Chapter Text
The white curtain swayed softly, dancing with the night breeze drifting through the bedroom window. Its movement made the shadows from the streetlights shift like ghosts across the room, carried by the distant whispers of Osaka’s nightlife.
Taehyung had barely closed his eyes since he’d laid down hours ago. And he’d tried — God, how he’d tried.
The routine the doctor had prescribed now felt like a cruel joke. No screens. No sugar. Light stretching to loosen his muscles, a cup of warm tea to trick his insomnia.
None of it seemed to work.
His eyes, red with exhaustion, rested on Jimin’s relaxed body, deeply asleep. One pink cheek pressed against the silk pillowcase, tangled brown hair forming a messy halo above his head.
He was so beautiful.
Even more like this — soft, serene, free of the worry lines that carved his face during the day. No sign of that stubborn wrinkle between his brows that showed up during rehearsals whenever someone missed a step and Hobi hyung had to start over. No annoyed pout on his lips when he read cruel comments online. None of that now.
This Jimin was like a spring night — calm, warm, and gentle. Still as a lake sleeping under the moon. And Taehyung wished he could touch him. He wanted to see his own fingers sink into that skin, break the surface, and drown in Jimin’s depths.
He’d always believed the rare kind of beauty Jimin had — that Jimin was — didn’t belong to this world. The delicacy of an angel, the grace of a fairy, a creature shaped by magic or charms. That was the only explanation for how he looked — beautiful, sacred, untouchable.
Taehyung closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Untouchable. The way he was meant to be.
He swallowed hard, trying to dissolve the knot in his throat and push back the urge to reach out, break that silent promise, and touch the older boy — even for a second.
The distance between them felt stupid now. All it would take was to stretch out his arm, fifty centimeters, and his hand would find Jimin’s skin.
But it wasn’t the physical distance that hurt him.
The past few months had dragged by in a blur of rehearsals, recordings, performances, and applause. Taehyung could say he lived on autopilot, but that would be a lie. He felt every second like a brick stacked on his back. Endless, exhausting days. Wearing down every last cell of his body.
He hadn’t seen his family in weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night or eaten a meal with more than 300 calories.
And when the body gives in, the mind crawls to where it hurts the most. As if the physical exhaustion wasn’t enough — it had to bury itself deeper in the exhaustion of memory.
He always went back to that time they promised to forget. A little over two years ago, when the tension between him and Jimin exploded in a stupid fight over dumplings. Sharp words thrown at each other and a corrosive silence that stretched for days. Until, one random dawn, the silence turned into that late-night meeting at Hakdong Park.
Jimin — dizzy from alcohol, confessing feelings they’d never spoken about before. Taehyung — stepping closer, reckless like someone jumping off a cliff.
Their lips touching for the first time.
If he closed his eyes, Taehyung could still feel the weight of Jimin’s mouth on his. The perfect fit, like they’d been made for each other. The taste of alcohol, mixed with Jimin’s unmistakable sweetness.
But the pain of remembering that night wasn’t even worse than the morning after. The meeting. The silent office. How they’d walked into the managers’ room hand in hand but came out miles apart.
“ This can’t happen again, ” one of the PR managers had shouted, after a staff member had seen them too close. “ It’s unacceptable. It’s shameful. It could ruin your careers. ”
Taehyung remembered Namjoon trying to step in, even though he hadn’t fully understood what was happening. He thought they were just being their usual selves — showing the overflowing affection they kept only for each other. But when he realized the closeness wasn’t platonic anymore, even he had to step back.
And Taehyung hadn't been angry at his hyung for that. But there was nothing Namjoon, or anyone, could do. Nothing Jimin and he could do.
So, before it even began, it ended. The kiss in the park turned into a secret. The tender touches had to stop. They pulled away. Eyes were on them all day long. Every word, every touch, every look. Late-night walks were banned. Movie marathons under Taehyung’s blankets dissolved into longing.
They were forced to rip those feelings out by the root, in the cruelest, most painful way possible.
Because there was no pain greater than loving someone, knowing you were loved back, seeing them every day, and not being able to touch them. It was torture. It split both their hearts into thousands of pieces. And the only person who could piece them back together was right there — just an arm’s reach away — but untouchable.
So, for a long time, Taehyung got used to the pain. He embraced it as part of himself and carried it on the left side of his chest all these years.
Jimin and he managed to find a way to exist. Friends. Best friends, really. Still the most important person in each other’s life. Still so close, still so affectionate — but no more than with the other boys.
Still, sometimes, the feeling nearly overflowed again. When their eyes met on stage, breaths ragged, minds lost in the music they sang secretly for each other.
You got the best of me.
He remembered the way Jimin’s eyes had locked with his during the final show of the tour. So many things unsaid, but screaming inside them.
I hope you don’t forget that you’re mine.
That night, their hands brushed as they stepped off stage. Again in the van, on the way home after the celebration dinner. And when they lay in their beds in the dorm they shared with Hoseok, the silence kept speaking too loud.
Tell me of eternity, just one more time.
“Do you love me?”
The whisper cut through the room like lightning. Despite his hyung’s snoring, the street noise, the buzzing in his ears — Taehyung heard every syllable.
It sounded broken, urgent, desperate. And he knew it was for him. That absurd soulmate bond humming between them. And he knew the right thing would be to stay silent. To open that wound again was useless, painful — when the only thing they could do was stand still and watch the blood dry, day after day.
It was too cruel. His heart wanted to open up for Jimin. To have him, even if in secret. To love him like no one else could. To mark that skin as his. To fuse their bodies the same way their souls already were.
But he couldn’t.
“I never stopped loving you.”
Taehyung whispered to Jimin’s sleeping face, there in that hotel room.
Over time, the promise to stay just friends had grown stronger, and the company began to loosen its grip. There were no more staff following their every step. They went back to sharing rooms. They laughed again in empty hallways.
But it wasn’t like before. The fear was still there. Hands touched but didn’t linger. Hugs were short, restrained. Every time their eyes slipped to each other’s lips, they pretended nothing happened.
And in the darkness of night, in hotel rooms, that was when Taehyung let himself lie to himself. In the shadows, Jimin was his. He admired the calm, serene face of the older boy, wishing he was the figure Jimin saw in his dreams.
The night was too long, too heavy — his eyes pinned open, mind too restless to sleep. So he used that time to look at Jimin without guilt. With no witnesses — only the moon outside, silent and complicit. And she didn’t seem to mind that Taehyung mapped every freckle on Jimin’s face, counted his lashes, admired the gentle curve of his nose.
Sometimes, his masochistic mind made up different stories — fairytales where he fought dragons to reach Jimin, or crossed oceans in a boat to return to his beloved. Stories that always ended with them lying side by side, living happily ever after.
Because that was all they had left: imagining. What life together would be like, what it would feel like to hold Jimin’s hand while walking down the street, what it would be like to kiss him at an altar surrounded by white flowers.
And as much as it hurt not to touch him, the thought of having nothing from him hurt even more. So Taehyung clung to this: nights in foreign hotels, a body exhausted from so much work, a mind tired of smiling when everything inside was falling apart.
Because nothing is okay.
His mind is sick, his body worn down, and his heart in ruins. But still — he has Jimin there. Sleeping deeply. And for one night, he is his alone.
[…]
“You look tired.”
Seokjin comments, spreading a generous layer of jam over a slice of fresh bread.
Taehyung only sighs, long and nearly inaudible. His plate still empty as they move in single file to grab breakfast at the hotel before heading out for the day’s schedule. For a second, he almost believes his hyung will let the comment die there, swallowed by the restaurant’s noise. But when he feels Seokjin’s watchful eyes weighing on him over his shoulder, Taehyung knows: silence won’t be an acceptable answer today.
“Didn’t sleep much.” He shrugs, pretending to focus on the buffet’s full spread. Almost everything looks tempting — buttered bread, waffles, soft pastries — but none of it fits into the strict diet his manager laid out. No sweets, no carbs. No extra guilt.
“Don’t tell me you and Jimin were up watching One Piece again.”
Taehyung almost smiles when he sees the way Seokjin twists his mouth, dramatic, like it’s the biggest tragedy in the world. But the smile dies halfway — every crumb of energy has to be rationed.
“Not this time.”
Seokjin frowns. “Insomnia again?”
Taehyung could lie, say anything else. But what good would it do? Everyone already knows. His insomnia has become routine — they’ve all given their guesses and advice. But he doesn’t have the courage to bother anyone more with it, so he just keeps it to himself.
“Tae, you should see a doctor again…” Seokjin tries to hide the worry in his tone, but it’s nearly impossible.
“I did, hyung. And it’s fine.” The answer comes out choked, from being repeated so many times. “I’m fine.”
Seokjin seems like he wants to say something, but the line moves and finally they reach the fruit section. Taehyung pretends to care about the colorful spread, all washed, arranged, almost perfect.
He reaches for the strawberries — red and soft. They remind him of home, his grandparents’ fields, quiet days on the farm during his childhood. Memories of when being big and famous was just a pretty dream, without burden, without pressure.
But now even the taste of the past feels too heavy to swallow.
So he leaves the strawberries behind. Picks up four apple slices, a few segments of tangerine. It’ll have to be enough — it has to be.
They walk over to the table where the others are already devouring breakfast. Jungkook is finishing his second bowl of miso soup as Taehyung sits down with his modest plate, next to Jimin. Discreetly, he peeks at the other’s plate. Two pieces of tamagoyaki pushed around, cut up but barely touched.
He thinks about saying something. Pushing Jimin to eat more — God knows he needs it. But then he looks at his own miserable plate and swallows the words.
Namjoon, though, swallows nothing.
Their hyung wipes his fingers on a napkin, biting into the end of an egg sandwich before nodding toward Jimin’s almost empty plate. “Jimin-ah, just that?”
“Not really hungry, hyung.” Jimin replies calmly, breaking off a tiny piece of omelet that barely reaches his lips.
“I doubt that, hyung.” Jungkook shoots back, chewing rice, a half-mocking grin on his face. “You eat like a bird.”
“It’s the diet Manager Chang gave me.” Jimin shrugs, like he’s explaining the obvious. “Taehyung’s doing it too.”
And, as if to confirm it, Taehyung nods, almost mechanical. Not that he cared for the others to know about this absurd diet that wasn’t suggested by any nutritionist or anything like that. Just a few stupid rules to eat just enough not to faint in the middle of some show. His manager said losing a few kilos would look better in pictures, help the image. And Taehyung agreed.
After all, he’s used to restrictions — food, sleep, touch, words. Everything measured in small portions to fit the role they expect him to play.
It’s Hoseok who lets out a scoff from the other side of the table, indignant. “Of course Taehyung would be in this madness with you. One of these days you two will disappear. Literally.”
“At least they’ll disappear together.” Jungkook teases, a lazy grin tugging a dragged-out laugh from whoever’s still half-awake.
Taehyung steals a quick glance at Jimin. And finds him looking back. Dark brown eyes, wide, silent — saying everything no one there dares to say out loud.
Disappear together. Maybe it’s the only way to rest without guilt.
And for a second, the thought almost seems beautiful.
[…]
Taehyung might be hyperventilating.
He silently thanks the red light at the intersection, forcing him to slow down, to stop — to have a few seconds to pull in a deep breath, feel his chest open, almost remember how to breathe.
A soft squeak to his right makes him open his eyes — which he hadn’t realized were shut — just in time to see the green light blink back on. He shifts gears and drives on, the engine purring under his trembling fingers on the wheel.
He steals a quick glance to the side. Two tiny black eyes, round and shiny like stars, stare back at him from inside the carrier. Taehyung clears his throat.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He murmurs, voice scratchy, eyes locked back on the road. But the puppy, of course, doesn’t understand a thing. He lets out a high-pitched bark that almost sounds like laughter.
Taehyung swallows hard. And thinks that, of all the impulsive decisions he’s ever made, this might be the biggest one. Maybe the rightest. Or the stupidest. He still doesn’t know.
Taehyung sighs as he parks in the building’s garage, turning off the car with a click that echoes too loudly in his chest. He circles around, opens the passenger door, lifts out the carrier, the bag of toys, medicine, the tiny bed — all bought without planning, in the heat of some strange courage.
It’s a little past three in the afternoon. That should mean an empty apartment, time to come up with a decent excuse, organize his speech. The others would be busy — practice, meetings — only he had this visit to the therapist disguised as a day off.
He pushes the door open carefully, already picturing the comforting silence — but instead he’s met with a mop of blond hair sprawled on the couch.
“Tae, is that you?” Jimin asks, eyes still on the TV. The screen flashes the Legend of Zelda logo, the low game sounds mixing with the muffled bark that bursts from the carrier. Taehyung bites his lip, tries to balance it all: puppy, bags, keys, shoes scattered in the hallway.
“Yeah, Jimin-ah.”
“Come here and help me with this monster. I’m about to grab the Master Sword.” Jimin says without turning, thumbs frantic on the controller.
Taehyung opens his mouth to explain that maybe hunting monsters will have to wait — but the puppy decides to introduce himself. A sharp little bark echoes through the living room, as out of place as Taehyung feels.
He freezes. For a second, he hopes Jimin will confuse the sound with some game effect. But like a horror movie scene, Jimin turns his head slowly, eyes widening.
“What the hell…” His gaze moves from Taehyung’s flushed cheeks, shallow breath — down to the tiny ball of fur shifting inside the carrier. “Is that…?”
“Yeah.” Taehyung answers in a whisper.
Jimin lets the controller drop onto his lap, Link dying on the screen behind him. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You left for therapy and came back with a puppy?”
Taehyung sighs, feeling tiny teeth nibbling his finger.
“I swear I can explain.”
But Jimin doesn’t look angry. Quite the opposite: his smile spreads wide, bright, breaking across his face like a sun Taehyung hasn’t seen in days.
Jimin scoots closer, crouches down, face just inches from the carrier. The puppy stops biting Taehyung and stares back, curious, sniffing everything.
“The therapist said… a pet might help.”
He lets the words die in a whisper. He doesn’t need to say more — Jimin understands everything without him having to name ghosts he’d rather keep locked away. Taehyung hates the word depression. Hates how it sticks to him like a fragile label everyone reads from afar. Hates the careful looks, the jokes that die on other people’s lips, the watchfulness disguised as concern.
Maybe bringing a dog into a cramped apartment where seven men already share too little space really is stupid. But looking at Jimin there, kneeling, laughing softly as he strokes the puppy’s nose — maybe it’s not.
“It 's cute.” Jimin says, almost in a whisper too. “Does he have a name?”
“Not yet…”
Jimin lifts the puppy from the carrier carefully, like he’s made of glass. In his hands, the puppy looks even smaller — a handful of black fur with cream spots on his paws.
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy. One more guy for this crowded dorm.”
Jimin’s laugh fills the space between them. He sits down on the floor, legs crossed, letting the puppy sniff around — his tiny paws stumbling across the carpet like the world is far too big for him.
“He’s just a baby…”
Jimin coos, voice soft as the puppy nudges his nose. When the little one gives him a surprise lick, Jimin bursts out laughing — and Taehyung feels his chest loosen.
Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so stupid after all.
A few minutes later, the two of them are on the couch, the puppy sniffing around the carpet like it’s sacred ground. Jimin peeks into the bag on the coffee table.
“Did you get him everything he needs?”
“Yeah. Food, toys, bed, medicine…” Taehyung lists, voice small.
“Medicine?” Jimin lifts an eyebrow, shaking the little boxes the vet prescribed.
“He’s got a small respiratory issue. Needs daily meds, maybe surgery later on…” Taehyung watches the puppy wander over to the fireplace. So small, so fragile. When he first saw him in the corner, trembling, wheezing, while his healthier siblings jumped all over him behind the glass — he felt strangely bound to the little withdrawn thing.
But when he picked him up for the first time, afraid he’d hurt him — the fear in the puppy’s eyes disappeared.
“Oh Tae, that’s sweet of you.” Jimin says, nudging his shoulder. Taehyung wants to lean into the touch, curl up there, but forces himself to stay still. “He probably would’ve been overlooked at the shelter…”
“Not with that face.” Taehyung fires back, but swallows the smile when he sees the puppy climbing the stack of briquettes by the fireplace.
“Hey!” He gets up half-laughing. “Just because your hair is black doesn’t mean you get to rub yourself in the charcoal.”
“Looks like he likes the briquettes.” Jimin laughs. “Oh, that should be his name.”
“Briquette?” Taehyung arches a brow.
“Yeontan.” Jimin repeats, tasting the name on his tongue.
“It’s a good name. It fits.” As if he understands, the puppy lets out a sharp bark, racing back to Taehyung’s legs. He sits, the puppy climbing into his lap.
“Looks like he’s got a name now.” Jimin says, scooting closer. His hand drifts to the puppy’s head, stroking the soft fur — and soon their fingers touch too, just the tips, warm and gentle.
And it’s like time stops when they’re together — fingers brushing, Yeontan snoring softly between his legs — and everything else becomes distant noise. But time, that traitor, doesn’t really stop.
The key turns in the door. A click, muffled laughter, footsteps and voices mixed together. They don’t even have time to pull apart slowly — they jump like they’ve been caught red-handed, Taehyung pulling Yeontan into his lap like he’s a living secret that’s too alive to hide.
Game over.
Yoongi’s the first to step into the living room, kicking his sneakers aside, expression so calm it’s like nothing in the world could disturb his little bubble of peace.
“Hey, what are you two up to?” He asks, heading straight for the armchair that’s basically his personal territory, not noticing right away what’s going on.
Jungkook, always curious, jumps ahead. He eyes the TV, expecting to see the game screen — but his gaze drops, finds the ball of fur in Taehyung’s lap. He lets out a squeal that’s half shock, half excitement.
“Hyung! Is that a puppy?!” His voice jumps an octave.
At the back, Namjoon appears still pulling off his jacket, grocery bags swinging from his arm. He freezes in the doorway, the question hanging in the air, half exasperated: “Puppy? What puppy? What’s going on here?”
Taehyung opens his mouth, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. For the second time that day, the same line: “I can explain…”
But before any word can find a way out, Seokjin is right in front of him — arms crossed, chin up, big brother expression that says don’t test me . He lets out that sigh everyone knows — the sigh before the scolding.
“I hope that dog belongs to someone else, Taehyung.” Namjoon adds, his tone firm but layered with concern. It’s not just a warning — it’s almost a please tell me you didn’t do this.
Taehyung swallows, hugs Yeontan like he’s a tiny shield. The puppy looks at the new faces, sniffs the air, lets out a soft bark — a little defense no one finds intimidating.
“Actually… he’s mine. I adopted him. Surprise!” The smile he forces doesn’t convince anyone, least of all Seokjin.
Silence cracks the air until Jimin, who’d been half-hidden behind him, steps forward, wrapping an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders, chin resting there like he’s saying they’re in this together.
“Yeontan’s an emotional support dog.” His voice comes out steady, no hesitation.
Seokjin lifts a brow. “Support?”
“Yeah, emotional support. Therapist’s recommendation.” Jimin breathes out, not letting go of Taehyung.
Yoongi, slouched in his armchair, finally really looks — lets out a small laugh through his nose, half bored. “As long as he doesn’t poop on my bed, fine by me.” He waves his hand, like that settles it — he knows Taehyung will handle it.
Hoseok steps closer, stopping next to Seokjin. He doesn’t look mad — but the worried crease between his brows is there. “We travel too much, Tae… It’s a lot of responsibility.”
Taehyung feels his breath catch but swallows the fear. “I know. He’ll stay with my parents when needed. I… I can handle it. I want to handle it.”
Seokjin crosses his arms tighter, pauses — that dreaded pause everyone fears. “And when we’re on tour for three months straight? You gonna stuff that puppy on a plane? A hotel? Backstage?”
Before Taehyung can answer, Jimin steps up — voice sharper but not harsh: “I’ll help.”
Namjoon sighs, adjusts his cap like that tiny motion will help him find a solution. He looks at the two of them — at the way their hands touch, at how Yeontan seems calm in Taehyung’s lap. It’s like he sees everything: the mess of feelings, the weight of their routine, the pain of the secret they carry. All trying to be patched up in the gentlest way possible.
“Fine. Then you two handle this.” His voice is quiet, steady — but there’s a touch of warmth there, a resigned acceptance. “But if this dog suffers, if you two burn out, I’m the first to send him to your parents, Tae.”
Taehyung nods so fast he barely breathes. Jimin squeezes his shoulder, a silent code: we’re in this together.
Seokjin rolls his eyes but looks too tired to fight two grown kids hugging a puppy. “Great. We have a dog now.” His irony drips through, but there’s a layer of big-brother exhaustion too.
“We don’t.” Yoongi shrugs. “Taehyung and Jimin do.”
Of course, Jungkook is the one to break the tension, clapping his hands as Yeontan wiggles in Taehyung’s lap. “Hyung, he’s so tiny! You two look like a family now.”
Jimin and Taehyung freeze in place, awkward smiles as Namjoon tries to read the situation as best he can. He just wants to keep them from getting hurt any more than they already are.
And when it seems like the strange tension won’t lift anytime soon, Jungkook turns to Namjoon with a mischievous glint in his eye:
“Namjoon hyung… think I can get a Dobermann too?”
Namjoon closes his eyes slowly, like he’s praying to the universe. In Taehyung’s lap, Yeontan lets out a tiny bark — a warning that, for now, he’s the only king of this little kingdom.
And between a muffled laugh and a resigned sigh, Taehyung feels, for an instant, his chest loosen. Not everything is okay — but maybe, just maybe, it will be.