shoreline

1

It's raining again today, the sky sobbing heavily and occasionally releasing shy whimpers of what sounds like the beginning of a nasty storm. Jeongguk never liked thunderstorms, and he's saddened by the fact he's not at home right now, lying under his plush and newly washed covers where he could be sleeping his fears away. He guesses he can say he's never really liked April either, but he still had another three weeks of it to endure.

So instead of being within the comfort of his own home, he's imprisoned at university until mother nature decided to spare him. He's in one of the two art studios the university has, and he was just about finished with his recently assigned project and was preparing to head home until the sky quite literally unleashed thirty percent of the ocean right back down to the ground, delaying his desires.

Seeing as the storm was only going to worsen, he exhales a sigh through his nose, bringing calloused palms up to his face to rub away his flickering drowsiness. He hadn't been getting much rest lately, and Jeongguk would cry about it if not for that fact he had remnants of whatever masculinity he had left to maintain. He doesn't even know why he's so concerned about it, given the fact he stopped caring about trivial matters of the aforementioned long after other sensitive pricks had painfully given him the mentality back in high school. He winces at the returning memory, feeling an almost welcoming warmth bloom behind his eyes and before he knows it, he's crying.

And it feels good, is what Jeongguk thinks as he silently sheds the tears he'd been so reluctant to let fall. They chase one another down the path of his cheek, some surviving long enough to glide down his chin before falling onto his jeans. He hadn't cried since three days ago, when Jimin had unconsciously scolded Jeongguk a little too roughly for not eating properly like he should. I'm trying, Jeongguk had tried, but the lie may have been told more so to assure himself. He may have been dramatic about it, but when he's so mentally impaired, nothing is of the extreme for him. Jimin knows this too, and even though he may seem like he's ignorant of it, he uses harsh actions to keep his weakness hidden, as he knows it will easily show if he doesn't do so. Jimin pretends he's stoic and indifferent to whenever Jeongguk is behaving inappropriately, but he knows it's all a likeness.

Jeongguk feels a hesitant tug on the corners of his lips at the thought of his hyung being so considerate yet all the more inconsiderate to himself. He wishes Jimin would stop his constant frets over Jeongguk and learn to focus on himself a little more.

A menacing growl erupts from the blackened sky, causing Jeongguk to almost fall off of his stool. He steadies himself and shakily puts a hand to his heart, feeling how frantic it beats. The thunder just served as a reminder to how he's supposed to be afraid of it, and he realizes he really doesn't want to be alone right now. He knows a good portion of students remain at the school as well, following Jeongguk's own intentions of waiting for the storm to pass before they can return home. He could just go down into the common area and lounge amongst where possibly every other student is, but that's one too many people Jeongguk would prefer to be around.

Having calmed down, he looks back towards his canvas and reviews the fraction of his art he had completed today. A good four-sixths of it done, he praises himself. Stepping away, Jeongguk gathers his belongings and exits the studio, but not before shielding his canvas with one of the provided white sheets, careful when he pushes the easel back against the wall along with the others.

As he walks through the halls, Jeongguk passes by a mass of windows that look out into the city. He has always liked the view that was associated with the tough pieces of glass, but looking out into it now, all he can gather is his own reflection glaring back at him, bitterly cold and devoid of life. There are no lovely trees with their blushing branches swaying along with the breeze, there isn't the sight of birds occasionally drifting by with their friends—chirping about how humans are shitty, probably—and especially, there is no light. The familiar luminary is instead replaced by condescending clouds that block its hopeful warmth, and Jeongguk can feel his mood being prodded at by irritation.