Chapter Text
don't call me "kid"
When Taehyung was five years old, his father let him sit on his lap for the last time. The sun was shining on the gardens of their estate, and Taehyung’shousekeeper had poured them a glass of fresh lemonade, which was placed next to a plate full of strawberries and cream pastries. Taehyung knew better than to touch anything until his mother had joined them; it was a lesson he had learned the hard way, watching the knuckles of his own hands fill with bruises from the wooden chopstick his tutor used to educate him with. Thus, like a newly blooming flower, Taehyung had wilted in the corners of the enormous house that he would probably never know fully. Among the many things that had been imprinted on his skin, there was the knowledge that the flowers in the garden and the books in his library would never be his own. Taehyung was a Kim; he belonged to one of the oldest families in London, but that meant nothing because fate wanted him to be the second son.
Namjoon, his older brother, would inherit every little thing that Taehyung's innocent feet were now treading on without precaution. His brother had been faster than him in a race which Taehyung didn't know he had to compete; he had lost from his first breath, and that, somehow, reassured him. Taehyung looked at Namjoon with admiration but not envy. Namjoon was always busy, forced to take too many lessons in etiquette, economics, politics and finance. In the future it would be Namjoon who will have to manage the estate accounts, the bank under their name located in the city and the farms placed in the remote countryside. If Namjoon would grant him anything, Taehyung would ask for those farms.
"Taehyung, do you know why the sky and the sea look like one?" His father asked. He was a quiet and busy man, but Taehyung loved him. It wasn't his father’s fault if Taehyung Inherited nothing but a meager income. The law spoke in many ways, sometimes through the Queen's mouth and sometimes through the eyes of the aristocrats who decided what was right or wrong for society. Second-born children are not entitled to anything; they are the laggards who cannot form the social class of the future.
"Because water is transparent and reflects the color of the sky." Taehyung replied, losing himself in the bubbles of his untouched lemonade. That grown-up information had been told to him by Namjoon as they were walking along the edge of a lake not far from there.
"You are like the sky, Taehyung," his father lowered his face to look into his dark eyes, "Even though you are the second son, your every action will be reflected by Namjoon, by the sea, do you understand?" Taehyung didn't understand it, but nodded anyway so as not to disappoint his father. "Namjoon will have the right to make mistakes because the law and our social class will know how to look the other way, but your actions will be crucial—you, Taehyung, can never make mistakes, remember that."
“I promise you, father, I will never make any mistake.” Taehyung had said with a tiny smile. No preceptor had ever told him that secret, and Taehyung clutched it tightly to his chest, swallowing hard thanks to the lemonade that now tasted too sour. He was the reject of a noble family, his task would only be to not disfigure his brother and one day - who knows how far away - to marry a woman of his own elevation and who would accept loving an outcast of the nobility.
If only Min Yoongi would allow him to do so.
It had been fifteen years since his father had last taken him on his lap, probably sharing the last gesture of affection that a man of his kind could've given him. Taehyung had never blamed him for this and had never hated him for that promise forcibly snatched away from him and with which he had grown up. Taehyung never forgot about that, even in the darkness of his private rooms. However, now there was nothing to protect him from the eyes that were staring right at him as if he were something inferior. Blue silk enveloped his body sculpted by time spent riding with his brother and swimming in the lake near their home, yet Taehyung felt tiny under Min Yoongi's arbitrary and stern gaze.
The man in question was too short to contain so much maturity in his bones, but the face that had been challenging him for months couldn't be described any differently. The black hair, now long enough to curl at the ends that grazed his broad shoulders, framed the soft but hard features. Taehyung could've tried to describe the soft lips, round cheeks and button nose, but Yoongi’s eyes spoiled the tenderness of the rest. His gaze was subtle, dark, full of arrogance—or at least, Taehyung had convinced himself that it must be arrogance because he didn't know what he had done in his life (or the one before) to deserve such contempt from Min Yoongi.
"Excuse me, could you repeat what you just said? I hope you'll forgive my shyness, but you can imagine the emotional state with which I have come to ask you—" Taehyung was good at playing his part, so good that he didn't even have to strain to shape his words through a hinted stammer.
"You heard me right, Lord Kim," Yoongi didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle across his face while replying, "I understand that it is difficult to accept a refusal, but I do not intend to grant you my dear and lovely sister's hand." Each word was recited as if ripped from an old work, one that Taehyung used to read in his father's ancient library. It rarely happened now; there was no more time for novels in his life.
"Lord Min—”
"Do you want to stumble through your words once again?" Yoongi was a pragmatic and patient man, he was known as such and that was the only information Taehyung had managed to gather before acting his role. "Are you going to tell me again how you didn't hear me properly? Would you like me to tell my housekeeper to leave you a paper written and signed by me that can somehow end this for good?" Taehyung clenched his hands into two fists, hoping that the cuffs of his white shirt could hide the effect that conversation was having on him. On the contrary, his expressions remained calm although partially pained. He had to convince Yoongi that he was a beau in love.
"Lord Min!" He exclaimed, resting a hand against his chest, close to where his heart was supposed to reside. Taehyung had seen something similar in a theater scene a few months ago, and a woman had been very touched by that. "Again, I ask you to forgive my insistence which I hope may not be construed as insolence, but I come before you as your sister's humble servant and with the purest of intentions so that her beloved brother may grant us both the fulfillment of a dream—" Taehyung was on the verge of closing his eyes to recall all the words he had memorized over the previous few nights, drawing the most illustrious phrases from his favorite poems. Unfortunately, Yoongi was not the foolish, ignorant nobleman that meandered through the mansions of the town.
"I advise you to stop talking, this is not the first time you have spoken of pure intentions and dreams, yet I have never stopped myself from rejecting your initiatives." It was humiliating. Taehyung would have liked to show all his anger, but then everything would be lost as well as his battered pride. "Aren't you tired of my rejections yet? There are many families in town and more will come now that the season begins, I am sure you will meet the right father or brother and be able to convince them of your pure intentions." The taunt was there, subtle but effective.
"But I don't want just any woman, just as I could never love a woman who is not your sister." Taehyung tried once more to convince him. It was the third time Min Yoongi had a private conversation with Taehyung to discuss his marriage proposal, and it was the third time that such a discussion led only to a humiliating rejection.
"For God's sake," Yoongi barely sighed, but the room was so empty that Taehyung had no trouble hearing him. For the first time, after months and months of courtship and rejection, it seemed that Yoongi was on the verge of losing his composure. Taehyung's stomach clenched at the thought, almost wishing he could see it for himself. He was exhausted by his boredom, by his apathy, by the pout that painted his lips always moist with some unspoken word. Yoongi could remain silent for entire ball parties, could hide in the crowd, disappear with the baroque décor—but Taehyung could always find him, brooding and already staring at him.
"No, my Lord, we shouldn't stain our mouths with any abstract god when your sister lives in this very house. You must understand that my heart belongs to her, and therefore I could only spend my life worshiping her, making her happy and making her smile will be my only religion." Each statement turned the next into a spoonful of honey that Taehyung was forcing into Yoongi's bitter mouth.
"Lord Kim, I advise you for the umpteenth time to be silent and not to humiliate yourself further in my presence," Yoongi firmly stared at him, "If I have allowed you to frequent my home and talk to my sister it is because of your brother, Namjoon has always been a dear friend to me, but I will not accept any further display of eruditism devoid of feeling, am I clear?" He hadn't been, or at least Taehyung couldn't understand him. It was Namjoon himself who had pushed for this union under their father's advice.
"Are you accusing me of being a sophist?" Taehyung once again ignored the insult thrown at his honor. "Is that why you deny me your sister's hand? You think mine are the words of a heartless scholar, but precisely because Namjoon is my brother, you should know the way we were brought up." At those words Yoongi's jaw stiffened.
"Don't worry about that, trust me when I say that my rejection is absolute," Yoongi turned to the nearest window inside the room, the one that overlooked the gardens of his huge estate, "I know firsthand the kind of upbringing your family imparts, and if you believed that your education could serve as reassurance, I can assure you that it represents one of the many reasons why I can never accept your proposal."
"I do not understand why, my lord, you persist in opposing a gentleman who has always honored and respected your sister without ever—"
"Mind you," Yoongi relinquished the sunlight that was illuminating his pale face, "You are a great connoisseur of words, I am almost certain that it is only the evil present in my gruff body that made me think you were about to say something improper, such as that not having sexually abused my sister makes you superior to the other men in the country and not just a human being with basic decency."
"Certainly, my lord," Taehyung said without waiting, "I would never have dared to imply such a thing." But the lie resonated in his head like the root of a headache from which he couldn't escape.
"Well then, I apologize for my audacity and discharge you from our talk. There is nothing more to discuss." Yoongi gestured with his hand, as if Taehyung had been one of his servants. He probably deserved it since he had almost bent down on his knees in order to get what he had so longed for.
"I don't want to disrespect you further, but you know I'm not going to give up." Taehyung said the usual parting phrase he had already shared after the first and second rejection. He found something poetic in repeating himself, as if he were competing and failing an exam that he would one day look down upon because he was now the winner. Yoongi, on the other hand, didn't mind. He stood in the middle of the room decorated in gold curtains and crimson red fabric, the same room he had used whenever Taehyung had asked him for an audience. By now he was familiar with its oak furniture, just as he recognized its smell, a scent Taehyung had never detected in the other rooms of that residence—or on the skin of Min Yoongi's sister.
The carpets under both of their shoes were woven with the illustration of the Min house, a three-headed dragon that always seemed to want to burn Taehyung alive. It was perhaps because of that image or the lack of sound of the other's footsteps that Taehyung didn't notice that Yoongi had moved enough to breathe on his face. From that short distance Yoongi was short enough to brush his forehead with Taehyung's own lips.
Taehyung felt his tongue retract and his mouth burn, tickled by that baleful thought that he had to kill in that instant along with his dead pride. Unfortunately, the noonday sun beating down on his head through that damned window and Yoongi's breath (slow, calm, apathetic) reaching his throat made him notice how that short distance would be enough for Yoongi's lips to meet his neck.
"Why should I stop you from trying again?" Yoongi flashed a smile while Taehyung felt a deep discomfort at the pit of his stomach. "Quite on the contrary, Lord Kim, it amuses me to see how far you are willing to go..." He arched an eyebrow to emphasize the challenge he had been issuing to him for months, "I wonder if one day you will bend over your knees begging me for my sister."
Taehyung's mother had always described him as a sweet child. Perhaps a little lively, and liveliness had no reason to exist in that world, but nevertheless sweet. He hadn't been the eldest child in the family, and yet that couldn't take away the beauty of his eyes, the kindness of his smile, or the distinctiveness of the moles that marked new constellations on his skin. Taehyung had been brought up to be his brother's quiet shadow, the placid reflection of a lake and the shoulder to use to hide Namjoon’s flaws. The man who was now walking the path home had taken his promise to his father to heart, and his every step had been calculated in order to help his brother, protecting the reputations of both of them from any scandal or stain.
Taehyung wondered how serious it would be to stain his silk jacket with Min Yoongi's blood. Perhaps it was not even necessary to go so far as to make him bleed; maybe a punch to his upturned nose would be enough to silence the grip that had been tearing apart Taehyung's stomach for months. Taehyung, who had always been so calm and patient with the circumstances of his life, now wished with all his heart to hurt a man whose big sin had been to humiliate him.
Taehyung’s black boots sank noiselessly into the wet soil. It had drizzled enough last night to create a thin layer of mud on the path that would lead him to the Kim estate. Taehyung loved the smell of rain, of wet moss, and took advantage of the quiet moments after the rain to ride. Too bad he had left his horse in the Min's stable, too angry to trust himself. Taehyung had not wanted the risk of riding too fast to leave Yoongi's sardonic grin behind, and perhaps injure himself in the impossible task–because it didn't seem realistic to get rid of the image of that faintly hinted grin or the hoarse voice that had made his tongue quiver.
Taehyung hated Yoongi and had known it well for months, ever since the first rejection had come unexpectedly on his head. Even now, with his feet stuck in the mud and his white shirt glued to his sweaty skin, Taehyung couldn't grasp the meaning of his coldness. They had even a friendly conversation during their first meetings, exchanging without any delay a few glasses of wine around the few chats that public dances allowed. Despite the long-standing friendship between his brother Namjoon and the man as gruff as he was wealthy, Yoongi had never set foot on their estate, at least not when Taehyung was present. He had once mustered up enough courage to ask Namjoon why such a close friend never came to visit him, but Namjoon smiled and shook his head, muttering something about his stupid principles. Except that his brother didn't say it with disdain or in a judgmental tone, he almost seemed to be admiring him from afar.
But that didn't matter, because Taehyung hadn't hated anything or anyone in his life until Yoongi had started stomping on him with his useless refusals. Similarly, Taehyung would have trampled his way home even though by now the mud had been replaced by the mosaic of white and turquoise stones that indicated the path between the gardens to the front door. Their estate was immense, but the Min's was even larger - this was because the Min were even richer than they were.
"Sir, welcome home," the housekeeper who had raised him opened the two doors that separated him from the entrance. Taehyung had never felt so ill-disposed and feared saying the wrong thing to the person who didn't deserve it. So he nodded quickly as a sign of greeting and passed the elderly woman without taking an interest in her day or asking about anything as he usually did. Guilt for his rudeness festered in his contracted chest, and Taehyung couldn't help but be scared of ruining Namjoon’s reputation with his anger. His father would crawl out of his grave to remind him of his duty.
The wooden floor didn't seem to notice his heavy footsteps. Taehyung knew perfectly every corner of that house and knew where he was going, or at least his body knew where he wanted to go. His palms seemed to glue themselves to the door he intended to push so that he could finally enter the studio that had once been his father's and now belonged to Namjoon.
"Were you looking for me?" His brother was sitting behind a desk that looked similar to the one on which Yoongi had leaned back as he was rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time. Taehyung hated him ardently when he made those childish gestures full of contempt toward him. Namjoon had probably noticed the anger that was coloring his cheeks, yet he didn't flinch in the slightest. He had learned the art of calm and patience from their father, something Taehyung had never been able to do partly because he had never been allowed to follow his footsteps.
The small studio was lit by daylight albeit obscured by the towers of books that surrounded every corner occupied the cluttered desk on which Namjoon was writing something. It was monthly income calculation day, and his brother had woken up at dawn to calculate last weeks' earnings and division of salaries. Taehyung blushed with embarrassment as he remembered that among those tallies was the small monthly income he was due for appearing as a member of the contemporary aristocracy. It was a disgrace that the only task that had been handed to him still lay unfinished.
"I know you are working, sir—" Taehyung's voice trembled with discomfort. The cramped space of the studio still reminded him of his father's sternness, and Namjoon was a perfect portrait of that even to the tone of his voice. Neither of them had ever been mean to him; on the contrary, they had spoiled him and treated him with kid gloves because on his shoulders would lie no political responsibility other than that of being a good son and brother. Nevertheless, Taehyung had always felt small before their eyes and within these walls.
"Taehyung," Namjoon smiled without a trace of weariness and then slipped off his glasses and put down his pen, "There is no one with us, you can speak to me freely."
"Excuse me, Namjoon," Taehyung sighed, feeling his shoulders lose the rigidity they had maintained up to that point and relax under his brother's curious glance. "I'm really exhausted and you should probably be the one to say it, but I really want to die right now." He whined like a child before taking off his blue jacket and tossing it onto a nearby tower of books, knocking it over. Namjoon squeaked but said nothing, any objection from him would only be a weapon to remind him of how messy he was.
"How come you want to follow our parents so early into the pit?" He said instead, tearing a sardonic smile from Taehyung's flushed lips. Ever since the death of their parents they had not stopped circling the macabre subject with the silliest of jokes. That was how they managed to overcome two losses that would never be forgotten.
"How come you're friends with Min Yoongi?" Taehyung raised the question again, throwing himself onto a small leather sofa from which he had to knock off some Jane Austen books. "These are mine, you promised me you'd return them after you read them! They're first editions, you can't treat them like any other revenue book!" Taehyung complained but didn't stop himself from throwing them on the ground or resting his foot on them so he could finally take off his bulky, muddy boots.
"Oh, so this is all about Yoongi," Namjoon chuckled then returned to his calculations, "I guess your marriage proposal didn't go through." Taehyung threw his head back until it bumped noisily with the uncomfortable backrest.
"Don't you dare make fun of me!" He resounded through the room next to the sound of the feather on the white paper, "My proposal was perfect, no one could ever say no to me! I went at dawn, waited as per etiquette on the steps of the estate and made my presence known to their housekeeper by saying that I would wait for an audience with Sir Min after his highly respected breakfast," Taehyung recounted every detail, every minute spent waiting for Yoongi who was probably delaying their meeting just to annoy him, "When I was finally let in, I immediately headed to Yoongi's studio without looking for his sister to not disrespect him! I shared the sweetest words with him, I even imitated the speech Knightley gave to Emma to confess his love—"
"Yoongi knows that book," Namjoon interrupted both him and his work, "Didn't you guys engage in your first conversion on the novels you liked the most?" Just as Namjoon raised an eyebrow in reproach, Taehyung closed his eyes.
"Jesus Christ," he implored in a low voice, realizing the grave mistake he had made.
"Did you really use a quote from one of the most beloved books of the moment to the only man, besides the two of us, who appreciates them for their political intent?" Taehyung really wanted to reach his parents underground, "Do you know that Knightley represents the nobility unable to get on with their lives and as a result will be crushed by the emerging middle class, and you used his words to convince Yoongi to let you marry his sister when he is currently facing a legal dispute with a small business that tried to steal a product from him?" Taehyung knew all those things very well, had always known them, yet he had fallen into his own trap and could not even hope that Yoongi had rejected him for ulterior motives because he had accused him of being a sophist due to his foolishness.
"I mean," Taehyung still tried to save himself, "We both know he would have told me no anyway, the last two times I didn't use any books... Yet he always told me no." Namjoon sighed.
"You said you showed up at his estate directly asking to have an audience with him, right?" Taehyung nodded. "He made you wait out of spite, you know that, right?" Taehyung tightened his lips and dodged his brother's amused look.
"You can't be sure."
"Yoongi doesn't eat breakfast." Namjoon gave him the cold shoulder.
"But the point is that even before he saw you, you made such a mistake that upset him. Yoongi is never rude, even to the worst people who try to get into his good graces."
"I don't think anyone has ever gotten into his good graces."
"You are wrong, someone has succeeded and I am among them." Taehyung would have liked to reply but remained speechless. "The point is that you didn't ask about the person directly involved in the proposal, or am I wrong?"
"Eunwoo?" The name sounded almost foreign on his tongue. Yoongi's sister was a beautiful woman whose features reminded him all too much of his gruff brother's. What distinguished them was the pink smile that Taehyung managed to wring from her without any trouble. "I wanted him to understand that I had no disrespectful intentions and that I wouldn't ask to see his sister without his presence–"
"A man in love doesn't think about such things, Taehyung." Namjoon kindly scolded him .
"A gentleman always thinks about protecting the honor of a woman he loves and respects!" Taehyung objected, it was all he had been taught and Namjoon should also know well.
"Sweet brother, you know what I mean, this is the third time you have tried to get Eunwoo's hand without showing in deeds the attachment you show in words."
"Should I by any chance lay hands on her during a dance and force her to marry me so as not to ruin her honor for good?" Taehyung huffed, feeling disgust at himself for that indecent proposal. Yet Namjoon didn't seem impressed.
"Of course, no," he said simply, "But a brother would never give his sister to a man who doesn't even call her by name while begging to marry her. Etiquette is sometimes just an excuse to hide the absence of feelings, and Yoongi knows that."
"What do you mean?" Taehyung whispered, shifting his attention to the nearby window and remembering how that same light had illuminated Yoongi's profile, his cruel words, his amused yet obviously troubled gaze. Perhaps Taehyung wasn't in love with Eunwoo, but he had learned to love her and was sure that no other woman would make him feel that comfortable among his lies. Eunwoo seemed the only one who could understand–and she was the Min heir, the woman whose children would inherit everything since Yoongi had publicly announced that he would never take a wife or procreate children outside of marriage. This had been common knowledge ever since Lady Whistledown had brought it out after yet another season during which Yoongi had rejected no less than twenty-four suitors, one more beautiful and richer than the other.
"You know what I mean," Namjoon intercepted his lost gaze, "And I also know our father wanted our family to ally with the Min’s but you don't have to. I won't make you beg again for a life that would make you miserable."
"How much is it?" Taehyung ignored his brother's good faith.
"What?"
"How much is the debt this month?" He asked without remorse, reading in his brother's dark features an uncertain truth. It had been three years since his father's death and the discovery that the Kims' big business had not been going well for a while. Taehyung wasn't raised to be the centerpiece of that family, but he wasn't going to sit idly by while Namjoon was trying his best to save it.
"You're not the one that has to sort these things out," Namjoon said.
"And you won't be the one to marry a woman you don't love, you already have the weight of the bank on your shoulders and the weight of the farm, let some of the responsibility fall on my shoulders too... I promise you I can do it, I can make you proud of me." Namjoon looked at him sorrowfully, but Taehyung was well aware his eyes and thoughts were elsewhere.
Lady Danbury was an exquisite woman, and her sweet and gentle character had made her popular among the pretentious citizens of London. Her lively spirit was accompanied by an elegance of movement that had left men (and women) of all ranks speechless. Her hand had been contended for by several people, and Lady Whistledown has told of kisses stolen from the lips of women whose names will never be known. It was a somewhat strange society in which Taehyung found himself living, but nothing could tear away from Lady Danbury her charismatic light or eyes full of sincerity. She was one of the few people whose invitations for a cup of hot tea or a boring dance were serenely appreciated.
The truth was that Namjoon can’t stand public gatherings, and despite the importance of his figure, he knew well that not being seen around could only fuel the idea that he was as stern and austere as their late father. None of this was true, but Namjoon exploited the few rumors surrounding his person in that way, even to avoid unhappy meetings with ladies he didn't intend to marry.
The subject had been touched upon several times by his father but never forcefully or cruelly. If Namjoon had married, nothing would have changed for their family. Besides, his brother was still young, and the age for taking a wife was above thirty. Marriages had been flourishing in exorbitant numbers lately, and Taehyung had to witness the sight of young women barely in the prime of life taking the hand of men who could have been their parents. Marriage was a disgusting practice, something repugnant and coercive—but above all, it was a heteronormative construct in which none of the Kim brothers would have wanted to take part.
"My Lord," Lady Danbury joined him at the entrance to the magnificent hall dedicated to the ball, "I am more than happy to have you among us tonight, as you well know this evening is very dear to me since my dear Simon wished to join his elderly godmother." Taehyung returned the smile and lowered his head in respect. He had heard about young Duke Simon and his return just days before the start of the Social Season that would see the debut of the new girls on the market. Taehyung had immediately understood what the Duke's intent was.
"As you well know, it is only a pleasure for me to be here and I hope to make the Duke's acquaintance soon." The lies slipped like caresses from his tongue. The woman looked at him circumspectly, as if in her heart she knew they were both putting on a funny act. The whole world in which they found themselves forced to live was a dramatic play without divisions into acts or conclusions.
"A pity your brother couldn't join us," She added with polite regret and Taehyung twisted his lips as if to pity her.
"I admit that I am indeed fortunate to have been born second, I do not think I am made for the responsibilities from which my brother never manages to escape," He chuckled before taking Lady Danbury's hand and brushing the back of it against his lips. "But I assure you that Lord Kim sends you his kindest regards and hopes to join you next week for tea, if that should not inconvenience you, of course."
"By all means!" She replied, sliding her hand away from Taehyung's delicate grip. "To see him would be a joy, that boy is getting thinner and thinner. If your mother saw him, she would scold all the women in London for not feeding him enough." At that moment Taehyung didn't smile out of pure politeness; on the contrary. The memory of his mother enveloped him like a warm blanket and he remembered why he liked Lady Danbury so much. His mother had liked her, too, just as he had liked her sad story that had led her from being a submissive wife to becoming a widow who had never felt the obligation to put herself back in a cage.
"You are absolutely right." He agreed, realizing that other nobles had stopped at the entrance to get the same reveries. "But now I will leave you to your guests; I would never wish to create jealousy among them." His mischievous joke drew a sincere laugh from Lady Danbury, who greeted him just as politely before joining another member of their company.
Now that Taehyung had been left to his own devices, he could admire the interior of one of his favorite halls. Balls were certainly boring and full of social pressures, but Taehyung loved things that sparkled - gold on the walls, diamonds falling from the chandeliers, and carpets woven with silver threads dyed antique pink. The taste of the lady of the house was expensive but not excessive, although Taehyung preferred the midnight blue interiors of the Min house. Perhaps Yoongi was an impossible man to relate to, but he had taste–it couldn't have been Eunwoo who chose those colors because she had confessed it to him during one of their brief conversations. She loved red.
Now that Eunwoo's name had pierced his mind, Taehyung sought her presence among the small groups of people who had scattered to the corners of the hall. He hoped to get Eunwoo's hand for the first dance and, if he was lucky enough, for the second and third dances as well. He would prove to Yoongi that despite humiliation and crushed pride, Kim Taehyung wasn’t someone who gave up.
To think that during their first meeting Yoongi had been kind to him, funny, charming–Taehyung shook his head to get rid of a strange chill that was running down his spine. The weird sensation seemed to come from his shoulders, and Taehyung almost seemed to grasp why. He immediately turned around, thinking he would find Yoongi's eyes glued to his burgundy suit, but there was no one there except a group of pink and yellow satin girls hiding their obvious glances behind some feather fans. Taehyung smiled politely, getting a few squeaks and red cheeks in response. Had he been a different man, he would have approached to make their evening memorable, but Taehyung didn't like to delude anyone.
"There you are, my Lord, I have been waiting for you for a while." His head almost spun at having to turn around again and meeting Eunwoo's eyes. The latter was splendid, as always. She wore a simple turquoise dress with a white lace bodice and pretty short puffed sleeves that showed off her slender arms. Her pink lips and cheeks were accompanied by a simple hairstyle that held her long black hair in a bun decorated with pearl clips.
"You look—stunning." Taehyung was speechless, and what also struck him was the realization that Eunwoo could be none other than Yoongi's sister. She possessed all his most beautiful features, the pouty mouth and button nose. The cut of her eyes was slightly different, they didn't remind him of the country cat he played with as a child, and even her lips, though the same, were somehow distant because they were bent into a happy smile that Taehyung had never had the chance to see on Yoongi's hard face. Who knew if anyone had ever seen it, if anyone had ever had that honor, if Yoongi was capable of laughing at all.
"Did I really leave you speechless?" Eunwoo laughed, hiding her mouth with her hand wrapped in a glove of the same shiny fabric as her skirt. Her beauty had been snatched from the pages of some book Taehyung had never paid his attention to.
"Yes, can you hardly believe it?" Taehyung leaned forward hoping that Eunwoo would allow him to kiss her hand in greeting, and the answer was not long in coming. Their gazes crossed just before Taehyung could kiss her precious glove. "There is not a time when your beauty doesn’t take my breath away."
"Now you're just trying to seduce me," She took her hand away as if to punish him but nothing in her eyes suggested malice or annoyance.
"I think you have already been declared the winner on that front."
Taehyung didn't think he was a vain man, at least no more than anyone born in that morally forgotten place, but he was still sure that Eunwoo's heart was his. Winning her over had been as simple as it was natural. Perhaps that knowledge made him an antagonist in someone's eyes, probably it was so for the judgment of the one person that made it impossible to proclaim his victory.
"You and your arrogance," Eunwoo huffed but the smile didn't fade, almost confirming that he was right. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so you could convince my brother." Shame assailed Taehyung's shoulders, lowering them slightly. Obviously Eunwoo knew of his unsuccessful attempts; he would never allow himself to propose without having his future wife's consent. A few nights earlier, after brushing her jaw with his lips, he had promised her that their first kiss would take place under Yoongi's blessing. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen.
"I almost hoped that tonight we would have something to announce, I almost—" But Eunwoo fell silent and took a step back, realizing the curious eyes oblivious to the events. At least Yoongi had been kind enough not to make his constant refusals public, consequently Taehyung and Eunwoo couldn't be caught in compromising positions.
"Me too, Lady Min." Taehyung said sincerely, feeling his tongue burn at pronouncing that coveted surname. "It brings me extreme pain not to be able to fulfill your wishes, not to be able to take you by the hand and tell everyone here that–"
"My wishes?" Eunwoo interrupted him, furrowing her brow. "Are they only mine?"
"No!" Taehyung hastened to say, regretting his foolish mistake, "I misspoke, I didn't mean to imply–you know well how dear you are to me, how long I have been struggling to have you, respecting etiquette and customs, without letting your brother scare me."
"I don't know anything, my Lord," Eunwoo twisted her lips, turning her attention elsewhere, "I only know that your words are very beautiful but there is no ring around my finger," A bitter smile escaped her, "You must excuse me—I am not questioning your feelings, I would never dare, I know well how hard you are trying.... But sometimes, sometimes Taehyung—" The latter widened his eyes, hoping that no one had heard her say his name so informally, "Sometimes I wish you would stop your manners and make me yours, but I know very well that this would not bring honor to either of us. Besides, it would destroy my brother." Eunwoo sighed as he lowered his eyes to the floor. Taehyung felt his palms sweating, he would never go that far to get married, he would never put his family at risk for a marriage union.
"I don't know what to say to you, how to console you, but I can promise you that I will not give up and I can promise you that I will never stop asking for your hand... however, at the moment you could give me your first dance of the evening." Taehyung tried to remedy the abrupt turn their conversation had taken, but Eunwoo's regret deepened.
"My—my brother introduced me to the Duke, the two of them are old friends, and that's why he wished my first dance to be with him." The girl's rapid stammering didn't touch Taehyung. What filled him with anger was something else, the same thing that made the rare wrinkles on his face evident to the point of disfiguring his docile beauty. Ruining Taehyung's good and patient character, his mask masterfully woven from London's best precepts, was once again Min Yoongi.
"I see." Taehyung uttered that word like a hiss and that was enough from leaving Eunwoo speechless. "You should not feel guilty because of me, as you said there is no ring to unite us and your brother is intent on making sure that things do not change." The matter-of-fact smile disguised the harshness of those words as did the brief bow Taehyung made before walking away from Eunwoo, leaving her behind without even giving her any chance to reassure him. There was nothing to reassure, not his apathetic heart or his family's economy in free fall.
The ballroom seemed to have suddenly filled to the brim and Taehyung hoped he hadn’t been too obvious with his anger. He walked swiftly among the people but his shoulders were still relaxed despite the fact that he was quivering with the urge to close his fingers into a fist and go in search of the man who was making him feel insignificant. He had spent his life around people who had taught him how marginal his role was, how unimportant he was within that silly society, and now he found himself taking on a role of which Yoongi fully recognized he was not worthy. Not him, an odd second son who could offer nothing to London's most desired heiress. If the stories were true, it would have taken the duke little time to win Eunwoo's heart and Yoongi's consent.
The wound of that loss already burned deeply, and although the truth was that he didn't love Eunwoo (he could never love her), Taehyung knew that no woman would bring him closer to happiness than her. In the end he didn't ask for much, just someone to hold his hand when public occasions became stifling and perhaps someone to smile at on the coldest nights. Taehyung had no expectations; he had learned not to have any. The only thing he would ask Namjoon would be to look after their lands if Eunwoo would allow him to.
"Sir!" Taehyung had to abruptly stop his walk, stopped by an abrupt encounter with a young woman. The latter had come to him involuntarily, also fleeing from who knows what danger coming from that gold-decorated hall. "Sir, I am mortified!" The girl sported blue eyes veiled with tears. Her blond hair placed her in stark contrast to Eunwoo, but that didn't make her any less beautiful.
"You don't have to apologize, I was also walking without looking where I was going." Taehyung felt anger slip from his fingers; he couldn't take it out on a stranger, especially someone who already appeared upset. "Excuse me for intruding but you seem troubled, can I help you in any way?" The woman looked over her shoulder quickly and Taehyung noticed a man watching them intently. He could have been around his deceased father's age. "Disgusting." Taehyung said in a low voice, unable to contain himself.
"No, please, I don't want—I don't need any scandal! I only joined the society a few days ago." The woman clung to Taehyung's sleeve and then drew back. That gesture almost moved him. She was a child navigating the wolves' den.
"I would never dare, unfortunately we both know how this world goes on." Taehyung turned a gentle smile on her. "If you need my company to keep him away, do not refrain from asking me."
"I–I am flattered, thank you, sir." Taehyung blushed at being called that, generally it was a title addressed to Namjoon. "But I finally caught a glimpse of my brother, and I would never want to interrupt your evening."
"Never, the cause would have been more than fair..." Taehyung didn't know how to continue the conversation. He still needed to get some air before the dancing began and was forced to watch Eunwoo in the arms of another.
"My name is Daphne," the young stranger pressed him, "And you would be?"
"Kim Taehyung," he introduced himself, remembering from the girl's name who she might be. She was probably the Daphne Bridgerton whom Lady Whistledown had honored in her last booklet. She was the Queen's protégée; everyone had high expectations of her future marriage. Taehyung couldn't give her more than seventeen years.
"Oh." But there it was, the look of pity. Daphne lowered her gaze as if caught in the act and blushed. She knew well who Kim Taehyung was, and she knew well that a second son wouldn't bring her the favor of the Queen. "You must—you must excuse me." But she didn't even know what was apologizing for.
"There is nothing to apologize for." Taehyung replied, feeling his heart tighten. Another small bow closed another conversation that had left him with a tear in the center of his chest. His hatred for Yoongi was a systematic feeling, an annoyance he felt toward the whole system that was constantly tormenting him by making him feel like an outcast. The people who spoke to him, who surrounded him, who looked at him with Daphne's eyes were nothing but masks and pawns in a game of static and boring rules. There was nothing real about that world, but Taehyung was tired of playing on the bench or waiting for someone to get tired and the game to stop.
After he started walking again, it was easy to leave the hall, remaining very careful not to encounter any more checkers or men who would try to humiliate him. The last corridor dividing him from outside the Danbury estate was walked with feverish eagerness, no one to interrupt him. They were all gathered in the ballroom, no one would miss the start of the dancing and the opportunity to feign interest in someone. Even Taehyung was pretending, after all. Initially he had even regretted it, blamed himself for it, but if everyone somehow assumed a mask and pretended to love their wives or husbands, what was so different about Taehyung's actions?
The guilt faded as the warmth from inside the estate did. Finally his damp skin was caressed by the temperatures of the early autumn evenings. Taehyung took a deep breath and the first buttons of his jacket before starting to walk again, following the small pathway that would lead him into the gardens behind the building. There were few lights in that area, but the large windows of the ballroom managed to bring the light from inside all the way in, helping Taehyung move through the darkness. His precious black leather shoes made no noise on the neatly mowed grass, and the further he continued forward, the more the music of the violins quieted down. Taehyung knew that silence was something impossible to achieve, yet he tried anyway.
In front of him was a small pink marble fountain that looked like a simple gray in the moonlight. Water gushed slowly from the small central statue, a putto crying salt water for the small transparent fish swimming inside the stone basin. Taehyung approached in the hope that he could dip his fingers boiling with anger into it and finally feel some coolness that would cheer his nerves overwhelmed by the whole situation.
Public events made Namjoon anxious; meanwhile they made Taehyung disgusted and upset. It was as if the bile in his stomach built up with every dance step and then burned inside his throat with every conversation. That was what happened to people who lived a lie but failed to find themselves well.
His fingers slid over the cold stone retracing the outline of the fountain, of what he could reach without any more effort to walk. He felt his knees weaken and the air penetrate his lungs. So Taehyung closed his eyes, lulled by the apparent calm of that garden and hoping that the evening would end as quickly as possible. He had fifteen minutes to recover and return inside, ready to apologize to Eunwoo for his mistake and then beg her to grant him a dance.
"I thought you were a little arrogant but not cruel."
Taehyung snapped his eyes open again and then held on with all his might to the fountain. Waiting for him a few steps away was the person to whom that very low voice belonged. Yoongi was staring at him with his face dimly lit by the meager lights outside, yet Taehyung was almost certain that the same shadows would trace his features even in the sunshine. Yoongi was angry, perhaps angrier than Taehyung had been when he had left the ballroom behind him. It was the first time they had met since Yoongi had veiledly insulted him by rejecting Taehyung’s third and futile attempt to gain his consent. The tension between them didn't have the flavor of the comfort of their first conversations, when Taehyung was alone in searching for a friend in the midst of the crowd.
"My Lord, I don't know what you are talking about," Taehyung said slowly, chewing through his teeth all the absurd etiquette that compelled him to remain the gentleman he always was, "If I have done anything to cause you regret, I apologize in the hope that I will not repeat my foolish mistake in the future."
Yoongi was beautiful. It wasn't strange to think so, even at such a time. He was the same height as his sister, but his shoulders were much broader and his chest was barely tightened by his black shirt. Fully dressed in black, as always, Yoongi looked more like a shadow plucked out of one of his nightmares than a person.
"Stop addressing me in that tone, as if you were superior to me." Yoongi took a step forward. Taehyung was speechless once again, noticing how the man was finally breaking down and losing his absurd mask. This wasn't a sight that could be seen every day, not among the nobles, not among them.
"I thought it was the other way around, my Lord." Taehyung didn't miss an opportunity to mock him, to remark in a nasal voice about that noble title that made Yoongi better than him. "I thought being born a few years after Namjoon made me an abomination to be seen next to your sister." Any cordial tone was lost, and Yoongi seemed almost pleased as he arched an eyebrow.
"If you want to insult me you'll have to raise your voice a little higher, I can't hear you from so far away." Yoongi knew just what buttons to touch, how to anger the animal that was hidden in Taehyung.
"Oh, should I be the one to come before you as just another servant?" Taehyung gritted his teeth, "Do you think that because I hold no inheritance then I should be treated like a slave?"
"Didn't I predict that you would beg me on your knees?" Surprisingly, it was Yoongi who stepped closer, the lights making his majestic figure even clearer. A step away from Taehyung, Yoongi made him afraid–it was a dreadful feeling, a feeling that squeezed Taehyung inside and made his bones vibrate. A feeling that made him weak. Like an actual slave.
"I would only do that for your sister, the woman who—"
"The woman you left crying in the middle of the room?" Yoongi was quick, so quick that Taehyung couldn't even hold his breath to keep his nose from breathing in the other's scent. Yoongi's hand closed around the middle of his blouse to roughly pull Taehyung towards himself. "Don't you ever, ever dare to hurt her again or I swear—"
"What do you swear? That you'll never let me see her again? We're almost there, shortly you'll throw her into the arms of a duke she neither loves nor knows simply to get rid of the stupid secondborn." Taehyung smiled, almost sadistically, against Yoongi's terrified gaze. "You nobles and your fear of freedom, your fear of discovering that you are all the same in condemning these girls."
"You made the one person I love on this piece of land cry, and I'm the villain?" Yoongi squeezed his hand even tighter around the burgundy silk, the warmth of his proximity causing Taehyung's head to spin. "How many fucking books have you read to not realize that at this very moment you are the one in the wrong? Or do you have this perfect image of yourself beyond which you can't see?" Taehyung didn't think anymore before acting. He couldn't think.
"I fucking hate you!" He yelled before pushing him off of himself, away from his exhausted skin, away from the thoughts that plagued him day and night. Yoongi was caught off guard by the fierce push but he didn't fall, regaining his balance by clinging to the fountain. "Who do you think you are to tell me these things? You think you know me after two conversations? No one knows me, least of all you, you wouldn't have any–"
"Right?" Yoongi laughed, "Again with your stupid arrogance."
"I'm not arrogant, I'm not like you!"
"And what are you, Taehyung? You're not a firstborn, you're not an arrogant man, you're not like the other nobles, you're not Eunwoo's future husband—" Taehyung didn't mean to hit him, he didn't mean to hurt him. Or maybe he did, maybe that was what he was trying to avoid every time he left his studio with his cheeks on fire and maybe he had run away from the party to avoid crossing him and ruining himself forever. None of that stopped him in that moment, nothing could have stopped the slap Taehyung gave him, making his head completely turn to one side.
His hand burned painfully, as if he had received the slap himself. His breath had caught in his throat, and a strange stillness ran through his whole body. Instead, Yoongi didn't move, didn't react fiercely or violently. His face was still turned away, yet Taehyung could easily catch a glimpse of the devilish grin that bloomed below the cheek flushed by the blow. That grin should have rekindled Taehyung's anger, but the latter couldn't overcome the numbing sensation that had enveloped his hand. Due to that reckless act, Yoongi would never allow him to marry Eunwoo and his reputation would collapse.
"I'm sorry." Taehyung whispered in a broken voice even though it was an obvious lie. Only at that point did Yoongi take a deep breath and turn toward him. His eyes were even darker.
"Really?" Yoongi asked curiously, massaging his aching cheek from which Taehyung couldn't tear his eyes away. That red spot had been his doing, and he could swear he hadn't even used much energy. Yoongi's skin must have been–sensitive, so sensitive that it was easily marked. The thought made him shiver. "I think you've never been honest until tonight," Yoongi had wasted no time in making himself close again, forcing Taehyung back, "Are you shaking like a leaf because you know you've been found out or because you fear me? What are you afraid of, Taehyung? The fact that I have your fate in my hands? I could make anything of you, I could crush you under my feet and no one—no one—would dare question me." Taehyung was breathless. The earlier violence, the courage that had driven him to act, had dissolved against Yoongi's cheek.
"Namjoon wouldn't be pleased, he would question—"
"Using your brother to save yourself disappoints me, and you've disappointed me a few times already Taehyung. Don't make it worse." Yoongi sighed against his face. Taehyung opened his mouth to counter but couldn't, he couldn't decline his vocal cords in any way. Yoongi had never been so real, even during their first cordial conversations.
"I don't understand what I have done to you, what I could ever do to be despised so much by you." He breathed slowly. "You were always polite to me, I would dare to even call you kind, until—"
"Until you let me down." Yoongi finally took a step back, as if he also needed to come up for air. Taehyung felt the chill of the evening penetrate his bones as a new group of strings began to play the music of the evening's second dance. It felt like a distant event, forgotten along the way.
"And how would I have failed you?" Taehyung broke eye contact for a few seconds. He felt ashamed of the situation, hated himself for the way he had exploded, and yet he couldn't tear it out of his head that Yoongi was right–he had never been more genuine than in that moment.
"You have behaved like any men of London, like any men of the nation, showing extreme arrogance in demanding my sister's hand."
"Does my social background disgust you so much? Is there arrogance in being second-born and wanting to be happy anyway?" Yoongi was suddenly close to him, as he had been already, and Taehyung couldn't hold back a gasp.
"Who do you think you're talking to, Taehyung? One of those decaying old men who want to fuck underage girls and impregnate them to steal their dowry? Or their title? Do you by any chance want to compare me to everything we hate but seem to wallow in blissfully? This is worse than a slap in the face."
"Then what's the problem? If my role in society does not create discomfort for you, why do you deny me the only path to happiness?" Taehyung resumed struggling, ignited by Yoongi's closeness, by his scent going to his head, by the way his cheek had felt so soft under his frozen hand. Men were not supposed to be soft, pink, beautiful.
"The problem is that Eunwoo would never make you happy and you could never make her happy as well." Yoongi said it as naturally as if all he had to do was dig through Taehyung's living bones, through his still throbbing organs, to finally glimpse the truth. "I don't even want to hear the reason for your lies and generally I would have ignored the matter, but no one dares to fool my sister. I don't care that you are Namjoon's brother."
"I'm not fooling her!" Taehyung said with despair realizing that Yoongi's refulsals had a right reason, that Yoongi was far too smart to not realize that Taehyung was lying. It was a losing battle but Taehyung wouldn't give up.
"No? And what about Lady Bridgerton?" Yoongi asked with a hiss. "You are so in love my sister but meeting the new heiress was enough to smile like that, I guess the young lady was impressed as well, I dare anyone to refuse you." The tone was sarcastic, biting, but Taehyung was confused. He didn't or couldn't understand the connection between all those words.
"I just tried to be nice! Daphne was trying to escape from an annoying suitor and I just reassured her—"
"Daphne?" Yoongi interrupted him by clicking his tongue. "You even call her by her name, by now there is a very good degree of confidence, all you have to do is caress her at the end of the party and then she will have to marry you."
"You are insulting me! I would never dare to do such a thing, how dare you just insinuate that." Taehyung was exhausted, not wanting to hear any more accusations. His pride seemed to disappear under Yoongi's unreadable eyes.
"Go ahead and lie to yourself, Taehyung," Yoongi replied, "I've been far too polite to you and I'll forget about the slap just for your brother, but otherwise–forget my sister. I'm not a man who repeats himself over and over. You might have been a poor man as far as I'm concerned, but my sister will not marry a liar." Yoongi's words were well weighed and thought out, as if he had repeated them before. Perhaps that was what he was going to tell him at the next fallacious proposal, perhaps he usually wrote down in a notebook all the cruel things that would break Taehyung's heart.
When the silence was too heavy to be supported any further, Yoongi took another step back, a short bow, and then turned and retrieved the path that would take him inside a world where Taehyung would never belong.
"I'm in love with Eunwoo." Taehyung shouted as a cello reached its highest note. The confession was such that it interrupted Yoongi's retreating steps. "I love her, I truly love her as I can never love any woman, and I swear to you, I swear to you that no one outside of her could make me happy, and I swear to you that I will do anything to make her happy." It was a bunch of lies, one after another stitched together with the most precious fears. Maybe something was true, maybe something was not entirely false—probably Taehyung wouldn't feel safe with another woman.
Among the many maybes that were coiling around guilt, Taehyung didn't consider Yoongi's reaction. The man had been petrified, almost stunned by Taehyung's unrestrained statement, yet a slap would have hurt less because when Yoongi turned to him again, something had evidently changed. The air, the weather, their blood had stopped moving and the red of the slap had been replaced by the pallor of the moonlit skin that looked at them questioningly. Taehyung couldn't understand which secret was hidden between the frown lines and the taut jaw. Yoongi looked ready to fight, ready to unsheathe a weapon and pierce Taehyung's head—he thought about it, dreaded it when he saw him pick up the pace in his direction but when Yoongi planted his feet a step away from him, that's when the strangest thing, the most unreal thing, the most sincere thing happened.
Yoongi kissed him on the lips and Taehyung—Taehyung pressed himself against him in the blink of an eye. A slap, that's what that kiss was supposed to be, a slap on his putrid mouth full of lies. But it didn't hurt, not a bit . It had to be an injustice, and Taehyung recognized that night that injustices taste like the wine that Lady Danbury offers at the entrance to her estate and that Yoongi had to drink in one gulp as he watched him kiss Daphne's elegant hand. It was easy to get lost in that acrid taste, in the bubbles of a dream that couldn't be their reality. No, absolutely not, Yoongi's hand on the back of his neck and the other clinging to his trembling hip was supposed to be a game, a game gone wrong but one in which Taehyung wanted to participate.
Their lips parted like two sunflowers under the moon, a blasphemy, and their tongues were not slow to meet. The coldness of the water, of Yoongi's words, of the sleepless night was overwhelmed by all the brighter colors that were now bursting inside Taehyung's stomach until he started trembling with desire. It was no longer the cold that made him ill, but the desire to have Yoongi against him, around him, under his skin. He no longer wanted to let go, and that thought was frightening but arousing—Taehyung had never felt so alive until Min Yoongi had kissed him.
A kiss of life, that must have been, and maybe Taehyung was really meant to fall at his knees to worship him as the god who had restored his life. For now he wouldn't think about it, for now he would let Yoongi's lips move softly and impetuously and jealously and possessively against his own—and he would let Yoongi push him against the fountain, let it hurt at the level of his hips, let his hands pull at Yoong’s hair, and then, and then, and then he would allow his own hands to take Yoongi by the belt, to feel him against his own groin, to rip off a button of his stupid black blouse and stick his cold fingers all the way through, right in the center of his chest.
Yoongi bit his lips as if to punish him, and yet they both moaned, both whined about too little. Arrogant, greedy, hopeless. Theirs was a sin that London wouldn't forgive them, but Taehyung was tired of pretending to be a saint.
"Do you, Taehyung?" Yoongi parted from him in a second, breathing into his mouth, never letting go. "Do you love her?" Their lips brushed once again but it felt like waking up from a dream. "Tell me how much you love her when your lips are saying something else. Be loud and yell at me like your body is already doing." Taehyung felt the tears of humiliation overtake and rest on his long eyelashes. His mouth was still open and time still seemed to have frozen to give the two a chance not to waste. Taehyung wanted to kiss him again, wanted—wanted and wanted again, and though his pride begged him to give up on Yoongi's challenge, Taehyung leaned forward to plead for that more that would have no end.
It was Yoongi who turned his face as when he had been slapped–but it was Taehyung who felt that blow right in his face.
"This is the reason why I cannot let you marry my sister."
The kiss had dulled Taehyung's senses and erased the coldness felt in his fingertips—and had made him immune to any other presence but that of Yoongi's lips that now appeared red under the moonlight. Surprise swept over him in waves as he failed to realize how that kiss was a confession to a crime Taehyung had hoped he would never commit. But sin had shaped his body making him as beautiful as a god but as sick, rotten inside, as any mortal. Yoongi understood what lurked between his perfect features, and the throbbing of their lips was just proof of that.
Taehyung didn't know if it was legitimate to speak, to cleanse his tongue with his saliva to remove Yoongi's taste altogether. Namjoon had once told him that when two people kissed, the other person's DNA remained in the body of its recipient for six months. Yoongi would stay inside his gut for that long until even his blood would forget him, digest him. Just thinking about it again made it difficult for him to catch a breath of air.
"Don't go." Taehyung said but didn't even realize the pleading, subtle tone in which he found himself speaking. Yoongi couldn't hear him, not as he was already about to leave and disguise himself in the building that now looked aberrant with all those people Taehyung despised. "Don't go?" Taehyung now asked himself as if the novel of his life was opening at that moment after a long and exhausting introduction. His last twenty-three years had been like Jane Eyre's, and although fate seemed to have been kinder to him, Taehyung saw in Yoongi's walk the arrival of something that would title the novel of his life.
He had a chance to stop, to refuse to go any further, to hide that curse under the covers of his bed. But Taehyung's feet moved before his tongue could even say anything else, and his hand reached out gracefully to take Yoongi by the wrist. A simple touch was all he needed to stop the man who had turned his back on him after giving him the awakening kiss. Yoongi stopped without being forced and looked over his shoulder at him with his eyes narrowed into two frightening slits.
"I don't want to—stop." Taehyung confessed with heavy breathing and glazed eyes. In those few words lurked the secret of a lifetime; in that plea was the treble clef to that composition he had never dared to play again.
"And what will you do, Kim Taehyung?" His name came out like a curse of the mouth that had passionately kissed him not long before. "Will you come at dawn under my estate and talk to my father's headstone to get my hand?" The tone was sarcastic, biting as usual, but Taehyung nevertheless read in it an unseen bitterness that he didn't think Yoongi could possess.
"I could kiss you on your father's tombstone," Taehyung had the ardor to say, "If that is what you wish, if you will allow me to kiss you again—"
"Was that all it took for you to surrender?" Yoongi's fingers slipped out of Taehyung's grasp only to hold him of his own accord. "If I had known I would have fucked you in my father's studio. I'm sure he would have appreciated that kind of profanity." Taehyung squinted at the suggestion.
"I—" Taehyung stammered, as innocent as the orchids that were blooming nearby, "I never—I don't know how—"
Yoongi sneered.
"Are you seriously considering this? Would you hand me over your innocence if I asked for it?"
"V—Virginity is an imaginary construct of our society and is also a symbol of the patriarchy steeped in misogyny, it makes men believe that they have the power to possess a woman because of a simple biological event—"
Yoongi brought Taehyung's wrist to his face, stroking his sensitive skin with his nose. Taehyung was entranced; it was as if Yoongi was tasting his skin without using his tongue.
"While I agree with you, I am afraid that if I touched you like that, if I carried on this biological event," Taehyung felt his cheeks flush with shame, "You would become mine."
And Taehyung wondered how—how wrong it would be to become Min Yoongi's.