VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

42

— PART FORTY-TWO.

The earth is calm, steady and strong, unwavering, as it allows big feet to trample all over it, and squash down it's prettiest creations. The ocean, however, doesn't let people walk all over it, it grants people entrance to it's body; it chooses to allow you safe passages, just as it allows for you to drown, or get caught up in a tide. Sometimes, it changes it's mind halfway through.

Yet, Park Jimin seems to always be in the ocean's good books, like they have some kind of agreement between them.

Sometimes, as he's balancing himself atop of the waves, just as he is now, he ponders over the corpses at the bottom of the vast, blue sea — humans and pelagic animals alike, bones were down there, shipwrecks and blood, infused throughout the great deluges of salt. Memories wash up on shores everyday, millions of years of artefacts curled in on themselves, battered by the vigour of Poseidon.

And, here Jimin is, being pushed forward by the rumbling waters, granting him safe travel across their vast planes. It was about 4pm on Tuesday, and he dances around on the cyan liquid beneath him, skimming past schools of fish, and scraping the tops of polychromatic reefs.

He only ever really feels in control here, as the ocean usually seems to bend to the command of him and his surfboard, lets him release all his emotions into the murky waters, and allow them to float away. He becomes one with the water here.

But, today, the waters weren't adhering to his will; the winds were high, rough, jostling him about, having a huge influence on the sea below him.

The ocean usually would tug away postulations from his mind, and soothe his weary soul, tempting him into a mindset of confidence and calm — the sea always helps him clear his head. Yet, right now, his mind is swarming with unknown ideas; they're indisputably heavy and they force his cranium to sag beneath their heart-wrenching weight.

His mind was on Taehyung.

Jimin doesn't think he can stand to lie to himself anymore, not out here, in the only place he feels safe enough to breathe. The brutality of the wind was making it hard for him to come to any other realisation than the fact he had feelings for the boy. He hated himself for it, for the purity in his intentions that he struggles to keep buried beneath a persona of tranquility and sensuality. His skin is itchy, and he wants to tear it apart, to force himself to forget about the sadness in the boy's eyes that night. But, he can't, and he thinks he's made a mistake in ever trying to mess with Taehyung.

He has an epiphany.

It's just as the sky begins to split open, orange bleeding down the screeching air, with screaming pink and growling yellow streaking down on him, that he decides to call it a day. He didn't really need to practice surfing, he'd won every competition he'd ever entered. He had a natural talent. His parents had said he was a "water-baby" when they first took him swimming — he aced every competition he was in back then, before he converted to surfing. Despite this, he adored the act, and he always found solace in the ocean, so he came out here as often as possible. It helped him replenish his sense of purpose.

Particles of sand grip onto his feet as he tramples across the beach, dripping wet, hair slicked back, skin shimmering beneath the sunset. His surfboard is tucked beneath his arm, and he quickly attempts to wade over to the surf club's shed, wherein all the members chose to keep their boards. This part of the beach was nearly always empty, only one or two people lingering around, walking dogs or taking a stroll, the weather was too cold for many people to crowd around.

Jimin was thankful, as, despite the fact he was head-boy and somewhat involved in an extremely successful company, he truly hated talking to people.