Chapter 4: chapter 3

Taehyung doesn’t usually let people into his home.

Not because he values privacy, though he does but because his space is orderly, structured, untouched by the chaos of others. Letting someone in means allowing unpredictability, and Taehyung dislikes unpredictability.

But Jungkook is the exception to every rule.

Tonight is no different.

Jungkook follows him inside the penthouse after thier dinner, kicking off his shoes carelessly. His presence is loud, even when he’s silent.

Taehyung watches as Jungkook wanders into the kitchen, opening the fridge without permission. “Hyung, do you own any real food?”

“I have what I need,” Taehyung replies.

Jungkook scoffs. “Instant coffee and pre-packaged salads don’t count.”

Taehyung ignores him and moves toward the living room, where floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the glittering city. He loosens his tie, rolling his shoulders. The weight of the day lingers, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Jungkook appears a moment later, holding two cans of beer. “You don’t drink much, but one won’t kill you.”

“I don’t like the taste.”

“You don’t like a lot of things,” Jungkook mutters, tossing him a can anyway. Taehyung catches it reflexively.

Jungkook collapses onto the couch, stretching out comfortably. He’s too at ease, too familiar, like he belongs here.

Taehyung sits down, more controlled in his movements. He watches as Jungkook tilts his head back against the cushions, his dark eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“Long day?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook hums. “Midterms are coming up.”

Taehyung studies him. “You’re good at what you do. You’ll be fine.”

Jungkook smiles, but it’s soft, a little distant. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Jungkook takes a sip of beer, then sets the can down. His gaze lingers on Taehyung, searching, as if looking for something only he can see.

Taehyung doesn’t understand what Jungkook sees when he looks at him.

Does he see someone cold? Someone empty? Someone incapable of reciprocating whatever warmth Jungkook insists on offering?

“Hyung,” Jungkook says, breaking the silence, “do you ever wish you felt things the way other people do?”

Taehyung exhales slowly. “No.”

Jungkook doesn’t look surprised. “Why not?”

Taehyung thinks about it.

People’s emotions seem exhausting. Messy. Uncontrollable. He sees how easily they break under the weight of their own feelings anger, sadness, love. He sees how emotions dictate their actions, their decisions, their weaknesses.

“I don’t need it,” he says finally.

Jungkook watches him, quiet. Then, after a moment, he chuckles. “You really are hopeless, hyung.”

“I prefer the term efficient.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re missing out.”

“On what?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches out, plucking Taehyung’s untouched beer from his hand and taking a sip. When he sets it down, his fingers graze Taehyung’s.

The touch is brief.

Fleeting.

But Taehyung notices.

Jungkook leans back against the couch, his voice quieter when he finally responds.

“On the things that make life worth it.”

Jungkook is asleep.

He had dozed off on the couch, his breathing deep and even. His body is curled slightly, his arm tucked under his head. His features are relaxed, the usual sharpness of his expressions softened by sleep.

Taehyung watches him.

He isn’t sure why.

He could wake Jungkook up. Tell him to leave. But instead, he finds himself staring at the way Jungkook’s lashes rest against his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Something about it is… unfamiliar.

Not unpleasant. Just unfamiliar.

He doesn’t know what this feeling is.

Or maybe he does.

He just doesn’t have a name for it.

🐻🐰