Jungkook p.o.v
No matter what,
--
I sat in my stool, walls of creamy beige and ivory staring back, daring my finger to pick up the paintbrush again and not paint, but create.
The walls had ears and eyes. They had seen me when I would be hunched over the counter, waiting for a customer for hours and hours, only to realise that I'd never flipped the 'closed' sign to 'open.' They'd heard my cries and my whisperings for a certain black haired boy to come back and take me in his arms.
Several paintings, acrylic or watercolour, purple speckled with red, blue highlighted with pink, hung along the walls with the dancing sunlight of the crisp late afternoon of winter.
When I wondered when it would snow, my mind wandered back to the park me and Jimin had gone to. The day where I'd hugged him for the first time and I'd fallen in love even more with the delicate, light blue forget me nots and the pale pink cherry blossoms. I always thought when they would die.
Perhaps when it would snow.
My fingers didn't want to paint anything else other than Jimin, Jimin and Jimin. Even till today, I'd resisted the urge to paint him because what if he's changed? I'd only be painting a memory and not the real him.
The real him that has moved on and ran away from me.
I sighed and buried my face in my stained hands, refusing to look at the blank canvas anymore. I'd opened the window beside me to allow a faint whisper of a wind to trickle through and cool my warmed cheeks whenever I thought of him.
Ding.
Huh? A customer?
Footsteps carefully walked in slowly and I turned around, thinking who would be stupid enough to visit a cheap and crumbling studio.
And I saw you.
And the tears I once thought that weren't endless found their way through my chest once again and behind my eyes.
You came back.
And the love that I had accepted allowed me to regain my voice and call out to you.
A barely audible whisper that sparked all of my body and its organs, one especially, carrying my body closer to your smile.
Art has thousands of words that can be hard to speak of when needed to. The many words that people use to critique masterpieces and divine creations, all of them being forgotten when resting your eyes upon the most perfect one.
"Jimin."
And that was enough. Enough to describe the explosive you.
He walked closer to me as well and together we met in the middle of the dimly lit studio with the sunlight kissing his enigmatic pale rose lips and boundless dark coffee eyes and profound raven feather hair.
He was a masterpiece himself.
And I wanted to re-create him.
It's fascinating when even after all this time of being away, you're afraid to take the first step, the first touch, because you're afraid that if you do, you'll hand will go right through, awakening you from the dream and touching only the scent they left.
And because I was afraid, he became fearless.
Four heartbeats later,
"I told myself I'd never stop running after you," his tremulous voice spoke.
Oh God, that voice. How I missed it and yearned to have it fill my ears.
"You don't need to anymore," I choked.
And with that, I carried my yearning arms and snaked them around his strong back, letting myself melt and press my chest endearingly to his.
Jimin exhaled tenderly and hugged me tightly right back.
I don't know who was the first one, but after letting my body shudder in his arms and feel the tears drip onto his blue coat that I heard the faintest audible cracks escaping his lips.
He was crying too.
"I've never stopped missing you, Jimin," I let myself say and cried harder into him, my hands refusing to let go of him even for a second.
He ran his fingers through my hair and nodded.
"Jungkook."
He let go of me softly, pulling back to witness my tear streaked face and damp hair clinging to my sweating forehead. He smiled and wiped my tears away, slowly but surely.
He cupped my face delicately and smiled in that smile that made even the sunlight jealous of its warmth and happiness that it brang. Oh, how I wish to never let it fade.
"Jungkook, I-I,"
he closed his eyes for a second and softly exhaled.
He opened them again and my heart shivered at its intensity and grew the love which proved again and again in the stillness of this moment that love indeed has no boundaries.
"Jungkook, when I met you, I thought, how could someone be so imperfectly perfect?"
"And I realised with each second I spent with you,"
he wiped a tear falling down my cheek,
"that there's no such thing as imperfection,
just the incapability to not see beyond,
the exquisite scars,
and the crooked smiles,
to a person,
of absolute
perfection."
He brang his face closer, looking at each feature of mine with beautiful recognition.
He brang his fingers to the sleeves of my shirt, grazing the skin of my wrist before carefully pushing up my sleeves.
Tears welled up in his eyes again and fell through his dark lashes when he saw the fresh wounded scars.
"I am sorry I couldn't be there,"
he bent down on his knees and brang his lips closer to my arms,
"to make sure these scars never ended up as wounds again,"
and he searingly kissed each of the scar that marked its territory on my pale arms.
I bent down on my knees myself and lifted his weeping face to meet mine, refusing to let the coldness of the wooden floor snuff out our warmth for each other.
"It's okay because you're here now, Jimin. And that's enough for me to never hurt myself again," I breathed.
Tell him.
Tell him that you aren't of dying for him.
That you aren't afraid of accepting him.
That you aren't afraid of
loving him.
And that whether you had one day to live,
or even if you had one hundred years to live,
you'd spend them all with him.
"Jimin," my heart began.
I pressed my forehead to his, staring into those wet, dark coffee eyes my soul melts for, smelling his exquisite scent that my heart knew of so well,
"I love you."
His beautiful eyes lit up and he brang his lips closer,
mine moving closer as well,
"I love you too."
And we kissed.
--
I'll love you.
