GREYSCALE WARMTH | TK

Chapter One

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"the world could never compare to you"

Jeongguk lets himself fall back until his body hits the ground, the softness of the grass his blanket is seated on making the impact feel less painful. With his arms spread out, fingers entwined between the strands of grass around them, Jeongguk looks up at the sky, his eyes squinting once the brightness becomes too much.

Closing them in order to avoid hurting his eyes, Jeongguk breaths in, letting himself be drawn in by the peaceful sounds of nature and the fresh scent of grass. He stays like that for a few seconds, his mind blank of any thoughts, until he feels a tingling sensation on the tips of his fingers.

Slowly opening his eyes and blinking away the sudden brightness, Jeongguk turns around and stares at the butterfly seated on the tips of his fingers. He doesn't dare move, doesn't even breathe too loudly, fearing that the little creature might fly away. For a few more minutes, Jeongguk stays like that, staring at the insect's wings with interest and curiosity swirling in his irises.

"I wonder if your wings look more beautiful in other people's eyes." He mumbles to himself as he looks at the dull shade of red on the butterfly's wings.

Just like his question has been heard, the butterfly slowly drifts away, Jeongguk's eyes following it until he can no longer see its fragile silhouette. Letting another sigh fall out of his lips, he finally gets up, sitting on his knees as he packs up his journal and other belongings into his bag. He then dusts off the thin blanket, folding it and setting it on top of his shoulder bag.

As he walks through the large — and surprisingly empty — park, Jeongguk finds himself searching for another spot to lay down, one that isn't as affected by the sun. It is a hot day of summer and Jeongguk's not that keen on getting sunburnt or sick so he decides to stay safe and secluded from the powerful rays even if he does enjoy feeling their warmth on his skin sometime.

Jeon Jeongguk thinks life isn't fair most of the time because there's always that balance between the good and the bad, between the things you so dearly adore even if they can hurt you. Just like the warmth of the sun or the soft petals of a poisonous flower. So enjoyable, astonishing, and yet so harmful.

He thinks humans are like that as well, an unbalanced amalgam of good and bad.

Shaking his head softly, Jeongguk breaths in and empties his mind of his thoughts. He has the bad habit of thinking too much, too deeply, but a lot of people tell him that is his best trait — his overthinking. He guesses it is true since his deep thoughts always bring him inspiration to write. Again, that ironic balance between the good and the bad. His works are creations of his darkest thoughts but people consider them good, worthy.

Jeongguk thinks they're just creations of his unstable mind put on paper but, again, balance has to be kept so there has to be some good in them — somewhere.

After walking for what feels like hours, Jeongguk finally notices a spot under a flower arrangement that seems secluded from the sun's rays. He walks towards it, noticing that there are a few more people around, all of them looking at the flowers and taking pictures.

He finds it ironic, how people tend to take pictures of everything without actually noticing what they're looking at.

Jeongguk wonders if they can see the hues just like him, a bit dull, or more saturated, as beautiful as some of his friends say they are.

As he gets closer to the people, Jeongguk notices a few children running around as well. His eyes fall onto a little girl, her fingers holding a flower as she excitedly runs towards a couple, most probably his parents.

"Mom, isn't this such a pretty shade of purple?" Jeongguk can hear her ask from his spot.

The girl's mother smiles, nodding, but Jeongguk can see the glint in her eyes, the statement that she isn't able to see the color as saturated as her daughter says it is.

Jeongguk can remember the days of his childhood as well, those in which all things looked more beautiful and he had no worries or deep and useless thoughts. Those had been his happiest days, he knew, but as he grew up, saturated hues became dull, worries stared clouding his mind and the child he used to be was lost to a sea of thoughts and burdens that came along with maturity.

Jeongguk unfolds his thin blanket with a frown on his face, setting it down a few feet away from the main area so that he won't be a bother to other people. Once he is finally settled, he lets out a sigh and takes out his journal, wondering if he'll be able to get some of those thoughts out of his mind. He searches for his pen in his bag, a really old one he won't ever give up because it's meaningful to him, then opens his journal to the last entry.

He thinks, and thinks, for what feels like hours, but there doesn't seem to be any inspiration in him at that moment so — feeling utterly defeated — Jeongguk leans on his arms and starts looking around again.

Time has passed, that's for sure. There aren't as many people in the garden area anymore but Jeongguk can still spot a few. Among them, he spots a boy — seemingly his age or maybe younger, he doesn't know — smiling towards a bush of flowers. His smile is so endearing that Jeongguk cannot help but raise his lips in a lazy gesture as well. To him, those flowers are simply that, flowers whose purple color is dull, but to that boy they probably look prettier.

He watches him for a few minutes, feeling a little bit like a creep but he gets over that once his fingers start to itch and his mind starts to wander.

Jeongguk drifts his gaze away from the boy, finally setting his pen on the page and letting the ink flow, not feeling as worthless and useless anymore now that he can actually write something.

Jeongguk gets so caught up in his poetry — his life — that he forgets everything about the world around him, forgets where he is, who he's with or what he's doing.

People call it passion but Jeongguk likes to think it's some sort of disease. One that makes his mind drift to different worlds, to other universes. One that is so painful but still, Jeongguk wouldn't trade it for anything — his imagination.

He gets lost in his words that time as well, so lost that he doesn't notice the passing of time, the way the sky above him darkens, not until the warm rays turn into a passing wind that makes him shiver.

Once Jeongguk finally looks up, he realizes the sun is setting and, with a devastated look on his face and a deep intake of breath, the poet turns around and stares at the blank spot in which that boy — his muse — had been. Jeongguk's shoulders drop, his eyes saddening a little once he realizes he will probably never see the other again.

He still gets up because, after all, he can't stay in once place forever, that would be inhumane of him. Jeongguk, over the years, has gotten used to having his muses forcefully taken away, either by other people or by the malicious thing everyone seemed to fear — time.

Still, no matter how used to it he thought he was getting, Jeongguk still feels disappointment, regret and anger fill his whole body as he walks away from the park and wanders on the streets towards his studio.

Would the people he wrote about ever realize he's been writing about them all along?

the sight of you
made all the colors stand out
even more
the beauty of those petals
could never compare to
the glittering light of
your eyes
when you smiled
the world did not stop, as they say
it finally bloomed