PROJECT K001

Untitled Part 18

Taehyung's fork scraped gently against his plate, not loud, not harsh, but noticeable. His head tilted, eyes flickering to Jungkook's slightly pink cheeks.

"You didn't sleep well," Taehyung said, a comment that was not a question.

"I—" Jungkook hesitated, glancing between them. "I had dreams."

V shifted then. His first movement in minutes. He leaned back in his chair, long fingers curling around the edge of his glass. "About?"

The air thickened. The question wasn't casual. It wasn't concerned, either.

Jungkook hesitated. Then: "Music."

Taehyung's eyes softened, just slightly. "What kind of music?"

Jungkook's voice dropped, almost shy. "The kind that's... played when no one's listening."

A pause. A silence laced with meaning.

Then V stood. Not abruptly. Smooth, cold, quiet. He didn't speak. Simply stepped away from the table, glass still in hand, and walked toward the sun-drenched window with deliberate calm.

The movement was more than just casual.

It was space.

Distance.

A warning.

Jungkook stared after him, unsure if he'd done something wrong. But Taehyung didn't rise. He remained at the table, fingers drumming faintly against his knee, eyes sharp and unreadable.

"He doesn't like sharing," Taehyung murmured after a moment. "Even things he hasn't decided are his yet."

Jungkook blinked. The words weren't sharp. But they weren't gentle either.

Taehyung looked at him now, gaze a shade darker than moments ago. "And you... don't seem to understand how rare it is to be seen by him."

"I didn't mean—" Jungkook started, then stopped.

Because it was true. He hadn't meant anything. He had just... existed. Spoke. Breathed. He didn't know when that became a provocation.

Taehyung leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting on his thighs. "Don't make the mistake of thinking we are the same. He shows affection like frost on glass. I show it like hands around your ribs." His voice dropped. "But both can suffocate."

Jungkook's breath caught.

The moment shattered when V turned from the window and exited the room entirely.

Neither of them followed.

Instead, Taehyung reached across the table again—not to touch—but to lift Jungkook's half-filled glass of water, inspecting it before placing it back down precisely where it had been.

"I'll see you in the library later," Taehyung said. No inflection. No request.

Jungkook simply nodded.

And the room emptied again.

The rain hadn't started yet, but the sky had already darkened—an overcast veil pressing low against the horizon, casting a soft, gray light into the hallway where Jungkook sat, legs pulled up to his chest. The marble beneath him was cold, but not unkind. It kept him grounded. Anchored. Reminding him he was still here, still breathing, still real.

He had picked this hallway because it overlooked nothing. It wasn't the conservatory with its green promises, or the inner balcony where the sunlight flirted with the atrium's stillness. It was a forgotten corridor that cut past the west wing stairwell, a hallway where paintings outnumbered visitors and time seemed to pause just long enough to catch its breath. He liked it for its silence—and today, for the loneliness that didn't feel quite so heavy here.