The venue wasn't grand. No blinding lights or thunderous crowd. Just a cozy, candle-lit amphitheatre tucked inside a quiet city block. Wooden floors creaked under our steps as we walked in, hand in hand, her fingers snug between mine. She looked around like a child entering a candy store, wide-eyed, soft smile, gaze shimmering with wonder.

The artist was already on stage, tuning his guitar, the warm hue of fairy lights hanging above him. There were hardly more than fifty people in the audience, but it felt full-of comfort, of unspoken stories, of something honest.

We took our seats near the middle. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough for me to feel her warmth closer.

The music spilled over us-plaintive acoustic chords, raw vocals that cracked with feeling, lyrics weaving tales of shattered hearts and hard-won healing. I'd never been one for concerts, but tonight, with her breath soft hand next to mine, I could've sworn I'd been missing this my whole life.

She laughed under her breath when the singer cracked a joke between songs, and I swear, it felt like a sin to look anywhere else but her. She was glowing in the soft light, her laughter the most beautiful part of the night.

Then, during a pause between songs, a moment full of warmth bloomed.

The couple in front of us stood up-quietly, like they didn't want to disrupt the flow. And the man got down on one knee. Gasps filled the room, soft and surprised. The artist stopped strumming and smiled knowingly.

The woman covered her mouth, eyes brimming, as he pulled out a modest little ring and whispered something only she could hear. Her 'yes' wasn't loud-but it was real. The crowd clapped. She cried and he kissed her hand like it was made of starlight.

I glanced down at Yn. She was clapping a little too loudly. That's all it took. A simple, sincere moment. And she was glowing like they were her own friends.

She's really like that, I thought.

So full of heart, so easy to please. She'd never need a thousand roses or a spotlight proposal.

But me?

I'll still give her one better.

Something unforgettable. Something only she'd ever get from me. Not because she needs it... but because I want to be the one who gives her everything she never even asked for.

She turned to face me, still chuckling, "That was incredible" she whispered, barely audible.

"Yeah" I murmured. "Really adorable"

_________________________

The train hummed softly, a lullaby of its own as it sliced through the dark. Yn had fallen asleep beside me again, her head gently resting on my upper-arm, her legs curled slightly towards the window side. Jimin's wife was asleep too, her head tucked against his chest.

We were seated face to face in a private booth-the four of us. The lamps overhead were dim, casting golden shadows on our tired faces.

It was quiet. Still. Peaceful.

I adjusted the shawl on Yn's shoulder and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then looked up to meet Jimin's gaze.

He was already watching me.

His lips curled slightly, as if he'd been waiting for this moment of silence, this quiet between the storms-to finally ask me what was really on my mind.

"Life is too small, isn't it?"

Jimin's voice broke the quiet, low and thoughtful, as he ran his fingers through Fatima's hair, brushing away a strand that had fallen across her forehead. His touch was gentle, almost reverent.

His eyes lifted and found mine across the dim booth. He took a firmer hold of Fatima's hand, their fingers laced together, his thumb softly tracing the back of hers.

"One moment we're living to our fullest," he said, voice a little hoarse, "wishing there were a thousand years like this... and the next moment..." He sighed, long and heavy. "Yesterdays feel too small for how unpredictable life is."

I didn't say anything.
Just listened.
My own fingers had found her hand-her small, warm hand and I was absentmindedly tracing the back of it too, like it was a habit written into my bones.

Jimin chuckled softly, looking down at Fatima like she was his whole world wrapped into one sleeping soul.

"Now look at me," he said, shaking his head slightly in wonder. "It was just yesterday when I met her for the first time. She hated me at first glance, like she'd rather die than see me at work every day."

He laughed quietly, the sound fond. Nostalgic. "And now... we've been happily married for three years. And... I'm gonna be a dad in nine months from here"

I managed a faint smile, my cheek resting against her head. Her hair brushed my skin, carrying the faint scent of lavender and something warmer, something that felt like home. I breathed her in, letting the moment settle into my bones.

Jimin was an idiot in love. I knew it the moment he first described every minute detail of Fatima's face to me, as if he were recounting a masterpiece hanging in some grand museum. From that day on, it was clear: he would never get over her. And I was right. He was still down bad.

"Time moves fast when you're happy" I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

"Exactly," Jimin nodded, his voice gaining weight. "And life is too short. Seventy years pass too quickly. We're twenty-six now. I've known Fatima for just five years. You've been married for... what, almost a year?"

The words landed like stones in my chest. Almost a year. The truth of it echoed, sharp and unyielding.

"And you still haven't told her" Jimin said, his voice quieter now, but no less piercing.

His gaze cut through the dimness, steady and unrelenting. I froze, my fingers stilling against her hand."Too short, isn't it?" he pressed, his tone gentle but unyielding.

"You saw her today. How scared she was. How scared we all were."

My throat tightened, a knot I couldn't swallow. The memory surged-her wide, panicked eyes, her trembling voice calling my name, the way her hands had clung to me like I might vanish. The raw fear in her face was a wound I hadn't yet learned to close.

"What if something had happened to you?" Jimin's voice was barely above a whisper now, each word deliberate.

"What about confessing? What about her? Her heart?" I couldn't meet his eyes.

Our story would've ended today itself.

My gaze dropped to her hand in mine, to the faint pulse I could feel beneath her skin. My chest ached with the weight of what I hadn't said, what I'd buried under layers of fear and hesitation.

"Life's too short, Taehyung," Jimin said again, his voice steady, like a truth carved in stone. "Time doesn't wait. Not for you, not for anyone."

He leaned back, his hand never leaving Fatima's, his thumb still tracing those quiet circles. A small smile tugged at his lips, bittersweet. "You think Fatima and I didn't have our own messes to untangle? We did. Fights, doubts, all of it. But I knew I needed her. More than anything."

His gaze found mine again, softer now, but no less certain. "Taehyung, she loves you." He said it like it was undeniable, a fact woven into the fabric of the world. "And she needs you. Needs you to love her back. To make her time-your time-mean something."

The train rocked gently, its motion a soft counterpoint to the storm in my chest. Outside, the world was a blur of fleeting lights, but here, in this small booth, time seemed to hold its breath.

Jimin's words hung in the air, heavy and true. Her hand rested in mine, warm and real. And somewhere, deep inside, a quiet truth stirred-a fear that I was running out of tomorrows to tell her what she deserved to hear.

__________________________

The train screeched to a halt, its weary sigh echoing through the near-empty station. It was past 11 p.m., and the platform was a ghost town, save for the handful of passengers spilling out into the night.

I glanced around, my eyes catching the dim glow of the station lights, flickering like they were as tired as I felt. Not many people were left-most had scurried off into the darkness, leaving the place eerily quiet.

My gaze softened as it landed on Yn, still lost in her own little dreamworld, curled up against the seat. Her chest rose and fell gently, her lips slightly parted, completely oblivious to the world around her.

She looked so peaceful, like a kid who'd fought sleep and lost. A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips, warm but tinged with a familiar ache. I didn't want to wake her. But we had to get to the hotel, just a short walk away, and I couldn't leave her here, no matter how much I wanted to let her sleep.

"My lovely panda, wake up~" Jimin cooed, bopping Fatima's nose, his voice thick with mischief.

She groaned and smacked his chest lightly, but he only grinned wider, poking her nose, her cheeks, her arm-anywhere he could reach.

"Aw, is somebody mad because they got woken up?" he teased, chuckling like an idiot.

Yet instead of pushing him away or punching him-as any sane person probably would-Fatima simply blinked sleepily at him, her annoyance melting into affection.

"Idiot" she mumbled groggily, sitting up without real protest. She liked waking up to the same irritating man she fell asleep beside.

"Pick me up" she demanded, stretching her arms toward him.

"Let's get out first, and I'll carry you all the way to bed" he promised, getting up and opening the booth door with a dramatic flourish.

She nodded, all cute and sleepy, and it was like me and Yn didn't even exist. They were in their own little bubble, orbiting each other like nothing else mattered.

Jimin stepped out, keeping the door open for her. Fatima shuffled after him, and I turned to Yn, tapping her shoulder gently. "Wake up, the train stopped" I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

She stirred, blinking at the window before nodding and leaning away from me, still half-asleep. I stood, stepping out of the booth as she yawned and rubbed her eyes, looking like she might drift off again any second.

I trailed behind Jimin and Fatima, glancing back at Yn every few steps. She moved like a ghost, her steps sluggish, her eyes barely open. She was trying so hard to shake off the sleep, and I couldn't help but find it... cute.

Meanwhile, Jimin was in full performance mode. He jumped off the train, spun around, and bowed dramatically to Fatima.

"Your heels, madam" he said, like he was her personal butler. She giggled, slipping off her heels and handing them over.

Then he turned, patting his back. "Your cart is all ready and set to go, ma'am" he announced, throwing her a sassy grin and a wink.

Fatima burst out laughing, throwing her head back before climbing onto his back. I watched them, my chest tightening.

They were so... easy. So in love. So them. It was like they didn't care who was watching, didn't care that they were making me-a married man-feel like some lonely teenager pining for something he didn't have.

I glanced back at Yn. She'd stopped walking, her eyes half-closed again, swaying like she might actually fall asleep standing up. I sighed, a mix of fondness and frustration bubbling up.

She had no clue, did she? No clue how much I wanted us to be like that. Like Jimin and Fatima, joking and laughing, so comfortable in each other's orbit that the rest of the world just faded away.

"You've become heavy" Jimin teased, pretending to choke under Fatima's weight.

She smacked his head playfully, and he laughed, wincing dramatically. "I'm your weight to carry" she shot back, and he just grinned, running toward the station exit with her on his back like she weighed nothing.

"Sure, your highness" he called, his voice fading as they disappeared into the night.

I stood there, my heart doing this stupid, childish twist. I was jealous. Me, Kim Taehyung, a grown man, married to the woman I loved, was jealous of my friend's goofy antics. It wasn't just their playfulness-it was how effortless it all seemed. How they could tease and laugh and carry each other without a second thought.

When will we be like that?

When will I call her cute names and hear her laugh at them?

When will people look at us and think, I wish I had that too?

I wanted that. God, I wanted it so bad it hurt. But here I was, standing at the edge of the train, watching my wife rub her eyes for the millionth time, completely unaware of the storm in my head. She was gonna make herself blind one day, I swear, with all that rubbing. I rolled my eyes, but my heart wasn't in it. It was too busy aching.

I jumped down onto the platform and tilted my head, checking if she was still following or if she'd actually fallen asleep mid-step. She shuffled forward, still yawning, still clueless.

I patted my back, hoping-praying-she'd get the hint. Hoping she'd climb on without me having to spell it out, without me feeling like I was copying Jimin. I just wanted her close. I wanted to feel like we were us.

"Your... back... is... aching?" she mumbled, her voice groggy and confused, her eyes barely open.

I bit my lip, hard, trying to keep my frustration in check. I don't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. And she didn't get it. Of course she didn't.

She had no idea how much I was trying here, how much I wanted to be the husband who could make her laugh, who could carry her like it was nothing, who could make her feel like she was everything.

My last shred of patience clung on for dear life, but God, it stung.

Before I could overthink it, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her close. My hands slid under her thighs, hoisting her onto my back in one swift move.

She gasped, caught off guard, her arms wrapping tightly around my neck as she jolted awake. Her breath hitched, warm against my neck, and I felt her blink rapidly, like she was finally registering what was happening.

I tilted my head just enough to catch a glimpse of her. Our eyes met for a split second, and my heart slammed against my ribcage. I was nervous-stupidly, teenage-level nervous.

Her heart was racing too; I could feel it against my back, matching the frantic beat of mine. Did she know? Could she feel how much this moment meant to me? How much I wanted us to be more than the quiet, careful couple we'd become?

"Yaah! Are you guys coming or not?!" Jimin's voice cut through the silence, his laughter echoing from the exit. He spun around with Fatima still on his back, both of them giggling like kids. "This lady's too heavy!" he teased, but his grin said he didn't mind one bit.

I exhaled, my legs trembling under the weight of more than just Yn. The silence between us stretched, heavy and awkward. She'd seen Jimin and Fatima, and she probably knew I was trying to mimic them. It felt so obvious, so childish. But I took a step forward anyway, following their path, my heart thudding with every move.

I didn't want to be the guy who was always looking at other couples, wishing. I wanted to be the guy who made others wish they were us.

I wanted Yn to laugh like Fatima did, to tease me, to climb onto my back because she trusted me to carry her, not because I had to pull her there. I wanted us to have stupid nicknames and inside jokes and moments that were just ours.

But for now, I carried her, her warmth against my back, her arms around my neck. And even if it wasn't perfect, even if I was still figuring out how to be the husband I wanted to be, it was something. It was a start. And maybe, just maybe, she felt it too-the quiet, nervous hope that we could let go of the formalities now.

The cherry blossoms glowed softly under the streetlights, their petals drifting lazily in the cool night breeze. The road was empty, slanting upward as we climbed in silence, the quiet hum of the city a distant backdrop.

Each step felt heavier than the last because of the thoughts swirling in my head, loud and relentless.

Ahead, Jimin and Fatima were a world unto themselves. Their voices floated back to us-soft muffles, loud chuckles, and that easy, random chatter that filled the air.

They talked about nothing important: what dress they'd wear tomorrow, whether they'd match, what they'd eat for breakfast, how Fatima's weird pregnancy cravings were somehow still fascinating to Jimin.

It was the kind of talk that didn't need a purpose, the kind that just happened because they couldn't help but share every little thought with each other. I envied it so fiercely it burned.

And then there was us. Me and Yn, moving through the night like shadows, so quiet we might as well not exist. The silence between us wasn't new, but tonight it felt heavier, like a weight I'd been carrying for too long.

I sighed, the sound barely audible, but it carried all the frustration I couldn't voice. I wanted what Jimin and Fatima had. I wanted to talk to her about stupid, meaningless things.

I wanted to hear her laugh at my dumb jokes-if I crack any, to ramble about nothing just because we could. But with us, it was always... necessary. We spoke when we had to, like coworkers or roommates, not like a married couple. Not like people in love.

The worst part? I knew it was my fault. I was the quiet one, the one who clammed up when it mattered most. Y/n wasn't like that-she could talk for hours, her voice bright and warm, filling up a room.

But with me, I guess she held back, like she was waiting for me to meet her halfway. And I wanted to. Damn, I wanted to so badly. I could talk to business associates with ease, charm my way through boardrooms, but with her-the woman I loved-I was a fumbling mess. Why?

Why was it so hard to just talk to her?

What kind of husband was I?

And then, the deeper, uglier thought crept in: Do I even deserve her?

"Taehyung," her voice broke through, soft and sweet, like a melody I didn't deserve. I hummed, my heart thudding nervously, half-expecting her to ask why I was so quiet again.

"I love you" she said.

I froze. My feet stopped moving, my breath caught in my throat, and my grip on her thighs tightened instinctively, like I needed to anchor myself to something real. She'd said it. I love you. Just like that.

Just like that?

The words I'd been dying to hear since the day I realised my feelings, the words I'd imagined would set my heart on fire, make me dance under these cherry blossoms like some lovesick fool-they landed on me, and they felt... simple. Dry.

Not because they weren't true, but because I didn't know what to do with them. My mind raced, replaying her voice, soft and certain, but I couldn't process it. It was like my heart wanted to soar, but my head was stuck, tripping over itself.

I stood there, the cherry blossoms falling around us, the night stretching on, and I realized I was doing it again. I was being quiet. She'd just handed me her heart, and I was standing here like an idiot, overthinking instead of feeling.

My teenage self would've laughed at me-Kim Taehyung, the guy who could charm anyone, reduced to a nervous wreck by three little words from his wife.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so loud I was sure she could feel it through my back. "Yn..." I started, my voice low, almost shaky. I didn't know what to say, but I knew I had to say something. I took a step forward, then another, carrying her up the slanted road.

"I love you too" I finally managed, the words spilling out clumsily, raw and unpolished. They didn't feel like enough, but they were all I had.

I didn't know how to be like Jimin, didn't know how to make her laugh or talk about breakfast plans under the stars, but I knew I loved her. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

I felt her arms tighten around my neck, and I knew she felt it too. The emptiness in this sudden, simple, unexpected and three-worded confession.

The cherry blossoms faded behind us as we reached the hotel, their soft glow replaced by the sterile hum of the lobby lights. Jimin and Fatima's chatter filled the air, their laughter a distant echo as we stepped into the elevator.

Y/n shifted on my back, trying to slide down, but I tightened my grip on her thighs, a silent plea to stay. I wasn't ready to let her go-not yet. I wanted to carry her to bed, to hold onto this moment a little longer, even if I didn't know what it meant.

The elevator dinged, and we bid goodnight to Jimin and Fatima, their voices trailing off as they disappeared down the hall. I walked to our suite, my steps mechanical, like I was moving on autopilot. Unlocking the door, stepping inside, locking it again-it was all instinct, my body functioning while my mind churned, a tangled mess of feelings I couldn't name.

I carried her to the bed, bending slightly so she could slip onto the mattress and sleep. I wanted her to rest, to be at peace, even if I wasn't.

I turned on the dim bedside lamp, its soft light casting shadows across her face. I was about to walk to my side of the bed, avoiding her gaze, when her hand caught my wrist. I froze, my eyes meeting hers in the low light.

They were wide, curious, but there was something else-longing, starvation, and a flicker of disappointment that mirrored the fear I'd seen in her eyes this morning. My heart raced, a painful thud against my ribs. Did my eyes look like that too? Lost? Scared?

I sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze never leaving mine. She didn't blink, and I didn't know what to do. My head was blank, my hands trembling with anxiety I couldn't shake. I reached for the duvet, pulling it up to her stomach, a small, useless gesture to fill the silence.

But she caught my wrists again, forcing me to look at her. "Taehyung, I said, I love you" she repeated, her voice quiet but laced with a desperation that cut through me.

I leaned closer, my face hovering above hers, one hand braced on the bed to keep my distance, the other brushing through her soft hair. I smiled, trying to pour every ounce of truth into my words. "And I love you too" I said, my voice raw, genuine.

But her eyes-God, her eyes. They screamed what she didn't say: Just like that? So simple, so easy?

This wasn't the confession either of us had dreamed of. We both knew we craved each other, knew we wanted to grow together, to build something real.

We didn't need grand gestures or celebrations to prove it. But this? This felt... hollow. Not rushed, but like it was moving too fast. Not simple, but stripped of the weight it should've carried. We shouldn't be staring at each other like this, like two people lost in their own love, but we were.

What was this? What the hell was love?

I started to pull away, but her hand grabbed my collar, yanking me back. Her eyes bored into mine, desperate, like the world was crumbling and I was the only thing keeping her grounded. She needed more than "I love you too."

She needed a promise, a confirmation, something I didn't know how to give because I didn't even know what it was. My heart pounded, my mind scrambling for the right move, the right words.

So I kissed her. My lips pressed against hers, soft but urgent, and she gasped, her grip on my collar loosening for a split second before tightening again. My head spun-her lips were heaven, warm and sweet, everything I'd imagined and more.

I tilted my head, sucking gently on her bottom lip, and she hummed, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Her lips moved against mine, not frantic but slow, deliberate, like she was soothing a wound I didn't know I had.

My hand slid to her nape, pulling her closer, and she moaned softly. The sound vibrated through me, and I swear I could've lost myself right there. I'd never felt anything so beautiful, so perfect.

But before I could deepen the kiss, she pulled back, her breaths heavy, her eyes locking onto mine. Then she turned away, burying her face in the pillow, and my heart sank. It wasn't shyness on her face-it was something heavier. Like reality had crashed down on her, yanking her out of the moment.

Did I mess up? Was I too desperate? Did I make her uncomfortable? The questions clawed at me, each one sharper than the last. Was she scared? Because of me?

"I haven't kissed anyone before" she mumbled, her voice so quiet it barely reached me, but the words hit like a blade.

I was her first-and instead of joy, I felt guilt. Like I'd taken something I hadn't earned, like I'd pushed her too far, too fast. My chest tightened, the weight of it suffocating.

There was only quiet, heavy and unbearable. She looked at me again, and I forced a smile, trying to tell her without words that it was okay, that I was sorry, that she was safe with me.

I leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight" I whispered, my voice soft but unsteady. I turned off the lamp, the room plunging into darkness, and stood, my legs carrying me out of the bedroom to the balcony before I could think.

I closed the curtains, locked the door behind me, and pulled out my lighter, my hands shaking as I lit a cigarette. The first drag burned my lungs, but it didn't calm the storm in my head. I leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights, the cherry blossoms a faint memory in the distance.

What was love supposed to be? I thought it was supposed to feel like fireworks, like certainty, like coming home. But this-this felt like standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, not knowing if I was about to fall or fly.

The smoke curled into the night, and I closed my eyes, her kiss still lingering on my lips, her words echoing in my head. Simple, dry, and yet so heavy. I didn't know how to fix this, how to be the husband she needed, how to bridge the gap between us.

But I knew I couldn't keep standing still, hiding behind silence and cigarettes. Tomorrow, I'd try again. I had to.

_____________________________

The morning unfolded in a silence that felt like a living thing, heavy and suffocating, slipping through our fingers like sand no matter how tightly we tried to hold on. It wasn't just quiet-it was uncomfortable, unwanted, and yet somehow inevitable, as if we were both trapped in it, unable to break free.

I wanted to speak, to say something, anything to shatter this unbearable stillness, but the words wouldn't come. My tongue felt heavy, my mind blank, and every glance I stole at Y/n only tightened the knot in my chest.

She didn't speak either, didn't even look at me. Our eyes, which had locked so desperately last night, now avoided each other like strangers.

When I returned from the balcony last night, she was already asleep. Her face was soft, peaceful, but I couldn't bring myself to wake her, to ask what her confession had meant, to also confess how much her kiss had unraveled me.

I didn't have the heart to disturb her, so I let the moment slip away, hoping morning would bring clarity. But it didn't. The silence followed us, growing louder with every hour, and neither of us knew how to stop it.

We didn't run this time, though. That was something. We stayed in the same room, packed our bags side by side, and left the hotel together, our movements synchronized but distant.

Downstairs, she joined the others for breakfast, her chair scraping softly against the floor as she sat. I couldn't bring myself to sit next to her.

What if my presence made her uncomfortable again? What if she couldn't eat with me there, staring at her, searching for answers in her silence?

So I skipped breakfast, mumbling some excuse about checking the return arrangements. It was a lie, and I think she knew it.

The bus ride home was a study in quiet agony. We sat together, our shoulders inches apart, but it felt like a chasm stretched between us. Her eyes stayed glued to the window, watching the world blur by, her expression unreadable.

I kept stealing glances at her, hoping for a flicker of something-anger, sadness, anything-but her face was a blank canvas, the same guarded mask she'd worn since morning. My chest ached with the need to know what she was thinking, but I couldn't find the courage to ask.

We reached back by 12am, and the driver was waiting to take us home. In the backseat, the silence pressed harder, the hum of the engine the only sound between us. I wanted to reach for her hand, to feel her warmth, to know she was still here with me, but my hands stayed rooted in my lap. Sitting so close, yet so far-it was torture.

At home, we climbed the stairs to our room without a word. She disappeared into the bathroom for a shower, and I busied myself unpacking, folding clean clothes into the closet with mechanical precision. It was easier to focus on the task than the gnawing fear in my gut.

When she emerged, her hair damp and her eyes still distant, I slipped into the bathroom, the hot water doing nothing to wash away the tension coiling inside me.

This silence was killing me. Yn wasn't like this-she hated being quiet. Was she angry? Disappointed from last night?

The kiss, the confession, the way I'd pulled away to smoke instead of staying with her-had I ruined it all? I needed to talk to her. I had to. But did she even want me to? Did she want me close, want to hear my side, or was she shutting me out because I'd let her down?

I stepped out of the bathroom, toweling off my hair, expecting to find her in bed. But the room was empty, the sheets untouched. My heart lurched, a sudden, irrational panic gripping me.

I tossed the towel onto the bed and hurried out, my bare feet thudding against the floor as I descended the stairs. Where was she? Had she left? The thought twisted in my chest, sharp and cold.

Then I saw her-in the kitchen, her back to me, her hair tied up in a bun, stirring something in a pot. The soft clink of the spoon against the metal was the only sound in the room.

Her shoulders were slumped, her movements slow, like she was carrying a weight too heavy for her frame. She looked... lost. My breath caught, relief mixing with a deeper ache. She was here, but she wasn't here. Not really.

I took a slow step toward her, then another, my heart pounding. She didn't notice me, too lost in her own thoughts. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I couldn't let this go on. Not anymore.

My hands found her waist, tentative but firm, and she jolted, the spoon slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. She spun around, blinking up at me, her eyes wide and startled.

My grip on her waist faltered, my hands falling limp to my sides as I took in her face.

"Taehyung..." she whispered, her voice so soft it barely reached me, even from this close. Her fingers trembled as she tucked a strand of dried hair behind her ear, and I saw it-the fear in her eyes, the way her body had tensed under my touch.

It wasn't just surprise. When my hands had touched her, I felt her muscles clench, her whole body bracing like she was afraid.

Of me? Of my touch?

The realization hit me like a punch, crumbling something inside me. My wife-my Y/n-was scared of me. After last night, after the kiss, after everything, had I broken something irreparable? Had I pushed too far, too fast, and made her feel unsafe?

I stepped back, my throat tight, my mind racing. "I'm sorry" I managed, my voice low, barely steady.

"I didn't mean to... scare you." The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had.

Her eyes searched mine, and I wondered if she could see the guilt, the fear, the desperate need to fix this.

The weight of my own defeat pressed against my chest as I turned away from her, my heart sinking with every step. But I barely made it two steps before the suffocation hit me like a physical blow, sharp and undeniable.

I couldn't do this-couldn't walk away, couldn't let this silence win. I turned back, my hands finding her waist again, and this time, I held on, my grip steady, desperate.

In one swift motion, I lifted her onto the kitchen counter, standing between her legs. I reached over and turned off the stove, the soft hiss of the flame dying out barely audible over the pounding in my ears. Her gasp was quiet, but it cut through me.

My eyes met hers under the mushy kitchen light, and they were glossy, brimming with tears that made my chest ache. The pain in her gaze was too much, like a mirror to my own. I couldn't bear to see her like this-lost, hurting, and maybe because of me.

"Do you not like me?" I asked, my voice soft, calm, for her sake, though it trembled with the weight of my fear.

Her eyes only grew glossier, but she didn't speak, her silence louder than any words.

"Do you not like this?" I pressed, my throat tight, dreading her answer.

She shook her head slowly, her gaze dropping to her fidgeting fingers in her lap, her hands twisting nervously.

"Do I scare you?" The question tasted bitter, each word a shard of glass on my tongue.

It was the one I feared most.

Her head snapped up, tears spilling as she shook her head more fiercely this time, like my words had wounded her. "No..." Her lower lip trembled, her voice barely a whisper, but the conviction in it steadied me.

I cupped her left cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear halfway down her face. "Why are you crying?" I asked, softer now, my voice breaking, my own eyes burning with the threat of tears.

"You don't want me to do this?"

She only cried harder, her sobs quiet but shattering. I couldn't stand it. I pulled her into my arms, burying her face in my neck, my hands rubbing gentle circles on her back.

I lifted her off the counter, her legs wrapping around my hips as I carried her out of the kitchen, my fingers threading through her hair, soothing her as best I could.

I sank onto the sofa, her still in my lap, her legs around me, her arms clinging to me like I was her lifeline. Her sobs shook her small frame, and each one broke me a little more.

"Don't cry, hmm?" I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. "Just tell me, if I'm doing something wrong... if you don't like my touch-"

"No" she interrupted, pulling back to face me, her eyes desperate, her face streaked with tears.

"No, it's not like that..." she sniffled, her voice hoarse but firm.

"I like you," she said, her words raw, vulnerable. "In fact, I love you. So much it hurts" Her sniffles broke her rhythm, but she pressed on.

"I love your touch. The kiss..." Her voice cracked, and she cried harder, the sound tearing at my heart.

"I just... I just don't know what to do about it." she admitted, her sobs growing louder. I rubbed her arms, trying to anchor her, to keep her from falling apart.

"I haven't done this before. I haven't felt this before. It's so new to me, it overwhelms me..." She wiped at her face, her nose, her hands shaking. "I like what you do to me, but I don't know how to respond to that. I'm so scared."

"I'm so... so scared, Taehyung" she whispered, her voice breaking as fresh tears fell.

"To mess up, to not be enough, to not give you enough in return. I'm such a coward... you don't deserve me." She buried her face in her palms, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her confession.

My throat tightened, my own eyes stinging as I pulled her close again, wrapping her in my arms. "Why don't I deserve you, huh?" I murmured, my voice soft but fierce, my hand caressing her back.

"You're so lovely. I only want you." I pressed a kiss to her hair, my heart aching with how much I meant it.

She sniffled against my shoulder, her words muffled but piercing. "Last night, when you confessed back... I was confused. I thought you said it because I did, thought you only said it to keep my heart, thought you were mad at me when you went out to smoke."

Her words hit me like a blow. I nodded, my jaw tight. "It was empty, I know. I'm so sorry." I didn't pull back, just hugged her tighter, my eyes burning with regret.

"You deserve better than that. I swear, I'm going to propose to you soon. Better than last night, better than the couple we saw at the concert."

After sometime, her sobs quieted, her face still buried in my neck, and for a moment, I thought she'd fallen asleep. But then she pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes swollen but soft.

She bit her lip, maybe embarrassed, maybe nervous. I scoffed out a small smile, cupping her cheek, my thumb stroking her cheekbone as I tilted her face up to meet my gaze completely.

"I love you" I said, my voice steady now, every word carved from the deepest part of me. "I always have and I deserve you, only you-don't take that privilege away from me."

She smiled, finally, a small, fragile thing that lit up the room. "You're everything to me, Taehyung. And I want to keep loving you, even though I don't know how."

I kissed her forehead, my hands sliding down to her waist, grounding us both. "It's okay," I murmured, my voice warm. "I'll guide you."

She nodded, and I grinned, my thumb tracing slow circles on her waist. The silence stretched again, but this time it was different-lovely, warm, like a promise we were both starting to believe in.

"Now," I said, pulling her closer, my voice dropping to a playful whisper, "why don't you kiss me first?"

Her brows shot up, her eyes widening. "Huh?"

I nodded, smirking. "Kiss me."

She bit her lower lip, a blush creeping up her cheeks, painting her face in a soft pink glow. "But I don't know..."

"Just do it" I teased, pulling her closer on my lap, her gasp sharp as I gripped her waist firmly, our lips now only inches apart. "I'm your own husband."

Her breath hitched, her eyes flickering with a mix of nerves and something bolder. I leaned in, my voice low, almost a challenge.

"Kiss me," I whispered, "Kiss me until the hesitation leaves your veins, until my lips bruise with how much you start to love this - love me."

Her blush deepened, but her eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time, I saw a spark of courage there. She leaned forward, hesitant at first, her lips brushing mine so softly it was barely a touch. But then she pressed closer, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, and the kiss deepened, slow and tentative but real.

It wasn't practiced, but it was perfect-raw, honest, and enough.

I smiled against her lips, my heart lighter than it had been in days. This was our start, messy and uncertain, but ours. And as her fingers ran in my hair, I knew we'd figure it out, one kiss, one moment, one quiet promise at a time.

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A/n: Just k word me now 😭 I'm so happy. They finally kissed!