CLAIM MY LOVE | Kim Taehyung | Park Jimin

-6-

-TAEHYUNG-

Closing my eyes, I try to centre myself, but I'm confronted by my deepest, darkest fear: what if she's met with her parents and wants a divorce already, I hope she doesn't blow it big.

All is not lost.

You'll be seeing her shortly. Your plans are in place. You are going to start off by talking and then slowly mingle and open up, it works if it has to if it doesn't it won't but I don't want her to leave even before we could try. Opening my eyes, I stare at the front door this is not it, I fish out the keys from my wallet and unlock the door.

The house is in the same state, with no visible signs of her legacy, or any viability in the living room, and no cooking smells, that means she hasn't cooked lunch, shit!

I panic, I pace upstairs, and the room is shut, I twist the knob and barge in hoping she is here, I won't mind until she does, I just want her to be home. Inside it's still dark, though dawn is a pale streak on the horizon, and it takes me a moment to find Y/n. She's curled up in the middle of the bed, small and vulnerable, sobbing quietly for a moment her cries come to a halt she turns to look up and learns it is me before I can react she curls herself into a ball. The sound of her grief rips through me again, leaving me winded.

 I don't get it. Why do I feel so lost?

My stomach knots more, I take a deep breath and tug at my cuffs, then straighten my tie. Hell. Raking my hand through my hair, I try to dismiss my doubts, but they continue to plague me. Fuck it I am going to her.

Shoving my bag at the empty chair I climb onto the bed my other leg still on the ground, I reach for her arm and tap it she moves away indecisively "Y/n..." She doesn't turn nor does she respond, she stiffens, her whole body screaming, Don't touch me! The irony is not lost on me. "Y/n please..." I plead tired and worn out.

I just want her to talk to me for once, now I regret every time I asked her to shut her mouth. I deserve this. She breaks into a weep and buries her head into the pillow I undo the knots of my shoes jerking them off and lift the comforter sliding in beside her.

Please don't cry, it repeats in my mind, plucking up the courage knowing well I am the reason she is sobbing "I am sorry, please don't cry" I whisper, in a vain attempt to halt her tears calm her. She doesn't respond. She remains frozen, unyielding. "Please don't cry," I tell again She relaxes a fraction, allowing me to pull her into my arms, and I bury my nose in her wonderfully fragrant hair. She smells as sweet as ever, her scent a soothing balm to my nerves.

This feels uncommon to do, don't be a shit she is your wife you buffoon! my mind scolds. I push my hands through the gap between her hips and arms, I hope she doesn't move away. I am hoping, holding my breath I pull her closer and take her wrists intertwining her fingers into mine just like how she does with mine every morning absent-mindedly, and I fake my sleep hearing her talk sweet things to my sleeping figure.

She says nothing, but slowly her crying dissipates into soft sniffling sobs. At last, she's quiet. I think she might have fallen asleep, but I cannot bring myself to check, in case I disturb her. At least she's calmer now.

She is calm as ever, lifting my head up I watch her and horror strikes my nerves I shut my mouth back careful not to wake her up, her swollen eyes lids and stained cheeks haunt me down she looks dreadful and asleep, moving her hair out of her face another shock sucks me up once again, she has hickeys? Did I give them?

Her pale white skin has subtle evidence of our tryst from yesterday, how didn't I notice this on her in the morning, asshole you were too nervous to even look up at her! scolds my mind.