"When you've learned to love and cherish each of your petals, let's bloom again. Together."
Sequel to SCENT.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, unless otherwise indicated. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in...
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Little do you know
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Everything loses its meaning at some point in life, especially when it keeps repeating and repeating for as long as it can — things that keep echoing like a broken record eventually lose all there is within them. The red leaves in autumn continued dancing around the streets, falling and falling repeatedly for months — until one day, they lost it all.
And now, winter has come.
It was broadly calm, cold, and violent in white. All they could see were white and blue. Frozen and snow. Shivers and numbness, yet everyone still loved it in a way a person can love a sunny day. Winter was beautiful, really beautiful.
But not for Yeonjun.
Sure, he likes winter — loves it. However, in times like this, it's when he wishes all things to go his way yet it won't. It's the time when he's frustrated, stressed, tired, or even mad at himself for not reaching what's supposed to be reached. Yeonjun didn't want it to seem as though he was catching a snowflake because one can't touch it — they're just there, only to ever be for your eyes but never to be as intimate as a fleeting touch.
"Yeonjun," the photographer sighed and looked at Yeonjun, "I know you've been stressed, but this is just not working. What's wrong?" He placed his camera on the desk.
"I can tell that you're having a hard time to be natural," Yeonjun looked at him with tired eyes, "Rest for now. Let's continue this once you're sure you can get it right." And the photographer left.
Everyone started fixing the set, a few stylists approached the pink-haired male but he only waved them off and walked past them. He heaved a sigh, a loud one — shivering and cold as he slid off his coat, "Bullshit." He couldn't help but to whisper.
Beomgyu had been watching him the whole time, clutching a few paper works against his chest. Beomgyu could sense the disappointment in Yeonjun's movements, every action held nothing but weight and frustration. And for all the times that Yeonjun's words played inside his mind, Beomgyu knew Yeonjun was going through the same thing he was.
His fingers held the papers tighter, but what can I even do for him?
Beomgyu had no idea, he wasn't good at this — all he had in pack were words and maybe a hug, could that help? Beomgyu breathed in.
