Expected | Jungkook

Chapter 13: Ingenuous

(adj.) artless; innocent; naive.
-

A/N: muuuusiic cue

"Y/N." an angelic, soothing voice calls for you.

"Coming!" Your high pitched voice answered. You put the tall, thin, blonde haired doll down before searching for the voice that called.

The yeasty smell of the rising cinnamon bread in the oven immediately reaches your nose once you entered the kitchen. Sunbeams poking through the window cast an amber hue in the kitchen. Particles move slowly and freely in the beam of warm light.

There, you see the back of your mother.

Sliding off her oven mittens, she turns around to meet your smiling form.

"Yes mommy?"

"What are you doing, my love?" She asks as she unties her floral apron. Her voice was like silk as she spoke down to you.

"Playing with Claire." You smiled so innocently up at her.

"Oh really? How's her puppy doing? I remember she was at the vet?" Your mom loved your young wild imagination. She saw it as the most beautiful thing about you. You reminded her of herself as a child. Unaware of the hardships of life. When the most she had to worry about was what color shoes would look best with a particular skirt. She loved how naive and innocent you were at this age. She wanted to keep you as pure as possible, for as long as she possibly could.

"She's all better now! Turns out, she just had a tummy ache from eating a caterpillar." You giggled.

Your mother's eyes softened, "What a relief." she played into your story. Like always.

"I'll be right back, stay right here, okay?" She says, wiping her hands on her thighs.

You nod.

You watch her leave the kitchen and disappear around a corner. The smell of the cinnamon bread was driving your little nose wild. You walked over to the oven and stare at the bread lit up by the oven light. Face pressed against the glass, you had to swallow because of the excess water your mouth was producing.

"I can't wait to eat this." you whisper ever so softly to yourself.

You heard your mother's footsteps approaching.

"Here, my precious." she hands you a black rectangular case. She watched as an expression of confusion appeared on your face. Your doe-shaped eyes, wide and full of curiosity looked up at her as you held the case in your arms.

"What is it mommy?" You asked.

Eyes soft, she smiled down at you. "Open it up, baby."

Setting the case down, you tried opening it up. It was a little difficult for your little hands to get the chrome metal lock to unlatch, but eventually you got it.

Inside the case you saw a glossy wooden instrument. It's shape resembled much like the shape of your mother. The edges were smooth and curvy. The wood, intricate with hundreds of thin straight lines. At the top, an exquisitely detailed carving of a snail's shell. Next to the wooden instrument, there was a long stick, with what seemed like hundreds of ivory strings attached. The foreign instrumental was already so beautiful on its own, you could only imagine the sound it could produce.

Lips parting in a smile as she saw your face light up, your mother kneeled down to your height.

"It's beautiful." You whispered in awe.

Her hands rubbed your arms, then trailed down to your hands. There she cupped them in hers.

"Violin," She informed you. You mouth the new word a couple of times under your breath.

"I want you to learn how to play this. Make beautiful music with it. Fill your days with love and laughter. But if you can't have that, fill it with music. Let this always be what you turn to whenever you're feeling sad, or unhappy, or in pain or-" She let out a defeated laugh at the end of that last bit.

Her eyes fluttered closed, "Most importantly," she sighed, "When me and appa play, I want you to play that violin as loud as your little hands and heart can play." She shook your hands in hers, squeezing them slightly.

Her eyes slowly opened, "Okay?"

You noticed a thin line of liquid building up under her eyes.

"I will eomma." You replied.

She smiled. You watched her move in to kiss you on the forehead. Soft and delicate it was. Like always.

As she kissed you, you noticed an off-coloring on her neck. Streaks and faint patches of it.

Red.

You felt her lips leave your forehead. Her hands went back to your little shoulders as she got back to your height again. You noticed that same faint off-coloring again. This time on her forearms.

"Mommy, did you get that red cake dye on yourself again?" You asked. She always seemed to have that 'red dye' on her.

She looked at her arms and swore at herself. "You know me and my clumsy self." Eomma mustered up a giggle.

"Very clumsy!" You giggle with her.

She smiled warmly at you. Pulling you into a tight embrace, she whimpered by your naive ear,

"One good thing about music... When it hits you, you feel no pain."