VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

16

— PART SIXTEEN.

"Hey." Oh, his smile was so convincing and not at all vindictive, it honestly made Taehyung want to cry and push himself into the muscular, tattooed arms of Jeon Jeongguk and breathe in that stench of rotting honey, that wrapped around the boy's arteries and instilled the belief that he was genuinely a nice person. "You going to sit down?" That sounded like such a compelling question, completely doused in saccharine magnitudes of celestial intent. Taehyung so desperately wanted to allow the allure to wash over him and bathe him in natural grace, yet he couldn't.

Taehyung forces himself to look into Jeongguk's eyes, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't almost fall into the clutches of those treacle-glazed buttons of sweetness and glory. He has to gulp down slithers of saliva, nodding quaintly as he slips into the available seat beside the black clad teen, with fickle eyes of treacherous predilection.

Currently, it was Sunday, around one in the afternoon, when the summer's sun was at it's most prominent state. Yellow leaks across the skyline, vivacious shades of blue bellowing through the colours of heat, which flicker in dappled magnitudes of heaven. Heat roars against skin in harsh fusillades of orange, which splatter sweaty guts across humanity's being.

The two teenagers, however, were tucked away from the heat suppressed world, as they'd both come to the arrangement of stuffing themselves within the air-conditioned library. The place was void of people, most probably at the beach, taking advantage of the weather, there were just a few limp nobodies cluttering up the travel section and a couple shyly giggling into one another's ears behind the printers.

Jeongguk sits at an empty table, in nothing but a black T-shirt and black, ripped jeans, ventilating the obscene works of muscular flesh beneath, along with black, leather boots — having to conform to his branding and have at least a trace of leather on him. His laptop was in front of him and books were spread out around him, creating the idea he'd been here for a while. Taehyung knew that was the case, as he'd purposefully turned up twenty minutes late.

The room seems almost grey, a little fuzzy, compared the harsh sunlight Taehyung had just stepped out of. It was rather delightful to feel the cool touch of recycled and modified air hitting against his sweaty skin. All he could hear was the filtering click of the old air conditioner as it attempted to feed the room to the best of it's ability.

"You hot? Want some water?" Jeongguk asks, uncharacteristically kind, as Taehyung seats himself next to him.

Taehyung does nothing but shake his head, clutching the sides of the chair as he screams to himself that he must keep his composure. The two had arranged to finish their project here as it was due the very next day so Taehyung was not granted very much opportunity to groom his mind into one prepared for any and all situations he'd be placed in. He'd brashly thought through an onslaught of various scenarios he could be placed in — he couldn't allow himself to be caught off guard, not again.

"Sorry I'm late." He says, mentally applauding himself for the lack of awkwardness in his voice, but also cursing due to how flimsy the words sounded, coming off kind of flat due to being words he'd rehearsed.

"Oh, don't worry about it." Jeongguk assures him, smiling softly, "I made some more notes while you were gone and all we really have to do is place everything together and it will be done."

Taehyung nods silently, his face no doubt reflecting a great loss of conscience, as he was attempting to uphold the exterior of somebody unbothered, someone who didn't wilt beneath a lowlife such as Jeongguk.

"You feeling alright?"

The brunette almost thinks the other sounds genuine, as if he actually was concerned. But Taehyung knew better, he wouldn't allow himself to fall for that, "I'm feeling just fine." He responds, daring himself to glare in the other's direction, "maybe we should just get on with this." He continues, attempting to pull the notes toward himself.