𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐯𝐦𝐢𝐧 ✓

Something About You

Taehyung never really knew what was going on.

At age five, he and his mother moved into a quaint, peaceful neighbourhood, bright with sunshine. They were blissfully content with their cozy home, but she hardly left the house because her condition was supposed to be hidden.

The young boy didn't know a single thing, just happily putting his emotions through his art. They were always bright paintings, full of colour— scarlet, yellow, sunset orange, pink. All the colours his mother bought for him with whatever was left of their allowance.

Taehyung's little room had a window.

The window directly faced a window on the opposite house.

But that window was always devoid of anyone when Taehyung noticed it. The house beside his obviously had someone living in it, but even with the added height of his tippy toes, he saw no one.

A year later, he learned what death was.

It was something that took your mother away.

Took your paint away.

Took art away.

And replaced it with loneliness, of course.

Some aunt of his came to take care of him. He didn't really know her, but she was nice. She helped him reach things he couldn't reach, cook nice food and take care of the house.

But she didn't know he painted.

- // -

"Mama, w-who?"

A tiny, chubby finger was directed at the opposing house, thick dark locks of the small boy hanging over his eyebrows.

"It's a new neighbour, Min."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I think the name's Kim."

"I s-saw a... a..." Jimin thought hard, pursing his lips, racking his brain for that word. He pressed a finger to his soft cheek. "A boy."

"It must be their son." She replied, patting his hair. "Behave, okay? I'm going to cook lunch."

Jimin was left in the room, a big window on the right of his bed, and he climbed onto it to get a better view.

He saw someone's head pop up.

His hair was brown, and he was busy holding something.

Jimin kneeled to prop himself up, fingers tapping on the windowsill.

"Who are y-you?" He murmured to himself, eyes wide with a child's innocent wonder.

Jimin saw the boy hold up a white board, then paint on it. The male was focused, not looking back at Jimin. He gripped his brush tightly, biting his lips as he moved.

"Mama mama mama, I-I wanna paint too!" Jimin hopped off the bed, running to the staircase then made his way down excruciatingly slowly, but sped up again when he was on the ground floor. "Mama!"

"You wanna paint? But we don't have any paint, Min."

Jimin jiggled on the spot. "But... I-I like... I wanna p-paint! Pwease mama, pwease!"