"No, that was not a relationship, it was just a one-sided thing, well... I", his trembling hands knead the inner wrist, rubbing and scraping the skin muddled under his cuffs, the scars hidden beneath.
"The idea of someone loving me, it was... it bl...
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Sleep and tardiness envelop me as I make my way back, the only clear thought in my mind is to lie in the softness of the bed and wander off to dreamland. Yesterday, meeting with Jimin and conversing about Jin Hyung, still lurch my brain to uneasiness. Taehyung would probably be sleeping or getting anxious about tomorrow's event. The Autumn Fest has come up earlier than anticipated.
As I place my things on the side table in the main room, the lights of the Art room are turned on. The blond may be revising the part of his chorus. He has the habit of feeling queasy before events. The lack of sound infers he hasn't started yet.
After freshening up, and making two hot chocolate mugs I enter the great Art room, named after the inspiration and creativity we can muster here, according to Taehyung, the revolutionist. It has the grand piano always polished and tended Casio PX-870 positioned near the rear window, there the smooth black surface reflects moonlight on some nights making the musician and piano both look out of this world, there are also numerous paintings and sketches scattered around, some finished others blank canvases urging to be replenished with colors.
The paintings hidden in the murkiest cabin of my wardrobe were taken forcefully by none other than Kim Taehyung, one evening when we were watching a movie in my room. They were examined and I was instructed to paint more. I was scolded to hide the art pieces. 'They are the best ' he has said, proudly. He always says that. Except for him just Ana and Grandpa know I still paint. Dad may forget about my hobby, like a lot of other things.
As I peek inside he was setting the seat in front of the instrument. He seems to be lost in thoughts, his facelifted in his chin leaning on the piano stand.
For a moment I travel back to the sculpture of the Madonna of Bruges in Belgium. We visited it at night when the full moon was illuminating it, I don't remember clearly, but I guess, it was representing a Virgin and a child. The sculpture looked sacred, the marble carving molded the stone into a mythical creature, untouchable and frigid. It shone in its full glory and I had the absolute desire to caress it, despite being tactile, I couldn't touch it to discover if it was factual or just an illusion. The bright sculpture captivated me for days to no end.
And now the full moon shines yet again, glistens his features, his eyes that light up when he smiles truly, the rectangular smile unique and distinctive just like the owner, his smile that radiates the lives of people surrounding him. I just stand there gazing at him, he looks beautiful with his sly smile as he thinks about something silly. I enter and pass him the mug, he takes the mug from my hand and takes a sip, being pleased with the taste, he moans and talks about exaggerations.
Still lost in thoughts I didn't notice as he place another seat beside his and guides me toward it. I sit beside him, as he starts playing the keys, there's a ghost of a smile on his lips, closing his eyes he tests the sound and plays.
