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The shoot had just wrapped, and Taehyung now lingered by the entrance of the hotel, its doors opening to the salty breeze that drifted in from the nearby beach where they had spent the day.
From where he stood, amusement curled at his lips as he caught sight of Jimin and Hobi hyung down the street. The two were crouched over, tugging at wild weeds with exaggerated effort, drawing curious glances from passersby. Fortunately, they had already changed their clothes and slipped their masks back on; without them, they surely would have been recognized.
For now, to everyone else, they were nothing more than striking Asian tourists — handsome, a little too eager, and perhaps a little out of place.
Inside the café across the street, Namjoon hyung sat with Yoongi hyung, the two of them quietly enjoying their drinks. Jin hyung, meanwhile, was making his way over, ready to join their laughter.
As for Jungkook, he had excused himself to the restroom a while ago—but perhaps a little too long ago.
Taehyung glanced at his watch to be sure, and indeed, fifteen minutes had already slipped by since Jungkook had left.
Pushing himself away from the doorway where he had been leaning, Taehyung slid off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt.
“Hyung!” he called out, raising a hand so Jin would notice him.
“I’ll go check on Jungkook. Don’t wait for me!”
Once Jin gave a small nod in return, Taehyung turned on his heel, striding into the hotel lobby. He passed the elevators, then rounded a corner, heading toward the restrooms.
They were staying at a rustic-themed hotel, its open windows carrying in the sea breeze. Wooden floors creaked softly under every step, white brick walls mingled with warm timber, and the semi-open design let the sounds of life spill in—voices drifting from the lobby, footsteps echoing down the halls. Even the heavy rock music blasting from the café where Namjoon and Yoongi hyung sat managed to seep through, muted yet present.
Pushing open the restroom door, Taehyung found the space empty, rows of sinks gleaming under the light.
He tilted his head slightly, considering. He had assumed Jungkook might be perched on one of the counters, smoking and losing track of time—that would have explained the delay. But this time, that wasn’t it.
“Jungkook-ah? You still here?” Taehyung called softly, checking the stalls one by one until he found nearly all of them open—save for the one tucked in the far corner.
“Jungkook-ah?” Taehyung knocked softly on the door, then fell still, waiting. No reply came. He was just about to give up, reaching for his phone to call and ask where Jungkook had gone, when suddenly the faint click of a lock echoed, and the stall door creaked open.
Inside, Jungkook was sitting on the closed toilet seat, a cigarette balanced between his fingers—just as Taehyung had first suspected, though the setting was different.
“Hyung, want to join me?” Jungkook asked, his tone playful, mischievous. He reached out, catching Taehyung’s hand in his own. Raising it slightly, he let his fingers circle around Taehyung’s wrist, giving it a gentle tug forward.
“This is good. Someone gave it to me while I was having a smoke out there,” Jungkook said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. He drew in a slow, steady inhale, his lashes lowering as he exhaled. The hand now freed slid up to join the other, both clasped firmly around Taehyung’s wrist.
“How old do you think you are, huh? And you still dare to take things from strangers?” Taehyung tilted his head, his voice laced with disapproval.
Jungkook only nodded, chin tipping forward in a silent gesture—urging Taehyung to close the stall door.
“It’s fine,” Jungkook added lightly, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as Taehyung wordlessly obeyed and pulled the door shut. “I’ve had it before. Justin recommended it.”
Taehyung stood awkwardly, the tip of his shoe tapping lightly against the floor. Jungkook sat perched on the closed toilet seat, eyes trailing over him from head to toe with an unflinching intensity. Their hands remained linked—or rather, Jungkook’s hand curled possessively around Taehyung’s, a grip that somehow made the touch feel sharper, more present.
Taehyung could have pulled away if he wanted to. But he didn’t. So he stayed.
“Want a try?” Jungkook asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and pressed it against Taehyung’s.
A small frown tugged at Taehyung’s brow, yet he still parted his lips, obediently accepting as the tip of the cigarette neared his mouth.
He drew in an experimental breath—only to be struck at once by the bitterness, the faint sting of the smoke. Within seconds, a subtle numbness spread through his chest, intoxicating and unfamiliar, as the haze sank deeper inside him.
“Hehe, hyung’s never tried this before? It’s pretty well-known around here,” Jungkook chuckled, tugging playfully at Taehyung’s bracelet like a mischievous child.
Taehyung pulled his hand free from Jungkook’s grip, frowning as he snatched the cigarette and lifted it up for a closer look.
“This isn’t just a regular cigarette, idiot. I’m pretty sure it’s mixed with something. I’ve seen it here and there,” he said flatly. More precisely, he had spotted it at a few questionable parties he’d been forced to attend. With his lips pursed, Taehyung raised the cigarette in front of Jungkook’s face, making his point clear.
“I know,” Jungkook replied with a small smile, taking the cigarette back with careless cheer. The curve of his grin was almost innocent, endearingly boyish—even though what he was doing was nothing more than the kind of reckless mischief kids got into.
“Hah, forget it. Just wait—one of these days I’ll tell Jin or Namjoon hyung, let them deal with you. For now, let’s just go, the others already agreed to ea—”
His words broke off when Jungkook, the cigarette once more tucked between his lips, suddenly stretched out both arms and looped them around Taehyung’s waist, tugging him forward.
Caught off guard, Taehyung toppled straight into Jungkook’s lap. And as if that weren’t enough, Jungkook exhaled a plume of smoke, his hold tightening, pulling their bodies closer until there was hardly any space left between them.
Taehyung could feel everything—the soft texture of Jungkook’s cotton shirt, the press of the metal tips of his drawstrings against his thigh, the subtle shift of Jungkook’s muscles as his body adjusted to hold him closer. After all, Taehyung himself had only recently finished his military service; the strength in his own frame hadn’t faded yet, and the weight of it made their closeness all the more palpable.
The air between them seemed saturated with tension, so thick that even breathing felt like a challenge. Yet Taehyung made no move to rise, nor did he so much as push against Jungkook’s chest to create distance. Instead, he tipped his head back, eyes fixed intently on the ceiling vent where sunlight filtered through—as if that was the most fascinating sight in the world.
Jungkook traced lazy circles along Taehyung’s waist with his fingers, his broad palm occasionally spreading flat to rub up and down the expanse of Taehyung’s back.
The cigarette still smoldered between his lips as his hand wandered recklessly, brushing over the ridges of Taehyung’s spine in aimless exploration.
It was becoming harder and harder for Taehyung to ignore. After all, a thin white shirt like this did nothing to dull the heat radiating from Jungkook’s touch—if anything, the softness of the fabric only seemed to amplify it. His chest tightened, his breathing felt constricted, until he parted his lips slightly for air. The sound that slipped out was faint, strange, and in the cramped silence of the stall, it felt far too loud.
Taehyung coughed awkwardly, the movement making him shift slightly in Jungkook’s lap—changing the angle of how he sat. Now, the zipper of his jeans pressed uncomfortably against Jungkook, and—
Taehyung froze, unwilling to move another inch. Jungkook, however, only watched him with keen amusement, as though entertained by his reaction. His palm drifted slowly downward, lingering at the hem of Taehyung’s untucked shirt. Fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric, brushing against warm skin. The touch startled Taehyung, even though part of him had been bracing for it.
His spine straightened instinctively, a shiver racing upward from his back to the crown of his head. Heat prickled across his skin, a cold sweat forming as though he had just finished warming up from exercise—even though he had only just showered.
“Hyung,” Jungkook murmured softly, that small, boyish smile never leaving his lips. “What did you mean back then?”
The question left Taehyung speechless.
What Jungkook meant was that night—the last party they’d all attended together. Namjoon hyung had warned them not to drink too much, but really, how could the younger ones resist after their manager told them they could eat as much as they wanted? Of course, they ate and drank to their hearts’ content—drank, most of all.
Taehyung had joined in, glass after glass, until around one in the morning. Too drunk to stand on his own, he had whined for Jungkook to take him home. He could have stayed at the dorm, but Taehyung insisted he couldn’t leave Yeontan alone in the house—that it would be too heartbreaking for the little dog.
In the end, Jungkook gave in, only after Taehyung clung to him from behind, mumbling that Taetae is so sad because his Jungkookie doesn’t love him anymore.
At that, Jungkook’s lips had curled into an amused smile, his teeth catching on his lip ring as if to keep it from spreading wider. He had turned then, catching Taehyung’s wandering hands as they grew bolder, more mischievous.
(And what followed, well—it doesn’t need to be spelled out.)
After that night, a certain awkwardness lingered between them. Their schedules only made it worse: overflowing with solo work, group preparations, and eventually, military service. Whenever they did meet, it was always under the eyes of staff or with the other members around. There had never been a real chance to talk about it.
As a result, the tension between them remained, simmering quietly beneath the surface. To outsiders, nothing seemed different—because Taehyung and Jungkook had always been like this. Close, inseparably close at times, yet also quick to clash like brothers. No one ever worried; it always faded on its own.
Taehyung lowered his gaze slightly, long lashes fluttering in restless hesitation, as though trying to hide something he couldn’t say aloud.
With that warm palm still stroking over his skin, tracing lower toward the waistband of his jeans, he could no longer hold out against the confrontation. Brow furrowed, lips pursed in a pout, Taehyung finally lifted the hands that had been hanging awkwardly by Jungkook’s waist and looped them around his neck.
“You know what I meant back then. And if you need reminding—it was you who provoked me first. Even if I had thoughts like that, I wouldn’t have acted on them.” His words tumbled out quickly, tinged with a sulky edge.
“I mean, I started it, sure—but it was just messing around. You’re the one who took it seriously. So this is your fault.”
His arms tightened faintly where they circled Jungkook’s neck, his voice muffled as he tucked his face into the crook of Jungkook’s shoulder—like a child sulking, angry and embarrassed all at once.
Jungkook watched him with a grin he could no longer hold back. Maybe they were both simply exhausted from years of tension hanging between them—or maybe it was the nicotine, the haze of something stronger running through his system, giving him the nerve. Or perhaps it was simply Taehyung’s reaction to everything that had just unfolded.
Whatever the reason, Jungkook stopped holding himself back. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and tossed it beneath his shoe, his hand slipping free from Taehyung’s waist only to clamp firmly around the back of his neck. Without a word of warning, he tilted his head and pressed their mouths together.
A startled squeak escaped Taehyung, though it was quickly swallowed by Jungkook’s relentless assault. He only loosened his grip when Taehyung, unable to endure any longer, began to beat weakly at his back in protest—pleading silently for air.
“You bastard,” Taehyung breathed, his voice hoarse and uneven—yet without a trace of venom. If anything, it sounded almost like a term of endearment.
“But you like it, don’t you? You like it when I don’t ask and just take. You like the way it feels as if you have no choice. And I like the way you pretend you don’t want it—when you never fight me as I take what’s mine.”
Jungkook’s voice was smooth, smug, dripping with satisfaction. And yet, somehow, he still managed to look boyish and impossibly endearing as he said it.
Taehyung didn’t answer, because every word was true. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand to cup Jungkook’s cheek. Their eyes locked, holding one another with raw intensity, until at last—like a spell breaking—Taehyung let his tense body melt into Jungkook’s embrace. His arms came up around him, pulling him close.
A soft laugh escaped Jungkook before he returned the gesture, clutching Taehyung even tighter, as if he wanted to fuse their bodies together into one.
End.