𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 ● 𝐉𝐉𝐊

• 7 • français?

"Tu parles français, ma chérie?"
Do you speak French, my dear?

The words make way from his mouth.

French. It, itself, is such a romantic language. The way he pronounced every syllable was so hot. Getting the curves of the pronounces perfect. His Seoul accent not heard from the French words. He called you chérie. It makes you feel something. Special. You want to bury yourself in the ground.
You are shocked and flustered and pitiably needy.

The most unbelievable thing is, you can speak French. You learned it. After noticing all the great artists you look up to are French. You wanted to learn French.

Is he a mind reader? How can he possibly know that?

Your mind gets entangled into the smokily hot words that left his warm, inviting lips. You swear you can speak French, but you can't remember a single word of French right now.

" I- I.. oh god. I'm sorry, I need to go." You turn away from him. Leaving all your belongings back in the class, not even concerned about them. You run out of the classroom which was getting stuffier.

Stopping out at the back of the school, pulling in all the fresh air down your wind pipe. Your sandals screeching to a stop. Hair sticking to your wettened lips. Your chest heaving up and down. You put your hand on your flushed face. Your small needy whimpers coming out against your hand, your eyes close. You can't fucking stop imagining this man. It toys with your teeny tiny heart.

Your body rests against the rugged surface of the wall. Calming your nerves. This was truly embarrassing. You just left him. Your lips pout unintentionally in thickening tension, you are just plain out dumb.

You hear the faint sound of the bell which rings periodically, alerting everyone that a new period will start in a few. You sigh.

●●●

You are walking past the classes. School was over.

You did go back to the art room after you left him alone, he wasn't there. But your supplies had been set straight, neatly. Also the big blemish on your canvas had been corrected. Humble man.

You felt obliged. He was kind. You ought to make sure your childishness doesn't take over you again. That is if you can ever look at him again.

You were about to walk out of the door when an arm comes between, blocking your way from going out. You look up, confused, to see who this was. You recognised the boy, he was from your class. Generally, you were never bothered at school. You were invisible.

"Hey." The boy gave a very smirky smile. His eyes not hiding whatever he was seeing, his eyes went straight down to your breasts.

"Ex-Excuse me." You get slightly shy seeing someone talk to you. Also, internally disgusted with where his eyes were lagging.

You indicate towards his hands. To make him move them so you can get out.

"Ex-Excuse me." He mimics you. "Cute." He extends his hand towards your cheek, you feel with an intention to squish them. You move back before he can even get a finger on you. Not wanting his fingers to touch you. You did not like how this boy was looking at you at all.

He withdraws his fingers laughing at your disgusted face. "No girl moves back from my touches, strawberry pie."

"Right. They move back from you entirety." You snap without intending too. You just thought it in your head, not actually wanting to speak it out loud. But your shyness fades away processing his wicked intentions.