The time difference was killing them, literally the only thing worse than the shitty hotel WiFi.

Jeon Jungkook stared at his phone, hair still damp from a rushed shower, oversized hoodie hanging off his shoulders as he paced his room in New York. The city lights bled through the curtains, but he barely noticed. His screen lit up with an incoming FaceTime.

“Finally,” he muttered, swiping to answer.

Kim Taehyung appeared, half-laying across a bed somewhere in Paris, blond hair messy, eyes soft but tired.

“Hey,” Taehyung said, voice low, like he’d been waiting hours.

Jungkook scoffed. “You look like shit.”

Taehyung blinked, then smirked. “Missed you too, asshole.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched, heavy with everything they couldn’t say in front of cameras.

“I hate this,” Jungkook said suddenly, running a hand through his hair. “Different countries, different schedules… feels like we’re barely even—”

“Don’t,” Taehyung cut in softly. “Don’t finish that.”

Jungkook sighed, dropping onto the bed. “I’m serious, Tae. I can’t even hug you. I’m out here doing photoshoots and all I can think about is you being on the other side of the damn world.”

Taehyung’s expression shifted, softer now. “You think I’m doing any better? I almost told the stylist to fuck off today because she kept fixing my hair and I was already pissed.”

Jungkook snorted. “You would.”

“I did,” Taehyung admitted, shrugging. “Worth it.”

They both laughed quietly, tired, but real.

Taehyung adjusted his phone, getting more comfortable. “Show me your room.”

Jungkook flipped the camera around lazily. “It’s boring as hell. Just a bed and overpriced snacks.”