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i'll reach my hands out in the dark and wait for yours to interlock i'll wait for you. __ Time passed, and soon it was nearly two weeks later.
The sun was high in the sky, light filtering through Tae's bedroom window. The boy couldn't help but smile at the lovely weather, gazing at the hues within the blue sky outside.
The room was quiet; Baekhyun and Chanyeol eating in the cafeteria and Jungkook being late. Which was alright, Tae understood.
The younger had explained recently about the immense studying he was taking to ensure he graduated with better marks. Jungkook wanted to make a better life for himself.
So Tae sat alone on his bed, legs criss crossed. He hummed quietly, focused on painting on another canvas.
Recently, his art was piling up around him. Beneath his bed were stashes of used canvases and art supplies. Drawings and paintings littered his side of the bedroom.
To say Tae had taken a grand interest in art was an understatement.
But could you blame him?
The way he could choose any colours to blend and mix. He could watch as the paintbrush would carry the paint through it's bristles, gradually creating an image from the boy's mind.
Every piece was different, and yet every piece was beautiful.
Why couldn't people be the same?
Tae sang to a soft tune, one he had heard on the radio just a bit ago. His voice was out of tune and slightly raspy, but no one was there except himself.
He dabbed the paintbrush into a shade of coral oil paint, the thick substance sinking into the bristles. Tae continued to sing as he let the colour bleed into the other inviting pinks and purples.
A sudden knock at the door made him flinch abruptly. Suddenly a switch flipped, and his mind began to whir.
He jumped, dropping the brush on his lap. Whimpering, he fought the flashbacks.
Loud bangs. Yells. The putrid scent of alcohol.
The door opened, and Tae shut his eyes, letting his arms fly up to protect himself.
Pain. Hurt. Blood.
"Tae?"
His breathing was rapid, but at the sound of the familiar voice, he opened his eyes. His muscles were stiff, a scream at the back of his throat.
