Taekook Smuts and Drabbles

My Ride Or Die (Epilogue)

And there's that undecipherable look again on his face, something like a complicated expression, like a blank one too as if Jungkook doesn't really feel anything.

"Do you love me?" He asks again, voice breaking, a sob threatening to scrape up his throat as he loses what he's looking for in Jungkook's eyes because of the pooling tears.

Kook lowers his head, tries to kiss him, but Tae shakes his head.

"Please, Kook," He begs, fingers clenched into two fists. "Please tell me."

He thinks of the kitchen knife he'd clutched to his chest. Thinks of the bloodied man on Kook's apartment floor.

The return of the red.

He doesn't mind it. Wouldn't mind it.

Jungkook.

He's just pulled into an embrace, as he shakes, and trembles with all the force of an earthquake bubbling inside of him and the tears fall.

"Do you love me?"

Jungkook's hands are so secure around him. His stature firm, and reliable. Tae knows he's lithe, he moves without sound if he wants to, goes around invisible if he has to.

And Taehyung feels so scared. He doesn't feel safe anymore. Even with the number of locks on the doors, the loaded gun in Kook's drawer, his bathroom. Even with the knives he hides in the kitchen. And god knows what else he arms himself with in his own home.

He cries.

Because strangely he feels unsafe in the arms of a killer.

"I have to pay the price first," Jungkook whispers into his ear, fingers in his hair, against the soft skin of the back of his neck.

And Taehyung couldn't think of anything, just feels fear incapacitating him right there, creeping up every inch of his bones like it's a permanent home.

So he keeps crying.

Wondering if the price is an unbelievable million, and at the same time if a million is too little.

Taehyung wakes up.

He isn't there on the bed. His side has been made neatly. Sheets smoothed.

Tae buries his nose into the pillow next to him. It just smells like his own cologne and shampoo.

He showers, running the soap on his shoulder and wishes it was Jungkook's fingers. He goes to find something to wear in Jungkook's closet as usual after.

Jungkook has fresh, new shirts that he replaces every goddamn day if Taehyung has to be honest with himself. He doesn't know where he throws away the shirts Tae wore. And the ones he wears too.

He takes one anyway, because Jungkook never stops him from wearing what he owns despite his habit of cleaning up everything as if erasing their existence. And it smells new.

On his way home he buys some groceries. And at home he takes them out one by one carefully from the bags in his small kitchen.

He bakes some cinnamon rolls, which took him two tries only.

Yoongi didn't lie when he said that's the best recipe he could ever have.

His phone rings. Wiping his hands on his apron, he looks at the private number flashing on the screen of his phone.

It puts a small smile on his face as he answers, expecting a familiar voice, wondering what he'd have for dinner.

It's silent on the other line.