One shots | Kim Taehyung

Dancing in silence Part 5 | KTH

The rhythm of your life was beginning to shift—slowly, subtly, like petals opening to morning sun.

Mornings no longer felt like burdens. They were quiet rituals now—waking up wrapped in warm sheets, stretching gently as soft rays filtered through the curtains, the scent of fresh toast and Taehyung's cologne mingling faintly in the air.

Taehyung always rose before you, yet never failed to greet you with that same calm smile when you walked into the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from your eyes.

Some mornings, he'd slide a warm cup of tea toward you without a word. Other times, he'd press a soft kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a habit he never meant to form but now couldn't stop.

And you? You had begun to bloom.

You danced. You studied. You breathed.

Each day at the academy made you stronger. Your arms no longer hesitated, your spins held confidence, your movements glided with purpose. Mina often smiled at you mid-practice and whispered, "You're starting to move like a woman who trusts her feet."

At university, your grades quietly improved. You no longer sat at the back of the classroom hiding your presence—you raised your hand, you asked questions, you stayed after lectures to clarify doubts.

Taehyung noticed every change.

Some evenings, he'd wait outside the academy with his jacket slung over his shoulder, leaning against his car with one foot crossed over the other, watching you from afar through the tall glass windows. You'd catch his eyes as you turned mid-dance, and he'd offer a small, proud nod.

On the drive home, he'd ask, "What was that last move? The one where you raised your arms and looked like you were flying?"

"It's part of a contemporary sequence," you'd smile. "Why?"

"You looked like you were floating. I didn't want to blink."

He'd say it so plainly, so sincerely, it left a warmth curling in your chest long after.

At home, things were simple—but soft. Comfortable. You didn't cook often because Taehyung insisted on letting you rest. "You already move so much," he'd tease, "Let me at least keep your feet off the kitchen tiles."

Forehead kisses became his answer to everything.

When you frowned over homework: kiss.

When you smiled after class: kiss.

When you fell asleep on the couch: kiss.

Each one gentle, wordless—his way of saying I see you. I'm here. You're doing well.

That Sunday afternoon, he'd gone out to meet his friends at a quiet rooftop café tucked away in Itaewon. You'd waved him goodbye from the balcony, hair loosely tied, wearing one of his oversized hoodies. He had grinned before turning to leave, mouthing, "Don't miss me too much."

He arrived to the café greeted by laughter and familiar warmth. His friends—Namjoon, Jimin, Hoseok—were already gathered around a table cluttered with empty cups and dessert plates.

"Look who finally showed up!" Jimin smirked, pulling Taehyung into a hug. "Honeymoon over, huh?"

Taehyung chuckled as he slid into the seat beside Namjoon. "Some of us still have wives to return to, you know."

"Ohhh, he said wife like it's his favorite word," Hoseok teased, nudging him. "So, come on. How's married life treating the great Kim Taehyung?"

Taehyung sipped his coffee slowly before answering, a faint smile tugging at his lips.