Chapter Text
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“Jeongguk-ah, I really need your help.”
The panic in Namjoon’s voice is clear, and the slight waver at the end of his words has Jeongguk shooting straight up from his half-seated position on the couch.
Rarely does Namjoon call asking for help these days. Rarely does he even call, most of their communication limited to text messages.
Clearly, something is going on, and immediately, he's on high alert.
“What’s wrong, hyung?” He winces as he sits, his hip flexors still tight from his session on Wednesday, but he ignores it in favor of his friend’s state. “Is Nari okay?”
Please don’t let it be terrible.
“No, she’s not,” Namjoon’s words tremble, and Jeongguk’s stomach drops to his feet, not expecting him to confirm it. “I mean, she’s okay now, but uh— she accidentally had peanuts, and she went into anaphylactic shock, and we’re at the hospital right now and I don’t—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jeongguk cuts him off, not sure he can hear the rest of it. One adult spiraling in panic is enough, and it breaks his heart to hear Namjoon like this. “What do you need?”
Namjoon blows a shaky exhale into the receiver.
“I need you to cover for me at the gallery tonight. We’re closed to the public, but a high-profile client is coming in. I’m meant to open the space for them, and I’d ask Hyunjin, but he’s out of town and I really need this sale and I can’t cancel because—”
“Hey,” Jeongguk interrupts again. It works, because Namjoon stops rambling. “Of course I’ll cover for you. It’s been a while, but I’m sure I can figure it out. I’ll go by your place and grab the key, yeah?”
By a while, he means about five years, but he figures the world of art can’t be all that different today. He’ll open the doors, nod a few times, and let whomever this high-profile person is peruse the gallery to their heart’s content.
No big deal.
Not a big deal at all considering Namjoon’s predicament, and he's always happy to help.
“I owe you, Gguk,” Namjoon whispers, his voice threatening to break again, and there’s absolutely no way Namjoon owes Jeongguk anything at all. This is what they do for each other. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s Friday night.”
Yeah, it is, and Jeongguk is draped over the decorative pillows on his couch, watching a documentary on penguins. He can reschedule this date with himself.
“Anytime, hyung,” he reassures his friend. “Nari’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Namjoon says, though he doesn’t sound all that sure. Rational, level-headed Namjoon would agree, but that man goes out the window when it comes to his daughter.
There’s nothing Jeongguk can say about that, though, because he is equally as gone for the girl who stole their hearts five years ago when Namjoon found himself a single father.
Unexpectedly, Namjoon, Jimin and Jeongguk had to come together and figure out single parenthood on Namjoon’s behalf.
It had been nothing but a mess for the three of them, and though Namjoon was nearing his late twenties, they weren’t quite ready for such responsibilities. As chaotic as it was for the first two years, it has also been the most rewarding experience of his life to call himself an uncle to their sweet Nari, and there isn’t a thing Jeongguk wouldn’t do for her and her father.
And today that means slinging some high profile art to some rich, snobby one-percenter.
Not his favorite pastime on a Friday night, but there will be more of those coming up, he supposes. And it’s not like the penguin documentary is particularly riveting.
“The combination to the door still the same?” Jeongguk asks, figuring he better get ready. His legs buckle under his own weight when he finally stands from the couch, and he bites back the groan that threatens to spill.
He has one more week of his squat cycle. If he makes it there alive, that is.
“The combination is Nari’s birthday?”
“Yeah,” Namjoon confirms, a few indistinct voices filtering through in the background. “I have to go, the doctor is here,” he rushes to say. “Please dress business casual, and try to mind your manners,” he manages to add in, and Jeongguk has long stopped being offended that his friends always have to tell him to mind his manners. “Thank you, Gguk.”
The line goes dead after that, and when he stands in front of his very limited selection of formal wear in his closet, he considers calling someone to ask for advice, but there’s probably not enough time for him to do that, so he pulls out the first pair of slacks that he can find.
Getting them over his thighs is a squeeze, to say the least, but he manages, letting out a relieved breath when he realizes they aren’t going to burst. He’ll be okay if he stands upright for the rest of the evening, but he isn’t quite sure he can bend down to grab something.
Whatever. It’ll work.
The shirt he pulls off the hanger is a bit wrinkly, a white, silky material, gifted to him by Jimin for his birthday a few years ago. He remembers wearing it once or twice when he still kept an office job, but it’s been years since the last time it got used. Haphazardly, he rolls the sleeves up, because it’s too snug around the forearms to stay buttoned, and this fit may not be up to Namjoon’s business casual, but he doesn’t have a choice.
Quickly, he runs some water and product through his hair, stealing a quick glance at himself in the mirror before he grabs his wallet, keys, and phone, and then he’s out the door, speeding down the streets of Seoul.
A text message from Namjoon confirms the client is set to arrive at seven, and Jeongguk may be cutting it close when he arrives five minutes to the hour, but there isn’t a sign of anyone else there, so at least he has that going for him.
Kim Namjoon has come a long way in the last ten years, as has Rkive, the intimate art gallery in the heart of the city. When he first pitched the idea, Jeongguk couldn’t see the vision, not sure how the man would make a living from selling art, unknown to most people but his closest friends.
Through an inordinate amount of grit, determination, and a whole lot of networking, Namjoon built a name for himself. Today, ten years into owning the space, he sells the kind of pieces that don’t have prices listed on them, and he sells them to the kind of clientele that doesn’t even ask how much the pieces cost when they find something they want.
It’s been a few months since Jeongguk was last here, and several years since he last worked an unpaid shift to help off-load some responsibilities off Namjoon, but he works on muscle memory as he turns the lights on and starts the soft music that’s meant to set the ambiance.
But that’s as much as Namjoon is going to get out of him.
Jeongguk still doesn’t know shit about art, brush strokes, eras, and whatever else Namjoon drones on about when he gets passionate about his craft. Jeongguk can name a painter or two. Three, but that's if a gun is pressed to his head.
That’s as far as it goes.
The pieces hanging on the wall right now look nice, he supposes. They definitely look expensive, but that’s the whole point of Namjoon’s gallery.
The fridge below the desk tells him that Namjoon still keeps champagne chilled in there, and he wonders just how mad Namjoon would be if he popped a bottle open if he makes a sale today. Before he can talk himself into pre-gaming as well, he sits down, chancing a glance at his phone as he waits.
At exactly seven o’clock, the door to the gallery pushes open, the bell above it chiming to grab his attention, and immediately, Jeongguk’s head snaps up.
The first man through the door is dressed in a black suit, about the size of Namjoon, and judging by the size of his shoulders, this man definitely lifts some heavy weights.
Intrigued, Jeongguk stands to greet him.
“Mr. Kim?”
The man greets him with absolutely no emotion on his face, and that really sucks for Namjoon, doesn’t it? This dud surely doesn’t look interested in art.
“Oh, no,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “Mr. Kim had a last minute change to his schedule. I’m Jeon Jeongguk.”
Something possesses him to lie. Maybe it’s the way this man is just blankly staring at him, a bit intimidating, so he continues.
“I’m a part time employee here at Rkive. Mr. Kim’s daughter had an unexpected medical emergency, but I assure you I will take good care of you.”
Without a word, the man keep staring at him from across the room.
Jeongguk knows he said Namjoon won’t owe him for this, but he might, after all. This man is clearly a tough nut to crack, and Jeongguk considers himself very friendly and able to break even the toughest of clients.
“Who else is on the premises?” The man asks, taking a step forward. Without tilting his head, he scans the surroundings, his eyes darting around the room like he’s looking for someone or something. “Is Hwang Hyunjin here?”
What the fuck? Did Namjoon tell him he would be?
“No, sir,” Jeongguk answers, a bit on edge now. “It’s just me. Will that be a problem?”
A moment of silence lingers between them. The man considers it, but he must deem it okay, because he gives a small shake of his head.
“No. No photos tonight, please.”
“Sure?”
Jeongguk agrees to the odd request, not sure why he would take photos, and for a brief second, he wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into. The man doesn’t give him time to ask any more questions, though, instead pivoting on his heels to pull the door open.
This time, a younger man enters, perhaps a few years older than Jeongguk, if he had to guess, but it’s hard to get a read on him, seeing as half his face is covered by a surgical mask.
What little he can make out is a set of deep, brown eyes and high cheekbones, and a head of dark hair so shiny Jeongguk wants to ask what kind of product he puts in it to make it look like that.
With swift strides, he enters the gallery, yet another man in a black suit following him, except this one places himself by the door, like some sort of barrier between the gallery and the outside world. It’s not like they’re open.
“Feel free to lock the door if you wish,” Jeongguk supplies at the observation, hoping he’s not about to be the cause of his own demise.
If he wasn’t so enthralled by his company, Jeongguk would wonder if this is the evening he gets murdered by some secret agents set to take over Kim Namjoon’s exclusive art gallery.
The chances are low, but never zero.
The young man rolls his eyes at the first man, and they must be closely acquainted, because the secret agent guy just nods in response, then he falls back, giving him some space.
The newcomer reeks of money in black, sleek slacks and a loose dress shirt, a tan, wool coat unbuttoned on top of it. In his heeled boots, he looks to be just a tad bit taller than Jeongguk, and when he shifts the iced coffee from one hand to the other, he spots a shiny looking watch on his wrist.
But it’s the way the man moves that solidifies it for him, and there’s an air of confidence that isn’t found in many people. His back is impeccably straight, and his eyes are set on Jeongguk and definitely not the floor in front of him when he moves. The man is commanding in nature; the kind of person who draws eyes on them anytime they walk into a room.
“You are most definitely not Kim Namjoon,” the man says, and though Jeongguk can’t see under the mask, it sounds like the man is amused, perhaps smiling underneath it. “And I know I don’t have the wrong gallery.”
“My apologies,” Jeongguk says with a small bow of his head, snapping himself out of his trance. “Namjoon-ssi had a family emergency, and he asked me to cover. He sends his deepest apologies, but I assure you that you are in good hands.”
A fucking lie if Jeongguk’s ever told one, but it flows beautifully from his lips. Namjoon told him to mind his manners, and though it isn’t easy for Jeongguk, he will give it his best, college try.
“I’m sure that I am,” the man drawls, and Jeongguk is surprised by how deep his voice is.
There’s a hint of familiarity to it, but he pushes that aside, not able to place it.
“I’m Jeon Jeongguk, but just Jeongguk is fine,” he hurries to say, and something about the way the man keeps eye contact with him sparks just a tiny bit of curiosity in him, but Namjoon told him to behave, so reluctantly, he goes for professionalism. “I will be up front if you need anything, but please see yourself around. Just let me know if you have any questions.”
Please don’t have any questions, his mind supplies.
Namjoon really needs this, otherwise he wouldn’t have called, and Jeongguk really is not the one to close art deals.
“I will,” the man speaks, and Jeongguk tears his eyes away to look down on the black monitor on the desk, pretending it’s turned on and absolutely requiring his attention.
To keep the act up, he presses a few keys on the keyboard. In front of him, the screen lights up with Namjoon’s website, and when he hears the clicking of the man’s boots, indicating he’s turned around, he frantically scours the website, acquainting himself with as many pieces as he can in the short time he has.
Various artists are featured in the gallery, mostly local ones, but some foreign, and most of the names he can’t pronounce, good, ‘ole college try or not.
What he does know is that most of these pieces are abstract. Or are they modern? Fuck, it’s too late to figure it out now.
He’ll wing it.
Not more than ten minutes go by until he hears the clicking of boots again, so he looks up, offering a well-practiced customer service smile.
“Mr. Jeon,” the man calls, and Jeongguk chokes on air at the formality.
“Oh, God no. Just call me Jeongguk,” he corrects, the words tumbling out of him. “Mr. Jeon is my dad, and please don’t get me started on my daddy issues right now.”
This is what Namjoon meant, isn’t it?
Resisting the urge to press his eyes shut, he smiles instead.
The man lets out a delighted laugh, almost like he’s surprised.
“Alright, Jeongguk-ssi,” he corrects himself, still so formal, but Jeongguk takes it. “I have a few questions about a particular piece. Would you mind taking a look with me?”
Absolutely not.
“Of course.”
This is about to be bad.
He runs his hands down his slacks in an attempt to straighten them, but it does nothing, seeing as they’re basically glued to his fucking quads. He’s convinced the squat cycle he’s about to finish has them extra swollen, but Jimin keeps telling him that’s just his inflated ego seeing gains where there aren’t any.
Mustering up a whole lot of fake confidence, Jeongguk squares his shoulders, then he stands.
It’s subtle, but he catches the surprise in the man’s eyes—how they widen just slightly when Jeongguk rounds the corner, briefly flickering down to the tattoos on his right arm, then down to his thighs.
The black ink on his arm is a stark contrast to the white silk, and he knows they’re eye-catching. He didn’t sit through hours of a full sleeve for them not to be, and it fills him with immense pleasure to know they’ve caught his attention, no matter how brief.
When the man looks back at Jeongguk, there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and Jeongguk would lie if he said it doesn’t send a surge of confidence through him.
“Namjoon didn’t share your name with me,” Jeongguk hears himself say. “What do I call you, Mr—”
With a slight cock of his head, the man extends his hand, interrupting him before Jeongguk can continue.
“No need for formalities,” he offers, and Jeongguk extends his own hand, taking it in his. The man’s handshake is firm and commanding, like a man who shakes a lot of hands for a living.
“You can call me Taehyung.”
In his peripheral, one of the suit-clad men moves, inching closer, and Jeongguk has completely forgotten about their presence until that point, the sparkling eyes in front of him demanding all of his attention.
“Taehyung-ssi,” the name rolls off his tongue with ease, and the man raises an eyebrow in response, holding on to Jeongguk’s hand for a second longer than necessary. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Now, this isn’t how Jeongguk envisioned his evening going today, but he has what seems to be a very attractive man in his presence, and there’s something a little too alluring about the way he can only make out his eyes, and how the man is so focused on him when he does watch him.
It’s not a quality found in many, especially not in strangers meeting for the first time, but this man has no problem keeping eye contact with him, further playing into this whole confidence thing he has going on.
“I assure you that the pleasure is all mine,” Taehyung responds, and Jeongguk is definitely being flirted with at this moment, isn’t he?
“We’ll see about that,” Jeongguk chances, and he’s glad he did, because the most delighted laugh tumbles from Taehyung, loud and enchanting in the otherwise quiet gallery.
“Let’s look at this painting before we get carried away with the flirting,” Taehyung says confidently, and fuck if that doesn’t make him even more attractive.
If Namjoon were here, he’d tell Jeongguk to get it together, because here he is, flirting with a man whose face he hasn’t even seen, buzzing with whatever charged atmosphere that’s lingering between them.
Taehyung takes the lead, nodding as he leads Jeongguk into the gallery, stopping when he reaches a wall with three, similar looking pieces on it.
“What questions do you have?” Jeongguk offers, knowing he’s about to put himself in the worst position possible.
Once he commits, he commits, and he is walking out of here with a sale tonight.
“I was wondering which one of these three you would hang in your home if you had the chance?”
Oh, okay.
He can work with that. No prior knowledge required.
Jeongguk hums, tilting his head as he studies the pieces. They’re eerily similar, only differing in the shades of purple the artist has chosen; one is teetering closer to the side of pink, while another leans more toward the blue. The middle one is the most eye-catching, though, a mix of all kinds of different purples, a bit like a starry galaxy. It’s beautiful.
“They’re all beautiful, and they look like they belong together,” he says, finding himself meaning it. “I don’t think I could pick one. They go together, all three of them. It would be a shame to separate them.”
A surprised chuckle sounds from his right, and when he turns to look at Taehyung, the man is already looking at him, not studying the art on the wall.
“You sure are intending to sell some pieces tonight, aren’t you?”
The man’s eyes sparkle.
“Oh, fuck! No,” Jeongguk hurries to say, scrunching his nose when he realizes he definitely just cussed in front of the very wealthy client who shuts down art galleries for fun on a Friday night.
“That did not come out as I intended,” he laughs, because it truly wasn’t his intent. “But I stand firm in my opinion. I’d want them all in my house, but if I have to choose one, I’d go with the middle one.”
Sleazy sales people are the worst, and he really doesn’t want to come across as one. Hopefully, the man hears the sincerity in his voice.
“Fair enough,” Taehyung hums, diverting his attention to the middle painting. “Can you tell me a little bit more about the artist’s background?”
Oh God.
No.
Absolutely not.
Jeongguk has no fucking clue who painted this thing, but he needs to say something, or Taehyung is going to walk out of here without the painting and that’s not what Namjoon needs right now.
“What would you like to know?”
Jeongguk stalls, but it’s for the best. Maybe he can buy himself some time, perhaps find the information on Namjoon’s website as he directs Taehyung to look at a few other pieces.
“Did you really just answer a question with a question?”
Taehyung turns, curiosity playing in his eyes, absolutely not wasting any time with his own question, apparently equipped with it at the tip of his tongue.
All Jeongguk can do is laugh, because the ultra wealthy, super secret art peruser is apparently fairly intelligent, quick to call him out on his stall.
Or Jeongguk is just a worthless bullshitter.
Something tells him that he should just fucking own this whole mess before he actually embarrasses himself in front of the very captivating man he’s had the pleasure of meeting tonight.
“I did, and I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Jeongguk breathes out over a chuckle, hoping he won’t regret this. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. Namjoon-hyung called me because his daughter is in the hospital. I used to work here back in the day before it was a nice, refined place, and even then, I knew jack shit about art,” he snorts, the tips of his ears prickling with heat as they do when he’s embarrassed.
“But I don’t work here anymore, and I can’t tell you a fucking thing about these pieces.” He gestures up and down the wall, knowing damn well he just let another curse word slip, but this is who he is, and he’s unapologetic about that at this point in his life. “All I can tell you is that they are nice, and Namjoon-hyung told me to mind my manners, which I know I’m not doing. Please don’t let me ruin this experience for you. I am so sorry.”
He cuts himself off before he can ramble himself into something even more awkward, but Taehyung doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, instead throwing his head back in delight as he laughs.
It echoes beautifully in the otherwise quiet gallery, the music so faint it’s barely noticeable.
“You know... I couldn’t figure out why your hands were so calloused from working in an art gallery,” Taehyung says, and Jeongguk doesn’t have to sneak a glance at his palms to know he’s referencing the tear on his right palm that he got from attempting to do a series of muscle-ups earlier in the week. “But it makes more sense now that you’re telling me you don’t work here.”
“I considered playing the part for the sake of impressing you, but I figured it may have the opposite effect,” Jeongguk admits, figuring he has nothing to lose. “Please tell me I didn’t just blow my chance, here?”
With another laugh, Taehyung shakes his head.
“Can’t say that you did.”
Taehyung’s eyes sparkle again when he looks at Jeongguk, and why can’t he look away?
“So what do you do for a living that gives you calluses like that, Jeongguk-ssi?”
A bit of heat spreads in his stomach, but he pushes it aside for the sake of professionalism, feigned or not.
“I actually own a gym,” Jeongguk says. “I’m a personal trainer.”
“That explains the quads, then,” Taehyung adds, glancing down at his legs, and now there’s even more heat in Jeongguk’s stomach, a bit harder to ignore this time around. “Do you offer one-on-one sessions?”
The tone of Taehyung’s voice has dropped lower, and Jeongguk finds himself turning, completely facing the man instead.
“I do,” Jeongguk responds, then he goes for it. “Would you be interested in one-on-one time?”
Surely Taehyung is smart enough to pick up on the double entendre.
“We both know I am interested,” Taehyung surprises him by saying. “But should you really be coming on this strong, considering you haven’t even seen my face?”
Playfully, Jeongguk runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
This isn’t about selling art for Namjoon any longer—he’s man enough to admit that, and he thinks Taehyung knows that, seeing as his eyes flicker down to track the movement on his tongue.
“I’m willing to chance it,” Jeongguk responds, making a point to rake his eyes over the length of Taehyung’s body. His legs are long and lean, and he shouldn’t envision them wrapped around his waist, but it’s hard to not. “Unless you’re telling me I shouldn’t? I’m a big boy, and I can take a no.”
“Oh, I’m definitely not going to tell you no,” Taehyung responds immediately, then he cocks his head. “And if I didn’t have someplace to be after this, I’d ask you out for drinks.”
The air is electric between them, wound high with the tension, and Jeongguk fucking vibrates with excitement at the prospect of that. At how straightforward Taehyung is. It’s refreshing.
Jeongguk makes a decision, since he decided not to mind his manners, after all.
“Can I convince you to cancel your plans?”
It’s only half a joke, but he can’t get a yes unless he asks.
“I wish you could, but I’m afraid I can’t get out of these plans,” Taehyung shoots him down gently, which Jeongguk can respect. “Trust me when I say I’d rather go out for drinks.”
The man’s tone suggests he isn’t particularly looking forward to these plans.
“Next time, then,” Jeongguk says, then he goes for it. “You know, since I spilled my secret identity and told you who I really am, I think it’s only fair I get to see what I’m working with?”
He tips his chin up, nodding at Taehyung.
“I have no doubt you’re gorgeous underneath that mask, but you should confirm it for me, don’t you think?”
The laugh he’s rewarded with sends a whole fucking flock of butterflies into flight in his stomach.
This is ridiculous, he is well aware of that.
He hasn’t even seen the man’s face.
“You’re shameless.”
Taehyung shakes his head, though he doesn’t really seem to have a problem with it. His hand reaches for his ear where the strap is securely keeping the white surgical mask in place.
He hesitates for just a second.
“Promise me something first?”
Jeongguk is fairly sure he’ll make whatever promise Taehyung wants him to make.
“Whatever you want, Taehyung-ssi.”
“Now you’re playing with fire,” the man says, a hint of something serious to his words. “Promise me you won’t start minding your manners now.”
Jeongguk snorts.
“I can assure you that I won’t.”
Namjoon, Jimin, and any other adult in his life would back him up on this.
“Good,” Taehyung mumbles, then he unhooks the strap, letting it fall to the side before he undoes the other side, freeing his face from the constraints of his surgical mask.
And Jeongguk’s assumption is absolutely confirmed, because he’s faced with one of the most beautiful men he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on, and for a second, he’s too mesmerized by the sharp cheekbones, plush lips and the perfectly sloped nose that it doesn’t register for him who he’s looking at.
Taehyung eyes him curiously, looking for a reaction.
When it finally does register, Jeongguk feels his mouth fall open, and Jeongguk doesn’t like breaking promises, but he’s about to do that.
And he’s absolutely about to mind his manners, because if he doesn’t do so at this moment, then he’s fairly sure he’ll be disowned by both of his parents and Namjoon.
Maybe even Jimin.
“Oh, fuck me.”
The words tumble out of him, absolutely not polite nor appropriate, and immediately, he goes to correct himself, a bit mortified at his own behavior for once in his life.
Taehyung bites back a smile, seeming to take immense pleasure in whatever’s unfolding.
“I am so sorry,” he whispers, knowing he’s meant to bow, but he doesn’t, instead staring at Taehyung’s curious expression. “Your Royal High—”
“No.”
With authority Jeongguk doesn’t expect, Taehyung holds a finger in the air between them, effectively silencing Jeongguk.
Dark, captivating eyes bore into his, telling him he shouldn’t question him, even if he didn’t hold the title that he does.
“Don’t you dare call me that now,” Taehyung whispers, the corner of his lips turning up into a smirk. “You assured me you wouldn’t mind your manners. Don’t start now.”
Jeongguk knows for a fact that he isn’t breathing right now, his heart ricocheting in his chest from the revelation and Taehyung’s sudden demand.
There’s a weight to his words, and for the briefest second, the confidence he saw in Taehyung’s eyes seems to be missing.
“Okay,” he whispers when Taehyung takes a step back, and though he is positively vibrating with excitement, he manages to speak, forcing his name out. “Taehyung-ssi.”
Pleased, Taehyung nods, the confidence returning again. Taehyung opens his mouth to speak, but someone else beats them to it.
“Your Royal Highness,” the suit-clad man interrupts, and now it suddenly makes a whole lot more sense why he was trailed by the two men. “We have to leave, sir.”
A pang of disappointment settles in Jeongguk’s stomach, mixing with a tad bit of confusion, but it dissipates when Taehyung doesn’t even bother turning around, keeping his eyes on Jeongguk instead.
“I’ll be right out,” he says to his security team, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge their presence, keeping his attention fixed on Jeongguk.
The sound of footsteps trailing down the hall suggest they’ve been left alone, and only then does Taehyung speak again.
“Don’t go all shy on me now,” he demands, arching a brow to make his point, then he nods toward the paintings on the wall. “Tell Kim Namjoon that I’ll buy all three of these if the very polite and knowledgeable Mr. Jeon personally delivers them to my home.”
The confidence is back, and Taehyung knows what he’s doing when he licks his lips.
“I can do that,” Jeongguk responds, adrenaline coursing in his veins at Taehyung’s insinuation. “But I don’t have your contact details.”
A breathtaking smile spreads on his lips, and with a small bow of his head, Taehyung speaks again.
“I’ll find you.”
Taehyung bites down on his lip, knowing damn well he’s directing all of Jeongguk’s attention exactly where he wants it.
“I’ll see you around, Jeon Jeongguk.”
And just like that, the crown prince of the nation turns around, walking out of the gallery without a care in the world.
What the fuck just happened?