No one could change your mind about 'love'.
It was a deception created to corrupt, to destroy, to swallow you in the shadow of its lies, losing yourself in the process.
On the other side of town, Min Yoongi, a man with an old soul and tired of bei...
It had been a week since Yoongi was bold enough to leave you his card. A week where he heard nothing from you and too much from his hyung.
"Still nothing?". He was annoying.
"Nothing. I think you'd be able to tell if I had gotten any sort of contact from her"
Jin was loving to see his brother actually pursuing any sort of happiness.
He'd never witnessed this type of engagement from Yoongi towards anyone before.
It was rather entertaining, but deep down, bickering aside, he just wanted to see his brother happy....alive.
"That damn woman. I could tell she was interested. In the way she'd snap at me, her body language. I caught her quivering a few times... I think. Why is she so stubborn?"
He went to sit on his piano, digits roaming the keys to reproduce yet again the melody he'd created the first time he'd met you.
Now he's added a more melodramatic sequence, filled with dragged out lower notes.
The frustration and desperation painted on the song, Min Yoongi immersed in his own creation, embodying the angst the music translated, not realizing his phone was ringing.
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You called once, for maybe thirty seconds before hanging up.
Ugh, what were you going to say? "I need you to crack my back and then keep it pushing?" Ugh!
Later that day when you left the restaurant, after you called an uber, you went straight to your friend's house, willing to dissect her for what she'd pulled.
"Oh c'mon Mila, are you really going to say I didn't help?"
"You didn't help at all! The fucker kept trying me!"
"Girl, stop pretending. You've wanted to jump his bones from the moment you saw him. Go ahead. Now you have his number. Jump on that dick"
"I don't want to give him the satisfaction", you announced, pouting like a child.
Now a week later you were calling him, reason having gone out the window, defeated by your libido, so you could at least let off some steam.
You wouldn't admit this out loud, but for the past seven days, he'd haunted you, his eyes following you everywhere, his voice echoing in your mind when you're in the shower, conducting your hands to explore your most sensitive areas, despairing for the real deal.
You've never pursued a sexual partner before. It felt new, wrong, exciting, arousing.
Your heart was stone, not opening up to any type of strong emotional connection after the last fiasco.
Caring about someone else meant you had to feel whole with yourself. And you were so far from it, it was pitiful.
You were still a broken vase, still a shatered soul, still lost in the vast of your wounds, unable to see through the pain, the hurt, unwilling to trust, to surpass, to accept.
