𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗚 || ᴛᴀᴇᴋᴏᴏᴋ

• C H A P T E R 27 •

The club lights pulsed low and moody, streaks of violet and red weaving through the dense crowd. The bass thumped through the floor like a heartbeat. Taehyung leaned back against the plush leather booth in the VIP section, drink in hand, eyes unfocused as he stared out over the dance floor. Beside him, Yoongi nursed his whiskey, watching his friend with that unreadable, too-knowing gaze of his.

“You’re sulking,” Yoongi finally said, voice low, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Taehyung scoffed without humor. “I’m drinking.”

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re drinking and sulking. Which means you’re thinking about Jungkook.”

Taehyung didn’t answer, but his fingers tensed around his glass.

“Hyung,” Yoongi said calmly, “He likes you.”

Taehyung let out a short breath. “He rejected me.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Because you scared the shit out of him. You bullied him half to death, and then you confessed like it was a power play.”

“It wasn’t,” Taehyung muttered, jaw tight. “It was real.”

“I know that,” Yoongi replied. “He doesn’t.”

Taehyung downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow, setting the glass down with a thud. “Doesn’t matter now. He said no. And I don’t want to mess with him again. Not if he’s finally okay without me.”

Yoongi sighed, leaning back. “But he’s not okay. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Taehyung stared into the swirling lights, silent. His heart ached at the memory of Jungkook’s eyes  that look of confusion, pain, and something heartbreakingly soft. Something he tried to ignore.

Yoongi lowered his voice, firm now. “You’re hurting him by staying away just as much as you did by teasing him. The difference is now... you’re hurting yourself too.”

Taehyung shut his eyes for a moment, his throat tight.

“I don’t want to be another reason he cries.”

“Then be the reason he smiles,” Yoongi said simply.

The music throbbed around them, but inside that booth, time felt slower. And Taehyung, for the first time in weeks, didn’t have a sarcastic comeback.

Only doubt.

And the smallest, fragile flicker of hope.

The club's atmosphere was thick with music and sweat, bodies dancing under the glow of spinning neon lights. Laughter echoed, drinks clinked, and the bass thrummed like it owned the place.

Taehyung leaned back against the booth, a new drink in his hand, trying to ignore the weight of Yoongi’s words. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a long sip.

And then he choked.

He spluttered mid-drink, coughing violently, nearly spilling the liquor as his eyes widened at the sight walking through the entrance like sin dipped in moonlight.

Jungkook.

Or what used to be Jungkook.

He was clinging slightly to Jimin’s arm, nervous, clearly unsure, but Taehyung’s eyes zeroed in on the dress. A short, silky black number that hugged his figure a little too well  cinching at the waist, showing off that dangerous curve of hip, dipping just enough at the neckline to tease, and...

those thighs.

Milky, thick, soft. fair.

Jungkook’s long hair curled just enough to brush over his shoulder, his cheeks already pink from the heat or nerves Taehyung wasn’t sure. But what was clear was that every pair of eyes that turned to Jungkook made Taehyung’s blood boil.