Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fuck! I must be cursed!”

Taehyung slammed against the front doors - the universe seemingly conspiring yet again to block his path. His sunglasses flew off from the impact, clattering pathetically across the floor. Stooping to retrieve them, he bit back another curse as his duffel bag slid from his shoulder. With each hurried step, his cargo pants rustled softly, one pocket dangling by a mere thread - a perfect metaphor for his current state. The overstuffed bag dug into his shoulder, a canvas shell hastily packed with his entire life: dance shoes jutting awkwardly, a notebook crammed sideways, and a crushed water bottle threatening to escape.

He hadn't even taken time to shave. There simply hadn't been time.

The halls of Seoul Arts Academy hit him like a wave: loud, bright, alive. Laughter burst through the air, mingled with high-pitched greetings and the clatter of students swapping their summer experiences.

To Taehyung, it all moved in fast-forward: he was there, but not quite in it. The hum of energy around him was muffled, like he was watching the world through fogged glass. All he could do was keep walking, each step dragging behind the last, hoping he didn’t collapse under the weight of that morning.

"Taehyung-ah!"

The voice pierced his haze, unmistakably familiar. He didn’t even have time to brace himself before Jimin collided with him in a full-body hug, limbs tightening around him. His friend’s compact frame managed to lift him a few inches off the ground.

“Easy,” Taehyung croaked out, a dry laugh tumbling from his chest. His voice sounded like sandpaper, ragged from the lack of sleep and overuse.

His friend pulled back and surveyed his face with theatrical dismay. “Whoa! You look like shit.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you at least get some sleep?”

“Sleep’s for the weaks,” he shifted the duffle bag over his shoulder.

Jimin tilted his head, a reproachful glint in his eyes as he caught the weight behind Taehyung’s words. He knew him too well: that usual mask of pride, the arrogance he wore like armor... it could have fooled anyone, but not him. Taehyung had the grit of someone raised by the streets, someone who understood the cost of everything he’d earned. And he guarded it the only way he knew how: with fists, teeth, and a refusal to ever show where it hurt.

“Taehyung-ah!”

Hoseok was a flurry of motion and sunlit energy; Yoongi, on the contrary, was a shadow trailing behind him: it seemed that he had grudgingly decided to be awake that day.

“The gang’s all here,” Taehyung's tone finally light.

Something inside him loosened, at that point: these weren’t just friends. They were the net that had caught him when he first landed in that city.

“Almost all,” Hoseok corrected, eyes scanning the crowd. “Namjoon’s trying to unpack. His roommate brought a snake, apparently? And Jin’s off rescuing some lost first-years.”

Taehyung laughed, mid-yawn. “A snake? What the fuck? Jackson really is nut.”

Jimin chuckled, “It showed up out of nowhere outside his grandma’s house in the countryside and just... started following him around. He swears it ‘chose him,’ like some weird Harry Potter shit. So now he’s got this tiny, 30-centimeter snake named Rambo.”

“Rambo?” he blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Hoseok was already laughing. “You should’ve seen Joon’s face when he walked into the dorm and saw it chilling on the shrine shelf.”

“Didn’t the staff freak out?”

“Oh, they were alerted immediately. Now the admin wants to send Jackson and Rambo home. But Jackson’s been crying like a toddler.”

The group burst into giggles.

Taehyung yawned again, so hard his jaw cracked, then stretched his arms over his head.
“What is even happening at this school,” he muttered, half to himself and half to his friends, but too tired to raise his voice.

Yoongi yawned consequently. “How was your summer? Still working at that diner with that fucker as a manager?”

“Mr. Kang retired.” He leaned back against the nearest locker, his limbs grateful for the break. “New guy’s worse. Made me close last night even though I told him I had to take the train by dawn.”

“Bastard,” Yoongi muttered.

“Did you at least get to practice?” Hoseok’s eyes scanned his friend.

The other gave a noncommittal shrug. “A bit. The community center has this giant rooftop. It’s good for dancing.”

He didn’t mention the sleepless nights, the silent choreography sketched out in the dark, or the melodies he recorded on his phone during five-minute breaks at work. He didn’t need to.

They knew.

“Well… You’re here now,” Jimin slung an arm over his shoulder. “And this is our year. Third year’s when everything counts.”

“Speaking of,” Hoseok unlocked his phone with a flick, “tell me we’re in Classical together again.”

They crowded around their phones, comparing schedules like gamblers reveal hands. Taehyung felt the corners of his fatigue begin to soften, replaced with a brighter feeling: belonging.

“Composition at 9 AM should be banned by international law,” Yoongi grumbled, squinting at Taehyung’s screen. 

“At least I’ll be suffering with you. Also, we’ve got Professor Gong for acting this year.”

Hoseok perked up. “Brutal. But a real genius. His students always crush showcase season.”

Their chatter was cut short by a sudden shift in the hallway's rhythm, like the collective pulse of the room had skipped.

He didn’t need to turn around. He felt it. The stillness before a ripple, the way voices hushed, then flared again with a different kind of excitement.

"Great," he muttered. "The silver spoon patrol has arrived, isn’t it?”

Jimin's eyes flicked over Taehyung's shoulder. His jaw tensed, lips curling in distaste. "Yeah... all of them. Right on cue."

Curiosity eventually won out over pride, and he pivoted just enough to glance back.

There they were, the golden children of the academy's most influential patrons.

Yugyeom, whose father chaired the board of trustees. 

BamBam, heir to Gyeong Studio, the production company behind half the nation’s box office hits. 

Mingyu, nephew of the legendary director of the Korean National Ballet.

And at their center, Jungkook, heir to the Jeon Media Empire, a sprawling conglomerate that controlled a great part of South Korea’s entertainment and broadcasting industries: his family name adorned the performing arts center.

They moved through the crowd with practiced ease: a cluster of underclassmen hovered nearby, practically vibrating with excitement, as if proximity alone might grant them entry into that world.

Jungkook caught Taehyung looking and held his gaze for a beat too long.

“Privileged fuckers.”

Yoongi snorted. “Try to keep it civil, Tae.”

“I am civil,” he said flatly.

The synchronized side-eyes he received in response said otherwise.

Their conversation drifted, but his focus didn’t. His body had already clocked the motherfuckers location, like a threat detected on instinct.

He hated that about himself, that constant awareness. But some habits, like survival, were hard to shake…

And then, the group began heading their way.

Taehyung's spine straightened before he realized it, his hand tightening around his bag strap. Maybe they’d walk past.

They should, right?

No, they didn’t.

“Well, well, well,” BamBam drawled, his grin all teeth. “Didn’t realize they let charity cases through the front door now.”

The laughter that followed was smug and bright, even Jungkook smiled, but in a composed manner, his gaze locked on Taehyung's face.

“Oh look, the trust fund Avengers,” Yoongi replied, not even glancing up from his phone. “Still majoring in nepotism, I see.”

BamBam’s smile twitched, but before he could fire back, Yugyeom stepped forward.

“Kim,” he said, smooth and neutral. His gaze swept over Taehyung’s face with focus, then he offered a slow, smug smile. “Bold look. Homeless chic is really having a moment.”

Taehyung's expression remained impassive. "You're not looking too bad either. Bet daddy dressed you."

Mingyu snickered. "Sensitive today, aren't we? The scholarship kids always get testy around registration time."

"Maybe because we actually earned our place," Taehyung’s voice was steady despite the heat rising in his chest. "Unlike some people who just needed the right last name."

Jungkook, who had been observing silently, stepped forward. The hallway seemed to quiet at his movement.

“Interesting theory,” he said, in a voice as controlled and cool as the others' were not. “But there's a difference between earning your place and surviving in it. And from what I've seen -” his eyes grazed the coffee stain on Taehyung's white T-shirt “- last year you barely managed to do the latter, while we did the hard work.”

Taehyung scoffed, incredulously. "You wouldn't recognize hard work if it slapped you in the face, Jeon,” his voice flat. He wondered, for a split second, what it would feel like to punch that smug look right off him. “Some of us were clocking out at 3AM and still make it while you were getting your beauty sleep."

Something dangerous flickered behind Jungkook's eyes, not the performative disdain of his friends, but something sharper.

"Still clinging to the underdog complex?" Then Jeon tilted his head, looking up, as if he were reasoning. “Is it really so comforting to think that poverty makes you talented?”

The other didn’t even flinch. His tone stayed level, icier, even. “Is it really comforting thinking money makes you worth something? How’s that falsetto, by the way? Still cracking at E5?”

That landed.

Soft laughter rippled through the hall while Jungkook’s jaw flexed almost imperceptibly. There was a pause, brief, but enough for the words to settle like frost.

Taehyung held his gaze, "It's really true, then. All the privilege in the world can't buy what matters."

The nearby students were pretending not to listen, but none of them moved. The tension was magnetic.

Hoseok shifted behind him, glancing at Jimin, then leaned in just slightly. "Tae…" he whispered. A warning. They could all feel the line getting thin.

But Taehyung's focus was locked. His expression didn't flicker. It must have been tiredness, nervousness, the three coffees swallowed as shots to try to stay awake, but he wanted to smash his face in.

He looked at Jungkook, at his flawless hair, his gleaming skin, his perfect posture, and he hated how easy it looked. How unfair everything felt.

The other stared right back, a dark wave flickering behind his eyes. Not mockery. Not amusement: something else. He approached slowly.

"You think you've got me figured out?" Jeon murmured, his eyes travelling all over Taehyung's face. "You don't know shit about me."

The other smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know enough.”
Taehyung didn’t need to raise his voice. His presence said it all: shoulders squared, expression blank, every inch of him radiating that quiet threat that said:

I don’t care who you are. You don’t get to step on me.

BamBam scoffed and made a move to speak, but Jimin stepped closer to Taehyung’s side and his gaze struck him down. Yugyeom glanced at Hoseok, Mingyu at Yoongi. Tension was cut with a knife while the students around were ready to kick out their phones.

“What’s going on here?”

Ms. Jung’s voice cracked like a whip. The crowd shifted, shrinking under her sharp gaze as she approached.

“Nothing,” Jeon said quickly, stepping back with fluid grace. His smile reappeared, perfectly polite.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” she replied, pinning them both with a look that could chisel stone. “Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung straightened. He was suddenly aware of every pair of eyes still watching.

“Just a misunderstanding,” he said, the fire drained to embers.

Ms. Jung didn’t look convinced. “Then take the misunderstanding somewhere else. Orientation starts in ten minutes.”

Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Jeon’s group lingered a second longer, BamBam sent one last sneer Taehyung’s way before retreating.

“Well,” Jimin said beside him, voice light but steady, “so much for keeping a low profile.”

“We really should try staying out of trouble this year, Taehyung,” Hoseok added, though he nudged him gently with his hand. “I heard two students got expelled last year. Guess who was involved?”

“Yeah, let me guess…” Taehyung muttered teasing.

“Hobi’s not wrong,” Jimin said, lips pressed into a thin line. “They light the match, and we’re the ones left choking on smoke.”

“Joon says if we stoop to their level, we’re no different from them,” Hoseok scrolled through his phone. “They want a reaction. It's part of the performance.”

Taehyung scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “But there’s a difference between us and them,” he said finally, turning to the group. “We earned our places. They were purchased, right along with the buildings their daddies’ names are plastered on.”

Hobi gave him a look, half-warning, half-worried. “And yet Jeon still acts like you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”

“That’s what makes beating him so damn necessary.” Then he frowned, as if he was thinking and feeling stupid at the same time. “And he started it,” he added after a beat, voice quieter.

“Technically, BamBam started it,” Hoseok said. “You just poured gasoline on it.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung raked a hand through his hair. “Three hours of sleep, a freezing shower, some disgusting coffees, and then he even opens his mouth? I was doomed.”

“I don’t blame you,” Yoongi said.

“C’mon,” Jimin said gently, tugging at his sleeve. “Before Ms. Jung circles back and gives you a solo lecture.”

They melted into the flow of students heading toward the assembly hall. Up ahead, Jeon walked with his entourage, laughing at something. For a split second, their eyes met.

This time, Jungkook looked away first.

Taehyung slid into a seat between Hoseok and Jimin, but the air around him still felt tight. Charged. Off-kilter.

Something had shifted.

*

"Home sweet home," Jimin appeared beside him, his smile bright despite the chaos.

Taehyung leaned against the wall outside room 307, fishing his key from the depths of his pocket. The third floor was a battleground of luggage, parents, and noisy students maneuvering around each other. He just wanted to collapse on his bed and sleep for three days straight.

He turned the key, and the door swung open to reveal a familiar room: two beds, two desks, and two narrow closets, all packed into a space smaller than most people's bathrooms.

Taehyung dropped his duffel bag with a heavy thud. "The further we go, the smaller these rooms become."

"At least we got the same room," Jimin noted, unzipping his bag. "Remember when they tried to separate us last year?"

"You mean when you convinced the housing coordinator that you had a rare sleep disorder that only I knew how to manage?" 

"Hey, it worked!"

Taehyung unzipped his bag laughing and started pulling out a tangle of wrinkled T-shirts and jeans. “So,” he tossed a hoodie onto the bed, “was orientation as painfully boring as last year?”

His friend glanced up from his meticulously organized wardrobe with a raised eyebrow. “You mean the orientation you attended?”

He shrugged, all innocence. “My body was there. But Seojoon-hyung was telling this ridiculous story about getting chased by a goat. Wooshik swore it was a spiritual experience.”

Jimin blinked. “The Wooga Squad giggled like twelve-year-olds in the back row while the rest of us endured the headmistress thirty-minute sermon?”

“God, I didn’t miss any of this,” he groaned, throwing himself face-first onto the mattress. It was like the weight of academia had finally found him. “Is there anything else?”

Jimin hung up one last shirt and spun around with theatrical flair. “They introduced the new classic dance instructor, Ms. Choi. Former National Ballet. Very elegant. Very terrifying. I think she smiled once, but, I don’t know, it may’ve just been a muscle spasm.”

Taehyung let out a muffled whine into the pillow. "Great. Just what I need, another perfectionist breathing down my neck."

“Oh, and…” Jimin added, with the dramatic pause of a magician unveiling the grand finale, “they confirmed the bathroom situation.”

The other one lifted his face slowly. “What situation.”

“East wing pipes burst over the summer. Renovation’s delayed until mid-November.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “One bathroom. Whole floor.”

Taehyung stared at him, deadpan. “You’re joking.”

His friend patted his shoulder like a soldier bidding farewell.

“I’m going to die here. They’ll hear my ghost crying through the vents.”

“You might want to start setting your alarm now,” Jimin walked over to his desk.

He groaned. “One bathroom for twenty guys? I'll be showing up to class with wet hair for months."

The other grinned. “At least you look handsome disheveled. Kind of tragic-hero-meets-indie-band-frontman.”

Taehyung peeked at him. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Always.” He winked.

A knock interrupted their conversation, followed immediately by the door swinging open.

"The prodigal son have returned!" Jin's booming voice filled the small room as he stepped in. He was the oldest of their group and carried himself with the confident authority of a fourth-year student. Behind him, stood Namjoon smilingly awaiting his turn to say Hi.

"Hyung!" Taehyung rolled off the bed and launched himself into Jin's waiting arms. The embrace was warm and solid, an anchor in the storm of his exhaustion.

"You look terrible," his friend said affectionately, holding Taehyung at arm's length to examine him. "Are you eating at all?"

"Define eating," he replied with a crooked smile.

Namjoon stepped forward, pulling Taehyung into a bear hug that lifted him off the ground. "Missed you, man."

When they separated, Taehyung pointed accusingly at him. "So, Rambo, huh? You've been promoted from plant killer to snake roommate?"

Joon’s face contorted into an expression of genuine distress. "It's a nightmare. The thing just... stares at me. And Jackson keeps telling me it's friendly and misunderstood."

"What happened with the administration?" Jimin asked, perching on the edge of his bed.

"They're making him send it soon to his parents'," he sighed. "But until then, I'm sharing my room with a reptile that definitely wants to eat me."

"It's barely bigger than a shoelace," Jin pointed out, grinning.

"You haven’t seen the intent in its eyes."

Taehyung laughed, the sound breaking through his fatigue. "Just sleep with one eye open. And maybe wear boots."

The other groaned, collapsing into a desk chair. "Thanks for the support."

"Speaking of support," Taehyung turned to Jin, "any plans to run for student rep this year? You'd be good at bossing people around officially."

Jin struck a pose, hand on his hip. "Already submitted my application. The school needs someone with my superior organizational skills and handsome face to represent them."

"And modest too," Jimin quipped.

"I contain multitudes," Jin replied with a wink.

Yoongi and Hoseok appeared in the doorway, completing their circle.

"Rumor mill's already churning," Hoseok announced, dropping onto Jimin's bed without invitation. "Heard Professor Lee is leaving mid-semester for some gig."

"No way," Taehyung sat up straighter. "He's the only decent vocal coach here."

“That’s not even the juiciest part,” Jin added, leaning against the windowsill. “Word is, a freshman cried during the welcome interview.”

"Ah, the traditional freshman breakdown…" Namjoon nodded sagely. "Give it six months and half of them will be questioning their life choices."

"Remember us three years ago?" Jimin made nostalgia softening his voice. "So excited, so naive."

"Speak for yourself," Taehyung smirked. "I was never naive."

"No, just stubborn as hell, with that shaved hooligan head of yours." Namjoon countered with a smile.

Taehyung instinctively touched his head, now full of black tufts.

“And speaking of stubbornness. Wooshik told me about your little hallway standoff with Jeon and his crew." His friend had an almost exasperated expression.

Jin raised an eyebrow. "Already? We haven't even made it through the first day."

"They started it," Taehyung said, sitting up. "The boys were there and they saw it.” He indicated them with determination. “What was I supposed to do? Let BamBam's trust fund mouth run unchecked?"

"Maybe not escalate things to DEFCON 1?" Joon suggested, his expression softening. "Look, I get it. Those guys are insufferable, but Professor Ko pulled me aside after orientation. Said the faculty's keeping a close eye on group tensions this year after last year's expulsions."

Jin nodded. "The last thing any of us needs is trouble."

"So I'm just supposed to smile and nod when they talk down to us?" Taehyung gave a false smile, in an over-the-top and laughable way.

“Yeah, what should we do?” spat Jimin, spreading his arms wide. “Should we hug and kiss all together? No offence to anyone, but unfortunately I still like pussy.”

"No one's saying that," Hoseok laughed. "Just... pick your battles, guys."

"It'll depend on them," Taehyung said firmly. "I'm not starting anything, but I'm not backing down either. I earned my place here. No one, especially that group of clowns, gets to make me feel otherwise."

The room fell silent for a moment.

"Well," Hoseok broke the tension, "this year should be interesting."

"You going to the welcome party tonight?" Jin sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "I hear the dance majors are hosting at that industrial warehouse space off campus."

"The one with the sketchy bartender?" Hoseok grinned. "Count me in. Sometimes it gives an extra cocktail without realising it."

Taehyung lay back on his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. The mention of going out again tonight made his body ache in protest. "I don't know. I'm running on fumes here."

"Come on," Jimin nudged his leg. "It's tradition. First night back, everyone gets wasted and makes bad decisions they'll regret by midterms."

"Very poetic," Yoongi deadpanned.

"I'll see how I feel later," Taehyung compromised, his eyes already drifting closed. The voices of his friends faded into a comfortable background hum as exhaustion finally caught up with him. The last thing he registered was the soft click of the door as they filtered out, leaving him to rest.

*

“Stop! You’re going to slice my face open.”

He flinched away from the razor, his hand flying to his cheek. The overhead light wasn't doing him any favors, casting cruel shadows over his stubble.

“Hold still, you baby,” Jimin chided, brandishing the blade.

He grumbled but lifted his chin in surrender. His friend had turned their room into a full-blown salon again: serums, creams, and what smelled suspiciously like something floral and overpriced.

“I don’t see why this is necessary,” Taehyung mumbled.

“It’s a party. First impressions count.”

“Same people we see everyday.”

“Exactly why we need to remind them we’re hot,” his friend scraped the blade with precision.

When he stepped back, satisfied, his face was smooth and tingling.

"Now concealer," Jimin declared, reaching for a small black pouch.

"Absolutely not," Taehyung protested, backing away. "No make-up."

"Just a dab for those bags under your eyes," the other pleaded. "You look like a fuckin’ junkie!"

“It’s my aesthetic.”

But he let Jimin dab the cool cream under his eyes. As always.

"Now!” his friend clapped his hands, as if to give himself a boost. “What are you wearing?"

"You know I don't have party clothes," he insisted, rifling through his small closet. "Just work clothes and dance clothes. And hoodies."

"What's that?" Jimin pointed to a black suit pushed to the back.

"Funeral suit."

Jimin scoffed. "Too formal anyway," he turned to his own closet, “We don't want them to think you are an undertaker.”

“I don't care what they think.”

His friend ignored him, tossing a silk shirt with a subtle floral pattern and black skinny jeans onto his bed. "These should fit you."

Taehyung eyed the outfit skeptically. "Isn't it a bit... much?"

"That's the point," Jimin winked. "Trust me."

Reluctantly, he changed while the other styled his own blonde hair. The shirt draped perfectly across Taehyung's broader frame, the jeans hitting just above his ankles, somehow looking deliberate rather than ill-fitting.

Jimin let out a low whistle. "Look at you. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of those trust fund majors."

"Indeed, I look ridiculous," he muttered, but couldn't help checking himself in the mirror. It had been ages since he'd worn anything that wasn't purely practical.

"Shut up. One more thing," Jimin worked quick fingers through Taehyung's hair, pushing the black strands back from his forehead in a tousled wave.

Taehyung barely recognized himself, now. The exhaustion in his eyes read as intensity rather than fatigue, his angular features no longer hidden behind stubble.

"I hate that you can do this," his friend sighed, standing beside him in the mirror. "Ten minutes of work and you look like that. It's not fair."

Taehyung smiled. "Says the guy who could be on magazine covers."

"Different type. I'm cute. You're... something else." Jimin made an explosive gesture with his hands.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. This was their routine: Jimin building him up, he deflecting.

A pounding on the door interrupted them.

"If you two are done making yourselves pretty, we're leaving!" Hoseok called from the hallway.

With one last glance in the mirror, Taehyung followed Jimin out to meet their friends.

*

From half a block away, the converted industrial space was already alive: music pulsing like a second heartbeat, colored lights spilling from the high windows and painting the sidewalk in shifting shades. Inside, shadows moved in time with the bass, fluid and fast, as if the whole building breathed in rhythm. A steady stream of students drifted through the metal doors, their laughter rising and falling.

"Finally," Hoseok breathed, picking up his pace. "I was beginning to worry we'd miss the good part."

The security at the door nodded at their group without checking the Academy IDs: they were known quantities here, established members of the ecosystem. Inside, string lights draped overhead like constellations, casting a warm, uneven glow over the space. Makeshift bars built from wooden pallets lined the walls, already crowded with students balancing plastic cups and trading gossips over the bass.

On a raised platform, a fourth-year from the music production program worked the DJ booth. The crowd moved as one, pressing in on the dance floor.

"I need a drink," Taehyung announced immediately, scanning the crowded space.
The exhaustion that had plagued him all day was still there, but now it was edged with electricity: the charged atmosphere, the promise of forgetting himself for a few hours…

Yoongi pointed toward the far corner. "Bar's over there. I'll come with you."

Jin and Namjoon had already been pulled into conversation with a group of seniors, while Hoseok made a beeline for the dance floor. Jimin stayed close to them, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for someone specific.

"Looking for someone?" He asked, barely raising his voice over the music.

His friend didn't turn around. "No. Why?"

Taehyung smirked. "All you're missing is a pair of binoculars."

Jimin blinked, caught. "Shut up!"

"You're scoping like a sniper, Chim."

"I'm people-watching!"

"Sure."

They shouldered their way through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces. Taehyung felt eyes following him, his transformed appearance drawing more attention than he was used to, especially from people who only knew him as the perpetually disheveled kid. The silk shirt caught the light as he moved, making him feel strangely exposed.

They were nearly at the bar when they noticed a cluster of fourth-years crowded around a table covered in empty cups. Seojoon was in the middle of what appeared to be an animated story, his expressive face and theatrical gestures drawing laughs from those around him.

"And then the director looks at me, dead serious, and says, 'That's the worst Hamlet I've ever seen, but I'd cast you as the skull in a heartbeat!'" Laughter broke out around the table, with Wooshik doubling over so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

“If Gong hears about this, I’m dead!” Seojoon wheezed.

"Hey! The stars have arrived!" Hyungsik called out, spotting their group. He raised his cup in greeting, his smile warm and inviting. "Come join the pre-professionals in our last hurrah before the real world crushes our souls!"

Yoongi snorted but changed course toward their table, "Crushing souls sounds like my kind of conversation."

"Kim Taehyung!" Peakboy suddenly stand to make room. "The man who broke the socials with that contemporary piece. God-tier body control, man."

He smiled, the compliment landing somewhere between flattering and uncomfortable. "Thanks. Just got lucky with the choreography."

"Bullshit," Wooshik shook his head. "Talent isn't luck. But hey… You look different. That shirt is new?"

"It's borrowed," Taehyung admitted, accepting a beer from Yoongi.

“But he’s also cleaner, neater. Handsome!” Peakboy tugged at his cheek.

"Jimin's attempt at making me presentable."

"It's working," said a female voice from behind him. Eun-ji from the vocal department had approached their table, accompanied by Solar and Moonbyul. "You clean up nice, Kim."

Jimin immediately straightened, his entire demeanor shifting. "Hey Solar, Moon. Eun-ji. Didn't know you gals were coming tonight."

"Wouldn't miss the start-of-year chaos," Solar smiled. "Plus, Moonbyul promised to prevent me from making responsible decisions."

"It's my spiritual gift," Moon deadpanned, raising her cup.

The group shuffled to make room, expanding their circle. Seojoon immediately launched into host mode, making introductions for those who hadn't met. Taehyung found himself wedged between Yoongi and Hyungsik, the latter leaning in conspiratorially.

"So, you guys ready for the showcase auditions? Word is competition's even fiercer this year, you third-years are really a good generation…"

He shrugged. "Just trying to survive classes first."

"Smart man," Hyungsik nodded appreciatively.

"What about Seulgi?" Moonbyul asked to Jimin, glancing around. "She’s coming tonight?"

The other expression flickered momentarily. "Ah, probably not. She's not… big on these parties," he laughed embarassed.

"Her loss," Solar commented, eyes lingering on Jimin's face a beat longer than necessary. "Some people don't know what they're missing."

Taehyung caught the subtle exchange and nudged Jimin gently with his elbow. Jimin shot him a warning glance that clearly said, Don't start. But then he looked at him, smiling bitterly.

Across the room, Taehyung’s gaze snagged on a familiar silhouette: Jennie stood with her usual entourage, radiating the kind of effortless composure that always made her seem just a little out of reach. Her pink slip dress shimmered faintly under the lights, while soft waves of hair cascaded over her shoulders like she was out of an old film. Beside her, Lisa towered with easy confidence, her laugh cutting through the noise.

Taehyung froze momentarily, a small hitch that only Jimin noticed.

"You okay?" Jimin asked quietly.

"Fine," he replied, taking a long pull from his beer.

His friend didn't say anything at first. Just followed the line of Taehyung's stare.

Jennie tilted her head back as she laughed, the curve of her neck catching the light: she looked effortless, magnetic. Taehyung's fingers tightened slightly around his plastic glass.

"Well, well," Jimin murmured after a beat. "Look who's suddenly in need of binoculars."

He scoffed without looking at him. "Shut up."

His friend grinned, tilting his head.

"I just..." Taehyung paused, jaw working. "Didn't expect."

"You didn't? You knew she'd be here. She's always where people are."

Taehyung didn't reply.

The other softened slightly. "Tae." He studied him for a moment, then bumped his shoulder lightly. "You want to leave?"

"No," he said quickly, gaze flicking back across the room for the briefest second. "But I want another drink."

Jimin smiled, not pushing further, but the sight of her still sparked something uncomfortable in Taehyung's chest, not quite longing, more like the phantom ache of an old bruise: Jennie hadn't noticed him yet, and he intended to keep it that way.

The night progressed, and their group grew more animated as the alcohol flowed. Hoseok returned from the dance floor to drag them all back with him, even managing to coax a reluctant Yoongi into joining.

"Come on, grandpa," Hoseok teased, pulling on Yoongi's arm. "Show these kids what you can do."

"I write music. I don't dance," the other grumbled, but allowed himself to be led to the dance floor nonetheless. Wooshik and Peakboy laughed, following them.

On the dance floor, inhibitions began to fade. Even Taehyung, despite his lingering awareness of Jennie's presence, found himself loosening up. Here, in the dim light and chaos, no one was grading his technique or watching for mistakes. It was just pure release, his limbs loose, his mind quieter than it had been all day.

Moonbyul turned out to be surprisingly competitive, challenging Hoseok to a dance battle that drew cheers from those around them. Solar, not to be outdone, pulled Jimin into a sequence that had definite undertones of flirtation, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity despite having never rehearsed together. Peakboy had somehow convinced Jin to demonstrate his famous "windshield wiper" dance move, causing uproarious laughter from their group.

For a while, the night felt perfect: just friends, music, and the sweet suspension of worry that came with being young in a place full of possibilities. Nobody was thinking about morning classes or scholarship requirements or the brutal competition that would resume out of their school.

Then it started, the steady stream of first-years approaching their group, eyes wide.

"You're Kim Taehyung, right?" A girl with a pixie cut shouted over the music. "Your contemporary solo last year was incredible! I watched that video like fifty times!"

Before he could respond, another student pressed in. "Is it true you choreographed the entire piece yourself? My teacher at my school used it as an example of perfect body control."

More gathered, asking questions, offering compliments, their excitement genuine and a little overwhelming. Taehyung fielded their attention with an awkward mixture of pride and discomfort: his performance at last year's showcase had gone viral within dance circles, but he still wasn't used to being recognized for it.

"You've got fans," Jimin teased, nudging him as another group approached.

"It's just the shirt," he deflected, but he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.

Across the room, another group's popularity hadn't gone unnoticed.
In the center of the warehouse, a circle had formed around what was clearly an impromptu hazing ritual. The nepo team had claimed the space like conquering kings, surrounded by first-years who looked intimidated and desperate to impress.

BamBam was orchestrating some kind of drinking game that seemed designed specifically for humiliation, shouting instructions over the music. "Wrong answer! Drink! All of it!"

A lanky freshman grimaced as he downed his cup, while the others cheered with performative enthusiasm.

Jeon stood behind the chaos, untouched, expression smooth, too smooth: Taehyung didn’t trust that calm. He observed the proceedings with amused indifference, occasionally whispering something that sent his inner circle into laughter.

A freshman girl was being coaxed into the center now, looking both thrilled and terrified as BamBam handed her a bottle instead of a cup.

"Are they really turning this thing sick?" Jimin scoffed, watching another freshman recite something while standing on one leg. "It's the first night."

"Establish the hierarchy early," Yoongi replied dryly. "Can't have the newbies thinking they've got a shot at the spotlight."

Taehyung grabbed two beers from the makeshift bar, passing one to the other. "Let's just ignore them," he said, though his eyes kept drifting back to the spectacle. "Not our circus."

They were halfway across the room when Taehyung spotted Jennie again. She seemed to be watching the motherfuckers’ group’s antics with an expression that couldn't quite be called disapproval, more like… resigned amusement. Then their eyes met unexpectedly. For a second, she held his gaze, widening hers in a subtle mock-surprise, then turned back to Lisa, murmuring something that made them both glance his way.

The familiar ache intensified. Seeing her always did this to him: brought back memories of that brief, intense period last year when they'd been seing each other, both feeling the pull. The way it had ended still stung: not with drama, but with a slow fading, as her luxury world of endorsements and connections had gradually pulled her away from his cheap existence.

"You know," Seojoon said, appearing beside him with surprising stealth for someone several drinks in, "I always thought you two made sense."

"What?" Taehyung startled, embarrassed at being caught staring.

"You and Jennie Kim," Seojoon clarified, nodding in her direction. "The way you two move… There's a similar quality. Like you're both always slightly ahead from others. It's rare."

Taehyung swallowed. "...thank you? But it's in the past, hyung."

"If you say so," Seojoon replied, unconvinced. "Though the way she keeps looking over here when you're not watching suggests otherwise."

Before Taehyung could process this information, their attention was drawn to the growing commotion at the center of the room. The fuckers' circle had expanded, voices rising as BamBam's drinking game escalated to more humiliating challenges.

"This is getting out of hand," Wooshik scoffed, appearing at Taehyung's other side. "Those first-years are going to be destroyed tomorrow."

Across the room, Jeon watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable in the pulsing lights. His gaze crossed Taehyung’s and remained fixed longer than was casual, tracking his movements as he interacted with his group. His mouth slightly open.

The music shifted to something darker, now, more intense. The crowd responded immediately, the energy in the room cranking higher.

"Taehyung-ssi!" A freshman boy approached, practically vibrating with nervousness. "I just wanted to say I'm here because of you. I saw your performance last year and told my parents I had to audition for this school. They thought I was crazy, but-"

“He’s not the only one,” a second voice chimed in. A girl, first year too, hovered just behind. “You’re the reason a whole group of us applied this year. We watched your last showcase’s dance a hundred times.”

Taehyung smiled, not quite knowing what to say, still caught off guard by their words. Then, almost without thinking, he glanced back across the room, looking to see if Jeon was still watching.

But the spot was empty now: the other was gone.

"Recruiting your own fan club, Kim?" BamBam appeared beside them, his grin sharp as a razor, with Yugyeom and Mingyu flanking him like sentinels. And there was Jeon, slightly behind them, his eyes never leaving Taehyung's face, dark and intense beneath perfectly styled bangs.

"Yeah... Some of us earn admiration rather than buying followers on social media," he replied coolly, offering the freshmen a reassuring smile before turning his full attention to the intrusion, squaring his shoulders almost imperceptibly.

The first-years backed away, sensing the tension, but stayed close enough to watch. Their eyes wide with the thrill of witnessing a confrontation between academy legends.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Yugyeom smirked, looking him up and down. "Nice shirt, by the way. New? Or stolen?"

Jimin stepped forward. "Did you need something?"

The guy laughed, the sound artificial and cold. "We're being sociable. Isn't that what these parties are for? Getting to know your classmates."

There was just enough emphasis on the last word to make it sound like an insult.

More students had gathered around, sensing drama, forming a loose circle that reminded Taehyung of schoolyard fights. The music seemed to fade slightly, though the volume hadn't changed, attention shifting to the confrontation brewing between the two factions.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jennie watching, her expression inscrutable. Her gaze flitted between him and the nepos.

Did she enjoy seeing this tension? Was she worried about him?

It was impossible to tell, and the uncertainty only added to his frustration.

Bang Chan arrived with two cocktails, his Australian accent cutting like a fresh breeze. "What's going on here? Not starting trouble on the first night, I hope. Save something for midterms, yeah?"

"Just catching up," Mingyu said smoothly. "Checking out the competition."

"Competition implies you stand a chance," Jimin muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Laughter rippled through the onlookers. Jungkook's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, watching the exchange with an intensity that made Taehyung’s skin prickle with awareness.

Fucker.

Then his gaze returned to Taehyung, steadier now, more pointed.

“Why is he staring like that?” He muttered to Jimin, not breaking eye contact. “It’s creepy.”

His friend snickered, leaning close enough that his breath tickled his ear. "Maybe he's jealous. You're the one surrounded by admiring freshmen. Jeon's just got his paid entourage."

Taehyung snorted, perhaps a bit too loudly. Jungkook's stare sharpened.

"Something funny?" the other finally spoke. There was something different about Jeon tonight, a coiled energy, a tension that hadn't been there during their hallway confrontation. Something almost… dangerous.

"Nothing worth sharing," Taehyung replied, meeting his gaze steadily, refusing to be the first to look away. The borrowed silk shirt suddenly felt too tight across his shoulders.

"You sure? Because I thought I heard my name." Jungkook was close enough now that he could see the perfect precision of his hairdo, the way his blazer was tailored exactly to his shoulders, the faint scent of expensive cologne that clung to him.

Everything about him was infuriatingly perfect, calculated for maximum effect.

"Not everything is about you, Jeon.” Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, shocking concept, I know."

The circle tightened around them, phones were being subtly raised, hoping to capture whatever happened next. Hoseok appeared at Taehyung's shoulder, a silent show of support, his usual smile more watchful now. Yoongi and Namjoon materialized a moment later, Jin not far behind, the entire group forming a united front.

From the crowd, Taehyung caught glimpses of their fourth-year friends watching with curiosity. Seojoon looked ready to intervene, but Wooshik held him back with a hand on his arm, murmuring something in his ear.

Jungkook's expression shifted from challenge to something more calculating, his lips curving into a cold smile. "How about we settle this properly? Give the first-years a real show." He gestured toward the center of the floor. "You and me. Dance floor. A real battle."

The crowd murmured in excitement, the whispers spreading outward like ripples in a pond. Phones were already being pulled out more openly now, anticipation building. This wasn't just a party confrontation anymore, it was potentially legendary content.

Taehyung didn't flinch, though his mind raced with calculations. He was exhausted, slightly buzzed, and knew this was exactly the kind of spectacle that could end up all over social media by morning, the very attention he usually tried to avoid.

From across the room, he caught Jennie watching intently, a sudden interest flickering across her face before she smoothed it into careful neutrality. Their eyes met briefly, and he thought he saw her give an almost imperceptible shake of her head: a mockery? A plea to walk away? Whatever it was, it settled something in his chest.

Jeon tilted his head, eyes glinting with challenge in the shifting lights. "Unless you're not up for it." A wisp of black hair fell over his annoying doe eyes, an artfully timed movement that looked practiced.

Fucker.

Before Taehyung could respond, Hoseok stepped forward like an MC entering the ring, sensing the potential for both disaster and greatness.

"Oh, it's happening," he grinned, immediately shifting into hype-man mode. "Ooooh, IT'S HAPPENING!"

Mingyu took a step forward, excitement evident in his stance. "One round. Freestyle. Crowd decides the winner." He was already gesturing to someone by the DJ booth, signaling for a track change.

Namjoon, ever the diplomat, raised a hand. "We vote after. No yelling until then. Keep it civil." Always trying to impose order on chaos, even when chaos was inevitable.

"Too late," Hoseok muttered, already hyping the growing circle, hands clapping in rhythm. "We're witnessing history, people! The battle of the semester on night one!"

Taehyung felt the weight of expectation pressing in from all sides, the circle closing around them like a noose. The logical part of his brain - the part still aware of his bone-deep exhaustion, his early classes tomorrow, the precarious balance of his scholarship that couldn't afford viral videos of him in confrontations - screamed at him to walk away.

But then there was Jeon, standing there in his perfectly crafted outfit, with his perfectly practiced smile, making a perfectly designed challenge that he couldn't refuse without looking weak.

He slowly set down his drink on a nearby speaker, then straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for combat.

"Fine," he said, gaze never leaving Jungkook's. "But don't cry when you lose, Jeon. It's embarrassing in front of the freshmen."

Jungkook's smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering across his features. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd, then Jeon's smile widened, genuine this time, as if he'd gotten exactly what he wanted all along.

"After you," Jungkook said, gesturing toward the center of the floor where space was already clearing, students pressing back to form a performance circle.

Taehyung squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and stepped forward. But as he moved past him, something happened: a collision, a stumble, the slosh of liquid.

Time seemed to slow down.

Cold beer cascaded down Taehyung's chest, soaking the borrowed silk shirt in an expanding stain. Droplets clung to the fabric before soaking through to his skin, ice-cold and shocking.

"Shit-" Jungkook started, his face showing what might have been genuine surprise, his empty cup hanging from his fingers.

But Taehyung wasn't listening. All he could see was the spreading stain on Jimin's expensive shirt, the one item of clothing he'd borrowed that made him look like he belonged here, like he wasn't always one step behind the others. All he could feel was the sticky wetness against his skin and the hot flush of humiliation rising, burning hotter than the cold liquid could quench.

For a moment, he brought to mind all that rhetoric about how to handle these situations, how to let things go, let things slip away with grace. How all eyes were on him, watching his reaction, and how the wrong move could mean losing his reputation or, worst case, his scholarship. All those carefully constructed walls of control he'd built over years.

Seriously, for a moment he thought he could do it, he thought he could resist.

Then BamBam laughed, the sound cutting through the momentary silence, and with him all those fucking puppies around Jeon joined in a chorus of amusement at his expense, at his humiliation, at the reminder that no matter what he wore or how he danced, he would always be an outsider here.

And then all the exhaustion, the stress, the simmering resentment of the day crystallized in that exact moment into perfect clarity: without thinking, he grabbed a cocktail from a nearby student's hand, the glass cool against his palm. Time slowed to a crawl. Somewhere, a voice inside him screamed to stop, to think, to remember everything at stake.

But it was already too late.

The glass was light in his hand - too light - and the splash of liquid was almost beautiful in the flashing lights, catching colors like liquid stained glass. In one fluid motion, born from years of trained body control, he threw the entire contents directly at Jungkook.

The liquid poured down Jungkook's face in a cascade of sticky sweetness, soaking his mesh shirt, his expensive blazer, dripping from his chin onto his pristine white shoes in pink rivulets. His perfect hair plastered against his forehead, eyeliner beginning to smudge at the corners. Gasps rippled through the crowd like a wave, followed by a deafening silence.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze in tableau: Jeon standing there, dripping, his expression shifting from shock to disbelief to fury in rapid succession; Taehyung still holding the empty glass, his chest heaving with adrenaline, a strange sense of satisfaction warring with immediate regret.

Then chaos erupted like a dam breaking.

BamBam, his face contorting with outrage, grabbed someone's cocktail and flung it at Hoseok, who ducked with dancer's reflexes. The drink hit a second-year vocal major instead, who shrieked and retaliated by launching her own drink at BamBam but missing entirely. Yugyeom, laughing now, snatched a pitcher from the bar and swung it in a wide arc, showering half a dozen students with cheap beer and ice.

Within seconds, it was a full-scale drink war spreading across the warehouse. Cocktails flew through the air like colorful missiles, beer splashed across the floor creating treacherous puddles, screams and laughter mingled with the pounding music as students either joined in with gleeful abandon or scrambled for cover. Bang Chan was shouting something from the DJ booth, his hands raised in futile protest, but his voice was lost in the mayhem.

Jungkook and Taehyung remained at the epicenter, facing each other as chaos swirled around them like the eye of a hurricane. Jeon wiped his face with the back of his hand, pink liquid dripping from his silver rings, his eyes never leaving Taehyung's.

"You're going to regret that," he said, his voice low enough that only Taehyung could hear him over the noise.

"Add it to my tab," he replied, adrenaline still singing through his veins. "I'm sure you're keeping score."

Anger flashed in Jungkook's eyes, but before either could say anything more, they were separated by the surging crowd, pulled back into their respective groups like retreating armies.

"What have you done?" Jimin hissed when he reached Taehyung, fingers digging into his arm as he pulled him toward the exit, though there was an unmistakable glint of admiration in his eyes. "You just declared war on that scums. On Jeon. Are you completely out of your mind?"

"He started it," Taehyung said defensively, looking down at the ruined shirt with a pang of guilt as reality began to set in. The golden-stained silk clung to his chest, already stiffening as it dried. "I'm sorry about your shirt. I'll replace it somehow. I promise."

"Forget the shirt," the other said, dodging a flying splash of something pink and fruity that sailed past his head, his reflexes saving them both from further drenching. "We need to get out of here before security shows up. Or before someone puts that on social media and tags the school."

Taehyung glanced back at the scene: students who had never even been part of the original confrontation were now gleefully dumping drinks on each other, turning the floor into a sticky, treacherous mess of spilled alcohol and broken glass.

The party had devolved into beautiful anarchy in seconds.

Hoseok appeared beside them, his hair dripping with what smelled like cheap vodka and cranberry juice. "Time to bail," he announced, grinning despite the situation. "Jin's already at the door creating a distraction, and Joon's extracting Yoongi before he starts throwing punches."

Toward the exit, bodies pressed against them from all sides. Taehyung caught sight of Jennie watching him from a distance. Her expression unreadable: surprised, maybe. Or amused. Or disappointed? He couldn’t tell. Lisa stood beside her, eyes wide, gaze darting between Taehyung and the last place Jungkook had been visible before being swallowed by the crowd.

Outside, the night air hit his beer-damp skin like a wake-up call. A block down from the warehouse, safely away from the chaos, their group regrouped on the sidewalk beneath a streetlight, drenched, disheveled, and suddenly erupting into laughter that bordered on hysterical relief.

“Did you see BamBam’s face?” Hoseok wheezed, doubled over with laughter. “When that pitcher hit him? Fucking priceless.”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Namjoon said, half disapproving, half impressed. “Do you even realize how many people were recording?”

“I don’t care,” Taehyung groaned, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

“It was glorious,” Yoongi cut in, grinning wider than usual. “Someone had to knock that kid down a peg. Might as well be you.”

Jin was futilely dabbing at his soaked shirt with a cocktail napkin. “My poor fake Gucci,” he mourned. “Innocent. Blameless. Taken too soon.”

“You’re all missing the point,” Namjoon interjected, more serious than the rest. “Jeon’s going to take this personally now. You know that, right? This isn’t just some class rivalry anymore.”

Leaning back against the lamppost, he felt the cool metal press into his spine, grounding him. His shirt clung to his skin, sticky with drink. “It was already personal,” he muttered. “Has been since day one.”

“Yeah, but you just escalated it,” his friend replied. “In front of a crowd. With phones.”

“With phones,” Jin echoed dramatically.

Namjoon gave him a look. “Yes. Thank you.”

Taehyung pushed off the post. “Good. Let him watch it on replay. Maybe then he’ll finally see what he is, a fucking scumbag.”

“Taehyung,” Jin winced. “You should apologize.”

“What? No fucking way.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jimin declared, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Face your enemies covered in glory and alcohol!”

The tension cracked, the group laughing again, but this time Taehyung's grin had a sharpness to it: despite the humiliation, the ruined shirt, the certain consequences that would follow, he found himself laughing too, not out of relief, but satisfaction..

Because finally he’d done it. He’d hit back. Hard.

“You know what?” he said suddenly, straightening, a dangerous spark in his eyes. “I don’t regret it. Not a single second. That bastard had it coming.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Yoongi said, nodding with approval.

“Oh no,” Hoseok groaned, though a grin tugged at his mouth. “He’s gaining even more confidence. This is how supervillains are born.”

“Or superheroes,” Jimin offered.

“Time will tell,” Jin declared solemnly. “The tragic origin story of Kim Taehyung: villain or hero? Tune in tomorrow at 9AM in Professor Ko’s class.”

Their laughter echoed down the sidewalk, bright against the soft hum of streetlights. But beneath it, something had shifted. Taehyung could feel it: raw, electric, alive in his chest.

Will tomorrow have consequences? Let it.

Tonight was his.

Chapter Text

"Morning," Taehyung slid onto the bench across from Yoongi. His friend merely grunted, not bothering to look up from the notebook he was furiously scribbling in.

"Still finishing homework at the last minute?" he teased, eyeing the nearly empty coffee cup by Yoongi's elbow.

He pretended not to notice the not-so-subtle glances and whispers erupting from nearby tables, his chin tilted slightly upward: a silent challenge to anyone brave enough to mention what had happened last night.

"Mm," his friend muttered. "Did you actually do the reading for Ko's class this time?"

Taehyung hesitated, fingers nervously tapping against his cup. "Yeah... mostly," though the way he stirred his tea with concentration said otherwise. "What instrument are you bringing for the practical?"

Yoongi finally looked at him. "Piano. Obviously." He flicked his wrist toward the notebook full of hastily scrawled notes and messy staffs. "What about you?"

"I borrowed a trumpet from the music room. Played it back in middle school, so I figured why not."

The dining hall was filling up rapidly, and with each new arrival came more curious eyes drifting toward their table. A giggling cluster of first-years walked by, phones held suspiciously at half-mast, poorly concealing their recording attempts.

Meanwhile Taehyung’s phone was buzzing violently in his pocket. Again, and again, and again.

He pulled it out, barely glancing at the screen before locking it for the fourth time that morning: mentions, tags, DMs. His name was suddenly trending, and the video was being reshared with everything from memes to mashups.

"They're watching the videos again," Yoongi muttered, hunching further into his black hoodie.

"Let them," he replied harshly. Even muted, his phone kept vibrating like it was about to overheat. He shoved it back into his pocket, like it was burning, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Where are the others hiding?"

His friend didn't pause his notation. "Hoseok's probably still fighting in the shower line. Hot water gave up around half an hour ago, heard the screams from three floors down."

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "This living situation is absolutely unmanageable. Twenty guys sharing one bathroom? It's barbaric."

"Twenty-one," Yoongi corrected, violently erasing a wrong note on the staff. "The room at the end of the hall has been converted to a triple. There's a new student."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And who is?"

"Don't know much," his friend replied, flipping to a fresh page. "Jackson told Joon he attended a couple years ago but had to leave when his mother died. Apparently sweet-talked the headmaster into letting him return for third year."

The words caught him off-guard. He looked away, but too late: something in them had already lodged itself behind his ribs.

Leaving school because of family: that kind of thing had always felt like a ticking clock in his background. He knew what it meant to hold your breath every time your phone rang. To weigh a train ticket against food. To wonder if being there, chasing something which for anyone might seem normal, made you selfish.

He straightened a crease in his sleeve, eyes fixed on nothing. "Rough start for the guy," he said, voice casual. Too casual.

But Yoongi didn’t press. He never did.

Then Jimin arrived, dropping his overloaded tray onto the table with a clatter that drew even more eyes their way.

"Morning, sunshines," he chirped through a mouthful of eggs and rice, his plate piled significantly higher than Taehyung's modest toast and green tea.

Yoongi shot him a look less "sunshine" and more "death ray." Taehyung almost laughed into his cup.

Jimin lowered his voice conspiratorially, eyes sparkling with mischief. "The entire school's talking about last night. Apparently the cocktail you threw matched Jeon's outfit perfectly."

Taehyung snorted, not bothering to hide the satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

"I've got nothing until Contemporary at ten," his friend continued, expertly wielding his chopsticks. "Glorious free morning."

"Lucky bastard," he grumbled, blowing dramatically on his tea. "Some of us have to endure Ko's Composition class and then sprint across campus to change for Contemporary." He checked the time on his phone with a wince. "I'm going to be sweating through my jumpsuit before we even start."

"Why did you drop Composition class?" Yoongi asked Jimin, absently reaching for his own coffee cup only to frown when he discovered it empty.

"Please, I suffered enough through two years of required music theory.” He punctuated his statement with a flourish. "Performing is my thing. Composing? Not so much, honestly."

"Wise. I should've quit while I was ahead," Taehyung sighed dramatically, his eyes darting to another group of students who had just entered, phones out and pointed unsubtly in his direction. "Ko will never, and I mean never, let me forget that I fell asleep in his class last year."

"In your defense," Yoongi gave him a rare, lopsided smile, "it was during BamBam's presentation on the evolution of EDM. I nearly joined you in Dreamland."

"You two are absolutely hopeless." Jimin checked his watch and began quickly finishing all the breakfast. "I'm going to use this free hour to warm up properly."

"I'll see you at Contemporary, then?" He downed the last of his tea before standing with grace, completely unfazed by the attention as he straightened his jacket.

"Yeah," his friend popped a final piece of egg into his mouth. "Try not to be fashionably late this time, for once in your life?"

Taehyung flashed a cocky grin that could have powered the entire building. "When am I ever late?"

Both his friends raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, exchanging knowing looks.

He rolled his eyes dramatically before sauntering away, head held high despite - or perhaps because of - all the stares trailing after him like lovesick puppies.

*

They made their way across campus. A student from the second year - Taehyung vaguely recognized him - stepped directly into their path.

"Hey, Kim," the guy said, phone in hand. "That video of you dousing Jeon is everywhere."

Taehyung didn’t answer.

"I'm just saying, it was epic," the student continued, clearly missing Taehyung's frosty glare. "Everyone's talking-"

"Then go talk to everyone else," he cut him off, shouldering past.

Yoongi caught up, eyebrows raised. "Still not regretting it, I see."

"Not even a little," he muttered, adjusting the strap of his trumpet case.

Inside the classroom, most of the seats were already taken. Toward the back, Yugyeom lounged in his seat, phone in hand, lazily scrolling as if the start of class was nothing more than a nuisance. Nearby, Mingyu and Bang Chan huddled over a tablet, their heads close together, murmuring in a low, focused tone.

Taehyung scanned the room: a flicker of satisfaction tugged at his mouth. “No sign of the motherfucker,” he murmured, sliding into his seat. “Even BamBam’s missing. Maybe they’re not in this class after all.”

Yoongi arched an eyebrow as he unpacked his notes. “Keep dreaming.”

Then something shifted, and Taehyung looked up.

Yugyeom wasn’t scrolling anymore: he was watching. Expression unreadable, brows low, eyes flat and fixed on Taehyung like a challenge. Beside him, Mingyu lifted his gaze slowly, his mouth twisting into a smirk, or a sneer.

Taehyung stiffened. “What?” he snapped, voice low but cutting. “You need something?”

Neither of them responded. Yugyeom raised his eyebrows slightly, like the idea of engaging was beneath him. Mingyu leaned in, said something under his breath, and the two shared a quiet, humorless chuckle. The kind of laugh that didn’t come from finding something funny.

Yoongi touched Taehyung’s arm lightly, then, just a brush of fingers. “Come on, just sit.”

He hesitated for half a second longer, eyes still locked with Yugyeom’s. Then, slowly, he turned back toward his seat.

Professor Ko strode in precisely at 9 AM, his silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a stack of papers tucked under his arm.

"Good morning, everyone," he began. "Welcome to Advanced Composition. This semester, we'll be exploring the intersection of traditional composition techniques with modern-"

The door flew open, and Jeon entered with BamBam trailing behind him. Both were clearly out of breath, wearing dark sunglasses despite being indoors. Jungkook's hair was perfectly styled, contrasting with the deliberate distress of his ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt.

"Ah, Mr. Jeon and Mr. Bhuwakul," Professor Ko said coldly. "How generous of you to grace us with your presence."

"Sorry, Professor," BamBam mumbled, sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head.

Jungkook simply nodded, removing his own glasses to reveal slightly bloodshot eyes. His gaze immediately found Taehyung's. The tension was palpable, his stare was razor-sharp.

Taehyung stared back, refusing to flinch.

Professor Ko cleared his throat. "Please find seats quickly and without further disruption."

Jeon broke the staring first, moving toward the back where his friends were sitting. He slid into a chair, and Taehyung couldn't help but notice how they all shifted to accommodate him, like planets adjusting to their sun.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “All the third-year assholes coordinated their schedules.”

Yoongi scoffed lightly.

Professor Ko continued, outlining the semester's ambitious curriculum. "As I mentioned in the e-mail sent last month, this year I'm requiring each of you to work with an instrument, either one you're proficient in or one you're learning. This will ground your compositions in practical execution rather than just theoretical knowledge." He was scanning the room with a pointed look. “Understanding an instrument, its limitations, its voice, will force you to compose like musicians, not just theorists.”

Then he pulled out a clipboard. "Now, let me go through the roster and have each of you tell me which instrument you've selected, and please, declare your skill level."

The professor moved methodically down the list, pausing after each name to jot down notes.

“Sooyoung,” he called.

“Violin,” she said, sitting upright. “Advanced. I’ve been playing it since I was little. My grandfather was a music director.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Guitar. Advanced. I took private lessons for three years, I’ve been performing with some bands.”

“Minseo?”

“Piano,” she replied confidently. “Advanced. I studied classical for twelve years, did a summer program at Juilliard.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow and looked at Taehyung, impressed. A couple of students murmured in mock awe. Professor Ko gave a small nod, unfazed.

“Rosé?”

“Digital synth. Maybe… Intermediate? I’ve been producing tracks on Ableton, did a collab with an indie label last winter.”

“Yoongi.”

“Piano. Advanced,” he answered, adjusting his sleeves. “I trained at the Daegu Conservatory for ten years.”

The professor scribbled quickly.

One by one, the students listed their instruments like they were auditioning for some élite program. Taehyung sat still, jaw tight, fingers drumming out on his chair desk: conservatory kids, private tutors, summers abroad, parents who paid their way into talent. Juilliard. Indie labels. Drama department showcases.

Of course.

And then there was him: a borrowed trumpet. No training. No impressive backstory.

Just some kid who used to mess around with brass in middle school.

"Taehyung," Professor Ko called, peering over his glasses with a look that suggested he remembered last year's napping incident all too well.

He straightened in his seat, jaw tight. “Trumpet, sir.”

Ko waited, then raised a brow: the silence stretched.

Taehyung’s throat was dry, but he forced the rest out. “…can’t really say the level. I played back in middle school.”

A beat.

Then the snickers came, predictable, cruel.

He didn’t even need to look, he could feel it. That smug little chorus of rich bastards laughing at him. BamBam let out a snort, loud, leaning back in his chair with that shit-eating grin that begged to be rearranged.

Jeon, instead, didn’t even bother laughing: he just wore that infuriating half-smile, the kind that said he didn’t need to mock you out loud, you're already embarrassing yourself.

Taehyung’s fingers twitched on the desk of his chair. His ears were burning. It wasn’t embarrassment: it was rage, coiling low in his gut, hot and bitter.

Professor Ko’s head snapped up. “Is there something amusing, gentlemen?”

The room fell quiet, fast. BamBam raised his hands like a sanctified little saint, syrup in his voice. “No, sir. Just... it’s been a while since middle school, hasn’t it?”

Bullshit. They all knew exactly what they were laughing at.

Taehyung clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.

“Indeed,” the professor said dryly, unimpressed. “And since you find brass instruments so entertaining, Kunpimook, you’ll enjoy this: full analysis of Chet Baker’s Quartet on vinyl. Written. Double-spaced. On my desk next week.”

BamBam’s smug expression faltered.

“That includes you, Jungkook. And you, Mingyu. Yugyeom.”

For once, their fucking smirks faded. 

Good.

“By the way,” he said, tone colder now. “Given the… incidents last year that led to the expulsion of two third-year students, the administration is taking early steps to prevent similar outcomes.”

His gaze swept the room, landing - briefly, but unmistakably - on both Taehyung and Jungkook’s group.

“You will keep your personal drama out of the Academy. And if you can’t do that…” He let the silence hang, then returned to his clipboard, “...believe me: the consequences are going to be very unpleasant.”

Taehyung’s gaze drifted toward the group of assholes, where Jeon stood, eyes fixed on Ko. But then, like he felt it, Jungkook turned and their eyes collided.

Taehyung didn’t flinch, he held the stare for a moment. Then he broke the connection and looked away.

“Now,” Ko continued, flipping a page. “Since we’re so eager to measure skill, let’s hear from the rest of your corner.”

*

"I hate first days," Namjoon declared, slumping into his seat like he’d just finished running a marathon.

It was nearly 1:30 PM by the time they finally made it to the dining hall: all sweaty, sore, and running on fumes. The morning had been a relentless blur of classes and hallway tension, each session more draining than the last.

"Why do they always have to cram the entire syllabus into one morning?" Joon muttered, adjusting his tray like it was a sculpture. "My brain is leaking out of my ears."

“Wait till Music History tomorrow,” Jin said, mid-chew. “Professor Yoon’s planning to start with a lecture on tonal revolutions. I saw the PowerPoint. Eighty-seven slides.”

The other groaned like he’d been personally targeted.

Then Hoseok’s eyes lit up, like he’d just remembered something delicious. He elbowed Jimin, who was calmly sipping his iced tea like nothing had happened. “Jimin-ah. Tell them about what happened in Contemporary Class.”

Immediately, the other's smirk gave him away, even as he tried for casual. “It was nothing,” he said, feigning nonchalance.

“Nothing?” Hoseok gasped, turning to the others with wide eyes. “Ms. Chung looked ready to name her firstborn after him.”

"Seriously?" Jin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I remember her, like… difficult.”

“She is,” Taehyung chimed in, lips quirking into a crooked grin. “Which makes her calling Jimin flawless even funnier.”

Their friend tried to suppress a smile, but failed completely. “She was being dramatic.”

“No,” Hoseok cut in, grinning. “You were being dramatic. The way you made those moves? I felt personally overshadowed. I think Jeon did too. He looked like he’d just been told Santa wasn’t real.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Namjoon, and even Yoongi cracked a grin.

“Poor Jeon,” Jin said mockingly. “Showing up with his perfect posture and being outdanced on day one.”

Jimin gave a slow, pleased shrug, sipping his tea again. “What can I say? Some people train. Others are born.”

“You’re unbearable,” Yoongi lowered his gaze.

“Enough about me,” the other said, waving a hand as if dismissing applause, “how did it go for you, guys?”

Jin let out a dramatic sigh, stabbing his rice like it had betrayed him. “Oh, you know. Fourth year: where dreams go to die under administrative deadlines.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Joon added, adjusting his glasses. “He just forgot to submit his recital program and had to sweet-talk Ms. Han before lunch.”

“I did not sweet-talk,” Jin protested. “It was dignified begging.”

Jimin laughed. “So nothing’s changed.”

“Basically,” Namjoon said with a shrug. “The material’s harder, the professors more passive-aggressive, and we’re still pulling all-nighters like it’s freshman year.”

“Honestly, the worst part is pretending we have it all together so the younger students still think we’re the coolest,” Jin muttered, gesturing vaguely at the table.

Taehyung cracked a smile despite himself, and for a moment, the air was light.

Then Namjoon glanced between him and Yoongi, picking up on the edge still lingering in his posture. “What about you two?” he asked. “How was Composition?”

The smile slipped from his face like someone had flicked off a switch. Then he stabbed at his food with more force than necessary. “Don’t ask.”

“That bad?”

There was a beat of silence. Then the doors to the dining hall opened.

A boisterous group poured in: Seojoon, Wooshik, Hyungsik, Peakboy, and trailing behind them, Solar, Moonbyul, Hwasa and somebody else. All fourth-years. All loud. All completely oblivious to the cloud hanging over Taehyung’s head.

“There they are!” Seojoon boomed, pointing straight at their table.

“Oh god,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, sinking a little lower in his seat.

“Yesterday night was -” Peakboy began, hands already gesturing wide like he was narrating a myth, “- I don’t even have words. Just... damn!”

“Epic,” Hyungsik finished for him, sliding into the seat across from Jimin. “Completely unhinged, but epic.”

Wooshik clapped Taehyung on the shoulder, grinning. “You realize you’re going down in school history, right?”

“Can we not?” He groaned. “Seriously.”

“Come on,” Moonbyul said, dropping her tray with a thud. “It was legendary. That whole entitled crew needed a splash of reality.”

“Easy for you to say,” his tone sharper than before. “You’re not the one who has to face Ms. Jung soon with Jeon smirking through the glass door.”

“Or Professor Ko,” Namjoon added. “You know he’s going to hear about this.”

“Thanks, hyung.” That name was enough to silence Taehyung.

“Speaking of going viral,” Hoseok said, trying to lighten the mood, “is it really everywhere already?”

“Oh, it’s everywhere,” Hwasa confirmed, pulling out her phone with a sly smile. “It’s officially the most-watched video today.”

She held it up, and the group instinctively leaned in.

On screen: Taehyung, frozen in perfect high definition in bullet time. Arm extended, cocktail mid-flight, expression fierce and unrepentant. The drink - a neon pink arc - cut through the air like a glittering comet, moments before colliding with Jungkook’s dumbfounded face.

“Look at!” Wooshik whispered. “It actually looks like an artistic photograph.”

“Yeah,” Jin added, leaning closer. “If you didn’t know the context, you’d think it was performance art.” He brought his face even closer, “And look at Taehyung's expression, so badass…”

“The comments are wild,” Hwasa murmured, scrolling. “Top 10 anime betrayals,” she read aloud. “The drink had better technique than half the students here.” They laughed at that. “Oh, and here’s one: Taehyung for school president.”

“Dance program drama season three just dropped,” Peakboy read, smiling over her shoulder.

Everyone laughed, everyone except Taehyung.

He didn’t even look at the screen. He just pushed his tray away and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. His food untouched. “Great,” he muttered. “Now the whole school thinks I’m a clown.”

Just then, another boisterous group poured in: BamBam’s too-loud laugh, Mingyu’s dramatic storytelling, Yugyeom grinning like a schoolboy. And in the middle, as always, was Jeon Jungkook. Polished. Effortless. Walking like the hallway was his runway.

Yoongi didn’t even try to keep his voice down. “And here come the bastards.”

Taehyung didn’t look up.

“Hey, what happened? What’s that expression?” Jimin pressed, voice gentler now.

His hands clenched into fists on either side of his tray. “They laughed at me.”

The other blinked. “Wait, what? When?”

“In Composition class. I told Ko I play trumpet. Said I used to in middle school.” His jaw was set like stone. “And BamBam laughed out loud. Just… laughed. Like it was the most pathetic thing he’d ever heard.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed.

“And the others, Jeon…” Taehyung went on, eyes fixed straight ahead but unfocused. “They just smiled. That smug, little half-smile. Like I was some joke he didn’t even have to say out loud.”

His fingers twitched restlessly.

“But… I don’t get it,” Hwasa spoke up. “Why would that be funny?”

Taehyung’s gaze snapped to her. “They laughed because I don’t belong here. Doesn’t matter what I play. I don’t have the right last name, or the right outfit. I don’t speak their language. I’m a joke the moment I open my mouth.”

Hwasa's eyes narrowed slightly. "Come on, Tae. None of us have the right last name either." She gestured around their table. "You think Yoongi's family name opens doors? Or mine? We're all in the same boat."

"No,” Taehyung's voice was quiet but sharp, his glare hard and steady. “We're not."

The words dropped like stones into the center of the table. No one reached to catch them because they knew. Even Hoseok and Hyungsik, usually the first to crack a joke, stayed quiet.

Then Seojoon spoke, voice calm but certain. “You belong here as we all do. No matter what Jeon thinks, or everyone else.”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He gave a small shake of the head, eyes now fixed somewhere just over Solar’s shoulder.

Because it was true. Maybe it didn’t matter, not in theory, maybe not to them. But that kind of dismissal didn’t need words. It just was. And it cut deeper than mockery ever could.

Furthermore, they couldn’t know. Not really.

Yes, most of them were in student housing because rent in the city was obscene. Sure, a few had scholarships, and yeah, not everyone came from a penthouse in Gangnam.

But none of them carried what he carried. None of them walked into class already tired from everything else. None of them had to calculate how long they could go without asking for help - the kind of help you don’t talk about, the kind no one ever really wanted.

They didn’t carry his past, that kind of weight.

And then to sit there, in that room, acting like you are like everyone else, while someone like Jeon looked at you like you’d wandered in through the wrong door, like the school had let you in out of pity… He didn’t want pity. Couldn’t stand it.

And the worst part?

Some days it felt like that’s exactly what they were offering, even his friends, even if no one said it out loud: he hated how much part of him wanted to disappear under it.

Wooshik exhaled slowly, reaching for his water. “Well, you shut him up with that drink. That’s something.”

“Yeah,” Moonbyul added with a shrug. “He didn’t look so smug with a cocktail dripping off his cheekbones.”

A low chuckle went around the table, cautious but warm. Taehyung didn’t smile, not quite, but his shoulders eased by a fraction.

After a moment, Namjoon asked, “But I’m curious: in all this, what did Jeon pick?”

Taehyung gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Drums. Advanced. Studio experience.” He mocked the tone perfectly, that smooth, polished delivery that always made Jungkook sound like he was reading from a press release.

“Fucking hell,” Jimin said.

Moonbyul reached across Namjoon’s tray and stole a few chips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up with Phil Collins.”

That finally got a real laugh – short and bright.

Across the dining hall, another laugh rang out. Jeon chuckled at something one of his minions said. The timing felt too perfect. Almost rehearsed.

Everyone at their table turned, instinctively. Maybe their stares were a little too direct, because Jungkook’s gaze lifted mid-laugh and caught them.

He blinked, surprised, like he hadn’t expected to be watched.

His minions noticed and turned too, following his gaze. Yugyeom, Mingyu, BamBam, even Bang Chan, they all locked eyes with Taehyung.

He didn’t flinch. His eyes held steady, he gave nothing back.

“By the end of this semester,” Taehyung said coldly, “I swear, I’ll either outshine him… or I’ll kill him.”

Jimin put a hand on his shoulder, to say we’ve got your back. “Just aim for the first one, okay?” he said, smirking.

He didn’t answer. But the fire in his eyes did.

While Jin was still staring across the room, Hyungsik snatched a chicken leg from his plate and bit into it triumphantly. “Just try not to get expelled before midterms.”

Taehyung didn’t even look at him. “No promises.”

There was a short pause, then Hoseok perked up, tapping his fingers against his tray. “Are you guys down to warm up together tonight? First classical dance class is tomorrow, and rumor has it the new teacher makes Ms. Chung look like a Disney princess.”

“I’m in,” Jimin groaned, stretching out his sore shoulders. “My calves still haven’t forgiven me for last semester.”

Their eyes turned to Taehyung.

He hesitated for a second, then shook his head, lips tightening into a faint grimace. “Can’t. I’ve got an interview.”

That caught them off guard.

“For what?” Jin asked.

“Part-time,” he said simply. “Fast food place a few blocks from campus. Evening shifts.”

Namjoon smile softened instantly. “You gonna be okay with the schedule?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Anyway, it’s just a first round.”

There was a beat.

Then Yoongi spoke, his tone steady. “Let us know how it goes.”

“Fingers crossed,” Hoseok added, raising both hands dramatically.

“Text us after,” Jimin said. “No ghosting.”

He grimaced. "Honestly, I don't even want to touch my phone right now."

"That's exactly why you should text us. I worry when you go silent."

He gave him a half-smile, small, but real. “Deal.”

The bell rang out across the quad. A new period. A new pressure.

They gathered their trays and stood, the familiar rhythm of school life pulling them back into motion. But for just a second longer, Taehyung lingered.

He looked toward the far end of the hall, where Jeon was still laughing at something.

He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

Midterms were weeks away.

He didn’t plan on waiting that long.

*

Mrs. Park was a stout woman in her fifties with hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch her face into a permanent expression of mild disapproval. She glanced between Taehyung's résumé and his face with equal disinterest.

The office fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow across the place he sat, back straight, trying not to fidget. Happy Chef was a small fast-food restaurant tucked between a convenience store and a laundromat was just six blocks from campus, close enough for a quick commute, but far enough that he wouldn't constantly run into classmates while wearing the garish yellow and red uniform.

"So," she said, tapping his résumé with a chipped fingernail, "you're a performing arts student?"

Taehyung nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Multidisciplinar program at Seoul Arts Academy."

She frowned slightly. "Those students never last long here. Too many rehearsals, too many schedule conflicts."

"I can manage my time," he said firmly. "I need this job."

Something in his tone must have conveyed his determination, because Mrs. Park's expression shifted slightly, reassessing him.

"Previous experience?" she asked, even though it was clearly listed on the paper in front of her.

"Two year total at Giusto Diner," Taehyung added up his last four summers, keeping his voice steady. "I can handle the register, food prep, cleaning, customer service. Whatever you need."

She made a noncommittal noise, tapping a pen against her desk. The office smelled like frying oil and industrial cleaner, with a stack of employee manuals on one side and a security monitor showing grainy black-and-white footage of the empty dining area.

"This isn't glamorous work," she said bluntly. "Our customers aren't here for the ambiance. They want their food fast, hot, and cheap. Can you handle that without your artistic temperament?"

Taehyung felt a flash of irritation but pushed it down. "I'm not here to perform, ma'am. I'm here to work."

Mrs. Park nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "Hours?"

"I'm available weekends," he said, already feeling the weight of what that meant. "Friday evenings through Sunday. I can also do some nights during the week if needed."

"Night shifts are hard to fill," she noted. "Tuesday and Thursday?"

"I have evening practice on Tuesday," he calculated mentally how many hours of sleep he'd lose. "But I can do Thursday until closing."

Mrs. Park nodded, finally looking up at him properly. Her eyes were shrewd, assessing him not as a person but as a resource: how much work could be extracted for how little compensation.

"Pay is minimum wage," she said flatly. "Tips are pooled, but don't expect much. Uniform is provided but you clean it. No sick days without doctor's note. Three lates equal one absence. Three absences, you're out. Clear?"

Taehyung swallowed, what!? "Yes."

"Your shifts will be mostly closing," she continued, almost as an afterthought. "That means you don't leave until everything is clean. Sometimes that's midnight, sometimes later. Still interested?"

"Yes," Taehyung said without hesitation. He couldn't afford to hesitate.

Mrs. Park gave him a long look, then nodded. "Start Friday. Four to midnight. Changbin will train you."

And just like that, it was done. No congratulations, no handshake, no "welcome to the team." Just a schedule and an expectation.

As he left the stuffy office, he felt a strange mixture of relief and dread. The job would help with expenses, but the cost would be measured in lost hours, hours he could have spent practicing, studying, or simply being twenty-four years old with friends.

Outside, the evening air was pleasantly cool against his face. The street was busy with the dinner rush, people hurrying home or to restaurants, office workers loosening ties, students with backpacks trudging toward cafes. Normal people living normal lives that didn't require constant calculations of time versus money. Taehyung was settling into his hoodie and tightening the muscles in his neck.

He sat down on a near bench and he finally pulled it out his phone, the screen flooded: it was buzzing unceasingly - notifications, dozens of them.

His thumb hovered over the screen. His expression didn’t shift. He just sighed, switched the app to silent mode again.

Then he took a deep breath, and dialed. It rang three times before his mother answered.

"Taehyung-ah," her voice was tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that had become a permanent part of her. "Already missing us?"

He smiled. "Just checking in," he tried to keep his voice light.

"Did you make it to class on time?"

"Barely," he said, trying to keep his voice light. "But I'm here, in one piece. How's going?"

There was a slight pause. "Eunjoo had a good day. That doctor says if she keeps improving, she might be able to go back to school part-time."

Taehyung closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to feel a sliver of hope. "That's good news," he said softly. "And how about you? How's your back today?"

"Well… the heat patch you gave me helped.”

“Told you so, we use it all the time here!”

His mother gave a small laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all. He felt a sudden heaviness. “And how’s the work going?”

“The shop is working. And Mrs. Kim is talking about adding another house to my route. It's a good family, can pay very well."

Taehyung gripped the phone tighter: another house to clean meant more money, but also more strain on his mother's back. How she could do two jobs he just didn't know.

"Eomma, I got a job," he said suddenly. "At a restaurant near campus. I start this Friday."

"Oh, Taehyung-ah," his mother sighed. "But your studies..."

"It's fine," he insisted. "You know I can handle it. I’m young, I’m strong.” he kept his voice light. “The important thing is I'll be able to send you money regularly now. You know, for Eunjoo's treatments. For you all."

"You should be focusing on your studies," she said, her voice a mixture of gratitude and guilt. "That scholarship -"

"Covers all, I've always told you," he finished for her, lying. "This way, you won't have to take that extra house to clean. Your back can't handle it."

The silence on the other end told him she couldn't argue with that truth.

"How's that snake situation in your dorm?" she asked, attempting to lighten the mood. "The one you were telling Eunjoo yesterday.”

He smiled despite himself. "Rambo is still causing chaos. Joon is convinced it's plotting against him."

"Such a strange school," he could hear the faint smile in her voice. But then she hesitated. "Have you..." she started, her tone changing. "Have you heard from Minjun?"

Taehyung's jaw tightened. "No, of course not…"

"He came home last night," his mother said quietly. "At four in the morning. Smelling like smoke. He wouldn't talk to me, just went straight to his room..."

Taehyung closed his eyes, his free hand clenching into a fist.

"I'll try calling him," he said, knowing it was a lie. Minjun never answered his calls or his texts from two years.

"He's so angry," his mother whispered. "All the time. I don't know how to reach him, it’s getting worse."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll figure something out, Eomma. I promise. Maybe I can come back for a weekend soon, try to talk to him again?"

"You already have too much on your shoulders," she said. "This isn't your responsibility."

But it was. Because who else was there? His mother working herself to exhaustion. His sister fighting just to get out of bed most days. His father dead - not that he had ever been useful o responsible. If not him, then who?

"First paycheck comes in two weeks," Taehyung said, changing the subject. "I'll send it home."

"Please, keep some for yourself," his mother insisted. "You need to eat properly. And those dance shoes you mentioned-"

"I'll manage," he cut in. "The shoes can wait."

After they said their goodbyes, Taehyung sat on the bench for a long time, watching as the streetlights flickered on one by one. 

He stared at all the messages but didn't reply. Instead, he pulled up his class schedule on one side of his screen and his new work schedule on the other. He began to mentally map out when he could squeeze in extra practice time, when he could study, when he could sleep.

The numbers didn't add up. Something would have to give.

But it wouldn't be the money for Eunjoo's treatments. It wouldn't be his mother's back. And it wouldn't be his chance to prove himself at the academy, to show Jeon and everyone else that he belonged there just as much as they did.

No, what would give would be his sleep. His free time. Maybe even some of his sanity. But he'd make it work. He had to.

With a deep breath, Taehyung stood up and began the long walk back to campus, mentally rehearsing the steps to his latest choreography: no time to dwell on things he couldn't change right now. But the thought of Minjun, angry and slipping away, hung over him like a shadow.

He pulled out his phone again, thumb hovering for a moment before tapping into Minjun’s chat.

The thread was all one-sided: Kakao yellow squares stretching back months, years. A few links. A photo of an old hoodie Taehyung had found. A birthday message left on read.

At the top of the chat was Minjun’s profile picture - a grainy snapshot of him grinning with a group of boys, smoke curling in the air, one hand flipping off the camera.

Taehyung stared at it for a few seconds, trying to remember when exactly his little brother had started to look like someone he didn’t recognize. Then he left the chat.

Only then did he notice Jimin’s chat buzzing lively.

[KAKAO CHAT – 19.15]

From: chim

[19.14] YOOOOO
[19.14] spill the tea
[19.15] how'd it gooooo??? 👀

[19.16] ya boi is officially employed
[19.16] starting friday

[19.27] SHUT UPPPP
[19.27] AYYYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉

[19.33] don't act impressed
[19.33] it's just flipping burgers for minimum wage
[19.33] already regretting my life choices tbh

[19.33] excuse u
[19.34] u're a professional burger artist now
[19.34] gonna make those patties look so fine
[19.34] customers gonna take pics before they eat

[19.40] stfu
[19.40] i'll smell like fryer oil forever
[19.41] watch me get kicked outta dance class
[19.41] for making the room reek

[19.41] 9 out 10

[19.43] u're the worst

[19.43] u mean the bbbest
[19.43] that's why u love me
[19.44] speaking of which
[19.44] my bestest friend in the whole wide world

[19.45] oh here we go
[19.46] what do you want

[19.47] can u pretty pls swing by the CU?
[19.48] i'm dying for banana milk
[19.48] like literally might not make it through the night
[19.50] and maybe a choco pie
[19.50] or five
[19.50] i'll venmo you

[19.50] fine
[19.51] i should eat something anyway
[19.51] haven't had food since that sad excuse for a breakfast

[19.53] that's because during lunch u got fucked by jeon

[19.54] bullshit
[19.54] jeon couldn't fuck me
[19.55] if i gave him a manual with pictures

[19.55] omgggg
[19.55] the salt 🧂
[19.56] i'm actually dying
[19.56] but ngl i think he'd let you fuck him tho
[19.56] saw him checking out ur package during warm-ups

[19.57] LIES
[19.57] delete this immediately
[19.57] im going to gag

[20.01] his eyes were GLUED
[20.02] couldn't look away
[20.02] if his life depended on it 

[20.03] well
[20.04] i've checked out his ass too
[20.04] it's a great ass
[21.04] bet he knows how to use it
[21.04] shame he's got another one for a face

[20.05] LMAOOOOO
[20.05] DECEASED ⚰️⚰️⚰️
[20.06] this is why i keep u around

[20.07] thought it was for my incredible charm
[20.07] and good looks

[20.08] nah just for the premium insults
[20.08] now move ur ass
[20.08] get me my banana milk
[20.08] i'm wasting away over here

[20.15] i stg u're worse than my pregnant cousin
[20.15] at least she has hormones as an excuse
[20.15] what's yours?

[20.16] pure talent
[20.16] it requires fuel
[20.16] also get smth real to eat for yourself
[20.17] not just enrgy drinks and gum
[20.17] ur gonna faceplant during ballet tmrw if u don't

[20.20] if i faceplant it's bc
[20.20] ure making me run errands
[20.20] at ass o'clock
[20.20] when i should be sleeping

[20.21] wow ungrateful much
[20.21] i'm just looking out for my bestie
[20.22] can't have u passing out
[20.22] who's gonna throw drinks at jeon if ur unconscious? 

[20.25] lol fair point
[20.25] got ur milk tho
[20.25] and three choco pies

[20.29] THIS IS WHY I LOVE U
[20.29] u complete me
[20.29] my soulmate
[20.29] light of my life

[20.40] save it for someone who buys it
[20.40] omw back
[20.40] door better be unlocked this time
[20.40] not standing in the hall for 10 mins again

[20.41] ONE TIME last year
[20.41] i was in the shower!!!
[20.41] and u never let me forget it

[20.45] see u in 5

*

The campus was nearly quiet. Most students were holed up studying, or out enjoying their first night back. The hollow echo of his footsteps in the empty hallway only amplified the heaviness he felt.

He stopped at the vending machines in the common area - drinks cost less there than in convenience store. His stomach growled, the bright light of the machine cast harsh shadows across his tired face as he counted his coins.

"Come on," he muttered, finding himself one hundred won short for the Cola he wanted.

"Need some change?"

Taehyung turned to find a guy, watching him with mild interest. He was tall, with a gentle face that somehow managed to look both sharp and soft at once. His dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, and there was a certain heaviness behind the easy smile that felt immediately familiar to Taehyung.

"I'm good," he replied automatically, pride kicking in.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Because I've been standing here watching you count those coins three times."

Taehyung felt his glare hardening, but the guy smiled kindly, reaching into his pocket and handing over two 500 won coins. "Here.”

After a moment's hesitation, Taehyung accepted it. "Thanks."

"No problem. You're Kim Taehyung, right?”

He frowned as he fed the coins into the machine, then he nodded cautiously.

The stranger continued, "I saw your video. Pretty impressive."

His shoulders tensed immediately.

Great. Another one who'd seen him act like a clown. Just what he needed to cap off this perfect day.

"That's me. The guy with the excellent drink-throwing arm."

But instead of laughing or making a joke at his expense, the stranger just shook his head. "I was thinking more the guy with the perfect body control. I’ve seen your contemporary solo. It was wow."

Taehyung blinked, his cola forgotten as it thudded to the bottom of the machine. "Wait, you're talking about the showcase last year?"

"Yeah," the guy nodded. "Someone linked it in the new students' group chat."

A rush of pride momentarily displaced his exhaustion. "Thanks," he said, genuinely this time. "I'm sorry, I thought you were talking about something else."

"Oh, the cocktail incident? Yeah, I saw that too." The other’s lips quirked up.

Taehyung retrieved his Cola, studying the stranger more carefully now. "So… you're new? You don't look like a first-year."

"I'm not. Park Bogum," he said, extending his hand. "Third-year. Tough technically this is my first year back after... taking some time off." He smiled, uncomfortably.

Oh. This is the guy Yoongi was talking about. No wonder he felt an immediate connection.

"It's good to have you back, then," he said softly, meaning it.

Something in Bogum's expression shifted, a moment of genuine surprise, like he wasn't used to such straightforward warmth. He smiled. "Thanks. It's... different than I remember. But good different, I think."

Taehyung nodded, understanding passing between them without needing explicit words.

Then the guy advanced to the vending machine, inserted some coins, and also took a canned drink.
"I have to ask, now: does Jeon Jungkook always inspire such creative beverage distribution, or was that a special occasion?"

Taehyung scoffed. "Special occasion. Though he's working hard to earn an encore performance."

"I've only one class with him," Bogum said while opening the can. "Advanced Acting."

Taehyung rolled briefly his eyes: of course Jeon will also be in that class. But then he smiled. "So you're in Gong's class? Me too."

"Theater major," Bogum explained, taking a sip. "But I've always admired you multi-discipline artists. Dancing, singing, acting… it's like being fluent in multiple languages."

"It's more like being mediocre in multiple languages," he replied scoffing. "Jack of all trades, master of none. But hey, we try.”

“That does you credit.” The other smiled.

“What about Gong? You know him?” Taehyung hoped to get some more information on how to run his classes.

"No, I’m sorry.” Bogum said with a small smile. “Even when I left he was supposed to be teaching third year. But, I know that he worked with some avant-garde company in Berlin for years before coming back in Seoul."

"Sounds intense. In a good way."

"Yeah," Bogum agreed. "I'm actually looking forward to it. Could-"

Taehyung’s phone rang, interrupting them. Jimin's face lit up the screen.

"Sorry," he said, showing the phone to the other. "My roommate's probably wondering where I am."

"No worries," Bogum took a few steps back, as if to give him space. "I should head back anyway."

He answered the call with a quick, "Hey, I'll be there in a minute," before turning back to the guy. "Thanks again. For the coins and... you know. The conversation."

"Anytime," the other said, backing away. "See you in Gong's class?"

"Yeah," Taehyung nodded. "Save a seat for me if you get there first?"

"Will do," Bogum smiled, giving a little salute before turning to walk down the corridor.

He stood there for a moment, watching him go, feeling strangely lighter than he had all day. It wasn't until Jimin's voice grew louder through the phone that he realized he was still on the call.

"-you even listening? Where are you? I've been waiting for an hour! Where’s my banana milk!?"

"Brat," Taehyung scoffed, finally putting the phone properly to his ear as he headed toward the dorms. "I got held up."

He took one last glance over his shoulder, but Bogum had already disappeared around the corner. There was something about him, a familiar kind of pain carried with dignity, that resonated with him in a way he couldn't quite articulate.

Like recognizing a fellow soldier on a battlefield, both of them battling different enemies but understanding the same weariness.

As he walked back to his room, he found himself looking forward to Thursday's class for the first time in a long while. Maybe the semester wouldn't be all battles and struggles after all. Maybe there would be unexpected allies too.

Jimin was sprawled across the bed like a dying starfish.

“You left me to die,” he groaned. “I was starting to hallucinate.”

Taehyung tossed the drink and the food onto his chest. “You’re lucky I’m not the kind of person who lets his pregnant roommate suffer with cravings.”

His friend sat up instantly, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Are you calling me hormonal?”

He smirked, dropping his bag onto the floor. “Don’t be mad if the shoe fits.”

“I hate you.”

"No, you don't."

"No," Jimin admitted, miming a kiss. "I don't."

Chapter Text

The Acting Studio was unlike any other classroom at Seoul Arts Academy.

While other spaces maintained the pristine, sterile atmosphere of academic pursuit, Professor Gong's domain was deliberately chaotic: black curtains shrouded the windows; lighting fixtures hung at odd angles; walls plastered with theatrical masks from across the world, their frozen expressions ranging from ecstatic joy to profound agony.

The room itself was arranged in a circle of mismatched chairs: some plush and comfortable, others deliberately hard and angular.

No hiding in the back row here: in Professor Gong's space, everyone was equally exposed.

Taehyung hesitated at the doorway, scanning the room for a familiar face. Most seats were already taken, students having arrived early for the most anticipated class of the semester: maybe it was the way the chairs were arranged, but the room seemed packed, like the number of students had somehow tripled.

His eyes landed on a guy across the room who caught his gaze and waved him over to an empty seat he’d been saving. Taehyung hurried toward him, grateful.

“Ms. Chung wouldn’t let us out a second earlier,” he muttered as he slid into the chair. “Thanks for the save.”

Bogum chuckled, leaning back a little. “How are your legs holding up?”

“They’re basically jelly,” he said, stretching one out with a quiet groan. “She’s on a warpath this year. Probably has something to do with her being named artistic director for the next showcase.”

Bogum grinned. “You’ll be fine. You move like someone who knows how to fight back.”

Taehyung looked down, smile tugging at his lips. There was something about Bogum - his ease, his quiet steadiness - that made everything feel just a little lighter. His presence in that moment softened the edges of the room, like the volume had been turned down on everything stressful.

He let himself relax into the seat, finally letting his shoulders drop. He hadn’t even realized how tense they’d been since morning, how hard he’d been holding himself together under Ms. Chung’s cutting gaze during Contemporary. The woman had a sixth sense for imperfection and made sure everyone knew it.

"You look like you need coffee," Bogum said under his breath as more students filtered in.

"Or something stronger," he muttered, laughing softly. "Can you believe she made us repeat the same sequence for forty-five minutes straight?"

The other winced in solidarity. "Okay, so she’s actually a sadist. Got it."

That drew a genuine laugh from Taehyung, who rotated his sore ankle, subtle. Around them, the room was filling up, and his gaze flicked to the old theatrical masks lining the walls. Greek tragedy, Japanese Noh, Korean talchum, frozen expressions that had seen generations of actors pass through, all of them probably just as nervous as he felt now. There was some comfort in that.

Then Bogum leaned closer, voice low. “Are you free after class? My roommates and I are heading to that café near the river. The one with the roof garden?”

“Cloud Nine?”

“Yeah! They’ve got this lavender latte that’s supposedly life-altering. Jinyoung won’t shut up about it.”

Taehyung smiled before he could stop himself. The idea of sunlight, laughter, something other than schedules and aching limbs... it sounded perfect. But then he thought of his evening, how he’d planned to prep for Friday’s shift at the fast food place, how money was tight and splurging on overpriced lattes would only tighten the knot in his chest later.

Still, he didn’t want to explain any of that. He barely knew Bogum, but just enough to want to get close to him and not want to be pitied.

“I’d love to,” he said carefully, “but I promised my roommate I’d help him with something tonight. Rain check?”

Bogum didn’t press. He just nodded, smile still warm. “Sure.”

Taehyung exhaled, grateful for the easy out. And for a moment - brief and quiet - it felt like the weight of the semester had lifted, just a little.

But peace like that never lasted long.

He felt it. That prickling sensation. He didn't need to look to know.
But he did.

Across the room, just a few seats away, Jeon was watching him. Unblinking.

That same unreadable expression on his face - not quite smug, not quite blank. Something in between, and somehow worse than either. His dark hair, damp from Contemporary, still managed to fall artfully across his forehead, tousled in that effortless way that always looked intentional.

Taehyung could already hear the sighs from half the student body echoing in his head.

Right. Of course.
He was in this class too. Was there no fucking escape?

He tried to ignore him, tried to redirect his gaze, but his eyes slid past Jeon and caught on Jennie.

She was laughing softly at something Jisoo had murmured behind her hand, her hair swaying as she leaned in. Even after Contemporary, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine, not slumped in a campus seat like the rest of them.

Then she turned, just slightly, to whisper something to Lisa, brushing Jungkook’s arm as she moved.

It was barely a touch. So casual it should’ve gone unnoticed.

But Taehyung noticed.

Noticed the way her fingers lingered a second too long against Jeon’s skin. The way Jungkook didn’t flinch or pull away. The way his lips curved into a smile, small, private, and worse than all his public ones.

Something bitter curled in Taehyung’s stomach: he told himself it didn’t mean anything.

Couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

They weren’t anything to each other anymore. Whatever Jennie did, whoever Jennie looked at, was none of his business.

But still, his jaw tightened. His fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. Because it didn’t feel meaningless. Not when Jennie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and met Jeon’s eyes with that soft, familiar warmth.

And not when Jungkook finally looked away from her.

Only to look right at him.

That stare: intentional, calculated. Like he was making sure Taehyung had seen everything. Like he was laying out every lingering touch, every shared glance, like cards on a table.

And the message was clear:

You had to fight for her attention. I get it by breathing.

Bogum's voice broke through the static. "You good?"

Taehyung blinked and snapped back. "Yeah. Why?"

Bogum didn't answer right away. He followed the line of Taehyung's gaze, then one corner of his mouth lifted: not amused, not judging. Just noting.

"No reason," he said carefully, but his eyes held understanding.

Before Taehyung could say anything else, the door slammed shut at the front of the room with deliberate force. The class fell silent.

Professor Gong stood in the center of the circle, now: he was dressed impeccably in dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with lean muscle. Though in his mid-forties, he carried himself with the vitality of someone half his age, his chiseled features and intense eyes commanding immediate attention.

Silence fell instantly. Gong didn't move, didn't speak: simply observed each student with unnerving focus, as if peeling back layers to see what lay beneath their carefully constructed personas.

Finally, he smiled. But it did not reach his eyes.

"You're all terrible actors."

His voice was surprisingly melodic for such harsh words. A few students shifted uncomfortably.

"It's not an insult: it's a starting point." He began circling the room with predatory grace. "You come here thinking you understand performance because you can cry on command or recite Shakespeare, right?” He stopped smiling devilishly. “How adorable."

Everybody felt ravished.

Gong stopped abruptly in front of a student who was sitting particularly straight-backed.

"You. What's your name?"

"Park Beom Seok, sir."

"Stop performing the attentive student for me, Mr. Park. It's exhausting to watch."

Beom Seok blinked, his perfect posture faltering slightly.

The Professor continued his circuit. "True acting isn't about pretending. It's about revealing. Stripping away the lies you tell yourself." He paused. "Everyone in this room is a collection of masks. The face you show your parents. The face for your friends. The face for your lovers. The face you wear when you're alone, thinking no one is watching."

He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp as a gunshot.

"My job isn't to teach you how to add more masks to your collection. It's to rip them all off until there's nowhere left to hide. Only then can you truly inhabit another character, when you fully understand your own."

Taehyung felt something electric run down his spine. Around the circle, he could see a mixture of excitement and dread on his classmates' faces.

"Acting is dangerous," Gong continued. "Not physically, although there's that too, but… emotionally. Psychologically. If you're doing it right, it should terrify you. It should break you open. If you leave my class feeling comfortable, honestly… I’ve failed as your teacher."

He stopped in the center again.

"Many of you won't make it through this semester. Some will drop out. Some will ask for transfers. I welcome it. Better to confront your limitations now than waste your life pursuing a career you lack the courage for."

The silence was thick enough to cut.

Bogum and Taehyung looked at each other for a moment, raising their eyebrows.

"Now," his tone shifted abruptly to something almost cheerful, "let's get started with an exercise, shall we?"

Professor Gong surveyed the room, his gaze calculating. "For your first assignment, you'll be working in pairs. You are to create a three-minute scene that explores intimate betrayal. Not just romantic betrayal - although that's certainly an option - but the violation of deep trust. The most painful kind."

Students began glancing at each other, already mentally forming pairs.

"And to demonstrate what I'm looking for..." His eyes landed on Taehyung: he swallowed as the professor turned the right corner of his mouth up into a grin. "You. Name?"

"Kim Taehyung."

"And beside you?"

Bogum coughed, clearing his throat, "Park Bogum."

"Perfect. Mr. Kim, Mr. Park. Center, please."

Taehyung felt his pulse quicken. He was suddenly aware of how many eyes were on him: curious, evaluative, some lingering a little too long. He caught a flicker of movement across the room - Jennie, watching him with an unreadable expression before quickly turning to whisper something to Lisa and leaning to Jeon.

He was feeling like he'd been caught off guard in a spotlight he hadn’t asked for.

As they moved to the center, Professor Gong pulled two chairs and a little round table with them.

"Here's your scenario," he said, arranging the chairs to face each other, the table near to one of them. "You're brothers. You've been inseparable all your lives, protecting each other, surviving together. One of you has just discovered the other has been sleeping with his wife. For years. Just a trite motivation." He paused. "The betrayed brother has a gun in his pocket. He hasn't decided whether to use it."

Taehyung swallowed. The scenario crashed through him like a wrecking ball.

Images flashed unbidden in his mind - not of fictional characters, but of real people from his neighborhood. The cramped apartments with paper-thin walls where nothing stayed private. The complex web of relationships where everyone's business eventually spilled into the streets.

He remembered Mr. Park, three floors down from his home. A quiet man, dignified despite poverty. How the whispers started. How his wife would return late, perfume clinging to her clothes. How Mr. Park's brother would visit when he was at work.

Then that terrible morning. The shouting that woke the building. The single gunshot. The ambulance that arrived too late.

Taehyung had been fourteen, watching from his window as they carried the body out.

"Sir, do we need time to prepare or-" Bogum took Taehyung back to the acting room.

"No preparation. Life doesn't give you preparation time, why should I?" Gong's voice was sharp.

Taehyung found himself smiling discreetly: he always thought the same.

"Mr. Kim, you're the betrayed brother. Mr. Park, you're the guilty one. Begin whenever you're ready. And remember… I don't want to see you acting hurt or acting guilty. I want to see real vulnerability. Go."

Students leaned forward in their seats, notebooks open but forgotten.

Bogum leaned back slightly, taking the character's weight on his shoulders.

"Hyung," he said, softly. "Please, just… listen to me."

Taehyung blinked. He remained silent.

"I didn't mean-"

Gong's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Stop."

Both men froze.

"That's performance, Mr. Park," Gong said coldly. "It's safe. It's polished. It's dead. You're giving me theatre, not pain. You’re boring me."

A few students shifted uncomfortably. Someone scribbled something on a notebook with excessive force.

Bogum lowered his gaze, jaw tight. He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking around the room as if suddenly aware of how many people had been watching - and judging. A faint line of color rose in his cheeks, but he didn't say anything.

"Again!" Gong snapped, circling them like a hawk, "And the rest of you, take notes."

Taehyung, still seated across from him, kept his eyes on Professor Gong: his stare was razor-sharp, waiting. Not cruel, but surgical.

They started.

Bogum's voice cracked this time. "You don't understand, she came to me." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to look desperate.

But even Taehyung didn't buy it. It felt like watching a dress rehearsal.

"I didn't plan it! I swe-"

"STOP," Gong barked.

The word landed like a slap. Bogum looked at Taehyung trying to send him a desperate plea for help.

The professor stepped in closer this time, voice sharper, more biting.

"You're reaching for emotion like it's a prop. You're flailing, Mr. Park. Desperation isn't in the hands or the hair. It's in the gut.” He paused, eyes narrowing. "If you're trying to make us feel sorry for you… bad news. We already want your brother to kill you."

A couple of students let out nervous chuckles. Gong didn’t.

"Earn your audience’s pity, or earn their hatred. But don’t beg for either. It’s pathetic."

Bogum stared at the floor, jaw tense.

Gong's eyes slid to Taehyung. "Mr. Kim."

Taehyung looked up, his shoulders stiffening.

"You've been silent. Why? Are you peeing your pants?"

A ripple of restrained laughter passed through the room. Taehyung didn’t flinch. He held his gaze with determination and perhaps a modicum of cockiness, the kind he had learned to have.

“No.”

"Good. Let's see what you've got, then."

Taehyung shifted in his chair slightly, as if to brace himself.

“Start.”

He took a deep breath, settling into the chair.

The classroom disappeared. The watching students faded.

He wasn't sitting in a classroom anymore: he was in Mr. Park's cramped living room, the one he'd glimpsed through the open door when bringing his mother's kimchi as a gift. The smell of cheap cigarettes. The faded family portrait on the wall.

He let Mr. Park's quiet dignity flow through him, a man so deeply wounded that violence had turned inward rather than outward.

And maybe that was the trick: he didn’t have to reach for this feeling. It was already there.

On second thought, the betrayal was everywhere: in his neighborhood; in his family; in the academy; in Jennie.

In his own skin.

And in a twisted way, it made it easier. This wasn’t acting: it was memory.

He looked up at Bogum, who had already transformed, his usually bright expression clouded with guilt and fear: now he was believable, now he was good.

Taehyung let the silence stretch, his hand casually dropping to his pocket.

He didn't speak. Just watched.

The weight of the imaginary gun seemed to grow with each passing second. In his mind, it was Mr. Park's gun, the one that had ended everything.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, each word carrying the weight of stone.

"How long?"

The query hung in the air, deceptively simple, carrying the weight of a thousand unasked questions beneath it.

Bogum flinched at the quiet intensity. "Taehyung, I-"

"HOW. LONG." He barked, each word like thunder. Some students gasped.

"Three years," Bogum answered, his voice cracking. He swallowed, bringing a hand to his nose. His finger tried to wipe something that was not there.

"Three years.” Then Taehyung gave a bitter, breathless smile. His expression eerily calm.
A calm that frightened more than rage would. He let the words hang, the weight of them settling like ash. “Three fucking years while you looked me in the eye every day. While you held my children. While you sat at my dinner table.”

His voice remained soft, almost conversational, but there was something devastatingly raw beneath it, like touching the living flesh of a wound.

"I never meant for it to happen," Bogum leaned forward, desperate. "It was just once, at first. A mistake. And then-"

"And then you just kept making mistakes?" Taehyung's voice remained low, but something dangerous crept in. A tremor so slight it was almost imperceptible ran through his hands. "That's not a mistake, hyung. That's a choice."

The familiar term - hyung - landed like a blade between them. Familial intimacy turned like a weapon.

"I - I wanted to tell you so many times," Bogum's eyes glistened. "I hated myself every day."

"Not enough to stop." Taehyung looked at his hand on the near table. A pause. "Tell me something."

He leaned forward, voice dropping even lower. His elbows resting on his knees, his hands now clasped as if in prayer, white-knuckled. "When dad was dying, and I was spending my nights with him... were you with my wife then too?"

The question hung in the classroom. Raw. Brutal. His eyes held Bogum's with an intensity that made some students in the audience physically recoil.

Bogum's silence was answer enough.

Something broke behind Taehyung's eyes: not with rage, but with something worse.

Complete desolation.

His hand emerged from his pocket, empty. He placed the invisible gun on the table next to him. The gesture was so convincing that several students found themselves staring at the empty spot, as if the weapon were really there.

Bogum held his breath, unable to take his eyes off the spot on the table where Taehyung had placed the weapon. He looked at it as if it was really there.

"I didn't bring the gun for you," he followed Bogum's stare, his voice hollow, then he turned to look at him. "I brought it for me."

A pause that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Taehyung once again found himself fourteen, looking at the body that was taken away.

Not the wife. Not the brother.

Mr. Park himself.

Who couldn't bear the shame, couldn't live with the betrayal.

"How do you come back from that?” His voice cracked on the final word, revealing a glimpse of the devastation beneath the calm exterior. “I could survive the grief. Even the loneliness. But not this, not the betrayal that wore my brother’s face.” His eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide, spirited, a sick smile.

He took the gun and stood, abruptly.

Bogum grabbed his wrist. "Please. Don't. I can't lose you."

"You already did," Taehyung replied. "Three years ago."

The classroom was completely silent when they finished. Not the polite silence of an audience, but the stunned silence that follows witnessing something unexpectedly intimate.

Several students sat frozen, a few had tears in their eyes. One had her hand over her mouth.

Taehyung blinked, coming back to himself, suddenly aware of all the pairs of eyes fixed on them. He felt drained, hollowed out, as if he'd actually lived through the scene rather than performed it.

Professor Gong hadn't moved, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he simply stared at them both.

Then, quietly, with a gravity that hadn't been present before: "Very. Good."

He gestured for them to return to their seats.

"What you just witnessed," Gong continued, his voice softer than before, "wasn't perfect technique, sure. But it was honest. Vulnerable." He paced the circle again. "Mr. Kim accessed real emotions, not performed ones. Mr. Park responded to that truth. Neither of them worried about looking good or being likable."

He stopped in the center again.

"That's your first lesson. Acting isn't about being seen, it's about being revealed. When you perform your scenes next week, I don't want to see what you think good acting looks like. I want to see what terrifies you to show."

He checked his watch. "I will give you these remaining twenty minutes so that you can choose a partner and try to determine a scenario together. For next class, prepare your betrayal. No excuses."

As the students began talking amongst themselves, the energy in the room was electric: part excitement, part fear. It seemed that Professor Gong's reputation was well deserved.

"Taehyung," Bogum said quietly, "that was... amazing. You're really good, you know that? It was like... you weren't even there. Like someone else was sitting across from me. And the thing about the gun! Genius!"

Before Taehyung could respond, Professor Gong's voice cut through the murmur of the students.

"Mr. Kim. A moment."

Taehyung approached the professor, who was arranging papers on a small desk in the corner.

"Sir?"

Gong studied him for a long moment. "Where did you train before coming here?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't, sir. Not formally. Apart from the first two years with Professor Jung, of course."

"Interesting." The professor's gaze was penetrating. "You have raw talent. Unrefined, but genuine. That can't be taught. Either you have it or you don't."

"Thank you, sir."

"It wasn't a compliment," Gong replied. "Merely an observation. Raw talent is both a gift and a curse. It can make you lazy, reliant on instinct rather than technique."

Taehyung absorbed the criticism without flinching.

"You're carrying a lot of pain, aren't you?" Gong looked at him bluntly. "That's valuable for an actor, if you can control it rather than letting it control you."

He remained silent, unsure how to respond to having been read so accurately by someone who'd known him less than fifteen minutes.

"You may go." Professor Gong turned back to his papers.

Taehyung paused, feeling a chill run down his spine. He nodded once and walked away.

The students were buzzing.

Pairs had formed quickly, chairs pulled together, soft voices bouncing ideas, some already acting out emotional sketches.

Taehyung stayed seated, quiet. He sipped from his water bottle slowly, letting his body come down from the high of the scene, but not too fast. His nerves still tingled, and there was a hollowness behind his sternum he hadn't yet shaken.

The ghost of Mr. Park still lingered at the edges of his mind - the memory of that terrible morning, the shot that echoed through the building.

Bogum had gone to speak with another student who'd asked for his help. They weren't required to repeat the exercise, after all. The professor had made that abundantly clear.

He leaned back slightly, gaze sweeping the room.

Across the circle, Jennie was deep in conversation with Jeon, their heads slightly bowed toward each other. Whatever they were saying, it seemed to amuse the boy: he smiled that soft, closed-mouth smile that always looked slightly too practiced. Then she stood, walking toward Gong with purpose, and Jeon locked his eyes with Taehyung.

Jungkook wasn't smiling anymore, he wasn't scowling either. He was just... staring.

There was something in his expression Taehyung couldn't quite name. Not hatred. Not mockery. Something more unsettled. Like someone seeing a puzzle piece for the first time and realizing it might fit somewhere, but not knowing where yet.

Then Jungkook blinked, dropped his gaze, and looked toward Jennie.

Taehyung's fingers curled slightly around his water bottle.

He should not overthink. Those two have always attended the same circles, and have often shared classes together. It meant nothing to see them so close.

For a while, last year, Taehyung let himself believe it had been Jeon - or one of his friends - who drove her away from him: it was easier that way. Cleaner.
He didn’t want to face the much duller, much crueler possibility: that she had simply stopped wanting him.

Believing they had stolen her, meant he was still worth stealing.

The alternative made him feel discarded, like something forgotten on the side of the road.

But deep down, he knew. It hadn’t been Jeon. Or Yugyeom. Or any of the silver spoon fuckers.

He was the only problem.

When Professor Gong finally dismissed the class with a clipped "That's all," the energy shifted again. Students stood, conversations scattered, a few lingering glances cast toward him and Bogum.

Taehyung stood too, adjusting the strap of his bag.

Bogum reappeared at his side. "People are staring," he said, voice low.

"Let them," Taehyung muttered, already moving toward the door.

As they stepped into the hallway, Bogum added smiling, "You know, for a guy who says he's not trained, you made the rest of us look like amateurs."

Taehyung didn't answer right away. Then, over his shoulder, "That's just what happens when you've been living the betrayal."

*

The line for the showers was longer than usual, the hallway damp with steam and echoing with the sounds of running water and flip-flops against tile. Taehyung leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a towel slung over his shoulder. His muscles ached in that satisfying way that meant progress, but the thought of waiting another twenty minutes for a shower was making him reconsider the benefits of personal hygiene.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, sliding down to sit on his bag. "Why does it take months to fix a bathroom in this century?"

"Because," Jimin said beside him, scrolling through his phone with increasing frustration, "this building was constructed before Neanderthals, and the administration spends all their renovation budget on that stupid marble fountain Jeon's mother donated."

Taehyung snorted. "It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. Looks like a rejected prop from a dystopian soap opera."

Five other students crowded the narrow hallway ahead of them, all in various states of exhausted resignation. Hoseok had claimed the coveted first spot in line twenty minutes ago, his hair already wrapped in a towel-turban.

"Any movement?" Taehyung called out to him.

Hoseok shook his head. "Yoongi's been in there for fifteen minutes."

A collective groan rippled through the line for that shower. "Someone needs to check if he's still alive," another student chimed in. "Last time he fell asleep standing up."

"I’m NOT opening that door," Hoseok declared, raising his hands defensively. "I've seen things I can't unsee."

The guys weaved through the rows of showers like shoppers changing lanes in a supermarket, looking for a faster checkout

Jimin slid down next to Taehyung, his expensive shower products arranged neatly in a travel bag beside him. Unlike Taehyung, who considered a 3-in-1 body wash/shampoo/conditioner the height of luxury, Jimin treated his post-practice routine like a religious ceremony.

"Look at this," Jimin thrust his phone in Taehyung's face, showing a chat conversation. "I sent her that playlist I spent four hours curating. Four hours, Tae! And all she says is 'cool thx.'"

Taehyung squinted at the screen. "Yeji from Music Tech? The one with the blue hair?"

"The very one," his friend sighed dramatically, letting his head fall back against the wall. "I've been trying. I even pretended to understand what a granular synthesis module was for forty-five excruciating minutes today."

"Wow. That's love," he deadpanned.

"It's torture is what it is," Jimin groaned. "I spent more time on my hair this morning than I did stretching for Contemporary, and she didn't even look up when I walked into the Music Department."

"Maybe she was too blinded by your radiance," Taehyung offered, patting Jimin's knee consolingly.

"Or maybe," his friend sighed, "I'm just invisible to her. I've seen her laugh at Yugyeom's jokes, and he has the humor of a stale rice cake."

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. "Yugyeom? Please tell me you're not competing with that scumbag."

"I'm not competing," Jimin insisted, though his pout suggested otherwise. "I'm just trying to... strategically position myself as the superior option."

"By sending her playlists she responds to with 'cool thx'?"

Jimin jabbed an elbow into Taehyung's ribs. "At least I'm trying. When's the last time you showed interest in anyone?"

Taehyung's mind flashed briefly to Jennie at Gong’s Class, but he pushed the thought away stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm prioritizing."

"You're hibernating," Jimin corrected. "No, seriously," he persisted, turning to face him fully. "Have you even approached anyone since, what, last semester? You used to at least flirt occasionally."

Taehyung let out a soft laugh. "When would I have time for that?"

"I don't know. You had the whole summer. Three months is a long time."

"Three months of double shifts and sleeping four hours a night isn't exactly conducive to romance," he pointed out.

"No secret summer fling? Not even a casual hookup?" Jimin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Taehyung hesitated, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly. "There was this guy at the diner. A regular. We texted for a while."

"And?" Jimin perked up immediately, lowering his phone.

"And nothing. I think he was scared someone would find out he was into guys. Real closet case. Always deleted our conversations right after." Taehyung shrugged, his tone deliberately casual. "Wasn't worth the drama, honestly."

"That's rough," his friend said sympathetically. "Well, you’re famous now. Get in touch with someone on social. I’d go wild!"

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Why would I waste my time? It's just people who think they want to know the guy who stood up to Jeon. They wouldn't actually care about me."

"So cynical," Jimin tsked. "What if your soulmate is in there, desperately trying to reach you with heart emojis?"

"Then my soulmate needs higher standards," Taehyung scoffed.

From the front of the line, Hoseok suddenly whooped. "Movement! Yoongi's coming out!"

The entire line straightened up, like meerkats spotting a predator. Sure enough, the bathroom door swung open, releasing a cloud of steam and a very relaxed-looking Yoongi, his hair slicked back and a notebook clutched in his hand.

"What?" Yoongi asked innocently as five pairs of eyes glared at him. "I had an epiphany about the bridge section."

"In the shower?" Hoseok asked, already gathering his toiletries.

"Best acoustics on campus," Yoongi shrugged, completely unrepentant. "I solved the key change issue."

"I'd solve your existence issue if there weren't witnesses," Taehyung muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.

As Hoseok disappeared into the bathroom with a triumphant stride, Jimin turned back to his phone with renewed determination.

"You know what? I'm sending her a meme. A really specific music production meme that shows I've been paying attention." He began typing furiously.

"A bold strategy," Taehyung commented, leaning over to peek. "But maybe hold off on the fifteen heart emojis?"

"I was going to use three, max," Jimin protested.

"That's still two too many."

”One?”

”Granted.”

Jimin sighed, deleting the row of hearts. 

*

Shadows stretched across the common room, broken only by a dimmed floor lamp and the soft buzz above the vending machines. It was late enough that the crowd had thinned, but not so late that the place was dead. A few students were lounging on mismatched couches, scrolling through their phones or half-watching something muted on the TV mounted in the corner.

Taehyung and Jimin entered side by side, both still in their post-shower sweats, hair damp and skin flushed. Taehyung had one hand buried in his hoodie pocket, the other gripping a cold canned tea he'd grabbed on the way down. Jimin yawned theatrically, throwing his head back with such exaggeration that Taehyung snorted.

From across the room came Namjoon's voice, pitched high with indignation.

"I'm telling you, I heard it. Something slithered under my bed! It made that-" he made a hissing sound that resembled a deflating balloon, "-noise!"

Jackson, utterly unbothered, didn't even look up from the manga he was reading, one leg slung over the arm of his chair. "It was probably your sock, bro. Or your imagination. Or both."

"My sock doesn't hiss at me, bro!" Namjoon's eyes were comically wide. "And my imagination isn't that creative at 3 AM."

Yoongi was perched nearby on a high stool, sipping from a bottle of water with the energy of someone who'd rather be anywhere else. "You sure it wasn't your conscience?”

"What?" Namjoon snapped, pointing dramatically with both index fingers. "If I find scales on my sheets, I'm reporting you to the police. And animal control. And possibly an exorcist."

Jackson sighed, finally setting the book down with a theatrical slap. "First of all, Rambo doesn't even like your side of the dorm. He's a snake of taste and discernment. Second, most of the time he is in his shrine sleeping like royalty."

"Unbelievable," Namjoon muttered, sinking onto the armrest of the nearest couch, arms crossed tightly. "This is fuckin' unbelievable. One day I'll wake up dead."

"That's natural selection, babe," Jimin grinned, collapsing into the seat beside him and patting his knee with mock sympathy. "The weak-hearted are the first to go."

"Then why is Jackson still alive?" Namjoon retorted.

Just then, the vending machine beeped and whirred. Taehyung glanced over and saw Bogum bent to retrieve a can of tea. When he straightened, his hair was slightly mussed and his sweater collar sat askew, revealing a sliver of collarbone and a faint flush creeping up his neck. He spotted Taehyung and offered a smile - soft, a little too slow, but warm enough to feel private. He raised a hand in a lazy half-wave, fingers a little less precise than usual.

Taehyung's lips curved, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. He crossed the room with easy steps. “Hey.”

Bogum blinked a moment longer than necessary, then chuckled lowly.
“Didn’t expect to find you still awake,” the words smooth but slightly slurred at the edges.

Taehyung tilted his head, studying him. “You good? How was Cloud Nine?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” the other said quickly, brushing nonexistent lint off his sleeve. “I just… Cloud Nine was nice. The rooftop’s really something at night.”

“Jinyoung drag you through the whole menu?”

Bogum gave a soft laugh. “Pretty much. And I think the bartender liked him, which meant… rounds.” He lifted the can in his hand, examining it like it might save him. “This is damage control.”

Taehyung laughed under his breath. “So… you’re saying the lavender latte wasn’t enough hydration.”

Bogum leaned one shoulder against the vending machine, eyes playful but a little glassy. “Apparently, lavender and gin do not cancel each other out.”

“Duly noted,” he said, crossing his arms with a grin. “Should I walk you back before you fall asleep on the vending machines?”

Bogum smiled, the edges soft. “I’m not that far gone. Just... nicely marinated.”

Taehyung shook his head, still smiling, and motioned toward the seating area. “Come sit for a bit before you wander off and end up locked in the supply closet.”

His friend followed, obedient but clearly relaxed to the point of drifting. As they walked, his shoulder lightly bumped Taehyung’s once, unintentionally - or maybe not.

Taehyung grinned and gestured toward the group. “Let me introduce you the disaster crew.”

His friend looked at him with an amused look.

“Guys, this is Bogum, he’s in my acting class. Bogum, that’s Jimin and Yoongi, both third-years. And from the fourth: Jackson and the one currently spiraling into paranoia, Namjoon.”

Bogum gave a polite nod, then added a small smile.

Jackson tilted his head. “Wait, is this the guy who laughed at you for your trumpet?”

“Nope,” Taehyung replied, popping the tab on his canned tea. “That was BamBam. This one has a soul.”

Bogum chuckled quietly. “High praise. I think.”

There was a beat of silence, comfortable and casual, then Taehyung glanced around. “Where are the others?”

"Pretending to study," Yoongi said, gesturing broadly to the invisible masses.

"Or hiding from Rambo," Namjoon added grimly.

"Who is Rambo?" Bogum's eyebrows raised slightly.

Jackson leaned forward with folded hands, expression pained. "Please let's don't talk about this, I ask you please. My son has suffered enough today."

"Your son is cold-blooded and has no eyelids," Namjoon fired back.

"Like your ex," Jackson muttered, taking another sip of water.

Namjoon frowned, but Bogum laughed - perhaps a little too much compared to normal - eyes crinkling at the corners. "You guys are something."

"Adrenaline and spite," Taehyung said, finally speaking. "That's what this group runs on."

Bogum looked at him for a moment, like he wanted to say something more, something weighted, but just nodded, settling casually beside him on the couch arm. Their shoulders almost touched, and Taehyung felt a brief warmth through the fabric of his hoodie.

"Holy shit," someone said suddenly running from the hallway, phone held high like a torch. "Have you guys seen BamBam’s story?"

Taehyung turned slightly. Two second-year dance majors - Seojun and Hana - were hunched over a phone, eyes wide, mouths slightly open.

"It's like a fucking music video," Seojun added, swiping through with almost religious reverence. "Like something out of a Drake video, but... better?"

Yoongi leaned over from the couch, eyes half-lidded with practiced disinterest. "What is it now? More shirtless selfies with ring lights and The Weeknd lyrics?"

"Nah," Hana said, snorting. "They're throwing a party. Not just any party, a penthouse-level party. Pool, lights, dancers, the whole shebang-look at this!"

She turned her screen, and the students nearby all leaned in as if magnetized. The video was blurry from motion, loud with bass even on mute, but impossible to ignore: crystal-blue pool with underwater lights creating an ethereal glow, flashing LED panels pulsing in rhythm, people in swimwear dancing like they were on a high-budget set. A champagne bottle popped mid-clip, foam arcing through the air like fireworks. Someone did a backflip into the pool, emerging with hair slicked back like a commercial.

Namjoon whistled low. "They really live like that, huh?"

"Jeon, BamBam, Mingyu, Yugyeom," Hana counted off on her fingers, excited, as if he were talking about a group of idols. "Apparently they all share that place."

Taehyung didn't say anything. He just sipped his canned tea, eyes fixed ahead, expression deliberately blank. But there was a tightness to his jaw that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Oh my god," Seojun blurted, nearly dropping the phone. "Okay wait-look at this one. Look."

The next story clip was grainier, shot in lower light, but unmistakable. Jeon sat in the center of a velvet lounge chair, shirt half-open to reveal toned abs glistening slightly from the humidity - seemed a bit drunk. Two girls were draped over him, one on each side, both gorgeous in the way that felt curated for social media. He turned to the first one and kissed her deeply, tongue visible, hand sliding up her neck in a possessive gesture. The camera lingered, then he turned to the second and kissed her the same way, slower this time, more deliberate, as if aware of every eye watching.

There was a collective pause in the common room. Someone whispered damn under their breath.

"Wow," Jackson said finally. "Okay, Jeon's not shy tonight. Or any night, apparently."

"He's running a harem," Namjoon muttered, leaning back. "Must be exhausting being that rich."

Jimin grimaced, looking away. "Classy. A public make-out montage."

Yoongi scoffed, the sound sharp in the momentary quiet. "The modern mating ritual of the trust fund kid."

Bogum gave a small shake of the head, chuckling. "That's... a lot of energy for a Thursday. I have been out one afternoon and I feel devastated."

"Those kids don't have weekdays," someone added dryly from across the room. "Their calendar just says 'party' on every day."

Taehyung didn't move. He hadn't looked at the phone directly. But he didn't have to. The image had already landed. Sharp. Sticky. Impossible to unfeel. For a moment he wondered if Jennie had ever been to one of those parties.

What a question, of course she had been there.

He took another slow sip of his tea, his expression unreadable. But his knuckles had whitened slightly around the can.

"I mean..." Seojun said, still glued to the screen, swiping through more stories with increasing awe, "you gotta admit... they're living the dream. Pool, penthouse, girls on their lap and it's just a random weeknight. What more could you want?"

"Maybe a personality," Jimin muttered under his breath. "Or the ability to kiss someone without documenting it for your followers."

"I don't know," Hana mused, chin in hand. "There's something about Jeon..." Her eyes full of little hearts.

Taehyung mimicked vomiting.

"It's called money," Yoongi said flatly.

But before anyone could respond, the quiet of the common room was shattered by the sudden, rapid-fire ding of Taehyung's phone.

Ping. Ping. Pingpingping. Pingpingpingpingpingping.

Everyone turned, the barrage of notifications like gunfire in the relative quiet.

Taehyung sighed and pulled the phone from his pocket, face already sour, as if he'd been expecting this intrusion all along.

He didn't even look at the screen, just tapped the side button to silence it. Then, under his breath: "I already muted the app for twelve hours. It doesn't stop. It's like they have a direct line to my nervous system."

Jimin leaned over, curiosity piqued. "Damn… Still the cocktail thing?"

Taehyung gave a humorless laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. He held up the screen briefly: dozens of red notification bubbles layered over his social media apps, a digital rash spreading across the display. The DM icon looked like it was begging for help, the number beside it almost comical.

"Likes, comments, reactions, DMs from strangers," he said, rubbing at his temple with long fingers. "It seems everyone's got something to say."

Jimin frowned, leaning closer. "Can I see?"

Taehyung handed the phone over with casual detachment. "Knock yourself out." He leaned back on the couch, eyes closed, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the last of his tea.
"If it weren't for my family," he murmured, voice low enough that only those closest could hear, "I'd toss that thing into the Han River and become a hermit."

The words weren't dramatic. Just tired.

And honest.

Jimin didn't say anything at first. Just scrolled through the feed in silence, his expression shifting from concern to amusement with every swipe. Then his eyebrows slowly rising, eyes widening incrementally.

"Oh my god," he muttered. "You're trending. Like, actually trending. There's a hashtag. #CocktailKim."

"Great," Taehyung said flatly. "Can't wait for the sponsorship."

Jimin ignored him, squinting at the screen with increasing delight. "Okay, listen to beat_junkie: ‘He throws drinks like he's auditioning for Macbeth.' That's... kind of iconic, not gonna lie."

Laughter rippled through the room.

"Oh, here's another: on_myown writes 'Kim, step on me and spit in my face.'"

Jackson choked on his soda, sputtering. "What the- people are wild!"

"Wait, wait," Jimin continued, scrolling faster now. "at.the.tip.96: 'The way he stood there after, not even caring, just STANDING there with that FACE.'"

Namjoon leaned over with renewed interest. "What!? Let me see."

"Oh, this is gold," Jimin continued, his voice rising with each discovery. "sweet_paprika: 'POV: You're the cocktail and Kim Taehyung is about to throw you.' They made EDITS? With MUSIC?"

"People have too much time," Yoongi muttered, but he was smirking slightly.

"Wait," Jimin said, tapping rapidly. “I have a feeling we will find worse in the DMs.”

“Please, don’t.” Taehyung closed his eyes, surrendering.

"This one. Username's _re:quiet."

Taehyung tilted his head, bringing a hand to his forehead, letting out a sigh.

Jimin cleared his throat dramatically and began reading aloud in a sultry voice that made Taehyung roll his eyes.

'I watched that video fifty times. The way your eyes darkened just before - perfect.'

"Jesus," Namjoon muttered, half-fascinated.

‘That anger of yours. It makes me horny as hell.”

"Okay, what-" Jackson was half laughing, half horrified. "That's not a DM, that's the beginning of a fanfic by Yoongi."

“Fuck you.” He frowned. All of them laughing.

"Hold on, it gets better," Jimin said, grinning now, eyes scanning ahead.

'I'd love to see what you can do with that mouth of yours. I bet you bite.'

A collective "OOOOOH" erupted from the couches.

Even Taehyung barked out a surprised laugh, scrubbing the hand over his face. "Come on," he groaned. "It's probably some freshman girl with an anonymous account and too many romance novels. Or a bot farming engagement."

Bogum inclined his head, “Not necessarily a girl. Maybe too explicit.”

Jackson scoffed. “Spoken like someone who’s never seen horny Twitter at 2 a.m. Trust me, girls can write filth that would make Freud cry.”

Jimin kept scrolling, smiling, eyes widening. "They've messaged you... a lot. All like this. Some longer. Some... much more… detailed."

"I rest my case," Taehyung said, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice now.

"Bet they're in this Academy," Namjoon said, smirking. "In the dance department. Maybe someone from ballet. Those types are intense."

"Could be one of you losers," Taehyung said with mock suspicion, pointing around the circle. "Trying to mess with me. Yoongi?"

Yoongi didn't even look up from his water bottle. "I wouldn't waste my best material on your DMs."

Taehyung snorted. "Fine. Jackson, then."

Jackson raised his hands in dramatic surrender. "I'm offended. I'd at least invite you to dinner before I asked you if you bite in bed. I'm a gentleman."

Everyone laughed, the tension breaking.

"Listen to this one," Jimin continued, suddenly serious. "I’m jealous of everyone who can look at you all the time. I want you just for myself."

A slight hush fell over the group.

"Okay, that's either extremely romantic or extremely concerning," Namjoon observed. "Possibly both."

Taehyung leaned back, a crooked grin spreading across his face despite himself. "Whoever it is, they're probably obsessed. Wouldn't be the first time."

He took another sip of tea, the can now nearly empty, condensation wetting his fingers.

Suddenly Bogum stood, stretching lazily, the movement a little slower than usual. He wobbled slightly as he reached for the last sip from his can, missing the mouth of it by a fraction before correcting with a small grin. His phone slipped into the pocket of his hoodie with a bit more fumbling than finesse. When he looked at Taehyung, his eyes were a touch glassy, not drunk, but just soft enough to be telling.

“I’d stay for the dramatic reading,” he said with a lopsided smile, “but unlike you nocturnal gremlins, I still have half a paper to finish before dawn. Wish me luck.”

“Boo,” Jimin said, flopping onto a pillow and hurling another one at him. “Abandoning us for productivity? Get out.”

Bogum caught it, barely. His reflexes were slower, and he blinked down at the pillow like it had surprised him. Then he looked back at Taehyung, something quieter edging into his voice. “Hey… don’t get too famous without me, alright?”

There was a flicker in his tone, playful, but with a tired undertow. The kind of thing you say when you mean something else, but don’t have the words to explain it.

“Impossible,” Taehyung called after him, watching him sway slightly as he waved and padded off down the hall. He stared at the empty doorway a second too long, the ghost of Bogum’s smile still hanging in the room.

There was something about that boy that touched him. Maybe it was the way Bogum seemed to carry things, quietly, gently, like the weight of them might tip if he moved too fast. Or maybe the way his shoulders sloped just slightly, as if always bracing against something invisible. Or the way he smiled, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to.

It made Taehyung’s chest ache, just a little. A kind of quiet sorrow for a softness he recognized but didn’t know how to reach.

"Yo. They're online." Jimin turned back to Taehyung's phone and blinked.

"Who?" Taehyung asked, confused.

"_re:quiet. Look, they're typing. They saw you visualized."

There was a pause, the familiar three dots flickering under the last message like a heartbeat.

Then a new line appeared:

[23.20] finally
[23.20] was starting to think u weren’t into attention
[23.20] or just not mine?

Namjoon snorted. "Bro’s been glued to the chat like a maniac."

Jimin laughed. "We should reply. Just to see what happens."

"Don't," Taehyung said, shaking his head, still smiling but with a new wariness. "Just block them."

"Where's your sense of adventure? I told you, they could be your soulmate." Jimin teased.

Taehyung snorted, but another message popped up almost immediately:

[23.23] why so quiet?

He sent a glance of sufficiency. “They’re probably a production freak who has never seen the light of day,” he muttered, but something on the screen made him stop.

[23.24] guess gong was right
[23.25] that scene hit too close huh
[23.25] felt real bc was real
[23:25] u too scared to trust anyone
[23:26] not even thru a screen

Jimin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? They were watching you in class?"

Taehyung frowned. More dots, pulsing hypnotically.

[23:27] that hand of yours
[23:28] bet it feels goooooood
[23:28] when it’s not holding a gun

There was a beat of silence as everyone processed this.

[23:28] i want ur mouth
[23:29] nowwww
[23:29] rough
[23:29] hard enough to bruise
[23:29] wanna see wat u do when no 1s watching
[23:29] i bet you fuck like a beast
[23:30] proooove me right

Then the room erupted.

"Okaaaaaaay, what the actual fuck," Namjoon laughed, nearly choking on his water. "That escalated quickly!"

"Jesus," Jackson said, holding up his hands in surrender. "They have very specific fantasies."

Jimin leaned forward, wheezing. "This type's insane. I'm dying. I'm actually dying. This is better than any dating app interaction I've ever had."

Even Yoongi gave a low whistle.

Taehyung stared at the screen, his brow furrowing. The grin faded just slightly. "Alright," he said, voice quiet but firm. "That's... getting weird."

He reached over and plucked the phone from Jimin's hands, locking the screen with a decisive tap.

"Too much. Way too much."

Taehyung leaned back against the couch, tossing his phone onto the cushion beside him like it might bite. "I'll block them and I’m gonna change my number."

"Too late," Jimin smirked. "You're already the main character in their delusions. Next they'll be writing you into their diary with little hearts."

"Or making a shrine," Namjoon added helpfully.

Taehyung groaned. "Thanks for that image."

Namjoon stretched, cracking his knuckles. "You joke, but one of my friends had a stalker last year. Started with vague DMs, ended with the guy showing up at his part-time job."

"God," Jackson said, grimacing. "That's why I don't trust anyone who writes behind strange accounts.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Well,” Taehyung said dryly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a grin. “I’m apparently a national sex icon now.”

“#CocktailKim supremacy,” Jackson said, raising his can like a toast.

“Long may he pour,” added Jimin, solemnly.

Laughter rippled again through the room. Someone yawned. Someone else turned down the volume on the TV, now playing an old rerun no one was really watching.

The mood softened.

The hour got late.

When Taehyung collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the sound of Jimin applying his various lotions and serums filled the comfortable silence between them. It was familiar, this nighttime routine they'd established three years ago: Jimin with his elaborate metrosexual skincare regimen, Taehyung watching with bemused affection.

The ceiling above him had a water stain, a vague shape that could looked like a bird, or could looked like a ship, maybe depending on the mood.

For Taehyung that night it looked like nothing at all.

Outside, the campus was finally settling down. He found himself glancing at his silenced phone, thinking about anonymous admirers and his kind of anger that supposedly makes people horny. He scoffed a silent laugh.

His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. His thoughts drifted back to Gong’s class.
The weight in his chest hadn’t really lifted since that scene: the way it had cracked something open inside him he didn’t entirely know how to close.

Two brothers. One betrayal.

Taehyung reached for his phone again, thumbing over the dark screen.
He scrolled through the unread DMs, the likes, the comments still coming in - noise. All of it noise.

Then he opened his brother’s chat.
The last message was still his.

He hovered over the text box. Typed nothing.

And closed it again.

Chapter Text

From _re:quiet:

[06:08] did u block me?
[06:08] ah no
[06:08] wow
[06:08] thanks
[06:08] i would've blocked me

The morning light cast thin stripes across Taehyung's face. A string of new notifications had woken him earlier than he'd planned, and he'd nearly thrown the device across the room.

The anon seemed to have deleted all messages from the previous evening.

[06:10] about last night
[06:10] i went too far
[06:11] i know
[06:11] i get like that when i drink
[06:11] not an excuse

He stared at the messages, thumb hovering over the block button. But he didn't press it. He let out a sigh, dropped the phone onto his chest, and stared at the ceiling. The water stain that had looked like nothing, now resembled a melting ice cream. Fitting his mood.

[06:12] i'm not actually trying to freak u out
[06:12] or make u uncomfortable
[06:12] though i probably did both
[06:13] so
[06:13] sorry for that

More notifications kept coming. He picked up the phone again with passive curiosity. He scrolled through the messages, his expression impassive.

[06:15] i deleted everything
[06:16] sorry
[06:16] didn't think u'd actually read any of that

"For fuck's sake," he muttered, dropping his phone onto the bedside table without bothering to reply. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, blinking away the heaviness of his interrupted sleep. The phone buzzed again on the nightstand, but he didn't reach for it.

Instead, he glanced over at Jimin's bed, where his roommate was still dead to the world, a plush sleep mask pulled snugly over his eyes. Taehyung snorted softly at the ridiculous cartoon eyes printed on the fabric: wide open and almost comically alert, a stark contrast to his friend’s actual state of unconsciousness. The mask had been a gag gift from Hoseok last Christmas, but Jimin had embraced it with unexpected enthusiasm.

The phone buzzed once more. Taehyung ignored it, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching his arms above his head until his spine cracked satisfyingly.

"Mmm, what time is it?" Jimin pushed the sleep mask up onto his forehead like some bizarre headband.

"Too early," he replied, standing up and padding toward his dresser. "Go back to sleep."

His friend propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at Taehyung. "Let me guess, quiet something is blowing it up again?"

Taehyung shrugged, pulling out a clean t-shirt. "Apparently they're very sorry. And embarrassed."

"Let me see," Jimin said, suddenly more awake, making grabby hands toward the nightstand.

"Be my guest.”

His roommate scrambled across his bed, snatching Taehyung's phone and quickly scanning the messages. His eyebrows rose higher with each line.

"Wow, they're in full panic mode," he said, looking up at him with an amused expression. "Why have you not responded?"

"Why would I?" Taehyung pulled his shirt over his head, his voice momentarily muffled by the fabric. "It's just a weirdo with too much time on their hands."

"But they're an interesting weirdo," Jimin countered, still scrolling. "Oh, look at this latest one-"

[06:20] i'll stop now
[06:20] just
[06:21] forget it

"They're spiraling," his friend said, delighted. "It's kind of adorable, actually."

He snorted, pulling on his jeans. "There's nothing adorable about someone who gets drunk and sends erotic messages to strangers."

"Come on," Jimin said, sitting up fully now, "everyone's done embarrassing stuff when they're drinking. At least they're apologizing."

"Mmm." His noncommittal response conveyed his complete lack of interest.

"You're not even a little curious about who it could be?" The other pressed, setting the phone down. "I mean, they were watching you in Gong's class. They could be anyone."

"That's the problem," Taehyung said flatly. "They could be anyone. Including one of Jeon's minions trying to mess with me."

Jimin considered this, head tilted. "Fair point. Though it would be kind of poetic if you ended up hooking up with someone from Jeon's circle." His lips curved into a mischievous smile. "The ultimate revenge."

"Not happening," his tone final as he grabbed his towel and toiletry bag. "I'm blocking them after my shower."

"Sure you are," Jimin said, unconvinced. "But consider this: when's the last time someone was this interested in you?"

"You mean obsessed? I'm good, thanks."

"I'm just saying," the other continued, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, "yesterday you were telling me how you're too busy for relationships, and now the universe delivers someone who's clearly into you-"

"Into a version of me they've built in their head," Taehyung corrected, snorting. "They don't know me. They just like the idea of the guy who threw a drink."

"So? Show them the real you," his friend suggested, throwing his hands up. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"They could be a psychopath?" He offered dryly. "Listen, I'm going to shower," then he said firmly. "And when I get back, I'm blocking them."

"At least respond first," Jimin called after him. "Tell them thanks but no thanks. Be a gentleman."

He paused, his hand on the doorknob. For a brief moment he felt a twinge of curiosity, but it was quickly replaced by his usual nonchalance. "Fine. I'll say goodbye before I block them. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," the other replied, flopping back onto his pillow. "My little Taehyungie, all grown up and letting people down gently."

He rolled his eyes. "And then I'm blocking them," he repeated, more to himself than to Jimin, as he stepped into the hallway.

The other grinned. "We'll see."

*

Taehyung winced as he peeled off his shirt, every motion tugging at overstretched muscles. He was still wearing the same black t-shirt and grey joggers he'd worn all last year without issue, but this year, Ms. Choi had locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.

"Next class, black leotards only!" Hoseok mimicked Ms. Choi's clipped tone as he toweled off his hair. "I haven't worn a leotard since first year. Do I even still own one?"

"I'll have to buy one for sure," Taehyung muttered, doing mental math he didn't like the answer to.

Steam clung to every surface of the locker room, curling around their bare skin and filling the air with damp heat. The hiss of showers, the quiet thud of footsteps, the low groans of sore muscles echoed off the tiled walls, blending with muttered curses and dripping sweat.

"She's no joke," Hoseok sighed, flopping onto the bench. "Mr. Sin let us wear whatever as long as we moved."

"God, I miss him. Ms. Choi doesn't hold back," Jimin added, rubbing at his shoulder.

"Well, she sure liked you," the other said, bumping his elbow against his friend. "'Good extension, Mr. Park. Beautiful lines, Mr. Park.'"

Jimin flushed a little but puffed up his chest in mock pride. "She still critiqued my turnout. And my adagio posture."

Taehyung laughed. "Oh, you'll be fighting off solo offers by next months. Ms. Choi and Ms. Chung are going to claw each other's eyes out over you."

The other held out his hands in mock embarrassment. "Finish it. And don't jinx me."

Hoseok reached over and ruffled Jimin's hair. "You better keep it short. If it gets too long, she'll make you do a perfect bun before you even breathe, like, so tight it could give you a facelift."

Taehyung grinned.

"Did you see Jennie Kim after she got yelled at about her hair? She looked like she got hit by a bus."

A cold sensation slid down Taehyung's body, fast, sharp, like a shiver that had nowhere to land. He didn't say anything, just pulled his towel tighter around his neck, trying to shake off Hoseok's words.

"Even Jisoo nearly cried," his friend added. "And-" he bent in front, laughing out loud. "-Yugyeom? When Ms. Choi said his plié looked like he was sitting on a toilet," he snorted, then quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn't heard.

Taehyung let out a small snort, but then his voice turned sharp. "Yeah... well. She went easy on some people, though."

Jimin shot him a cautious glance, signaling toward the showers.

"What?" His voice was louder now, purposely carrying. "I flinch once and I'm apparently having a seizure. Jeon messes up his arabesque and she calls it elegant restraint. Who the fuck is he? Baryshnikov?"

The other buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with a laugh. "He's clean," he said carefully. "His technique's solid."

"His technique's soulless," Taehyung snapped. "He moves like he has a broomstick up his ass."

Some low snorts came from the other side of the lockers: people unseen, but clearly listening.

Taehyung smiled, no humor in it.

His mind flashed to Jeon with his arms around two giggling girls at his penthouse. The effortless way he'd leaned in to kiss first one, then the other, his smile easy and practiced. The memory made something twist in his gut.

"Must be nice," he muttered, voice dropping. "Getting praised for mediocrity. Having your dad's name plastered across half the studios doesn't hurt either."

He remembered the second-years in the common room, huddled around their phones.

You gotta admit... they're living the dream!

There's something about Jeon…

And then there was those anonymous messages… No name, no context. Just a pre-set avatar. Taehyung couldn't shake the feeling that it might be someone who wanted to mock him, maybe from Jeon's circle - maybe even one of those two girls, or some other slave - waiting to see if he'd take the bait.

They'd probably laughed about it after, seeing that he'd viewed the messages. Another way to make him feel small.

A pause over the room, then the hiss of a shower stopped, the sudden silence deafening. Footsteps echoed: wet, conscious, each one louder than the last.

Jeon stepped out from behind the partition, a towel slung low on his hips, water still clinging to his skin in thin rivulets. His hair dripped steadily, dark strands plastered to his temples and neck. He wasn’t strutting like usual. His movements were slower, like he’d stayed under the spray too long on purpose, like he wasn’t quite ready to face the room on the other side of the steam.

He wasn’t the only one walking through campus like a ghost that morning. Students whispered with sunglasses on indoors, nursing iced coffees like IV drips. Someone had thrown up near the sculpture courtyard. The fallout of the penthouse party was written across everyone’s faces.

Jeon didn’t look at Taehyung. Not directly. His gaze flicked down to the tiles, then to his locker, then back again. There was a subtle tension in his shoulders, a tightness that didn’t fit with the effortless, magnetic image Jeon Jungkook wore so easily everywhere, especially on social media. Faint bruises marked his collarbone: one, just beneath his jaw, bloomed fresh and dark like spilled ink.

Taehyung’s jaw locked the moment he saw it: it was all so fucking unfair.

"Fucker," he spat, the word venomous in the humid air.

Jungkook's head snapped up then, his eyes meeting Taehyung's for a brief moment before sliding away again. "If you've got something to say, Kim, say it to my face."

His voice was low but carried perfectly across the room. Despite the challenge in his words, there was a slight reluctance in his tone.

Taehyung didn't flinch. He met Jeon's averted gaze, eyes hard, jaw locked. "Just admiring how convenient it must be to have your family name engraved on half the campus," he said. "Must save you a lot of effort."

Everybody went quiet: even the water dripping from the showerhead sounded sharper.
Jeon stepped forward, slow, unbothered, until the overhead lights caught the wet curve of his arm. That's when Taehyung saw it: black ink curling along Jungkook's right bicep, winding down his forearm. Tiger lilies, sharp and detailed, wrapped around script in clean, elegant strokes.

Taehyung's lips curled. He leaned toward Jimin, his voice pitched to carry without needing volume. "Nice tattoos. Very edgy. Bet daddy’s thrilled."

His friend scoffed and turned away.

Jungkook's jaw twitched, a tiny movement that betrayed his composure. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else, something different, his eyes briefly meeting Taehyung's with an unreadable expression before shuttering closed again.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, smirking, sensing weakness like a shark scents blood. "What's next? A little teardrop tattoo under the eye? Maybe a quote about pain under your ribs so people know you suffer in your five-bedroom penthouse?"

He dragged a finger down his own cheek in mock-despair, pout and all. Like some tragic soap-opera lead.

Jungkook’s stare didn’t waver. He followed the movement, slow. When Taehyung’s hand dropped, Jeon’s eyes stayed on his lips.

"Why do you care about my tattoos?" His eyes moved up, meeting his. "Do you want them as well? Trouble deciding between groceries and ink?"

Someone coughed awkwardly from the shower area, someone scoffed. Taehyung's fingers curled into fists.

Jungkook's eyes tracked the movement, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face, though it seemed almost forced. "Oh, did I hit a nerve?” he added, quieter now. “Sorry. Forgot we’re supposed to pretend your starving artist thing isn’t a performance."

Yugyeom slid in like a shadow, his gaze raking over Taehyung's bare torso with exaggerated concern. "Damn, what happened?" he said, bringing a hand to his mouth with theatrical shock. "Did they cut your food budget?"

The jab was very mean. Taehyung had always been strong, but lean - sometimes from training, sometimes from skipping meals. Normally, the layers he wore disguised it.

Maybe not today.

"Wait-" Yugyeom tilted his head, feigning thought. "Are you prepping for Les Misérables? Cause I'm really getting tragic-orphan vibes." His pout was cartoonish, his grin smug, deliberately ignoring the way Taehyung's expression hardened.

The other leaned in slightly, then, voice dropping like they were sharing a secret: “Method-acting, right?” He smiled, like he was offering praise.

Taehyung’s jaw twitched. He didn’t move, didn’t blink: he just stared. Eyes turning flat and cold as frozen.

Then Yugyeom chuckled and added, soft like a dagger: “You’re really committing… Just a few more skipped meals and they’ll let you die on stage for real!”

Jungkook's eyes darted between his friend and Taehyung, clearly uncomfortable. His lips parted like he wanted to say something. But then he closed again.

A few low laughs flickered from behind the lockers, emboldening him.

Taehyung could already feel the satisfying crack of his knuckles against Yugyeom's smug face, the way Jungkook's cool façade would shatter when confronted with something real for once.

One punch. That's all it would take. It would destroy his face for months.

But then he observed the tension in his friends' backs: Hobi's low look, Jimin feigning disinterest, as if they already knew where that discussion was going. Then Professor Ko's voice echoed in his mind, clear as if the man were standing right beside him:

You will keep your personal drama out of the Academy!

His entire demeanor shifted then. The anger that had been building suddenly cooled, hardening into something else entirely. He straightened his spine, rolled his shoulders back, and let out a soft exhale that seemed to expel not just air but any interest he had in continuing that exchange.

"Wow. Creative," he said, voice low and flat. His eyes glazed over with calculated boredom as they swept past Jeon and Yugyeom like they were nothing more than furniture.

He stood and turned back to his locker, shoulders relaxed in a way that took every ounce of his performance training. "Chim, you still have that extra shirt? This one's done for."

The abrupt shift was jarring. Even his friend looked momentarily confused before tossing him a clean black t-shirt from his bag. "Yeah, here." He looked at him uncertainly. "You heading to History now?"

Taehyung pulled the shirt over his head with casual ease. "Yeah." He zipped his bag closed with slowness, not sparing another glance in the fuckers' direction.

The locker room held its breath. The explosion never came. Only silence: thick, disappointed.

"Walking away, Kim?" Yugyeom called surprisingly, his voice a fraction louder than necessary. "That's new. Thought running your mouth was your only talent."

When his gaze did accidentally brush past Yugyeom, his eyes didn't linger. Instead, he looked through him, beyond him, as if he were made of glass.

"You hear something?" Taehyung asked Hoseok with confusion, tilting his head slightly. "Weird echo in here today."

Hoseok's lips quirked up. "Just the pipes," he replied, shouldering his bag. "Old building."

Yugyeom's mouth tightened, his fingers curling.

Taehyung slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave, Jimin and Hoseok at his sides.

He scoffed, and let the door close behind him like punctuation. Only then he let his shoulders drop, exhaling a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Holy shit," Hoseok whispered. "I thought you were going to deck them!"

"So did I," Taehyung admitted, his voice smaller now, the facade cracking just a little. His hand trembled slightly as he ran it through his damp hair. "I almost did."

"What stopped you?" Jimin asked, incredulously. “I wouldn't stop.”

Taehyung shrugged, the movement tight and controlled. "My place in this school's worth more than their ego." He straightened again, jaw set with determination. "Besides, nothing pisses off people more than realizing you don't give a shit about them."

He couldn't help but glance back once at the closed door, wondering if the fuckers were still standing there, waiting for a fight that wasn't going to happen. The thought brought a small, genuine smile to his lips for the first time that day.

Scumbags.

Let them wait.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Various notifications dropped down on his desk, but he chose the only one from _re:quiet:

[10:57] still no blocking?
[10:58] wow
[10:58] guess it’s my lucky day then

He stared at it for a long moment before shoving the phone back into his pocket, unease prickling at the back of his neck.

*

Seoul's evening lights flickered on as dusk settled over the city, but inside Maangchi's - the small restaurant, the warmth and chatter created a bubble that felt miles away from campus rivalry.

Taehyung slurped his noodles, letting the broth burn away the lingering tension from a day of Ms. Choi's brutal critiques. Across from him, Seojoon was attempting to balance an improbable amount of noodles on his chopsticks while Wooshik snapped a photo.

"You're going to drop that all over yourself," Hyungsik warned, not looking up from meticulously arranging his own bowl for maximum aesthetic appeal.

"I've never dropped noodles in my life," Seojoon declared, just before half his payload slipped back into the bowl, splashing broth onto his sleeve. "Fuck!"

Taehyung snorted, nearly choking on his own mouthful.

Wooshik scrolled through the photos he'd taken, grinning. "Perfect timing. This is going straight to my story."

"You post that and I'm throwing your phone in the soup," the other threatened with no real heat behind it.

Taehyung settled back in his chair, feeling the day's weight lifting off his shoulders.

Here, with his friends, he could breathe. No one of them cared about his turnout or arabesque or whether his leotard was black or multicolor. No one was watching his ribs or his every move, waiting for him to fail.

"So, Taehyung," Hyungsik said, finally satisfied with his bowl's arrangement and snapping his own photo, "what do you think about the student rep elections next week? Anyone running from your group?"

He shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. "Seokjin-hyung. We talked about it some days ago, but he hasn't brought it up again, so I'm not sure if he's still going for it."

"Jin would be good," the other nodded. "He's got that... what do you call it? Presidential aura."

"Charisma," Hyungsik supplied.

"That, plus he's not afraid to call out the administration when they're being dicks," Taehyung added. "Remember when he got them to extend studio hours during finals week?"

“He had the courage the actual rep didn’t.” Wooshik added.

“I heard a second-year's running too. Yeonjun? Apparently he’s got a pretty vocal fanbase."

"Yeonjun?" Taehyung said, surprised. “He’s good. Confident as hell.”

“Indeed. He’s got this whole young reformer thing going. Says he wants to push for mental health funding and more scholarships.”

“Honestly?” Wooshik said, “He might just pull it off. He’s not attached to any clique. Everyone feels like they can trust him.”

“Yeah, but that’s exactly why the snakes will come for him, and I’m not talking about Rambo,” Taehyung muttered.

Hyungsik tilted his head, gaze steady. “Well… This is why it might be time for someone like Jin to step up.”

Then Seojoon leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Yeah, but… Have you guys heard about BamBam's campaign launch?"

Taehyung scoffed, “What? Which campaign? He’s running?”

"He threw a party at his penthouse yesterday," Seojoon confirmed. "Minho went. Said it was insane."

"How insane?" Wooshik asked, suddenly very interested.

Seojoon glanced around, then leaned in further. "Insane as in open bar with top-shelf everything, professional DJ, those little fancy food things on crackers-"

"Canapés," Hyungsik interjected.

"-whatever. And," he paused for dramatic effect, "apparently the bathroom situation was... recreational."

"Meaning?" Taehyung raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning there was a line of people waiting to go in and come out sniffing and wiping their noses," Seojoon said bluntly.

Taehyung scoffed. "So his platform is what? Vote for me and I'll supply the cocaine?"

"Free drugs and alcohol for all students," Wooshik deadpanned in an announcer voice. "Making education more bearable."

"Apparently he's also promising to negotiate for the loosening of some performance evaluation standards," Seojoon said when they'd calmed down. "Minho said he talked about how the current system is oppressive and stifles creativity."

Taehyung rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. "Translation: I can't be bothered to actually work on proper technique."

"Though I heard BamBam's actual platform is focused on increasing student voice in curriculum development and more cross-disciplinary collaboration opportunities. The party stuff is just to get attention."

"Shocking," Taehyung deadpanned. "Rich kid uses daddy's money to throw a bacchanal and thinks that makes him qualified for leadership. Revolutionary political strategy."

"You're just bitter you weren't invited," Wooshik teased.

"Please. I'd rather eat glass." He shot back.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Once, twice.

Messages, not a call.

Taehyung pulled it out, expecting to see a text from Jimin or Hoseok. Instead, the pre-set avatar of _re:quiet stared back at him from his notifications:

[22:04] i know i said i'd stop
[22:04] but

Taehyung rolled his eyes, then stared at the screen.

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared. Stopped. He watched it. It was like maybe the right words were struggling to be born.

Then finally:

[22:06] it’s just that now that i know ure reading me
[22:06] i can’t stop thinking about it

The screen stayed quiet after that. But Taehyung didn’t lock the phone: he just kept holding it, like the silence had more to say.

Another buzz.

[22:07] i can’t stop thinking about u

"Earth to Tae?" Seojoon waved a hand in front of his face. "What’s happening?"

He quickly locked his phone screen. "Nothing. Just... spam."

"Must be some interesting spam." Wooshik teased.

He pushed his phone deeper into the pocket of his hoodie, trying to focus on the warmth of the ramen in front of him, on the sound of Seojoon bickering with Hyungsik over toppings, on Wooshik pretending not to care but sneakily stealing an egg.

It didn’t work.

His phone buzzed again. Some sharp vibrations that still somehow made his attention skip.

He resisted for a full ten seconds. Then he glanced down again, subtly this time. He angled the screen away from the others, thumb hovering near the power button just in case.

[22:09] sorry
[22:09] i swear i’m not trying to be weird
[22:10] i just
[22:10] don’t talk to people like this

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tightening slightly. There was something about the way the words landed, tentative, almost too careful, that made it hard to completely dismiss them.

"You okay?" Hyungsik asked, looking up from his bowl.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Just... tired."

Another buzz.

[22:11] u don’t have to answer
[22:11] i don’t expect u to
[22:11] i’m not asking for anything

That one went a little too close to his stomach.

[22:11] ok
[22:12] shutting up now
[22:12] just
[22.12] thanks for not blocking me

Seojoon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s spam? Because you’re reading it like it knows your blood type.”

He scoffed, but didn’t look up. "It doesn’t."

"But it wants to," Wooshik muttered into his chopsticks, earning a smirk from Hyungsik.

“You all need hobbies,” Taehyung muttered, locking the phone again. He stuffed it into his pocket like it had teeth.

Still, it buzzed once more.

He didn’t check it.

*

Professor Ko moved between students, his silver hair catching the morning light.

"Today we continue building on the fundamentals," he announced. "Remember, music is a language of collaboration. You must learn to listen, to respond, to become part of something larger than yourself."

Taehyung’s trumpet case was heavy in his lap. Around him, other students were already unpacking their instruments with easy confidence. He caught sight of Yoongi two rows over, fingers already ghosting over an imaginary keyboard, and felt a familiar knot of anxiety.

Their eyes met for a brief second, not dramatic, not sentimental: enough, a kind of silent anchor. Taehyung exhaled slowly and smiled. A small smile in response from his friend made him feel safe.

"We'll work in rotating groups today," Ko continued. "Ten minutes per ensemble. No sheet music. I want you to listen to each other. Trust your instincts. "

His throat went dry: no sheet music meant improvisation, meant relying on instinct and skill he was sure he didn’t possess. He'd been practicing, but some hours of fumbling through basic scales, hardly made him ready for this.

Ko glanced at his tablet. "First group: Yoongi on piano. Taehyung on trumpet. Irene on bass. Jungkook on percussion."

Of course.

Of fucking course.

He didn’t even have to look, he could feel Jeon moving from the back row, his presence unmistakable even in silence. When he did glance, he saw him: drumsticks already in hand, gait casual. The hickey on his jaw was already clearer.

“I’ll start setting up,” Jungkook said, not to anyone in particular.

Certainly not to Taehyung.

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. But Taehyung caught the way his eyes rolled.

Irene approached, lifting her bass with easy grace. “Hey,” she said to them, warm and sincere. “This should be fun.”

He gave her a small nod, smiling. He appreciated that she at least seemed genuine about it.

Yoongi settled behind the piano bench with quietness, his fingers finding the keys like they belonged there. When he played a soft, experimental chord, the sound filled the room with warm resonance. “Let’s find a key first,” he said, loud enough to override Jeon, who had just opened his mouth to speak.

The other twirled a drumstick with ease. “Something in 4/4?”

Yoongi didn’t look at him. “Still finding the key.”
His voice was low and measured, but a little bit harsh. He played a gentle C major scale, each note clear, precise.

“I’m good with C,” Irene said, plucking out a delicate counter-melody. “It’s clean.”

Taehyung adjusted the mouthpiece, heart still thudding in his throat. But then his friend glanced at him again, a brief, grounding look. As if to say I’ve got you.

Then all eyes turned to him: he lifted his trumpet and tried to steady his breathing. From the corner of his eye, he could feel all his classmates looking, waiting to see if he would crumble.

He brought the mouthpiece to his lips and played a single note: a clean, bright C. Not bad.

Encouraged, he moved into a simple melody he’d practiced: nothing fancy, just enough to feel useful in that circumstance. But the moment Yoongi added a walking bass line in his left hand,  Irene followed with a smooth, syncopated bass groove, and Jeon locked in a gentle hi-hat rhythm - the dynamic definitely shifted.

They were playing - really playing - like they spoke the same language, finishing each other’s musical sentences.

But Taehyung?
He was scrambling just to find the right words.

He simplified. Long notes, nothing risky. But even those rang awkward, his embouchure slipping, breath control shaky.

"Try harmonizing with Irene, Tae," Yoongi offered, his tone neutral. “Thirds might give it some color.”

He nodded, sweating around the valves.

He tried. God, he tried. But the interval was wrong: his fingers slipped, the air wasn’t right, and the sound that came out was a honk, shrill and broken.

There was a pause. Not in the music. Just... around him.

The rest of the group kept playing, crafting a smooth current Taehyung could barely tread water in.

From behind the drums, Jeon looked up: he didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. He just watched him.

Eyes steady. Blank. Not cruel, but definitely not kind. As if Taehyung was an obstacle to his perfect performance, but as if it wasn’t his job to humiliate him that time.

By the time Ko called, “Time,” his lips were numb and his stomach was sinking fast.

The professor approached with his usual air of measured detachment.

"Interesting work," he said. He gave Yoongi a small nod. “Solid foundation, Yoongi. You led without overpowering.” Then to Irene: “Excellent melodic instinct, Irene. Good groove, great feel.” He turned to Jeon. “I liked that slightly jazzy streak, Jungkook. Your percussions listen. That’s rare.”

Then the professor’s eyes landed on Taehyung and the silence dragged. “Taehyung,” he said finally, voice devoid of warmth. “You’re putting in effort, I can see that. But effort isn’t enough.”

A few students nearby pretended to fidget, but the tension in the room thickened.

"Your embouchure is weak, your timing inconsistent. The trumpet is a very difficult instrument to play, it’s not forgiving. It demands precision, discipline,” Ko continued. “And you lack both.”

Taehyung’s ears burned.

Ko had been on his case ever since last year, since the morning he’d caught him dozing off in class - head against his forearm. It hadn’t mattered that he’d come straight from an overnight shift, or that he’d still shown up.

Since then, every comment felt like a quiet punishment, a reminder that one mistake could stain everything.

The professor tilted his head slightly, thoughtful in a way that made it worse. “Let’s set more realistic goals. If you commit to daily practice, you might be ready for something like Jingle Bells by December.”

Jingle Bells.

The room didn’t laugh. But it didn’t have to. He felt it in every glance, every shuffled foot: the quiet sting of humiliation.

Ko moved on, already calling out the next group.

Taehyung stood there, trumpet limp at his side, the weight of shame pressing down like a wet coat.

“Hey,” Irene said softly, nudging his arm. “It’s not that bad. Really.”

But he barely heard her.

All he could hear was the sound of Yugyeom whispering something to BamBam two rows over -laughing cruelly like he'd just watched someone fall.

"Want to practice together sometime?" Yoongi offered, his tone carefully neutral. "I could help with the timing stuff."

"Thanks," he said shortly, not trusting himself to say more. The offer was kind, but it also emphasized just how far behind he was, how much he needed help that others didn't…

As Jeon packed away his drumsticks, Taehyung felt him glancing over again. He didn’t have the courage to turn around, cause he knew he could stick those drumsticks in his fuckin eyes at the first teasing glance.

The rest of the class blurred together. Taehyung rotated through two more groups, each time feeling more out of his depth, more aware of the gap between his abilities and those of his classmates. By the time Professor Ko dismissed them, his lips were sore and his confidence was in tatters.

He packed his trumpet, each piece fitting into its designated spot in the case like a puzzle he'd already solved. At least that part he could do right.

"Rough day?"

He looked up to find Jeon standing nearby, drumsticks tucked under one arm. His tone was neutral, not mocking but Taehyung perceived it as such. He replied snapping his case shut.

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say something else. Then Taehyung walked away, with his wounded pride and the echo of Jingle Bells ringing mockingly in his ears.

A sharp burst of laughter cut through the post-class chatter.

He didn’t have to look to know where it came from.

BamBam was leaning casually against a table, grinning wide as he muttered something to Mingyu and Yugyeom. Mingyu snorted into his hand, glancing openly in Taehyung's direction before mimicking the sound of a trumpet - loud, wobbly, off-key.

"Careful," Yugyeom stage-whispered, just loud enough to carry. "You might summon Santa Claus with that tone!"

A few nearby students chuckled, unsure whether to join in or pretend they hadn’t heard. But Taehyung stood still: jaw tight, eyes fixed on the buckles of his trumpet case.

He could say something. He wanted to.

But he didn’t have the energy.

Not today.

*

He adjusted the visor of his uniform cap for the dozenth time, the polyester fabric of his shirt finally starting to cool as the evening shift wound down.

"Table six needs clearing when they leave," called the shift supervisor, without looking up from counting the register. "Then you can start on the fryer baskets."

"Got it," Taehyung replied, wiping down an already clean counter. Three hours into his first shift and he was still questioning every life choice that had led him here, but at least the constant smell of grease was finally becoming bearable.

The previous rush had been brutal: he'd fumbled with the register twice, spilled a drink while carrying a tray, and somehow managed to forget that medium fries came with the combo meal.

But it was a distant memory now: just a few scattered customers remained in the restaurant, most nursing drinks and scrolling through their phones.

At least no one from school has seen me here.

But as it was intended, the door chimed, and he looked up to see two familiar figures walking in: Lisa bounced through the entrance first, her long hair swinging as she scanned the menu boards. Behind her, Rosé followed with the kind of measured steps that suggested she'd rather be anywhere else.

His stomach dropped. Shit.

At least Jennie wasn't there.

He turned quickly, hoping they hadn't noticed him, but Lisa's voice carried across the nearly empty restaurant.

"Oh my god, Taehyung?"

Rosé's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Living the dream, obviously," he replied, gesturing at his uniform with a self-deprecating shrug. He glanced around the quiet restaurant, just one customer left at a corner table, and the supervisor had disappeared into the back office. "I can take your order if you want."

Lisa laughed genuinely. "We didn't know you worked here! This is so cool! I've been wanting to try this place forever. What's good?"

Rosé raised an eyebrow, her gaze meeting Taehyung's with amusement.

"Don't be such a snob," Lisa shot back, but there was no real bite to it. She turned back to him. "Seriously though, what do you recommend?"

Taehyung found himself relaxing slightly. Lisa's enthusiasm was genuine and somehow engaging. "The bulgogi burger's actually decent," he moved behind the register. "And the sweet potato fries are better than they look."

"Perfect! I'll take both." She dug through her bag for her wallet. "Oh, and a Coke."

Rosé stepped up beside her, studying the menu like she was deciphering a code. "I'll just have the veg burger. No sauce."

"Of course you will," the other girl teased. "God forbid you eat something with flavor."

He punched in their orders, oddly grateful for their banter. It felt normal, like he was just another classmate instead of the poor kid working a minimum wage job. He moved to the prep area, grateful that the kitchen was simple enough for him to handle their order alone.

"So," Lisa said, leaning against the counter, "how long have you been working here?"

"Just started today," Taehyung admitted, dropping fries into the fryer. "Still figuring it out."

She glanced around the quiet restaurant with curious eyes. "Is it fun?"

He scoffed while Rosé rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's a real party."

He knew it wasn't a question meant to tease him, the girl was naturally enthusiastic about everything…

"Well, better than the party we went to two days ago," Rosé muttered, and Lisa elbowed her with a knowing look.

"What party?" He was assembling Lisa's burger.

Rosé's expression immediately shifted to amusement, or maybe disgust. "BamBam's campaign launch party. Have you heard about it?"

Taehyung nodded.

"God, it was such a shitshow," she said, running a hand through her hair. "So gross."

Lisa’s cheeks flushed pink. "It wasn’t that bad."

Taehyung frowned slightly, more to himself than to them.

Rosé and BamBam were something of a legacy couple at the academy: rich, popular, absurdly attractive. They'd always seemed like they belonged together, like the universe had designed them to match. At some point, a sex tape of the two had circulated around the school. Taehyung had never watched it. But Jimin had.

He’d insisted - far too quickly - that it was “for research purposes.”

“Academic,” he clarified, nodding like he was defending a thesis.

Taehyung had given him a look. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m curious,” Jimin had said, grinning. “There’s a difference.”

But now, to think that they were no longer together, that was news. Not official, maybe, but something in the way Rosé spoke made him wonder.

"Please," she scoffed. "Half the people there were so wasted. And BamBam just... let it happen. Encouraged it, even. What the hell kind of campaign strategy is that?"

"You're being dramatic," Lisa protested, though her voice lacked conviction.

Taehyung tried to focus on preparing their order, but couldn't help listening. The thought that a monolithic pair had broken up sparked his curiosity.

"I'm being realistic," Rosé continued, watching him work with sharp eyes. “He threw a party that screamed rehab. Great message for a student body president candidate.”

Despite himself, he let out a quiet snort. Rosé caught it and gave him a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a smirk. For a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them, like sharing the same enemy, even briefly, had made them allies.

Lisa waved a hand dismissively. "Okay, it was a bit much, but it's part of campaigning, right? Get people talking?"

"Oh, he got people talking," the other girl said dryly, not looking up as Taehyung slid her plain burger across the counter. "Mostly about how good the cocaine was and whose tongue ended up where."

Her friend rolled her eyes. "It's not like anyone else is doing anything different, honestly." Then she hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Better than those who just complain and never do anything. At least BamBam's trying."

Rosé gave her a pointed look. "Trying to do what? Host an orgy in a penthouse suite?"

Lisa flushed. "That's not fair. He invited everyone. And-" She glanced at Taehyung as he bagged their food. "I'm surprised you and the others didn't come."

Taehyung was sorting out their receipt, not looking up as he said quietly, "That's because he didn't invite everyone."

She blinked in surprise, her lips parting slightly.

Rosé pounced on the opening like a predator, ready to make her ex-boyfriend a shit. "Exactly," she said, taking a bite of her burger. "He cherry-picked his guests."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to exclude-"

"Oh please," Rosé cut in. "Stop defending him just because Jeon's in the middle."

Lisa's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not-"

"It was a curated list," she continued, her voice cutting. “Curated for Kunpi, for Jungkook, for all their claque and their socials.”

Taehyung's hands stilled on the counter for just a moment. He looked at Rosé amused: perhaps there was still hope in the world.

Lisa laughed, but it sounded thinner now. "OK, but don't blame Jungkook, he is not running for election..."

"Worse, he gained without offering anything in return," the other replied, unwrapping a napkin with precise movements. "I watched him kiss three different girls in thirty minutes, post it all like a highlight reel, and then retreat to the balcony like he was the Great Gatsby."

"He was just drunk!"

"Exactly my point," Rosé said dryly. Then she glanced sideways at her friend, eyes sharp beneath her lashes. "Although... now that I think about it, you were the only one who didn't take advantage of his availability."

The other girl’s gaze dropped instantly, her fingers tightening around her straw. "Can we not do this here?"

The silence that followed was strange, broken only by the low hum of the fryer. Taehyung slid their receipt across the counter without comment, but he couldn't shake the image Rosé had painted: Jungkook surrounded by admirers while...

An image flashed suddenly through his mind.

Where had Jennie been in all of this?

"You're horrible," Lisa groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"I'm honest," Rosé corrected, watching Taehyung with interest. "There's a difference."

"Here you go," he said, sliding their order across the counter, his voice steady despite the churning in his chest.

"Thanks," Lisa was still looking mortified by the conversation.

As they turned to find a table, Rosé paused and looked back at him. "Hey, Taehyung, that thing in Ko's class today? Don't worry about it. He was being an ass."

He blinked, surprised by the unexpected support, and by the fact that she'd even noticed.

"Seriously," she continued, her cynical mask slipping just slightly. "Everyone sounds like shit when they start. You'll get better."

"Thanks," he said, and meant it.

She held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and he wondered if she saw something in his expression. Then she turned to follow Lisa to their table.

Taehyung remained behind the counter, watching the grease shimmer under the fryer light. Rosé's words echoed in his mind, mixing with the image of BamBam's party, all that casual wealth and privilege on display while he stood there in a polyester uniform, smelling like frying oil.

People like him didn’t get invited to parties like that.

They got ignored. Or stepped on, like an insect.

Right.

It reminded him too much of that afternoon the year before, sitting on the park bench with Jennie. A young man had been having trouble with his car, and Taehyung had jogged over to help without thinking. His hands had smelled like motor oil afterward, and there was a smudge of grease on his cheek.

He'd explained to Jennie, laughing, that he'd spent his teenage years helping his uncle in the workshop. That he knew how to fix motorbikes, cars, bicycles. That he still helped his cousin, who had inherited the shop, when he came back home in the summer. That he was good, certainly better than his cousin.

She'd smiled. Tightly.

And then she’d changed the subject, like swatting away a bug. Like Taehyung had punctured some invisible bubble where it was okay to kiss him on that bench, but not to acknowledge what his life actually looked like.

He hadn’t forgotten how that felt: as if he had been eaten and vomited.

Now she’d hear about this job, of course. Lisa would tell her, or someone else would. The story would spread: Taehyung, in his apron and cap, serving fries with a smile in that fast food restaurant. Maybe they’d laugh all togheter at some penthouse party.

He glanced at Lisa and Rosé, heads bowed together laughing, and the thought hit him like a slap: maybe this was all he’d ever be to them.

A bug.

Something burned low in his chest: not sadness, not shame. Rage.

The fryer timer beeped. Taehyung turned back to his station, jaw set, hands steady.

Let them wait.

*

He stepped off the bus, the smell of city air and lingering fryer oil clinging to his hoodie. His feet hurt, his back ached, and his head buzzed from hours of taking orders and pretending he wasn't already dead tired by his classes.

Outside, the air was cool, quiet. He pulled out a crumpled pack from his pocket, tapped a cigarette free, and lit it with a flick of his thumb.

The first drag spread through him, heavy that silence.

He fished his phone out of his hoodie, half-expecting a group chat notification or a reminder from Jin. Instead, he saw it.

From _re:quiet:

Unread messages. Fifteen of them.

His thumb hovered, then he tapped.

[19:23] watched u with that trumpet
[19:24] god
[19:25] u were so focused
[19:25] the way ur lips pressed against the mouthpiece
[19:25] ur sweat
[19:26] couldn't stop staring

Taehyung blinked. His mouth flattened into a line, clutching the cigarette between his lips. He kept scrolling.

[19:30] ko was being an ass
[19:36] the trumpet suits u

His stomach twisted.

[19:42] u probably think i'm pathetic, huh?
[19:42] watchin u secretly
[19:43] but i can't help it
[19:45] there's something about u
[19:45] when u're trying so hard
[19:46] when u don't give up even when it's difficult
[19:46] even when people are judging

He stood still under the glow of a flickering lamppost, sweat drying cold on the back of his neck. The smoke drew strange figures around his hand.

The messages were intense: too specific, too detailed. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

This had to be a joke.

Some elaborate, disgusting joke.

BamBam. Yugyeom. Mingyu. Jeon. That whole fake-polished crowd who spent their lives making others feel small: this was exactly the kind of shit they'd cook up when they got bored.

Some anonymous account, some fake affection, some sick idea of fun.

A way to make him feel watched, mocked. Wanted, maybe. Just enough to humiliate him when it all came out.

Because people like that didn’t see him. Not really.
They saw something to laugh at.

For one wild second, he remembered something Rosé had said. About the way he played. About how Ko was being an ass.

Could it be-?

No.
No.
Not her. Not with Lisa. Not with Jennie.

If it were her it would certainly not be a joke or a twisted game.

And even if she was really attracted by him, she would be too direct, too real.
She wouldn’t hide behind this.

She'd just say it to his face, right? Or not at all.

Yes, it was definitely so.

His thumb hovered over the message window: his eyes stung.

He stood there on the sidewalk, and felt the exhaustion of the day weigh differently on him. Not heavier. Just deeper.

He read the messages again.

even when people are judging

His jaw clenched.
Then he opened the message window, tried to type with the cigarette between his fingers:

u r messed up

Paused. Deleted it.
Typed again:

stop watching me

Deleted. Typed:

wat u want from me

Deleted that too.

His thumb hovered again.

And then, finally, he typed just two words:

[00:15] stop this

Sent.

He locked his screen and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He kept walking, his steps faster now, like distance could untangle whatever that message had stirred.

His phone buzzed again. And again.

He didn’t check it. 

Chapter Text

"Rise and shine, underlings!"

Jin swept into Taehyung and Jimin’s room. He wore a pressed button-down tucked into dark jeans, hair perfectly styled, looking like he was headed to a board meeting, not a dorm room. Under one arm, he clutched a rolled-up poster; in the other hand, a tray of two coffees, which he deposited dramatically onto Taehyung's desk.

"What the actual fuck," Jimin groaned from his bed, barely visible beneath a mountain of blankets and his sleep mask - that with giant cartoon eyes.

Jin didn’t miss a beat. "Nice to see your eyes wide open and full of enthusiasm, Chim. Love the commitment."

Taehyung emerged from his sheets like some kind of irritated hibernating bear, his hair sticking up at impossible angles and his expression downright murderous. "It's Saturday. Morning. I'm going to throw you out the window."

"Noted," the other said cheerfully, completely unfazed by the death glare. "But first, democracy calls!" He unrolled the poster with a flourish. “Student rep elections are in one week, and I’m not about to lose to a guy who bribes people with canapés and bathtub champagne.”

"Who? BamBam?" Jimin was peeling the mask off and blinking blearily. “Can’t believe his party actually counted as campaigning.”

"Exactly!" Jin declared. "Which is why we are doing this properly. With class. With honor. With-" he pointed to his own face "-bone structure."

Taehyung flopped back onto his pillow, sighing.

Jin ignored him and slapped a marker onto the desk. “I need brainstorming. Slogans. Strategy. And my campaign team.” He pointed at them.

"Since when are we your campaign team?" Taehyung was already reaching for one of the coffees.

"Since I bought you breakfast today. And I’ll buy you lunch. And dinner." Their friend ticked off on his fingers.

"That's extortion," Jimin protested.

"That's politics," Jin corrected.

Jimin sat up with a sigh. “Can I at least have this breakfast before I’m recruited into political warfare?”

The other handed him the nearest cup. “Fuel up, soldier.”

Taehyung glanced at the poster now stretched across the bed. It featured a cartoonish version of Seokjin, crown tilted on his head, pointing at the viewer like an old war recruitment poster. Underneath, in bold red letters: “Vote Kim Seokjin: Because You Deserve the Best.” 

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You forgot to add Worldwide Handsome.”

“Oh that’s slide two,” Jin said smugly, pulling out a color-coded printout of his campaign schedule. “These are just test prints.”

“You’re insane,” Jimin muttered.

Taehyung groaned, dragging himself out of bed. “Do I get paid for this?”

“You get to say you were part of history,” Jin replied. “Now get dressed. I want ideas on my desk -figuratively - within the hour.”

He sighed, already knowing resistance was futile. "What exactly do you need us to do?"

The other’s smile was victorious. "Hand out flyers, charm the masses, look pretty standing next to my campaign table. Oh, and Taehyung? Wear something that makes you look approachable. We need to capitalize on your newfound fame without scaring anyone."

"My what now?" Taehyung frowned.

"#CocktailKim," Jin was waving his hand dismissively. "The whole campus is talking about it. We might as well use the momentum."

"Absolutely not."

“C’mon! I need my charming and photogenic friends in thirty minutes." Jin paused, eyeing them critically. "Well, charming and photogenic after showers and coffee, at least."

Tae rolled his eyes, but Jin was already backing toward the door. "Twenty-eight minutes!" he called.

The door closed behind him with a click.

Jimin and Taehyung stared at each other for a long moment.

"I hate when he does that," Jimin finally muttered, rubbing his face.

"What, hijack our lives?"

“No. Getting away with it.”

Taehyung smirked, but his gaze flicked briefly to the buzzing phone on his bed. Another message from _re:quiet, probably. He didn’t check it, not yet.

There was a time for campaign posters, and apparently, a time for secret admirers.

“Let’s go make Jin president,” he said dryly.

“And God help us all.”

*

The empty classroom that Jin had dragged them into, looked like a campaign war room: posters open on the ground, laptops open on multiple desks, and an alarming amount of coffee cups in every corner.

Taehyung surveyed the chaos sprawled across two pushed-together desks, watching his friends transform into political strategists. Jin stood at the whiteboard like a general addressing his troops.

Yoongi sat slumped in a chair near the back, looking like he might actually be asleep with his eyes open. "Remind me again why I'm here instead of in my bed?"

"Because you love me," Jin was dressing the same confidence as a used car salesman. "And because you're the only one who can make decent graphics."

Taehyung stretched, feeling his back protest from his seating arrangement. He'd been trying to focus, but his phone kept buzzing, and each notification felt like a small electric shock against his consciousness.

"Let’s talk outreach," Namjoon was typing at lightning speed. "Jin, your socials are... mostly mirror selfies and food shots. We need content that shows substance."

"I have substance," the other replied with a faint frown. "I know what students care about. I listen."

"Then prove it," Hoseok was already doodling font variations on a scrap of poster board. "What’s the biggest issue on campus right now?"

The other’s face shifted: gone was the usual brightness, replaced by an expression focused and unflinching. Taehyung knew that look. He called it “debate mode”, and it meant Jin was locked in.

"The registration system's a joke," he said. "It crashes every semester, no one can get into the courses they need, and the waitlist algorithm is chaos. The library tech’s outdated, and don’t even get me started on the WiFi coverage across campus: two bars if you’re lucky, unless you sit on the third-floor bathroom radiator."

Heads nodded around the room.

"Exactly," Jimin was rolling a set of cigarettes. "You know what’s broken. Now we just need to let everyone else see it."

"For example…” Taehyung said, gesturing at one of Jin's draft posters. “'Vote Kim Seokjin Because You Deserve the Best' sounds like you're selling luxury cars, not running for student government. We have to change that."

"What's wrong with aspiring to luxury?"

Namjoon smiled. "There’s nothing wrong, but maybe we should focus on relatability first, ego second. How about 'Real Solutions, Real Change'?"

"How about 'Jin: He Actually Gives a Shit'?" Yoongi called out from his corner.

"We can't put profanity on campaign materials," Joon said patiently.

"Fine. 'Jin: He Actually Cares.' Happy?"

Taehyung watched their familiar dynamic. This was how their group worked: Jin's grand vision, Namjoon's practical wisdom, Yoongi's cutting honesty, Hoseok's boundless energy, and Jimin's total support. And Taehyung? He was the observer, the one who could see how all the pieces fit together. He saw patterns, connections, things others missed.

He knew when to step in, and when he spoke, people listened.

But before he could open his mouth, his phone buzzed again, and this time he couldn’t ignore it.

He glanced down: another message from _re:quiet. His stomach tightened, a reflex by now, but he forced his gaze back up: whoever was behind that account wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

In his mind, the same scene kept looping: the nepo scumbags crowded around some oversized penthouse sofa, laughing at him.

His jaw tensed, just barely. Then he sat up straighter.

"We need to address the BamBam situation head-on," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Everyone went to his party last week. The drugs, the alcohol, the whole circus... He's essentially been buying votes with entertainment."

"Exactly," Jin’s marker squeaking against the whiteboard as he wrote OPPOSITION RESEARCH in large letters. "But we can't just attack him. We need to show what we're offering instead."

"What about a Town Hall?" Namjoon suggested. "Real conversations with students about real issues. Film them, post them online. Show that you're listening, not just promising."

Taehyung sat up straighter, an idea forming. "Better yet… what if we actually solve something during the campaign? Like, find a small problem and fix it as an example of how Jin would work as president?"

"I like that," Hoseok said, his sketching getting more animated. "Proactive instead of reactive."

"The Wi-Fi in the east wing library," Jimin realised. "It's been down for three weeks. Everyone's complaining about it, but nothing's happening."

"Can we actually fix that in one week?" Jin asked.

"I know someone in IT," Yoongi replied without looking up from his screen. "Might be able to pull some strings."

Taehyung felt the familiar thrill of a plan coming together. "Perfect. While BamBam is throwing parties, Jin is actually solving problems. Document the whole process: Jin talking to students, working with administration, following up until it's fixed…"

"That's brilliant, Taehyung," Namjoon was already taking notes. "It shows leadership, problem-solving, and follow-through all in one project."

Jin was nodding enthusiastically, his earlier turmoil replaced by genuine excitement. "Yes! We can show people that this is how I would approach bigger issues too!"

"Plus," Taehyung added, "it positions you as the candidate who works with the system to create change, not against it. Professional but not establishment."

His phone buzzed again, but he didn't look down this time.

"What colors do you want for the logo?" Yoongi asked, finally looking up from his screen. "Don’t say pink and gold."

"Why not?"

"Because this is a student election, not a beauty pageant."

"Blue and silver?" Hoseok suggested. "Classic, trustworthy, but still eye-catching?"

"Works for me," Jin looked around the room, his friends all bent over various projects. "You know, you guys are actually pretty amazing at this."

Taehyung felt a warm surge of affection for his chaotic, brilliant, loyal group of friends. "We know," he said with a grin. "Just remember us when you're drunk on power."

"I'll make you all cabinet members," Jin promised grandly.

"Do student governments even have cabinets?" Jimin asked.

"They do now," the other declared. "Yoongi, you're Secretary of Aesthetic Excellence. Hoseok, Minister of Emergency Positivity. Namjoon..."

"No legal responsibilities," Joon interrupted. "If this involves paperwork, I resign preemptively."

"Perfect. You're now Secretary of Last-Minute Crisis Management and Deep Monologues."

The other sighed. "Every time."

"Jimin," Jin turned with a flourish, "you’ll be Head of Social Influence and Strategic Flirting."

"That sounds like two jobs!"

"You’ll handle it. You're tiny but mighty."

"And me?" Taehyung asked, arms folded from where he sat on the desk’s edge.

Jin turned dramatically with a solemn nod. "And you, Taehyung... you're my High Commissioner for Anti-Nepo Affairs and Righteous Fury. Your duties include glaring at rich kids until they cry."

Taehyung smirked. "So... basically what I already do?"

"Exactly. But now it’s official."

He smiled, shaking his head. Then looked up from the posters wide open in front of him. "We have to change this slogan… What about ‘Smart Ideas. Real Change. Vote Seokjin.’?"

"Cool. I like it," the other grinned.

The room fell into a comfortable working rhythm. Taehyung found himself getting genuinely invested in the campaign, his earlier anxiety about the mysterious messages fading into background noise.

Empty coffee cups multiplied, poster designs evolved, and slowly but surely, Jin's campaign began to take real shape.

*

Hours later, after Jin had declared them all "certified legends of democracy," Taehyung found himself back in the fluorescent purgatory of his part-time job. The contrast was jarring: one minute debating campaign strategies with his friends, the next refilling ketchup dispensers under lights that hummed like they were slowly dying.

The fast food joint was busier than usual: a common Saturday night. He moved through his routine on autopilot: orders, register, clean, repeat. His manager barely looked up from her phone, and his coworkers were too focused on the clock to make conversation.

By the time he clocked out, Seoul was settling into its late-night rhythm.

The bus ride back was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums. Taehyung claimed a window seat near the back, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in but no music playing. He preferred the silence: it matched his mood.

A couple got on. Freshmen, probably, with that new-relationship glow. They sat across from him, fingers intertwined, sharing earbuds. The girl laughed at something her boyfriend whispered, and he watched her lean into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He turned toward the window, jaw tight. His reflection stared back at him from the glass: when was the last time someone had looked at him like that? Like he was worth leaning into?

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed. Really kissed, not the rushed, desperate encounters that happened at parties when everyone was too drunk to think clearly. It had been months since he'd let anyone close enough to try.

After Jennie, his walls had gotten higher, his trust thinner, and most days he told himself he preferred it that way.

But sitting there, watching strangers share something easy and uncomplicated, the loneliness felt like an unbearable weight.

His phone buzzed against his leg.

He stared at the notifications: it was _re:quiet. 

Taehyung sighed and finally opened the chat.

From _re:quiet:

[00:16] fuck
[00:16] i knew
[00:17] i fucked up
[00:25] i'm sorry

[03:52] i'm not texting u to be annoying
[03:53] or cause i think u'll change ur mind
[03:54] i just
[03:54] need u to know i'm not a creep

[04:25] i'm not dangerous

[10:25] i feel like
[10:25] i had this one thing
[10:35] this one way to talk to u
[10:36] and i ruined it

[21:18] there's so much i want to say
[21:19] but u said stop
[21:19] so i'm trying to stop

[23:31] i'm sorry for everything

[01:45] i swear
[01:46] i'll try to stay away

There was something about the way that person wrote, just... real.

He thought about Rosé again, the way she'd looked at him the other night when they'd talked. Her eyes had been calculating, like she was trying to look at something invisible to the eyes.

Could it be her?

The timing would make sense, and she was smart enough to keep him guessing.

But no. That felt too convenient. Rosé wasn't the type - he kept repeating it.

Plus, she wasn't with him in the acting class. And Taehyung clearly remembered the deleted messages about his performance.

Part of him wanted to respond, but another part of him - the part that had been burned before - whispered warnings.

You don't know who this is.
You don't know what they want.

The bus lurched to a stop, and the couple across from him gathered their things, still lost in each other. Taehyung watched them go, then looked back at his phone.

What if this is a setup?

He clenched his jaw, anger simmering low.

Maybe this was some payback for #CocktailKim. Some long game he hadn’t seen coming.

He leaned his head against the window, bouncing at every bump. Outside, the city rolled quickly. His reflection looked back at him, tired, unsmiling, like a ghost.

He locked the screen without typing anything.

He thought that later, after taking a shower, he would block the contact.

The lights blurred past like fallen stars, and for a second, he felt like the world was moving forward without him: fast, uncaring. Cruel.

*

Taehyung sat with his friends around one of the worn picnic tables outside the student center.

It was Sunday morning: the one pocket of stillness in a week that never truly slowed. The late September sun was warm on their face. The air still smelled faintly of cut grass.

"Well," Jin said, staring at the screen of his phone. "The speaking schedule got released."

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Taehyung watched the lazy Sunday energy evaporating.

"BamBam speaks Saturday morning," the other continued, scrolling through the e-mail. "Yeonjun gets the early afternoon slot. And I..." He paused. "I get Saturday at six PM."

"Six PM on a Saturday?" Hoseok's voice pitched higher. "That's when everyone's getting ready for parties."

"Exactly," Namjoon said grimly. "By six, half the student body will already be pre-gaming somewhere."

Yoongi leaned back, arms crossed. "What a surprise. BamBam gets prime time. Right when people are awake, caffeinated, and paying attention."

"This isn't a coincidence," Taehyung’s voice flat with certainty. "He orchestrated this."

"I’ll bet Yugyeom’s father had something to do with it." Jimin sat up straighter.

"Has to be," he confirmed. "He probably pulled strings..." He felt that familiar anger rising in his chest, hot and bitter.

The table fell quiet for a moment, the weight of what they were up against settling over them.

"Okay," Jin said finally. "So they want to bury me in the graveyard slot. Fine. We'll make it work."

"We bring our own audience," Taehyung said, an idea forming. "We make sure the people who matter are there. The ones who actually vote, not just the ones who show up for entertainment and for the buffet."

Namjoon nodded slowly. "Target the engaged students, the ones who care about actual issues. That could work."

"Which brings us to this week," Jin was pulling out a notebook and flipping to a fresh page. "We have Monday through Thursday to make this campaign bulletproof. What do we need to accomplish?"

Jimin leaned forward, his expression serious. "First, we need intelligence. I'll do some reconnaissance on BamBam's crew. Figure out their strategy, what they're planning."

"How?" Yoongi asked.

"I have my ways," the other replied with a slight smile. "Let's just say BamBam's inner circle isn't as tight as they think."

Taehyung felt a wave of appreciation for his friend's strategic mind. "Good. What else?"

"The Wi-Fi project," Namjoon added. "We need to make that happen this week. Show results before Saturday."

"I can make that work," Yoongi said. "Like I said, my IT contact owes me a favor. We just need to document everything: before, during, after."

"I'll handle the social media campaign," Hoseok volunteered.

"And the Town Hall idea?" Jin asked.

"Wednesday," Taehyung said immediately. "Give us time to promote it Monday and Tuesday, hold it Wednesday, then use the footage for campaign materials Thursday and Friday."

Jin scribbled notes rapidly. "Okay, so Friday we finalize everything and prepare for Saturday."

“We can do it!” Hoseok raised his arm in victory.

Jimin twirled a pen between his fingers, his expression tense, thoughtful.

Taehyung noticed him, “What's up, Chim?”

Jimin gave a fake cough, settling himself on the bench, then rested his elbows on the table and crossed his hands, as if he were a white collar. “Look, we all want to focus on the issues, and we should. But let’s not pretend politics alone is going to keep people engaged. There’s a reason BamBam’s party gave him traction. People remember how you make them feel, not just what you say. Honestly, our plan doesn’t seem enough.”

Yoongi gave him a sideways glance. “So what, we throw a rave with a manifesto at the door?”

“I’m saying,” Jimin clarified harshly, “we need something that pulls people in. Energy. Atmosphere. Fun, but with purpose.”

Everyone around looked at each other, realising that Jimin had seen something that had slipped out from under their noses.

Taehyung sat up straighter, something clicking. “What if we host something after the speeches? Not a party, something different. Something that actually reflects Jin’s values. Something that give people a reason to stick around after Jin’s speech.”

“Like what?” Jin asked, curious now.

“I don’t know… A problem-solving forum,” Taehyung said, warming to the idea. “Make it interactive. Present your platform, then invite students to bring up real issues. Turn it into a live discussion.”

Namjoon looked up from his laptop, impressed. “That’s good strategy.”

“Plus,” Hoseok grinned, “we keep the vibe casual. Food, music in the background, maybe an open mic at the end. It doesn’t have to be dry, it can still feel like a gathering.”

“Yeah. It’s substance and soul,” Jimin agreed, tapping his pen against the table.

Jin looked around the table at his friends, a slow smile forming. “Saturday isn’t going to be about outshining BamBam’s noise,” he said. “It’s going to be about showing people what actual leadership looks like.”

"But first," Jimin said, standing up and stretching, "I need to do some digging. There's this networking brunch happening today in the alumni lounge, Mingyu dropped it into conversation like it was nothing. Which probably means BamBam and his little aristocracy are using it to schmooze new voters."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes. "I'm too eager to show up at this clowning and throw cocktails."

“Sorry, babe, you're not on the list.” Jimin stroked Tae's hair.

He turned around raising his eyebrows, “Why, do you? When did you become a clown?”

"Technically, it’s a student initiative on leadership and legacy," his friend said, air-quoting. "But the invite list mysteriously skipped half the student body. A friend of a friend got me in."

"Well, be careful," Namjoon warned. "Don’t make it obvious you’re snooping."

Jimin flashed a confident grin. "Please. I'm practically Solid Snake when I want to be.”

"With that peroxide hair of yours?" Yoongi murmured, eyes still fixed on the tablet. "As subtle as a fireworks show in a library."

The other arched an eyebrow. "At least my hair changes, your hoodie is a fuckin fossil."

Yoongi finally glanced up.

"What about the rest of us?" Hoseok interrupted laughing.

"Campaign materials," Jin said. "We need flyers, posters, pins: everything ready to deploy Tuesday morning."

"And we need to start building our audience for Saturday," Taehyung added. "Identify the student leaders, the club presidents, the people who actually influence campus opinion."

Yoongi stretched, already looking tired despite the early hour. "I'll work on the graphics and get in touch with my IT guy. But I'm going to need a lot of coffee and very little human interaction for the rest of the day."

"Deal," Jin clapped his hands together. "We reconvene tomorrow morning. Bathroom HQ. 07:00 sharp."

"The bathroom?" Namjoon frowned. "Seriously?"

"It’s the only ground where we won’t run into the nepos," Jin replied, dead serious. "Desperate times, desperate plumbing."

"What is this, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets?" Yoongi said dryly.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair. "Just wait till the snake shows up."

"Already identified him," Namjoon sighed. "He sleeps in my room."

That earned a round of loud and chaotic laughters.

“Speaking of the bathroom, we should do someth-” Taehyung felt his phone buzz.

"You okay?" Jin asked, noticing his expression.

"Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about how much work we have ahead of us. "

"Don’t worry, Tae. We've got this," Jin said confidently. "BamBam might have money and connections, but we have something better."

"What's that?"

“A snake petrifying our enemies”, Yoongi said, yawning. He earned a dirty look from Namjoon.

"…and, we actually give a shit about this place," Jin said simply. "And people can tell the difference."

Taehyung looked a this friend and hoped he was right.

As they walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that this week would determine more than just who won the student election: it would determine what kind of place their campus would become, and what kind of people they were willing to be.

*

"I swear I'm going to develop chemical burns from these showers," he muttered, dropping onto his bed. "Pretty sure I used enough soap to strip paint. Still can't get the fryer smell out completely."

He was emerged from the hallway bathroom, hair still damp from his post-work shower, a towel slung around his neck. The smell of soap and cheap shampoo clung to him: a marked improvement from the grease and agony that had followed him home from his shift.

Jimin was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, staring at his phone. There was something off about his posture, too rigid, like he was holding himself together by force of will.

"So," Taehyung attempted, studying his roommate's strange look. "How did the mission go? Tell me you got something from the motherfuckers."

Jimin's laugh was hollow, forced. "Oh, I got something alright…"

"That doesn't sound good." He sat up straighter, his exhaustion forgotten. "What happened? Did they catch you spying?"

"No, nothing like that." His friend set his phone aside, but his fingers kept twitching toward it. "Actually, they barely noticed I was there."

"Then what's that face?"

The other was quiet for a long moment, then: "I saw Yeji there."

"Okay..." Taehyung waited, sensing there was more.

"With Yugyeom."

The words hit the room.

"With him how?"

"How do you think?" Jimin's voice was carefully neutral, but Taehyung could hear the hurt underneath. "Sitting on his lap during some drinking game. Laughing at his jokes. Looking at him like he was fascinating instead of... whatever the fuck he actually is."

"Shit, Chim..."

"And here's the kicker," his friend continued, his voice getting tighter. "She's still texting me. Right now. Sending cute little messages like nothing happened. Like she wasn't practically glued to him three hours ago."

Taehyung felt a protective anger flare in his chest, like fire. "What the hell is wrong with her!?"

"I don't know.” Jimin’s shoulders sagged. "Maybe she likes the attention. Or maybe she's keeping her options open. Maybe I was never really an option to begin with."

"That's bullshit," Taehyung said firmly. "If she's playing games like that, then she's not worth your time. You deserve better than someone who's going to mess around with Yugyeom behind your back."

"Do I?"

The question was quiet, vulnerable in a way that made Taehyung's chest ache.

"Hey!” he shifted on his bed, leaning forward, very angry. “Are you seriously asking me that? Chim, you're smart, you're funny, you're loyal as hell, and you don't need daddy's money to be interesting. If she can't see that, if she's more attracted to whatever shallow bullshit Yugyeom's peddling, she's an idiot and you're better off without her."

Jimin was quiet for a moment, then gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks. I needed to hear that."

"Besides," Taehyung added, "You have to be proud of you: you're putting yourself out there. You're trying, you're moving forward. That's more than I can say."

"What do you mean?"

He fell back against his pillows with a sigh. "The Seulgi issue still hurts you. Yet you are not letting it get you down, not like me. I'm still hung up on Jennie Kim like some pathetic freshman. It's been months, and I can't seem to get over it."

Jimin smiled and raised his eyebrows. He was a little comforted and a little annoyed by what his friend was reproaching himself with. “You’ve been busy with other things, don't be so hard on yourself.”

Taehyung closed his eyes, looking defeated.

“However…” His friend got up, sat down at his desk and started his night skincare routine. "She was there tonight," he said carefully.

"Who?" Taehyung tried to keep his voice casual and failed completely.

"Jennie. With Lisa. They were..." His friend paused, seeming to weigh his words. "They were hanging around Jeon most of the night."

Taehyung's stomach twisted. "Of course they were."

He thought back to the other night at work, the way Lisa had looked when Rosé mentioned Jeon, the flush in her cheeks.

"Lisa and Rosé came by the restaurant a few days ago.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Rosé and BamBam aren’t together anymore, did you know it?”

Jimin shrugged, lathering up his tonic. “Yeah, I figured.”

He smiled faintly: he was never quite up to speed with everything that happened at that school.

“However, the girls came by the restaurant and talked about BamBam’s party. Lisa got all weird when Jungkook's name came up. I think she’s into him."

"Really?" Jimin looked surprised, turning around. "I didn't know!"

"It’s pretty clear, actually." Taehyung rolled his eyes, but the irritation still pricked under his skin. He had remembered how Jennie had touched Jeon's arm during Gong's lesson, how she had looked at him, realising that maybe Lisa wasn't the only one who was attracted.

"What does she see in him?" he asked, genuinely bewildered.

Jimin scoffed. "Are you serious? Money, charisma, talent... not to mention he's got that whole untouchable aura going on. He's distant, mysterious. Makes him irresistible to half the school."

"What's this? Gay praise for Jeon?" Taehyung draped an arm over his eyes dramatically. "Never thought I'd see the day my best friend betrays me."

Jimin grinned, tossing a balled-up sock at him. "Oh, come on, that wasn't gay praise. It was just stating facts. Like saying, I don't know, that a shark has sharp teeth. Doesn't mean you want to swim with it."

"Listen," Taehyung replied, tossing the sock back, missing him, "he's not mysterious. He’s just dumb! He just doesn't talk!"

His friend laughed evily, continuing to dab the cream on his face. "Still! Whatever he's doing works on half the school. Everyone seems a little entranced."

Taehyung sighed.

"More than you'd think," Jimin replied, shooting him a knowing look. "Boys included."

He sat up a little straighter, now. "What do you mean?"

Jimin was putting his things away, without saying anything for a few seconds. He turned around, leaning against his bed, arms folded and looket at him, seriously. "I have something to tell you. But, Tae… you must not tell anyone."

Taehyung answered nothing, only opened his mouth, genuinely surprised. Then he swallowed. Jimin had never made such a premise to him. Not even when he told him about that pig of Professor Lee being caught making out with the old assistant.

“Swear it.”

“Ok, I swear.” He said dramatically.

Jimin lowered his voice, "Remember last year's winter showcase after-party?"

"I was working," Taehyung reminded him, leaning back against the wall.

"Right, of course you were." The other paused, glancing toward the door as if checking they were really alone. "Well, Hoseok saw Jeon with Sunwoo. They both came back looking... well, you know."

"Sunwoo?" Taehyung was shocked, now leaning towards him. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," the other nodded. "Hoseok was pretty shaken up about it, actually. He wasn't supposed to see anything, just went looking for the bathroom and... well. He needed to tell someone, and he knew I wouldn't spread it around." Then he raised an eyebrow, as to say “Do we understand each other?”

"Wait, so Jeon's actually...?"

"Not as straight as he pretends to be." Jimin's voice dropped lower. "But he's never come out, obviously. Still plays up the whole heartthrob thing with the girls. Hoseok thinks it's all an act, he could be gay, instead."

Taehyung was surprised, confused. "So he's lying to everyone?"

"I guess? I mean, it's not like he owes anyone an explanation about his sexuality, but..." Jimin shrugged. "It does make the whole Casanova image feel even more fake, doesn't it?"

He was quiet now, absorbing this new information.

"Poor Lisa…" His friend said smiling, watching him carefully. “She can cry on my shoulder as much as she wants.”

"Well," Taehyung said quickly, grinning. "Maybe she still has a chance. Maybe he's bisexual.” He paused. “Like me.”

He could see a little smirk hidden in Jimin’s expression. His friend lowered his face, giving him an evil look, "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"You know... if he wasn't Jeon. If he was just some guy. Would you?"

Taehyung made a strangled noise of disgust. "Are you seriously asking if I'd hook up with Jeon?"

"Hypothetically speaking," the other clarified, sounding amused.

"I'd rather put my dick in a blender," he declared. "The very thought is giving me hives."

"You didn't answer the question," Jimin pointed out, laughing.

"The answer is NO. Not even hypothetically. Not even if he was the last person on Earth."

"He's objectively attractive," Jimin pointed out. "You can't deny that."

"I can and I will," Taehyung insisted. "Professor Gong, now, he's attractive. Jeon is just... polished. There's a difference."

"Professor Gong is literally twice your age."

"And a thousand times more appealing than Jeon could ever be," he countered. "Can we please talk about anything else? This conversation is making me nauseous..."

Jimin grinned but mercifully changed the subject. "Fine. Let's talk about how you're going to survive Composition at 9 AM tomorrow."

"Don't remind me," he groaned, falling back onto his pillow. "I should probably try to sleep or tomorrow I can't even blow the trumpet. Ko will kick my ass."

But as he lay on his bed, Taehyung found his mind wandering back to the revelation about Jeon. There was something unsettling about the idea that even someone who seemed to have everything - looks, money, talent, popularity - was still hiding parts of himself.

It made Jeon seem almost human.

He pushed the thought away, irritated with himself. Whatever Jeon's secrets were, they didn't change anything. If anything, the fact that he was lying to everyone just proved Taehyung's point about him being all fake. He's still the same entitled, arrogant-

His phone buzzed against his nightstand. He glanced at it, and his stomach tightened when he saw the notification.

_re:quiet was messaging him again.

"What's that?" Jimin asked, noticing his change in expression.

"Nothing," Taehyung said quickly, but Jimin was already sitting up, curious.

"Come on, what is it? Has something happened at home?"

He sighed, knowing his roommate wouldn't let it go. "It's this... _re:quiet."

"Again!? But didn't you block him?"

"No. I forgot…”

The other scoffed, “Sure.”

Taehyung showed him the phone screen. "Look a these messages. What do you think?”

Jimin picked up his phone and read the chat, his eyebrows raising. At some point he made a whistle, “Jeez…” He was laughing, now.

“It's probably some prank, right?"

"I told you! These don't sound like prank messages. They sound..."

"Creepy?"

"Desperate," Jimin corrected. "Like someone who actually likes you but is too scared to say who they are."

"Or someone who's setting me up for something," Taehyung countered. "Think about it. Right after the whole #CocktailKim thing, some mysterious person starts messaging me? It screams setup."

"What if it's not, though?" Jimin's voice was gentle. “What if it’s a coincidence? What if it's someone who actually likes you but doesn't know how to approach you normally?"

Taehyung snorted. "Right. Because I'm so intimidating."

"You are, actually," the other said seriously. "You've got this whole don't mess with me vibe going on. Some people might find that hard to break through."

"So they resort to anonymous messaging? That's cowardly. It doesn’t impress me."

"Maybe they’re a coward," his friend acknowledged. "But maybe they're just scared of rejection. Or maybe they think you wouldn't give them a chance."

Taehyung looked at his phone again, thumb hovering over the notification. "What if it's Jeon? Or one of his minions? What if they're trying to get dirt on me for the whole cocktail thing?"

"Then you'll figure it out," Jimin said simply. "But what if it's not? What if it's someone genuine, and you're letting your paranoia ruin a potential connection?"

"I'm not paranoid-"

"You are," the other interrupted gently. "And I get it… But Tae, you can't let fear keep you closed off forever. You told me before, didn't you? You have to jump."

Taehyung stared at the messages, reading the vulnerability in the words, the careful way this person wrote to him. There was something raw about it, something that felt real despite all his suspicions.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"Do what you want. Just... don't shut it down completely," Jimin said. “Maybe test the waters a little. See if you can figure out who it is without giving away too much of yourself."

"And if it's a trap?"

"Then at least you'll know for sure instead of spending weeks wondering about it."

Taehyung looked at his friend. "When did you become the wise one in this friendship?"

"About the time you started overthinking everything," Jimin smiled. "Seriously though, give them a chance. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Famous last words," he muttered, but he was actually considering it. Maybe Jimin was right. Maybe his fear was making him see threats where there weren't any.

It wouldn't have been the first time, after all.

He opened the chat as Jimin crawled into bed.

From _re:quiet:

[01:45] u tell me to stop
[01:46] yet u're always reading

He narrowed his eyes.

OK, let’s think clearly: whoever was behind the account seemed almost attached to his chat, sending messages with an intensity that made his skin itch. Beside, it was late, too late for this kind of persistence.

Still, Jimin had a point. He had the upper hand here. Most likely - nine out of ten - this was some elaborate joke. Another fucker with too much time and too little empathy.

But Taehyung? He wasn’t going to be their entertainment.

That is why he began to type.

[01:53] u said u'd stay away
[01:53] yet u didn't

He waited.

_re:quiet began to write, then froze, then wrote, then froze again. Then it came:

[01:54] i meant to

Fucker.

[01:55] and then what?
[01:56] u decided to ignore me?

[01:56] probably

Taehyung clenched his jaw.

[01:56] i'm selfish

The casual dismissal should have pissed him off more, but their bluntness was almost refreshing.

[02:00] at least u're honest about something

[02:00] i've been honest about everything

[02:01] have u?
[02:02] from here
[02:02] it looks like ur playing games

[02:02] this isn't a game to me
[02:04] if it was
[02:04] i’d have gotten bored by now

He found himself leaning closer to the screen.

Ok, they were good; there was someone behind the screen who knew what they were doing - how to push, how to linger in that narrow space between confession and manipulation.

And yet.

He scrolled back through the messages, and everything still smelled just a little too rehearsed, a little too much.

[02:04] then why does it still feel like
[02:04] u trying to fuck with me?

[02:05] if i wanted to fuck with u
[02:05] i’d have to be really committed
[02:06] texting u for days
[02:06] just for the punchline

 Was that supposed to reassure him?

[02:08] not funny

[02:09] truth is
[02:10] sadly
[02:10] this is just me being pathetic at 2 am
[02:10] again

He exhaled through his nose, fingers frozen over the keyboard.

The worst part was the way they were so honest and vulnerable. Not the flirty, obvious kind that you could ignore, but the kind that was silent and humiliating.

He should’ve blocked them already. And yet here he was. Still reading. Still replying.    

[02:13] pathetic how? 

[02:14] texting someone who clearly wants me to disappear
[02:14] but doing it anyway
[02:15] cause apparently i hate myself
[02:15] or maybe i just like the way u argue with me

He paused, feeling an heat creep up his neck.

He shifted against his pillows, suddenly very aware of the darkness of his room, the intimacy of texting someone at that hour. 

[02:22] ur right
[02:22] ur pretty pathetic

[02:23] ouch
[02:23] that one hurt

Despite himself, he smiled. A little. 

[02:26] good
[02:27] maybe u'll finally get the hint

He sent the message with finality.

He locked his phone with a click, tossing it beside him on the bed. The screen went dark.

There. That should be the end of it. They always left eventually: his father, his friends, his lovers. Even his brother, in his own way. Everyone found a way out. And when they did, it always looked the same: silence, distance. Absence.

Then the vibration came.

He didn’t touch the phone, didn’t even look at it. Just let it sit there, buzzing once: short, soft.

But after a few seconds, curiosity won.

He swiped down, just enough to read the preview.

[02:29] i'm not going anywhere

His breath caught: it shouldn’t have meant anything. Not really.

But something about those words, so simple, so certain, hit him like a punch.

He stared at the message a few seconds longer, then unlocked his phone and opened the chat. His fingers were still for a moment, unsure, then started typing before he could stop himself.

[02:29] ur actually insane
[02:30] what makes u think i want to talk to u
[02:32] what makes u think i won't just block u

Taehyung hit send, then stared at the screen. Waiting.
The seconds stretched.

He hated that he was waiting.

Maybe, after all, he was the insane one. For letting someone anonymous get to him like this.

For answering. For standing by.

The screen lit up again.

[02:33] i tell u what i know
[02:33] that u're still here
[02:33] talking to a stranger
[02:34] and that tells me something

He felt his defenses slip in a way that scared him more than he wanted to admit. Whoever this person was, they had found a way to crawl under his skin.

Fucker.

With a sharp breath, Taehyung locked the phone and dropped it on the nightstand. He ran a hand over his face, trying to shake off the weight of whatever this was.

“I’ll block them tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, as if saying it out loud would make it easier.

He wouldn't give them more space in his head.

Whoever they were, they were very good at this. Manipulative. Dangerous in a way that made you feel seen right before they pulled the rug out from under you.

He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to sleep.

Just a few more hours, and in the morning, he’d be done with all of this.

He rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes tight.

Tomorrow.

He’d block them tomorrow.

And pretend none of this had ever happened.

Chapter Text

Taehyung woke with a jolt, heart thudding like he’d missed something important.

He sat up too fast, blinking against the faint morning light. For a second, he couldn’t remember where he was - room spinning, thoughts scattered - until his eyes landed on the crumpled hoodie hanging off Jimin’s bedpost and the familiar calendar taped to the inside of their closet door.

Saturday.

The speeches. Jin’s big day.
Damn.

He rubbed his face with both hands, still half-buried in the fog of sleep, perhaps he had had a bad dream, something about his family, but he already forgotten. He let out a groan as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Then, from the nightstand, the phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

From _re:quiet:

[07:04] passed out last night
[07:04] dead asleep by like 9pm
[07:05] don’t think that’s happened since i was 6

[07:32] how was yesterday’s shift?
[07:32] u survived?

Taehyung smiled wryly and stretched, his spine popped like bubble wrap. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he didn’t let it linger too long. He begun to type an answer.

[07:32] barely
[07:33] the fryer tried to kill me again

[07:33] tragic
[07:33] i'll light a candle for u and ur burns

His fingers hovered a moment before typing again. He could picture them - this stranger - typing with a grin.

He smiled.

[07:35] make it scented
[07:35] maybe then i’ll stop smelling like fast food trauma

[07:36] always so dramatic
[07:36] were u born this or did you train for it?

He let out a soft laugh. A real one.

Quiet, almost surprised.

[07:36] i’m a natural
[07:37] like u with unsolicited comments

[07:38] hadn't already passed this stage?
[07:38] i thought we were friends now

Taehyung’s fingers paused. Friends.

The word tasted strange in this context. Not bad, just... unfamiliar.

It had been almost a week since their first conversation, and somehow this faceless presence had wormed its way into his routine. And Taehyung, against every ounce of his better judgment, had started to look forward to it.
To them.

Still, a part of him was wary. Always wary.

He hadn’t made it this far by being naive. The trap could be just around the corner, a cruel joke from bad people, a prank orchestrated by one of Jeon’s silent followers, or worse... Jeon himself.

Honestly his pride couldn’t take that.

But another part of him, quieter but persistent, whispered: live a little!

Maybe not everything had to be a trick. Maybe this could just be what it was: messy, anonymous, unexpected connection.

An adventure.

And hadn’t he always been the kind of person who dove headfirst into things that made no sense?

His thumb stilled again, unsure. But his lips curved into a little smile as he typed anyway.

[07:40] we’re not friends
[07:41] just two idiots who don’t know how to stop texting

[07:41] sounds like most modern relationships tbh

[07:45] don’t get ideas

[07:45] too late
[07:46] already writing our wedding vows

Taehyung scoffed.

The dorm room was still dim: Jimin was a motionless lump under his covers, sleep mask still firmly in place, breathing deep and even.

He moved quietly, gathering an hoodie and a clean shirt from his desk chair. He balanced his phone between his hands as he typed. 

[07:47] speaking of vows
[07:47] u going to the candidate speeches today?

 The reply came before he finished pulling the hoodie over his head.

[07:48] yeah
[07:48] unfortunately

His fingers already moving again.

[07:49] why unfortunately?
[07:49] u not curious who’s gonna lead us
[07:49] into the golden age?

[07:50] nah
[07:50] i only care about 2 things at this school
[07:50] passing my classes and texting u

He blinked down at the message, heat creeping up his neck again.

[07:51] u seriously need more hobbies

[07:51] maybe

He found himself glued at his phone like an idiot while trying to drag the hoodie over his head.

[07:54] actually
[07:54] catfishing is already an hobby
[07:54] so u've already found one

The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before the response came.

[07:55] i’m not catfishing
[07:55] i never pretended to be someone i’m not

[07:56] semantics
[07:56] still sounds pathetic

[07:57] yeah, like this
[07:57] i love it when you treat me badly
[07:57] don’t stop

Taehyung scoffed quietly.

"Oh, so it is serious then."

His head snapped up: Jimin had pushed his sleep mask up to his forehead, dark eyes fixed on him. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, but his expression was sharp, too sharp for someone who'd just woken up.

"What?"

"The texting. The smiling." His friend sat up slowly, silk pajamas somehow still pristine despite a night of sleep. "You've been stuck on that phone for days, and now you're over there grinning like an idiot."

Taehyung locked the phone without replying and tossed it onto the bed. The screen dimmed, but the afterglow of the conversation still clung to him.

He sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees, eyes drawn to the narrow strip of light leaking in through the blinds.

“So who is it? Someone from work?” The other croaked again, his voice still thick with sleep.

Taehyung opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.

Because what could he say? That he was still talking to that anonymous account? That he hadn’t blocked them like he said he would? That he’d done the exact opposite?

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No one you know.”

Jimin squinted, clearly unconvinced. “You sure about that?”

He didn’t look at him. “Pretty sure.”

There was a pause. A beat too long.

Jimin didn’t press - didn’t tease, didn’t smirk - and that was worse than if he had. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to read something behind Taehyung’s expression.

“You said you blocked that creep, right?” He said finally, voice softer now. “The... quiet something.”

Taehyung’s shoulders tensed.

Another pause.

Jimin scoffed, skeptical. “Right.”

Taehyung turned, defensive without meaning to be. “What?”

His roommate flopped back onto his pillow theatrically. “Nothing.”

"You're an ass," he muttered, but he was already pulling out his phone. 

[08:03] r u still there?
[08:05] ok, mental note: no more horny jokes
[08:05] i’ve murdered the whole vibe
[08:06] amazing
[08:07] 10/10 sabotage

Taehyung smirked, thumbs already moving.

[08:10] the vibe was already tragic
[08:10] u just made it worse
[08:11] congrats

He locked the phone with a soft click, glancing over at Jimin, who was still watching him like a sleepy hawk.

“Hey, get up!” Taehyung rose from the bed tossing a pillow toward his friend. “We’ve got a campaign to win.”

“Okay,” the other said, rubbing his eyes. “But just so you know, when you inevitably marry your anon pen pal, I want to be the best man.”

“Sure. You can walk down the aisle throwing petals. Now move.”

Jimin grinned, dragging himself out of bed with a groan. “So dramatic, and it’s not even 9 a.m.”

*

Taehyung pushed through the double doors of the dining hall and immediately spotted his friends’ table in their usual corner spot. But that morning the whole room buzzed with an energy that had nothing to do with the morning hunger: campaign fever had officially taken hold, and it showed in every corner of the massive space.

The dining hall looked dipped in molten gold and bravado: red-and-gold banners screamed BAMBAM BUILDS THE FUTURE, ribbons choked every chair, and volunteers buzzed around with flyers, stickers, and branded coffee cups. Students flaunted pins shaped like crowns, even temporary tattoos of BamBam’s logo, while the cloying scent of campaign-branded croissants hung in the air.

Taehyung wrinkled his nose as a flyer fluttered down and landed directly on his tray: BamBam winking in a scarlet blazer, finger guns pointed directly at the reader like some mafia Don.

Jesus.

And yet, it was working: students were talking, laughing, engaged. Or at the very least, too hyped on free food and caffeine to care who else was running.

If Jin or Yeonjun had any campaign presence in that room, it was invisible.

No flyers. No pins. No pastries. Just a handful of tired-looking students with sleep-rumpled hair and empty mugs, trying to pretend they didn’t notice the red-and-gold tsunami swallowing all the campus.

He sighed as he made his way to the table.

“This is disgusting,” he muttered, tossing the flyer into the nearest trash bin.

Yoongi looked up from his phone. “You mean the croissants or the cult-like branding?”

“Yes.”

Jin barely glanced up from his own device, scrolling through what looked like social media feeds. His breakfast sat untouched beside and next to his tray was a basket of blue pins with VOTE SEOKJIN! written on them.

Taehyung took one and attached it to his chest, “Hey! They came out pretty!”

Jin looked up, defeated.

Jimin came across the table, already halfway through a stack of pancakes that definitely hadn't come from the campaign buffet. "Morning, sunsh-,"

“DON’T!” Yoongi, Taehyung and Namjoon shouted in chorus.

The other raised an eyebrow as he bit into another piece of pancake. “What's with the long faces? It looks like a funeral.”

Yoongi nodded towards the centre of the room. “Look at that…”

Jimin turned around and looked at the circus. Girls were taking selfies under a banner that read 'THE FUTURE IS GOLD'.

Taehyung pointed to the scene with a dry gesture of his chin. “Unbelievable.”

Jimin huffed. “Oh, please. They're just taking advantage of the free food and drink. As soon as the polls open, they'll forget everything but the fact that Jin finally fixed the Wi-Fi.”

Jin straightened up sharply. “You think?”

“Are you joking? That saved our lives!” Namjoon was buried nose-deep in his laptop screen, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"By the way, what's the damage?" Taehyung asked, nodding toward Jin's phone.

"Depends how you define it," the other muttered, thumb still scrolling. "BamBam's Instagram story has been running for twelve hours straight. Twelve. Hours. Who has that much content?"

"Someone with a production team," Yoongi said dryly, finally setting his phone face-down on the table. "Word is he hired actual photographers. And videographers. There's rumor of a social media manager."

Hoseok whistled low. "Damn. That's... professional."

"That's insane," Taehyung corrected, stealing a piece of toast from Namjoon's plate. "It's a student council election, not a presidential campaign."

"Tell that to him," Jin said, turning his phone so they could see the screen. BamBam's story showed a behind-the-scenes montage of what looked like a legitimate photo shoot - ring lights, reflectors, multiple camera angles, the works. He was posed against a backdrop of the school's main building, arms crossed, looking like he was running for CEO of the universe.

"Oh, come on," Jimin groaned. "That's ridiculous!"

"I'm trying to track the budget on the whole thing”, Namjoon said without looking up from his laptop. “And the numbers don't add up. This level of production costs serious money."

"Daddy's money," Yoongi added with a shrug.

Jin finally set his phone down, running both hands through his hair. "I knew he'd go big, but this..." He gestured vaguely at the red-and-gold chaos surrounding them. "This is next level."

"It's theater," Taehyung took a bite of the stolen toast. "All flash, no substance. He’s a clown."

"Theater works," Jin replied, voice tight. "Look around. Half the student body is wearing his merch."

Before anyone could respond, a second-year - Ari? Aera? - appeared at their table, clutching a "BB" coffee cup and beaming at Jin.

"Oh my god, Jin!" she gushed, voice pitched high with excitement. "Thank you so much for fixing Wi-Fi! I just saw your videos documenting the whole thing. Chef's kiss! Finally, someone who gets it."

Jin's expression shifted, tension easing slightly. "Thanks, that means a lot.”

"And the mental health initiative? Brilliant." She paused, drinking from her BB cup. "Substance beats style, right?"

Everyone looked at the scene, sceptical.

"From your mouth to the voters' ears," Jin said with a genuine smile, looking at her cup.

She squeezed his shoulder encouragingly before heading off to the auditorium.

Hoseok leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Speaking of the circus - did you guys hear about the press thing?"

"What press thing?" Taehyung asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"BamBam contacted the local news stations. And some college journalists from nearby schools. There's going to be actual press coverage of today's speeches."

The table fell silent.

"You're kidding," Namjoon said slowly, finally looking up from his laptop.

"I wish. A friend of mine knows someone on his campaign team. They're treating this like it's a real political event. Professional cameras, interviews, the whole nine yards."

Jin's face had gone pale. "Jesus Christ."

"It's good," Taehyung said quickly. "More eyes means more accountability. Imagine when everybody will listen to his empty promises."

"I don’t know... It could mean he gets to perform for an even bigger audience," Yoongi countered. "And let's be honest - the guy knows how to perform."

Jimin stabbed at his pancakes with unnecessary force. "This is so stupid. It's supposed to be about the school, not about who can throw the most money at production value."

"Welcome to politics," Namjoon said grimly.

Around them, the red-and-gold spectacle continued: volunteers distributing more branded merchandise, students posing for selfies with BamBam campaign materials, the steady hum of excited chatter about the upcoming speeches.

But at their corner table, silence.

Taehyung felt his phone buzz in his pocket and instinctively reached for it.

From _re:quiet:

[09:13] this is insane
[09:13] the hall looks like a vegas casino had a baby with a political convention

A small huff escaped him, more scoff than laugh. His fingers moved but stopped himself: _re:quiet could wait. Right now, Jin needed him present.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, but his mind didn’t follow.

His eyes drifted across the hall, scanning faces without meaning to. He wondered if _re:quiet was in this room. Watching.

Maybe seated just a few tables over, pretending not to notice him while tracking his every move.
Or maybe standing behind one of those damn posters, sipping from one of those face mugs, hiding in plain sight.

Were they wearing red and gold? Or did they support Jin or Yeonjun, quietly?

They’d said they didn’t care about school politics. But they also said they'd be in the auditorium today.

So what were they really here for?

Namjoon suddenly straightened up, closing his laptop with a decisive snap and bringing Taehyung back to the present. "Before we spiral into existential campaign dread," he said, "I have something."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a neatly stapled packet of papers, setting it down in the center of the table like evidence in a court case.

"What's that?" Hoseok asked, leaning closer.

"Thanks to our double agent for feeding us intel from the enemy camp," he nodded toward Jimin, “I spent last night compiling data on both campaigns’ activities. Social media posts, event attendance, public appearances, policy chatter… everything."

Jin perked up, fork halfway to his mouth. “And?”

Namjoon flipped to the first page, neatly divided into two columns. "Left side: Jin's campaign. Right side: BamBam's. Let’s take a look at what we’re up against."

Yoongi scooted his chair closer, curiosity piqued. “Hit us with the data, so we know what to expect.”

"Jin," Namjoon began, reading from the left column, "attended three different club meetings to discuss policy initiatives. Posted detailed proposals on mental health resources, campus sustainability, and academic support programs. He finally got Wi-Fi fixed by documenting everything on social media. Had one-on-one conversations with student representatives from seven different organizations. Spent Tuesday evening in the library helping underclassmen with study group coordination."

"Nerd," Jimin said fondly.

"BamBam," Namjoon continued, flipping to the right side, sighing, "hired a professional photographer for a campus lifestyle shoot. Commissioned custom merchandise worth an estimated ten hundred dollars. Organized a spontaneous flash mob in the quad - which, by the way, required permits and professional choreography. Posted Sixty-three Instagram stories, twenty-two TikToks, and somehow got verified on Twitter."

"In one week?" Hoseok's voice cracked.

"That's not even the best part," Namjoon said, flipping the page. "Wednesday, he rented out the campus coffee shop for two hours to hand out free drinks. Thursday, he brought in a food truck - an actual food truck - to give away gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches with the initials BB grilled on it. And yesterday..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Yesterday, he threw a party."

"Another party?" Jin asked weakly.

"Yeah, but this time it wasn’t just any party. A Future Leaders Networking Event at his family's country club. Open bar, catered dinner, live DJ. Invitation only, but somehow half the student body got invited. And he also gave a gift for participating: smartwatches."

The table fell silent.

"Jesus," Yoongi muttered. "How is that even… legal?"

"Technically, it was off-campus and privately funded," Namjoon said. "But the optics..."

"The optics are that he's literally buying votes with smartwatches, premium alcohol and fancy appetizers," Taehyung finished.

Hoseok let out a low whistle. “Okay, but like… can we talk about why he’s doing all this? I mean, it’s a student council position. Not a seat in the National Assembly.”

Namjoon didn’t even look up. “That’s exactly the point.”

Everyone turned toward him.

He tapped the dossier with a finger. “You think BamBam’s parents care about student government? No. But they care about optics. Appearances. Connections. The student body president title at a school like this is currency. It’s branding.”

“Branding for what?” Jimin asked.

“Politics. Or PR. Or corporate leadership. Whatever future his family’s plotting out for him, this is step one. Being elected here, in the most important Arts Academy of South Korea. Being visible, being liked for creating a narrative. It says he’s a leader, he’s trusted, he’s already building a network.”

Yoongi scoffed. “So basically, it’s an internship for nepotism.”

“Exactly,” the other said. “Meanwhile, his family can quietly keep greasing the real wheels behind the scenes.”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, letting that sink in. He’d always known this school was a theater of image and legacy, but hearing it laid out like that made something in his stomach twist: he felt a tinge of nausea.

“Then we need to make sure Jin wins,” Jimin said, suddenly more serious. “Because if we don’t, it’s not just a popularity contest we’re losing. It’s the whole narrative.”

Taehyung nodded slowly. “Let’s write a better one.”

Jin pushed his eggs around his plate, looking increasingly deflated. "And what do I have to show for my narrative? I'm gonna look like shit."

"Hey," Taehyung said firmly. "Don't do that. You have something he doesn't."

"What? A smaller budget?"

"Actual support," he replied. "From people who matter. All the people I have spoken to will vote for you, and believe me, I have spoken to many people.”

His friend looked around the table, a soft hope flickering in his expression.

"Look, BamBam can throw all the parties he wants, but people aren't dumb. They know the difference between someone who wants to help and someone who wants to look good helping."

"Exactly." Namjoon continued, warming to his theme. "College students might be easily distracted by shiny objects, but they know. When it comes to actual voting, they're going to think about who's going to make their lives better."

Jin sat back in his chair, looking at his friends with gratitude and determination. "So what's our play for today?"

"Simple," Taehyung said. "Let's go see what that asshole says, then you get up and tell the truth. Talk about what you actually want to do, why it matters, and how you're going to make it happen. No gimmicks, no flash mobs, no finger guns."

"Definitely no finger guns," Yoongi agreed.

"And we'll be right there in the audience," Jimin said. "Front row, cheerleading."

Jin smiled - a real smile this time, not the stressed grimace he'd been wearing all morning. "You guys are the best campaign team a candidate could ask for."

"Damn right we are," Taehyung said, raising his mug in a mock toast. "To substance over style."

"To people who actually give a shit," Yoongi added.

"To winning this thing," Jin finished.

*

The cold air bit at Taehyung's skin as he stepped out the side door of the dining hall, one hand already fishing through his pocket for a lighter. The door swung shut behind him, muting the chaos inside. He lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply, and tilted his head back to scan the morning sky.

Just a few minutes, enough time to clear his head before going back to the Vietnam.

He pulled out his phone, telling himself he wasn't eager to answer those messages. The lie came easily enough.

From _re:quiet:

[09:13] this is insane
[09:13] the hall looks like a vegas casino had a baby with a political convention

Taehyung sneered, typing back quickly.

[09:44] that's disturbingly accurate

The response came almost immediately.

[09:44] i'm drinking bambam's face rn

His eyebrow raised at the mention of that name. Those campaign posters, the branded coffee cups, the whole mess, it made his skin crawl. But… it also presented an opportunity.

[09:45] tell me u didn't actually drink from the face cup
[09:45] that's how they get u
[09:46] subliminal messaging through caffeine addiction

[09:46] too late
[09:46] i'm already brainwashed
[09:47] seriously tho this is next level extra

Taehyung's thumb hovered over the keyboard. Time to start fishing.

[09:48] go big or go home right?

And waited. Eyes still on the screen.

[09:48] i guess
[09:48] if u're gonna do an election
[09:48] might as well make it memorable

He leaned against the wall, cigarette burning between his fingers.

This was the perfect moment to nudge _re:quiet toward revealing something real.

After a week of late-night chats, Taehyung still knew almost nothing about them. They were infuriatingly good at dodging questions: always composed, always careful.

He’d followed Jimin’s advice - keep it light, don’t show your cards, let them slip first - but time was running out. And with the campus already fracturing over the elections, this felt like the perfect moment to test whether _re:quiet was real connection or just another act.

[09:49] memorable is one word for it
[09:49] embarrassing is another

He waited. Would they defend BamBam? Trash him further?

Either reaction would tell him something…

[09:49] all these streamers are giving me a headache
[09:50] who needs this much red and gold

Taehyung frowned.

A deflection, but not the kind he'd expected.
Too neutral. Too safe.

[09:51] someone who's never heard of subtlety
[09:52] bet he color-coordinated his underwear too

[09:52] jeez
[09:52] why would u put that image in my head

[09:53] sharing the pain

[09:53] now i'm picturing bambam in designer briefs

[09:53] with his campaign slogan embroidered on them
[09:54] VOTE BB right across the...

[09:54] PLEASE STOP
[09:55] i'm trying to live peacefully

The messages made him smirk: typical snark, over-the-top imagery, that weirdly specific humor he'd grown to expect from them. But the evasiveness was starting to itch at something deeper: in Taehyung's experience, people who stayed this neutral usually had the most to hide.

He sat on a stone ledge, cigarette balanced between his fingers. Time to probe a little deeper.

[09:56] what's ur deal with all this btw?
[09:56] u said u don't care

The pause was longer this time. Long enough for Taehyung to take another drag and study the pattern. _re:quiet always took longer when he asked direct questions.

[09:58] i'm not a fan of loud things
[10:02] that's it

[10:03] but ur here anyway

[10:03] nowhere else to go

That rang false too. People who genuinely wanted to avoid something didn't show up and then complain about it. They just didn't show up.

Unless they had to be there. Unless they had a reason.

Taehyung took another drag, his mind working.

[10:05] u know bambam?
[10:05] personally?

He watched the screen, counting seconds.

[10:06] everyone knows everyone here

Non-answer disguised as information. Taehyung had used that trick himself plenty of times.

[10:06] that's not what i asked

[10:07] does it matter?
[10:07] if i know him?

And there it was. Taehyung's instincts started screaming.

[10:09] kinda seems like it does
[10:09] to u

[10:09] what does that mean?

Taehyung stubbed out his cigarette, his jaw tightening.

This wasn't paranoia anymore.

[10:10] ur being weird about all this shit
[10:10] just answer the fucking question

[10:11] we go to the same school
[10:12] i know him

He stared at the response: when someone ask if you know a person, you say yes or no. You don’t talk about circumstances, unless you’re trying to minimize something bigger.

[10:19] that's not an answer

[10:20] then what do u want me to say?
[10:21] tell me what i’ve to say
[10:21] and i’ll say it

The defensiveness was creeping in now. Taehyung took another drag: _re:quiet was getting uncomfortable, and uncomfortable people made mistakes.

[10:21] i'll tell u what i think
[10:21] u know him well enough
[10:21] to criticise his campaign style
[10:21] without criticising him

Another long pause. Taehyung could practically feel them scrambling on the other end.

[10:23] everyone has opinions
[10:23] so what?

Another deflection, another non-answer wrapped in false casualness.

He stared at his phone, pieces clicking together in his mind. _re:quiet was at the event. They surely knew BamBam personally. They were being evasive about their connection. They were messaging him during campaign activities, making detailed observations...

[10:23] ur one of his people aren't u

It wasn't really a question anymore.

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.

The silence stretched until it became an answer in itself.

[10:25] what do u mean?

Too late. Way too fucking late. The innocent act might have worked five minutes ago, but Taehyung had already connected the dots.

[10:26] don't fucking play dumb
[10:26] you fuckin prick
[10:26] u think this is some kind of game?

[10:27] what game?
[10:27] i don't understand what’s happening
[10:24] i just said i'm not into school politics

[10:28] bullshit
[10:28] don't do the innocent act

[10:33] i'm not acting
[10:33] i genuinely don't know what u're talking about
[10:29] why would i be fuckin with u?

[10:30] because that's what u people do
[10:30] get close
[10:30] get information
[10:30] use it
[10:31] think i'm fucking stupid?

[10:32] jeez
[10:32] i'm just trying to have a conversation

Just trying to have a conversation. 

The same line every manipulator used when they got caught. Taehyung had heard it from social workers, teachers, cops, other kids who thought they could play him. It was level one, c’mon.

[10:33] fuck your conversation
[10:33] and fuck u

[10:34] wait

A door creaked open behind him.

"Taehyung!"

Yoongi's voice rang out like a gunshot. He turned to see him standing at the building's entrance, arms crossed.

"What the fuck are you doing out here? We've got, like, fifteen minutes before BamBam's parade."

He didn't answer. He glanced down at his phone one last time. The typing bubble was still there, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then:

[10:41] listen
[10:41] i have to go now
[10:41] can we talk about it later?

Part of him, the part that had actually started to like these conversations, wanted to give them one more chance to explain. But the bigger part, the part that had kept him alive and unbroken through years of people trying to use him, knew better.

Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.

And _re:quiet had just proven why.

[10:38] stay the fuck away from me

He shoved the phone deep into his pocket and ground his cigarette under his heel.

"Coming," he muttered, and walked toward the auditorium.

Behind him, his phone buzzed twice more. He didn't check it.

*

Someone appeared at the table’s edge, hesitating for a heartbeat before sliding onto the bench beside Taehyung. He didn’t say anything at first, just settled in like he wasn’t entirely sure he could.

He glanced up. “Bogum! Thought you were busy this morning.”

Bogum gave a quick nod, then ran a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. “Yeah. I- uh, finished early.” His voice was soft, and even though he looked at Taehyung, his eyes flicked away almost immediately. “I still can’t believe you managed to drag me into politics.”

“Really!?” Taehyung huffed a laugh. “I knew it! No one’s safe when Jin has a vision!”

From across the table, Jin looked up from his notes, one eyebrow arched. “Wait, Bogum, are you here for moral support or actual campaign volunteering?”

Bogum's mouth twitched into a smile or a grimace. “I... both, I think.”

"See?" Taehyung said, nudging Jin's shoulder. "I told you people would get it."

Bogum's smile was small, but it reached his eyes - quiet, sincere.

"We should probably head over," Jin said eventually, checking his watch. "BamBam's speech starts in a few minutes, and I want to get good seats."

"Reconnaissance?" Bogum asked, the single word laced with light curiosity.

"Something like that," Taehyung replied, gathering his things.

As the group began to disperse toward the main auditorium, Bogum fell into step beside Taehyung, their pace naturally slower than the others.

They walked in an easy silence through the marble-floored lobby, their footsteps echoing around the high ceiling. Bogum looked up, gaze flitting over the ornate architecture, but didn’t say anything. His appreciation was silent, almost bashful, like he didn’t want to sound too impressed.

Taehyung found himself smiling.

His friend paused in front of a long stretch of framed photographs: decades of graduating classes, alumni highlights, institutional achievements. He studied them with the same quiet care he gave everything, eyes moving slowly across the glass.

"Here," he said softly, stopping in front of a section of more recent photos. He pointed to one particular frame. "My year."

Taehyung looked at the photo: rows of students in formal attire, the kind of carefully composed group shot that every graduating class seemed to produce. Bogum looked essentially the same, perhaps slightly less polished, and with a more carefree expression.

"Theater program?" Taehyung asked.

"Since freshman year." Bogum's finger traced along the back row. "That's Mark, my old roommate."

They continued walking along the wall, Bogum offering quiet bits of context, never filling the silence unnecessarily, only saying what mattered. He just walked close enough that Taehyung could feel his presence.

When they reached a more recent frame, Taehyung’s steps faltered, just slightly.

“This should be your year, right?” Bogum asked, eyes scanning the faces.

He felt something cold settle in his chest, but it was too late to redirect him. Bogum had already leaned in, focused in that quiet, intense way he did when he was trying to understand something fully.

The photo was smaller than others: the students were all arranged together, but in a haphazard manner. Their faces glowed at the audition results.

“Okay... front row? Back?” he murmured, his finger hovering near the bottom of the frame.

He moved slowly, deliberately. Then he paused.

“Here,” Bogum said, his voice even softer now. “Front row.”

Taehyung's gaze followed his finger, landing on a version of himself he barely recognized. The shaved head made his features look sharper, younger, and there was something in his expression, an openness, a lack of guardedness that felt like looking at a stranger.

Perhaps two years earlier he was better at bringing problems on himself.

What struck him wasn’t his own image, though. It was Jungkook’s arm around his shoulders. And his own around Jungkook’s waist. Both of them smiling: not the careful, posed smiles of formal photography, but genuine expressions of happiness, comfort, belonging.

Jeon looked different too: younger, softer somehow, his hair longer and slightly messy, his smile bright in a way that Taehyung hadn't seen anymore. They looked comfortable, natural, like they belonged together.

Like they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

Bogum’s finger remained pointed, but his gaze had shifted to Taehyung, unsure.

He swallowed before speaking, like he had to push the words past whatever held them back, but he failed.

"It's an old story," Taehyung said quietly, his voice carefully neutral.

Bogum lowered his hand quickly, almost apologetically, like he’d touched something he wasn’t supposed to. But he didn’t step away.

They stood there for another breath, the silence between them gentle but full.

“We should probably head to the auditorium,” Taehyung said eventually, stepping back from the wall.

“Right,” the other said quietly, falling into step beside him once more. 

The thought stayed with him as they found seats with the rest of their group, settling in to watch BamBam's orchestrated presentation. But even as he prepared to analyze his speech, part of his mind remained with that photograph in the lobby, and with the quiet understanding in Bogum's eyes when he chose not to ask questions that didn't need answers.

Not yet, anyway.

The auditorium pulsed with the energy of a rock concert, crimson and gold draped across every wall, every corner transformed into BamBam’s stage.

Glittering banners caught the spotlights while a low beat vibrated through the air, more rally than lecture. Volunteers in coordinated uniforms swept through the aisles with an infectious energy, pressing pins, wristbands, and water bottles into waiting hands until the crowd itself felt branded.

The place was packed - students crammed into seats, walls, and doorways - while the front rows bristled with cameras and press badges, proof this was no simple election speech but a spectacle worth covering.

In the faculty section, Ms. Jung sat with her hands neatly folded, flanked by professors who murmured occasionally to one another. Her face betrayed nothing, but her presence, poised and watchful, spoke volumes: this was her school, and she was taking notes.

On stage, BamBam strolled to the podium like it was a runway. His look was casually curated: designer jeans, a band tee vintage enough to be cool, and a blazer just disheveled enough to scream effortless wealth. Behind him, his so-called campaign team lounged like VIP guests at a rooftop party, not a university political event.

Taehyung's gaze sharpened as he scanned them, each face more irritating than the last.

Yugyeom lounged in his chair like he was posing for GQ, while Mingyu scrolled his phone with the gravity of choosing a sushi spot. And then, slightly apart but unmistakably one of them, sat Jeon.

Unlike the others, he wasn't slouched or grinning. He sat upright, one leg bouncing restlessly. His fingers moving against his thigh. There was tension in the set of his shoulders.

Taehyung leaned toward Jimin, eyes fixed on Jungkook. "Look at him," he muttered. "The nervous prick."

His friend followed his line of sight and nodded slowly. "They're acting confident, but..."

"They're sweating bullets," Hoseok chimed in from behind, his voice low but gleeful. "They know half the school wants to see them crash."

In the front row, Jennie, Lisa, and Jisoo sat in full campaign gear - tees, buttons, even glittering BAM headbands. Jennie, especially, carried herself like a mix of celebrity and royalty: still beautiful, but harder, distant, untouchable.

However, something was off.

Taehyung scanned the row again, a small frown creasing his brow.

"Where's Rosé?" he asked.

Jimin sat up straighter. "Well, certainly not to cheer on his ex. But I've seen her, she's around.”

Taehyung felt something stop him cold.

[07:47] u going to the candidate speeches today?

[07:48] yeah
[07:48] unfortunately

The messages echoed strangely in his mind, made his thoughts race in directions he didn't want to examine too closely, now.

"Good for her," he said quietly. "Maybe she'll vote for Jin instead of this vanity project."

"Good morning, everyone!" BamBam's voice carried easily through the premium sound system, warm, confident. "Thanks for coming out on this beautiful day. I know you could be doing about a million other things right now…"

The crowd erupted. Not polite applause, but a roar that belonged in a stadium. Students jumped to their feet, whistling and cheering like BamBam was their favorite pop star taking the stage.

Camera flashes went off in sequence, the photographers capturing his opening moments as the volunteers pumped their fists in the air, leading the crowd in sustained applause.

"I'm Kunpimook Bhuwakul, and I'm running for student body president because I believe this campus has incredible potential. Potential we're not even close to reaching yet!"

Another wave of cheers crashed over the auditorium. The sound system amplified everything, making the excitement feel enormous. Students who had been skeptical found themselves caught up in the energy, clapping along despite themselves.

Taehyung settled deeper into his seat, but there was nothing relaxed about his posture.

"Let me tell you what I see when I look at this campus," BamBam continued, his voice gaining momentum as he warmed to his theme. "I see students with incredible talent who deserve incredible opportunities. That's why my first initiative is the Future Leaders Connect Program!"

He gestured grandly and the crowd went wild again. The volunteers had started a chant - "BAM! BAM! BAM!"- that echoed through the packed space like a battle cry.

"We're going to revolutionize how students connect with industry professionals. Monthly networking events, exclusive auditions for major companies, and, here's the exciting part, draft days where top firms can scout talent directly from our student body!"

Students were on their feet, screaming their approval. The red and gold banners swayed with the movement of the crowd, and the rhythmic beat from the speakers seemed to sync with the collective heartbeat of the audience.

Taehyung felt his jaw clench.

BamBam was hitting his stride now, pacing the stage. "But that's not all. Thanks to some very generous partnerships-" his eyes flicked briefly toward Jungkook, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "-we're going to bring national television coverage to our semester showcases. Every major performance, every moment of brilliance will have the chance to reach audiences across the country!"

The auditorium exploded. This time the cheers were so loud they seemed to shake the building itself. Students were jumping, the volunteers were distributing more merchandise while someone had started throwing confetti that caught the spotlight like falling stars.

"National television?" Hoseok leaned forward, his voice tight with disbelief but barely audible over the crowd.

"Courtesy of Jeon Media Empire's connections," Namjoon said grimly, reading between the lines.

Taehyung's hands were fists now. He watched as BamBam soaked up the adoration from the crowd, that practiced smile never wavering. On stage, Jungkook's leg had stopped bouncing, but his fingers were working overtime against his thigh like he was trying to work out some internal tension. He was smiling.

Look at him, Taehyung thought, his anger sharpening to a blade. Sitting there like he owns the place.

"And finally," BamBam announced, his voice rising, "we're going to completely renovate our fitness facilities. A brand-new gymnasium with state-of-the-art equipment, because let's be honest-" he paused for effect, grinning "-the current gym looks like it survived a natural disaster!"

Everyone knew the gym was genuinely falling apart, and the promise of something better felt almost too good to be true.

"A new gym," Yoongi said flatly. "With what money?"

BamBam spread his arms wide, embracing the thunderous applause. "These aren't just campaign promises, folks. These are commitments. Investments in your future, in our future, in the legacy we're going to build together!"

The word legacy hit Taehyung like a bullet.

He thought of Jin, hunched over campaign notes until late at night. Of Namjoon pulling reports, Hoseok painting banners, Jimin slipping into meetings just to catch whispers. They weren't doing this for clout. They cared: about scholarships, about practice room access, about students like them not getting steamrolled by people with family names and deep pockets.

His gaze swept back to Jeon, who was now staring at something off-stage, his expression distant. Withdrawn. Like he was a million miles away from the spectacle surrounding him.

The sight made Taehyung's rage burn hotter.

At least pretend to care, he thought bitterly. At least act like this matters. Motherfucker.

"Questions?" BamBam asked, scanning the audience with confidence. "Anyone want to know more about how we're going to transform this campus?"

A few hands shot up from the supporters. The first question came from a girl in the third row, her voice sweet and rehearsed: "BamBam, how will you ensure that these amazing opportunities are accessible to everybody?"

It was the kind of softball that let him pivot into talking points about "inclusive excellence" and "merit-based access," empty phrases that sounded progressive while meaning absolutely nothing.

Another planted question followed: "What's your timeline for implementing the television coverage program?"

This one let BamBam elaborate on his "aggressive but realistic" rollout plan, complete with charts and projected viewership numbers that had clearly been prepared in advance.

The crowd ate it up, cheering at each calculated response.

But in the middle section, another hand rose.

Taehyung's.

"Oh shit," Jimin breathed, grabbing his arm. "Tae, what are you doing?"

"Don't," Hoseok warned sharply. "This isn't the time."

But Yoongi was grinning like a wolf. "Do it," he whispered. "Fucking do it."

Namjoon looked torn between panic and amusement. "This could backfire completely," he muttered.

"Or it could be exactly what we need," Jin said quietly from behind them, he seemed defeated in some way. His voice steady. "Your call, Tae."

Bogum, seated just beside him, didn’t say anything. But his eyes were on Taehyung, searching, like he was trying to read past the decision itself to the reason behind it. He smiled.

BamBam's eyes found him immediately, and for just a moment, his smile faltered. The recognition was instant: Kim Taehyung, scholarship kid, troublemaker.

"Actually," BamBam said quickly, his voice still smooth but with an edge of urgency, "I think we're running short on time. Maybe we should-"

"I have a question!" Taehyung's voice cut through the auditorium.

He stood up sharply, shaking off Jimin's restraining hand. Around him, his friends erupted in whispered reactions.

"Tae, sit down," Jimin hissed.

"This is insane," Namjoon muttered.

"This is brilliant," Yoongi countered, his eyes bright with mischief.

Students throughout the auditorium began to turn, sensing the shift in energy. The cameras swiveled to capture this unexpected moment of tension.

"We should probably move on to-" BamBam tried again.

But Taehyung was already moving, threading his way through the row of seats with predatory manner. Students shifted to let him pass, some recognizing him, others just sensing the electricity in the air. By the time he reached the aisle, the entire auditorium had begun to quiet, the festive energy giving way.

"I said I have a question!" Taehyung repeated, his voice carrying easily through the space.

BamBam's campaign team exchanged panicked glances. On stage, Jeon had gone perfectly still, his fingers frozen mid-motion. His eyes were fixed on Taehyung with an intensity that might have been concern, or curiosity.

"Hey, if you could please return to your seat-" A student volunteer, probably freshman, stepped forward with a nervous smile.

Taehyung walked past him like he didn't exist.

"The thing is," he said, his voice gaining strength as he approached the microphone, "I'm really curious about these generous partnerships you mentioned!"

The volunteer made a move to intercept him, but Taehyung was faster, his hand closing around the wireless microphone.

"KIM!" BamBam started harshly leaning towards with a contrite face, avoiding his microfone.

"Draft days," Taehyung said into the microphone, his voice now filling the auditorium. "National television coverage. Brand-new facilities." He turned to face the audience, his presence commanding instant attention. "All of this sounds incredible, doesn't it?"

Some students were still cheering, caught up in the momentum, but others had begun to quiet, sensing the change in tone. The applause was scattered now, uncertain.

"But here's what I want to know," Taehyung continued, his voice gaining heat. "Who's paying for it?"

A hush fell over parts of the auditorium. The red and gold decorations suddenly felt garish, overwhelming. The rhythmic beat from the speakers seemed out of place, almost sinister.

BamBam stepped forward, trying to reclaim control. "WELL! If you'd let me explain the funding structure-"

"Oh, I think we all know the funding structure," he cut him off, his smile sharp as broken glass. "Daddy's money. Family connections. Corporate partnerships that just happen to benefit the same people who are already on top!"

The reaction was mixed now. Some sections of the auditorium erupted in approval: students who had been skeptical all along, scholarship kids who recognized the truth in his words. But other sections went silent, uncomfortable with the sudden shift.

"You want to talk about draft days?" Taehyung's voice rose. "You mean the days when you get handed opportunities while the rest of us compete for scraps? When family names matter more than talent?"

"That's not-" BamBam tried to interject, his face now one step away from dropping its mask. It looked like fire was about to explode in his hair, like Hades.

"National television coverage?" Taehyung laughed, the sound bitter and cutting. "Courtesy of Jeon Media Empire, right? The same company that's been buying influence in this school for years? Tell me, Jeon, how does it feel to have your daddy's corporation turn our education into their personal marketing opportunity? Are we students or are we just content for your corporate profit?"

On stage, Jungkook flinched, his face going pale. But Taehyung was beyond caring about collateral damage.

The applause was building now, but it was different from before. Where BamBam's cheers had been manufactured euphoria, Taehyung's support felt raw, angry, real. Students were rising to their feet throughout the place, some shouting in agreement.

"And a new gym!" Taehyung threw his arms wide, voice rising with theatrical disbelief. "How generous! How thoughtful! Because clearly, what this school really needs isn’t better mental health services, or accessible financial aid, or even basic academic support for the students who are barely keeping their heads above water!" He took a step forward, voice sharper now.

"In the dormitory on the third floor, twenty-one male students share a single bathroom. Twenty-one. Thank to that crappy fountain courtesy of the Jeon Media Empire that compromised our toilets plumbing - but HEY!"

His voice turned mocking, almost laughing. "What we really need is shinier gym equipment, right? Because nothing says progress like treadmills no one asked for while the school crumbles underneath us!"

The auditorium was electric now, divided down the middle. Half the crowd was on their feet cheering, while the other half sat in stunned silence. The volunteers in their red and gold uniforms looked lost, unsure whether to try to maintain the party atmosphere or retreat.

"You know what this is?" Taehyung turned back to BamBam, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that the microphone still caught. "This is exactly what's wrong with this place! Spoiled kids buying their way to the top while pretending they care about the rest of us!"

"Enough! You're out of line!" The other said, his composed facade finally cracking.

"Am I?" Taehyung's smile was predatory. "Or am I just saying what everyone else is thinking!?"

He turned back to the audience, his voice building to a crescendo. "This isn't leadership! It's performance! And you know what the saddest part is?"

The auditorium was completely silent now, hanging on his every word. Even the music had stopped.

"The saddest part is that there are real candidates in this race! People who actually give a damn about making this school better for everyone, not just the privileged few! People who've earned their place here instead of buying it."

The applause was thunderous now, but it felt different from BamBam's orchestrated celebration. This was cathartic, angry, honest. Students were cheering and whistling, some shouting Taehyung's name. Camera flashes strobed like lightning, capturing every moment of BamBam's humiliation.

Taehyung set the microphone back without care, his eyes never leaving BamBam's face. "Thanks for the opportunity to speak!" he said mocking, his words still audible in the aftermath of the crowd's reaction.

He turned to leave the stage, but not before his gaze swept across BamBam's campaign team one final time. Mingyu was staring at his phone like it might save him. Yugyeom had slumped so far down in his chair he was practically horizontal.

And Jeon... That fucker.

Jeon was looking directly at him, his expression unreadable but intense.

The moment lasted only a second before Taehyung looked away, stepping down to wild applause and scattered chants of his name.

He could hear BamBam trying to regain control, his voice shaky as he attempted to continue his presentation. But the damage was done. The spell was broken. The red and gold decorations now looked desperate rather than impressive, and the remaining volunteers had given up trying to distribute merchandise.

"Holy shit," Jimin breathed as Taehyung slumped into his seat. "You just..."

"Destroyed him," Bogum finished, his voice filled with awe. "On live television."

"With journalists watching," Namjoon added, already pulling out his phone. "This is going to be everywhere."

Jin clapped him on the shoulder. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"You realize you just became the most famous person on campus, right?" Jimin laughed, showing him his phone where social media was already exploding with clips of his speech.

Hoseok was practically bouncing with excitement.

"And Jeon," Namjoon added quietly. "Did you see how he reacted when you mentioned his family?"

Taehyung's hands were shaking with adrenaline, but he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Around him, students were still buzzing with excitement, their conversations animated and energized in a way that felt completely different from the manufactured enthusiasm of earlier.

On stage, BamBam was stumbling through the rest of his presentation, but nobody was really listening anymore.

The moment belonged to Taehyung now, and everyone knew it.

*

"Dude, that was incredible-"
"Holy shit, did you see BamBam's face when you-"
"Can't wait to see what happens to Seokjin's speech!"

Taehyung ducked his head and pushed past them, muttering apologies as he navigated the crowded corridor. His hands were still shaking slightly, and all he wanted was five minutes alone to collect himself.

The main bathrooms would be packed: students, journalists, probably half of BamBam's campaign team having crisis meetings in the stalls. But the faculty bathroom on the third floor… nobody ever went there.

Perfect.

His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket as he climbed the stairs two at a time. Then buzzed again. And again. And again.

He pulled it out.

From _re:quiet:

[11:42] taehyung
[11:42] can we talk?

[11:50] just give me 5 minutes when u can

[11:53] i saw what u did
[11:53] i didn't realize this election meant so much to u
[11:54] i'm really sorry if i hurt u
[11:54] but honestly
[11:54] i don't know what i've done

[12:03] please
[12:03] let's talk

The messages kept coming, one after another, each buzz making Taehyung's jaw tighten further. He shoved the phone back into his pocket without reading the rest and pushed open the faculty bathroom door.

The space was pristine, institutional: white tiles that actually sparkled, mirrors without a single smudge, the faint scent of expensive cleaning products. Taehyung moved to the sink and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on his face.

The shock of it helped clear his head slightly.

He gripped the edge of the marble counter, staring down at the water swirling down the drain, letting his breathing slow. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind exhaustion and a bone-deep satisfaction that had everything to do with watching BamBam's polished façade crack in real time. 

Good. Let him squirm.

He lifted his gaze to the mirror: that's when he saw him.

Jungkook was leaning against the far wall, one foot propped up behind him, completely still.

How long had he been there? Had Taehyung just not noticed him when he walked in, or had he been hiding behind the partition?

Their eyes met in the mirror's reflection, and Taehyung's first instinct was to square his shoulders, lift his chin.

Here we go, he thought, turning around slowly.

The challenge in his stare was immediate, automatic: years of street fights and school yard confrontations had taught him to read the signs. Powerful people cornering him in an empty bathroom: this was textbook retaliation setup.

Fine. He wouldn't mind breaking Jeon's big nose.

His muscles tensed as he faced him fully, water still dripping from his face.

He was ready - actually, he was more than ready: after years, the idea of finally getting his hands on him felt almost satisfying.

Come on, Taehyung thought, his jaw clenching. Say something. Do something. Give me a reason.

But Jungkook looked... startled wasn't strong enough. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. His eyes went wide, unguarded, like a deer caught in headlights. His posture was tense, shoulders drawn tight, both hands gripping his phone like it was something to hold onto, something that could ground him. And yet, despite the flush of panic that briefly crossed his face, he was already rebuilding the mask: cool indifference, practiced, precise.

The fight Taehyung had been bracing for never came. Instead, Jungkook was staring at his phone, typing rapidly, thumb moving with urgence. The picture of casual disinterest, except for the tension radiating from every line of his body.

The anticlimax was almost insulting.

"You're a fucking creep, you know that?" Taehyung said, letting his anger sharpen his voice since his fists apparently weren't going to get any use.

Jungkook's thumb paused for half a second, but he didn't look up. Just kept typing.

Coward, Taehyung thought viciously. Can't even look at me after what I said about your precious family money.

"Sometimes you're unsettling," Taehyung continued, wiping his face with a paper towel. "Like, genuinely disturbing."

Still nothing. Jungkook's attention remained fixed on his screen, but he was frantic about the way he was messaging now. Like he was racing against time.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, Jimin's gossip suddenly surfacing in his memory: Hoseok catching Jeon in a bathroom with some guy.

"What? Are you waiting for someone?"

That got a reaction. Jungkook's thumb stilled completely, and he looked up, his expression unreadable. But he didn't answer, just held Taehyung's gaze for a beat too long before looking back at his phone.

Maybe he was interrupting something. Maybe Jungkook was supposed to meet someone here, and now he was frantically texting them to stay away because the wrong person had shown up.

He felt almost sorry for him.

Almost.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the steady buzz of Taehyung's phone in his pocket.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Jungkook's eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to Taehyung's face.

He put the phone in his pocket and went to the sink to wash his hands. Taehyung stepped back, ready for any physical reaction he might have.

But he washed his hands, simply.

"Your phone," he said finally, voice carefully neutral. Almost bored. "Might want to check that."

The casual dismissal made Taehyung's blood boil all over again, "Might want to mind your own fucking business."

He headed for the door, shoulder-checking Jungkook slightly as he passed. Not hard enough to be aggressive, just enough to make a point. Just enough to let him know that the next time, if there was a next time, Taehyung might not be so restrained.

He pulled out his phone and ignored all the notifications from social media, except for one.

From _re:quiet:

[12:09] look
[12:09] that was brave what u did up there
[12:10] i mean it
[12:11] but can i ask u something?
[12:11] do u really think they're all the same?
[12:11] every single one of them?

[12:13] maybe some of them throw stupid parties cause
[12:13] they don't know how else to connect
[12:13] maybe the flashy campaigns are just
[12:13] desperation
[12:14] loneliness
[12:14] dressed up as confidence
[12:14] i don't know
[12:14] maybe i'm wrong
[12:15] but what if some of them are trying?
[12:15] what if they just don't know how to do it right?
[12:15] would that change anything for u?

[12:18] i know ur not answering
[12:18] and i get it
[12:19] why trust some random person behind a screen
[12:19] why listen to someone who won't even show their face

[12:21] but maybe that's exactly why u should listen
[12:21] i have nothing to gain from this
[12:22] just
[12:22] what if the people u think are ur enemies
[12:22] are just trapped?
[12:23] playing roles they hate?
[12:23] drowning behind all that money and privilege?

[12:24] have you ever thought about it?

Taehyung stared at the screen, reading the messages again: every calm, reasonable line. And they stung more than they should have.

What they'd written... it sounded almost fair. Too fair.
The kind of thought that slipped in and made you question everything, if you let it.

Some words weren't just meant to be read. They were meant to crawl into your head, take root, soften you. And he couldn't afford that.

Not anymore.

He'd learned early: the moment you softened, the world didn't hesitate to press harder.

From where he came, mercy made you a mark: understanding was just another way to hand someone a knife.

For a split second, Rosé's face flickered through his mind. The thought hit him with unexpected force, a crack in his armor he hadn't anticipated.

She had that way about her, didn't she? Speaking truths that felt both gentle and devastating, wrapped in a confidence that made you want to listen even when you knew you shouldn't.

But no. He pushed the thought away, buried it deep where it couldn't reach him. It didn't matter who had written those words. He couldn't afford to wonder, couldn't afford to care.

With a sharp breath and a sharper flick of his thumb, he silenced his phone and shoved it deep into his pocket. He turned toward the dining hall.

The others were already waiting.

Jin's speech. Focus on that.

Everything else could wait.

Chapter Text

“Whatever happens, we ran a good campaign.” Jin said, his voice steady despite the way his hands twisted in his lap,

"Damn right we did," Hoseok chimed in, bumping Jin's shoulder lightly. "The Wi-Fi thing alone probably changed more lives than any of BamBam's initiatives ever will."

Namjoon gave a short nod, gaze focused on the board. "Win or lose, people are talking about mental health now. That wasn't even on the table a month ago."

They all sat together in a tight cluster.

There were others too: classmates, friends, students who had come to believe in what Jin stood for. The kind of people who didn't cheer the loudest, but who had shown up when it counted.

At the front of the auditorium, the faculty panel sat behind a long table draped in the university's colors. Professor Ko shuffled through papers with bureaucratic efficiency, occasionally adjusting his glasses as he double-checked vote tallies. Professor Lee leaned back in his chair, occasionally murmuring something to Ms. Choi, who nodded along while jotting notes in a leather-bound notebook.

And then there was Professor Gong.

Even seated, he commanded attention: not through movement or sound, but through absolute stillness. He sat with hands clasped on the table, dark eyes sweeping across the auditorium with analytical precision. Unlike his colleagues, focused on administrative aspects, Gong appeared to be studying the crowd itself: social dynamics, power structures, the way privilege and desperation played out in real time.

When his gaze passed over the left side of the auditorium, it lingered for just a moment on Taehyung before moving on.

Taehyung, on the other hand, tried to focus on the hum of voices around him, but his attention kept drifting toward the center of the room. There, beneath harsh white lights due to grey weather, BamBam stood at the center of his carefully curated circle, each member draped in effortless confidence.

They weren’t just waiting, they were already celebrating: champagne flutes passed between hands, laughter carrying across the aisle as if victory were inevitable.

Yet even within the glow of that circle, Jeon stood apart. Taehyung could read it in his body: shoulders too loose, composure forced, eyes flicking to his phone every few seconds. He wasn’t laughing with the rest, only drinking quietly, just outside the bubble.

And still, he belonged there as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Jeon was probably waiting on a signal from the vote counters - rigged, no doubt - or lining up another hookup. Someone nameless, dragged into a storage closet or third-floor bathroom, just another body to disappear into. The thought twisted his stomach.

For a fleeting moment, he even imagined barging in and wrecking it, if only to feel better.

Because why did Jungkook get to pretend everything was meaningless when Taehyung had to fight for every breath of dignity?

Why did he get to act bored when everything bent toward him without resistance?

What if some of them are just trapped?

The message from _re:quiet surfaced again, uninvited.

Playing roles they hate? Drowning behind all that money and privilege?

Taehyung glanced at his reflection in a dark window - disheveled hair, cheap hoodie. He hadn't been with anyone since ages. He barely had time or energy to think about sex, let alone chase it. Meanwhile, Jeon just had to blink and the world offered itself up on hands and knees, whispering yes before he even asked.

Another injustice. Another tally mark on the list he wasn't supposed to keep, but kept anyway.

His phone buzzed against his leg. Mentions had been on fire since his impromptu speech during BamBam's campaign event yesterday.

The clip had gone viral: "Kim Taehyung DESTROYS entitled rich kid with FACTS" retweeted countless times. Comments flooded in daily: "he's absolutely right," "finally someone who gets it," "kim taehyung for president."

It should have felt like vindication. Instead, it felt like drowning in a different way.

His social media had become a battlefield recently. The cocktail incident from his first week had resurfaced, remixed into memes and hot takes alongside his latest confrontation. Some painted him as a working-class hero; others as an unhinged street kid who couldn't handle the pressure.

His phone buzzed again.

Another notification. Another stranger with an opinion about his life.

"You okay?" Jimin asked, noticing him staring at his phone.

"Yeah, just..." Taehyung gestured vaguely at the screen. "It's a lot. You?”

His friend nodded toward the right side of the auditorium with a subtle tilt of his head.

Taehyung followed his gaze to where Yeji sat with Yugyeom's group, laughing at something he'd whispered in her ear. "Are you still talking to her?"

"Yeah." Jimin's voice was quiet, uncertain. "I don't know how to handle this whole situation."

"Leave her alone, Chim. She's got one foot in two different shoes. It's not fair to you…"

The other considered this, nodding in a defeated way, then his expression shifted and he leaned closer to Taehyung. "Look at Ms. Choi."

"What?" He blinked, confused.

Jimin raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at his lips.

Taehyung followed his gaze and spotted her.

Ms. Choi - the new ballet teacher - sat with perfect posture, legs crossed, a fountain pen poised between her fingers. Her hair was loose, but not a strand out of place. The white blouse she wore was undeniably elegant. She was the sort of woman who could silence a studio with a glance.

Not the type Taehyung would usually notice, honestly, but definitely the type Jimin sometimes gravitated toward: older, refined, a little severe.

"Seriously?" He muttered, amused. “She’s gonna eat you alive.”

Jimin only smiled, biting his lips, dramatically, watching her like she was already halfway conquered.

“I think it's mutual, Chim. After all those compliments she gives you in class..." he raised an eyebrow.

Jimin laughed softly. "What, are you jealous?"

"Please. I can have you whenever I want," Taehyung said, tossing his hair back with mock arrogance.

Jimin laughed. “Arrogant and delusional! What should I say though? You're constantly cheating on me with that anon online."

Taehyung's smile turned bitter. "No. Not anymore."

Before Jimin could ask for details, Solar, seated behind them, leaned forward.

"The internet's insane," she said, apparently catching the tail end of their conversation. "I saw some comments on that speech video. People are acting like you're Che Guevara."

"Or like I'm completely psychotic," Taehyung muttered.

"Well," Hwasa said dryly, "you did throw a drink at someone on your first day back."

"He deserved it."

"Oh, absolutely. But still."

Across the auditorium, Yeonjun made his way toward their section. He looked genuinely pleased as he stopped in front of Jin.

“Hyung,” he said, offering his hand, “whatever happens with the results, you ran a great campaign. What you pulled off was next level. I’m taking notes for next year.”

Jin’s face lit up, the first real smile Taehyung had seen on him all day. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

As Yeonjun walked off, Taehyung’s gaze drifted back to BamBam’s camp. They were still celebrating, still sure of their victory. But now he was looking closer, past the surface confidence.

His gaze drifted to Jennie, sitting slightly apart from the main cluster but still within their orbit. She was always beautiful but that morning she seemed to glow, even if it promised rain outside. Her laugh carried across the space as Jeon leaned down to say something in her ear, and Taehyung watched as she face lit up with genuine amusement.

Jungkook was smiling too. Really smiling, not that practiced smirk Taehyung had grown to despise.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: maybe the bathroom hookup he’d been imagining wouldn’t be with some faceless stranger. Maybe it would be with her.

It made sense. That was why Jeon had rushed to typing on his phone in that bathroom: to warn her, to tell her not to go in there. Because Jeon knew. He had to know that he and Jennie had been a thing, even if only for a little while. Right?

Or had she kept that detail from him, from everybody, out of embarrassment?

The thoughts started spinning like a Russian roulette: Jennie’s carefully curated persona, the way she'd always controlled the narrative, never letting anyone get too close. Maybe Jungkook didn’t know. Maybe she’d omitted Taehyung from her version of the past, like he was just a smudge she could rub out.

Still… no. It couldn’t be.

Jennie wasn’t like that. She wasn’t the type to be on her knees in a campus bathroom. Not her.

And yet, the image wouldn’t leave him.

He forced himself to look away, jaw clenched, and his gaze accidentally met Rosé's across the room. She was standing slightly apart from her group, drink in hand, looking as detached as he felt. When she noticed him looking, she raised her glass in a small, almost ironic salute.

He felt something itch in his skin.

He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, surprised by the gesture.

Maybe some of them throw stupid parties because they don't know how else to connect.

"I need some air," Taehyung said suddenly, standing up.

"Results should be coming soon," Namjoon said, glancing at his watch.

"I'll be right back." Taehyung was already moving toward the exit, his phone clutched in his hand.

The hallway was cooler, quieter. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and headed for the side exit that led to the small porch behind the building.

The morning air hit his face, sharp, clean. The sky was leaden, as if presaging something dark, or an unprecedented downpour.

He lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and let the smoke fill his lungs while _re:quiet's words echoed in his head.

What if the people you think are your enemies are just trapped?

He didn't want to think about it. But standing there, with the weight of thousands of notifications in his pocket and the taste of nicotine on his tongue, he couldn't stop himself from wondering if maybe - just maybe - he'd been wrong about everything.

The door creaked open behind him, slicing clean through the smoke and silence.

"Kim," came a dry voice, neither surprised nor particularly pleased.

Taehyung glanced over his shoulder.

"Professor," he offered a nod, immediately feeling the need to pull himself together.

Gong’s lighter flared - real flame, not some cheap plastic thing - and the older man took a long, appreciative drag. Then he fixed Taehyung with a look that felt like being slowly peeled open. Those eyes missed nothing and forgave even less.

When he spoke, smoke curled between his words.

"Quite the performance yesterday," he said finally. "Revolutionary fervor, righteous anger, speaking truth to power." His lips curved in what might have been a smile if it hadn't been so cold. "Very passionate."

The way he said passionate made it sound like both compliment and diagnosis.

"It wasn't a performance," Taehyung replied, bristling.

"No?" The professor tilted his head, studying him like a specimen under glass. "Then what would you call it? A moment of authentic rebellion?" He paused, letting smoke drift between them. "How refreshing. Most students your age have forgotten how to feel anything real."

There was something in his tone that made Taehyung's jaw tighten.

It wasn't quite praise, wasn't quite derision, just that murky middle ground Gong excelled at. The kind that made you question whether you were being elevated or dissected.

"Do you have a problem with it, sir?" Taehyung asked, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. He was a professor, yes, but authority didn't scare him. If anything, it only made him want to push harder.

The other’s smile widened, showing teeth that were too perfect, too white. "Problem? Oh, on the contrary. I'm fascinated." Another drag, eyes never leaving Taehyung's face. "You stood up there and spoke the truth. Raw, unfiltered. It's rare."

It should have felt like a compliment. Instead, it left a bitter taste in Taehyung's mouth.

"But here's what I find interesting," Gong continued, voice dropping. "You think you were fighting them. The golden children, the entitled elite." He gestured vaguely with his cigarette. "But what do you think you actually accomplished?"

His jaw tightened. "I made them listen."

"Did you?" Eyebrows rose in apparent delight. "Or did you give them exactly what they wanted? A show. A little frisson of authenticity to spice up their boring lives."

"That's not-"

"They went home and told their parents about the unlucky kid who gave such a moving speech about inequality." The voice took on a mocking lilt.

"With all respect, sir, you're wrong," Taehyung said, but his voice sounded less certain than he wanted.

"Am I?" The professor stepped closer. He studied him for a long moment, those calculating eyes seeming to weigh and measure. "Tell me, Kim, what happens to revolutionaries in this world? The real world, not the playground of academia where your little outburst gets you retwitted."

He said nothing, but something cold was unfurling in his body.

"They get cut out," came the simple reply. "The system doesn't need martyrs or revolutionaries. It needs compliance. Predictability. People who know how to play the game without upsetting the board." Another drag, letting the words settle.

"You think yesterday was a victory?" Gong studied him for a long moment, exhaling, then crushed the cigarette like it had personally disappointed him. "Seriously, what did you think would happen next? That the system would crumble under the weight of your truth?"

Taehyung felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I thought-"

"You thought like a child." The words were delivered cruel, surgical, clean. "Which is charming, really. There's something so... pure about believing the world can be changed with passion alone."

The older man leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret, like a confession. "But people with real power... they don't fight. They don't need to. They just wait. They let you exhaust yourself against walls that were never meant to fall, and then they offer you a ladder."

Something twisted in his stomach.

"The question is: when they offer you that ladder, will you take it? Or will you keep beating your fists against that wall?"

"I don't climb traps," Taehyung took a drag, then exhaled, looking at the other. "Not even the gilded ones."

A smile, and then silence, as if giving Taehyung room to think. Or squirm.

When the professor spoke again, his voice carried the weight of old ghosts. "You remind me of someone I used to know." His eyes grew distant. "Another student, years and years ago. Brilliant, passionate, convinced that righteousness and fire were enough to tear down the old world and build something better."

"What happened to them?" He found himself asking, though part of him didn't want to know.

The smile turned melancholy, all the predatory gleam replaced by something that looked almost human. "He learned. The hard way." A pause. "He learned that sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do is survive day by day."

Gong glanced down, brushing a few specks of ash from the sleeve of his black cardigan.
"Good luck with the results," he said, turning and stepping back inside.

His voice toneless, as if luck had nothing to do with any of it.

*

The final numbers flashed on the board:

CHOI YEONJUN - 75 votes

KIM SEOKJIN - 160 votes

KUNPIMOOK BHUWAKUL - 175 votes

A beat of silence.
Then the auditorium erupted.

BamBam’s supporters sprang to their feet, cheers cracking through the high ceilings like firecrackers. Students near the front chanted his name in unison - BamBam! BamBam! - while glitter cannons showered the back rows in gold. Phones were out, videos rolling.

Yugyeom chest-bumped Mingyu, who stumbled laughing, and someone blasted music from a speaker. BamBam stood with arms raised like a crowned prince, smirking, drinking in the applause like oxygen.

Meanwhile, Taehyung stand frozen.

They’d lost.

Fifteen votes.
Fuckin fifteen votes.

And the worst part wasn’t the defeat.
It was the celebration of everything they’d fought against.

He turned around to look a his friends. Jin was staring at the board as if the numbers might change if he glared hard enough. For a second, he thought he might punch it.

"Fifteen votes?" Seokjin said, voice flat.

"Hyung..." Taehyung started, but his friend was already moving, mechanically gathering his things.

He laughed again, bitter this time, and ran a hand through his hair: Taehyung had never seen him like this.

"Ok.” He raised his hands, in sign of defeat. “I’m gonna go scream into a pillow now.”

"Hyung-"

"It’s fine." Seokjin's smile was the worst thing Taehyung had seen all day.

"No, it's not." He grabbed his arm, desperate to stop him from retreating into that polite, self-deprecating shell he wore when he was hurt. "Jin, listen-"

"It's fine, Tae. Really. I knew it was a long shot.”

"But hyung, fifteen votes," Taehyung said fiercely. "Do you know what that means? That means we almost had them! That means everything we did, the Wi-Fi campaign, the mental health awareness talks, getting people to actually give a shit about something real, it worked!"

Namjoon appeared at Seokjin's other side, face grim but determined. "Tae's right. This isn't a loss, hyung. This is proof that people are listening."

"The change you've started here," Yoongi added quietly, "it's bigger than one election. You got 160 people to believe that things could be different."

Hoseok bounded over, his usual brightness dimmed but not extinguished. "That's not nothing."

Jimin nodded enthusiastically.

Jin mouth twitched, a half-smile ghosting its way onto his face before disappearing again.

“It just sucks,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “I gave it everything. We all did. And it wasn’t enough.”

“You’re allowed to say that,” came Solar’s voice from nearby, her expression soft. “It does suck. It’s supposed to.”

“But losing doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it, ok?” Hwasa added.

He turned toward them, surprised for a moment. “Didn’t think you gals cared about student politics,” he said, managing a crooked smile.

“We don’t,” Hwasa said easily. “But we care about people who try to make things better.”

“I really thought I had a shot.”

“You did,” Taehyung said firmly. “And you almost made it.”

His friend looked around at all of them, people who’d believed in him, who were still there even in that moment.

“Okay,” he said, voice steadier. “Okay. We lost the vote. But we didn’t lose the movement.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a real politician,” Hoseok muttered.

“Shut up,” Jin said, grinning despite himself.

Their group gathered around Jin, chatting and laughing, creating a protective circle around their friend.

Taehyung remained spaced out, he smiled bitterly watching his friends, but then he turn to the victorious crowd buzzing.

This was how it always went: the system rewarded the safe choice, the pretty face, the candidate who promised easy solutions to problems that didn't threaten the status quo.

BamBam would make a fine president - for people who already had everything they needed. For everyone else, nothing would change. Indeed, it would have been even worse, because there is nothing worse than seeing people who have everything have even more, while you are picking up crumbs.

The injustice of it was choking him. Seokjin had given everything to this campaign, all his friends had. They had believed in something better, had fought for people who couldn't fight for themselves. And for what?

The anger was building like steam in a pressure cooker, looking for somewhere to go.

His eyes drifted across the auditorium, and found Professor Gong standing near the side wall, arms crossed, watching the chaos with the same detached interest he'd shown during their conversation outside. Their eyes met, and Gong gave him a small nod: not mocking, not triumphant, just knowing.

You think yesterday was a victory?

The professor's words echoed like a death knell as BamBam was hoisted into the air, spreading through the crowd in waves of wild cheers.

Something bitter bloomed at the base of his tongue: metallic, sharp, spreading through his chest like poison. The taste of watching injustice dress itself up as fairness, over and over, until the pattern became toxic.

The sensation moved through him with slowness, each breath feeding it, each heartbeat pushing it deeper. His jaw locked. His hand formed a fist without conscious thought, knuckles blanching as tendons pulled taut.

The violence didn't arrive as rage, it solidified as clarity.

Cold. Inevitable. A mathematical response to an equation that never balanced.

He could already feel it: the give of flesh, the crack of bone, the beautiful simplicity of impact meeting resistance. His body hummed with the certainty of it, muscles coiled and ready.

His phone materialized in his palm, fingers already moving, finding _re:quiet in his contacts. Because he had to focus that anger towards something: the alternative - the one his body was preparing for - would led nowhere except down.

Expulsion, disgrace, his family's sacrifices reduced to ash in a single moment of satisfying destruction.

The cursor blinked, waiting. Then he started typing frantically.

[11:52] u really had me going there for a minute
[11:52] with all that sob story bullshit
[11:52] maybe they're lonely
[11:52] maybe they're trying
[11:52] look at ur poor trapped little friends
[11:53] drowning so hard in privilege
[11:53] fuck that was good
[11:53] really good manipulation

He send them before he could second-guess himself, the anger flowing out through his fingertips like venom. He needed someone to blame, someone to rage at, someone who represented everything that was wrong with this place. And _re:quiet, whoever they were, was perfect for that. Another faceless member of the elite, another privileged voice pretending to understand struggle while never having to live it.

His phone buzzed.

From _re:quiet:

[12:05] manipulation
[12:05] right
[12:05] what am i manipulating u into exactly?
[12:06] compassion?
[12:06] yeah real fucking sinister of me

Taehyung looked up from his phone, the display still lit in his trembling hands.

Around him, Jin was talking now to Namjoon, his shoulders straight and the forced smile of someone who refused to break down. Jimin was collecting stickers from a table, each gesture too precise, as if normality could erase the disappointment. Yoongi gaze was lost, fixed in the void with headphones slung around his neck, silent.

His friends were not crying. They were not shouting. No one was throwing chairs against the walls or venting anger as he would have liked to do. They were holding back. Out of dignity, pride, or maybe just because they were too tired to fight anymore. But that broken composure, that sadness held at bay just to save face was worse than any crisis.

On the other side of the room the laughter were too loud, like it was a parade.

Taehyung clutched the phone in his hands as if he wanted to break it.

[12:09] did u know?
[12:09] people celebrate when they win
[12:10] that's normal
[12:10] it doesn't mean they're not struggling
[12:10] it doesn't mean they
[12:11] fuck
[12:11] why am i even trying

And for an instant - short, sharp - he felt like he was going to implode.

His fingers moved before his brain could catch up.

[12:11] oh boo hoo
[12:12] poor little rich kids struggling
[12:12] my heart fucking bleeds

Those arrogant faces. Those ironed shirts. Those lives where nothing really hurt. That security of always belonging in the right place, never having to fight for anything.

Nausea rose in his throat.

[12:14] u want to know what struggling looks like?
[12:14] working two jobs to pay for textbooks
[12:14] choosing between dinner and bus fare
[12:15] watching ur mom cry over bills
[12:15] that's struggling
[12:15] not whatever existential crisis u spoiled brats are having

He could see Yugyeom now, arms slung around Yeji's shoulders, head thrown back in laughter. Jennie was already pulling out her phone, probably planning some post, while Jisoo spun in a circle, her skirt flaring out like she was dancing on air.

Trapped. Right.

[12:16] jesus christ
[12:16] u think u have a monopoly on pain?
[12:17] newsflash
[12:17] money doesn't make u immune to being fucking miserable

[12:17] oh please
[12:17] spare me the fucking music
[12:17] u hate urself for having advantages?
[12:17] then give them up
[12:18] donate ur trust fund
[12:18] move out of ur mansion
[12:18] get a job at minimum wage
[12:18] see how long ur guilt lasts
[12:18] when ur choosing between rent and food
[12:18] but u won't
[12:19] cause for all ur pretty words about suffering
[12:19] ur still gonna sleep in silk sheets tonight
[12:19] so take all your guilt
[12:19] all your self-hatred
[12:19] and shove it so far up ur own ass
[12:19] maybe then u'll finally feel what it's like
[12:19] to choke on something u can't afford to spit out

He needed to get out of here. He needed to get the fuck out of here.

His shift at the restaurant started in three hours. He still had to drag himself in the dormroom, shower in that fuckin crowded bathroom, squeeze into that goddamn uniform that never fit right.

Meanwhile, these fuckers would spend the night drowning in champagne and whatever designer drugs their daddy's credit cards could buy. Probably this rich cunt wouldn't even remember this conversation tomorrow, just another amusing little chat with the street rat before moving on to their sparkling lives.

The messages stopped, and for a moment, Taehyung stared at the screen. He told himself he didn't care. Told himself this shit’s guilt meant nothing, less than nothing.

He was already planning his escape route through the crowd, when it buzzed again.

[12:24] what is this really about, taehyung?
[12:24] ur angry and u need someone to take it out on?

The audacity of this privileged little shit, trying to psychoanalyze him through a screen.

[12:25] what?
[12:25] u want to play therapist?
[12:26] here's ur diagnosis
[12:26] i'm angry because people like u exist

The response came quickly, but it was shorter than before:

[12:27] understood
[12:27] enjoy the rest of ur day

And then, nothing.

He stared at the screen, waiting for more, for some kind of comeback or defense. But the chat stayed silent, that final message sitting there like a door slamming shut.

He told himself it felt like winning.

But as he was standing alone, surrounded by the debris of their almost-victory, something cold and hollow had settled in his stomach. The rage was still there, but underneath it was something else, something that felt suspiciously like regret.

"Yo."

He turned around to find Yugyeom standing nearby, champagne flute in hand, designer jacket slung casually over his shoulder. That bored fake smile with which he seemed to tease even before opening his mouth: Taehyung was already fuming.

"Look," Yugyeom continued, his tone attempting diplomacy but missing by miles, he looked already drunk, "I get that you're depressed about it, but maybe take the pity party somewhere else? You're kind of killing the vibe here."

Every muscle in Taehyung’s body went taut, coiled like a spring ready to explode. "Excuse me?"

The question came out as a growl. His hands were already curling into fists, knuckles cracking as the familiar rage consumed him, the kind that made him forget consequences, forget scholarships, forget everything except the need to hurt something.

"Gyeom, come on." The voice came from behind the guy, and Taehyung's burning gaze shifted to Jeon approaching. "Let's just-"

"Yeah, you better get your boy out of here," Taehyung said, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. Each word dripped with venom. "Before I do something we'll all regret."

"Is that a threat?" Yugyeom's champagne confidence was starting to crack, but he held his ground.

At that point Taehyung’s hands were shaking, not with fear, but with the effort it took to hold himself still. The kind of trembling that came from keeping the leash too tight for too long.

The violence was there, coiled just beneath the surface. He curled his hands into fists, knuckles cracking like distant thunder.

“Go on. Keep running your mouth,” he said, stepping forward, eyes flat and unblinking.
“Let’s see what happens to your fucking face.”

"Whoa, whoa." Jungkook moved between them, hands raised in what he probably thought was a calming gesture. "Kim, just calm dow-"

"Shut the fuck up," Taehyung spat, voice fierce and lethal. "You open your mouth again, and I swear, every goddamn thing he says, I’ll take it out on you instead."

The threat came out sharp, uncontrollable, and by the time it landed, his hands were already moving. He shoved Jungkook, both palms slamming into his chest, hard enough to knock him off balance.

“Why the fuck are you always in my fuckin way, HUH?” Taehyung growled, eyes blazing.

Jeon's expression shifted, the diplomatic mask slipping as his own anger began to surface. His jaw clenched, eyes flashing. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" Taehyung laughed, bitter, the sound cutting through the air like broken glass. "My problem is that every time I see you, I have to fight the urge to rearrange your fuckin face!"

Jungkook's features darkened, hurt transforming into rage, civility cracking like ice under pressure. "Fuck you!"

"There it is," Taehyung said, his smile razor-sharp and manic. "Show everyone what you really are underneath, dipshit."

Around them, conversations began to die as heads turned their way, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

Jungkook's composure began to fracture. His face flushed with anger as he stepped closer, voice rising. "You think you're so much better than everyone else, huh? You're nothing but a loser! A pathetic piece of shit!"

The insult hit its mark. Taehyung's eyes blazed as he shoved again Jungkook, both hands slamming into his chest with brutal force, then pointed at him, tilting his face.

"Careful, Jeon." His voice was steady now, deadly calm in the way that meant he was past the point of no return. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this. I can't fucking wait to smash your face."

Jungkook's breathing was getting heavier, his control slipping with each exchange. His voice cracked with rage as he shoved back Taehyung. "Then do it, you fucking psycho. Hit me! See what happens!"

The crowd around them was growing, sensing blood in the water. Jeon fed off their attention, his voice getting louder, more vicious. "You think you scare me? You're just a fuckin parasite!"

"Keep talking..."

"What? Truth hurt?" Jeon's smile turned cruel, sensing he'd found a nerve.

"Hey, HEY!" Namjoon's voice cut through the chaos as he rushed forward, grabbing Jungkook's shoulder. But Jeon shook him off violently.

"Don’t touch me!" he snarled, his face twisted with malice.

Hoseok stepped between them, pushing against Taehyung's chest with both hands, but Taehyung was barely holding on, his vision tunneling on Jungkook's face.

Jin arrived breathless, one hand on Taehyung's arm. "You want to get expelled? Are you out of your mind?"

But Jeon was past caring now, drunk on his own poison. His eyes were wild, unhinged as he leaned around Hoseok to get at Taehyung. "I'm done playing nice, Kim. I'll destroy you. I'll take everything from you!"

His voice rose to a shout, cutting through the crowd's murmur. "You hear me? Everything! Your scholarship, your future, your reputation, HELL, even that shithole you call home where your pathetic family rots!"

The words were a detonation. The entire space went dead silent: not the gradual fade of dying conversations, but the immediate, suffocating quiet that follows a catastrophe.

Jimin's face went white with shock. Hoseok actually took a step back, his mouth falling open in disbelief. Even Yugyeom, who had lit this fuse, looked genuinely worried by what Jeon had unleashed.

But Taehyung didn't explode the way everyone expected.

Instead, he went completely still.

The trembling stopped. The rage crystallized into something far more dangerous: a cold, predatory focus that made the air itself feel threatening. His eyes locked onto Jeon with the deadly focus of a hunter: calm, precise, and seconds away from pulling the trigger.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," he said, each word measured and precise, delivered with the calm certainty of a death sentence.

Then he moved.

He launched himself forward with such explosive violence that it caught everyone completely off guard. Namjoon lunged for his arm but Taehyung's momentum was too strong, he dragged Namjoon forward three steps before Hoseok managed to wrap both arms around his waist from behind.

"GET OFF ME!" Taehyung roared, his voice raw and animalistic as he thrashed against their grip with terrifying strength.

Jin threw himself into the fray, grabbing Taehyung's other arm, but even with three people restraining him, he was still advancing on Jungkook, his muscles straining against their combined weight like a wild animal fighting a trap.

“Shit- MOVE!” Mingyu barked from the crowd, throwing himself between Taehyung and Jungkook, arms raised like a human shield.

Bang Chan followed, grabbing Jungkook by the shoulders and pulling him back, shielding him instinctively.

"Let me fucking go!" he snarled, nearly breaking free as his elbow caught Hoseok in the ribs, making him grunt in pain.

Seojoon and Peakboy rushed in from the crowd, grabbing whatever they could: arms, shoulders, clothes, anything to help contain the fury. Five grown men were now struggling to hold back one person, and they were barely managing it.

Around them, chaos erupted. Students were pulling out phones, some backing away in genuine fear, others pushing closer for a better view. The atmosphere was full violence and terror.

"EVERYBODY BACK UP!"

Professor Ko's voice cut through the mayhem like a bullhorn. He strode into the circle, his usually composed face twisted with fury, professor Gong and Lee flanking him with grim expressions.

"Clear out! All of you! NOW!" Gong barked, his voice carrying the kind of authority that sent students scattering like roaches when the lights come on.

But Taehyung was still fighting, still trying to tear free from the arms holding him.

"KIM TAEHYUNG!" Ko's voice cracked like a whip. "Stand down immediately!"

"FUCK YOU!" Taehyung snarled back, his voice savage and raw. "Get these hands off me!"

Ko's widened his eyes. His mouth opened slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. "You need to calm down before this gets worse for you!"

"Let me GO!"

Professor Lee moved in decisively, replacing Namjoon's grip with his own stronger hold. "Son, calm down."

"Did you hear what he said about my family? HUH?" Taehyung spat, still straining against their grip.

"We heard," Gong said firmly, shooting a scorn look at Jeon. "We all heard."

Jungkook finally found his voice, but it came out as a broken whisper. "I- I... I-"

"YOU WHAT?" Taehyung's voice pitched higher. He surged forward again with renewed fury, and it took all five men to keep him from breaking free. Jimin grabbed his friend's face, forcing eye contact.

"Taehyung!" Jimin begged. "You’re scaring us! Just stop!"

For a moment, Taehyung's struggles lessened, his breathing ragged as he looked at his friend's terrified face.

Ko stepped directly between them, one hand raised toward Taehyung in warning. "One more move toward Jeon, and I'm calling security to have you arrested."

The threat seemed to pierce through the fury, slicing just deep enough to slow him down. His shoulders dropped - barely - but it was enough. The fire hadn’t left his eyes, though; they stayed locked on Jeon, unwavering, burning.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, he gave a final tug against the arms restraining him, then turned away, every breath coming rough and uneven.

His back was rigid, his heart like a mad drum, his fists still curled, but he wasn’t fighting anymore. Not outwardly.

But inside, the storm was still raging.

Meanwhile, Gong had turned his attention to Jungkook, who looked like he might vomit from shame.

"Jeon," the teacher said, his voice thick. "Attacking someone's family? Their living situation? Who the hell raised you?"

Jungkook's face crumpled, his eyes wide and confused while watching his teacher. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, the weight of his own words finally hitting him.

Ko shot Gong a warning look. "Professor."

"What?" Gong snapped back, his theatrical nature taking over as he gestured wildly. "You heard what he said. There must be consequences, or this whole place loses credibility."

Jungkook stood frozen between them, his face drained of color.

Taehyung could see the panic setting in, the realization that his money might not shield him this time.

"Indeed," Ko said, his tone measured. "And with all due respect, I am the deputy director of this institution. And while Jeon's words were... inappropriate, Kim threatened to kill him, then attempted to do exactly that in front of dozens of witnesses."

Taehyung's jaw clenched at Ko's diplomatic phrasing. Inappropriate. As if Jungkook had merely used a swear word.

"Oh, spare me the lecture about violence," Gong cut him off. "Words can be just as violent. More violent even."

“It took five people to restrain him, Jichul,” the other replied, his voice gaining an edge of authority.

“If he’d said those words to me, five wouldn’t have been enough.” Gong's voice rose, his usual demeanor completely abandoned.

Jungkook flinched, shrinking further into himself.

"Seriously, what did you expect would happen, Doyoon?"

"I expected our students to act like civilized human beings," Ko replied coldly. "Not animals."

Gong scoffed, incredously.

Animals.

Taehyung felt something break inside him: not snap with rage, but crumble with a pain so deep it stole his breath. That word echoed in his mind and for a moment the fight went out of him completely. The humiliation burned worse than the anger had.

Professor Lee stepped forward, trying to mediate. "Maybe we should discuss this privat-"

"Enough!" Ko said sharply. He turned back to Taehyung, his whole body coiled with barely contained violence. "Kim Taehyung, you're suspended. Three days, effective immediately, till further notice."

“What?” Namjoon turned around, in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me?" Jimin whispered.

Gong rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "How perfectly predictable."

"And congratulations,” Ko said firmly. “Your scholarship is now under review. We'll be discussing your future at this school in the headmistress's office. Now get your things and get off campus."

"Everyone out," Lee ordered. "This is over."

Taehyung looked at Ko for a long moment, then at Lee, then at Gong, who gave him the slightest nod - not approval, but understanding. Finally, his gaze returned to Jungkook, who was staring at the floor, like a fuckin victim. 

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his friends trailing behind him like a protective convoy.

*

The dorm room had never felt smaller.

Taehyung moved with mechanical precision, each item folded and placed. His worn backpack gaped open on the bed like a mouth waiting to swallow what remained of his life here.

The door whispered open behind him.

"Tae..."

Jimin's voice was soft, hesitant. He stepped inside and closed the door quietly, leaving the worried voices of their friends muffled in the hallway: Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok, Yoongi, they were all out there, but none of them had dared to follow Jimin inside.

They knew this conversation belonged to the two people who'd shared this room.

Taehyung's hands stilled for just a moment on his phone charger before winding it with practiced efficiency.

"Tae, please," Jimin tried again, moving closer. "Talk to me."

Taehyung reached for his textbooks, weighing each one in his hands before deciding which ones to take. His face was a mask: no anger, no pain, nothing. Just emptiness.

"Is there... is there anything I can do?" The other's voice cracked slightly. He sank onto his own bed, the mattress springs protesting softly. "We can figure this out. The headmistress, maybe Professor Ko-"

The zipper's harsh sound cut through his words.

"Let us drive you somewhere at least. Jin's got his car, and this weather..." His friend's voice became smaller. "You don't have to do this alone."

Taehyung shouldered his backpack. When he reached for the door handle, Jimin's voice followed him one last time: "Taehyung-"

But the door had already closed between them.

The hallway fell silent as if someone had turned down the volume on the world. His friends clustered near the common room - their conversations dying the moment they saw him.

"Taehyung," Namjoon started, taking a step forward.

But he walked past them like they weren't there.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor with the finality of a countdown - through the exit doors, into the main courtyard where he felt too exposed. Students moved in clusters, their conversations stuttering to silence as he passed.

The phones appeared, pointed in his direction. Whispers bloomed in his wake:

"There he is."
"Did you see what happened?"
"I heard he nearly killed him."
"Fucking psycho."

He kept his shoulders straight, eyes fixed ahead.

Let them look. Let them whisper. He had nothing left to lose anyway.

The covered walkway provided temporary shelter, but he could see the rain falling beyond its protection. Fat droplets splattered against the stone path, creating dark patches that spread like ink stains.

More phones. More stares. A girl with her camera rolling, probably already uploading to whatever social media would make his humiliation complete.

Taehyung didn't slow down.

He reached the campus gates and stepped out into the rain. It was coming down harder now. Within seconds, his hoodie became a second skin, cold and clinging. The fabric pulled at his shoulders with each step, but the discomfort felt almost welcome: something real, something immediate to focus on.

Then his pace quickened. Each step carried him further from the whispers, from the weight of judgment, from the crushing realization that everything he'd worked for was slipping away like that water.

The rain was a blessing: it meant empty streets, fewer witnesses to whatever was happening to him. Fewer people to see Kim Taehyung's spectacular fall.

Through the gray curtain of weather, the park emerged like a forgotten memory. Empty, as he'd hoped. The playground equipment stood abandoned, bright colors muted to pastels by the storm.

His legs moved faster now, almost running. His breath came in sharp bursts that turned to mist in the cold air. The rain transformed his hair into dark strings that clung to his forehead, obscuring his vision, but he didn't need to see clearly to find his destination.

The wooden playhouse perched above the slide like a child's fortress. He climbed the slippery ladder with numb fingers, hauling himself into the cramped space that smelled of wet wood.

It was barely big enough for him to sit upright, but it was dry. Rain drummed against the roof in a rhythm that seemed to sync with his heartbeat. For the first time since leaving his dorm, Taehyung stopped moving.

He sat with his knees drawn up, backpack beside him like a faithful dog. Water dripped from his soaked clothes onto the wooden floor, each drop marking time in the small space. His breathing was controlled, measured: the kind of careful breathing that came from years of practice holding everything in.

Then something inside him cracked.

It started small, a tremor in his shoulders so slight he almost missed it. Then his breath hitched once, twice. The carefully constructed mask he'd worn for so long began to fracture along invisible lines.

The first sob tore out of him like a physical thing, surprising in its violence.

Then another.

And then he was crying - really crying - for the first time since his father's death. Raw, ugly sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest, somewhere he'd kept locked away for years. His hands flew to his face as if he could hold himself together, but it was too late.

Everything was spilling out. Everything was falling apart.

The rage at Jeon's cruel words about his family. The humiliation of Professor Ko's angry stare. The phones, the whispers, the way they'd all looked at him like he was some kind of animal. His scholarship, his future, everything he'd sacrificed for, slipping away because he couldn't control himself when it mattered most.

Where would he go now?

Home?

The thought hit him like a coup de grace. He pressed his palms harder against his eyes, shaking his head violently. He couldn't go home. Couldn't bear the thought of returning to those streets.

He couldn't face his mother's eyes, the way they would fill with that particular mixture of worry and guilt when she saw him. Her shoulders already bent under the weight of keeping their family afloat, her hands worn rough from work that never seemed to end. How could he add this to her burden? How could he explain that he'd almost thrown away everything she'd sacrificed for?

His sister, pale and fragile from her heart disease, who looked at him like he was some kind of hero.

His brother, who resented him for being selfish enough to want something more. And maybe hewas right. Maybe wanting more, wanting out, was just selfishness.

No. He couldn't do it. Couldn't go back to being just another failure.

"I just wanted..." The words came out strangled, barely recognizable as his own voice. "I just wanted to be normal."

Not like Jeon with his trust fund and designer clothes and his ability to destroy someone's life with a single phone call. Not like his whole privileged circle who treated the world like their personal playground.

Just... normal.

A regular student with regular problems. Worrying about exams and relationships and what to do after graduation. Not carrying the weight of his entire family on his shoulders. Not fighting for every scrap of respect, every opportunity, every moment of peace.

The sounds coming from him now weren't even sobs anymore: they were primal, uncontrolled. The kind of sounds that seemed to tear themselves from his chest without permission, echoing in the small space like trapped birds.

"Why me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. The question hung in the air, unanswered.

"Why me?" Louder now, directed at the wooden walls, at the relentless rain, at whatever cruel universe had decided this was his life.

"WHY ME?!"

The scream ripped out of him with such force that his throat felt raw afterward. It bounced off the walls before being swallowed by the sound of rain. Birds scattered from nearby trees, startled by the sound of pure anguish made audible.

He screamed again, and again, until his voice cracked and gave out entirely. Until there was nothing left but the steady drum of rain above his head: nature's own rhythm, indifferent to human suffering.

*

The restaurant was eerily quiet now. Chairs were stacked on tables, mop water slowly drying on the tiled floor. The fryers were off, the register locked. Taehyung told Changbin he’d close up alone, waving off the older boy’s offer to stay.

The truth was simpler: he could’ve stayed there if he wanted. No one would have known. The supply closet in the back was just big enough to curl up in, and honestly, he’d slept in worse places in his adolescence. For a moment, the thought of replacing his colleagues in the evening shifts of those three days and contunuing to sleep in the closet, was tempting.

But that would’ve been the easy way out. Selfish.

Instead, he scrubbed the last of the grease from his arms, tied up the trash with aching fingers, and decided he would return home in the morning.

To the cramped flat with the leaky tap and peeling wallpaper. To his mother, probably more worn out than two weeks before; to his sister, whose light was growing dim; and to his brother, troubled, reckless, a real asshole, but still his brother.

Back to the neighborhood he’d fought so hard to escape.

Because tonight, none of that mattered more than doing the right thing.

The bell above the front door chimed, and Taehyung cursed under his breath. He’d flipped the sign to CLOSED twenty minutes ago.

"We're closed," he called out, not bothering to look up from the table he was cleaning. His voice was hoarse, a cough escaped his throat.

"I know."

He froze. That voice was familiar: soft, accented, nothing like the harsh dialects he was used to hearing in this place.

Rosé stood just inside the door, hands shoved deep in the pockets of an oversized denim jacket, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Water dripped from her jacket onto floor. She looked smaller somehow, less polished than she did on campus, like she'd deliberately dressed down for this visit.

"Door was unlocked," she said, taking a tentative step forward. "I saw the light on."

Taehyung straightened, suddenly hyper-aware of his stained apron, the smell of fryer oil that clung to his clothes, the way his hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat. He could feel her eyes taking in his red-rimmed eyes, the telltale signs of someone who'd been crying out loud.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing." Her voice was careful, like she was approaching a wounded animal. "After this morning."

"Why?" The question came out quieter than he'd intended, lacking the sharp edge he usually reserved for people from her world.

"Because someone should ask if you're okay." She glanced around the empty restaurant, taking in the upturned chairs and the lingering smell of industrial cleaner. "And because what happened... it wasn't fair, honestly."

Taehyung turned away, focusing on wiping down a table that was already clean. The exhaustion was settling into his bones now, the adrenaline finally gone. A cough shook his chest. "I'm fine."

"You look like shit."

He didn't respond, just kept wiping the same spot over and over.

"Ko’s always been intense, he’s a ass. Told you.”

Ko was being an ass, the trumpet suits u.

Taehyung's hand stilled. The phrasing, the way she'd said it, casual but knowing. His mind raced to those messages and he felt a chill run down his spine.

"And Jeon should've been suspended too," she added. "He pushed you first. It wasn't all on you, but of course they only saw your reaction."

Taehyung's breathing caught, and not just from the cold settling.

"You stayed to work?" she asked after a beat. "Even after all that?"

"Yeah." His voice was barely above a whisper now, throat scratching.

"You could’ve gone home."

"I don’t want to lose my job," he said, his voice dull and strained. "Can't afford that. I'll be home tomorrow. Next shift is Thursday afternoon."

She nodded, and he caught something in her expression that made his pulse quicken.

"How are you getting home, anyway?" she said after a moment. "It's getting pretty late. It's still raining."

"I'm catching the morning train."

She frowned. "And where are you sleeping?"

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes, another cough escaping. "I'll figure something out."

"But it's pouring out there. You can't just-"

"I said I'll figure it out." The words came out sharper than he intended, and his hoarse voice sounded even meaner, but she didn't flinch.

Instead, she pulled her car keys from her pocket, seeming to make some kind of decision.

"My dad has an apartment not far from here. It's been sitting empty for months."

He looked up at her, suspicious. The coincidence felt too neat, too convenient. Like someone who'd been watching, waiting for the right moment.

"You can use it for the night. Just until the rain stops and you can catch your train in the morning." She held up her hands when he opened his mouth to protest. "It's not charity, Taehyung. It's just... practical. The place is just sitting there anyway."

"I don't need-"

"Everyone needs somewhere dry to sleep." Her voice was firm but not condescending. "Especially on a night like this."

Taehyung stared at her, looking for signs of pity or manipulation, but found only genuine concern. The kind that came from someone who understood what it meant to be left outside alone.

Someone who might have been watching from the sidelines, caring from a distance.

He didn't know what to think.

He found himself turning back to the table, confused, wiping it down again without really seeing it. His mind was racing. Maybe this was his chance, his opportunity to find out more, to figure out if she was _re:quiet.

He saw similarities in their attitudes: the cockiness, the irony, the caring.

Maybe he should take advantage of this moment, push a little, see how she reacted.

Maybe soon, she’ll tell him the truth herself:

'You know, that's me. I didn’t know how to face you, I’m still Jennie’s friend. And being here, talking to you like this… it feels like I’m crossing a line.’

He looked at her. She was still watching him, waiting. Then she tilted her head, smiling, and something shifted.

Taehyung nodded. "Let me just finish locking up," he said finally, his voice barely holding together.

"Okay, I'll wait for you in the car." She headed toward the door, the sound of keys mingling with that of the neon lights. "I'm parked outside. It's an Aston Martin."

"That's disappointing," he called after her, voice scratchy. "I thought you had a Bugatti."

Rosé paused, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "That's only for Fridays and heartbreaks. Tonight I'm keeping it humble."

*

They were climbing the stairs to a sleek apartment in one of the city's upscale districts. The place was all clean lines and expensive furniture, the kind of minimalist luxury that screamed money. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city lights below, while polished concrete floors reflected the soft glow of designer pendant lights suspended from the high ceiling. Every piece of furniture looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine, a white leather sectional that probably cost more than most people's cars, a glass dining table that seemed to float on impossibly thin steel legs, abstract art pieces mounted on walls painted in that perfect shade of gallery white.

Taehyung was looking around, his fingers trailing along the smooth surface of what appeared to be a genuine marble kitchen island, a small cough escaping him.

"Your dad just has places like this?"

"Several." Rosé kicked off her shoes and headed to the kitchen. She moved with the casual confidence of someone who'd grown up surrounded by this kind of wealth, opening a cabinet that looked like it had been crafted by European artisans. From inside, she pulled out a bottle of Italian wine. "Real estate portfolio. Most of them sit empty half the year."

She set the bottle on the counter with a soft clink, then leaned against the island, her expression becoming more serious, almost businesslike. "The rental market's become impossible lately. Dad refuses to sell." She gestured vaguely at the pristine space around them. "But honestly, in a neighborhood like this? Even empty, they appreciate faster than most investments. The land value alone..."

Taehyung nodded, but he honestly didn't understand the real estate market. Nor did he pretend to. He didn't even have the anger anymore to think that all that was the stuff of greedy bored rich people. Another cough shook his chest, and he cleared his throat roughly.

Rosé poured two glasses and handed him one, smiling. “This might be good for you."

Taehyung scoffed. Sure.

They settled onto the white sectional with their drinks, the city sprawling beneath them through the massive windows. The silence between them was comfortable in a way that surprised him.

"You know," she said after a long sip, her voice softer now, more contemplative, "most of them are pretty desperate. Me included, of course."

Taehyung looked at her sideways, studying the way the city lights played across her face. "Desperate for what?"

"Something real, I guess." She stared into her wine glass as if it held answers. She had a strange expression, a pout childish but extremely thoughtful. "It all looks shiny and perfect from the outside, but it's mostly just shit. It feels like being trapped between expectations and appearances."

The word trapped was a small electric shock. He kept his expression neutral, but his heartbeat quickened. He sipped his wine, unable to avoid going back to the _re:quiet messages.

What if the people u think are ur enemies are just trapped?

"Everyone's performing all the time," Rosé continued, "at dinners, at galas, even at school. And there is so few feelings." She laughed, but there was no humor in it, just a hollow sound that seemed to echo in the expensive space. "Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning. Like I'm disappearing."

He took a careful sip of wine, his mind racing through fragments of conversations with his anonymous contact. The desperation in those messages, the way _re:quiet had talked about drowning behind wealth and privilege, about feeling invisible despite being constantly watched.

He glanced at Rosé out of the corner of his eye, then looked away quickly when another cough forced its way up his throat.

He gave his head a subtle shake, like swatting away a mosquito. He was being paranoid again. Seeing things where there were none. The cold he was coming down with wasn't helping his already scattered thoughts.

"What's your family like?" he found himself asking, genuinely curious now, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Absent." She shrugged, but he could see the hurt she was trying to hide. "My mom's always traveling for her charity work, which is really just an excuse to shop in Tokyo and network with other wealthy wives."

Taehyung smiled, bitterly.

"My dad... he loves his properties more than his daughters, I think. They show up for the important stuff, graduations, big social events, but it's like we’re just another asset in their portfolio. Something to be managed and displayed when necessary." She took another sip. "Yours?"

He looked at the city lights, sighing.

"Fucked up." He took a long drink, feeling the burn, but also watching her reaction carefully. "And now that I'm probably going to get kicked out from the Academy, they'll never forgive me for wasting their sacrifice. I wouldn't forgive myself either."

Rosé's expression shifted, becoming more intense, almost hungry for his pain in a way that made Taehyung's stomach twist.

Couldn't stop staring.

The pieces were falling into place with terrifying clarity. Rosé's access to information about the Academy's inner workings, her knowledge of people like BamBam and his circle. The way she seemed to understand his situation so intimately, as if she'd been watching him for months. The timing of her appearance at the restaurant.

Adrenaline began to hum under his skin, mixing with the fever he could feel starting to build.

Yet something seemed... off.

Rosé was swirling the wine in her glass thoughtfully, then suddenly spoke. "You know, Jungkook is... the most desperate guy I've ever seen."

Despite himself, Taehyung's attention sharpened, making him suddenly turn around. He could feel his jaw clench at the mention of that name. "Why? Did he reject Lisa?"

The question came out rougher than intended, his throat scratching. He didn't want to talk about that bastard.

Rosé laughed, "Dream on... At least she would get over it. No, it's just..." She frowned, and for a moment, Taehyung could swear he saw calculation behind her eyes. "His family is something else. One that you never want to have, one that creates problems that a boy of that age shouldn't have to face."

She paused, seeming to weigh her words carefully. "I know something through BamBam, but I don't know... the story might be more complex than that, and I'm not sure if it's right to talk about it." She took another long sip, and Taehyung could see the alcohol beginning to loosen her usual composure. "At the same time, I'm drinking, and Jeon has been a piece of shit, so maybe it's fair that I reveal something."

Taehyung couldn't help but smile slightly at her brutal honesty, even as another cough escaped him. "I'm listening."

Rosé leaned back into the couch, her voice conspiratorial. "He has an older brother. Had, I guess. Junghyun. Really brilliant guy, from what BamBam told me. Graduated summa cum laude, spoke five languages, genuinely passionate about philosophy." She paused, her expression darkening. "He wanted to convert the family business. Thought they could use their resources to actually help people instead of just accumulating more wealth."

"What happened to him?" Taehyung asked quietly, his voice barely concealed his surprise.

"Their father happened." The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable. "Apparently, old man Jeon saw his eldest son's idealistic phase as weakness. Dangerous weakness. The kind that could threaten everything he'd built." She swirled her wine again, staring into it. "So when Junghyun kept pushing, kept arguing, his father had him committed to a private psychiatric facility. Said he was having a breakdown, that the stress of inheriting the business had made him unstable."

Taehyung felt his stomach drop. "Jesus Christ."

Tell me, Kim, what happens to revolutionaries in this world?
They get cut out.

A shiver ran through his body.

"The worst part? Everyone in their circle just... accepts it. Oh, poor Junghyun, couldn't handle the pressure. But BamBam said Jungkook told him once, when he was completely wasted, that his brother was the sanest person in their family." Her voice grew quieter. "And now Jungkook's the heir." She raised an eyebrow to Taehyung and finished her wine in one long gulp.

He stared into his wine glass, his mind racing. That story explained so much and yet complicated everything he thought he knew. For a moment - just a moment - Taehyung felt something that might have been sympathy.

But then he caught himself, a harsh cough interrupting his thoughts.

No. He wasn't going to humanize that piece of shit. Not after everything he'd done. And besides, the story could be more complex than that, Rosé is right. Maybe Jungkook had fed BamBam this sob story to discredit his father, to start positioning himself for more power.

Rich families were always playing games within games.

"Fuck," he muttered, downing the rest of his wine in one gulp, immediately regretting it as it burned his already raw throat.

Rosé watched him carefully, seeming to read the conflict on his face. "I know..."

Taehyung didn't respond. He just let the silence grow, the city lights blurring beyond the window, maybe from the wine, maybe from the fever he could feel building behind his eyes.

Then she said it. "I don't want to leave, Taehyung."

He turned toward her, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone: soft, steady, almost vulnerable. She wasn't looking at him now, but at the window, at the glittering skyline like it might answer for her. "Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked.

He blinked, the question catching him off guard. "Sure," he said after a pause, voice hoarse and low. "It's your place."

"I don't want to be alone," she admitted, and for the first time all evening, Taehyung felt genuinely uncertain. The raw need in her voice seemed real, too real to be entirely manufactured.

But was it calculated? Was this part of some longer game?

"Neither do I," he found himself saying, surprised by his own honesty.

Their eyes met, really met this time. And in the dim golden light of the apartment, her gaze softened. There was no flirtation, no performance. Just tiredness.

She tilted her head slightly. "Do you want to fuck?"

Taehyung nearly choked, his breath catching painfully in his throat. He coughed once, setting his wine glass down too fast, it clinked sharply against the edge of the table. "What?"

Rosé didn't look away, laughing. "No feelings," she clarified. "Just closeness."

I bet you fuck like a beast.

The words from those messages pulsed in his memory, and suddenly he could almost hear them in Rosé's voice, could imagine her typing them in the dark, watching him from across a classroom or a practice room. The timing, the knowledge, the way she spoke - it all clicked together in his fever-addled mind.

He stared at her and he saw just truth, spoken plainly, like someone unashamed of needing something simple. Something human.

He swallowed hard, wincing slightly at the pain.

It wasn't just the weight of her question. It was everything happened that day pressing in, folding over him like a wave he hadn't seen coming.

Jin's loss. BamBam's smug laugh. His own suspension. His scholarship slipping away.

And Jeon, always there. Always winning. Always untouchable.

He hadn't had sex in months. Not since... he couldn't even remember. Life had turned into a haze of work and exhaustion, and it was easier to keep everything at arm's length than risk being cracked open again. But the need hadn't gone away. It had just buried itself deeper, souring into tension under his skin.

And then there were all those messages…

He didn't know what scared him more: that it was her, or that it wasn't. That he might be so starved for connection he was willing to believe anything. That maybe his desperation was making him see patterns that weren't there.

Like Rosé, he didn't want to be alone.

He wanted skin. Friction. Someone's breath against his neck.
He wanted to feel wanted, raw and messy and real.
He wanted to disappear into someone else, let their heat burn away everything he couldn't carry anymore.

"Okay," he said.

His voice rough, quieter than hers. But sure.

*

The train rocked gently as it pulled away from the station, the city's upscale districts giving way to more familiar, worn-down neighborhoods. Taehyung stared out the window, watching the morning light filter through the grimy glass, his reflection ghostlike against the passing scenery. His throat still felt raw, and he coughed softly, tasting the lingering effects of yesterday's rain.

He thought about waking up on Rosé's couch, how surprisingly comfortable it had felt. No awkwardness, no regret, just the two of them making coffee in that pristine kitchen, sharing quiet observations about the absurdity of their lives. There had been something peaceful about it. Like they'd shared an understanding and could now face the world a little lighter.

But the night had left him with more questions than answers.

Every conversation, every careful word she'd chosen, had felt loaded with meaning. The way she'd talked about being trapped, about drowning. Her sudden appearance at the restaurant, even the way she'd offered her father's apartment. It all felt too convenient, too orchestrated.

And yet, something had felt off. The timing, maybe. Or the way she'd seemed to be performing even in sex. Like she was trying too hard to be someone she thought he needed her to be.

His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket, and he finally pulled it out to find his lock screen overwhelmed with notifications. Hundreds of social media alerts, group chat messages, missed calls from Jimin, texts from all his friends.

The news about his suspension had clearly made its rounds.

But his eyes were drawn to one thread in particular: _re:quiet.

He opened it, his pulse quickening.

From _re:quiet:

[23:45] hey taehyung

[00:18] how are u holding up?
[00:18] been thinking about u all day

[00:20] i know i probably shouldn't be texting
[00:20] and now u probably hate me even more
[00:21] but the truth is
[00:21] i'm so worried about u

[01:17] i know fridays mean u close late
[01:18] saturdays and sundays too right?
[01:18] i hope u're just working

[01:32] i'll wait
[01:33] maybe u'll check ur phone when u're on the bus back
[01:33] or when u're in bed
[01:34] either way
[01:34] i'll still be here

[02:42] hope u're okay
[02:42] really

[03:16] keep thinking about what happened
[03:16] about how unfair it all is
[03:17] u don't deserve this

[03:45] all this situation
[03:45] it's eating at me
[03:47] i keep staring at the screen like a fucking idiot

[04:30] i just hope ur sleeping
[04:31] that you made it home safe
[04:31] it’s raining like hell tonight
[04:31] hope u're dry
[04:31] warm

[04:35] u don't have to have a conversation with me
[04:35] just
[04:36] send something in the morning?
[04:36] u can curse me out if u want
[04:36] tell me to go to hell
[04:36] anything
[04:37] i just need to know ur still there

[05:56] god
[05:56] i hope jeon fucking dies

Taehyung stared at the screen, his chest tightening with something he couldn't name.

The timestamps told a story that made his throat constrict even more than the cold he was fighting. _re:quiet had been awake all night, sending message after message, consumed with worry about him. At 2:42 AM, while Taehyung had been lying awake on Rosé's couch, analyzing every word she'd said, _re:quiet had been in their own bed somewhere, staring at their phone, hoping for a response.

The realization hit him like a thunder, making him cough again.

It wasn't her.

The proof was right here in these messages, in the raw desperation and genuine care that had kept someone else awake all night, waiting for a sign that Taehyung was okay.

This was what he'd been looking for without even knowing it. This ache in his chest, this twisted feeling of being seen and understood by someone who cared enough to lose sleep over him.

He'd spent the night with a beautiful girl and felt nothing.
Then these messages from a stranger were doing something to his heart that he couldn't control.

But if it wasn't Rosé, then who?

The question gnawed at him as he scrolled back through the messages, looking for clues he might have missed.

A pang of guilt crept in. He'd lashed out at _re:quiet that morning, and the day before. All that anger, misdirected.

It wasn't _re:quiet who deserved it. If anyone deserved to have their face smashed in, it was Jeon. Not the person who'd waited up all night just to know he was alive. Not the one who'd seen the worst in him and stayed anyway.

Taehyung pressed his forehead against the cool train window, watching his breath fog the glass. His reflection looked back at him, tired, uncertain, throat still aching from yesterday's rain and everything that had followed.

[12:35] hey

He typed the single word and hit send, his heart hammering as he watched the message disappear into the digital void.

He was back to square one.

And it was clear now: he was getting attached.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The moment Taehyung stepped out, the familiar assault hit him immediately: the perpetual smell of frying oil, dirt and gasoline; the asphalt costantly vibrating under his feet; the graffiti daubing concrete walls in faded acid green; metal shutters stayed permanently rolled down over storefronts - abandoned or just be resting between failures.

That shithole you call home where your pathetic family rots.

His hands tightened around his crushed cigarette pocket.

He flicked the pack with ease, a cigarette sliding out. He caught it with his lips and lit it in one smooth motion and started walking.

A kid, maybe fourteen, tore past on a beaten-up moped without a helmet, his hair whipping behind him like a battle flag. Taehyung's eyes tracked the movement: the practiced lean into the turn, the way the kid's hand rested loose on the throttle. He knew that posture, knew the reckless confidence that came with having nothing to lose at that age.

The basketball court behind the fence had one hoop with no net and another one bent at an impossible angle, the asphalt cracked in spider webs around a rust-stained drain. In the shadows beneath the broken bleachers, he caught the telltale red glow of cigarettes and the careful way three figures hunched together, their voices low and urgent: business.

He forced himself to look away, even if his head was already spinning.

The narrow alley between buildings reeked of stale soju and something sharper, chemical. Graffiti covered every surface, territorial markers he still knew how to read: the Wolves still controlled this block. Their symbol, a stylized howling head, was spray-painted fresh over older marks, the paint still glossy enough to catch what little light filtered.

An ajusshi stumbled out of a convenience store, clutching a bottle wrapped in brown paper, his face flushed and eyes glassy. He nodded at Taehyung with the expression of someone who'd seen him around but couldn't quite place when or where.

Somewhere in the distance sirens wailed their familiar song, but they would stop as soon as they reached the neighbourhood.

They always did.

He was missing for two weeks, yet he had already forgotten how the air here felt different, thicker, like it carried the weight of too many broken lives. But now, walking these streets with Jeon’s words still burning, he saw them for what they actually were.

Not just poor, but pathetic.

Not just struggling, rotting.

He hated that those words had found their mark, that they made him see his own neighborhood even worse through those cruel, privileged eyes. But mostly, he hated that part of him - the part that had tasted a different world - was whispering that Jeon wasn't entirely wrong.

A motorcycle revved somewhere behind him, the engine modified to sound deeper, more aggressive. Taehyung didn't turn around, but his shoulders tensed with old instincts. He recognized that growl: a Hyosung Comet. The sound brought back the taste of adrenaline and fear, the weight of stolen goods in his backpack, the particular thrill of running red lights with sirens fading behind him.

Those days seemed to belong to another guy, one whom Taehyung barely knew, but who had left traces everywhere inside him.

His apartment building loomed ahead, its dirty white facade streaked with water stains. The ground floor windows were barred, metal grates painted over so many times they looked like scabs. Someone had tried to scrub gang tags off the entrance wall, but the ghosts of them still bled through the cheap paint.

Taehyung paused, his hand brushing the wall for balance as a wave of dizziness hit. His eyes caught on a faded red V, barely visible beneath the newer layers of graffiti, like an old scar. He’d sprayed it there years ago, a half-joke between him and Juyeon - V for Vendetta, he used to say. For the revenge and redemption he would take soon outside that rotten place.

The V was still there: still standing. Still angry. Just like him.

Maybe the dizziness was from a fever. Or maybe it was something else - something inside him, that rooted slowly over time; something older than yesterday’s storm. A deasease that lived within him, and now stirred awake by pain and anger.

He inhaled one last time and flicked the cigarette away, the ember snuffed out. Then he headed up the stairs.

Each step felt heavier than the last, muscle memory guiding him past the broken railing on the fourth floor, the same railing he'd used to pull himself up when he'd come home bloodied and limping after that thing went wrong, the one where Jinwoo ended up in the hospital and nobody talked about why anymore.

Past Mrs. Kim's door where the cooking smells always leaked into the hallway, mixing kimchi with the inexplicable stench of piss that seemed embedded in the concrete corners. It just made his stomach ache more.

When he knocked at his door, his mother opened it like she was already apologizing for something. The sharp scent of bleach hit him immediately, so thick he could taste it. She looked smaller somehow, her hands still damp from cleaning, dark circles under her eyes that cheap makeup couldn't quite hide. Her work clothes, faded and worn, hung loose on her shrinking frame.

"Taehyung-ah?" She sounded surprised, wary. She didn't move to hug him right away, just stood there studying his face as though trying to read what he had done this time. "What are you doing here? It's Monday. Don't you have classes?"

The lie came easy. "Got a few days off. Thought I'd surprise you." He coughed forcefully, bringing a hand to his mouth.

His mother's eyes narrowed slightly. She knew him too well, knew the careful way he held his shoulders when he was hiding something, knew the particular shade of guilt that colored his voice. Still, she stepped aside to let him in, and the apartment felt like it was closing around him.

“Are you sick?”

“No, it’s fine. Eunjoo-ah!" he called softly, heading toward the living room.

She was curled up on the couch under a blanket that swallow her whole, her laptop balanced on her knees. When she looked up, her smile came slow and fragile, like something that might break if she moved too fast. She'd gotten thinner.

"Oppa!" she said, and the word was warm honey. "You're here! Did you finally get tired of that school?"

"Nah, they got tired of me!" he settled down beside her and immediately reaching for her laptop, smiling. "What are you watching? Please, tell me it's not another drama where everyone cries."

"It's a cooking show," she protested, trying to angle the screen away from him. "And you love those dramas. You always cried a lot."

"That was allergies," Taehyung said solemnly, successfully stealing the laptop and placing it between them. "Very severe allergies to bad plot twists."

Eunjoo snorted, the sound more genuine than anything he'd heard since walking through the door. "Sure, Oppa. And I suppose you had allergies during Goblin too?"

"The worst case of seasonal allergies in recorded history," he confirmed, watching as chefs in pristine whites prepared elaborate dishes. “What’s this?”

“It’s a cooking competition. The contestants aren’t professional chefs, just regular people. There are a few really famous chefs on the panel, now they keeps yelling at the participants for wasting truffles," Eunjoo was pointing at the screen. "Did you know? One truffle costs more than mom makes in a week cleaning houses!"

The casual way she said it slid in like a thorn.

He reached over and adjusted her blanket, tucking it more securely around her shoulders. "Well, obviously," he said with mock seriousness. "Truffles are very exclusive. They only grow for people who wear tiny hats and speak in French accents."

"That's not how truffles work."

"How would you know? Have you ever met a truffle personally?" He poked her gently in the side, careful not to jostle her too much. "Have you shaken hands with one? Exchanged business cards?"

"You're ridiculous," she laughed, and the sound was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

"I'm educational," he corrected. "Speaking of which, are you eating enough? Because I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be bigger than this blanket, not the other way around."

"Mom's been making me these awful protein shakes," Eunjoo made a face. "They taste like chalk mixed with water."

"Mmm." He nodded appreciatively. "The breakfast of champions. Very trendy in my school. All the rich kids are drinking protein smoothies and pretending they taste like vanilla."

"Really?" she asked, grinning at him.

"Absolutely. It's the latest health craze.”

"I won't believe it until I see it," she said, but she was still smiling, like he was someone worth believing in. Taehyung was seized by a sudden cough.

"You look tired, Oppa. Are you sleeping?"

"Enough," he lied, his voice scratchy.

"The rich kids keeping you up with their parties?"

He smiled, bitterly. "Something like that."

"I saw that video of you throwing a cocktail!"

He flinched. Of course that damn video had made its rounds here too. He could already picture what everyone in the neighborhood was thinking - that V had turned into some kind of party animal, a privileged snob throwing around expensive drinks like confetti.

The truth was so far from that it would have been laughable if it wasn't so infuriating.

But before he could come up with an answer, the front door opened and closed with a decisive thud.

He looked up to see Minjun standing in the doorway: fifteen years old, almost fifty, features now sharpened like his judgement. His clothes were too loose, hanging off his increasingly thin frame, his hair too long and kept barely tidy by a worn cap. He looked taller, but also somehow diminished.

Their eyes met across the room. Taehyung raised his hand slightly. "Hey, Jun."

Minjun's expression didn't change - not surprise, not anger, just a careful, studied blankness that was somehow worse than either. He gave the briefest of nods, barely acknowledging his presence, then turned toward their mother.

"I'm not eating," he said flatly. "Going upstairs."

"Minjun-ah," their mother called out, worry creeping into her voice. "You're getting too thin. You need to-"

But the other was already on the steps, taking them two at a time, his footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell until his bedroom door slammed shut above them.

Their mother stood there for a moment, looking after him with a defeated expression. Her shoulders sagged as she turned back to Taehyung, her eyes carrying a mixture of exhaustion and helplessness that made his chest tighten.

As he stood to follow his mother into the kitchen, he caught it: a thin ribbon of that herbal scent, sticky-sweet and artificial, the kind that clung to skin. It was curled around Minjun like a ghost, and Taehyung didn’t need to ask him: he'd worn that shadow once, too.

He felt suddenly a huge weight: in his brother's eyes, he was just another person who'd found an exit and taken it, abandoning them to their slow-motion collapse. And watching him disappear upstairs, hollow-eyed and getting thinner by the day, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe Minjun was right.

Maybe that's exactly what he'd become, a selfish son of a bitch.

That shithole you call home where your pathetic family rots.

Jeon's words slithered through his mind again, and suddenly everything felt microscopic.

Like a bacterium.

His mother had her shoulders curved over the small counter in defeat. The rhythmic sound of her knife against the cutting board filled the space: steady, mechanical, like she was trying to cut away her pains one piece at a time.

"What are you making?" He asked softly.

She startled, looking up with tired eyes. "Kimchi jjigae. Found some pork on sale yesterday, there's enough for everyone."

He moved beside her, reaching for the green onions she'd left whole on the counter. "I can finish these."

She stepped back gratefully, wiping her hands on a consumed dish towel.

"I almost forgot-" Taehyung reached into his bag with his free hand, pulling out an envelope thick with bills. He placed it on the small kitchen table, next to a stack of unopened mail that screamed overdue notices in red ink.

"What's this?" His mother's voice went immediately sharp, over time she learned that unexpected money usually came with unexpected problems…

"Payment from my work shifts. What I had left after expenses." He kept his eyes on the green onions, slicing with more precision than necessary.

She picked up the envelope, and he could hear her counting silently, her breath catching. "Taehyung-ah, this is too much. This isn't leftover money."

"It is." The lie came easily now. He met her eyes, trying to push his hair back with his wrist. "They pay well at the academy. Meals, housing, everything's covered. This is honestly extra."

He started coughing.

"I don't like taking money from you," she said quietly, but her fingers didn't release the envelope.

"You're not taking it. I'm giving it." He stirred the stew, inhaling the scent that brought back a thousand memories of coming home hungry. "How's Eunjoo doing? Really?"

His mother's face tightened, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The new treatment is expensive, even with insurance. But the doctors say it's working. Slowly."

“Good. Maybe if she keeps this up she might avoid the…”

Neither of them dared look each other in the eye, because the heart transplant was a subject his mother did not even want to open by accident. As if speaking it might make it inevitable.

He coughed again, covering his mouth with his wrist. “And Jun?"

"School just started, but I can already tell this year will be worse than last." Her voice was barely audible, now. "Last week Mrs. Kim saw him with those boys who hang around the convenience store."

Taehyung knew exactly which boys she meant.

"I tried talking to him," she continued, and now tears were sliding down her cheeks, silent, desperate. "But he won't listen. He thinks I'm weak, thinks I don't understand… And maybe he's right. Maybe I don't know how to raise boys on my own."

"Mom." Taehyung abandoned the stew immediately, pulling her into his arms. She felt fragile, bird-like, smaller than the woman who'd once seemed capable of holding their whole world together. "You're not weak. You raised us, didn't you?"

"But look what you went through," she whispered against his shoulder. "I can't watch that happen to Jun too. I can't, Taehyung."

Her tears soaked through his hoodie, and his chest cracked open: the knowledge of being the eldest, the one who'd escaped, the one responsible for showing the way forward when he barely knew the path himself.

"I'll talk to him," he said suddenly. "I'll figure this out."

"How?" She pulled back to look at him.

"I'll think of something." Even as he said it, he had no idea what that something would look like. "Let me just go upstairs first, get settled. Then I'll think something. You should rest before your shift."

She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Your room... it's a mess. I haven't had time to clean since you left. And it gets so hot up there during the day, the attic, you know how it is.”

"It's fine, mom," he said smiling. "My dorm room is worse."

Another lie. The academy dormitories were climate-controlled perfection, comfortable in ways he'd forgotten to appreciate. But the attic had been his sanctuary once, and maybe it could be again, even if it felt like stepping backward into a skin that no longer fit.

He climbed the narrow stairs, each step creaking a protest. The hallway was barely wide enough for his shoulders now, with Minjun's room at one end and storage at the other. As he passed his brother's door, aggressive rap music bled through the thin walls: raw, angry sound that spoke of frustration with nowhere to go.

Taehyung paused, his hand halfway to knocking.

What could he possibly say?

Sorry if I left you behind?
Sorry if I found an exit and didn't drag you through it with me?
Sorry if our family is falling apart and I'm too selfish to come home more often?

The music seemed to grow louder, as if Minjun knew he was standing there and was deliberately building walls of sound between them. Taehyung's hand dropped to his side, and he continued up the stairs.

The attic room was exactly as he'd left it, a single bed pushed against the sloped wall, a desk that wobbled on uneven legs, posters of musicians and movie stars he'd outgrown years ago still taped to the walls. The small window was open, but it did little to cut through the stifling air.

He dropped his backpack on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, pressing the palms of his hands against his face. The mattress sagged in the same spots it always had, and the familiar scent of old fabric and dust made him feel sixteen again: angry, desperate, and trapped.

His phone continued to buzz in his pocket. He'd been ignoring it since the train, letting notifications pile up, but something made him pull it out now.

A dry cough scratched at his throat as he reached for the device.

The thread from _re:quiet waited for him:

[10:42] hey
[10:42] taehyung
[10:43] how r u?
[10:43] i was worried sick

[12:55] r u ok?

He stared at the messages, feeling something loosen in his body.

He started typing, then deleted it. Started again, deleted again.

How could he explain that he was sitting in his childhood bedroom, sweating through his clothes while his brother's angry music bled through the floor and his mother's quiet sobs drifted up from the kitchen? How could he describe almost killing Jeon and feeling no regret, or the way those cruel words had carved themselves into his brain?

Outside, a motorcycle revved in the distance, probably his cousin making his rounds, and Taehyung closed his eyes, remembering a different version of himself who might have been getting ready to join him.

A coughing fit interrupted his thoughts, leaving him breathless and slightly dizzy. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

Was he getting warmer?

The phone felt heavy in his hands as he finally began to type.

[13:44] honestly
[13:44] i feel like shit

The response came immediately, like they'd been waiting, phone in hand, watching for his reply. The thought was both comforting and slightly worrisome.

[13:45] wanna talk?

Taehyung stared at the screen, surprised by their speed.

[13:46] or
[13:46] i don't know
[13:46] i can just sit with u for a bit

When was the last time someone had offered just to exist in the same space as his misery without trying to fix it or understand it or make it better?

The simple offer made his throat tighten with unexpected emotion.

[13:48] i don’t know
[13:48] everything feels so heavy lately

He had to pause his typing as another coughing spell hit him, this one worse than before. His chest ached, and he could feel heat building behind his eyes.

[13:48] i'm listening
[13:48] no pressure
[13:48] just
[13:48] whatever u wanna say
[13:49] i’m here

Who the hell was this person who always knew exactly what to say?

Who responded at all hours like they had nothing better to do?

Honestly, that kind of attention still felt too good to be true, like a setup for some prank he wasn't in on. But today he felt too defeated to care, too worn down to question why someone would waste their time on his problems.

Like a stray dog too hungry to wonder if the offered food might be poisoned.

He just needed someone, anyone, to acknowledge that he existed.

[13:50] i almost killed jeon yesterday
[13:50] tried to
[13:51] i wanted to so badly

The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again. They were probably choosing their words carefully.

[13:52] the worst part is
[13:52] what he said wasn't even wrong
[13:53] about my family
[13:53] maybe we are
[13:53] pathetic i mean
[13:53] and actually this is a shithole

[13:54] taehyung
[13:54] don't say that
[13:54] please

[13:54] why not
[13:55] it's true

[13:55] it’s unfair
[13:55] for ur home
[13:55] for ur family
[13:55] for u

And here was this stranger defending his family better than he was defending them himself.

[13:56] u don't understand
[13:56] u haven't seen it

[13:56] then tell me
[13:56] let me see

Their simple request made his defenses crumble.

No judgment, no advice, just the gentle invitation to be seen. But the weight of it all pressed down like a mountain. After yesterday's chaos, the night with Rosé, and the returning home, every coherent thought had fled his head.

He couldn't summon a single word for himself anymore. He coughed into his elbow, feeling the fever definitely starting to climb now.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath and typed with slowness:

[13:58] no
[13:58] u talk now
[13:58] tell me something
[13:58] anything

He didn't want to be the broken one anymore, not right now. He just needed to let someone else carry the conversation for a while.

[13:59] ok
[13:59] i can do it
[13:59] i could tell u something
[13:59] i recently found out

 [13:59] spit it out

[14:00] so
[14:00] first thing
[14:00] promise me u won't tell anyone
[14:00] this is TOP SECRET

Despite himself, Taehyung felt a small smile tug at his lips. Their dramatic tone was already working its magic, pulling him out of the dark spiral of his thoughts.

[14:01] promise

[14:02] it’s about ko

He felt something twist in his stomach at the mention of Ko's name, but before he could respond:

[14:02] turns out he's been taking salsa dancing lessons
[14:03] at the community center downtown

[14:03] what

[14:03] full sparkly shirt and everything
[14:03] a friend of mine teaches there
[14:03] she sent pics

[14:04] WHAT

[14:04] SPARKLY SHIRT
[14:04] like disco ball level sparkly

A short laugh escaped Taehyung's lips, surprised and rusty, but real. The image of stern, rigid professor Ko in a sparkly shirt was so absurd, it temporarily pushed aside the knot of resentment in his chest. Though the laughter immediately triggered another coughing fit.

[14:05] ur lying

[14:05] i swear
[14:05] on my life
[14:06] he even bought special shoes
[14:06] with little tassels

[14:06] tassels???

[14:06] TASSELS
[14:06] apparently he's trying to impress someone
[14:06] but nobody knows who is
[14:07] the mystery salsa woman
[14:07] 💃

[14:07] this is insane
[14:07] ko in sparkly shirts
[14:07] i can't

The laughter was coming easier now, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. He could actually picture it: Ko's serious face under stage lights, all concentration and tasseled shoes.

[14:07] wait there's more
[14:08] it’s about lee

[14:08] please
[14:08] tell me lee isn't the mystery salsa woman

[14:08] DEAD 💀
[14:09] i’m CHOKING
[14:09] u deserve jail for that visual

This time Taehyung actually snorted, the sound echoing off the slanted walls of his attic room before dissolving into another coughing spell. The mental image was too much: it was ridiculous and perfect and exactly what he needed, even as his fever climbed higher.

[14:09] someone call netflix
[14:09] we’ve got a plot twist

[14:10] ok but listen
[14:10] i have actual intel
[14:10] lee’s been leaving flowers
[14:10] in ms choi’s office

He sat up straighter, invested now, though the movement made him feel momentarily lightheaded.

[14:11] not just any flowers
[14:11] he researches the meanings
[14:11] like it’s a victorian courtship ritual
[14:11] last week it was yellow roses
[14:11] “friendship turning to love”

[14:12] jeez
[14:12] is he okay
[14:12] should we send help or more flowers?

[14:12] let’s send both
[14:12] one for his heart
[14:12] one for his dignity

Now Taehyung was properly laughing.

God, it felt good to laugh like this, even if his throat was protesting.

When had he forgotten how good it felt?

[14:10] how do u even know this shit

[14:10] i have sources
[14:10] anyway
[14:11] ms choi gets flowers from everyone
[14:11] she's like the academy's unofficial crush
[14:11] but she has no idea who's sending what
[14:11] keeps asking other teachers if they know
[14:11] while professor lee just stands there
[14:11] DYING INSIDE

 
[14:12] someone needs to sit him down
[14:12] saying “she’s not gonna figure it out from the flower code, bro”
[14:12] hey
[14:12] could be gong
[14:12] i can see him being a bro
[14:13] actually not
[14:13] he could steal ms choi’s heart from under lee’s nose

[14:13] PLS 💀
[14:13] gong is married
[14:13] like very married

[14:13] really???

[14:13] the other day
[14:13] he was in the hallway talking to another professor
[14:13] phone rings
[14:13] he looks at it and sighs
[14:14] “arghhhh i have to answer”
[14:14] 🤬 💢 💥
[14:14] the other looks at his screen and said
[14:14] "who is PAIN-IN-THE-ASS?"
[14:14] gong looked at him and said
[14:14] "my wife "

Taehyung was gasping now.

[14:15] NO FUCKING WAY
[14:15] gong actually said that??

[14:16] DEADASS
[14:16] with the straightest face ever

[14:17] i'm dying
[14:17] this is too much

[14:17] RIGHT??
[14:17] married couple goals
[14:18] she probably knows what he saved her as
[14:18] and doesn't care
[14:18] true love

[14:18] this school is like a bad drama

[14:13] the WORST drama
[14:13] but wait
[14:13] the best part is what i’m going to say now

[14:14] u have my full attention

[14:14] i missed u in ko's class today
[14:14] ur sexy trumpet wasn't there to distract me

Taehyung felt his grin widen, a different kind of warmth spreading now.

[14:15] my sexy trumpet?

[14:15] yeah
[14:15] very sexy
[14:16] with that whole mysterious jazz player vibe of urs

[14:16] mysterious jazz player vibe?
[14:16] is that supposed to be a compliment

[14:17] definitely
[14:17] u’re so hot
[14:17] all brooding and musical

The compliment hit different than he'd expected: that made him feel seen in a way that had nothing to do with pity or judgment. He found himself actually blushing. Or maybe it was the heat radiating from his skin now.

[14:18] why don't u come closer next time
[14:18] stop the anon shit
[14:19] talk to me like a normal person

There was a longer pause this time. He watched the three dots appear and disappear, and he could almost feel _re:quiet's hesitation.

[14:21] it's complicated
[14:21] u wouldn't like me in person
[14:22] probably wouldn't even let me get close enough to try

Whoever this was, it seems they were genuinely afraid of being rejected by him. The thought was both flattering and heartbreaking.

[14:22] why
[14:22] ur ugly or something?

[14:23] no
[14:23] i have everything
[14:23] except appearance problems

Taehyung scoffed, but there was fondness in it now.

[14:24] modest

[14:24] honest
[14:24] u asked

[14:25] so ur hot but u think i wouldn't like u
[14:25] makes perfect sense

[14:26] ur joking
[14:26] but yeah
[14:26] that's exactly what i think
[14:27] u'd take one look at who i am
[14:27] and decide i'm not worth ur time
[14:27] before i even opened my mouth

They really thought they wouldn't be worth Taehyung's time? It seemed impossible.

It seems like false modesty or avoidance, even.

 [14:28] ur not giving me much credit

[14:29] ur right
[14:29] maybe i'm just a coward

 [14:30] an attractive one apparently

He stared at his phone, that strange feeling spreading through him. There was something about _re:quiet that felt different from anyone else he'd talked to, something that made him feel less alone even in this cramped childhood room that felt like a prison.

He realized he didn't even know if they were male or female. The username gave nothing away, their typing style could belong to anyone. But somehow it didn't matter.

In this strange digital space, this stuff felt irrelevant. What mattered was the way they seemed to understand him, the way they'd managed to pull him out of his darkest thoughts.

[14:31] gonna grab something quick to eat

Actually, he wasn't sure he could keep anything down, but he needed a break from typing.

[14:32] course
[14:32] i'll be here
[14:32] whenever u need

Taehyung set his phone aside and lay back on the bed, staring up at the slanted ceiling as another coughing fit wracked his body. The familiar water stain from his dorm room was missing here, and he realized he couldn't read any omens in this moment. But maybe that was okay.

Maybe sometimes the present was enough.

*

His cousin's shop sat wedged between two rolled-down metal shutters. The sound of power tools and radio music spilled out onto the sidewalk, mixing with the smell of motor oil and cigarettes.

Taehyung stepped through the open doorway and immediately felt fifteen again. The scents hit him like a wave, triggering a dry cough that scraped against his throat. He cleared it quietly, hoping the sound would blend with the garage noise, but the irritation lingered.

"Well, well!" came a voice from under the hood of a beaten-up Hyundai. "Look what the fancy academy dragged in."

Juyeon emerged, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. He was two years older than Taehyung: a shaved head meant to hide the creeping recession at his temples, his frame heavier now since moving in with Yerin, but that same sharp-edged, bastard's grin still firmly in place. His coveralls were stained with years of grease and grime, and a cigarette dangled from his lips, ash threatening to drop with every word.

"Miss me?" Taehyung shot back. Another small cough punctuated his words.

"Like a toothache," the other replied, but his smile was genuine. He studied Taehyung's face for a moment, taking in the slight flush across his cheekbones, the way he kept swallowing like his throat was raw. "You look like shit. You’re dying?"

"Worse." He scoffed, then immediately regretted it as the sound triggered another coughing fit. He turned away slightly, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

His cousin watched him, the rag still in his hands. Then he raised an eyebrow: "What brings you back to civilization? Rich kid life getting too soft for you?"

"Something like that." He moved closer to the car, automatically assessing the setup, grateful for the distraction. "What's wrong with her?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out." The other gestured at the engine with obvious frustration. "Won't start, then starts fine, then dies randomly. Owner says it's been doing this for weeks."

Taehyung nodded, already reaching for a pair of work gloves from the tool bench. The usual weight of them, the way they fit his hands like a second skin... He'd spent countless hours in this shop during high school, learning from his uncle, discovering he had a natural talent for diagnosing problems.

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Be my fucking guest. I'm about to push this piece of shit to the scrapyard."

Taehyung leaned over the engine, hands moving with experience. He checked the obvious things first - battery connections, fuel lines, spark plugs - but they all looked fine.

"You check the crankshaft position sensor?" he asked, pausing to clear his throat.

"First thing I did." His cousin leaned against the workbench, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Along with the mass airflow sensor, the throttle position sensor, and about fifteen other fucking sensors this heap has managed to accumulate."

Taehyung's fingers found the sensor, and immediately he felt something wrong with the connection. Not loose, exactly, but not quite right either. Difficult to notice unless you knew what to look for. He traced the wiring harness back, following it through the maze of engine components until he found it.

"There," he said, pointing to where the wire had been rubbing against a bracket. "Intermittent short. Connection's good most of the time, but when the engine vibrates just right, it makes contact and sends garbage signals to the ECU."

Juyeon moved closer, squinting at the spot Taehyung indicated. "Son of a bitch. How'd you spot that?"

He shrugged, already reaching for electrical tape, though his movements were slightly sluggish. "You always check the basics first, then think about what would cause intermittent problems. Shorts, loose connections, things that work sometimes but-" Another cough interrupted his explanation, this one lasting longer and leaving him slightly breathless.

"Show off," Juyeon muttered. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, though he had to pause to catch his breath. Here, in this oil-stained shop with his hands dirty and his mind focused on a concrete problem with a concrete solution, he felt competent in a way he'd almost forgotten, even if his body was betraying him.

They worked together for the next few hours, Taehyung handling the delicate repair while Juyeon fetched tools and offered running commentary. The radio played a mix of hip-hop and trot music, the kind of unapologetically Korean soundtrack that the academy kids would probably find embarrassing.

For Taehyung it felt perfect.

"So," his cousin said during a break, both of them leaning against the workbench with energy drinks in their hands. "What's really going on? You don't just show up here looking like a zombie with a death rattle."

Taehyung took a long sip of his drink, the artificial sweetness and caffeine hitting his system like a drug, soothing his irritated throat momentarily. "Got suspended. Three days."

"No shit!? What'd you do?"

"Almost got into a fight with this asshole who..." He paused as another cough wracked his chest. "Said some things about home. About family."

The words came easier than he'd expected, though his voice was getting more strained with each sentence.

Juyeon's expression sharpened, his intelligence cutting through his casual demeanor. "What kind of things?"

"The kind that aren't wrong, just cruel." He stared at the concrete floor, stained with decades of oil and coolant. "Called it a shithole. Called my family pathetic."

"What?" The other’s eyes were calculating. "And you didn't kill him?"

"Almost."

"Should have finished the job." Juyeon's voice was flat.

"Would've gotten expelled. And imprisoned. He’s a Jeon."

His cousin raised an eyebrow, crushing his empty can in one hand. "Would've been worth it. Some things you don't let people say, no matter what it costs you, no matter who they fucking are."

Taehyung looked at him, really looked at him.

Juyeon had dropped out of high school at seventeen to work in his father's shop, had never questioned whether there might be something better waiting for him somewhere else. He'd stayed, had built a life here. And there was something enviable in that certainty, that lack of doubt about who he was and where he belonged.

Suddenly the other straightened, snapping his fingers. "I've got some clothes that don't fit me anymore. Good stuff, barely worn. Later I'll give them to you. Yerin's been feeding me too well, you know..." He patted his stomach with a rueful grin.

"Yeah, I can see that, Michelin man," he smirked, though the effort triggered another small cough. "Your ass probably doesn't fit in half your jeans anymore."

"Fuck you," Juyeon laughed, giving him the finger. "At least I'm getting regular food and regular-"

"Don't finish."

They both burst into laughter, the kind of easy, stupid humor that only worked between people who'd known each other since they were kids causing snot. Taehyung's laughter dissolved into a coughing fit that left his eyes watering.

"You should come by the bar tonight," Juyeon said. "Everyone's usually there. Would be good to see you. Might help shake whatever plague you're carrying."

"I don't know, Juyeon. It's been a while, and-"

The other sighed. "And what? You're too good for us now?"

The words came out sharper than his cousin probably intended, but he didn't take them back.

"That's not what I meant."

Juyeon leaned back against the workbench, studying Taehyung with that unsettling focus he'd always had. "When's the last time you came by when you weren't running away from something? When's the last time you just... hung out with us? Like we used to?"

He felt exposed now, like his cousin could see right through all the careful distance he'd built between his two worlds. A harsh cough escaped him, and he turned away to compose himself.

"It's complicated," he said finally, his voice even more hoarse than before.

"Yeah, it always is with you." The other's voice wasn't angry, just matter-of-fact, which somehow made it worse. “Used to be, you were just V. Now seems you're always thinking about how everything looks, how it fits into your bigger picture."

Those words hit harder than any of Jungkook's insults. "That's not-"

"Isn't it?" Juyeon's eyes were unforgiving. "You're ashamed of us."

"What? Don't say that shit."

"Shit?" His cousin laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You know what I think? I think you're caught between two worlds and you're so busy trying to belong in the one that doesn't want you that you're forgetting the one that does."

He stared at him, throat tight with words he couldn't say - partly from emotion, partly from the cold that seemed to be getting worse by the hour.

Because Juyeon wasn't wrong. Because the truth was that he did feel ashamed sometimes, did find himself looking at his neighborhood through Jeon's eyes and hating what he saw.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, and his voice came out smaller than he'd intended. "Give up? Come back here?"

"Maybe that's exactly what you should do. Maybe you should come back and take care of your fucking family instead of playing dress-up."

Taehyung's head snapped up, the sudden movement making him dizzy for a moment. "What?"

"You heard me." Juyeon stepped closer, his eyes blazing. "Where are you while your family is falling apart? Dancing tiptap or whatever the fuck in some fancy hall, hoping rich kids will throw you scraps of approval?"

"What the fuck-" His protest was cut off by a harsh coughing spell that left him breathless.

"Isn't it?" Juyeon's voice rose. "You send money like that makes up for abandoning everyone who actually gives a shit about you."

He felt the familiar anger surge now, made more intense by his fevered state.

"Abandoning?" His voice cracked with fury. "I'm trying to build something! I'm trying to make a life that doesn't involve-"

"Involve what?"

"Being a fucking criminal!" The words exploded out of him before he could stop them, the shouting triggering another violent coughing fit. "What do you want me to come back to, Yeon? Stealing cars? Dealing for the Wolves? Or maybe-" his voice dropped to a vicious whisper, "-maybe I should kill someone for them. Is that what you want?"

His cousin's face went white, then red. "Don't talk about that shit here."

"No?" He stepped closer despite feeling unsteady, close enough to see the muscle jumping in his cousin's jaw. "You think I don't know what you're still doing? You think I can't smell it on you?"

"Shut up."

"You want me to come back and what, join you? Help you move whatever the fuck you're moving through this garage? Pretend it's all just honest work?"

"I said shut up!" Juyeon shoved him, and Taehyung stumbled slightly, his weakened state making him less steady than usual. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me I'm wrong." Taehyung had to pause to catch his breath, leaning against the workbench for support. "Tell me that Kawasaki outside isn't stolen. Tell me those guys I saw leaving earlier weren't dropping off more than just a broken transmission."

His cousin turned away, running his hands through his hair. "It's not that simple, ok?"

"Neither for me, Juyeon." His anger deflated as quickly as it had risen, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted. Another cough. "And that's exactly why I can't come back. Because this place, this life, it doesn't let you just be good enough. It forces you to choose between surviving and staying clean, and we both know which one wins."

Silence.

"So you just leave? You just fucking abandon everyone?"

"I'm trying to be better than this!"

"Than what? Than us?" The other whirled around, his eyes bright with hurt. "Than your family? Than the people who raised you?"

"Than the choices that would destroy everything my mother worked for!" Taehyung shouted back, then immediately regretted it as his voice gave out partially, ending in a harsh cough. "You want me to throw away everything, come back here and become another convict?"

"At least you'd be here."

"I'd be dead! Or in prison! And what good would that do any of us?"

They stood there breathing hard, glaring at each other across the small space. Taehyung swayed slightly, the combination of fever, exhaustion, and emotion taking its toll. The radio kept playing, oblivious to their tension.

Finally, Juyeon's shoulders sagged. "Shit," he muttered. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"I'm fine," he insisted weakly.

"You've got a fever, don't you?"

He didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"You weren't wrong," Juyeon said quietly. "About most of it. About what I'm doing."

"Why are you doing it?" His voice barely above a whisper.

"Because it pays! Because it keeps the lights on and food on the table and people off my back." His cousin's laugh was bitter. "Because I'm not smart enough to get a scholarship to some fancy academy, and I'm not brave enough to leave this fucking place!"

"You're not stupid, Yeon. And you are brave."

"Am I? Look at me, Tae. Really look." The other gestured to himself, to the garage, to the streets beyond. "This is as good as it gets."

They stood in silence for a long moment. Then his cousin moved to a small refrigerator tucked behind the workbench, pulling out two bottles of beer.

"Here," he said, popping them open with a screwdriver and handing one to Taehyung. "We’ll settle this properly when you can stand without swaying.”

He smiled, accepting the bottle gratefully, the cold liquid soothing against his raw throat.

They drank in companionable silence, the taste of the beer mixing with the metallic tang of oil. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the garage in long shadows.

"I do miss you, you know," Juyeon said eventually, studying his cousin's flushed face with regret.

"I miss you too." He took another careful sip of beer, trying not to trigger another coughing fit.

"Yeah, well." The other's smile was crooked. "You're stuck with me either way, cousin. Academy or no academy, fancy friends or not. We're family."

Taehyung smiled back at him, feeling the truth of those words settle alongside his persistent ache.

"Family," he agreed, his voice soft and rough.

*

He woke to the sound of rain hammering against the attic window, his entire body aching like he'd been hit by a truck. The digital clock on his nightstand glowed 3:07 AM, its red numbers swimming in and out of focus. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and when he tried to swallow, it was like glass scraping down his throat.

The fever had definitely gotten worse.

Taehyung fumbled for his thermometer, squinting as the little screen's brightness sent lightning bolts through his skull. Through the haze of pain, he managed to make out the reading: 39°C.

Shit.

His phone buzzed with ignored notifications - missed calls from Jimin, concerned messages from his friends, even a few e-mails. He scrolled past them all, he couldn't face the academy world right now.

But then he spotted a message from _re:quiet:

[21:30] how was the day?
[21:31] were u with ur family?

Even through the fever fog, his fingers found the keyboard:

[03:02] everything's shit
[03:02] i got a fever
[03:02] feel like i'm dying

The response came so quickly it made him jump.

[03:02] ???
[03:02] r u ok?

Taehyung stared at the screen. It was past 3 AM, and they were awake, responding.

[03:03] jeez
[03:03] don't u ever sleep?
[03:03] it's 3am

[03:03] couldn't sleep

[03:03] why
[03:03] what happened

[03:03] i was worried about u

[03:04] u were worried?

[03:04] yeah
[03:04] of course i was

A violent shiver wracked his body. He pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around his shoulders, but it felt like trying to warm himself with tissue paper.

[03:04] why

[03:04] u sounded really sad earlier
[03:04] and then u disappeared

[03:06] i'm sick
[03:06] 39 degrees

[03:06] fuck
[03:06] that's really high!
[03:06] have u taken anything for it?

[03:06] was about to
[03:07] need to get water

[03:07] go, i’ll be waiting

Taehyung forced himself upright, the room tilting like the deck of a ship in a storm. Every muscle in his body protested the movement, and he had to grip the wall to keep from falling.

The fever made everything feel distant and surreal, like he was moving underwater.

The stairs groaned under his unsteady steps as he made his way down to the kitchen. The house felt unnaturally quiet: his mother and Eunjoo were long asleep, but Minjun's room stood empty, bed unslept in.

He fumbled for a glass, nearly dropping it twice before managing to fill it with water. The liquid felt like heaven against his parched throat. He could no longer count how many glasses he was drinking, and he drank greedily.

The rain's intensity picked up again.

No sign of Minjun.

His phone buzzed:

[03:19] u ok?
[03:19] taking a while

[03:19] yeah
[03:19] waiting for my brother to come home
[03:19] want to talk to him
[03:20] it's past 3am and he has school tomorrow

[03:20] don’t think it’s wise
[03:20] u have to rest

[03:21] i must take care of him now
[03:22] i think he's getting into the same shit i used to do

[03:22] what kind of shit?

He stared at the question, his fevered brain struggling to process how much he wanted to reveal. The medicine was making him feel loose, unguarded.

In his current state, the careful walls he usually maintained felt impossibly heavy.

[03:24] bad stuff
[03:24] illegal stuff

[03:26] shit
[03:26] taehyung

[03:27] when ur poor and angry and feel like the world doesn't give a fuck about u
[03:28] it's easy to fall into that stuff
[03:28] especially when it's the only place that makes u feel important

[03:29] but u got out
[03:29] that must have taken incredible courage

[03:30] or incredible luck
[03:30] honestly not sure which

[03:31] no
[03:31] it's courage
[03:31] luck doesn't get u a scholarship
[03:32] or get u into an academy
[03:32] that was all u

He leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling dizzy but also strangely moved by their words.

[03:33] thank u
[03:33] maybe i needed to hear that

[03:34] maybe ur brother just needs to know that
[03:34] someone like him can make it out

[03:35] maybe
[03:35] if he'll listen

[03:36] he will
[03:36] he's ur brother
[03:36] he loves u

Taehyung felt like a knot he'd been carrying for months finally beginning to unravel.

He made his way back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch that had become Eunjoo's domain, marked by her dramas and cooking shows. A cough rattled through his throat as he settled into the cushions.

[03:37] sometimes i think coming back was a mistake
[03:37] like maybe i should have just stayed at school
[03:37] hiding somewhere

[03:38] where would you hide?
[03:38] at school, i mean

Taehyung paused, actually considering the question through his fever haze.

[03:39] probably the old costume storage room
[03:39] behind the black box
[03:39] no one ever goes there
[03:40] it’s quiet
[03:40] and the light comes in weird through that broken window
[03:40] it feels like being nowhere

[03:41] i’d sit there with u if u wanted

Despite everything, Taehyung smiled. Another cough escaped him as he adjusted his position on the couch.

[03:42] i could bring snacks

[03:43] it sounds perfect
[03:43] u
[03:43] me
[03:43] a bag of shrimp chips

[03:44] and maybe some of those terrible instant coffee packets
[03:44] the ones that taste like cardboard

[03:45] god yes

He let out a soft laugh that immediately turned into a coughing fit. The fever was making everything feel dreamlike. He pulled the blanket tighter, sinking deeper into the cushions.

[03:47] ur being really nice to me
[03:47] and i don't even know ur name

[03:49] does it matter right now?
[03:49] in this virtual old costume storage room?

His vision getting blurrier. The words seemed to dance slightly, and he had to blink several times to focus.

[03:51] no
[03:51] it doesn't matter
[03:51] ur just here
[03:52] and that's enough

[03:52] how's the fever?

[03:53] everything's spinning a little
[03:53] but in a nice way
[03:53] like being on a slow merry-go-round

[03:54] maybe u should try to sleep
[03:54] ur body needs rest

[03:55] can't sleep yet
[03:55] still waiting for minjun
[03:55] what if something happened to him

[03:56] what if nothing happened?
[03:56] what if he's just being a stupid teenager who lost track of time?

A few minutes passed before he managed to type back, his fingers clumsy on the screen.

[04:03] ur very wise for someone who won't tell me their name

[04:03] maybe mystery makes everything sound more profound
[04:03] like fortune cookies

[04:03] bring some of those too

Taehyung's eyelids were getting impossibly heavy. The phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and he had to keep readjusting his grip to keep from dropping it. The couch seemed to be swallowing him.

Another cough shook his frame.

[04:07] ur brother will be fine

[04:08] how do u know

[04:08] because he has u

The rain outside had gentled to a steady whisper, no longer the aggressive assault against the windows. Taehyung's breathing was getting deeper, more labored. His phone slipped slightly in his loosening grip, and he had to concentrate hard to type.

[04:12] thank u stranger
[04:12] for staying up wit

He stopped, realizing he hadn't finished the word, but his fingers felt too heavy to fix it.

[04:13] we’re not strangers anymore
[04:13] strangers don't tell each other about hiding places
[04:13] or academy secrets

He smiled, dimly, his next message took much longer, fingers fumbling over the keys:

[04:15] when i get beter
[04:15] can we keep tlking
[04:15] not jst when evrythings falling aprt

He tried to type again, to fix the errors, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate.

The phone slipped from his hands onto his chest, the screen casting a soft glow in the dark room. His breathing evened out, punctuated by the occasional cough, as the fever finally granted him the mercy of unconsciousness.

Outside, the rain continued its gentle percussion against the windows, a lullaby for the sleeping house.

The phone buzzed sever times, its screen dimmed, then went dark.

He was sleeping now, wrapped in threadbare blankets and the unexpected warmth of that stranger's kindness, while somewhere out in the rainy night, his brother made his own choices, walked his own path through the maze of growing up.

Chapter Text

From _re:quiet:

[18:48] did u make it?

Taehyung had just stepped into the dorm building, the door thudding shut with a tired sigh of hinges. The common room was scattered with faces he didn’t want to deal with - shoulders hunched over laptops, soft music playing from someone’s speaker. A couple of students looked up, but he kept his eyes on his phone, gaze fixed on the screen like it could shield him.

[18:51] still breathing
[18:51] traumatized by public transport
[18:51] but alive

He moved quietly, weaving past the couches. The corridor leading to the stairwell stretched ahead like a tunnel. He kept his head down as he walked, thumbs skimming over the glowing messages in his palm, two heavy plastic bags swaying from his wrists.

The last thing he wanted was to meet someone’s eyes and have to pretend he was okay.

[18:53] ✨ legend ✨
[18:54] this is character development at its finest
[18:54] gong would be so proud

He paused outside his dorm room: his keys jingled faintly in his hand. He smiled.

They hadn't stopped texting since Monday morning. Morning to night.

Inside jokes had sprouted naturally: the cat Taehyung had saved in front of the campus café (re:quiet insisted it was clearly a government spy). The ongoing debate about who would die first in a horror movie (Taehyung argued re:quiet's curiosity would get them killed). The way re:quiet rated everything on a scale of "soggy cereal" to "crispy bacon" (and Taehyung was always so crispy bacon).

It was stupid, maybe. Anonymous. Screen-only.
But it was also the most beautiful thing in his life right now.

He lifted his phone again:

[18:58] so
[18:59] the horoscope?

Yes, the horoscope.

Just one thing Taehyung had recently discovered about them. This quiet fascination with everything he used to brush off as nonsense: horoscopes, manifestations, tarot cards… all those slightly folkloristic, borderline superstitious beliefs that, until a few days ago, he would’ve laughed at without a second thought.

Now, though, it had somehow become part of their virtual routine. And Taehyung caught himself asking about retrogrades or rising signs, not because he believed in any of it, but just for the sake of keeping the conversation going. Just to hear them talk.

Just to stay close.

[18:59] ok
[18:59] today's stars say
[18:59] "resist the urge to commit crimes, even if park jimin leaves dirty socks on ur bed again"

He laughed quietly.

[18:59] tragically specific

[18:59] i know, right?
[19:00] the stars have u under surveillance now
[19:00] they’re VERY concerned

[19:00] they should be
[19:00] i almost snapped on a guy who chewed too loud on the bus

[19:00] that’s mercury in retrograde
[19:00] no one is safe
[19:00] not even the gum chewers

The plastic bags rustled as he adjusted his grip, still standing outside his dorm room. He stared down at their conversation thread, scrolling up through three days of constant contact. Screenshot after screenshot of their exchanges, memes they'd shared, random thoughts they'd bounced off each other at all hours.

His expression shifted when he reached Monday night. That thread.

The one where re:quiet had kept him company while he waited for Minjun: the conversation with his brother that had never actually happened.

His fever had passed, and with it, whatever fragile courage he’d had to finally talk to him.

He’d wanted to. God, he’d wanted to.

But when the moment came, he let it slide. Told himself it was the fever, that he wasn’t thinking straight. That it wasn’t the right time.

Truth was, he’d been scared. So he said nothing.

And now that silence felt permanent, like a door that had quietly clicked shut, and he couldn’t bring himself to knock again.

Thankfully, the anon had been his saving grace. And deep down, he knew Jimin was right: this couldn't stay anonymous forever. They couldn’t hide behind screens indefinitely.

Eventually, he'd get their name. Their face. Their real story.

It wasn't a question of if.
Just… when.

And honestly? He was starting to hope it would be soon.

He paused with the key still hovering near the lock, thumb resting lightly against the phone screen.

[19:03] hey
[19:03] i'm going in now
[19:03] talk later?

[19:03] sure

He was still smiling as he pushed the door open to find Jimin sprawled across his own bed, phone in hand. The moment their eyes met, his friend practically launched himself upright like he'd been struck by lightning.

"Holy shit!"

He closed the door with calm, the two shopping bags rustling in his grip and his backpack heavier than when he left.

"So you're ALIVE!" His roommate said, his voice dripping with sarcasm even as relief flickered across his features. "Good to know. I was starting to think I had to contact the police!" He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Do you know how many times I called you?"

Taehyung set the bags down carefully by his desk, the plastic crinkling in the sudden quiet. The fever had left him feeling scraped raw, and now he was like all his usual defenses were operating at half-capacity. "I know."

"You know?" Jimin's voice pitched higher, gesturing wildly. "That's it?"

His friend stood up, pacing a few steps across the room. "You ghosted me for three days, Tae. I didn’t even know if you were locked in some basement somewhere!"

Taehyung still didn’t answer, but he rolled his eyes.

"Look," his friend started again, but his voice had lost its sharp edge. "Just... next time, okay? A text. Something. Anything. I was worried sick!"

He nodded once, a small jerk of his chin that somehow managed to convey both acknowledgment and apology without requiring words he didn't have the energy to find.

Then, deadpan: "Did you miss me that much, or just scared you'd lose the only one who gets your skincare routine?"

Jimin scoffed. "Please. As if I’d trust anyone else with the sacred knowledge of my double-cleansing ritual.”

Then his gaze drifted, taking in the shopping bags, then back to Taehyung himself. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and when he spoke again, his tone had shifted entirely. "What happened to your hair?"

His hand moved automatically to touch the back of his neck, where the unruly mass that had always seemed to have a life of its own was now cleaner. Still long enough to run fingers through, but shaped now, framing his face in a way that made his already sharp features more defined.

Without the messy fringe to soften the intensity of his gaze, everything was on display, striking.

"Juyeon's girlfriend," he said simply, sinking into his desk chair. Even that small movement seemed to cost him something. "She's a hairdresser."

"Wow! She's good..." Jimin's tone brightened with interest, the last traces of his earlier anger evaporating. "When?"

"When I went to collect these." He gestured vaguely toward the bags. "She took one look at me and pointed to their kitchen chair. No arguments, no questions. You know... girls."

He remembered how he’d snapped a photo afterward and sent it to re:quiet with zero context.
The reply had come back instantly:

this is a very rare example of crispy bacon at its ultimate level  - which in re:quiet's very specific rating system was basically a standing ovation. Taehyung suppressed a smirk.

"And what's in the bags?" His friend asked, leaning forward. "You brought me a present?"

He let out a low huff of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “No, brat.”

Jimin pouted dramatically.

Taehyung reached into one of the bags and pulled out a leather jacket, all clean lines and perfect proportions. "Juyeon's old stuff. He's bulked up too much for them now."

The other let out a low whistle, his earlier tension completely forgotten. "Daaaaamn. Let me see that!"

It was beautiful: black leather worn to the perfect softness, with just enough structure to emphasize the shoulders. Taehyung held it up against himself almost absently, and even in the harsh lighting of their dorm room, it was obvious how perfectly it would fit him. But there was detachment in the way he looked at it, like he was seeing it through a storefront.

"And these," he continued, pulling out shirts, sweaters, several pairs of trousers and jeans - one of them was black skinny.

“I didn’t think people from the ghetto dressed like Alex Turner.”

Taehyung laughed. “Years ago Juyeon was trying to impress some girls. Ditched the whole gangsta look for a few months. Yerin is forcing him to throw everything away. She says it makes him look like a daddy’s boy.”

Jimin grinned, reaching for the jeans to feel the quality of the fabric between his fingers. "These are incredible, Tae."

“You can borrow them whenever you want, Chim.”

His friend was literally jumping with happiness, but his attention seemed to drift, like he was only half-present in the conversation. The suspension had left him feeling hollowed out, and tomorrow's meeting with the principal loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon.

"However… the haircut suits you." Jimin said more softly, studying Taehyung's profile. "Makes you look... I don't know. Different. More..." He trailed off, seeming to search for the right word.

"More what?"

"Adult, maybe?"

Taehyung merely smiled, smugly.

His friend was quiet for a moment, then his expression shifted to something more practical. "Have you eaten? You look like you haven't had a proper meal in days."

He shook his head. "No, but I'm not really hungry. I just want to shower and sleep."

"Nope," The other said. "Absolutely not. Me, Hobi, and Joon were planning to grab some food and take a walk. You're coming."

"Chim, I'm exhausted-"

"Uh-uh," he cut him off. "Don't even try it. You disappear for three days, don't answer your phone, and now you think you can just hermit away in here?" He crossed his arms, trying to look stern but failing miserably. "You owe me. Big time."

He let his head fall back against the wardrobe door. "I really don't have the energy for this right now."

Jimin's grin turned triumphant as he watched Taehyung's defenses crumble. "Come on, just for a couple hours. We'll go somewhere low-key, get some food, walk around, and then you can come back and shower and sleep and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist." Jimin spread his hands in a gesture of reasonableness. "See? Perfect compromise."

He stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing his options. The exhaustion was written in every line of his body, but there was something else there too, maybe guilt, maybe the recognition that Jimin had a point.

But honestly, he didn’t want to see anyone.

No curious looks. No subtle questions. No phones hovering like vultures waiting for a soundbite. He was already making an effort here, in his room, with his best friend.

“Not tonight,” he said finally, his voice low, sincere. “Tomorrow’s the meeting with Ms. Jung. I just… I need tonight to be calm.”

Jimin’s face dropped instantly. “Shit, Tae. I forgot.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” his friend rubbed a hand over his face like he was scolding himself. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, you’re not an idiot.”

Jimin hovered by the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked after a pause. “We could just chill here. No pressure. I could tell you all the horrible gossip you missed. We could put on that trashy romcom you like.”

Taehyung’s mouth curved. He was grateful. God, he was so grateful. But the idea of anyone - even Jimin - watching him try to hold himself together felt like too much tonight.

“I think I need to be alone for a while,” he said quietly.

His friend nodded, slowly, with more understanding than disappointment. “Okay. But tomorrow, no matter what happens, we’re doing something. Even if it’s just eating noodles on the floor.”

“I don’t know, Chim. Let’s see what happens. I might get expelled...”

“What?”

Taehyung shrugged, too tired to soften the words. Their eyes met, and for a second, everything in the room went still.

“What are you saying?” His roommate exploded, flinging his arms wide. “Of course you WON’T be expelled. If they expel you, I'll chain myself to the presidency. They'll glue me to Ms. Jung's desk with Attak. I SWEAR!”

He huffed a soft laugh, the tension breaking slightly.

“I’m serious,” Jimin said, already halfway out again. “And I’ll kill Jeon in revenge. A brutal murder.”

“Thanks, Chim.”

His friend gave him a quick shoulder squeeze before grabbing his hoodie from the chair. “I’ll leave you alone, now. You know where to find me. And don’t spiral too hard, ok? And I haven't forgiven you yet!”

He raised a hand and blew Jimin a kiss, a mock-dramatic gesture that somehow still carried real warmth.

His friend caught it mid-air like a theatrical fool, then winked and disappeared down the hall.

Taehyung stood there for a moment, then slowly sat on the edge of the bed.

He exhaled slowly, like all the noise Jimin had brought with sé was still lingering in the air. He bent down, fingers moving automatically to untie the laces of his shoes. The knots were tight, like everything else lately, but he worked through them with quiet patience. One, then the other.

He stretched out across the mattress, arms flung loosely at his sides. The cotton sheets were cool beneath him, still smelling faintly of detergent.

With a slow blink, he let his eyes drift upward.

There it was: the familiar blotch on the ceiling, the water-stained bruise in the plaster that had been there longer than he had.

A strange comfort, in its way.

Always waiting. Always the same. Always there.

He'd told _re:quiet about it, half-joking that he used it like a kind of ceiling oracle, divining his daily fortune based on the shape he saw in the stain each morning. _re:quiet, of course, had been fascinated and immediately said he had to see it for himself.

He stared at the stain for a long moment, letting its cracked outline blur into something shapeless. His hand moved without thinking, slipping into his pocket, unlocking his phone. He opened the app almost automatically. Muscle memory. Comfort.

He was reaching their chat, but his thumb hesitated, because there was a new post by Minjun.

His profile picture was the same – a solid black circle - but the caption made Taehyung's stomach tighten.

Don’t call me family,
You’re the blood that taught me how to hate.

He stared at the screen.

It worked: now the guilt was rising, burning through the thin layer of calm he'd barely managed to stitch together.

His finger hovered.

And without fully meaning to, he tapped his brother chat instead.

It was still full of his messages.
One-sided.
Unanswered.
Even here, on social.

He scrolled slowly, his thumb brushing over each bubble.

For a moment - just one - he thought about writing something.
Just a word.
Just hey.

But the moment passed. His own selfishness won. Like the fever three days ago.

Or that’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

Maybe because it was easier to tell himself it was the fever.

He went back to the DMs and chose _re:quiet thread, instead:

[19:23] hey

[19:24] hey
[19:24] how are u holding up?

 [19:23] been better

[19:24] are u still thinking about minjun?

He stared at the screen, the question caught him off guard.

[19:26] i keep thinking i should have talked to him

[19:26] u weren't well
[19:26] how could u have talked to him properly?

[19:26] if i really wanted to talk to him
[19:27] a fever wouldn't have stopped me those days
[19:27] i'm just a fuckin coward

[19:28] or maybe
[19:28] u were actually sick
[19:28] ur body needed rest to heal
[19:28] and maybe ur mind knew that too

[19:28] what do u mean?

[19:29] u know
[19:30] sometimes not doing something isn't cowardice
[19:30] it's wisdom
[19:30] what good would it have done to talk to him
[19:30] when u were barely functioning?
[19:30] when ur drowning
[19:30] u can't save someone else
[19:31] u put on ur own oxygen mask first
[19:31] then u help others

Taehyung stared at the words, feeling something shift.

[19:32] …i never thought of it that way

[19:32] u have to be stronger
[19:32] to actually be there for him
[19:32] the way he deserves

He felt the knot in his heart begin to loosen. The guilt that had been eating at him, the self-recrimination… maybe it didn't have to define him. Not now, at least.

[19:34] u’re a good brother
[19:34] even when u don't feel like one

He smiled, grateful.

[19:34] thank u

He exhaled through his nose, a soft, almost-silent laugh escaping him. It wasn’t joy, not exactly, more of a dull warmth.

He was thankful for them. For this.

For the way re:quiet always seemed to know what to say without asking too many questions.

Sometimes he caught himself wondering when they'd finally meet. When they'd sit in the old costume storage room, tearing open that crinkly orange bag of shrimp chips and eating in silence like it wasn’t a big deal.

He already felt his heart like a drum.

His gaze drifted upward and landed on the stain for a while.

[19:38] i was staring at the ceiling stain

[19:39] the ceiling stain!!!!!!!!!!
[19:39] send picture

Taehyung laughed and snapped a photo, the camera struggling to focus in the dim light of his desk lamp. He sent it without overthinking it: three days of constant contact had eroded most of his usual hesitation about sharing random pieces of his life.

[19:39] image sent
[19:39] exhibit A

[19:40] mmm
[19:40] ...it's giving "haunted horse" vibes
[19:40] or maybe a depressed seahorse?

[19:50] i was going for crying seal
[19:50] but i respect ur interpretation

[19:51] either way
[19:51] clearly an emotional animal
[19:51] big omen energy

[19:52] so what does the crying seal mean?
[19:52] will i get expelled tomorrow?

The question hung in the digital space, more vulnerable than anything he'd admitted out loud all day.

[19:53] no
[19:53] of course u won't

The certainty in those simple words hit him unexpectedly.

[19:54] how can u be so sure?

[19:55] well
[19:55] the ceiling stain told us
[19:55] and it’s a very reliable source
[19:57] never wrong
[19:57] very wise
[19:57] probably has a philosophy degree

He huffed a quiet laugh.

He found himself relaxing into the mattress, shoulders dropping for the first time all day. The conversation felt like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of tomorrow's uncertainty and his brother hatred.

[19:58] ah yes
[19:58] the distinguished professor ceiling stain
[19:58] with tenure and everything

[19:58] exactly
[19:58] published multiple papers on doom prediction
[19:59] very prestigious

[19:59] what's their success rate?

[19:59] 87.3%
[19:59] would be higher but they got distracted by a spider once
[20:00] tragic academic scandal
[20:00] so the rate went down

He smiled again, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Because behind the playful back-and-forth, beyond the sarcasm and Professor Ceiling Stain’s questionable credentials, the fear was still there, silent but heavy.

What if it really ended tomorrow?

What if a moment of anger was enough to erase everything he'd worked for?

He didn’t want to admit how much that thought scared him.

[20:00] now seriously
[20:00] you won’t be expelled
[20:00] because nothing happened
[20:00] u didn't lift a finger on jeon
[20:00] u threatened him
[20:00] but u didn't touch him
[20:00] and they can't expel u for intentions

Jeon.

The name dropped into their conversation like a gunshot.

[20:01] plus u got that new crispy bacon haircut
[20:01] clearly the universe is preparing u for victory

His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smirk.

[20:02] u really think it's that good?

[20:02] are u fishing for compliments?
[20:02] because YES
[20:02] it's criminally good
[20:03] like should be illegal good

Ah, there it was again.

_re:quiet had started flirting again. Every now and then they dropped something coquettish, or something obscene, shamelessly vulgar, maybe just to see if they could rattle him.

Taehyung had made it a game not to react. To keep his replies dry, composed. To leave silences elegant enough to suggest disinterest, even when his ears burned.

He didn’t like giving them the satisfaction.

But tonight… a dangerous idea sparked in his mind.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the looming threat of tomorrow, or maybe it was just the reckless energy that came with having nothing left to lose.

But suddenly, he wanted to push. To see how far this flirtation could go.

He sat up, reaching for the leather jacket Juyeon had given him. The material was soft under his fingers as he shrugged it on over his t-shirt.

Then paused.

A beat of hesitation.
And then he pulled the shirt off.

The cotton dropped soundlessly to the floor. The jacket slid on after, cool against bare skin. It fit perfectly, like it had been made for him.

He lay back down on the bed, positioning himself in the low light. The shadows did half the work, just enough mystery, just enough suggestion. They wouldn't have seen anything, not really. Just the hint of a collarbone, the faint sheen of the skin against the leather, the faint line of the chest forming the pectorals.

He raised the phone, angled the shot. The haircut helped too, made his features look more angular. Jimin was right: he looked different.

He took the photo and sent it before he could lose his nerve.

[20:05] image sent

The silence that followed felt charged.

He stared at his phone, heart beating just a little faster than normal. He was being reckless, he knew. Tomorrow could change everything, could end everything, and here he was sending provocative photos to his anonymous friend like some kind of-

[20:06] i'm restraining myself from saying some very inappropriate things right now

Taehyung's eyebrows shot up.

There it was, that line they'd been dancing around for days, finally acknowledged.

[20:06] don't

The word was out before he could stop it.

Bold. Direct.

A challenge.

[20:07] don't what?

He was being mean, he knew. Pushing buttons just to see what would happen. Just to see if he could make them as uncomfortable as they'd made him with their constant flirting, their easy intimacy, their way of making his chest tight with want.

[20:07] don't restrain urself

[20:08] taehyung

[20:08] what?

[20:08] don't play with me

The flirtation had been building for days now, simmering just under the surface of every conversation. Taehyung could feel it in the way they talked to him, the way they paid attention, the way they seemed to see right through him.

[20:10] u're so evil
[20:10] sending me that picture
[20:10] knowing exactly what it would do to me

[20:10] what did it do to u?

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Taehyung could almost picture them on the other side of the screen, wrestling with how honest to be.

[20:12] u really want to know?

[20:12] yes

[20:13] it made me want to be on that bed with u
[20:13] made me want to run my hands over that jacket
[20:13] take it off u 
[20:14] made me think about things i probably shouldn't be thinking

His breath caught. The boldness of it, the raw honesty, sent heat racing through his veins.

This was different. This was direct, unapologetic, almost desperate.

And god, it was perfect.

[20:15] too much?

[20:15] no
[20:15] not too much
[20:16] just surprised

[20:16] well
[20:16] u've never sent me a picture like that before
[20:17] that jacket looks incredible on u
[20:17] but i can't stop thinking about how much better it would look on my floor

The audacity of it made his head spin. This was the same person who rated everything in terms of breakfast foods, who believed in horoscopes and ceiling stain prophecies, who'd spent three days talking him through his anxiety with patience and humor.

But underneath all that sweetness was this - this crude want that matched his own.

[20:18] where did this come from?

[20:18] it's always been there
[20:19] u told me not to restrain myself
[20:19] so i'm not

He stared at the screen.

This wasn't just anonymous flirtation anymore. This felt real, like they were crossing into territory they couldn't take back.

[20:21] i might do something really stupid
[20:21] like show up at your dorm room now

Taehyung's heart hammered.

[20:22] would that be so stupid?

[20:23] maybe not
[20:23] but definitely dangerous
[20:23] for both of us

[20:24] i like dangerous

[20:24] i know
[20:24] it's one of the things that's driving me crazy about u

He smiled, feeling more alive than he had in days.

Tomorrow loomed with all its uncertainties, but right now, in this moment, he felt powerful. Wanted. Like maybe whatever happened next, he wouldn't face it alone.

But he wasn't quite ready to let this go. Not yet.

[20:24] and what would u do once u reached my room?

[20:26] i'd look at u
[20:26] really look at u
[20:26] because i've been imagining ur face near mine for so long
[20:27] then i'd touch u
[20:27] run my fingers through ur hair to see if it's as soft as it looks
[20:28] i'd trace the line of ur jaw
[20:29] and then i'd kiss u
[20:29] slow at first
[20:29] memorizing the taste of u
[20:30] then harder
[20:30] because i'm so fuckin desperate
[20:30] and i’ve been wanting this since forever

[20:31] u have no idea

Taehyung stared at the screen, heart thudding, lips parted like he was already halfway to answering that kiss.

[20:31] i'd push u back on that bed
[20:31] i’d slide that jacket off your shoulders
[20:32] kiss every inch of skin i uncover
[20:32] ur neck, ur collarbone, ur chest
[20:32] everywhere
[20:33] i'd make u forget about tomorrow
[20:33] about minjun
[20:33] make u forget about everything except how good i can make u feel

Jesus Christ.

Heat pooled low in Taehyung's stomach. The specificity of it, the way re:quiet seemed to know exactly where to touch him even through a screen, made his breath catch.

He read the messages again, slower this time, like they might disappear if he blinked too hard.

[20:27] u can't just say things like that

[20:28] why not?
[20:28] u asked
[20:28] and i'm thinking about a lot more than that

[20:28] like what?

[20:29] like how u'd taste
[20:30] like whether u'd be as intense in bed as u are everywhere else

His grip tightened on his phone.

[20:30] want to be the only thing on ur mind

You already are.

He needed to stop now.

If he kept going, he’d end up sounding pathetic, or worse, like he cared too much.

[20:32] i should probably go shower
[20:32] i'm exhausted
[20:32] might just crash after
[20:32] talk tomorrow?

The shift back to practical matters felt jarring after the intensity of the last few minutes, but Taehyung could feel the tiredness settling back into his bones.

The adrenaline was fading, leaving him drained.

There was a pause. Longer than usual.

[20:34] did i
[20:34] was that too much?
[20:35] fuck i'm sorry
[20:35] i got carried away
[20:35] u probably think i'm some kind of maniac now

His chest tightened. The vulnerability in those messages, the sudden shift from confident seduction to anxious overthinking, made his heart ache and his head spin.

[20:39] what? no
[20:39] god no
[20:39] that wasn't too much
[20:40] that was
[20:40] the world’s most perfect crispy bacon

[20:40] seriously?
[20:40] then why did u suddenly...?

[20:41] because if i don't go shower right now
[20:41] i'm going to jerk off

The honesty of it surprised even him. But it was true - re:quiet's words had affected him more than he'd expected, left him wanting things he couldn't have, at least not tonight.

The words were out before he could stop them, completely without filter.

[20:42] fuck
[20:42] taehyung
[20:42] GOD

His breath caught.

[20:45] now i'm thinking about u touching yourself
[20:45] and i’m going MAD

His heart was racing, his skin flushed. This was spiraling beyond anything he'd expected, beyond safe territory.

But he didn't want to stop.

His body was responding to every word, every image they painted. The temptation to give in completely was overwhelming.

[20:46] i want to watch u
[20:46] want to see ur face when u touch yourself
[20:46] want to tell u exactly how to do it

His free hand moved almost involuntarily, palm pressing against the denim of his jeans where he was already half-hard.

[20:47] u think ur in control?
[20:48] u don't know who ur dealing with

[20:48] really?
[20:48] prove it then
[20:49] show me how wrong i am

His hand pressed harder against himself, a soft exhale escaping his lips.

[20:49] i'd make u beg
[20:50] have u on ur knees asking for more
[20:50] u'd be so good for me wouldn't u?

[20:51] fuck taehyung
[20:51] u have no idea what ur doing to me right now

His thumb rubbed slow circles through the fabric, his breathing getting heavier. The friction was maddening, not enough but too much at the same time.

But Taehyung's hand stilled suddenly.

The words on the screen blurred as reality crashed back in.

Who was he talking to?

The question hit him like ice water. He stared at the messages, at the heated exchange they'd been having, and suddenly felt completely untethered.

Was re:quiet a guy? A girl?

He'd been so caught up in the moment, in the want and the heat of it, that he hadn't even thought about it.

And now, with that uncertainty crashing over him, he felt lost.

What was he supposed to imagine? What was he supposed to want?

His hand moved away from his jeans, suddenly feeling wrong, confused.

Tomorrow.

The meeting with Ms. Jung. The possibility of expulsion. His future hanging in the balance.

What was he doing? Getting off to messages from a complete stranger when his entire life might implode in less than twelve hours?

The anxiety hit him, washing away the heat and leaving him feeling exposed and foolish.

[20:56] i need to go

The silence stretched long enough that Taehyung wondered if he'd ruined everything. If his cowardice had finally pushed re:quiet away.

[20:58] oh
[20:58] okay

Just that. One word that somehow managed to convey understanding without judgment.

[20:59] talk tomorrow?
[20:59] after the meeting
[20:59] i'll let u know how it goes

There was another long pause.

Taehyung could almost feel their confusion through the screen.

[21:03] yeah
[21:03] tomorrow then
[21:03] good luck

[21:03] thanks
[21:03] goodnight

[21:04] goodnight taehyung

He set the phone down and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. The arousal was fading, leaving behind a hollow ache and the bitter taste of his own fear.

It was too much, all of it.

The pressure building behind his ribs until he felt like he might crack open from the inside out.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to push back the spiral of anxiety that threatened to consume him. But it was relentless, suffocating, making him feel small and lost and completely out of control.

Tomorrow would bring answers.

Tomorrow would bring consequences.

The water stain on the ceiling blurred through his fingers as he tried to make sense of what he wanted, feeling more lost than ever.

*

Taehyung's footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as he approached the headmistress's office. Three days of suspension had done nothing to cool the fire toward Jeon - if anything, the silence had only sharpened it, turned it into something dense and edged, like metal left too long in flame.

The whole sob story Rosé told him hadn't changed a damn thing.

Not for a second.

If anything, it made Jungkook even more infuriating.

Because when you've lived through pain like that, you're supposed to recognize it in others, not use it as a weapon. But of course, he had.

Jesus, what an asshole.

He stopped in front of the heavy oak door and straightened his shoulders. The nameplate read Ms. Jung Jiwoo – Headmistress in elegant gold script. Behind that door, his future hung in the balance. And it was all because of that fucker.

He could already imagine how it had played out: Jeon's daddy on the phone, smiling, all calm and polished, suggesting that perhaps his family's donations might be reconsidered if that unstable kid wasn't dealt with appropriately.

And now here he was. Waiting to be dealt with.

But he wasn't going to lower his head. If they kicked him out, then… fine. That was the world reminding him who he was and where he came from.

He'd go back to the neighborhood. He'd work with Juyeon. He'd survive.

It wouldn't have been the end of the world.

Right?

He exhaled slowly, rolled his shoulders back, and knocked.

"Come in."

The voice was crisp, composed. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

The office was exactly what he'd imagined: dark wood, heavy leather, expensive art framed in gold. Ms. Jung sat behind a wide desk, her silver hair a perfect cloud, dark eyes sharp behind delicate glasses. She looked like someone who had once been breathtaking, and now commanded instead of dazzled.

But it wasn't her that made Taehyung's throat tighten. It was the figure seated just off-center, facing her desk.

Jeon.

His posture was stiff, hands clasped tight in his lap. He didn't look up when Taehyung entered, but his shoulders tensed, betraying his awareness of his presence in the room.

"Mr. Kim," Ms. Jung didn’t looking up, she was flipping a page in the file on her desk. "Please sit."

The only empty chair was beside the asshole.

Taehyung's jaw tightened, the fury already rising like mercury in a thermometer. He stood motionless in the doorway for a beat too long, his eyes fixed on Jungkook's back. Then he moved slowly, deliberately, each step heavy with barely contained violence.

He reached the chair and lowered himself into it with quiet defiance, his spine straight, chin slightly lifted, not in arrogance, but in refusal.

Refusal to shrink. Refusal to be small. Refusal to give these people the satisfaction of breaking him.

Ms. Jung finally looked up. Her eyes locked on his, cool. The room fell silent, save for the steady ticking of the antique clock on the mantel behind her.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Kim?"

Taehyung didn't blink. He nodded once, economical.

She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. "Your scholarship is in doubt. Violence on campus is grounds for immediate expulsion, regardless of the circumstances. The only reason you're sitting in this chair instead of going home is because you were stopped and because I wasn't present.” Her posture didn’t move one iota, nor did her gaze. “And I need to understand exactly what happened, since the rumours are very… divergent."

A pause. The clock ticked louder.

"I've already spoken with Mr. Jeon, and his account of events is sincerely concerning."

He didn't look at him. Couldn't. He kept his gaze fixed on the headmistress, his expression neutral, almost bored - an old habit from childhood, when showing weakness was an invitation to get stepped on.

Ms. Jung laced her fingers together, her eyes didn't move from his face.

"According to Mr. Jeon," she said carefully, "your behavior in the auditorium was aggressive and threatening. He claims you intended to cause physical harm."

Taehyung held her gaze, defiant. "Correct."

Her eyebrows rose slightly, like she wasn't expecting honesty. Or maybe she wasn't used to it being delivered with such casual indifference.

"Would you care to elaborate?" she asked coolly.

He shrugged. "I wanted to hit him."

He still didn't look at Jeon, because if he did, he might lose control all over again.

The ticking clock seemed louder now, each second dragging like a bomb detonation.

"Do you regret your actions that day?" Ms. Jung asked after a beat, her voice softer now, almost careful.

"No," he said, firmly.

Her expression didn't shift, but the air in the room changed. She tilted her head slightly, studying him clinically. Then she turned.

"Mr. Jeon. Anything to add?"

Taehyung went still.

So this is it, he thought. Watch him play victim now. Watch him with his puppy eyes sell the story that I'm dangerous, unstable.

But when Jungkook spoke, his voice didn't rise. It didn't even try to persuade.

"He's right." He said quietly.

Taehyung’s head turned toward him, disbelief cutting through his carefully maintained composure.

Jungkook's eyes stayed fixed on the desk, his hands clenched in his lap.

Even Ms. Jung looked surprised, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually..." Jeon continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm here to apologize."

Taehyung’s entire body went rigid, every muscle coiling with a different kind of rage - hotter, more personal. Because this wasn't just manipulation anymore.

This was Jeon trying to be noble.

"I said things I shouldn't have," he continued, still not looking up. "I was angry, I wanted to hurt him."

The audacity of this fucking asshole.

The sheer, breathtaking arrogance of sitting there and playing the repentant prince while Taehyung's entire future hung by a thread.

You want to be the hero now?

"What I said about his family, his home… that was unforgivable," the othher said, his voice gaining strength, like he was warming to his role. "I was trying to humiliate him."

Ms. Jung leaned back slowly. She didn't speak. Neither did anyone else.

But Taehyung's mind was racing. Because he could see exactly what this was: Jungkook's final move. The ultimate power play.

Take responsibility, show remorse, prove he was the bigger man. Meanwhile, Taehyung would still be the one who'd lost control, who'd made threats, who'd had to be physically restrained by five people.

Jeon would walk away from this room looking mature, evolved, reformed.

And Taehyung would still be an animal.

It was fucking brilliant, actually. And it made Taehyung want to strangle him with his bare hands. Instead he scoffed.

The sound cut through Jungkook's monologue. He turned slightly toward him, confused. Ms. Jung's eyes sharpened with disapproval.

"Wh- What happened after was on both of us," Jeon said, finally lifting his head to meet Ms. Jung's eyes. "I provoked him deliberately. I knew exactly which buttons to push."

Buttons to push. Like his pain, his family's struggles, were just levers to be pulled for Jungkook's amusement.

"It doesn't excuse the fight," he continued, his voice steady now, confident in his performance. "But I'm not going to pretend I was innocent."

The room fell silent again. Taehyung's breathing had gone shallow, controlled, his jaw ached from clenching it so hard.

Ms. Jung folded her hands together, her expression unreadable. "So what are you asking me to do? Overlook everything because you feel remorse?"

"No." Jungkook's voice was firm now, righteous. "I'm saying if there are consequences, I should face them too."

HAA!!! and there it was. The masterstroke.

Jungkook offering to share the punishment, knowing full well that his family's money would shield him from any real consequences. Meanwhile, Taehyung could lose everything: his scholarship, his future, his family's sacrifices reduced to nothing.

But Jungkook would look noble doing it.

What a fuckin asshole!

Taehyung could feel Ms. Jung's eyes on him, waiting for some kind of response. But he couldn't speak. Couldn't trust himself to open his mouth without screaming.

Because the worst part wasn't the manipulation. It wasn't even the hypocrisy.

It was that some tiny, traitorous part of himself had almost believed it for half a second. Had almost thought that maybe - just maybe - Jeon actually meant it.

But he knew better. He'd always known better.

The principal's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "Mr. Kim, I'd like to hear your perspective on Mr. Jeon's account."

Taehyung finally looked at her, his expression flat, empty. "He's right. He knew which buttons to push. I wanted to beat him for it." He shrugged, the gesture highly dismissive. "Pretty straightforward."

"And what do you think should happen now?"

The question was a clear challenge. Taehyung could feel Jungkook's eyes on him now, probably expecting gratitude, or forgiveness, or some kind of emotional breakthrough that would complete his hero narrative.

Instead, Taehyung smiled: cold, bitter, keen.

"I think," he said slowly, "that Mr. Jeon has said everything he needs to say. And now you get to decide whose version of justice matters more."

The words landed like stones in still water, creating ripples of tension that spread through the room.

In his peripheral vision, Taehyung caught the slight movement as Jungkook turned toward him, but when he glanced over, the other boy's gaze had already dropped to the floor, shoulders tense with shame or regret.

Ms. Jung's expression shifted slightly. "Very well. Mr. Jeon, you may go. I need to speak with Mr. Kim alone."

Jungkook hesitated, his carefully constructed composure wavering for the first time. "I... are you sure, Miss? I think we should-"

"Mr. Jeon." Ms. Jung's voice carried a note of finality that brooked no argument. "You may go."

He stood slowly, his movements uncertain. He cast one last look at Taehyung, who stared straight ahead, his profile carved from stone.

Then the door clicked shut behind them all, and suddenly the room felt different, smaller, more intimate, but also more critical.

The principal leaned forward, her elbows on the desk, her eyes never leaving Taehyung's face.

"Now," she said quietly, "let’s talk."

*

The classroom was tomb-quiet as Taehyung filed in for Gong's class.

Word had already spread through the halls like wildfire: Professor Gong had reduced a fourth-year student to tears. The girl had stumbled out clutching her face, eyeliner streaking down her cheeks while students whispered frantically about what she could have possibly done to deserve such public humiliation.

But there was another electric undercurrent crackling through the room.

Kim Taehyung was back.

He slid through the door with barely a minute to spare, fresh from the principal's office.

Still here. Still enrolled.

The relief should have been overwhelming, but instead, it sat bitter in his stomach.

Because Jeon had been there too.

His hero complex was nauseating. As if a pretty apology could erase the calculated cruelty, as if saying sorry made him the bigger person instead of the manipulative piece of shit Taehyung knew him to be.

The whispers started the moment he crossed the threshold.

"-three days suspension-"
"-heard he almost got expelled-"
"-Jeon was in the office too, apparently-"

The voices followed his path through the classroom. Not the usual excited chatter that surrounded him, but something heavier. Pity mixed with curiosity, embarrassment laced with fascination. Everyone knew about the suspension, about the almost-fight, about whatever had finally made Kim Taehyung snap.

He'd silenced all his social media notifications days ago, but he knew. He fucking knew there was a hashtag trending about him and Jeon this week. Something pathetic and sensationalized that reduced their entire confrontation to entertainment for people who didn't know shit about what really happened.

God, he hated all of this.

He spotted Bogum already seated in their usual spot and made his way over, shoulders tense under the weight of thirty pairs of eyes.

"Hey, Taehyung," Bogum whispered as he settled into his chair, voice carefully modulated. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but also the practiced restraint of someone who knew when not to push. "How are you feeling?"

Taehyung looked at his friend properly, taking in the worry etched in Bogum's features, the way his shoulders were tense. This was someone who actually cared, who'd probably spent the last three days wondering if he was okay.

"Better now," he said, and meant it. The relief was there, buried under layers of frustration and residual anger, but seeing Bogum's genuine concern made his chest ease slightly.

The other's expression softened with relief. "I'm glad you're back. Really glad." He paused, then leaned closer. "How did it go with the principal?"

"How do you-"

"I ran into Jimin at breakfast," Bogum explained quickly, his voice dropping even lower. "He mentioned you had to meet with her this morning."

"Could've been worse," he said finally, which was both true and a vast understatement. But he smiled at him.

Around them, the whispers continued in fragmented bursts:

"-he did well-"
"-wonder what really happened between them-"
"-Jeon is a fucker-"

Taehyung exhaled slowly, then let his gaze drift around the room. His heart picked up pace.

_re:quiet had to be here. This class.

He scanned the faces one by one, trying to appear casual while his chest tightened: too many strangers, too many people staring or pointedly not staring. His eyes moved methodically through the rows, searching for someone he'd hoped he'd recognize. Someone who might look up at just the right moment, might give some small sign that they were the person behind those messages that had become his lifeline.

The rational part of his mind knew it was impossible. _re:quiet was anonymous for a reason.

But the hope was there anyway as he looked for... what? A knowing glance? A subtle nod? Some cosmic moment of recognition?

Nothing.

Just curious stares from classmates who knew his name but not his secrets, and careful glances from people pretending they hadn't heard about his suspension.

He pulled out his phone, thumb moving instinctively to their chat thread. Still no response to his last message.

The timestamp stared back at him mockingly.

[09:42] the doctor ceiling stain success rate has increased
[09:42] i'm still here

Message sent. Read.

It shouldn't matter this much, but the silence felt pointed now, conspicuous in a way that made his chest ache.

Was this about last night? About the way he'd suddenly cut things off, left them hanging?

Maybe they were pissed. Maybe they thought he was playing games, leading them on just to pull away at the crucial moment. Maybe they were done with his mixed signals and emotional instability.

The thought made him panic.

Maybe they weren't here. Maybe they were in a different section, or had dropped the class, or-

Maybe he was being stupid again.

Reading too much into coincidences and hoping for connections that existed only in his head.

When he finally turned around, he found Jeon staring directly at him.

It was a heartbeat, then the fucker turned around.

Of course he was watching, probably enjoying the show.

His jaw clenched.

He felt the disgust churning in his stomach. Three days away, and nothing had changed. Jeon was still there, still watching, still playing the perfect victim while being the same calculating, manipulative piece of shit underneath.

Still pretending to be something he wasn't, still fooling everyone with that innocent act.

But not Taehyung.

Professor Gong entered then and the room's energy shifting immediately. He moved to the center of the circular platform with his usual wildness, footsteps unhurried, eyes burning with that typical intensity. He stopped at the exact center and stood in silence, letting the tension steep like tea in boiling water.

The room held its breath.

He turned slowly, gaze sweeping across the students. Just watching.

His hands clasped loosely behind his back. His head tilted slightly, as if listening for something only he could hear. The silence stretched, taut.

And then he smiled.

It was a slow, crooked thing, more blade than warmth.

Taehyung and Bogum exchanged a worried glance.

"Violence," he began, his voice low, carrying that razor edge that made every student instinctively sit up straighter. "What is violence?"

No one moved.

He was walking slowly, turning, letting his gaze sweep the circle of his students.

Then he stopped. His finger pointed.

"You," he said, sharp. "Define it."

A boy blinked nervously. "A-A physical attack?"

Gong didn't respond. Just continued walking, then turned.

"You." He pointed to Lisa.

"A murder," she said quickly. "A person killing someone."

He pivoted.

"You."

"Bodily harm," Miok replied carefully.

Silence.

Gong walked to the center of the circle and stood perfectly still.

"So," he said, voice soft as silk. "Violence requires blood, does it? Bruises? Broken bones?"

His steps brought him closer to a pale, thin boy in the front row - Hyunwoo, who always sat hunched over his notes, trying to disappear.

The professor stopped directly in front of him.

"Tell me," he said, voice dropping to an intimate whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room. "What do you see when you look yourself in the mirror?"

Hyunwoo's face went white. "I... w-what?"

"What's wrong, are you deaf?" Gong's voice sharpened. "It's a simple question. What. Do. You. See?"

"I-I see... myself?"

Gong smiled, wolfish. "Do you? Because I see someone so pathetically unremarkable that even his own reflection tries to escape him."

The words hit like a punch. Hyunwoo's face crumpled, his breathing becoming shallow. Around the circle, students shifted uncomfortably, some looking away.

Gong straightened, voice returning to its normal volume. "What? Are you bleeding?"

A shaky shake of the head.

"Bruised?"

"No."

"Any broken bones?"

"No, sir."

"Then according to your classmates' definitions, I haven't committed violence against you." Gong's eyes swept the circle again. "Yet something happened here, didn't it? Something that made you feel... what exactly?"

Hyunwoo's voice was barely a whisper. "Hurt."

"Hurt," Gong repeated, savoring the word. "But how is that possible? I never touched you. I used nothing but words, just air pushed through vocal cords, vibrations in the atmosphere. How can something so intangible cause real damage?"

He began walking again, hands clasped behind his back.

"Because words can destroy self-worth, relationships, entire identities. They can isolate, humiliate, and terrorize without ever breaking the skin."

He stopped, facing the full circle.

"So I ask you again, now. What is violence? Is it only the brutality of physical force? Or is it also something far more sophisticated, far more insidious?" His smile was sharp as a blade. "Something that can happen in anywhere, anytime, and leave its victims wondering if the pain is even real?"

The silence that followed was deafening. The room suffocating.

Taehyung's eyes drifted and landed on Jungkook.

There he sat, the golden boy looking decidedly less golden, now. His gaze was fixed downward, locked on his own hands. His shoulders were rigid, like he was trying to make himself smaller, invisible. Every line of his posture screamed discomfort.

A slow, crooked smile tugged at the corner of Taehyung's mouth.

Look at that. The perfect little prince finally hearing some truth.

But even as he watched, even as he savored what looked like distress on Jeon's face, a certain coldness settled in his mind. Because this was exactly what Jungkook did, wasn't it?

This performance. This carefully crafted vulnerability that made everyone want to protect him, forgive him, excuse him.

And everyone always bought it. Except him.

Not anymore, at least.

"The perpetrator gets to walk away clean," Gong continued, his voice cutting through Taehyung's thoughts. "After all, what's to prosecute? What's to punish? They used nothing but language."

Jungkook's shoulders seemed to curl further inward.

Taehyung's smile sharpened.

"And perhaps most insidiously," the professor’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, "psychological violence often convinces its victims that they deserved it. That they brought it on themselves. That their pain is somehow... justified."

He felt anger climb up his whole body.

[13:52] the worst part is
[13:52] what he said wasn't even wrong
[13:53] about my family
[13:53] maybe we are
[13:53] pathetic i mean
[13:53] and actually this is a shithole

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the sound of someone's shallow breathing.

"Today," Professor Gong announced, returning to his ravening pacing, "I'm assigning you a project that will explore this through performance. You will work in pairs to create scenes that demonstrate the artistry of psychological violence. Each scenario will require you to show me how words can wound, how language can be weaponized, how the mind can be broken without laying a single finger on the body."

The dread in the room was palpable. Everyone knew what was coming.

"This is not a week-long exercise," he continued, tasting the way several students stiffed. "You have two weeks to craft something that will make me believe in the power of verbal violence. Two weeks to show me that you understand how words can cut deeper than any blade."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"I will choose your partners," he added, his smile mean. "The pairings are not negotiable. This is about pushing boundaries, exploring the darkest corners of human interaction. If you're not prepared to go there, you can leave now."

No one moved.

Neither Jeon.

"Excellent." His smile was greedy. "Let's begin."

Gong produced a deck of cards from his jacket pocket, the edges worn smooth. He fanned them out face-down in his palm, the black backs revealing nothing of what lay beneath.

Taehyung watched carefully as the professor's eyes swept the room, studying faces with the calculation of a chess master.

This wasn't random. Nothing Gong did was ever random.

There was a pattern here, a design that wouldn't become clear until it was too late to escape it.

"First pair," he announced. "Kim Jihoon and Park Miok."

The two students exchanged glances: surprise, resignation, perhaps a flicker of relief that they'd been called early. They approached the center of the circle where Gong waited, the deck spread like a dark flower in his hands.

"Choose," he said simply.

Jihoon's fingers hovered over the cards before selecting one near the center. He flipped it over, reading silently before clearing his throat. "A parent discovering their son's addiction."

Gong nodded, satisfied. "Two weeks."

The thought struck Taehyung like lightning: is re:quiet one of them?

The next pair was called: "Song Minho and Lee Chaeyoung."

Chaeyoung pulled a card from the left side of the fan. "Siblings fighting over their dying parent's inheritance."

"Lovely," Gong purred. "Family bonds under pressure."

The process continued with methodical precision. Each pair called forward, each card drawn with trembling fingers, each scenario more psychologically twisted than the last.

"Jung Haneul and Kim Haejoon." Their card read: "Childhood friends reunited after one's betrayal destroyed the other's life."

"Bae Suzy and Lee Seoyeon." They drew: "A mentor discovering their protégé has surpassed and replaced them."

Taehyung found himself scanning the remaining faces more urgently now, trying to read expressions, looking for any sign. Someone in this room had been his anon, had seen him at his most vulnerable, had offered comfort when no one else could.

Someone in this room might be watching him right now.

As more pairs were called and more cards drawn, Taehyung felt a growing sense of discomfort creeping up his spine. The deck was getting smaller, the remaining students fewer, and there was that feeling building, that sick certainty that Gong had been saving the best for last.

Slowly, almost against his will, Taehyung found his head turning. His eyes sought out Jeon automatically, some horrible instinct pulling his gaze like a magnet.

Their eyes met across the circle, and for one crystalline moment, he saw his own dread reflected back at him. Jungkook's face was carefully composed, but there was resignation in his expression.

They both knew what was coming.

Fuck-

Taehyung jerked his gaze away first, his heart hammering against his ribs. The air in the room felt too thick. Around them, more pairs were called, more psychological minefields distributed, but all Taehyung could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

Until finally, inevitably, only four students remained.

Bogum sat rigid in his chair, hands clasped tight. Jennie's usually perfect composure was cracking. Taehyung felt his pulse hammering against his throat.

And Jeon looked like he was calculating escape routes.

He couldn’t tell whether ending up with Jeon or Jennie was the worse fate… either way, he’d lose. Gong would never have matched him with Bogum.

He knew that.

The professor savored the moment, letting the tension ferment until it was almost unbearable. His eyes swept over the four remaining students with the lazy satisfaction of a cat playing with wounded mice.

"Well, well," he murmured, his voice silk-wrapped steel. "Our final two pairs."

The pause stretched impossibly long.

This couldn't be happening. Not after Sunday, not after the principal's office.

"Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook."

A shotgun.

Around the circle, students exchanged meaningful glances: everyone knew about the suspension, about whatever had finally pushed these two past the breaking point. The air itself seemed to thicken with expectation. The whispers were immediate and electric.

The room became hungry.

Professor Gong's smile was razor-sharp, his eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction. "How serendipitous."

Taehyung felt the betrayed clawing.

This was personal. Gong had orchestrated this whole elaborate circus just to watch them squirm, just to force them into the most uncomfortable situation possible. Every carefully crafted pairing, every psychologically targeted scenario… it had all been leading to this moment.

Neither of them moved for a heartbeat.

Then another.

The tension was so thick it was practically visible, crackling like electricity before a storm.

"Come now," Gong purred. "Don't keep us waiting."

Jeon rose first, his movements careful and controlled.

Taehyung followed a beat later, every muscle in his body screaming protest. They approached the center like gladiators entering the arena, the weight of several pairs of eyes pressing down on them.

Gong held out the remaining cards: only three left now.

Taehyung's hand shot out before Jungkook could move, fingers closing around the middle card with sharp, decisive fury: if he was going to be forced into this nightmare, he'd at least control this one small thing.

Then he flipped it over.

And the words hit him like ice water.

He felt Jungkook's stare boring into the side of his face, could practically hear the other student's sharp intake of breath. The classroom had gone dead silent, even Gong seemed thrilled, waiting for the explosion.

"Well?" Gong's voice was honey-sweet poison. "Read it aloud, as everyone else has done."

Taehyung's throat felt like sandpaper. The card trembled almost imperceptibly in his grip. Around the circle, all the faces waited with hungry anticipation.

"A couple of lovers in a toxic relationship," he read.

The quiet that followed was catastrophic.

Jeon had gone completely still beside him, as if someone had pressed pause on his very existence. His face was a mask of carefully controlled shock, but Taehyung caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed, the slight widening of his eyes.

Professor Gong's smile was absolutely rapacious now. "How perfect," he whispered, the word dripping with dark satisfaction. "Two weeks, gentlemen."

Jungkook shifted beside him, and Taehyung could practically feel the panic radiating off him in waves. "Professor," Jeon voice cracked slightly, then steadied with visible effort. "Could we possibly... I mean, would it be acceptable to switch themes? Maybe choosing another card?"

The classroom went dead silent. Even the air conditioning seemed to pause.

Gong's head tilted, like a hawke considering whether its prey was worth the effort of a hunt. His smile never wavered, but something alarming flickered in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Jeon?" The teacher’s voice was deceptively soft but cutting deep. "You like pussy? Can't figure out how to act?"

Jungkook's face went through a rainbow of colors: red with embarrassment, white with shock, then red again with humiliation. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

"Or perhaps," Gong continued, circling him, "you're so pathetically limited that you can't conceive of playing anything beyond your own experience? Is that it? Are you admitting that your ability is so fundamentally shallow that you can only portray yourself?"

Students stared with a mixture of horror and fascination, watching the golden boy get systematically destroyed.

"I didn't realize we were running a daycare center for precious little babies who need their comfort zones maintained," the professor’s voice dripped with venom. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable in a finger-painting class? Something that won't challenge your delicate sensibilities?"

Jungkook's jaw worked soundlessly, his face cycling through embarrassment, rage.

"Unless you'd prefer to walk out of here right now and save us all the embarrassment of watching you fail," Professor Gong concluded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "In which case, the door is right behind you."

Taehyung didn’t look away.

He couldn’t.

There was something viciously satisfying in watching Jeon dying under Gong’s scalpel-sharp scrutiny - the silver spoon boy reduced to ash, stripped of his polish and composure in front of everyone. For once, it wasn’t him on the receiving end.

As they returned to their seats in silence, Gong called the final pair.

"Park Bogum and Kim Jennie."

Taehyung watched his friend approach the center with steady steps, Jennie beside him with her usual composed elegance. They seemed almost relieved to be called last, away from the warfare that had preceded them.

Jeon was sitting frozen, now. Fists clenched white in his lap, eyes fixed on a point just beyond Gong’s shoulder like he was trying to dissociate right out of his own skin. His chest rose and fell too quickly, breath shallow. Rage and shame warred across his face, flickering like unstable light.

He wasn’t used to being challenged. Not like this. Not publicly.

Taehyung could almost hear it, his grinding tension, the effort it took not to bolt or bite back.

And somehow, that made it even more delicious.

Jennie drew the final card with steady fingers. "Two strangers fighting."

The contrast was stark, almost mocking: Bogum and Jennie had received something so simple. If Taehyung had chosen the right card, they wouldn't be caged in at this point.

He remained still in his seat, the weight of one question kept circling:

Is re:quiet watching me right now, knowing exactly how this is going to destroy me?

"Excellent." Gong's smile returned to its full, hunting glory. "You have until the end of this class period to begin outlining your concept. I suggest you use the time wisely."

He turned away, dismissing them with the cruelty of someone who had just set a fire and wanted to watch it burn.

The other pairs had already begun moving, finding corners and empty spaces to start their planning, but Taehyung and Jungkook remained paralyzed in their seats by the magnitude of what had just been dropped.

Jeon hesitated for a heartbeat, uncertainty flickering across his features. Then he reached Taehyung, his steps careful and measured, like someone approaching a wounded animal that might bolt or bite.

He lowered himself into Bogum’s chair with caution, the silence between them thick enough to cut. Around the room, other pairs were already deep in animated discussion, voices blending into a low hum of creative collaboration.

They remained silent.

"So," Jeon began tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe we-"

"Let's get one thing straight," Taehyung interrupted, his voice low and venomous enough to stop Jungkook mid-sentence. He didn't turn to look at him, keeping his eyes fixed on some invisible point across the room. "I have zero interest in failing this assignment. Especially not after my entire academic future was just dragged through the mud thanks to your pathetic little victim act."

His hands were clenched so tightly over his chair that his knuckles had gone white. "So here's how this is going to work. We're going to put together something that'll satisfy Gong's twisted little power trip. We're going to perform it without either of us looking like complete idiots. We're going to get our grade. And then we're going to pretend this never happened and go back to acting like the other doesn't exist."

He finally turned to face Jungkook, his eyes blazing with cold fury. "Think you can manage that level of professionalism, or do you need me to draw you a fucking picture? Because I know thinking isn't exactly your strong suit."

Jeon's face shifted. The tentative openness that had been there moments before - the willingness to try, to make this work - vanished like smoke. His jaw tightened, and when he looked back at Taehyung, his expression had gone carefully blank.

He nodded, but there was something brittle in the gesture. Too controlled. Too tight.

Around them, other pairs continued their animated planning: voices rising and falling in discussion, papers rustling, the occasional burst of nervous laughter. But in their little space, the air had turned arctic.

Jungkook sat rigidly in his chair. His entire posture screamed barely contained annoyance: shoulders set, jaw locked, the kind of wounded pride that came from being exactly as dismissed as you'd expected to be, but still having it hurt. His hands were clenched in his lap, with the effort of staying still.

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly forward. Gong moved between the groups like a shark, occasionally pausing to offer cryptic observations or approving nods.

Taehyung glanced sideways at Jeon, who was still maintaining his statue impression, then back at the other students. The silence stretched until it became unbearable, pressing against his temples like a migraine.

"We need to brainstorm ideas," Taehyung said finally, his voice impatient. "We've got-" he checked his watch, "-seventeen minutes left, and we've accomplished absolutely nothing."

Jungkook's response came without him even turning his head. "Okay."

That was it. Just 'okay.' No follow-up, no suggestions, no engagement whatsoever.

Taehyung's grip on his chair. "So we need to establish the dynamic of this toxic relationship."

"Mm-hmm."

The non-response made Taehyung's eye twitch. "Are you planning to contribute anything, or should I just doing a monologue and you can stand there like the useless fucking ornament you are?"

Jeon's head turned slowly, his dark eyes meeting Taehyung's. There was a flicker of something bad there, quickly suppressed. "Whatever you think is best."

The dismissal was so complete, so deliberately unhelpful, that Taehyung felt his carefully maintained composure crack just a little.

"Right," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "So I get to do all the work while you sit there playing the martyred victim. How fucking convenient for you."

The other's jaw twitched. "I said I'd follow your lead."

"Oh, how generous." Taehyung's smile was keen. "His majesty gracing me with his passive compliance. Should I be grateful? What a privilege."

"I'm trying to keep this professional," Jungkook said, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Unlike some people, I don't throw tantrums when things don't go my way."

"Tantrums?" His laugh was bitter and cold. “You really do have a lot of nerve, you piece of shit!”

Around them, the productive hum of other groups continued, but a few nearby pairs had started throwing curious glances in their direction. The tension between them was becoming impossible to ignore.

"You know what?" The other said, his voice beginning to chop. "Maybe Gong was wrong. Maybe some people really aren't capable of separating their personal shit from their professional obligations."

Taehyung's eyes went cold. "Are you questioning my abilities as an actor?"

"If the shoe fits."

"Well, at least I have abilities," he snarled, leaning forward. "While you? Take daddy out of the equation and you’re fucking nothing.”

Something snapped in Jeon, then. His mask finally slipping. "You know what? I'm fucking sick of yo-"

"Gentlemen."

The single word cut through their escalating argument. Both of them froze, heads snapping toward the source of the interruption.

Professor Gong stood beside their sits, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. His smile was sharp, curious.

"My, my," he murmured, his voice soft. "Are you already in character? How dedicated."

They realized the entire class had gone quiet, every pair of eyes in the room focused on their place.

"I have to say," Gong continued, his smile widening, "the authenticity is quite impressive." He paused. "It's almost as if you're not acting at all."

They sat frozen, trapped in mortification, neither able to look at each other or away from their professor's gaze.

"However," their teacher’s voice hardened, the amusement vanishing, "if you can't control yourselves enough to work together, then perhaps you're not mature enough to be in my class at all. Fail to produce something, and you'll both be repeating this semester. Are we clear?"

The threat hung in the air.

"Yes, sir," they mumbled in unison, their voices like whispers.

"Excellent." His smile returned. "Such a lovely toxic couple you make. I can't wait to see what you create together."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving them in the wreckage of their public humiliation.

The classroom slowly returned to its normal hum of activity, but Taehyung could feel the weight of curious stares. His hands were shaking with rage and embarrassment, his chest tight with the effort of not completely losing it.

Jeon looked equally devastated, his eyes bright with unshed tears of frustration.

They sat in toxic silence, both too proud and too angry to back down, too trapped to escape.

When class finally ended, they gathered their things in silence.

"This was a fucking waste of time," Taehyung muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"At least we can agree on something," Jungkook replied coldly.

They left the classroom in opposite directions, the mutual hatred hanging in their spaces.

Taehyung pulled out his phone and typed furiously:

to _re:quiet:

[10:53] i fucking hate him
[10:54] i swear
[10:54] i have to work with him for two weeks
[10:54] and he makes me vomit
[10:54] i'm going to fuckin lose my mind

Message sent.

Read.

No answer.

Chapter Text

Taehyung stabbed at his plate with unnecessary violence, his phone face-up beside his tray, screen stubbornly blank.

Nothing.

No reply from _re:quiet.

He kept telling himself that they were probably just busy, asleep, distracted. But the silence gnawed at him.

Probably he’d fucked it all up.

Perfect.

His eyes swept across the dining hall, scanning faces with casualness, looking for a person hunched over their phone, typing. Looking for someone who seemed like they'd quote obscure divination techniques at 2 AM or send thoughtful messages.

But everyone just looked... so soggy cereal.

"You're going to murder that poor rice cake," Jimin observed.

"Good," he finally shoved a piece into his mouth. "I need to practice."

His phone buzzed. His heart jumped, hand shooting out to check it.

CAMPUS ALERT: Library hours extended for the weekend.

Fuck.

"What’s wrong?" Yoongi said dryly. "You’re mad they let you back in?"

Bogum smiled softly into his cup, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to be noticeable.

Taehyung didn’t respond. He barely heard his friend, shoulders hunched over his tray like the weight of the day was pressing him down. He exhaled hard through his nose, the sigh loud in the brief silence.

Jimin turned to Bogum, eyes narrowing. "Okaaaay, what happened?"

Bogum glanced at Taehyung, then lowered his voice just enough to respect the mood. "Gong assigned a new project. He got paired with-"

"Jeon fucking Jungkook," he finished, voice dripping with venom.

Yoongi, mid-chew, barely paused. He lifted his eyes to Taehyung, expression blank. "Oh no."

Jimin, on the other hand, nearly dropped his chopsticks. "What?" he blurted, eyes going wide. "Really? You two have to – like - work together?"

Bogum didn’t say anything. He glanced at Taehyung, then down at his tray with that soft, knowing smile that barely touched his lips.

He let out literally a sgrunt. "Yeah. We have to pretend to be a fuckin couple."
He jabbed his chopsticks into his rice again.

Jimin nearly choked. "Are you kidding me?"

"Toxic lovers," he clarified, stabbing another rice cake. "Because apparently the universe has a sick sense of humor. Fuckin' Mercury in retrograde."

That earned a pause.

Jimin and Yoongi exchanged a slow look across the table. Bogum, meanwhile, actually let out a short laugh, soft and genuine. "I didn’t have you pegged as an astrology guy," he said smiling.

"I'm not," he muttered. He slid a hand toward his phone. The motion was casual - meant to be, anyway. Just a glance, just a habit.

Still no new notifications.
Still no reply.

He stared at the thread for a moment longer than necessary, thumb hovering as if he might type something. But he didn’t.

Instead, he locked the screen and set the phone face-down this time, jaw tight.

"Well," Yoongi said, setting down his chopsticks theatrically, "Mercury or not, it sounds like Christmas came early."

"For who?" Taehyung snapped.

"For everyone who's been waiting for this trainwreck since freshman year."

"What are you talking about, fucker? This is not a trainwreck. This is a death sentence."

His friend leaned back slightly in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “How do you plan on handling this Jeon situation?”

Taehyung snorted. “Handling? I’m not handling shit.” He stabbed another rice cake like it had personally offended him. “We can’t go three seconds without me wanting to break his nose. Gong might get the performance of his life just from us committing actual murder on stage.”

"Oh my god, this is perfect." Jimin breathed, then started laughing.

"This is not funny," Taehyung snapped, his eyes flashing badly. "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? Gong is a fuckin sadist," he continued, his voice rising slightly. "A calculating, manipulative sadist.”

"Gong is a genius," Yoongi said calmly, taking a sip of his Cola.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me." His friend’s expression unreadable, now. "He's a genius."

"How the fuck is ‘torturing his students’ genius?"

"Because maybe now Jeon will finally understand what he's done to you since day one."

Taehyung's grip tightened on his chopsticks. "I don't want him to understand anything. I want him to-" His phone buzzed.

Another campus alert.

Taehyung's jaw clenched.

"Taehyung-ah!"

The voice boomed across the dining hall, and he looked up to see Namjoon and Jin approaching their table with matching smiles.

"There he is," Jin announced, dramatically throwing his arms wide. "The returning hero!"

"Hardly," he muttered, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips as they settled into the remaining seats.

"Are you kidding?" Joon leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. "You have no idea what you missed while you were gone. The entire student body basically revolted."

"What?"

"Social media went absolutely insane," the other explained, pulling out his phone. "There were hashtags, petitions... #JusticeForKim was trending for days."

Taehyung blinked. "You're joking."

"I'm not. Everyone was saying the suspension was bullshit. There were threads breaking down exactly what happened, videos of students talking about how unfair it was..." Namjoon's grin widened. "It was beautiful."

"Meanwhile," Jin added with obvious satisfaction, "Jeon is getting absolutely dragged. People are calling him a privileged little shit. The comments under his last post are... well, let's just say they're not kind."

Taehyung felt a flicker of satisfaction. Maybe mute social media was a mistake, maybe he should get back into the game.

His phone buzzed. This time he didn't even check it.

"Serves him right," Jimin said, stabbing his salad with pleasure. "The fuckin nepo’s finally getting a lecture."

"Speaking of nepos," Yoongi muttered, nodding toward the entrance.

They had arrived.

They moved like they owned the place - which, well, in many ways now, they did.

BamBam led the pack with his usual arrogant swagger, followed by Mingyu, Jungkook, Yugyeom, and BangChan. They commandeered a large table near the windows, their laughter carrying across the dining hall with obnoxious ease.

Taehyung felt his appetite disappear entirely.

"Ah, our newly elected student body president," Jin’s voice dripping with sarcasm. "Four days since the election, and what has he just made social media pos-”

"Hey, Taehyung!"

The cheerful voice made him look up.

Rosé was walking toward their table, her smile bright. She looked effortlessly beautiful in a simple sweater and jeans, her hair catching the light from the windows.

"Hi," she said, stopping beside his chair. "I'm so glad you're back."

Taehyung tried to respond, but the piece of the rice cake he'd been chewing suddenly felt like it was expanding in his throat. He coughed, then choked, his face turning red as he struggled to breathe.

"Are you okay?" Rosé was grinning, now.

He managed to swallow, his eyes watering. "Fine," he gasped. "Just-fine."

"Good," she said, relief evident in her voice. "I was worried about you."

He could feel every pair of eyes at their table boring into him, the weight of their collective stare making his skin crawl.

“Nice haircut, by the way.” She squeezed his shoulder gently before walking away, leaving them staring after her with their mouth slightly open.

The table fell silent.

He desperately tried to avoid their gazes, his eyes darting around the dining hall in search of anywhere else to look.

That's when he spotted him.

BamBam was staring directly at him: a flash of jealousy and rage in the boy’s expression. His jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Taehyung held the look for half a second longer than he should have, refusing to blink first.

Then his gaze slid sideways and landed on Jungkook.

He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even smirking. He looked... confused. Like he’d just witnessed something that didn’t fit. A variable in the equation that had suddenly shifted. His eyebrows were furrowed, his chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth.

Taehyung let a slow, deliberate smirk curl onto his lips.

That’s right, fuckers. Plot twist for you, huh?

He turned his attention back to his table, where his friends were still watching him. Jimin's eyes were practically gleaming, his head tilted like a cat who'd just spotted something fascinating.

"Well, well, well," his friend said slowly, his eyes narrow with suspicion. "That was interesting."

"What?" Taehyung’s voice still slightly hoarse.

His phone buzzed again. This time he grabbed it so quickly he nearly knocked over his drink.

Reminder: Student council meeting moved to 3 PM.

His face fell.

"You know, Taehyung, I was thinking…" Bogum said, breaking the silence. "Maybe this whole thing with Jeon is exactly what both of you need."

Taehyung's head snapped up.

"I mean maybe this situation will force you to deal with whatever this is between you two."

"I don't want to deal with anything," he said firmly. "I want to get through this assignment without strangling him and then go back to pretending he doesn't exist."

"That's healthy," Yoongi said dryly.

"I don't care if it's healthy. I care about surviving the next two weeks."

His phone buzzed again. Campus alert about flu shots.

Taehyung wanted to scream.

"Wait, hold on." Jin looked up from his tray, a piece of rice cake halfway to his mouth. "Can someone back up and explain what situation we’re talking about?"

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. "Are you and Jeon fighting again? Need I remind you that you have just been suspended for three days for this?"

Jimin snorted. "They’re evolving now. New season."

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Gong assigned us as scene partners."

"And the theme is toxic lovers," Yoongi added, clearly enjoying the dramatic flair of it.

Namjoon blinked. "What?"

Jin gasped dramatically. "Gong paired you with Jungkook for that?”

Joon shook his head. “That man is evil."

"You know what happened this morning?" Jin continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sana was doing a monologue about grief, and Gong eviscerated her in front of everyone. Told her she was performing sadness like she was in a cheap K-drama. She broke down crying right there in class. And then he asked her ‘What? Do you want a candy?’ She ran away.”

"Jesus," Joon winced.

"Seems that he collects breakdowns like trophies," Bogum added quietly.

"Listen, can we not keep reminding me of this fucking situation every five minutes?" Taehyung snapped. "I know. I know who I got paired with."

Just then, Hobi appeared at the edge of the table, carrying a tray stacked with snacks.

"Hey, hey! The boy is back!" he grinned then he looked at their face. "What's up? You all look like someone died."

Everyone fell silent.

"Oh, nobody died," Jimin said grinning. "Taehyung just has to do a lovers' scene with Jeon."

Hobi blinked. Then broke into the biggest grin yet. "Ohhh. Finally. Yoongi wrote a whole fanfiction about it."

"WHAT?" Taehyung's voice cracked, his eyes going wide as he whipped around to stare at Yoongi in absolute horror.

His friend shrugged, completely unbothered. "Sunday's argument was intense. I was inspired."

"It went viral," Hobi added cheerfully, settling into his seat. "Though there's a lot of debate about who tops and who bottoms."

The entire table erupted in laughter. Bogum scoffed quietly and looked at Taehyung, as though unsure whether he could do it.

Taehyung sat there, mouth hanging open, completely speechless. His face cycled through several shades of fury red as he looked from Yoongi to Hobi to the rest of his friends, who were all practically crying with laughter.

"I-" he started, then stopped. "You-" Another pause. "WHAT THE FUCK?"

"It's called creative expression," Yoongi said calmly, taking a sip of his drink. "You should be flattered. I’m giving you very good character development."

He buried his face in his hands, “I swear, Yoon. I’ll kill you.”

"Oh, believe me, you are not the only one who said that," Hobi grinned. "The comments section is brutal. People are really invested in your sex life."

Before he could respond, another voice cut through the conversation.

"Yo, someone here is talking about sex?"

Seojoon, Hyungsik, and Peakboy had materialized beside their table, hugging Taehyung from behind.

"No one," Taehyung said quickly. His alarmed eyes travelled on everyone sitting at the table, as if to say don't open your fucking mouths.

"Liar," Seojoon said, pulling up a chair. "I heard Jungkook and lovers in the same sentence."

"Gong paired them for a scene," Jin explained, unable to resist. "Toxic lovers."

Taehyung buried his face in his hands.

"No fucking way!" Peakboy laughed. "That's incredible!"

"Can we get tickets?" Seojoon grinned.

"I hate all of you. I swear."

Taehyung's phone buzzed, he checked it immediately.

REMINDER: Parking permits expire next week.

"You know what I think?" Jin was leaning back with a contemplative expression.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell us anyway," he muttered.

"I think Bogum is right."

Bogum smiled at Jin.

"I'm serious. You and Jeon have been circling each other like angry cats for years. Maybe it's time to actually figure out what the hell you're fighting about."

"We're fighting because he's an entitled asshole! That’s why!"

"And he thinks you're a pretentious drama queen," Yoongi added helpfully.

"Drama queen? I'm not your fuckin character!"

"You literally just blamed your bad day on Mercury," Jimin pointed out.

"That was a joke!"

His phone buzzed again, but he knew it wouldn't be who he wanted it to be.

"Alright," Jin said, standing up and clapping his hands together. "As much as I'm enjoying this briefing, some of us have actual responsibilities."

"Like what?" Seojoon asked.

"Like making sure the student council meeting doesn't turn into a dictatorship under BamBam's leadership."

"Too late," Yoongi said dryly. "We're already living in the darkest timeline."

"Speak for yourself," Hyungsik grinned. "I'm living in the timeline where Taehyung has to make out with Jeon. This is the best timeline!"

"Nobody's making out with anybody!" Taehyung protested harshly, almost with fury.

"Yet," the entire table said in unison.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his tray. "I'm leaving. I'm going to find a nice quiet place. Or better, a new fuckin school."

He could hear their laughter following him across the dining hall. His path took him directly past the fuckers' table, and he felt their eyes on him immediately.

BamBam's glare was particularly venomous, while Jeon didn't even look up. He was completely absorbed in peeling an apple, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked the knife in a perfect spiral. The focus was so intense it was almost meditative, like the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Taehyung's jaw clenched, and he quickened his pace.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a moment, hope fluttered in his chest.

But he didn't check it. He couldn't handle another disappointment.

Not when he was already drowning in them. 

*

He had barely made it through another shift at the fast food place. It had been mercifully quiet for a Thursday night - just the usual stream of college kids and late-night office workers grabbing greasy comfort food.

But finally, finally, the smell of fryer oil had faded from his skin after a brutal shower.

The communal bathroom was a disaster zone. The water had been ice-cold again, and the entire floor was grumbling about it.

He stood before one of the six sinks lined up beneath a large mirror, condensation fogging its edges despite the pathetic ventilation fan that wheezed overhead like an asthmatic. Minjae had, once again, left his toothbrush exactly where no one wanted it: balanced on a mound of crumpled stinky socks beside a tube of toothpaste with the cap off.

Someone had written "FUCK THIS PLACE" in black marker on the freshly painted ocean blue wall.

"This is fucking ridiculous," someone muttered, teeth chattering. "My parents pay how much for tuition and we can't even get hot water?"

Someone kicked the base of a sink in frustration.

Taehyung said nothing. He just let the memory of that freezing spray settle into his shoulders, the way it had hammered into his skin until everything felt numb. At least it had washed away the grease and exhaustion of his shift.

His phone buzzed against the narrow ledge beside the mirror. He grabbed it immediately, but without much hope.

🛡️ BANGTAN SONYEONDAN 🛡️:

from yoongi:

[22.34] [link]

from hobi:

[00.56] I'M SCREAMING

Taehyung's stomach dropped. He clicked the link before his brain could stop him.

"Hate Me Harder" by suga93

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Fake Dating, College AU, Explicit Sexual Content

Summary: When two rival drama students get paired for a scene assignment, sparks fly in more ways than one.

"What the actual fuck," Taehyung whispered, scrolling down to the first chapter.

Taehyung's eyes blazed with fury as he cornered Jungkook in the empty rehearsal room.
"You think you can just waltz in here and-"

"Shut up!" Jungkook growled, pressing him against the mirror. "You talk too much, Kim."

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness, years of pent-up frustration pouring out in the way Jungkook's hands fisted in Taehyung's hair-

Jongmin appeared beside him, quietly claiming space at the next sink. "Hey, Kim," he said carefully, "about what happened Sunday... I just wanted to say that what you did, it took guts. That bastard had it coming."

Taehyung barely heard him, his eyes glued to his phone screen in horror.

"I hate you," Taehyung panted against Jungkook's neck, even as he arched into his touch.

"No," Jungkook's voice was rough, his hands working at Taehyung's belt. "You hate that you want this."

The practice room door wasn’t locked, but that didn't stop the desperate way they moved against each other –

"This is NOT happening," he muttered, his face burning red as he scrolled faster. "This is absolutely not happening to me."

"Anyway," Jongmin added quickly, "glad you're still here."

"Yeah, well," Taehyung said, still staring at his phone in horror, "I'm starting to think maybe I shouldn't be."

Jongmin's face fell slightly. "Don't say that. Don't let that asshole make you feel like you don't deserve to be here."

Taehyung looked up, blinking in confusion as he registered the genuine concern in Jongmin's voice. "Oh. Oh, no, I didn't mean-" He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Min. Really."

"You'll be fine," Minjae chimed in, finally gathering his scattered belongings. "Everyone knows what kind of piece of shit Jeon is."

Taehyung smiled.

His phone buzzed again.

From chim:

[01:02] comments r SENDING
[01:02] however
[01:02] chap 2 when???
[01:02] i need to know if kim bottoms
[01:02] 🍆🍑

Taehyung nearly dropped his phone.

Fuckin sick pervert.

"Please," Taehyung whispered, and Jungkook's resolve crumbled completely. The way Taehyung looked beneath him, all sharp edges softened by want, was better than any fantasy he'd ever allowed himself-

"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" Taehyung announced to the empty bathroom, his voice echoing off the tiles.

One by one, the other boys had finished their routines and had drifted out. Their voices had faded, leaving behind only the wheeze of the fan and the ghost of steam rising from the showers.

Soon, it was just Taehyung and the silence.

And the fucking fanfiction.

Current stats: 147 likes, 256 comments

from joon:

[01:03] shakespeare could never

from jin:

[01:04] yoongi really wrote the worst porn imaginable
[01:04] i'll have nightmares for two weeks

from yoongi:

[01:04] art is subjective

from hobi:

[01:04] THE COMMENTS SECTION IS WILD

from chim:

[01:05] wait wait WAIT
[01:05] someone calculated taehyung's ass size
[01:05] from that time he wore those tight jeans to class

"This cannot be happening," Taehyung muttered, but his thumb was already moving, clicking on the comments section like a masochist.

@theaterkid98: OMG the way Jk would definitely be a power bottom though?? Like have you SEEN the way he looks at Tae’s crotch? That boy is HUNGRY

@dramassss: no no no taehyung is 100% a bottom. classic bratty bottom energy. jk gives big dick dom vibes sorry not sorry

@coffeeandchaos: WHY ARE WE EVEN DEBATING THIS. they're switches. obviously. the versatility??? the RANGE???

@stayawaybitch: ok but can we talk about how taehyung's hands are literally the size of dinner plates? like what is jungkook supposed to do with all that???

Taehyung's eye twitched. He looked a this hands, then he scrolled deeper into the comments, his horror growing with each new observation.

@arthoestudent: the sexual tension during their fight on sunday was palpable. like when taehyung grabbed jungkook's shirt??? that was foreplay and nobody can convince me otherwise

What? He never grabbed any shirt! That was a fuckin lie!

@messy_bitch_loves_drama: petition for them to just fuck already and put us all out of our misery

@ultimatemuscles: taehyung's definitely a pillow princess. look at those eyes. that's a face that expects to be worshipped

@hualpaigirl: u're WRONG. taehyung rides or dies, no in between

@seventoeternity: y'all are sleeping on soft dom taehyung. he'd be so gentle and then absolutely wreck jungkook when he's ready

His phone practically vibrated off the sink ledge.

from chim:

[01:11] SOMEONE MADE A SPOTIFY PLAYLIST
[01:11] "taekook hate fuck energy"
[01:11] it's 3 hours long
[01:11] i'm listening to it right now
[01:11] it's actually really good???

from hobi:

[01:11] taekook?
[01:11] LMAO
[01:11] the dedication of these people
[01:11] the COMMITMENT
[01:11] someone analyzed your behaviour frame by frame from the dining hall today

from jin:

[01:12] "the way taehyung's pupils dilated when jungkook looked at him suggests deep-seated attraction masked by conscious hostility"

from yoongi:

[01:12] that’s fbi

Taehyung kept scrolling, each comment making him want to disappear into the tiled floor.

"STOP," he said loudly, closing the app. "Absolutely not. I'm done. I'm becoming a monk."

He began pacing the bathroom, arms crossed tightly. His bare feet made soft thuds against the floor as he walked in tight, agitated circles, the movement too fast, too sharp.

What the fuck kind of situation was this?

This was insane. Everyone was insane.

Those people had been able to make him miss his neighbourhood, his family, even his brother. He surely missed people who weren’t writing fucking fanfiction about him and Jeon for entertainment.

Yoongi, goddamn!

"How the fuck did he think that was okay? What kind of psychopath publishes that shit with tags?"

His phone vibrated against the sink.

He didn’t check it right away. He took a deep breath. He was ready to tear into whoever had messaged him next, fully prepared to burn the entire group chat to the ground.

But then he glanced at the screen.
And his mind frozen.

One notification.

From _re:quiet:

[01:15] hey

His heart lurched so violently he nearly dropped his phone. His fingers flew across the screen. His phone buzzed with notifications from the group chat, but he ignored them completely.

Right now, this conversation was all that mattered.

[01:15] hey
[01:15] everything okay?

A pause. Then:

[01:16] yeah

He stared at the message, something twisting. The casual tone felt different somehow, weighted.

[01:16] thought u were mad at me

[01:17] mad about what?

[01:17] last night
[01:17] i don't know
[01:17] i just disappeared on u
[01:18] and today u didn't respond to anything i sent
[01:18] i thought maybe u were pissed

Another long pause. The dots appeared and disappeared three times before a response finally came through.

[01:19] just had a shit day
[01:19] sorry for going radio silent

Relief flooded through Taehyung's body, so intense it left him slightly breathless. He leaned back against the cool tile wall, phone clutched tight in his hands.

He ruined things without even realizing it most of the time - pushed too hard, spoke too fast, closed doors before they fully opened. But with them, he wanted to be careful.

[01:19] hey
[01:20] don't apologize
[01:20] i get it
[01:20] shit days are the worst
[01:20] want to talk about it?

[01:21] not really
[01:21] what about u?
[01:21] ur day was heavy too

Taehyung hesitated. Where did he even start?

Gong?
The fanfiction?
The comments?
The fact that his entire sex life was being debated on the internet now?

[01:22] were u in gong's class today?

[01:22] yes
[01:22] i was there

[01:23] i got paired with jeon

[01:23] i know

[01:24] complete disaster

[01:24] yeah

The blunt responses felt like doors slamming shut, one after another. He didn't know what he'd broken, but something was definitely… broken.

He tried again.

[01:25] did u get a better assignment?

[01:25] no

Still flat. He tried to lighten the mood, now, typing quickly before he could overthink it.

[01:26] must be mercury in retrograde

The message sat there, delivered, read.

But not answered.

Minutes passed. His phone buzzed with notifications from the group chat, but re:quiet remained silent.

🛡️ BANGTAN SONYEONDAN 🛡️:

from chim:

[01:28] YALL
[01:28] someone made FANART
[01:28] it's actually really good???
[01:28] jeon looks like a whole ass greek god

from hobi:

[01:28] the talent in this school

from jin:

[01:29] @ yoongi you've inspired a renaissance
[01:29] a gay renaissance
[01:29] the gay-naissance if you will

from yoongi:

[01:29] i regret nothing

Taehyung ignored it all, staring at his conversation with _re:quiet.

[01:30] hey
[01:30] sure u don't want to talk about it?

[01:31] no taehyung

The use of his name hit differently. More distant. More final.

He hated being cut off. He took a deep breath.

[01:32] what can i do to make u feel better?

No response. The group chat kept buzzing.

Taehyung's hands shook slightly as he waited for re:quiet to respond. The bathroom felt too quiet, too empty. Even the wheeze of the fan seemed muted.

Then, finally:

[01:35] where are u right now?

A shiver ran down his spine. Something in the question felt different.

Did they want to meet him? Was this it - the moment when re:quiet finally revealed themselves?

[01:36] in the showers
[01:36] in the dorms

[01:37] are u alone?

His breath caught. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

[01:37] yes

[01:37] are u dressed?

He stared hard at the screen, as if he could read between the lines, catch some hidden detail that would reveal the other’s true intentions. Then he begun to type.

[01:38] no

A long pause. So long that Taehyung started to wonder if he'd said something wrong, if he'd misread the situation entirely.

[01:40] send me a picture

The request caught him completely off guard. He blinked at his phone, reading the message twice to make sure he understood correctly.

[01:40] what?
[01:40] of what?

[01:40] of u

He glanced at himself in the mirror: hair still damp and messy, water droplets catching the harsh fluorescent light on his chest and shoulders. The threadbare towel hung on his hips, and steam still clung to the edges of the frame.

On impulse, he angled his phone toward the mirror and snapped a picture, capturing his reflection with his face partially obscured by the angle and his wet hair falling across his forehead.

[01:41] [image]

Silence.

Heat flashed through Taehyung's body, unexpected, intense. He leaned back against the tile wall, phone gripped tight in his suddenly sweaty palm.

[01:42] another picture
[01:42] lose the towel this time

The demand sent a thrill through him, dangerous and electric. He was playing with fire, he knew that. But something about the night, about the steam and the solitude and the way _re:quiet's words made his skin burn.

[01:42] greedy
[01:42] what makes u think u deserve that?

[01:43] because u owe me
[01:43] after disappearing last night

There was a game being played here, he could sense it. The sudden shift from melancholy to demanding, the way _re:quiet had turned his concern into debt.

Fine. If they wanted to play games, if they wanted to keep things surface-level while he bled his secrets into the digital void, he could play too.

[01:43] show me what i'm missing

His fingers trembled as he adjusted his grip. The anonymous safety of their connection made him bold in ways he'd never been before.

He stared at the screen, chest rising and falling in shallow waves. The steam was starting to fade, leaving behind a chill that clashed with the heat simmering under his skin.

His thumb hovered. Then he adjusted the camera again, this time closer, tighter. The towel clinging loose to his hips. His face wasn’t visible, just the curve of his neck, the shadow of his jaw.
He took the shot and sent it without hesitation.

[01:44] [image]

Then stillness.

No reply.

The silence scraped against his nerves.

Taehyung set the phone down on the edge of the sink and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the cool porcelain. His reflection looked unfamiliar: flushed, damp, eyes too bright. He hated how badly he wanted an answer. He hated the part of himself that needed to feel wanted this way, even if it was anonymous.

Especially because it was.

He swallowed. His heart ached, tangled in the thrill.

He waited, his phone heavy in his hand now. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the distant hum of the building's heating system and the occasional creak of pipes in the walls. He reached for his clothes, pulling on boxers and sweatpants with mechanical movements.

The mirror had started to clear, revealing his reflection more starkly. His hair was still damp, sticking to his forehead in uneven strands. He ran his fingers through it, trying to create some semblance of order, but it fell back into the same messy pattern.

Still no response.

He grabbed his towel and rubbed it roughly through his hair, the friction creating enough heat to chase away some of the chill creeping across his skin.

His phone remained silent.

Taehyung pulled on his hoodie, like an armor. He gathered his toiletries, shoving them into his shower caddy with more force than necessary. The plastic bottles clattered together, the sound echoing off the tiles.

He picked up his phone again. The screen showed no new notifications.

He was angry now.

[01:52] are u there?

The message sat delivered but unread. Taehyung stared at it for a long moment, then locked his phone and shoved it into his pocket.

He was halfway to the door when it buzzed.

He yanked the phone out so quickly he nearly dropped it. The notification made his breath catch.

[01:54] yeah
[01:54] i was touching myself

He stopped dead in the middle of the bathroom, his shower caddy forgotten in his other hand. He read the message again, then again, his pulse hammering in his throat.

[01:54] goodnight

And then, like a ghost dissolving into morning, re:quiet went offline.

He stood there in the empty bathroom, his phone burning in his palm: his anon was gone, leaving him alone with the weight of those words and the desire they'd carved into his chest.

i was touching myself

His skin felt too tight, now, every nerve ending alive with the phantom heat of their confession. But underneath the desire, something else was crystallizing: this was payback.

Last night, he'd been the one to pull away, to leave re:quiet hanging with heated words and promises. He'd abandoned them right at the edge, claimed he needed to go, left them aching and alone.

And now they had done the same thing to him.

Fuck.

The symmetry was perfect, cruel, and absolutely devastating. They'd taken his own move and thrown it back at him, with interest. Left him standing in an empty bathroom with his heart racing and his mind spinning.

His knees felt weak.

He stumbled toward the door, shower caddy banging against his hip, mind reeling with the implications. They had studied him, learned his patterns, his weaknesses. They knew exactly what buttons to push and when to walk away.

goodnight

The dismissal after such an intimate confession was masterful. Taehyung almost had to admire it, even as it made him ache with frustrated want.

He made it to his room in a haze, barely aware of his feet carrying him down the hallway. He fumbled with his key and practically fell through the door.

The room was dark, Jimin already asleep. He moved as quietly as possible, setting down his shower caddy and collapsing onto his bed fully clothed.

He pulled out his phone again, staring at the conversation thread.

The words were still there, still real, still burning a hole. But now he could see the strategy behind them, the careful orchestration of his downfall.

Well played, he thought. Well fucking played.

He buried his face in his pillow, trying to pretend his heart wasn't racing like he'd just run a marathon.

He realized he'd completely forgotten about Yoongi's fanfic. The comments section analyzing his body language, the three-hour Spotify playlist, the detailed discussions about his hypothetical sex life with Jeon. None of it mattered anymore.

Right now, in this moment, all of that felt distant and unimportant.

A slow smile spread across his face, the kind that belonged to someone with a huge crush.

The kind that made even the most irritating things feel like gifts, because they were connected to the person who'd captured his attention so completely.

Sleep, when it finally came, was full of faceless figures and whispered confessions and the phantom touch of hands that knew exactly how to hurt him in the most exquisite ways possible.

*

Contemporary Dance’s Class was held in the largest studio on the third floor, where floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected every movement back at them.

Ms. Chung stood at the front of the room, her caramel-colored hair swept back in a sleek ponytail, wearing loose-fitting pants and a draped top that moved with every gesture. Her expression suggested she'd rather be a dancer in a great company than teaching college students in that place.

“Can't Get You Out of My Head," she announced, her Korean accent giving the English words a crisp quality. "Kylie Minogue, pure European pop perfection."

Taehyung rolled his eyes as the familiar synth beats filled the studio. Ms. Chung had an inexplicable obsession with early 2000s European pop hits, as if she was personally responsible for preserving the cultural heritage of millennium dance floors. But as the lyrics started, he had to admit the title was annoyingly appropriate for his current mental state.

I just can't get you out of my head...

The irony wasn't lost on him. Between re:quiet's confessions, bYoongi's fanfiction disaster and Gong’s sadic exercise, his brain felt like it was trapped in an endless loop of people he couldn't stop thinking about.

"Formation!" Ms. Chung clapped her hands sharply. "Jungkook, center. Everyone else, create a semicircle around him."

The choreography they learned was fluid, sensual in that way contemporary always managed to. They moved like water around Jeon's solid presence, arms reaching and pulling back, bodies curving synchronized. Taehyung watched himself in the mirror, his movements sharp and precise.

Your loving is all I think about...

The music pulsed through the floorboards, and Taehyung let himself get lost in the rhythm. This was what he loved about dance: the way it could consume everything else, make the world narrow down to just movement and music and the burn in his muscles.

For forty-five minutes, he didn't have to think about toxic lover scenes or anonymous sexts or the fact that half the student body was apparently invested in his sex life.

"Beautiful lines, Taehyung!" Ms. Chung called out, and he felt a flash of pride cut through his morning haze. "More emotion in the reaching sequence. This is about attraction. Make me believe you can't live without it!"

Easy enough. He threw himself into the movements with renewed intensity, letting the frustration and want he'd been carrying bleed into every extension, every turn.

"Everybody, feel the obsession!" she called out as the music pulsed through the studio. "This isn't just dancing! You can't stop, you can't resist! C’mon!"

Taehyung moved through the sequence, his body finding the rhythm even as his mind rebelled against the metaphor. Beside him, Jimin was fully committed to the performance, his movements marvelous. Hobi flowed like liquid mercury.

But it was Jeon who commanded the space, drawing every eye whether they wanted to look or not. His interpretation of the choreography was magnetic, all controlled power and restrained intensity.

He found himself watching, caught in the gravitational pull of his movement. The way he inhabited the music, made it his own, turned a cheesy pop song into something that felt necessary.

Fuck.

The realization hit him mid-turn: he was staring. Actually staring, his body moving on autopilot while his eyes tracked Jeon's every gesture. He forced himself to look away, focusing on his own reflection instead. But the mirror was a traitor - it showed him everything, including the way Jungkook's eyes briefly met his before darting away with suspicious speed.

The music built to its climax, and they moved through the final sequence - a spiraling pattern that brought them all close together before spinning them apart. For one moment, Taehyung found himself directly behind Jeon, close enough to catch the scent of his expensive shampoo, close enough to see the tension in his body.

Then the song ended, and they froze in their final positions, breathing hard in the sudden silence. The sweat was dripping down his spine and his chest was heaving with exertion. The endorphin high was kicking in, that familiar rush that made everything feel possible, electric.

"Cool down," Ms. Chung instructed clapping her hands, and they transitioned into their stretching routine.

Taehyung dropped into a deep forward fold, his hands flat on the floor, feeling the satisfying pull along his hamstrings. This was his favorite part: the slow return to earth, muscles still singing with the memory of movement.

He was adjusting his position when he caught Jimin's eye in the mirror. His friend was smirking, one eyebrow raised in that way that meant he'd noticed something Taehyung probably didn't want him to notice.

"What?" He whispered, not lifting his head from the stretch.

Taehyung's eyes snapped up to meet Jimin's in the mirror, and he saw his friend's gaze flick meaningfully behind him. Following the direction, he caught sight of Jeon in his peripheral vision, and realized with dawning horror that from this angle, in this position, actually...

…the fucker had been staring directly at his ass.

Two years of best friend telepathy meant Taehyung understood immediately. He straightened just enough to turn his head, catching Jeon's eyes at the exact moment the other student realized he'd been caught. The other’s gaze dropped instantly, his face suddenly very interested in stretching his own hamstrings.

"Pervert," he whispered, just loud enough for Jimin to hear.

“Told you he stares! You never believe me.” His friend was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

"Shut up," Taehyung’s voice strained as he aggressively stretched his quads.

Ms. Chung clapped her hands, signaling the end of class. "Excellent work today, everyone. Remember, emotion is everything in contemporary. Technical perfection means nothing if you're not feeling it here." She tapped her chest. "Class dismissed."

The endorphin high was still coursing through his system as students began gathering their things. His body felt loose, energized, ready for whatever came next.

He was riding that wave of post-workout bliss, his muscles still humming with satisfaction, when he headed for the exit. Yesterday's frustrations felt distant, manageable. This was exactly what he'd needed: movement, music, the reminder that his body could do beautiful things, not just beating people.

The feeling carried him all the way to the studio door, where his good mood came to a screeching halt.

Jeon was waiting by the exit, clearly having rushed to get there first. His dance bag was slung over his shoulder, and there was something determined in his posture that made Taehyung's stomach drop.

Of course. Because apparently the universe wasn't done with him yet, right?

He tried to walk past without acknowledging his presence, shoulder-checking him with deliberate force as he pushed through the doorway. But the other student recovered quickly, falling into step beside him with that infuriating persistence.

"Kim."

He kept walking, his euphoric mood souring.

"We need to talk about the assignment."

"Pretty sure we covered that topic already." Taehyung's voice was flat, dismissive. He didn't slow his pace, hoping to lose Jeon in the maze of corridors.

But Jungkook's jaw tightened and he matched Taehyung's stride effortlessly.

"Look, this assignment is worth fifty percent of our first trimester grade."

Taehyung's steps faltered slightly. Fifty percent. Fuck.

"So?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his stomach dropped.

"So we need to figure out how to make this work." Jungkook's voice was clipped, professional. "We need to work like everyone else."

He scoffed, not bothering to hide his disdain. They'd reached the main corridor now, students streaming past them in both directions. Taehyung was acutely aware of the curious glances, the way conversations seemed to pause as they passed.

The fanfiction had definitely made rounds.

Fuckin Yoongi.

"We can just improvise it," he muttered. "Two weeks from now, straight on stage. Shouldn't be that hard, we're already great at fighting."

Jeon stopped walking for half a second. "I don't improvise when I act," he snapped.

Taehyung barked a short, humorless laugh. "Well, that's gonna be a problem for you, then. I only care about my grade, I don’t give a fuck about yours."

The other's voice dropped. "If I fail, you fail. That's the whole point. It's a scene partnership."

He didn't reply. He kept walking, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, fists curled at his sides. The anger was crawling up his throat, coiling hot and ugly behind his ribs.

He wanted to punch something.

Jeon. Gong. All those squealing first-years who were following at a distance, watching them with wide eyes and stupid smiles, whispering like this was some kind of fanservice.

His chest heaved as he stormed forward, the remnants of his post-dance high now fully replaced by a boiling need to destroy something.

"Look, you pretentious asshole," Taehyung finally snarled, whirling around to face him. "I work the evenings, so we meet tomorrow morning or we don't meet at all. And trust me, I'd prefer the latter."

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. His eyes widened, more in shock than offense. For a split second, his expression was completely unguarded - eyebrows raised, mouth parted, breath stalled mid-sentence.

Then his jaw clenched, like he was snapping something back into place.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, his own anger barely contained. "Tomorrow morning. What time?"

"Nine AM." Taehyung's voice was ice-cold venom. "Library, first floor. I will find you. Don't fucking waste my time."

Jungkook's jaw twitched, but he kept his gaze high. "Don’t worry, Kim. Some of us can actually handle pressure."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension crackling between them like electricity.

Finally, Taehyung turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jeon standing alone in the corridor. But he could feel those dark eyes burning into his back until he disappeared around the corner.

*

Taehyung sat cross-legged on Yoongi's bed, a family-sized bag of salt and vinegar chips balanced on his lap, watching with predatory satisfaction as the other hunched over his laptop.

"Delete it," he commanded around a mouthful of chips, pointing a greasy finger at the screen. "All of it. Every single word of that literary abortion you inflicted on the world."

Yoongi's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his expression the picture of wounded dignity. "This is artistic suppression," he said in his characteristic deadpan tone. "This is violence against creative expression."

"It's violence against my sanity," Taehyung shot back, crunching another chip with vindictive pleasure. "Do you have any idea what I've been through because of you? People are analyzing my chopstick technique for sexual subtext now."

From the other bed, Jimin and Hobi were laughing.

"The comments section," his roommate gasped between breaths, "someone wrote a whole thesis about your 'bratty bottom energy' based on how you eat breakfast."

"I'm going to murder all of you," Taehyung declared, but his threat was somewhat undermined by the fact that he was methodically working his way through the chip bag like it was his job.

His phone buzzed against his thigh. Taehyung glanced at it, and his heart did that stupid little skip.

From re:quiet:

[17:15] hey
[17:15] what r u doing?

He smiled.

Things between them had returned to a kind of normal, even if re:quiet had admitted they were going through a difficult few days. Last night’s revenge had left a bittersweet aftertaste, but there had been no retaliation, no fallout. That morning, his anon had messaged him as calmly as if nothing had happened at all.

Even in that, they were completely unpredictable.

Yoongi turned in his chair, regarding Taehyung with the expression of a martyred saint. "You're destroying art. This story has 347 likes and 672 comments. It's bringing people joy."

"It's bringing me homicidal thoughts," he retorted, throwing a chip at him.

He was typing back now, while Yoongi continued his dramatic monologue about artistic integrity.

[17:16] currently threatening my friends
[17:16] the usual friday activities

[17:16] sounds productive
[17:16] what did they do this time?

[17:17] yoongi wrote a fanfiction about me
[17:17] and it’s going viral
[17:17] i'm having a mental breakdown

[17:17] LMAO
[17:17] what kind of fanfiction?
[17:17] please tell me it's not a romance with him

[17:18] WORSE
[17:18] enemies to lovers
[17:18] with jeon
[17:18] explicit content
[17:18] the whole nine yards

[17:18] WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????????????

Yoongi stared at Taehyung for a long moment, “Why are you smiling? You're committing a crime against literature and you’re smiling."

"Bold of you to call it literature, fucker," Taehyung muttered. His phone buzzing costantly, now.

[17:18] i need to read this immediately
[17:18] RIGHT NOW

The rapid-fire responses made Taehyung snort with laughter despite himself.

[17:19] absolutely not
[17:19] i'm making him delete it as we speak

[17:19] NO
[17:19] you can't delete it
[17:19] PLEASE
[17:19] taehyung

The desperation in their messages was actually endearing. He found himself hesitating, smiling, remembering they were having rough days. Perhaps he could finally repay him for their support in his days of suspension. The idea warmed him.

[17:19] why do u even want to read it?
[17:20] it's trash

[17:20] enemies to lovers is my weakness
[17:20] i need a good story rn

Taehyung glanced up at Yoongi, who was still hovering over the delete button with theatrical reluctance.

"Wait," he said suddenly.

His friend turned in his chair, eyebrows raised. "Are you reconsidering? Finally seeing the artistic merit of my work?"

"Just... give me a second," Taehyung said, turning back to his phone.

“Why? I was going to delet-”

“What the fuck, you had it written there for five days, can you wait one fucking second?” he spat.

Jimin and Hobi giggling on the opposite bad. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

[17:22] u’ve been having a rough time lately
[17:22] i guess if u really want to read it
[17:22] i could make u a pdf file
[17:22] but this is an exception

[17:22] YES
[17:23] thank u thank u thank u

Despite everything, he found himself smiling. He quickly downloaded the ENTIRE WORK pdf file and sent it over.

[17:25] [pdf]
[17:25] there

[17:25] u're the best

"What's happening?" Hobi asked, watching Taehyung's face cycle through various emotions.

"Nothing," he said firmly. Then he leaned to Yoongi laptop. Its screen showed "Hate Me Harder" in all its glory - the dramatic cover art someone had made featuring two silhouettes in what could generously be called a "passionate embrace," the comment count that had somehow climbed to 695.

"Jesus Christ," Taehyung breathed, staring at the numbers. "How many people go to this school?"

"It has gone much further. Apparently people read only gay fanfiction now," Hobi observed cheerfully.

“Great, now delete it.”

Yoongi's finger hovered over the delete button. "Last chance to reconsider. This is a masterpiece of enemies-to-lovers liter-"

"DELETE IT, NOW."

Yoongi protested, but his finger moved to click the delete it.

The screen flashed, and "Hate Me Harder" vanished into the digital void.

"There," Yoongi said, turning back to face Taehyung with the expression of a man who'd just sacrificed his firstborn. "Are you happy? You've destroyed my greatest work."

"Your greatest work was that beat you made sophomore year," he said, finally looking satisfied. "This was just public humiliation with a plot."

Jimin, who had finally managed to control his laughter, sat up on the bed. "You know people probably screenshotted it, right? It's definitely saved on someone's phone."

Taehyung's face went pale. "Don't."

"I'm just saying, the internet is forever-"

He was interrupted by the distinctive buzz of the group chat notification. All four phones in the room lit up simultaneously.

🛡️ BANGTAN SONYEONDAN 🛡️:

from jin:

[17:27] who the fuck deleted the fanfiction???
[17:27] i was in the middle of reading it to my coworkers

"The entire office was invested." Jimin read from his phone, grinning.

"I’m moving to a cave in the mountains where no one has ever heard of fanfictions." Taehyung announced, flopping backward on Yoongi's bed and covering his face with his hands.

"But then how will you do your toxic lovers scene with Jeon?" Hobi asked innocently.

Taehyung's muffled scream of rage was audible even through his hands and the pillow he'd grabbed to smother himself with.

Yoongi turned back to his laptop with a satisfied smirk. "You know," he said conversationally, "I think I still have the draft saved in my documents folder."

The pillow flew across the room with deadly accuracy, but Yoongi dodged it easily, his laughter finally breaking through his usual stoic facade.

"I hate all of you," came Taehyung's voice, muffled by his hands. "I hate this school, I hate Jeon, I hate fanfiction, and I hate the fact that somewhere out there has opinions about my sex life."

"Don't worry," Jimin said, patting his leg consolingly. "I'm sure it'll all blow over."

"Right," Hobi agreed. "By tomorrow, everyone will have moved on to some other scandal."

Yoongi's phone started ringing. The caller ID clearly made his blood run cold: Hwasa.

"Oh, shit," he whispered.

"Answer it," Jimin said with interest.

Yoongi clearly hesitated, then swiped to accept the call. Before he could even say hello, Hwasa's voice exploded through the speaker.

"YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARD!"

The volume was so loud that all four boys jumped. Yoongi held the phone away from his ear, his face paling even more than usual.

"I can explain-"

"EXPLAIN WHAT?"

In the background, they could hear another voice equally enraged.

"We were reading chapter two!" Moonbyul yelled. "We had wine! We had snacks! We were having a WHOLE EVENING!"

"It was getting to the mirror scene!" Hwasa continued.

Jimin was now laughing so hard he was completely silent, just vibrating with mirth. Hobi had his hand over his mouth.

"The way you wrote the hand-holding scene," Moonbyul added, "it was like poetry. POETRY, YOON!"

The writer straightened slightly, looking pleased despite himself. "Well, I did work particularly hard on the metaphorical structure-"

"SHUT UUUUUUP!" Hwasa screamed.

Taehyung buried his face in his hands. "This is my worst nightmare."

"YOUR worst nightmare?" Hwasa scoffed. "What about OUR worst nightmare? We're stuck with reality now. Boring, unsexy reality."

"OKAY!" He shouted. "That's enough! This whole thing is OVER, you fuckin psychopaths!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Hwasa's voice, dangerously quiet:

"Taehyung… Yoongi better write a sequel, or I'm coming for your throath."

The line went dead.

The room was silent for a long moment, then Jimin absolutely lost it, falling off the bed. Hobi was laughing, clutching his stomach. Even Yoongi was smiling, giggling, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Well," Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair, "looks like I'm writing a sequel."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT," Taehyung shouted, launching himself at the laptop again.

"Too late," Yoongi grinned, already typing. "Chapter One: The Library Incident."

"Yoongi, yes," Hobi gasped. "This is the best day of my life."

Taehyung threw himself face-first onto Yoongi's bed, screaming into the pillow while his friends laughed around him.

Just then, his phone buzzed with a message notification.

From re:quiet:

[17:45] HOLY SHIT
[17:45] taehyung

He typed back quickly, his friends' laughter fading into background noise.

[17:45] you read it?

[17:46] that scene where jeon goes down on u
[17:46] and scratch your balls with his teeth as punishment
[17:46] AAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH

His face went completely red. He was officially collapsing.

"YOONGI!" Taehyung suddenly screamed, making all three of his friends jump. "YOU WROTE A SCENE WHERE JEON BITES MY BALLS?!"

Yoongi blinked at him slowly. "Wait," he turned fully in his chair, his expression shifting from confusion to outrage. "You made me DELETE it and you hadn't even READ the whole thing?!"

"I didn't NEED to read the whole thing!"

Jimin started giggling. "Tae, believe me... he really wrote about Jeon biting your-"

"DON'T SAY IT!"

"How can you critique something you haven't even consumed in its entirety?" Yoongi had his arms wide now, confused. Outraged.

"Because I didn't want to read about Jeon's anywhere near my-"

"GENITALS!" Jimin shouted.

"But it was beautifully written," Yoongi continued, completely ignoring the chaos. "The metaphorical structure, the emotional depth, the way I portrayed the power dynamics-"

"You portrayed his TEETH on my BALLS, Yoongi!"

"It was a punishment scene! It was about trust and vulnerability and-"

"NOPE!" Taehyung clapped his hands over his ears. "Not happening! This conversation is over! You're all psychopaths," he declared, voice echoing off the dorm walls. His phone was still buzzing on the bed - probably more messages from re:quiet - but he was far too emotionally scarred to look at them right now.

"I'm surrounded by absolute psychopaths," he repeated, but this time the words were drowned out by his own laughter, loud, full-bodied, uncontrollable. The kind that made his ribs ache and his cheeks burn, not from embarrassment, but from joy.

“I'll get revenge, I swear, you fuckin basterds, I'll get rev-” but he couldn't finish his sentence, because all three of his friends jumped on him, laughing, and slapping him sympathetically.

*

To _re:quiet:

[09:07] i have to meet with the asshole
[09:07] wish me luck

[09:08] sure
[09:08] good luck with jeon
[09:08] looks like a biter

Taehyung shook his head. Sending that pdf was a fuckin mistake.

[09:08] damn me
[09:08] i swear
[09:08] next time i go soft on u

[09:09] what?
[09:09] not into teeth?
[09:10] could’ve fooled me after that pic in the bathroom

He exhaled through his nose, half-annoyed, half-flushed. He glanced around the empty hallway like someone might be reading over his shoulder.

[09:10] i sent that in a moment of weakness
[09:10] u should be legally obligated to delete it

[09:10] too late
[09:10] it lives in my mind

He pressed his knuckles against his lips, torn between smiling and groaning.

[09:11] this is harassment
[09:11] i should block u

[09:12] u won’t
[09:12] u like me

His fingers hesitated.

[09:13] i should go now

[09:13] brave lad
[09:13] text me if jeon bites for real

Taehyung scoffed under his breath as he pushed open the studio door, letting it creak longer than necessary, just to make a point.

He’d deliberately arrived fifteen minutes late, fueled by stubbornness and a petty desire to irritate.

Jeon was already there, of course, seated with that insufferable perfect posture. His materials spread out across the table like a battlefield he'd already won. Pens, highlighters, some written papers and a thick notebook with a dark navy cover decorated with constellation. Gold foil stars scattered across the surface like someone had mapped the night sky onto that expensive paper.

Pretentious fuck, Taehyung thought, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt.

The sight of him sitting there, calm and collected after what he'd said, after what he'd done, made something violent twist in his body.

"You're late," Jeon said without looking up, flipping a page. His voice was low, clipped. Controlled in that infuriating way that made Taehyung want to reach him and-

"And you're still here," he replied, dropping his bag onto the table with enough force to make everything jump, “too bad.”

He felt a savage satisfaction when Jungkook's jaw twitched, when those cold eyes finally lifted to meet his.

Good.

Let him remember what happened Sunday. Let him remember how close he'd come to getting his fucking face rearranged.

"Yeah... unfortunately," Jeon's eyes were unreadable, but Taehyung caught the slight tension in his shoulders. He was nervous.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut, but he fed off it. He slouched into his chair with deliberate force, eyes scanning the mess of notes, sketches, and timelines. The effort was obvious. Intentional. Show-offy.

"What's this shit?" he said finally, voice dripping with disdain.

Jeon leaned back, expression glacial. "This shit is structure. Something you clearly have no concept of."

Taehyung's mouth twisted into a keen smile. "Structure's just another word for scared to take risks."

"And taking risks is just another way of saying 'I'm too lazy to do the work.'" Jungkook's tone was surgical, but his knuckles were white where they gripped his pen. "But by all means, if you'd rather wing it with the emotional range of a wet sock, I can adjust."

Taeyung tilted his head, studying him. But there was a clear threat in his eyes.

Jungkook seemed to catch it, because his voice shifted to something more neutral, though no less condescending. "That’s what I tought. Well…” He adjusts his position in the chair. “I'll show you what I've been thinking about.”

He slid his notebook to Taehyung.

“We have two characters, let's call them A and B for now. They could have been together for years. Maybe two, three... And then, what started as intense passion has curdled into something destructive."

Taehyung didn't respond right away. He leaned forward slowly, looking at the notebook at a calculated distance, like it might burn him. His eyes moved indifferently over the handwritten lines: neat, structured, disgustingly well-thought-out. Of course it was.

"That’s all banal shit. What would your actual contribution be in all this?" Taehyung's voice was mocking, cruel.

They stared at each other across the table, the constellation notebook between them like a no-man's land. He could feel the rage simmering just beneath his skin, could feel how easy it would be to reach across and-

"Actually, I have questions," Jeon said finally, his voice hiding his rage.

"I'm sure you do."

The other flinched, confused, and Taehyung felt a dark satisfaction at the reaction.

"What kind of toxicity do we want to explore? Jealousy? Control? Emotional manipulation?" He tilted his head. "There are different flavors of poison."

"Oh, I think you're the expert," Taehyung said, his voice low, deadly. "You certainly know how to use your words like weapons."

Jungkook's face went still, and for a moment, he thought he might actually break - he could almost feel his satisfaction rising. But then those eyes hardened again, and he continued, tapping one of the bullet points with the end of his pen with forced steadiness.

"And we need to decide if the toxicity is mutual. Are they both drowning, or is one pulling the other under?"

He didn’t answer.

He kept his gaze locked on Jungkook's face, watching the way the other boy's composure cracked just a little more.

The other clicked his pen, once, twice, the sound sharp in the silence. "So..." His tone was maddeningly composed, but there was an edge to it now.

He hated how Jeon was still trying to maintain control, how he was pretending like nothing had happened.

“What about co-dependency?” Taehyung said at last, his voice low. “The kind that rots slowly, that looks like love from the outside, but underneath, they’re both drowning. The kind where people think they know how to use each other's weak spots.”

He leaned back, spine hitting the plastic chair with a dull thud, eyes never leaving Jungkook's face.

Jeon's fingers stopped tapping, and he could see the way his breathing had quickened.

"We can start with that," he said finally. "But it might be complicated."

"Why?" His voice was mocking. "Afraid you can't handle it?"

"Because,” Jungkook replied, his tone trying to be analytical but failing, “we only have a few minutes of stage time. And we have to show both sides clearly. The toxicity, the co-dependence... it has to come through for both characters."

He hated that Jeon was right, but he hated even more that the bastard was still trying to act professional.

The other was flipping to a clean page in his notebook. "Let's start with this, then," he said. "And see where it leads."

He began jotting notes, pen moving with quick strokes. After a moment, he looked up, stopping.

"Aren't you going to… write anything?"

"I don't work like that," Taehyung replied with cold sufficiency.

"How do you work?" Jungkook’s eyes were curious, but wary now.

He snorted. "I improvise. I work with what's real, not some fantasy you've written in your papers.”

"This isn't improv night, Kim. This is a graded assignment that could determine our final marks."

"And you think your little constellation notebook is going to save us?" His voice dripped with venom.

Jeon sighed. "Structure isn't the enemy, here. It's what will make this possible. We need a framework, a script-"

"We'll need authenticity. Something raw. Something that doesn't sound like it came from a screenwriting manual."

"Right, your method worked so well last Sunday-" Jungkook caught himself, the words dying in his throat. He dropped his gaze back to his notebook, pen moving frantically across the page as if he could write himself out of what he'd just said. His breathing had quickened, barely perceptible.

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, legs spread, arms crossed, his hard gaze all over Jeon.

The silence was suffocating. The other was still writing.

He was ready to blow everything up: Jeon, the hall, the library, the exercise.

But then something made him pause.

The way Jungkook gripped his pen - tight, almost desperate. His fingers curled awkwardly around it, more like a child than someone in control. The motion was tense, but careful.

And suddenly, uninvited, a memory pushed its way forward.

The audition hall, packed and humming with nerves.

A boy, all alone and making himself small, sitting on the ground in a corner. Oversized headphones hanging around his neck, eyes wide and glassy, too still in a room full of movement. He was drawing something on a notebook, his grip on the pen too tight, unnatural, shaky, like that of a child who is still learning to write.

His eyes were so big, like a fawn's when it sees a car's headlights, the sweetest expression on that face, vulnerable and unguarded… He seemed very alone, defenseless.

Taehyung had the urgency to sit with him.

It's why his feet had moved, drawn straight to the boy.

"Hey!" His voice had echoed with all the ease and charisma that came naturally to him.

The boy had jolted, nearly fumbling his notebook.

Taehyung had dropped down beside him on the floor without invitation. "I'm so nervous, if I don't sit down, I'll faint. Do you mind?"

The other had blinked at him, uncertain, almost scared, his eyes even bigger. And then-

"N-No!" And he'd smiled. Soft, insecure, discreet. "I-I'm nervous too."

That version of Jungkook felt like it belonged to another world. A quieter one. A better one. And for a moment - just a breath - Taehyung could feel the ghost of it again, in that pen grip. In that low gaze. In his wanting to be small, invisible.

But all that was in the past, before everything went wrong, before Jeon decided to show his true colors.

The memory only made him angrier.

When he looked up, the other was already watching him: something strange in his expression. As if he'd seen the same memory playing behind his own eyes.

Taehyung's glare hardened, then, the brief moment of softness disappearing completely.

"You get lucky this is theatre, Jeon," he said coldly. "Anywhere else, I wouldn't need a script to ruin you."

But Jungkook was already looking back down at his notebook, and this time across his face spread the shadow of a bitter smile.

Chapter Text

From _re:quiet:

[15:11] if i see one more motivational quote on the pinboard
[15:11] i'm setting the student council on fire
[15:11] u in?

Taehyung stifled a laugh.

He sat cross-legged beside Jimin who was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. The Sunday afternoon sun filtered through the trees in dappled patterns across the blanket they'd spread on the grass.

“I’m still not over last night.”

Taehyung didn’t answer. He was half-smiling at his phone, thumbs moving lazily across the screen.

[15:13] only if i get to light the match
[15:13] we go down together, bonnie

His friend groaned. “Hobi dragged me out with Yoongi. That rooftop thing near the music building. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” His mouth twitched. He hadn’t been there: he was taking orders, clearing tables, watching hours pass. “How’d that go?”

“Well,” the other said bitterly, “I thought it was going great. I started talking to this girl, cute, pink dress, laughed at all my jokes. We vibed… I even offered her my jacket when it got cold!”

Taehyung whistled. “A gentleman.”

“I am! And then, thirty minutes later – thirty - I look over and she was literally making out with Jeon.”

He scoffed. “Classic.”

Jimin threw an arm over his eyes again, wounded. “It wasn’t even subtle. She had both hands in his hair. Both. Like she was trying to…” He tried to mimic the gesture, dramatically, “…scalp him.”

“Jeez…”

“And the joke is that that asshole could have anyone. And go get the only girl I've had interaction with!”

His phone buzzed.

“And me??? Tragically single! God, I hate this fuckin academy.”

[15:14] bonnie? right
[15:14] ur totally the clyde
[15:14] drama king

He huffed through his nose, grinning.

Jimin cracked one eye open and glared up. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure. It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that Jeon is a fucker."

The other pushed himself up on one elbow. "Speaking of which… when are you two planning to meet again?"

Without waiting for an answer, Jimin leaned toward him and began making exaggerated kissy noises. “Muah, muah!” he crooned, fluttering his eyelashes in mock swoon.

“In an hour,” he replied disgusted, eyes flicking back to his phone as he began typing, thumb moving quickly.

[15:16] pls light the fire before 4 pm
[15:16] meeting jeon today
[15:16] i want to go out in style

Almost immediately, the reply came in:

[15:17] noted
[15:17] will bring gasoline and a fog machine for dramatic effect
[15:17] any song requests for ur final scene?

Taehyung bit back a smile:

[15:17] “clint eastwood” by gorillaz
[15:17] i’ll wear my sunglasses
[15:18] cigarette in mouth

Across from him, Jimin squinted.

[15:18] careful
[15:18] with that look u’ll kill jeon on sight
[15:18] i’ll have to rescue u before he traps u and goes for the full bite

He snorted aloud, earning another glance from his friend.

He typed back:

[15:19] the second he bites
[15:19] i’m detonating like a kamikaze
[15:19] take him down with me
[15:19] no regrets

[15:20] poetic
[15:20] truly the ending u 2 deserve

“You know… I stopped texting Yeji." The other said.

That got Taehyung's attention. "Really?"

"Yeah, like, completely.” Jimin picked at the grass beside the blanket.  “Haven't messaged her in 48 hours."

He scoffed, “Wow, the commitment…”

But the other didn’t laugh. He plucked another blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. “I thought maybe if I stopped reaching out, she’d notice, say something first...”

“Has she?”

His friend let the grass fall from his hand. “Nope.”

The silence was weighted.

“I don’t even think I liked her that much,” Jimin added, voice quiet now. “I think I just liked... the idea of winning her, but Yugyeom was faster, better.”

Taehyung looked at him, then.

“Seulgi moved on.” The other sighed, heavily. He glared at two boys playing frisbee in the distance. “And she was fully entitled to do that…”

“…but?”

Jimin gave a crooked smile. “But I want to be happy, too. With someone, I mean.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that...”

They sat like that for a while, Taehyung watching him. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

It was one of those quiet truths that lived between them and their other friends, none of them ever really talked about it - not directly - but it was there. That constant, low ache of not having someone. Of watching other people fall in love like it was easy, while they stayed stuck in the waiting room.

Jimin huffed a breath. “Okay, this is getting way too emotional. Say something bitchy before I start crying.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Your shirt makes you look like a granpa.”

“You asshole.” 

[15:24] btw
[15:24] the nutbiter™ has this ridiculously nice notebook
[15:24] hard cover
[15:24] deep blue
[15:24] gold stars all over it
[15:24] kinda your aesthetic

The reply came fast:

[15:25] beautiful

He smirked. He watched the conversation for a moment, then bit his lip and smiled.

Let's see if this works.

[15:25] i could just steal it for u
[15:25] but that means
[15:25] i’d have to give it to u in person

A longer pause.
With bated breath, he gazed at the screen, as if anticipating the words he sought.

Then:

[15:27] tempting
[15:27] but i already have one just like that
[15:28] lucky me

He stared for a moment, tongue pushing into his cheek.

Not a no.
But definitely not a yes.

He looked away and suddenly the thought of handing over that notebook felt a lot less playful and a lot more pathetic.

And there it is. That ache.

The truth was, not everyone here was like those jerks in Jeon’s circle. The kind of people who moved through life like everything belonged to them by default. Like connection was just a given, not something you had to earn or hold onto carefully with both hands.

People like Taehyung and Jimin, and their other friends, were different.
Sometimes it felt like they were on the outside looking in, watching others live something real while they were living in the margins.

They constantly clung to fragments: usernames, screens, late-night texts, quick and meaningless approaches... For them, fantasy had to be enough: the idea of actual connection, the daydream of it.

It had happened already so many times to him, the flicker of something that almost.

Almost seen. Almost close. Almost wanted.

And the "almost" was worse than being alone.

Because now Taehyung was starting to wonder if even re:quiet didn’t want to meet.

And that thought - that maybe the only person who had seen him, really seen him, still preferred to stay hidden - dug in deeper than he liked to admit.

At some point, they’d have to put faces to words, skin to all this aching intent.

Otherwise, what was the point? You can’t fall in love with a username.

Not really.

…right?

The silence around him registered a beat later. He looked at his side and found Jimin watching him flat on his side now, one cheek pressed to his arm. His eyes steady.

“…what!?”

“You’re always on that damn phone lately,” he muttered. “I can’t even have a fucking conversation with you anymore.”

“We’re having one now.”

Jimin barked a laugh. “Sure. Who is it?” He pushed, nudging him with his foot. “Who’s got you glued to the screen like an idiot?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No one.”

“Right. Just you and Siri.”

But Taehyung didn’t rise to it this time. He just lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky, lips pressed in a thin line.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

There was no way his friend could imagine what they had become.

Hell, Taehyung himself didn’t know what it was anymore…

And he knew which questions would follow:

Is it a guy or a girl?
Which year are they in?
Have you met them yet?

And what would he say?

No, I haven’t met them.
I don’t even know their name. I just… like the way they think. The way they talk. The way they answer me like I matter. I don’t even know if they’ll ever show up.

No. He couldn’t explain that. Not to Jimin.

Not after he’d practically dragged him away from Yeji, convinced him for days to stop wasting time on someone who was just idealised.

Not when Taehyung himself had been having his own little obsession for weeks now, with someone just as untouchable. Just as hypothetical.

His hypocrisy stung so bad.

So he looked back at the screen, tapped it once to turn it dark, and said nothing.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Across the lawn, the two guys who’d been throwing a frisbee earlier had now collapsed onto the grass, one of them sprawled with his arms spread wide, frisbee still clutched in one hand like a trophy.

He followed the lazy arc of a passing cloud overhead, letting the silence stretch.

“It’s Rosé, isn’t it?”

He turned to Jimin, eyebrows raised like he’d just heard the most absurd thing imaginable. “What?”

His friend narrowed his eyes slightly, almost smug. “Don’t think your little interaction with her went unnoticed.”

He blinked, thrown off for a second. “What interaction?”

“Are you serious right now?”

Taehyung’s expression didn’t fully shift, but his posture relaxed, just slightly: better to talk about Rosé than _re:quiet.

"I was worried about you, Taehyuuuung!" Jimin mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

“Ah, that!” He scoffed. "You're an idiot."

"Seriously." The other propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. "What was that about?”

For a moment, he said nothing. He picked up his water bottle, unscrewed the cap, took a slow sip. Classic deflection tactics. Then he set the bottle down and looked directly at his friend, gave him a frank expression.

"Oh God." Jimin's grin faltered. "It's serious, isn't it?"

Taehyung suppressed a smile and looked away.

“What happened!?”

He looked him in the eyes and then spoke in a clear, confident voice: "I slept with her."

The other blinked. Then laughed. “Oh, please.”

Taehyung didn’t answer. Just kept looking at him.

The silence hung in the air for exactly half a second before Jimin shot upright like he'd been electrocuted. “…wait! Are you serious?”

He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

"WHAT?" The other’s voice cracked on the word. "WHEN?"