PROJECT K001

Untitled Part 32

Sunlight leaked in golden slivers across the vast canopy of Taehyung's bed, cutting through the silk curtains that had tangled and half-fallen during the night. The sheets were a mess—twisted, tossed, riddled with the kind of warmth that lingered long after touch. But it wasn't the golden light that woke Jungkook.

It was the absence.

The subtle shift of air as a weight left the bed.

He blinked open slowly, lashes heavy with sleep, and his arm reached out without thought, fingers curling around cool linen where Taehyung's body had been. For a moment, panic twisted in his chest—raw and sharp—until a voice reached him.

"I didn't leave," Taehyung murmured, standing near the open window with a steaming cup of something dark between his hands. His robe was untied, hanging loose over his bare chest, and his hair was damp from a quick shower. "I just needed to... think."

Jungkook swallowed, sitting up slowly, the sheets sliding down his shoulders to pool in his lap. He was still in the oversized hoodie—wrinkled now, slipping dangerously low off one shoulder—and nothing else. His thighs peeked from beneath the hem, bare and dusted with faint, sleepy flush.

Taehyung's eyes flicked to the sight for the briefest moment.

Then he looked away.

"You're not mad?" Jungkook asked quietly, voice laced with lingering vulnerability. "About last night?"

Taehyung didn't answer right away. He sipped his drink, then exhaled softly.

"I'm not mad," he said finally. "But I'm... aware."

"Of what?"

Taehyung turned to him slowly, sunlight casting delicate shadows over the sharp lines of his face. "That you still don't know how much you affect us. Him. Me. This house."

Jungkook's lips parted, but Taehyung stepped closer, his cup set aside on the table.

"You bring storms, Jungkook," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "You walk in, wrapped in softness and chaos, and everything shifts. You've made the silence scream."

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Jungkook's forehead, thumb trailing down his cheek.

"I should hate it," he whispered. "I should push you away."

"But you won't..." Jungkook's voice trembled with unspoken hope.

"No," Taehyung breathed, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "No, I won't."

The moment held them suspended—neither kiss nor distance, just the hum of breath and need swirling like smoke between them.

And yet...

A knock shattered the stillness.

Three polite raps. Controlled. Cold.

Taehyung pulled back slowly, body already stiffening as he stood.

Jungkook's heart sank.

Because he knew.

It was V.

—

Downstairs, the mansion's atmosphere shifted again—like two storms meeting mid-sea.

Kim V stood in the study, one hand in his pocket, the other curled around a thin crystal glass of blood-red wine far too early for morning.

He didn't look up when Taehyung entered.

But he knew.

"You held him all night," V said flatly.