Art Gallery ~ minsung

9th August

Minho's POV

Jisung called me in a rush at exactly 5 pm, begging me to go to his house as soon as possible. He sounded overly excited, to the point that he got me curious about what he wanted to show me. 

Without bothering to go to my place to change clothes, I drove to Jisung's house without thinking twice, with an idiot smile on my face. These rides had started to make me feel more confident about my driving and I finally didn't feel all tensed up every single second I had my hands on the steering wheel.

I rang Jisung's bell and he opened in the span of two seconds, grabbing my hand, pressing a little kiss to my lips, completely forgetting to be able to speak. He looked super happy to see me.

I felt some kind of humid substance on the palm of my hand. I looked down as he dragged me upstairs and noticed some purple and orange paint attaching to my skin. I chuckled and kept following him to his room. I felt little firework explosions inside my chest all of a sudden.

Opening the door, he revealed a newly painted canvas. It was full of purple, with little glimpses of red, white, yellow that created orange, all the colours mixing up to create such an original palette I had never seen in any of Jisung's paintings.

I looked at him, who was simply waiting for my reaction. I then looked at my fingers, noticing the same colours that were on the canvas stuck between them. His fingers were even messier than mine.

"So, what is this?" I asked, watching him as he grabbed a random white napkin to wipe away the paint from his hands.

He turned around, still brushing harshly on his fingers as he glanced at me with the brightest smile. "This is what I feel for you." 

I could perfectly feel the enormous smile that formed on my face. I was so in love with him, I felt exactly like those colours.

He looked down at my hands and his eyes widened, concerned. "Sorrysorrysorrysorry-" He blabbered and took a new napkin to wipe away the paint from my fingers.

Though, I shook my head no. I couldn't stop glancing at his face and at his painting, creating a ping-pong match with my own eyes. I was so in love with him, I would never stop saying that.

I could feel that palette to the core. The purple, a purple that dragged the both of us away everytime that special tension created between us, and I exactly knew how much we wanted to go further and had to repeat ourselves that it was way too early. The red, the passion we had for each other in a more romantic way, our actual obsession, the loving gaze we exchanged, the depth of our eyes, our pupils dilating. The yellow, the comfort we brought to each other, the warm embrace and the feeling of safety. The orange, the pure happiness we felt in each other's company, the excitement that flowed in our veins with just one glance. The white, the purity of our bond, our strong emotional connection, stronger than every other bond we had with anyone else, a connection we felt only towards each other and would never find in another.

I understood him so well. I felt understood as well, for once someone didn't hate my job, my friends, my way of seeing life, my terrible speeches, my lack of imagination, my incapability of taking decisions, my cooking. He liked me way more than I liked myself but I didn't care. As long as he was there for me, I would forever be grateful to wake up in the morning.

I was moved to the point I had watery eyes, that itched like hell. The same eyes that looked with widening pupils into the ones of my one and only, so intensely to make him blush and look away all flustered.

I couldn't. I just couldn't tell him how grateful I was, how much I loved the fact that he was breathing, there, in front of me, being stunning even with his darkening cheeks and some little dots of paint here and there. I couldn't tell him I found him so stunning, perfectly pretty, the most beautiful human alive, inside and out. I couldn't tell him I wanted our moments to last forever, this life to last forever if he was going to stay for eternity, our love to last until the apocalypse. I couldn't tell him I was never going to leave.