σffwнιтє | к.иj

trois

10:15

COSETTE SINCLAIR

It was cold. As it was to be expected in late November. My jacket wasn't warm enough, but then again I was pretty poor and couldn't afford much clothing, so I had to make do. Uni was only a short walk away from Soho, an expensive gallery district of New York.

Namjoon's grip on my arm never faltered, and it was the only thing I could focus on. My frostbitten nose was the least of my problems. He didn't let me bring cigarettes, so my nicotine gum was keeping me busy. The smell of his wasn't exactly a consolation prize, though. I've always loved the scent of city street cigarettes. Making our way to a beautiful apartment complex, Hoseok bounded away, into the building, not even sparing a goodbye.

"Jesus, he really loves Yoongi doesn't he?" The handsome junior nodded, pulling me along with him to continue our way down the street. His cig dropped from his fingers, singing the sludge of snow beneath us.

"Why the fuck does it have to snow today? Winter can suck my ass." I stated coldly, glaring at the sky as if it would magically pick up all the snow and make it disappear. I immediately inhaled sharply and looked away. The sun was high in the sky today. Because of the blinding white of the snow, my eyes constantly hurt in the winter. I almost never went out, especially if I didn't have sunglasses with me. And the burning behind my eyes wouldn't stop.

"Just take in the elegance of it all. Snow falls in the city at an average of only 2-3 feet per year, so for it to be this much is a beauteous gift." Namjoon picked up a handful of snow and let it fall through his fingers, melting once it hit the ground.

"Why do you know so many random facts? What would you ever need them for?" He shrugged one shoulder. His hand fell from my arm and I was a little disappointed from the lack of contact. He was warm.

"It's the only thing I have that entertains people. I'm not much of an interesting person. My life is pretty average and other than intellectual knowledge, there isn't much about me that seems to be intriguing. I've been called boring and rude- I prefer factual, honestly- but not many get close enough to me to appreciate the fact that I'm not all words, though it may seem like it. Am I talking too much? Sorry, I get carried away sometimes. I never know when to stop." He blushed, tilting his head to the side awkwardly.

"You're good, I don't care."

We continued our walk on the way to the galleries mostly silent, this one comfortable. I thought about what Namjoon had said, making sense of his reasoning. I was urged to find out more about him, but he beat me too it.

"So, you're biracial? You look Korean but your name is French."

"Oh, yeah, my dad is Korean and my mom is French. I speak fluent French and English too. Growing up in France, Korean was never important, so I never learned it, unfortunately," I told him. I stuffed my cold hands in my pockets, trying to warm them up as much as I could.

"I speak both English and Korean fluently. I learned from watching Friends, actually. Rewatching and subtitles taught me what I needed to know. And I know a little French, too, I'm pretty bad though." He grinned again, one dimple indenting his cheek.

A silence spread over us again until we stopped in front of a building, a small gallery inside.

"This is my place. I thought I would show you some of my art, if you want." Well damn, boy's an artist.

"Yeah, sure, that would be cool." We stepped inside, a warmth surrounding me and enveloping my cold hands. Several paintings hung on the wall, all very big and incredible.