BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Reconciliation✿(Kim Taehyung/V)

Weddings are supposed to feel romantic.
But all I can think about is how I shouldn't be here.

The reception hall is glowing with fairy lights and the kind of soft jazz that makes everything feel dreamlike. Tables are covered with white linen and champagne glasses, and the air smells faintly of roses and candle wax.

I'm smiling and chatting with people I haven't seen in years, but my eyes keep scanning the crowd. Not for the bride. Not for the groom.

For him.

Kim Taehyung.

We haven't spoken in nearly six years. Not since the night we ended things-if you could even call it an ending. It was more like a slow drift into silence, and then one day I realized he was gone from my life completely.

We'd been inseparable in high school. He was the boy who walked me home every day, the boy I shared headphones with, the boy who knew my favorite coffee order without asking.

And now he's just... somewhere in this room.

I'm half-convinced I imagined him until I feel it-that heavy, familiar weight of someone's gaze. I turn, and there he is across the room, looking right at me.

It's like being punched and hugged at the same time.

He looks the same and different all at once. Same deep brown eyes, same warm smile-but his hair is a little longer now, his jawline sharper. He's wearing a black suit that fits him too well, and he's holding a glass of champagne like he's not sure if he's supposed to drink it or just keep it as a prop.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Then he starts walking toward me.

---

"Hey," he says when he reaches me, his voice low and warm, just like I remember.

"Hey," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral, though my heart's beating so fast it's almost embarrassing.

"You look..." He hesitates, then smiles faintly. "The same. Maybe better."

I laugh softly. "You too."

There's a pause. The kind that feels both awkward and too comfortable.

"Do you want to-?" he starts.

"Yeah," I say before he can finish.

We end up slipping outside to the garden, away from the noise of the reception. The air is cooler here, and the fairy lights strung between the trees cast a soft glow on his face.

For a while, we just stand there, the silence stretching. Finally, I say, "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Mutual friends," he says simply. "Didn't know you'd be here either."

I nod, fiddling with the edge of my clutch. "It's been... a long time."

"Yeah." He looks down at his hands. "I've missed you."

The words hit harder than I expect. "You have a strange way of showing it."

He winces slightly, like I've struck a nerve. "I know. I wasn't good at... keeping in touch. I thought it would be easier for both of us if I just..."

"Disappeared?" I finish for him.

"Yeah," he admits quietly.

There's a heaviness between us now, the kind that comes from years of unsaid things.

"I was angry," I say finally. "For a long time."

"I know," he says again. "I was too. At myself."

When I meet his eyes, I see it-the regret, the longing, the what-if that's been sitting between us all this time.

---

We start walking through the garden, talking in low voices. The conversation shifts from the heavy stuff to lighter things-where we've been, what we've been doing. I learn he moved to another city for work, that he's been traveling a lot. He learns I stayed here, that I'm working in design now.

At some point, we end up on a bench tucked away behind a hedge, the music from inside just a faint hum.

"Do you ever think about it?" he asks suddenly.

"About what?" I say, though I already know.

"Us," he says. "What it would've been like if we hadn't..."

"All the time," I admit before I can stop myself.

His hand is resting on the bench between us, fingers curling slightly. I don't know if it's intentional, but I let my own hand drift closer until our fingers brush.

It's the smallest touch, but it's like flipping a switch. Suddenly, the air between us feels electric, charged with something I thought we'd lost years ago.

He turns toward me fully now, his knee brushing mine. "I don't want to mess things up again," he says softly.

"Then don't," I reply.

For a moment, we just look at each other. Then he leans in, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. I don't.

His lips meet mine in a kiss that's soft at first-hesitant, almost testing-but when I respond, it deepens. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing my skin, and I feel years of tension unraveling between us.

When we finally pull back, we're both breathing harder than we should be for such a slow kiss.

"I shouldn't have let you go," he murmurs.

"You didn't let me go," I say. "We let each other go."

There's a long pause, and then he smiles faintly. "Maybe we don't have to this time."

---

We walk back to the reception together, but something feels different now. There's no grand declaration, no promise of forever. Just the quiet understanding that maybe-just maybe-we're not done yet.

When we say goodbye later that night, he squeezes my hand and says, "I'll call you."

And for the first time in years, I believe him.