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I heaved. Heaving a heavy breath, I nearly felt the stress leave my body as I stepped out of the café. After what felt like years of baking éclairs, stepping out into the fresh morning air was relieving at most. And with a freshly made iced galão in my hand, I tried my best not to smile at the idea of gifting Jungkook with such a treat. A little thank you for the ride.
Crossing the street was fine. But as soon as my hand touched the golden knob of the black door, I almost regretted it. My nerves were firing at that point. And there was no turning back as Jungkook noticed me through the window. A happy wave of a hand drew me in and I was being pulled into the abyss of infatuation before I even knew it.
All I could hear was the soft and mellow tunes of 80's Japanese music playing through the speakers of the parlor—accompanied by the buzzing of a tattoo needle nearby. Jungkook was fast to greet me, disregarding the customer that was getting a rather large tattoo done by the hands of another tattoo artist.
"If I knew you'd be finished, I would have brought you here myself."
"I guess I wanted to surprise you. And give you a little something—a thank you for giving me a ride this morning."
Handing him the cold beverage was the easy part. The hard part was waiting for his reaction.
"Thanks sweetness."
Again, that quirky little nickname.
"Y-You're welcome."
And the damn stuttering.
"Just give me a minute and I'll show you around."
He was fast to disappear into the depths of the parlor, which gave me the opportunity to let my eyes wander the walls that were immensely dressed with framed artwork and photos of human canvasses. But the one to catch my eye most of all was the beautiful gold framing of an intricately drawn rose extending out from thorny vines and other buds yet to have bloomed. It was simple yet so, so magnificent.
"That's my favorite."
His voice crept up from behind as he suddenly approached me, hands buried deeply within the denim pockets of his jeans. I couldn't help but notice the similarity in his tattoo and the design displayed before me. Somewhat being of the same artist.
"Who designed it?"
"Me."
Of course.
"And the one on your arm?"
"Me as well. I designed my first tattoo. Sounds crazy right? But when I was 18, I was so infatuated with the simplicity of complex beauty. An oxymoron that I just couldn't wait to have on me. So I drew up a design and had the tattoo artist do his magic. That piece up on the wall is a final product of what was once my first tattoo."
His words flowed like a tranquil river, making all the sense in the world and meaning everything. He had such a way with words that left me almost bewildered.
"Now I'm curious—how did this—become that."
He laughed half-heartedly, as if expecting the question yet not having an answer for it. But as he let his tongue brush over his lips, he flashed a smile that had my skin boiling in all the right ways.
"You ask a lot about me sweetness. Do you mind if I ask about you instead?"
