
twenty two
(Jimin POV)
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"When you said," I twirled my finger around the rim of my cup, "our final stop instead of the, what did you mean?"
He lifted the cup to his pink lips, a shade of blue highlighting the skin upon his lids as he took a careful sip. His fingers remained poised around the handle of the coffee cup tightly when his lips pulled away from the edge, an indication giving way to his nervousness.
Jungkook cleared his throat. Daylight of warm embers puckered up around his lashes as he looked down, the quiet cafe waiting for his response in the 3PM afternoon.
"You're not the only one who's afraid of suddenly dying one day, you know."
I smiled, nodding to his response.
He watched my reaction carefully, waiting a heartbeat or two before smiling himself. He seemed so hesitant, tasting his own reactions carefully before letting me see them.
"You don't have to be so afraid," I spoke, tapping his fingers that still curled around the handle of the cup tightly.
His blanch fingers uncurled, resting upon the table instead. They remained still for three seconds before hiding underneath the sleeves of his wool sweater.
A few strands of hair curled underneath his ear, black locks in need of trimming. Up close, elbows resting upon the brown table, his hair had a few undertones of blue almost. Like the spider webs of blue veins across his lids and underneath them, and the rivers of light blue trailing across his wrists, his body had a halo of it around him.
"What's your favourite colour?" I asked him as his eyes stared at my collarbones more than my eyes -- he wouldn't meet them for an extended period of time.
His eyes trailed up to my face, and then to my hair.
"Orange."
"How come?" I smiled.
He blinked at me, then tilted his head to the side. "You're only asking me that 'cause you know," he mumbled quietly.
"I do?" My eyes widened, feigning faux surprise.
He smiled, his front two teeth a millimeter longer than the rest of his straight teeth. "It reminds me of warmth. Sunlight," he touched the glitter of sunshine upon the table with his fingers, "laughter -- they make me think of orange of some reason."
I waited, knowing he had a word or two still upon his tongue with the way he pursed his lips and inhaled through his nose softly.
"Your. . . hair too. It's very orange."
I patted my hair, "I can tell."
"What's yours?" He asked and I held his eyes, silently daring him to not look away again.
He didn't.
"Blue."
"Why?"
I leaned forward, tugging softly at the black-blue locks that curled underneath his ear. They slipped softly from them.
"Your hair has a few undertones of blue."
"And that's enough to make you like the colour?" He asked dubiously.
I shook my head, grabbing his wrist gently towards me, laying it down on the table. In the sunlight, his wrist glowed white, the purple and blue veins slithering proudly underneath his skin.
I traced the veins, finger dipping upon the landmarks that interconnected like highways. "Your wrists too, they have the most bluest veins I've ever seen."
The edge of his palm, the area where his thumb and wrist connected was like a splotch of light blue sprawled out amongst the pink lines and skin.
"Not to mention that your eyelids have a hue of blue too."
His body stilled, his shoulders stiff.
I laughed, "don't worry, I'm not going to start poking your eyeballs out."
He relaxed, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He looked up at me through his lashes and I basked in the thought he was less nervous around me now.
"Blue and orange; complementary colours."
I nodded to his whispered words, resting my chin in my palm the same way he was. Our faces leveled across from each other perfectly, eyes blinking and noses apart.
"You complement me perfectly, you know," I let him know.
"How so?"
I thought for a second. It wasn't that no words came, but rather, so many did.
So I felt instead, noticing how my insides didn't swirl in sorrow this very second.
"I'm. . .not sad," I said more to myself than I did to him, as if it was something even I couldn't believe.
His eyes down-casted, lashes touching his hollow and still cheeks. The smoke of the hot coffee thinned, becoming cooler and cooler by the second. "Tell me," he susurrated in heat, "how does it feel to be sad?"
"Everything that you told me over the phone, I know you spoke of the kind of sadness that lasted even when you woke up the next morning," He continued dimly.
His eyes met mine again, eyebrows rising a tab bit. "How can you bear it each and every day?"
The close proximity of his face dared me to tumbled on my words, but I stringed them together cohesively.
"It's like wandering the streets at night when everyone is asleep. You know that you're supposed to be home soon -- the feeling of it lingers at the bottom of your stomach." I gulped, relaying the words on my tongue. "But where is home?"
"Your feet wander and wander, carrying you to places you don't want to see. You just want to sleep like everyone else." I looked outside, the branches of trees touching the window.
"And you realize why everyone sleeps at night; the night holds too many truths. There's no sun to glaze over pretty faces and light up eyes, no warmth to seep into you. You walk and walk, wishing for everyone to wake up and see what the world is truly like. You think it's not fair that only you're forced to see the things, feel the things, that no one else does 'cause they're all so focused on sleeping on time."
"That's what sadness is like. It's being forced to walk along a road that no one meets you along the way on. You can see the houses along the side too, quiet and still, but the thought of stopping and knocking on one of their doors doesn't strike you -- all you think is that you're alone."
"Besides, who'd want to leave the comfort of their bed to come help you in the middle of the night?" I shrugged.
I couldn't look away from him and it seemed, he couldn't do the same either.
"I would," he replied, fingers drumming along his cheek as his palm held his chin.
Jungkook smiled, those same front two teeth in full view. "I don't get that much sleep at night anyways," he giggled.
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