방탄 소년단
"That... gash," I muttered, my nose rumpled in disdain - and sympathy for the man - as I studied the newly developing scar on his right eye.
It was fresh, the skin that surrounded the vermilion wound was puffy and distended, as if it just hap...
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I sat at the dinner table in complete silence, sporadically taking undersized bites of my food, taking advantage of the fact that I was finally out of my room, and could be in other rooms of the house with a purpose. I avoided all eye contact from the few guards that stood around, forced to watch me as we awaited Mikhail's arrival.
He had been gone an entire week, the guards got word that he would be back soon. We received no estimated time, we were completely unaware of what day he would arrive either.
It put me on edge thinking about when he would show up, what day it would be, and what I would be doing.
In addition to such nerves, I was also worried that I couldn't hide the fact that I snuck out to meet up with Yoongi just a few days prior. I simply avoided all unnecessary contact with anyone to keep the levels of guilt at a tolerable level. My shoulders diminished, and I invariably felt pressure when I was under the scrutiny of the guards that surrounded me— unable to get comfortable in my own skin when I knew they were watching my every move.
The only source of escape I had from such patronizing surveillance was when I locked myself away in my room. Even then, I couldn't control my own thoughts that scurried off to Yoongi, thinking about the conversations we had in that stifling ramen shop.
Albeit, that wasn't the strange part. It was only typical for me to reconsider and sit in pure contemplation about our conversation, we discussed a few topics and matters that would leave anyone in thought. As well as me being his exception, which was a realization that hadn't settled until a few days after the meet-up. I firmly acknowledged the taunting fact that if he really wanted to, he could kill me whenever he felt like it.
I found myself thinking of him, too, oddly enough. I thought mostly about his behavior, his cryptic demeanor, and how disheveled, yet how handsome he was. Disheveled compared to the usual state I viewed him in, when he was clad in a clean suit, a tie around his neck, with his raven black hair slicked back from his face. Although his appearance was different, he still seemed on edge as though he was always ready to handle business regardless of his attire.
I could tell he lacked sleep, the darkness that surrounded his eyes only added volume to the void set in his deep black eyes, emotionless, and bleak. Yet, he found it in him to keep me alive, so perhaps he wasn't completely emotionless.
It piqued my interest, was he truly heartless like they all say? Or was he just fearful of showing emotion, fearful of being labeled soft, or being taken advantage of? With no other tasks on my hands, I began obsessing over it all, which made me delusional. I wondered if he was also thinking about the interaction we had, though I doubted that. He seemed to always be on the go, busy, his mind cluttered with issues that were supposed to be tomorrow's problem.
At times, the realization would strike me once as before that I so casually met up with Agust D. As though he was an old friend that I ran into, and we settled on dinner together. For all I knew, it could have all been a setup to get Mikhail home, and I carelessly walked inside without a second thought to hold me back.
