VMIN / INDULGE

32 .

MAD DENIM .

TAEHYUNG .

"Bow down peasants, the almighty Taehyung has completed his work!" I announce as soon as I hear Namjoon and Jin enter the house, the smell of brownies drifting throughout the hallway.

"That was quick." Namjoon quips, following Jin into the living room where I am currently situated.

It's only as they enter, that I discern the true mess that I've made. I'm sprawled amongst a mass of colourful fabrics, silken monstrosities and protozoan incarnations of stripped down fibres consuming my mind's capacity to envision; random pins scatter themselves across the floor, creating a battleground for those who dare enter the vicinity without the shielding of shoes; it's a true disarray of polychromatic mess.

"Jesus, Tae, is this why you didn't let us in the room for three days?" Namjoon gasps, taking in the newly formed flamboyance (a good, unthreatening term, in my humble opinion) of the room.

Of course, Jin doesn't seem to agree with such a word, as presented in the way he almost screams and the way his ears coat with red, as if a crimson paint pot had fallen upon them, as his eyes settle on the mess, "what the fuck have you done to my living room?"

"Jin, calm down, I'll clean it up in a second." I dismiss his disgrace calmly, as he chucks the bag of food at me.

He then huffs hyperbolically, slumping himself down on the very limited space of the sofa (just about dodging my fabric scissors), laying back and keeping his unimpressed eyes trussed to me, "care to show us what you've been doing that's so important that you couldn't even go and collect your own food?"

"Certainly!" I grin, paying his exaggeratedly feigned enthusiasm no attention as I forage through the conundrum of cloth, until I grasp what I'm looking for. Excitedly, I pull each part out to show them.

The outfit, which I have cleverly constructed, consists of a mismatched denim jacket. It's a piece compromised of many variations of denim, all pulled together with awkward stitches and embellished with bottle top pins, along with a disunity of multicoloured tassels barely hanging on to the cuffs and hem. This is paired with black jeans, with a collection of embroidered flowers ornamenting the pockets, along with newspaper articles sewn in random places, matched with brand names that have large, vermilion crosses painted over them. All of this is placed together with a white shirt, adorned with rips and paint splotches.

"Woah," is the first word Namjoon utters upon seeing my work, closely followed by a, "it's so... busy."

"Well, spluh, that's the point." I tell him, not sure what to make of the reaction — somewhat disappointed, but then recalling that Kim Namjoon was never one for the dramatics.

Jin, awestruck, forces his gaze upon me, "where did you even get all these materials?"

"Charity shops," I reply with a grin, "and the lost and found."

"What's it for? I mean, it's awesome, but why?" He questions, leaning forward with a sense of wonder in his eye, making me feel shamefully smug.

"I'm entering this photography competition, there's going to be a big exhibition and the winner gets a scholarship at this art school nearby."

"So what's this got to do with photography?" Jin inquires airily.

"The person I'm photographing's going to wear it."

Jin suddenly gasps, a deceivingly knowing smile affixing itself to his lips, "oh! I see what you're hinting at." Neither Namjoon nor I have a clue what his boyfriend is on about, until he elaborates, "I'll be your model, don't worry." The brunet nods with this incredulous expectancy in his tone, "you didn't have to be shy about it, I'll happily help you. I know my beautiful face shall pull off this atrociously colourful outfit."

"Yeah, thanks, but I already have a model." I state gently.

"Oh, really?" He frowns, "who?"

"Jimin."

"Oh, speaking of," Namjoon suddenly perks up, "we ran into him a moment ago."

I'm about to question this further when Jin suddenly hollers, "but he has pink hair!" Both Namjoon and I share an amused look before turning our attention's back to the brunet who is jokingly flustered, "there'll be too much colour."

"Jin, can you dance?" I ask suddenly, anticipating his response easily.

"Of course! I can do I killer robot." He says with pathetic demonstrations.

"I need someone who can dance."

He pouts and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, "whatever, have your precious little Jimin then."

I lightheartedly grin with a shake of my head, "anyways, what were you saying Joon?"

"Jimin, we met him in the cafe when we were getting your food."

"Ah, is that so?" I respond, gently running my fingers across the denim jacket which I had (and I would never admit to anyone) sewn terrifically delicately due to the knowledge he'd be the one to wear it.

"He seems sweet Tae." There's something accusing in his tone and it causes a myriad of guilt to transfigure in ugly curls and twists within the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah, he is."

"Don't hurt him, Taehyung."

I can't meet his eye — I can't bring myself to. Instead, I keep my gaze on the jacket and my hands, which are now gently aquiver. Instead of looking up or answering, I shove one of those brownies in my mouth, despising how it turns to dirt on my tongue.

//