rain » vkook

sixteen

I think I may have to give up on him again, but I forgot about the rain.

When I wake up to that sound, I find myself taking my first deep breath in days and it has oxygen and clarity and a faint promise. Because I can hear the rain and I can almost hope myself into hearing his voice.

I run outside, frantically forcing myself to believe in miracles, because when everything is drenched in minor chords and muted colors, a miracle isn't so far out of place. I stand in the exact same place where we first met, as if our feet left an imprint on the ground. And for all the impact he's managed to have on me, they might as well have.

Standing there, waiting for the only person I've ever felt connected to, I slow down. I think. I think about him, and how we've only known each other for such a fleeting time. I think about how he so suddenly became a part of my life. I think about how all that doesn't matter, because I mostly think about how he made me feel.

He made me feel like I was Jeon Jeongguk, and that was a good thing.

I've never been optimistic, but I somehow stayed positive the entire time I stood in the rain. I closed my eyes and listened to it hit the pavement, trying to conjure Taehyung's footsteps. I ignored how foolish I was; maybe I couldn't find Taehyung because he was supposed to find me.

And right when I was about to give up, he did.

I hear his footfalls, loud and thudding, quick and hurried, and his voice, raised in joy and disbelief and ecstasy, just shouting, unable to form words. And I snap my eyes open and turn and see him at the end of the street, and I yell back, and he's running, and my arms are out, but he hugs me first.

He crashes into me, arms going around me haphazardly, and I do the same, and we're both squeezing each other too hard, but we don't care. I can hear him sobbing in my ear and I'm whispering a mix of unintelligible sounds and I found you.

The first thing I do when we let go of each other is look directly into his eyes; his deep, haunted eyes, as if to make sure it's really him. And I realize that he looks healthy. No bruise, no gray skin, no sharp notes of agony, although I can see it buried far below and suspect it will always linger.

I can't tell if he's still crying, because the rain races down his face, but I think I am.

"What happened to you?" I demand, in a loudloud voice, and I try to reign it in, but he flinches and then smiles because he knows I'm not trying to yell.

"I got sidetracked." But he smiles wryly, and a little painfully.

"While you were gone, you were still with me because I was thinking about you constantly, wondering why you left, and then I saw the newspaper and I looked for so long and I thought I'd never find you but you're here." My breath hitches and I stare at him, searching his face for reassurance that he'll just stay.

And his face crumples.

"You - you were looking for me?" He whispers. I take his hand gently and he lets me, eyes never leaving my face, but I don't care because mine haven't left his, either.

"Of course."

And we turn and walk back to my apartment, just like the first time. Except now, I'm happy.

Our hands brush as we walk, and I'm so terrified of losing him again that I curl my pinkie finger around his, and neither of us speak a word, but I can feel them building up. I can feel him next to me.

My tears are yellow and soft pink as they leave my eyes. Every rain drop that touches him rolls off his skin a different color, and my fingers itch to paint it, to paint him, to paint my paradise found.

I found him.