Kim Taehyung

His love doesn't require intimacy. Even after separation, even years later, he comes to the rescue. This is a love that doesn't set conditions.

There's a protectiveness to the fact that he doesn't look at Jungkook. It hurts him to see him. But he's still here. That speaks louder than words.

He doesn't rush to hug Jungkook, doesn't say anything unnecessary. He'll deal with the threat first. Sentiments later. If there will be any later.

A hand that makes the boy hiss. He doesn't just shield; he knows how to physically protect. Over five years, he's learned to stand up for himself and others.

Five years later, he still remembers Jungkook. Perhaps he's never stopped remembering all this time. His feeling hasn't disappeared, it's just become deeper and quieter.

He doesn't demand a reward. He doesn't even demand a glance. He does what he has to do, and perhaps he'll leave just as quietly.

He appears out of nowhere, without attracting attention. He doesn't play the hero, he just happens to be in the right place.

He's grown up. The old Taehyung cried into his pillow, now he can push back three people with one hand. Experience has made him stronger.

Five years have passed, but he's still here. Perhaps by accident. Perhaps not. He's one of those people who never truly disappears.

He doesn't look at Jungkook. Safety comes first, everything else comes second. He doesn't seek gratitude, he just does it.

He doesn't scream or wave his arms. His voice is low and cool, but it's so menacing that he hisses in pain. This is rage that knows how to control itself.

He doesn't hesitate when he sees Jungkook in danger. His body reacts before his mind does. He shields him with his shoulder without thinking.

Five years later, he's no longer the boy with the flowers. There's a metallic edge to his voice, a heaviness to his shoulders, and a confidence to his movements.

They parted quietly, without arguments. He didn't pursue or beg. He simply accepted that distance had won.

He's dependent on Jungkook. His love is his weakness. When the connection breaks, he loses a part of himself.

He waits. At the office, at a distance, for two years. He knows how to wait, even when waiting bears no fruit.

Cheap ice cream, arguments about formulas, quiet smiles. He knows how to love in a simple, unadorned way.

"He gave all the love he could." He gives more than he receives and doesn't consider it a sacrifice.

Every day at the algebra room, every day flowers. He knows how to be faithful in small things, and this makes him reliable.

He doesn't say pretty words. He simply waits outside the office, simply holding out lilies. His feelings are expressed through actions, not through speech.