Ep:2

...FRACTURED REFLECTION ...

The studio was quiet again, but it felt different. The weight of the space had changed since Jungkook’s visit—an unsettling stillness had settled over Taehyung, as if the air itself was charged with something dangerous. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to. The last thing he needed was to let a man he barely knew make him question his own mind.

I’m fine, Taehyung told himself. I’m fine. Just focus on the painting.

But as he stared at the canvas, the once vibrant red swirls now seemed almost… dead, as though they were slowly being suffocated under a layer of invisible pressure. The harsh strokes he’d poured so much of himself into were now mocking him.

Was this really all I am?

He ran his hands through his hair, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. The question, so simple, was too difficult for him to answer. He couldn’t think of a time when he had been truly free of pain. Not when Jihoon had been there, whispering sweet promises in his ear that were as empty as the space between them now. Not after the violent outbursts, the cruel words, the betrayal. Taehyung had never known love to be anything but a weapon, something that left deep scars.

He had tried to move on. He had tried to forget, but no matter how many brushstrokes he used to drown out the memories, the pain always found its way back in.

His phone buzzed, dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts. He glanced at the screen, seeing an unknown number. He had learned long ago not to trust unfamiliar contacts, but something in his gut told him it was important.

Reluctantly, he answered.

“Kim Taehyung,” came a deep voice from the other side. Jeon Jungkook.

“...Yes?” Taehyung's voice faltered for a moment, the name heavy in his mouth. It felt too soon. He didn’t want to deal with him again—didn’t want anyone poking at the fragile walls he had so carefully built around himself.

“I’m coming to your exhibition tomorrow,” Jungkook said without preamble. “You’ve got a showing at the gallery in Soho, right?”

Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat. His exhibition was private—by invitation only—and he had specifically kept the guest list tight, ensuring that only those who truly appreciated his work would be there.

“How do you know about the exhibition?” Taehyung asked, trying to keep the suspicion out of his voice. “You didn’t….”

“I don’t need an invitation,” Jungkook interrupted, his tone cool and matter-of-fact. “Consider it a business opportunity. I want to talk about a potential partnership.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust business people. He never had. And while Jungkook’s words were about business, there was something underneath them that made Taehyung uneasy.

“I’m not interested,” Taehyung replied quickly, his hand tightening around the phone. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“You’ll reconsider,” Jungkook said, and there was a strange finality in his voice. “You’ll see me tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it.”

Before Taehyung could protest, Jungkook hung up.

He stared at the phone in his hand, his heartbeat drumming against his chest like an ominous warning. What the hell just happened?

Later that night, Taehyung found himself standing in front of his studio mirror, studying his reflection. The harsh overhead light cast shadows under his eyes, making the exhaustion more visible than he’d like. His body looked the same—his face, his posture—but something was different. A sense of unease gnawed at his insides, tightening his throat.

He couldn’t help but remember the way Jungkook had looked at him earlier. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn’t pity. It was something else—something cold, calculating, yet strangely compelling. The way his gaze had lingered on the painting, on Taehyung himself, had unsettled him in a way he wasn’t ready to admit.

Why does this man feel like a threat?

The thought lingered, unanswered. Taehyung had never let anyone get close enough to challenge him like this, and the fact that Jungkook had made such an impact in such a short amount of time both frightened and intrigued him. But he would not be drawn in again, not by anyone. Not after Jihoon.

His phone buzzed again, this time with a message from his best friend, Seokjin.

“You ready for the exhibition tomorrow?” the message read.

Taehyung stared at it for a moment, before responding. “I guess. If it’ll get people to stop asking questions.”

Seokjin didn’t take long to reply. “Don’t worry, Tae. Just focus on your art. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel the weight of those words, even though he knew Seokjin meant well. But the truth was, the rest did matter. More than anyone would ever understand.

The day of the exhibition arrived too quickly, and Taehyung found himself standing before the doors of the gallery, adjusting his jacket as he prepared to face the crowd. The gallery was busy, filled with people who had come to admire his work—his pain—his art. But Taehyung wasn’t focused on the people. He wasn’t even focused on the art, though he knew it would sell itself.

His eyes kept flickering to the door, wondering when Jungkook would make his appearance.

And when he did arrive, it was exactly as Taehyung had expected. Jeon Jungkook stepped into the room like he owned it—like he owned everything. He was a man who commanded attention without uttering a word. His sharp gaze moved over the room, and Taehyung could feel it land on him, even before he saw the dark eyes meet his own.

It’s happening. He’s here.

Taehyung’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t allow himself to flinch. He had faced worse, hadn’t he? He could face this man too.

Jungkook approached him with deliberate steps, his presence imposing and suffocating. Taehyung refused to acknowledge the flutter of nerves in his chest. He wouldn’t let this man see him waver. Not when everything was so carefully controlled.

“Impressive,” Jungkook said, his voice low, cool, and calm. “I told you I’d be here.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his posture stiff. “And now you’re here. What’s your point?”

Jungkook smirked, as if he had expected this reaction. His eyes swept over the paintings again, and then, after a moment, his gaze returned to Taehyung’s face.

“You should start trusting people more,” Jungkook said quietly, almost to himself. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Jungkook said, his voice lowering, “that you can let go of the past. You don’t need to carry it around anymore.”

For a moment, Taehyung stood frozen, his heart beating faster. Let go of the past? How could he possibly let go of everything that had scarred him? Everything that had broken him?

“Don’t act like you know anything about me,” Taehyung said sharply, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and something darker. Vulnerability—the one thing he couldn’t afford to show. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Jungkook’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes softened just slightly. “I might not know everything, but I see more than you think.”

...To be continued...💜...

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