01. A HEART'S SCHEMES.

His office is void of much color.

Save for a potted bonsai plant in the far corner (a gift of his late grandfather's, no less), the entire room is a plain, industrial white and washed egret gray. The furniture, neatly arranged across the marble floor, are shades of black and slate. There are silver accents—on the handles of drawers full of files, and a Mac desktop on an otherwise empty desk.

Therefore, Yerim's presence in the room is very notable. Everything about her is a contrasting warm and flesh-colored, nothing like the cool tones which surround her as she curls up on the couch, having previously announced that she planned to nap until noon.

She hadn't gotten much sleep in the past night.

It's only when her close her eyes peacefully that Jungkook thinks back to their wedding:

Yerim's dress was lace. It was sleeved up to her elbows, hugging her skin from the waist, and draping down past her feet. Her hair fell freely over her shoulders, a long veil pinned atop her head. He remembers her peering at him through that veil, eyelashes brushing against the gossamer as the white flowers in her hands brushed against his sleeve. Before then, they had sat together in the front pew of the church after their rehearsal. Yerim hummed a little tune before she spoke—after a month of absence from his life, her first words to him were "How are you?"

Exactly like a stranger.

All that came out of his mouth was "Busy."

A half-truth.

"I know." she said, although her voice still ran with disappointment. She was so disappointed that he had proved herself correct, in fact, that she no longer looked him in the eye. But Kim Yerim was prideful, and she refused to lower her chin—so instead, she turned it. "It's alright. I understand what this means to you." she'd murmured, raising her finger to trace the stained glass beside her.

The angel's wings.

That was what she was tracing—not the angel, but the angel's wings, as if they mattered far more.

"What does this mean to me?" he'd asked.

Her finger outlined the feathers one by one.

"Nothing." she whispered softly, "It means nothing."

After all, it was only a few months ago that he sat next to her and plainly said, "Yerim, let's get married."

That was the premise of their marriage: a simple, monotonous line void of affection.

But if it had been otherwise, Jeon Jungkook could not imagine Kim Yerim—proud, stubborn, beautiful Kim Yerim—ever forgiving him.

—

When Jungkook was eight years old, he watched his mother's body convulse on the checkered marble floor, blue and white pills spilled out beside her. Her hands were clawing at the empty bottle, eyes glazed with a bewilderment, and a month later, he watched a line on a machine fall flat.

The end of her life was uneventful. Everything about it was wrongly peaceful—the steady beeping, the hushed heaves of the respirator before it was terminated.

It even goes to say that to Jungkook, she had been, in a sense, dead a long time ago—his father had never made much of an effort to keep his affair a secret—and at a young age, Jungkook had known that the woman's shoes in his father's closet weren't his mother's, as did even the workers in the house. Yet, his mother never showed signs of anguish. She was inattentive at best, sitting for hours near the window of her room, glass propped open, without a care in the world.

She was already a flat line before she really was.

"It was suicide." was what his mother's main caretaker, Seo Joohee had reported her death as.

But as uneventful as her death was, as quiet and void of resentment, Jeon Jungkook never believed his mother wanted to die. He was haunted by his mother's dying stature, of which nothing was peaceful or prescribed. Rather, it was only when he was twenty-six years old that he would find himself haunted by something much more.

—

One week ago.

"You've gotten what you wanted." The woman facing him has leaned back in her seat, fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug as she folds her sunglasses with her other hand.

In the back of a small coffee shop in Cheongju, Seo Soojin has been waiting for him for a long time.

"Not yet." Jungkook says as he seats himself across from her, suit jacket ed. He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head when the waitress asks him if he would like a coffee. Instead, his eyes are diligently trained on the woman's movements.

Tap. Tap-tap. Her fingers sound on the polished wood rhythmically as he speaks.

"In the meantime, you and your mother need to stay hidden. I can't guarantee your safety if you leave this area."

Ever since a few weeks ago, Seo Soojin and her mother have been living in a small, private property of Jeon Jungkook's. It is small and plain enough not to attract attention, and the neighbors do not know who they are—the perfect hiding spot for two women who have offended a rich family.

Soojin seems amused by his words. "How does your mother not know you are here to visit me?" Her eyebrow raises slightly. "And your fiancée..."

"I have my own ways." Jungkook replies, almost stonily as he admits: "As for Yerim...she doesn't know I'm here either."

He was, indeed, supposedly on a business trip. His phone had been handed to Secretary Lee, who was already in L.A.

Soojin seems to detect something from his answer. She draws a long sip of the bitter liquid swirling in her cup, her tongue running over her teeth. "You really plan on marrying Kim Yerim?" she then asks, after a moment's worth of holding her breath.

Jungkook's eyes catch the light of the cars outside the window, passing by. "Yes." he answers, following a small pause—not exactly hesitant, but more so as if the decision has costed him too little, and also too much.

Soojin begins to laugh.

"What is it?" he inquires, although not immediately. He doesn't seem quite interested from his expression, as if he is only asking out of etiquette—but inwardly he is curious as to why the woman before him is laughing, when she is clearly anything but happy in her circumstance.

"In your plan, the woman you had to marry could have been anybody...anybody but me. It could never have been me, because I'm my mother's daughter, and because my mother is the only other person who knows why your mother really died."

He doesn't respond, only silently watching her.

"I just think it's funny—that everything up until now—the show we put on at your house, everything—has been a carefully planned-out lie, except for the fact that you love her. You weren't supposed to fall in love with her." she says. "You told me you weren't going to, and you usually keep your promises, Jeon Jungkook."

"You were only supposed to sign an engagement with her. And then my mother would turn on your stepmother, and then we'd find out the truth, and then you'd finally be able to find some closure, if not put your stepmother to justice. The plan was supposed to be simple." Soojin lowers her head, mouth dry with the unfairness of it all. "But now, even if she does love you back, how would she feel after finding out that you've been using her all this time..."

"I don't know." he cuts off her statement, hating the possibilities brought up by it.

Silence hangs between them like a lingering stain—noticeable, unnatural in the way it sits.

"Do me a favor." Soojin finally says, staring him closely in the eye. Her expression is suddenly strange—almost as if she has found something she has lost for a long time.

Jungkook does not know whether she has found peace, or resentment.

"When all of this is over..."

Ah, but will it ever be over?

"...remember to tell her that you love her."

"Soojin." Jungkook then warns—as if she has somehow crossed a line she shouldn't have.

Yet, somewhere inside of him, his heart aches with nothing but pain. The truth stirs in his chest with a volatile vehemence, agitated.

Turning towards the window, Seo Soojin finally seems to smile, the coffee on her lips as bittersweet as her words.

"One day, she deserves to know."

—

The present.

Yerim opens her eyes to catch him staring. She doesn't break his gaze as she stands from the couch, neatly folding his coat with her hands.

"Am I drooling?" she jokes good-naturedly, self-consciously wiping at her chin. She had just spent the past three hours napping on the couch of his office, high heels tucked neatly under the coffee table.

With her hair slightly mussed and her eyes half-open, the sunlight filtering through the blinds of Jungkook's office dips Yerim in a warm gold. Those honey eyes turn upwards as she smiles demurely, then yawns—and as if the universe knows that Kim Yerim is the most beautiful in her simplest moments, the sun peers brighter outside the window.

Jeon Jungkook has never so much wanted time to stand still.

(In the end, it's the distance between them—his desk, that chair, and the couch itself—that reminds him of how much he has lost.)

He parts his lips to speak, but his mouth runs sand-paper dry. What was he even supposed to say? That he had only needed her to marry him, solely because he sought revenge on his step-mother? That he had only proposed to her in the beginning, simply because he couldn't let his step-mother fulfill her initial promise to Seo Joohee, of marrying Seo Soojin into the Jeon family? That all of this being so, he couldn't bear the guilt of letting her love him?

"Yerim, sleep in the shared bedroom...if you aren't used to sleeping in your own." he finally says, watching as her head tilts in confusion, as her fluttery laugh fills his office soon after.

He remembers her laughing like this at their wedding. Park Jimin had whispered something in her ear right as she left Jungkook's side. Her small, white teeth were peeking out beneath her lips as she turned her head to share a glance with him.

If things weren't the way they were, she would approach him.

"Jungkook, I don't want to pass my nightmares to you." she would say as she'd walk around his desk and lean over beside him.

As she would study the folders stacked neatly on his desk, her hair would fall slightly over her shoulder, which she'd quickly tuck back behind her ear. The scent of her perfume would be light but noticeable beside him, her body just within arm's reach.

Jungkook would frown, then. "What nightmares?"

"Nightmares of—" she'd let out a high-pitched squeak as he would pull her into his lap, her hands quickly wrapping around his neck. He would his raise his head purposefully as she'd lower hers, his eyes filled with a glimmering amusement.

"I'll protect you, even if they're nightmares of me." he would say, if things weren't the way they were.

But things were the way they were, and Yerim doesn't approach him.

She lingers where she is, far out of reach as she simply shakes her head. "I don't think that would make you very comfortable." she says, and the statement befalls the both of them in the form of an settling in the chest, dull and hollow.

But Yerim says nothing more to him afterwards—and neither does Jungkook say anything to refute it.

—

"Jungkook is already well into his twenties. Please remember your part of the deal—my daughter and I cannot wait longer....I advise you not to take my silence for granted."

"Patience, Joohee." A painstakingly familiar voice says. "I assure you, I've been monitoring my youngest son closely. He hasn't seen a single woman in the past five years. Once he pushes his most recent work onto the market, you will have what you want."

"But—"

"Have I not given you my word? Jungkook will marry Soojin—"

The recording comes to an abrupt halt as the owner clicks pause.