The living room smelled of freshly brewed tea, soft incense, and subtle tension.

Taehyung sat rigidly on a velvet couch that felt too extravagant for such an ordinary moment. The fabric beneath his palms was warm, almost slippery, but his heart remained untouched—cool, calm, and carefully guarded. He was dressed in a soft beige hanbok, the color chosen by his mother to "give the right impression." His long lashes cast shadows under his eyes as he kept his gaze lowered, respectfully silent while his parents exchanged pleasantries with the hosts.

It was supposed to be routine. A formal meet-and-greet with a girl they’d chosen for him. Just tradition. Just one of those things he had to get through.

The girl sat across from him, nervous fingers tugging at the end of her sleeve, her gaze flickering shyly toward him every few seconds. She was sweet, beautiful in a conventional way, and clearly doing her best to impress. But none of that mattered.

Because the moment Taehyung had entered the room, someone else had caught his attention.

Him.

He stood behind the girl's family, half-hidden in the corner like a shadow. A boy—young, maybe around Taehyung’s age or a little younger. Dressed in a faded, oversized shirt, his hands were clasped in front of him like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His head remained bowed, and his posture screamed, “Don’t look at me.”

But Taehyung did.

He couldn’t stop.

The boy wasn’t introduced, not even acknowledged. He was just there, like a piece of furniture no one noticed anymore. And yet, his very presence stole every ounce of Taehyung's focus.

There was something haunting in the way he stood. Something raw. Like he was trying to disappear into the wallpaper, but his silence was louder than everyone else's noise.

“He’s the girl's stepbrother,” his mother whispered when Taehyung leaned close to ask. “Poor thing. Mute since he was little. No one really talks about it. His stepmother raised him after his own mother passed away. Some say he was born that way, others say something happened. No one really knows.”

There was something in his mother's tone—disapproval mixed with pity. Taehyung didn’t like it.

He looked back at the boy. Their eyes met—just for a second.

A flicker. A spark. A storm that rumbled beneath the surface.

It wasn’t just a look. It was a cry for help, buried in stillness.

And Taehyung heard it.

That single second unraveled something inside him. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. The boy had spoken through silence, and Taehyung had listened like he’d been waiting for that exact sound all his life.

Without thinking, he turned to his mother and whispered, “I want to marry him.”

“What?” he gasped softly, blinking as if he misheard him.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate. “I’m not interested in the girl. I want him.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

The girl's parents looked horrified. The girl looked humiliated. And the boy—Jungkook, he would later learn—just stood there, his lips slightly parted, eyes wide in frozen shock. Like he wasn’t sure whether to run or just dissolve into the floor.

Taehyung stood up slowly, the rustle of his hanbok the only sound in the entire room. Every gaze was pinned on him, judging, questioning, disbelieving. But he didn’t falter.

He walked toward Jungkook—each step steady, quiet, sure.

He stopped in front of him and knelt down.

Right there, in the middle of the room filled with whispers and scandalized glances, Taehyung reached out and gently took Jungkook’s hand in his own.

It was cold. Fragile. Trembling.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Because Jungkook’s eyes were screaming questions. Why? Is this a joke? Why me?

And Taehyung’s silence answered: Because I see you. Because I hear you, even when you don’t speak.

A tear slipped down Jungkook’s cheek. Not loud, not dramatic. Just… real.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t invisible.

He was heard.

The air inside the house felt suffocating.

The living room, once filled with polite conversation, clinking teacups, and hopeful small talk, now held a heavy silence—thicker than the walls that caged Jungkook’s voice.

He stood near the doorway, unmoving, the soft rustle of his worn clothes barely making a sound. His hands trembled at his sides, still tingling from the unexpected warmth that had come from Taehyung’s fingers. A simple touch—but it lingered, like a whisper against his skin.

Did that man really say he wanted… me?

Jungkook couldn’t make sense of it. He hadn’t dared to imagine something like that. He was used to being overlooked—forgotten, ignored, and at best, pitied. He didn’t expect to be seen.

But just as his thoughts began to spiral, the sharp crack of heels against the marble floor snapped him back to reality.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his stepmother spat, her eyes blazing as she stormed into the room. “You ruined everything.”

Jungkook flinched at her voice—sharp, cruel, too loud for someone who had always lived in quiet.

“Are you happy now?” she hissed, stepping closer. “Did you enjoy humiliating your sister? Do you know how much effort we put into this proposal? All for what? So you could stand there like a ghost and steal her chance?”

He opened his mouth instinctively—but nothing came out. No defense. No cry. Just silence.

His stepmother’s voice only grew louder.

“Mute little burden,” she sneered. “You should’ve stayed in your room where you belong. But no—you had to be seen, didn’t you? Always crawling out like a cockroach whenever something important happens.”

“Mom,” his stepsister said, arms crossed, voice dripping with venom. “Why would anyone pick him? I mean, seriously. Look at him. He’s like a stray cat—dumb, silent, always lurking around like a creep. That guy must be out of his mind.”

She scoffed, glaring at Jungkook like he’d committed a crime.

“I swear, you were just standing there like a freak. What the hell did he even see in you?”

The insults cut like knives—quiet, cruel ones. And though he didn’t make a sound, Jungkook’s eyes glistened, lips trembling. His breath hitched, but he didn’t cry. Not yet.

His gaze flickered to the corner where his father sat on a worn armchair. Silent.

Always silent.

Their eyes met for a moment. A heartbeat.

But instead of standing up, instead of speaking out, his father looked away.

Like he couldn’t bear to see what he had allowed.

Jungkook swallowed the ache that rose in his throat. Not from speech—but from the pain of watching the only parent left in his life pretend not to see him.

His stepmother stepped closer and yanked his wrist, her nails digging into his skin. “Listen to me, and listen well. You’ll marry that rich boy. You’ll do it, and you’ll be grateful you even got picked. After that, you stay out of our lives. No more leeching off this family. No more pity parties. You’re his problem now.”

She pushed him away roughly. “You hear me?”

Jungkook nodded numbly, eyes falling to the floor.

Because he knew.

This wasn’t about love.

It never was.

__________________________________________________

Meanwhile, miles away in the warm elegance of the Kim residence, the mood was quieter—but equally tense.

Taehyung sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, staring out the window at the falling dusk. The warmth of the moment still lingered in his chest. He could still feel Jungkook’s cold hand in his, the weight of those teary eyes that didn’t understand why someone had chosen him.

It hadn’t been a rational decision.

It hadn’t been planned.

But it had been real.

The soft creak of the door opening made Taehyung turn. His parents—Namjoon and Seokjin—entered quietly, closing the door behind them.

“We need to talk,” Namjoon said gently, taking a seat on the bed. Seokjin followed, his face unreadable but calm.

Taehyung nodded. He was ready for this conversation.

“Taehyung,” Namjoon began, his voice measured, “we’re not upset. We’re just… surprised.”

“You were supposed to meet the girl,” Seokjin added softly. “And instead, you proposed to her stepbrother. You understand why that shocked everyone.”

Taehyung looked down, fingers laced in his lap. “I do.”

Namjoon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Then tell us why. Why him?”

There was a long pause.

Then Taehyung looked up, his voice clear but quiet. “Because he didn’t speak… and still, I heard him.”

Seokjin blinked. “You barely know him.”

“I don’t need to,” Taehyung said firmly, surprising even himself with the strength in his tone. “Appa, Eomma… I know what people saw. A quiet boy. A mute boy. Someone… disposable. But I saw someone standing in a room full of people who ignored him—and he didn’t flinch. He was tired. He was scared. But he didn’t hide. That’s strength.”

He let out a breath. “You always told me to marry someone with a kind heart. Not just charm or beauty or tradition. But someone whose soul feels real. And that boy… he looked at me like he never expected kindness again.”

Namjoon exchanged a look with Seokjin.

“He’ll be judged,” Namjoon said gently. “People will question your decision.”

“I know,” Taehyung said. “But I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking for support.”

There was silence for a beat.

Then Seokjin reached forward and cupped his son’s face with a small smile. “You always did find beauty where others saw none.”

Namjoon smiled softly too. “If this is what you want, we’ll respect it. And we’ll protect him with you.”

Taehyung's shoulders eased for the first time that day. Relief swept through him like a warm wind. He didn’t just have their approval—he had their faith.

That evening, the official proposal was written, signed, and respectfully delivered.

But far away, in the quietest room of a house that had never been a home, Jungkook sat on his narrow bed, staring at the pristine marriage documents in his lap.

He hadn’t been asked.

He hadn’t been given a choice.

But this time, he didn’t feel like a pawn.

He remembered the softness in Taehyung’s eyes. The way his hand didn’t shake. The way he kneeled down—not out of pity, but out of quiet respect.

Jungkook touched the paper lightly, his fingers trembling. A tear rolled down his cheek—not of fear, but confusion. Hope. Something unfamiliar but warm.

And in his silent room, he placed a hand over his heart, closing his eyes.

He couldn’t speak the words.

But deep down, he whispered them.

Thank you, Taehyung.

For hearing me when no one else did.

The steady hum of the office was a soft backdrop to Taehyung’s thoughts.

The floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden morning light, pooling across the polished desk where files lay neatly stacked. But his eyes weren’t on the documents today. They were distant, resting on the skyline. On something… someone far away.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Jungkook.

Not since that day.

A knock broke the quiet rhythm of the morning, and Taehyung’s best friend and business partner, Park Jimin, strolled in with his usual bright grin, holding two iced Americanos.

"Morning, husband-to-be," Jimin teased, setting one of the cups on the desk. “Still processing the scandal of the century?”

Taehyung cracked a small smile and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not a scandal.”

“Oh please,” Jimin chuckled, sitting across from him. “You proposed to a boy no one expected you to even notice. A mute one, no less. You shocked an entire family into silence.”

“I’m surprised you’re not questioning it,” Taehyung murmured, sipping his coffee.

Jimin shrugged. “I don’t need to. I saw your face that day.”

Taehyung raised a brow.

“You looked like you’d finally found something,” Jimin said simply. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize that look. It’s the one you give to art pieces no one else understands… except you.”

That made Taehyung chuckle quietly. “He’s more than an art piece.”

“I know,” Jimin said gently, “which is why I support you. I’m just worried for him.”

Taehyung’s smile faded.

“I’ve heard things,” Jimin continued, more serious now. “About how he’s treated. About that house.”

Taehyung didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The weight in his eyes said enough.

Just then, a soft knock came from outside the office door.

One of the assistants stepped in, holding a pale cream envelope. “Sir, this just arrived. It’s from the Jeon household. Addressed to you. Personally.”

Taehyung stood up immediately, brows furrowed. “Thank you.”

The envelope was delicate, the paper slightly textured, sealed with a small, gold-inked symbol of a crane—modest, old-fashioned.

Taehyung opened it carefully, hands steady but heart unsure.

Inside, the handwriting was soft and slanted. Uncertain but thoughtful.

It was from Jungkook.

__________________________________________________

Dear Kim Taehyung-ssi,

I don’t know how to begin this.

I’m not used to being heard… or seen.

And even now, I’m not sure if writing this will make sense. But I’ll try.

First, thank you.

I never thought anyone would look at me the way you did. Not with pity or curiosity, but… something else. Something I couldn’t name. The way you saw me that day—it felt like I mattered. For the first time in a long time.

But that’s exactly why I’m writing this letter.

Because I can’t let you do this.

You don’t know me, Taehyung-ssi. You don’t know what kind of life I’ve lived… or the kind of silence I’ve been drowned in. I’m not the right choice for you.

You come from a world of beauty, comfort, and freedom. A world where people smile without force and speak without fear. I don’t belong in that world.

And I can’t be the reason your family suffers ridicule. I can’t let you tie yourself to someone like me, when there’s someone better—someone like my stepsister. She’s beautiful, graceful, well-spoken. She fits your world.

I am not someone meant for the spotlight. I barely even know how to stand in it without trembling.

Please, forget this engagement.

I will understand.

And I will be grateful… for the moment you gave me. The moment where, just for a second, I was chosen.

Thank you for that.

Please be happy, even if it’s not with me.

– Jeon Jungkook

__________________________________________________

Taehyung read the letter again.

And again.

Each word dug under his skin like soft thorns—quiet, painful, undeserved.

He could see Jungkook writing it. Sitting alone somewhere, eyes full of uncertainty, hands shaking as he tried to word his unspoken thoughts. He could almost feel the weight of those words, the loneliness hidden between the lines.

Just then, he heard jimin asking while trying to see what's written inside the letter

“...What’s that?”

Taehyung didn’t answer right away. He slowly folded the letter and placed it on the desk like it was something fragile, sacred.

“It’s from him,” he said simply.

Jimin’s brows lifted. “From Jungkook?”

Taehyung nodded.

“And?”

“He wants me to call off the marriage,” he murmured, voice flat. “Says he’s not the right one for me. That his stepsister deserves me more.”

Jimin blinked. “Wait… he’s backing out?”

“No,” Taehyung said softly. “He’s sacrificing himself.”

There was silence.

Jimin sat down slowly across from him. “So… what are you going to do?”

Taehyung looked down at the letter. His jaw clenched.

“I’m going to marry him.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want someone who fits into my world,” Taehyung said. “I want someone who changes it.”

__________________________________________________

That night, the Jeon household was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that followed a storm—but before the next one began.

Jungkook sat in his room, alone, staring at his hands.

He had sent the letter early that morning, praying that Taehyung would understand.

That he would take the easy way out.

That he would forget this absurd decision to marry someone who couldn’t even say thank you aloud.

“Trying to play noble, huh?”

The voice came from the doorway.

His stepsister leaned against the frame, arms folded, wearing her smugness like perfume.

“You think writing a sad little letter will make him change his mind? Please. Rich boys like him don’t just see someone like you. It was a mistake. He’ll realize that soon.”

Jungkook looked away, heart twisting, throat tightening.

“I bet he hasn’t even replied,” she scoffed. “You’re nothing but a phase, Jungkook. A pity project. Once the novelty wears off, he’ll move on. Just like everyone else.”

She turned to leave.

But paused.

“Enjoy the silence while it lasts,” she said cruelly. “It’s the only thing you’ve ever been good at.”

And then she was gone.

Jungkook closed his eyes, biting down on the softest cry.

__________________________________________________

But across town, in a penthouse lit by moonlight and golden lamps, Taehyung stood in his living room, looking at his reflection.

He was holding a single box in his hand.

Inside, a ring.

Simple, silver, with a tiny engraved heartbeat on the inner curve.

He picked up his phone and opened his messages.

To: Jeon Jungkook

A voice is not made of sound, Jungkook.

It’s made of honesty.

And yours is the loudest I’ve ever heard.

Wait for me. I’m coming.