Cosmic Whispers

[cosmicwhisperssss]

The Art of Not Knowing You

EPISODE 3 — The Secret Exhibit

It had been two days since the vase incident.

Taehyung had handled everything—spoken with the museum manager, paid for the damage, and made sure no blame came to you. Everyone had been impressed, but what struck you most was his calm, protective energy. Even in the chaos, he had managed to keep you from feeling like the entire disaster was your fault.

Because of his dedication, the museum director had quietly assigned him to help with a restricted, behind-the-scenes exhibit—a part of the museum most staff never saw. And, apparently, you were to assist him.

At first, you had protested. “Why me?” you’d asked.

“Because I don’t trust anyone else to keep this wing from being destroyed,” he’d replied, smirking faintly but serious. “Besides… I’d rather have someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

That faint smirk had done something strange to your chest. You hadn’t liked it. Not at all.

Now, standing together in the dimly lit East Wing, the silence was almost oppressive. Taehyung moved alongside you, carefully cataloging delicate artifacts, his fingers brushing lightly over labels and tags. His focus was absolute, but every so often, his gaze flicked toward you—concern, calculation, something unspoken in his expression.

“Something’s off,” he murmured, pausing beside a vase that had been slightly moved.

You frowned, following his eyes. “It looks like someone’s been… moving things.”

His lips pressed together. “Deliberately.”

Your stomach tightened. The calm, calculated way he said it made it clear: this wasn’t just an accident or clumsy staff.

Then came the scream.

A staff member had been stabbed in the stomach.

You froze. Taehyung spun toward the sound, eyes sharp, body moving like he had trained for chaos. The intruder had already vanished. The metallic tang of blood hung faintly in the air.

You looked around in panic, but he moved with quiet control, stepping protectively between you and the doorway.

“That’s… fingerprints,” he muttered, crouching by the weapon. “And… hair.”

You blinked. “Whose?”

His jaw tightened. “Mine.”

You stumbled backward. “What? That can’t—”

“I didn’t do this,” he said firmly. His dark eyes locked onto yours, steady and unwavering. “I was with you the entire time. They’re framing me.”

Your heart pounded. The forensic test would show his fingerprints and hair at the scene, making it look like he was the attacker.

You wanted to panic, scream, cry. But somehow, his presence grounded you. He didn’t just stand there—he stayed close, protective, his energy calm but magnetic.

“I won’t let them blame you for this,” he said softly, voice low but firm. “We’ll prove who did this. And you… you stay safe.”

You swallowed hard, realizing something you couldn’t quite name. The chaos, the danger, the way he stayed calm and focused, the subtle glances… it was pulling you toward him, whether you wanted it to or not.

Together, you began scanning the shadowed East Wing. Every shelf, every corner could hide clues—or another threat. Every step made your chest tighten, the air thick with tension.

Finally, Taehyung knelt by a misaligned drawer and whispered, almost to himself:

“We have to catch them before anyone believes it’s me… or this museum will never be the same.”

You nodded, knowing one thing for certain: he wasn’t just an idol or a problem—he was your ally, and nothing was going to stop him from protecting you.

[cosmicwhisperssss]

The Art of Not Knowing You

EPISODE 2 — The Broken Vase

Taehyung was filming near the East Wing exhibit, moving with a casual grace that made him seem like he belonged everywhere—except here.

Then, in one careless moment, his hand slipped.

A delicate vase, centuries old, wobbled and toppled. It shattered against the floor, ceramic pieces scattering in all directions.

“What did you just do?!” you shouted, rushing forward.

He froze, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean?” you repeated sharply. “Do you even know what this is? You can’t just… just drop something like that!”**

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at the shards. “I’m… going to pay for it,” he said, voice low but determined.

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer. “It’s too valuable. You can’t replace it. Even if you threw a fortune at it, it’s gone. Do you even understand what this vase is worth?”**

You rattled off the approximate value, your voice trembling slightly, but anger masking the quiver.

At that moment, your phone buzzed. The museum manager’s name flashed across the screen. “Where are you?!” the message demanded. “Why is a vase broken? This is your responsibility!”

You pressed your lips together, swallowed hard, and backed away. Once alone in the staff room, the anger melted into quiet, unstoppable tears. You sank into the chair, hiding your face.

Footsteps approached.

“Hey…”

You stiffened, trying to wipe your tears. “What… what happened?” Taehyung asked gently, crouching down to be at your level. His usual confident energy was replaced with concern.

You shook your head, wanting to avoid him. “I said it’s fine,” you mumbled.

He didn’t budge. “No… tell me. Please.”

Finally, you let it spill. “It’s… it’s the vase… it broke. The manager is yelling at me. I… I don’t know how to fix it. It’s valuable… and I’m the one responsible.”**

He stayed quiet, listening, watching your small frame shake with frustration and grief.

“You’re not alone,” he finally said softly. “We’ll figure this out. I… I’ll help. I promise.”**

You didn’t answer. You just hugged your knees closer, trying to stop the sobs.

He stayed across from you, silent but present. No words, no judgment—just being there, letting you feel heard.

And for the first time, he realized you weren’t just another person scolding him—you were someone he wanted to understand, even if he couldn’t say why.

After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke, his voice firm but calm.

“Listen,” he said, leaning slightly closer, “I’ll talk to the manager. This is on me. You don’t have to get in trouble because of me.”

You blinked, stunned. “I… I can’t let you—”

“I will pay for it. Double if I have to,” he interrupted, eyes steady. “You’re not responsible for my mistake. I’ll handle everything. You just… don’t cry over this.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure what to say. His seriousness made the tension in your chest loosen slightly, though your pride still burned.

He crouched down, pointing at the shards. “Come on. Let’s at least clean this up together. I want to make sure nothing else gets broken on my watch.”

You hesitated, then took the dustpan, letting him help guide you. His presence wasn’t overbearing—just steady, protective, concerned.

And even though nothing had happened between you yet, for the first time, you felt like maybe he wasn’t just the cause of the problem—he was part of the solution too.

[cosmicwhisperssss]

The Art of Not Knowing You

EPISODE 1 — The First Collision

The museum was unusually loud for a Tuesday morning. Cameras, staff, wires, lights. You walked through it all with a clipboard tucked under your arm, weaving past the production crew like you’d done this a hundred times.

Someone from the staff whispered, “They’re filming with him today.”

You didn’t bother asking who him was. You just needed the East Wing ready before the director had another breakdown.

When you reached the “No Touching” zone, you stopped. Someone was already there, leaning too close to an artifact covered in fragile glass. A man with dark hair, soft curls falling over his forehead, dressed like he walked out of a photoshoot rather than actual life.

He tapped the glass lightly with a fingertip.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t gasp. You simply walked up and said in your most neutral museum-uniform tone, “Please don’t touch the artifacts.”

He froze.

Slowly, he turned toward you, eyes widening like you had just spoken in ancient Greek. The entire crew around him paused.

A stylist gasped quietly. A manager blinked. Someone dropped a makeup sponge.

The man stared at you for a full, confused second. “I… wasn’t touching it,” he said, though he absolutely was.

You pointed at the glass. “It looked like you were.”

His mouth fell open slightly, as if no one had ever spoken to him like that. One of the staff members rushed up to you, whisper-yelling, “That’s V. Taehyung. Please be careful.”

You blinked once. “Oh. Okay.” Then you walked away to finish your checklist.

Behind you, Taehyung watched with an expression halfway between offended and intrigued.

A few minutes later, the filming began. Every time he delivered a line, his eyes flickered in your direction, almost like he expected you to scold him again for breathing too close to historical objects.

You barely looked at him.

Chaos for him. Peace for you.

During a break, he overheard two interns whispering near the statue exhibit.

“She didn’t even react,” one said. “I don’t think she recognizes him.” “She talks to him like he’s a regular visitor.” “I heard she hates idol culture.”

Taehyung paused mid-sip of water.

Hates idols?

His eyebrow twitched.

He didn’t know why it bothered him. He didn’t know you, and you clearly didn’t care about him. But something about your indifference tugged at him in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the end of the day, he had come to one extremely dramatic

conclusion:

You disliked him.

And he had absolutely no idea why.

End of Episode 1.