The dorm felt too quiet once Taehyung left. Everyone else carried on as usual—Yoongi was in his studio, Namjoon with a book, Jimin scrolling on his phone, Jin humming in the kitchen while cooking something late. I sat in the living room, controller in hand, pretending to focus on the game flickering across the screen.
But every time I glanced at the clock, the hours dragged longer than they should. I told myself not to think too much about it. Taehyung had his Wooga hyungs, his own circle of comfort outside of us. Still, I couldn't shake the weight pressing against my chest.
I played match after match, but even the sound of gunfire in the game felt muted. J-Hope dropped by, sitting beside me for a while, watching silently before nudging me.
"You're off today."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You're usually trash-talking by now. Today you look like you're just pressing buttons."
I laughed quietly, but it didn't reach my chest. "Maybe I'm tired."
He studied me for a moment longer before letting it go, heading off to his room. I stayed, restless.
When my phone buzzed, I half expected it to be Taehyung. But it wasn't—just a group notification, a fan video, a reminder of how much the world watched every move we made. I threw the phone onto the couch and rubbed my face.
The truth was simple: I missed him. Not in the dramatic way movies showed, not in words that sounded like poetry. I just… missed his presence. The sound of his laugh echoing in the dorm, the way he always teased me until I cracked, the small moments where his hand would brush mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When he wasn't here, the silence was heavier. And tonight, that silence felt unbearable.
I stood, restless, pacing the dorm. I checked the time again. Almost midnight. That was late, even for Taehyung. My chest tightened, though I told myself he was fine. Of course he was fine. He was with people who cared about him. People who loved him.
Still, I couldn't sit still. So I ended up leaning against the hallway wall, arms folded, pretending to be casual. Waiting.
When the door finally opened, the sound was enough to make my pulse spike. Taehyung stepped in, shoulders relaxed, his face soft from the warmth of laughter that hadn't happened here. I wanted to ask a hundred questions at once, but all that came out was, "You're back."
He smiled at me, tired but glowing. "Yeah. It was good."
Something inside me loosened, but I still asked, "Better now?"
The way he looked at me then—it was quiet, certain, like he didn't need to say much. His smile grew softer, his voice lower. "Better now."
The air shifted between us. Not heavy, not suffocating, but alive. Like we both understood without needing to explain.
And for the first time that night, I felt the silence ease. The missing, the waiting, the restless pacing—all of it was worth it for this moment. For him choosing to come back here.
I pushed myself away from the wall, brushing past him lightly as I headed toward my room. I didn't need to say it, not out loud, but the thought was already carved into me: as long as he kept coming back, I'd be fine.