Chapter Text
Light snow falls over the sprawling city of Seoul. The ceiling-height window that dominates the west wall of Taehyung’s office turns pale grey with the mist of the season. This building stands taller than its surrounding friends, a titan of glass and steel. Steel is Taehyung’s trade. The business has been passed down through his family for three generations, and now this office is his; he watches the snowfall and remembers planting his small hands against the glass as a child, gazing down at the tiny dots of people below.
‘I’m taking off, Mr Kim.’
He looks up and smiles to Chaerin, the optimistic receptionist who has managed to keep him sane for the last three years, since he took over control of the company at the tender age of twenty-two to protect his father’s ailing health. Her dark hair is pinned back in a style ten years too old for her, but he thinks that working here would age anyone. ‘Enjoy your Christmas, Chaerin,’ he tells her. It’s still only 4pm, but he has told all of the staff to leave at least a few hours early on this Christmas Eve. Chaerin is one of the last few left, along with her husband in Accounting.
‘Promise me that you’ll leave the office before midnight, sir?’ she says.
‘Perhaps.’ He cricks his neck from side to side and glances back at his computer screen. His inbox displays an Unread total of 1300, and there are two spreadsheets open that he needs to sign off on before the end of the day. It’s okay. The only thing that Taehyung likes about Christmas is that while the rest of the world takes a day off, he has a 24-hour window in which to catch up on his backlog of work before everyone else moves on. When he agreed to take on the CEO role, fresh out of business college, he’d never expected it to be this hard. His father never made it look this hard.
‘I mean it, boss.’
‘I know.’
Chaerin has been the one who has picked up his dry-cleaning every 48 hours for three years, the one who has made his coffees even when he has sworn that he’ll learn how to use the machine, and the one who sent his parents their Christmas presents to London when the thought slipped his mind amidst the signing of a significant contract two weeks earlier. ‘Here,’ she says, and she holds out a small gift bag. ‘From me and the family.’
He stands, the ridges of his spine cricking with disuse. This seat, ergonomic though it is, has been his resting place for the last nine hours. ‘Chaerin, you didn’t have to,’ he says as he pulls out the bottle of single malt whiskey. It’s very expensive, his favourite outside of single cask, maybe too expensive for her paygrade and he reminds himself to give her a pay-rise in the new year. The wax seal is inky blue. His finger runs over the textured label. ‘Thank you.’
‘Happy Christmas, Mr Kim. Please do take the day off.’
When she turns to leave, he lowers himself slowly into his desk chair and turns the bottle over in his hand. ‘Fuck,’ he breathes out loud. He meant to buy Chaerin and her husband a very special present for this Christmas; he intended to seek out exclusive box tickets to the ballet which she has always talked about. And he forgot. Just like everything else, the thought drifted from his mind. Chaerin bought him this finest vintage whiskey when he would’ve been happy with a box of chocolates. And he forgot to buy her anything in return.
A few moments pass by in which he stares at the label. Blood thunders in his ears, frustration at his own brain. This never used to happen. At college he was sharp as a blade, always the quickest to answer questions and turn in his essays, but now his mind feels fuzzy all the time. Stress and sleep deprivation and an information overload has dulled his wit. The fun-loving, easy-going but high-achieving Taehyung of his college days is a distant memory. Adulthood has eroded that veneer.
His eyes flicker to his inbox again. The unread emails, many of them marked red with urgency, blink back at him. Then, with rough hands he breaks the seal on his new whiskey and lifts out a crystal tumbler. It’s early in the day for this, but it is Christmas after all. He holds the hazelnut brown up to the light and examines the colour, smiling at the quality before taking a sip. As the flavour floods his palate, he smiles. The second gulp finishes the entire measure. He tips it down his throat like water and snaps the glass back down onto the desk. Logging out of the mail application, he powers down his computer and opens his top drawer to retrieve his wallet.
~
The streets are rammed with last minute shoppers. The earlier light dusting of snow has left the sidewalks slippery to Taehyung’s polished shoes, and he knows that he’s kicking up water onto the hems of his bespoke Zegna suit, but he doesn’t slow his pace. A path cleaves itself for him through the crowd. Everywhere that he goes, people stare at him and they move aside for him. Whether it’s the angular almost aristocratic features, the gleaming dark eyes and slicked back black hair, or whether it’s the air he carries with him that makes people avoid meeting his eye, he never has problems getting down a busy street.
His preferred luxury department store is too far across town and he does not want to call his driver or wrestle with the subway, but there is another store closer. Every day on the way to work his chauffeur drives him past the windows. At the moment, their Christmas display is bright with fake snow and a larger-than-life Santa Claus. There are so many Christmas trees, covered with gold and silver ornaments, and boxes lavishly wrapped in metallic ribbon. A scene plays out of slightly sinister mannequin children opening their gifts and Taehyung shakes his head as he finds his way to one of the entrances.
He finds himself shunted into a sort of queue snaking its way around the ground floor, but he manages to create a new channel in the direction of the staircase. No one else is using it, preferring the gold-plated elevator, but Taehyung has never minded the stairs. Sometimes at the company offices, he takes the fire-escape at least part of the way up to his top floor office, because he does not have time to exercise much otherwise. At college, he plucked up the energy to go to the gym once or twice a week, but now it’s impossible to fit into his schedule.
The stairs are less busy, carpeted with red velvet. His fingers graze the gold banisters as he runs up the stairs two at a time. Every person in the building is wearing a similarly frantic expression, the exclusive reserve of Christmas Eve shoppers. Someone bumps into Taehyung and then freezes, staring right at him. He raises his eyebrows as they stammer a quick apology, but they don’t look away. ‘No need to apologise,’ says Taehyung. That was something that his father taught him when he was very young: never apologise when you have done nothing wrong. ‘It was merely a collision.’ He gives a smile.
He slows down for the rest of the steps. At the second floor, he steps out into another crammed section. The sweet scent of roasting chestnuts reaches his nostrils. A machine nearby is turning cotton candy. The nearest shelf is filled with artisan jams wrapped in brown paper, but the next along contains row upon row of regimented chocolate Santas. One has fallen over, and Taehyung feels the urge to reach out and stand it back upon its feet, but someone else knocks into him and he is shunted to the next aisle. The food-hall of the department store is as raucous as downstairs.
Between the horde of bodies, Taehyung finds the back of his neck starting to sweat. So many voices, mostly those of tourists, race past him that he cannot make sense of any of it. To compensate for the freezing temperatures outside, the heating system has been turned up so high that now everyone is sweating in their coats and scarves. Taehyung did not think to grab a coat so he feels better than most. He has never felt the cold like some people do. Being driven everywhere too, it’s rare that he thinks to wrap up. Nonetheless, he has to push his way to a corner to try to pull off his suit jacket. It’s at risk of being torn amongst the crowd anyway.
He folds the jacket over his arm and pulls his tie loose. After a moment of hesitation, he undoes his top button and rubs his hand across his hot throat. A glance back at the foray and he gulps. Often, it is Chaerin who comes to do this shopping for him. He’d never considered what extra stress he was putting her under. Straightening up, he takes a step back into the fray with a renewed sense of purpose. Across the hall, he can see the hampers. There are less people filling the aisle where the most expensive hampers are advertised.
Taehyung examines them one by one, frowning at a tin of beluga caviar. That’s not Chaerin’s kind of thing. However, he does want to spoil the family. Not least because of everything that she has done for him over the last year, but perhaps just a little in his own mind to make up for the gross matter of his forgetfulness. Most of the hampers are comprised of European foods – Italian panettone, French Champagnes, German stollen. So much of it is cured meats, too much for a family to eat, and Taehyung sighs, picking up the ticket for a smaller hamper instead. It would be over-indulgent to spend a million won on a hamper anyway.
Finding something to buy is only half of the battle.
When he searches around for somewhere to pay, he is steered away by a harried-looking member of staff. ‘No orders are to be placed at these checkouts to prevent over-crowding! You’ll need to try the next department over!’
‘The next - ’ Taehyung starts, but he’s already caught in a wave of people migrating to the next department along. Like moving from one room in a nightclub to the next, the atmosphere changes completely. The strong smells and raucous atmosphere of the food hall are replaced by the hush of childhood excitement, the whisperings and pleadings of kids, as he enters the toy department. He holds the ticket for his hamper tightly in his hand and slides his way down an aisle of luxury jigsaw puzzles on his way to the winding queue at the counter.
Here, he’s buffeted around by children half his height, chasing their parents with expressions of sheer joy. It brings back memories of Taehyung’s childhood. He remembers being brought to stores like this, being chastised by his parents for talking too loudly, and being taken aside by his grandparents to explain that he ought not demand all of the most expensive toys. His grandparents remember a time when the family was not rich, when they were as poor as it was possible to be. They taught Taehyung to appreciate what he was given.
The queue moves slowly and Taehyung’s mind drifts back to his inbox. His phone has been buzzing non-stop in his pocket but he refuses to check it now. The two kids in the queue in front of him are playing with luxury German teddy-bears, a far cry from the brightly coloured plushies that they sell at the street-stall outside Taehyung’s office for 5000 won. As he reaches the front of the line, he starts to see the stress from the workers behind the long line of checkouts.
They all wear the same expression of exhaustion, hair loose from pins or bowties tipped to one side. Taehyung grits his teeth. Whether it is his fault of not, it fills him with guilt that they are all here working like this on Christmas Eve just to wrap parcels for people like him who left it too late. He unfolds the ticket in his hand and moves another few steps down the queue.
His eyes are drawn right and he smiles as he watches another child behind the checkouts. She’s sat on the counter along the backwall, swinging her legs. Her dark hair is braided in two plaits. The reason that she catches his eye is the pair of pink fairy wings pulled on over her dress, fluffy and strung with silver tinsel. He laughs to himself at the joy of children and looks down at his ticket. As an open spot appears at the checkouts, he steps forward, but by the time he reaches the slow the sales advisor has disappeared.
Taehyung does not mind waiting. He puts down his ticket and looks left and right. The assistant for his checkout is now standing in front of the little girl, and they seem to be arguing about something. ‘But I really want it!’ she whispers, and her lower lip sticks out the way that only children can do when they want to guilt-trip someone. ‘Please, please!’
‘I’ve already got your presents, Ji-ah!’
‘Can we go home soon?’
‘Soon. Just one more hour.’ He turns back around and jumps when he sees Taehyung waiting at the checkout. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,’ he says, stumbling over a bundle of wicker basket in the haste to return to his till. As he appears in position, Taehyung finds himself to say anything in response.
The man is quite something, something else. His hair is bleached and dyed a soft peachy colour, most unlike the uniformed styles of everyone else working in the store. His bowtie is still straight and buoyant, and he gives Taehyung a dazzling smile. Taehyung can tell that it’s genuine, because his eyes crinkle and his cheeks begin to dimple. One of his front teeth is slightly crooked; his smile is so unique that Taehyung just stares a moment. Then he clears his throat. ‘It’s okay, it’s no problem,’ he says, and he manages to smile back, ‘I don’t mind waiting.’
‘She desperately wants this doll,’ says Jimin, and he nods to the magnificent doll propped up advertised behind the counter. Taehyung can see why a young girl would dream of that one. That fairy has wings too but they’re studded with little crystals, and the doll’s dress is layered with pink chiffon.
‘It’s very pretty,’ nods Taehyung. ‘Is she your little sister?’
The man laughs and shakes his head. ‘No, God no, my daughter. I’m lucky my boss lets her hang out here because trying to get childcare on Christmas Eve is wild.’
That makes Taehyung stare even more. The man barely looks old enough to have a daughter, let alone one this old. She must be six or so. Taehyung glances to the name-badge on the man’s chest. Jimin. ‘She’s very sweet,’ supplies Taehyung, aware that parents like to be complimented about their children.
‘She is,’ smiles Jimin. ‘But I’m not sure she understands that just because daddy works at the department store, that doesn’t mean he gets to take home all the toys.’
‘A doll like that must be expensive.’
Jimin mimes a mind-blown motion and then laughs with that same beautiful smile. ‘More expensive than someone like me could ever dream of. But it’s okay. She’ll understand later.’
The same guilt from earlier makes Taehyung skin crawl now. He has placed the ticket down on the counter, the ticket for the cheaper option of the hampers, but it is still an outrageous price. It is rare that he feels embarrassed, and certainly not for his wealth, but he feels embarrassed now. Jimin eyes the hamper ticket and then gives him a small smile.
‘You want me to run that through for you?’
‘Yes, please,’ nods Taehyung. His mouth is dry. He clears his throat. ‘I’m really hoping that you can have it delivered in the morning.’
Jimin makes a non-committal sound. Every expression and sound that he makes is a little over the top, but not in a sarcastic way. It’s like he has an enthusiasm for life. ‘Not likely, sir,’ he says with a look of regret, ‘Christmas morning is fully booked.’
‘I can pay extra,’ he says, wincing at his own words, ‘whatever I need to make a late arrangement.’
‘I’ll have to ask my manager,’ says Jimin, and before Taehyung can stop him from disappearing he has climbed over the debris behind the tills and gone off in search of someone else. Taehyung sighs and watches Ji-ah as her eyes track around after her father. After a moment they flicker back to the doll display and she lifts one small hand to press against the glass. Taehyung doesn’t think that it should ever be necessary to keep a toy behind glass.
When the manager returns in Jimin’s place, Taehyung tries not to think about where he has gone. ‘You are looking for a delivery on Christmas Day, sir?’ asks the manager. She looks as stressed as the rest of them.
‘Please,’ he drops his voice, ‘it’s very important. An emergency. I’ll pay whatever you need me to pay. It’s for a colleague who has worked very hard this year.’ To place emphasis on his point, he pulls out his wallet and draws his black card, placing it down on the counter.
‘I will have to phone through to the food department,’ she explains.
Taehyung sighs, having just come from there, but he does not complain. He learned from a young age never to betray to staff anywhere that he is frustrated; it is not their fault that this time of the year is a mess. ‘Thank you. Perfect.’ As she walks away, he rests his hands onto the counter and then lifts one to rub his eyes. Tiredness weighs heavy upon him. During the last week, he has not slept as much as he ought to. There are two vital contracts being signed at the end of the year and they don’t press pause for the festive season.
A glance down the row of checkouts shows him that Jimin is now serving at another counter, and he’s ashamed of the way that his heart falls.
‘I’m able to arrange a special delivery for you,’ says the manager as she returns, and relief runs from the back of Taehyung’s neck down to his fingertips. ‘I’ll just put through the hamper on the system.’
He nods. ‘Thank you. You’ve saved my life.’
As she tots up the total of the hamper and the extortionate delivery fee, Taehyung rubs his neck. Before she takes the card, matte-finished with a fringe of silver, he glances back up at the glass-cased doll behind the counter and bites his lip. His grandfather always taught him that granting the wish of someone less fortunate than yourself is the true gift of Christmas. And almost everyone in the world is less fortunate than Taehyung, by virtue of all that he has inherited. He sighs. For the last few years, Taehyung thinks that he’s failed to do that, to do a good deed in the festive season. Hesitation, and then he clears his throat.
‘Will you do something else for me?’
‘Of course, sir?’ Her expression indicates that she’s eager to please, perhaps having sensed the wealth on his clothes and his black card now.
‘That doll, the fairy in the case there, will you add it to my bill?’
She smiles. ‘Let me guess, for a very lucky niece?’
‘No, no,’ he shakes his head. ‘I’d like you to give it to your sales assistant, Jimin, for me. For his daughter.’
The look of surprise on her face can’t be shielded by any degree of experience in customer service. ‘For Jimin?’
‘For Ji-ah, please.’
‘Do the two of you know each other?’
‘We didn’t a few minutes ago,’ he says. ‘Please don’t tell him that it is from me. I’m just a customer.’
‘Just a customer?’ she raises her eyebrows and there’s a wink hidden somewhere in her expression.
Taehyung nods. ‘Just a customer.’
‘I’ll put that through for you, sir.’ He sees her eye the name on his card before she runs it through and passes him the cheque to sign. He hadn’t asked the price of the doll, and his eyes almost pop out of his head when he sees the receipt. It’s nothing to him, a small drop in the water that sends only tiny ripples across the ocean of his wealth. But nonetheless, he never imagined a toy to cost so much. It makes him feel warm inside, at least, to be able to gift something like this to someone else.
Someone like Jimin.
‘I’ll just call the delivery team to confirm the time and address for you, if you’d like to wait over there, sir.’
‘Of course,’ he nods, though he’d thought that she’d already made all of the necessary calls.
He moves well out of the way of the other customers and runs a hand through his hair. Under his fingers he can feel sweat, and he realises that he can’t wait to get out of here back to the fresh air. A deep lungful of cold winter air would be a delightful relief from the claustrophobic, hot atmosphere inside. He finds himself wondering how Jimin can survive working in here all day every day. Taehyung has never worked a job like this. He took his first internship at college, at a company owned by one of his father’s friends, and then he entered the family business.
Unable to look elsewhere, he looks back up to the checkouts in search of Jimin’s face, but he seems to have disappeared from behind the counter. As has Ji-ah. Has his shift ended so soon? Taehyung leans back against a shelf of toy trains and puts his jacket back on, smoothing his sharp white collar. His clothes are pressed every day, so he never wears anything that isn’t ironed to absolute angles. Waiting and waiting, he wishes that he’d bought a bottle of water with him.
‘Mr Kim?’ says a voice, and he spins around to see –
Jimin.
Jimin stands opposite him with a fluffy hooded parka on over his waist-coated uniform. One hand holds Ji-ah’s. Under her arm she’s clutching the grand silver box of a very expensive gift. For a moment, Taehyung just admires Jimin’s face, his sparkling eyes, and then he realises that he isn’t smiling. ‘Mr Kim, sir, I can’t accept this.’
‘Jimin - ’ Taehyung starts, then he cringes. He’s always found it rude to read someone’s name off a badge. ‘Is it okay if I call you that?’
‘It’s fine but I really can’t accept this. Please take it back.’ Jimin’s face is set, lips in a hard line.
‘Jimin, it’s just a gift,’ he says softly, and he glares over at the counter, searching for the manager who has obviously told Jimin in precise detail what he asked for. ‘She wasn’t supposed to tell - ’
‘Of course she told me! She told me some handsome billionaire had taken a shine to me,’ he hisses, glancing down at Ji-ah to check that she’s occupied picking at the box. ‘She even told me to finish my shift early so that I could go chase after you! Like something out of a movie! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? I’m not some doll to be bought!’
Taehyung stares at him, aghast. ‘It wasn’t like that, Jimin,’ he says, jumping as someone knocks into his shoulder passing by. ‘I swear that it wasn’t like that. It was just for Ji-ah. She really wanted it.’
Ji-ah is looking up at them now. She’s more than old enough to know what they’re saying, but she’s still clutching the box like her life depends on it.
‘Well now I have to be the bad guy,’ says Jimin, ‘because my manager gave it right to her and now I have to tell her to give it back! So thank you for that. Thanks a bunch.’ He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales. ‘Ji-ah, please give the doll back to the man. I’ll buy you a different one for your birthday, I promise.’
At first, Taehyung thinks that the little girl is going to argue like children do, perhaps throw a tantrum, but instead she holds out the box without protest. Like a child who has been taught to appreciate the value of money and possessions, for very different reasons to the way that Taehyung was taught. Her eyes are wide and glassy but her jaw is set just like her father’s.
‘Please, Jimin, it’s just a Christmas present,’ says Taehyung gently. ‘I was there buying a crazy expensive hamper for my secretary. Let me buy a doll for a little girl.’
‘I can’t repay you for this. It’d cost me more than my monthly paycheque to pay you for this!’ Jimin snaps, but Taehyung can tell that his resolve is wavering.
‘You don’t have to pay me anything back.’
Jimin bites his lip, then looks over at the checkouts. ‘Let’s go outside. All of my colleagues are eavesdropping. At least I got out of work half an hour early.’
The whole way down to the street, Jimin does not say a word, but his daughter does. She smiles up at Taehyung with gappy teeth, looking over her shoulder as Jimin storms along holding her by the hand, and asks question after question. ‘Where do you work, Mr Kim?’ she asks.
‘I sell metal,’ says Taehyung, ‘really good metal so that people can build tall buildings and ships and bridges.’
‘So that means you’re a billionaire?’ she parrots the words from her father. ‘Is metal that expensive?’ Taehyung laughs – children can be so perceptive, especially clever ones. If he ever has kids, he thinks he will love this stage of their development, when they ask so many questions, seeking out all of the knowledge in the world.
‘Ah,’ Taehyung smiles, ‘well, good metal is indeed very valuable. And my family has been doing this for a very long time.’
‘Dad?’ she changes tack, tugging on Jimin’s hand. ‘Does this mean I get to keep the doll?’
Jimin glances back at Taehyung too just as they step out through the front doors into the cold afternoon, or an afternoon that has faded into evening. The sky is dark now, but light snow is still falling, illuminated silver by the patches of moonlight and starlight that peek through the clouds. Since Taehyung entered the store, the streets have quietened as everyone prepares to lock down for the next couple of days safe at home. He’s jolted to reality as Jimin rounds on him.
‘You shouldn’t have done this without asking me first! You didn’t even know my name!’
‘I did. I read it on your badge,’ he says.
‘You don’t know anything about me! We’re not a charity case. We have an apartment and hot water and a heater that works just fine, contrary to the image I’m sure you’re constructing in your head. We’re not your pity story. Buying a doll isn’t your instant route to philanthropy.’
‘You never let us turn on the heater, dad,’ interrupts Ji-ah.
‘But it’s there if we really needed to!’ he huffs. ‘The point is, we don’t need charity. I have a job, we pay our bills. Ji-ah doesn’t need a crystal-studded doll. She’s fine with the things I buy her. It’s too much.’
‘Okay,’ nods Taehyung. ‘I can return it. I didn’t mean to cause offence. It wasn’t intended to be like charity, just a little gift. A Christmas act of kindness. I promise, Jimin, that I never intended to offend you. I’m sorry.’
‘Fine,’ Jimin stands up straighter. He rolls his shoulders back. Already in the freezing air his cheeks have turned pink and his lips pale. Ji-ah is bundled up in a huge puffy coat and mittens and a bobble-hat, but outside of his parka most of Jimin’s skin is exposed to the elements. ‘Well you can’t return it now or everyone will be talking about how I rejected your gift and the whole team will be mad at me. But I’m not happy about keeping it,’ he adds, holding a finger up, but Taehyung knows that deep down he’s grateful for the present.
‘Thank you,’ says Taehyung, like he’s the one who has received a gift.
‘Thank you thank you thank you!’ Ji-ah jumps up and down. ‘Thank you, dad!’
‘You can thank him,’ Jimin rolls his eyes and jerks his head at Taehyung. ‘I still don’t know your name, Mr Kim.’
‘Taehyung. Kim Taehyung, of Park-Kim Industries.’
Jimin laughs and looks down. ‘That’s funny. Park is my name.’
Park Jimin. Taehyung considers the name in his mind, how lovely it sounds. Everything about Jimin is quite lovely. He wants to know his story, know all about how he came to have a child as old as Ji-ah, about whether he went to college or whether he’s worked in the department store for a long time. ‘Well, I hope that your wife isn’t mad at me for buying this for Ji-ah too,’ he says quietly.
‘Wife?’ Jimin’s lips twitch to a smile, and he puts an arm around Ji-ah’s shoulders. ‘It’s just me and Ji-ah, Taehyung-ssi. We’re looking forward to a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, aren’t we?’
Ji-ah nods rapidly.
‘What about you?’ Jimin adds. ‘Your wife must be missing you, getting home so late on Christmas Eve?’
Every word is loaded, it has to be. Taehyung brushes snow from the shoulders of his bespoke jacket. That snow will stain grey but he can’t find it in him to care. ‘Oh I’m married to my work, Jimin. I’ll be spending Christmas Day in my office. Lots of emails to catch up on.’
‘Your office?’ At last it is Jimin’s turn to look aghast. ‘Your office? You can’t spend Christmas there. What about your parents?’
‘They moved to London after retiring. It’s no big deal. I’m perfectly happy with my own company.’
They stare at each other. Jimin’s nose has turned even more pink and he holds a cold hand up to rub his face. He bites his lip and then runs his hand through that soft peach hair. When his hood falls down, snow starts to settle on the top of his head and he shakes it off. Both of his ears are pierced, with silver hoops hanging from each lobe. When neither of the adults seem capable of finding words, Ji-ah sighs and tugs on Jimin’s hand. ‘Why don’t we ask Mr Kim to come to ours for Christmas?’
They both splutter in unison, a flurry of protests.
‘I couldn’t possibly - ’
‘I’m sure Mr Kim - ’
‘You’re very kind but - ’
‘Mr Kim has better things to do,’ says Jimin.
‘I mean I don’t, actually,’ he says with an honest grimace, the thought of his inbox lingering on his mind again. ‘But don’t worry, I would never impose.’
Jimin sighs and plays with settled snow at the tip of his boot. ‘Well I do owe you a favour. I make a mean Christmas dinner. Roasted sweet potato, steamed corn, dumpling soup because that’s Ji-ah’s favourite…’
This is Jimin asking him on a date. Taehyung knows it. A strange, unconventional date but a date nonetheless. His heart backflips over. Taehyung hasn’t been on a date for a very long time, let alone a date with somebody who looks like Park Jimin. Because Jimin is very beautiful and his voice has this breathy quality to it, a hint of gravel in his throat, that’s very appealing. Taehyung plays with his own hair and scratches the back of his head awkwardly. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I’d really like that. It would be nice not to be… alone, tomorrow.’
‘Let me give you my number,’ says Jimin.
Ji-ah is beaming.
‘I’ll message you. Tell Mr Kim thank you for the doll, Ji-ah.’
‘Thank you for the doll, Mr Kim!’ she chants. As Jimin turns to walk away, Taehyung hears Ji-ah whisper in a theatrical voice: ‘Is Mr Kim going to think our house is very small? Because he’s a bajillionaire?’
‘Yes, yes I’d think so,’ says Jimin, and he glances back over his shoulder. A small smile creeps back onto his face when he sees that Taehyung is still watching him. ‘He’ll like my dumpling soup though.’
I will, mouths Taehyung, and then he turns away too with a shake of his head. He heads back in the direction of his office, feeling slightly dizzy. When he’d left to find a last-minute gift to order for Chaerin, he had not expected to find… this. He thinks of his inbox again and then pushes the thought from his mind. His only plan is to return to the office to fetch his whiskey, to call his driver for the ride back to his apartment, and then spend the entire evening having a meltdown over what to wear for this date. At Jimin’s home.
On the surface at work, Taehyung is as calm as anything, painfully collected. People talk about the cool precision with which he administers everything. In his personal life, though… well.
It really is a long time since he has been on a date.