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Yours [Ksj ff]

Synopsis : When you stumble into Seokjin’s life as the almost-too-perfect solution to his biggest problem —getting married to secure his inheritance— he jumps at the opportunity without a second thought. Of course, he conveniently forgets to mention that he’s absolutely terrible at this whole arranged-marriage thing. Or that, truth be told, he has no idea what he’s doing. But when things inevitably start going off the rails, one thing becomes painfully clear: he really needs your help. And it’s not like you’re going to say no… right?

Pairing : Kim Seokjin x Reader (one-shot) with Taehyungxoc on the side + brief Jungkook and Yoongi cameos.

Genre : strangers to lovers, fake marriage goes wrong, fluff, angst, slow burn, smut.

Word count : 26 k (I need help)

Warnings : angst, miscommunication, Seokjin is the sweetest, idiots to lovers because why not, a bitchy collegue on the side, SMUT (quickie in semi-public place, breast play, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), +big cock), really brief mention of a joint, minors dni !

Authors note : This fic is honestly a mess. I litteraly got cold sweat editing this because it wasn't supposed to get that long, but I'm way too fond of this Seokjin not to post it so here it is <3

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

“If we are gathered here today, it is to wish a safe journey to a man we all loved dearly…”

The words loop endlessly through Seokjin’s mind, echoing over and over again. Across from him, the large wooden coffin seems to be staring back, holding him in place, keeping him from moving. He can’t quite put a name to what he’s feeling —a muddled mix of fear, grief, and distance. Taehyung says it might have something to do with his… less-than-perfect relationship with his grandfather. Seokjin prefers to think he just hasn’t fully grasped it yet —and that, thankfully, it’ll sink in eventually.

His mother chokes back yet another sob, and Nonnie —his grandmother— suddenly elbows him in the ribs. When he turns to her, he’s met with her disapproving glare —the old lady has never had much patience for crybabies. So, doing his best to hide a resigned smile, Seokjin reaches out to pat his mother’s back before pulling her into a hug when she clings to him, crying.

He has to physically stop himself from grimacing then —because not only is his mother soaking the shirt he ironed barely two hours ago, but Nonnie also looks like she’s seriously contemplating murder. And strangely enough, the idea of getting smacked in the face with her cane only half-bothers him.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, the notary draws an irritated look from Seokjin’s father. “I apologize for gathering you all so abruptly,” he begins, tugging at his collar as though he can’t breathe, while Mrs. Kim steps away from Seokjin and straightens up, regaining her proud, dignified posture despite the tears. “But the reading of the will must take place as soon as possible. I hope you understand—”

“Just read the damn thing,” Mr. Kim snaps, clearly eager to be done with it. Without warning, Nonnie lifts her cane and brings it down on his head while muttering her complaints, and Seokjin has to bite back a laugh.

“To my dear daughter, her idiot of a husband, and the others,” the notary launches into the will without delay —and this time, Seokjin outright snorts. That opening is so like his grandfather. “If you are reading this, it means I’ve finally kicked the bucket —and damn, it was about time. Since I suspect you’re all here for one reason only, I’ll be brief. I, the undersigned, Kim Jeonwan, of sound mind and body, bequeath my entire estate to my family as follows. To my wife, whom I sincerely hope won’t be joining me anytime soon, I leave all of our houses, both in the city and by the sea, as well as all our land.”

Nonnie thumps her cane against the floor, muttering something that sounds an awful lot like “You’d better hope so, you old fossil.”

“While I would have gladly left nothing to my idiot son-in-law,” the notary continues —his face flushing violently as Mr. Kim clenches his jaw and glares at him—“I entrust my daughter with full responsibility over my production agency, which she was already running. As for the rest —namely my fortune, my titles, and the electronics company I founded and built my career on…”

At that, Seokjin straightens, suddenly laser-focused. His relationship with the old man may not have been great, but if there’s one thing he’s hoping to inherit, it’s that. Otherwise, he truly doesn’t understand why he’s even here.

Ever since he was a child, he’d been told he would take over the company —his grandfather hated his father so much he was willing to do anything to keep him from getting a single thing, so Seokjin was practically raised to inherit it.

Honestly, he would understand if the old man left him nothing —he isn’t expecting anything, to be frank— but he’d be utterly baffled if he didn’t get this, at the very least.

“The idea of having only one grandson to shoulder this responsibility doesn’t exactly delight me, but I have little choice. That said, it is out of the question that a lifetime of effort should be handed to a kid on a silver platter. Therefore, in order to receive the inheritance I leave him, I stipulate that my only grandson, Kim Seokjin, must first follow family tradition and maintain his union for at least one year. Should he fail to do so, everything shall go to my longtime associate, Kang Keeho.”

No one moves.

Seokjin can barely breathe. What the hell is this? You can put conditions on an inheritance?!

“That is all,” the notary announces, carefully folding the paper. “There are several… colorful turns of phrase that appear to be intended for your husband, Mrs. Kim, but if you agree, I’ll consider them unnecessary under the circumstances and take my leave.”

Seokjin’s mother nods with a small wave of her hand, and in the blink of an eye, the notary is gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Everyone remains frozen for a few seconds —until Seokjin’s father suddenly starts to chuckle.

“The old man really thought this through, I’ll give him that…” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “That little shit—”

“Jongwon, please,” Seokjin’s mother cuts him off with a disapproving look, smoothing her suit as she stands.

“He’s trying to hand the whole company to that bastard Kang!” his father explodes, red with rage.

Seokjin had already been working at the family company when Kang Keeho —his grandfather’s longtime associate— had tried to screw them over, embezzling massive amounts of money before pinning the blame on them and sparking a full-blown scandal that tainted the entire family.

For his grandfather to be willing to leave everything to Kang meant one thing: he truly didn’t want Seokjin’s father to get anything. Which only leaves Seokjin more confused.

His mother sighs, choosing to ignore her husband’s outburst as she turns to Seokjin instead. “Come on, Jinnie. Let’s go home. Nonnie and I could really use a nap.”

While his father continues to rage in the corner, Nonnie is already getting to her feet, her hand trembling slightly on the handle of her cane. She doesn’t show it, but her husband’s death has deeply shaken her —and Seokjin, who has always been close to her, feels compelled to stay strong, for her sake as much as his mother’s. When they’re both worn down like this, he can’t afford to fall apart.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, drawing the women’s attention. “Why would he do this? I thought he hated Kang too. And what’s this ‘tradition’ nonsense? Why have I never heard of it?” Suddenly, both women avoid his gaze.

And Seokjin hates that.

He may only be twenty-seven —still considered young in the business world— but he’s worked at the company since he was sixteen, and he knows his family history inside and out. So why does it suddenly feel like they’re hiding things from him?

“Mom? Nonnie?” he presses after a few seconds of silence.

His mother is the first to react, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “Forget it. I’ll talk to the notary —there’s bound to be a way around it. Your grandfather was rambling near the end.”

“That’s exactly it —he wasn’t,” Seokjin protests, bewildered. “What is this tradition?”

“An old rule of the Kim bloodline,” Nonnie cuts in, frowning. “No one follows it anymore, honestly —not even your cousins. But you know him. That crazy old man loved standing out.”

“And what does this rule actually say?” Seokjin asks, unable to stop himself.

When Nonnie’s gleaming gaze meets his, he knows he’s not going to like the answer. His parents both try to hush her, but Nonnie isn’t the kind of woman who can be silenced. Standing tall, she points the tip of her cane at Seokjin’s chest. He steps back —half from the force of the gesture, half from the words that follow.

“Tradition says the eldest son must have experience in life before he has experience in business. Which means, my boy, that if you truly wanted to respect tradition, you’d have to start by building a family.”

The smile she gives him sends a chill down his spine. His grandmother can be downright sadistic at times.

“So unless you’ve got a nice young lady to introduce to us —which I highly doubt, considering the two left feet you were born with— I wouldn’t expect you to see your new office anytime soon.”

It’s a disaster. How the hell is he supposed to deal with this?!

He can still see his grandmother’s face —the gentle smile she wore as she took his hand after dropping the bomb. “Traditions must be respected, Jinnie. They matter. It’s what your grandfather would have wanted —you know that, don’t you?”

And his parents nodding like lunatics behind her, after being so against it at first.

The only thing that helped him keep it together was his grandmother. His parents have seen him angry before, but there’s no way he’s letting her witness that. She sees him as the perfect grandson, the ideal gentleman —the shock would be too much.

But damn it, he has no idea how to get himself out of this mess. Maybe if he—

“Why’s this one sulking again?” a smooth voice drawls loudly behind him, with zero discretion.

Seokjin sighs. He knows that voice. Taehyung.

“He’s literally coming back from his grandfather’s funeral, Mr. Kim,” Jungkook —his right-hand man and confidant— replies in that tone he always uses with Taehyung: slightly blasé, slightly exhausted, as if to emphasize just how draining he finds him.

Taehyung never takes offense. In fact, Taehyung rarely takes offense at anything.

Seokjin can’t see it, but he can practically feel Taehyung’s eyebrow arch in disbelief. “Yeah, sure,” he scoffs.

Seokjin expects it —yet still jumps when one of Taehyung’s large hands suddenly lands on his shoulder. Dressed in one of his eternal tank tops that show off his muscular arms —always worn under his suits— Taehyung drops into the seat beside him, pool cue still in hand. Seokjin blinks, startled.

He’d completely forgotten they were playing pool.

“Seriously, man —are you okay?” Taehyung asks, his smooth voice softening, worry seeping in so clearly it almost makes Seokjin smile.

They’re only distant cousins, but their families have always been business partners. They practically grew up together —and since he’s a few years older, Seokjin has always looked after Taehyung like a little brother. Which never meant he had any influence over his behavior. That kid has always done only whatever the hell he wants.

Lately, though, it almost feels like Taehyung is the older one —the one who actually has his life together. Seokjin, on the other hand, feels completely lost.

“It’s nothing. Same old crap,” Seokjin murmurs, rubbing his temple while eyeing the bottles lined up behind the bar. A drink wouldn’t hurt right about now.

“Like?” Taehyung presses, delicately brushing away the strands of hair slipping out from under his beanie. Seokjin smiles despite himself —Taehyung’s had that tic since he was a kid, and part of him still finds it stupidly endearing.

He sighs, though, thinking about everything weighing on him. “After the funeral, we all went back to my grandmother’s place and… talked inheritance.”

They both grimace at the same time. Taehyung even clicks his tongue —he’s been there, he knows what that means. “And?”

Seokjin rubs his eyes before burying his face in his hands. “They’re fine with me taking over at the company right away. But the rest—” the rest being the entire family fortune he’s supposed to inherit, “—I won’t get until my father dies. Which is basically never. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless I get married. To respect that stupid, bullshit tradition,” Seokjin groans, rolling his eyes.

That’s exactly when Taehyung bursts out laughing. He stops quickly when Seokjin shoots him a glare —but the grin stays. “Sorry, but you gotta admit, it’s funny,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

Seokjin sighs. Yeah. Funny ironic.

Last year, Taehyung had been given the exact same ultimatum by his family —and Seokjin vividly remembers a very similar night, drowning their misery in drinks while searching for a solution. He likes to think Taehyung handled it worse —at least Seokjin hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol yet, whereas that had been his friend’s first instinct. And sure enough —setting his pool cue down on the counter, Taehyung leans over the bar without hesitation, grabs a bottle, and snags two glasses.

He sits back down, uncorks the bottle —a red wine that must cost a fortune— and holds the cork between his teeth as he fills both glasses to the brim.

Seokjin says nothing, just watches him. The bar’s been Taehyung’s for months anyway —he can do whatever he wants with the bottles. “So,” Taehyung says, sliding one glass toward him —which Seokjin doesn’t take. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Seokjin clenches his jaw without even realizing it. Maybe he should drink after all. “There is no lucky lady, Tae. You know that.”

Taehyung sets his half-empty glass down with a small pout. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re hiding a secret girlfriend,” he mutters —and it’s obvious even he doesn’t believe it, which makes Seokjin laugh. Between the two of them, Taehyung is far more likely to be hiding a secret girlfriend —though knowing him, it’d be more of a secret fuck buddy.

Seokjin’s had his share of flings, sure —but he doesn’t really have time for that anymore. Between work and family obligations, he’d much rather spend his free time at home than running around God-knows-where.

When he doesn’t answer, and minutes pass with him staring into his glass without realizing it, Taehyung nudges his shoulder. “Just do what I did,” he shrugs. Seokjin snorts almost instantly, which makes Taehyung frown. “What? It worked!”

Seokjin looks at him, a tired smile tugging at his lips.

A year ago, when Taehyung’s family issued the same ultimatum, he —never one to back down— found a way out Seokjin would’ve never imagined: a fake marriage, with a woman fully on board with the act.

Seokjin had laughed back then —his friend’s resourcefulness never ceases to amaze him— and even though he might be one of the few who knows their love is basically nonexistent, he’s genuinely grown attached to Taehyung’s fake partner.

“You’re forgetting that Cupcake is literally an angel,” he grumbles. Taehyung smiles at the mention of his fake wife, looking almost proud of her. “No one would agree,” Seokjin adds.

Another gentle shove before he can go back to drowning in his wine. “You don’t know that. Maybe there’s an angel out there for you too. And worst case —it’s not the end of the world.”

Seokjin looks up at him, frowning. “What do you mean, not the end of the world? I don’t want my whole family thinking I’m a—”

“I don’t know many people who’d turn down access to the Kim family fortune —especially if all they have to offer in return is decent acting,” Taehyung cuts in, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m serious. Plenty of people would agree.”

At Seokjin’s doubtful look, he adds more softly, “You just have to be married a few months —long enough to get the inheritance. After that, you divorce, tell your parents it didn’t work out, and that’s it. It’s not really a lie if no one ever knows the truth. That’s what I told myself.”

Seokjin flinches —part curiosity, part resentment. Next to him, Taehyung’s life seems almost perfect. “Then why didn’t you and Cupcake divorce?”

Taehyung thinks for a second, then shrugs. “It’s convenient. For both of us.”

He says nothing else, leaving Seokjin alone with his thoughts —and his glass.

This is ridiculous. On one hand, Taehyung’s idea isn’t terrible —and he has living proof that it can work. But on the other… so many things could go wrong.

And who could he even ask something like that? It’s not like he’s close enough to any woman to make that kind of request. Taehyung and Cupcake were already friends before their fake marriage.

No. Ridiculous. Seokjin shakes his head, a small laugh slipping out at the thought that he even considered it seriously. “Forget it. I don’t think that’d work for me,” he mutters, ignoring his friend’s unconvinced look. “I’d feel awful. And stupid. Drop it —I’ll figure something else out.”

“Yeah. Something else. As in ‘a woman who loves me enough to marry me in under a month.’ Easy.” With that, Taehyung gives his shoulder a friendly slap and walks away, leaving Seokjin alone at the bar once more.

Slowly, he exhales. Taehyung’s right —he needs a solution, fast. But not that. Knowing himself, he’d screw it up spectacularly, and Taehyung wouldn’t be there to bail him out.

No. He’ll find something else.

But as he buries his face in his hands, he has to admit he’s completely out of ideas.

And while he hides his eyes, utterly demoralized, Seokjin pays little attention to the words Taehyung murmurs quietly into Jungkook’s ear —nor to the way Jungkook’s eyes suddenly light up.

“I’ve got something for you,” Jungkook suddenly says, pulling Seokjin out of his quiet contemplation of the scenery sliding past as the sun dips below the horizon.

He recognizes the surroundings —they’ll be at his parents’ place in just a few minutes— and he can’t help but be surprised. Usually, Jungkook and he simply sit in silence until the driver stops the car and lets them out. In fact, that’s one of the reasons Seokjin appreciates Jungkook so much: his ability to stay quiet, while always knowing exactly when to speak —and what to say.

He’s even more taken aback when Jungkook, without another word, hands him a small black binder and sets it on his lap. Seokjin opens it with a raised eyebrow. Then, under Jungkook’s insistent stare, he flips it fully open —only to land on a photo of a woman on the very first page.

He doesn’t know her, but beside the picture are listed her name, age, height, profession, hobbies… A borderline creepy profile sheet. “What the hell is this?” Seokjin blurts out, stunned. To his credit, Jungkook at least looks embarrassed.

“It’s possible that… Taehyung asked me to do a bit of research for you. About his idea,” he adds when Seokjin just stares at him, baffled.

Almost instantly, Seokjin’s expression darkens. You’ve got to be kidding me. Not this again. “Is this a joke?”

“I thought about it, and I—” Jungkook starts, raising his hands in a placating gesture because Seokjin is already turning red with anger. “I think it can’t hurt to look. Just flip through it —it doesn’t cost you anything.” He insists.

Seokjin opens his mouth, ready to snap back, but at that exact moment —almost as if to convince him— Jungkook reaches over and flips a few pages himself, faces sliding past one after another. “They’re just profiles. Think of them like résumés. Well —okay, bad choice of words,” he quickly backtracks when Seokjin glares at him. “But you get my point. You need to find someone, Seokjin. If the company goes to Kang, you’ll be a laughingstock among the chaebols.”

Seokjin is already opening his mouth to retort that he couldn’t care less about his reputation among a bunch of spoiled rich brats —when Jungkook lifts his hand again, inadvertently letting the page fall open on your profile.

Seokjin freezes, eyes locked on your photo.

He’s always prided himself on being a gentleman. He’s had a few flings, sure —but always respectfully —and he’s definitely not the type to lose his composure, especially not in public.

And yet, the simple sight of your bright eyes and that crooked smile is enough to send something fluttering low in his stomach.

Too focused on the photo, Seokjin doesn’t notice the small smile spreading across Jungkook’s face at his sudden silence. He barely registers Jungkook leaning in to read the file. A wide grin blooms on his friend’s lips, bunny teeth fully on display. “Funny. I had a feeling you’d like that one.”

Seokjin doesn’t answer —too spellbound. His eyes seem incapable of leaving your picture. He studies you, almost hungrily: your eyes, the curve of your nose, your mouth, the way you lift your chin with quiet pride, like a proper lady, the elegance you carry despite such simple clothes. Only Jungkook’s tap on his shoulder pulls him out of his trance. “I’ll be waiting outside. Take your time.”

And with that, he opens the door and leaves Seokjin alone with your profile —and the fate that has suddenly seized him. Suddenly, it’s like he can’t get enough. He devours the file, reads every word at an alarming speed, mobilizing every ounce of brainpower to absorb as much information as possible.

You’re only a year younger than him. You were born during his favorite season. He lingers on your name longer than necessary, murmuring it over and over, as if testing the way it tastes on his lips. He marvels at your path, your creativity in everything you do —so much so that genuine admiration takes root. But again and again, he finds himself returning to your photo, even brushing it with his thumb. God, you’re beautiful.

He repeats the thought endlessly —yet still can’t tear himself away from those sparkling eyes and that devastating smile.

By the time he finally finds the strength to close the binder and step out of the car, night has already fully fallen.

“Jinnie! Thank God —you’re a lifesaver!” his mother exclaims as she greets him, pulling him into a quick hug before taking the folder from his hands. An old ledger containing every contract tied to a production scheduled for next year. Apparently, there are quite a few issues surrounding it —and poor Mrs. Kim is dealing with all of them alone.

“No problem at all. I’m always happy to come help,” he says with a broad smile, his heart tightening as the tired lines on his mother’s face soften into one in return.

“Come see us —Nonnie’s in the veranda,” she adds, leading him to the small sitting room, where his grandmother is slumped in her armchair. She tries to stand to greet him, but he beats her to it, bending down to wrap her in a hug.

“How are things going lately?” he asks after the pleasantries, thanking the butler who brings him tea.

Nonnie snorts from her chair. “Please. Your mother barely sleeps.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Kim scolds, handing her a biscuit to shut her up. She quickly turns to Seokjin, whose face has taken on a deeply worried look. “It’s nothing, really. One of the lead actresses suddenly asked to terminate her contract and went around telling everyone that the working conditions on set were… well, let’s just say she went into vivid detail. So you can imagine —between the PR team panicking and her manager refusing to listen, things get… complicated.”

Heart tight, Seokjin reaches for his mother’s hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with this, Mom.” He means it. His grandfather has only been gone a few weeks, and it feels like they haven’t had a single moment of rest since.

But Mrs. Kim isn’t the type to show weakness —even when she feels it— so she quickly shakes her head with a smile. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Jinnie.”

“That little tramp better watch herself,” Nonnie chuckles into her tea, a distinctly sadistic smile on her lips. And yet —despite their bravado, despite the laughter— Seokjin sees it.

He sees the hollowed cheeks and tired eyes, the stress flashing across his mother’s face every time her phone vibrates. He sees the reproachful looks Nonnie keeps throwing toward the veranda door, as if she expects Mr. Kim to walk in at any second so she can yank his ear. Because, as usual, when his mother is on the brink, Seokjin’s father is nowhere to be found.

All Seokjin can do is watch, his heart tightening with every passing second as guilt slowly but surely takes root. He could help.

All it would take is one well-phrased sentence to make every scandal disappear —replaced with curious, excited rumors instead. One sentence to make the eyes of the two women across from him light up with joy. And if Seokjin knows he’s far from perfect, he also knows he’s always done everything he could to be the best son possible for his mother —and the best grandson for Nonnie.

And as long as he can, he’ll keep doing so.

That’s probably why, in this moment —quietly observing his mother’s obvious suffering— Seokjin thinks that maybe Taehyung’s idea isn’t so bad after all.

His throat suddenly dry, he doesn’t dare look at Jungkook, waiting patiently by the wall. He’s afraid that meeting his gaze might make him lose his nerve.

Still, once he starts, the words come without hesitation. “Actually,” he begins, his hesitant —almost shy— tone immediately catching the attention of both women, “… there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Someone, actually.”

“This is wonderful!” “I’m so happy for you, Mr. Kim!” “You make such a beautiful couple—it’s adorable!” “You can tell how much he loves her. She’s so lucky!”

“What did you say her name was again?”

“Y/N, Mom,” Seokjin repeats for the sixth time, watching fondly as his mother smiles —he knows she keeps asking simply because she loves the sound of your name. “You’re going to adore her. You’ll see.”

“I can’t wait. She sounds fascinating. And such a lovely profession… Poet —it’s so… unusual. So charming.”

“She’s an editor, Mom.”

“Yes, yes, same business,” his mother waves it off, far too happy to dwell on details. Seokjin just smiles as she rambles on, radiating pure joy. He never would’ve thought it’d be so easy to make her happy.

Normally she’s rather demanding —but lately, she’s been so overworked that he can’t remember the last time he saw her smile. Yet now, she looks so happy, so proud, his chest humming with affection. And seeing the satisfied look on his grandmother’s face —usually so hard to please —as she sits quietly in her chair fills him with a fierce sense of pride.

Kim Seokjin, Son of the Year.

“I’m telling you—you’re going to love her,” he says softly. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he straightens reflexively when he sees Taehyung’s name on the screen. “Excuse me —I’ll be right back,” he says to his elders before stepping outside in silence, phone in hand.

“Seokjin, if I may, I think that—” Jungkook barely gets the words out before Seokjin raises a finger —the universal give me a second— already pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, future groom! You still remember your old Tae, or did your fiancée steal your last two brain cells?”

Taehyung cackles through the phone, and Seokjin shakes his head. “Shut up. What are you talking about?”

Another laugh. “Hyung, the whole city’s talking about it. Man, even Park’s little sister mentioned it this morning —and you know how much she hates me. Everyone’s dying to meet your girlfriend. She’s already more popular than you, bro.”

Seokjin freezes mid-step, Jungkook stopping beside him. “What?”

“I was just thinking,” Taehyung continues as if he hadn’t heard, “since you knew about Cupcake and all, you’d let me meet her first? Promise I won’t traumatize her —though Cupcake’s curious too, even if—”

“Jinnie!” Taehyung’s voice is drowned out by his grandmother’s, standing at the patio door, nearly shouting through the house. “I spoke with the notary —he’s agreed to marry you within two months. But I want to meet the young lady well before that. Is that clear?”

Seokjin isn’t listening to Taehyung anymore. His arm drops limply to his side as he’s suddenly frozen—paralyzed by his own stupidity.

Everything happened so fast. He didn’t even realize it —but the rumor is already spreading, and the wedding is already being planned. Knowing Nonnie, everything will be ready within a week, tops. He stands there, arm hanging uselessly, suddenly unable to move.

Has his collar always been this tight? He can barely breathe.

“Shit,” he whispers, stunned. Wasn’t this exactly what he said would happen? That he’d mess everything up? “We have a problem,” he manages to murmur, unable to tear his horrified gaze away from the door his grandmother just closed.

Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms over his chest —a hint of a pout forming on his face. “You have a problem,” he snaps petulantly. “If you’d listen to me for once. I’ve been trying for days to tell you that before announcing your wedding, you might want to ask the person involved whether she’s actually okay with it.”

Seokjin has no comeback for that.

Except, very quietly, “Shit.”

“No one ever listens to me,” Jungkook grumbles —but he’s already fiddling with his phone, probably calling someone to come fix the mess. Seokjin can only stand there, frozen, stunned by his own stupidity.

Kim Seokjin, Worst Son of the Year.

Turn off the heater. Put the mug in the sink. Find the right coat. Don’t put on the wrong shoes.

“Shit,” you mutter, glancing at the clock for the eleventh time within the same minute, cursing under your breath when you’re finally forced to face the obvious —you’re horribly late.

This isn’t an appointment you can afford to miss. You need to make a good impression; it could mean a promotion just as easily as a dismissal —and given the choice, you’d very much prefer the former. But right now, there’s no time to spare. You’ll rest after the meeting.

Turn off the heater. Put the mug in the sink. Find the right coat. Don’t put on the wrong shoes. Turn off the heat—

CLINK. “Shit, shit, shit.”

As you bend down to reach the heater controls, the mug slips from your hands, spilling its contents all over the floor —some of it splashing onto your feet. Your socks are soaked.

“Just what I needed…” you grumble, grabbing a sponge to deal with the mess, though it does nothing for the stain spreading across your rug.

Terrible day. And now you’re late on top of it.

Suddenly panicking —why is the hand on that damn clock moving so fast all of a sudden?! That’s not possible— you start rushing around in every direction. Mug in the sink, done. What was next again?

Grabbing a random coat, you try —very unsuccessfully— to put on your shoes at the same time, nearly falling over at least three times before managing to get one on. From his perch on the armchair, Pumpkin, your ginger cat, watches without moving, looking intensely judgmental.

You glare at him while searching for your keys, which you’ve —once again— misplaced. Even when your distress becomes obvious —you’re really going to be late at this rate— he doesn’t budge. The little brat even has the nerve to yawn.

“Wish me luck,” you whisper, slightly out of breath after checking twice that you have everything. He doesn’t move, but he purrs when you bend down to give him a quick kiss and a scratch between the ears, so you forgive him.

When the door slams shut behind you and you lock it, you take a deep breath.

Today is going to be a good day. And with that thought firmly lodged in your mind, you head down the steps of your building toward your car.

If only you knew.

Seven hours later, it’s with a grimace that refuses to leave your face that you push open the door of the small café you visit almost every evening, without even sparing a glance for the gorgeous orange-gold rays of sunset outside. No, really —the sky is probably stunning, but right now, you’re far too exhausted to care.

This morning’s meeting was a disaster. You wouldn’t be surprised if a termination letter showed up in your mailbox within the next few days, and you silently pray that the fondness your boss, Mrs. Lee, has for you will be enough to save you. Honestly, though, you doubt it.

It might have been bearable if you hadn’t then endured an especially long workday, reading excerpt after excerpt of novels that all felt painfully identical. Same stories, same names, same stupid decisions —no tension, way too many clichés. You’re usually the first to enjoy niche stories, but still —there are limits. Add to that the nonstop chatter of your desk neighbor, who gifted you a truly awful migraine… Yes. Room for improvement.

Unfortunately, your migraine doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. You can’t help but admit it when Kaylie —said desk neighbor— orders an extra-large matcha latte at a volume far too loud, making you briefly wonder whether the barista even heard the tiny “a hazelnut coffee, please” you mumbled.

If only the best coffee in the city weren’t on the street right next to your office. Maybe then you could escape Kaylie, at least. “For god’s sake, I can’t take this anymore!” she exclaims, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she slides into a booth by the window.

As you sit down across from her, you notice a few heads turning your way —most of them shooting annoyed looks— and you lower your head instinctively. Why do you always agree to let her tag along when you know she’s just going to embarrass you?

“Seriously, we should go on strike or something to demand more time off. Do you realize they refused to let David take the day off yesterday even though his son had the flu? Seriously —the kid could’ve died!”

You bite back the urge to point out that very few children die of the flu —and that, as far as you know, David’s son just had a mild cold— because you really don’t feel like becoming the target of her outrage. So you just nod silently. You miss Pumpkin.

“Anyway, it’s all complete nonsense,” she continues without waiting for a response, not even reacting when your drinks are served. You shoot her a glare as you thank the barista; she doesn’t even notice, too busy rambling on. “This team is a total mess. And with HR like that, what did we expect? They should really stop hiring old people —she’s such a pain…” Still silent, you sip your hazelnut coffee, using your thoughts as an escape from her unbearable voice. Did you fill Pumpkin’s bowl properly before leaving?

“By the way,” Kaylie wiggles on the bench as she grabs her phone, dragging out the word far too long. “Did you see the WhatsApp group? Romane and Fred are throwing a party in two weeks —we have to go! What, don’t tell me you didn’t see the message?!”

You sigh, resisting the urge —for the umpteenth time— to tell her that no, you don’t read WhatsApp messages. In fact, you don’t even have the app anymore, but she doesn’t need to know that. That group called ‘work–13th floor’ is just a pathetic excuse to spread gossip anyway —not for you.

“What day is it?” you mumble instead, eyes fixed on the bottom of your cup. Kaylie pounces.

“Friday night, obviously. And don’t give me your usual ‘I’m busy, waaah,’” she adds in a whiny tone that makes you want to slap her. “I know you’re not. So it’s decided —we’re going together! Maybe I could ask Mathew to come too, don’t you think?” You don’t bother replying, just shrug. Mathew must be her current boyfriend. Last week, you’re pretty sure his name was Lucas. “Do you think he’ll feel lonely since he won’t know anyone? Damn. Yeah, probably. Shoot.”

She chews on her nails while you lift your cup for another sip of the hot liquid. Her next words nearly make you choke. “It’d be so much easier if we went on a double date. But, well, since you can’t seem to keep a guy for more than three days…”

Your cup hits the table with a sharp clack, but she barely notices you glaring at her, too lost in her own thoughts. “It’s kind of crazy that no guy’s interested in you. I mean, you’re not that ugly. Makes you wonder if there’s something wrong with you…” she mutters, twirling a strand of hair —then suddenly brightens, her tone flipping completely. “I’ll be right back, bathroom break!”

You clench your teeth, your nails carving small crescents into your palm as she gets up and walks away.

Two years ago, when you first started working at this company, comments like that from Kaylie hurt like hell —the number of nights you spent crying in front of the TV, cursing her name… Today, while it still irritates you just as much, it affects you far less —because you’ve come to understand. Kaylie isn’t mean; she’s just the living definition of a loudmouth. She says whatever comes to mind, without a filter. And sometimes —damn, it hurts. What hurts the most, painful as it is to admit, is that she’s right.

You go on dates sometimes. You meet men here and there who interest you —but it never goes beyond a single meeting, a little flirtation. Your last serious boyfriend was three years ago. At first, you wondered if something was genuinely wrong with you —and then, when you never found an answer, you gave up. That doesn’t make it any less painful.

Damn. Now all you want is to go home and hold your cat. Staring at the bottom of your cup, where only a few drops of hazelnut coffee remain, you hesitate —then make up your mind. You never should’ve come here with Kaylie anyway. It was bound to end badly. Taking advantage of the fact that your coworker doesn’t seem eager to return from the bathroom, you pull out a bill and place it beside your cup. But as you grab your purse and gather your things, someone clears their throat behind you, and a warm male voice speaks up.

“Excuse me —are you Miss Seo? Seo Y/N?”

You turn around abruptly, as if struck by lightning —you don’t recognize the voice, you’re sure of it, and yet it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine— before freezing completely, eyes wide, because you find yourself face to face with quite possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly groomed and dressed, fine features and gentle eyes fixed on you —and hopeful ones, no less. Out of reflex, you glance over your shoulder like an idiot, unable to believe this living god is addressing you of all people. But when you realize there’s no one behind you and that he really is looking at you, it’s your turn to clear your throat, flustered, heat rushing to your cheeks as you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Uh… yes?” You bite your tongue, mentally slapping yourself. That’s all you could come up with, idiot? “Can I help you?”

The man fidgets with his cufflinks, clearly nervous, and you could swear the tops of his ears are slowly turning red beneath his brown hair —but he only hesitates for a second. “My name is Kim Seokjin —and actually, yes. You can help me.”

Seokjin can’t believe it.

You’re really walking beside him —less than a meter away. He has never been this nervous in his entire life —not even when he showed up ten minutes late to his graduation ceremony and almost threw up on his project supervisor’s shoes —and god, it’s hot. Why is it so hot? It’s not even the end of winter, so why does it suddenly feel like he’s stuck in the middle of a heatwave?!

For the umpteenth time, Seokjin swallows —and nearly chokes on his own saliva. When he parked at the address Jungkook sent him and spotted you through the window with another woman, he very nearly turned around and drove off.

Seeing you in photos was one thing. Seeing you in person is something else entirely.

You’re even more beautiful in real life. You look sharper, more confident —achingly more real, too— and all of a sudden Seokjin is back in middle school, holding his first crush’s hand and being too scared to look her in the eyes. If Taehyung were here, he’d never let him hear the end of it.

“So?” you ask suddenly, pulling your nose out of your scarf as you turn toward him, your bright eyes studying him calmly. He swallows in panic. “What can I do for you?”

There are a thousand things he’d like to answer —though he doubts he could manage any of them without stammering like an idiot— but he can’t afford that. Not yet. He needs to stay professional. He’s created problems far too big for himself to lose control now, just because he’s developed the biggest crush of his entire life on you in less than a month.

Professionalism, Seokjin.

Still, when he opens his mouth to reply and immediately trips over his words, he realizes it all sounded much easier in his head. “I’m sorry for showing up like this, out of nowhere,” he finally says, after carefully choosing his words. “I hope you didn’t have anything planned.”

A hint of a smile curves your lips. “On a Tuesday night? I should be fine —don’t worry.” He can’t help but smile back, because damn, you’re even prettier like that —before catching himself and shaking his head. Professionalism, Seokjin.

“Yes, of course,” he murmurs, a nervous smile on his lips. It’s going to be fine. Just spit it out. “Well, as I said, my name is Kim Seokjin, and, um…”

He stumbles like a fool, unsettled—because usually, just saying his name is enough to make people’s eyes light up, practically kneeling in front of him. Not that he expects you to do that —that would be mortifying— but still, people usually react a little when they learn he’s the heir to one of the country’s largest chaebol families. You barely blink.

“My grandfather passed away two months ago,” he blurts out, mentally slapping himself as the words tumble out uncontrollably. “He founded a rather coloss—well, financially… very significant electronics company, let’s say.”

“My condolences,” you murmur, lips pressed together, eyes narrowing slightly —polite, but clearly confused. He pauses, surprised.

“Oh —that’s kind of you, but really, don’t worry. Everyone’s been waiting for it for years.” He’s talking so fast now he’s nearly out of breath, but he doesn’t dwell on it —or on your almost shocked expression. “Anyway, his death caused more problems than anything else in my family, and I need your help to… well, solve one of them. A rather… big one.”

He stumbles over the last words, hesitant. In response, you simply tilt your head, curiosity clearly piqued. Nervous, he swallows again. “What kind?” you ask softly, that discreet little smile returning to your lips —the one he already likes far too much— and he forces himself to look away to focus.

He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. He’s spent so long thinking about how to ask you, which words to use, how to present the situation. He talked it over with Jungkook the entire drive over, and though his friend had reassured him, now he can’t remember a single word of it. There’s no reason to panic. Everything will go exactly as planned. It’s just an uncomfortable moment to get through.

“Well,” he takes a breath far too deep to escape your notice —you frown slightly. “I need help securing my inheritance so it doesn’t fall into the hands of an enemy of my family. Simply put.”

The words land like a bomb —even he can feel it— and you take a step back, startled, before finding your voice again, surprised but clearly amused. “I’m just a small-time editor, Mr. Kim, and I highly doubt my salary could even pay for the shirt you’re wearing. I don’t see how I could help you.”

You say it jokingly, but Seokjin can’t help glancing down at his shirt, suddenly embarrassed. He knew it —he should’ve dressed more simply. When he looks back up at you and that small smile that makes his heart race a little faster, it’s obvious you’re not taking him seriously. “You wouldn’t actually have to do anything, to be honest—” he starts, hating how warm his ears feel as he stammers.

“No, really,” you protest, “I’m flattered, but I don’t think I’m the right pers—”

“I just need you to marry me.”

You freeze, your face locked in pure shock, while he goes completely rigid —horrified.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why didn’t the words sound the way they had in his head?!

“Excuse me?!” It takes you a few seconds to recover, but when you do, your expression has completely changed —and he panics, stepping back and lifting his hands in surrender.

“It’s nothing perverse! I just need a wife for a few months, and I—” he tries desperately to explain, before snapping his mouth shut when your glare makes it very clear that was not the right thing to say.

“I am neither a maid nor a prostitute, Mr. Kim,” you snap, eyes blazing, gripping the strap of your handbag so tightly a bead of sweat runs down his temple.

“That’s absolutely not what I’m saying! Or thinking!” he rushes out, flustered. “I just want to propose a—a deal! It would only be a title; it wouldn’t change anything for you! All you’d have to do is marry me for appearances, live your life as usual while I reclaim my inheritance, then we’d divorce and you’d never see me again. You’d be paid —very generously— and you could even enjoy my house and my bank account, I—”

“Are you trying to buy me, Mr. Kim?”

He freezes, mouth still half open, horrified. This is a disaster. You’re looking at him with more hatred than you’d given that woman earlier at the café, and the way you clutch your bag makes him expect you to hit him with it at any second before running off —completely destroying his plan. “No, of course not,” he mutters quickly, red with shame. “It’s just… a proposal. I really need your help, Y/N.”

The frown on your face does nothing to reassure him. “We don’t know each other, Seokjin,” you snap —and he has to fight the shiver that runs through him when you say his name like that. “Could I at least know why I’m the lucky one you chose for this proposition?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but between your cutting tone, the contempt in your eyes, and the question itself, he can’t find the strength to speak. Not that he knows what to say.

What could he possibly say? ‘I have a pathetic crush on you—sorry?’

You seem to take his silence as the confirmation you were waiting for, pressing your lips together even tighter. “Well, Mr. Kim, while I’m very touched by your proposal,” you begin, in a cold tone that suggests the exact opposite, “I’m afraid I’m not what you’re looking for, and I refuse to be nothing more than a tool for you to make money. I do hope, however, that you manage to find someone —for your image.”

Seokjin stands there, stunned by the force of your words, as you click your tongue and turn away. It’s only some strange reflex that jolts him out of his stupor —his hand shooting out as panic takes over his body. “Wait—wait,” he almost begs, and it’s enough to catch your attention again, even if it’s an irritated one. At this point, he’s simply desperate. “Please. I know I look like an idiot right now, but I’m begging you. I’m only asking one thing: marry me.”

You let the heavy silence settle between you after his desperate confession. For a second, you actually seem to consider it, your gaze softening just enough to spark something in Seokjin’s chest. Then you crush all his hopes with your next words.

“No. Thank you.”

That’s all you give him before turning your back and disappearing around the corner, heading home while he remains there, motionless and lost.

He spent hours rehearsing that conversation —alone and with Jungkook. He’d prepared every argument down to the syllable, anticipated every possible turn. But at no point had he imagined you might simply say no.

And as he stands there alone on a street he’s never set foot on before, his suit clashing horribly with the surroundings, Seokjin realizes that even now, he doesn’t want to choose anyone else but you.

What he also realizes is that he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to manage this wedding without a fiancée on his arm. And that Nonnie is going to kill him if she finds out.

“This is a catastrophe.”

“No, it’s not,” Jungkook reassures him for the thousandth time, gently patting his back. Seokjin doesn’t lift his head from where it’s buried in his hands, and when he mutters, “Yes, it is,” Jungkook finally loses patience. “No. She said no —so what? It was expected. It’s not that bad, we still have time to find someone else—”

That makes Seokjin straighten abruptly. “You don’t understand,” he insists, his voice trembling under the pressure. “I’ve already told my mother, Nonnie —damn it, all the big families are talking about her! It’s a disaster!”

“No one really knows who she is or what she looks like,” Jungkook replies calmly despite Seokjin’s agitation —and Seokjin is grateful for it. He wouldn’t survive this if Jungkook weren’t as stoic as ever. “They just know her name, Hyung. We’ll find someone else and ask her to pretend to be Y/N. Easy. I’ll handle it.”

No matter how hard he tries, Seokjin can’t ignore the sharp ache those words cause. “No. You don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

Seokjin can only shake his head, unable to voice the thought: that I don’t want to ask anyone else. So he lets the silence fall again, sinking into his despair.

“Tell me,” he finally says after a long minute staring into the bottom of his glass. Taehyung’s bar has apparently become his go-to place for wallowing —because he came here without even thinking. “Do you think Taehyung got rejected like this? No, of course not,” he scoffs. “As sweet as she is, Cupcake probably said yes right away…”

“From what I know, she first agreed because she thought it was a joke,” Jungkook answers, then suddenly stops, as if he wants to add something but hesitates. He has that look —the one he always gets when he knows something others don’t, but Seokjin can never quite read it. “But it’s different, Hyung. Taehyung and Cupcake were already friends. You and Y/N are strangers —it doesn’t surprise me that she said no. At least she has common sense.”

Seokjin can’t deny the point. He sighs. “I just feel so… stupid, Kook. You should’ve seen her —she’s perfect. Really. She seemed so strong, so… damn it, I’m sure if she could’ve, she’d have gutted me. Mom would adore her. But now she hates me, and I have zero desire to marry someone else —even fake— and it’s a fucking disaster…”

Once again, he buries his face in his hands, rambling uncontrollably, not caring that Jungkook sees him like this. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You know what I think?” Jungkook finally says, pulling Seokjin out of his dark thoughts. When he looks up, his friend —despite being much younger— has an almost wise look, the kind movie characters have when they already know the ending and know exactly what to do. “I think you’re an idiot —but I think that every day. More importantly, I think you’re completely smitten, Hyung.”

Seokjin scowls. “This really isn’t the time, Kook.”

“And I think most of all,” the younger one continues, ignoring him, “that you’re ashamed of yourself. You want to marry her? Fine. She hates you? Okay. Adds a little spice, I guess…”

“What are you tal—” Seokjin frowns, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“I know you’re not the type to flirt around, but generally, before proposing marriage, people go for a drink together. You went straight for it —at least she knows what she’s dealing with. Now you need to get off your high horse and talk to her. Really talk to her,” he insists. “Just because you read her profile every night before bed doesn’t mean she knows you.”

“I don’t read—”

“Go see her,” Jungkook booms, interrupting him. “Talk to her. Show her you’re serious. Let her get to know you. If she’s not the type to say yes for money, then she’s the type to say yes for feelings. If you can’t be her partner, be her friend. Like Taehyung and Cupcake.”

Seokjin lowers his gaze, Jungkook’s words slowly sinking in, taking shape as he thinks them through. “Maybe you could even tell her about your little crush, while you’re at it.”

Seokjin doesn’t react to the smug little smile Jungkook throws him, too lost in thought. Show her I’m serious. Let her get to know me. He can do that. Right?

By the time he comes back to himself, a wave of hope and determination swelling in his chest —that’s it, he’s going to take control of this and do it right—Jungkook has already grabbed a bottle of cognac and poured them three glasses each, their usual routine when Taehyung is around.

Seokjin watches him with a soft smile. He doesn’t know what he’d do without them, even though he’s known them so long that sometimes their maturity still surprises him. “Since when are you so good at this?” he asks.

Jungkook only shrugs. “I took sociology in high school.”

Kim Seokjin gives you six days of peace before coming back to wreak havoc in your life. No —three, actually, but at first you don’t pay close enough attention to notice.

That part isn’t really your fault. Or his. When you come home from work completely drained and more than irritated by your day, and you find a bouquet of roses sitting on your doorstep, you don’t exactly stop to wonder where it came from. Too tired to think it through, you simply assume it’s yet another attempt by your neighbor —the slightly pushy one who goes through one-night stands like candy— to get your attention. So you just shrug, drop the flowers into a vase, and go to bed.

Only the next day, when you get home at the same time, there’s another bouquet waiting on your doormat. Almost identical —gorgeous roses, perfectly cut, so plentiful and pristine they could only have come from a good florist. For half a second, you think that your neighbor is really pushing it —the flowers from yesterday haven’t even had time to wilt— but then you hear Pumpkin meowing through the door, so you hurry inside, add the new flowers to the already full vase, and go greet your cat without another thought.

The third evening follows more or less the same pattern, except you grumble a bit more —your only vase is getting far too small for all these flowers— and you seriously consider knocking on your neighbor’s door to tell him to stop. You don’t, though, telling yourself you’ll deal with it over the weekend.

It’s only on the fourth night that you really start paying attention to these mysterious flowers that keep appearing. Maybe it’s because you’ve had a truly awful day —an HR meeting that turned into a full-blown argument, a few angry comments you blurted out that might very well cost you your job, on top of all the unsolicited criticism Kaylie piled on afterward— but what little patience you had left completely snaps when you reach your landing and find yet another ridiculously large bouquet of roses sitting there like a provocation.

The idea of keeping your cool, going inside, collapsing on the couch, and eating chocolate in front of reality TV all night is incredibly tempting. But right now, you’re far too on edge to listen to reason. So, in a burst of rage, you grab the bouquet —so big you can barely hold it with one hand— and storm over to apartment C1, where your neighbor lives, knocking furiously on the door.

Nothing.

It takes you a full minute to realize it’s strange that he’s taking so long to answer. Another twenty seconds to remember you haven’t heard much from him lately. A bit longer still to realize you haven’t seen his car in the parking lot. Then it hits you —he left on vacation last week.

Completely lost, you look down at the bouquet in your arms, brows furrowed. The soft scent of the flowers —still just as high quality— tickles your nose, but no matter how hard you stare at the red petals, you can’t find an answer to your unspoken question. Where the hell are these flowers coming from?

Still confused and unable to let it go —partly because you know you’ll never fall asleep tonight without an answer— the first thing you do after closing your apartment door is place the bouquet on your small dining table, next to the already overstuffed vase. Pumpkin doesn’t waste any time greeting you, jumping onto the table to demand attention.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where this came from, would you?” you ask absently, scratching behind his ears. He purrs, tail flicking happily. “No? You didn’t hear anything?”

You sigh —Pumpkin is a terrible detective; experience has taught you he does nothing but sleep while you’re gone— and, resigned but mostly disappointed, you untie the little ribbon holding the roses together and try, somehow, to squeeze them into your painfully small vase where there’s already no room left.

As you lift the bouquet, a small card slips free from between the stems and falls to the floor. You only notice it when Pumpkin pounces on it and starts playing. Perplexed, you take it from him —and end up even more confused by the few words written on it.

“What the…” you mutter, earning an offended meow. Written in black ink, in perfectly neat, even handwriting —almost calligraphic— are the words: “Call me if you have the slightest problem, or simply if you want to talk,” followed by a phone number.

Your confusion quickly turns into a simmering anger —because you know only one person who would bother to write this beautifully nowadays, and the memory of your one and only meeting is enough to reignite your irritation.

Maybe it’s the annoyance. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from work. Either way, you don’t hesitate before grabbing your phone.

5:46 PM – You: I’d appreciate it if you stopped harassing me like this. And stop with the stupid flowers, I hate roses.

The reply comes instantly —and its content almost disappoints you.

5:47 PM – Kim the Idiot Seokjin: Noted.

The next day, when you get home from work, there’s no massive bouquet of roses on your doorstep. Instead, five daffodils, delicately tied together, are waiting for you —and you freeze.

They say that giving five red roses is a sign of affection. And you told him you hate roses.

You have no idea how Kim Seokjin found out that daffodils are your favorite flowers, but one thing is certain: you hate the butterflies blooming in your stomach.

When Kim Seokjin sent “noted,” you naïvely thought he’d stop his little flower routine. Turns out —no. Apparently, he just took note that you’d noticed, and decided that meant he should keep going. Because, damn it, it gets ten times worse.

He doesn’t just have flowers delivered anymore —daffodils, each more colorful and beautiful than the last, making your heart wobble even though you’d rather die than admit it. No, now he sends them with a vase, just to make sure you won’t throw them away.

On top of that, every bouquet comes with a small note —always some encouraging phrase, not too personal but still oddly comforting. Sometimes there’s even a box of chocolates —and maybe it’s a coincidence, but it always seems to happen on harsh days. If you didn’t appreciate the gesture, you might even wonder whether this Kim had you followed or something.

Once again, he waits a few days before escalating —as if delivering flowers to your home was just him testing your limits. Because the moment you stop texting to complain —after all, who complains about free flowers and chocolates every day?!— he moves on to the next level: sending them to your workplace.

And once again, he doesn’t hold back.

Every day, a new vase is delivered, always holding five magnificent white daffodils that decorate your desk. At work, though, he’s almost more discreet —he only includes notes when the deliveries come to your apartment— but he never misses a chance to send you a meal basket on days when you skip lunch to catch up on work. It’s almost… domestic.

Strangely enough, it’s not that unpleasant. Sure, you’ve lost count of how many coworkers tease you about it —Kaylie first among them, endlessly talking about your “secret admirer”— but it’s manageable. As long as you ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the heat creeping into your cheeks every time one of his gifts arrives.

Part of you wonders if he’s trying to manipulate you —maybe this is just a strategy, charming you with thoughtful gifts so he can pull you in and use you. But no matter how you look at it, you’ve never heard of rich men giving chocolates to editors to reel them in. It makes no sense.

Especially given the messages he sends you. Since you saved his number, he’s taken the liberty of doing the same, and he texts you almost every day —but not to pressure you into marrying him or whatever ridiculous plan he suggested the one time you met. No. Just a few words here and there —wishing you a good day, asking if you like today’s flowers, and, on the rare occasions you reply, telling you about his own day. He’s never pushy, never intrusive. He simply lets you know he’s there if you want to talk —and when you do, he always replies within the minute.

Part of you remembers that he only wants to use you to secure his inheritance —because if you understood your conversation correctly, that’s exactly what it is. But the other part of you struggles to hold onto that thought, especially when he’s so gentle and attentive every single day. In fact, the more time passes, the more you wonder whether you’re starting to like him —or hate him a little more each day. You have a pretty good idea of the answer, and you don’t like it much.

When you leave work that evening, it’s raining cats and dogs —almost literally. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that much rain in the city; even at your parents’ place in the countryside, it never pours like this. At this rate, the roads will flood. You feel a little guilty about the spark of joy that thought brings —flooded streets mean no work tomorrow— but as you mentally calculate how long it’ll take you to get home by the shortest route (you already know it’ll save you maybe two minutes, tops) and whether you have any chance of staying dry (spoiler: no), you freeze before even stepping onto the sidewalk.

Because parked right in front of your office building is a sleek black Mercedes, gleaming under the rain.

You don’t need to ask who it belongs to —you’ve lived in this neighborhood for years, and you know no one here can afford a car like that— and the thought alone tightens your chest. Spotting you, a man slightly younger than you, square-jawed with tattoos peeking out from his sleeve, steps out of the driver’s side. Standing straight in the rain in his three-piece suit, he gives you a small bow —a bow, for God’s sake.

“Miss Seo?” he says, and you’re frozen in place, face burning. “I work for Mr. Kim. He was worried about you seeing all this rain and asked me to come pick you up…”

You can’t move. You can’t speak. Around you, some of your coworkers pass by, staring —Kaylie first among them— but you don’t even have the strength to stammer something to the poor man.

Damn Kim Seokjin. This has gone too far.

“That’s very kind of you,” you finally manage, forcing a tight smile. “But I think I’ll walk. Don’t worry.” The man opens his mouth to protest, but you don’t give him the chance —you take off running, dignity be damned. Only after turning the corner to make sure he isn’t following you do you grab your phone, still burning with embarrassment, and mash the call button on his contact.

You bring the phone to your ear, catching your breath. Wait —why are you out of breath? And why is your heart pounding like this, damn it, like it’s about to— “Y/N?” Kim Seokjin’s warm, gentle voice fills your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. You grit your teeth, ignoring the shiver that runs through you. Of course he answered on the first ring.

“This has to stop,” you mutter, teeth clenched, tilting your head back so the cold rain splashes against your burning cheeks.

“What does?” Another shiver —how can a voice do this to you, damn it?

“You can’t just send a driver like that!” you blurt out, frustrated. You never know how to act around him, and it infuriates you. You hate how much attention you give him without meaning to. “What’s next? A limousine?”

He replies instantly, as if he’d expected this. “What was I supposed to do, huh? I wasn’t going to —wait. Don’t tell me you didn’t get in?”

His usually calm voice sounds suddenly panicked, almost worried —and that definitely doesn’t squeeze something tight in your chest. “Uh… no?” you stammer, thrown off by his tone. “Why would I? I don’t even understand why you sent him.”

“Because I don’t want you to get sick, maybe?” he answers like it’s obvious, and you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. “It’s pouring. It’s awful.”

For a second, you’re unable to move again, your throat tight around his admission. It sounds like nothing when he says it, but it’s been a long time since anyone worried about you —at least over something as trivial as a bit of rain. It almost hurts that a stranger does it so well.

“Not at all,” you manage, hoping he doesn’t hear the change in your voice. “I love it. I wanted to feel the rain.”

“There’s a full-on storm and you want to feel the rain?”

“Don’t change the subject! I don’t want you sending your driver anymore. Is that clear?” you snap.

“Why not?”

“Because playing secret admirer is fun for about two minutes, but there are limits! And if you thought you were being a great romantic by sending a lackey —well, it failed!”

Silence. Then, softly, “Should I drive you home myself?”

“Don’t you dare !”

You freeze again —this time in horror. Did you really just yell at a stranger on the phone in the middle of the street? What the hell is wrong with you? And why does his damn voice mess you up like this?!

He doesn’t reply, and it makes you painfully aware of what just happened. You really did snap at him when all he did was try to be thoughtful. Damn it. Can he sue you for that? He’s rich —he probably could. Shit.

At this point, you’re soaked, red with embarrassment, and completely lost, having bolted down the street without looking where you were going. His sudden silence makes guilt crash into you at full speed. Maybe that’s why you suddenly feel utterly ashamed of yourself, and, too proud to apologize outright, you end up stammering into the phone, mortified, a brief, “That was all,” before hanging up and burying your face in your hands.

When you finally get home, there’s no bouquet of daffodils on your doorstep —and your guilt multiplies by a hundred. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you. You always have to act like an idiot.

Even after several hours, and with night falling thick and black, the rain doesn’t stop —maybe the streets really will be flooded tomorrow, who knows. You’ve had time to take a shower, change clothes, even order a four-cheese pizza and watch four episodes of that reality show everyone’s talking about lately, Pumpkin purring on your lap, and yet you still can’t get what happened earlier out of your head.

You’re mad at yourself. You reacted instantly because you were on edge, and the result is that you were almost rude to him, when he only wanted to help. You should’ve thanked him and asked him not to overdo it —and instead…

The vase of daffodils on the dining table seems to mock you. The one on the floor next to the TV isn’t any better. In fact, all the bouquets of daffodils appear to be judging you very harshly, and there are more than a dozen of them scattered around your apartment now, which makes them rather hard to avoid. Damn it, you feel awful. Should you call him back and apologize…?

Right at that moment, someone knocks on your door, and you straighten up, frowning. Pumpkin stays completely relaxed on your lap, which reassures you —he always hisses when it’s that annoying neighbor trying to make conversation, so if he’s calm, at least you’re spared that.

Carefully setting the ginger cat down on the couch, you get up and, with a pace far more sluggish than your pride would usually allow, walk toward the front door, opening it without much enthusiasm. It’s probably just the downstairs neighbor asking to borrow tomato sauce, like alwa—

You come face to face with five pink daffodils held at chest height by a long, slender hand —and then, when you lift your gaze, with Kim Seokjin himself, his lashes fluttering as he looks at you, eyes full of hope.

You take a small step back, your mouth falling open without any words coming out, caught completely off guard. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. You hadn’t seen him again since that day in front of the café —how can he be even more handsome than you remember?

“Good evening,” he says softly, smiling with a slightly shy look that makes you melt, and you already feel your cheeks warming just from the sound of his voice. It’s worse than you thought. Much worse.

Once again, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You don’t know whether it’s the flush on your cheeks or if he can simply sense your embarrassment, but he smiles again before gently holding the bouquet out to you. The scent of the flowers envelops you almost instantly, and you suddenly think that this fragrance suits him perfectly.

“I heard you were getting tired of your secret admirer,” he says quietly, his warm voice wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, and you melt even more when the tops of his ears turn red. “So I thought I might… remove the secret part.”

The end of his sentence sounds like a question, almost as if he’s asking for permission, and you’re left speechless, not even trusting yourself to answer. Unfortunately, you also have this annoying habit of speaking before thinking.

“I said ‘don’t you dare,’” you mutter, embarrassed as his eyebrows lift —but you still gently take the bouquet from his hands, shivering when your fingers brush, and he smiles softly.

“Do you consider this your workplace?” he jokes, pointing at your apartment. You roll your eyes in response, discreetly lowering your head to bury your nose in the flowers and silently revel in their scent. “Because if that’s the case, it means someone else is eating all the meal baskets I send you, and then I’d need to—”

“Thank you,” you cut in suddenly, barely daring to meet his gaze.

He doesn’t let you dodge him, fixing you with those large dark eyes with no chance of escape —because damn it, you could drown in that look. Taking a step back and suddenly becoming aware of the situation —you in pajamas in your entryway, him looking like a god— you blush in embarrassment, not to mention how guilty you still feel.

“And I also wanted to… well, I was just thinking that…” You search for your words, painfully flustered under his unwavering gaze —he simply waits, hanging on your lips, one eyebrow raised, and you never would’ve believed a single look could make you lose your composure this badly.

“What I mean is—”

“Meow.” You barely have time to finish stammering before a ball of ginger fur rubs against your legs, and you both look down at the same time as Pumpkin approaches Seokjin, rising onto his hind legs to sniff his hand.

Seokjin lifts his head as if to silently ask you a question, but seems to make a decision when he notices your flaming cheeks and obvious discomfort. A wide smile spreads across his face, rounding his cheeks adorably as he bends down to gently pet Pumpkin.

“Hey there,” he says cheerfully, earning a satisfied meow from the cat. When he looks back at you, you’re no longer quite as red —and you smile too. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

You stare at him, a little surprised. Of all the things he could’ve said, that’s the last one you expected. “Well, you never asked,” you reply simply, amused, and he smiles back. Taking a deep breath, you suddenly blurt out, “Do you want to come in? I need to put these in a vase anyway…”

You don’t give him time to answer —you wouldn’t survive the embarrassment if he said no, honestly— and you rush into the kitchen without waiting, grabbing the first glass you find, filling it with water, and slipping the daffodils inside. You don’t even know where you’re going to put them; you act on autopilot just to calm yourself, and you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or even more so when you hear the front door close.

Seokjin appears soon after, Pumpkin trailing behind him, and the sight of the young man —perfectly groomed and dressed, not a speck of dirt on him despite the storm outside— standing in your tiny apartment makes you smile softly, amused by how out of place he looks, just like that day in front of the café.

And yet, you have the strange feeling that without his gold jewelry and tailored suits, Kim Seokjin would be very cozy.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” you murmur nervously as he looks around. He smiles gently, his eyes sparkling when he notices all the daffodil bouquets scattered throughout the apartment.

“No, I like it,” he says simply, and a wave of warmth spreads through your chest.

You look away, feeling your cheeks heat up again. You swallow several times before finding the courage to speak. “Actually, I wanted to apologize,” you begin, your voice a little shaky, but you quickly steady yourself. “For… everything I said on the phone earlier —well, more how I said it. I was just… surprised. But it was very kind of you, and I never should have—”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize —you’re right,” he says gently, his soft gaze fixed on you. “Sending a driver like that, it’s a bit… it’s the kind of thing my father would do,” he mutters with a grimace, easing the tension a little. “I should’ve warned you at least. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“No, no, really,” you protest quickly, setting down your makeshift vase. “It was very… thoughtful. It’s just… a bit much, I guess?” A small, slightly tight smile curves your lips, but there’s no reproach in your voice, and you hope he hears that. “You already send me flowers every day, it’s a little—”

“You don’t like the flowers?” he cuts in, and your smile drops.

“I do, of course I do —I just thought—” you rush to reassure him, but he barely listens.

“Damn,” he suddenly runs a hand through his hair, staring off into space. His fingers mess up his perfect styling, making him a little less godlike and a little more human —which only makes him even more handsome. “It’s not enough, is it? I had a feeling. I thought about writing you letters, Shakespeare-style, but Kook said it was a bad idea, and he’s probably right, but then again—”

“I don’t need letters!” you cut in, half exasperated, half amused, because honestly —how can he be this adorable? “The flowers, the messages, it’s more than enough. It’s just that people around me are starting to ask questions, I’m asking questions —just yesterday, a coworker asked when my next date with my boyfriend was supposed to be. What am I supposed to do with that, huh?!”

He freezes, caught off guard, his ears turning bright red. “I— I don’t know, I just… That you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Seokjin, I get flowers and little notes almost every day at work!” you protest.

He shoots back immediately, “In that case, Sweetheart, maybe you should ask yourself why you’re the only one who doesn’t want to know when that famous date is.”

You both freeze. Even Pumpkin stops moving, nose lifted as if avidly following the conversation. “What?” you finally manage, stunned.

His eyes widen like a thief caught red-handed. “Nothing.”

“What did you call me?” you insist, heart racing just a little too fast. “And what did you say?!”

He stays still for a few seconds, his eyes darting between you and the floor as if searching for an escape route. Then he closes them and sighs, running a hand through his hair again. The hairspray has completely given up —his strands fall freely over his forehead, above his ears, and you were right: he really does look cozy.

“A date is literally all I’m asking for, Y/N,” he finally admits, and you shiver at the way he says your name, wondering what it would feel like to hear him whisper it against your ear. “Even less than that. I just want… a chance to prove that I’m not just some creepy rich guy asking you weird things on the street. Or some strange stalker sending you gifts at work.” He rubs his face, brows furrowed. “God, that sounds awful when you put it like that…”

“You… want a date… with me?” you cut in suddenly, incredulous. You must have misheard. There’s no way someone like him wants to go out with you. From what you’d understood, he was just looking for a fake wife. So why…?

But his gaze doesn’t waver for a second as he looks straight into your eyes, his soft pupils warm with affection. “Yes, Y/N. I thought it was fairly clear by now —my apologies,” he says with a small laugh, then grows serious again. “Yes. I’d like to take you out to dinner. Or even just out, anywhere. If that’s what you want, of course.”

He waits in silence as you remain speechless, staring at him in disbelief. You don’t know what to say, what to do —you can’t even believe your ears. You realize you’ve been quiet too long when he grows shy again, looking away with an embarrassed smile. “And if that’s not what you want, I’d rather you tell me now, before I make a complete fool of myself…”

“Can I think about it?” you blurt out suddenly, and you can hear how breathless you sound, but you don’t care. You’re probably bright red too, but at this point —whatever.

Because the look Kim Seokjin gives you is enough to make your heart race wildly.

“Yes. Of course,” he answers softly, just as breathless as you, offering you the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen.

The next evening, when you leave the office, there’s a black Mercedes parked by the curb again. Except this time, the man stepping out has sparkling eyes, a smile that puffs up his cheeks, and shoulders broader than an American fridge. And when he smiles at you, you can’t help but smile back.

“Need a carriage, Sweetheart?”

Seokjin picks you up from work every evening, no matter how many times you tell him he doesn’t need to. He insists, claiming it makes him happy, and you don’t have the strength to say no. You’re already proud of yourself for convincing him not to also pick you up every morning —he doesn’t talk much about his job, but you can tell he doesn’t have time to play chauffeur for you— and even then, the puppy-dog look he gave you almost made you change your mind. This man will be your downfall.

He still has flowers delivered, though, and his texts are more frequent, more enthusiastic —especially now that you answer them. His latest obsession is getting you to call him Jin, which you absolutely cannot bring yourself to do for reasons you don’t fully understand; just the thought makes you painfully shy. All those pet names —it’s far too domestic for your poor little heart.

Thankfully, not everything in your life is perfect —you’d be bored otherwise— and your coworkers are always there to get on your nerves. Kaylie, in particular, excels at it.

“Come on, seriously, you have to come! You’re not going to leave me there alone!” You sigh. She’s been at it all morning —as if pestering you about this stupid party were the best way to convince you.

“I have no one to go with,” you mutter for at least the thousandth time. “And anyway, I’m exhausted, I’d be better off—”

“Nonsense! And what about the guy who picks you up every night and has lunch with you every day?” she cuts in, pointing an accusing finger at you. “Just because you don’t want to talk about him doesn’t mean I don’t notice!”

Right as you’re about to snap that she’s the last person you’d want to discuss it with, your phone vibrates. Seizing the perfect excuse to escape, you answer without checking the number, letting out a small sigh as you step away.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” His voice barely reaches your ear before chills race down your arms, and you tuck yourself into a corner near the window to make sure no one hears.

“Hey, you,” you reply, unable to stop yourself from smiling. You’ll never understand how Seokjin affects you this way without even trying. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

He chuckles softly, the sound sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I actually had a question,” he says, and you hum to let him know you’re listening. “Look out the window.”

Perplexed, you lean closer to the large panes and glance down the building —and freeze when you spot the black Mercedes parked below, Seokjin leaning against the hood in a perfectly tailored brown suit that makes him ridiculously attractive. Even from several floors up, his eyes find yours, and he smiles up at you.

“Wanna grab lunch?”

Less than ten minutes later, you’re sitting across from each other in a restaurant he chose, eating dishes you could never afford, even if you managed to convince him to let you pay. Conversation flows easily —it’s surprisingly effortless with him, the words natural, pleasant, comfortable. And that’s dangerous, because you could get used to that comfort.

After a few minutes of the question bouncing around in your head, you finally ask, picking up a piece of steak with your fork, “Are you free tonight?”

He stops eating, surprised, then looks up at you, delighted. “I could be. Why?”

At his answer, you quickly shake your head. “No, forget it. I don’t want to bother you if you have work.”

“You’re not bothering me,” he says at once, a playful smile on his lips as he gently takes your hand across the table. “I’m free. What’s going on?”

You smile softly, shivering at the warmth of his fingers. You could get used to that too. “There’s this… stupid party my coworkers are throwing. I was planning not to go, but Kaylie won’t drop it, so I figured it might actually be fun if you were there.”

He says nothing, just stares at you long enough to make you panic a little. “I mean, I’d totally understand if you didn’t want to—”

“What time do I pick you up? And how should I dress? Classy?” he cuts in, grinning, already planning everything in his head. You smile despite yourself.

“Six. And ‘classy’ is fine —but my kind of classy, not yours. It’s at my coworkers’ place, not a five-star hotel. So for you, I guess that’s more… casual?”

He scowls, and you burst out laughing. “Stop that,” he grumbles, pouting. “You make me sound like some arrogant rich king, I hate it.” He complains, but even he ends up smiling, amused.

When he drops you back at the office after lunch, his smile is ear to ear. “So… tonight, then?”

He’s so adorable —and so damn handsome— that it takes all your strength not to give in completely. “Tonight,” you murmur.

Then, gathering all your courage, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a small kiss —just one— against his cheek before dropping back onto your heels. He doesn’t even have time to react, too stunned; you only give him a playful smile before disappearing inside.

And even once you’re back in the building, you can still feel his gaze on you —and it sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“Seriously, are you sure we can’t leave?” you whisper for what feels like the hundredth time, earning an exasperated smile from Seokjin.

“Basic politeness says we should stay at least two hours, Sweetheart,” he replies calmly, downing his glass of juice in one go. It’s painfully obvious that, unlike you —who is seconds away from exploding if you have to endure one more karaoke performance from Kaylie and your other coworkers— he is having a great time.

“This isn’t high society,” you protest indignantly, tugging at his arm. “If I want to leave, I leave. I don’t have to—”

He’s clearly far too well-mannered to give in easily, judging by the way he hesitates. After glancing at the clock on the wall, he gently cuts you off. “Just fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” you insist, meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes soften, growing even more hesitant when you give him a small pout, until he sighs, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. “Fine. Go get your coat,” he mutters, clearly not very proud of himself for caving so quickly.

You practically bounce with joy, leaning in without even thinking to peck his cheek before darting toward the living room, where Romane —the coworker hosting the party— has piled everyone’s coats onto the couch. Fighting back a grimace at yet another terrible cover of My Heart Will Go On, you try to stay discreet as you edge along the wall and crouch down to look for your coat and Seokjin’s.

Spotting a still-fresh stain on the couch, panic grips you at the thought that Seokjin’s coat might be ruined —because one thing is certain: you absolutely cannot afford to buy him a new one, nor pay for dry cleaning.

“Seo? What are you doing?” Kaylie’s booming, very drunk voice echoes through the room, and every head turns toward you. “Come on, I wanna do one with you!” she squeals, beckoning you over while barely managing to stay upright herself.

You straighten slowly, offering everyone a tight smile as you clutch both your coat and Seokjin’s to your chest. “Sorry, that won’t be possible —we need to head out,” you say hesitantly. When almost everyone groans in disappointment, you hurry to add, “I’m really sorry, I told you I wouldn’t be able to stay long…”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kaylie snaps, the alcohol making her louder and far less restrained. “For once you actually show up, and you bail the second you get the chance. It’s insane —but hey, say it if we’re annoying you, huh? That’s it, madam finally has a boyfriend, so she thinks she’s all that now!”

Stunned, you take a step back. While many of your coworkers look just as shocked, others seem to agree with her —and that’s what really gets under your skin. “That has absolutely nothing to do with it,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

Kaylie scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Of course it does. You found yourself a rich guy, so now you think you can do whatever you want. But spoiler alert, Sweetie —he probably only wants you for sex. The second it gets serious, he’ll drop you, and don’t come crying then.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” you snap.

“Don’t forget, Y/N-ie —you’re the nice, boring girl nobody wants. I bet your Prince Charming is only here because he needs something from you, right?”

She points at you, and you just stand there like an idiot, unable to respond —because deep down, there’s this horrible feeling that she might be right. After all, you and Seokjin met because he needed your help with his inheritance. Nothing more.

Suddenly, you feel ridiculous. So, so ridiculous. Your hands start to shake, and you hate how quickly tears prick at your eyes. Every single coworker is staring at you, waiting for an answer —but nothing comes. You just feel stupid.

You don’t think. Hugging your coat tightly to your chest, you shove past the people between you and the front door, forcing your way through as fast as you can. Everyone lets you pass —until, just a few steps from the exit, you run straight into a broad chest with even broader shoulders.

“Sweetheart? What’s going—are you crying?” Seokjin exclaims, clearly confused. You don’t answer. You simply thrust his coat into his hands and disappear, slamming the door behind you.

You’ve never gone down stairs so fast, never left a building so quickly. In no time at all, you’re alone on the street, the dark night your only companion, and you don’t even try to stop the tears streaming down your cheeks.

Damn Kaylie. You hate her. Hate her, hate her, hate her.

Less than a minute passes before you hear your name being shouted from down the street behind you —and soon, Seokjin’s footsteps echo as he runs to catch up. “Leave me alone,” you mutter when he reaches you, not even turning your head.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks breathlessly, clearly worried, stepping in front of you to force you to face him.

You walk around him without answering. “Leave me alone!”

He catches up again, this time gripping your shoulders to keep you in place. “Not happening.” He shakes his head when you try to push him away, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, his eyes begging you to just look at him. “Talk to me. Please.”

You hold on for a few seconds —then completely break down. You’re no match for his worried expression and that heartbreaking look.

“She’s right,” you sob, shaking your head when he opens his mouth to protest. “I’m stupid, so stupid, and it just… I’m so mad. She’s always had everything she wanted. Her job, her studies, even love —I’ve never seen her single, not once. And me? Nobody ever wants me. No guy I’ve gone out with has ever called me back. Hell, even my parents never check in, I—”

“Hey, hey,” he cuts in suddenly, giving you no time to object as he pulls you into his arms, pressing your head against his chest. At this point, your tears must be ruining his shirt, but he clearly doesn’t care. “Breathe. What kind of nonsense is that?”

“I just want to… understand what’s wrong with me,” you cry into his chest. Those words seem to revolt him. He pulls back abruptly, cupping your cheeks in his hands, his gaze suddenly almost stern.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he sterns, and now he almost sounds angry. “You’re funny, intelligent, beautiful —and you’re hands down the most resourceful girl I’ve ever met. Sure, she has all those things. But there will always be people who have more than you. There are guys richer than me, more successful, better-looking —but if I spend all my time comparing myself to them, I’ll end up forgetting who I am. And I don’t want you to forget who you are, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “The only person you should be looking at —and trying to outdo— is yourself. And who cares what Kaylie from accounting thinks? She was drunk and her breath stinks anyway.”

A tiny laugh escapes you, and he takes it as a victory, gently pecking your temple before pulling you back into his arms. You sigh, suddenly exhausted, but his words have worked their magic —a warm wave spreads through your chest as he speaks, until the tears you’re shedding aren’t from sadness anymore, but from emotion.

From the start, you knew his voice could work miracles. You just had no idea he’d know exactly what to say like this.

Unfortunately for him, you wipe your cheeks —and maybe your nose too— against his shirt, your voice barely audible through his embrace. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me…”

“Obviously, I’m always right,” he cuts in, patting your back as if to stop you from saying anything else foolish. Watching you try to regain some dignity while wiping your nose with your sleeve, he gives you a small smile, that same gentle look he always has. “Come on. Let me take you to get something to eat.”

You snap your head up, surprised. “At this hour?”

He just smiles softly. “You promised me a date, remember?”

For someone as rich as Seokjin, you’d expected the word date to mean something very sophisticated. A five-star restaurant. A walk by a lake, maybe a candlelit picnic —something outrageously romantic.

Not that you’re disappointed —honestly, you wouldn’t have known how to act in a fancy restaurant— but never, ever would you have imagined that a date with Kim Seokjin, heir to the great Kim family, would mean stopping in the middle of the night at an empty Burger King.

Still… it’s not so bad. Maybe this time, you’ll even manage to convince him to let you pay.

It takes you several long minutes to fully calm down. He lets you eat in silence while he devours his own burger —seriously, you’ve never seen anyone demolish fries that fast. You’d bet he preferred you while you were still recovering, because the moment you’re back to yourself, you spend the next few minutes apologizing over and over —for dragging him into that fiasco and for your little breakdown.

“It’s fine, I’m telling you, no need to make such a big deal out of it—”

“Of course there is! God, I feel so bad, I swear—”

“Sweetheart, you are not paying for these burgers. Stop insisting.”

That wasn’t really your goal, but you play along anyway, stomping your foot and pouting. He bursts out laughing, the sound pulling a smile from your own lips —though you still feel guilty. “Seriously, let me pay. Or… anything. What can I do to make it up to you?”

He looks almost offended, his eyebrows shooting up so high they disappear into his hair. “There is nothing for you to make up for. Who do you think I am?”

“Come on… anything you want! Anything! Here: we can plan another date, a real one, next week —or better yet, tomorrow!”

“You don’t like this date?” he asks suddenly, making you go pale —then he explodes with laughter at your expression.

When you smack his shoulder a little harder than necessary —barely, really— he just laughs louder, pulling you toward him and grabbing your wrists to keep you from hitting him again. “I don’t want anything. This was actually kind of fun,” he admits softly, and you freeze as he pulls you closer still, until your faces are only inches apart. “Well, except for the part with that awful woman. But thanks to you, I got to observe the average office worker in their natural habitat, that’s already amazing.”

He laughs proudly at his own joke and gently pecks the tip of your nose when all you give him is a small smile. When he straightens, his eyes soften, his tone almost solemn.

“And just so you know…” Even in the dim lighting of the fast-food place, you can see his ears turn red. “I have no intention of leaving you.”

Your eyes widen uncontrollably. “You heard that?!” you blurt out, horrified.

“Just a little,” he admits with a pout. “I was busy fighting their bulldog —this wrinkly beast tried to eat my shoes!” He looks genuinely outraged at the idea of his precious loafers being attacked —and it’s stronger than you.

You kiss him.

Well —not exactly. You lean in until your lips meet his.

The second you realize what you’ve done, all your confidence evaporates —and he takes over, a soft sigh escaping him as his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until you’re almost sitting in his lap. But you’re far too focused on the feel of his lips against yours to care.

God, he kisses so well.

You feel intoxicated, unable to stop the dance of your mouths —shy and fierce all at once. His lips taste like raspberry, and the discovery drives you a little insane.

He’s the first to pull away, only because he needs air, and it’s only then that you notice your lungs burning. You stay there, breathless but smiling, eyes locked, as he keeps you pressed against him like he’d fall apart if you moved away.

When Seokjin speaks again, his eyes shine with excitement and joy. “Actually… now that I think about it, there is something you could do for me.”

You straighten abruptly, like you’ve been struck by lightning, but he barely reacts despite currently supporting all your weight on his lap. In this position, you’re a few inches taller than him, forcing him to look up at you —and you probably enjoy that a little too much.

“Really? What is it?”

He scratches the back of his neck, a shy smile forming as his other hand gently, delicately caresses your waist. “I kinda hate to ask you this…” he murmurs.

You press him, insist —so he finally gives in. “There’s this thing next week… a gala,” he says, and you freeze. “It’s nothing important, but I’m required to attend charity galas, so… You invited me to your awful party already —fair’s fair, right?”

“Seokjin, what the hell am I supposed to do at a charity gala?” you blurt out, cheeks burning with embarrassment, ignoring him when he reminds you to call him Jin. “I’ve never done anything like that. I don’t belong in high society or whatever —everyone will see that I’m not—”

“No one will see anything at all. I won’t leave your side, I promise. Everyone loves me, it’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

You hesitate, pouting, and look away when he pulls the puppy-dog eyes again. “I really don’t know… don’t you have anything else…?”

“Please? It won’t be the same if you’re not there…” You shake your head, stubborn. Just imagining yourself in an evening dress, champagne flute in hand at a charity gala makes you shiver with discomfort.

“No, really, I’m sorry. There’s no universe where I set foot in a gala,” you mutter, as he simply raises an eyebrow.

“I can’t believe you talked me into doing this,” you breathe, unable to tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror. This is pure madness. What are you even thinking, seriously?

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Everything’s going to go perfectly,” Seokjin answers from the bedroom, unable to see you through the bathroom door you’ve shut —and stubbornly refuse to open.

“This is insane. I really should just go home,” panic now unmistakable in your voice. You hear Seokjin move closer as you slip your hands behind your back, desperately trying to reach the zipper —an attempt that quickly proves impossible.

“Hey, if you’re freaking out, at least let me in,” he knocks gently, but there’s worry in his voice now, which absolutely does not help. “Sweetheart, open the door. Please.”

After several attempts —and after making him swear at least ten times that he won’t laugh— you finally give in. The latch clicks softly, and the door swings open, revealing Seokjin dressed to the nines: an Italian three-piece suit that must have cost a fortune, jewelry gleaming, devastatingly handsome.

And while the sight leaves you breathless, it’s far worse for him. He freezes completely —brows raised, mouth slightly open— caught mid-step. His sudden silence sends your anxiety spiraling even higher. You never should’ve agreed to this. This is insane, you—

“Holy shit,” he murmurs at last, so quietly you almost miss it, his eyes traveling over you from head to toe.

“I knew it. I look ridiculous,” you mutter, turning away to retreat back into the bathroom. You’re already tugging at the diamond earring he bought you when he gently grabs your wrist and turns you back toward him.

You face him, cheeks burning, eyes darting everywhere but his face —but he just stares at you, utterly speechless. “I look ridiculous,” you repeat, over and over. “This was a bad idea, I should just—”

“You’re gorgeous.”

You both freeze.

Your eyes meet as heat floods your cheeks, and the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Shit. Did I just say that out loud?” He doesn’t wait for your frantic nod. “Fuck, I did. You’re gorgeous. I’m so damn lucky.”

You barely have time to stammer a reply before he gently lifts your chin and —before you can even protest that he’s going to ruin your lipstick —kisses you. But the moment his lips meet yours, all protests dissolve. You melt into him, arms slipping around his neck as his hands settle at your waist, pulling you close, wrapping you in a warmth so grounding it fills you with sudden, reckless confidence.

Your lower back bumps into a piece of furniture just as his tongue brushes your lips, asking for permission —and when it finally meets yours, you swear fireworks explode low in your belly. A soft moan slips from you, barely audible, but it’s enough to set him off. You feel the shiver run through him, even through the fabric of his suit, just as you feel his hands roaming, exploring —one settling at your hip while the other traces the curve of your breast with his thumb, sending sparks skittering across your skin, leaving you aching for more. More—

“Fuck,” Seokjin suddenly mutters as he pulls back, conflicted, almost frustrated, though he stays close, his forehead resting against yours. You catch your breath, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck —just that alone earns a shaky sigh from him.

“We really should go,” he whispers, kissing you again, shorter this time. “Or we’re going to have a serious problem to deal with.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you finally head out together.

The gala is being held in the grand hall of a luxury hotel, meaning most guests —including you and Seokjin— are staying overnight in the upper-floor suites. All you have to do is take the elevator, then descend the wide marble staircase leading to the reception area. Seokjin doesn’t let go of your hand for a second, squeezing your fingers a little tighter when he spots the crowd already gathered.

He leans in and pecks your temple. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” His smile alone is enough to steady you. You nod, following him timidly as he weaves through the crowd.

You’ve barely taken two steps before you’re surrounded.

A dozen people —mostly women in elegant evening gowns— rush to greet him, to congratulate him. His family hosts galas like this every couple of months, from what you understand, and Seokjin is a passionate advocate for them. Each time, he makes a point of introducing you, careful not to leave you out —and it warms your heart.

It’s almost… pleasant. Every time he says your name, the person he’s speaking to lights up, showering you with wide smiles and enthusiastic congratulations —even though you’re not entirely sure why. Probably just a rich-people thing.

“Whoa—oops, this way,” Seokjin suddenly says, steering you sharply in another direction, nearly making you turn around entirely. Curious, you glance over your shoulder —and spot a man near the buffet you recognize. Younger than you, square jaw, tattoos creeping up his right arm —barely visible, but unmistakable.

“Why aren’t we going over there?” you ask softly.

“Because that’s Jungkook,” he replies with a grimace. At your confused look, he adds, “My fixer. The guy who picked you up in my car that one time. I may not have warned him you’d be here tonight, and, uh… there’s a chance he’ll want to kill me.”

Before you can ask anything else, he drags you the other way —and soon enough, you’re swarmed again. Just like before, all attention shifts to you once he introduces you. It makes you feel strangely included… and strangely exposed, too. Like a curiosity on display.

“I’m so happy for you both,” a woman slightly younger than you exclaims at one point, eyes crinkling with joy. “Congratulations, really. You’re even cuter together than I imagined!”

When she finally leaves and you turn to ask Seokjin who she was, he simply shrugs. “Jimin’s little sister. A friend of Tae’s. Ignore her —she’s a bit… exuberant.”

“Well now, I see my dear grandson forgets all his manners the moment a pretty woman smiles at him,” a sharp voice rings out.

A small woman with perfectly white hair appears behind you, leaning on an ivory cane and tapping it against the floor. You instinctively step back, startled, and out of the corner of your eye you see Seokjin go pale —but before he can react, the old woman grabs his ear and tugs him down toward her. “Were you planning on greeting me at dawn, hmm?”

“Ow, ow, Nonnie, I’m sorry, please,” Seokjin whines immediately, and she finally releases him —only to smack his shin with her cane for good measure. When he straightens and meets your gaze, the tips of his ears are blazing red —and not because of her grip.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he mutters petulantly, like a scolded child, before turning to you, sheepish. “Sweetheart, this is Nonnie, my grandmother. Nonnie, Y/N.”

You smile warmly —if a little nervously, half-expecting to be struck with the cane— but she simply studies you with a satisfied little smile. “So this is the mysterious young lady…” she says softly, her sharp, perceptive gaze unsettling for someone her age. “I must admit, you do have a talent for surprises, Jinnie. Months I’ve been asking to meet her, and you wait until the last possible moment.”

Months? That doesn’t make any sense, you’ve barely known him for one.

As she continues listing small reproaches you don’t understand, you turn to Seokjin for answers —but he refuses to meet your eyes, his attention fixed entirely on his grandmother, nerves flickering unmistakably across his face.

Before you can ask anything, another voice cuts in. “Nonnie! What a surprise to see you here. My goodness, you look absolutely radiant!”

A woman your age steps in, placing a hand on the old woman’s shoulder, smiling brilliantly. The look on Seokjin’s face makes it clear she’s just saved him from something —what, you have no idea.

“Cupcake, surely you’re joking, darling,” Nonnie scoffs. “Look at you : you’re me fifty years ago!”

Cupcake, apparently, just laughs, and judging by how Nonnie grabs her arm and chatters excitedly, the two are clearly close. Suddenly, you don’t know where to stand. Will Seokjin’s family ever look at you the way they look at her?

Cupcake is effortlessly stunning —doll-like features, flawless smile, soft eyes, long straight hair cascading down her back. Next to her, you feel like you stepped out of a preteen magazine. Ridiculous.

A hand slips into yours, squeezing gently. You look up to find Seokjin watching you with concern, his eyes silently asking, Are you okay?

You smile automatically and nod, heart warming. Before he can say anything, a man appears seemingly out of nowhere —slice of pie in one hand, the other settling naturally around Cupcake’s waist, protective. He flashes a dazzling smile, so handsome you briefly wonder if he’s a model… or a god.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely family reunion,” he says cheerfully. “Don’t I get invited anymore?”

Cupcake smiles softly. Nonnie taps her cane, clearly unimpressed. “We only invite people with manners.”

He grins mischievously. “In that case, I suppose you’ll have to leave, Nonnie.”

She grumbles something under her breath, shoves past him —and steals his slice of pie on the way out. He bursts into laughter. Seokjin sighs, shaking his head. Apparently, you’re the only one shocked. “One day she’s really going to make you regret that,” Cupcake says gently.

“Nah, she loves me,” her husband replies, chuckling, kissing the top of her head —before his eyes land on you. They light up instantly. “Hey, you must be Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I’m Tae. And this is Cupcake, my wife.”

She smiles kindly at you. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” he adds, making you blush.

You return the pleasantries —though you definitely haven’t heard much about them. Seokjin rarely talks about his family. You know Nonnie is the matriarch, that Taehyung is Seokjin’s cousin raised like a brother, and that Cupcake married into the family —but that’s it. They don’t seem to mind, though.

“Seriously, we couldn’t wait to meet you,” Taehyung continues. “He never stops talking about you, but damn, he’s been so mysterious.”

Seokjin groans, ears reddening. “Stop it,” he mutters, then turns to you with a wounded look. “Don’t listen to him. He’s talking nonsense.”

You smile. He’s adorable. “It’s true! He really does !” Taehyung protests —then abruptly changes topics. “Hey Hyung, did you see the news about that guy we talked about, the other time ? It’s insane!”

Despite his impeccable appearance, he suddenly looks like an overexcited kid, bouncing as he grabs Seokjin by the shoulders, dragging him away. Seokjin only has time to offer you an apologetic smile before you’re left alone —standing beside Cupcake, painfully aware of yourself.

Sensing your discomfort, she smiles reassuringly. “Is it always… like this?” you ask timidly, gesturing around.

She laughs softly. “Oh no, usually it’s much calmer. That’s just Tae. He can’t sit still. Don’t worry, he’s teasing, but he’s the kindest.” The affection in her eyes when she speaks of him almost hurts. “You’re doing great, by the way,” she adds.

You sigh. “I really don’t feel like it,” you mutter —then freeze, clapping a hand over your mouth.

Thankfully, she laughs. “Trust me : at my first reception, I was so nervous I threw up on a butler’s shoes before reaching the bathroom. So you’re handling this like a queen. And by the way —your dress is stunning.”

Blushing, you glance down at the long black gown. Modest in front, daring in back. You’d hesitated —Seokjin had promised it would be perfect. He was right. “Seokjin bought it for me,” you admit softly. “I wouldn’t have known what to wear otherwise.”

Somehow, talking with Cupcake eases the pressure. You’re calmer now —maybe not relaxed, but no longer spiraling. “He’s always had excellent taste,” she says knowingly. “He helped me choose my outfit for my first official dinner with the Kims after the wedding. I was too shy to ask Tae.”

She watches the two men nearby, her gaze infinitely soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more beautiful than that day,” she murmurs.

“You must be very happy,” you say quietly.

Taehyung glances back, immediately finding her gaze, and he smiles brightly at her before turning to Seokjin again.

Cupcake doesn’t smile. Something wistful crosses her face —something that tightens your chest. “Taehyung is very happy, yeah,” she says simply. The smile she gives you then is almost… sad.

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. “Anyway, congratulations,” she says warmly. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And if you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to call me. I’ve been there.”

“I —sorry,” you interrupt softly, more confused than ever. “Why… would I need your help?”

She frowns, just as lost. And what she says next makes your blood run cold.

“Well, about the wedding. I mean, the fake wedding. I know how hard that can be to deal with, trust me,” she rushes to reassure you, completely oblivious to the discomfort tightening in your chest. It’s a joke. It has to be a fucking joke. “And most of all, don’t worry if people talk about you a lot at first —the great Kim Seokjin bringing a fiancée is kind of a big deal. Especially with the ceremony coming up, you must be incredibly stressed, but it’ll pass, I prom—”

“‘Scuse me, I need to go take care of something,” you cut her off in a hollow voice, mechanically handing her your champagne glass as you slip past her.

Like a robot, you make your way toward Seokjin, walking far too fast to hide the panic clawing at your insides —but you don’t care. It’s a fucking joke. There has to be some kind of mistake —he couldn’t have done this…

“Seokjin,” you call when you reach him, his back still turned to you. Your voice sounds steady, strong even —but deep down, you know it’s seconds away from shattering.

“For the umpteenth time, call me Jin, Sweetheart,” he replies with a small smile as he turns to face you, his gentle gaze sweeping over you the way it always does —except this time, the shiver that runs through you has nothing to do with pleasure. Your stomach twists so violently you feel like you could throw up right here, right now. “Besides, no one ever calls me Seokjin anyway, except—”

“Why does everyone think I’m your fiancée?”

You cut him off without the slightest tact, your voice still eerily flat —this time trembling just a little. Now it makes sense. The excited looks from everyone he introduced you to. Nonnie’s comments. Cupcake’s teasing.

‘I just need you to marry me,’ he had said, desperation thick in his voice, the very first time you met. And you thought he’d let it go. God, you were such an idiot.

He freezes. His mouth falls open, his eyes locked onto yours as horror slowly dawns on him. He opens his mouth, closes it again, searching for words —and that’s all the answer you need.

He really did tell everyone you were engaged. “I’m going to throw up,” you blurt out suddenly, disgust flooding your veins.

You feel manipulated. Used. Dirty. All you want is to rip this stupid dress off your body and get the hell out of here.

You were so stupid to believe any of it. Kaylie had been right all along. It was too good to be true.

You turn your back on him and, far faster than your towering heels should normally allow, you cut through the crowd, heading straight for the exit you know is at the back of the building. Your ears ring, buzz so loudly you barely hear Seokjin calling after you as he runs to catch up.

“Sweetheart, wait, please,” he begs when he finally reaches you in an empty hallway, his hand instinctively closing around your wrist. You shove him away, nearly screaming at him not to touch you. He immediately lifts his hands and takes a step back. “I can explain everything.”

“There’s nothing to explain!” you cry, tears burning your eyes. “From the start, this is all you ever wanted. I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think that—”

“No, Y/N, that’s not true,” he booms —but you barely hear him.

“That’s the only reason you invited me, right? To parade your future wife in front of all these people while you laughed at me behind my back?” Your vision blurs as tears spill over, and you hate the pain ripping your chest apart. “At the end of the day, all you care about is your stupid, fucked-up wedding. Everything else —you don’t give a damn.”

“No, of course not!” he exclaims, even stepping toward you before stopping short when you recoil. “At first —maybe that’s what I wanted, yes. But not after. Not anymore. I don’t want you like that. I invited you because I wanted you here. Because everything is more fun, more bearable when you’re with me. And okay, yes, I wanted to introduce you to everyone, but not because they think we’re getting married. Just because I wanted them to see how happy you make me, how—”

“Then why does everyone think we’re getting married?!” You cut him off with a sob, his gentle voice barely reaching you through the chaos inside your head.

He grimaces, biting his tongue as he searches for an answer. “Because… okay. That’s on me. When I found out I had to get married to access the inheritance, I got carried away and— But that’s not the point. They think we’re getting married, yes, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll push it back, cancel it if I have to. I didn’t invite you here for that. I just wanted to spend time with you. I don’t need this gala to mean anything —I don’t want it to mean anything. And I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner, I just—”

“So what, you’re just buying time? Pushing the wedding back until you finally manage to convince me to marry you?”

His eyes widen in pure horror. “What?! No—of course not, that’s not—”

“So I’m just an arrangement to you, is that it?” Your voice breaks between sobs, fueled by anger and shame. You can’t believe you were this stupid. “I’m just… this thing you need to get your hands on your precious inheritance. But deep down, you don’t care about me at all, do you?” Your chest heaves as you force yourself to face him, chin lifted despite the tears blurring your vision —keeping you from seeing the despair etched across his own face. “Was any of it real? Or were the flowers, the letters, the dinners just another way to manipulate me?”

You stare him down, voice shaking but defiant. “Did any of those pretty words mean something, or was I just an object for you to use?”

“None of that, damn it, Y/N,” he pleads, desperation thick in his voice. “Sweetheart, please listen to me. I love you.”

“That’s enough. Stop. Shut up!” You almost scream, clapping your hands over your ears. When you finally open your eyes again, your face ravaged by distress, he doesn’t dare say another word —crushed by the turn things have taken, and by the state you’re in.

Your heart tightens at the sight —but it’s already too broken for it to matter. “You disgust me,” you say after a moment, your voice echoing down the hallway. “I never want to see you again.”

Part of you expects him to protest. To chase after you. But when you turn and rush toward the exit, he doesn’t follow.

If you were to glance back even slightly, you’d see him standing there, motionless in the corridor, completely shattered as silent tears stream down his cheeks —but before he can even blink, the door slams shut. And you’re gone.

The biting cold of the night hits you full force, but you’re too shaken by sobs to notice. You cross the parking lot in a daze, not really knowing where you’re going —barely slowing when Jungkook steps out of Seokjin’s Mercedes, worry etched across his face.

“Miss Seo? Are you alright?”

You hear him, but you don’t react. You keep walking, head down, ignoring him completely. All you want is to go home.

By some miracle you don’t bother trying to explain, you manage to catch a bus. Sitting in that rundown vehicle in your evening gown, makeup ruined by tears, you’ve never felt more ridiculous. The first thing you do when you get home is rip the dress off your body.

And that night, when someone knocks at your door and you go to open it, there’s no one there. Just a bouquet of fifteen blue daffodils, the exact shade of your sadness.

In the weeks that follow, you avoid television like the plague. You avoid people, too —spending most of your time curled up on your couch beneath layers of blankets, quietly crying, Pumpkin your only company. The poor cat probably doesn’t understand your despair —but he’s definitely confused by your sudden hatred of the TV.

Every channel is talking about you. Well —not really you. Your union with Seokjin. One he’s recently announced the cancellation of.

There’s no wedding anymore. The Kim family has stopped answering questions about you —but they’re the only ones. Every celebrity gossip channel is obsessed with it, and it’s hell on earth. You can’t stand seeing your face —or his— on the screen. You can’t stand the tears that come every time you think about him.

It’s after stumbling across one of Seokjin’s interviews that you finally decide to turn the television off for good.

He’s impeccably dressed, as perfect as ever —but the exhaustion and sadness are clear on his features as paparazzi stop him outside his office. To the side, you recognize Jungkook yelling at the cameras to back off —but it doesn’t stop the questions.

Until now, Seokjin never answered them. This time, he does.

“Mr. Kim! How do you explain the sudden cancellation of your engagement to Miss Seo?” “I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he replies, dignified despite the unmistakable sorrow in his eyes. “That’s between Miss Seo and me. I love her deeply —something I hope she knows. And if she needs time, I’m willing to give her all the time she needs.”

You don’t listen to the rest. You turn off the TV, jaw clenched as tears start falling again —and just to be safe, you throw a sheet over the screen.

Time. You’re definitely going to need it.

You only leave your apartment when you absolutely have to —when you need to buy groceries, or take out the trash, like you’re doing right now. Every time, you do it as fast as possible. Because even though you haven’t heard a single word from Seokjin since the disastrous night of the gala, bouquets of blue daffodils still appear at your door every evening —and the thought of running into him terrifies you.

When you come back up to your floor after dropping off the trash, however, it isn’t Seokjin standing on the landing. It’s Yoongi —your neighbor. Casually sitting there, smoking something that looks suspiciously like a joint.

You’ve never really understood why there’s a wooden bench on this landing, but seeing him sprawled on it like he owns the place, you figure he’s probably the one who dragged it up here.

“Smoking’s not allowed inside,” you mutter in a voice that barely sounds like your own, so stripped of emotion it surprises you. You don’t even know why you say it —you and Yoongi barely talk, ever since you made it clear there wouldn’t be anything between you. “The janitor would kill you if he knew.”

He arches an eyebrow, which promptly disappears beneath the mint-colored hair falling over his forehead. “It’s forbidden to smoke inside the apartments. There’s nothing in the rules about the hallways.”

You can’t really argue with that. But you also can’t find the strength to move, so you just stand there, frozen in front of your door. By the time either of you reacts, he’s already taken at least three drags.

“Want a puff?” he asks eventually. When you don’t answer, he pats the bench beside him —a silent invitation. And you don’t know if it’s the constant sadness weighing on you or just sheer exhaustion, but you accept.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even hand you the joint, actually —he just stays seated next to you. And strangely enough, his mere presence feels… comforting. “I don’t hear you much anymore,” you say after what feels like an eternity, staring into nothing. When you turn toward him, one of his eyebrows is raised, surprised by your sudden comment. “Did you calm down?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What, don’t tell me you’ve been keeping tabs on me? Or are you jealous you don’t get to tag along every night?” You let out a soft huff of laughter. He doesn’t know it —but it’s the first smile you’ve had in weeks.

Yoongi can be a bit much sometimes, but you know from experience that he’s kind, even if he doesn’t show it often. “Sorry, Sweetheart,” he adds lazily, “but I already told you —it would never work between us.”

He brings the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply, completely missing the way you freeze. He only notices after he exhales and turns toward you —just in time to see the tears streaking down your cheeks.

He straightens abruptly, looking almost panicked. “Holy shit, don’t tell me you’re crying over that? Fuck, I was kidding—”

He lifts a hand like he’s about to pull you into a hug, then thinks better of it and drops it, looking painfully awkward. A small laugh escapes you at his reaction. You lift a hand, sniffing as you wipe your tears on your sleeve. “No, no, not at all, it’s just…” You sniff again, searching for words. “Someone else usually calls me that. So it just feels…” Weird. Wrong. Painful. You don’t quite know how to name the hollow ache in your chest.

Yoongi stays perfectly still, his face unreadable. When he speaks again, his voice is lower —like it’s a secret meant only for the two of you. “Does it have anything to do with the guy who drops flowers at your door every night?”

This time, you jolt upright, like you’ve been struck by lightning. “You’ve seen him?!”

He nods. “He shows up right when I get back from work. At first, I thought he might be some creep —but you never complained, so I let it go. If it turns out he’s been bothering you, though, just know I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to key his car.”

You stare at him, incredulous. He watches you closely, gauging your reaction —then visibly relaxes when you burst out laughing. “It’s okay,” you manage. “Thanks. It’s just… complicated.”

Yoongi studies you for a moment, like he’s making a decision. Then he settles back even more comfortably, slouching so hard he’s practically melting into the wooden bench. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, completely serious. When you hesitate, mumbling that it’s a long story, he simply shrugs. “I’ve got all night.”

And maybe it’s your surprise at his sudden involvement —him, usually so quiet and withdrawn— but you tell him everything.

By the time you’re done, night has long since fallen. You’ve cried at least three times, and Yoongi’s had enough time to roll another cigarette —though he just toys with it between his fingers, fully focused on your story. At first, he says nothing. For long minutes. Long enough that you start wondering if he even listened. When he finally speaks, it’s with another shrug.

“You know what I think? I think you made yourself one hell of a mess.”

You sit up, offended. “What? But he did this! He manipulated me!”

Another shrug. “Not that I want to defend him —because he’s definitely a Grade-A asshole for making you cry like this— but your guy mostly sounds incredibly clumsy.”

You freeze. “And you,” he adds calmly, “tend to react pretty fast, Darling.”

“That’s bullshit,” you mutter darkly. Still, his words worm their way into your thoughts.

“Listen,” he says, scratching his jaw, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he searches for the right words. “When I was a kid, I once told my classmates that my mom was a model for the biggest brand in the world —and that that’s why they never saw her. They believed me, which was great, except I couldn’t exactly admit she’d just walked out on me. So I asked the woman who lived next door if she’d pretend to be my mom. She agreed. And today, she’s still saved as ‘Mom’ in my contacts.”

You blink at him while he stares at you like this all makes perfect sense. “Why are you telling me this?” you ask at last, confused.

“Because it only took one tiny lie for everything to blow up and force me to find a solution,” he explains, his expression unreadable but his gaze undeniably gentle. “And today, I couldn’t be happier. If I hadn’t lied, I probably wouldn’t know one of the most important people in my life. You get it?”

He turns toward you, eyebrows raised, and you swallow hard. “Think of it this way: Mister Asshole gets himself into trouble by inventing a pretty lie for his classmates, and he needs you to fix it. Except that as he gets to know you, he falls in love with you —which, great. Wonderful. But that doesn’t mean he can suddenly go tell all his friends the truth, right? Otherwise, none of them would ever trust him again. Imagine the look on my friends’ faces if I’d told them that the woman picking me up every night wasn’t actually my mom. So he probably thought it was better not to tell the truth —because that way, just like with my mom, the lie would eventually turn into reality.”

He leans back against the bench again, looking oddly proud of his little explanation, while you keep staring into the distance, his words echoing in your mind. You picture Seokjin —his soft, affectionate gaze toward his grandmother and everyone he loves. You think of all the moments you spent together. His smiles. His thoughtfulness. All the little things that made him so endearing.

Seokjin, who is so considerate he would absolutely lie to the whole world if it meant making everyone happy in the end. Could it really be that simple? Was he too afraid of disappointing his family —so he let the lie stretch on, even if it meant lying to you too?

“Do you really think it could be that simple?” you whisper at last, eyes glassy.

Yoongi shrugs —clearly his favorite move. “I don’t know many guys who bother bringing flowers to a girl every single night. Or doing all the other little things he did. That seems like a lot of effort just to manipulate someone. If that’s all he wanted, he would’ve found someone else a long time ago, don’t ya think?”

You lift your head. When your eyes meet his, his gaze is sharper —far less distant than usual. “You really think so?” you murmur, so quietly you barely hear yourself, your heart tight with both hope and despair.

Yoongi grimaces. “Nah. I’m just trying to cheer you up. Crying people make me uncomfortable.”

He looks like he’s hesitating between hugging you and running away —but in the end, he stays seated beside you, offering silent moral support as you cry softly, having no idea how you’re supposed to untangle this whole mess.

Only once your cheeks are dry again, and he decides you’ve regained enough color, does Yoongi straighten up —pushing off his knees like an old man.

“Well. Now that that’s settled…” he says casually. “What do I do next time he shows up? Slash his tires, or go straight for the windshield?”

You don’t answer —but the small smile tugging at your lips is more than enough for him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today is a very special day! Good evening and welcome to NetiTV, the country’s number one celebrity news channel!” the reporter announces into her microphone, brimming with confidence as she flashes her perfectly polished smile at the camera. “Tonight, for the 170th charity gala of the prestigious Kim lineage, held in honor of their late Patriarch, all of high society has gathered in the reception hall just behind me.”

She gestures dramatically over her shoulder. “You can count on us, ladies and gentlemen, to bring you the entire evening live —starting with the spectacular arrivals of our beloved chaebols! As you already know, the Park family has made quite the entrance earlier, very striking, we must say, and we are currently waiting for—”

She suddenly cuts herself off, bringing a hand to her earpiece. Her eyes light up. “I’m being told right now that the Kim family will be arriving earlier than expected! This is a major moment, so stay tuned!”

The camera angle shifts to the sidewalk, where a dozen bodyguards are already stationed, holding the paparazzi at bay. The reporter moves closer, with little success, just as three gleaming limousines appear at the corner of the street and pull up in perfect formation in front of the building’s entrance.

From the first vehicle steps out Taehyung, quickly followed by Cupcake —and as one of the public’s favorite couples, they’re met with near-deafening cheers. From the second limo emerge Mr. and Mrs. Kim, dripping in diamonds, and right behind them, Nonnie, standing proudly with the help of her ivory cane. More cousins and family members follow —but the door of the third limousine remains firmly shut.

Jungkook knocks on the window several times, signaling for its occupant to come out. He’s met with stubborn refusal —until the rest of the family begins to move toward the reception hall after greeting the cameras. Only then does Seokjin sigh and, almost against his will, open the door.

Automatically, he follows the path Jungkook indicates —up the steps, acknowledge the cameras, smile, then enter the building. But it all feels impossibly hard.

Seokjin doesn’t want to be here. Just like he hasn’t wanted to attend a single gala or reception over the past two months. Not when he barely sleeps at night. Not when he can’t stop thinking about you.

But he promised Nonnie he would make a good impression tonight. And besides —as the new public face of the family, he can’t afford to look miserable at the gala honoring his grandfather. So he forces a smile. Pretends everything is fine as the paparazzi call out to him again and again.

Until the question is asked —and he completely loses his footing. “Mr. Kim! Can you tell us where Miss Seo is tonight?”

He freezes. Jungkook senses the disaster instantly and tugs at his arm, trying to pull him forward —but it’s too late. The moment one paparazzo says your name, the others catch on, and suddenly the entire crowd is shouting questions about you.

Seokjin is paralyzed. They have no idea how badly he wants you to be here.

Around him, voices overlap —shouting, demanding answers. The bodyguards panic. Out of the corner of his eye, he even sees Taehyung watching him with concern from the building’s entrance.

The Kim limousines have long since pulled away, replaced by a sleek gray sedan. The fact that more cars are beginning to arrive is a clear sign he should already be inside —and that’s what finally snaps him out of it. But as he turns his back on the crowd, following Jungkook toward the entrance, the shouting behind him shifts.

The cries are no longer directed at him. Instead they’re all aimed at a single person behind him.

It makes so little sense that even Jungkook turns around, frowning in confusion. When Seokjin does the same, he freezes all over again. You’re there.

Dressed in an elegant red gown that perfectly matches his suit, you step proudly out of the gray sedan, a bouquet of white daffodils —the ones he left the night before— cradled in your hands.

He can hardly believe his eyes. You’re more beautiful than ever, completely ignoring the paparazzi as your gaze —those eyes he loves so much— locks directly onto his.

And then you do something he never would have dared to dream of. You walk toward him.

The sedan pulls away immediately, already gone by the time you stop in front of him. The height difference forces you to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes, but then the smile you give him is so soft he thinks he might be dreaming.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say gently, loud enough for everyone to hear. The crowd erupts, flashes exploding all around you. Seokjin is incapable of saying a single word —too overwhelmed. You’re here. You’re really here.

“Shall we?” you prompt softly, slipping your hand into his.

The contact feels so right that he reacts on instinct, gently pulling you along as Jungkook ushers you both inside. The noise of the crowd vanishes the moment the glass doors close behind you. Seokjin finally exhales as you guide him toward a quieter corner, ignoring the curious looks from his family.

Only once you’re alone near a buffet do you turn to face him. You suddenly look less confident. More shy. Still radiant.

God, how he missed you.

“I think I owe you an explanation,” you say, not giving him time to object. “I thought about it. And I… maybe I overreacted. No—let me finish,” you cut him off, raising a finger to silence him, and he listens.

Clearly nervous, you toy with a strand of hair before tucking it behind your ear, barely daring to meet his eyes. All he can think is: Cute. “When I realized what was going on, I only thought about myself, about my fear of being used or made a fool of. I didn’t take your side of things into account. So I’m sorry. Truly,” you insist, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

He can read every ounce of regret in your eyes. “I acted like an idiot.”

“No, no, that’s on me,” he shakes his head, stubborn and drowning in guilt. “I should’ve told you everything from the start. Explained the mess I dragged you into without warning. You have nothing to apologize for, I completely understand your reaction.”

You nod, both of you quietly accepting each other’s apologies. An awkward silence settles in, your arms hanging uselessly at your sides, until you let out a small, embarrassed laugh.

“We look ridiculous like this, don’t we?” you mumble —at the exact same time he asks, “How did you get here?”

Surprise lights up your face, easing your tension, and Seokjin realizes painfully just how much he’s missed you. “Oh, my neighbor agreed to play chauffeur. Long story,” you say with a dismissive wave, then add with a frown, “He wants you to buy him a music studio as compensation, by the way, but I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.”

Seokjin has no idea how to respond —except that if it’s thanks to your neighbor that you’re here, he’d gladly buy him every studio on Earth.

You mistake his silence for confusion and sigh. “Look. These past two months made me realize that… I might not want to get married. But what I do know is that I don’t want to not see you again. And that the way I ghosted you was honestly bitchy,” you snicker, making him smile. “So… I know this might sound sudden, and maybe you’ll tell me to get lost, which I’d understand after how we left things, but I… I’d like to try. Slowly, let’s agree on that, but I think I want more late-night Burger King dates with you. And I’m tired of receiving your flowers every morning without being able to thank you in person.”

“Are you serious?” he breathes, his eyebrows having climbed higher with every word you spoke. His heart is racing so fast he’s sure it might explode.

“What —about the flowers?” you ask, surprised. He shakes his head vigorously, hanging onto every syllable. You smile shyly. “Yes. Of course I am. Last time, you told me you loved me,” you murmur, and he shivers at the memory. He meant every word —and he hopes you believe it.

“And, even if I’m not sure we can really call it love yet, I do know that I’ve spent two months thinking about nothing but you. About how much I miss you. How much I want to see you and —yeah. I kinda think I like you. Like. A lot.”

“But!” you add quickly, raising a warning finger as the massive grin spreading across his face makes you blush furiously, “I’ll admit my share of fault —but I still think you were the bigger idiot in this story!”

Seokjin nods softly, his eyes overflowing with affection. “If I can be your idiot, then I don’t mind.”

Something shifts in your gaze at his words. Suddenly, your expression turns melancholic —and he hates it instantly, especially knowing he’s probably the reason. But he doesn’t have time to speak. Not even time to blame himself. Because the very next second, you grab his face with both hands, pull him down —and kiss him.

It’s nothing like your previous kisses. It’s not shy. Not hungry. It’s gentle.

Gentle, as your lips slowly find each other again, relearning the other’s taste in real time —like old friends reunited after years apart. Gentle, as Seokjin’s hands settle at your waist without daring to wander, shivering at the feel of your hands sliding along his neck. Just gentle.

And impossibly good —especially when you moan softly against his lips, just as shaken by this reunion as he is. You only part when you’re both out of breath, staying forehead to forehead, as if the thought of letting go might kill you.

“Pinch me,” Seokjin whispers desperately against your lips. “Pinch me, so I know this isn’t another one of those dreams.”

You simply smile —the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen— before pulling him into another kiss. It’s shorter, much to your mutual frustration, because suddenly a deafening crash echoes through the hall. The glass doors have been forced open by a frenzy of paparazzi.

Jungkook appears at your side out of nowhere. “Not to ruin the mood —and Y/N, by the way, welcome back— but it’s kind of a shitshow right now.”

You and Seokjin stare at him, unsure what to do, until Jungkook loses patience and tosses car keys at Seokjin —who catches them square in the face. “GO. GET. OUT,” he snaps, shoving you both toward a hallway as shouting erupts behind you.

Let’s be honest —you’ve never had to flee a mob of deranged paparazzi. But apparently, this is not Seokjin’s first time. Clutching your hand tightly in his, he drags you through a maze of corridors without hesitation, like he knows the place by heart. Just as you approach a large door —probably leading to the parking lot— it bursts open, revealing a dozen journalists screaming at the sight of you together.

“Shit,” Seokjin mutters. You’re trapped on both sides. He pulls you into another hallway, buying only a few seconds, and when he finally spots salvation in the form of a closet door, he doesn’t hesitate. He yanks it open, pushes you inside, follows immediately, and slams it shut.

It’s one of those ridiculous rich-people closets —hidden so seamlessly in the walls you’d never notice it unless you knew it was there. Tall enough for one person. Barely wide enough for two.

Which explains why you and Seokjin end up pressed flush against each other, pinned by the walls to the point where you can barely move. You have to twist awkwardly just to keep your face from being buried in his chest. Not that the idea bothers you. Actually… it makes you a little warm.

Seokjin opens his mouth to apologize, ears burning red —but you clamp a hand over his lips to silence him. Dozens of hurried footsteps thunder past outside, accompanied by frantic shouts. It’s clear they’re looking for you. You stay frozen for what feels like an eternity —even after the noise fades— until Seokjin whispers, his voice trembling slightly, “I think they’re gone.”

You nod, but the idea of leaving your hiding place terrifies you. Being chased by unhinged journalists wasn’t really on your to-do list today. “Maybe we should wait a bit longer?” you breathe.

He nods, sensing your nerves. But as you stand there, he shifts —trying to find a better position. And just as you start to wonder if something’s wrong, you become very, very aware of it.

A very distinct bulge pressing against your lower abdomen.

Your eyes widen as you freeze. “Seokjin?” you whisper. “What… is that?”

He refuses to meet your gaze, red with embarrassment. “Nothing. Ignore it.”

He tries to move again —but it only makes things worse, pressing him harder against you. He hisses in discomfort, and suddenly it's really hot in this small closet. “I can’t believe this,” you murmur, stunned but amused despite yourself. “How can you be hard at a time like this?!”

He shoots you an offended look. “I’m not doing it on purpose, okay?! It’s emotional whiplash,” he grumbles, adorably flustered. “We kissed, and I don’t think you realize how much I missed you, and now we’re here and —and damn it, Sweetheart, I can feel your nipples through my shirt! Did you even wear a bra?!”

You pout, amused by how completely he’s unraveling. God. Why is this so hot? “I thought it would look nicer like this…”

His eyes widen. He swears under his breath and turns his head away. “Yeah, well, you were right. Thanks for that,” he mutters. The look he gives you makes your thighs clench, and the sudden heat definitely has nothing to do with the cramped space.

You think it over for only a second, biting your lower lip, weighing the pros and cons —then, cutting off whatever justification he’s about to launch into, you grab his tie and yank him toward you.

Your lips crash into his. And this time, there’s nothing gentle about it.

He moans against your lips, his hands quickly finding their way back to your waist. As you slide a hand down his back, under his shirt and tease him with your nails, he shivers, and his hands venture further —moving up your ribs until his thumbs find the curve of your breasts and tease the tips of your nipples. You tremble —you can't hold back any longer, you've been dreaming of this for too long, waiting for him for too long.

The growl he lets out is almost guttural when one of your hands leaves his back to slip between you and come, without the slightest embarrassment, to feel him through his clothes, and as you press your palm against him, rubbing from bottom to top, he lets out a moan that makes you tremble with pleasure.

“I think...” he says in a trembling voice, pulling away from you, ignoring the trail of saliva connecting you, “I think we should stop before we do something stupid, Sweetheart.”

“I don't want to,” you whisper stubbornly, pulling him back in to kiss him. “Please,” you beg, desperately squeezing your thighs together in search of the slightest friction. You gently rub your hand against his member —and when you feel his hips follow the movement, you know you've won.

“Damn it,” he growls, before throwing himself onto your neck to kiss the spot just below your jaw. Without being able to stop yourself, you moan when he starts sucking on your delicate skin, one of his hands pulling down the strap of your dress to grab a bare breast and knead it between his fingers, making you tremble all over. You whisper his name, and he shudders. “How do we get this damn dress off?” he swears against your skin, desperately pulling at the fabric of your dress.

You beat him to it. Driven by an unknown force, you lift your skirt up to your waist, revealing your soaked lace panties and the inside of your thighs, which are sticky with your wetness. Seokjin's eyes darken. You can easily guess what's going through his mind as he licks his lips, but he doesn't seem to want to waste any more time than you do: his hands join yours to undo his belt, and soon he's kissing you again as his member stands proudly against his abdomen, begging for attention. His tongue explores your mouth again and again, he nibbles, sucks, licks, and it's delicious.

“Damn it,” he swears again, quickly sliding two fingers inside you to stretch you out, making you moan with pleasure, and you frown, confused. If he doesn’t want to do this, it’s a little late to say so. But he smiles softly at your confused expression, kissing you almost delicately. “This isn't really how I imagined our first time,” he whispers, and your heart flutters at the thought that he, too, had imagined this moment.

“We have all the time in the world,” you whisper back, and he smiles, his tousled hair making him look gorgeous, incredibly so as he leans down to kiss you again, before suddenly entering you without warning.

You've never felt so full in your entire life. It feels like he's stretching your walls so hard they're going to break. Your legs start to shake from the shock as a moan escapes you, but he quickly presses a hand over your mouth, whispering for you to stay quiet. He lowers one hand to flick your clit, making you tremble beneath him. You press your lips together, having troubles to hold back the little moans that threaten to escape you.

You're both too afraid of being caught like this, so why does the idea seem to turn you on even more? “Why are you so big?” you moan, your chest rising at breakneck speed as you gasp, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, relax, Sweetheart,” he repeats over and over, kissing each of your tears one by one while his thumb flicks your clit again and again, slowly but surely relaxing you until you're the first to move your hips against him, quivering at the slightest friction.

As soon as he's sure you're ready, Seokjin springs into action —and from then on, there's no turning back. He guides you with both hands on your hips, his forehead against your neck, his panting breath making you shiver as he sinks deeper and deeper into you, hitting your walls deliciously, each movement a little more violent, a little harder, a little deeper. You've never had anyone this big —just as you've never had an orgasm this fast, you're sure of it, because he's barely started and you already feel your lower abdomen tighten, overwhelmed by all that’s happening.

He swears a little louder when you tighten around him, and he puts more force into his movements —and this time, he doesn't try to block the cry you let out when his tip hits your cervix. The back of your head hits the wall as you close your eyes, and he sinks his teeth into your neck as you squeeze him even tighter, so tight you can feel his movements becoming clumsier, slippery as he holds back his impending orgasm.

“I love you,” he whispers against your skin, and you can only moan his name as you reach your limits. Your orgasm hits you in waves that make you tremble, and Seokjin comes in turn as your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around him. You can feel him painting your walls, and it only makes your orgasm last longer as he continues to thrust into you for a few moments, his cries muffled by your neck, before he finally pulls out when the feeling starts to become uncomfortable.

You stay there, panting, looking into each other's eyes as your combined seed begins to run down your thighs. Still breathless, he grabs a towel from nearby and cleans you up as best he can, a shy smile remaining on his lips as you watch him do so —with much more affection in your gaze than you'd like to show. When you pull him back to you, this time it's to gently peck the tip of his nose. “I love you too,” you whisper, and your heart flutters at the smile he gives you.

He kisses you, and it feels like the most natural thing you’ve ever done. “Hope I didn’t hurt you,” he murmurs between kisses, a touch of worry in his voice.

You smile against his lips. “You could never hurt me,” you assure him, grinning —though you know you probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, thanks to the soreness in your thighs. You straighten both his clothes and your own a little, just enough to make yourselves look presentable.

“I’m glad,” he replies, helping you while flashing one of those soft, heart-melting smiles. After a small breath, he asks, almost shyly, “Do you want to go back to the reception? Or… if you want, we could… run away and go to my place?”

You can only smile, the answer coming naturally. “I would love that.”

“So…” Taehyung starts, leaning slightly forward, dragging the syllable longer than necessary. “…When’s the baby due?”

You barely have time to respond before he gets hit in the forehead with an empty plastic cup, groaning in pain as he rubs his head, looking for refuge from a laughing Cupcake.

“Shut up, will you?” Seokjin grumbles, already holding another cup in case his friend tries anything else, and you smile at their playful bickering, your head resting on his shoulder. “We barely married, let us breathe.”

Taehyung shoots you a pitiful look —you start to think it must be hereditary— and points at your fiancé with a finger. “Seriously, Sweetheart, are you going to let him —OUCH!” he groans as a second cup lands square on his nose. “Seriously, man ?!”

“Don’t call her that!” Seokjin growls, holding you almost possessively against him. You gently tap his chest. He sticks his tongue out at you before turning back to Taehyung. “She’s older than you, mind you, so behave!”

“Really?” Taehyung exclaims, curiosity piqued. He pales when you simply nod, amused. “Wait, so I have two Noonas now?” he mutters, turning to Cupcake, who struggles to stifle a laugh, one hand covering her mouth.

“Now be respectful, young man!” she scolds, laughing as she ruffles his hair, earning a pout from her husband.

The light catches her wedding band and engagement ring, making you glance down at your own ring —Seokjin’s gift the night he proposed. Slimmer, more understated than Cupcake’s, but somehow, you find it even more beautiful —and, in a way, it perfectly reflects the personalities of your respective men.

Noticing your suddenly thoughtful expression, Seokjin gently presses his hand to your waist, pecking your forehead as you turn to him. “You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, smiling. Suddenly, looking at him like that, all cosy as he watches you like you're the most precious thing in his life, you're really glad you didn't throw the first flowers you found at your door.

“All good,” you reply, before leaning in for a brief kiss. “I love you.”

He smiles, the tops of his ears flushing the same shade as the red daffodil pinned to his lapel. “I love you too.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

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