When Kim Taehyung's fictional romance with his costar Jeon Jeongguk starts to feel more genuine than anything he accomplished in his entire acting career, he believes it shouldn't be a problem: after all, it's just acting.
But isn't it wrong to be...
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It wasn't the killer headache that disappointed him in the following morning, but rather the fact the space beside him on the bed was empty. Was he going to admit it out loud? Probably not.
Taehyung stirred, twisting and turning on bedsheets that surely weren't his own. They smelled lived in, faint with that familiar pumpkin-vanilla fragrance, which tickled his nose as he buried his face into the duvet. His head spun, partially from his hangover, and also because the scent was comforting, never failing to kick-start his heart this early because its warmth just radiated Jeongguk.
Unfortunately for Taehyung, the dream was crushed in a matter of seconds.
Fuck, his head throbbed. It wasn't an occasional flick, but rather a whole hammer smashed his skull every second or so, reminding him of his stupidity with absolutely no remorse.
Taehyung knew he was an idiot, but last night? It was like every ounce of idiocy within him decided to manifest in that moment, just to horribly backfire in his face three shots in.
Maybe he wasn't ever going to drink again. That was something he could live with. He didn't enjoy it particularly much anyway, but it felt worth it at the time. Taehyung agreed, though, that it surely wasn't his best moment, regardless if it was worth it or not.
But even so, he could only remember last night in bits and pieces. He sat up, eyes squinting and hair sprawled in all sorts of directions. Taehyung lazily smacked his lips together and let out a yawn, shaking off the rest of his sleepy state with one final drawn-out stretch.
And just like that, he jolted awake. Shit. Jeongguk!
Realization was just as cruel as his nasty hangover. He stumbled out of the bed, immediately noticing his crumpled clothes that reeked of acetone and sweat (not a good combination).
Taehyung's nose cinched, thankful Jeongguk left him a set of fresh clothes on the dresser. He snagged those and rushed to Jeongguk's bathroom, taking a quick shower to get himself back on track.
Good, god. He really wasn't thinking last night. As he shrugged on one of Jeongguk's shirts (which were strangely bigger over his small frame), guilt settled thickly in his throat. He couldn't imagine all the trouble, the stress he overwhelmed Jeongguk with.
If Taehyung recollected his memories right, he wasn't an easy drunk to be around.
He exited Jeongguk's bathroom without looking back. The house wasn't silent; Jeongguk's record player played its usual soft, piano music, something off a movie soundtrack. The kitchen overhead was humming, and on the stove he noticed a pot of soup, and what seemed to be savory eggs and bacon crackling on a separate pan.
"Jeongguk?" He called out, voice rough around the edges. He surveyed the kitchen, wondering where the hell he could go.
From the corner of Taehyung's eye, he caught a pile of folded blankets and a spare pillow leftover on the couch. His stomach prickled. Did he really force him to sleep out here? Before he could move out of the kitchen, two, furry bodies brushed past his legs.
