Bond Made in Hell || A TAEJIN STORY || Arranged Marriage

30

Jin

I wake up early today, hopping out of bed and feeling remarkably fit. As much as I hate to admit it, these few days of sleeping in seem to have done me a world of good. I haven't felt better in days.

I brush my teeth and hop in the shower, coming out half an hour later freshly bathed and smelling like roses. But with the feeling of freshness also comes the feeling of guilt: I still haven't apologized to Taehyung for slapping him like that last night.

It wasn't exactly wrong of me, he did have that slap coming for quite a while, actually; but I still feel a little sorry and ashamed for what I did. After all, there were many other reasons he could have wanted me to not go after Jungkook. Besides, after talking to Jungkook last night, I feel rather stupid for jumping to my own conclusions. I don't think he was telling the truth, but whatever it was, it didn't sound that bad. If he really had been drunk- I doubt it, though- if he really had been drunk then there was no reason why I should get worked up about what had happened. People said funny things when they were drunk. And I'm only saying that because I've been through it myself.

But with that memory also came other, worse memories: the memory of Taehyung showing up at the bar and practically dragging me back home, shoving me up the stairs and talking about how I was shitting up his reputation. I almost change my mind about apologizing to him: but only almost. I don't have any time to dwell upon it, because as I pull on my coat and open the door of my room he is standing on the landing, talking to someone on his phone.

'The name's Song Jung-jae. Keep an eye on him, okay? I'm sorry, I know you've got too much on your plate already, but just do it for me, will you?'

'Hey, Taehyung?' I call out impulsively as he ends the call and begins moving down the stairs.

He stops and turns around, his face blank. His deep brown eyes seem to stare into my soul as I only stand and look at him, momentarily lost for words.

'Yes?' he says, after a while spent in complete silence.

I come out of my trance, shaking my head and clearing my throat. 'Uh...I...I'm sorry.'

I expect him to say something like 'For what?' and increase my torture, but strangely, he doesn't. He only looks at me for a second and then nods his head. 'It's all right.'

'Well, uh......that's....great, then,' unable to think of anything else to say, I cross the landing and begin descending the stairs as well.

As I'm about to cross him a large hand lands around my wrist, and I am pulled back a little to meet him face-to-face.

'What?' I gasp out, surprised and flustered.

'I'm sorry too,' his hand remains on my wrist as his eyes stare into mine, and I can't help but stare back, lost in the endless ocean of honey and almond brown.

'It's okay,' I tell him, and my voice comes out softer than I had intended it to. 'I...uh...I forgive you.'

 He leans forward a little, and I flinch as I feel his warm breath on my face.

I close my eyes unexpectedly, anticipating god knows what. But then he draws back and I hear a short laugh. 'You seem fine to me. If you feel like you're going to relapse during work, feel free to call me up. I'll be there for you.'

I open my eyes. The words 'there for you' seem to affect me in a curious way, because my mouth falls open a little, and I colour furiously before turning away and running down the remaining stairs, not looking back even once. I don't even stop as I reach the end, only pausing to grab a glass of water sitting at the dinner table, draining it in one gulp, grabbing my suitcase from the rack and escaping out the front door. Even though he's still standing there and I have no idea where he's looking I can almost feel his watchful eyes on me: deep, burning, searching brown eyes.