Thank you to CSkies for the amazing entry! The poster contest is still open and more details are under the chapter titled Memo 3/Poster Contest!
 

Also, I, along with undergroundmuses and fs1919 started a BTS rec fic here! We noticed that there's a ton of quality fics aren't given enough attention, so if you're interested, please give the listed fics as much love as you show me! 

 

Hana
 

My eyes are bloodshot.
 

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been having a hard time sleeping, and yesterday Lay had found me snoring on my desk half an hour before a meeting in which I got berated for letting Kim Jongin into the company.

Needless to say, the company is losing faith in me, and that’s not something that I can currently afford. My choice of a public firing had somewhat backfired to employees wondering if there are more people representing Min Yoongi and other competitors in their midst.  

I hold my eyelids apart, letting medicated eye drops soothe the irritation, which in turn makes me feel less groggy. What doesn’t make me feel less groggy is the ring that I put back on my finger after dabbing on some concealer on my under eye circles.

Now, every time I look at the dainty piece of jewelry, a sick feeling churns in the pit of my stomach. My eyes drift to the toilet.

It would be so easy. So easy. If I could toss the ring into the water and flush it away, I would. But it’s not about me. It never has been about me. It’s about the business and if I have to swallow my pride and my happiness, I’ll have to.

The business world thinks I’m engaged. And changing that would make me look weak and undesirable, or maybe even difficult to work with. Jungkook would get condolences, and I would get the cold shoulder. Any connection between our companies would deteriorate, even if we still are business associates. It’s not just about us, but the interwoven connections between several employees on our side.

So no. I can’t flush the ring away. I should have considered that before I asked him to put the ring on my finger months ago. I was taught to consider all the possibilities.

I didn’t.

My fingers grip my eyeliner, flicking out the wing, almost as if the sharpness serves as falsified confidence. In a way, it does. When paired with professional clothing, makeup transforms me into the Byun Hana that everyone else in the world seems to see.

The Byun Hana I see is unsure of herself. How am I supposed to be sure of myself when I didn’t know about my own father trying to force me into a marriage? How am I supposed to be sure of myself when Jimin is apologizing to me? How am I supposed to be sure of myself with this ring on my finger?

Jimin’s conversation with me had unnerved me. He is open, yes, but rarely vulnerable. And it scares me. In a way, he’s the perfect businessman, despite the amount of attention he gets. His company is highly revered, stable, and diligent, which is representative of the CEO he is.

Lay was right. I really could do with some time away. But now that Taeran is reunited with her father, I don’t even get the short breaks at the end of my work day. Speaking of which, I probably could never look Min Yoongi in the eyes again. I could only hope that the planted evidence of Jungkook buying Jung Hoseok’s stocks was a one-time thing, because he would no longer trust a single word I say. I called Yoongi before hanging up on the fourth ring, because I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t say I was sorry, because I was doing my job.
 

If anything, I hope he understands that. And I hope that he’s recovering.

I twist the doorknob with a deep sigh, readying myself for another day of work with the weight of uncountable amounts of yen bearing down on my shoulders. The image of Byun Hana is assembled together, with the crisp button-down tucked into a skirt and hair half swept out of the eyes. All that’s missing is a pair of heels, and the internal confidence that has been seemingly missing for days.

In reality, I want nothing more than to curl up under my covers, which would only prompt either Namjoon or Jungkook to come hunting for me. I’m not sure if Jungkook would do it out of concern, but Namjoon would do it out of thickly veiled unease at my change of demeanor, and would disguise his alarm as contempt.

It had taken me a long time to truly understand Namjoon. Sometimes, I feel like my grasp on who he is as a person was nonexistent. Maybe that’s what makes him so successful.

The aroma of rice porridge wafts through the air, and I frown. Was someone else cooking? Even then, I shouldn’t be able to smell something from another floor. So instead of heading toward my room and grabbing my bag to head out for work, I pad toward the kitchen and am completely confused to see Namjoon standing over a steaming pot.

“What are you doing?”

Namjoon glances away from the food, looking a little out of place not because he’s in the kitchen, but because for some reason he has a frilly pink apron on and it’s not mine. He stirs the pot with a spoon, answering with a nonchalant, “Making breakfast.”

Yes, I could see that. But my question has the underlying intent of finding out why he’s in my kitchen. Namjoon is smart enough to know that, but for some reason doesn’t answer. So instead of asking, I sit down as he slides a bowl of rice porridge in front of me before plopping down with his own and utensils.

He digs in, and I warily watch him as I blow the wafts of vapor from the hot food before closing my lips around the spoon. It’s surprisingly good, and it tastes almost like his mother’s i