Storyteller | JHS ✓

Chapter eighteen; Eight

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𝚆𝚎, 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚣 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎

𝚆𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

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A few days had gone by without me noticing.

I found myself looking forward to the next sunrise instead of hoping the next day never came, for every day filled with unwanted responsibilities and negative feelings.

But now, I had Ayumi.

Mr. Kim.

That lady at the hotel whose name I never received, but I have a feeling it's a name I know.

And Hope.

Hope: the one who has caught my tears and turned them into gems; the one who weaved my sadness into happiness. The last one to leave Pandora's box.

I visited him more often after that, to bring new books or to simply spend time together. But what he gradually stopped doing during that time was to tell stories. Well, he still did. But none of the stories he promised to tell. They were wives-tales, fairy tales, myths, and more. But they weren't the stories of "seven boys," as he put it. He was either reluctant to tell the fifth boy's story or his own.

And I couldn't decipher which one it was.

"You cannot rush perfection," he told me.

"The storyline for this one is a bit more complex," was another one.

"Even more complex than the tale about two businessmen who mastered the art of basically magic and having their careers ruined by a woman with ulterior motives? Even more complex than Kim Taehyung and the carnival?"

He nodded, "Even more complex than that."

And he was right. That story was the so far, the most complex he'd ever told. But dear reader, I won't tell you what happened yet. Because he stalled. And I want you to theorize why he did. Because every writer has a reason for the placement of every word.

It'd been around two weeks without the stories of seven boys, and Hope was still thinking. Or rather, stalling. But he wouldn't admit that.

"C'mon, Minami! Are you really that eager to hear about my friends? Or is it really me you want to hear about?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Ever since I confided in him (twice), it seemed years of invisible tension had been cleared away. We were more than just acquaintances who saw each other a few times a month; we were friends. Perhaps a little more than that, but I would get there later.

"Minami, if I were to hypothetically tell you I had a period where I wore braces, what would you say?"

"I'd say you're a loser for not having straight teeth since birth, but then again, it'd make sense since your teeth are so stupidly perfect."

He'd pouted at my words, "C'mon, you have to admit. Imagining me in braces would be cute, don'tcha think?"

But, of course, there were still moments where the humor died and where the bright air was replaced with untold secrets and dreary pasts.

"Well," I continued, "I'll be the judge of that if you show me a picture or two..."

The playful expression on his face quickly faltered after that, and I wondered if I said something wrong. It stayed like that, the tense air, for about a couple seconds or so. But just as quickly as it had come, the stiff atmosphere left, and Hope went back to his usual cheerful state.

"You'd laugh; they're too embarrassing."

"If I recall correctly, your exact words were 'me in braces would be cute.'"

He waved me off, "That was before--this is now. Anyway, you said something about wearing a maid outfit in public once because your sister dared you to do it?"

Hope was clever, you see. The upbringing of my most embarrassing moment completely distracted me from his attitude toward me viewing his pictures.

"That was one day! I wore the maid outfit one time! And she said she'd buy me the newest VTS album!"

But my cries were to no avail.

"Mmhmm, totally believe you, Minami. It totally isn't because of some deep, underlying, coveting to be a maid serving a handsome customer!"

"It totally was not!"

We laughed ourselves silly, stomachs aching and gasping for air between our fits of merriment. We laughed until the humor dug its own grave, and the joke was no longer funny.

But, of course, in a Hope-like fashion, he had to ask me a final time.

"Did you really dress as a maid for a day?" He whispered.

"I got my VTS album is all I'm saying...I was sixteen, okay?"

This only fueled the sunshine's fire. Reader, I could tell you what happened for weeks on end. I could tell you of every single detail to the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched up when he laughed, to the way his eyes shimmered when he found amusement and the adorable sound effects for the stories he told.

How he does tiny dances, the way his head tilted when confused, his dimples, or the caramel eyes.

His pouts.

His little claps when he laughed.

And...

I could go on for hours about him. And I would, dear reader, I would. Had the following events not split everything into two.

But first, of course, there was another story before that: one telling of the last member before his.

Jeon Jungkook.

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Follow these amazing people!

@cherryficss - "Signal" & "Fate"

@ninjakoko - "The Night of Horror"

@christinaxmorton - "Reason"

When I wrote this chapter Eight (by IU) got removed from Spotify for like a week jaiofjewjakldsjigorr It's back now tho (THANK NAMJESUS.)

Anyhoo, Sorry, guys, the next chapter is going to be shorter than Jimin, but it's a bridge between Kookie's story and whatever is happening in this section safiojewkjakldsgjr

But as always, I love you all so so so so SO much, and please enjoy this chapter!

See y'all next week!