𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒.

𝐈𝐌𝐆.𝟏𝟐

— 📷 —

IMG.12 - OIL

"THIS ISN'T GOING to work, vi." jungkook breathed out as his eyes ran across the landscape of blank canvases, already stained brushes assorted beneath the blank space. "it's not stupid, it's a real technique that's used for helping people with short tempers. just trust me on this, please." expired the girl, tropical figure only draped by one of jungkook's retired dress shirts. rolled to her elbows as it timidly hung from her body.

he hummed, lips sealed together as he attempted to keep the truth untold.

short temper?

i wake up with your blood polluting my hands like oil every morning.

only to be followed by another insomniac night.

afraid to go back to sleep.

afraid to see you die in my arms again and again.

my short temper is the least of my problems.

"jungkook?" the other called out, causing the dialogue with himself to shatter, pulling him back into room. "huh?"

"that canvas isn't going to paint itself." she chortled, her fingers already entangled with a paint-dipped brush. temporarily dyeing the strands an anemic amber. the older scoffed at his idiotic actions, tapping the immaculate brush against his fingers as his mind remained as void of inspiration as the canvas that stared back at him.

violet couldn't neglect the constant noise echoing from his brush, looking over to find his landscape still barren of any colour. "why don't you think of something that calms you down? it can be a place, a thing, a person or even a memory. it can be just about anything you want." violet suggested, her words already seeming to paint a portrait in his mind, soon to be transferred to the canvas in front of him.

now that both of their hands were employed, violet attempted to immerse herself in the landscape in front of her, yet, something kept her just by the surface of the world she was desperate to dive into.

she still hadn't talked to taehyung since rose's rehearsal.

begging for the dead weight he had planted in her chest to dissolve into a heart clenching memory. yet, it refused to let go of her. the only cure seeming to exist in speaking to her seemingly lost comrade.

her hand seemed unbothered by her inundated thoughts as it continued to sketch and illustrate the paradise framed in her mind, her own secluded hideaway no one could disturb. lush, beryl grass blanketed the rolling hills ornamented with emerald leaved trees and vegetation. an amethyst river running through the valley like a silk ribbon, meandering through the bashful flowers that blushed underneath the sun's gaze.