wrist // taehyung • book three in the BTS series •

[ t h i r t y - t h r e e ]

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december creeps onto them like a guilt-ridden lover; ephemeral, everlasting, chock-full of joy that some people couldn't ever hope to feel.

jimin is in a vague sense of distorted confusion; he thinks of one thing, and says another. he has discarded his shell in more ways than one, but at the slightest of an interest in his state of being, it is like the armor has never gone.

taehyung listens to the lies yoo rael feeds him, and trudges back home, where he listens to the lies hwa yeong feeds him. somehow, in this state of false reverie, he has found his lost smile, and all at once, the blinding white landscape bursts into a spate of vibrant colors; dancing in the irises of his eyes.

they learn to breathe a lot more slowly now; savoring the taste and smell and color of the molecules saving them.

kim taehyung was trying his very best to not be the last one alive.

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"what are you sketching?"

hwa yeong is curled up on the couch, taehyung's loose shirt almost slipping off her bony shoulders.

"you."

"me?"

"yes, you."

"can i see it?"

"maybe."

"do i look good?"

"you look exactly like what you are."

"and what am i?"

"deceptively good."

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