"We were made for each other.... I'm her, and she's me... nothing else matters, no else. Just us, " jeongguk exclaims loudly, eyes devoid of the very little emotion he had.
"You're insane, jeongguk! You sound like a freaking phsycho!" Namjoon seeth...
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Part 08.
Painting and somewhat, stolen glances
KISS ME WHENEVER YOU DESIRE SO MY LOVE, KISS ME HARD AND BREATHLESSLY.
As weeks passed on, you and Jeongguk had begun to get closer. Every waking moment was spent thinking of one another.
Yearning to be by the sides of each other, longingly. During these past weeks, you had joined a total of two extracurricular classes.
One being apart of the student council body and the second, being art. You had joined art all thanks to Jeongguks wishes.
Not that you minded, you liked the class because he, of course, was in it. You enjoyed watching him paint, his eyes always holding some kind of anger behind them, sometimes even hope.
It was like he was listening to a story in his mind, and his hand wanted to show you what he saw. Paint you what he pictured. Beautiful, really.
His paintings were extravagant. Beyond comprehension of those who didn't want to understand the meaning. Those too lazy to look. Simply too closed minded for the world that stood above them.
Another reason you enjoyed observing the boy, whilst he painted was because of his transfixion. As if he was closed off from the world, like everyone that existed vanished from the face of the earth.
It was mesmerizing to you. Jeongguk looked like a whole different person; you enjoyed seeing it.
Seeing him paint, like it was his last days on earth, painting like every minute would be his last; it stirred a passion inside you. One well long forgotten and shamed.
Jeongguk was, to put it simply, art itself. The way the boys hands would waltz over the canvas made it seem as if his hand itself was dancing.
He reminded you of one of those renaissance painting's; pretty and eye catching. Every aspect about him was enchanting to a fault.
The way his hair was tied back, the way his eyes showed what he was thinking, the way his tattooed hand gripped firmly onto the wooded stick. Breathtaking.
But the one thing that held your gaze, the thing you found yourself never straying away from, was when his tongue would poke out, and swipe his lip in concentration.
A small habit he had when his mind was coming down from what his hand was trying to tell.
