from me to you. → kth | ✓

17.

chapter seventeen: no regrets

YOONGI ISN'T SUPRISED or upset when I appear at his doorstep. He nearly got annoyed when I apologised.

"I went to your house unannounced multiple times. You don't need to apologise."

Out of being grateful, I accept a mug of hot tea.

"What brings you to my palace?" He asks.

"Just don't wanna sit at home," I mumble.

"You're mumbling, so I sense moodiness. Day off?"

"Yep."

"I thought as much. Wanna talk about it?" He hesitantly asks.

"It's nothing secretive. Someone my fiance is pretty close to just announced her pregnancy."

"Wow." I love how he doesn't bother asking me how it affects me and instead reads my mood.

"Thank you," I say.

Seeming to understand, he nods After a long pause, he speaks again. "Since you're here now, would you like to start the muse thing or?"

I think against it at first but realise soon after that this might be the distraction I desire. "I'm not busy for the rest of today, so sure."

"Great."

We talk for a little longer, at least till I finish my tea, and then we move to his designated art room where he begins to set up.

"It's not going to be weird, is it?" I ask, still slightly sceptical. He made a joke previously about how he paints his French girls and I haven't felt the same since.

"Just relax and trust me," He arranges the paint and brushes and walks towards me. "Besides, it's art."

"Put your foot around here, and your arm here." I obey and place myself in the weird position, resting on the table he placed there so I'd be comfortable.

Apparently, the effect should be that I would be posing upside down, as if in the middle of dancing.

"Great, perfect." He says to himself, retreating to his stool. "Try not to move too much."

For the next few minutes, the sound of the thick bristles of his paintbrush on the canvas is all I can hear, except for the surrounding silence.

Taehyung has travelled out for the day, Jaebeom went with him, and Yuna is just being...Yuna.

It is, for once, peaceful in the house.

I am almost at the point of falling asleep when I hear the sound of the stool again, a sharp, screeching noise on the wooden floorboards as Yoongi moves it back to stand up.

"What's up?" I ask, eyes still closed.

"Nothing. I'm just feeling distracted. Try not to move too much."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm still doing the outline. I started at your face."

"Okey dokey." I hum. "What is this all about? Explain it to me in detail too, so like, what exactly inspired you, etcetera."

"Well," He trails off, concentrating on his brush. "It started off when I saw you for the first time, I think. When you still lived elsewhere. You didn't notice me then, usually because I used to be out back."

"Uh huh?"

"Yep. It had to do with what you were wearing. Somehow, it matched the mood you came in with."

"What was I wearing?" I ask.

"I think it was something kind of dramatic. To be fair, you seemed quite upset. Red dress, I remember."

"Oh." That was the day I suspected Mark of illegal activity.

"Since then, I kept taking pictures, arranging them and comparing them to the original person I selected. Yours didn't make me feel so boxed up. I felt like I genuinely wanted it to be you. The only problem was, I didn't know how to approach you."

I laugh. "At least you finally did. What does it represent?"

"I'm thinking of it being a piece surrounding your aura. You remind me of several things, colour included. It's going to be like a mood board, but several pieces coming together to tell a story."

"That's a wonderful idea. I doubt there's any way they'd refuse this."

He blushes. "I hope so."

After a little while of more silence and me trying not to fall asleep, he starts to speak again.

"I truthfully don't feel bad for kissing you, Aera."

"What? So you didn't even mean your apology?"

"You're wasting your time, Aera. Wasting your time fighting for him and watching your every move. He doesn't, so why should you?" He exhales triumphantly.

I remain silent after that. Even when he asks whether I'm comfortable enough, I can only nod.

I should be ashamed. I should be worried whether we'd get caught. After all, I'm only a muse for an art piece.

The only sound was the bristles of his brush again, sending me to a moment of peace with its rhythmic motions. I'm able to memorise the next moment he dips it into the paint on the palette, or when he quickly glances at me again.

During those moments, I look away as fast as I can, making sure I won't get caught staring at him.

Secretly, I like this side of him. Ever so serious, lips pursed as he focuses solely on me and the canvas, expressing himself and yet showing very little through the dark wallows of his irises.

Soon enough, the golden hour approaches, sending light, delicate rays of gold that lick the strands of his voluminous white hair that covered his slender eyes.

It makes me realise how much I plan to enjoy these little painting sessions.