(Jimin POV)
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Light flurries fell from the darkening sky, a halo of white encircled around our heads. The streetlamps slowly lit into controlled flames of orange, spotlights of them glowing as we turned onto a sidewalk, walking away from the cafe.
Snow continued melt as soon it touched the ground, dissolving into water and cool crystals instantly. Our sneakers walked side by side in rhythm, breaths meeting the atmosphere in unbound patterns.
"You don't have to be so hesitant," I glanced over at him. His lashes were longer and wet, a reminder of the flurries that once crossed them.
He nodded, licking his lips wet. "I know," his voice muffled with the scarf around his neck. Locks of black hair tangled around the grey wool, his lips brushing against the hem of it every now and then.
"It just. . .makes me feel guilty. I did lie to you this whole time."
I shook my head, adjusting the straps of my backpack and holding them. "It would only be a lie if you were pretending to be someone you're not," I nudged his arm lightly.
His brown orbs met mine, and encompassed by the fading flurries, they looked almost black. "But I was pretending, Jimin."
I waited for his continuation as we rounded the corner, a small alley of shattered beer bottles and used cigarettes.
"The . .the way I spoke to you over the phone -- I never could've done that face to face. Not with you, not with anyone."
"But you did," I smiled over at him, "and you are."
He titled his head downwards, his lips brushing against the wool scarf again. "It just makes me think that if I can't do it in front of others, then it's not real. Or true."
The sky was a thick sheet of fluttering black now, the evening resting in its curves and edges. My footsteps stopped and so did his, our figures lit up by the orange streetlamp's light.
"You cry by yourself, you sing by yourself -- are you saying that your voice and tears are not real? Not true?"
His lashes curled upwards as he glanced up at the sky, a snowflake drifting down between them. It rested there, leaving a space between the black hairs extending from his eyes.
"But if no one sees them, hears them, you end up believing that they're not really there." His voice rumbled softly from the back of his throat, a tone deeper.
He glanced at me again, "if no one sees you, then are you really there?"
His hand reached out from his jacket's pocket, his index finger curling beneath his lashes to wipe away the flurry there. It melted against his finger instantly.
I grabbed his hand, holding it between us. Lifting it in the orange light, the pale skin covering his bones almost glowed.
Gesturing to his index finger with mine, "the snowflake you wiped away melted against the heat of your skin instantly."
My finger ran along the curve of his, the melted water of the flurry wiping away. "You're not as cold as your chest feels to be."
My hand curled around his, holding onto to it even as I lowered it.
"Don't feel guilty for making me happy when all I thought I'd be was sad."
His chest exhaled and moved slightly as my lips brushed against his knuckles, once, twice. Raising my lips from them, he leaned in, placing his hand on top of mine.
"I don't want you to ever stop writing," he spoke. "Your words give me the voice I thought I'd lost."
My mouth lifted upwards again into the perhaps the nth smile within the past hour.
"Writing, like art, is subjective, I replied, "It can still be a story even if it's not on paper."
His eyes widened, the streetlamp's light escaping into them and lightening them, pupil growing smaller. "A story not on paper? Where else could it be on?" He asked, tilting his face to the snowing sky.
I leaned into him as his eyes closed, watching the few flurries that kissed his cheekbones. I pressed my free hand to the side of his face, holding it gently as he looked and faced towards me again.
"On skin," I whispered right before brushing my lips against his forehead.
I pulled away mere centimeters, watching a pink blush creep along his cheeks. His eyes glazed over wetly as I spoke again;
"Chapter One; I love you."
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