Dance to This [kth]

t h i r t y

The reflection bothers me so much that I pull open the mirror to get rid of it. Taehyung's medicine cabinet is now my only view. It's better this way. Random bottles of pain reliever and small boxes of bandaids soothe me more than seeing that version of myself.

It's then that my eyes widen. Hidden behind pill bottles and boxes of bandages is a long, thin, rectangular box from a jewelry store. A necklace? A bracelet? I bring my hand to my mouth in shock. My fingertips are cold against my own skin. I bite my lip with furrowed brows to condense my butterflies. Why is he hiding this behind laxatives and foot cream?

It has occurred to me by now that I haven't even heard Taehyung rustling around in the kitchen. I swallow my urge to open the jewelry box; I close the mirror and my feet bring me out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and out to the main floor. Taehyung is sitting on a kitchen stool with his head in his hands, leaning against the counter.

He doesn't react when my footsteps grow closer to him.

I place my hand on his shoulder. He is wearing a grey sweatshirt and dark blue pajama pants. His bed-head hair is pushed back from his face almost like he has been pulling at his roots. "Taehyung?"

My touch soothes over the soft material of his sweatshirt before I settle my arms over his shoulders and around his body. My chest rests against his back. Taehyung's hands accept my embrace, and he captures my wrists in his hold. I lay my cheek against his shoulder. Although he is sitting, the height of the kitchen stool is not doing me any favors. We are the same height although I am trying to embrace him.

Taehyung releases a shaky breath. He has been sitting out here in silence. The television isn't on, nor his music player. . . his phone isn't even on the counter. I'm growing increasingly more worried with his silence.

"Good morning, baby," he pecks the back of my palm.

"Good morning," I mutter. "Talk to me."

"Eunha. . ." he's trails in a collection of his thoughts. "This isn't right."

His voice is so husky in his freshly awoken state. Paired with how softly he is speaking, almost just above a whisper, I have twists and turns settling into my stomach at the sound of him. This time, though, the twists and turns are giddily overcoming me.

"Hm?" I drowsily encourage him to continue.

My boyfriend's fingertips are digging into my wrists as though he is afraid to let go. His chest is rising and falling deeply.

"You're doing this for me, and I don't want you to," he says. "Please, don't do it."

I lift my head from his shoulder. My concern for his words translate into my physical movements, and I pull my hands away from him body to take a seat beside him. I am relieved when Taehyung looks at me, opening himself to talk as his body shifts towards me in the chair. I place my now trembling hand on his thigh.

"I love you," I mumble sweetly. "I want to."

"Stop," he shakes his head at me. "This upsets me."

The words escape him angrily, but he is still calm. Taehyung's eyes are secured by knitted brows falling into a harsh line of apprehension towards me. I am a bit taken back by his passionate thoughts coming at me verbally. . . I thought that after this week of comforting each other and assuring one another's safety, that everything was okay. Now, on the day of, Taehyung is reverting to his initial reaction.