pretty boy | taekook

dining table

chapter thirty ;; dining table
jeongguk's perspective
°☆.。.:*・°☆

"I'm so fucking scared." I mumble into my palms that were currently covering my face. Taehyung was on his knees, kneeling in front of me while I sat on his plush bed. Coarse hands that belonged to the one and only held my waist as a way to comfort me while I was having a small heart attack.

"Hey, there's nothing to be afraid of. My mom likes you." Taehyung gently whispers and tries to get a look of my face still hidden behind dainty hands. Even though my visage was closed off, bright eyes filled with anxiety shined through gapped fingers.

It had been ten minutes since the panic attack that came out of nowhere, and I was already in regular clothes. Taehyung helped me get dressed, taking off the jersey in one swift motion after my arms were lifted. He had softly and hesitantly placed a kiss onto my collarbone that protruded out, telling me that everything was fine: that I was fine. It was sweet and sentimental, ultimately driving me insane with the subtle stare of care encrypted with pity.

He was far too kind for my own good. Taehyung should be mad at me for ruining a peaceful moment. He should be mad at me for showing weakness once more, showing that I definitely wasn't okay. He should be mad at me for acting such a way in his house. There was no need for me to freak out like I did, other than the fact of being terrified that I, Jeon Jeongguk, was just another phase or fling Taehyung would get bored of within time. But here he is, on his knees and staring up at me with pleading eyes, reassuring there's nothing to worry.

I could tell Taehyung was taken aback by my choice of words. Cursing was never an option for me, but in times like this, it seemed to be the only thing passing my lips. It reminded me of father, how he'd drink when in desperate times. Instead of having a concoction of aged wheat and plants run down my throat in hopes to drown out sorrows, I have profanities pour out of my mouth like a faucet. The words would surprise anyone as no one truly suspects someone as silent as me to have such words in their vocabulary.

"We talked to her for five goddamn minutes." My hands fall down from my face, showing creases and lines of stress and worry, "She sounded so- so cold. Did you not pick that up?" I finally look up from my lap, meeting eyes with the elder's. My were much glossier than his, and Taehyung's face was calm, "She fucking hates me, Tae."

"My mom does not hate you." He lightly smiles, taking my hands and ducking his head down to get a better look of mine hanging low, "She's like this with everyone at first, Guk. I wouldn't dare bring you into my home if I thought you'd have a tough time."

"She brought up my father, for Christ's sake!" I cry out, looking up at the ceiling with immense emotion coursing through me. Taehyung only took his hand and firmly grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look down at him. He was rough with his actions.

"She didn't mean to bring up your dad. Mom doesn't know about him, remember that." Taehyung continues with an unyielding tone, "Jeongguk, I know you're worried. I'm worried too, but you can't hide in here forever. Please, do this for me."

That's all it took. Those last few words had me slowly nodding, awaiting for Taehyung to let go of my jaw with a grip firm yet loose. Everything about Taehyung was firm. His abdominal muscles were firm; his tone always had a firm ring; his hands were firm and strong too; his lips were firm against my own at times. It all led to that one adjective, an adjective that made me swoon with love and tremble with fear.

Taehyung was a healthy mix of how the word made me feel. I loved him to no end, undeniably grateful for all that he's done, but he was also so scary. His movements and words controlled me like a puppet, directing me in his direction each and every time, and I was scared I may someday follow him in the wrong way, leaving me hurt and him untrustworthy.