from me to you. → kth | ✓

14.

chapter fourteen: confusion and embarrassment

I MAKE SURE to wake up extra early the next morning so I can leave before Taehyung potentially wakes up.  That's if he isn't elsewhere.

Either way, that doesn't change anything. It's currently three in the morning, so I've only been asleep for a good two hours.

I turn over to find Yoongi on the couch opposite me, sleeping very, very awkwardly, a single leg strewn across the armrest with his white hair covering his sleep-swollen face. I find myself remembering what happened yesterday and I start to feel guilt flow within me as I search the room for the dress I wore the night before.

After I was basically (embarrassingly) manipulated into confiding in him, he suggested music would make me feel a lot better.

At first, I was a little stubborn and sulked instead. But he suddenly appeared with a bottle of beer in his hands, dancing all goofy.

I giggled a little but stopped, still distressed. He noticed and pounced on me out of nowhere, tickling my sides.

I laughed too hard and karma came to bite me in the arse when I threw up.

But, surprisingly, he just laughed it off, throwing me his t-shirt.

Laughing quietly at the memory, I put on my heels and am on my way out.

Just as I'm about to open the door, I jump at the sound of Yoongi's voice as he called out to me.

"What are you doing?"

Shoot.

"Just on my way out," I say.

He hums and gets off the couch, stretching and retrieving a t-shirt.

"Wait, what are you doing?" I ask, watching him tie the shoelaces of his big, black leather boots.

"I thought I'd come along, and make sure you get home safe. You thought I'd drive you to my house and leave you?"

I laugh sheepishly as we walk into the parking lot, taking my keys from him and taking the driver's seat once more.

It was weird seeing him drive yesterday.

Guilt envelopes me as he gets into the seat at the back but it leaves as quickly as it came when I hear rap music flow out of my car's bass-boosted speakers.

My non-driving hand immediately moves to the stereo and changes the station.

"What the hell! This is K-pop!" He cringes, disgust evident on his small features.

"So? You put the radio on. My car, my rules." I snicker. "Besides, Kai's voice is amazing."

He scoffs and changes it again. Soon enough, it becomes a 'Who can change it fastest' game, until I switch it off completely, making him groan.

Silence fills the car for a good ten minutes, till I realise I can never have peace. Not while he's around.

From my peripheral vision, I notice his head resting on the hand on his lap, eyes menacingly glued to me.

"Yoongi. Quit it. I'm trying to drive."

"Quit what?" He mocks.

"That. The staring. It's creepy."

"That or you're weak-minded. Besides, you are quite the sight for sore eyes."

I roll my eyes at him but catch it in the mirror and finally see how scruffy I look. I plan to shower and freshen up once I get home, so I look beyond the right mess. And smell like so also.

I simply frown and drive the rest of the way in silence till we park at the lot.

"Do you need to see Taehyung? Meetings or anything like that?"

"Oh, no. He didn't tell you?" He asks.

My heart drops to my stomach so fast you could hear it.

"Tell me what?"

"The renovation's been completed since about two weeks ago. He gave me a paycheck in full and then sent me on my way. I guess now I can concentrate on the project that will get me to."

"Wow, Yoongi. Well, I hope you get there. I'm so happy, I could hug you right now, but I-"

"Reek of vomit? Yes, you do."

"So what do you do? I've driven all this way with you just so you can make sure I got home safe." I say.

"You're saying that like I meant something else. More or less like I was, in fact, lying."

"That's because you were." I shrug.

"I was." He mirrors my movement.

"What do you really want from me, Yoongi?" I, frankly, still can't believe he's still in my life at this point. One minute, he's some rude customer I offered to pay for, and now he's my gossip partner?

"I need you to be my muse for my artwork."

I walk into my home and motion toward the visitor's living room so he can take a seat. "What makes you think I should be your muse?"

"Aera, a muse is a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist, who is me, in this case."

"Alright, Mr Scholar." I repute, stirring the tea in his mug before setting it on a tray and taking it to him. "That doesn't answer my question. As weird as it may seem, I'm a very busy woman with a firm to run. Why should I take time out of my precious one and fulfil whatever unknown desire you have to use me for art? Why not one of your escapades?"

"Because they aren't you! You awoke the need, -desire- for me to start pursuing my dream properly again. It was you, not anyone else."

Although feeling shocked a little by his outburst, it is just what I want to hear. Toxic, or some might even say manipulative of me, to do so. So, satisfied with the answer I have gotten, I sigh. "Let me get freshened up and we can drive over to your apartment."

He nods once and I go upstairs to get ready. I brush my teeth, fix my hair and shower, getting dressed in a loungewear tracksuit set.

We get to his apartment again within a couple of minutes since it's so early in the morning. To be fair, it did throw me off a bit, going to his house twice in a single day, but it's my fault for letting him follow me home.

On the ground of the art room in his apartment lies a massive, blank canvas with various buckets and tubes of paint lined up right next to it.

"My newest idea, the one we spoke about when I came to see you and invited you to the cafe," I hear him speak and turn to find Yoongi propping up a canvas on an easel. "Does surround you. Would you be comfortable with that or is-"

"Wait, wait, wait. You need to calm down, you're rushing me into this." I exclaim, holding both hands out as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing.

There are pictures of me on different days of me being at the cafe stuck as a collage. In the corner, the same sketchpad he had from the day we first met shows a sketch of me on my phone in great detail.

I look for a little longer and find the earliest picture had been taken up to three months ago.

"I think I'd like to leave," I say, backing away slowly. "Thanks for yesterday."

He stands there awkwardly, with confusion and embarrassment, but even that doesn't seem to convince me or take away the fear and cold sweat I'm feeling.