The Way, You Don’t Notice Me
⚠️ This story portrays characters with unstable and psychologically unhealthy behavior. Please read with discretion, do not imitate any actions depicted, and distinguish fiction from reality.
• Please read with care •
Paring: Taehyung x f.Reader
Genre: College AU / Obsessive Behavior / Dark Romance
(Trigger Warning) ‼️
Voyeurism / Unhealthy attachment / Invasion of privacy / Morally questionable actions portrayed through a psychologically unstable perspective / Stalking behavior / Boundary issues / Paranoia / Sexual tension (non-explicit).
Word Count: 6.4K
Summary: You’ve always tried to get closer to Kim Taehyung, even so, you find your own ways to slip into his life no matter how. Even when he’s asleep in the infirmary, you still choose to get close…close enough… to kiss him.
The room is already alive with noise before class even properly begins, filled with uneven teasing and careless laughter that overlap and spill into one another, chairs scraping harshly against the floor as if competing with the chatter itself. Seats in the front rows are mostly ignored, claimed only sparsely, while the back and middle fill quickly with bodies and restless energy. It’s a college lecture you’ve just transferred into, and today is your first day.
When the professor walks in first, everyone immediately scrambles into place, the chaos folding itself into something loosely resembling order.
You follow not far behind, and the sound in the room shifts almost instantly. A few male voices rise in low whistles and mocking remarks, playful but loud enough to be noticed, while several girls react with visible discomfort, faces tightening at the stupidity of their classmates. The advisor clears his throat, sharp enough to cut through it all, and calls for silence before introducing you.
“___ will be joining us starting this semester. Please take care of them.”
You dip your head slightly, letting your gaze move across the room, scanning one face after another, until something pulls your attention and holds it without permission second row from the front.
A sharp profile behind a pair of glasses.
Your eyes stop there as if they decide on their own. And you think, distantly, that people probably like him a lot. They sit around him, behind him, beside him girls clustering like it means something, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of it. He just turns a page in his notebook with slow indifference, as though the attention surrounding him is nothing more than air.
And somehow, that makes you want to win against him.
“Go find a seat,” the professor prompts, nudging you lightly forward.
You nod, though truthfully you still haven’t decided where to sit. Almost everything looks taken, especially anywhere near him. There isn’t a single empty seat in his radius. You exhale softly through your nose and slow your steps, giving yourself time to look properly. You’re not short-sighted, but sitting at the back has never been your habit, and the middle rows are just as unwelcoming no one bothers to move their bags.
Until you finally approach a girl.
“Can I sit here?”
She wears a dark cardigan, thin-framed glasses, and a neatly tied ponytail that makes her look far more approachable than anyone else in the room. Her eyes behind the lenses flicker with hesitation, but she still puts her pen down and carefully lifts her bag from the chair, placing it under her seat.
You smile faintly. “Thanks.”
You set your notebook down and sit, letting your gaze drift forward again. The lecture begins sculpture, something you’ve already covered before, basic enough for a second-year foundation class. Your fingers tap idly against your pen, spinning it once, then again, without real focus.
Your attention keeps slipping anyway.
It drifts forward, to the broad line of his back, to the way his hair brushes his collar when he bends down to write, committing every word to paper like it matters more than anything else in the room.
The soft clicking of your pen finally draws attention.
“Could you stop that?” the girl beside you says sharply, irritation threading through her voice.
You give a small, unbothered smile and slow your movements, resting your cheek lightly on your hand as you turn toward her instead.
“What is it?” you ask, voice calm, almost lazy.
She doesn’t even look at the board anymore, just at you, as if you’re the more immediate problem. You hum softly, then glance down at her notes, catching a gap in her writing. Leaning in just slightly, your eyes skim the page quickly.
“The answer is contrapposto,” you say, as if it’s obvious, and before she can stop you, you’ve already written the term beside the heading on Renaissance sculpture.
“Hey—wait, what are you doing?” she snaps, reaching for your hand.
“A weight shift onto one leg,” you continue anyway, unfazed, “it makes the figure look alive. Less rigid than earlier styles.” On the projector, the slide changes, light washing briefly across the desks.
The professor’s voice carries through the room. “Remember, sculpture isn’t just about being ‘beautiful.’ It reflects how humans perceive the body, power, and belief systems of each era.”
She underlines the sentence immediately, fingers tightening around her pen. When she looks up at you again, her expression has shifted less annoyance, more reluctant attention.
“And how is that different from ordinary statues?” she asks, half-hearted but curious now, twirling her pen without looking at the board.
You hum again, low in your throat.
“It’s the intention,” you say simply. “Not just something placed there to exist. Like Michelangelo’s David—it isn’t just a man standing there. It represents an ideal of its time.”
Her brows knit together. “That’s… complicated.”
“If you don’t understand, I can explain it to you,” you say, smiling, eyes soft but sharp at the edges. She adjusts her glasses slightly, chin lifting as if deciding something. Her ponytail shifts with the movement as she extends a hand.
“I’m Jung Yumi.”
You look at her hand for a moment before taking it, your smile widening just a little. “Nice to meet you, ___.”
By the time the lecture begins to wind down, the professor’s closing remarks about Greek influence on modern sculpture dissolve into the rustling of bags and scattered conversations. Yumi stands up quickly, already stuffing her notebook into her bag, urgency in her movements.
But you don’t move yet.
Your gaze stays fixed forward.
On him.
From the beginning of class until now, for three uninterrupted hours, your attention has circled the same point like it refuses to land anywhere else. He has listened without distraction, absorbed the long theory lecture with steady focus, writing everything down in clean, controlled lines. His wrist moves slowly, rhythmically, in sync with the professor’s voice, and even from the side, his expression remains unreadable—calm, distant, impossible to grasp.
And you realize, somewhere between silence and thought, that you’ve been watching him the entire time. And now, even then, he is still surrounded.
“Taehyung, let’s have lunch together.”
“Yeah, come with us.”
“I even made this for you.”
Voices overlap from every direction, mostly girls, circling his table in restless layers of attention. The noise gathers and spills, messy and uncoordinated, like it has no intention of ever settling. But Taehyung only answers in an even tone, calm enough that it feels like he isn’t standing in the center of it at all like none of it is actually reaching him.
You watch his back for a moment longer before shifting your gaze away, only to catch the girl who has clearly been left out. You press your lips together, barely holding back a laugh.
Thank you, girls, for introducing him to you in the first place. Taehyung…
“What are you looking at?” Yumi asks while adjusting the strap of her bag.
You flinch slightly, quickly bending down to pick up your pen. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, my ass. You’ve been staring at him the whole class.”
You purse your lips immediately, because there’s nothing you can say to that.
Maybe it’s the way sunlight hits the side of his face. Or the low, steady tone of his voice when he answers the professor just once during the lecture. Or maybe it’s simply the classroom itself so loud, so full of people but he remains strangely quiet in the middle of it all, so still it pulls your attention back no matter how many times you try to look away.
“If you’re interested in him, that’s going to be difficult,” Yumi says with a small laugh.
You frown, thinking maybe he already has a girlfriend. But that doesn’t seem likely, not when so many girls are openly trying to approach him. Then why would it be difficult?
When you want something, wanting it already feels like justification enough.
“I’m not interested in him,” you reply, lifting your shoulders slightly. “He’s just… kind of noticeable. I was curious, that’s all.”
“Ah…” Yumi nods, stepping out from between the seats. You follow her, letting her lead the way out of the classroom. “Taehyung’s basically the top here. Grades, sports, even music there’s almost nothing he can’t do.”
She glances back at you with a teasing look. “And also… he’s really handsome, right?”
You turn your face away a little too quickly.
Heat rises faintly to one side of your cheek before you even realize it.
At first, you thought Yumi would be harder to approach. But it turns out she’s the type who prefers people who can keep up with her academically someone she can talk to about classes instead of meaningless small talk. That realization makes the first day of school unexpectedly easy, even fun.
Together, you walk down the building with the stream of students flowing toward the cafeteria. Voices echo everywhere, mixing with the smell of hot food until everything below feels loud and crowded.
“Alright, let’s split here,” Yumi says, checking her phone. “I’m going to line up for ramen. If you want anything, I can—”
You don’t really hear the rest.
Because you’ve already stopped walking.
Taehyung is there.
He’s sitting at a table deep inside the cafeteria, near the glass wall at the far end. His shirt sleeves are rolled neatly up to his elbows, making him stand out in a way that feels almost unfair. Even in a place filled with people, your eyes find him instantly like it’s the only direction they’re allowed to go.
“…Hey.” Yumi nudges your arm. “Are you even listening?”
You blink, snapping out of it quickly. “Yeah. I am.”
You lie.
From the moment you stepped in, you haven’t really been paying attention to anything else.
“Then find us a table. I’ll come over after I’m done.”
“Okay,” you answer easily, but your feet are already moving before you fully think about it.
Your gaze sweeps across the cafeteria until it lands on an empty table only a few steps away from his. Close enough. Close enough that you could hear them if you wanted to. Your heart gives a small, unnecessary thump.
You pull out your phone just to look occupied, just to make it seem like you’re not paying attention at all. Taehyung is listening to Jimin speak about something, his expression unchanged.
“I bet you,” Jimin says, pointing his fork toward a group of girls near the drink counter, “within three minutes, someone’s going to come over to you again.”
Taehyung doesn’t even look up from his drink. “You included.”
“I’m already open to cute people,” Jimin replies immediately. “You should try it sometime.”
“That sounds pathetic.” Jimin laughs like he’s won something.
You admit it, Jimin has a certain charm. Blonde hair that looks soft even from here, fair skin, expressive lips that make every expression feel exaggerated in a way that still somehow works. Taehyung, on the other hand, is different. Quiet to the point where you can’t tell what’s happening in his head at all.
“Being handsome must make life so easy,” Jimin sighs dramatically, biting into a fry. “If I looked like you, I’d be dating like ten people by now.”
“And how many are you dating now?”
“Two.”
You frown slightly, your thoughts stuttering at the conversation. For a second, your mind actually jumps to the worst possible conclusion. He's seriously dating two people at once?
But that’s not what this is. Not your concern.
Until Taehyung speaks again. “Are you serious?”
Jimin bursts out laughing immediately. “Of course I’m joking!”
You pause.
And somehow, you catch it the way Taehyung’s mouth curves slightly afterward. A faint, almost reluctant expression, like a smile that isn’t meant to be shown too openly. It looks more real than anything you saw from him in class earlier.
You don’t even realize you’ve been staring until someone touches your shoulder.
“There you are,” Yumi says, placing her tray on the table with two bottles of water. “The line was insane. Took me like fifteen minutes.”
You snap back again, quickly moving your bag so she can sit. “Sorry.”
“What were you spacing out about?” she asks, following your earlier line of sight.
Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone.
“Nothing,” you say too quickly.
Yumi narrows her eyes just a little. “If you want something, you should just go get it. The line’s only going to get longer.”
You nod in agreement, even though you’re not really hungry.
Still, after sitting there for only a few minutes, something in you starts to feel unsettled by doing nothing. As if stillness itself is too small to contain you right now like you need at least some reason to move.
At the very least… you should have a reason to walk past his table.
Maybe this time, he’ll look up at you.
“Be right back,” you say, standing and reaching for your wallet.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
You nod again and step away from the table slowly, because the space between everything is tight, the cafeteria packed and noisy. When you pass by his direction, you catch him in closer detail than before, closer than you should.
His sleeves are rolled up loosely, careless in a way that feels intentional without trying. His fingers tap lightly against his glass as he listens to Jimin speak. Even the small movement feels controlled, measured. And then there’s the beauty mark beneath his eye quiet, unassuming, and yet it pulls your gaze like it belongs there more than anything else on his face.
When you return to your table, they’re gone.
The space he occupied is already replaced by movement, by other people, by noise that doesn’t matter. You spend the rest of the break with Yumi, talking about afternoon classes.
It’s an elective course you still haven’t officially chosen yet, and you’ll need to visit your advisor before anything is finalized.
Yumi nods when you tell her. She understands, though she apologizes for not being able to accompany you. You don’t mind. It’s nothing serious.
Besides, you already came here a week before the semester started. You prepared for this. You explored the campus before classes even began. You remember everything clearly where you need to go, which building is which, how to move through it without hesitation.
The advisor’s office is on the second floor, just past the cafeteria building. You check the time on your wrist. Classes are probably starting now. And you still don’t even know what course Taehyung takes.
It would be difficult to accidentally enroll in the same classes as him. But going up to ask directly feels embarrassing. You don’t want him to start recognizing you in a strange way.
You stop in front of the door and knock twice before opening it. The advisor is already waiting. “Come in, ___.”
You follow the gesture and sit in the empty chair beside the desk. He hands you a stack of forms.
“Normally, you can check all of this online,” he explains, “but the registration still needs to be submitted in paper form and approved by each course instructor.”
You take the documents quietly, eyes scanning the list of available electives for transfer students joining mid-semester. Many courses are stamped in red full. Some are crossed out entirely.
“Things are a bit hectic right now,” the advisor says, flipping open another folder. “Since you joined mid-year, the popular classes filled up quickly. Especially practical courses.”
You nod slowly.
It makes sense. Everyone else registered before the semester even started. You’re the one catching up, arriving late to a system already in motion.
Including Taehyung.
You still don’t know what classes he takes. Who he sits with, aside from Jimin. What his schedule looks like when he’s not in your line of sight.
“If you want to join a full class,” the advisor continues, sliding another sheet toward you, “you can submit a request to add it. But it requires approval from the course instructor.”
You pause slightly. “Even if the class is already full?”
“Yes. If the professor allows it, it’s possible. Some lectures are flexible with capacity, especially theoretical ones.”
Your fingers trace the edge of the paper slowly. A thought forms quietly too quiet to fully acknowledge at first. Maybe transferring in the middle of the semester isn’t just inconvenient. Maybe it also gives you an excuse.
No one would find it strange if you had to walk up to ask for schedules, request signatures, or inquire about classes from other students. It would look normal. Expected, even.
“Do you have any courses in mind yet?” the advisor asks again.
You’re about to answer when a soft knock interrupts the room. The door opens, and a tall figure steps inside so suddenly that your fingers tighten around the documents in your hand without permission.
Taehyung doesn’t look at you, not even for a second. His attention is directed entirely at the professor, while his other hand carries a stack of documents tucked neatly against his side.
“Oh, Mr. Kim,” the advisor says immediately, looking up with a familiar tone like this is someone he’s used to trusting. “No class?”
“I have class, but it starts a bit late,” he replies evenly as he walks closer to the desk. “The professor had some business to take care of.”
“I see,” the advisor nods, glancing at the files in his hands. “And what’s that?”
“A summary for the exhibition project. Professor Choi asked me to bring it over since we ran into each other on the way.”
“Oh, right. I almost forgot.” The advisor lets out a small laugh, flipping through the folder. “Thanks for your hard work.”
“It’s nothing,” Taehyung says lightly, the words almost slipping past unnoticed.
You sit silently by the desk, forcing your eyes to stay anywhere but him.
The distance between you now feels smaller than before too small. His presence fills the space in a way that makes you hyperaware of everything: the faint scent of his cologne, the soft rustle of paper in his hands, even the subtle shift of his sleeves when he moves.
“Oh, right,” the advisor turns back to you. “This is the transfer student I mentioned earlier.”
You lift your head. And this time, Taehyung looks at you directly. Like he’s just now remembering.
“We’ve met in class this morning,” he says before anyone else can speak. His expression isn’t surprising, just mildly confirming a detail he already stored away somewhere. As if you were never something unfamiliar to begin with.
The advisor clears his throat awkwardly, slightly embarrassed. He did introduce you earlier, but Taehyung had barely reacted then you might as well have been invisible.
“___ is trying to pick up additional electives,” the advisor continues. “But since she transferred mid-semester, most classes are already full.”
Taehyung nods slowly, absorbing the situation.
“May I take a look?” he asks.
When he extends his hand, the veins along his wrist become briefly visible beneath his skin, and your fingers tighten around the papers almost instinctively.
You hesitate for only a fraction of a second before quickly handing them over, as if rushing could hide the fact that your attention is already slipping.
He lowers his gaze to the list.
His long fingers trace down the page, line by line, careful and deliberate. Focused in a way that makes it look like nothing else exists outside the paper in his hands.
“This one still has openings,” he says, tapping a course lightly.
“The professor is pretty lenient.” Then he moves down slightly.
“And this one too—it should still have space.”
You try to follow where he’s pointing, but your eyes don’t quite obey you. Instead, they drift back to him. Too close. Close enough that you can see the faint shadow of his lashes when he looks down. Close enough that his presence stops feeling like something distant and starts feeling…unavoidable.
And the scent clean, faint, almost clinical in its softness settles into your awareness until you start recognizing it as something distinctly him. His voice, low and steady, sounds almost warm in contrast. Like standing too close to a fire in winter.
It’s dangerous.
Because now you understand why people look at him the way they do. It isn’t anything dramatic. It’s not even something he’s actively doing. It’s just… the way he exists.
And somehow, your mind refuses to interpret it normally anymore.
You quickly lower your gaze back to the paper in your hands, pretending to focus on course names you’re not actually absorbing. Your brain barely registers any of it. The only thing you truly register is that Taehyung is standing too close.
Too close for you to keep pretending you’re not aware of him every second.
“If you’re still unsure…” he pauses briefly, then looks up at you. “I can show you the course board outside. Some of the updates are faster there than online.”
“___.” Your mind blanks for a second.
“___.” He calls your name again.
You blink, forcing yourself back into the moment. And he’s smiling slightly. Soft. Controlled. Patient. “Shall we?” he asks.
You nod immediately, almost too quickly. The advisor lets out a small laugh, relieved. “Then I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Kim.”
“Of course,” Taehyung replies.
He returns your documents, then opens the door and waits by the side like he expects you to walk out first. Outside, the hallway is quieter than before. Afternoon light stretches long across the floor, warm and steady.
You walk beside him, keeping a careful distance close enough that conversation feels natural, but not so close that it becomes noticeable.
“Transferring mid-semester must be tiring,” he says after a moment. “A lot of things are already past the introduction stage.”
You nod lightly. “A bit.”
“But you’ll get used to it.” His voice remains calm, unchanged, yet strangely reassuring. He walks slightly slower than before.
Just enough.
As if matching your pace without making it obvious. That thought makes your heartbeat stutter. Maybe he really is just… a kind person.
Your heart beats harder again, and you quickly look away. Taehyung doesn’t continue speaking after that. The conversation fades naturally, leaving only footsteps echoing softly through the corridor yours and his alternating in an uneven rhythm.
But the silence isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it makes his presence even clearer.
“Here,” he says at last.
He stops in front of a large bulletin board near the stairs and reaches out, tapping several posted sheets. “Courses that still accept students will have a mark like this.”
You step closer without thinking. Closer than before. His scent lingers again in the air between you, and this time it doesn’t fade.
“If you’re interested in theory-based courses, this one’s good,” he says, tracing his finger along the paper. “The professor isn’t difficult.”
You nod, though you’re barely reading the course title at all. In that brief moment, your attention slips elsewhere instead.
You notice the slight angle of his body as Taehyung leans just a little to the side. And sometimes, it almost feels like his gaze drifts toward you. Almost. But every time you subtly look back, his expression remains unchanged calm, composed, unreadable.
As if it was never there.
As if you imagined it.
You press your lips together, forcing yourself to speak before the silence drags on any longer. Because the longer you stay quiet, the more your thoughts start spiraling on their own.
“Then what about you?” you ask.
Taehyung turns his head slightly. “Pardon?”
“What courses did you choose?”
He glances at you briefly before answering in his usual even tone.
“Mostly theory and motion-related ones.”
“Because they’re easier to score in?”
“Partly,” he nods. “And they don’t overlap with my core classes.”
Ah...And if you ask anything more, will it start to feel too intrusive? Too eager? You don’t want to become like those girls in class, the ones he brushes past like they’re nothing more than air. The silence stretches too long. You end up looking away first.
Taehyung watches you for a moment before turning back to the board. “This one I’ve enrolled in,” he says, tapping a course name. “The professor doesn’t make things too stressful.”
You quickly follow his finger, as if afraid you’ll miss it if you blink. The way you react doesn’t go unnoticed he sees it, of course but he doesn’t comment. Only the faintest curve appears at the corner of his mouth, so subtle it might not even be real.
“And this one as well.”
You smile faintly, almost unconsciously. Your cheeks feel warm. Too warm. Are you smiling too obviously? Is it showing too much?
The thought hits you all at once. If he notices, would he find it strange? Would he pull away?
While your mind starts arguing with itself again, Taehyung suddenly raises a hand slightly in front of your face just enough to break your spiral.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You blink, snapping back into focus. His expression is calm as ever, but there’s a slight urgency now gentle, not pushy.
“I need to go,” he continues. “My class is about to start.”
He adjusts his grip on the folder. “And you should probably pick courses you’re genuinely interested in… or at least ones that won’t drag your GPA down.”
Then, after a brief pause, he adds “Take your time deciding.”
In the end, you choose to enroll in courses that overlap with his. One of them is certain from the start you shouldn’t make it obvious that you’re following him.
A theory class becomes an easy decision you don’t think too hard about. You’ve taken it before. It’s simple enough to occupy your time while your attention drifts elsewhere, where it always wants to go anyway. It gives you permission to sit still, to pretend you’re studying while really just existing in the same orbit as him.
The practical course is more difficult.
Because the moment hands-on work begins, you’ll have to look away from him. You’ll be forced to break the line of sight. To lose him for seconds, sometimes minutes at a time.
Still, you choose it anyway.
Drawing portrait work. Black tones, light and shadow. It has always been something you enjoy. At least this way, you tell yourself, your mind will have something to do other than him.
At least this way, you can pretend you’re normal. In that class, you meet someone new who draws attention without even trying.
Jeon Jungkook.
He has a smile that makes people turn their heads instinctively, like it’s a reflex. You talk to him a little, just enough to acknowledge his presence, but there’s no handshake, no forced friendliness. He keeps his distance in a way that feels intentional, and you respect that boundary without pushing further.
During every drawing session, you catch glimpses of Taehyung through the windows or across corridors between buildings.
He passes by different people each time, sometimes well-dressed girls who fit beside him too naturally, sometimes Jimin talking loudly about something only he seems invested in. Occasionally, it’s the three of them together, moving like a group that belongs to a completely different world.
It pulls your attention more than you want it to. More than it should.
Taehyung never looks into your classroom.
Maybe he doesn’t even know you take this course. Your main class overlaps with his, but beyond Yumi, you don’t really talk to anyone else. And Taehyung he’s simply too far away, surrounded by people who cling to him like he’s something sweet and unavoidable, like sugar attracting ants.
You start wondering how far you have to go before he actually remembers you.
Or if you’ve already made it too difficult.
But Taehyung looks almost…untouched. Clean. Unreachable in a way that makes approaching him feel like something you should do carefully, gently, correctly so he doesn’t reject you before you even begin.
The more you think about it, the more the version of you in your head splits into two voices arguing quietly, one telling you to stay rational, the other insisting there must be a way.
You already know everything about him. He only writes notes in blue ink. He likes strawberry milk from the vending machine outside the building.
Now you drink it too, every day. It tastes better when you see him holding the same one. You exhale sharply and fall back onto your bed, the soft mattress sinking under your weight.
The white ceiling above you feels empty.
Unlike your mind.
It’s full of Kim Taehyung so full it almost feels like it’s spilling over the edges of your thoughts. And somewhere in that quiet overload, something begins to form. Because ever since the day he introduced the elective courses to you, you haven’t really spoken again.
Today, it’s raining heavily.
The sky over Seoul stays dark even before afternoon arrives, thick clouds pressing low over the university. Rain hits the glass walls of the buildings in steady rhythm, turning everything outside into something muted and distant. Most students leave right after exams. Only a few remain, still working on projects inside dimly lit studios.
It’s nearing the end of the second semester.
Everyone looks exhausted.
Yumi texts you in the morning, saying she has to go home to take care of her younger brother who’s sick. And since the day you started deliberately aligning yourself with Taehyung’s path, it feels like you’ve quietly slipped into his daily life.
He lives alone. You hesitated at first. But not anymore.
Now the hesitation is gone, replaced by something sharper curiosity that doesn’t settle, that keeps growing every time you think about him behind closed doors. About what he is like when no one is watching. About what kind of person exists when there’s no audience at all.
You feel excited. Restless. Your gaze keeps scanning your surroundings like you’re trying to find a possible way forward. Your lips feel dry; you lick them absentmindedly, wetting them before thinking again.
But how?
Earlier, Taehyung left for the infirmary during the second half of the exam. He had looked unusually tired, almost drowsy compared to the days before. You worried, but your own exam mattered too. So you finished quickly and came here right after.
Inside the infirmary, the lighting is softer and dimmer than expected.
Light curtains sway slightly with the air drifting in from a cracked window. The rain outside becomes a muted sound, distant and blurred, like it belongs to another world.
And then you see him. Taehyung is lying on the far bed.
His tall frame lay flat against the mattress, eyes fully closed, one arm resting over his stomach. Even though you had been seeing Taehyung almost every day lately so often you thought you had gotten used to him the moment you were truly close to him again, it still felt exactly like the first time.
Your eyes quietly traced every part of his face. From the dark strands of hair falling over his forehead…to the loose grip his fingers had around the edge of the blanket.
You stared at his sleeping face while your thoughts drifted through the past few months. Every moment spent watching him from places where he could never see you. You have documented everything about Taehyung. Sometimes, paranoia suddenly claws its way into your thoughts.
Did Taehyung know?
Did he realize you were stalking him like some kind of psychopath?
And if he did know, yet still allowed you to continue, didn't that mean he wanted to see more of your effort?
If God truly existed, you probably would’ve prayed with overwhelming gratitude. You had always loved the strange coincidences fate gave you. They were intangible.
Yet undeniably real. Like last month in the library. There had been countless empty seats, yet Taehyung quietly chose the chair directly across from you and spent nearly three hours reading there.
You loved that moment. He never spoke. He didn’t even look up at you once. But at one point, your feet accidentally brushed beneath the table.
You could barely stay seated after that. Yumi once asked what exactly about Taehyung fascinated you so much. You had smiled widely and answered Everything
Maybe it was love at first sight. You weren’t sure. There was also the time you accidentally followed him to an old record store outside the university. Taehyung had walked out carrying a bag before stopping in front of the shop like he was waiting for something.
And for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure anymore whether you were the only one secretly watching. The rain continued pouring outside while you slowly walked over and sat on the bed beside him. Your eyes carefully wandered across his face again. Too close now. Close enough to see the shadows of his lashes resting beneath his eyelids. Close enough to hear the quiet sound of his breathing.
Your heart pounded so hard it felt ready to burst from your chest. The closer you got to Taehyung, the more unbearable it became. It still wasn’t enough. Your fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet while your gaze lingered on his lips.
Slowly, you leaned a little closer. The fabric beneath you rustled softly with the movement. He still didn’t wake. Your hand lifted carefully, almost hesitant for a moment, before your fingertips brushed against the strand of hair resting near his cheek. Softer than you expected.
You unconsciously held your breath as you gently tucked it away, as though afraid he might disappear if you touched him too carelessly.
Outside, the rain continued pouring heavily.
The sound of water striking the windows swallowed the silence inside the infirmary completely. You kept staring at him. Your eyes traced over his closed eyelids, the sharp bridge of his nose, before inevitably returning to his lips again.
Too close. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breathing against the tip of your nose. Your heartbeat throbbed painfully inside your chest. But this time, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slowly leaned down so slowly that the ends of your hair slipped softly onto his blanket.
Your lips hovered just barely above his, as though giving yourself one final chance to stop. But in the end you pressed a kiss against him.
Light.
So incredibly light.
And brief.
You slowly pulled away again, your eyes never leaving his face for even a second. Then your fingers drifted down to the blanket that had slipped from his shoulder, quietly pulling it back into place. Like you were carefully taking care of something precious, something no one knew you had secretly treasured in your heart for so long.
You stayed in the infirmary for a little while longer and left the room before he woke up.
It became an obsession that felt like discovering some forbidden secret. The hidden side of Kim Taehyung behind the closed door of his bedroom. Four cameras had been installed carefully in corners you thought were perfect enough to capture every little movement he made.
The footage from the first camera shook slightly. Taehyung stepped out of the bathroom. You still had enough humanity left to avoid placing cameras inside there. It felt like basic decency, a small boundary you still wanted to respect for the person you liked.
Taehyung walked out with a towel hanging low around his waist. Droplets of water still clung to his chest and shoulders while damp dark hair fell messily over his forehead. Without realizing it, you leaned closer to the monitor.
The glow of the screen reflected in your eyes inside the dark room while your gaze stayed fixed on Taehyung without wavering for even a second.
“Holy shit—did he just look at me?!”
You startled so badly you almost leaned away from the screen entirely. His sharp eyes had lifted suddenly, almost as if he were staring directly at you. One large hand pushed back his wet hair before flicking the water away carelessly.
“No…there’s no way,” you muttered to yourself. Then the corner of his mouth curved upward slightly. And a shiver instantly ran down your spine.
Your heartbeat grew faster and faster, and you couldn’t tell whether you were more afraid of being caught or thrilled that he could somehow see you. He slowly walked over and sat at the edge of the bed.
Taehyung picked up his phone from the bedside table, the screen lighting up faintly in the darkness. He stared at something for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh to himself. You were too far away to make out what was happening on the screen.
Then he tossed the phone onto the mattress behind him. The towel still hung low around his hips as Taehyung slowly reached down to pull it away…
You could barely stay seated.
It felt like you were witnessing something you were never supposed to see. Your breathing unconsciously grew uneven while your eyes remained fixed on the screen as though trapped there.
This should have been private. For a moment no one else was ever meant to witness. Yet Taehyung didn’t seem interested in hiding himself at all. The dim bedside light stretched across his shoulders and chest while his tall frame leaned back against the headboard far too comfortably, almost as if he already knew someone was watching him from the other side of the screen.
You swallowed with difficulty when his large hand finally wrapped around himself, moving slowly without any urgency. The sight of his head falling back slightly made the entire moment feel unbearably hot.
Watching him lose himself like that through the screen felt intoxicating. You had no idea how many minutes passed, only that by the end of it your entire body felt hot and sensitive.
Your thighs unconsciously pressed together tighter while the heat between your legs forced you to bite down against your lip. Your heart refused to calm down. You were completely consumed by the aching tension spreading through your body until Taehyung finally reached his limit, pleasure spilling through his hand.
You instinctively licked your lips before swallowing hard. Your breathing came out shaky with excitement. Just watching him already made you feel feverishly hot all over.
So what would it feel like…
if one day, he used you instead?
Notes: I’m still not completely sure about the second part, honestly but I do want to continue writing it, so let me think about it a little more first.
Taglist: @calmyourtitts7 @devilzliaison
If you’re still interested in it.