not what you think

xxxiv: n

"Hyung, are you sure this is a good idea?", Taehyung voices whilst sitting in his office, Namjoon at the couch for visitors to await their hailing, a book at hand as his eyes glide through the inked transcription.

"You're trying to make things right, or at least appeasing for Joonki-nim," The heftier male voices whilst twirling a page with this index finger, the spectacles permitting him to view it more translucent.

"Is it even my fault that I tried to buy this for my father? I'm supposed to do at least this much for him," Taehyung huffs in peevishness.

"Partly, why I've told you before. That's why both of us are here so we can welcome him amiably," Namjoon attunes the spectacles on his nose.

"I just don't want to see his deadened face when he sees us," Taehyung criss-crosses his hands.

"He won't enter with a vexed face if he wants this job, any ulterior motive or not."

"How do you know that?", Taehyung sits on his swivel chair, viewing the male, propping himself on the table with his hands.

"He would want something for his then co-workers. This is why he is coming here."

"I understand where you're getting at, but he could just threaten me for money otherwise," Taehyung says with perplexity.

"That'd be too straightforward and he'd face a backfire," Namjoon says, "Besides, he's a good artist, so using your gallery as a stepping stone would be good for him, without feeling selfish. More like being free of a guilty conscience while he is in his element."

"He's a painter like me?", Taehyung's visuals in a brisk moment, renders to be less gravelly and a mild gleam shrouds in its stead.

"He used to be, until he came to Seoul," Namjoon says, stowing the book to his side.

"Did you run a background check on him, hyung?", Taehyung pleats his brows.

"I'm sure by the day he talked about your painting in first year at Seattle. He looked at it as if it pained him. He seemed as if he left painting for something painful. His voice tried to hide it, but eyes do tell."

Taehyung nods in apprehension, permitting the newly discovered information morph inside his psyche.

Kang Joonki. Twenty-four. Younger of two siblings. Used to be a painter. HRD graduate.

Painter.

The sole inscription glides a smile to his visuals.

Namjoon perceives the restyling of his countenance, a tad bit gladdened from the male's prospect at having companionship.

He perceived the male's prospect at having companionship as more than just painting upon Taehyung's lingering gaze.

He is well versed of Taehyung's inquisitiveness upon the male who spiraled into their lives like a whirlpool, piqued upon the appended enlightenment.

He can only view as it unravels, beseeching Taehyung won't be rammed into the abysmal predicament after the woman.

Which might depreciate Taehyung's belief in love in entirety.

"I wonder when he'll come," Taehyung murmurs, grasping upon a pen stowed gingerly, tapping on the table.

"He will be coming anytime soon. It's almost eleven am," Namjoon voices before resuming his indulgence in the book.

More than a few moments later, Taehyung's computer transmits a visitor alert on his screen, causing the male to pressure rather briskly on the view.

The hefty male comes into view as Taehyung condenses his appearance.