Jungkook/Taehyung

...JUNGKOOK...

The air in the trainee dorm was thicker than the practice hall had ever been.

The moment I stepped inside, the conversation stopped like someone hit mute.

Haneul was sprawled on the couch scrolling through his phone, Jiwoo was flipping through lyrics, Minjae leaning against the wall with his protein shake, and Dex—our oldest—sat at the table with headphones dangling around his neck.

None of them looked at me.

Typical.

“Wow,” Haneul said finally, eyes still on his screen. “Our golden boy returns.”

I dropped my bag near the door. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Nah,” Jiwoo muttered, not glancing up. “We’re just wondering how it feels to have Taehyung hyung write your entire schedule like a personal assistant.”

“You think I asked him to?” I shot back.

“No,” Minjae said, arms crossed. “You don’t have to ask when you’re his favorite.”

Dex didn’t say a word, but the look he gave me said enough—don’t start this.

Too late.

“You all keep acting like favoritism gets me free passes,” I said, voice rising. “Do you think getting called out in front of fifty people is fun? You think being treated like a puppet is something I asked for?”

“Come on, Jungkook,” Haneul snorted. “You get solo lessons, private evaluations, extra practice time with the company owner. The rest of us are just background dancers in your debut plan.”

“Then work harder,” I snapped.

Silence.

The kind that feels like a punch.

Haneul’s jaw ticked. “You don’t get it, do you? We work hard too. But no matter what we do, Taehyung-hyung will always pick you first. You could trip on stage and he’d still call it performance art.”

“Maybe he sees something in me you don’t,” I said coldly. “And that’s not my fault.”

Jiwoo looked up then, a smirk tugging his lips. “Yeah? Maybe he just likes the look of you.”

That hit a nerve I didn’t know was there.

I moved before thinking, a chair scraping the floor as I stood. “Say that again.”

“Why? Struck a chord?” Jiwoo grinned, standing too. “It’s not a secret. Everyone sees how he stares at you. We just don’t know why.”

“Jiwoo, stop,” Dex warned quietly.

“No, let him talk,” I said, stepping forward. “You think I haven’t earned my place here? You think I’m here because I—”

The dorm door swung open.

“Enough.”

Manager Choi’s voice cut through the room like thunder.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, sharp eyes flicking from one trainee to another. The kind of silence that follows authority settled fast. Even Haneul put down his phone.

“I could hear you idiots from the hallway,” she said flatly. “Congratulations. You’ve just proven why Taehyung doesn’t waste his time watching group practice.”

She looked straight at Haneul first.

“You think Taehyung favors Jungkook because he likes him more?” A scoff. “Please. He favors him because he has his reasons”

She shifted to Jiwoo next.

“You talk big, but when Taehyung gives criticism, you shrink. Jungkook argues, yes, but he listens. That’s why he improves faster than you.”

Jiwoo’s smirk faltered.

Then her tone softened—not kind, but deliberate.

“And for the record,” she continued, “he has no one. No family here. No one to rely on outside these walls. You all go home on holidays—he doesn’t. He trains.”

My chest tightened.

How the hell did Taehyung even know that? I made sure to never bring up...my past.

Choi wasn’t finished.

“Taehyung recognizes that,” she said. “Because he was the same. Except worse.”

That sentence landed like a bomb. The room went dead quiet.

“You mean…?” Minjae started.

“You don’t need the details,” Choi interrupted. “But I’ve known Taehyung for more than a decade. You see a CEO. I saw a kid who built himself out of nothing but hunger and defiance. He sees that same fire in Jungkook. That’s not favoritism. That’s respect.”

She turned toward me then, eyes softening just slightly.

“And as your manager,” she said, “I suggest you stop wasting energy fighting with each other. Because Taehyung doesn’t keep weak-minded teams. If you can’t handle a little imbalance, you won’t survive your debut.”

She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got vocal training in ten minutes. All of you. Go.”

The others moved slowly, quiet for once. Bags rustled, water bottles clicked, footsteps shuffled toward the door.

I stayed behind.

“Manager Choi,” I said quietly. “What you said about… Taehyung’s childhood. What did you mean?”

She sighed, tucking the clipboard under her arm.

“Ask him yourself someday,” she said. “Just be ready for the answer.”

And then she left.

I sat down, elbows on my knees, head spinning.

Taehyung had known I had no one—and instead of pitying me, he saw me. That realization hit hard in a way I didn’t want to admit.

For the first time since stepping into V-Verse, I wasn’t angry at his control.

I just wanted to understand why he saw so much of himself in me.

...TAEHYUNG...

Power has a sound.

It’s quiet. The kind of silence that makes others wait to speak.

I’ve spent years learning how to fill rooms with that silence.

“Mr. Kim,” the French investor says, smiling too wide. “Your offer is aggressive. You’re essentially asking us to give up controlling stakes—”

“I’m not asking,” I interrupt, calmly. “I’m informing you that this is how it will proceed.”

He freezes.

They always do.

No one expects softness from me, but they forget I built V-Verse from the ashes of my own name.

“You’ll keep your brand,” I add, leaning back. “And in return, I’ll make sure you exist beyond Asia. Do we have a problem with that?”

His assistant glances at him nervously.

He clears his throat, shakes his head.

“No, Mr. Kim. We…don’t.”

“Good.” I smile. “Then we’re done here."

The meeting room empties. Another city, another empire added to mine.

Sometimes I think about how quiet it was when I first started. No lights, no cameras, no voices chanting my name — just me, a trainee with too much ambition and no one to tell me when to stop.

Now, when I walk through hotel lobbies, heads turn. Celebrities, investors, CEOs — they lower their voices. I’ve become the kind of name people whisper about.

I worked for that silence.

Earned it.

Commanded it.

But lately…

there’s another sound that keeps following me.

One that refuses to shut up in my head.

His laugh.

Jungkook’s laugh.

I pour myself a drink, staring at the skyline of Paris through the glass. The city lights shimmer — almost mocking, like they know what I’m thinking about.

He’s probably in rehearsal now.

Sweat dripping down his neck, hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted as he counts steps. He doesn’t even realize how distracting he is. Or maybe he does — he’s bratty enough to weaponize it.

I close my eyes, remembering his last evaluation.

The way he looked at me — defiant, sharp, too beautiful for his own good.

When I told him to redo the choreography, he actually glared at me.

Brat.

I’d wanted to remind him who he was talking to — and yet, I’d ended up watching the way his jaw tightened, how every muscle in his body moved like rhythm was his oxygen. I can control companies, trends, markets…But him?

He’s chaos wearing a pretty face.

My phone buzzes.

A message from Manager Choi.

"Group conflict handled. Jungkook stood his ground as usual. But I may have said more than I should have about his past. And yours. You’re welcome."

I sigh. Of course she did.

I type back:

"You’re getting too comfortable with what’s confidential."

She replies instantly:

"You’re getting too obvious with who you favor."

I smirk despite myself.

Maybe she’s right.

But it’s not favoritism. It’s inevitability.

I walk over to the mirror near the minibar and loosen my tie.

Even in my reflection, I can see it — that edge of hunger behind my eyes that doesn’t fade with success.

I’ve spent years controlling every piece of my life: who I see, what I sign, how the world perceives me.

But Jungkook…he’s the one thing that refuses to obey.

He challenges me in every way that matters. He burns too bright, too fast, and I want to be the one who decides how far that fire spreads.

“You’ll thank me one day,” I whisper to the empty room. “For making you mine before the world could.”

My phone buzzes again.

A message from an unknown number that only I recognise.

Attached: a video clip.

Jungkook’s dance practice from the V-Verse studio — tonight.

He’s alone, moving to a track I don’t recognize.

There’s a kind of raw emotion in him — frustration, exhaustion, maybe loneliness.

He doesn’t know someone’s recording.

And he definitely doesn’t know it’s being sent to me.

I watch, transfixed.

Every movement is too deliberate, too angry, too perfect.

And when the music ends, he just stands there, breathing hard, eyes red, whispering something I can’t hear.

I replayed it three times.

My throat feels tight.

Then I text Choi again.

"I want the final group evaluation postponed. Jungkook’s overworked."

"You’re babying him", she replies.

"I’m protecting an investment"

That’s the lie I tell everyone.

Maybe even myself.

I set the glass down and look back at the skyline.

The whole world thinks I built this empire because I crave control.

But control isn’t the goal — it’s the chain that keeps everything from falling apart.

And right now, the weakest link in that chain…

is the boy who makes me want to lose control completely.

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