"GOSSIP SPREADS"
The moment I stepped onto campus the next morning, I felt it.
A shift. A hum. A wave of whispers brushing across the corridors like wind through dry leaves.
"Isn't that her?"
"The one married to Professor Kim?"
"Wait… married? To Professor Taehyun?"
"No way. She's a student… and he's… well, him."
I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag, swallowing as the stares started to land, sharp and hot, brushing over every inch of me. It felt like every conversation in the courtyard changed its shape when I walked past. Heads tilted closer, phones came out for quick taps of gossip, glances sliced like whispers.
I tried to walk tall, tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, but it was like being watched by a hundred pairs of eyes — some shocked, some wary, some burning with a hint of judgment, others with fascination. The questions bubbled just under the surface, too quiet to voice aloud, too sharp to ignore.
Then came the moment I stepped into the lecture hall. The sound of conversation died down, replaced by a tense silence. Eyes darted between the door and the figure standing at the front — tall, unreadable, impossibly composed. Professor Kim Taehyun.
He didn't flinch. Didn't glance at the students. Didn't justify. He set down his book, brushing long fingers across its spine, and lifted those sharp, dark eyes to the room. Suddenly the silence felt like obedience. Suddenly every whisper felt like a plea to stay unheard.
Then, for the briefest moment, those dark eyes found mine across the room. Not a word was exchanged. Not a sign was offered. Just a single, languid glance that spoke volumes — that said, "Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them choke on their questions. It doesn't matter. You're mine."
I sank into my seat, brushing hair out of my burning cheeks. The whispers bubbled again as soon as he turned to the blackboard, faint and sharp at the edges. But deep down, a strange warmth settled between my ribs — knowing that no matter how hot the scrutiny felt, no matter how sharp the questions came, the man at the front of this room would silence every one of them if he had to. Not for their sake, or mine… but for the quiet, unmistakable claim that lived in the space between us.
♡♡"BOUNDARIES & WHISPERS"
: THE PUBLIC LINE
The very next morning, Taehyun called a meeting — professors, staff, and students alike. The auditorium was packed, a low hum of whispers making the air feel charged. When he stepped up to the podium, the room silenced instantly.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Let me be very clear," he announced,
brushing a hand down the edge of the lectern, voice sharp enough to draw blood.
"My wife is a student here. Whatever questions you have about that fact, you can ask me directly. Whatever whispers arise about her character, you can swallow them before they ever leave your tongue."
A shift in the room. A collective intake of breath.
"If anyone — student, teacher, staff — chooses to forget the line between curiosity and cruelty, you will answer to me. Not to the university. Not to its policies. To me. And I don't make warnings twice."
Then he glanced towards where I stood, brushing a soft, unyielding gaze over my features. The room felt like a witness to that moment, suspended between threat and promise.
"She is mine to stand with. Mine to stand for. And if that threatens careers, reputations, or the comfort of those too afraid to understand — so be it."
With that, he stepped down from the podium, brushing past a room that felt like it had stopped breathing. Not because he yelled. Not because he commanded obedience. But because every word was wrapped in a steel that refused to yield.
: THE PRIVATE WHISPERS
Later that night, in the quiet of our shared space, I sank down beside him on the couch, brushing a hand down the edge of his arm.
"Why?" I asked quietly. "Why risk all this? Your career. Everything you've built. All because you married a student?"
He tilted towards me, brushing a hand down the edge of my jaw until I met those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Why?" he repeated, brushing a faint smirk across the sharp line of his mouth. "Maybe because you're worth it."
I gave a soft snort, brushing hair out of my eyes.
"Worth it? You married me because you had to — because you claimed you had no choice. What was it then? A mafia deal? A force of circumstance?"
Taehyung sank closer, brushing the tip of his nose down the curve of mine until our breath tangled.
"Would you rather I said I chose you?" His voice was low, teasing, brushing the air between us. "That despite the guns, the debts, the blood… despite every dark thing that shaped my world, you're the one thing I refused to walk away from?"
I pulled back slightly, brushing a hand down his chest, voice soft, wary.
"Then why force it? Why claim me like some prize?"
A faint smile curved at the edge of his mouth as he sank closer, brushing a whisper down the line of my jaw.
"Because in a world that threatens to take everything from you, sometimes the only way to protect is to claim first. Not for cruelty. Not for pride. But because it's the only language monsters like me understand."
I sank closer despite myself, brushing a hand down the edge of his shirt.
"Then why risk your reputation? Why stand for a wife that half the world can't accept?"
He tilted down until his voice was a whisper brushing the shell of my ear.
"Because for once… the monster refused to walk away from the only thing that felt like belonging."
A faint smile pulled at the edge of his voice.
"And because you're mine to tease when you're stubborn, to hold when you're tired, and to protect when the world forgets its place."
I pulled back just enough to tilt an eyebrow, brushing the faint sting of a smile across my own lips.
"Careful, Professor. Someone might say you're going soft."
He sank closer still, brushing a whisper down my throat like a promise.
"Only for you. And only until the rest of the world remembers why they feared me in the first place."
Then, brushing my nose with the faintest hint of a smirk, he added quietly, teasingly,
"Now… am I still just 'the mafia husband' you claim forced you down the aisle?"
I smiled then — soft, shy, teasing — brushing a hand down the edge of his shirt.
"Maybe… maybe you're worth breaking the rules for, too."
And in that quiet space between laughter and belonging, between whispers and promises, we weren't mafia lord and student. Not beast and beauty. Not scandal and witness.
We were just… ours. Whatever the world chose to call it.