The Siren's Song

Chapter 113- pasts gone...

(Y/N) POV: 

The rush that sears through my veins is one that lingers even after step off the stage, step off with the mask clutched in a hand that’s not mine with lips tingling, swollen and bruised red. Feet aching with the familiar strain of dancing, with the tingling sensation and weightless feeling of not knowing whether the next tread would be floor or cutting through air. 

See eyes shine with elation and emotion, tears pearling on his waterline, watch as the camera comes to rest, hands falling away from it and hurrying forward to the stage, immediately curving around my calves as he peers up at me when we sit. Chasing my lips with the feverish brush of his own, grin felt pressed against my mouth as his fingers trace nonsensical shapes and patterns against leggings. 

“You did so well… you dance so beautifully that no-one can look away even if they want to. You’re mesmerising and I know the camera didn’t do you justice.” He says, lips pecking mine, lingering longer and longer until his hands slide up, skimming across my thighs and waist and torso to cup my cheeks, nose brushing against mine and giddy smiles pressed to my own that curves wider. 

“Liar. But such a pretty one.” I whisper against his lips, hands winding around him, curling around his nape and chasing the gentle, sweet touch of his lips. 

Hear Minnie’s soft laugh, hand trailing up and down my spine, coming to settle around my waist. 

“He is pretty.” He echoes in agreement, voice a soft hush and lips pressing to my cheek, to my jaw, head tilting towards mine and leges swinging with endearing excitement as he motions for the camera. 

“Let’s see then. Are you going to get any displayed?” he asks, tugging Tae forward by the camera strap, drawing it over his neck and monitoring the photos. 

The three of us gravitate close, Tae’s eyes shining with excitement and sweet nervousness as he looks at the two of us looking, heads bent over it. 

Slowly flicking through beautiful shots captured mid-movement, suspended in time and air, bodies arched and positioned against each other. 

In dance you don’t see it as much as you feel your partner’s connection, feel the strength of Jimin’s touch in his every movement, in the grip of his palms and the unwavering confidence he lifts me with. I feel his movements as invisibly entangled with my own, reeled to me as I am to him as if a tether binds us, gravitating closer and closer until by the end of it, two dancers exist as one body, one thudding pulse and one shared breath. 

And Tae… Tae in his photos has captured that. 

And from Tae’s photos I can see what he sees, can see moments of raw emotion captured, of our faces tilted close and Jimin’s arm a firm bracket around mine, the tilt of his hand against my cheek and the arch of my body pressed flush to his. 

“They’re… beautiful… I never had any photos like this for my performances before. Never this powerful.” I admit, knowing from the large boxes and trunks stored away that there were so many mementos and relics from a time gone. 

Wonder absently if they’d ever want to see it. 

And hear those thoughts come to fruition when Tae’s eyes shine imploringly as he looks at me, completely focused on me and not the camera, fingers looping around my wrist. 

“Do you still have them? Can I see them….? That must mean the old photos around your living room are authentic then and not like the ones we had made.” Thrilled at the prospect. 

That this entire time there’d been real photos lying around from the eras we’d lived through, photographing as many memories as we could once they’d come into existence. Using paintings and portraits and sketches before.