I swear on you, my beloved.

❦Episode 1❦

Taehyung's Pov~

As the elevator doors closed with a soft *ding*, I stood beside my father, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the sterile air of the elevator. As the lift began its ascent, I glanced around, my eyes falling upon a couple standing a few feet away. They were holding hands, their fingers intertwined with a tenderness that spoke of love and familiarity.

My gaze flickered back to my father, expecting perhaps a nod of acknowledgment or simply a disinterested glance. Instead, I was met with a sight that made my stomach churn. His expression had twisted into a mask of disgust, his lips curled in a sneer as he stared at the couple.

I felt a surge of discomfort rise within me, unsure of how to react. Should I say something? Confront him about his prejudice? Or should I simply stay silent, letting the tension hang in the air like an invisible barrier between us?

But before I could make a decision, my father's disgust manifested in a series of subtle yet unmistakable gestures. He wrinkled his nose, his brows furrowing in disapproval. His lips twisted into a grimace, as if the sight before him was somehow repulsive.

I felt a pang of sadness and disappointment wash over me, knowing that the man I looked up to, the man who had taught me right from wrong, was capable of such narrow-mindedness. I stole another glance at the couple, their affectionate gestures now tinged with a sense of vulnerability in the face of my father's silent condemnation.

As the elevator reached our floor and the doors slid open, I stepped out, feeling a weight settle in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't shake the image of my father's disgusted expression from my mind, nor could I shake the feeling of shame that accompanied it. And as we walked away, I couldn't help but wonder how many other times he had cast his judgment upon those who were simply trying to love and be loved in return.

As we stepped out of the elevator, my father's demeanor remained tense, his disapproving expression etched into his features. Without a word, he made a beeline for the front desk where the apartment society's staff members were stationed.

I followed behind him, my heart sinking with each step. I knew what he was about to do, and I dreaded the confrontation that was about to unfold. As we approached the desk, I could feel the weight of my father's disapproval bearing down on me like a suffocating blanket.

He wasted no time in launching into his complaint, his voice dripping with disdain as he pointed towards the direction of the gay couple we had seen in the elevator. The staff members listened attentively, their expressions betraying a mixture of discomfort and professionalism.

I stood by silently, feeling a knot form in my stomach as I watched my father unleash his prejudice upon these unsuspecting individuals. I wanted to speak up, to tell him that what he was doing was wrong, but the words caught in my throat, suffocated by the weight of my own cowardice.

As the conversation came to an end and we turned to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling of shame that washed over me. I knew that I had failed to stand up for what was right, that I had allowed my father's bigotry to go unchallenged. And as we walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of world we lived in, where love was met with hatred and intolerance.

Back in our apartment, the tension from the elevator encounter lingered in the air like a heavy fog. My father wasted no time in unleashing a torrent of derogatory remarks about the gay couple we had encountered, his voice laced with venom as he disparaged their relationship.

I sat in silence, my discomfort growing with each word that fell from his lips. Beside me, my mother listened quietly, her expression betraying a mix of resignation and discomfort. I could see the weight of her silence, the burden of knowing that speaking up would only invite further conflict.