VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

47

— PART FORTY-SEVEN.

Winter is grey; it's clouded skies, and it's a submersion of cold, with frosty sunlight, and smiles made from poems, like hymns dripping from lips, as religion spills from every corner. Christmas is near, and the cafe is red, green, warm — holly and honeysuckle, every inhale brimming with cinnamon, nutmeg, clementines. It's warm inside, cosy, and people are chattering away, watching the grey sea outside, as it churns out it's waves, spitting up creatures and impaling them.

Hazelnut foam lines top lips, and noses flash pink with the chill of the season, and Jimin's hands are like icicles as he passes Taehyung his drink. He hadn't flirted with the woman at the counter today, the blonde notices. He sits down and he's dressed in an outfit that somewhat makes him seem like another person, with his hideous lime-green jumper and baggy blue jeans, and his little round glasses that perch on his curiously affable features. His hair is curly, and it dapples across his eye-line, and he's got these little gold gems in the corner of his eyes — he's phosphorescent, and he's running his fingers across Taehyung's hand, his rings are freezing cold, yet his exterior feels so warm.

Could he love him?

Their skin is ablaze, warmed by the open fire, and chestnuts are roasting, crackling against the burning sensation of music. A guitar is strumming, and a sultry rendition of 'jingle bells' reverberates around the room. Jeongguk keeps looking towards them as he sits upon the make-shift stage, singing, warm yet isolated, with his band mates behind him. His cheeks are more red than ever, and the colour bursts across his usual pallor; his eyes deep shades of caramel, like great pools of sugar. His voice is so beautiful, Taehyung always forgets how sweet it is, like honey, like love.

"It's your birthday soon, right, love?" Jimin whispers to him, beneath the lull of excited citizens and Jeongguk's magical vocals, his voice deep and smooth. The words are startling, and the blonde almost convulses at the sudden exclamation of the word that had been rampaging around his mind since his talk with Jin, love.

Taehyung has to force himself to look away from the boy on stage, turning to look at the curly-haired Jimin, choking down his heart attack, in favour of settling his tone upon something quiet, "how'd you know?"

The ginger winks at him, expression a little juvenile, somewhat mocking, yet it's tender all the same, like a rose bush, full of thorns and soft beauty, "please, we've been going to school together since we were babies."

"We barely ever spoke to each other though." He whispers back, and he smiles toward Jeongguk, as the band starts to perform their take on 'all I want for Christmas is you' — with their mild rock infusions and slow, dreary vocals.

"Doesn't mean I didn't pay attention to your birthday, sugar, I mean, surely you know mine?"

Taehyung somewhat finds the idea that Jimin had ever payed attention to him before this whole ordeal, very hard to believe, but he humours him, "well, it's sometime in October." The blonde tells him, because he'd heard enough about the boy's parties, seen enough people give him gifts at school, scrolled through enough posts dedicated to him every year, to know.

"See?" Jimin grins, and his eyes sparkle beneath his glasses, accentuated by the twinkling of fairy lights and the hot, apple-scented candles.

"It's different," Taehyung shakes his head, laughs softly, not wanting to pull too much unnecessary attention toward himself, "you're Park Jimin, everyone knows your birthday."

Taehyung doesn't like to build up the boys ego, but that's undoubtedly what he does, as the ginger sits up taller, sips heartily at his coffee and shuffles his shoulders joyfully — it's almost cute, like a smug toddler, "okay, but I still know that you're born on the thirtieth of December." The younger rolls his eyes playfully, and he's not really all that surprised the boy knows his birthday, he does know everything after all. "Are you doing anything for it?"