I know it took forever to post this, but I wanted it to be perfect. Bold writing is Korean.
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — One art gallery. Two familiar strangers. The first time was a coincidence. The second time feels like something more. And this time, Taehyung isn’t going to let her walk away.
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kim Taehyung x black!reader
Warnings! FLUFF! nothing but soft, sweet fluff here, shy eye contact, Tae is a shy boi, unexpected run-ins, matchmaker best friends, emotional chaos, language barrier softness, gentle strangers-to-something-more, tension, soulmate vibes, 'casual' physical touch, and two people trying not to fall too fast—but failing just a little.
There’s something deeply humbling about being the only person in a gallery who doesn’t quite get the art.
You're trying—really. You’ve tilted your head. Squinted. Stepped back. Moved closer. You’ve done everything short of consulting Google for an artistic explanation of why a pile of shoes stacked in a circle makes you feel weirdly emotional.
Maybe that’s the point. Or maybe you're overthinking it. You do that sometimes. Especially lately.
You turn slightly, trying to catch Hani’s eye across the gallery. She’s in her element, radiant and glowing in a loose cream blouse and linen pants, deep in conversation with a couple you don’t recognize. Her laugh echoes lightly across the space, and you can’t help but smile. Seeing her like this—comfortable, creative, home—makes your chest feel full.
You’re proud of her. Like, obnoxiously so.
The whole reason you’re in Korea at all is because of her. She practically begged you to come visit the second her exhibit was confirmed. "I want you to see it with your own eyes,” she’d said on FaceTime a few weeks ago, “before I’m too famous to have time for you.” Then she’d winked, which made you laugh, and you knew you couldn’t say no.
So here you are, a week off work, a temporary sub covering your classes, your little carry-on bag living half-unpacked in Hani’s guest room. You’ve been in Seoul for four days now—mostly catching up, trying not to get lost on the metro, and marveling at how amazing this city is.
The gallery event tonight is Hani’s big debut. You’ve been counting down the hours, building up the excitement like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. And now that it’s here, it’s more beautiful than you’d imagined.
The gallery is sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over a glittering cityscape, lights dimmed just enough to make the art pop against the stark white walls. The space hums with a mix of Korean and English, laughter intermingling with clinking glasses and soft music.
You take a sip of your drink—something sparkling and faintly citrus—then let your gaze drift back to the shoe sculpture. It’s… striking. Not necessarily in a “this is beautiful” way, but in a “I think this is making me feel feelings” way. Something about of the amount present makes you feel sad.
You’re contemplating whether or not you need another drink to handle those feelings.
And also… thinking about a certain vending machine stranger.
Because of course you are.
It’s been three days since your chance encounter with Tae—the man with the bucket hat, soft eyes, and the uncanny ability to make your heart do weird things. Three days, and yet you keep catching yourself replaying his laugh, his smile, the way he’d blushed when you thanked him.
He’d stayed on your mind the entire walk back to Hani’s apartment. You’d found yourself wondering where he’d been headed, what he did for work, if he liked dogs, if he took his coffee black or with sugar—
The next morning, you’d almost walked to that same vending machine on purpose. Just in case he’d be there. Just in case.
Because that would be weird, right? That would make you the weird one. And you’ve worked really hard to not be the weird one.
But it still lingers. That question. That what-if.
You haven’t even told Hani the full story. Just called him “the vending machine guy” and left it at that. You didn’t want to make it a thing. But it was a thing, wasn’t it?
You shake your head softly, trying to clear your thoughts. You’re here to celebrate Hani, not to daydream about some guy you met once. Even if he did make your stomach feel like it was full of butterflies. Even if you can still picture his smile in the dim streetlights.
The voice startles you, and you nearly spill your drink. You spin around to find Hani grinning at you mischievously, a champagne flute held delicately between her fingers. She looks radiant—always radiant—her blouse hugging her curves, her hair swept up in a sleek updo.
You roll your eyes fondly, teasing, “What, you’re just now talking to me?”
“Busy mingling with the rich and famous, you know how it is,” she says with a wink, then gestures to the art around you. “But seriously, what do you think?”
You scan the gallery, taking it all in. “It’s amazing,” you say honestly, turning back to her with a smile. “And you look… like you belong here.”
She laughs, a soft, self-conscious sound. “You think?”
You’re about to ask her about the shoe piece—because honestly, you need answers—when a small group of guests approaches, all smiles, bows and enthusiastic handshakes. Hani’s expression shifts into something professional and poised, and she glances at you apologetically.
“Duty calls,” she murmurs before getting pulled into another conversation. You nod your understanding and watch her go, marveling once again at how she thrives in these settings. She’s always been that way—confident, charismatic, the kind of person who lights up a room just by being in it. You’re the quieter one. Always have been.
A waiter passes by, offering you another drink. You accept gratefully and take a long sip. The bubbles dance on your tongue, a sweet, effervescent distraction from your wandering thoughts.
You wander the gallery, listening to snippets of conversation and marveling at the creativity around you. The art is eclectic—some pieces loud and bold, others quiet and intimate. It makes you wonder about the artists, about what they were feeling when they created these works.
You pause in front of a particularly striking piece—a photo of a bustling subway station, the people blurred into streaks of color and motion while a single person stands still in the center. You tilt your head, trying to make sense of it. Why this moment? Who is that person? What’s the story?
There’s something about the stillness of that one figure amidst the chaos that hits you right in the chest. A lonely feeling, but not a sad one. Just… quiet. Solitary.
Being surrounded by people and still feeling alone. You can relate.
You take another sip of your drink, letting the bubbles dance on your tongue, turning around to face Hani's direction, who's standing with two men now. One of them is tall with kind eyes and dimples that could charm a brick wall. The other—your breath catches—is him.
You stop walking. Like, physically stop. Mid-stride. Feet rooted to the floor like when you’re in a dream and your brain doesn't cooperate with your body.
He’s facing slightly away, head tilted as he listens to Hani, bucket hat swapped for a beanie this time, brown sweater sleeves rolled to his forearms. He still has that soft, slightly offbeat energy to him. That same quiet, unassuming presence.
Your mind races. He’s here. How? Why? Is this a joke?
Then he turns, as if sensing your gaze. Their eyes meet, and everything else fades away.
His expression flickers from confused to surprised to unmistakably pleased in the space of a single heartbeat. And maybe you imagine it, but you think you see his posture shift, just a little straighter, like seeing you pulled something taut inside him. The way the corners of his lips twitch before breaking into a shy grin mirrors the butterflies you feel.
He’s as caught off guard as you are.
This time, you’re the one to make the first move, weaving through the crowd toward them. You feel a little dizzy. A little out of your depth. But mostly, you just feel… curious.
Hani sees you first, her face lighting up with excitement. “Y/N!” she calls out, waving you over. “There you are.”
You make your way through the small cluster of people, balancing your drink and your composure as best you can. “Sorry,” you say with an easy smile. “I got distracted by all the art,” you say, feeling Tae's gaze on the side of your face.
Hani grins, already slipping her arm around your waist as she turns you slightly toward the two men she’s been standing with. “Y/N, I want you to meet a couple friends of mine.”
You glance up politely, offering a small, awkward wave. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”
“Namjoon,” the taller one says, bowing slightly. “Nice to meet you.”
You smile automatically, dipping your head in return. “Nice to meet you too.”
Then Hani gestures toward the second man—the one whose eyes are already on you, warm and quietly stunned. He hadn’t quite convinced himself you were real until just now, standing in front of him like this. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone more beautiful. “And this,” she says, her tone lighter but with just enough emphasis to make you pause, “is Taehyung.”
He gives a small nod, that same soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hey.”
Your heartbeat thuds once—loud, ungraceful, immediate.
Hani continues, “Um..have you two have already met?” Her eyes bounce between the two of you the way it does when she’s watching a tennis match.
You nod slowly, mouth twitching into a half-smile as you meet Taehyung’s gaze again. “Yeah… we have. A few nights ago, actually.”
Taehyung’s voice is soft—shy, even—but still melodic. “Nice…to—uh, see you again.”
Your lips part just slightly. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. His voice sounds just like you remember—deep and smooth, as it curls around the edges of his words before letting them go. It makes you want to tell him things. A million things.
“You too,” you say gently, blinking at him. “I didn’t think I’d—well… hi.” You laugh softly, embarrassed by how breathless you sound.
Hani exchanges a quick look with Namjoon before she looks at Taehyung, piecing it all together. She turns to you, eyes wide with glee, clearly delighted. “Wait. This is vending machine guy?” Her voice is just a tad too loud, and you catch Namjoon flinching slightly beside her.
You nod slowly, watching Taehyung, waiting for him to dissolve into smoke and mirrors. Waiting for the universe to explain why he's here. Now. In this gallery. In this moment. Again. “Yep,” you say, your voice small but sure. “Apparently.”
“Ah!” Hani squeals, clearly pleased with this new information. She claps her hands together once like a giddy kid. “I can't believe this!” Then, because she can’t resist, she looks between the two of you, her eyes sparkling. “I mean, what are the odds?!”
Namjoon glances around, subtly shushing her. “Hani,” he says gently, nodding toward a few guests who’d turned at the sound. “You’re going to attract a crowd.”
She waves a hand dismissively, not taking her eyes off you and Taehyung. “Let them watch,” she declares. “This is too good.”
Taehyung lets out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the edges. You catch the sound, feel it like a tug in your chest, and something inside you loosens. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until just now.
“So…” Hani says, eyes lighting up like she’s just had a brilliant idea. “Since you two already know each other, why don't we all catch up for a bit? You know, reminisce about snack machines and whatnot.”
You blink, mouth falling open slightly. "Hani, no—I mean, we don’t have to—” You shoot her a look that’s equal parts don’t do this and Shut up. But her smile only widens.
And then, Hani—traitor that she is—shoots you both a knowing look and says. “Nonsense!” She makes a shooing motion with her hand as she turns to the boys. "There's this little restaurant downstairs. A sort of museum café,” Hani says brightly, already sliding her hand into the crook of Namjoon’s arm. “I was just thinking of going there. We should go check it out. Right?” Her eyes flick to Namjoon, who nods along, clearly used to this. "Joon’s paying.”
Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh. “Am I?”
“You owe me lunch,” she reminds him.
“Since always.” She winks at him. “Come on, you two.” She starts walking away, dragging Namjoon along with her, her voice carrying across the gallery like she owns the place. Which, for tonight, she kind of does. "Let's go, let's go!"
You hesitate, eyes flicking briefly to Taehyung. He’s watching the two of them with something like fond amusement, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black pants, fingers fidgeting subtly in the fabric because he’s unsure what to do with them.
Here he is with the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he's blowing it. Again. He should be saying something charming. He should be confident. He should—
He’s a man who likes routines, who likes knowing what’s next, who’s only ever felt comfortable in his own skin when it’s just him and his thoughts. But now, his thoughts are a mess of “should I move closer?” and “what if she doesn’t like me?” and “why is my heart beating so fast?”
And you—sweet, patient you—don’t say anything. Just wait. Give him time. Let him catch up.
When he glances back at you, his eyes brighten slightly. He has to do this. He won't let you escape him again. “You come?” he asks, soft and hopeful, the words shaped carefully on his tongue. His cheeks flush pink almost instantly, but you can tell he’s trying to play it cool.
Your stomach does a little flip—subtle but insistent. The butterflies are back.
“Sure,” you say quickly—maybe too quickly. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Okay,” he breathes, looking almost relieved. He glances ahead, where Namjoon and Hani are already disappearing toward the back of the gallery. “Let’s…go?”
You nod, and together you start walking, trailing after your friends who are already wrapped up in conversation, laughing about something you didn’t catch.
It’s dim and airy downstairs, all marble tables and hanging greenery, a far cry from the sleek, modern space upstairs. The café hums with quiet chatter and the clink of silverware, the smell of coffee and fresh bread hanging in the air. It’s cozy here—inviting and warm. And private. There's barely anyone around.
Hani leads the group to a quiet corner table in the back, away from everyone, chatting excitedly about her work and how surreal it feels to see it all displayed. Namjoon listens attentively, nodding along and adding little anecdotes here and there.
Taehyung and you hang back a little, falling into a comfortable pace just a few steps behind. His presence beside you feels strangely familiar now—like slipping into an old sweatshirt on a cold night.
He keeps stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. But you can feel it. It's cute. Kind of endearing, even.
Hani and Namjoon slide into the booth first, leaving the opposite side for you and Taehyung.
You hesitate, glancing at the open space. There’s plenty of room for the two of you—enough that you wouldn’t even need to touch—and you try to ignore the slight annoyance that feel at how big the table is.
Taehyung doesn’t seem to share your concern. Without missing a beat, he slides in first—leaving you plenty of space—his arm brushing yours lightly as he shifts to get comfortable, his movements unhurried.
You settle in next to him, hyperaware of the heat radiating from his side, the gentle scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly sweet—mingling with the café's aroma. It makes your head feel a bit fuzzy.
Hani leans in with a mischievous grin, eyes bouncing between you and Taehyung with undisguised glee. “So,” she says, voice low but excited. “Wasn’t this a great idea?”
You give Hani a look—equal parts annoyed and threatening—but she just bats her lashes innocently and picks up the menu like she’s not actively trying to orchestrate your love life. But it wouldn't be the first time.
Taehyung’s shoulder brushes yours again as he shifts slightly to open his own menu. And you realize he's moved closer. It’s a small thing, barely noticeable to anyone else. But to you…
You steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks calm—hands resting loosely on the table, face relaxed as he scans the options—except for his knee. His left knee is jiggling ever so slightly under the table. A nervous habit.
He notices you looking and quickly stills his leg, a faint blush creeping across the bridge of his nose. “Sorry,” he murmurs, not quite meeting your gaze.
“It’s okay,” you assure him softly, taking the opportunity to turn your body slightly towards him. “I don't mind.” You flash him a reassuring smile.
He nods, not quite convinced, but he returns your smile with one that’s hesitant and sweet.
Namjoon clears his throat softly, breaking the spell. “So,” he says, looking to you and Taehyung, “what are we thinking?”
The menu is a mix of café staples—coffees, pastries, sandwiches—with a few Korean dishes that you don’t recognize. Taehyung frowns slightly at one section, muttering something under his breath, his lips forming silent words as he reads.
“What do you recommend?” you ask, looking at him curiously.
He glances up, almost startled, like he hadn’t expected you to ask. “Ah… um,” he pauses, eyes scanning the menu again, “This. This one.” His finger lands on a dish you can’t pronounce, but it looks good—something savory with noodles and vegetables, topped with a bright, sunny-side-up egg. “Good?”
“Perfect,” you agree with a smile. Then you lean in a bit, voice lowered conspiratorially, “Can you order it for me? I’d never get the pronunciation right.” You laugh, a little nervously, a little hopefully.
He nods once, eager to be of assistance. “Yes, okay.”
You sit back, letting the conversation flow around you as Hani and Namjoon banter back and forth, teasing each other good-naturedly, while you and Taehyung settle into a quiet rhythm of glancing at each other when the other isn’t looking.
A part of you had been worried it would be awkward. That you’d run out of things to say or that the silence would feel heavy. But somehow, it’s the opposite.
Taehyung has a quiet kind of confidence to him now. He still gets shy when you catch his eye, ducking his head and blushing. But when you ask him a question, he lights up, leaning in slightly and talking animatedly about whatever it is—his favorite coffee order, his favorite place in the city, his favorite time of year in Seoul (spring, he tells you, because of the cherry blossoms. He can’t wait).
His English is hesitant but sincere, and you find yourself hanging onto every word, smiling at his expressions and laughing at his jokes. He’s… endearing. Like a golden retriever puppy who's just now realizing he has a tail. You can’t help but want to be the one who makes him light up.
Every now and then, you catch Hani watching you with a knowing glint in her eye, and you can practically see the wheels turning in her head. You make a mental note to warn Taehyung about her later, if this… whatever this is… goes anywhere.
The food takes a little while, which is fine. The conversation is easy. Somehow, it turns to music—Namjoon’s favorite topic, apparently.
“What kind of stuff do you like?” he asks, sipping his iced tea as he looks at you. The drinks arrived a few minutes ago.
You think for a second. “Hmm… mostly R&B. A lot of jazz lately, actually. I’ve been listening to that when I lesson plan.” You shrug. “It’s calming.”
Taehyung perks up beside you. “Jazz?”
You nod. “Yeah. Coltrane. Chet Baker. Esperanza Spalding.”
His eyes widen slightly—just for a second—and then he smiles. “Nice.”
You tilt your head, teasing. “You like jazz too?”
He nods once. “A lot. Sometimes… I paint with jazz.”
He looks a little shy about it now, like he didn’t mean to admit that out loud. He shrugs modestly. “Little. For fun.” Hani catches your eye and wiggles her brows from across the table. You ignore her.
“What kind?” you press, genuinely curious.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Not normal. Different. Uh—Abstract. Feeling.” He searches for the right word. “Mood.” You imagine him in a studio somewhere—paint-splattered jeans, old shirt, headphones on as he loses himself in the strokes of his brush.
“Still,” you say softly, “that’s cool. I’ve always wanted to paint, but I’m not artistic at all.” You laugh a little sheepishly, leaning back. “I’d love to see it sometime,” you say, almost without thinking. The words are out before you realize what you’ve said. You hesitate slightly and add, “If… if that’s okay.”
He looks surprised for a moment—just for a beat—and then his expression shifts into something pleased. He nods once, “I show you,” he says. “Promise.” He holds your gaze, eyes melting into yours.
Before you can ask him what else he likes to do, the food arrives—a steaming plate of the dish he’d ordered for you, the egg glistening and the vegetables perfectly cooked. He ordered the same for himself.
Soon, the four of you are laughing like old friends.
Hani’s telling a dramatic story, flailing her arms and mimicking whatever poor soul she tortured that day. Namjoon nearly chokes on his drink several times. Even Taehyung laughs freely now, that deep, warm sound that makes his eyes scrunch at the corners in the most endearing way.
You find yourself leaning in a little closer each time you hear it.
Somewhere in the midst of this—between bites of food, sips of coffee, and conversation that flows easily—your knee bumps his under the table.
And neither of you moves it.
Instead, you press your weight into it, just the slightest bit. Just enough to let him know it’s not an accident.
His hand pauses on its way to his cup, just for a second, and you wonder if you’ve read this all wrong. If maybe you’ve crossed a line. But then—
It hits you somewhere between Namjoon describing his favorite painting from tonight and Hani detailing the worst date she ever went on.
The food was amazing. The company? Even better. But the constant low-key anxiety of trying not to embarrass yourself in front of the cutest guy you’ve ever met has caught up to you. That kind of thing is exhausting.
Your eyes sting, your shoulders droop, and when you yawn behind your hand for the third time in ten minutes, Taehyung takes courage to say something.
“Sleepy?” he asks quietly, leaning in just a little, his knee is still pressed against yours.
You nod, embarrassed. “Sorry, yeah,” you murmur, stifling another yawn. “I haven’t been sleeping well here.”
His eyebrows furrow slightly with concern. “Not sleep? Why?”
You shrug, playing with the hem of your shirt absently. “Just… adjusting. Different time zones.”
He nods slowly, understanding. “Ah.”
Namjoon, ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “We should probably call it a night anyway. It’s getting late.” He glances at his watch for emphasis. You didn’t realize it’d been over two hours already. It’d flown by.
You’re about to agree when Hani perks up from across the table, looking up from her phone. “I can’t leave yet,” she says apologetically. “There are still some people upstairs I haven’t greeted. One of the gallery owners just arrived—he flew in late.”
You nod, even as the fatigue creeps into your bones. Of course. It’s her big night, and she’s still working. You can't expect her to ditch everything to walk you back.
Hani’s gaze shifts to Taehyung and she switches to Korean. You catch just a few words—help. home. and tired. maybe? You struggle to understand what she’s saying, but Taehyung is already nodding, before answering in Korean. Something that sounds like 'Yes, okay, I can.'
Hani turns to you with a cheeky smile, “Y/N, Taehyung can take you back to my apartment. Since you’re tired. And he knows the way.” She says it like it’s a logical conclusion. Like she hadn’t orchestrated this from the start.
You blink, looking to him. He meets your gaze evenly, expression neutral, waiting for your reaction. A small part of him is worried you’ll say no. That he's overstepped. But another part—a growing, hopeful part—wants this. Wishes you’d say yes.
Your heart skips a little beat.
“Only if okay,” he reassures. “I drive. Safe.” He adds.
You glance at Hani, then back at him, weighing the options. “Um… are you sure?” you ask.
You hesitate only a moment longer before smiling. “Okay. Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” Your voice comes out a little breathier than you intended, and you hope no one notices.
“Perfect!” Hani declares, clapping her hands together once as she slides out of the booth. “Namjoon and I will stay a bit longer. You two go ahead and head out.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, already turning away to walk off with her usual grace and poise. Namjoon offers you a sympathetic smile as he stands, reaching for the check before Taehyung can even think to grab it. “Have a good night,” he says with a nod. "It was nice to meet you, Y/N."
Then it’s just the two of you again.
Taehyung stands first, offering you a hand. It’s warm and slightly calloused as it folds around yours, helping you from the booth. You feel the contact all the way to your toes. “Ready?” he asks.
You nod, not quite trusting yourself to speak yet.
He leads you through the gallery, one hand gently pressing against your lower back to guide you—a light, respectful touch that sends your pulse skittering. You try not to think about how much you like it. How natural it feels. How right.
The air outside is cool and crisp, and it makes your cheeks tingle, but not in a bad way. It feels good—refreshing, even. You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs, and find Taehyung watching you when you open your eyes.
“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
He smiles, and it makes your stomach go all warm and wobbly. “Happy,” he says simply. “You… look happy.” His cheeks pinken again, but he doesn’t look away this time.
“Thanks,” you finally manage, your voice soft.
He nods. “Okay…uh—car is far…so…um…” He pauses, searching for the right words, and you can't bear to watch him struggle anymore. You love the way he's been trying all night to speak your language. You do.
But you can’t take it anymore.
"Tae," you start, then pause, letting the sound of his name hang in the air between you. He looks at you, his expression open and curious. "You speak to me in Korean, you know?" You chew your bottom lip, nerves making your voice quieter than you mean it to be. "I mean… I don’t understand much, but I want to learn. You don’t have to work so hard just to talk to me.” You don't want him to struggle to impress you.
You don't need to be impressed. You already are.
He blinks at you, eyes widening just slightly. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He hadn’t expected that. But that's who you are, isn't it? Understanding and kind and—
He clears his throat, looking a little dazed. “Yeah?”
You nod slowly, letting your smile spread. “Yeah,” you echo, stepping a little closer. "Just go slow." Then you pause, teasing just a little. “And if I mess up, you can teach me.” You wink, and his breath catches.
He’s still processing your request. "Okay," he says in Korean, softly, testing it. "Okay, yeah. I… yes." He nods again, more firmly this time, as if convincing himself.
“Good. Thank you,” you say warmly. “Now. Where's your car?” You gesture down the street, brows raised in question.
Taehyung glances up the street, then back at you. “I have to go get it,” he says slowly, tilting his head a little. “Can you wait here for me? It's just around the corner. I'll come right back.” He looks worried you'll say no, so he hurries to add, "It’s cold. You stay inside if you want?"
He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “If people see…” He gestures vaguely to himself, then to you. “…they could take pictures.”
Your eyes widen in sudden understanding. Of course. You’d been so caught up in the moment that you’d forgotten who he actually was. Kim Taehyung. Idol. Icon. One of the most recognizable faces in K-pop.
“Right. Yeah, sorry,” you murmur, stepping back instinctively. “I didn’t think—”
He cuts you off with a soft smile, stepping forward again. “Don’t apologize. It’s… okay. Just… wait here?” He reaches out, tucking a coil of hair behind your ear before he can stop himself. It’s a gentle, intimate gesture that makes your breath hitch. “Five minutes,” he adds.
“Okay,” you say quickly, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach. “I’ll wait here.”
He nods once, holding your gaze for just a moment longer, then turns and jogs off up the street. You watch him go until he disappears around the corner, leaving you with a pounding heart, mind reeling from what just happened. From what’s been happening all night.
This was supposed to be about supporting Hani. About having a good time at an art exhibit. You weren't supposed to find him here. You weren't supposed to see him again. You weren't supposed to feel this way.
You take a deep breath, hands curling around your arms as you lean against the wall of the building. The concrete is cool against your back, grounding you. You close your eyes briefly, letting the night air wash over you and clear your head.
It takes exactly five minutes and fourteen seconds for Taehyung to come back. You know, because you counted.
He pulls up quietly in a sleek, black Genesis SUV, engine purring as he rolls to a stop at the curb. The tinted passenger window slides down, revealing him in the driver’s seat, looking impossibly attractive in the dim light.
“Hi,” you say, bending down to peer inside, unable to hide your smile.
“Get in.” He nods toward the passenger door, and you don’t hesitate.
The door unlocks with a soft click. You open it, slide in, and are immediately greeted by the gentle hum of music playing low through the speakers—something soft and familiar, but not something you can place.
The car smells like him—fresh, clean, and subtly masculine. You buckle your seatbelt as he pulls away from the curb, merging smoothly onto the road. He glances over at you before turning his attention back to face forward. “Comfortable?”
You nod. “Very. Thank you.”
The city lights glide past in blurred golds and blues, soft music filling the space between you. It’s nice. Comfortable. Easy. He drives smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the console. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks.
“Um, Y/N?” Taehyung says softly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but you can feel the nerves rolling off of him.
“Yes?” you say, turning toward him, letting your knee press against the console as you shift.
He hesitates, as if gathering his thoughts. “I… have a question.” It's now or never, he thinks. He can't lose you again. Not after the universe has granted him a second chance.
He takes a breath, then dives in. “Would it be alright if… we, uh…” He trails off, fidgeting with his grip on the steering wheel. His knuckles go white before he eases up again.
You wait, watching him quietly. When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him gently. “If what?”
His eyes flick to you for just a second, then back to the road. “If… maybe… I could get your number. To text you. If… that’s okay.” He hurries through the words, ripping off the band-aid, Korean words blurring together. You barely understand him. His ears are pink with embarrassment.
"Only if you want,” he hurries to clarify. It's cute. The way he’s so nervous. "No pressure."
Your pulse flutters in your throat, and it’s hard to swallow around it. You clear your throat softly and nod slowly. “Yes,” you say. “Yeah, I’d… I’d like that.” You take a breath, steadying yourself.
He glances over at you, surprised by your easy acceptance. You smile at him, and he nearly misses the next red light, slowing to a stop.
“Okay.” Then he's reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone with the most adorable look of concentration on his face as he taps through it. Finally, he hands it to you, unlocked and open to a new contact screen. “Here.”
“Thank you,” you say, taking the phone carefully, your fingers brushing his in the process. You resist the urge to linger and instead focus on typing in your number. It takes a few tries—his keyboard is in Korean and you keep hitting the wrong letters—but eventually, you manage it.
You pause for a moment, wondering if you should add your name. In the end, you type Y/N in English, then add a little emoji smiley face because why not?
When you hand the phone back to him, he quickly sends a text to your phone to make sure he has the right number.
You pull your phone out, opening the text. There’s just one word—Hi—followed by a Korean character. You quickly reply, glancing down at his phone, where your name shows up on the lock screen, and smile. “Looks like it worked.”
He beams, slipping the phone back into his pocket just before the light turns green. The car glides forward, picking up speed smoothly as he navigates the colorful streets.
The rest of the drive passes in a comfortable hum of music and muted streetlights. You catch yourself stealing glances at him every now and then, watching the way the shadows shift across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. He’s beautiful. And you’re in big trouble.
Too soon, the car slows to a stop in front of Hani’s building. You hadn’t realized you were already here until he’d put on the blinker. Time flies when you’re having fun.
Taehyung shifts into park and turns off the engine, but makes no move to get out. You hesitate too, hands gripping your seatbelt as you look over at him.
Well… this is it. This is the part where you say goodbye, get out of the car, and go back to being two people who aren’t even from the same country. This is the part where whatever this was ends.
He clears his throat softly, interrupting your thoughts. “Thank you. For tonight,” he says, turning toward you, leaning against the door, one arm draped over the wheel.
You smile. “No, thank you. I had a really nice time.” It comes out quieter than you expected, but the words feel right.
He nods, then pauses, like he’s debating what to say. You wait, giving him space to find the words he’s looking for.
Finally, he takes a breath. “I… was afraid that you… that I wouldn’t see you again. After the first time.” His words are slow, measured, so you can understand him clearly. You realize you want to hug him. “I’m glad that I was wrong.”
You tilt your head slightly, looking at him. “Me too,” you say softly. “I’d… I’d been hoping to run into you again.”
A comfortable silence settles between you, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city and the faint sound of music still playing. You don't know how long you sit there, just staring at each other, but you don't care.
Then, Taehyung clears his throat again, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. “Well… I should probably—”
You reach for him without thinking.
Your fingers find his first—just a gentle brush of your hand against his, palm to palm—before curling around his wrist. It’s soft, tentative, an apology for interrupting him, an excuse to touch him. Your heart is suddenly loud in your ears.
Taehyung goes very, very still, his eyes dropping to where your fingers are now wrapped around his wrist. His breath hitches, just once, but you catch it.
“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Shit. Shit. That was stupid. He probably thinks you’re some kind of crazy bitch, throwing yourself at him—
He turns his hand over, catches yours in his, and pulls it to his mouth. His lips brush across your knuckles, soft and warm and—
Your breath catches, your heart doing a funny little flip in your chest.
When he looks up at you, his eyes are dark, full of an emotion you don't recognize. But whatever it is, it makes your blood feel like warm honey in your veins.
You watch, transfixed, as he places a second kiss to the inside of your wrist. And a third. Each one softer than the last, lips barely brushing skin.
You feel lightheaded. “Tae…,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re asking for. More of that? All of that. Everything.
He presses your hand against his cheek, lets you feel the heat of his skin, the roughness of stubble on his jaw. His eyes never leave yours. When he finally speaks, it’s a whisper. “Y/N,” he murmurs, and your name sounds like a promise on his lips. “I want to see you again. Before you leave. If… if you want.”
You’re nodding before he’s even finished. “Yes,” you breathe, leaning in without thinking. “Yes, I want—” Your voice is breathless, a little shaky.
Taehyung nods once, twice, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Friday,” he says quietly. “Are you… free? Can I… see you Friday?” He’s still holding your hand against his face, his thumb stroking small circles on your skin. It’s distracting.
You think for a moment, then nod. “Friday works,” you agree, letting the words spill out. “Yeah, Friday is great.”
He beams at you, and the sight of it sends lightning bolts to your toes. “Good,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your knuckles. And you know you have to get out of the car before you do something stupid, like kiss him.
You clear your throat softly. “I, um… should probably go.” The words feel like a betrayal as soon as you say them.
Taehyung doesn’t let go right away.
Instead, his thumb lingers against the inside of your wrist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you through touch alone. His eyes hold yours for a breath longer—just long enough to make your pulse flutter again—then he gently, reluctantly, lets your hand slip from his.
You feel the loss immediately.
“Okay,” he says quietly, his voice a little hoarse.
You reach for the door handle, fingers trembling slightly. The moment you step out, the cool night air hits you full-on, nipping at your skin and snapping the spell in two. You pause, one foot on the curb, and look back at him.
He’s still watching you. Still in the driver’s seat, lips parted like he might say something else. But he doesn’t.
“Thank you,” you say again, softer this time. “For the ride. And the food. And…” For showing up again.
You close the door gently behind you.
He waits until you’re at the entrance of the building before pulling off.
And he knows he’s in trouble.
He’s still thinking about the way your hand felt in his. The way your voice softened when you said his name. The way your smile made something inside him ache with a feeling he hasn't felt in a long time. If ever.
He drives slowly, almost reluctantly, as if speed might erase the memory of you too soon. His hand tightens around the steering wheel. There’s a smile pulling at his mouth—soft, dazed, completely uncontainable. He doesn’t try to stop it.
He's in too deep and, for the first time, he lets himself drown.
