blossom//k.t.

twenty seven

taehyung didn't sleep that night or the many nights after that, days passed him by, as he spent them sitting in front of his blank canvas and sighing every so often. every time he would lift his brush to make a stroke on the ivory sheet, his hand would start shaking, every word aera uttered coming back to haunt him in the worst way possible, his mind flashing images of rumi's angry but heartbroken face, eventually he would end the night by throwing the brush away and scooting back on his chair, staring at the canvas that waited to be filled with bursting colors.

even the blank canvas seemed to mock him, of his abilities, of his talent, of his identity, not just the canvas, the paints he used to love so much seemed colorless to him, further disorienting his own feelings.

he hated this, he hated feeling insecure again, he hated this cycle of self-hate that returned after years of working on himself, and he didn't know who to blame anymore, especially not aera after he saw the heavy guilt built up on her face. he couldn't hate or blame rumi even if he tried, because it was her opinion that mattered so much to him, all the compliments she would give vante seemed just for vante now, not taehyung, not the face behind the mask.

he knew he had to fix things, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, he didn't know how to talk to rumi after all this was revealed to her, after his veil was torn away from him, by his ex of all people, he understood how betrayed she must have felt, and he hated that he was the reason why. he was also scared that she now wouldn't admire vante as she used to, after knowing it was kim taehyung, an average man who worked at a flower shop. he didn't want to find out if she now thinks vante is all flawed, just like he was.

jimin couldn't do anything but helplessly see his best friend tear his own soul over and over again every night, he made sure that he was eating and drinking enough water, but that was all he could do. and he hated that, he even tried to talk to taehyung but the only replies he got were strained mumbles.

you see, an artist, of all people, feels their emotions so powerfully that they overpower the artist, in ways that often destroy them, their life revolves around emotions, feeling them, putting them on pen, paper, words, colors, strokes, music chords, or movements of their body. which is why they feel a single emotion in a wave of technicolor that even they don't understand, it is this confusion that makes them so unique. it is this confusion that they put into their art, hoping to make some sense out of it.

you can't save an artist from themselves, they are like an endless ocean, this ocean is one that even they drown in, you can only wait at the shore and hold your hand out, hoping they would take it, and be grateful when they do, because they don't often seek out help, even if they're choking on their own breath.

for taehyung, there has never been someone waiting at the shore, no one's held their hand out, and even if they did, he wouldn't take it, he is stubborn like that. the only time he took it, was with aera, and that ended with him hitting rock bottom.

he has never felt this properly alone in a very long time, his friends making up for the silence always, but of course, they had their lives and he couldn't always run back to them.

so here he was, another day spent miserably on self-loathing, his eyes carelessly drooping and his jacket slipping from his shoulders because of his sunken posture, as he struggled to focus yet again, his frustration caught up to him before his senses could and another paintbrush took the brunt of his anger.

maybe it was the wet paint water that splattered on his face when he threw it to the ground or the clock ticking just loud enough, he snapped out of his trance, stumbling slightly on his feet as he got up from his seat.

he felt the foreign feeling of hope rushing in his veins, as an idea brightened in his mind, that quick buzz of excitement hurt his head so he plopped back down on his seat, contemplating if his idea is even going to work out. he got out of the large studio, which even with all that space suffocated him, and walked into the kitchen to see jimin diligently spreading some jam on probably burnt toast, who looked up in surprise, not expecting taehyung to be out of that room.