TASTE | KTH

beautiful

Yura doesn't feel beautiful.

She hasn't for quite some time now. In her life, she has always struggled with how she views herself—an eating disorder when she was younger completely skewing how she sees herself for the years to come. When she was younger, she would put on makeup to feel pretty, to instill confidence. She thought that with makeup, she was beautiful.

But now, as she applies her makeup, she feels less like it's something to make her feel beautiful. It's not for beauty, it's for secrecy. It's to hide the bruises that litter her skin. It's to keep people from seeing the truth. And she feels like a liar, but she wouldn't ever dare change that.

Namjoon knows. Over the past month and a half, he has overseen her recovery. She was admitted from the hospital after a month, but before that, Namjoon would visit her every day. He'd make sure she ate, would even sneak food in so she wouldn't have to eat the bland hospital food every meal. He'd talk to her, watch Netflix with her, just sit with her while she rested. Yura didn't really have many friends, but she had to admit that this friendship thing was nice.

A few times a week, he would attempt to convince her to take Wonho to court. He'd plead with her, desperation in his eyes, but Yura can't do it. She knows she should, she just can't. Wonho is her soulmate, she can't do that to him. He can still change, she can change him...right?

The more she tries to convince herself that, the more delusional she feels. She knows Wonho is too far gone, but she can't let go of the beginning of their relationship. The memories are too special for her to throw everything away. She remembers feeling beautiful under Wonho's gaze, the same way makeup once made her feel beautiful. But the same way makeup lost it's effect, Wonho's eyes on her did. Now, whenever Wonho looks at her, she feels anxious, unsure if there's malicious intent behind his eyes.

Yura applies finishes applying mascara to her lashes and decides that her makeup is good enough. Standing up tall, she surveys herself in the mirror. She wears a long mauve dress that hugs her curves. Dainty gold jewelry adorns her neck and fingers, bringing out the flecks of amber in her eyes. The thin mauve straps accentuate the skin of her chest and arms. She knows heels she wears make her legs and ass look great. Her long raven hair is curled in beachy waves. Yura knows she should think she looks pretty, but she doesn't. All she can think about are the ugly bruises beneath her complexion makeup.

Tonight is the annual police department banquet to celebrate the officers' hard work throughout the year. Yura doesn't want to go, but Namjoon had insisted vehemently that she attend, so she complied, partly because he's her friend, but partly because he's also her boss. So she dressed up, took enough pain meds to get her through the night, grabbed her hand bag and walked out the door, thankful Wonho isn't around to ask where she's going. She can taste bitter liquor, and knows he's at the bar. She knows she won't want to come home to him after the banquet is over.

She takes a taxi to the hotel where the department rented out the ballroom for the party. Feeling unbearably self conscious, she enters the ballroom. Yura can feel eyes on her. All the officers at the precinct know her now—she's the intern who got shot. Hating how much attention she's getting, she looks around for Namjoon, wanting someone to hide behind for a while. She internally groans when she finds him engaged in conversation with the other higher ups of the department. Damn, there goes her one chance at escape.

"You thirsty?" A familiar, deep voice asks from behind her. Yura turns to see the one face she has missed for the past month and a half smiling down at her. Taehyung. He looks absolutely breathtaking, his espresso colored eyes warm and welcoming, dark, curly hair longer than before. He wears a black turtleneck beneath a long black suit jacket and mildly baggy dress pants, an ensemble that only he could pull off. Yura decides then and there that her favorite color on him is black. His slender fingers hold out a flute of champagne to her. Gratefully, she takes it.