not what you think

ii: n-5

He wedges the paintbrush onto his moderate sized canvas, with huge weightage on accentuating the snow stowed on the meadow and the trees and small turf overlooking it's right. Emulsifying various shades of blue with white, his fix only knows of securing the right hue of quilt blue and cornflower in separate to impose the complementary colors his handiwork dictates. Brushes of dissimilar sizes flung near his bronze, sun kissed feet, in an arbitrary fashion, long forgotten to cleanse itself of forest and lawn green, iris and midnight blue greased almost to its entirety, his adornment and spacious angle of his chiseled jaw being no exception to such. A few more rotations of quadruplets and his precious lavender rug of normally incalculable value would be flawed.

He hates flaws.

He glides the back of his dominant hand over his head, elongating the gash of green with a bit of lighter shade of blue, the brush sunk in the similar color. Stretching for the blue to spare for the snow, he meets an empty jar.

He seizes his ear long tresses in a scalp wrenching grip, an untaught habit of displaying discomposure, not before resting the jar with utmost awareness along the twenty other vessels of similar front.

A loud rumbling with cats and dogs further appends to his sentiment.

Why is it always raining in Seattle?

What was he actually thinking while coming here for his dreams where it's more or less wet throughout the year?

His mind strives to pose for a distraction from the deluge, with sporadic thunderclaps appending to the gravity of the weather.

He broods of a way to snap out of his irrational antipathy, that's when he looks at his painting.

Blue. He needs blue.

He probes on the matter of more importance for a split moment, and decides upon fetching another two jars of the specific blue which is somehow analogous with the one on his room's walls, coated another layer with carves of a similar shrub from the one in his painting banded in a lovely amethyst. He spares no time before grabbing his favorite mahogany coat and iris colored umbrella, not quite running out. A shriek kept by a mellow, isolated voice interrupts him in his course.

"Where do you think you're going in the rain?!"

"My painting is due in two days. If I don't get it in, I might never get to prove myself with Impressionism."

"Just how important is this work of yours?"

"More than my hate for rain."

"Let me come with you," the voice resounds while entering his room, clad in an auburn coat, with the same umbrella as prior, one both of them invested in out of whim to complement each other during middle school.

"Let's go!" The second voice chirps with a grin, shimmering alike to that of a clear cut, distilled diamond.

The door's left sealed along a high end password, while one pair of footsteps make haste, the other spar with the flight of stairs along the lines of yelping to the feverish one to go easy with the treading.

"The shop two blocks away won't leave but if you run for your car like this, your legs might leave you!"

"If I don't rush now, when?!" Taehyung shrieks in excess of the roaring sound of the rain.

"Your graduation day, when you wake up late!"

"Am I getting reprimanded when you always make me late in my class because I drive your sloth self every day?!"

"I give up," the latter groans while treading to the other end, before setting foot in the car.

Taehyung smirks, before revving the engine and hauling the car from the underground garage.