it, making ridiculous faces at Jungkook until he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. And then Jin, despite his protests, was harmonizing from the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel like he was actually performing.

Jungkook hesitated for half a beat before joining in, his voice hesitant at first, but then growing louder, stronger, as Jimin threw an arm around him, shaking his shoulders dramatically. The car filled with music, with laughter, with something light—something easy in a way that Jungkook hadn’t felt in months.

The next song that came on was even worse, and this time, they didn’t hold back. Jin almost swerved off the road at one point from laughing too hard, and Jimin was doubled over, clutching his stomach, while Taehyung tried (and failed) to hit an absurdly high note.

And just like that, Jungkook’s anxiety melted away.

They fell into conversation effortlessly after that, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Jimin brought up ridiculous gossip from their university, spilling details about couples who had broken up and gotten back together again, and Taehyung made them all cringe with embarrassing stories from their high school days—most of which involved Jin making a fool of himself.

“Why is it always me?” Jin groaned at one point.

“Because you’re an iconic disaster,” Taehyung said, smirking.

Jungkook found himself grinning, letting the warmth of it settle into his chest.

The drive up the mountain had been long, winding roads stretching endlessly through thick clusters of trees, the occasional break in the foliage offering breathtaking glimpses of the land sprawling below them. As they ascended higher, the air turned cooler, crisper, filling Jungkook’s lungs with a refreshing lightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. When they finally pulled into the driveway of the cabin, the sight before them was nothing short of stunning.

The cabin sat nestled among tall pines, its wooden exterior warm and inviting against the backdrop of lush green and the endless stretch of sky above. It wasn’t huge—nothing extravagant—but it had a charm to it, with its rustic design, large windows reflecting the late afternoon light, and a spacious terrace that wrapped around the front, lined with wooden chairs and a hammock swaying gently in the breeze. Beyond that, a wide garden spread out, vibrant with patches of cultivated vegetables and fruit, their colors dotting the greenery like nature’s own masterpiece. To the side, a small pool shimmered in the sunlight, the water still and undisturbed. And past the backyard, the mountain sloped downward, revealing a breathtaking panoramic view of rolling hills and the distant city below, barely visible through the haze.

As soon as Jin cut the engine, the car doors flew open. Jimin was the first to jump out, stretching dramatically with an exaggerated groan. “My ass is numb,” he complained, rolling his shoulders before taking in their surroundings. “But damn, this is nice.”

“Way better than last year’s cabin,” Taehyung agreed, stepping out and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. He turned toward the second car, which had parked just ahead, and smirked. “I can already hear Yoongi hyung complaining about the altitude.”

Jungkook, still gripping the strap of his duffel, hesitated for just a second before following them out. The cool mountain air kissed his skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he inhaled without the weight of anxiety pressing against his ribs. The others were already piling out of their car—Namjoon shaking out his stiff limbs, Yoongi scowling at his phone, likely annoyed that there was barely any reception, and Hoseok… standing slightly apart from the rest, his eyes scanning the cabin with something unreadable on his face.

Jin clapped his hands together. “Alright, children! Everyone grab your bags and get inside before the mosquitos start feasting on us.”

The atmosphere was light, filled with the sound of shoes crunching against the gravel driveway as everyone grabbed their things and made their way toward the entrance. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, and as soon as the door swung open, they were greeted by the cozy interior—a large open space with a fireplace against one wall, a well-equipped kitchen on the other side, and a long wooden dining table that looked like it had seen its fair share of chaotic meals. The cabin smelled faintly of pine and something warm and inviting, like aged wood and lingering traces of past visitors.

“Dibs on the biggest room!” Jimin called immediately, dashing inside before anyone could protest.

“No way, you little—” Taehyung bolted after him, nearly knocking over Namjoon in the process.

Yoongi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve been here for five seconds, and they’re already feral.”

Jin, unfazed, simply stepped inside, dropping his bags by the entrance. “Well, I am the oldest, so if anyone deserves the best room, it’s me.”

“Hyung, please,” Namjoon deadpanned. “You snore like a dying bear. No one wants to be near you.”

The banter continued as everyone began settling in, claiming rooms and dragging their bags inside. Jungkook lingered near the entrance for a moment, watching as the others moved around him so effortlessly, like they had done this a dozen times before. He supposed they had—this was their tradition, something they did every year, something he had never been a part of until now.

Would he have been invited if things had gone differently? If Taehyung hadn’t pulled him back into their orbit, if Jin and Jimin hadn’t gone out of their way to make sure he was okay? The thought lingered for a second too long, making his grip tighten around his bag. But then Taehyung reappeared in the doorway, his face flushed from wrestling Jimin for a decent room, and when he spotted Jungkook still standing there, he tilted his head.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world that Jungkook wasn’t already inside, part of the chaos.

Jungkook hesitated, but before he could even think of a response, Taehyung reached out, fingers curling around his wrist in a warm, familiar touch. “Come on,” he said, tugging him forward. “We’re not starting this trip without you.”

And just like that, the hesitation melted away.

He let himself be pulled inside, let himself get swept up in the noise, the laughter, the warmth of something that—despite everything—felt a lot like home.

The moment Taehyung and Jimin realized there were only two rooms—each containing two bunk beds—their protests began instantly, their voices overlapping in exaggerated disbelief.

“You’re telling me,” Jimin groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “that we came all the way up this damn mountain only to be crammed into a room with three other people like we’re in some kind of summer camp?”

“This is an injustice,” Taehyung declared dramatically, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who planned this? Namjoon-hyung, was this you?”

Namjoon, already halfway through unpacking his bag, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, because renting a massive cabin with individual rooms for seven people sounded super realistic.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Jin chimed in, looking far too pleased with himself as he flopped onto one of the bottom bunks. “Sharing is bonding. Isn’t that what you guys are always going on about?”

“You just like that you get to snore in the same room as Namjoon and drive him insane,” Yoongi muttered, already claiming the bunk farthest from everyone else.

“Guilty as charged,” Jin replied with a wink.

Jungkook, who had been quietly observing the chaos unfold, barely had time to react before Taehyung turned to him, eyes lighting up as if he’d just had the most brilliant idea in the world. “Jungkook is rooming with me.”

The words left no room for debate, Taehyung’s grip already firm around Jungkook’s wrist as if he was ready to drag him to their chosen room himself. Jungkook blinked in surprise, lips parting slightly as he tried to process the sudden declaration.

“Oh?” Jimin smirked, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “You’re that eager, huh?”

Taehyung turned to him, unbothered. “Of course. Who else is Jungkookie going to room with? You?”

“I don’t know,” Jin hummed, leaning back against the bedframe with a knowing grin. “Are you sure you two should be sharing a room? Unspeakable things happen behind closed doors.”

Namjoon choked on his water.

Jungkook frowned, confused at first—until Jimin gasped, scandalized, and Yoongi let out a low, unimpressed, “Hyung.” The realization hit like a freight train, heat rising rapidly in Jungkook’s face as his eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” Jimin wheezed. “Jin-hyung, that was filthy.”

Taehyung, the absolute menace that he was, simply grinned. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Jungkook, thoroughly mortified, felt his face heat up to an unnatural degree. He could feel the burning sensation creeping down his neck, his brain short-circuiting as the implications of Jin’s words fully settled in. The room erupted into laughter, and before he could stop himself, he turned, burying his flaming face against Taehyung’s chest with a muffled groan.

Taehyung let out a loud, delighted laugh, throwing an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders like this was the best entertainment he’d had in years. “Awww, Kook, you’re too cute.”

Jungkook groaned louder, his hands curling into fists against Taehyung’s shirt as if that would somehow shield him from the utter humiliation of this moment. “Shut up,” he muttered, which only made Taehyung shake with more laughter.

Jin, still grinning like a devil, added, “I’m just saying, no one wants to wake up in the middle of the night to… sounds.”

“Oh my god,” Jungkook practically shoved himself away from Taehyung, face red as a tomato as he turned to glare at Jin. “Stop.”

“Too late,” Jimin laughed, nudging Yoongi. “Hyung, I think we should swap rooms. You and I are too young to be traumatized.”

Yoongi, deadpan as ever, simply sighed. “I regret coming on this trip.”

Taehyung, still fully enjoying himself, draped an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders again. “Don’t listen to them, Kook. We’ll be the best roommates. We’ll have fun. Right?”

Jungkook, still recovering from his secondhand embarrassment, scowled up at him—but there was no real anger behind it. Taehyung’s enthusiasm was too infectious, too genuine, and even if Jungkook wanted to be annoyed, he knew it wouldn’t last.

“I guess,” he mumbled, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to cool the heat lingering on his face. “But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

“Deal,” Taehyung grinned, clearly pleased.

They eventually settled on rooming with Jimin and Yoongi, which was honestly the best outcome—Jimin would bring the energy, Yoongi would bring the sarcasm, and Taehyung… well, Taehyung would continue being Taehyung, which Jungkook was realizing wasn’t so bad at all.

Even if he did make his face heat up way too easily.

 

The night air was crisp but pleasant, carrying the scent of grilled meat and the faint crackle of burning charcoal from the small grill Yoongi and Taehyung were manning. A warm glow from the string lights wrapped around the wooden posts cast flickering shadows across the garden, blending with the silvery light of the moon overhead. The cabin's terrace had become their little haven for the night, laughter and conversation filling the air as they settled into the easy comfort of each other’s company.

Jin was sipping from a bottle of beer, telling some exaggerated story that had Jimin nearly choking on his drink, while Namjoon leaned back in his chair, amused but exhausted, likely regretting whatever dumb thing he had done in the story that Jin was now publicly exposing. Jungkook sat quietly, letting the sound of his friends wash over him, grounding him in the moment. For the first time in what felt like forever, things felt normal. Like maybe—just maybe—he could let his guard down.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced down, barely visible on the screen was a name he wished he could erase from existence.

Minho.

His grip on the phone tightened.

Minho had never called him before. Texts, yes. Voice notes, sometimes. But an actual call? That was new. And it wasn’t stopping. The phone buzzed again, and Jungkook’s throat went dry. He quickly pressed the side button, silencing it, praying no one had noticed.

He should’ve known better.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Jin asked casually, not even looking up from where he was cutting into his steak. “Sounds like it might be important.”

Jungkook’s pulse spiked. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. The last thing he needed was Yoongi picking up on his tension, but thankfully, the older was too busy turning the meat on the grill to pay attention to him.

“Yeah,” Jungkook muttered, standing up abruptly, slipping his phone into his pocket as he forced a small smile. “I should, uh… I’ll just take this over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the far side of the garden, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way.

No one questioned it. Why would they? It was just a phone call.

Except it wasn’t.

Jungkook strode across the yard, his steps measured but quick, his hands shoved into his pockets as he put as much distance between himself and the others as possible. He didn’t answer the call. He didn’t even take his phone out again—he just pretended, standing near the fence, letting the soft rustling of the trees and the distant chirping of crickets fill the silence.

His fingers curled into fists.

How much longer would he have to put up with this? How much longer could he?

He felt sick. Trapped. The weight of it all pressed against his chest, suffocating him in a way that had nothing to do with the crisp mountain air.

He hated this. Hated that even here, in this place that was supposed to be a getaway, he couldn’t escape the grip Minho had on him. He couldn’t enjoy a single moment without the looming threat of being pulled back into that darkness. And the worst part? He didn’t even know what Minho wanted.

The calls had stopped for now, but they’d start again. They always did. 

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to push down the nausea curling in his stomach. He just needed a second. Just one second to—

“Are you okay?”

The voice startled him.

Jungkook tensed instantly, his entire body going rigid before he turned his head slightly—only to find Hoseok standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression unreadable in the dim light.

Jungkook’s stomach twisted again, this time for a different reason.

“I—” He hesitated, his voice failing him for a second. “Yeah. I just needed some air.”

Hoseok didn’t look convinced. His gaze flickered toward Jungkook’s phone, still clutched tightly in his hand, and Jungkook instinctively curled his fingers around it, as if that would somehow shield the truth.

“You sure?” Hoseok asked, his tone softer this time. “Because you’ve been standing here for a while, and you don’t exactly look… okay.”

Jungkook swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He hadn’t spoken to Hoseok much since the night of Namjoon’s surprise party. Sure, they’d been around each other more often, but it was always awkward, their interactions stilted, hesitant. And now here they were, standing in the quiet of the night, away from the others, with Hoseok looking at him like he actually cared.

It made something in Jungkook’s chest ache.

He exhaled, turning his gaze toward the trees. “…It’s nothing,” he murmured.

Hoseok was quiet for a moment, then—“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” he said, his voice steady but gentle. “But if you ever do want to talk… I’ll listen.”

Jungkook’s fingers tightened around his phone again.

"Why- why are you suddenly so nice to me?" his voice was small as he asked.

Hoseok scratched his neck, guilt spreading across his face "I haven't really been fair to you." he stated "Even still, you were always kind to me." 

Jungkook's eyes widened in surprise, not really expecting such a confession from him.

"Namjoon also told me that there's more to you moving away back, then I know." Damn Namjoon, he wasn't in the right headspace to talk about this, to relive such a painfull memory. "-Woah chill," Hoseok went on, picking up on Jungkook's distress "we don't have to talk about that right now. I just- I just wanted to say I'm sorry for the way I handled things." 

There was something about the way Hoseok said it—so genuine, so unlike the anger and disappointment that had once clouded his voice whenever he spoke to Jungkook—that made his throat close up. He wanted to believe him. Wanted to let himself trust that Hoseok wasn’t just saying it out of obligation, that he meant it.

But he wasn’t sure if he could.

So instead, he just nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak.

Hoseok lingered for a second longer, as if waiting for him to say something else, before finally letting out a quiet sigh and stepping back. “Okay,” he said, his lips twitching into a small, barely-there smile. “Come back soon. Your food’s getting cold.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jungkook alone once more.

Jungkook watched him go, his chest tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he wasn’t ready to unpack.

He didn’t know what to make of this—of Hoseok trying—but for the first time in a long time, the thought of being alone didn’t feel so inevitable.

 

---

 

The next few days at the cabin felt like something out of a dream—one of those golden memories Jungkook knew he’d look back on years from now and ache to relive. The tension that had once weighed on their group had started to melt away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything just felt right. Hoseok and Jungkook weren’t best friends, not yet, but they were talking, sharing small conversations here and there that gradually built a bridge between them. The others noticed it too—the way Jungkook no longer flinched when Hoseok walked past him, the way Hoseok no longer avoided Jungkook’s gaze. It was subtle, but it changed everything.

The garden became their favorite spot to lounge during the warm afternoons, the sun casting lazy golden rays across the wooden terrace as they sprawled on outdoor chairs and blankets spread across the grass. It was on one of these afternoons, while Yoongi was peacefully napping in a sun chair with his arms crossed over his chest, that Jimin and Hoseok struck.

“On three,” Jimin whispered, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he and Hoseok crouched near the edge of the pool.

Hoseok nodded, barely containing his laughter. “One… two…”

They didn’t even wait for three.

With a sudden burst of movement, the two of them lunged forward, grabbing the edges of Yoongi’s chair and tipping it before he even had the chance to react. There was a shout, a splash, and then pure chaos as Yoongi resurfaced, sputtering and cursing in rapid-fire Korean, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.

“You little—” he started, but his voice was drowned out by howling laughter as Jimin and Hoseok collapsed onto the deck, clutching their stomachs.

Jungkook swore he had never seen Yoongi move so fast. One moment he was in the pool, the next he was hauling himself out with murderous intent. Jimin screamed, scrambling to his feet, Hoseok right behind him as they made a run for it.

“I swear to God, you’re both dead!” Yoongi shouted, his dripping clothes leaving a trail of water as he chased after them.

The whole thing ended with Jimin tripping over a chair, Hoseok slipping on the wet deck, and Yoongi mercilessly dragging them both into the pool with him.

**

One afternoon, the group decided to split off—half of them going to the nearest grocery store while the rest stayed back to clean up the cabin and prep for dinner. Jungkook, Jimin, Jin, and Namjoon piled into the car, armed with a half-hearted grocery list and a playlist full of old-school bops.

“Alright,” Jin said as he adjusted the GPS. “It’s only about thirty minutes away. Should be easy.”

Spoiler: It was not easy.

About fifteen minutes into the drive, the weak mountain signal kicked in, the GPS lagging before completely freezing on a single frame. Jin squinted at the screen.

“…Huh.”

Jimin leaned forward. “What do you mean, ‘huh’?”

“I think we’re going the right way,” Jin said, though the uncertainty in his voice made Jungkook glance up from his phone.

Namjoon, ever the responsible one, pulled out his own phone, only to sigh when he saw there was barely one bar of service. “You think?”

Jin waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, I have a feeling it’s this way.”

That feeling led them twenty minutes in the wrong direction.

By the time they finally made it to the store, they had barely fifteen minutes before it closed. What followed was absolute mayhem—Jimin and Jungkook running down the aisles grabbing anything that remotely resembled their grocery list while Jin tried to negotiate with the cashier to let them take five more minutes. Namjoon, meanwhile, got stuck at self-checkout, furiously pressing buttons as the machine kept insisting he “remove the last scanned item.”

They made it out with seconds to spare, laughing breathlessly as they loaded the bags into the car.

“Next time,” Namjoon huffed, glaring at Jin. “I’m driving.”

Jin just grinned. “But then where’s the adventure in that?”

**

During their second week at the cabin, something really unexpected happened.

They were all outside, enjoying the late afternoon sun, when Jungkook noticed something moving in the distance. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but then he saw them—cows.

A whole herd of them, casually making their way down the dirt road that ran in front of their cabin.

Jin was the first to react. “Holy shit.”

The others turned just in time to see the cows trotting past, their large, lazy eyes glancing toward the group like they had business to attend to.

“Why are there cows?” Jimin asked, stunned.

“They probably belong to a local farm,” Namjoon guessed.

Jungkook was too busy laughing at the sheer randomness of it all to notice Hoseok stiffening beside him.

“…Are they gonna come over here?” Hoseok’s voice was tight.

Jungkook turned, only to see pure terror written all over his friend’s face.

“Wait.” A slow grin spread across his lips. “Are you scared of cows?”

“I’m not scared,” Hoseok said quickly. Too quickly.

A single cow mooed loudly, and Hoseok yelped, scrambling behind Namjoon.

The entire group burst into laughter.

“Wow, the great Jung Hoseok, afraid of cows,” Yoongi snickered, watching as Hoseok continued to peek nervously over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Before anyone could tease him further, there was a shuffle—a loud thud—and suddenly, Jungkook was stuck in the middle of the herd.

“Oh shit—”

The cows, uninterested in his distress, just kept moving. Jungkook froze, heart hammering, too afraid to move in case he startled them.

“Oh my God,” Jimin wheezed. “Jungkook is one of them now.”

“I hate all of you,” Jungkook muttered, stiff as a board.

Then, like a knight in shining armor, Taehyung strode toward him with an easy grin. “Don’t worry,” he said dramatically. “I’ll save you, my love.”

Jungkook groaned as the others howled in laughter.

With practiced ease, Taehyung maneuvered his way through the cows, grabbed Jungkook’s wrist, and pulled him out. The second they were clear, Jungkook started pouting.

“I could’ve gotten out on my own,” he grumbled.

Taehyung just smirked, throwing an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Sure, cow whisperer.”

Laughter echoed into the evening air, and as Jungkook looked around at his friends—at the warmth in their eyes, the ease in their smiles—he realized something.

This was perfect. The kind of happiness that felt destined.

Like no matter what had happened in the past—no matter the fights, the pain, the distance—they were always meant to find their way to each other.

In every lifetime.

 

---

 

The idea to hike up to the small village perched at the very top of the mountain had come to them on their last day at the cabin, almost as an afterthought. It was Jin who had mentioned it over breakfast, his voice casual as he stirred his coffee. “I heard there’s a little restaurant up there,” he said, glancing around the table. “Supposedly, the view is incredible. And the food’s not bad either.” The group had exchanged looks, the unspoken agreement passing between them without a word. It felt like the perfect way to end their trip—a final adventure before they had to pack up and return to the real world.

The hike itself was steep and winding, the narrow path cutting through dense trees and rocky outcrops. It didn’t take long for the group to naturally split into pairs, their paces uneven as they navigated the terrain. Jimin and Hoseok were at the very front, their energy seemingly boundless as they chatted animatedly, their laughter echoing down the trail. They were several feet ahead of Namjoon, Jin, and Yoongi, who walked at a more leisurely pace, their conversation a mix of light teasing and thoughtful musings. Yoongi, ever the pragmatist, occasionally pointed out the best spots to step, while Jin and Namjoon debated whether the restaurant would have decent coffee.

Bringing up the rear were Taehyung and Jungkook, their pace the slowest of all—not because they were tired, but because they were too busy bickering  to focus on the hike. Taehyung, more than usual, couldn’t keep his hands to himself, his fingers brushing against Jungkook’s arm, his shoulder, his waist, as if he needed to be touching him at all times. Jungkook pretended to be annoyed, swatting Taehyung’s hand away with a mock scowl, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He loved it—loved the attention, loved the way Taehyung’s touch sent a warm shiver through him, loved the way Taehyung’s eyes crinkled when he laughed.

“Would you stop?” Jungkook grumbled after Taehyung pulled him back, by his wrist, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Taehyung just grinned, unrepentant. “Stop what?” he asked innocently, his fingers trailing lightly up Jungkook’s arm.

“You know what,” Jungkook shot back, grinning, though there was no real heat in his voice. He shoved Taehyung lightly, causing him to stumble slightly on the uneven path. Taehyung laughed, the sound bright and carefree, and Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him.

By the time they’d been walking for about forty minutes, the restaurant was finally within sight, its rustic wooden exterior blending seamlessly into the mountain landscape. Jimin and Hoseok had already reached the top, their voices carrying down the trail as they called out to the others. “Hurry up, you two!” Jimin shouted, his tone teasing. “Stop flirting and move your legs!”

Taehyung just laughed, his arm slipping around Jungkook’s waist as he pulled him closer. “You heard him,” he said, his voice low and playful. “We’re holding up the group.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across his face. “You’re the one who won’t stop touching me,” he retorted, shoving Taehyung lightly again before breaking into a sprint. “Keep up, slowpoke!” he called over his shoulder, his laughter ringing out as he raced up the final stretch of the trail.

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice. He took off after Jungkook, his long legs eating up the distance between them. They reached the top breathless and laughing, their chests heaving from the effort of the sprint. Jungkook bent over, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, while Taehyung leaned against a nearby tree, his face flushed but his smile wide and bright.

The others had already gone inside the restaurant, not bothering to wait for the two of them. Through the large glass windows, Jungkook could see them sitting at a table, their heads bent together as they talked and laughed. For a moment, he and Taehyung just stood there, the cool mountain air brushing against their skin as they tried to compose themselves.

Then Taehyung turned to look at him, and something in his expression shifted. His smile softened, his eyes growing intense as they met Jungkook’s. There was a warmth there, a tenderness that made Jungkook’s breath catch in his throat.

“What?” Jungkook asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Taehyung didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to cradle Jungkook’s face before sliding down to his waist. Jungkook barely had time to register what was happening before he was pinned against the wall and Taehyung’s lips were on his, kissing him with a passion that left no room for doubt. It was a kiss that said everything Taehyung hadn’t been able to put into words, a kiss that spoke of longing and desire and something deeper, something that felt an awful lot like love.

Jungkook’s hands instinctively came up to grip Taehyung’s shoulders, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he kissed him back, a soft whine escaping his lips. For a moment, the world around them faded away—the restaurant, the others, the mountain itself—until it was just the two of them, lost in each other.

When they finally pulled apart, Jungkook’s face was flushed, his lips slightly swollen and his eyes wide with surprise. Taehyung was smiling, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he brushed a strand of hair out of Jungkook’s face.

“Took you long enough,” Jungkook muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. If anything, he sounded breathless, his heart still racing from the kiss.

Taehyung just laughed, the sound warm and rich as he took Jungkook’s hand in his. “Come on,” he said, tugging him toward the entrance of the restaurant. “Let’s go before they send a search party.”

Inside, the others were already seated, their conversation pausing as Taehyung and Jungkook walked in. It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“Finally,” Jimin said, his tone dripping with mock exasperation. “We were about to send Hoseok back down to make sure you two hadn’t fallen off the mountain.”

“Or gotten distracted,” Hoseok added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Jungkook’s face turned bright red, his gaze dropping to the floor as he tried to hide his smile. Taehyung, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered, his arm slinging casually around Jungkook’s shoulders as he guided him to the table.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Hobi,” Taehyung said, his tone light and teasing as he pulled out a chair for Jungkook.

The others burst into laughter, the sound warm and familiar, and Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh too. As he sat down, his hand brushing against Taehyung’s under the table, he felt a sense of contentment settle over him. This—the laughter, the teasing, the easy camaraderie—was what he’d been missing for so long. And now, with Taehyung by his side and their friends around them, it felt like he’d finally found it.

 

---

 

The night air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth as the group settled into the garden. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed above them, casting a soft, golden glow over the scene. They had dragged out blankets and cushions, creating a cozy nest on the grass, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. After the hike and the hearty meal at the mountain restaurant, everyone was in high spirits, their cheeks flushed from the combination of the cool night and the warmth of the drinks they were sharing.

Taehyung, was glued to Jungkook’s side. But tonight, there was something different about the way he touched him—something more deliberate, more possessive. His hand rested on Jungkook’s thigh, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns that sent shivers up Jungkook’s spine. Every now and then, Taehyung’s hand would drift higher, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just above Jungkook’s knee, and Jungkook had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. When Jungkook reached for his drink, Taehyung’s hand slid around his waist, pulling him closer so their sides were pressed together, his breath warm against Jungkook’s ear as he whispered something that made Jungkook’s cheeks burn and his heart race.

“You’re being so obvious,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. He tried to sound annoyed, but the way his breath hitched when Taehyung’s fingers brushed against his hip gave him away.

Taehyung just smirked, his lips brushing against Jungkook’s ear as he whispered, “I don’t care.” His hand slid up Jungkook’s back, his fingers splaying across the curve of his spine, and Jungkook shivered, his grip tightening around his glass. Taehyung’s touch was electric, sending little sparks of heat through him, and it was all Jungkook could do to keep his composure.

The others were too caught up in their own conversations to notice—or at least, they pretended not to. Jimin and Hoseok were deep in a debate about something trivial, their voices rising and falling in animated bursts, while Namjoon and Jin were discussing the stars, their heads tilted back as they pointed out constellations. Yoongi, as usual, was quiet, his eyes half-closed as he sipped his drink, though Jungkook could have sworn he saw a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Taehyung, however, seemed entirely unconcerned with the others. His attention was focused solely on Jungkook, body fully turned towards him, his touches growing bolder as the night wore on. At one point, his hand slipped under the hem of Jungkook’s shirt, his fingers brushing against the warm skin of his lower back, and Jungkook nearly dropped his drink. He shot Taehyung a warning look, but Taehyung just grinned, his eyes dark with mischief.

“Relax,” Taehyung murmured, his lips brushing against Jungkook’s ear again, before nimbling softly at it “No one’s paying attention.”

Jungkook wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t argue- not that he even could, as he was busy biting his lip bloody, desperately trying to keep himself from making a sound. Instead, he leaned into Taehyung’s touch, his body betraying him even as his mind screamed at him to be careful. Taehyung’s hand slid higher, his fingers tracing the curve of Jungkook’s ribs, and Jungkook’s breath hitched, his cheeks flushing as he tried to focus on the conversation around him.

It was impossible, though. Every touch, every whispered word, every brush of Taehyung’s lips against his skin sent a jolt of heat through him, and by the time the others started teasing him for being sleepy, Jungkook was a mess. His cheeks were flushed, his heart was racing, and he could barely think straight. 

He didn't even notice that Yoongi wasn't there anymore.

“Already tired, Jungkook?” Jimin teased, his voice light and playful. “You’re such a grandma.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook muttered, waving a hand dismissively, though he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just… comfortable.”

“Comfortable or old?” Hoseok chimed in, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Jungkook rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He knew when he was outnumbered. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet. “Goodnight, you heathens.”

The others called out their goodnights, their voices overlapping in a chorus of laughter and teasing remarks. Jungkook shot them one last mock glare before heading inside, the cool air of the cabin a welcome contrast to the warmth of the garden.

He made his way to the bunk bed they’d been sharing, stripping down to his boxers and an oversized T-shirt before climbing into the lower bunk. The sheets were cool against his skin, and he sighed contentedly as he settled in, pulling the blanket up to his chest. He was just about to close his eyes when the door creaked open, and Taehyung slipped inside.

“Are you sleeping?” Taehyung asked, his voice soft and cautious, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was intruding.

Jungkook blinked up at him, confused. “No, why?”

Taehyung didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and climbed into the bed with Jungkook, his movements fluid and deliberate. The bunk wasn’t exactly spacious, but Taehyung made it work, lying down on his side so they were face to face. His hand found its way underneath Jungkook’s shirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of his belly, drawing slow, lazy circles that made Jungkook’s breath hitch.

“Tae…” Jungkook murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his phone aside, his attention fully on Taehyung now, his heart pounding in his chest.

Taehyung’s eyes searched his, dark and intense, as if he was looking for permission. When Jungkook didn’t pull away, his hand began to wander, sliding down Jungkook’s leg in a slow, deliberate motion before coming back up, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Jungkook shivered, his skin tingling under Taehyung’s fingers, his breath coming a little faster now.

Then Taehyung’s hand paused, hovering over Jungkook’s chest for a moment before he tugged gently at the hem of his shirt. Jungkook shifted, lifting his arms slightly so Taehyung could pull the shirt off, leaving his torso bare. The cool air brushed against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Taehyung’s gaze as he took him in.

“Tae…” Jungkook breathed again, his voice trembling slightly. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but in the best possible way. Taehyung’s eyes roamed over him, drinking in the sight of his soft, milky skin, the faint definition of his muscles, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was something reverent in the way he looked at him, something that made Jungkook’s heart ache in the most beautiful way.

Taehyung leaned in then, his lips brushing against Jungkook’s in a kiss that started out soft and gentle, almost tentative. But as Jungkook’s hands found their way underneath Taehyung’s sweater, his fingers skimming over the warm skin of his back, the kiss deepened, growing more passionate, more urgent. Taehyung’s tongue slid against his, and Jungkook moaned softly, his hands gripping Taehyung’s shoulders as he kissed him back with everything he had. He gently pushed apart Jungkook's legs, positioning himself inbetween them.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their lips swollen and their cheeks flushed. Taehyung’s eyes were dark with desire, and Jungkook could feel his own heart racing, his body humming with anticipation.

“What about the others?” Jungkook asked, his voice shaky as he glanced toward the door.

“They went on a walk,” Taehyung murmured, his lips trailing along Jungkook’s jaw before finding the sensitive spot on his neck. He kissed it gently at first, then with more pressure, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to make Jungkook whimper softly.

“Are you sure about this?” Jungkook asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was afraid—afraid that this was just a fleeting moment, that Taehyung would wake up tomorrow and regret it. But Taehyung pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting Jungkook’s, and the look in them was enough to ease his fears.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of something,” Taehyung said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “You?”

Jungkook’s heart swelled at the words, and he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Taehyung’s answering smile was radiant, and he leaned in to capture Jungkook’s lips in another kiss, this one even deeper, even more intense. Jungkook’s hands slid up Taehyung’s back, pulling him closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that left no space between them.

As the heat between them built, Jungkook couldn’t contain the soft moan that escaped his lips, breathy and high-pitched, muffled only slightly by Taehyung’s lips against his skin. Taehyung, hovering above him, smirked at the sound, clearly pleased with himself. His hands, which had been exploring every inch of Jungkook’s body with a deliberate hunger, paused just for a second—only for a loud, exasperated groan to cut through the heavy, tension-filled air.

“Would you two stop already?”

Jungkook’s entire body went stiff, his breath hitching in horror as his brain registered the voice. From the top bunk. Yoongi.

His stomach dropped.

Yoongi had been up there the whole time.

Jungkook let out a mortified squeak, his eyes snapping open wide as he pushed at Taehyung’s chest in a panic. "Oh my god," he whispered, absolutely mortified. His hands flew up to cover his burning face as he tried to will himself out of existence. He could already feel the teasing he was about to endure for the rest of his life.

Taehyung, for once, actually looked surprised, his movements pausing for just a second as he processed what had just happened. Then, in true Taehyung fashion, his shock melted into amusement as a slow smirk stretched across his lips. "Hyung," he drawled lazily, shifting to rest on his elbows as he turned his head toward the top bunk. “Are you seriously eavesdropping on us?”

"Eavesdropping?!" Yoongi sputtered, voice laced with irritation. "I’m right here! Where else am I supposed to go? Jump out the damn window?"

Jungkook groaned, curling in on himself, his entire body practically radiating secondhand embarrassment. “I didn’t know you were up there,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow.

“I was trying to sleep,” Yoongi grumbled. “But how the hell am I supposed to do that with you two acting like you’re in a goddamn drama right below me?”

Jungkook let out a strangled whimper, feeling like his soul was actively leaving his body. This was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing moment of his entire life. He wanted to bury himself under the covers and never come out.

Taehyung, on the other hand, looked far less affected. He actually had the audacity to laugh, rolling onto his side to peek up at Yoongi with a teasing grin. "Come on, hyung," he said easily, not looking guilty in the slightest. “It’s not our fault you’re a light sleeper.”

Yoongi groaned loudly. "No, you moron, it’s because you’re practically mauling him—in a shared room, might I add!"

Jungkook let out another groan, smacking Taehyung’s arm as his entire body burned with embarrassment. "I hate you," he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking slightly from the sheer humiliation.

Taehyung, entirely unbothered, chuckled and leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Jungkook’s temple as if to say too bad.

"Seriously, just go to sleep already," Yoongi grumbled, shifting on the top bunk. "And if I hear one more sound from either of you, I swear I’m throwing you both outside."

Jungkook whined into his pillow, still refusing to look at either of them. "I can’t believe this is happening to me."

Taehyung, clearly entertained, sighed dramatically and flopped back down beside Jungkook, shifting until they were face to face under the blankets. He reached out, fingers tracing over Jungkook’s heated cheek with a smirk. "Well, since we’ve been rudely interrupted,” he said, side-eyeing the top bunk. “I suppose we’ll just have to settle for cuddling instead."

Jungkook peeked at him through his fingers, still thoroughly embarrassed but unable to resist the warmth that spread through his chest at Taehyung’s words. Even after all that, Taehyung still wanted to stay close.

“…Fine,” he mumbled, pouting slightly.

Taehyung grinned, looking far too pleased with himself as he wrapped an arm securely around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him in until their bodies were pressed together from head to toe. Jungkook instinctively buried his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, his breath evening out as he inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne.

Taehyung’s fingers traced soothing patterns against his lower back, his lips brushing softly against Jungkook’s temple. "Sleep well, love," he murmured, his voice a quiet whisper against Jungkook’s skin.

Jungkook's heart stuttered. He swallowed thickly, but rather than responding, he simply tightened his grip on Taehyung’s shirt, nuzzling further into his warmth.

Yoongi groaned again from above them. "Unbelievable."

Jungkook bit his lip, finally allowing himself to laugh.

 

Chapter 7: Movie night

When the group returned from their trip, life settled into an easy, almost dreamlike rhythm. The lingering warmth of their vacation clung to them like a second skin, the inside jokes, playful memories, and shared laughter spilling into their daily lives. The first few days back were slow and lazy—reality not yet crashing down as they adjusted from the mountain air and peaceful solitude to the bustling city and the start of a new semester. But even with classes resuming, assignments piling up, and responsibilities creeping back in, something had shifted. The group felt lighter, happier. Whole. Like something that had been fractured for too long had finally been pieced back together. 

Even Minho stopped bothering Jungkook- he doesn't know what made him stop, but he doesn't really care either, he's just happy he did.

For Jungkook, everything felt different. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder, wasn’t bracing himself for an attack, wasn’t expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. There was no Minho looming over him like a dark cloud, no tension poisoning the air between him and the people he cared about, no gnawing loneliness eating him alive. Instead, there was warmth. Love. Taehyung. His friends. Home.

And, without even realizing it, Jungkook had basically started living at Jimin's and Taehyung’s place.

At first, it was subtle. He spent more nights there than at his own apartment, claiming it was just more convenient. His textbooks started stacking up on their coffee table, his hoodies began mixing in with Taehyung and Jimin’s laundry, and his favorite snacks mysteriously started appearing in their kitchen cabinets. At some point, his charger permanently took up residence in their living room, and his spare clothes occupied a small section of Taehyung’s closet. Neither Jimin nor Taehyung ever commented on it, and Jungkook never officially acknowledged the shift—but they all knew.

It had become an unspoken truth—Jungkook belonged there.

It wasn’t just about convenience, though. It was about the way Taehyung always pulled him into bed at night without question, tucking him under the blankets like he was meant to be there. It was about the way Jimin never seemed surprised to find Jungkook in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee like it was his own home. It was the way he never felt like he was intruding, like he was taking up too much space. It was the first time in a long time that Jungkook had felt wanted—not just tolerated, not just accommodated, but wanted.

And then there was Taehyung.

Jungkook hadn’t expected to fall so deeply, so quickly, but loving Taehyung felt as natural as breathing. Every moment with him was intoxicating—his touch, his voice, his laughter, his presence. Taehyung loved him so loudly, so openly, so unapologetically, and it left Jungkook feeling breathless. He had never been loved like this before, never been adored so shamelessly. It was in the way Taehyung reached for his hand without thinking, the way he kissed him so casually in the middle of a conversation, the way he looked at him—like Jungkook was the only thing that had ever mattered.

And God, Jungkook was helpless against it.

Their friends noticed, of course. There was no hiding the way Taehyung looked at Jungkook like he’d hung the stars, or the way Jungkook melted under Taehyung’s touch. It wasn’t like they were trying to be discreet—Taehyung wasn’t capable of being subtle, and Jungkook had long since stopped trying to fight his own feelings.

Jimin, in particular, found endless entertainment in their dynamic. "You guys are disgusting," he groaned one afternoon, watching as Taehyung practically draped himself over Jungkook on the couch, nuzzling into his neck like a clingy cat. "Like, actually nauseating."

"You love it," Taehyung shot back lazily, tightening his grip around Jungkook’s waist.

Jimin rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. "I tolerate it," he corrected, though the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

The rest of the group wasn’t much better. Jin had taken to calling them "newlyweds," Hoseok pretended to gag every time Taehyung kissed Jungkook in front of him, and even Yoongi—stoic, unbothered Yoongi—had muttered something about "not needing to see that" when he walked in on Taehyung kissing Jungkook in the kitchen.

But it was all lighthearted. There was no tension, no sharp edges, no lingering hostility. For the first time in forever, everything felt right. The group was whole again. Complete. They went to class together, studied together, shared meals together, and wasted time together, just like they always had. But now, there were no secrets between them. No hidden resentments. No cold shoulders or forced smiles.

Just them. Just happiness.

But that never lasts long-

 

---

 

The first time Jungkook saw Minho after the trip, he thought it was just a coincidence. Had to be. He had been leaving the library late one evening, his bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, when he felt a presence behind him—close, too close. At first, he thought it was just another student heading in the same direction, but when he turned his head slightly, his breath caught in his throat. Minho. Standing there, hands in his pockets, watching him with that same eerie smile.

Jungkook’s fingers clenched around the strap of his bag, and he forced himself to keep walking, heart hammering. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t acknowledge him. He just went. When he reached the dorms, he checked over his shoulder, relieved to see Minho had stopped following him. Probably just a coincidence, he told himself. It had to be.

But then, he saw him again.

And again.

And again.

It wasn’t just at school. Minho started showing up everywhere. In the hallways outside Jungkook’s lectures, despite not even taking the same courses. In the studio. At the café near campus where Jungkook and the others sometimes grabbed coffee after class. Each time, it was the same—Minho standing just a little too close, flashing that slow, smug smile, making some excuse for why he was there. At first, Jungkook played along, forced himself to act normal, to pretend it wasn’t weird, that Minho wasn’t just suddenly appearing everywhere like a shadow.

But then, it got worse.

Jungkook started seeing him at night. When he was leaving the studio after a session, exhausted and alone, Minho would be there, leaning against the wall near the exit, watching him. “Late session?” he’d say casually, as if they were friends, as if it was normal for him to be there. Or at the tiny corner store near Taehyung and Jimin’s apartment, where Jungkook had never run into him before—but suddenly, there he was, reaching past Jungkook to grab a drink from the fridge, his fingers grazing the bare skin of Jungkook’s wrist, his voice smooth as he murmured, “Didn’t know you shopped here, too.”

Every time, he touched him. A hand on his wrist. A lingering brush of fingers against his back. A grip on his shoulder that felt too firm, too possessive.

Jungkook started dreading being alone.

The moments where he couldn’t avoid Minho were even worse. When he was with the others—when he couldn’t just turn around and walk the other way—he had to endure it. Had to force himself to stay still when Minho clapped a hand on his back, fingers pressing into his spine just a little too hard. Had to grit his teeth when Minho grabbed his wrist under the guise of “just getting his attention.” Had to smile through it when Minho leaned in too close, his breath brushing against Jungkook’s skin as he whispered, “You’re acting shy, Jungkookie. Did I do something to upset you?”

He couldn’t tell the others.

He couldn’t.

If Yoongi found out, he’d kill Minho. If Taehyung found out… Jungkook didn’t even know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be good. And if the whole group found out? If they all knew? The peace they had finally, finally found would shatter.

So Jungkook said nothing.

Instead, he started clinging to Taehyung again. Not in the same way as before, when he had craved his touch, when he had wanted to be kissed, needed to be touched. No, this was different. Jungkook curled into Taehyung’s chest during movie nights, but when Taehyung’s hands slid under his shirt like they used to, Jungkook flinched. He climbed into Taehyung’s bed every night, but when Taehyung’s lips brushed his skin, he pulled away, burying himself in Taehyung’s arms instead. He needed the comfort, the warmth, the security—but anything more than that made his skin crawl.

Taehyung noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” he said one night, watching Jungkook curl into his side on the couch, fingers gripping Taehyung’s hoodie too tightly. His hand slid up Jungkook’s arm, only for Jungkook to tense. Taehyung frowned. “You don’t… want me to touch you?”

Jungkook hated the look in his eyes. The confusion. The hurt. He forced a small smile, shaking his head. “Just tired,” he muttered, nuzzling into Taehyung’s chest. “I just want to stay like this.”

Taehyung still looked suspicious but didn’t push. He just held Jungkook a little closer, his fingers gentle as they rubbed soothing circles into his back.

Jungkook wished he could tell him- but he can't. 

But then, it happened.

Movie night. The one night a week where the entire group gathered at someone’s apartment- this time at Namjoon's place, sprawled across the floor, the couch, the chairs, sharing snacks and teasing each other over bad movie choices. Jungkook had been looking forward to it—needing it, really. Needing the comfort, the normalcy.

And then he walked in.

Minho.

Jungkook’s heart stopped.

He stood frozen in the doorway, staring, as Minho laughed at something Namjoon said, making himself comfortable among Jungkook’s friends, like he belonged there.

Jungkook barely heard Namjoon’s voice over the roaring in his ears. “Oh, I invited Minho, by the way,” he said, waving a hand. “Hope that’s okay. He’s been around a lot lately, and I figured—”

But Jungkook wasn’t listening anymore.

Minho’s eyes met his across the room.

And he smirked.

Jungkook’s stomach twisted painfully the moment Minho’s gaze landed on him, dark eyes lingering just a second too long, sharp and knowing beneath the mask of that easy grin. “Sorry I’m late,” Minho said smoothly, his voice carrying that practiced charm, laced with just enough false humility to make him seem harmless.

Namjoon, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension slicing through Jungkook’s spine, chuckled and waved him in. “Don’t worry, just grab a seat.”

Jungkook wanted to beg him not to, wanted to open his mouth and say something, anything—but the words stuck to the back of his throat like tar. He could only watch as Minho’s eyes flicked back to him, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips before he moved, settling onto the couch right beside him.

Too close.

The proximity was suffocating. Jungkook stiffened as Minho’s arm brushed against his, the contact casual enough to go unnoticed by the others, but deliberate in a way that made Jungkook’s skin crawl.

In a frantic attempt to avoid sitting next to Minho, Jungkook pushed himself up from the couch and slid onto Taehyung’s lap, wedging himself between Taehyung and the armrest. “The angle’s better from here,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to sound casual. Taehyung, ever accommodating, didn’t question it. He simply adjusted his position, his hands instinctively finding Jungkook’s thighs as he settled in. Jungkook was grateful for that—grateful that Taehyung didn’t press him, didn’t ask why he was suddenly so clingy. He just let Jungkook curl up against him, his legs sprawled across Taehyung’s lap, his head resting on Taehyung’s shoulder.

Around him, the others were laughing, talking, welcoming Minho into their space without hesitation.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

Don’t fall for it. Don’t let him in.

But it was already happening.

Namjoon was nodding along as Minho spoke, mentioning how he’d love to hear his thoughts on some music he was working on. Hoseok chuckled at something Minho said, shaking his head fondly, and even Jimin—who had once hated Minho on principle—seemed taken in by the easy charm.

They had no idea. None of them could see it. The lies woven effortlessly into Minho’s voice, the control behind every move he made.

But Yoongi.

Jungkook could feel him watching. From across the room, Yoongi’s gaze was sharp, unreadable, following Minho’s every move with quiet intensity. He wasn’t fooled. He was piecing something together, and that should have been a comfort, but instead, it sent a new wave of panic crashing over Jungkook. Because if Yoongi figured it out—if he truly knew—what would he do?

Jungkook couldn’t let that happen.

Now, being in Taehyung's arms, he allowed himself to relax for just a moment. Taehyung’s presence was a shield, a barrier between him and Minho. He felt safe here, tucked against Taehyung’s side, his body warm and solid against his own. Minho wouldn’t dare make a move now, not with Taehyung so close, not with the others watching. But even as he tried to focus on the movie, Jungkook could feel Minho’s gaze on him, sharp and unrelenting. It was like a physical weight, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He could feel Minho’s eyes boring into him, judging him for leaving his side, for seeking refuge in Taehyung’s arms.

Jungkook’s fingers tightened in the fabric of Taehyung’s sweater, his knuckles turning white as he tried to steady his breathing. Taehyung noticed, of course. He always noticed. Without a word, he brought his hand up to Jungkook’s waist, his fingers slipping underneath the hem of his shirt to trace slow, comforting circles on his skin. The touch was grounding, a reminder that Taehyung was there, that he wasn’t alone. Jungkook leaned into it, his body relaxing slightly as he focused on the warmth of Taehyung’s hand against his skin.

But the moment of peace didn’t last long. Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw Minho’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as his eyes zeroed in on Taehyung’s hand under Jungkook’s shirt. For a split second, Minho looked furious, his mask slipping to reveal something raw and dangerous beneath the surface. It was the kind of anger that made Jungkook’s blood run cold, the kind that made him wonder just how far Minho would go if pushed too far. But just as quickly as it had appeared, the anger was gone, replaced by the same easy smile Minho always wore. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes flicking back to the screen as if nothing had happened.

Jungkook didn’t relax after that. How could he? The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out beneath the surface. Minho’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and threatening, while Taehyung’s touch was a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Jungkook clung to that, his fingers still fisted in Taehyung’s sweater, his body pressed as close to Taehyung’s as possible. He didn’t care if the others noticed, didn’t care if they thought he was being clingy. All that mattered was staying close to Taehyung, staying safe.

As the movie played on, Jungkook tried to focus on the screen, tried to lose himself in the story, but it was impossible. Every time Minho shifted in his seat, every time his gaze flicked in Jungkook’s direction, he felt it like a physical touch, cold and unwelcome. He could feel Minho’s eyes on him, could feel the weight of his anger, his possessiveness, his jealousy. It was suffocating, and no matter how tightly Taehyung held him, no matter how many times Taehyung’s fingers traced comforting patterns on his skin, Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled deep in his chest.

The atmosphere in Namjoon’s apartment had shifted after the movie ended. The tension that had thickened the air when Minho first arrived had started to dissipate, buried under the familiar comfort of shared laughter and conversation. Some of the group had begun teasing Jimin for his awful taste in movies, while others had already moved on to completely different discussions. The drinks were flowing more freely now, loosening tongues and easing the weight of the evening. But for Jungkook, the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.

He still felt it.

The weight of Minho’s presence pressed down on him, suffocating despite the noise, despite the warmth of his friends surrounding him. He barely heard the conversations happening around him, too hyperaware of Minho sitting just a few feet away, sipping lazily at his drink, his gaze flicking toward Jungkook every so often, as if checking on him, as if making sure he knew he was still there.

Jungkook hadn’t spoken much since the movie ended, leaning against Taehyung, clinging to the safety of his warmth. He needed it. Needed to remind himself that he wasn’t alone. That Minho couldn’t do anything to him here. But even with Taehyung so close, with his arm draped protectively around Jungkook’s waist, the nausea bubbling in his stomach refused to settle.

Taehyung must have noticed, because he suddenly leaned in, voice low, meant only for Jungkook. “You okay?” he murmured, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Jungkook’s temple. “You’ve been quiet.”

Jungkook hesitated, staring down at the drink in his hands. The condensation dripped onto his fingers, but he barely felt it, barely noticed anything outside of the suffocating pressure of Minho’s presence. He swallowed thickly, then whispered, “Can we leave early tonight?”

Taehyung immediately tensed beside him. His arm tightened around Jungkook’s waist, his fingers pressing gently into his side. “Do you wanna leave now?” he asked, voice cautious, careful.

Jungkook shook his head quickly, forcing a small, tired smile. “No, let’s stay for a little while,” he murmured. He didn’t want to raise suspicion. Didn’t want to cause a scene. Didn’t want to give Minho any more satisfaction than he already had.

Taehyung didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded nonetheless, squeezing Jungkook’s side one last time before turning back to the others. But before Jungkook could fully exhale, before he could allow himself even a moment of relief, Minho spoke up.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Minho’s voice was smooth, curious—but there was something else underneath. Something knowing. Something wrong.

Jungkook stiffened.

Taehyung, oblivious to the venom hiding beneath Minho’s casual question, beamed. “Oh, it’s been a few months now,” he answered easily, and that was Taehyung’s fatal flaw—he loved talking about Jungkook. Loved painting him as the most precious thing in the whole world. Loved talking about every little moment, every shift in their relationship, every single reason why he loved Jungkook. And so he did just that, launching into an excited retelling of their story—how it had started, how it had grown, every detail spilling from his lips with warmth and adoration.

Jungkook could feel Minho’s eyes on him, burning into his skin. He knew if he looked up, he would see it—that smirk, that gaze, that awful, knowing amusement. The way Minho always looked at him, like he knew something Jungkook didn’t. Like he was in on a secret Jungkook had yet to figure out.

His stomach churned.

He needed air.

Jungkook stood abruptly, muttering something about getting another drink, and hurried toward the kitchen.

The moment he stepped inside, away from Minho’s gaze, he exhaled shakily, placing his hands on the counter to steady himself. His fingers gripped the edge, knuckles turning white, his breath coming faster, too uneven. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to push away the nausea rolling in his gut.

After a few minutes his breathing evened out. He’s just talking to Taehyung, he told himself. He’s not doing anything. He’s not—

Then, suddenly—heat.

A body behind him.

Too close.

Jungkook’s entire body locked.

His breath hitched in his throat, panic clawing its way up his ribs, constricting, suffocating. He hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t heard anything over the storm raging in his mind. But the presence was there, pressing against him, caging him in, the heat of it curling around his spine like a vice.

Please, Jungkook’s mind whispered. Please, let it be Taehyung. Let it be anyone but—

“You left so suddenly.”

Jungkook’s stomach dropped.

Minho.

His voice was sweet. Sickly. Drenched in something that made Jungkook’s throat close up. “I was worried about you.”

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Jungkook flinched.

It was instinct. His body moved before his mind could catch up, scrambling backward until his spine hit the counter, hands gripping the edge as if that alone would keep him upright. His eyes darted to the kitchen doorway, to the living room where the others still sat, laughing, unaware.

Minho only tilted his head, watching him with that same twisted amusement, as if Jungkook was something fragile, something helpless.

“P-please,” Jungkook forced out, his voice barely more than a whisper. It shook, cracked at the edges, but he couldn’t find anything stronger beneath the panic threatening to swallow him whole. “Just stop. Leave me alone.”

Minho laughed. A low, dark chuckle. “Stop?” he echoed, as if the word itself was ridiculous, as if it was something impossible.

Then, slowly, his hands came up.

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

Fingertips ghosted over his cheek. Then down—over his shoulders, his arms, then resting—gripping—his hips.

Jungkook froze.

Trapped.

There was nowhere to go.

“But you don’t really want me to stop, do you?” Minho murmured, voice taking on that flirtatious lilt that made Jungkook’s skin crawl. “I think you like it. You’re just too shy to admit it.”

Jungkook shook his head frantically, his vision blurring with tears. “No,” he whispered, voice trembling, raw with desperation. “No, no, no—”

Minho ignored him.

“You know…” His breath was hot against Jungkook’s ear. “I don’t like seeing Taehyung touch you.” His grip on Jungkook’s hips tightened—too tight, painful. “It makes me… jealous.”

Jungkook whimpered, jerking away, but Minho’s hands latched on, fingers digging in like bruising chains.

Minho leaned in closer, his lips grazing Jungkook’s jaw.

“You’re mine.”

Then—

Minho’s lips were on his.

Jungkook froze.

His pulse thundered, his mind screamed at him to move, to fight, to run.

But his body wouldn’t listen.

Then—

Gone.

The air shifted.

The weight disappeared, causing Jungkook to fall to the floor.

A loud thud. A gasp.

Jungkook barely managed to lift his head, vision swimming, reality tilting back into place as he processed the sight before him.

Minho—on the floor.

And standing over him, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white—

Yoongi.

His face was twisted in a rage Jungkook had never seen before, his dark eyes ablaze with something murderous, something sharp enough to cut, to kill. His entire body was coiled, taut with fury, with something barely restrained—like a bomb seconds away from detonating.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Yoongi’s voice ripped through the air, slicing through the suffocating silence like a blade, and Jungkook flinched, the sheer force of it rattling through his bones.

His mind was stuck, looping through the last few minutes in a sickening blur. The world around him felt distant—wrong. The sounds were muffled, like he was underwater, drowning in the aftermath of what just happened. His body refused to move, frozen, trembling violently, but everything else was moving too fast.

Footsteps.

Rushed. Urgent.

Then—

"Baby—Jungkook, what happened?"

Taehyung.

The sound of his voice cut through the haze like a lifeline, dragging Jungkook back to the surface just enough for the weight of his own sobs to hit him all over again. And then Taehyung was there, in front of him, dropping to his knees so fast it was almost desperate.

Jungkook barely registered the hands that cupped his face—gentle, shaking—thumbs swiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Taehyung’s breath was unsteady, his fingers trembling against Jungkook’s damp skin as his eyes—wide, frantic, wrecked—scanned his face, searching for answers that Jungkook couldn’t give.

"Jungkook," Taehyung whispered again, his voice cracking at the edges, barely holding together. "Tell me what happened. Please."

Jungkook opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

His throat was tight, raw—strangled by the weight of everything he couldn’t put into words. His whole body felt wrong—tainted, like Minho had left something on him that even Taehyung’s touch couldn’t erase.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the thick, suffocating tension. Low. Venomous.

"It was that bastard."

Jungkook flinched.

Yoongi turned, his fury rolling off him in waves, a living, breathing thing—something dangerous, something volatile. He took a step toward Minho, who was still sprawled on the floor, winded but not nearly as afraid as he should have been.

If anything—

He was smirking.

There was something almost amused in the way he lifted his chin, his lip curled in a faint sneer.

And Yoongi—

Yoongi snapped.

“He fucking—he was just touching him and—” Yoongi’s voice broke, rage tangled with something rawer—something helpless, something aching. “I fucking knew it was you.”

Jungkook couldn’t look.

Couldn’t move.

But Taehyung—

Taehyung’s entire body stilled.

Jungkook felt it—the way he went rigid, the way his grip on Jungkook’s face trembled before tightening just slightly, like he needed to hold onto something real before the rage swallowed him whole.

Then—

Taehyung looked at Jungkook again.

And Jungkook watched in real-time as the horror crept in.

The way Taehyung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, as his chest rose with a sharp inhale. His eyes—already glassy—shone with a sheen of tears he was barely holding back.

For a moment—

Neither of them spoke.

Then—

Jungkook let out a broken sob.

And that was all it took.

Taehyung pulled him in without hesitation, arms wrapping around Jungkook so tightly it was almost crushing. But Jungkook needed it—needed the warmth, the protection, the feeling of being held—so he clung back just as desperately, his hands fisting the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt like a lifeline, his sobs muffled against his chest.

Taehyung’s fingers buried in Jungkook’s hair, the other hand gripping the back of his shirt like he was afraid to let go.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice thick, choked with emotions he wasn’t ready to show. “I got you, baby, I got you. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay.

Nothing about this was okay.

But Taehyung’s embrace was the closest thing to safety Jungkook knew, so he let himself sink into it, pressing his face harder against the soft cotton of Taehyung’s hoodie, inhaling the faint traces of his cologne, the warmth of his skin.

Somewhere beyond them, the tension in the room thickened.

Jimin was standing frozen near the door, his face pale, his mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but couldn’t. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his entire body stiff, but his expression—God, his expression—was a mixture of devastation and fury.

His voice, when he finally found it, came out broken.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, barely more than a breath. “What the fuck.”

The moment shattered when Yoongi moved.

Jungkook barely processed the blur of motion before Minho was being dragged—Yoongi’s fingers twisted in the fabric of his collar, his entire body vibrating with unrestrained fury. The sharp, stunned yelp Minho let out as he was hauled up and shoved toward the door barely even registered over the sound of Yoongi and Hoseok’s voices, raised in anger as they forced him out of the room.

"Get the fuck out."

"Yoongi—"

"No. No. I don’t wanna hear shit."

Jungkook flinched again as the door slammed shut behind them, the finality of it echoing in the silence that followed.

For a moment—

Nobody moved.

Jungkook shuddered, pressing in closer to Taehyung, fingers still twisted in the fabric of his hoodie like letting go would make the world collapse in on itself. Taehyung held him, rocked him slightly, his own breath uneven, his heart racing against Jungkook’s cheek.

Then—

Jimin exhaled sharply, voice shaking as he whispered, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

And from the hallway, where Yoongi and Hoseok had disappeared, came the sound of something slamming against the wall—followed by Minho’s sharp, panicked gasp—

And Yoongi’s voice, low and lethal.

"You’re never coming near him again."

The silence that settled over the room was heavy. Suffocating. It sat thick in the air, pressing down on their chests, weighing on their lungs until breathing felt like a struggle. No one spoke. No one moved. The only sound was the faint, shaky gasps Jungkook was still fighting to even out, his body curled into Taehyung’s, his fingers still twisted in the fabric of his hoodie like letting go would make everything collapse.

And Taehyung—he just held him.

His grip was steady, unyielding, a silent promise whispered between every uneven breath, every unconscious shudder. His chin rested atop Jungkook’s head, his fingers threading through the damp strands, grounding him, anchoring him when everything else felt like it was slipping away. His other hand remained firm against Jungkook’s back, a constant, soothing pressure that kept him from falling apart completely.

The others stood around them, frozen in place, watching, waiting for something—for Jungkook to breathe, for the panic to subside, for the world to start moving again.

Eventually, the sobs slowed.

Not because the pain had lessened—not because the terror had ebbed—but because his body was too exhausted to keep up. The heaving gasps softened into broken sniffles, his chest still rising and falling in sharp, unsteady breaths, but the worst of it was settling.

Taehyung felt the shift before he saw it.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at Jungkook’s face, to see the remnants of panic still clinging to his expression, the way his lashes were damp with tears, his lips still trembling as he tried—God, he was trying—to keep himself from breaking again.

“You with me?” Taehyung murmured, voice soft, tentative.

Jungkook swallowed thickly, his throat raw, sore from all the crying, and gave the barest nod.

Taehyung exhaled, slow and shaky. Then, gently, carefully, he guided Jungkook to his feet, keeping his hands on him the entire time, steadying him when he wobbled. Jungkook didn’t fight him, too drained to argue, too exhausted to do anything but follow.

The couch was only a few steps away, but it might as well have been miles.

Jungkook barely had the strength to sit down, sinking into the cushions like his bones had turned to lead. He pulled his knees up instinctively, wrapping his arms around them, folding in on himself, small and fragile and so unbelievably tired.

Taehyung sat down next to him without hesitation, body angled toward him, a silent I’m here.

And then—one by one—the others followed.

They didn’t crowd him, didn’t smother him, but they gathered, surrounding him in a way that felt protective, shielding, like they were building a wall around him, keeping the world away, keeping Minho away.

But even with all of them there—even with the warmth of Taehyung’s presence, the quiet weight of Jimin sitting just a little too close, the solid, grounding force of Namjoon standing nearby—Jungkook felt cold.

He knew what was coming.

He could feel the question pressing against the silence, heavy, unbearable, waiting to be spoken.

And Jimin—of course it was Jimin—was the first to break.

“What happened?”

The words weren’t harsh. They weren’t demanding. They weren’t even loud.

But they hit Jungkook like a blow.

He could feel the weight of their stares, the quiet desperation in their expressions, the ache in their eyes. They wanted to know. They needed to know.

Jungkook tried.

He looked at them—really looked at them.

Namjoon’s frown, deep and heavy with something like regret. Yoongi’s jaw, clenched so tight it looked painful. Hoseok’s lips, pressed into a thin, unsteady line. Jimin, hands curled into fists, his shoulders stiff, his eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like tears.

And Taehyung—

Taehyung, watching him with an expression so devastated, so wrecked, that it nearly crushed him.

Jungkook opened his mouth—

To say something.

To tell them.

To explain.

But nothing came out.

His throat closed up, his lungs felt too tight, and the words—God, the words refused to come.

“Please,” Taehyung whispered, voice cracking, thick with pleading, and Jungkook’s heart shattered at the sound. Tears welled in Taehyung’s eyes again, no matter how hard he fought them, and Jungkook—he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do this.

But Yoongi—

Yoongi spoke for him.

“Minho has been harassing him,” he said, voice flat, monotone. But there was something intense in his eyes, something dark, dangerous—anger, maybe, or guilt, or both. “Since the project last semester.”

And just like that—

Jungkook’s secret was out.

The horrible, hellish thing he had been carrying with him—the thing that had kept him terrified of being alone, of being touched, of being found out—

It was out there now.

A part of him felt relieved.

A much, much larger part felt sick.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at them, his gaze locked on the floor, his fingers digging into his knees as shame curled in his gut like something rotten.

He was afraid.

Afraid that now they knew, they would turn their backs on him. That they would see him as weak, as pathetic, as something dirty—something tainted.

Namjoon’s voice broke the silence, quiet, unsteady.

“Is that true?”

Jungkook barely managed to nod. “Yeah,” he whispered. And then, before he could stop himself—before he could even think—he choked out, “I’m sorry.”

And just then—

A sob broke through the quiet.

Jungkook flinched, his head snapping up just in time to see—

Jimin. His body was shaking, his shoulders trembling as he buried his face into Namjoon’s shoulder, muffling the raw, heart-wrenching sound of his grief.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. He looked around—really looked—and saw the pain written all over their faces. The grief. The rage. The absolute, unfiltered devastation. This was what he had been trying to avoid.

Then—

Taehyung’s voice. Barely above a whisper."Has he touched you before?"

Jungkook’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t look Taehyung in the eyes. But he nodded. A barely-there motion.

And Taehyung—

Taehyung broke.

His breath left him in a shaky, uneven exhale, his fingers twitching where they rested on his lap. His entire body was tensed, coiled too tightly, like he was holding back something violent.

Then—

Hoseok, hesitant but firm. "What about all those notifications you were getting- were they from him?"

Jungkook sighed, something crumbling inside him.

And then—without a word, without a fight—

He unlocked his phone and handed it to him. At this point he just wanted it all to stop.

The room felt heavier than before, if that was even possible. The silence that followed Jungkook handing over his phone was thick, suffocating, pressing against his lungs until it was hard to breathe. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want them to see it. But at this point, what was the use in fighting it?

His fingers curled tighter around the now-empty space in his lap where his phone used to be, nails pressing into the fabric of his sweatpants as he stared down at the floor. He tried not to look at them—tried to pretend that he wasn’t sitting there, surrounded by his friends as they slowly uncovered every ugly, horrible thing that he had been too much of a coward to tell them.

The only sound was the soft click of the phone unlocking, followed by the slow, almost hesitant sound of scrolling.

Then—Jin exhaled sharply. “Oh my God.”

Jungkook flinched.

Then—Hoseok’s voice. “What the fuck.” 

He heard it before he saw it. The way their breathing changed, the way the air seemed to shift—thicker, colder.

And then—Jin spoke. He read it out loud.

"You looked so pretty today, Kookie. You should wear that color more often—it makes your skin glow."

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, but it was sharp, dangerous. His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his pants, as if he was barely holding himself back.

Jungkook’s entire body seized up.

He had forgotten about that one.

But Jin wasn’t done.

"I don’t like when you don’t text me back. It’s rude to ignore people who care about you."

Hoseok muttered something under his breath—low, seething.

A sick feeling curled in Jungkook’s stomach.

"Maybe I’ll have to teach you some manners."

Jimin sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his whole body tensing, shaking, looking like he was seconds away from grabbing the phone himself and throwing it across the room.

His breath hitched.

"We’d be good together, you know. I can see the way you look at me. You’re just too shy to admit it."

Yoongi let out a slow breath through his nose, like he was physically forcing himself to stay calm. But his fingers were twitching in his lap, drumming against his knee. The only time Jungkook had seen Yoongi this quiet, this still, was when he was seething.

His nails dug into his palms.

"You make me crazy, baby. Do you like making me crazy?"

Jin made a noise—something close to a scoff, but it sounded too angry, too disgusted. He shook his head, gripping the phone so tight that Jungkook could hear the faint creak of the plastic casing.

A sharp inhale—someone sucked in a breath, sharp and angry.

But the messages kept coming.

"If I see you talking to Taehyung again, I’ll make sure you regret it."

Taehyung’s hands twitched at his sides. His breathing had turned heavy, his jaw tight, and Jungkook didn’t have to look at him to feel the way his entire body was vibrating with restrained rage.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut.

"You belong to me, Kookie. Stop running."

Namjoon made a sound that was half a breath, half a growl, something deep and guttural that Jungkook had never heard from him before. His fingers were gripping his own knees so hard his nails must’ve been digging into his skin.

He couldn’t take it.

It was like being dragged back into every single moment, every single time Minho had touched him, cornered him, made him freeze up until he wasn’t even a person anymore—just a body, just a thing Minho could whisper his possessive little promises to, a thing he could grab, a thing he could take from.

Jungkook’s hands were shaking.

He tried to focus on breathing, tried to remind himself that it was over, that Minho wasn’t here, that his friends were here instead, that he was safe—

But it didn’t feel that way.

Not when every word being read out loud was ripping him apart from the inside.

A soft clink in front of him made him jolt, and it was only then that he realized Yoongi was crouched in front of him, pressing a glass of water into his hands.

Jungkook barely managed to grip it, fingers trembling too much to hold it steady.

Yoongi didn’t say anything—just pressed it into his hands until Jungkook got the hint, and then stayed close, watching, waiting, making sure he drank.

And Jungkook did.

He gulped it down fast, throat dry, body desperate for something to ground him, and when he was finished, he didn’t let go.

His fingers latched onto it, gripping it too tight, holding onto it like a lifeline.

But even that wasn’t enough to drown out the words, the memories, the fear.

"Why didn’t you tell us?" Jin’s voice was quiet—too quiet. It broke through Jungkook’s downward spiral anyway. His head snapped up, chest still heaving, and for a second, he couldn’t answer.

Because what was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain the fear, the shame, the uncertainty?

He looked at Yoongi. And Yoongi—God, Yoongi looked guilty.

Like he had been carrying the weight of this alone for weeks, like it had been eating him alive.

Jungkook remembered that night in the studio. He remembered begging Yoongi not to tell anyone. And Yoongi had listened. Even though it had been killing him.

Jungkook swallowed, his throat tight.

“I—” He hesitated. Then—he shook his head, looking down again, voice barely more than a mumble. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

He couldn’t tell them he hadn’t known if they would believe him.

He couldn’t tell them he had been scared they would think he was too much trouble, that he wasn’t worth the drama.

Not when they were sitting right in front of him, devastated about the pain he had been suffering alone. But before he could spiral any deeper— Taehyung moved.

Abruptly.

The warmth of his hands left Jungkook’s body, and then he was standing, so suddenly that his knee bumped against the glass in Jungkook’s hands, knocking it loose.

Jungkook barely had time to react before it shattered on the floor.

A thousand tiny, glistening shards.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jungkook’s heart stopped.

Taehyung’s voice was thick with tears, his hands trembling at his sides, his eyes wet and red-rimmed, even as he fought to keep the tears at bay.

Jungkook opened his mouth, but—

Taehyung kept going. “I would do anything for you,” he choked out. His voice was raw, frustrated, broken. “I would give the world for you, Jungkook—don’t you know that?”

And Jungkook’s heart ached.

This wasn’t what he wanted. Why couldn’t they see that it was better this way? Why were they making this so hard?

His chest hurt with it, with the guilt, with the sadness—not just for himself, but for them.

He had done this to them.

He had hurt them.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say, because seeing Taehyung like this, so wrecked, so shattered—it made his mind blank.

Then—

Taehyung turned away.

He turned away, shoulders shaking, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he finally let himself cry.

And Jungkook—

He couldn’t help himself. “Tae,” he started. He stood— Forgetting the glass. Pain shot through his foot.

“Ouch—” His legs buckled.

“Jungkook!” Jimin caught him, steadying him, his grip firm but panicked as blood started to drip onto the floor.

Taehyung whipped around. His face crumpled the moment he saw the blood.

He was back in an instant, dropping to his knees beside Jungkook, avoiding the glass shards as he hovered anxiously, voice wrecked with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Jungkook, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Jungkook interrupted, voice weak, exhausted.

Then—softer— “Please don’t apologize, Tae. I’m the one who fucked up.”

Taehyung’s expression shattered further.

Jin returned with a first aid kit, and Jungkook winced as he pulled the shards from his skin, gripping Jimin’s and Taehyung’s hands tightly with every sharp sting.

“You have to be more careful, Jungkook,” Jin scolded, voice heavy with double meaning.

And when Namjoon finally suggested they stop for today—

Jungkook nodded.

But deep down—

He didn’t know if he could do this again. He felt so small. So weak.

 

---

 

The walk home was suffocating in its silence.

Jungkook could hear everything—the quiet thud of their shoes against the pavement, the occasional shuffle of fabric when one of them shifted, the faint rustle of leaves in the cold night air. But beyond that, there was nothing. No words. No reassurances. No desperate attempts to lighten the mood like there usually would be.

Just silence.

And the occasional winces.

Jungkook’s limp slowed them down, making each step feel like a battle against the weight in his chest. It was agonizingly slow, turning what should have been a short walk into something endless, stretching on and on with no relief. But it wasn’t the pain in his feet that hurt the most.

It was them.

It was the exhaustion lining their faces, the puffiness of their eyes, the dried tear streaks that neither of them had bothered to wipe away. It was the way their shoulders sagged, like all the life had been drained out of them, like he had drained it out of them.

And it was his fault.

Jungkook knew that.

If he had just handled things better—if he had just been stronger—then maybe they wouldn’t be like this. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to witness it, wouldn’t have had to carry this weight with him. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to hurt for him.

He wondered what would have happened if Yoongi hadn’t caught Minho.

A part of him wished that was the case.

Because he could live with the pain. He had done it before. He knew how to handle it. He knew how to shove it down, how to pretend it wasn’t there, how to make do.

But this—seeing them like this…

It hurt more than words could describe.

Taehyung’s hand was still wrapped around his own, but his grip was loose. So loose that Jungkook almost wished he would let go entirely.

The Taehyung he knew held on. He clung to people when he loved them. He always made his presence known, whether it was with an arm slung over someone’s shoulders or a tight squeeze of their wrist, a laugh against their neck or a hand tangled in their hair. Taehyung never hesitated to touch.

But now?

Now, his fingers barely even curled around Jungkook’s.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his stomach churning, his chest aching.

He had broken him.

He had broken both of them—two people who had always been known for lifting the mood, for finding the bright side of even the most painful of situations. He had torn that light out of them.

And it made him sick.

Maybe they really would be better off without him.

Without his drama. Without his baggage.

Before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, the words slipped past his lips, quiet and uncertain.

“I—I can go home if you want.”

He didn’t dare look at Taehyung’s face. Instead, he focused on the ground, on the scuffed edges of Taehyung’s shoes, on anything but the devastation he knew would be waiting for him if he looked up.

Taehyung stopped dead in his tracks.

Jungkook winced, nearly stumbling as his weight shifted unexpectedly, his injured feet flaring up in pain.

“Why would you do that?” Taehyung asked, his voice quiet but so, so broken.

Jimin, who had been walking slightly ahead of them, paused for only a moment before continuing forward, giving them the space they needed.

Jungkook hesitated.

“Because—” He swallowed, his voice even smaller than before. “Well… if you want me to?”

Taehyung’s breathing hitched.

“No, Jungkook. I don’t want that.”

There was frustration in his voice now—an edge of something raw, something vulnerable, something that made Jungkook’s entire body tense.

No, no, no.

This was what he had feared.

He had done it.

He had pushed Taehyung too far, had exhausted him, had made him sick of dealing with him.

Kim Taehyung was tired of him.

Of course he was.

Jungkook could hear it in his voice, could feel it in the way Taehyung’s grip still hadn’t tightened around his hand. He was annoying him. He was burdening him.

And Taehyung was just too nice to say it outright.

His breathing turned shallow, his pulse roaring in his ears as panic curled in his chest, and before he even knew what he was doing, he turned to Jimin, pleading with his eyes, begging him to intervene.

And somehow, despite everything, Jimin understood.

“Come on, guys,” Jimin said, stepping closer, his voice gentle but firm. He reached out, grabbing Jungkook’s arm to steady him, supporting him when Taehyung wouldn’t. “Let’s get going.”

Jungkook shot him a small, tight smile, silently thanking him for the out.

Jimin returned it, and even though he looked exhausted, the smile seemed genuine.

That alone was enough to ease Jungkook’s anxiety, if only by a fraction.

—

When they finally arrived home, Taehyung didn’t say a word.

He just went straight to his room, grabbed some clothes from the dresser, and dropped them onto the bed without a single glance in Jungkook’s direction.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the bathroom.

A second later, the sound of the shower turning on filled the quiet.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face.

Jimin entered a moment later, now in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, his face still pale with exhaustion.

“He’s just hurt,” he said as he sat down on the bed next to Jungkook.

Jungkook looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“We just wish you would have felt comfortable enough to tell us.”

“Jimin—” Jungkook tried to interject, but Jimin wouldn’t let him.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s not your fault you didn’t trust us.”

Jungkook flinched.

Jimin gave him a small, sad smile, squeezing his hand. “But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, because what else could he say? He couldn’t exactly deny it.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jimin squeezed his hand again before letting go. “Just try to get some sleep, okay?”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Jungkook’s head before standing up and heading for the door.

Jungkook nodded weakly, watching as he left.

Then, with a heavy exhale, he laid down.

But for the first time since he started sharing a bed with Taehyung, he turned his back.

He didn’t want to bother him anymore.

Didn’t want to risk annoying him again.

The exhaustion weighing down his body made it easy to drift off, the soft sound of the shower lulling him into sleep before he could hear the door open, before he could see Taehyung hesitating in the doorway, his hands hovering, unsure whether he was allowed to touch him.

 

 

 

Chapter 8: Plan B

Jungkook woke up to the sharp intrusion of sunlight cutting through the curtains, the brightness almost painful against his swollen eyes. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, and his body felt heavy, like he was sinking into the mattress, weighed down by something thick and suffocating. His eyelids fluttered as he blinked against the light, but for the first few seconds, his mind remained foggy, caught between the lingering pull of sleep and the sharp reality waiting to crash down on him.

And then—it hit him.

All at once, like a dam breaking.

The memories surged forward, flooding every corner of his mind.

Movie night. Minho. Minho’s hands on him. The suffocating feeling of being trapped. The press of hot breath against his ear. His own body freezing up, his mind shutting down.
The helplessness.
The disgust.

His stomach lurched violently, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to stay still.

He wanted to scream.
He wanted to cry.
But neither sound nor tears came.

Instead, he lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his breath shallow, his fingers curling into the sheets. He felt empty. Limp. Weak. A hollow shell of himself.

Jungkook’s stomach churns. He feels disgusting, inside and out. He feels like a burden, like a failure, like he’s ruined everything. He should have told them sooner. He should have trusted them. He should have done something, anything, to stop Minho before it got this far. But he didn’t. He stayed silent, he stayed scared, and now he’s paying the price.

He can still see the way his friends had looked at him as his secrets spilled out like a confession—not with anger, not with judgment, but with something worse: quiet heartbreak. The kind of heartbreak that comes from realizing someone you love has been hurting, and you didn’t notice. The kind of heartbreak that makes you question everything.

And Taehyung—God, Taehyung.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms into them as if that could erase the memory. He could still hear the way Taehyung’s voice had cracked when he asked why Jungkook hadn’t told him. Still see the raw, unfiltered grief in his expression when he realized how much Jungkook had been suffering alone. And then, later—his frustration, his exhaustion, his quiet devastation during their walk home.

Eventually, he drags himself out of bed, his body moving on autopilot. He glances at Taehyung, who’s still sleeping, his back turned to Jungkook. The sight makes Jungkook’s chest ache. For the first time ever, he woke up cold in Taehyung’s bed—without Taehyung’s warm embrace, without his soft murmurs of reassurance, without the feeling of safety that usually comes with being wrapped in his arms. It’s a stark reminder of how much has changed, how much he’s lost, and Jungkook feels the weight of it pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Jungkook felt sick.

He thought about the way Taehyung had held his hand so loosely last night, like it wasn’t worth holding onto. Like Jungkook himself wasn’t worth holding onto.

Maybe he wasn’t.

The thought settled deep in his chest, suffocating and unrelenting.

He shouldn’t be here.

Now, in the silence of the morning, the weight of everything pressed down on him again.

Swallowing hard, Jungkook dragged himself toward the bathroom, the need to get clean overwhelming every other thought in his head.

Once inside, he shut the door behind him, undressing himself, hesitating before stepping in front of the mirror.

The person staring back at him looked foreign. His reflection was all sharp edges and hollow spaces—red-rimmed eyes, swollen lips, tear-stained cheeks. His skin is pale, almost ghostly, and there are bruises on his hips from Minho’s possessive grip, and bruises on his back from being pushed into the kitchen counter. The sight makes his stomach lurch. He could still feel it—the way Minho had grabbed him, pressed against him, touched him like he was something to be owned.

His stomach twisted violently.

His throat tightened.

He gags, gripping the edge of the sink until his knuckles turn white, trying to keep himself together, trying not to break apart completely.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

When the nausea finally passed, he stumbled into the shower, turning the water on too hot, letting it scald his skin. He barely reacted when the cuts on his feet burned upon contact with the water. He just grabbed the nearest soap and scrubbed.

Hard.

No matter how hard he scrubbed, though, it wasn’t enough.

Eventually, the exhaustion seeped back in. His limbs felt too heavy, his body too weak, so he sank down onto the cold shower floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against them, trying to ground himself, trying not to spiral completely.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that.

Eventually, he turned off the water and reached blindly for a towel. His fingers were clumsy, his body drained. He towels off mechanically, his movements slow and deliberate, and pulls on the first clothes he can find. He doesn’t notice the blood pooling at his feet until he’s about to step out of the bathroom. He stares at it, his mind blank, his body frozen.

He hadn’t even realized his cuts had reopened.

He doesn’t want to step forward, doesn’t want to track blood across the wooden floor, but he doesn’t know what to do. He thinks about calling out to someone, calling for help, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. So he just stands there, in the doorway, feeling more pathetic with each passing second.

And then—

“Jungkook?”

Taehyung’s groggy voice startled him. He turned, heart stuttering in his chest as Taehyung emerged hurriedly from the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Taehyung’s brow furrowed in confusion—until his gaze dropped to the blood at Jungkook’s feet. His expression softened immediately, his voice quieter when he murmured, “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even sure if he could.

Taehyung returned quickly, guiding Jungkook to sit on the closed toilet lid as he silently patched him up. The silence between them was thick, suffocating, filled with everything Jungkook was too afraid to say.

—Afraid of what Taehyung might say, afraid of what he might not say, afraid of the way things have changed between them.

As Taehyung works, his touch is gentle, careful, but there’s a distance there that wasn’t there before. It makes Jungkook feel even more like a bother, like he’s intruding on Taehyung’s space, like he’s taking up too much room. He wants to shrink into himself, wants to disappear, but he can’t. All he can do is sit there, his hands clenched in his lap, his eyes fixed on the floor, as Taehyung bandages his feet in silence.

When Taehyung finally finishes, he looks up at Jungkook, his expression unreadable. “There,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “All done.”

Jungkook nods, his throat tight, his chest aching. He wants to say thank you, wants to say he’s sorry, wants to say anything, but the words won’t come. Instead, he just sits there, his body trembling, his mind racing, as Taehyung gets to his feet, hovering just for a second before he walks away, leaving Jungkook alone in the bathroom, surrounded by the silence and the weight of everything he’s lost.

 

---

 

Jungkook hesitated in the doorway of the kitchen, fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves as he stood there, uncertain. His feet ached from the reopened cuts, the dull throb a constant reminder of the night before, but that pain was nothing compared to the tight, suffocating knot of anxiety coiling in his chest. He had been standing outside the kitchen for what felt like forever, trying to gather the courage to step forward, but now that he was finally here—now that he saw Taehyung sitting at the dining table, head bowed, fingers tangled in his own hair—Jungkook wondered if he was making a mistake.

Taehyung looked... tired.

Beyond tired.

The sight sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over Jungkook.

His stomach twisted painfully as he took a hesitant step forward, his limp barely noticeable at first but worsening with every step. He forced himself to move, though every inch of his body screamed at him to turn back, to retreat, to stop being such a burden.

But he needed to do this.

He stopped a few feet away, keeping a careful distance between them.

Taehyung hadn’t noticed him yet.

The older boy was staring down at the table, shoulders tense, coffee in front of him growing cold. His hands were still gripping his hair, strands sticking up from where his fingers had repeatedly tugged at them in frustration, in distress.

Jungkook swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly on his feet, his fingers twitching at his sides as he debated whether or not to say something.

Would Taehyung even want to hear from him right now?

Would he be angry?

Would he tell him to leave?

For a moment, Jungkook just stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to reach out, wanted to close the distance between them, but he was afraid. Afraid of being a bother, afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of seeing the disappointment in Taehyung’s eyes. The thought made Jungkook's breath hitch, panic creeping up his spine, but he forced himself to push through it.

He had to try.

“…Tae.”

His voice was small, fragile, barely more than a whisper, but in the heavy silence of the kitchen, it might as well have been a scream.

Taehyung lifted his head instantly, eyes widening a little at the sound of Jungkook’s voice.

For a second—just a second—Jungkook thought he saw something soft flicker across his face. Curiosity, maybe. Concern. Or was it irritation?

Jungkook’s heart clenched.

He couldn’t tell.

He hated that he couldn’t tell.

He hated that he had to second-guess every single thing now, that he was too afraid to know where he stood with Taehyung—his Taehyung, the person he trusted most in the world, his home.

His anxiety swelled to an unbearable height. His breath came uneven, shaky, but he forced himself to speak.

“I… I really am sorry,” he whispered, voice trembling as he fought back the tears burning behind his eyes.

Taehyung’s expression immediately twisted, his brows furrowing, lips pressing into a tight, thin line. 

Oh, no.

He said the wrong thing.

Again.

Why couldn’t he stop being so annoying?

Why couldn’t he say the right thing just once?

"God, Jungkook, would you stop apologizing?" Taehyung’s voice was sharp, strained, frustration laced into every word as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. He sounded so exhausted, and Jungkook felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over him.

Jungkook flinched before he could stop himself, the automatic reaction making his stomach sink. His face twisted helplessly, his throat tightening, and without thinking—without meaning to—he blurted out, "Sorry."

It was instinct. A habit. A reflex he couldn’t break.

He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to make this right. He just wanted Taehyung’s forgiveness, wanted his affection, his warmth, his very own safe place. He wanted to feel like he wasn’t a burden, like he wasn’t ruining everything just by existing. But he didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t know how to put it into words.

The moment the word left his lips, Taehyung groaned, exasperated, gripping his hair again.

“Stop it,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Jungkook flinched again, just slightly, but Taehyung noticed. His entire body stiffened, his eyes flickering with something that wasn’t anger anymore—something Jungkook couldn’t quite place.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Jungkook wanted to crawl into himself, to disappear entirely, but then—Taehyung sighed. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once, his posture sagging, his shoulders slumping as he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the weight of the world had just gotten a little heavier.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Taehyung murmured, voice thick, exhausted. "I promised to protect you. I promised that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and this—this has been happening for months."

Jungkook watched as Taehyung’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow, his hands balling into fists against the table.

"And I didn’t even notice."

His voice cracked.

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

Taehyung was looking at the floor now, eyes clouded with something dangerously close to tears, and the sight made Jungkook’s heart ache. The raw pain in Taehyung’s voice, the guilt and self-loathing etched into every word.

"That’s because I hid it," Jungkook said softly, taking a tentative step forward despite the dull sting in his foot. "This isn’t your fault."

Taehyung didn’t look up.

"I don’t blame you, Tae. Not at all."

Jungkook was standing right in front of him now, close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. Close enough that he could touch, could seek comfort, could ask for warmth—but he didn’t.

He was still too afraid.

Afraid that Taehyung would push him away.

Afraid that he would reject him.

Afraid that he didn’t deserve to be held.

His breath trembled in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, voice thick and heavy with unshed tears.

"And I—" He choked on the lump in his throat, eyes blurring as he finally let himself say the words he’d been holding back for so long. "I need you, Tae."

Taehyung's head snapped up.

The moment their eyes met, Jungkook knew.

Taehyung’s expression melted.

Every ounce of frustration, every sharp edge of anger and self-loathing unraveled into something infinitely softer, something warm and all-encompassing.

The next thing Jungkook knew, Taehyung was out of his chair, pulling him into a tight embrace, wrapping him up in his arms like he never wanted to let go.

Jungkook gasped at the sudden warmth, at the overwhelming comfort of being held again, but he melted into it almost instantly, burying his face into Taehyung’s shoulder.

Taehyung clutched him close, like he was something fragile, something breakable, like he was terrified that if he loosened his grip even a little, Jungkook would slip right through his fingers.

His hand cradled the back of Jungkook’s head, fingers threading into his damp hair, and then—

Soft kisses.

Pressing against the crown of his head, his temple, his hair.

Again and again and again.

Jungkook trembled, his fingers curling into the fabric of Taehyung’s hoodie, gripping tight, holding on like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I should have noticed. I should have been there for you. I’m so sorry.”

Jungkook shook his head, his tears soaking into Taehyung’s shirt. “It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice muffled against Taehyung’s chest. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

Taehyung tightened his hold, his breath hitching as he pressed another kiss to Jungkook’s hair. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m here, Jungkook and I’m not going anywhere.”

Jungkook let himself believe it. He felt the weight of everything he’d been carrying start to lift, just a little, as he let himself lean into Taehyung’s warmth, into his strength. He didn’t know how to fix everything, didn’t know how to make the pain go away, but for now, this was enough. For now, he was safe.

 

The doorbell rang at noon, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet apartment.

Jungkook flinched at the sudden noise, his fingers halting where they had been idly pushing food around his plate. His stomach had felt unsettled all morning, making it difficult to eat, but with Taehyung sitting across from him—eyes watchful, silent but present—he had managed to take a few bites. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Taehyung met his eyes for a brief second before exhaling, pushing back his chair, and standing up to answer the door.

Jungkook already knew who it would be.

The thought made his chest tighten, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat, gripping his fork a little tighter.

Taehyung opened the door, and sure enough, Yoongi and Namjoon stood on the other side.

There was a brief pause. Taehyung stared at them, his exhaustion plain on his face, his fingers tightening on the doorknob for just a second before he forced a small, tired smile and stepped aside, silently waving them in.

Jungkook kept his gaze down as they entered, staring at his half-eaten breakfast, trying to prepare himself for the inevitable.

He could feel their eyes on him.

He knew what they were seeing—the mess of his hair, his puffy eyes and swollen nose from crying too much, the dark circles smudged beneath them. And if that weren’t enough, the blood had already started seeping through the bandages on his feet again, soaking into the fabric, an unspoken reminder of just how raw everything still was.

When he finally lifted his head, it was slow and heavy, as if every part of his body resisted the movement. His eyes flickered between the two of them, taking in the emotions etched onto their faces—guilt, concern, hesitation.

He hated it.

Hated that they were looking at him like that.

But he still offered a quiet, "Hey."

"Hey," Namjoon returned, his voice gentle, cautious, like he was afraid of spooking him. He took slow, tentative steps toward the table, lowering himself into one of the empty chairs.

Yoongi, however, stayed standing, a few feet away, shifting awkwardly.

Jungkook had a feeling that he would be seeing a lot of that today—people walking on eggshells around him, treating him like he was fragile, like he might break at any moment. The tense, uncertain energy. The hesitation. The guilt. But he definitely didn’t expect it from Yoongi.

Confident, direct, no-bullshit Yoongi.

He had expected the awkwardness from Namjoon. Namjoon had always been the overthinker of the group, the one who carefully weighed his words before speaking, who worried about saying the wrong thing, about making things worse.

But Yoongi?

Yoongi wasn’t like that. He had always been blunt, the type to cut straight to the point without dancing around it. But now, here he was, standing stiffly by the doorway, not quite meeting Jungkook’s eyes, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, suffocating in a way that made Jungkook’s skin crawl.

Nobody knew what to say.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching as he tried to muster up a bit of his usual bravado.

"Are you planning to stand there all day?" he asked, his voice still hoarse from all the crying, his attempt at humor landing weakly.

Yoongi blinked, startled for a second before his lips pressed into a thin line.

"No, of course not." he answered, grabbing a seat at the chair farthest away from Jungkook. The distance between them felt like a chasm, and Jungkook couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt at the way Yoongi was keeping his distance. But he didn’t say anything, just looked down at his plate, pushing the food around with his fork.

The silence returned, thick and uncomfortable, stretching longer than before.

Jungkook didn’t know what to do with it.

He hated it.

He wanted to say something—anything—to fill the void, but the weight of exhaustion pressed against his chest, and he didn’t have the energy to force it.

Luckily, the silence was broken by the sound of footsteps padding into the kitchen.

Jimin appeared in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, completely unaware of the tension that had settled over the room.

"Oh, hi," he greeted, blinking in mild surprise at the extra company. "What time is it?"

He glanced at the clock, his drowsy expression shifting into one of realization before he muttered to himself and shuffled over to the coffee machine.

Jungkook watched him with quiet amusement, something about his easy presence making it a little easier to breathe.

Jimin took his time, making his coffee, but Jungkook could tell he was noticing the awkward atmosphere. He side-eyed everyone while the machine brewed, his lips pursing slightly, a subtle sign of his disapproval.

When his coffee was finally done, he walked over to the table, setting his mug down before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Jungkook’s head.

Jungkook stilled, eyes widening slightly.

It was such a small gesture—so simple, so casual—but something inside him melted.

Jimin reached out, running his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, the touch warm and grounding.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle but not pitying, his body fully turned toward Jungkook, waiting patiently for a response.

Jungkook hesitated. He didn’t know how to answer that question. How was he supposed to sum up everything he was feeling in a way that made sense?

In the end, he settled for the only word that felt right. "Tired."

Jimin hummed in understanding, like he knew exactly what Jungkook meant.

No forced reassurances. No awkward condolences. Just quiet acceptance. Jungkook appreciated it more than he could say.

Namjoon cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Uh—the others are on their way too," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Just so you know."

Jungkook didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the rest of the group coming over.

Luckily, Taehyung stepped in for him.

"Okay," he said simply, keeping the conversation from falling flat.

And sure enough, not long after, the doorbell rang again. Jin and Hoseok stepped inside, their eyes immediately finding Jungkook. Their greetings were cautious, hesitant, their movements slow—like they were afraid he would bolt if they approached too fast.

Jungkook grit his teeth. It irritated him.

He knew they meant well. But still, the way they were treating him—like he was some fragile, breakable thing—made him feel like a ghost of himself.

Like he wasn’t really here. Like he wasn’t really him. But he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he forced himself to sit through another round of quiet greetings, trying to ignore the way their eyes flickered toward his feet, to the fresh blood staining the bandages, to the untouched food on his plate.

The tension in the room thickened.

Then, finally—

Namjoon exhaled, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"So," he began, voice steady, eyes scanning the table. "Now that everyone's here, let's talk about the Minho situation."

The words sent a chill down Jungkook’s spine.

The room fell silent again, the weight of Namjoon’s words hanging heavy in the air. Jungkook could feel everyone’s eyes on him, their concern and guilt palpable, and it made his chest tighten with unease. 

Realizing that if he didn’t break the silence, it would stretch endlessly, he exhaled sharply and spoke up.

"I don’t even—What is there even left to talk about?"

His voice came out rough, frustration seeping through his words. His fingers tightened around his fork as he stared down at his plate, his food long gone cold. "Can’t we just pretend nothing happened?" He hated how small his voice sounded at the end, like he already knew the answer. And he did.

He wasn’t stupid.

There was no pretending anymore.

Jin’s voice was firm when he answered. "No."

Jungkook flinched at the sharpness of it, but Jin didn’t soften.

"Jungkook, you barely told us anything," Jin continued, his brows drawn together in a deep frown. "Lately, we’ve been giving you space, thinking you’d come to us when you needed help, but that is over now. This situation has proven that we can’t trust you to do that."

"Jin!" Jimin exclaimed, his tone incredulous. His eyes darted to Jungkook, concern flashing across his face as he took in the way Jungkook had stopped playing with his food and was now picking at the skin around his nails—a nervous habit.

Jungkook pressed his lips together, his head lowering slightly as he tried to regulate his breathing, tried to keep himself from slipping too far into his own head.

"You’re aware that Jungkook is the victim here, right?" Jimin said, his voice tight with restrained anger. His shoulders were rigid, his hands curled into fists on his lap. It wasn’t even really a question—just a sharp, cutting statement meant to remind Jin of where they stood.

Taehyung reached across the table, taking Jungkook’s hand into his own. His touch was warm, grounding, as he rubbed gentle circles onto the back of Jungkook’s hand with his thumb.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away.

Jin exhaled sharply, irritation flashing in his eyes. "You know that’s not what I meant," he snapped, looking at Jimin like he couldn’t believe he was being accused of blaming Jungkook for this.

"Okay, bad start," Namjoon cut in, his voice louder, steady but insistent. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his expression one of someone trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. "Let’s start again."

He took a deep breath before continuing, his voice more measured now.

"Jungkook, we know it’s hard to talk about this, but you’ve found yourself in a really dangerous situation," he said carefully. He paused, choosing his next words with precision. "We want to help you, but we just need more information."

Namjoon scrunched his nose slightly, like he was bracing himself for whatever came next.

Jungkook exhaled through his nose. He could already feel the exhaustion creeping in, but he knew this conversation was unavoidable. He knew that no matter how much he wanted to brush everything under the rug, they wouldn’t let him.

So he slumped forward slightly, defeated, and muttered, "Okay. What do you want to know?"

The questions started slow, careful. At first, they asked him for details about what happened, how things escalated with Minho, if Jungkook had seen any warning signs earlier.

Answering them felt like peeling off bandages that had barely begun to stick. It stung, each word forcing him to relive the moment, to piece together memories that he wished he could forget.

His voice was uneven at times, and there were moments when he hesitated, his mind scrambling to find the right way to phrase things. But no one rushed him. They waited, patient even when the silence stretched a little too long, giving him the space he needed to get the words out.

With each answer, Jungkook felt a complicated mix of emotions twisting inside him.

Shame, when he admitted how much he had let Minho get away with before things escalated. Guilt, when he explained why he hadn’t told anyone, why he had tried so desperately to handle it on his own. Regret, when he thought about the moments he could have walked away but didn’t. Fear, when he remembered how Minho had grabbed him, how he had been so completely at his mercy.

But also—relief.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

Everyone seemed to be loosening up a little as the conversation went on, the tension easing as they fell into a rhythm. It still wasn’t easy, but at least they were talking now. At least they were getting somewhere.

Everyone, except Yoongi. He still hadn’t said a single word.

Jungkook noticed the way Yoongi winced at some of his answers, the way his gaze stayed locked on the table, refusing to meet his eyes. The guilt was practically radiating off of him.

Then, Hoseok asked the question. "Have you told anyone about this before?"

Jungkook barely had time to process the words before his gaze flickered, however briefly, toward Yoongi. And for the first time that day, Yoongi met his eyes. Jungkook immediately wished he hadn’t. Because the guilt was no longer just lingering around the edges—it was raw, all-consuming, panic-stricken.

Jungkook’s heart clenched. He made a decision in a split second, even though he knew it was the wrong one.

"No," he blurted out. "I haven’t." He felt sick the moment the words left his mouth.

"Bullshit."

Yoongi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unrelenting.

All eyes turned to him.

Jungkook stared, confused. "What?" He hadn’t expected Yoongi to call him out, hadn’t expected him to say anything at all.

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. "You don’t get to do this," he said, voice shaking but firm. "You don’t get to protect me when this is my fault."

"What." Taehyung’s voice was low, dangerous. His entire body went rigid, his fingers tightening around Jungkook’s hand.

"What do you mean?" Jimin’s voice was a near-shriek, his panic and anger bleeding into every syllable.

Yoongi exhaled, running a hand through his hair before finally confessing. "Jungkook told me," he admitted. "About a week before the trip, he told me what was happening." His voice cracked. "I told him that if he didn’t handle it, I would. But I never followed through."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Jungkook’s stomach twisted as he watched the various reactions unfold—Jin and Hoseok looking horrified, Jimin absolutely furious, Namjoon pressing his fingers to his temples like he was trying to process the weight of this revelation.

It made him feel sick.

"But Hyung, you couldn’t have known," Jungkook tried to step in, his voice pleading. He didn’t want Yoongi to blame himself, didn’t want him to carry this guilt, but Jimin wasn’t having it.

"What the hell?" Jimin’s voice was sharp, almost trembling with anger. "How could you not do anything?"

Jungkook’s pulse quickened. "Jimin—"

"That would’ve been like two months ago," Hoseok cut in, disbelief coloring his tone. "Why didn’t you tell any of us?"

"Guys—" Jungkook tried again, but he was ignored.

The voices started overlapping, everyone talking over each other, frustration and accusations flying in every direction. Jungkook’s breathing grew uneven. His fingers dug into his own skin, nails scraping against raw patches, but it wasn’t grounding enough. It wasn’t painful enough to drown out the chaos. So he did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and pulled.

Hard.

"Stop!" Taehyung’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

The entire room fell silent. Everyone turned just in time to see Taehyung laying his hands over Jungkook’s, gently unclasping them from his hair.

"You okay?" Taehyung asked softly.

Jungkook lifted his eyes to meet his. Tears were welling up, threatening to spill over.

Taehyung sighed. "Look—Yoongi-hyung is already beating himself up, and Jungkook doesn’t even blame him, so what the hell are we fighting about?"

The room stilled.

And then, slowly, guilt flickered across their faces. One by one, they apologized, their voices quiet but sincere.

Yoongi thanked Jungkook, his voice shaking with emotion, still hesitant to believe him but trying to.

And finally, they moved forward.

 

It wasn’t a calm discussion. It wasn’t quiet, or rational, or even particularly fair.

Jungkook had barely gotten the words out—“I don’t want to press charges”—before the room erupted. Namjoon was the loudest, nearly knocking over his chair as he shot to his feet, his voice shrill with disbelief.

"You have so much evidence, Jungkook," Namjoon insisted, his voice tight with frustration. "Minho has been terrorizing you for months. We have texts, photos, witnesses! This isn't something you just ignore—"

"I'm not ignoring it," Jungkook shot back, gripping the hem of his hoodie so hard his knuckles turned white. "I just—I don't want this to blow up more than it already has." His voice wavered, but he forced himself to keep going. "Pressing charges means police, investigations, trials—it means everyone knowing, and I just… I can't deal with that."

Jin, standing near the counter with his arms crossed, let out a sharp exhale. "You're acting like this will just go away on its own. Like Minho will magically stop if we do nothing—"

"I’m not stupid!" Jungkook snapped, anger flashing in his chest before it was quickly replaced by the usual shame. His shoulders slumped. "I know that. I just— I don’t want to go through all that, hyung." His throat felt tight. "I don’t want to relive it over and over again in some courtroom while people question if I was asking for it."

Taehyung, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly clenched his fists. "You weren’t asking for it," he gritted out, like the very thought made him sick.

Jungkook turned to him, his chest aching. "I know that. But you don’t understand what people will say." He inhaled shakily. "I just want this to end. I just want to feel safe again."

A heavy silence settled over the room. No one liked his decision, but they couldn’t force him. Eventually, they settled on Plan B.

If Jungkook refused to take legal action, then Minho would have no opportunity to strike again.

That was the rule. That was the line they drew.

Jungkook would never be alone. Not in class, not at the library, not at the studio, not even at the corner store if he needed to grab something quick. Someone would be with him, always.

 

---

 

The constant supervision, the way someone was always there, lingering just a little too close, shadowing his every move like he was some fragile thing on the verge of breaking. It made his skin prickle with frustration. He wasn't used to it—wasn’t used to being watched so closely, wasn’t used to people caring so much that they would rearrange their schedules just to make sure he was never alone. He knew why they were doing it. Knew that after everything with Minho, this was their way of protecting him, of making sure nothing happened again. But that didn’t stop the initial resentment from curling in his gut. It made him feel helpless. Like he wasn’t trusted to handle himself, like they saw him as weak. And Jungkook hated feeling weak.

The first few days were the worst.

Namjoon sat next to him in class, a steady, looming presence that Jungkook couldn’t ignore, even as he tried to pretend he wasn’t there. Jimin followed him to the coffee shop like an overprotective shadow, throwing pointed glares at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. Taehyung trailed him through the library, standing just a few feet away, flipping through books he wasn’t actually reading. Even Hoseok took the initiative to accompany him to the grocery store, pushing the cart and making easy conversation as if it were normal, as if this was just something they always did.

And at first, it felt suffocating.

But then—slowly, quietly—something shifted.

It was in the little things, the things he almost didn’t notice at first.

The way Jimin always made sure to order his coffee exactly how he liked it, passing it to him without even asking.

The way Namjoon’s knee would bump against his under the desk, grounding, solid, there.

The way Jin would throw an arm around his shoulders in passing, grinning, joking, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll fight your battles for you.”

The way Hoseok casually reached into the grocery cart and added Jungkook’s favorite snacks without saying anything, distracting him with an easy conversation about music and dance practice, making it feel like a normal outing rather than a precaution.

The way Yoongi walked him to the studio but never hovered, just sat back and let Jungkook work, a quiet reassurance in the background, making sure he was safe without making him feel trapped.

The way Taehyung never gave him the space to feel embarrassed about it, never let the weight of their protection feel like a burden. He didn’t treat it like a duty. He treated it like a privilege.

And maybe that’s what made Jungkook get used to it—what made him stop fighting it.

Because it wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that they thought he was weak.

They just cared.

And after so many years of having no one, of thinking he had to handle everything alone, Jungkook didn’t know how to process the kind of care that came with no expectations, no strings attached.

He still hated that Minho had this much control over his life, still hated that he needed the protection in the first place. But he no longer resented the people who gave it to him.

Instead, he found himself leaning into it.

Found himself feeling fond when Jimin bickered with Yoongi over who got to walk him to class.

Found himself feeling grateful when Jin handed him an extra snack bar with a wink, like he knew Jungkook sometimes forgot to eat when he was anxious.

Found himself feeling safe when Taehyung slid into the seat beside him at the library, eyes sharp and protective, always watching.

At some point, he stopped feeling suffocated

 

---

 

The living room was alive with warmth, the kind of effortless comfort that came from years of friendship, of knowing each other inside and out. Movie night was a tradition—one they refused to let go of, no matter how chaotic their lives became. And tonight was no different.

Jimin and Yoongi were already bickering near the kitchen counter, their voices rising over the low hum of the TV.

“I called dibs first,” Jimin huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m taking Jungkook out for coffee tomorrow.”

“The hell you are,” Yoongi shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Jimin’s hands just to be annoying. “I already planned to take him.”

“You did not—”

“Did too.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Jin, who had just emerged from the kitchen with a tray of snacks, let out a long, suffering sigh. “Can you two children not fight over Jungkook for five minutes? This is supposed to be a peaceful evening.” He placed the tray down, looking pointedly between them. “Besides, I made extra food, so he doesn’t even need coffee.”

Jimin gasped dramatically. “Jungkook and I always get coffee together. It’s our thing.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Well, now it’s our thing.”

“Jungkook, tell him he’s not allowed to steal our tradition!” Jimin turned toward the couch, where Jungkook was comfortably seated next to Hoseok and Namjoon, the three of them huddled around Hoseok’s phone, watching TikToks.

Jungkook barely looked up. “You guys are weird.”

Hoseok snickered, scrolling to the next video. “They’re literally fighting over who gets to spend money on you.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon mused, amused. “You should milk this, Jungkook. Let them take you to two coffee shops back-to-back.”

Jimin pointed at Namjoon. “You are a terrible influence.”

“Or a genius,” Hoseok countered.

Jungkook laughed softly, resting his chin on his palm. It was so easy with them. So effortless.

Then the mood shifted—but in a way that didn’t disrupt the lightheartedness of the evening, just altered it, just softened it.

Taehyung entered the room.

Jungkook didn’t even notice at first—too busy laughing at the TikTok on Hoseok’s screen—but he registered the way the couch dipped slightly, the familiar scent of Taehyung’s cologne wrapping around him like a quiet promise.

Before Jungkook could react, Taehyung reached for him, his movements slow but sure. Hands finding Jungkook’s waist, he pulled him effortlessly onto his lap, readjusting him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook barely blinked, already accustomed to the way Taehyung handled him like he belonged there. Without thinking, he settled comfortably against Taehyung’s chest, still scrolling through Hoseok’s feed as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t unusual for Taehyung to be this tactile with him. It had been that way for a while now—long enough that no one questioned it anymore.

Taehyung’s lips brushed against his cheek, the touch featherlight but lingering.

Jungkook felt the press of warm breath against his skin before he heard the whispered words:

“I love you.”

The world seemed to slow.

Jungkook stilled, his fingers halting over the screen of Hoseok’s phone. His heart stuttered in his chest, a slow, aching kind of warmth unfurling beneath his ribs.

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Instead, he glanced around the room.

At Jimin, who was now pouting dramatically as Yoongi smirked at his apparent victory.

At Jin, who was shaking his head fondly as he tried—and failed—to keep the peace.

At Hoseok and Namjoon, who were still scrolling, still laughing, still offering him the kind of companionship that felt like a lifeline.

At Taehyung, whose arms remained locked around him, whose presence had become something steady, something safe.

And Jungkook smiled.

Because this was his family.

Not the one he was born into, but the one he had built, the one that held him together even when he was breaking apart.

Everything felt perfect in that moment.

But perfection never lasted. Jungkook knew that.

There were still shadows lurking in the background, still wounds that hadn’t healed, still battles that hadn’t been fought.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

So, he let the moment linger.

Then, quietly, just loud enough for Taehyung to hear, he whispered back:

“I love you too.”

And Taehyung’s arms tightened around him like he had been waiting forever to hear those words.