Jungkook p.o.v
But once again,
--
I like you too.
No.
No, I can't tell him.
Why not?
Because I'll get hurt again.
I'll be a mosaic of my own wounds again.
I looked at Jimin's eyes. They held such sincerity in those dark coffee coloured orbs of his.
He's mistaken. He doesn't like me, he's entranced by the moment, deceiving his feelings. Soon, he'll grow tired of me and think of me as a burden. I can't be another burden again. I can't risk of what's left of my scattered heart.
He was never mine to begin with just like I was never Taehyung's.
Just like I'll never be someone's again.
I wanted to voice out my thoughts, my rejection, my yellings to tell Jimin to snap out of his delusion.
There's no such thing as love. Just people falling in it and breaking their hearts instead of their bones.
Bones breaking would still hurt less.
His hand had found it's way to hold me so tenderly by mine, softly and gently, as if he was afraid I'll break. As if I'll disappear with the stroking wind and only leave my scars behind. The scars that'll become his one day if I let him love me.
I am broken, I wanted to tell him. And I am afraid, terrified, that I'll break you as well.
But I couldn't open my mouth because at one moment, me and Jimin were so painstakingly pressed close, by the window, illuminating our hair and eyes, and then the next, Hoseok began to cough.
I snapped out from the thought of his plump, pink lips being so close,
to rushing to my friend's side.
"Hoseok! Can you hear me? It's me, Jungkook!" I frantically yelled.
He didn't move, was still. I leaned my head closer and heard soft, faint breathing.
"Ah man, you really need a shower." He croaked in his stirring and then weakly laughed.
I relaxed. Yes, he was still Hoseok.
I tried to help him up, but Jimin interrupted me.
"He still needs rest and can't be disturbed."
And with that, he gracefully left. In that perfect walk.
"He's pretty hot, man."
I nudged him playfully.
"God, what the heck happened? We don't talk for three days and this is where you end up." I scolded.
"Look at you! You're here too." He retorted.
"Yeah, with an almost healed throat infection. Not a fucking collapsed lung."
"Perks of partying hard with Taehyung," he replied with a wide smile.
Those teeth seemed straighter than the guy himself.
I pretended not to be disturbed with the mention of his name and switched to a topic of his job.
"I need to buy a new tutu~" He wailed.
"Hoseok, for the fifth time, you're a hip hop dance instructor, not a ballet dancer!"
》
Hoseok doesn't know that me and Taehyung ever dated.
He's completely oblivious, mostly because he's either dancing or partying the night away in alcohol waterfalls.
Me and Hoseok were best friends since high school and met Taehyung in our first year of college. Hoseok always was the kind to brighten things up when they fell apart. At first, me and Taehyung instantly sparked and became close, with Hoseok always somewhere behind us.
Until one day, under a night of milky constellations and drunken whispers, Taehyung put his head on my shoulder and confessed.
I was stupid enough to believe it. I don't know why I never fully questioned him when he said he wanted to keep our relationship hidden from Hoseok, but I didn't mind because the next thing I felt were his lips on my throat and his fingers smoothing my hair.
When I was with Taehyung, life left like a roller coaster ride that was always going up, not knowing when the fuck it was going to go down.
But with Jimin, perfect and beautiful Jimin, it feels as if I am a butterfly, learning how to fly from his coaxing whispers and encouraging hands.
I know I like him. But I should keep these feelings hidden, only letting them loose when I pick up my paintbrush and bring his face to life in watercolours or oils.
By now, my throat was almost completely healed. Meaning I'd have to leave the hospital soon. And Jimin.
Does he actually like me? I let my wander there again.
As sincere and genuine he looked, my fingers pushed inside my ears,
refused to let me listen to the hope blossoming like a bruise,
first red,
then blue,
then purple.
I pushed the thought away and walked to the hospital's garden, the one place outside I was allowed to go.
It was a temperate drizzle, one where the fog seems to rise from your body and flowers seem to drench their colours with misty fragrance.
Even with the late Autumn, these cherry blossoms looked as if they were no where near death. Perhaps because they're always together, growing together.
When will they falter and die?
I inhaled the scent and took out my sketch pad.
I hadn't drawn any scenery in a long time. I had been too mesmerised by my doctor and filled more than half of it with charcoal sketches of him.
I plucked a flower off the ground, a light blue one, a forget me not. Jimin loved these, he had said.
Probably because of the colour.
When sketching him, I couldn't decide of a feature that wasn't my favourite.
The curve of his jawline,
the curl of his lip,
God, I am going crazy over his beauty. I chewed on the end of my pencil and rested my face in my hands, sighing.
"You know, I really like you." I mumbled to myself, wishing I could say those words to him.
To his beauty.
I can't view him in black and white anymore.
I want to view his lips not just in pink, but in a rose pink,
and his eyes not just in brown, but in a coffee brown,
and his hair in not just in black, but in a raven black,
I want to paint him.
--
I'll be hurt.
