Speeding Into Trouble || Taekook

5

Jeongguk lay sprawled on his bed like a king on a throne, except his kingdom consisted of an unmade mattress, scattered clothes, and the faint glow of his gaming setup in the corner.

The room reeked of rebellion—weed, leather, and the unmistakable essence of “I don’t care.”

Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as Jeongguk took a long drag from his joint, looking every bit like a dramatic anti-hero in some low-budget indie film.

The peace shattered with a sudden buzz from his phone. He groaned theatrically, letting out a cloud of smoke that seemed to sigh along with him.

Grabbing his phone, he squinted at the screen like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah, what?” he answered, voice dripping with apathy.

On the other end, a gruff voice barked, “Parcel’s been delivered. Everything’s set.”

Jeongguk took another drag, holding it like he was about to drop the most profound response ever.

Finally, he exhaled, muttering, “Good. Weapons all there? Or are you clowns gonna tell me you ‘misplaced’ a rocket launcher again?”

The dealer stumbled over his words. “Uh, no, boss. Everything’s there this time. Swear on my grandma’s dog.”

Jeongguk rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his own brain. “Yeah, well, your grandma’s dog doesn’t pay me. Don’t screw this up, or you’ll be delivering next week’s shipment with one less kneecap.”

He ended the call with a dramatic flourish, tossing his phone onto the bed like he was done with everyone’s nonsense.

He stretched out, leaning back on his pillow as he took another hit from the joint. He let the smoke settle in his lungs again, but before he could fully relax, his phone rang once more.

“Fuck me,” Jeongguk cursed under his breath. He glanced at the screen, seeing Minji pop up.

Rolling his eyes, he let the phone ring a couple of times before answering, already dreading the conversation.

“Yeah, what?” he said, his voice casual but disinterested.

“Hey, baby,” Minji purred, her voice like sugar trying too hard to be sweet. “Missed me last night?”

Jeongguk stared at the ceiling, silently counting how many brain cells he was losing. “Uh-huh,” he deadpanned, lighting another joint.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Minji continued, her tone dripping with something that was supposed to be seductive but sounded more like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “You know I can’t resist you.”

Jeongguk smirked, though it was more out of disbelief than charm. “Yeah, well, try harder next time,” he said before hanging up mid-giggle.

Tossing the phone aside, Jeongguk leaned back into his smoky haze, muttering to himself, “I need better hobbies.”

_____

Meanwhile, across town in the pristine, overly formal Kim household, Taehyung was enduring what could only be described as the Dinner of Doom.

The dining room looked like it belonged in a museum—too shiny, too symmetrical, and filled with an aura of suppressed tension.

Taehyung sat at the end of the table, poking at his food like it had personally insulted him.

His parents and Mr. and Mrs. Lee were deep in a discussion about important adult things, leaving Taehyung as the sacrificial lamb of small talk with Sara, the Lee's painfully shy daughter.

“Taehyung,” his father’s voice boomed, dragging him out of his food-stabbing session. “Why don’t you take Sara upstairs? Let the adults talk.”

Oh no. Taehyung’s internal monologue was already spiraling. God, no. Anything but that. Send me to a battlefield. Throw me in a lion’s den. But don’t make me do this.

“Of course,” he muttered, his voice so monotone it could’ve been a robot’s. Rising from his chair, he gestured for Sara to follow. “Come on.”

Sara trailed behind him, clutching her hands like she was auditioning for a role as “Shy Girl #3.”

When they reached his room, Taehyung opened the door and stepped aside like a reluctant tour guide.

“This is my room,” he said flatly. “You can sit. Or stand. Or, I don’t know, whatever.”

(Taehyung's room)

Sara perched nervously on the edge of his bed, looking around as if the plain room was the Sistine Chapel.

“Your room is so… tidy,” she said, her voice filled with awe. “I like a man who’s organized.”

Taehyung blinked at her, debating if he should correct her assumption that he cared about cleanliness. Instead, he said, “Thanks. I guess.”

She fidgeted for a moment before launching into what she probably thought was a charming conversation starter.

“So, you’re a teacher, huh? That’s so cool. You must love kids.”

Taehyung resisted the urge to groan out loud. “Sure. Love them. They’re little angels.” Except when they’re not, which is always.

Sara giggled. Giggled. Like he’d just delivered the punchline of the century. “You’re funny, Taehyung.”

“I’m hilarious,” he deadpanned, leaning against his desk and glancing at the clock. Only 3 minutes had passed. Kill me now.

“So, uh…” Sara hesitated, her cheeks turning pink. “Our parents think we’d make a good… match.”

Taehyung’s brain short-circuited. Match? MATCH?! What is this, the 18th century? Are we about to exchange goats as a dowry?

“Yeah, well,” he said slowly, trying to keep his cool. “Parents have a lot of interesting ideas.”

Sara’s giggle turned into a full-blown laugh this time, and Taehyung stared at her like she’d just sprouted a second head. “Oh, Taehyung, you’re such a joker.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, silently praying for divine intervention. Maybe a fire alarm. Or a meteor. Something. Anything.

When Sara continued to talk about her love of knitting (knitting?!), Taehyung tuned out completely, his soul leaving his body, his mind wandered, drifting far away from the conversation at hand.

_____