The script

4- The Scene

Jungkook didn't break eye contact. "You okay?" he asked lowly, just for him.

Taehyung nodded, but he was sweating.

Take after take, it got worse. Jungkook leaned in closer each time, smiled just a little slower, let their hands touch for a second longer than needed. Taehyung was doing everything in his power not to combust.

By lunch, he collapsed in a chair near the catering tent and buried his face in his script.

"You did good," someone said.

He looked up to find Jungkook standing there, holding a juice box.

"I'm not five."

"You're not denying you need the sugar though." Jungkook tossed it at him. Taehyung caught it, reluctantly.

"You're enjoying this."

"Of course I am," Jungkook said. "You're fun to mess with."

Taehyung tried to scowl, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Later, back at the hotel, Taehyung ran through the scene again in his head while taking a shower. He could still feel the phantom heat of Jungkook's fingers brushing his, the weight of that stare.

He dropped his forehead against the wall and exhaled slowly.

He wasn't falling for this. It was just acting.

That's all it was.

Before leaving the hotel that morning, Taehyung called Jimin.

"Are you nervous?" Jimin asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm fine," Taehyung said, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "I mean... yeah. Kind of."

"You're going to kill it. Just remember, don't let anyone talk down to you, even if they're famous."

"I don't think they will-"

"Especially if they're hot."

Taehyung made a face. "I said I was nervous, not dumb."

Jimin snorted. "Just in case. Keep your guard up. Omegas in the spotlight get eaten alive, Tae."

There was a pause.

"I know," Taehyung said softly. "I won't let anyone see me sweat."

By the time he arrived on set, that promise was already slipping. He was ushered into the makeup trailer and told to sit, which he did stiffly, perching on the edge of the seat like someone about to be interrogated.

The stylist gave him a kind smile and ran her hands gently through his hair. "You've got great texture," she said. "You ever dye it?"

"Once. Regretted it."

"I like the natural waves."

"Thanks."

She added a little powder to his forehead and stepped back to assess. "You're ready. You're cute, kid. Relax a little."

He tried. He really did.

Jungkook was waiting on set already when Taehyung walked out. He stood near a camera rig, sipping from a paper cup and scrolling through something on his phone. When he glanced up, their eyes met.

There was that grin again.

The first scene was harder than Taehyung expected. Not because the lines were difficult, they weren't. But the way Jungkook delivered his felt personal. Like every word was just between the two of them.

Worse than that, the camera didn't seem to exist when they were face to face. The crew faded. The lines melted into glances. Taehyung was hyper-aware of every shift in Jungkook's posture, every twitch of his lip, the faint scent that clung to his skin, fresh, heady, expensive.

"You okay?" Jungkook asked again between takes, smirking.

Taehyung huffed. "Do you always flirt this much on set?"

Jungkook leaned in slightly. "Only when it's fun."

It was infuriating.

After lunch, they shot a short emotional beat. one of the characters revealing a personal secret. Taehyung leaned against the kitchen counter set, letting the silence stretch while Jungkook waited. Then he spoke, quiet, raw, vulnerable.

The director didn't yell cut for a long time.

When they finally wrapped, Taehyung practically fled to the dressing area and changed out of his costume. His thoughts were a whirlwind.

Back in his hotel room, he threw his shirt over a chair and flopped face-down onto the bed.

His phone buzzed.

JK: You survived. Congrats, rookie.

Taehyung stared at the message, then rolled onto his back and groaned into a pillow.

He would not let Jeon Jungkook get in his head.

Absolutely not.

That night, long after the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the room was dim but for the golden lamp glow, Taehyung sat cross-legged on the bed with the script in his lap.

He read through the lines from earlier, mouthing them softly, circling phrases with a red pen, scribbling little notes in the margins.

Don't blink here.
Look up slower.
Pause.

It wasn't perfectionism. It was survival. This role meant everything, more than the money, more than the attention. It was his chance to matter. And maybe, if he was honest, it was also about the strange way Jungkook made him feel when the cameras weren't rolling.

He chewed on the cap of the pen and flipped the page.

Somewhere in the city outside, a siren wailed. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed.

In his chest, something fluttered.

Not nerves exactly. Something more dangerous.

He closed the script and pressed it to his sternum. Let out a slow, shaky breath.

It was only day one.