One shots | Kim Taehyung

Dancing in silence Part 2 | KTH

The sky was ink-dark by the time the guests left. The scent of incense still lingered faintly in the corners of the living room, mixing with the soft aroma of steamed rice and the cold edge of disappointment. Your hanbok sleeves brushed the floor as you sat by the vanity, the pins from your hair now resting like silver bones on the wood.

You stared into the mirror, but you didn't see yourself. Only the echoes of the day.

His words still danced in your head like music you couldn't name.

"Let me be someone who doesn't hold your wings."

You touched your lips gently, remembering the way he'd said it — not as a promise, not as persuasion, but as permission.

Your bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a small desk lamp. Shadows played across the ceiling like restless dreams. You sat with your knees drawn to your chest on the mattress, arms wrapped around them like armor.

Your mother's voice had drifted earlier from the hallway.

"Wake early. He shouldn't be up before you."
"Don't speak unless asked."
"Learn what he likes to eat. Cook it without asking."
"Don't talk back. It's not your place."
"Make yourself small, obedient. No man wants a noisy wife."

Each line left a mark. Invisible chains you were already beginning to wrap around yourself.

"Do you even see me...?" you whispered into the silence, eyes brimming again.

You weren't ready for marriage. You weren't ready to be a wife defined by expectations, not desires. And yet — in that quiet space of your memory — Taehyung's voice returned to you.

"If we're bound by this arrangement... then let me be someone who doesn't hold your wings."

That night, for the first time, you chose something. Not out of pressure. Not out of force.

You chose hope.

You chose that voice that didn't ask you to shrink.

You picked up your phone, opened your message thread with your father, and typed only two words.

"I'll marry him."

You pressed send before you could take it back.

And the world — even in its noise — grew silent for a moment, as if honoring your soft surrender.

✦ Meanwhile — In Taehyung's house ✦

The low hum of music played from a speaker on the kitchen counter. Taehyung sat at the edge of his sleek marble dining table, fingers curled around a glass of ginger soda. His jacket hung over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, shirt collar slightly undone. His eyes were distant, still holding the image of you like a frame he hadn't yet put down.

Jimin leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "So? How was it? The mysterious bride?"

Taehyung gave a faint smile, sipping slowly. "She cried."

Hoseok raised his brows. "On seeing you?"

"No," Taehyung chuckled quietly. "On being forced to see me."

"Damn," Namjoon muttered, half-laughing. "That bad?"

Taehyung shook his head, not defensively — just thoughtfully. "She wasn't cold. Just tired. Tired of being told what to do, what to become."

"And you want to marry her still?" Jimin asked, leaning closer. "Even when she clearly doesn't want this?"

"It's not about what she wants now," Taehyung replied softly, eyes distant. "It's about whether she ever had the chance to want anything at all."