Through Her Eyes ✔

25. MUSE

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The dreams are windows of the subconscious.

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Another dream... Her fingers curling on a mug of cocoa as she looks over the window. It's warmth unfreezing her cold hands. Its rich sweet chocolaty aroma makes her at ease and comfortable on her seat. The sound of a lone violin on her playlist and the tingling of the chimes hanging are serenading her.

She sighs the nth time.

Can't start working on another piece. Can't even think of a theme. Instead of a canvass, she is facing her journal. Hoping something on it can help her.

It's pages turning as a light breeze comes in. A whistle of the wind, and it turns again. It keeps on turning fast as the breeze strengthens and when she feels the cold chills it brings, Daun stands up and closes the glass window. A thud alarmed her and quickly looks back to where she sat. The book has just fallen on the carpeted floor. It's yellow cover facing her. The painting on it somehow inviting her to lift it up from it's misery. She takes it and turns it over. The pages has just stops on October...

"Let us find you." She reads...

Let us find you... She remembers.

She remembers the longing on those eyes. The tingling of happiness floating on the air of that dream scape. She remembers the seven silhouettes. The other one facing her, touching her, as if feeling if she's real. She remembers as if she has been dreaming it again. Ironic, for when she woke up that morning, she could only wrote those last whispers of a particular boxy smile.

Her head conjures theories. Theories that are absurd for her. Theories involving the men that somehow have purposely comes into her mind. She whisks it away. Thinking that it's silly... ridiculous... foolish.

It's just a wishful thinking of her lonely heart. Her heart which yearns for something that she doesn't even know. It's emptiness has made her life a standstill, but recently, no more. Somehow those men had filled up the void she was feeling... those men...

"Dingdong." She yelps. Someone is at the door.

"I'm here." The person greets her with a crescent eyes as soon as she opens the door. His orbs twinkling with delight, as if seeing her is the most exciting that can happen.

"Jiminie!" She adoringly smiles, head tilting on her right shoulder, so happy that the man has visited her. A giggle almost gasping out from her lips, ever so lovely and pristine.

They have been text mates, just like the others. But last night, with the sleep that has avoiding her, thinking nothing else but the recent encounters with the men, she can't help but reply on his insistent texts. All though a bit anxious, she chated with him till midnight. She has been good in replying. She has been practicing her hi's and hello's. She can text normally now... if the short statement or one word is normal that is. Anyhow, she's been good in communicating. Her text mates don't mind it... maybe.

"You're so early." She notices how his locks glistening, still a bit dump from a bath. His eyes a bit puffier than usual. She makes a way and lets Jimin in.

"I can't sleep." She hears his sheepish reply. A soft chuckle follows.

She takes him to her living room. "What do you like to drink?" She inquires, wanting to make him comfortable, as she watches him looking all over the place- attention so drawn towards the new huge and small frames she had hanged on the wall. She had decided to change the previous hanged ones with the even older pieces that she has. The small ones are paintings of little chubby cherubs. Seven pairs of chubby feet dances on the heavenly mists of rainbow color is portrayed on the largest on a land scape. It shows their calves towards their cute perky butts. One is pale white in complexion. The others are tan and light skinned. Masterpieces when she was 14.

He had expressed his interest on her art. She can't help on recollecting the compliments when they were in her unit. That time, Taehyung was silent as he walked around, eyes wide on her walls, so entranced with the unfinished ones she had displayed. That time when she just laughed at Jimin's statement, cheeks reddening, very much embarrassed. She somehow couldn't stomach yet any pure compliments, even until now. Jimin's voice was so sincere as he intently looked at her again, holding her gaze. She focused on his natural orbs. There was no pretense at all. She hiccupped that time, face so red, frogs leaping on her stomach, and full of happiness. His compliment was like the best she had heard and it made her heart beat so fast. In that moment, she could not speak any thank you but instead asked them to make them as her muse. She was ecstatic when he nodded and smiled.

"I would like to taste that drink." He says referring to the cocoa she had offered before.

"Of course." She readily complies.

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"So about the muse thing. How do we do it?" He says a while later, his hands clasping on the mug of chocolaty goodness. It's filling up his body and soul. He is like one of those chubby cherubs on her walls, floating with happiness. The consciousness of his Daun making it for him makes him so much happier than before. He feels like bursting like fireworks after their concerts. It's making him giddy and he can't quite control his lips from smiling so much than what is expected. He is supposed to be drowsy after the absence of sleep. He can't help himself for so much anticipation. It's her fault... no his...

Him being alone with her have given him so much happiness. No one else but him... only him. Can't he be selfish a little... no? He loves his bestfriends, but he needs to have his moment with her. The others can have theirs too.

She clasps her hands excitingly and shyly leads the man to the first door by the living room.

"This is my workspace." She says a little pride on her voice. She intended Hannah to be the first one to be introduced to her sacred space. Her leading Jimin in it is very unexpected and somewhat nerve wracking. She can hear the bewildered Jimin's gasp. There are more painting in it. More canvasses littering around. The painted ones are either hanged on the wall or neatly put by the sides. Some are on some painting stands. There is a huge table at the center. Only a mug and a yellow book on it. At the far wall, he can see a grey backdrop with the box lights, the same ones he sees during their photoshoots. There is a sole painting stand by the huge closed glass door by the balcony. The white walls make the room so bright and makes it even bigger than what it is.

"It is a wonderful studio." He can't help but compliments. He smirks. No matter where he looks, her love for plants is obvious. Some are hanging by the wall, the vines purposely creeping towards the ceiling supported with tiny hook screws. Small sprouts beside the paintings. Huge palm plant by the window. The greens are contrasting to the rainbow mists that is a unifying theme to her work. Her signature art.

"Let's start?" He hears her squeak. Excitement so evident on her voice. He looks up and his brows furrow. There she stands by another table with a desktop, camera hanging by her neck, and a white strip of cloth on her hands.

Her playlists continuously plays. Another piece is making him buoyant as ever. The rhythm joyous and jumpy. It's teasing his heart and creates tingling on his skin. The piano is like making him nervous of what to come. Not with fear but with much more anticipation. It's Debussy's L'isle Joyeuse.

"What's the cloth for?" He gulps. He feels squishy. His head treading on unholy thoughts. After all, they are alone and Debussy is sure hyping up his muddled imagery.