The Seven Passengers (BTSxTitanic)

Chapter 20: Seokjin

"I never thought that journalist would do such ghastly things for a story," Lady Eleanor says amusedly. She sips her tea and places the cup on the saucer without a single clink. I'm still struggling to lift my cup to my lips.

"He is quite muscular, though I would have expected you to have bruised him a little. You did fight back, right?" she questions innocently, though the corners of her mouth twitch up as she tries to remain serious. It takes a lot of strength for me not to pour hot tea all over her lacy navy blue dress.

Lady Eleanor has joined me by my bedside for a comforting morning tea, though she is the furthest thing from comforting. I have reframed from telling her this or telling anyone anything. I have stayed quiet from the night I got into bed to this morning when I am supposed to be chatting away like nothing's wrong.

Father enters and places a hand on her shoulder, being gentle as he is quiet. "Lady Eleanor, would you excuse us?" Father says through a sympathetic smile. He even managed to make his eyes sparkle; a talent that takes years of practice to perfect.

Lady Eleanor leaves us alone, Father taking her seat next to me and folding his hands together. "How are you feeling, son?" he says. I'm surprised. He never asks those questions, much less with concern.

"I'm fine," I say. When it gets quiet again, I wait for Father until I can't stand it. It would have been easier for him to shout and tell me how disappointed he was. At least then it wouldn't feel like I'm hunting the truth. I already know the truth, and the truth is that I fucked up.

"This isn't his fault. It's mine." I blurt. "I hit Jungkook first, I was the one who started it. Jungkook was just defending himself." I almost lose my composure. I still remember the fear in Jungkook's eyes when he realized I was too far gone. It pains me to imagine what could have happened if he was a second late from ducking. How much more blood could he have lost?

Father says nothing. I can't read his face, but his eyes are staring into mine.

"I swear, Namjoon had nothing to do with this," I pleaded. "Don't hurt him."

"So he is still with you?"

My eyes widen, and Father notices. He leans closer to me, lowering his tone.

"I don't give a shit that you started the fight or not. I can get another garden boy any day I please. However, I cannot buy your name which will be tarnished if you keep worrying about this man. He will do nothing for you except make you commit sinful acts and drag you straight to Hell. So do as I say and stay away from him before you end up with your face on a headline."

The teacup shakes in my hand as the door slams behind Father.

I rub my face. My cheeks are caked with dried tears from last night after everyone was asleep. It doesn't help when I start crying again. It's pathetic how I cry. It's not a simple tear, it's a puffy red face with snot and hyperventilating.

I pull the blanket over my head like I did when I was little. I was just a child then, unaware of the real world. Back then, all that mattered was to stand still and look rich.

Namjoon's words echo in my mind. "I see you as an equal to me".

He will never be equal to me. That was made clear on the day I was born. Still, he was respectful and cautious with his beliefs. He was interested in me; not Jungkook, not Father, me. Now the only man who cares is being punished for a crime he never committed, and it's all my fault.

I crawl out of the blanket and swing my legs out of bed. The floor is warm from the sun rays baking the cold marble, comforting in a subtle way. I remember the same warmth from the stained window Namjoon and I watched. But it was a different warmth I felt, not from the sun.

My pain melts away as I stand closer to the window. I'm not focusing on the ache of my ribs or my arm that feels like it will disconnect on its own. All I think of is him. His smile, his eyes, the flash of his camera, and the subtle smile he gave back when we met.

I remember his touch, the warmth of him even when I let go. Then I think of his lips. I wonder how soft they are.

My eyes dart to the door and I listen. Outside I hear faint chatter and the sound of clinking, someone just made a toast in the room over. If this was a normal day, I would probably be in there right now, covering for Jungkook and wishing for an escape from an eternity of forced small talk.

I turn the knob and slowly open the door. I see the neighboring door wide open, exposing gentlemen guzzling champagne and ladies batting long eyelashes. In the crowd, I notice Aster Johnsson speaking with a drink in his gloved hand.

I sprint toward him, my ribs aching with every step. Mr. Johnsson spots me straight away and abandons his conversation. He meets me at the door and shuts it behind him. I wonder if anyone else has noticed me. I probably look feral.

"What are you doing, Seokjin? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Kim Namjoon. Where did you take Kim Namjoon?"

Mr. Johnsson falters. "You mean the man who attacked you? He's in his cabin being watched by Maurice. The fellow didn't put up any kind of fight. As far as I know, he has been still all morning."

I skip the thank you and turn on my heel. Mr. Johnsson is calling for me to get back inside, but I ignore him and head downstairs toward third class.