Collision

Kim Taehyung had always lived by a schedule. He didn’t just like order — he depended on it the way a body depends on oxygen. His mornings began at 7:00 AM, without an alarm — his internal clock was more accurate than any device. By 7:10, he was already pouring black tea and measuring exactly twenty-two grams of oatmeal. Just enough to power through the first two lectures and not feel hungry until lunch. He studied in the Faculty of Natural Sciences, with a focus on mathematics, and in this world of numbers, he felt safe. Formulas didn’t betray. Numbers didn’t mock his clothes. Equations didn’t judge his “weird” handwriting or the fact that he was too quiet. At university, people rarely noticed him, unless they needed to copy his homework or ask him to explain a topic. He didn’t mind — books and his laptop were company enough. Taehyung wasn’t lonely. He just wasn’t afraid of being alone. It was more… familiar. He lived in a dorm — a tiny room with a desk, a dusty globe, and neatly stacked notes on the shelves. In the evenings, he listened to classical music, sometimes jazz if the day had been particularly good. He listened and imagined what it was like to be someone who lived spontaneously. Who wasn’t afraid to make mistakes, to say too much, to laugh at the wrong time. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be seen. But he wasn’t one of those people. He had a notebook — worn-out, with a black cover — where he kept not only his schedule but also observations. About himself, about others. He knew which professors wore the same tie on what day. Which classmates only pretended to be confident. Who feared exams so much their hands trembled, yet acted like everything was under control. Taehyung noticed more than he spoke. It was both his armor and his curse. One day — just a regular spring day — everything went off-script. He left the library holding two books: one on mathematical analysis, the other on quantum probability. The day was warm, and something inside him — something almost rebellious — decided: why not step out of the routine? Why not go somewhere else instead of straight home? The stadium was behind the Physical Education building. Large, with green grass and bleachers that were almost always empty during the day. Taehyung walked there with a slight tremble in his fingers, as if he were committing a crime against himself. He had never studied outside the library before. He usually avoided noisy places. But today was strange. He found an empty bench in the shade and sat down, placing the books on his lap. Headphones in. Jazz playing softly. The sun peeked through the clouds, the breeze rustled the pages. He felt… free. He didn’t notice the guys in uniforms gathering on the field. Didn’t pay attention to the loud shouts, the crunch of gloves, the sound of balls. He was in his own universe. Until that universe was rudely interrupted. A snap. A whistle. A dull thud — and then a sharp, stabbing pain that escaped from his throat. He didn’t immediately understand what had happened. It was like a scene in slow motion: he looked up — and saw the ball bouncing off the bench and rolling across the ground. Pain in his temple — sharp, blunt. His vision blurred slightly. He blinked, trying to focus. And then — he was there. A guy. Tall, in sportswear. Tousled hair, a bead of sweat on his temple, eyes full of worry. “Shit, are you okay?!” The guy dropped to his knees beside him, and his voice was so sincere that Taehyung froze. “I… I think so…” he whispered, unable to look away. His nose was a bit stuffy, his brain not fully back in place yet, but his heart — it had dropped somewhere to his feet. “I’m sorry,” the stranger said again. “It’s my fault. I… I’ll get you something, I swear! As an apology. A first aid kit, coffee. Or pizza? Do you eat pizza?” Taehyung blinked. Pizza? Him? This was definitely a day that didn’t fit the schedule. Taehyung sat still, still slightly dazed. The pain in his temple had stopped throbbing, but a heavy fuzziness remained, like he hadn’t fully woken from a dream. The guy was still there — tall, disheveled, with an apologetic expression. His eyes were the color of dark amber, filled with genuine concern. “Sorry again,” he repeated. “I honestly didn’t see anyone sitting behind the bleachers. No one usually comes here… well, except us.” Except us, echoed in Taehyung’s head. He straightened up, trying to appear calm. “It’s fine. Just… unexpected.” He automatically adjusted his glasses, avoiding eye contact. The guy scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure what to do. Then, suddenly, he pulled a wallet from his jacket pocket. “Look, I’ve got some cash. Let me at least get you something — coffee, medicine, ice cream, I don’t know…” Taehyung froze. He wasn’t used to attention like this. People usually kept their distance. And this stranger — suddenly offering help. It made him uncomfortable. Not because it was unpleasant — but because it was unfamiliar. “I… it’s not necessary. I’m fine.” “You sure?” Taehyung nodded. He wanted the conversation to end. He wanted to be alone again, with his formulas and music. For his heart to stop beating so stupidly fast. “Okay…” The guy shifted awkwardly. “Well, if you change your mind — I’m Jungkook. I’m always here. Practically every day. So…” He held out his hand. Taehyung hesitated, then shook it — the guy’s palm was warm, slightly sweaty, firm. Not like his own — thin and cold. “Taehyung,” he answered quietly. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.” I’m not so sure, Taehyung thought, watching him walk away, still glancing back as if to check he was okay. His baseball team shouted again — the game continued. But for Taehyung, everything had already changed. He tried to return to his textbook, but the letters blurred. The music in his ears irritated him. His whole body felt the ghost of that touch, his palm still warm from the handshake. He packed up and left. That night, he couldn’t sleep for a long time. The headache was gone, but a restlessness had taken its place. He kept thinking about why that guy — Jungkook — had been so persistent. Why he didn’t just walk away. Why he remembered his name. Probably just being polite, Taehyung tried to convince himself. But something inside resisted. The next day, he came back to the stadium. Not because he wanted to. Just… it was sunny. And the library felt too stuffy. He sat on the same bench, but this time, he couldn’t relax. His eyes unconsciously searched the field for a familiar figure. His heart skipped every time someone shouted or a ball soared into the air. Jungkook was there. Of course he was. Playing — energetic, loud, laughing. Completely different. From a different world. Their eyes didn’t meet. And Taehyung felt… disappointed? Ridiculous. He didn’t know why he’d come back. Didn’t know why he couldn’t get the encounter out of his head. It was just a random incident. But in Kim Taehyung’s life, randomness didn’t exist. So he knew: this was a glitch in the system. And possibly the first of many. Taehyung began noticing him more and more. Not on purpose — it just happened. He’d be sitting in a campus café, surrounded by notes, and through the window he’d see a figure in a baseball cap jogging past. Or he’d be standing at the vending machine, and someone would laugh behind him — that familiar voice, loud, with a hoarse edge. He wouldn’t turn around, wouldn’t look. But he knew — it was Jungkook. He began to sense him in the air, like a shift in the weather — subtle, but undeniable. And every time their eyes met, he pretended not to notice. And Jungkook? He noticed. Sometimes nodded in greeting. Once, he even winked — cheeky, like a kid. Taehyung turned away, but his ears burned all day. It was only glances. Brief encounters. But somehow, they clung to him more than dozens of conversations with anyone else. During one lecture, Taehyung sat in the front row, as always. The professor wrote formulas on the board, and Taehyung already knew how it would end — he was three chapters ahead. Everything was predictable. Calm. Until the door creaked open and someone late walked in. He didn’t look up at first. Only when he heard a bag quietly settle behind him did he glance back. Jungkook. Sat down. Right behind him. It was odd. Athletes didn’t usually stumble into math lectures. Taehyung tensed, his fingers trembling slightly on the pen. He tried not to think about it. About him. “Hey,” a voice whispered behind him when the professor turned to the board. Taehyung didn’t turn around. “I’m not stalking you or anything,” Jungkook added. “We’ve got a make-up exam for statistics. They say you’re a genius at it. So I figured I’d drop in.” He froze. So Jungkook… knew who he was? Or had found out later? “Don’t talk,” Taehyung replied coldly, not even whispering — almost in thought. “We’re in class.” And yet, his heart was beating louder. From that day on, he started coming to the library. He didn’t sit at the same table as Taehyung — that would’ve been too much. But somewhere nearby. And Taehyung noticed: he tried to pretend he understood the formulas. He wasn’t very good at it, but he tried. No one sat next to Kim. No one — except him. It was annoying. Confusing. Disruptive. Why wouldn’t he leave him alone? Or maybe the problem was that Taehyung… didn’t want him to? Spring slowly turned into summer. And no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance, Jungkook — with his loud energy, easy smile, and endlessly sincere expression — began to seep into his days. First — as an irritant. Then — as a fleeting thought. And now — as a habit. He became part of the background. And that was already dangerous. Because one day, he might come closer. And Taehyung wouldn’t know how to hide. --- At first, he just wanted to apologize. Honestly. No hidden agenda. That guy looked so lost when the ball hit him. Jungkook had run over, still sweating after practice, and saw the slender fingers, the white shirt, and the eyes that weren’t looking at him — but through him. As if he were a mistake in an equation the other couldn’t solve. And yet — he remembered him. Kim Taehyung. A name he heard quietly, almost in a whisper, but it burned into his memory. Strange, closed-off, quiet. Didn’t talk to anyone. Walked as if through walls and disappeared like he didn’t exist. But Jungkook saw him. Amazing how one hit with a ball could knock your whole course off. He thought he’d forget. A weird incident. But something wouldn’t let go. There was something about that guy… cold, detached — and yet almost frighteningly magnetic. Like icy water on a hot day: you know it’ll make you shiver, but you still want to dive in. He started seeing him. In the hallway. In the cafeteria. At the bulletin board. Always alone. Bag slung over his shoulder, headphones in, eyes downcast. He seemed to exist at a different rhythm — slower, deeper. And damn, that hooked him. When he first saw him in the library, he approached hesitantly. Taehyung didn’t even look up. And yet he felt seen. During a math lecture, Jungkook sat behind him just to be closer. He didn’t understand the material, and honestly — why was he even retaking this course? But he sat. Listened. Tried. For what? Or… for whom? He didn’t know himself. Maybe he wanted to see him crack. Wanted to break through the ice. Wanted… to touch something real. Jungkook’s life was simple: games, training, girls, friends. People liked him, knew him, let him get away with anything. But with Taehyung, it was different. You couldn’t just smile — and get a spark in return. He didn’t respond to cheap jokes. Didn’t seek attention. And that’s exactly what made him special. He saw how Taehyung glanced his way, thinking Jungkook wouldn’t notice. Those quick looks, filled with something like… fear? Curiosity? Rejection? But not indifference. Jungkook wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t write poems. Didn’t chase the unattainable. But with Taehyung, everything felt different. Not because he was “different,” but because with him — everything suddenly became real. Painful, complicated, unclear — but alive. --- “You’ve completely lost it, haven’t you?” Taehyung’s voice asked one day when Jungkook stood next to him outside the library. “Not yet. But I think I’m getting there,” Jungkook grinned. Taehyung rolled his eyes and walked away. And Jungkook stayed. And smiled. Because this was more than a “no.” It was “you annoy me, but I still see you.” And that’s how all the most interesting stories begin. --- Taehyung didn’t like the cafeteria. Too loud. Too crowded. Too many voices, chewing mouths, laughter. He almost always brought food from home or skipped lunch entirely. But today was a long day, and his stomach rebelled. Coffee and energy drinks weren’t helping anymore. He took a seat in the far corner by the window. Opened a book to shield himself from the crowd. A familiar ritual: eyes on the pages, headphones in, ignore everything. The plan collapsed ten minutes later when someone suddenly dropped into the seat across from him. “Hi! Is this seat taken?” Taehyung looked up. In front of him sat a guy with a dazzling smile, golden hair, and a tray of food he nearly spilled on the table. He looked like living sunlight — so bright, it made you want to squint. “Not anymore,” Taehyung replied calmly and went back to his book. “Oh, sorry. It’s just so crowded, I didn’t think,” the voice was warm, not a hint of irritation. “Do you mind if I stay anyway? I promise I eat quietly.” Taehyung slowly looked up. Usually, people left at this point. No one insisted. But this guy — didn’t. “Do what you want,” he muttered. The guy beamed, taking it as anything but rejection. “Thanks! I’m Jimin, by the way. Just transferred here. First day, and I’ve already gotten lost three times, missed my classroom, and probably took someone else’s seat.” Taehyung stayed silent. “And you? Have you been here long?” “Second year.” “Ah… I’m in third. But some of our classes overlap now. I saw you today in statistics.” Is that so. Taehyung hadn’t noticed. “I’m trying not to be a bother. It’s just — you seemed like the calmest person in the room. I thought maybe I should say hi.” Taehyung finally set the book aside. Jimin looked at him without a hint of tension. As if they weren’t two complete strangers, but just students destined to be friends. Taehyung hadn’t seen that kind of confidence in a while. “And what if I don’t want to get acquainted?” “Then we’re just sitting and eating together,” Jimin said easily, starting to poke at his rice and chicken. “But fair warning: I might start sharing gossip. For example, did you know baseball player Jungkook has a stuffed animal collection?” Taehyung flinched involuntarily. Jimin noticed. “Ah. You know him?” “…By accident.” “He’s my roommate. So loud, but fun. Total opposite of you.” Taehyung snorted. “Nice to be someone’s opposite.” “Yeah. I think you two would actually complement each other well.” Taehyung looked at him, unsure if it was a joke or… Jimin laughed. “Okay, okay. Don’t be mad. I just hate being bored, and you clearly know how to keep your distance. That’s intriguing. Give me a chance?” For the first time in a long while, Taehyung didn’t know what to say. This Jimin — he didn’t force his way into Taehyung’s space. He just walked in with a smile and stayed. And strangely — it didn’t make him want to run. “Eat faster. I’m leaving in five minutes.” “Oh, so I have five minutes to impress you!” Jimin exclaimed cheerfully. And for some reason, Taehyung didn’t mind. Taehyung didn’t know how it happened, but in the days that followed, Jimin became… part of his schedule. They never planned it. Never set meetings. But whenever Taehyung was in the cafeteria — Jimin was already there. Or showed up a few minutes later with his tray and that same wide smile. “Hey, my silent friend. Today’s soup is a suspicious color. Wanna take a dare?” “No.” “Then I’ll do it for you.” Jimin was endlessly talkative, like he had a tiny radio inside turned all the way up, but somehow — he didn’t annoy. On the contrary. His voice filled the silence that once seemed comforting to Taehyung, but now suddenly… unbearable. He told stories about life in Busan, about his younger brother who always got into fights, and how once he trashed the chemistry lab. About his grandma, whose baking smelled “like happiness times cinnamon.” About his old school, the move, his fears. So openly, as if he’d known Taehyung forever. “I just don’t like being alone,” he once said, resting his cheek on his hand. “It hides under your skin, you know? Not always visible, but always there. And you — you’ve been on formal terms with it for a while, huh?” Taehyung didn’t respond. But something tugged inside his chest. He let Jimin sit next to him in lectures sometimes. Not always. Only when he wasn’t late. He started to see his presence not as an intrusion, but as… a receiver tuning into the right frequency. Sometimes — annoying. But more often — needed. Jimin didn’t ask dumb questions. He knew how to listen. Strangely: for all his chatter, he was quiet when it mattered. And — he saw things. “You look at people like they’re under a microscope,” he once said. “But I don’t think you’ve ever really looked at yourself.” That hurt. Too accurate. One day, they were sitting on a park bench, ice cream in hand. Jimin, of course, had dragged him there — “you look like you haven’t had sweets since grade school.” The sun filtered through the leaves, and the air smelled of blooming lilacs. "Can I ask you something?" Jimin suddenly said, licking his strawberry scoop. "Depends on the question." "Are you afraid of people?" Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He took a breath—too cold from the ice cream. "I'm not afraid of people," he said quietly. "I'm afraid of trusting." "Because you trusted someone once?" Taehyung nodded. No details. Just that. "I’ve been hurt too," Jimin said. "Only, I chose a different way to deal with it. I talk to the world until it talks back. But you stay quiet, like it’s already told you everything—and none of it was good." Taehyung lowered his gaze. And in that second, Jimin didn’t seem so bright and loud anymore. Just—real. "You know," Jimin added, "I don’t barge into locked doors. But if you ever decide to open one, even just a little—I’ll still be here." Taehyung couldn’t sleep that night. He kept tossing and turning, replaying Jimin’s words, his tone, the warmth that clung to his memory like a lingering echo. He didn’t know where any of this was going. Didn’t know if he should follow it. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to simply stay near someone. No fear. No defenses. Jimin wasn’t asking him to be anyone else. He was just... there. And somehow, that already meant too much. He wasn’t looking for him. Seriously. He was just walking across campus after training, water bottle in hand, legs throbbing. The day was warm, and he veered toward the park where the team sometimes chilled. His mind was spinning with plans: food, sleep, maybe the library—if he got lucky. And then he saw them. First—a familiar profile. Sharp features, eyes cast down, fingers fidgeting with an ice cream stick. Taehyung. And... someone else. A blond with a bright smile and a strawberry cone. They were sitting close. Laughing. Laughing. Jungkook heard Taehyung laugh for the first time. He didn’t even know Taehyung could laugh like that—softly, as if afraid to ruin the moment. Jungkook froze. He didn’t call out. Didn’t walk over. Just watched. Something twisted inside him. In his chest—it felt like a fist tightening. Why did it hurt so much to see that? He wasn’t with Taehyung. Had no claim on him. They barely talked. A few words exchanged. Some weird pull. No promises. No signals. Nothing. And yet Jungkook felt it like betrayal. Like someone had crawled into his head, stolen the one fragile thing he kept there—and didn’t even realize how easily it could break. That evening, he stormed into the dorm with a frustration he couldn’t explain. Threw his bag on the bed, kicked off his sneakers, sat down. Jimin wasn’t there. “Thank god,” he muttered. He had no idea what he’d say if he saw him. Probably nothing. Just some stupid "Where were you?" or worse—nothing at all. Just silence and clenched teeth. When Jimin finally walked in—cheerful and tired, backpack hanging off one shoulder—Jungkook looked up and forced himself to stay quiet. “So? How was your day?” Jimin asked brightly, oblivious. “Fine.” “I went for a walk. Met Taehyung, actually. Cool guy. Kinda complicated, but interesting.” And there it was. Click. Inside. “You hitting on him?” Jimin raised an eyebrow, halfway to his closet. “What?” “Just asking. You don’t usually waste time on ‘complicated,’ as you call them.” “I’m not hitting on him,” Jimin said calmly. “I just want to be friends with someone who actually thinks, instead of faking everything.” Jungkook didn’t respond. He stared at the floor. “What’s it to you?” Jimin added softly. “You barely even know him, don’t you?” “Just…” He exhaled. “He’s… different. And then suddenly—you.” “I’m not stealing your toy, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jungkook snapped his gaze up. Jimin met it without fear. Steady. Almost... pitying. “But if you want him to stay around,” Jimin went on, “you’ll have to actually take a step toward him. Not just stand there watching like a dog staring at a ball.” When Jimin went to bed, Jungkook sat in the dark for a long time. In his ears—Taehyung’s laugh, the one he’d never heard before. In his chest—emptiness, carved out by his own hands. He didn’t know what he wanted. But he knew this: losing someone who was never really yours in the first place—was the bitterest feeling in the world. “So, what—celebration time?” Yoongi slapped Jungkook on the back, wiping sweat from his temple. “Is your place open?” “Always,” Jungkook grinned, stretching. His shirt clung to his back, heart still pounding—but not from the run. From the thought. He knew what to do next. “Then tonight we burn it down!” Yoongi declared. “I’m texting everyone from the department. And don’t be a killjoy—invite everyone. Even the nerds.” “Even… Jimin and Taehyung?” Yoongi smirked. “What do you think?” Jungkook didn’t reply. He just pulled out his phone. Jungkook’s house was perfect for parties: a spacious living room, a large kitchen, and a terrace with a view of the city. Music blared from the speakers, someone had already opened the second bottle of wine, someone else was arguing about philosophy, and a few were dancing on the carpet like the stage was their destiny. Jungkook poured himself some cola with a splash of whiskey and kept glancing at the entrance. He tried not to look too expectant, but every time the door opened — his heart jumped. And finally — they walked in. Jimin first: in a light shirt, smiling radiantly as always. Behind him — Taehyung. In a black turtleneck, with his usual reserved demeanor, but his eyes... caught everything. Jungkook immediately noticed how he scanned the room. How his shoulders tensed slightly. And how Jimin lightly touched his elbow — “I’m here, don’t worry” — and that touch sparked a surge of jealousy in Jungkook he didn’t expect. “Hey!” Jimin noticed Jungkook and waved. “Thanks for the invite. Nice place!” “Anytime,” Jungkook muttered. “Taehyung, you came of your own free will?” “I know how to say no,” Taehyung replied calmly. “But didn’t say it to Jimin?” Taehyung smirked slightly. Jungkook couldn’t tell — was it mockery or a challenge? “Maybe I wanted to see what kind of host you are.” “Hope I won’t disappoint.” “Already intrigued,” Taehyung said quietly, following Jimin, who was now explaining something to someone by the bar. Yoongi approached with a bottle in hand. “He always that cold?” “No,” said Jungkook. “He’s worse. He’s real.” “You like him?” Jungkook pretended not to hear. But Yoongi already knew the answer. The evening was loud, but to Jungkook — somehow dim. All the jokes, the music, the people — they didn’t distract him. He kept finding himself looking for Taehyung. In every moment, every corner. And Taehyung… barely drank. Barely spoke. But he watched. And sometimes — at him. Briefly. Casually. But enough to make Jungkook’s heart beat faster. And at one point, when the guests began to disperse into little groups, Jungkook saw: Taehyung alone on the terrace, by the railing. Looking at the city lights. The wind playing with his hair. He went out to him. “Tired?” “A bit.” “Why’d you come?” “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see you off the field. To make sure you can do more than just throw balls and act like a hero.” Jungkook stood next to him. Quietly. “And? Did I convince you?” Taehyung looked at him. Deeply. Unshielded. “Not quite.” That evening shifted something. Not sharply, not dramatically. But a crack formed in the air. Between the tension that had been held back, and the possibility that finally peeked through. The party felt like something foreign — too loud, too bright. But from the terrace, it was peaceful. The city lights twinkled, the wind tousled their hair, and time seemed to stand still. He hadn’t expected Jungkook to come out. But there he was. Silent. Almost imperceptible. “And? Did I convince you?” Taehyung looked at him. There was no mockery in his voice. No challenge. Just a strange, almost… cautious honesty. “Not quite,” he said. “You’re too contrasting.” “Contrasting?” “On the field — fire. In life — you seem like you don’t know who you are.” Jungkook smirked. The corners of his lips twitched. “And do you know who you are?” Taehyung paused. Looked down at the road below, where the cars passed by like tiny toys. “No. But at least I admit it.” Jungkook leaned on the railing beside him. “You know… I thought you were just a snob. Someone who thinks he’s above everyone.” “And you’re just some jerk from sports. Who thinks everyone worships him.” They both smiled. No malice. As if… they’d peeled off the first layer of armor. “And now?” Jungkook asked. “What do you think now?” Taehyung didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept over Jungkook’s face — strong features, shadows under his eyes from exhaustion, a slightly clenched jaw. “I think you’re not that simple. And that’s scary.” Jungkook leaned back slightly. Something flickered in his eyes — pain, maybe, or hope. “Why scary?” “Because you seem dangerous. Not on the outside — inside.” “And you? You run from danger?” “Usually, yes,” Taehyung admitted. “But for some reason… I don’t want to run from you.” Silence fell on the terrace. Unpleasant. Piercing. Almost physical. The music from inside the house was muffled, as if they were in a different universe. Jungkook looked him straight in the eyes. No flirting. No pressure. Just — as if he wanted to say “I hear you.” “Then don’t run,” he said. And Taehyung stayed. They stood close, not touching, not speaking, but the silence between them no longer felt heavy. More like — filled. With words too early to say. Feelings too soon to admit. But no longer deniable. And deep inside Taehyung, something shifted. Very quietly. Like a breath before a kiss. Like the first step into the unknown. The party faded, like a fire dwindling in the wind. The music quieted, voices grew softer, and the air was filled with fatigue and burnt-out emotions. Yoongi had already fallen asleep on the couch, covered with someone’s jacket. Jimin curled up in an armchair, even in sleep looking cozy and content. Jungkook silently handed out blankets and offered to let them stay. Taehyung wanted to refuse — it would’ve been logical, rational. But he stayed. Not because he had nowhere to go. But because he didn’t want to leave. Maybe two hours passed. He lay on the floor, on a mattress Jungkook had thrown in a separate room. Lights off, the window slightly open, but sleep wouldn’t come. Snippets of their terrace conversation spun in his head — glances, half-smiles. He got up quietly, pulled on his shirt over a T-shirt, and went to the kitchen. He just wanted water. Or air. Or... something he couldn’t define. The kitchen was dimly lit. He turned on the small lamp by the sink and made tea. Mint. The warmth from the cup comforted his fingers. “Can’t sleep?” came a voice behind him, and he nearly dropped the cup. He turned — Jungkook. In dark sweatpants, messy hair, sleepy eyes. “Can’t,” Taehyung replied, turning back. “You?” “I get insomnia. Happens a lot after games.” He moved through the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle, took a few gulps. And then — everything went dark. Pitch black. Sudden. Suffocating. Taehyung flinched. The cup trembled in his hands. “Easy,” said Jungkook. “Probably the fuse blew.” But Taehyung was already pressed to the wall. His breathing unsteady. He gasped for air like something was pressing on his chest. “Taehyung?” Silence. “Hey, are you okay?” “No…” he whispered, not moving. “I hate the dark. I… I can’t…” Jungkook reached out in the dark, fumbling but fast. Touched his hand — cold, trembling. And immediately understood: this was fear, not discomfort. “It’s okay. I’m here, you hear?” Taehyung didn’t answer, just clenched his fist in his shirt. Jungkook gently placed his hands on his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. Just stay with me.” Silence. But then — Taehyung stepped closer. Almost leaned in. His forehead rested on Jungkook’s chest. And Jungkook hugged him. Gently. Without subtext. Just — humanly. Against the panic, against the dark, against the scream inside. How long they stood there — who knows. Minutes? Hours? The darkness was complete, but Taehyung no longer trembled. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s from childhood. Got locked in a basement once. Since then… I…” “No need to apologize,” Jungkook said softly. “It’s not weakness. It’s memory.” Taehyung exhaled. And for the first time — truly — allowed himself to be vulnerable with him. The lights never came back on, but it didn’t matter anymore. He woke to the smell of coffee. Light filtered through the curtains, tickling his face, and memories came rushing back. The night. The kitchen. The darkness. His panic. The embrace. Jungkook’s warm chest, like a lifeline. He sat up sharply. His heart pounding like someone was knocking from inside. His whole body still remembered that contact — not a kiss, not a lover’s touch — something more. Human. Real. He walked quietly down the hall, trying not to wake Yoongi and Jimin. In the kitchen was Jungkook — in a gray T-shirt, sleeves rolled up, a warm mug in hand. He looked as if nothing had happened. Taehyung paused in the doorway. Unsure what to say. How to look him in the eyes. “Morning,” Jungkook said calmly, not even turning. “Mm-hm…” “Want coffee?” “Tea would be better…” He put the kettle on, took out a mint teabag. All in silence. As if they were just neighbors. As if last night hadn’t shifted something inside them. Taehyung sat at the table. The awkwardness spread like a stain on a white shirt. He waited for a hint. A glance. And he got it. Jungkook handed him the cup. And when Taehyung took it, their fingers brushed. A subtle, almost invisible touch — and still, a blast in the chest. “You okay?” Jungkook asked quietly. A simple question. But not about tea. Not about the morning. He was asking: “Are you okay after last night?” “I am now,” Taehyung replied just as quietly. “Thank you.” Jungkook nodded. And for the first time — truly — looked into his eyes. Without challenge. Without restraint. Just — attentively. As if he saw right through him. “Don’t think I don’t care,” he said. “I just… don’t know how to be with you.” It took Taehyung’s breath away. “I don’t know how to be with you either,” he exhaled, and a strange, fragile understanding filled the space between them. A step between distance and closeness. Nothing had happened, but everything had already begun. Yawning, Jimin walked into the room. “Morning… smells like coffee and unresolved tension,” he smirked. Jungkook snorted quietly, and Taehyung didn’t reply. He just took a sip of tea and felt — there was something on his lips more than just the taste of night.