POV: Kim Taehyung
Flash.Flash.Flash.
Tangina, sumasakit na yung retina ko. I’ve been smiling for the past two hours straight, and I’m pretty sure my facial muscles are going to permanently freeze in this exact position. Every single camera lens in the Grand Ballroom of the Shilla Hotel is pointed directly at us. The media, the industry people, the executives—lahat sila nakatitig sa amin. Like we’re some kind of rare exhibits in a museum. Well, technically, we are. The "Nation's Visual Power Couple."
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my chest from heaving too noticeably under this tailored, ivory Saint Laurent suit. It fits perfectly, snug across my shoulders, but right now, it feels like a goddamn straightjacket.
"Look here, Taehyung-ssi! Jungkook-ssi! Just one more close-up of the rings, please!j isang photographer mula sa isang major entertainment outlet ang sumigaw mula sa press pit.
I lift my left hand, masking my exhaustion with a soft, boxy smile that I’ve mastered over a decade in the limelight. Beside me, Jungkook does the same. His hand wraps around mine, his long, tatted fingers threading through my empty ones. On our ring fingers, the matching Cartier Trinity bands catch the blinding strobe lights. Gold, white gold, rose gold. Three bands intertwined to symbolize fidelity, wisdom, and love.
Ang ganda, ’di ba? Literal na pangarap ng milyun-milyong tao ang posisyon ko ngayon. I am officially engaged to Jeon Jungkook. The golden boy. The man who has everything. The man I have loved since we were literally teenagers sneaking out of our dorm to buy convenience store snacks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
But then, why does his hand feel so fucking cold?
Hindi ko alam kung ako lang ba, o kung praning lang ako, pero ramdam ko yung bigat sa bawat haplos niya. His grip is tight, yeah, pero walang init. It feels... mechanical. Like he’s just following a script that we practiced beforehand. Hold Taehyung’s hand on count one. Smile for the center camera on count two. Kiss his temple on count three.
Speaking of. Jungkook leans down, his lips pressing gently against my temple. The cameras go absolutely wild, the shutter sounds creating this deafening, chaotic white noise in my ears.
The crowd gasps and coos. In the background, the hired string quartet shifts into a classical, slow rendition of Tadhana by Up Dharma Down. Sobrang paborito ko yung kanta na ’to. Pinatugtog ko talaga sa organizers kasi it felt so fitting. “Sa hindi inaasahang pook at panahon...” standard Taekook lore, ’di ba? Akala ko talaga tadhana kami.
Pero habang nakadikit yung labi niya sa balat ko, I can feel him pulling away mentally. He’s not here.
"Jungkook-ah," I whisper through my teeth, keeping the smile plastered on my face so the reporters won't catch us bickering. "You're spacing out again. Ang daming camera sa harap, baka mahalata nila."
He blinks, looking down at me. For a split second, his dark eyes look so empty, parang may kung anong malalim na iniisip na hindi ko alam. But then, as quick as a camera flash, his idol persona clicks back into place. That boyish, bunny-smile appears, the one that makes everyone melt.
"Sorry, hyung," he murmurs back, his voice low and raspy. "Medyo napagod lang sa pictorial kanina. I'm okay."
Hyung. He called me hyung. Usually, kapag kaming dalawa lang—o kahit sa harap ng mga ibang tao na malapit sa amin—he calls me 'Tae' or 'babe.' The sudden formality feels like a slap in the face disguised as a caress. My heart does this uncomfortable, ugly flutter in my chest, a tiny warning sign that I instantly try to crush down. Wag mong bigyan ng malisya, Taehyung. Pagod lang talaga siya. The past few weeks have been hell for both of us with the preparation.
