[UNEDITED]

[ 1 week before the contract gets signed ]

"He'll be here soon," Min Yoongi's mother sits across from me. I can see the sweat at her clammy hands from where I awkwardly slouch next to my parents. There is tension from all corners of the living room I'm forced to sit down in, waiting and waiting for my future fiancée.

My voice is small when I speak, "...if he doesn't want this, maybe we shouldn't-"

"Oh, no no. Of course he does," Min Yoongi's mother trails out. Her voice is slightly high from panic as she consistently looks to the house's door. I can see the man next to the distraught woman, Yoongi's father, also starting to get impatient as he types wildly into his cellphone. I presume they're trying to get hold of the man that is late for this anticipated meeting.

I sulk further. I want to tell them that I myself, am not ready. I myself don't want this. I myself, may be on the same boat as Min Yoongi who didn't even care to show up on time. I have a life of my own, I've built what I can on my own - but I guess none of that matters.

"And our girl here wants this as well," my mother lies, making me forcefully smile over at the parents that sit across from me. My dad laughs, agreeing with my mother, "Yes. We told her two weeks back and she was more than excited."

My nose scrunches at the memory of them telling me.
I was no way close to being excited, rather just consumed from shock.

.

"I...I've got a boyfriend! I can't just marry some idol because you two promised his family my hand when I was a child! I barely met him, he seemed more interested in his piano than me - or any other girl for that matter!"

My mother smiled, her eyes sparkling from worried hope. "But ah, you see! You used to love playing piano too! If I look back, it's obvious his love from piano probably started from seeing you play!" She claps her hands, begging with her eyes. "This is perfect! He's perfect for you!"

"I've got a boyfriend!" I yelled, my eyes starting to tear up. "I'm a 24 year old woman! I've been taking care of myself all these years, I don't need some rich boy to suddenly swoop me off my feet, I-"

"Don't be selfish," my father finally spits, angry, "We've got a great opportunity to have you married into a stable and rich household. You'll never have to worry again, nor will we have to be scared for you paying your house's fee alone. You'll have a husband to do it for you."

My chest flared, eyes weak, and jaw angry as it clenched.
At the end of all accomplishments, all I did for myself, in their eyes I'd always be a delicate flower that needed caring - I'll always be just a girl.

.

I jump away from my memories. Blinking and hearing my parents nervously chuckle, I notice my mother whisper down at me. "Aren't you happy about this?" she asks, and I stare at her smiling and trying to ease the tensions in the room.

About to say a flat-out, 'NO', my brave attempts are pushed underway when the door opens. His parents are already up to their feet, breathy chuckling, and mine follow as well. Now, everyone's on their feet apart for me. All I do is stick my head away from the shadow's of my mother's figure so I can see the distorted man who enters with an apology ringing off his tongue.

I hear the deep voice.
My heart shakes a little in my chest and I look away, like a child, I hide behind the shield of my mother's pants.

My chest is heaving, I look down to my thighs that are bare. I clutch them tighter together, my dress sinks at my chest the more I curl into a pathetic circle by my spine. My hair hides my face and I allow it, trying to stare at different aspects for escape, but failing when realizing that there is none other than one.

And that one is where Min Yoongi finally enters from.

I can hear him awkwardly greet my parents. He doesn't want this, I can hear it from just his bored tone. "I'm sorry I was late," he says, but we all know he isn't sorry.

I grit my teeth, straighten my backbone, and slap my internal thoughts for making me so tiny around the subjects around. I hold my own, I hold strong, and I finally catch the eyes of the man who now stands to politely greet his parents. They whisper to each other as everyone starts to sit. I'm not moving, I'm too busy in my awe of the man in real, and in front of me.

He's in washed-up jeans that look to be ripped. An oversized jacket drapes him, a white shirt covering his torso. His fingers, wrists, and neck are covered in gold jewelry, and the light dying of his hair starts to look white and blue. It takes me a while to adjust from the pastel of his hair, to the paling of his skin. His eyes are dark, his mouth is in a crisp line, and there is no humor or kindness I see. Not in first glance anyway.

My eyes soften,
My breath catches in my throat,
- all for when he finally looks back at me.

He stares at me for a long while as our parents start to excitedly chat. Suddenly, the tension is away from the adults and on both of us. His eyes trail my face that starts to heat up from his glances, then to my outfit, my legs, and then back to my face. When he catches my eyes that melt to his dark ones, I see him slowly nod his head.

Min Yoongi acknowledges me with a nod.
I don't nod back, I look away.

I can see he's still staring.

"He's was so excited himself, aren't you Yoongi-ah?" His father slaps his back. The idol scoots forward with wide eyes, almost falling off to the ground. Clearing his throat, staring at his parents and then mine, Yoongi answers, "Y-Yes..."

My eyes narrow at that. I read into his lie. Yoongi looks to me, seeing my expression, and now he's the one looking awkwardly away.

"How excited?" I ask through clenched teeth.

My mother nervously laughs, shushes me, and instantly catches Yoongi's eyes away from mine. She praises him, asks him about his busy schedule, and puts him on a throne I expected. "It must be so hard for you to come down from work...being a busy celebrity but still coming to meet my daughter, how sweet of you."

I can see he's starting to get flustered. His voice is smaller than mine as he says, "I had a few days off that I requested." Then he smiles and tries to be respectful. The smile falls when he looks to me, trying a conversation, "What about you? Did you have any work to-"

"Oh, she doesn't work," my father instantly coos in before I can even open my mouth.

I glare at my father, whispering over frustrated, "I'm a successful writer." He doesn't care to hear me.

Min Yoongi's mother notices my glare as she suggests, "Why don't we have the children talk alone? Yoongi-ah, take her for a tour of your old room? I'm sure she'd love to see where the two of you used to play at when you were young."

My eyes widen.
Yoongi tenses, now he was the one to glare at his mother.

His father pats his back again and Yoongi successfully falls forward. Getting to his feet, his pale skin starts to redden. "Fine," he mumbles, forcing on a tight smile as he glances towards me.

I feel under pressure. All eyes stare at me.

Not wanting to be pushed off and embarrassed like Yoongi was, I stand to my feet, play my fingers in tangles below my chest, and move around the coffee table that holds treats that weren't touched yet. Every step I take towards Yoongi seems to be a dragging nightmare, my eyes fix on the ground or my parents who seem to be holding their breath; watching me and alarmed for me saying or doing the wrong thing that might screw this up.

Side-glancing at the sleeve of his hoodie, Yoongi waits as I near him before completely starting to move again. Just when I thought I could do this, his father scolds, "And no funny business. Wait until you've gotten married."

I wish to turn around and run in to punch everyone out, closed-fist-style. But I don't't. I just awkwardly freeze at the stairs and look to Yoongi who shuts his eyes in defeat.

"Inappropriate," Yoongi sings low under his breath, shaking his head and ushering his hand to the stairs. He finally catches my eyes staring at him as he mumbles, "Ladies first." There is nothing gentleman-like about the way he says it, as if I'm a burden he's trying to get a move-on with.

I don't say anything to him. I follow his hand's direction, walking up the same stairs that used to look so small to me when I was younger. He follows me slowly, the heaviness of his feet being heard more than mine as we walk up.

Turning when I get to the top, my cheeks heat up, eyes sinking away embarrassed when almost crashing to his chest. He says nothing but curse under his breath, sniffing in my scent for a second before walking around me and down the hallway. He walks cooly, I try to mimic it as I follow him but fail.

"This is a hallway," he boredly points at where we walk.

"That's a room down there," he points to the master room, then he freezes in his spot and I almost crash into him again. Almost. "There's another room down there," he points past my shoulder, "and mine here," his eyes are lazy as he stares at me, "and look, what a surprise, a bathroom over there!" His voice is irritated as he slams the bedroom door to his old room open.

I jump a little, watching him walk in.

I haven't said a word yet, just watching him look around the tiny room that has darker walls of paint in some corner. "...behold, you're about to enter your worst nightmare. A struggling teenager's room," he curses, looking around in amazement himself, "How I hate staying here for long time, so let's hurry it in here and get back downstairs."

I walk in. I stare at the small bed, the dresser that is neatly tucked to a corner, and scraps of paper line at his mirror in the room. There are markings and words, little dabbles of phrases on the sheets, but I can't get close to read it enough so I lonesomely stare at a Tupac poster he has pinned by the mirror.

It is clear I never came in the room when Min Yoongi became a teenager,
there were clear changes.

I stare at the man's eyes in the poster, I stare for a long while before hearing a, "You like Tupac?" from behind me. Turning, I go from the dimensions of the poster-eyes to the dark ones that Yoongi holds.

We're both awkwardly standing in a bedroom too small for our lives now.
We're both awkwardly standing.
We're both awkwardly standing,
eyes staring,
at each other.

"Y-Yeah, I used to listen to him." I force a small smile.

Yoongi licks his lips. I watch as he does, staring away from me and my body as he stares back at the poster. "The only part of this room I don't necessarily despise." 

I'm curious. "I see nothing wrong with this room...?"

He's quiet.

I follow his eyes everywhere he puts them. I stay frozen by his mirror, watching his expensive sneakers contrast on dirty carpet. He's older, he's wiser, and I can see changes in a man that has grown from what he used to be.The curiousity within me sparks as he walks around, my eyes shifting up and down his body.

"Well, you don't know its importance to me, that's why you wouldn't understand," he murmurs. Yoongi is walking towards me. I move away from his way when he stands in front of the mirror, fingers moving to grab the sheets of writing he has crowding his mirror. His next words as he admires the sheets are softer, "...you don't know anything about me if we're about to be honest."

"Yet you agreed for me to marry you? Why?" I ask this, scared as I stare at the side of his face.

Yoongi tosses the paper. It hits the ground as he puts his hands back to his pockets. "I didn't agree with anything."

"I haven't either."

"I know you haven't," he says, staring at the mirror. He doesn't look to me even though I stare at nothing but him, him and his jaw that squares and cuts the air around us.

"...then stop it from happening." I say this with an almost beg, "They'll listen to you."

His brows furrow, "I've tried. My parents won't listen to me. No matter how successful I get, how old I get, they'll always find ways in disagreeing with my wishes." I purse my lips at that. I find the heat at my cheeks to move all over my face, even my ears grow hot. I relate to his feelings, his frustrations with his parents, and yet I say nothing but watch him angrily huff air to himself. "But what's your excuse?" he asks this, eyes side-glancing my direction.

I see him struggle to look at me. I swallow hard, "They won't listen to me either."

Yoongi nods.
I don't move my head.

"I, I can't marry you Min Yoongi."

It's as if he hears pain in my voice. There is courage in his eyes when he turns his head, finally having the hair at his eyes move so he can fully make in contact with my gaze. We stare at each other for a long while. I don't know what to make of his face that stares at all of me, my eyes, my lips, then he lingers on my nose and...

"Why does your nose look like that?"
Yoongi cracks a little smile.

My lips part,
I'm taken aback from the sudden change of topic,
Then I remember to when I was 7, and he was 7.
My eyes narrow when seeing his slightly chapped lips grinning.

He's quiet,
a second time.

"I-I-"

Yoongi sighs, cutting me off loudly and obnoxiously as he shrugs, and rolls his head back for a crack. "From what I understand," he begins, I'm shushed and uncomfortable. He's moving too fast from conversations to others, I can't keep up with him smiling one moment, then glaring the next. "You aren't going to say anything, and I'm not going to either. You're a grown woman, no? You tell me what that comes to as a conclusion."

I notice the smugness in his tone. But his face looks angry, irritated, frustrated over this situation that tails us all. Imagining meeting him again, I didn't think of such a blunt catastrophe. If anything, I hoped for more silence and awkward glances each other's way - not thrilling discussions mixed along with an expected discomfort from both parties.I wish this because of now, the fact that I'm silent, the fact that I'm unable to find words...

"Cat caught your tongue?"

"I-I don't know."

His eyes narrow. "You don't know?"

I seal my lips shut.

Yoongi scoffs, "Great, I'm about to marry an airhead."

That angers me. It really angers me. But I say nothing. Why am I not talking?!

He sighs again, obnoxious and the air from his lungs hits my face. My hair flies back from my shoulders, I shudder and shake. "If we both don't get out of this, there's nothing we can do." I finally speak. I want to sound harsh, angry, I want to sound scary, maybe even intimidating but I don't - I can't.

"We'll have to marry." Yoongi smiles. It's bitter.

I say nothing,
he reacts to my silence.

"Great, here." His hands reach into his back pocket.

My brows furrow. I watch him swiftly pull a box from the jeans. A receipt still wrapped around the box, he tosses it next to the ground where he let sheets fall earlier. I watch the paper before glancing at the object he pops up. The fabric of the little box looks soft, maroon, and the slit locks with a tiny metallic heart. I know exactly what he holds in his pale hands, but my raging and scared hat asks anyway, "What is that?"

Poking his tongue annoyingly at his cheek, he takes his other hand, pops the lid of the small box, and has his hand back into his pocket. The cool, 'not-caring' persona doesn't leave him as he showcases the shiniest little rock by the center of a silver ring.

"That." He wiggles it in his hand, wanting me to take the jewelry away.

"I-" He cuts me off again. My anger pulses.

"Will you marry me?" Yoongi's tongue moves to poke his inner cheek again. His words are grained with salt.

This is one sad proposal for such a beautiful engagement ring he tries to give.

"No." I say, furious.

"Take the ring now, my arms getting tired."

"I don't want it." I'm brave as I say this.

"Take it."

"No."

We're children, agitated and furious with one another's existences without purposes for such hate.

Yoongi's jaw clenches. He takes the ring out of the box, tosses the beautiful hold to the ground with the sheets. I jump at the loud sound. The box hit the wall before it rested on its side, the cushions within looking towards bleeding out onto the carpet below our feet. My breath shakes when my hand is suddenly held. Struggling, I look to Yoongi who holds me tightly. He doesn't hurt me, but the very action brings tears to my eyes.

"Yoongi, stop."

Yoongi doesn't stop. I watch, silent and without a word as he forces the ring onto my finger. My chest falls fast as I wince, a sharpened edge of the rock hitting the inner skin of my finger, scrapping.

"Congratulations," Yoongi says through his teeth, freeing my hand from his hold as he walks back, "First step to tying the knot."

My hands are in fists, flinching away when he allows me to distance myself.

"We can still stop this."

Yoongi stares at the ring on my hand before he meets the anger in my eyes. He nods, face expressionless as he says, "I know you really want to, it's obvious you don't want this."

I'm trying to blink back tears.
My finger hurts.

"You don't either," I remind.

Yoongi nods.
He's back to staring at all of my face.

"Then let's stop," I sniffle, "let's stop-p this." I'm embarrassed for crying.

I don't notice Yoongi's eyes soften while watching me.

I don't notice Yoongi's eyes soften while watching me,
nor do I notice the slight waver in his voice next.

"We can't."

"We can't what?" There's a third voice that enters the room.

I stare over and see both our fathers, happy they are, neither seem to notice the hurt in both mine and Yoongi's eyes. They don't acknowledge us, they don't see what we try to communicate with our eyes. They silence us by chuckling, entering the room, and proceeding the conversations away from our distastes and on to anything other than.

"Dad we-" I'm cut off. I can't figure out how many times this has happened at this point.

"You kids have a nice talk?" Yoongi's father asks.

I feel Yoongi's eyes at the side of my face.
I don't look over at him.

"Y-Yeah." That's Yoongi's sad voice.

I'm no longer trying to talk. I'm tired of getting silenced over and over.

"Well, great," my father laughs, "Why don't we get you two love birds down! We'll eat and then we'll have the two of you head out."

My head snaps up at that, away from the dirty carpet I stare at.

Yoongi's voice speaks my thoughts, "What? Head out?"

"Your mothers have arranged a surprise for the two of you."