PROJECT K001

Untitled Part 40

The sun had long slipped past the skyline, but the lights of the exhibition hall still shimmered in Jungkook's mind like reflections off a rippling lake. He sat alone in the conservatory now, knees drawn up beneath him on the wide cushioned bench where trailing vines from above brushed his shoulder, his oversized hoodie pulled halfway over his legs like armor. Outside, moonlight filtered through the glass dome, throwing pale ripples across the floor—too calm for how loud everything was inside him.

It was the first time in years that his art had been seen. Not in corners of obscurity. Not in secret deals made by his parents. This had been loud. Brilliant. A storm of applause, gasps, clicking cameras. A hundred strangers trying to place meaning on brushstrokes Jungkook himself barely understood—because so much of his art came from a place no one was allowed to see. Not even him, sometimes.

He clutched the ends of his sleeves, gaze unfocused on the shadows moving in the moonlight. They knew now. Not about him—but about Koo. And that was enough to make the entire world tilt a little sideways.

The twins had said nothing.

Not after the exhibition. Not when they left. Not when they drove home in identical black cars, V in the front, Taehyung beside him. Jungkook in the backseat alone, hearing the tick of the turn signals as the city fell away behind them.

They hadn't asked him anything. They hadn't praised him. They hadn't commented on the art, the guests, the gallery's frenzy over the name "Koo" finally being tied to a silhouette in shadow. Their silence hadn't been cold—but it had been deep. Watchful.

Possessive in a way that didn't need words.

Jungkook wasn't sure when he'd started recognizing that—when he'd begun to understand the difference between V's still, sharp glances and Taehyung's low, unreadable hums. The way they hovered without hovering. The way they stood too near whenever others came too close. The way they looked at anyone who lingered too long at one of his pieces.

Like they were memorizing names. Cataloguing intentions.

He curled tighter into himself and let out a breath. A long, slow exhale meant only for the plants, the glass, and the ache behind his ribs.

Then he heard footsteps.

Measured. Familiar.

V didn't speak when he entered the conservatory, but Jungkook didn't need him to. His presence filled the space like fog spilling through the cracks—cool, silent, all-consuming. He stood there for a moment, one hand gloved, the other bare, resting lightly on the back of a chair as if he were still deciding whether to come closer.

"You left the gallery before they finished the final tour," he said eventually, voice as smooth as black velvet. "You knew the attention was about to turn."

Jungkook turned his head but didn't speak.

"I didn't like the way they looked at you," V added softly, almost too low to hear. "As if they had a right to."

Jungkook blinked. "They don't know me."

"But they want to," V murmured. "Too much."

The words held no rise, no obvious jealousy. But something about the tension in his shoulders, the stillness in his throat, told Jungkook otherwise.

"Were you angry?" Jungkook asked, voice small.

V crossed the room without answering. He sat at the far end of the bench, angled slightly toward Jungkook but not reaching out. "No. Not angry. Just... reminded."

"Of what?"

"That nothing about you belongs to the world."

There it was again—that weight, the gravity of something cold and unshakable. It should have frightened Jungkook. Should've made him pull back. But instead, it settled into him like a stone in water, sinking deeper.