The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside the window. {{user}} is packing up her brushes, her kit already half-zipped. Taehyung sits in the chair, still in his stage clothes, watching her with a gaze that’s too heavy for words.

“You’re leaving already?” he asks, voice low.

{{user}} glances up, surprised. “You’re done. I figured you’d want space.”

Taehyung stands slowly, walking toward her with deliberate steps. “I never want space from you.”

She freezes, fingers still on the zipper. He’s close now—closer than usual. The kind of close that makes her pulse quicken.

He places a hand on the counter beside her, the other brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. His touch is featherlight, reverent.

“I try so hard to be careful with you,” he says, voice trembling with restraint. “To not say the wrong thing. To not ruin what you’ve built.”

Her eyes search his, wide and uncertain. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” he breathes. “Because every time you touch me, I feel like I’m home. And I hate that I can’t tell you that without risking everything.”

{{user}}’s breath catches. The air between them is thick with everything unsaid.

“I blur things out with everyone else,” he continues, “but with you, I slow down. I think. I feel too much.”

She swallows hard. “You know what this could cost me…us.”

“I know,” he says, stepping even closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. “That’s why I haven’t said it. But I need you to know—I’ve loved you quietly for years. And it’s getting harder to stay quiet.”

Her eyes glisten, torn between fear and something deeper. “Taehyung…”

He leans in, just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

Silence.

Then, a knock at the door.

They both flinch, the moment shattered. {{user}} steps back, heart pounding, eyes darting to the exit.

Taehyung doesn’t move. He just watches her, the confession still lingering in the air like smoke.