Heliophile | J.JK

03 ▏FACULAE

Fa•cu•la (n.)

a bright region on the surface of the sun, linked to the subsequent appearance of sunspots in the same area.

•••

Jungkook found himself sitting on the pavement alone, drenched in the last rain of summer. The raindrops were pattering rambunctiously on the cemented streets. He could hear the thunder gradually crescendo and the noise of people scurrying for shelter. There was something addictive about this sound.

He pulled his mask down, certain that no one would recognize him in the current state he was in. His hair drenched and sticking to his face, his eyes puffy and reddened due to the lack of sleep.

Jungkook hadn't been able to get a decent amount of sleep in the span of the past few days. The training routine had been particularly hectic, not to mention the amounts of photoshoots and interviews they had stuffed into their preexistingly clogged schedule.

But then again, whatever negligible amount of sleep he did manage to get, her face would not stop appearing in his dreams like it belonged there.

She had made a home in his brain.

Particularly her voice. That voice was out of the world, something his brain couldn't even gauge. She could make one heck of a career out of that voice, that record breaking voice.

He could hear it in his morning alarms, in the clock's ticking at night, while eating, sleeping, driving. It was everywhere, dominating his brain like an unruly monarch.

He thought he had met someone like himself, a mirror image even. A quiet prodigy, a silent conquerer.

And ever since, he couldn't contain his curiosity. His eyes seemed to follow her everywhere, all despite his conscience practically screaming in his ear that it was not okay for a stranger with a facemask to follow an unsuspecting girl around.

He convinced himself that he was not stalking her, but it was, in fact, her who ended up going wherever he'd aim to.

And he discovered she was nothing like him or his imagination. She was not quiet and mysterious. A sheer contrast actually, she was expressive and kind. Loud and airheaded. Instead of being reserved and cold, she was outgoing and warm.

And he wasn't disappointed.

She worked in the library slash patisserie from nine to five, but she would close it on her will to take a break because she lived right upstairs anyway. She slurped her morning espresso at noon and she would scrunch her nose up after every sip.

She would sit on the counter by the windowsill where the sunlight would shine on her back and dye her hair in a surreal hue of golden. All while he sat in the grey shadows where the air conditioner would freeze to death but since it was the only place where she was a secure view, he went on quietly admiring her from afar with his right hand supporting his jaw.

She would read books whilst taking a bite of a cupcake simultaneously. How the frosting would grace her pink lips, how her thumb would reach the corner of her lips to clean the mess the frosting had left, all while her eyes kept flitting through the pages, right to left as though the world depended on it. The way she dusted the crumbs off the pages, frowning to herself as she did.

Each and every one of her expressions intrigued him. How she became absolutely still all of a sudden, how her lips quivered, eyes widened and tears formed like little beads of morning dew in the lower creases of her eyes.

A book could make her cry.

And the way she'd crack a smile sometimes and all he could think of was how beautiful sunny days are. Golden. It made him realize what the color golden truly was. It was the color that filled his monochromatic head when he thought of her. She was brimming in that shade. It was like she had an entire hue allotted to her name.

And when she walked on the streets, she was like a walking carnival. Bright and welcoming. An array of vibrant hues.

She would greet anyone and everyone that came in her way with a radiant smile. She would compliment the street artists she'd come across to lift their spirits up. She'd help elderly people cross the street and carry their paraphernalia as she did. Whenever there was was a sad or upset person in her field of vision, she'd crack a joke or pass a random pleasentry along with her award winning smile.

He could tell she secretly knew that she couldn't do anything about the problems anyone else was facing in their lives but she still made it an obligation upon herself to act like a walking banner that said 'hey, keep going! I'd be cheering you on'.

Even her smiles were not selfishly for herself. She gave out bits of hopes on the golden platter of the curve of her lips. She was giving, and giving and giving.

And it was not a publicity stunt. Not a television show, she did not live in the fragile, shallow world of fame like he did. Her world moved slow and steady. And she was purely, selflessly and hopelessly beautiful.

She showed no mercy on his heart that she had already tied a knot around by her voice.

But with that last encounter where he shut her out just like that, he had lost his very chance - all to his anxiety.

Then again, what chance did he have to begin with anyway. He'd have her wrapped around his fingers if he had walked into that library as Jeon Jungkook, the international playboy. But now he was just a socially inept guy with a facemask and thick rimmed glasses.

He sighed, closing his heavy sleep deprived eyelids, the warm droplets pouring down on him. But suddenly, they stopped.

He opened his eyes to find a yellow umbrella sheltering him. And beneath it, there she was again.

"Hey, masked man! you didn't come to the library today-" she looked down, her smile subtle and reassuring, "I was worried."