#rkom

“Mother, please don’t act like I haven’t given speeches at these charity events a thousand times by now.”

Graceful in every action you took, even the pace back and forth behind your desk as you spoke on the phone was more elegant stroll than harried walk.

“Then tell Tae to drag his ass back from the Maldives.” Well, graceful except perhaps your mouth, he chuckled to himself.

A last-minute client request for one of your interior design branch’s high-profile contracts had found the two of you still working, though the sun had long since gone down. Your ever-present bodyguard sat in the small security station nearby, always a watchful eye on the surroundings of your upscale office. Based on your bad habit of working far too much, Yoongi was sure Namjoon never slept. Though, a certified workaholic himself, he was the last person to judge either of you for it.

“Of course I’ll go. It’s just a dusty old museum full of wealthy snobs. I’ll be fine.” A pause. “I said I’ll be fine,” you repeated in a reassuring tone. Another long pause passed by. “A…a date? No, I’m not putting anyone through…fine. Fine, whatever. Mom, I said I’ll go. I need to work.”

He attempted to pull his attention away from your call and back to the schematic design in front of him, but his eyes refused to cooperate, a problem that had worsened a little more each day over the last ten months. He’d come back to his senses too many times, pulled his hand from his chin, and realized he’d been smiling at you like an idiot for who knew how long. Taking note of your every move as if he were your bodyguard instead of Namjoon. Soaking in your presence as though it was healing. And after yesterday, the urge to keep his eyes on you had only grown more intense. It had only been the third time he’d gotten his hands on you. The first two times had been so innocent, nothing to suggest you’d ever seen him as more than a co-worker, or at most an amicable acquaintance.

But there was nothing innocent about last night.

He’d joined you and a few other colleagues from your office at a local lounge for dinner and a few drinks after work. The evening had been all laughs and good feelings. At some point, you’d shown an interest in a hatchet-throwing game set up at the rear of the lounge, and he’d offered to play with you when your co-workers shied away.

Yoongi had spent all these months in a safe bubble. Sure that he’d been professional enough that you would never have any interest in him beyond work. That the warm companionship built between you during his employment, however narrow, was more than enough for him. That the one-sided feelings he’d been tamping down would never come to surface, would dissipate in a month when his contract was up and he disappeared from your life.

Only he’d made one mistake as he gave you advice on your throw, gripping your arm a little too roughly. Something about catching the faintly floral scent in your hair as he positioned your elbows and the soft warmth of your hands as his fingers grazed against yours had made him careless. Either that, or he’d just been offshore for too long, his usual control gone lax.

He’d parted his lips to apologize. And found you looking up at him with all fire and desire, all need. If there was one thing Yoongi was good at, it was reading people. He knew that look. He’d definitely never seen the message in your eyes before, but it was crystal clear in the look you’d shot in his direction. Because of your illness, you didn’t drink. This was no drunken misunderstanding. Instead, your expression hit him like a silent signal he’d never expected to see from you.

He should’ve stepped back then, but his curiosity spurred him on, desperate to figure out if his mind was only seeing what he longed to see. Rather than letting you go, he’d pulled you roughly again under the guise of readjusting your position. And he didn’t miss the sharp inhale of breath you made in response, felt the shiver in your body as you’d molded to his hands. He let go of you then, but held back his apology. You said nothing, only aimed and threw as he’d instructed.

Bullseye.

You’d clapped your hands in elation, and Yoongi’s mind went a little haywire.

Half the industry made snide jokes, calling you the royal liability of AK Global’s property and construction kingdom. With how open your family had been about your condition, and though the intention had always been to inspire, it made you a constant target. He hadn't witnessed it in the last year, likely thanks to your dedicated security teams, but he’d heard plenty of stories. Of attempted kidnappings and targeted extortion. Of privacy violations and calculated attacks against AK Global’s empire through attacks on you.

A glass princess.

Though his initial research had turned up the same reputation, he hadn’t been under that impression for a long time. He’d witnessed your particular brand of strength firsthand enough times to know that glass was a lot tougher than you were given credit for. He thought he’d understood.

But that look, that response to his hold had left him wondering if he’d ever understood anything about you at all.

Yoongi slid fingers underneath his buttoned shirt collar, suddenly slightly overheated. He didn’t need to entertain a world where anything could happen between you. Even if there was the slightest interest on both sides, it could never go anywhere. You had your world, and he had his.

“When?” Namjoon’s voice rumbled. Call apparently finished, you had retaken your seat and Namjoon now stood at the edge of your desk, phone in hand and no doubt already coordinating a protection plan for the evening.

“In two weeks, that Friday. It’s the same charity gala they host this time every year, except they’re neck deep in shareholder negotiations and Tae fucked off with Jungkook for who knows how long. So it falls to me.” You sighed.

“You’ve been there every year,” Namjoon said. “Why’s she so worried this time?”

“You know how she is, Joon. Big events always make her nervous, especially if I’m on my own.”

He gave a breathy harrumph. “You know, it feels like I should be insulted.”

“What you should be is off. Go home. The second shift team has been here for hours. Go have a life outside of mine, please.”

“What?” he protested, seemingly incredulous. “I have a life.”

“Last movie you saw? Last restaurant you went to? Name of the last person you took on a date? Quickly!”

Namjoon only grumbled.

“I’m safe,” you insisted. “Go.”

He gave your head a familial pat and started heading past Yoongi’s desk and towards the exit. “Fine, I’ll go. And remember to send me your date’s info sooner rather than later. Those last-minute background checks are pricey and I’d rather save our budget for a nice bonus.”

Something whizzed across the room and caught Namjoon in his muscular shoulder. He only laughed and picked it up, placing the weaponized paper clip at the edge of Yoongi’s desk. He nodded in Yoongi’s direction with a pleased grin, wishing him a good night and heading out the side entrance.

You sighed again and slid back down into your chair.

“I’ve never heard you sigh so much over an event. Why does this one sound so intense?” he commented. He attempted to feign only mild interest, scratching away at his notebook with the pencil you’d gifted him. An industry-specialized mechanical drawing pencil that you thought would suit him well since he preferred to sketch his plans so much by hand. And you were right, because of course you were.

“It’s just another night networking for the company. Mingling, dinner, fundraiser, speech. It’s so predictable it could be scripted, really. But since I have to go alone, my parents are being overprotective.” You breathed a soft laugh. “More so than usual, I mean. I know it has to be that way, and I’m grateful we have the resources, but sometimes it’s a little suffocating.”

“So we need to squeeze in a few more boxing lessons before you go then, yeah?”

He’d run into you once in the company gym, when he’d come back offshore and desperately needed to expend some energy. Always so genuinely curious, you’d taken an interest in his controlled jabs at the punching bag, and he’d spent a little time teaching you the best form and placement for a few basic swings.

You made that quiet laugh that warmed him to the bone.

“I don’t remember being your star student, so I’d better leave that to the professionals. Anyway, I’m not worried.” Yoongi said nothing, letting your words marinate. “Well, I guess I’m always a little worried. But don’t tell Namjoon I said that. He’d have kittens.”

It always humbled him, your willingness to be honest in your feelings, to show him vulnerability when he had no right to ask it of you. You hadn’t been like that from the beginning. But somehow in time he’d earned it from you, and he wished more than anything that he could be worthy of that trust.

Your eyes flicked back to the project on your screen.

“Oh, I saw your update for the entrance schematics. This pressed marble they’re requesting for the partition. How did you know the construction set would be losing its seismic certification soon?”

He shrugged.

“Heard about a collapse a year or so ago and put the pieces together. Their design will be better off with the substitute bracing options I sent, even if they only care about looks.”

Your impressed smile was subtle, but it felt like powerful praise. In truth, his actions may have been the cause of that building collapse that led to him knowing about the inferior bracing, but that information didn’t feel necessary to share when considering structural integrity.

“What would I do without your obscure design knowledge?”

“Be slightly less rich, I imagine,” he said with a chuckle.

The two of you worked in amicable quiet for another hour. Finally, he’d finished his updates, standing from his chair and giving his back a refreshing stretch. He could either call it quits for the night or work on renders for the next setup to get ahead. He looked over at you, legs criss-crossed in your chair, lip between your teeth as you focused on your tablet, your eye for detail likely still making the most minute adjustments on your quest for perfection in your work.

A few minutes later and he was handing you a steaming cup of herbal tea, allowing his fingers to graze yours, but not linger.

“Ah, thanks,” you’d said with a sweet smile up at him.

“Carved carrara marble?” he asked, leaning down to get a better look at your screen. You scoffed.

“Yeah, I think they’ve forgotten this is a commercial build, but with as much as I’m billing them for all these alterations, I suppose I don’t care. Actually, let me get your opinion on a few of the final open-space textiles.”

He spent a few minutes looking through overlay plans with you, offering feedback where he could. No one would ever doubt you were an expert at the work that you did, but from the day he’d met you, you’d always taken your staff’s input to heart.

From behind your shoulder, he noticed as your phone lit up from its stand, a text from Namjoon scrolling across the screen.

Joonbug: Go to bed.

Joonbug: And I know you’ve already chosen a date. Send the name.

You groaned and picked up your phone as Yoongi made his way back to his desk.

“Why did I agree to bring a date?” you murmured aloud. “They’ll be bored to tears, I’m sure.”

You began swiping motions on the small screen through what he assumed was your contacts, likely sorting through suitable date options. Yoongi felt a slow tightening in his chest. He knew the event you were talking about, including the enormous donations it received annually that had benefited medical research worldwide. He was scheduled to go back to shore that week. Briefly. But he wouldn’t be offshore again until the day after your event.

He rolled his pencil between his fingers, thumb rubbing against the grooves where you’d had his initials engraved into the side, and fighting the sudden, intense urge to snap it in two. You sighed again softly and pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth as you thought, yet another habit of yours he’d come to appreciate. For a split second, he thought he could ignore the urge knocking at the back of his neck. And then the words were out of him, mouth betraying his sensible mind.

“Are you sure it would be boring for them?”

“Unless they have a fascination with museums or long speeches about medical research,” you answered without looking up, fingers still scrolling.

“Yeah. And it’ll be black tie too, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Right. And what time do I need to pick you up?”

“Well, it starts at eight, but you know people are always…late…to…”

That had you looking up, pretty eyes gone wide as they settled on him.

“Are…are you offering to be my date?”

He was, wasn’t he? It was a mistake, something he’d no doubt come to regret. But the thought of you spending the night on some man’s arm — an arm that wasn’t his — had broken his rational thought into pieces, so he answered your question with a slow nod anyway.

“…Oh.” Your lips fell open a little in surprise at his words. Lips he very much wanted to…

He shut down those thoughts, redirecting his gaze back to his desk, trying to focus on architectural layouts, fabric swatches, interior sketches, or anything that would bring him back to reality. He’d held off for this long. Soon his contract would be up and he’d be off elsewhere, far away from you. So that maybe you could remember him as your friendly co-worker, rather than who he really was. Maybe one day, far in the future, there could be someone long-term for him. But it wasn’t now and it wasn’t you. Still, you had protected him all those months ago. If nothing else, for one night, he could do the same.

“Okay. Uh, eight then.” A slow smile spread across your face, and he realized he’d gone back to looking at you. You started typing into your phone, likely confirming his name for Namjoon’s sake.

Yoongi didn’t dare get his hopes up for anything more than a night of serving as your arm warmer as you coasted through the wealthiest of your peers high off their own generosity. He was who he was, nothing would change that. Although the short bursts of sweet camaraderie and many late-night conversations between you had tried to convince him otherwise, he’d never belong in your world as much as you could never belong in his.

It would be painful for him when it was time for tide to roll in, an empty space he hadn’t felt before suddenly filled with your warmth, only to be left empty again once he was gone. At the very least, it would give him a chance to wear the cufflinks you’d gotten him, to indulge in the quiet language of gifts that had built between you over the months.

You rubbed your fingers across your collarbone, a self-soothing technique you often did to calm your nerves. Had he really picked up on all your small habits this way? His eyes fell to your wrist as you moved. To the delicate circlet of gold and colorful gems. Given your status and the jewels he’d seen you wear, you had pieces in your collection worth more than the building you both sat in.

But you wore the silly charm bracelet he’d gifted you almost every day.

“This goes beyond privacy. You’re jeopardizing the safety of my client,” Namjoon groused.

Head of your security for more than a decade, Kim Namjoon was an intimidating force in both body and presence. And though his tone as he spoke was hushed, the stricken look on the organizer’s faces let you know that intimidation was coming across loud and clear. Despite the way others perceived him, it always amused you to hear him call you his client, when he had essentially become a big brother to you in all but blood.

A stern-looking man in well-tailored pants hurried away, no doubt to locate an event coordinator to offer some empty apology you didn’t need. Since you were technically the evening’s guest of honor, you’d expected to take photos tonight. But only with Yoongi a safe distance from your side. Instead of the discreet entrance you’d been promised, the media had been ready with flashing cameras to capture your arrival. Your arrival next to Yoongi.

And while Yoongi had taken his unexpected photo op in stride, your mother had already likely received twenty notifications of pictures of you on his arm, asking who you were with and when they’d be receiving invitations. It was an unfortunate side effect of your family’s fame and success that all your personal business tended to become everyone else’s. Thankfully, you’d already had the foresight to turn off your phone for the night.

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you said to him.

“It’s alright, really,” Yoongi reassured you as he helped slide your warm winter coat from your shoulders and handed it to the coat check attendant. His voice was so close as he moved, and as usual, it had an almost calming effect. Still, now that you were both inside the venue, the weight of exposure had hit you fully.

Since joining your commercial properties team, you’d learned that Yoongi was many things. A curious mix of detailed, analytical design reports and quality, on-site handiwork, he was even-tempered, calm almost to a fault, kind and thoughtful in every interaction you witnessed. Possibly addicted to excessive overtime hours, stitched together by caffeine and high standards.

And above all else, he was private.

“It’s fine,” he told you again in that gentle, reassuring way he had. You swallowed the follow-up apology you’d been about to make.

His eyes traced over you in slow appreciation. With winter drifting down lightly outside, you’d both warded off the chill with thick coats. But now that you were inside the warmth of the museum, the effort you’d put into your appearance had been uncovered. And, after wiping droplets of melted snow from his half-rimmed glasses, he didn’t hesitate to resume his lingering gaze. It was easy to admit to yourself that you wanted it from him, and easier to admit, as you appreciated the way his dark, pinstripe formal suit enhanced his every handsome feature, that you wanted to return the favor.

“Here. Your hair,” you said. You reached up to brush snowflakes from his shoulder-length waves, artfully parted and brushed behind his ears tonight. Once he understood your intent, he leaned down to give you easier access, closing his eyes and trusting your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper once you’d finished, pretty lashes blinking open and eyes immediately landing on you. “Who could blame them for wanting a few pictures?”

Subtleties. Everything with him was subtleties. Not that you looked beautiful tonight, but that you are beautiful, period. Even the way he had offered to accompany you tonight. So subtle, you’d almost missed it.

As he leaned back, his gaze focused on something behind you. You watched him pause, his brown eyes darkening for the briefest moment. A darkness that you’d only seen there once before.

You took a quick glance in the direction of his attention. Near the museum’s entrance, you spotted one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen. Wearing a dark suit jacket and a silk shirt splashed with colorful patterns, he had endless broad shoulders and naturally plump lips that looked slightly puckered and all mischief. The first few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, and you saw the beginnings of a flower tattoo lined across his chest, its curling petals ending just below his long neck.

Not wanting to stare for too long, you turned back to Yoongi.

“Someone you know?”

“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally.

Darkness now wiped away, Yoongi aimed that gentle smile of his in your direction. And as you usually did, you served as his mirror, smiling back and tucking your questions away for a future that may never have answers.

Subtleties. Secrets.

With the life you’d led, with the conditions you faced, it was important to both your parents that you marry the right kind of man. Kind, strong, intelligent, diligent. But what you really wanted to explore was whether or not that list could include a little darkness.

Yoongi offered you his arm, the perfect gentleman. Your eyes fell again to the cufflinks you’d gifted him for his birthday after he’d mentioned some of his overseas clients required him to dress up his usual style for high-profile business meetings. That he’d chosen to wear them tonight of all nights gave you a little reassurance. Perhaps, though it was a very small perhaps, he might be willing to share some of that darkness with you.