I Broke Down In My Bandmate's Arms, And He Kissed Me Like He'd Waited His Whole Life

The keypad chimed, the sound soft in the hushed corridor of the high-rise. The door swung inward before Jimin could fully enter the code, and Taehyung was there, silhouetted against the warm light of his apartment. He didn’t say anything, just offered a small, tired smile that reached his eyes. It was all the welcome Jimin needed.

He shuffled inside, dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest. The past week had been a blur of eight-hour dance practices, punctuated by interviews where he’d had to summon a brightness he didn't feel. Here, in the quiet of Taehyung’s space, he could finally let the mask fall. He felt the exhaustion settle deep in his bones, a familiar, leaden weight.

“I ordered from the place on Dosan-daero,” Taehyung’s voice was low, a gentle rumble that seemed to smooth the frayed edges of Jimin’s nerves. “Japchae and galbi-jjim.”

Of course he had. Jimin just nodded, his throat too tight to form words. He followed Taehyung into the open-plan living area, where two place settings were already arranged on the low table in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, Seoul glittered like a spilled box of jewels, a breathtaking and impersonal beauty.

They ate in a silence that had once been comfortable but now felt charged with a different energy. It was a quiet filled with the ghosts of a thousand shared glances across crowded rooms, of hands that had brushed and lingered a second too long, of late-night conversations that always skirted the edge of a truth neither of them dared to name. The only sounds were the soft clinking of their chopsticks against the ceramic bowls and the distant, muted hum of the city below.

Jimin focused on the food, on the familiar, savory taste of the braised ribs. It was easier than looking at Taehyung. When he did risk a glance, he saw the way Taehyung’s long, elegant fingers held his chopsticks, the intent focus in his dark eyes as he ate. He felt a familiar ache bloom in his chest, a dangerous mix of affection and longing that he had spent years learning to ignore. He knew Taehyung was watching him, too. He could feel his gaze, steady and searching, and it made the skin on his arms tingle. The air between them grew thick, heavy with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken question of their future. It was a stillness that was louder than any sound.

When they were finished, Taehyung gathered their bowls and carried them to the kitchen sink, his movements economical and quiet. Jimin stayed at the table, watching the city lights blur as his eyes lost focus. The warmth of the food had done little to ease the cold knot of tension in his stomach.

Taehyung returned, not with a suggestion for a movie, but with his tablet. He settled on the floor next to Jimin, close enough that their knees were almost touching. The proximity sent a low hum of awareness through Jimin’s entire body.

“I’ve been working on something,” Taehyung said, his voice soft. He angled the screen toward Jimin. “A new series.”

The screen glowed to life, displaying a stunning black-and-white photograph of Namjoon, captured mid-laugh in his studio, his face creased with genuine joy. Taehyung swiped, revealing Yoongi asleep at his keyboard, his face relaxed and vulnerable in a way they rarely saw. Another swipe showed Hoseok, staring out a rain-streaked window, a thoughtful, almost melancholic expression on his features. Each image was raw and intimate, a glimpse behind the curtain of their public lives. Taehyung had captured the quiet moments, the unguarded truth of them.

Then, he stopped on the last photo. It was of him.

Jimin’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t even remember Taehyung taking it. He was in the practice room, slumped against the mirror, his eyes closed. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead, and the lines of exhaustion were stark on his face. But there was something else, too. A kind of peace in the slump of his shoulders, a serenity in the slight curve of his lips. Taehyung hadn't just captured his fatigue; he’d captured the quiet relief that came after pushing his body to its absolute limit. He saw the struggle, but he also saw the peace in the aftermath.

A wave of overwhelming affection washed over Jimin, so potent it was almost painful. To be seen like this, so completely and with such gentle understanding, was a feeling he hadn't known he was starving for.

Without thinking, he reached out, his index finger tracing the line of his own jaw on the cool glass of the screen. As his finger moved, it brushed against the tip of Taehyung’s thumb, which was resting at the edge of the tablet.

A spark, sharp and immediate, shot up Jimin’s arm. It was like a static shock, but it didn't fade. It lingered, a pulsing heat that spread straight to his chest. He pulled his hand back as if burned, his gaze snapping up to meet Taehyung’s. Taehyung’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, and Jimin knew, with absolute certainty, that he had felt it too. The silence in the room was no longer just heavy; it was electric.

Taehyung was the one to look away first. He cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent room, and set the tablet on the low table with a soft click. The spell was broken, but the energy it had created lingered, clinging to the air between them like humidity.

“Movie?” Taehyung’s voice was carefully neutral, but Jimin could hear the slight strain in it.

Jimin just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He pushed himself to his feet on legs that felt unsteady and followed Taehyung to the large, plush sofa that faced the screen. He sank into the cushions on one end, and Taehyung took the other, leaving a deliberate, calculated space between them. It was a space that should have felt safe, but instead, it felt like a chasm crackling with unspoken words.

Taehyung flicked through a streaming service with the remote, the bright colors of movie posters flashing across the screen, a jarring contrast to the quiet intensity of the room. He settled on some generic action film, and the opening sequence filled the apartment with explosions and a dramatic score. It was just noise. White noise to fill the silence that had become so loaded.

Jimin stared at the screen, but he wasn’t seeing it. His awareness was entirely fixed on the man sitting a few feet away. From the corner of his eye, he could see Taehyung’s profile, illuminated by the shifting light from the television. His long fingers rested on a throw pillow, and Jimin watched as they began to tap a restless, silent rhythm against the fabric. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was a habit Jimin knew intimately, one that surfaced whenever Taehyung’s mind was working overtime, when he was wrestling with something he couldn’t articulate.

The sight made Jimin’s own heart beat faster. He knew that restless energy because he felt it too, a frantic buzzing beneath his skin. Every nerve ending felt raw, hypersensitive to the man beside him. He could feel the warmth radiating from Taehyung’s body across the small gap, could smell the faint, familiar scent of his sandalwood cologne. The quiet intimacy of the apartment, which had always been a refuge, now felt like a pressure cooker. Here, away from the cameras and the staff and the other members, there was nothing to hide behind. There was only the vast, complicated history between them and the truth that was pressing in on all sides.

He swallowed, the sound loud in his own ears. He wanted to close the distance between them, to slide across the couch and feel the solidness of Taehyung’s body against his. He wanted to still those restless fingers by tangling them with his own. The desire was a physical ache in his chest, sharp and insistent. For years, they had walked this line, a delicate and dizzying tightrope of a friendship. But tonight, for the first time, Jimin felt the rope swaying beneath his feet, threatening to snap.