Chapter Text
It shouldn’t be this hard to understand what they were saying. He’d been ready for this—had always expected it to happen eventually. So why did his breath catch in his throat? Why couldn’t he speak or fight back? He could feel the blood draining from his face, pooling heavily in his legs until he could barely stand. His gaze dropped to the little stain on the carpet, then to the frayed skin on his thumb. He should probably get a manicure. A distracted thought, anything to avoid the moment. One of the curtain hooks was missing—why hadn’t he noticed that earlier? He should have been more observant. This was what he was destined for, wasn’t it?
Slowly, he looked up at his parents. Their faces were expectant. Right, they were waiting for an answer. But did he really have a choice? Whatever their reasoning, he’d give them what they wanted. It was the least he could do.
“Yes, Dad. I think it would… be good.”
The voices around him faded. He didn’t hear what was said next. He’d always been ready for this, so now it was just a matter of waiting. Or maybe, against his better judgment, allowing himself the faintest sliver of hope.
That night, he lay in bed, mind blank, waiting for sleep to pull him under. Tomorrow could be life-changing—for so many people, or at least for his friends, who thrived on this kind of excitement. But he felt nothing. Just numbness. Acceptance. It was better this way. If you expected nothing, nothing could disappoint you. That was the lesson life had carved into him. He was almost grateful for it. This way, he wouldn’t get hurt again. What was left to break, anyway? Crushed glass couldn’t shatter further.
The next morning was ordinary, save for his mother’s barely contained excitement and his father’s attempts at last-minute advice. Jungkook nodded when required, tuning most of it out.
Getting ready wasn’t a hassle—just his favorite blue jeans and a crisp white linen shirt. He loved doing his makeup but kept it minimal today: a dab of concealer, a swipe of mascara. These rituals were irrelevant, just distractions to keep himself anchored. It worked, though. The last time he’d prepared like this… No. Don’t think about the last time. This wasn’t the same. There was no giddiness, no anticipation. Just the same hollow numbness.
The meeting place was a small coffee shop on the outskirts of the city. Discretion, apparently, was key. The city center would’ve sparked gossip, but was this really necessary? The drive was long, and traffic would be hell on the way back. Long drives always made him nauseous. Maybe he’d ask his doctor friend for medication—if this became a regular thing.
Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the man approaching until he stood right in front of him. Jungkook kept his eyes fixed somewhere between the table and the stranger’s torso.
“Jungkook-ssi?”
The voice was firm. He looked up. Two things registered at once: relief that it wasn’t some gray-haired, whiskey-breathed patriarch, and shock that life had handed him someone this beautiful.
“Yes, that’s me. And you are?” He already knew it was a stupid question—he’d just been too distracted to catch the man’s name earlier.
“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” The man sat with effortless grace, as if he’d rehearsed this moment. No hesitation, no uncertainty.
“Tea or coffee?”
Jungkook paused. The answer was always the same: black coffee, no sugar, no milk. “Black coffee.”
“One black coffee, one chamomile tea.” Taehyung didn’t even glance at the waiter, who materialized and vanished like a ghost.
“We should introduce ourselves properly,” Taehyung said, “since you didn’t catch my name earlier.” Was he annoyed? Jungkook couldn’t blame him. He should have paid attention.
“Kim Taehyung, 29. Only child of divorced parents. Lawyer. I work for a firm my friend owns. I own a two-bedroom apartment in Yongsan—where we’ll live after the wedding. Balcony with a decent view, if you care about that.” A curt nod. Your turn.
Jungkook swallowed. “Jeon Jungkook, 24. Second son of very much married parents. Older brother lives in Busan. I’m a data engineer—remote work.” He trailed off, unsure what else to say.
“Any past relationships I should know about?” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened. “Not that it matters, but full transparency would be ideal.”
Jungkook’s throat tightened. Lie. “No. Nothing serious.”
“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s voice was steel. “I’m a lawyer for a reason. I know when I’m being lied to. Save us both the trouble.” A beat. “Fine. Assume I believe you. But it ends here. This marriage won’t be half-hearted. No ghosts from the past interfering with our future. Understood?”
Relief flickered—at least he wouldn’t have to worry about mistresses. The arrival of their drinks dissolved the tension slightly.
“We’re clear, then,” Taehyung continued. “Arranged or not, this is a marriage. I expect loyalty and respect. In return, you’ll get the same. Work if you want—finances aren’t an issue. My family’s irrelevant; don’t worry about them. Wedding size is your call, though I prefer intimate.”
“Thank you.” Jungkook exhaled. “You’ll get the same from me. I’d like to keep working—until maybe… pregnancy.”
Silence. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he risked a glance at Taehyung. The man’s expression didn’t change, save for a slight eyebrow twitch. “I mean—small wedding. Yes. That’s… preferable.”
“Good. One decision down.” Taehyung sipped his tea. “No need to delay. If you’re certain, we can marry next month. Take three days to decide. Then we’ll meet again—families optional.”
Jungkook nodded. The rest of the conversation flowed easier—work, friends, harmless small talk. Taehyung didn’t pry, just let him speak at his own pace.
When they parted outside, it was with nothing more than a nod. The drive home was long, the night longer. But deep down, he already knew the answer. Life with Taehyung wouldn’t be his dream, but it could be worse. And it wasn’t like he had a choice.
That night, sleep came easier than expected. For the first time in years, there was a quietude in his chest—something almost like peace.