reminder that the poster contest ends soon! if you need an extension, tell me!
 

Hana

I flip the pen between my fingers, thinking about the Whale project. After hitting Min Yoongi where it hurts, I don’t feel guilty. Not really. No, what makes me feel guilty was his expression when he realized what was going on. Other than that, I was doing my job, and it wouldn’t be right for me to apologize.

But that doesn’t mean that I can’t hope that he’s okay. I know he won’t pick up my calls, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t pick up either.

But now, I have to figure out what the Whale project has to do with cesium. Jungkook is sitting across the long side of the table, with Namjoon and Jimin somewhere nearby. I’m not really paying attention to their conversation, and—

A hand moves an escaped lock of hair out of my face, tucking it behind an ear. But that’s not as surprising as the pair of lips brushing against my cheek.
 

It takes me by surprise, and judging by the silence in the room, it takes Jimin and Namjoon by surprise too. I look up to Jungkook’s mischievous grin. “You’ve been staring at that for a while.”

“My job’s description means that I stare at paperwork half the time, and the other half I look at people angrily.”

“We haven’t gone out to our weekly dinners for a while. How about we ditch this?” He nods towards Jimin and Namjoon, his voice low so only I could hear.

“And leaving Jimin a moping mess?” I deflect, my eyes catching Jimin’s. He visibly relaxes as I try to avoid Jungkook. I’m not sure how to handle the situation, honestly. Jungkook and I are still on the same side, and I have to make the effort, even when I don’t want to. “Can we at least get food for both of them?”

Jungkook nods, eyes bright and making my stomach drop a little. “Meet you in the garage in twenty?”

I give him a small smile in response, but as soon as he turns away, my expression drops. We’re on the same side, but Jimin had said that didn’t make him a good person. What makes someone good, then? Jimin, Namjoon, Jungkook, and I have aligned business interests, but Jimin’s words suggests that our either business and personal interests don’t align, or that our group is held together by money and power rather than anything else.

Jungkook shuts the door to Namjoon’s floor, and Jimin stands up. “He wants to do the weekly dinner thing, doesn’t he?”

I blink, biting on the inside of my lip. “Jungkook is still on our side. There’s no running from him.”

“But that doesn’t mean—you shouldn’t have—Hana, he could coerce—”

Jimin gives up, abruptly flopping back down on to Namjoon’s couch. Namjoon, on the other hand, frowns. “Hana? Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so. I’m still alive after this much, aren’t I?”

Namjoon taps his ring finger at the exact spot where an engagement ring would sit. I nod back. I trust him, even with how little I understand at the moment.

So I trudge upstairs, donning a simple dress and grabbing a pair of flats. My hand reaches for my ring, so I could take it off while I washed my hands and refreshed my makeup. The ring isn’t there though, and I frown at my own muscle memory.

Something about the simple action bothers me and it continues to nag at me as I head down the stairs to the car. I don’t miss the ring, or at least I don’t think I do. When I had first seen it, it seemed like such a meaningful gesture to give me a copy of my mom’s ring. But now, it reminds me less of my mom and more of my own bonds. If I could never see the dainty piece of jewelry again, I don’t think I would mind.

Funny how much meaning a tiny piece of metal could hold.

I open the door to the garage to find Jungkook tying his shoes. I drop my flats on to the ground, and the sound makes it feel like a single clap of applause as if it approves me getting in a car with Jungkook. I slip into the shoes, and Jungkook holds out a hand to me, frowning at my hesitance as I don’t reciprocate.

“Hana, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I slip my right hand into his, and he pauses, looking down at my hand. I should have known. With Jungkook’s attention solely on me, it is almost certain he would see my empty fourth finger within minutes.

“Where’s your ring?”

“I—it’s—”

“Where is your ring?” This time, the question is much harsher, his eyes narrowed at me and his hand is squeezing mine to the point of it being painful. “Where is it?”

I wince, trying to wrest my hand from his grip, but all it successfully does is make him grip on to my ring finger, as if emphasizing his question. But I had promised Namjoon, and I trust him. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a copy made?” Jungkook groans, tossing my hand away. “If you go outside without it on, and someone in our world notices, or even worse, a reporter notices, do you have any idea what you’ll do to our side?”

If I could shrink and melt into the floor, I would. If this is anyone else, I would yell right back. But it’s Jungkook, so I choke on my words instead.

“But we’re not engaged—”

“The public doesn’t know that, and their thoughts are what matters. We might as well be.” He ruffles through his hair, growling. “Did you lose it? I can go out and buy a cheap band right now—”

“No!”

“You didn’t lose it?”

“No, my thoughts matter too.”

Jungkook looks at me before sighing and clenching his jaw. “Just go back inside. We can’t go out in public without your ring.”

His words feel dismissive. It’s almost like doesn’t think my thoughts matter. Before I can step away, his fingers close around my wrist again. Slowly, he lifts it, pressing his lips against the finger he had grabbed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His words are such a stark difference from earlier that I should be getting whiplash. I don’t answer him, and he leans closer to kiss my forehead, cupping my cheek.

When his grip loosens a little, I back away, leaving my shoes in t