Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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Somehow, you turn distance into comfort instead of loneliness.
Chapter 15: Hug
Mr. Han’s face darkened the moment the call ended, his expression twisting between anger and humiliation. The carefully arranged composure he had worn all evening cracked, and his daughter’s timid smile vanished. She excused herself with a soft murmur, rising quickly from her cushion and bowing before hurrying out, her heels tapping against the polished wood. The silence she left behind only heightened the tension between the two men.
Jungkook remained seated, calm and unbothered, lifting his cup of sake as though nothing unusual had happened. He swirled the liquid idly, watching it catch the low light, while across from him Mr. Han’s jaw tightened.
“It seems I’ll have to go now,” Jungkook said at last, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. His voice was steady, polite even, but there was something in the deliberate ease of his tone that made it feel like a dismissal. “My partner is waiting for me.”
That single word—partner—was enough to send Mr. Han bristling.
“Since when did you have a partner?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes lifting to meet Mr. Han’s glare. “And since when is that your business?” His words weren’t raised, nor was his expression aggressive; if anything, he looked faintly puzzled, as though genuinely confused by the intrusion. But the subtle curve at the corner of his lips betrayed the mockery hidden beneath the calm facade.
“Just answer my question!” Mr. Han snapped, his palm slamming down on the low wooden table, rattling the cups and plates. The sound echoed in the quiet room, and a couple of waiters outside stiffened, pretending not to overhear. His voice rose in a hiss of anger, his pride clearly stung. “You must have planned that call—planned this entire display to humiliate me in front of my daughter, didn’t you?”
Jungkook blinked slowly, tilting his head again, this time almost pityingly. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” His voice was unshaken, each word dripping with calm indifference. “How could I have planned anything when I knew nothing about this meeting’s true purpose? Are you not the one who invited me here?”
Mr. Han froze at the sharp retort, his nostrils flaring. Jungkook let the silence linger for a moment before continuing, his tone still polite but sharpened by irony.
“And even if I had known,” he added, leaning back casually, “what makes you think I would come, knowing what this dinner was really about?”
The question struck like a blade hidden in velvet. Mr. Han’s mouth opened but no sound came out. For a brief moment, the man who had tried so hard to control the evening looked cornered, stripped of the authority he thought he held.
Jungkook sighed softly, running his fingers through his dark hair, as though he was the one exhausted by the whole ordeal. He rose from his seat with unhurried grace, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.
“This meeting should end now,” he said evenly, his voice carrying the finality of a decision already made. “We’re both busy men—I don’t think we should waste our time with anything… unnecessary. We can continue this discussion another time, when the topic is more relevant.”
He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of thanks that bordered on mocking courtesy. “Thank you for the dinner.”
The smile he wore as he turned away wasn’t wide, but it was sharp enough to sting—polite enough to mask his disdain, mocking enough to make Mr. Han’s blood boil.
Jungkook left the room without another glance, the sliding door closing softly behind him. He inhaled the cooler air of the restaurant’s hallway, relief settling over him like a cloak. Taehyung’s unexpected call had spared him from drowning in Mr. Han’s schemes; if it hadn’t been for that timely interruption, he was certain the conversation would have dragged on endlessly, testing his patience past its limit.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the weight of what he’d done. He would have to apologize to Taehyung—explain why he had spoken like that, why he had called him baby so suddenly. He was sure Taehyung was confused, maybe even startled, by the slip.
But for now, Jungkook walked out of the restaurant with a rare satisfaction tugging at his lips. Mr. Han had tried to corner him, and instead, it was Mr. Han who had been made to look powerless.
And the thought of Taehyung’s voice—quiet, hesitant, pulling him back from that suffocating room—lingered in his mind longer than he expected.
When the call ended, Taehyung was left staring at the phone, bewildered. The way Jungkook had answered his questions didn’t make sense at all—like their words had been on two different tracks. He had opened his mouth to ask again, but the line had already gone silent. A frown lingered on his face as he sat there in thought, confusion settling in his chest.
A knock at the door pulled him out of it. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Jeon has already arrived. Would you like to see him?” the maid asked politely, standing by the doorframe with a small bow.
Taehyung blinked, momentarily startled, then quickly stood up. “Y-Yes, I’m coming!” he replied, a little too hastily. He returned the phone with a quiet “thank you” before following her down the hall.
The faint hum of conversation reached him as he descended the stairs. At the bottom, he caught sight of Jungkook—standing tall and effortlessly commanding the space, though his expression was softened as he exchanged words with the staff. Something about the way he carried himself, even in such a simple moment, made Taehyung pause for a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Jungkook,” Taehyung called softly, his voice hesitant, almost testing if it would reach.
It did. Jungkook turned immediately, his sharp features breaking into a smile that was warmer than Taehyung expected. Without a second thought, Jungkook closed the distance between them in a few steady strides. Before Taehyung could even process, strong arms wrapped around him.
The hug wasn’t forceful, yet there was a quiet insistence in it—as if Jungkook didn’t want to let go too quickly. Taehyung stiffened for a heartbeat, caught off guard, his mind scrambling for reason. But then, strangely… it didn’t feel uncomfortable. The warmth seeping from Jungkook’s chest against his own, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint trace of cologne lingering in the air—it all surrounded him in a way that felt safe, almost grounding.
His arms hovered uncertainly at first, but the longer Jungkook held him, the harder it was to resist the pull. Slowly, hesitantly, Taehyung let himself lean in, his own arms curling around Jungkook’s back. It wasn’t tight, just enough to answer the embrace—gentle, cautious, yet meaningful.
For a moment, the world around them seemed to quiet down. The staff kept their distance, the chatter faded, and all Taehyung could feel was the surprising tenderness of Jungkook’s presence.
He didn’t understand why his heart was racing or why his chest felt strangely light. But in that brief silence, as Jungkook’s hand rested reassuringly between his shoulder blades, Taehyung found himself realizing—this wasn’t uncomfortable at all. If anything, it was disarming in the softest, most unexpected way.
