VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

09

― PART NINE.

"So, I've been thinking." Jimin chides lazily, reclining into the leather of his expensive car, which implied coquettish ideology and ugly riches. Jeongguk is sat beside him, headphones shielding his eardrums from the sweet drilling of Jimin's voice, his eyes glued on the outside world, watching the lines of ocean as they caress the sky's hazy azure, "listen to me, fucker." Jimin says, not particularly threateningly, just a tad impatient.

Jeongguk feigns ignorance, pretending his music was too loud to hear the sickly tones of the younger's voice. Instead, he turns further from the driver, heart lurching as they trace the same tracks each trail every day, though usually they travel them through individual vehicles.

Though the Jeon's were rich (common knowledge by now), Jeongguk still rode about in the beat-up white van with the lazy, artisanal block capitals, reading Substandard Pornography sprawled across each side, as he claimed it best fit his band's grunge aesthetic. However, this choice came with consequences, as the hunk-of-junk broke down very often, meaning he was forced to hitch a ride with the crazy lunatic of a family friend, who was 'more than happy to help'. In reality, both knew Jimin just enjoyed the flush of superiority.

"Oi, dunce, I'm talking to you." The top of Jeongguk's headphones clangs against his skull as Jimin's surprisingly heavy fist slams against it.

"Oh, you little shit! Can't you see I'm trying to steady my early-morning, pre-school existential crisis, before being roped into a building full of irritating brats?" He snarls in response, sticking to his branding as angst-king.

Mild, apprehensive guilt twists the innards of Park Jimin and he scantily brushes it off, glancing softly at the rear-view mirror, mumbling, "could've at least acknowledged me, 'm doing you a favour, after all."

"This ain't a favour, Sunshine, this is an apology."

"Ha! For what?"

"For burning my jacket, you freaky pyromaniac."

"Ooo, freaky pyromaniac, eh? Good one."

"Just piss off, Park, it's too early in the morning for your cryptic nonsense."

"I'm not being cryptic; I literally was just trying to start a conversation." Jimin grumbles, somewhat genuine in his forlorn state, as he grips the steering wheel harder, turning away from the beachside view and driving along the rows of Victorian houses that were impressively large in size, taking up predominant expanses of skyline.

Jeongguk glances at him, his gaze unapologetically scrutinising, finding his inner-organs a whirl of perplexed butterflies at the mere thoughts of Jimin's own emotions and the difficult task it is the decipher them, "well... you could've just been less.. less.. Jimin-like."

"The fuck d'you mean 'less Jimin-like'? I literally just told you I'd been thinking and suddenly you start yelling at me!"

"You hit me!"

"I lightly grazed your head."

"You almost concussed me."

"You're a dramatic little shit."

"You're―"

"Can you two just shut the fuck up? Some of us are trying to remember bullshit for pop quizzes." Came the fifteen year old in the backseats input, "honestly, your aggressive flirting is getting on my nerves and making the urge to be sick rather prominent. I need to be in mint condition for my quiz."

Jeon Jangmi, the youngest of the Jeon siblings; a girl embedded with inner beauty, tucked away behind those shrouds of expensive silks and complacent smiles. Her brain throbbed with intense knowledge and lame wisdoms spewed from that libidinous tongue of hers. Her hair crept, as though a spider, down her back, the crepuscular locks of shining midnight contrasting to her skin of milky ivory, with cheeks murdered and coated in blood-red rosaries. A sweet child, who'd not quite grown greedy for the taste of honey as her parents had.