"I'd just like to be yours and I guess I want you to be mine."
"Sweetheart, that's not weird. It's cute."
･ﾟ:* jimin is a sad ballerina, who falls for the lies of taehyung, a mysterious photographer who is nothing but trouble.
( complete )
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TAEHYUNG .
Dilapidated tangents of milk flow across surfaces of grime; glorious spillages sprawling across every crevice of marble. Bored eyes ascertain every diluted feature of the spilled liquid as it seeps in rivulets of ivory, the stream lacking in pigment and reeking with the fetor of supple lipase. In such a malaise induced state of mind, there's such woe that can be uncovered in the drizzles of spilled milk.
"Namjoon! Get out the damn kitchen, I'm trying to cook...it's difficult when you're constantly just flittering behind me." Jin gushes, ushering the culprit further toward the mess he'd made.
Namjoon doesn't say anything in response, taking full responsibility for his actions. I watch, with accidie prominent in my posture, leaning my chin on the table and trailing my fingertips through the patch of milk. Despite how joyous I had been prior to this situation, I suddenly feel lacking. I feel a tad less wholesome; my body shrivelling in on itself, as if something is missing.
Or somebody.
It's stupid, it's so stupid.
Why must a stranger make me feel so empty when he's not around? Why must that boringly beautiful smile linger in my mind's eye like this?
It's not fair.
Humans aren't supposed to be infatuated so easily; it's meant to take years of dedication, years of loyalty and love. One shouldn't simply feel longing for a body that's three weeks new to them.
It wasn't supposed to be like this !
The only way to gain somebody like Park Jimin is to open up, to share vulnerability and make him comfortable. But sharing the truth has made me too tender and too open toward him.
I haven't felt this dreadful giddiness since I first established a crush on somebody of the male species. Back then, they were just excited jitters; a wonderful declaration of homosexuality.
But they were foolish emotions.
Only fools fall for imbeciles.
And these treacherous butterflies of longing only bring forth those horrible memories. They bring back all of that pain; all of that blood, shed like a snake's skin; all of those emotions I'd sworn not to feel anymore.
