The roar of the crowd pressed against the walls of the stadium, a tidal wave of sound that threatened to crush everything in its path. Cameras swung like vultures above the stage, waiting to catch the slightest twitch of a smile or slip of a step. The air smelled of heat and electric smoke, the scent of sweat and machinery merging into something metallic, almost suffocating.
Jungkook stood at the edge of the stage, his in-ear monitors muffling the screaming voices into a distant echo. From this angle, the world beyond the lights blurred into faceless shadows, but the weight of their gaze was heavy enough to set his chest on fire. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, told himself again and again that he had been born for this. That this was his place.
Beside him, Taehyung adjusted his mic with one hand, lips pursed in concentration. His eyes caught the glint of the spotlight, sharp and cutting, but there was something softer buried underneath. He looked calm in the way only he could—calm yet dangerous, the kind of presence that could steal attention without trying. Jungkook's throat tightened, though he told himself it was the dry air.
The music began, bass trembling through the stage floor. Their bodies moved like clockwork, rehearsed and polished to perfection, but Jungkook's mind betrayed him. Each time Taehyung's voice slid through the speakers, rich and husky, Jungkook felt it coil around him, pulling tight, refusing to let go. His steps almost faltered, a millisecond of hesitation that nobody in the crowd would notice. But he felt it.
He stole a glance. Taehyung wasn't looking at him, not exactly, but his gaze lingered near enough that Jungkook's chest ached. For a heartbeat too long, the performance became something else—less choreography, more confession. The crowd screamed louder, as if they had felt it too, as if the tension between them was a flame visible to everyone except the ones holding it.
When the final beat dropped and the stage lights cut, darkness swallowed them whole. The screams outside grew louder, echoing into the abyss. Backstage, staff members swarmed, tugging at their outfits, shoving water bottles into their hands, barking instructions. The group scattered into their dressing room, laughter and exhaustion filling the air.
Jungkook dropped into the leather couch, towel draped over his head. His chest heaved, sweat cooling on his skin. He told himself to calm down, to breathe, to think of anything else but the way Taehyung's voice had carved its way into him.
The door clicked shut, muffling the noise of the hallway. Taehyung's footsteps were unhurried, the soft scrape of sneakers against the floor. Jungkook pulled the towel from his head and found him there—too close, too silent, too unreadable.
Taehyung leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on Jungkook. The space between them was filled with everything they couldn't say. Jungkook's pulse jumped.
"You almost missed your step out there," Taehyung said finally, voice low, casual on the surface, but laced with something heavier.
Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck. He wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, the adrenaline, or the way Taehyung's eyes refused to look away.
The silence stretched, thin and sharp, until a knock rattled the door. A manager's voice barked from the hallway, urgent, too sudden.
"Taehyung, Jungkook—my office. Now."
The knock echoed like a warning.