MATTER ;; TAEGGUK [SEQUEL TO SPACE]

prologue: lunar

hi lovelies- i'd love to know what you think of this chapter, please don't be afraid to comment, i don't bite!! <3

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december 12th, 2011

kim taehyung

it was 'unique'

had he remembered correctly, that was were the fault had blossomed. 

it was the first word that had left min yoongi's thin lips that cold, december evening. friday had the faintest chill, potent caffeine and cool leather beneath him, hands covered in paint. kim taehyung sensed warmth in his voice. perhaps it was warmth. or perhaps it was his naivety, and a fever a little more temperate than danger.

taehyung had chosen the wrong place and the wrong time to complete his study, given his inevitable isolation. 

though he had consciously planned this- to be alone in a tiny, deserted coffee shop across the street from darwin building, rca, kensington- the option of staying at home this rainy night seemed a little more delightful. 

if this location were to test his social skills, he'd pick home any day. 

despite acknowledging the stone coldness of his demeanor, taehyung made the mistake of letting his big bambi eyes wander from his portrait to the male stood before him.

the claim was terribly cliché and mundane, actually. if he hadn't been blinded by the dark shadow cast over his laden canvas, perhaps he'd have realised it too.

'unique.'

it made him blush.

it'd have made anybody blush, it was just the way it worked. though taehyung felt a little pathetic for following the crowd. he didn't have a choice. not until he'd be accustomed to compliments from strangers. 

attractive strangers.

taehyung took a sip of his coffee, gaze transfixed to the man's feline eyes. he thought it would make him look older. did it? he wouldn't ever know if it had worked. the coffee was bitter. 

the male had mint green hair, a colour taehyung rarely touched in his palette. much too inviting, a colour that would ruin him and his canvas.

in his pale hands was a milk mug that he was cleaning with a dish cloth. his hands were veined, taehyung noted respectfully. he worked here. that made sense, as did his apron and his little badge on his breast that read 'min yoongi'.

the man was still staring at his portrait.

when taehyung put his cup down, he hoped he'd leave. his eyes darted to and fro, from his water, to his paintbrush clutched between his lean fingers. then back to his water. he wouldn't look at his canvas. he wouldn't put himself through that.