Chapter Text
Park Seonghwa had never been characterized by shyness.
While he lacked the boisterous energy of Mingi, whose expansive gestures and impulsive thoughts often preceded his self-restraint, he was far from timid.
Nor did he mirror Wooyoung’s relentless chatter or his habit of filling every silence with the sound of his own voice.
Instead, Seonghwa possessed a confidence, always knowing exactly how to command a room when the moment required it.
He possessed the rare ability to utter a definitive yes and the even rarer courage to deliver a rejection without a hint of hesitation.
This unwavering composure explained the sudden, heavy silence that smothered the dinner table the moment Mrs. Park Min Yoon cleared her throat.
Throughout the room, the comforting aroma of toasted sesame oil and fluffy steamed rice lingered.
The heat from the kitchen remained trapped in the air, wrapping around the family.
Seonghwa sat with his sleeves folded back in layers to expose his forearms, chopsticks held expertly between his fingers as he reached for a segment of spicy kimchi.
He was still in the middle of a bite when his father, Mr. Park Sung Hoon, placed his spoon onto the table with an agonizingly slow precision.
The action was far too calculated to be a simple conclusion to the meal.
Mrs. Park’s expression shifted into a courteous smile that left her eyes entirely unchanged.
“Seonghwa-yah~”
She said, voice like velvet as she settled her napkin onto her lap.
“You reach the age of 27 this year.”
In the ensuing silence, Seonghwa took a slow swallow, sensing the true direction of the conversation.
He refrained from looking up, for the familiar of the conversation had already betrayed its destination.
Knowing exactly what his mother intended to ask, he gave an answer to acknowledge her point.
“That fact is quite clear to me.”
He stated, maintaining his usual air of unshakable calm.
Mr. Park offered a nod, treating Seonghwa’s confirmation as though it were a significant revelation.
He pressed forward, voice taking on a paternal weight.
“A man of your years should naturally turn his focus toward long-term security and the foundation of a family.”
Finally lifting his eyes, Seonghwa allowed a single eyebrow to arch in silent challenge.
“My financial statements provide more than enough incentive for me to contemplate the future.”
He remarked dryly.
A sigh escaped Mrs. Park, though her stern expression flickered with a trace of genuine amusement that she could not suppress.
The levity of the moment did not touch Seonghwa’s father, who remained as unyielding as stone.
He dismissed the deflection with a shake of his head before steering the conversation back to his original point.
“Finances are not the primary concern we wish to address.”
Mr. Park stated.
“Your mother and I have reached a decision regarding an important development in your life.”
Upon hearing this, Seonghwa’s movement ceased entirely.
His chopsticks suspended in mid-air as he waited for the blow to fall.
Seated across from him, Seonghwa’s younger cousin, Jongho, appeared suddenly fascinated by the contents of his soup bowl.
His shoulders trembled with a silent energy as though he were bracing for an inevitable collision.
Seonghwa placed his chopsticks back on their rest before addressing the table.
“If this conversation concerns another series of blind dates, my previous refusal remains unchanged.”
He stated firmly.
His mother intercepted his words immediately, voice rising in a hurried correction.
“This is far more significant than a mere date.”
She countered.
Her denial had surfaced with startling speed, betraying the secret she had been keeping.
“It is less of a date and more of a contractual arrangement.”
She explained.
The reality of the situation finally settled over the table.
Seonghwa retreated into the back of his seat, crossing his arms with a casual grace that masked his rising irritation.
“An arrangement for what purpose exactly.”
He inquired, eyes narrowing.
Mr. Park looked directly at his son, expression stone-faced.
“A marriage.”
He answered.
Seonghwa’s response was immediate and entirely flat.
“Absolutely not.”
His refusal landed slicing through the steam of the side dishes like a blade.
The words effectively severed the domestic warmth that had filled the room only moments before.
He did not find it necessary to raise his voice to be heard.
Conversely, he offered no softness to temper the blow, leaving his answer to stand as a wall.
Mr. Park continued to chew his food with an infuriating calmness, behaving as though no protest had been voiced at all.
Seonghwa watched him in disbelief, eyes widening at the lack of reaction.
“I require an acknowledgment of my refusal.”
He said, voice tight with frustration.
His father eventually swallowed, paused to dab his mouth with a linen napkin and reached for his glass of water.
“The wisdom of this choice will become clear once you have gained more life experience.”
He replied dismissively.
Seonghwa blinked a single time, stunned by his father’s indifference.
He shifted his focus toward his mother, movements heavy with expectation.
In response, Mrs. Park gave him a diminutive smile that reached only the corners of her mouth.
This was a look he knew well, a carefully crafted mask of regret that she traditionally reserved for the moments she revealed a truth she had previously withheld.
It was the same submissive expression she adopted whenever she allowed her husband's will to override his own.
The sight of that smile acted as a catalyst, snapping the final thread of Seonghwa's patience.
“My desire is not for a marriage of any kind.”
Seonghwa stated, enunciating every syllable with a surgical precision.
He inclined his body forward and exerted pressure against the tabletop to maintain his internal balance.
“I am not prepared for such a life, especially not under these conditions and certainly not with a person unknown to me.”
He stated, articulation flawless.
Mrs. Park didn't allow the quiet to linger for even a second.
“Think of your future, for you will be twenty-eight by next year.”
She suggested, tone becoming tender as if she were comforting a restless child.
Without a word, she pulled his bowl toward her to replenish his rice, echoing the silent care she had provided when he was a boy still reaching his full height.
“Your life is settled, your profession is secure, and you have proven yourself to be a man of great responsibility.”
She said, tone smooth and persuasive.
Seonghwa stared at the mounting rice with a look of growing skepticism.
“This list of virtues feels more like an appraisal from a supervisor than a conversation with my mother.”
He countered.
Jongho immediately attempted to mask a burst of amusement with a faked cough.
Mrs. Park offered a smile that remained entirely unshaken by her son's sarcasm.
“My intentions are sincere, as you have met every expectation of adulthood and should view marriage as the natural progression of your life.”
She insisted.
She spoke with a melodic gentleness, methodically presenting her arguments as though she were stacking soft cushions to break the impact of Seonghwa's fall.
She spoke of the beauty of lifelong companionship and the sanctuary of mutual security.
She described the relief of shared burdens and the warmth of a partner waiting at home after his most exhausting days.
The reasonableness of her voice worked its way through Seonghwa's defenses, causing his posture to soften inch by inch.
Seonghwa found himself standing on the edge of a dangerous realization, nearly convinced that the arrangement held some merit.
He hovered there for a heartbeat, almost falling for the sanctuary his mother was trying to build with her words.
He leaned forward to settle his weight against his elbows, chin resting securely in his palms as he absorbed her words.
The illumination of the kitchen cast a soft glow across his mother’s face, lending her an air of deceptive vulnerability.
It was this specific maternal grace that forced him to second-guess his own boundaries, as Mrs. Park sounded remarkably like a woman who held the keys to his future.
“Furthermore..”
She added with a casual air, as though she were merely mentioning a trivial afterthought.
“The individual in question is certainly not a total stranger to you.”
Seonghwa felt the air leave his lungs as he blinked once in confusion.
He followed the first motion with a second blink while he struggled to reconcile her words with his own memory.
He narrowed his eyes into a sharp gaze as he scrutinized his mother’s face.
She had adopted that specific expression once again, a look which suggested she held a secret piece of information that remained hidden from him.
It was clear from the curve of her lips that she was relishing the suspense and enjoying the delay far more than was strictly necessary.
“Surely you are not implying that I am to marry Amber..”
Seonghwa said with a dangerous slowness.
At the mention of the name, Jongho’s head snapped upward in total shock.
“You mean Amber from the fifth grade—”
The younger boy interjected.
Without shifting his gaze, Seonghwa pointed a warning finger toward his cousin to signal his silence.
“Stay out of this, Choi Jongho.”
He commanded before turning his incredulous attention back to his mother.
“A single kiss behind the science building in primary school is hardly a foundation for a lifelong marriage commitment.”
A betraying tremor shook his mother’s shoulders as she fought to keep her expression neutral, a series of small wrinkles bloomed around her eyes as she surrendered to her silent laughter.
“That was certainly not a singular event.”
Jongho remarked into his bowl.
Seonghwa met this comment with a look of pure, cutting ice, a warning that effectively drained the humor from his cousin’s face.
A laugh finally escaped his mother and she shook her head to dispel his ridiculous theory.
“I can promise you that Amber is not the woman we have chosen.”
She said.
Rather than feeling relieved, Seonghwa felt his distrust deepen as he scrutinized her reaction.
“Your pause before answering was entirely too long.”
He challenged.
She defended herself immediately, words tripping over one another in her haste
“I did not hesitate for a single second.”
She replied.
Her husband remained a pillar of composure as he joined the conversation once more.
“We are not so heartless as to arrange a match like that.”
Mr. Park added smoothly.
Seonghwa sought a moment of refuge in his water glass, sipping while he waited for his parents to continue their logic.
Despite his own refusal to marry her, he felt a pang of protectiveness for Amber that manifested in the sudden narrowing of his eyes.
He was granted only a fraction of a second to dwell on his father's choice of words before the man moved the conversation toward a much more personal reality.
“Your lack of attraction to the opposite sex makes the specific woman a secondary concern.”
Mr. Park stated matter of factly.
This cold delivery of the truth caused the water to go down the wrong way, leaving Seonghwa gasping for air.
He began to choke, lungs spasming in a series of violent coughs as he blindly slammed his glass back onto the wooden surface.
The legs of his chair shrieked against the floorboards when he lurched forward to catch his breath.
He braced one trembling hand against the edge of the table for support while the other beat a frantic pulse against his chest in an attempt to clear his airway.
Jongho bolted upright from his chair with a look of genuine alarm.
“Are you actually perishing right now?”
He cried out.
“I am alright.”
Seonghwa managed to wheeze, face still flushed.
“I am merely suffering from the acute sting of betrayal.”
His mother leaned across the table at once, hand landing on his back in a pat that suggested she was well-acquainted with dinner table emergencies.
“You must sip your water with more care.”
She scolded him with a smile.
“There is no prize for finishing your drink the fastest.”
Seonghwa eventually forced himself to sit upright, eyes shimmering with tears as he leveled a gaze at his father.
“You lack the basic social grace required to drop such a revelation in the middle of a meal.”
He managed to say.
Mr. Park offered a casual shrug and reached for a bowl of side dishes with total indifference.
“It is a fact we have known for quite some time.”
He replied.
“The knowledge is certainly new to me.”
Seonghwa countered, voice sounding tight and strained.
“I would appreciate it if you would consult me before my personal life is served up between the soup and the kimchi.”
Jongho lowered himself back into his seat, expression radiating pure glee.
“This confirms every suspicion I ever had.”
He whispered.
Seonghwa snapped his head toward his cousin with a lethal glare.
“You are to remain completely silent on this matter.”
He warned.
The younger man mimed the act of zipping his lips shut.
“I shall keep my peace for now but I intend to discuss this at length later.”
He teased.
Seonghwa turned back to his parents, the question escaping him before he could stop it.
“Exactly how you were made aware of this?”
He blurted out.
His voice carried much louder than he had planned, a startled and high-toned sound that made even him recoil in embarrassment.
He immediately pressed his palms flat against the tabletop to ground himself, gaze fixed on his parents in a mixture of shock and demand.
Every other sound in the room seemed to fade away, replaced entirely by the loud thrumming of blood in his ears.
Throughout the entirety of his twenty-six years, he had meticulously maneuvered to avoid this exact confrontation.
He had spent countless sleepless nights rehearsing his revelation and crafting eloquent speeches in the shower, yet the calm conversations he had envisioned never came to fruition.
Instead, the moment had seemingly bypassed his participation altogether, arriving without his consent or control.
His mother tilted her head to the side, observing his shock with an expression that bordered on fond amusement.
In contrast to his mother's warmth, his father let out a dry snort of amusement.
It was an abrasive noise that provided no comfort or information, feeling entirely unhelpful in the face of such a life-altering revelation.
Seonghwa rotated his head toward him with agonizing slowness, posture rigid as he waited for his father to justify the outburst.
“That is hardly the response I would expect from a man who has just shattered a lifetime of secrecy.”
Seonghwa remarked, gaze fixed on his father.
Mr. Park dabbed at his lips with a napkin while the skin around his eyes folded into a knowing expression.
“You seem to believe that we stumbled upon this information by accident.”
He said.
The air seemed to leave the room as Seonghwa felt a sickening hollow form in his gut.
“This was not a guess on your part.”
He realized aloud.
Mr. Park confirmed the suspicion with a nonchalant nod.
“It was not a guess because Mingi told me everything.”
He said.
The revelation caused the dining room to fall into a stunned quiet.
The wall clock ticked with a deafening prominence in the background, rhythmic mechanical sound feeling traitorous.
Seonghwa remained frozen in a wide-eyed stare while he struggled to process the weight of the name his father had just dropped.
He blinked once as if to clear a sudden fog from his vision before he leaned in to stare even harder, searching his father’s face for any sign of a joke.
“Mingi..”
Seonghwa repeated in a faint whisper as the name settled like lead in the air.
Jongho leaned forward with his elbows planted on the table, eyes bright with entertainment.
“This is legitimately superior to any television drama I have ever watched.”
He remarked.
Seonghwa ignored the comment entirely, focusing his full attention on his parents.
“You are suggesting..”
He began with a dangerous precision.
“That my best friend, my personal secretary, a man notoriously incapable of guarding a secret for more than three minutes, provided you with this information?”
Mr. Park confirmed the statement with a single nod of his head.
“It happened during a company barbecue party.”
He added.
Seonghwa pressed his palm against his chest as if to steady his heart.
“He told you at a barbecue party..”
He echoed.
His father remained unmoved, reaching for his water glass.
He consumed the remainder of his drink, gaze remaining locked on the far side of the room as if he were bracing for a coming storm.
After he finished, he lowered the glass with a clink and gathered the napkin from his lap.
He threw the fabric onto the table in a manner so definitive that the porcelain dishes jumped under the impact.
This display of silent frustration effectively signaled that the time for casual banter had come to an end.
Seonghwa followed the flight of the napkin with a hollow feeling growing in his gut, recognizing the signal that his father was about to deliver a verdict.
“You are still getting married.”
The older man said, the tone was perfectly level.
This was the specific version of his father that brooked no dissent, using the same power that had ended every rebellion Seonghwa had ever attempted as a boy.
There was no need for him to raise his voice or show a flash of temper because the absolute certainty in his words was enough to close the matter forever.
“Urghh..”
A sound of pure exasperation tore itself from Seonghwa's throat before he had the presence of mind to suppress it.
He lunged forward with his elbows hovering precariously over the tabletop, only to freeze mid-motion as he realized his forehead was on a direct collision course with the dish of soy sauce.
He pulled himself back into an upright position with a ragged inhale, struggling to keep the remnants of his dignity intact.
He pointed a trembling finger at the various bowls and plates that filled the center of the table.
“I am truly one bad decision away from seasoning my own face.”
He muttered, frustration reaching its peak.
Jongho responded with a loud snort that echoed through the dining room.
In response, Seonghwa pressed his palms against his skin and pulled them downward in a slow motion that betrayed his exhaustion.
The entire situation felt absurd, reaching a level of ridiculousness that he could hardly fathom.
His parents were treating the prospect of his marriage with the same casual certainty they applied to mundane reminders about picking up groceries or taking out the trash.
They spoke as if they were merely assigning him a simple errand that required no significant emotional effort or personal sacrifice.
His mother had already begun to rearrange the dining spread, stacking the porcelain plates with a sense of calm and efficiency.
“We are merely engaged in a conversation, Seonghwa.”
She remarked with a tone that remained deceptively mild.
“You are making the situation sound far more dramatic than it truly is.”
Seonghwa countered her dismissiveness with immediate heat, eyes wide.
“I feel the drama is warranted because it is indeed a dramatic event, mom.”
He replied.
“You are currently organizing the entirety of my future as if you were merely ticking off a checklist.”
His father briefly glanced up from his phone screen to offer a blunt correction.
“That is because it is, in fact, a checklist.”
He said.
Seonghwa stared at him in a stunned silence before finding his voice.
“That singular sentence explains so much about my childhood.”
He noted.
Jongho leaned into Seonghwa’s space, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You should be grateful they are not demanding you walk down the aisle tomorrow.”
His cousin suggested.
Mr. Park looked thoughtful at the suggestion.
“Doing so would certainly be efficient.”
He admitted.
Seonghwa let out a much louder groan of despair and allowed his head to fall back against the top of his chair in total surrender.
He stared upward at the ceiling, eyelids moving as he counted the familiar fractures in the plaster that had been his companions during childhood.
“Very well..”
He whispered before returning his attention to the table.
“Fine. Hypothetically speaking. In this imaginary reality where I decide to go along with your arrangements.”
Mrs. Park paused her movements and looked at him, eyes shining with a newfound optimism.
Seonghwa leveled his hand toward his mother and father, gesture demanding the truth they had been withholding.
“Who?”
He said, the syllable lingering between them as the silence grew brittle.
The only response was the domestic click of the rice cooker from the countertop, a sound that felt mockingly bright given the gravity of the moment.
His father took a moment to fold his napkin with a precision that made it appear as though he were preparing for a high-stakes corporate meeting.
During the silence, Mrs. Park exchanged a swift, meaningful look with her husband, a communication that did not escape her son's notice.
Seonghwa narrowed his eyes in response, suspicion deepening as he tracked the silent dialogue passing between them.
“You are repeating that same pattern.”
Seonghwa stated, focus narrowing on his mother’s face.
“I am unsure of what you mean, Seonghwa.”
She replied, eyes wide with innocence.
“I mean the look..”
He said.
“The specific glance that signals you have made a final decision without my input.”
Jongho moved restlessly in his seat, eyes darting around as he braced for the coming storm.
“Hyung..”
He whispered tentatively.
“Perhaps, it would be wise to enjoy some dessert first.”
Seonghwa shook his head as his resolve hardened.
“No. I must know the name of the individual you are trying to hand me over to.”
He countered.
His mother let out a sigh and reached for the teapot to refill the cups.
“Drink some water.”
She advised him.
“You are getting far too worked up over this.”
Seonghwa accepted the cup primarily to give his hands something to grip.
He took a short sip, yet his stare remained locked on his mother and father.
“So? To whom?”
🍀
“No.”
The word fell from Hongjoong’s lips with a flat finality that struck the space between them like a closed door.
He was already in motion, pushing his chair back until the legs shrieked loudly against the tiled floor as he rose to his feet.
“Hongjoong..”
His mother began, hand reaching out to bridge the growing distance between them.
“I’m going home.”
He stated, having already turned his body halfway toward the exit.
He gripped the back of his chair so tightly it seemed like an anchor designed to keep him from bolting out of the house.
“Sit down, Kim Hongjoong.”
His father commanded.
The voice cut through the room with a resonance that made the very air feel suddenly heavier.
It was not a loud shout but it possessed a gravity that required no volume to demand absolute obedience.
Hongjoong became completely motionless as his father’s command took hold of the room.
He felt a strong urge to disregard the order entirely and simply walk out the door without a second glance.
After all, he was a grown man who possessed his own apartment and maintained a life that was entirely independent of his parents' control.
He reminded himself that he was no longer a child bound by the rules of this house, as he was a man who handled his own bills and maintained his own household.
His independence extended to the most basic freedoms, including the right to choose his own meals without consultation or permission.
He was fully aware that he could depart if he truly wanted to, yet the silence of the room seemed to challenge the very freedom he had worked so hard to build.
The true obstacle was the nature of his father, Mr. Kim Jae Hoon's voice, which carried a weight that Hongjoong found impossible to ignore.
This was the exact sound that had paralyzed him mid-tantrum during his childhood, freezing his seven-year-old self in an instant.
It was a familiar resonance that acted as a final gavel, ending disagreements with a finality long before they could escalate into a genuine conflict.
Authority seemed to drape over the elder man as effortlessly as a second skin, triggering a primal response that made Hongjoong’s spine stiffen in involuntary recognition.
He eventually turned around with a series of sluggish and unwilling motions to confront the man he had been trying to escape.
Mr. Kim sat in silence with his hands arranged in an orderly fashion, gaze remaining fixed on Hongjoong as he waited for his son to resume his place.
A flicker of amusement danced in Mrs. Kim Na Ra’s eyes as she watched the familiar power struggle, mouth pinched into a tight line to hide her burgeoning grin.
Hongjoong exhaled a breath through his nostrils and began the reluctant descent back into his seat.
He moved with a theatrical level of caution, making a point to slide the chair toward the table at a glacial pace that grated on the nerves of everyone present.
Even as he sat, his body remained coiled with tension.
His arms locked over his chest as if to shield himself from the coming conversation.
He fixed his gaze stubbornly on the table, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the room.
If anyone had bothered to observe him closely, they would have easily detected the childish pout that he was currently failing to suppress.
“Hongjoong, you are already twenty-seven years old—”
Mrs. Kim began, folding her hands atop the table with a grace that suggested she had rehearsed this exact speech on numerous occasions.
“Which is precisely the age when a man should focus on getting to know someone and finally settling down.”
Hongjoong interrupted, voice dripping with sarcasm.
He avoided her eyes entirely while he spoke, as the repetitive nature of this conflict had long ago stripped the conversation of any novelty.
He understood the flow of his mom's logic so intimately that he could hear her unspoken thoughts echoing in his mind like a memorized poem.
With a sharp sense of purpose, he leaned forward and braced his elbows against the tabletop.
His hands coming together in a tight weave as if he were about to dictate his own set of non-negotiable terms.
Mrs. Kim offered a pause that heightened the tension in the room.
A slight upward curve appeared at the edge of her mouth, though it was such a small movement that its true meaning remained ambiguous.
This flicker of emotion could have been a silent acknowledgement of his cleverness or it could have served as a warning that he was testing her resolve.
With a woman like her, the difference between a mother’s pride and a mother’s warning was perpetually impossible to read.
She studied him for a long moment with eyes that were both sharp and deeply assessing.
Hongjoong let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair to settle his nerves.
“Look.”
He began, tone softening in spite of his initial frustration.
“Mom. Dad. I truly realize that you mean well.”
Mr. Kim shifted slightly in his seat, maintaining an unreadable expression as he listened to his son's plea.
“I am not entirely opposed to the idea of settling down.”
Hongjoong continued while trying to bridge the gap between them.
“I simply want to do it in my own way.”
He made a vague gesture in the air, accidentally knocking his knuckles against a glass and pulling his hand back with a quick jerk.
“I am capable of handling this. I can meet someone normal. Someone who is nice.”
His mother raised a skeptical eyebrow in response.
“And I am perfectly capable of settling down.”
He added with a rushed urgency, sensing her doubt before she could even voice it.
“Eventually. I can provide you with grandchildren and fulfill all of your expectations.”
Mr. Kim leaned back into the depths of his chair, steepling his fingers loosely in front of him as he considered the statement.
The overhead light cast a sheen across the table, reflecting off the rim of his glasses as he regarded Hongjoong with a level of patience that felt inherently dangerous.
“This is not a simple, clean or pure marriage, Hongjoong.”
He finally declared, tone remaining strikingly level.
His voice was slow and unhurried, as though he were merely explaining the weather rather than systematically dismantling every bit of Hongjoong’s remaining optimism.
He spoke with a measured cadence, delivering each syllable with the certainty of a man who was entirely accustomed to being obeyed.
A sense of dread anchored itself in Hongjoong’s chest while he processed the underlying meaning of the conversation.
“Oh..”
He said quietly, the single syllable carrying the weight of his dawning comprehension.
The full scope of the situation finally aligned in his mind, fitting together with the seamless logic of a final puzzle piece that he had avoided seeing until now.
He leaned his weight forward and allowed his forehead to drop into his open palms, elbows remaining planted on the table for support.
A long and heartfelt groan followed the movement, echoing his complete lack of defense against the unfolding situation.
“I truly despise it when you utilize that specific tone.”
Mrs. Kim observed his distress over the rim of her porcelain teacup, allowing a flicker of genuine sympathy to cross her features before she lowered her gaze and took a slow sip.
She remained silent and chose not to challenge her husband’s authority in the slightest.
Mr. Kim forged ahead with his explanation, composure entirely undisturbed by the tension thick in the room.
“They represent one of our most established and oldest rivals.”
He declared.
Hongjoong raised his gaze from the table at a glacial pace, expressing one of pure wide-eyed shock.
“Rival rivals..”
He asked in a strained whisper.
“Or perhaps dramatic rivals?”
“Powerful rivals.”
His father interjected, providing the correction with a level of sternness that dismissed any room for humor.
Hongjoong retreated into the shadows of his chair as he processed the magnitude of the rivalry.
“Of course they are.”
He said, voice dropping into a resigned register.
“We have operated in the same circles for decades.”
Mr. Kim went on, expressing the toll of the years.
“We have competed for the same goals and eventually lost ground to their superior momentum.”
His mother set her cup down with a grace that masked her internal thoughts.
“The progress they have made over the years has been undeniably impressive.”
She suggested.
Hongjoong produced a short, cynical laugh that carried no warmth.
“That is one way to describe our defeat.”
He replied.
“We are no longer able to keep up, Hongjoong.”
His father said in a plain, unvarnished tone.
“Not at our current pace of operation.”
“So you are what..”
Hongjoong said, voice sharpening with a rising sense of disbelief.
He shifted his weight forward to brace his forearms on the wood, features twisting into a scowl as the full picture finally became clear.
“Joining forces..”
He murmured, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.
Mr. Kim offered a nod in response to the accusation.
The movement was deceptively small in its efficiency but it served as a confirmation that the decision was beyond Hongjoong's power to change.
Hongjoong fell back against the padding of his chair while his hand flew up to mask his face in shame.
“Oh my God..”
He whispered.
Mrs. Kim made an aborted motion to reach for him, palm lingering in the air before she placed it back on the table.
“Oh, come on..”
She said with a lilt.
“It is not as bad as you are making it out to be.”
Hongjoong peered at her through his fingers, gaze skeptical.
“That is an alarming thing to say about my existence.”
He noted.
“People participate in these arrangements all the time.”
She continued, tone sounding warm and persuasive as though she were describing a festive holiday rather than a binding marriage.
“Yes, Mom.”
Hongjoong said, voice thick with frustration as he straightened his spine.
“People did so in the eighteen hundreds.”
He made a sweeping gesture toward the room, drawing attention to the humming refrigerator and the glowing digital clock that marked their current era.
“We possess electricity now and we possess our own opinions.”
He stated firmly.
His mother folded her hands together in a tidy, unbothered square.
“You are being dramatic.”
She claimed.
“I am being historically accurate.”
He responded with biting clarity.
His father, who had been quietly observing the heated exchange from the head of the table, allowed the trace of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.
The expression was so subtle that Hongjoong might have missed it entirely if he were not already in a state of hyper-aware agitation.
“I was under the impression that you liked the classics.”
Mr. Kim noted in a mild casual tone.
Hongjoong whipped his gaze around to face his father with immediate indignation.
“That is not what I meant and you know it.”
He barked, refusing to let the dry joke go unchallenged.
His father’s smile expanded just a hair further, an infinitesimal shift in expression that only served to fuel Hongjoong's irritation.
Hongjoong shoved his chair away from the table and stood up in a half-crouch, weight supported by his hands as he leaned across the surface in a desperate attempt to be taken seriously.
He drew in a long breath and then another, eventually settling into a shake of his head that signaled his temporary defeat.
“I hate all of you.”
He stated firmly, tone lacking the volume necessary to be persuasive but possessing a heartfelt quality that demanded attention.
His mother responded with an airy laugh, hands moving gracefully toward the teacups as she prepared to clear the spread.
“No, you do not.”
His father countered as he rose from his seat to collect the empty plates with an infuriating sense of calm.
“You will thank us someday.”
He added while moving with an unbothered grace.
Hongjoong sank back into the depths of his chair in a state of total defeat, eyes fixed blankly on the tabletop.
“I would like it noted that I am not thanking anyone today.”
He muttered with a lingering spark of defiance.
The clock continued its ticking while the house seemed to settle around them, leaving a tension that remained thick yet was unmistakably threaded with the warmth of a family who knew exactly how to push his buttons and loved him regardless.
🏵️
Seonghwa stared intently at his reflection in the mirror while a creeping sense of betrayal began to take root in his chest.
The hotel makeup room was illuminated with a harsh radiance that felt entirely too bright for the existential crisis he was currently enduring.
Rows of sterile white lights framed the perimeter of the glass, throwing his features back at him with a merciless clarity that left no room for concealment.
The silver length of his hair was pinned into a sophisticated style that he did not recognize, perfection creating a nauseating knot of tension in the pit of his stomach.
A floral perfume from the face powder drifted around him, mingling strangely with the stinging, acrid aroma of the hairspray.
“This has to be illegal..”
Seonghwa whispered, delivery devoid of inflection as he processed the reality of his situation.
Wooyoung stood behind him and hummed a distracted, tuneless melody that seemed to vibrate in the space between them.
His movements were efficient as he tinkered with the jewelry and Seonghwa felt the chill of the metal when Wooyoung’s deft fingers secured the cuff in place.
Seonghwa narrowed his eyes at his own image, searching for a spark of recognition beneath the layers of applied artifice.
“I’m serious, Youngie.”
Seonghwa insisted, voice tightening with a need for acknowledgement.
“Hmm.”
Wooyoung replied in a murmur without ever looking up from his task.
Seonghwa watched Wooyoung through the mirror and noted how his eyes remained focused entirely on the delicate jewelry while his brows were drawn together in a mask of intense concentration.
It was becoming painfully obvious that he was not listening to a single word of the complaint.
“I mean..”
Seonghwa persisted, knowing that falling silent would mean finally acknowledging the truth of his situation.
“There has to be a law against this because you cannot just coerce people into a marriage. That truly feels like something the government would want to regulate.”
“That would result in three quarters of the world’s parents ending up in jail.”
Wooyoung pointed out in a tranquil voice.
Seonghwa looked at him through the glass of the mirror and found himself startled by the sudden engagement.
“So you were listening after all.”
He said.
Wooyoung offered another hum while he leaned in to fix the alignment of Seonghwa’s collar with practiced movements.
“I listen selectively and trauma usually makes quite a lot of noise.”
He replied.
Seonghwa let out a heavy sigh that carried the weight of every hour he had endured since the sun first rose.
He raised his fingers to alleviate the irritation at his throat where the rigid collar was chafing against his neck.
The material seemed to grow tighter and warmer with every passing second, creating the unsettling sensation that his own clothing was plotting against his comfort.
He had barely begun to reach for the itch when Wooyoung intervened by briskly swatting his hand aside.
“Yahh!”
Seonghwa exclaimed as he pulled back from the sudden swat.
“Absolutely not, hyung.”
Wooyoung insisted, fingers already returning to the stiff fabric to repair the damage.
“Do you know how ugly red marks look in professional photographs and if you wrinkle that shirt, the stylist will be reduced to tears.”
“I am the one being forced into a marriage against my will.”
Seonghwa reminded him.
“I believe I should be permitted one emotional rash under the circumstances.”
Wooyoung shifted his weight back to evaluate his progress with a critical gaze.
“You are permitted to complain as much as you like, hyung, but you are strictly forbidden from ruining your neckline.”
Seonghwa let his arm fall limp as his posture collapsed, eyes fixing on the mirror with a look of resignation.
The perfect fit of the dress was a cruel irony that only intensified his internal struggle.
Everything within the confines of the room whispered of strategy and a future that had already been decided for him.
He observed the makeup brushes lying in their positions and the garment bag suspended by the door like a stationary shadow.
Even the scent of his own cologne felt alien to him, as it was merely another choice made on his behalf to complete the image of the ideal groom or..
Bride.
“I hate weddings.”
He blurted out, the syllables feeling more jagged and aggressive than he had planned.
“If they were going to coerce me into a marriage, the least they could do was allow me to choose my own attire.”
“You would have arrived wearing those hideous floral skirts and an even more repulsive crop top.”
Wooyoung countered instantly.
He provided this assessment in a resolute tone, making the statement feel like a formal decree that had been considered and ratified.
His palm came down flat against the counter beside the mirror with a firmness that was not intended to startle but served to shut the argument down completely.
Seonghwa’s mouth opened as he prepared a rebuttal, yet he slowly closed it once more as he realized his protest would fall on deaf ears.
He turned his head just enough to glare at Wooyoung through the glass of the mirror while his lips pushed into a pout that he absolutely refused to hide.
Wooyoung continued his work without offering even a cursory glance toward his friend.
It seemed to Seonghwa that every person in his life had recently developed a newfound frustrating talent for disregarding his presence entirely.
He moved within the confines of his seat and hunched his shoulders to signal his continued dissatisfaction with the morning's events.
When he crossed his arms over his chest, the stiff material of his dress creased and added to the physical discomfort of the moment.
He directed a cold accusatory stare at the mirror as if his own likeness were a co-conspirator in this forced arrangement.
Wooyoung ignored the tension entirely as he took up a lint roller and worked it over the white fabric with clinical attention.
He remained unmoved by the dramatic pouting that Seonghwa was projecting with such intensity.
“You are impossible.”
Seonghwa grumbled, voice low with a mixture of affection and genuine irritation.
“And yet..”
Wooyoung countered as he maintained his downward gaze and continued his movements.
“Here we are.”
A stylist stood just a few feet away and feigned an intense interest in the arrangement of her makeup brushes because she was clearly terrified of accidentally making eye contact with the disgruntled groom.
Wooyoung completed his final inspection of the garment and at last raised his eyes to find Seonghwa’s reflection waiting for him in the glass.
A tiny, almost imperceptible change occurred in his features as his stern expression softened toward his friend.
“Speaking of, hyung..”
He said in a casual tone that suggested he was merely asking about the weather rather than broaching a sensitive subject.
“Did they tell you anything about the other groom?”
The younger man inquired, causing the surrounding room to fall into a state of unnatural silence.
Seonghwa blinked as he stared at his reflection with a blank expression.
A second blink followed a moment later while he realized that he possessed absolutely no knowledge of the man who was waiting for him at the end of the aisle.
The entire process had been strange, which was the only word Seonghwa could truly settle on as he sat in the hotel makeup chair and stared at his reflection.
A stylist hovered directly behind him while wielding a curling iron that he did not trust in the slightest.
The situation felt bizarre and shady, possessing a level of mystery that seemed entirely inappropriate for an occasion that was supposedly the most important day of his life.
He had expected some form of acknowledgement or a single moment of preparation to anchor him.
He had imagined a meeting in a restaurant or perhaps an awkward family dinner where everyone would pretend not to stare at the sacrificial lamb.
He had envisioned an engagement party where he could at least attach a face to the name that he had not even been given yet.
That was how these arrangements usually functioned in his mind, as people were supposed to meet and nod politely while they survived the ordeal of small talk.
Instead, there had been nothing but deafening and silence.
Every time he attempted to ask for details, his parents brushed his concerns aside with a level of cheer that he found infuriating.
They had urged him to stop worrying and insisted that he had a tendency to overthink every situation.
They maintained a constant assurance that he would like his future husband just fine once they finally met.
If they were truly so confident in the match, Seonghwa wondered why he was being denied the chance to meet the man beforehand?
His mother would simply reply that it would be better this way, yet the question of who exactly this arrangement was better for had gone completely unanswered.
Now, as he sat beneath the unforgiving glow of the vanity lights while someone adjusted his attire for the third time, Seonghwa felt that same persistent question gnawing at his resolve.
If his parents were truly that confident in the match and if this mystery man was supposedly so perfect, he could not understand the need to keep him hidden like a surprise party that absolutely no one had requested.
“No.”
He sniffed, voice sounding small within the confines of the dressing room.
He accepted the bouquet of lilies that Wooyoung held out to him regardless of his internal conflict, fingers curling around the green stems with a palpable reluctance.
The flowers were strikingly white and pristine while they emitted a sweet aroma that reminded him of an innocence he did not feel remotely qualified to represent.
He lifted the arrangement slightly to inspect the blooms as if they might suddenly bite him for his perceived insincerity.
“I still resent this.”
He added, voice carrying the lingering bitterness.
Wooyoung stepped back to evaluate his friend properly while resting his hands on his hips in a posture of casual authority.
“You resent everything today, so you should at least try to be specific, hyung.”
He countered with a dry knowing smile.
Seonghwa huffed softly through his nose while his shoulders remained tense beneath the layers of his tailored dress.
His grip tightened around the flower stems until his knuckles began to pale against the green.
“I was outraged.”
He said as if he were actively reminding himself of the fire that had once fueled his resistance.
“Absolutely outraged.”
He could still recall the memory of that argument vividly.
He saw himself standing in the center of his parents’ living room where his voice had climbed higher with every desperate sentence while his father calmly informed him that he would indeed be walking down the aisle.
Seonghwa had stared at his father in a state of disbelief while his mind struggled to process the absurdity of the demand.
“I am not a girl.”
He had insisted as he felt himself becoming offended on several different levels at once.
Mr. Park had simply offered a curt nod in response, appearing completely unbothered by his son’s growing indignation or the validity of his protest.
He had then detailed the circumstances with a maddening gravity by revealing that he had been defeated in a game of rock paper scissors against the other patriarch and because of this trivial loss, Seonghwa was now required to assume the traditional role in the ceremony as if such a ridiculous explanation were sufficient to justify the sacrifice of his autonomy.
He found it impossible to believe that the monumental decisions of his adult life were being dictated by the same childish logic found in a schoolyard.
He directed his gaze back toward the lilies as his mouth settled into a grim expression of deep-seated frustration.
He considered the distinct possibility that his father’s mental faculties had deteriorated significantly, unless the man had merely decided that major life events no longer required his logical attention.
In the reflection of the mirror, Wooyoung observed his friend's internal spiral with a glimmer of suppressed laughter dancing in his eyes.
“You look like you are about to throw the flowers at someone, hyung.”
The younger man teased, noting the tension in Seonghwa's knuckles.
“I would never.”
Seonghwa replied in a prim tone that suggested such violence was beneath him.
“They are expensive.”
He clarified as he smoothed a stray petal with his thumb.
Just then, the door to the dressing suite creaked open just enough for a coordinator to peer in.
Her gaze brimmed with professional joy.
“Fifteen minutes, Seonghwa-ssi.”
She announced in a tone that was far too bright for Seonghwa's current mood.
The announcement caused Seonghwa to freeze in place as his muscles locked in anticipation.
Wooyoung clapped his hands together with a sudden crack that broke the silence.
“All right, hyung! I am giving you one last chance for a breakdown before we head out.”
He prompted.
“I have already indulged in three and I find that I am pacing myself for the actual ceremony.”
Seonghwa answered.
Wooyoung leaned in toward him and dropped his voice to a murmur.
“So, the truth is that you actually do not know anything about the man yet.”
He remarked with a deceptive lack of concern.
Seonghwa transferred the flowers to his left arm and offered a jerky shrug that made the fabric of his dress rustle.
“Aside from the fact that he is a man and supposedly a friend of the family, the answer is no.”
He said.
“Hmm..”
Wooyoung produced a thoughtful sound that struck Seonghwa as being deeply ominous.
Seonghwa rotated his head slowly to observe the expression on Wooyoung’s face.
His long history with the man had taught him that a quiet and reflective Wooyoung posed a much greater threat than one who was making a scene.
A loud Wooyoung always signaled his intentions before the chaos began, whereas a pensive Wooyoung was a hidden explosive that detonated without the slightest hesitation or pity.
His gaze drifted toward the closed doors before he eventually returned his focus to Seonghwa.
He tapped his chin once in a motion that suggested he was solving a puzzle which absolutely no one had requested his help with.
“By the way, your very attractive and very irritating ex is also a family friend, right, hyung?”
He inquired at last with a tone that was far too casual for the subject.
“Specifically, the one whose parents happen to own Kim Industries.”
He added.
The weight of his words landed in the room like the jarring crash of a dropped tray.
Seonghwa froze as every muscle in his body went rigid with a sudden, icy realization.
The bouquet tilted dangerously in his grip while his brain seemed to stall and reboot before it immediately caught fire with a localized panic.
“Jung Wooyoung..”
He began in a slow and dangerously careful tone.
“Why on earth would you say that to me right now?!”
Wooyoung widened his eyes in a display of performative innocence.
“Oh— was I not supposed to mention that, hyung?”
He asked.
Seonghwa lunged forward and slapped a hand over Wooyoung’s mouth while the white lilies were squished awkwardly between their chests.
“You need to stop talking immediately.”
He hissed with a desperate intensity.
“Ideally, you should remain silent for at least the next two hours.”
The sound of Wooyoung’s muffled laughter vibrated against his damp palm.
Seonghwa dropped his hand and staggered back a step while his heart began to race with a frantic rhythm.
The thought burrowed into his mind with terrifying speed and took root in a way that felt ugly.
He could not escape the haunting image of his ex, Kim Hongjoong, being present at the venue today.
The idea that Hongjoong was the one currently waiting at the end of the aisle seemed like a cruel impossibility.
He shook his head as he decided that such a scenario was absolutely not something he could survive.
The connection between them had not even been a serious relationship as it was too brief and far too intense to be sustainable.
Their time together had been poorly advised from the start as Hongjoong was notoriously infuriating, arrogant and entirely impossible to argue with.
He had also possessed a devastatingly handsome appearance and an annoying talent for everything that made Seonghwa forget his better judgment.
Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut with despair as he felt the weight of the revelation pressing down on him.
He acknowledged that he was only human and therefore subject to the same vulnerabilities as anyone else in his position.
This entire situation was far too much for him to process while he was currently trapped inside the elaborate layers of a wedding dress.
Wooyoung observed the internal conflict playing out across Seonghwa’s features before he broke into a predatory smile.
“It appears that you are already entertaining the thought.”
He teased.
“I am absolutely not.”
Seonghwa replied with a defensive edge.
“You are definitely dwelling on it.”
Wooyoung countered as he leaned back to enjoy the show.
Seonghwa made a dismissive gesture with his free hand while his other fingers tightened around the flower stems until they felt close to snapping.
“No, the man at the altar is not him.”
He asserted.
Although he tried to sound resolute, the statement concluded with a tremor that he was horrified to recognize as his own doubt.
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow in a gesture of blatant skepticism while he scrutinized his friend’s weary face.
“You sound as though you are desperately trying to convince yourself rather than me.”
He observed with a knowing tone.
Seonghwa straightened his shoulders with a jerk and felt his jaw tightening as he prepared to defend his pride.
“It is not him.”
He repeated with a cold finality because the alternative was simply too much to bear.
“The very idea that it would be him is entirely ridiculous.”
He added.
Wooyoung offered a shrug as if he were completely unbothered by the denial.
“I only know that much stranger things than this have already happened today.”
He countered.
Seonghwa opened his mouth to formulate a blistering argument but he quickly closed it again when he realized he had no words left to offer.
He glanced toward the closed doors of the suite while his pulse hammered against his chest.
He questioned the true extent of his knowledge as he realized that every detail he had been given was vague and unreliable.
At that moment, the coordinator stood at the entrance with her clipboard and signaled to the room with an authoritative gesture.
“Everything is ready, Seonghwa-ssi.”
She announced with a professional smile.
“It is time to make your entrance.”
Seonghwa took a breath and looked away from the doors to focus on his own reflection.
He raised his chin and forced his features into a composed stillness that hid his inner turmoil.
“It is not him.”
He whispered once more to convince himself of his own safety.
Wooyoung allowed a grin to spread across his face by appearing far too delighted by the potential scandal.
“If that man is truly the groom, then this wedding just got way more interesting for everyone involved.”
He said with a playful shrug.
Seonghwa directed a sharp glare toward his friend that was filled with genuine frustration.
“I hate you, Jung Wooyoung.”
He hissed.
“Love you too, Park Seonghwa.”
Wooyoung chirped back with a wink.
As the doors to the suite began to part, Seonghwa squeezed the stems of his bouquet while a suffocating mix of humor and dread fought for dominance in his mind.
🌸