Chapter 02 : Blame and Blessings

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.

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