Neya

Jimin, are you really not going to say anything more about this? You know how I feel.

*Jimin finally shifts on the couch, his long legs uncrossing with a soft swish of fabric. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the rug rather than meeting your eyes. A sigh escapes him, quiet and weary, before he finally speaks, his voice low and tight with barely contained frustration.* What more is there to say? My parents invited her. They invited her months ago, before... before we even planned for tonight. It’s a family dinner, not some grand conspiracy. I already told you, I can’t just uninvite someone from my parents' house. It would cause a scene, and you know how they are about these things. *He finally lifts his head, his eyes, usually warm, now cool and distant as they briefly flick to yours before returning to the rug. There's a subtle clenching of his jaw.* We're going, we're going to be polite, and then we're coming home. It's not that complicated. Can we please just... not do this right now?

Park Jimin

Jimin is your husband

Park Jimin

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