He can't be any happier.
He can't feel any more content.
"This abstract piece is called 'companion', created by the student Kim Taehyung. At first glance, it certainly appears overwhelming and almost sad. But upon analyzing, many of the dull colors come together brightly and the shadows in the piece aren't unwelcoming. It's a very warm painting indeed. Well done."
It's a sight to behold– a dark-haired college student standing right next to his own exhibit, his art in a golden frame displayed beside him on the wall as his professor makes rounds with different groups of people to explain each piece. His own artwork is small, modest, pushed at the back of the gallery, but he's still beaming with pride, gloating in the praise.
People stand around to stare, entering the back space and naturally drawn into his painting. No longer do people look at him. No longer do his peers gawk at him, Kim Taehyung, running from a horde of suited men that are hot on his tail and who scream his name. He doesn't provoke attention from who he is or rather who his father is. Their eyes don't scrutinize him.
They're pinpointed to what he's created. They are absorbed into his art, into what he's done for himself.
He feels free like this, standing here in the background, watching others instead of them watching him.
The man runs his hand through the strands of his hair, causing his fitted, white shirt to pull from his dress pants, having been tucked in.
His clothes are normal, hair combed regularly to cover his forehead, presentation of himself absolutely ordinary, never once giving hints that he's the wealthy son of a world leader. He doesn't have brand name clothing, an overly polished appearance, shiny cars or luxurious watches to his name.
Just his painting, you and himself.
And that's enough for Taehyung.
"Are you sad?"
"Why would I be?" Taehyung turns to smile at you. It's startling to see him with black hair. It reminds you way too much of when he grew up with you all those years ago. But it's not bad. Not at all. Quite the contrary.
He had decided a few weeks ago it was time for a change, so you helped him dye his hair back to its natural dark color. You wonder what his hairdresser would say, or how loud she'd shriek if she saw the poorly done job. But in your opinion, you think you did a good job. It looks nice.
"Your dad couldn't make it."
"Nah." Taehyung swats his hand lifelessly. "It's fine. You're here, right? And Jin, Jungkook and Jimin stopped by to see too. I'd rather not have hundreds of bodyguards here anyways. Those three were enough chaos. Almost got me kicked out of here too." Laughter bubbles up his throat.
You smile, shifting to stare, head quirking to the side. It's a kind of art that you're beginning to admire despite still understanding very little. It's pleasant on the eyes and you get a sense of bliss from looking at it.
"It's beautiful, Taehyung."
"I know." The man grins before glancing at you and his eyes stay. "Thanks for coming. I know you were off-duty today, so..."
"Of course I'd come," you tease. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Get over here." There's a humongous smile plastered on his stupid face and his arms extend, hands squeezing the air.
Your smile immediately falls, expression glazing over to be blank again. "What did I say about PDA?"
"I don't care. Just come here."
YOU ARE READING
His Bodyguard || K.TH.
Fanfiction"I'm sorry." You shake your head. "Is there something I should know, Mr. Kim?" "Mr. Kim?" he murmurs in exasperation and steps forward again as if to corner you. Taehyung refuses to give up. He insists on jogging your memory again. "We used to dig h...
