The script

4- The Scene

Taehyung didn't sleep much that night, but it wasn't from jet lag. After eating half the cookie left by whoever "JK" was pretending not to be, he found himself pacing the length of his hotel room, script in hand, whispering lines under his breath.

He tried to convince himself it was nerves about the role, not the way Jungkook looked at him on the flight or how close their seats were. Definitely not the stupid note. It wasn't even that sweet. Probably meant for someone else.

Still, he kept the card.

By morning, the sun streamed through the half-open curtains. Taehyung sat at the edge of his bed in a white tank and loose sweats, blinking down at the lines he'd marked in yellow highlighter. His voice cracked as he repeated one of the more emotional scenes. He coughed, shook out his arms, and tried again, softer this time. The words barely left his lips, but they felt real. Like they belonged to him now.

He splashed water on his face in the bathroom, brushed his hair twice, then gave up and tousled it back into loose curls. He didn't want to look like he was trying too hard. He wanted to look like he belonged there.

The car that picked him up had tinted windows and cold air conditioning that smelled faintly like citrus and leather. When he arrived at the set, a retro-style house on a sunny street corner, people were already buzzing around like bees, clipping headset wires, rolling carts of lights, calling instructions back and forth.

Someone from wardrobe waved him over, and he found himself in a trailer lined with mirrors and costumes. They dressed him in a soft knit shirt and jeans, then ushered him into makeup, where a sleepy stylist patted at his under eyes and told him he had perfect bone structure.

He wasn't sure what to do with that information, so he just nodded and tried to breathe.

Then came the call sheet. His name. First scene. First day.

And across from him, printed in bold, Jeon Jungkook.

Taehyung swallowed hard.

On set, everything was brighter, louder, more surreal. Cameras sat on wheeled tracks, cords slithered underfoot like snakes, and assistants barked reminders with clipped voices and coffee breath. Someone handed him a bottle of water and pointed to his mark on the floor.

"Don't be nervous," a passing producer said. "You're here for a reason."

He nodded, even though his hands were clammy.

Then Jungkook stepped into frame.

He looked completely different, not just styled differently, but transformed. His usual hoodie was replaced with a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearm, collar unbuttoned just enough to tease. His hair had been tousled in a way that looked accidental but wasn't. He carried his character like a second skin.

"You ready?" Jungkook asked, flashing a grin that did not help Taehyung's breathing situation.

"Of course," Taehyung lied.

They stood facing each other for the first scene, a casual introduction, a soft flirtation in the script. Nothing complicated. Just a bit of eye contact, a few lines, and a brush of fingers as one passed the other a pen.

But Jungkook didn't just say the lines. He delivered them like they were meant for Taehyung and no one else. Like he was trying to get under his skin.

"You've got a nice voice," Jungkook said on cue, eyes locked on Taehyung's.

Taehyung swallowed. "Thanks. Yours is-" He caught himself. "I mean. You too."

"Cut," the director called. "Let's reset."