CHAPTER 1: THE ONES WHO DON'T ASK
Taehyung was good at holding himself together.
Too good, actually. The kind of good that made people stop asking if he was okay at all.
From the outside, nothing ever seemed wrong. He showed up. He did what was expected of him. His voice stayed steady, his expression unreadable, his hands never shaking long enough for anyone to notice. If something hurt, he swallowed it. If something broke, he learned how to carry the weight without letting it show.
That was what everyone saw.
What no one saw was how quiet everything felt when the room finally emptied. How the noise of the world faded and left Taehyung alone with thoughts he didn't know what to do with. How exhaustion settled in his chest like something heavy and unmoving.
He stayed there longer than necessary, staring at nothing in particular, as if standing up might make everything spill out.
It was supposed to be fine. He told himself that. He always did.
But tonight, something was different.
A small thing — barely worth naming — had cracked open something he'd been holding shut for too long. A careless comment. A memory he hadn't been ready to revisit. A moment that reminded him, cruelly, that strength didn't mean immunity.
Taehyung pressed his fingers into his palm, grounding himself.Breathe in. Breathe out.Just like always.
That's when the door opened.
He didn't look up at first. He didn't need to. He already knew who it was — the only person who never asked him to explain himself, the only one who noticed the pauses between words instead of the words themselves.
"You're still here," Jungkook said softly.
It wasn't an accusation. Just an observation.
For a second, Taehyung almost lied. Almost smiled. Almost said he was fine.
Instead, he stayed quiet.
And somehow, that was enough.
Jungkook didn't push. Didn't fill the silence. He just stayed — close enough to be felt, far enough to not overwhelm. A presence that didn't demand strength.
For the first time that day, Taehyung's shoulders dropped.
Not everything felt better. Nothing was fixed.
But he wasn't holding it alone anymore.
The clock on the wall ticked louder than it should have.
Taehyung watched Jungkook from the kitchen doorway, fingers curled around the edge of the counter, unsure of what he was waiting for. A glance. A word. Anything that would tell him they were still standing on the same side of whatever this was.
Jungkook sat on the couch, shoulders slumped, phone dark in his hands. He wasn't scrolling. He wasn't texting. He was just… holding it, like it gave him something to anchor himself to.
"You didn't eat," Taehyung said finally.
His voice sounded strange in the silence — too careful, like it might break something if he raised it even slightly.
Jungkook hummed in response, not quite a yes, not quite a no.
"I'm not hungry."
Taehyung nodded, even though the answer didn't make sense. Jungkook used to eat everything. Used to complain when Taehyung cooked too much, used to steal bites straight from the pan, grinning like he'd won something.
Used to.
Taehyung turned back to the sink, letting the water run just to give his hands something to do. He stared at his reflection in the glass window above it, barely recognizing the person looking back. Someone quieter. Someone tired in a way sleep couldn't fix.
Behind him, Jungkook shifted.
"I'll clean up later," Jungkook said, voice low. Apologetic. It always was these days.
"You don't have to," Taehyung replied. "I've got it."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"That's not what I meant."
Taehyung's fingers tightened around the dishcloth.
He wanted to turn around. Wanted to look at Jungkook and ask what do you mean then?But he didn't. Because he was afraid of the answer.
Sometimes it felt like they were both standing at the edge of something inevitable, pretending not to see the drop.
When Taehyung finally glanced back, Jungkook was looking at him — really looking — eyes dark with something unreadable.
Like he was memorizing him.
And that scared Taehyung more than the silence ever could.
Jungkook looked away first.
He always did.
"I'm going to bed," he said, standing up too quickly, like staying any longer might pin him down. "Big day tomorrow."
Taehyung nodded again. He was doing that a lot lately — agreeing without understanding, responding without asking questions he was too afraid to hear answered.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Goodnight."
Jungkook paused near the hallway. For a second, Taehyung thought he might turn around. Thought maybe he'd say something honest, something real, something that would stop this slow unraveling.
Instead, Jungkook's hand tightened around the doorframe.
"…Goodnight, Tae."
The door clicked shut.
The sound echoed through the apartment, sharp and final in a way that made Taehyung's chest ache. He stayed where he was long after, staring at the space Jungkook had left behind, trying to convince himself that this was just another night.
Just another silence.
But when he finally moved toward the couch, he noticed it — the phone Jungkook had forgotten, screen lighting up with a notification.
A name Taehyung didn't recognize.
And a message that read:
We need to talk. I can't keep pretending.
Taehyung's breath hitched.
Because for the first time, the distance between them didn't feel accidental.
It felt chosen.