JUNGKOOK
Days on trial: 59
"Rhianne," Annie sighed with a noticable grimace as she clunked a pitcher full of fruit cider down on the table between us. Two glasses follow suit. "It's Celtic. Apparently I was concieved in Wales. I've always just gone by Annie instead - nobody calls me Rhi."
Sitting opposite me, she was finally answering the question I had asked before she disappeared into the crowd by the bar. No-one really spoke much after she had left, except for Chloe. "Kim Taehyung," her voice divulged. "Annie's ex."
"He literally just called you Rhi," I snorted, taking note of the fact she chooses to sit opposite me now, instead of taking the seat beside me that she had left empty.
"Yeah, and he's literally nobody."
It dawned on me quite quickly that I didn't know anything about Annie.
I knew what she did to pay the bills, how she drank her coffee and the way she looked in yoga pants, but that was it. Confronted with someone who must have known her like the back of his hand, I suddenly felt like a stranger.
Yet when the cool winter breeze trails the scent of her perfume my way, I don't seem to care all that much. She's just too pretty in this light. I can't tell if it's the reds and green of the fairy lights, or if she's just always been this vibrant. In my heart of hearts, I think it might have been both.
I find myself wondering if she laughed with Taehyung like she laughed with me. He was handsome, and a hell of a lot better dressed than Annie had ever seen me. Was that her type? Is that why she never gave me a second glance? I mean, not that it mattered.
He looked like he was one copy of an Edgar Allan Poe collection away from starting his own debate society; as if his playlist shuffled from Daddy Issues and Fluorescent Adolescent to Symphony Number... I dunno, whatever number symphony Mozart made famous, that one. I didn't have a clue what it was - but I bet he did.
I bet he could play it.
I bet he used to make Annie watch as he played his shitty little piano pieces, wearing his shitty little berets, as he drank shitty Châteauneuf-du-Pape (or whatever shitty red wine drinking elitists like to drink). I bet he'd talk about shitty philosophers and wouldn't even have to watch his hands as he played.
I'd made her play video games. I was an idiot.
"He didn't seem like your type."
Dunno what possessed me to say that.
Quite clearly he was her type, given the fact he'd made her see colours. Shitty stupid colours.
"I was recently reminded that 'assumptions are the mother of all fuck ups' - so it's best not to assume, isn't it, Kook?" She was joking, her smile mimicking her playful tone, but her guard was also definitely up. "What is my type, then?"
"I dunno. Not him," I staggered a little bit, trying to think of a valid response that didn't involve the words 'shitty' or 'prick' or 'pretentious' followed by 'asshole'. "Just can't believe you looked at him and saw colour."
"Alright, Mr Multi. Sorry, I forgot you've been seeing colour for all of a month and suddenly you're a know it all on how colours work," Annie's voice was laced with sarcasm and good humour, but she had a point.
It wasn't long until the rest of our friends decided to call it a night. Chloe and Jimin let us know that they couldn't cope with the cold anymore and went back to ours to 'warm up'. We'd goaded and teased them until they were out of earshot, knowing exactly what they were going to do. Part of me was jealous of what they had.
