Genre: Fluff, Romance, Angst (quite a bit tbh)
Pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook
Context: Artist au (inspiration can be found HERE)
A/N: wUHU the preview is finally going to be uploaded here! I’m not sure how I wrote it so fast but I suppose one can easily blame it on the exam stress, which actually made the writing of this story pretty smooth sailing. I know this sounds more like a chapter with its length (oops), but I just wanted to get a feel on how this story might flow through this very platform. :) Furthermore, the title, “Seeing Colours” is under a TBC status so if you guys have any better titles, don’t hesitate to drop me a direct message and we can talk about it! ^^ For now, sit back, relax and read away~ Enjoy!
P.S. @twoamaranth , this was all thanks to your edits. :) Thank you for letting me repost them on my Tumblr! Do check out her stuff! ^^
It was a typical Tuesday morning, 8am, as it was shown on my digital clock with huge green numbers. The sun was up, the birds were singing and it was a beautiful sunny day with clear blue skies and white puffy clouds. The weather forecast said there will be no rain, and the best part? It was the school holidays for the students who have spent countless hours cooped up in classrooms and homes; studying the day away and remembering facts that they will probably never use in the days to come.
Now, it was their time to have fun, see the sun and get the dose of the Vitamin D they lacked the past few months. Come back with sun-kissed skin (or even burnt for that matter), new friends and most of all, smiles exuding happiness on their faces as they recall the day to their parents and get together with the friends whom they had not seen for so long.
It is indeed a happy day. Yes, of course it was.
I never knew what happened to me really, but it all started back in high school with countless insults and hate comments coming my way. It was a simple secret, whom I had entrusted to a friend that it would be kept that way. I guess things were never meant to be because the cat was out of the bag three days later. People started staring, snickering, jeering and worse still, bullying.
I came back many days with a bruise or two on my torso and a spinning head from getting pushed around too much. Who knows if I even came back with broken bones? Mother always asked me what happened, and I always came up with the same reason.
“I fell. Sorry for ruining the uniform. I’ll be less clumsy next time.”
The words fell out of my mouth like a robot; like I was trained to say that. She might never have bought it but she took great care of me nevertheless, whipping up her signature ginseng chicken soup when I was down and gently tending to my wounds. I was not much of a talker, so we would sit in comfortable silence as she took care of me and made sure all was well.
She still hugged me tight, kissed me on the forehead to go to sleep and was always ever so supportive with everything that I did.
I was 19; a fresh graduate. Smiles were upon our faces as everyone took pictures; some laughing, some crying, to commemorate all the memories that they had spent together. I, however, was glad that I was out of the hell hole and that was when I met a boy named Jimin.
He was a year older, but shorter and had the chubbiest of cheeks. For some strange reason, he had the nicest body with toned abs and defined arms, but never seemed to lose any baby fat from on his face (to his utter dismay). I supposed that was what made him cute and cuddly, and someone that I was willing to spend my time with. He had a heart of gold, a positive attitude and was always there in my triumphs and trials.
We met at a coffee shop, both of us fulfilling our duties as filial children, taking up part time jobs, making drinks and dealing with the most obnoxious customers. Quick friends we were, and soon, we fell deeper than that. He was my everything at that time; workmate, soulmate and most importantly, a lover.
I brought him home and we made ourselves comfortable in my room. It was a medium sized bedroom with tiffany blue walls and it was my safe space, away from the cruelty of the world out there. We stared into each other’s eyes as we shared and laughed about our “deepest darkest secrets”.
I don’t know how laughter turned into lust, but there we were, him on top of me and kissing the life out of me. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of my lungs but it was his lips that gave me security and a love that I had never felt before.
Mother walked in, to my shock and horror, and by then, our tops were off, thrown on the floor at some random corner of the room. My stepfather came in next, and he shouted something along the lines of the fact that his son should never love another boy. He pushed Jimin away and grabbed me by the neck, which is a given that it would probably be bruised tomorrow. He asked me for an explanation but only tears and choked sobs came out of me. I could not speak but his grip only tightened, until I felt my lips turn blue and my face pale.
Jimin got up and tried to stop him, but my stepfather was too strong and he hit him hard till his lips bled. It seemed to have triggered something in him and all he did was pick up his shirt and leave, as if we never knew each other and he was a burglar who got caught red-handed.
He left my room in a huff but came back shortly after with a suitcase in his hand and those words stuck with me till this very day.
“Pack up your things and go. When I’m out of the shower, you should be out and don’t you dare step foot into this house ever again. We’ve always trusted you but you stepped all over our hearts and efforts. Be gone. You are not my son anymore.”
And that was it. I left home without a trace and cut off all contact (in fact they made sure I did) and ended up on the streets.
Cold. Tired. Hungry. Alone.
Those were the four scariest words that stuck in my head the entire time as I sat by the roadside watching the world go by. I found some spare change in my pocket, attempting to call Jimin, but the line did not get through.
And there I was again. Until a middle aged lady walked past me and took interest in me. She did not say very much, but I could tell that she took pity on me with the look in her eyes. It was a sight of sadness and perhaps slight disappointment that a youth like me was found on the streets like that.
She walked away, and I began to think that she was just like everybody else, but no. She peeked from the side of the convenience store to see whether I was still there and motioned for me to take my things and follow her. Skeptical I was, but she brought me into the convenience store and there sat a packet of chocolate milk, steaming hot ramyun and a fried chicken wing.
I stared at her in wonder, but she only motioned for me to sit beside her and eat. Sure, I did not mean to wolf down all the food but I did and she only smiled, something like what my mother used to do. It was a silent lunch, with her occasionally watching the news on the television.
I stood up to leave and apologised that I could not repay and thank her enough for her kindness towards a stranger.
“Thank you so much, and I’m sorry I cannot pay you today. I promise to pay it back someday… I-I… should probably g-get g-going…”
“Why were you out there anyway? It’s pretty uncommon for a youth like you to go around with a suitcase, or should I say duffle, outside a convenience store like this.”
And who knew what came over at me, because I told her everything.
Where I came from, where I studied, the ups and downs in my life… You name it, I probably said it. There were no emotions and it sounded like I practically deadpanned through the monologue. The woman did not say anything; she just sat there and nodded every once in awhile in understanding. Despite the lack of response, it was pretty obvious that she was listening intently.
“I see… You know, society’s a little messed up in certain ways and I know that you were probably a smart, talented and one of the nicest boys anyone can have. It’s a pity that your parents dropped you off so easily like that, simply because you were considered to be part of the queer.”
I nodded and sighed, suddenly wondering what the hell I was thinking to be blurting all this information to a stranger that I just met 30 minutes ago.
“Oh well… Follow me then.” She stood up and offered to take my luggage for me, but I refused and took it back immediately. Fear crept into my mind and so did suspicion so I asked in doubt, “Where are we going?”
“Ah… Your new home. You’ll be living with me now I suppose. Don’t worry about the rent. It’s only right that you find some more purpose in life other than sitting in the streets and waiting around for a miracle to happen. C’mon, before it gets late, and cold too.”
Fear and suspicion stayed, but my mind kept telling me that there was going to be hope at the end of it, so I followed and we continued to make small talk along the way. Her home, according to her, was not too far off and it was easily walkable. It was almost the evening now and before I resorted to freezing my butt off, I was actually grateful that I had a lodging now.
Her name was Mrs Jung Inhye and she was in fact, from Busan, my hometown. She was under the Art Management team of the Seoul National Museum and was in charge of auctioning for works, do write ups and she also mentioned that she loved to draw in her past time. No style in particular, but she liked still life and natural phenomenons such as a sunrise or a sunset. Later, I found out that she was a relatively young widow; her husband had passed away in a work accident 3 years ago and they never had any children.
So here I was, at least according to her, and she seemed excited to actually take care of me, even if I was not her biological son that she wished to have. The more we talked, the more she reminded me about how my mother used to be; loving, caring and everything a mother should be. Till this day, I’m not sure if I held some form of bitterness but I probably did, considering the fact that I was definitely hurt when she did not stand up for me when my stepfather chased me out of the house.
It was cold then and it was as if I became a stranger in my own family home at that split second. She did not spare me a second glance and did not say a word when I left home. Sure, she was disappointed and I would understand, but I would have preferred a word from her; just so that I could have one last memory before I said goodbye.
Now, Mrs Jung’s home was a quaint and comfortable soho apartment, which was always fully furnished by the previous tenant. It was more suited for a person, considering the narrowness of the corridor and the fact that there was only one stove. And it was true; I felt like I had stepped into an artist’s mind.
The furniture was all monochrome but the things that added a splash of colour were the obvious hints that Mrs Jung was indeed a painter with a canvas stand at a corner of the room and her work (or at least most of it) was hung around her walls to give her space more of a personal touch.
“Just leave your things there, Jungkook-sshi. I will take a shower first so do make yourself at home. Sorry it’s in such a state and of course, you’re free to look around. You know, get to know me a little bit more.”
And with that she left me in the silence of her apartment as I took a seat on the floor, afraid of staining everything with my grimy clothing. I took a good look around and it was indeed what I had wished for as a student; go to a university and rent one of these personal soho apartments with a loft bed.
I could have done that. If I did not get kicked out so soon.
She came out with her hair wrapped around in a towel and once again, memories hit me of how open minded and comfortable my mother used to be, before she met my stepfather. A simple minded woman she was, who always seemed happy with the world and never saw anything wrong with it.
That was what she used to be.
I took the lukewarm shower that I had not taken in days and came out quickly, because Mrs Jung had mentioned that she wanted to have a talk with me. The questions all came with, “So Jungkook, what do you wish to become?” or “Do you have any interest in art? Or even the Performing Arts?”
Honestly, I had never thought of any of those things, and did not help that I actually came from the Hanlim School of Foreign Languages and did not have any exposure whatsoever to the local art scene for that matter. All I knew about it was that I wished that I could do it too.
She tried to help me, opening me up to all the possibilities in Seoul but I had my doubts, especially when it came to my passion. It was no longer clear, especially after whatever I had experienced, and it was probably obvious that I needed more time, given that she allowed me to take a month or two off to discover more about myself and what I really wanted to do. She did not push for it, but it was evident that she wanted me to make a decision as soon as possible.
And that was where it all began.
She taught me about art appreciation, how things came about in the art scene and little by little, I grew to like it because I could freely express however I felt and the beauty lied in the eyes of the beholder. Cringe worthy, but that was what enlightened me towards the beauty of the craft. The journey was far from easy, especially when it came to the application of art.
Coming from a school which gave no time for art, it was frustrating trying to think of anything outside the box that no artist had ever used before. Styles, techniques, content, colour -- there was so much to think about. It led to emotional outbursts and probably a pool full of tears but Mrs Jung pressed on, and taught me that if I wanted to create real art, I had to put some personal thought and feelings into the piece.
Journalling. Researching. Soul searching. And I did all those things.
Eventually, I found my calling and that was to major in art in the prestigious Korea University of the Arts. I found joy, happiness and most importantly, some form of acceptance from those who were just like me. It was bliss just creating something from one’s own talent and the true beauty lied in the fact that every art piece was never the same. We had similar themes; Lies, Deception, Society, Beauty, but all our art pieces had our own personal touch.
I came back to a loving home, where Mrs Jung constantly greeted me with a smile and a hug, always reminding me how proud she was of me pursuing something that I truly enjoyed. She knew how much effort I put in, and it touched my heart all the time, knowing that she was willing to take in a young boy like me and letting him pursue his dreams.
I wanted to gift her with my very first art piece and it was a painting of a the transition of a teenager. “He” started off as closed off, distant and unsure of the world, but he finally found purpose, happiness, all thanks to the angel he met along the path of “his” youth. She was there to talk sense into “him” when “he” wanted to carry out rash decisions and was always a gentle soul with him, accepting every bit of his being without judgement.
Once I finished, I stepped back and admired my masterpiece, reminiscing about the times where I struggled to do art, and I have come such a long way.
The serenity of the apartment was broken from the shrill ring from my phone and a strange voice answered.
“Dude! Do you know how much I had to go through to get your number?”
“U-uh,” I answered, furrowing my eyebrows a bit, “I don’t know who you are.”
“You punk, this is Kim Seokjin. Thank you very much. I can’t believe you forgot about me so quickly. I see how it is.”
And at that tone, my face lit up and my eyes widened in shock because how the hell did he get my number? I was in a different neighbourhood now, living my own life and was soon to graduate in 2 years. I was not the same Jeon Jungkook then. Definitely not.
“Hyung!!” I exclaimed, “How the hell did you get my number?”
However, his voice grew dark and serious, “I will save that story for another time. It’s not the time to talk about it now.”
“H-hyung,” I stammered, “Did something h-happen at home?”
“Promise me you won’t freak Jeon. Where are you now?”
“I’m in my apartment now…?” I answered, anxiety present in my voice.
“It’s…” He paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “Jimin’s death anniversary tomorrow. I’m sorry I had to break it to you like this, but there was no other way since I couldn’t find you----”
And with that he droned on, but I was no longer paying attention anymore. It was as if my world had shattered and the time had stopped. My knees crumpled beneath me and all I could do was stare into oblivion with shock evident in my eyes.
No. It cannot be. Jimin can’t be dead? Why would he be? He was the one who pushed me out of the closet. He brought love, encouragement and joy to all those around him. Why would he want to die anyway?
“Jeon? Jungkook-ah? Yah, Jeon Jungkook.”
“Hyung… It’s not April Fools’ Day, you know? You’re a month late. Indeed, you’ve not changed with your old Dad jokes. It’s May, you know that right? Jimin’s still alive I’m sure, I mean, he had so much to live for---”
But I was cut off from saying anymore when the only thing that came out was the sound of heavy breathing and choked sobs; fat tears rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably like a dam that had been broken. I bit my lip to hide my cries, but Seokjin probably knew better.
“Jeon, I’m sorry I did not tell you earlier. I’ll pick you up tomorrow and I will explain everything to you. Get some rest okay? I don’t think Jimin would want to see you this way. He would prefer you to live your life happily and would want the best for you. Wherever you are, he’s proud of you and I am too. Goodbye.”
And the tone to signify that the call had ended beeped away.
At that moment, the silence of the apartment became deafening, terrifying and I could hear every single detail around the house; the dripping tap, the occasional howl of the wind outside. My world started to spin, but tears still flowed out continuously and I tasted blood; probably caused from the hard biting of my lip to hold my tears back.
Black spots soon came into my vision and I tried to blink them away, but my heart continued to palpitate wildly against my chest and it hurt too much to move. It was as if my body froze and my breath started to hitch. With each passing moment, it became harder to breathe and it was as if my entire respiratory system was constricting against my will.
“Jungkook!! I’m home! By the way, I wanted to tell you that I think I met your friend-- JUNGKOOK! Oh my god, what happened to you?! Jungkook, answer me please. Stay awake darling. Come on, say something---”
I finally saw black. I stopped responding and it felt like my heart stopped beating, or at least it was slowing down.
I could not have been happier at that point, or so I thought. Death was a scary thing, yes, but I did not mind embracing it now.
