Eternal January {T.K}

4.

September 19, 1896
To the Sassiest Florist,

You wound me, Jeon Jungkook—truly. Imagine my disbelief as I read your letter, only to discover that you, without knowing the brilliance before you, dared to accuse me of being a creepy old man! My pride as a captain has taken a blow that even the fiercest storms could not deliver.

Do you know how rare it is for a man to be mistaken for such a thing? I should tell you that I am far from “old,” and as for “creepy”—well, I am certain I would be the last person on this earth to fit that description.

If I had any sense, I would stop writing to you this instant, leave you wondering forever what kind of man could possibly endure such an insult. But, as you seem to take some twisted pleasure in jesting at my expense, I will graciously forgive you this once. After all, your letter did make me smile, much to my own dismay.

Still, I must defend my honor. For your information, Jeon Jungkook, I am not only the captain of one of the finest ships in the Korean Navy, but I am also—how did you so modestly put it?—quite the sight to behold. Should you ever lay eyes on me, I have no doubt you would find me more than “easy on the eyes.”

I confess, I am now eagerly awaiting your next letter, if only to see what more you will dare to say to me. You’ve piqued my interest, and I am not a man who loses interest easily. I shall forgive your earlier offense and give you a chance to redeem yourself, for I believe you might surprise me yet.

As for me, I shall keep writing, if only to hear more about the world through your eyes. In the meantime, rest assured, I am neither old nor creepy—just a man who finds himself charmed by a certain florist.

Until your next letter,
Captain Kim Taehyung

────୨ৎ────

Taehyung leaned back in his wooden chair, his hand lingered on the last stroke of his name before he folded the letter.

With a quiet chuckle, he placed the letter aside and ran a hand through his dark hair.

He placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart, and let out a soft sigh, his voice barely above a whisper, meant for no one but himself. “What have you done to me, Jeon Jungkook? I haven’t even met you, and yet here I am, writing letters as though I’ve known you for years.”

Taehyung smiled—a small, private smile—as he let his hand fall to his side. It was foolish, wasn’t it? To be so affected by mere words on a page.