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𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Taehyung liked quiet places, the kind where words echoed long after they were spoken. He found one in the university library, tucked between the poetry shelves and the slightly cracked window that let in just enough sunlight to keep his notebook warm. It was where he spent most of his breaks—scrawling verse into the margins of his syllabus or writing letters he’d never send.
But today, his peace was broken.
"Kim Taehyung!" a voice rang out in the courtyard outside the library, loud enough to pull heads out of books and conversations. A few giggles followed. Taehyung looked up, eyebrows raised slightly, and blinked at the figure striding toward him.
Lee Sora. Queen Bee of the Literature Department. Smart, devastatingly pretty, and adored by almost everyone on campus. She flipped her hair back with a practiced smile, her glittery eyeliner catching the light.
"You free this Friday?"
Taehyung, still seated under the tree with his paperback copy of Fault In Our Stars in one hand and a strawberry-flavored milk carton in the other, looked up slowly. There was a soft pause. Everyone nearby went quiet—watching, waiting.
“No,” he said, almost lazily, like he hadn’t just turned down the campus goddess in front of a dozen people.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Lee Sora blinked. “Oh. Busy?”
“No,” he repeated, lips quirking slightly this time. “Just not interested.”
Cue the gasps.
Sora scoffed lightly, covering the awkwardness with a shrug, and spun on her heel, disappearing with her entourage in tow. The crowd buzzed with second-hand embarrassment, whispers already spreading like wildfire.
Taehyung calmly sipped his milk.
"Bro," Hyungsik plopped down next to him with a dramatic thud, followed by Jieun and Seojun. "You’re going to make it to hell and still be mysterious.”
“Do you enjoy suffering?” Jieun added, snatching his milk carton to sip from it like it was hers.
“She was basically begging,” Seojun said. “Hot. Smart. Legs for days. Why would you say no?”
Taehyung shrugged. “I didn’t feel like it.”
"You never feel like it,” Jieun emphasized, poking his shoulder. “Seriously. That’s the third proposal this semester. Is this your new hobby?”
“No," Taehyung replied coolly, "but rejection seems to be theirs.”
Hyungsik howled. “Savage!”
But Jieun narrowed her eyes. She was sharp like that—picked up on things others missed. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”
“Yeah,” Seojun nodded, folding his arms. “This isn’t just about not liking someone. You’ve got that... dreamy look again.”
“I always look dreamy,” Taehyung deadpanned.
“You look haunted,” Hyungsik corrected.
Taehyung rolled his eyes and reached for his notebook again, brushing the peach carton out of the way. “Drop it, guys.”
But of course, they didn’t. Not these three.
And Taehyung knew, somewhere deep in his gut, that this was just the beginning of them prying open a part of him he’d sealed shut years ago.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The next day, the sun melted lazily across the university field, painting the grass gold and warm. Students lounged in little clusters—books open, earbuds in, someone strumming a guitar a few feet away.
Taehyung lay sprawled under the old cherry blossom tree with his eyes closed, a pencil resting loosely between his fingers and his notebook perched on his chest. He looked peaceful. Untouchable. But Jieun wasn’t fooled.
She exchanged a look with Hyungsik and Seojun, who nodded in unison before waving someone over.
“Yah, Park Jimin! Over here!”
Taehyung groaned without opening his eyes. “No.”
“You don’t even know why we called him yet,” Seojun snickered.
“I know exactly why you did.”
Footsteps padded over the grass, then the rustle of someone dropping down beside him. A familiar citrusy cologne hit Taehyung’s nose a moment before a soft voice followed.
“Your friends are nosy,” Jimin said, smiling as he leaned back on his hands.
“They’re not my friends anymore,” Taehyung muttered, still not opening his eyes.
“Liar,” Jimin chuckled.
Jieun grinned. “So, Jimin... we’ve been trying to figure out something important.”
“And mysterious,” Seojun added.
“Possibly tragic,” Hyungsik said solemnly, munching on a cookie.
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a drama plot already.”
They leaned in slightly, like gossiping schoolkids. “Why won’t your best friend say yes to anyone?”
“Especially when literal goddesses are lining up for him?” Jieun added.
Jimin tilted his head, looking over at Taehyung, who finally opened one eye and gave him a warning glare.
Too late.
Jimin grinned mischievously, tossed his head back, and said with zero hesitation:
“He’s still not over his school’s ex.”
Silence.
A bird chirped. Someone sneezed in the distance.
And then—
“ WHAT? ” all three friends shrieked in unison.
Taehyung groaned, sat up with his notebook slipping into his lap, and glared at Jimin. “Seriously?”
Jimin shrugged innocently, plucking a blade of grass. “What? They were going to dig until they found out anyway.”
"You just made it worse!" Taehyung stood and dusted his pants off, looking thoroughly done with the day—and his life.
“Wait, wait,” Jieun scrambled up to follow him. “Who is she? Was she prettier than Sora?”
Hyungsik was practically bouncing. “Is she in college too? Did she break your heart?”
“Where’s she now?” Seojun asked, eyes wide. “Give us a name. Just a name.”
Taehyung didn’t answer. Instead, he tossed Jimin one last betrayed look, turned on his heel, and walked away across the sun-drenched field.
They watched him leave in stunned silence.
“…Oops,” Jimin said finally, biting back a laugh.
Jieun slowly turned toward him, a hand still half-raised. “Wait. Was she prettier than Sora?”
Jimin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief. “Guys…”
He leaned back lazily, propped up on his elbows, the wind tugging gently at his hair.
“…We went to an all-boys school.”
A pause.
Then all three of them collectively short-circuited.
Jieun blinked. “Wait.”
Seojun frowned. “But it would mean that—”
Hyungsik gasped, eyes wide. “OH MY GOD. TAE YOU’RE INTO MEN??”
“OUR MAN IS GAY??” Jieun shouted, a huge grin spreading across her face. “WHY DIDN’T HE TELL US?! I’M SO PROUD!”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “That’s your takeaway? Took you long enough.”
“WHY DIDN’T HE TELL US?!” Jieun clutched at the grass. “I would’ve made a powerpoint presentation .”
“Oh my god, we teased him about the proposal girl in front of him for weeks!” Hyungsik wailed.
“We’re bad friends. I’m a bad friend,” Seojun dramatically whispered into the sky.
Jimin stood and dusted off his jeans, amused. “Honestly, he probably didn’t hide it on purpose. He just... never had a reason to say it out loud.”
Jieun leaned back on her elbows, letting out a slow breath. “He really loved him, huh?”
Jimin looked toward the sky, then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “He really did.”
Their laughter faded into a thoughtful silence. The field dimmed around them, the horizon blushing pink and orange.
Jimin just laughed as the three of them began spiraling, clinging to each other and rapidly throwing out theories.
Taehyung was already halfway across campus, pretending not to hear any of it. But the smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away.
Somewhere inside, he knew—
The past was catching up with him. And the quiet he’d built so carefully around his heart?
It was beginning to crack.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
It started as a joke at first.
The next morning, Jieun slid into the literature classroom, dropping her bag beside Taehyung with a grin that could only mean trouble.
“Good morning, lover boy,” she chirped.
Taehyung didn’t look up from his book. “Go away.”
“Do you think he had glasses?” Hyungsik asked, plopping into the seat ahead of him. “Like, mysterious, bookish ex energy.”
“Or maybe dyed hair and piercings?” Seojun added dramatically. “A tortured artist type?”
Taehyung sighed, marking his page and finally closing the book. “I’m dropping out.”
“No you’re not,” all three said in unison, and Jieun even patted his arm sympathetically.
He leaned back in his chair with a resigned huff. “Are you all seriously going to do this every day?”
“Yes,” Jieun replied sweetly. “Until you tell us more about your mystery man.”
“Or at least why you're still stuck on him,” Seojun nudged.
There was a beat of silence.
And then—softly, dreamily, almost as if the words slipped from somewhere unguarded—Taehyung murmured, “You can’t compare him to anyone.”
The chaos paused.
Three pairs of eyes blinked at him, stunned by the sudden tenderness in his tone.
Jieun tilted her head. “Wait… what do you mean?”
He blinked like he didn’t realize he’d said it aloud. A faint blush dusted his cheeks, but he didn’t take it back.
“He was just... different,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ve never felt the same since.”
And then he stood and walked off again, leaving the three of them frozen in a mix of awe and scandalized curiosity.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
That evening, back in the university field, the trio arranged a very obvious “casual hangout” and once again summoned their ultimate weapon: Park Jimin.
He arrived with a juice box, sunglasses despite the setting sun, and the dramatic air of someone who’d been summoned too many times for other people’s drama.
“You called?”
“Cut the act,” Seojun said. “We need answers.”
“Deep answers,” Jieun added. “He said—and I quote—‘you can’t compare him to anyone.’”
Hyungsik clutched his chest. “We didn’t know he was that far gone.”
Jimin sipped his juice box slowly. “You’re all so dramatic.”
“Tell us what he was like!” Jieun begged. “We’re dying here. Was he soft? Was he angsty? Did he play guitar?”
Jimin paused and stared at them.
And then, with a slow smile, he stared at Tae, who in return glared at him and then looked away with a sigh.
Taehyung sat by the window of the literature building, eyes unfocused on the dusky sky, heart full of a name he hadn’t said aloud in two years.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ (next day) 𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The sky was bruised with clouds when Jimin found him.
Taehyung sat on one of the stone benches lining the back garden of the university's literature wing. His fingers were curled around a steaming paper cup of coffee, untouched, long gone cold. He wasn’t reading. Wasn’t writing. Just... watching the raindrops gather on the tip of a wilting leaf.
Jimin slid into the seat beside him, brushing damp hair from his eyes.
“What’s with the dramatics?” he teased gently.
Taehyung didn’t respond right away. Just blinked, slowly, as if waking from a daydream he didn’t want to leave.
Then—quietly, “I’m always dramatic.”
Jimin snorted. “Fair. But I came to tell you something real this time.”
Taehyung finally turned his head.
“You remember Jungkook?”
Taehyung stiffened.
The name hit like a drumbeat in his chest. Loud, sudden, unavoidable.
“…What about him?”
Jimin hesitated, suddenly softer.
“He’s here,” he said. “He joined the arts department this year. Freshman. My junior.”
The world paused.
Taehyung’s breath caught, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. His lashes fluttered, but his gaze was distant again, as if Jimin had pulled a hidden lever and released a thousand reels of film behind his eyes.
“He’s here?” he repeated faintly.
“Yeah,” Jimin said. “Didn’t tell me he applied. I just saw him in the painting studio. Still loves working with oil. Still listens to music too loudly while working. Still pouts when he’s focused.”
Taehyung laughed once under his breath. It was almost fond. Almost.
“Of course he does.”
There was a long silence.
Jimin looked over, eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?”
Taehyung nodded once, too fast.
Then— “No.”
Jimin didn’t say anything. He just leaned back, waiting. And eventually, Taehyung’s voice came again—softer this time. More fragile. Like walking barefoot over cracked glass.
“I thought I’d be fine. I thought I’d moved on.”
Jimin said nothing, allowing the storm in Taehyung’s chest to settle.
“Do you want to see him?”
Taehyung shook his head immediately. “No. I— I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer that one. Instead, he stood, brushing off his coat like the conversation hadn’t cracked his whole chest open.
“I need to go,” he said, already turning away.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
That night, Taehyung lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across his dorm room walls.
The name Jungkook pulsed like a second heartbeat in his mind.
It had been two years. Two whole years since they last stood face to face. Since the last time Taehyung had touched his paint-stained fingers or memorized the curl of his sleepy smile.
He was nineteen. Stupid. In love.
Too in love.
[FLASHBACK BEGINS]
He could still remember the scent of turpentine and lavender laundry sheets. Jungkook always smelled like art supplies and home.
They used to sneak up to the empty music room on the third floor of their all-boys high school, where Taehyung would read poetry aloud and Jungkook would doodle on his wrist with a felt-tip pen.
“You know you’re going to get ink poisoning,” Taehyung would complain.
“And you know you sound like a Shakespearean grandmother,” Jungkook would grin.
Then he’d kiss him, right over the doodle, and Taehyung would melt into it like warm wax.
It wasn’t just a schoolboy crush. It was something bigger. Something that burned too brightly.
Maybe that’s why it didn’t last.
[FLASHBACK ENDS]
Taehyung rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories.
It didn’t matter how long it had been.
The moment he heard his name—Jeon Jungkook—it all came rushing back.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
It started with an innocent sentence over lunch.
“Hey,” Jimin said between bites of kimbap, “funny thing—I found out my new junior from arts transferred here from Busan. He’s a really good painter. Said he took a year off before college, something about family stuff abroad.”
Taehyung froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.
Hyungsik caught it first, narrowing his eyes. “Wait.”
Jieun leaned forward. “From Busan?”
“Yeah,” Jimin said, glancing at Taehyung like he already knew what he was stirring. “He’s kind of quiet. Tall, tattoos, very pretty. The usual broody artist vibe.”
“Wait wait wait,” Seojun interrupted, eyes flicking between Jimin and Taehyung. “Why are you saying it like that ?”
Jimin raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink with a smile just a little too smug.
“Because,” he said slowly, “he always loved to paint.”
Taehyung set his chopsticks down with a soft clink.
Jieun’s jaw dropped.
“ No way. ”
“You’re saying—” Hyungsik started, blinking.
Seojun gasped, leaning across the table. “ He’s here? Your mysterious school ex is here , in this university, walking these halls??”
Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jimin…”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jimin said innocently. “I just thought it was a funny coincidence.”
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” Taehyung muttered.
“So who is it?” Jieun leaned in, absolutely vibrating. “What’s his name?”
“I’m not telling you,” Taehyung said quickly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not seeing him. It’s over.”
“Oh no,” Seojun grinned. “Now it matters so much more.”
“We’re gonna find him,” Hyungsik declared, pointing dramatically. “This is our side quest now.”
Taehyung buried his face in his hands. “Please no.”
But they didn’t let it go.
All afternoon, they whispered theories and scanned the arts building from a distance, peeking through windows like the world’s worst spies. Jieun even threatened to borrow the art department's attendance list.
By the next day, they hadn’t uncovered a name, but the obsession had taken root.
Taehyung’s only saving grace was that the art wing was a different zone entirely—until Jimin struck again. “He’s in the third-floor studio, painting,” Taehyung just... nodded.
The four of them crept up the stairs. The art wing was quieter than the rest of campus, filled with warm light, drying paint, and the scent of turpentine. As they approached the open studio door, Taehyung slowed.
And then he saw him.
Back turned. Sleeves rolled up. Headphones on. Lost in his own little world, brush dancing across canvas in bold, unapologetic strokes.
Jeon Jungkook.
The years hadn’t dulled him. If anything, he looked even more unreal—tattoos now dancing along his forearm, hair longer, face sharper. But his expression was still the same. That furrow of concentration. That softness in the eyes, even when he wasn’t smiling.
Taehyung didn’t breathe.
The world spun around him, colors blurring at the edges.
And suddenly—
Flashbacks.
A rooftop sunset. The scent of linseed oil. Laughter spills in empty hallways.
Sneaking kisses behind thick art portfolios. Sharing chocolate milk through two straws in the cafeteria. Falling asleep to the same playlist on the same pair of tangled earphones.
Jungkook whispering, “I think you’re it for me.”
Taehyung stumbled back like the memory physically struck him.
“Taehyung?” Jieun asked softly, stepping forward.
But he was already turning, already rushing out the way he came—down the stairs, across the field, breath catching in his throat as he broke into a run.
The three friends caught up with him near the back garden, breathless and confused.
“Taehyung!” Seojun called. “Wait!”
“Why did you run?” Jieun asked, eyes wide.
Hyungsik frowned. “Tae…”
And Taehyung stopped.
Turned.
Heart on his sleeve.
Eyes glassy.
“Do you really want to know why we broke up?” he asked hoarsely.
They nodded.
And Taehyung sat on the stone bench, voice barely above a whisper.
“We broke up before graduation.”
His fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans, knuckles pale.
“Jungkook’s family was moving to New Zealand. His dad got transferred. It was all sudden.”
The others stayed quiet, sensing the weight in his voice.
“I told him we could try. That I’d wait. That we could make it work—video calls, visits, letters, anything.”
Taehyung swallowed hard.
“But one day… he just stopped showing up. Didn’t come to school. Didn’t reply to texts. No goodbye. No note. Nothing.”
Jieun’s eyes widened in disbelief. “He just ghosted you?”
“I waited for him on the last day,” Taehyung murmured. “Sat outside the school gates until it got dark. Even Jimin didn’t know what happened until later.”
“Damn,” Seojun muttered, eyes softening. “That’s… harsh.”
“He thought it was better,” Taehyung continued. “He didn’t want to ‘hold me back.’ Said long-distance would only break me slowly.”
Hyungsik ran a hand through his hair, visibly upset. “That’s not his choice to make.”
“I begged him,” Taehyung said, voice cracking just slightly. “I begged him to let us try. And he just… left.”
The garden fell silent.
Jieun slowly reached over and took Taehyung’s hand in both of hers.
“I’m sorry, Tae,” she whispered. “That’s... really messed up.”
Taehyung gave a bitter smile. “I used to check every email for his name. Every unknown number, I hoped it’d be him. Eventually, I stopped.”
The wound wasn’t fresh. But it never fully closed either.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ (meanwhile) 𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Jungkook was pacing the hallway outside the studio, chewing his bottom lip raw.
Jimin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”
“Did you see him?” Jungkook asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
Jimin tilted his head. “He saw you, too.”
Jungkook’s breath hitched.
“Did he… look angry?”
“Not angry,” Jimin said gently. “Just… haunted.”
Jungkook sighed and leaned against the cold wall.
“I shouldn’t have disappeared like that,” he muttered. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Jimin gave him a look. “You broke his heart.”
“I broke mine too,” Jungkook whispered.
The silence between them echoed.
“Do you still love him?” Jimin asked.
Jungkook didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The campus lawn was buzzing with spring air and half-hearted midterm preparation. Students lounged on picnic blankets and benches, sipping iced Americanos and pretending to study.
Taehyung sat under a flowering tree, a book in hand and headphones plugged in—not playing anything, just an excuse not to talk. His three friends loitered around him as usual, tossing grapes at each other and failing to mind their own business.
The peace was shattered when she walked over—the popular girl.
Taehyung looked up just as she appeared, all glossed lips and giggles, holding a pink envelope and a soft bouquet of pastel carnations. Students nearby turned at the sight, as if a scene from a romcom was about to play out.
Taehyung’s friends immediately perked up.
“Oh my God, she’s doing it again—” Jieun whispered, clutching Hyungsik’s arm.
“Third time’s the charm?” Seojun muttered.
Taehyung sighed.
“Taehyung,” the girl said sweetly, tucking her hair behind one ear. “I know you said no before, but prom’s next week. I just thought maybe you’d reconsider?”
And from the staircase just beyond the courtyard, Jungkook paused.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He had just been walking back from the studio, sketchbook in hand, steps slowing when he spotted Taehyung sitting beneath the blossoms. His heart, stupid thing, still stuttered every time. But when he saw the girl, the flowers, the way everyone was watching—
He looked away before he could hear Taehyung’s answer.
So he missed it.
He missed the soft sigh, the tired but firm: “I’m sorry. It’s still a no.”
He missed how Taehyung’s eyes darted sideways the moment he felt someone’s presence. Missed how they landed exactly where Jungkook had just been, heart faltering when there was no one there anymore.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The gossip exploded by evening.
Taehyung had rejected her. Again.
“I heard it was a flat-out ‘no,’” someone whispered in the library.
“He didn’t even take the flowers,” another said in the hallway.
By the next day, it was the hottest topic on campus. And somehow, even without being part of that world, Jungkook heard it too.
From Jimin, of course.
“He said no,” Jimin said offhandedly, sketching lazily in a corner of the art room. “Didn’t even flinch.”
Jungkook hummed, noncommittal. “Maybe he’s just not into her.”
Jimin didn’t look up. “Or maybe he’s still into someone else.”
Silence.
Jungkook didn’t ask who. Didn’t want to hear a name that might hurt, or worse—raise hope.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about that day in the studio. About how fast Taehyung had run. About how he still couldn’t decide whether that was pain… or hate.
“Prom’s next week,” Jimin added, softer now. “You going?”
Jungkook shrugged. “Probably not. What’s the point?”
He didn’t say it out loud, but it echoed in his chest anyway.
He looked happy. I shouldn’t ruin that.
So he buried the ache like he always did.
Not knowing that Taehyung, two buildings away, was staring out a literature classroom window, thinking the same thing.
He looked happy. I shouldn’t ruin that.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Taehyung hadn’t stepped foot near the art building in days.
He told himself it was because he was too busy—midterms, readings, life. But everyone around him could see through it. His dreamy silence wasn’t the kind of poetic brooding that made him charming. It was heartbreak, plain and pulsing. And it wasn’t going away.
So, one cloudy afternoon, Jimin finally cornered him on the roof of the lit building.
“Still avoiding him?” he asked, no preamble.
Taehyung didn’t even pretend not to know who him was. He just pulled his cardigan tighter around his shoulders and looked out at the courtyard below.
“It’s better this way,” he murmured. “He’s moved on. I probably don’t even cross his mind anymore.”
Jimin scoffed. “Taehyung. He draws you . I’ve seen his sketchbook.”
That made Taehyung’s head turn, sharply.
Jimin leaned back on his elbows, nonchalant but eyes sharp. “You in different angles. Laughing. Sleeping in class. You from memory. Even your dumb wrinkled school uniform.”
Taehyung’s breath hitched.
“He’s miserable every time someone even mentions you in the studio. Yesterday, someone brought up that prom rejection—he dropped his brush in the middle of a painting and didn’t even realize it.”
A silence stretched between them. Wind ruffled Taehyung’s bangs.
“He’s not over you, Tae,” Jimin added, gently now. “And he never really wanted to be.”
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Later that evening, in the dorm lounge, the ambush continued.
Jieun, Hyungsik, and Seojun practically blocked the doorway when Taehyung tried to sneak back into his room.
“Sit,” Jieun ordered, patting the couch.
“You guys too?” Taehyung groaned, but obeyed.
Hyungsik crossed his arms. “We know everything.”
“We know about the art studio. The rejection. The breakup. And we know you ,” Seojun added. “You’re still in love with him.”
Taehyung buried his face in his hands. “You guys are relentless.”
“That’s because you’re stupid ,” Jieun shot back. “You still love him. He still loves you. So what’s the problem?”
Taehyung looked up slowly, eyes darker now. “The problem is I don’t want to hurt again. When he left… it was like losing a lung. I couldn’t even breathe for months.”
The room fell quiet. Seojun rubbed the back of his neck.
“But maybe this time, you’ll get to breathe with him,” Jieun said softly.
“Maybe this time, he’s not going anywhere,” Hyungsik added.
“And maybe you owe it to both of you to try.”
Taehyung looked between the three of them—his chaotic, loyal friends—and then back at Jimin, who stood leaning against the wall with a small, hopeful smile.
His heart was still scared. But something else—something braver—was finally waking up.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
Jieun blinked. “Okay?”
Taehyung took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll try. But if I’m doing this, I’m doing it right.”
A grin spread across Jimin’s face. “That’s my boy.”
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The week began like any other: soft sunlight pooling into the studio windows, the quiet scratch of pencils on paper, and Jungkook tucked in a corner with paint on his fingers and his heart full of restraint.
It was Sunday, and Jungkook wanted to spend some peaceful time in the studio, until he opened his locker and found a book wrapped in craft paper and tied with twine. A worn paperback of Better than the Movies, annotated in colorful ink and small doodles.
Not just random scribbles—these were personal . Lined margins carried thoughts in handwriting he almost thought he recognized.
“You used to reread this scene like it held our future.”
“This line made me jealous. I wanted to be the one saying it to you.”
“You always cried here. I never told you, but I did too.”
“Every time Liz doubted love, I thought of how sure I was about you.”
“Page 217. This? Us, if we’d had more time.”
And on the title page, a post-it in soft pastel yellow:
Day 1 — “To the boy who made rom-coms real for me.”
Jungkook stared at the book for a full minute, mouth parted, heart thumping against his ribs.
He tucked it into his bag with trembling hands, trying not to hope.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Monday brought colour—literally.
On the desk where he always painted, sat a small watercolor travel kit. Just like the one he used to bring to class in high school, the one Taehyung always teased him for because of how "baby" it looked.
Taped to the front was a note:
Day 2 — “For your colours that never faded in my mind.”
Jungkook turned it over in his palm, eyes prickling.
That night, he stayed in the studio long after everyone else had gone home, dipping brush to paper like it could bring back every moment they'd shared.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
By Tuesday, it wasn’t just a coincidence. It was a message. A memory trail.
This time, it was a plushie. A tiny bunny hugging a bear.
He choked on a laugh the moment he saw it sitting neatly on his chair.
“Bunny and Bear” had been their stupid, sweet little nickname thing.
Taehyung’s contact name in Jungkook’s phone was still saved as "Taehyungie🐻"—he’d never had the heart to change it.
There was no note this time. But Jungkook didn’t need one. He took it home and placed it by his bed.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Wednesday felt like the past singing back to him.
A flash drive in a tiny paper envelope was all he found. It was unlabelled, but when he plugged it in after class, he saw the playlist:
“The songs we hummed in the art room.”
Seventeen tracks.
Each one a memory. Each one a page from their love story—Taehyung’s humming while Jungkook painted, the shared headphones during study breaks, their spontaneous twirls in empty corridors.
He lay in bed that night, headphones in, eyes closed, the songs flooding through every quiet corner of him.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
By Thursday , he wasn’t surprised. But he was starting to ache.
A cup of coffee was waiting for him on the steps outside the studio.
His order. Perfectly made. Four sugars, just the way he’d liked it since he was fifteen.
The note tied to the cup read:
Day 5 — “Still know your 4 sugars.”
Jungkook’s hands trembled slightly as he picked it up, his breath caught between laughter and a sob.
He sipped it slowly, like if he drank it too fast, the moment might vanish.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
Friday evening was quiet. Too quiet.
Until he returned to his dorm and noticed his ceiling stars.
Tiny, plastic glow-in-the-dark stars had been stuck up there, just like the ones they used to lie under in the art room after school, pretending they were lying under galaxies.
On his bed, a note:
Day 6 — “Our galaxy never faded.”
He turned the lights off and lay on his back, eyes tracing constellations he once knew by Taehyung’s fingertips.
His chest ached.
Could it really be…?
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
It was the evening before prom, Saturday.
The art department felt quieter than usual, the hum of creativity simmering into something softer, heavier. Jungkook was organizing brushes absentmindedly, mind already adrift with thoughts he couldn’t shake—memories he’d tried to bury but somehow kept painting back into his canvases.
There was no gift waiting at his studio, no surprise at his dorm. Instead, Jimin handed him a large, flat parcel in front of the music room.
Jungkook’s heart pounded as he unwrapped it.
A blank canvas. Clean. Pure. Waiting.
A single sentence written in a soft, familiar scrawl on a strip of painter’s tape across the top:
Day 7 — “Will you paint new memories with me?”
Jungkook didn’t realize he was crying until a tear splattered onto the corner of the canvas.
He clutched the edge, breathing hard, and whispered into the quiet,
“Please let it be you.”
Jimin leaned casually against the doorway to the studio. “Jungkook-ah,” he called, “come with me for a bit.”
Jungkook looked up. “Where?”
Jimin didn’t answer. Just smiled, that kind of smile that meant trust me, and nodded his head for Jungkook to follow.
Down the hallway. Up a short flight of stairs. Familiar turns that suddenly felt new with anticipation crackling under Jungkook’s skin.
Then—
A music room. Door slightly ajar.
“Go on,” Jimin said quietly, and nudged him in.
Jungkook stepped in cautiously. The room was dimly lit, faint gold light spilling from old ceiling fixtures. Instruments were tucked away in corners. A microphone stood center, and beside it—Taehyung.
His back was to Jungkook at first. Then he turned, hands slightly trembling, but eyes soft. The record player beside him whirred to life.
The first notes began to play.
Soft guitar, melancholic but hopeful.
“To Find You” by Sing Street.
Their song.
Jungkook froze. His eyes widened, lips parted in disbelief.
And then Taehyung began to sing.
His voice wasn’t perfect—it was raw, trembling slightly—but it carried every ounce of emotion he’d kept buried for the past two years. Every lyric was a confession. A reaching out. A remembering.
“And you were racing like a cannonball
And roller skates and sky blue
Or in the backseat, watching the slow rain falling
I was on my way to find you~”
Jungkook’s knees nearly buckled. The memories came back in a flood—Taehyung humming this song during late-night study sessions, their stolen dances in empty classrooms, the time he had whispered, “This will always be our song.”
Taehyung’s voice cracked a little on the last note.
Silence.
And then Jungkook was crying.
Not messy, broken sobs—but silent tears that fell before he could even breathe them back. His hand flew to his mouth, shoulders trembling.
Taehyung stepped forward, carefully, gently, like approaching a deer that might bolt.
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispered first. “For not fighting harder. For letting you leave without knowing how much you still mattered.”
Jungkook’s lips trembled. His voice, when it came, was thick with emotion.
“No,” he said softly. “I should be the one apologizing too.”
He looked down, shame flickering across his face.
“I’m sorry for walking away,” Jungkook choked. “For deciding for both of us. I thought I was protecting you—your dreams, your future—but all I did was run. I should’ve trusted our love more than I trusted the distance to break it.”
Taehyung’s grip on his hands tightened. “You were scared.”
“So were you,” Jungkook whispered.
They both laughed quietly, tears slipping down their cheeks.
Taehyung leaned in just a little closer, searching his eyes.
“So don’t stop now,” he said, voice gentler than the wind. “Let me try again. Let us try again.”
Jungkook—still crying, still smiling—nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Not just to the prom.
To everything.
To healing.
To love finding its way home again.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
It was finally Sunday.
The kind of Sunday where the sky glowed peach gold, as if the world itself wanted to end the week on a good note. The kind of Sunday that felt like a breath held and released. It was finally the Prom Night.
Taehyung waited by the entrance, nerves taut beneath his pressed navy suit, fingertips fidgeting with the ring on his pinky. Then—
“Hey.”
He turned.
Jungkook stood there, in black with silver accents, his hair softly curled, a single star-shaped pin glinting near his collar. A quiet smile tugged at his lips, eyes crinkling like they used to.
Taehyung stepped forward slowly.
“You came,” he breathed.
“I said yes,” Jungkook replied. “To everything, remember?”
Their fingers met naturally, lacing together like a memory long paused but never forgotten.
Hand in hand, they entered the hall.
The lights were dim and warm, golden like melted honey. Silk and fairy lights dangled from the ceiling, catching in Jungkook’s hair like tiny stars. Music thrummed low, and voices murmured everywhere, but Taehyung heard only Jungkook.
The crowd turned, whispers trailing behind them. Some gasped. Some smiled. Most simply stepped aside, like the universe knew this moment was sacred.
“You okay?” Taehyung asked, brushing his thumb over the back of Jungkook’s hand.
“I think so,” Jungkook said, glancing up at him. “But only if you keep holding on.”
Taehyung’s laugh was soft. “Always.”
They moved through the night quietly, smiling at friends, greeting a few professors who had far too much wine. Jieun gave Taehyung a dramatic thumbs-up from across the dance floor, Seojun wiped a tear, and Hyungsik mouthed “I TOLD YOU SO.”
And then, the music changed.
A familiar melody—the first few notes of the song they once played on loop in an empty art room.
Their song.
Taehyung looked at Jungkook, who was already staring at him. “Dance with me?”
Jungkook didn’t answer.
He simply stepped closer, hand resting on Taehyung’s shoulder, the other sliding into his.
They swayed—slow, small steps, wrapped in each other’s gravity. Around them, the world blurred: sequins, chatter, lights fading out. But between them, everything was sharp and clear.
Jungkook’s head fell against Taehyung’s shoulder. “I dreamed of this,” he murmured.
Taehyung leaned his cheek to Jungkook’s hair. “So did I. Except in mine, you wore glitter and cried halfway through.”
Jungkook laughed through his nose. “Give me ten more minutes.”
They held each other close, tighter with each chorus.
Because this wasn’t a second chance.
This was a continuation.
A chapter they’d always been meant to write—starting now, beneath the lights, the music, and the hush of a Sunday that finally, finally felt like home.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ EPILOGUE 𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
The world didn’t shift with fireworks.
No dramatic thunderstorm. No grand declarations echoing into the sky.
Instead, it was slow and steady. Soft. Certain.
Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, pooling golden on hardwood floors. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, and a record played faintly from the living room—something instrumental, something comforting.
Taehyung was curled on the sun-warmed couch, a paperback folded gently in his lap. His reading glasses slid a little down his nose, but he didn’t bother fixing them. Not when the sound of brushstrokes was so hypnotic.
Across the room, Jungkook stood barefoot in front of a canvas propped on an easel, shirt speckled with paint, lips slightly pouting in focus. His brows were furrowed, eyes scanning every detail. A small line of green swept across the canvas. Then a pause. Then another stroke of warm gold.
Taehyung watched him.
Not just the painting.
Him.
The way the sun kissed the tattoo peeking out from Jungkook’s sleeve. The crease in his brow that appeared when he mixed colors. The way his shoulders dropped, relaxed, when the right shade finally matched what he had in mind.
“He always loved to paint,” Taehyung murmured, almost to himself.
Jungkook turned slightly, brush still in hand. “And I always loved you.”
Taehyung’s heart gave a familiar ache, the good kind—the kind that reminded you you’re alive and home and full.
“I know,” he said with a smile. “I never stopped knowing.”
Jungkook walked over and knelt beside the couch, one hand resting beside Taehyung’s thigh. His thumb moved in slow circles, grounding, reverent.
“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we never found our way back?” he asked softly.
Taehyung set his book aside and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jungkook’s.
“Sometimes,” he whispered. “And I thank the universe every time we didn’t let it be the end.”
The room around them was filled with bits and pieces of their love.
A playlist still titled “The songs we hummed in the art room.”
The bunny and bear plushies sat side by side on the bookshelf.
A watercolour painting hung in the hallway, titled Day 2: For your colours that never faded in my mind.
And on the mantel, in a simple silver frame, their prom photo:
Jungkook smiling with stars in his hair and Taehyung looking at him like he was the whole galaxy.
No grand speeches.
Just two boys who grew up, grew apart, and then chose—deliberately, every day—to grow together again.
Outside, the sky was starting to shift to a dusty rose. Jungkook stood and held out his hand.
“Come help me finish this one?”
Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You want me to paint?”
Jungkook grinned. “I want you to be part of it.”
And so, barefoot and laughing, they stood side by side. A canvas before them. Colours waiting.
Love, still in motion.
𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ THE END! 𐙚˙✧˖°🎨📖 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚