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In Which We Escalate Things a Little

Jungkook groaned as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with both hands. He hadn't slept at all the previous night. His mind had been consumed by the image of Taehyung crying—silently, like he had done it countless times before. Jungkook couldn’t shake the way Taehyung had composed himself just minutes after. No trembling lips, no puffy eyes. Like nothing had happened.

And that, Jungkook realized, was the most heartbreaking part.

Old pain, he thought bitterly.
It must’ve been an old pain—the kind that doesn’t scream anymore, just sits in your chest like stone.

Without further thought, Jungkook grabbed the office telephone and pressed a button.
“Send Taehyung in,” he said curtly.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Taehyung walked in, arms weighed down by a tall stack of files. His face, for once, wasn’t hidden behind them.

“Ugh… Can you help me, Papa?” he huffed out of habit, then clicked his tongue, annoyed at himself. “Right. Papa doesn’t work here anymore,” he muttered under his breath, referring to Joshua.

Jungkook watched from behind his desk, the corner of his mouth twitching. Fewer files today, same dramatic entrance. He stood up to help.

“Is this some sort of tradition? Bringing a tower of files every time your boss calls you?” Jungkook teased.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Not much stamina, and I’m not about to make multiple trips,” he retorted, setting the files down.

Jungkook returned to his desk, but his eyes never left Taehyung. The man wore a fitted black turtleneck under a cropped jacket—elegant, understated, and annoyingly distracting.

“So? Why’d you call me?” Taehyung asked as he arranged the files neatly into the shelves. He hadn’t looked at Jungkook once.

“I asked why you called me,” he repeated, more pointedly this time.

“Can you get me coffee with—” Jungkook began, but Taehyung cut him off without missing a beat.

“Two spoons sugar, one spoon coffee, half a spoon cocoa, in hot water. I know,” he said, already making his way to the kitchen corner.

Jungkook blinked, slightly stunned. Then he smiled.

He remembered.

As Taehyung waited for the kettle to boil, he hummed a soft tune, his profile glowing in the warm office lights. Jungkook watched silently, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.

“Definitely got the best secretary,” he murmured to himself.

Taehyung returned with two mugs, placing one on Jungkook’s desk before plopping onto the leather couch with his own. Jungkook, leaving his laptop, walked over and sat beside him—close, but not too close.

He watched as Taehyung sipped from the cup, completely engrossed in a file on his lap.

“Taehyung, I want you to note something down,” Jungkook said softly.

Taehyung looked up, pulled out his phone, and opened the notes app.

“This office needs a change. The decor is too... father. It doesn’t feel like mine.”

Taehyung nodded, already mentally shortlisting contractors and design themes.

“What kind of change are you thinking?” he asked.

“I like modern—clean lines, colour, natural light. These couches and the table need to go. Add some frames to the walls—something bold. I’m trusting you, Taehyung.”

The shift in Jungkook’s voice caught Taehyung off guard. He nodded again, more seriously this time. They spent several minutes discussing specifics—lighting, paint, furniture. It was one of the first real conversations they'd had.

Eventually, Taehyung stood, ready to leave. He reached for the door, hand on the knob—only to freeze when another hand slid over his.

He turned, startled, just in time to be spun around and pinned gently against the door.

His breath caught in his throat. Jungkook stood close—too close. Their chests nearly brushed, and Taehyung's eyes widened as the proximity hit him like a tidal wave.

“I think,” Jungkook whispered, voice low, “you should stop calling my dad Papa.”

Taehyung blinked, stunned. “Huh? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to be my brother,” Jungkook murmured, leaning in closer. His lips brushed the shell of Taehyung’s ear. “Unless you’re planning to use that term as in-laws.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open. He gulped hard and began chewing on his lower lip.

God, Jungkook thought, he doesn’t even realize what that does to me.

The tension thickened like honey. Jungkook’s gaze flicked to Taehyung’s mouth, and before either of them could stop it, he leaned in slowly—closer, closer—

But Taehyung turned his face at the last second, and Jungkook’s lips landed on his cheek instead.

A soft squeal escaped Taehyung’s lips. He pressed his hand to Jungkook’s chest and shoved him back gently. Then, without another word, he turned and bolted out the door.

---

Outside, Taehyung leaned against the wall, his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape.

Jeon Jungkook just kissed me.
On the cheek, but still.

He touched the spot gently, feeling the phantom press of Jungkook’s lips. His skin tingled. His breath shook. He licked his dry lips and shook his head in disbelief.

Back in the office, Jungkook slumped into his chair, hand touching his own lips.

If this is what kissing his cheek feels like...
God help me when I finally taste his mouth.

The hunger simmered low in his gut, thick and hot and maddening. He was burning for more.

And it had only just begun.

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💜💜💜stay safe everyone