Chapter Text
The gym smelled like sweat, rubber, and ambition.
Taehyung wiped his palms on his shorts, eyes tracking the arc of the ball as it sailed over the net. His body moved on instinct, three steps, jump, arm back, and then the satisfying crack of his palm meeting the ball. It slammed into the opposite court with enough force to make the floor shudder.
Point.
The crowd in the bleachers erupted. Not a massive crowd, it was just a practice match, but enough to make noise. Enough to chant his name.
"TAE-HYUNG! TAE-HYUNG!"
He didn't smile. Didn't even look up. Just turned on his heel, rolled his shoulders, and walked back to position like it was nothing. Because to him, it was.
"Show-off," Jimin muttered from the sidelines, but his grin was wide enough to split his face.
Taehyung caught his eye and smirked. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, Park."
"Neither is that hair, but here we are."
Hoseok cackled from beside Jimin, nearly spilling his water bottle. "He's got you there, Tae."
Taehyung ran a hand through his dark hair, currently tied back in a small ponytail because it had gotten long enough to be annoying and shrugged. "At least I have hair to work with."
Hoseok stopped mid-laugh, hand flying to his perfectly styled fringe. "You take that back."
"Make me."
"Children," Namjoon said without looking up from his phone. He was sitting cross-legged on the bench, probably reading something unbearably pretentious. "Focus. The match isn't over."
"It is for them," Taehyung said, nodding toward the opposing team. They looked deflated, already whispering among themselves about rotation changes that wouldn't matter.
He wasn't being cocky. Just realistic.
The whistle blew. Coach Lee clapped his hands twice. "Alright, wrap it up. Good work, Taehyung. Everyone else, passable."
A few groans echoed through the gym, but no one argued. Taehyung grabbed a towel from the bench and slung it around his neck, catching his breath. His legs ached in that good, tired way that came from a solid practice. He'd been playing since freshman year, but the high of a perfect spike never got old.
"Showers, then food?" Hoseok asked, already peeling off his wristbands.
"Food first," Jimin said immediately. "I'm starving."
"You're always starving."
"And yet, somehow, you're the one who eats like a horse."
Taehyung tuned them out, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. He glanced back at the court one more time... net still trembling slightly from his last hit, scoreboards frozen at a comfortable gap. It felt good. Solid. He was in his final year, captain of the team, and untouchable in his position.
Everything was exactly where it should be.
***
The campus cafeteria was loud and chaotic, as always.
Taehyung slid into a chair at their usual table by the windows, dumping his tray down with zero grace. Jimin was already halfway through a bowl of ramen, Hoseok was scrolling through his phone with a sandwich dangling from his mouth, and Namjoon had arrived with a tray so healthy it looked like a stock photo.
"Is that kale?" Taehyung asked, poking at Namjoon's salad with his chopstick.
"It's called taking care of yourself."
"It's called being boring."
Namjoon didn't even blink. "Says the guy who eats fried chicken four times a week."
"Five, actually. I had it for breakfast yesterday."
Jimin choked on his noodles. "You what?"
"Cold fried chicken is underrated."
"That's disgusting," Hoseok said, but he was grinning. "Respect, though."
Taehyung leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head until his shoulders popped. He was still in his practice gear, gray sweatpants and a black sleeveless shirt that stuck to his skin in places. A few people at nearby tables glanced over. He ignored them.
"So," Jimin said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "There's a party Friday. Sigma something. You in?"
"Pass."
"You always pass."
"Because I always don't care."
"Come on, it's our last year. Live a little."
Taehyung raised an eyebrow. "I live plenty. I just don't need to do it in a frat house that smells like beer and bad decisions."
Hoseok snorted. "He's not wrong."
"You're coming, right?" Jimin turned to Hoseok, eyes wide and pleading.
"Obviously. Someone has to make sure you don't drunk-text your ex again."
"That was one time-"
"Three times," Namjoon corrected without looking up.
Jimin scowled. "Traitor."
Taehyung smirked and shoved a piece of pork into his mouth. This was comfortable. Easy. The four of them had been tight since sophomore year when Namjoon had accidentally locked himself out of his dorm at two in the morning and Taehyung had been the only one awake to let him crash on his floor. Jimin had shown up the next morning with coffee and an uncanny ability to make friends with anyone. Hoseok had just kind of... appeared one day and never left.
It worked.
"You're really not coming?" Jimin asked again, this time with less hope.
"Really."
"What are you gonna do instead? Sit in your room and brood?"
"I don't brood. I strategically avoid unnecessary social interaction."
"That's literally the definition of brooding."
Taehyung rolled his eyes. "I have a paper due Monday. And before you say anything, no, I'm not doing it Sunday night."
"Liar," all three of them said in unison.
He didn't bother denying it.
A girl walked past their table, slowing down just enough to catch Taehyung's eye. She smiled bright, interested. He gave her a polite nod and went back to his food. She lingered for a second, then kept walking.
Hoseok watched the whole thing with barely concealed amusement. "Dude."
"What?"
"She was clearly into you."
"Good for her."
"You're impossible," Jimin said, shaking his head. "When was the last time you went on an actual date?"
Taehyung thought about it. "Does grabbing coffee with someone between classes count?"
"No."
"Then never."
Namjoon finally looked up from his phone, one eyebrow raised. "You know that's not normal, right?"
"What's not normal is you all caring this much about my love life."
"We don't care about your love life," Jimin said. "We care about the fact that you don't have one."
"Same thing."
"It's really not."
Taehyung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Look, I'm perfectly fine. I have volleyball, I have decent grades, I have you idiots. What more could I possibly need?"
"Emotional intimacy?" Hoseok offered.
"Overrated."
"A romantic connection?" Jimin tried.
"Unnecessary."
"Basic human affection?" Namjoon added, almost clinically.
Taehyung pointed his chopsticks at him. "Now you're just being dramatic."
They all stared at him.
"What?"
"You're allergic to feelings," Jimin said flatly.
"I have feelings. I just don't make them everyone else's problem."
"That's... actually kind of sad."
"It's called emotional maturity."
Hoseok laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. "Oh my god, you actually believe that."
Taehyung flipped him off, but he was grinning. This was the routine. They poked at him, he deflected with sarcasm, and everyone moved on. It was safe. Predictable.
He liked being predictable.
"Alright, alright," Namjoon said, raising his hands in surrender. "We'll drop it. For now."
"How generous."
"But seriously," Jimin said, leaning in conspiratorially. "If you ever do catch feelings for someone, I want front-row seats to that disaster."
"Not happening."
"We'll see."
Taehyung shook his head and went back to his food. The conversation shifted to something else, Hoseok's dance competition next week, Namjoon's philosophy professor who spoke entirely in metaphors, Jimin's ongoing saga with his roommate who may or may not be running an illegal succulent-selling business.
Taehyung half-listened, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a well-timed eye roll. The cafeteria buzzed around them with laughter, clattering trays, the hum of a hundred overlapping conversations. It was loud and messy and distinctly college.
He glanced out the window. The volleyball court was visible from here, empty now except for a janitor sweeping up. The nets swayed slightly in the breeze.
His phone buzzed. A text from Coach Lee.
New player starting Monday. Transfer student. Be nice.
Taehyung snorted and pocketed his phone.
"What?" Jimin asked.
"Nothing. Just coach being coach."
He didn't think much of it.
Why would he?
His position was secure. His life was comfortable. His friends were annoying but reliable. He had one year left, and he planned to coast through it with minimal drama and maximum efficiency.
Everything was fine.
Everything was exactly how he wanted it.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and let the noise of the cafeteria wash over him.
Untouchable. Unbothered.
Perfectly, blissfully alone.
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