(Jungkook POV)
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My fingers curled around the straps of my backpack, tightening.
I deliberately walked by the cafeteria twice now, stealing quick glances through the glass embossed doors at the single figure sporting a head of orange hair.
He sat at the table, staring at something far away, occasional bites of his lunch being chewed. No book was clipped in his hand, no earphones were plunged into his ears -- only the single entity of thoughts encapsulating the nerves of his brain, leaving no room for seeking temporary entertainment in others.
Amongst the sea of light brunettes and jet blacks, his head was the sole glowing juncture of a colorful mind on the verge of being drowned out by the grey monochromatic thoughts of achromatic beings.
I looked away, quickly ducking away from the door out of fear of being known.
I kept my head down as a group of boys and girls walked by, laughing in unison, drilling a hole through the air. Biting my lip, I darted a glance at them and another set of eyes held mine.
Brown hair reflected highlight around the curve of his head, a symmetrical face staring at me.
"Taehyung, hurry up."
The so-called Taehyung nodded at the speaker, looking back at me again once more before turning away, stashing his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans.
He can see through you.
He knows.
I shook away my thoughts, refusing the occasional paranoia to seep in and cloud my brain. Tugging on my straps, I turned around, inhaling a deep breath.
With an exhale, I faced the glass door, ready to join Jimin.
I jumped back, the organ in my chest screaming overdrive.
Suppressing my tongue at the sight of him, I watched the orange haired male open the door, his knuckles giving way to his bones through the white flesh as he gripped the door handle closed.
I straightened, smoothing the cuffs of my wool sweater. A few ghosts of yarn and wool stuck to my sweaty palms and I quickly balled them into fists as Jimin faced me again.
His eyes rested on my balled fists.
It was as if a spell was upon me, him staring at my closed hands, him staring at my secret that perhaps didn't hold its words too close to itself.
Slowly, my hands unfurled, my fingers relaxed, and the spell was broken.
"It's nice to see you again," he spoke and I didn't miss the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed on nothing.
I nodded, trying to stretch my facial muscles to mimic his smile.
He blinked at me, and this time, a different smile appeared on his lips, one that reached his eyes and spread into hatch-marks and crinkles.
"So you can smile," he chuckled and the air breathed a sigh of relief at the oxygen-binding atoms molding and meshing into the chemical structure of his laughter; soft letters and orange whispers and hatch-mark crinkles.
Speak.
I can speak too, I urged myself.
His footsteps fell in mine, and I fell in his stolen side glances and in him, in him.
The door was pushed open by our hands, a breath of cold spraying our faces. Whispers of fogs trickled out from beneath his lips as I walked quicker, silently communicating the words 'follow me'.
His steps stopped behind me.
I turned around, pausing to see the curves of his ears rain another hue of pink, darker and darker. He stared at me, a question looming on his tongue.
"Where are we going?"
I stepped forward and gripped the hem of his hoodie.
Softly jerking it forward, I continued to walk, leaving him to follow me once again through the fleeting city and into the heart of dying trees.
A trail, a shortcut, and the brown grass lead the way to the single bus stop situated against the curb of the deserted neighborhood.
I swallowed breaths.
The dirty, scratched transparent box of shelter encased around us as we stepped in, ignoring the fraying, small bench for one.
A breath of fog was exchanged from our lips when we stood close, hustling closer than the walls of the box.
If I was going to speak, I'd rather do it here.
Here, where I had been trying to run to that day.
Here, you'd found me and we ended up running with each other instead.
He looked around the case, running a finger along the glass surface. His orange hair was the bright flock of sunshine so absent in the grey afternoon of today.
"It's weird to think that in a few months, I'll never have to stand here and wait for the bus after school again."
His eyes met mine, a skimming happening between our observations of each other's face.
"No more scrambling for the vacant seat, no more trying to keep track of the next stop. In a few months, it'll be the final stop."
The final stop of sadness, hopefully.
He gulped, wiping his lips with the back of his hands. "But to think that my final stop will be your usual stop makes me feel a little sad, you know."
I know.
His eyelashes skimmed downwards and I knew something was swirling round in his head. "But maybe I should call it a final stop each day, right?"
I tilted my head to the side, awaiting the colourful thought from his just as colourful mind.
"Perhaps I'm always sad because I keep waiting for my final stop, not realizing that one day, the usual stop might turn into the final one."
Wind rustled in and our jackets flapped against our thighs, a soft hush whispering in my ear.
I wanted to cup the wind in my hands and blow it softly through your hair just so I could see the way your eyes close against it and feel the way it cascades over your face.
I wanted to mesh our vermilion laughter together and create a new hue of us when your sneakers touched mine, steps leading up to our close proximity and away from the beguiled world.
I wanted to place my lips near your pink twinged ears and speak,
as you pulled out your notebook and wrote;
i'm in love,
but not with you.
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