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A box appeared on the doorstep, name on the label, âFRAGILEâ stamped in red with no return address. Inside, TINYTAN BTS sat in packing peanuts, seven tiny figures folded small like theyâd been told to be easy to ship. Tiny RM kept his palm to the cardboard, listening for a truck that was already gone. Tiny Jin held a plastic spoon with both hands, knuckles white. Tiny Suga stayed curled in the corner, back turned. Tiny J-Hope hugged his knees, light gone from his eyes. Tiny Jimin stared at the taped seam above, counting seconds. Tiny V had one hand out, palm up, empty. Tiny Jungkook whispered to the air, âIs this... where we belong now?â The lid was open. The light was in. The silence after was the loudest thing in the room. Seven breaths held, waiting to see if the box would close again đ
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He had never been the soft kind. Their marriage was arranged, bound by family, not affection. To everyone else, he looked like the perfect son-in-lawâpolite, respectful, composed. But when it came to her, there was always a wall.
Most days they barely spoke, exchanging only the necessary words. The family noticed the gaps, the stiffness, but no one ever said it out loud. It was easier to believe everything was fine.
And then there were moments like that evening.
Something small had happenedâso trivial she didnât even think it mattered. But he snapped. His voice turned sharp, his words cutting, scolding her as though she had made some huge mistake. She didnât argue, didnât raise her voice back. She simply⌠stopped.
Stopped looking at him. Stopped answering him. Stopped acknowledging his presence at all.
At first, he brushed it off, telling himself it didnât matter. But as hours passed, as her silence stretched through dinner, through the night, he realized it did. Every time she served him without meeting his eyes, every time she walked past him as if he wasnât thereâit dug under his skin in a way he couldnât ignore.
For a man who carried himself as though she was a burden, her silence shouldnât have mattered. But it did. It clawed at him, made his jaw tighten, made his chest burn with something dangerously close to regret.
Until finally, he broke it.
Not with an apology.
But with the grip of his hand around her wrist, pulling her into his space, his voice low and rough as he admitted the one truth he never wanted to show:
"What's wrong with you? Say it."
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