Lovers In Venice • VKOOK ✓

I. CITY OF WATERS

ˏ 𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧 ˎ

"Ah, to be a pigeon in St. Mark Square,"

Jet-lagged, ruffled haired and mildly stoned, Taehyung finally got off his boat after roughly sixteen hours of travel all the way from sweet motherland Korea. What a strange feeling, setting foot on venetian ground. For the very first time. Throbbing temples and a burning stomach, he soon realized being seasick and drunk at the same time wasn't such a great combo. Unless he cared to spew his guts in the grand canal... which was exactly what happened.

Not even a minute in and he already wanted to go home. Though the tepid sun of the "Serenissima" along with the slightly acidic smell of the still, emerald water flowing across its maze-like canals, eventually persuaded him to stay. That summer, Kim Taehyung came to Venice with a mission: find his long gone inspiration. Being an artist, it was crucial if not vital for him to always be thriving on new creative lymph, giving form to otherwise unordered thoughts.

He'd been a self-thought portraitist for a fair amount of years now. He began at the age of twenty, right after dropping out of college, much to his father's discontent. He'd tried settling for a 'normal' career as a manager or lawyer many times in the past, though it never stuck with him. So he became an artist, regardless of his parent's judgment. That until he found himself in a rut.

One day he was working on a commission for a very dedicated client, when he found himself unable to draw a single straight line. At first he didn't give it too much thought though as tomorrow approached, he still couldn't get anything done, hands trembling upon even holding a brush, mind gone blank. What had gotten into him? Why did it feel as if all his creative spirit was gone?

It got worse. Sudden blackouts, manic episodes, outbursts of temporary madness. His studio soon resembled a murder scene stained in multicolored blood. Deep down, he was still hoping that numbness of his creative senses to be fleeting, it had to be. Though as time passed, it became clear he'd not only lost his love for art but also his damn mind.

His habits included smoking, drinking, and seeking the nighttime company of pretty young men. Sweet, forbidden vice. Reveling in mundane, earthly pleasures gave him an unmatchable hollowing sense of satisfaction. Being an artist had always required diligence and discipline, so it felt good to just loosen up for once. Only he took it too far. Standing atop of the roof of his house, a bottle of cheap champagne in one hand, a half burnt cigarette in the other, he attempted to jump.

Months had passed since his very first crisis, and now there he was, too stoned and jaded to even make sense of what he was about to do. But then, let it be a hallucination or straight-up lunacy, he saw something, more like someone, calling him from afar, telling him to stop, to take a step back and sit himself down, where the world would have finally stopped spinning. And the world did, indeed, stop spinning, cause as Taehyung laid on the ground in silence, he finally felt at peace.

One day later, he was on his way to Venice. He'd said his goodbyes to his parents, grumpy old bastards from his mother labeling him as a reckless "bohemienne", to his father lashing out at him homophobic slurs. Luckily his friend Namjoon would have helped him adjust to the new, foreign atmosphere. He'd been living there for a couple of years now with his husband Seokjin. They shared a pretty good bond even if they saw each other quite seldom. After all, Namjoon was an artist, just like him, only he was a poet. And so Taehyung finally embarked for Venice, unbeknown to the fact he was to meet the source of both his joy and ruin very soon, in the form of a doe-eyed boy in the name of Jeongguk.