Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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My heart is a compass, and it always finds its way back to you.
Chapter 29: Concern
It was Jungkook who stirred first, his temples pounding with a headache that felt like a drum echoing inside his skull. He groaned softly, bringing a hand up to his forehead, wishing for a moment that he could detach his head altogether and find relief. The heaviness behind his eyes was almost unbearable, a sharp reminder of how recklessly much he had drunk the night before.
Shifting under the blanket, Jungkook sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body ached with that dull, sluggish weight that always came after too much alcohol, but he didn’t dwell on it. He knew himself well enough to accept that when he was drunk, he tended to act without restraint, sometimes doing things he wouldn’t have dared when sober.
It wasn’t surprising that he found himself bare, stripped of every layer of clothing, but the sight didn’t embarrass him. Right now, all he cared about was dulling the hammering in his head.
He padded across the room, pulling open the drawer of his cabinet with a little more force than intended, wincing at the noise. His fingers curled around the familiar bottle of painkillers, and without even glancing for water, he tipped two into his mouth, swallowing them dry. The bitterness clung to his tongue, but he didn’t care. He muttered a few curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his tangled hair, trying to steady himself.
It was only when his gaze drifted back toward the bed—perhaps by accident—that his entire body froze.
There, tangled in the sheets, lay Taehyung. His chest rose and fell with even breaths, his face softened by sleep, his lips slightly parted as though he was caught in the middle of a dream. The blanket was haphazardly draped across his hips, leaving most of his body bare to the soft morning light seeping in through the curtains.
For a moment, Jungkook forgot how to breathe. The sight hit him like a tidal wave, and his mind—sluggish and foggy from both the alcohol and the headache—struggled to piece together the fragments of memory. Slowly, slowly, realization settled in. This wasn’t just a dream. It wasn’t something his drunken imagination had conjured up to torture him. It had happened. Taehyung had been with him.
His chest tightened with anxiety. He didn’t know how Taehyung would react when he woke up, if he would regret everything, if he would look at Jungkook with anger or disappointment. The thought clawed at him, but beneath the fear was something else—relief. A quiet, overwhelming relief that this moment had been real. That Taehyung had been here, with him, not just a fleeting mirage.
Jungkook’s eyes traced the faint marks on Taehyung’s skin, the subtle reminders of where his hands, his lips, had been. Every bruise of color painted across Taehyung’s body looked like a hidden canvas, a secret story only the two of them shared. He felt heat bloom in his cheeks, not from embarrassment but from something deeper—an awe he couldn’t put into words. Taehyung was beautiful. Utterly breathtaking in a way that made Jungkook’s chest ache.
