Morning sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds of Jungkook's apartment. The place was unusually quiet, the air still heavy with yesterday's conversations. He had barely slept. The group's meeting had left his mind spinning with thoughts — about fame, love, truth, and how easily the world twisted all three.
He sat by the window, mug in hand, staring at the city below. Cars moved like little sparks in the morning light. Notifications kept lighting up his phone screen. Articles, clips, fan edits, all pulling threads from their private lives to weave stories that weren't real. One headline even claimed a hidden feud between him and Taehyung.
Jungkook sighed and tossed the phone aside. "They never stop," he muttered.
A knock came at the door. It opened before he answered. Jimin stepped in, wearing a hoodie and cap, holding two cups of coffee.
"You look like you didn't sleep," Jimin said, setting one cup down.
"I didn't," Jungkook replied. "My brain won't shut up."
Jimin sat beside him. "You keep thinking about what people are saying."
"I hate how it gets into my head," Jungkook admitted. "They make it sound like we're acting. Like our friendship isn't real."
Jimin nodded slowly. "They don't know us. They only see the surface. They guess, then they sell those guesses as truth."
For a while, they said nothing. The silence wasn't awkward — it was familiar. Jimin had always been the quiet kind of support, the one who didn't need to talk much to understand.
Finally, Jimin said, "You know what I think? The more we chase truth in front of people, the less real it feels. Maybe we stop explaining. Live how we want. Let the truth show itself."
Jungkook smiled faintly. "You sound like Namjoon."
"I sound smarter in the mornings," Jimin grinned.
The mood lightened. Jungkook picked up his phone again and opened the group chat. It was already active. Hoseok had sent a photo of his breakfast. Yoongi replied with an image of his cat looking unimpressed. Taehyung had dropped a single emoji — a tiger, nothing more.
Jungkook stared at that tiger for a moment, smiling softly. Then he typed: Studio tonight?
Taehyung's reply came fast. Already there.
Jimin noticed. "You're going?"
"Yeah," Jungkook said. "Might as well make something out of this noise."
By the time he reached the studio, the lights were dim, the walls pulsing with a quiet beat. Taehyung sat on the floor, guitar in hand, strumming aimlessly. He looked up when Jungkook entered.
"Didn't think you'd come this early," Taehyung said.
"Couldn't sleep," Jungkook replied, dropping his bag. "Thought I'd join the insomnia club."
Taehyung chuckled. "Membership's open twenty-four hours."
They stayed like that for a while, letting the music fill the space. No words, no cameras, no noise. Just sound and the faint thrum of connection. Jungkook picked up a mic, sang a few rough lines — something raw, unfinished, but real.
Taehyung stopped playing, watching him. "That sounds like something," he said softly.
Jungkook shrugged. "It's nothing yet."
"Then let's make it something."
And so they did.
As the night deepened, the two of them built the song piece by piece — fragments of melody, half-written lyrics, bits of emotion turned into rhythm. It wasn't about albums or numbers. It was a way to breathe again.
Outside, the rumors still spread. Threads still spun their names into stories. But inside the studio, they built something no headline could fake — a truth that only existed in music, in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
When they finally stopped, Taehyung leaned back against the wall. "You know," he said quietly, "no matter what they say, this is what lasts."
Jungkook nodded. "Yeah. This is the only thing that's real."
The track kept playing softly in the background. It didn't have a title yet. But it already felt like a secret they'd both remember.