See You Again [JiKook]

Chapter 2 - He Likes Him

Jungkook was enthused. He wasn't going to deny that to himself, at least.

As he held the brush on his hand firmly, in the middle of the night that felt so magical for him as if he was in another world where only he existed, he enthrallingly stroke various colors of paint on the canvas right in front of him, aiming to bring a mere artwork he felt his soul submerged within be brought to life.

He was indeed a person who's artistically born. Born with such enthusiasm and expertise for art. He found out such talent and passion he had for the world of colorful and awe-striking shades and tints inside him when he was still a kid.

The moment he had his hands held on a brush, he knew it was something. Such contact that meant everything for him. Something between him and the sphere of artistry and imagination engraved through a canvas sparked.

It felt special, that even at a very young age, he and his own little realm he created filled with lots of sorcery having a paint brush as his wand and every artwork he created as his magic were inseparable ever since.

He loved it how he felt so superior behind the canvas. How he feels the liberty as he lashes different hues on a masterpiece of his own that he tends to create.

He loved how it sounds whenever his brush traces its way around the canvas freely, without restrictions. How the fusion of different colors with no specific sketch astonishingly look so appeasing to his eyes.

Art was his life. A dream he knew he'd keep yearning for. Painting was what he felt that he was meant to do the moment he was born. He valued it how people always tell him he had the hands of an artist. How he steadily splash innumerable shades with his utmost dedication, people admired him and his works. And he loved it that way. It seemed fitting. It felt so right for him.

Until his parents had to succumb him in a world that was nothing but of dullness and trickery. A world where his most valued magic wand meant nothing, and is useless. A world where colors weren't suitable. A world where art is considered a childish thing. Definitely a world he couldn't even imagine himself living in.

But he couldn't do anything to stand for himself. It was his parents after all. And his life depended on their palms. It was as if they were his master puppeteer, and he was nothing but a mere puppet in their eyes. A puppet they could control, and have under them. And even if it was against his will, he just couldn't do anything.

With such exposure he had in the dominion of business industry, where greed and lust for money, competition and crimes lie, he knew he was indeed, living in a mad world. He could have lost himself in amidst of it, but with his glinting dream and passion he had inside him, at some point he managed to stay sane. It was the only way he found, the only escape he had from the terrors of his reality. Like the only melody he loved to listen to in this world of undesirable dins.

The only thing that makes him feel so alive in these dire exteriors of the world.

It was a dream he knew he'd keep yearning for since the creation of the universe. But to his blues, he knew that's just it. That's how it'll stay as in his life. Just a star he'd keep seeking for, but could never reach. A dream he could never make happen.

He keenly stares at how he was about to land the brush onto the canvas, as he was supposed to create a figure in the middle of the painting.

A familiar guy from his phantasm.

As he begins to form the subject of his artwork, he couldn't prevent himself from asking why he was doing it. Why was he so taken by the mere impression the older man he was with that night had in him?