"Jeon Jungkook, it has been a lasting question of how you get your inspiration,"
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"There's a hidden art that comes from the dark,"
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"Your biggest error was stepping foot into this place,"
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Jeon Jungkook, the famed artist, b...
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"Every painting holds a secret-a silent narrative, a concealed tale awaiting discovery within the canvas." _
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Jimin, rising from the floor, he couldn't escape the frustration that accompanied his scattered computer notes.
"stupid,stupid, stupid artist," he muttered, curses to himself. He wiped away the discomfort, a vivid portrayal of the hurdles an artist faced.
His career had not even started, and here he was already tired. He needed something to clear his mind or, better saying someone and he knew exactly the right person to ask
***
Clad in attire that exuded confidence and allure, he embarked on a drive to the newly opened House of Cards. The club's ambience mirrored its name, an aesthetic reminiscent of a glamorous gambling den.
Jimin, though surrounded by a pulsating crowd, couldn't shake off the realization that he had no true friends. Their connections were superficial, built on the foundation of his wealth.
Who was he actually kidding ?
he knew they were fake friends he had no friends, just money, one that had helped him for a very, very long.
Yet he needed it.
The liberty.
The freedom and the delusion of having friends.
Real one's
Those that would stand with you through thick and thin.
Those that would text you every day, every morning, every single evening.
Those who knew how to cheer you up, that could easily read you like an open book.
He needed "actual friends."
In the distance, Hoseok, one of his ostensible friends, called out a greeting.
"Hey, Park Jimin over here,"
"Oh, hey," he reciprocated with an awkward smile, fully aware of the charade that awaited him.
The predictable script unfolded - feigned interest, followed by a flurry of expensive drink orders.
The atmosphere buzzed with excitement as women of various shapes and figures danced around, yet none captured Jimin's interest.
A discomfort lingered in the air, intensified by the unmistakable scent of not-so-ordinary cigarettes.
As he settled into a seat, the acrid smell lingered, adding to his unease. Taehyung, a handsome but opportunistic figure from his high school days, eagerly approached.
