Liking sophisticated things is not easy, first, you must have the taste for it; second, you must have the money to afford those things; third, you must have the right mind to know how to appreciate them. Well, Kim Seokjin is pretty sure he have all those three qualities, especially the mind , he’s a rich bored man after all.
So, Kim Seokjin, heir of an immense fortune and with too much time in his hands decides one clear summer day he will start to collect and learn about all those sophisticated things he so loves. He starts with art, with paintings and sculptures. It’s really amazing how much space those things occupy. Not that he would mind, moving into a bigger house is always the solution. He goes to museums all around the world, burning all the paintings on his eyes as he stares and stares. There’s so much beauty and so little time.
He starts going to art shows and galleries, seeking for more, seeking for something thrilling, outstanding, unbelievable.
Being who he is, he is always greeted with expensive champagne and fake smiles and ‘you should see this new artist, you should buy this painting’. He doesn’t mind that most of the time, he just… seeks something. What that something is he doesn’t now, but he seeks.
Is not like everyone is a fake bitch in this kind of industry anyway. He had met a few people whom he thinks he can call acquainted. Kim Namjoon being one of them, also an heir and also bored as hell. It was just natural for them to become friends.
One evening they’re both entertaining themselves with wine and classical music, splayed on the velvet cushions of one of the many sofas in the room, they’re silent, as they usually are. Their relationship being mostly just like that: wine and arts and music, always so quiet, comfortable.
Seokjin motions lazily to fill his glass when Namjoon finally speaks, it may be the first time he’s speaking throughout the entirely evening:
Jin hums, pouring the thick liquid into his crystal cup and Namjoon’s.
“There’s a new art show starting in New York this weekend.”
“Oh, so we’re going to New York?”
“Yes, already bought the tickets.”
“Good.” is his only answer, and that should be enough conversation for them, however, there’s a wavering on Namjoon’s demeanor.
“But… this one is different.”
That perks Jin’s attention, they don’t usually do ‘different’, always sticking to the same biddings, galleries and expositions.
“How so?” he asks, trying not to sound too interested.
“It’s a debut of an underground artist, he used to do graffiti but… he started to paint in canvas,” Namjoon pauses, holding his breath, “JIn, his art is really beautiful.”
And there’s something, a glint, an energy, on Namjoon’s eyes so strong that makes Jin flinch for a moment, because it’s so rare to see his friend this invested in something, because maybe Jin never saw that on his friend’s eyes.
“I believe in you,” he sips more of his wine, trying to appear nonchalantly, “Let’s go Joonie.”
Jin doesn’t miss the way his friend smiles softly, he must be smiling as well. It must be because of the wine, he thinks.
“There will be other artists too, friends of him or something.”
“I guess this time we will be spending a lot less money, aren’t we?” Jin says, chuckling a little.
“Well…” and the deep laugh of his friend echoes through the room, “we always spend a lot Jin, but that’s up to you.”
New York is a great city, full of people, full of life, full of art; there's so much going on all of the time is a bit overwhelming. Seokjin loves it, he drinks the city all in, walking through the sidewalks watching every passerby, every movement; there's the sounds of sirens and there’s smoke coming from the underground and it's really a beautiful picture. He wishes he could burn it on his mind, all the lights and smells.
But, there's something missing, there's always something missing , and maybe that's why he's at this city, going to a shady exposition which almost no one knows about. Well. Good thing he has Namjoon by his side, both dressed accordingly: there's no suits or ties this time, instead, they wear black jeans and leather. Almost seemingly like they're nothing but two guys who happens to like art, and yes, they're, but they're also so much more, the amount of money on their bank account putting a weight on them, on the way they walk, on the way they present themselves.
At least they can try to fake it for one night.
The exposition is being held on an old abandoned fabric in brooklyn, typical hipster bullshit. But it's still new and different from the glamour and champagne and fake laughs, so Seokjin gladly accepts the side glances he receives and the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer that fills the place.
He can feel the uneasiness in Namjoon before his friend can say anything, so he mutter an “I'm fine”. And he is, really. Inside there's loud music playing, some dark and raspy rap talking about eating pussy or something. There's even a bar and a crowd of people mingling.
There's also the paintings, obviously.
Of course he's not surprised when he sees how good the artworks are. If Namjoon says it's good, then they're close to masterpieces.
He makes eye contact with his friend, signaling that they can meet later. Art is best appreciated alone, after all.
The big walls of the fabric are filled with artworks, all showing angry reds and deep purples and Seokjin feels, he feels the passion and madness of the artist, the signature reading only ‘suga’.
Quite interesting, yes.
But, still, it doesn't ring a bell.
So, he keeps walking through the corridors, looking, appreciating.
Seokjin is almost giving up finding something when, by the end of a corner, almost hidden through all the colors and angerness of the other paintings he sees it.
It's like he's seeing art for the first time. Like he had never truly looked at a painting before. It feels as if he’s drinking wine and making sex for the first time, but so much better. Because Seokjin knows how to appreciate it, he knows where to look and where to stare.
It's beautiful, soft pastel turning into bright vivid colors and the face, the face painted there, looking so innocent and sinful at the same time. As a fallen angel, big puffy lips and blonde hair falling into the forehead only stopping by the blackness that is the blindfold encapturing the face. The fabric painted so well it almost seems like you can touch the silk covering the eyes. Where are the eyes of the angel, Seokjin asks himself. As he stares and stares, it seems like hours, years pass by and he's there, the portrait been the only reality acceptable.
He needs it like he needs air, like he needs alcohol and a smoke. He craves it.
Was this what he had been looking for?
He wants to look at the portrait for the rest of his life.
A voice comes from behind him, forcing Jin out of his daze.
“Like what you see?” the voice says, sounding sweet and tempting.
“Yes,” he answers, never averting his gaze, “I want to buy it.”
“Well,” the voice comes closer, standing just beside Jin, “unfortunately this one is not for sale.”
And now he feels the need to chuckle, because nothing is never not for sale for Kim Seokjin.
“I can pay any price for this, it's a masterpiece and I want it, call the artist if you know them, I will pay anything. ” He answers, sounding almost desperate.
Jin can almost see the smile behind the next words:
“I told you is not for sale, but I feel flattered that you liked it so much.”
Finally he decides it's time to look at the person beside him and oh, what a mistake, because the person, the man, standing there inches away from Jin bears the same angelic face from the painting; same lips, same jawline, same blond hair falling on his forehead.
He takes a deep breath, a step to the side, losing his words, mouth going dry.
“What?” the angel man says, “Are you okay sir?”
“Are you real?” Jin hears himself replying, his voice wavering.
He can't believe angels exist. No.
The laugh that accompanies the face is more beautiful than anything Jin had ever heard and okay, maybe angels do exist after all. Maybe it's time to start praying.
“What do you mean? Of course i'm real,” the angel extends his hand for Jin to shake, “Park Jimin, artist and a very real person.”
Jin clears his throat, shaking the hand that's directed to him. The hand is small and soft.
“Kim Seokjin,” he manages, “nice to meet you.”
The eyes of the man hide in tiny crescents as he smiles, the eyes, Jin wished he had never seen them.
“So, did you really liked it? I mean, my self-portrait.” The angel, no, Park Jimin, says, retreating his hands and staring right through Seokjin’s soul.
“Yes…” and he’s ready to bargain anything, everything, just to have the artwork, but he’s interrupted before he can start.
“Well if you liked my art so much I can show you my other stuff.” he pauses, eyeing Seokjin with interest, “I’ve never seen you around here? Are you friends of somebody?”
Frustration builds inside, he wants to say ‘no I just want this painting’ and go away, just go, because he can’t stand to look at Jimin eyes, eyes that were better hidden behind black cloth. Instead, he hears himself answering:
“Ah, I’m new around here, yes show me your other works.”
With a ‘ follow me ’ Park Jimin leads him to a small room full of his paintings, they’re all beautiful, sometimes colorful like the flowers on spring, sometimes full of so much white and sharp angles, sometimes filled with so much sadness. And, as it is, Seokjin likes sophisticated things, beautiful things even, is only natural that he loves everything from Park Jimin.
However, not one of his artworks can be compared to the beautiful portrait splayed on the corridor.
Seokjin feels the need to go back, go back and stare at the masterpiece for the rest of the day. He wants to go back and stop being beside the artist, Park Jimin, it feels so unreal, unnatural, being beside such a man. Seokjin doesn’t think he even deserves it.
Is best to be beside art, something he can grasp and touch, something he can understand.
“What do you think?” Park Jimin finally speaks after what must have been minutes of silence.
“They’re all great works…”
“But?” the man completes for him, a tiny smile hidden on his eyes, head tilted to the side.
“Hah,” Jin chuckles a little, feeling nervous, nervous because of one artist, his hands are sweating and he feels disgusting, he averts his gaze from the man and looks to the ceiling, “I really fell in love with the first painting.”
It seems like confessing.
“I don’t sell my self-portraits, Kim Seokjin,” Park Jimin says, with a hint of a harshness that shouldn’t be possible coming from such a sweet man, “however, if you want to help the artist, aka me, you can buy whatever you want from this room.”
Kim Seokjin is a man who fights for what he wants, always. He had made bargains so much difficult than this, he had bidded so high for paintings with so less value than this. It’s really odd that here, standing just in front of this unknown artist named Park Jimin he doesn’t have the heart - or courage- to start a bargain, to start a long process of convincing him that yes Seokjin can and will buy the painting. It’s odd because he feels like he could never say ‘no’ to Park Jimin.
Nevertheless, this is Kim Seokjin, and he doesn’t give up that easily.
“Okay,” he pauses, looking at all the paintings in the room, taking his sweet time, “so I want every single artwork who’s displayed in this room.”
The gasp coming from the artist sounds like a victory.
“So much for not spending lots of money… what happened Jin?” Namjoon says playfully.
They’re already seated on the comfortable first class chairs of the airplane, sipping wine and going through all the movies they can watch during the flight. Jin grins, remembering the whole ordeal with the angel named Park Jimin.
After the first initial shock the artist had made a pouty face, saying that of course he wouldn’t sell all of his artworks was Seokjin crazy? Which lead to Jin replying that yes he was indeed very crazy. It took a lot of convincing, a lot of talking and finally - finally - Park Jimin had agreed to sell half of his artworks, but, for a salty price.
“Well,” Jin answers his friend, “let’s say I had my share of fun.”
“I can tell that, but... Jin, fifty thousand dollars on an unknown artist? Really? This sounds crazy even for you.”
“I know but… I had to, Joonie, I had.”
Namjoon only hums, it’s impossible to say if the man have any opinion about the situation at all, he probably doesn’t. The plane starts to take off, making Jin feel funny inside, he’s excited, he’s thrilled. He wants to come back to New York already.
The first thing he does when he gets to his house is prepare a room only for Park Jimin’s paintings. He reforms his entire house just to make a special place for the artworks. He paints the walls a soft cream, he buys sofas and cabinets and curtains just to make sure everything is perfect.
Everything is almost perfect.
Something is missing, something with the face of an angel with hidden eyes.
Jin spends his weeks inside that room, loving every piece of Jimin on his walls, cursing every piece, praying to every piece.
Is this madness? Is this what people call ‘obsession’?
He doesn’t have answers. He only has paintings and a signature in every single one of them. JImin. Jimin, it reads in every single one of them.
It's in one evening where he may have drunk a little too much that he makes a decision. He can’t live like that, he can’t root away on this forsaken room filled with Jimin but at the same time lacking so much of the man himself. He needs the masterpiece, he needs the portrait, he need the hidden eyes.
So, it doesn’t take much for him to be landing in New York the next week with a new bought apartment and fire in his eyes.
It doesn’t take much for him to discover where every exhibit by Park Jimin is taking place. It really doesn’t take much for him to buy every single piece of artwork made by the artist.
In hindsight, this was bound to become a disaster.
The buzz of the bell on his apartment rings once, twice, three times. Seokjin thinks on answering it, but, he’s in the middle of appreciating a very good champagne while listening to a soft jazz tune and he thinks better not. Whatever it is, it can wait. But, it rings again and again, disturbing his quality time.
He’s not angry, he swears he’s not, he had just bought another work from Jimin this morning and he was kinda celebrating it, so, when he takes the interphone and says a raspy ‘ what ’ to his poor doorman the response he receives is not what he expected.
“There’s an angry man here, Sir, he’s demanding to see you.”
“What.” he repeats.
“Sorry Sir, I threatened to call the police but now he started crying.”
“He’s saying his name is Park Jimin, Sir.”
It feels like time has stopped, right then and there, by hearing that cursed name.
“Let him come in.” he answers, already feeling his whole body trembling.
Why? Why was the artist here? Why was he crying? He paces through his front door, waiting, anticipating. It takes a good minute to get to the 22nd floor, after all.
When finally the elevator open its door an angry angel comes out.
Seokjin thinks he’s ready for almost anything in his life, however, he could never be ready for the slap that hit his face.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Park Jimin yells.
The shock makes him speechless, all the alcohol on his blood making him dizzy.
There’s so much anger on Jimin eyes, big fat tears rolling down and down his beautiful face, dripping to his chin, dripping to the floor. It’s all wrong. Those eyes should never bear that kind of expression, it’s ugly, ugly and downright wrong .
“Are you deaf? Kim Seokjin I’m speaking to you!”
He feels his face burning, but the pain is so little. It’s like his mind decided to left his body there, planted, watching crying eyes.
“Why are you not answering me?”
And now Jimin is retreating, hiding his eyes on his hands and shaking. Shaking on Jin’s doorstep.
“What happened?” he says, voice so low it’s almost a whisper.
“How can you say that?” Jimin gasps.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“Hah.” the hands finally leave Jimin’s eyes and they’re wrong, so wrong, his teeth showing in what could only be explained as the wrongest smile a human could bare, “Of course you don’t, how a rich spoiled man like yourself would understand, hah.”
More tears roll down the angelical face, a cynical grin appearing. Jimin doesn’t seem like an angel anymore, he seems just like someone who would greet you at the gates of hell.
“You won, Kim Seokjin, you finally won.” Jimin continues.
“What do you mean?” he says, barely recognizing his own voice.
“I will give that portrait to you, give , for free. Just. Stop.”
It feels like everything is crumbling down Jin’s feet and he doesn’t have anything to hold onto. He wants to reach to Park Jimin, he wants to touch, to understand. Instead, he stays where he is.
“It will arrive tomorrow, here, you don’t have to do a thing. Just.” more sobs echo through the hallway, “Stop buying everything that I do, you’re killing my art.”
With that, the man, the fallen angel, Park Jimin goes away, entering the elevator and leaving Seokjin staring at the blank walls.
It could have been a dream. It could have been a nightmare; if it was, Jin would deal with it easily, brushing it away and keep going with his life. But, reality always comes crashing into someone’s life, sooner or later, even for the rich, even for the spoiled.
Jin wakes up the next morning with the worst hangover he ever had: sickness, dizziness, headaches, mouth dry, everything that’s horrible about drinking coming into his body all at once. It feels like dying but staying pretty much alive.
He tries to forget what transpired, he really tries, but his mind is locked inside a loop that only shows angry eyes, crying eyes. Wrong .
By midday he’s informed that a painting has arrived for him, it’s waiting at the lobby.
Seokjin wants to cry, but he’s dry, so dry. He wants to yell, he wants to punch something, but he’s weak, so weak.
He picks up the painting on late afternoon.
“ You won, Kim Seokjin.”
The words repeat themselves over and over.
He looks at the portrait, it’s beautiful still. Ethereal. A masterpiece. It’s his.
He feels empty.
The eyes are hidden by silky black cloth. Jin can only remember anger and sadness.
Maybe it’s time to leave New York.
Home is wherever you feel comfortable, at peace, where you feel as your best self. Seoul should be his home, his big house full of all the beautiful paintings he loves so much should be his home. However, Jin doesn’t feel at peace, he doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel anything at all.
He hangs the portrait on his bedroom, just in front of his own bed, it fit perfectly there. The puffy lips, the blonde hair and the black cloth mocking him every morning, every night. The painting is his downfall, his penitence, his safe-harbour, his everything and nothing. Jin stares at it for hours on end.
His days are quiet, almost motionless. He drinks a little too much, eat a little too less. He breathes, yes, but is he living?
The portrait haunts him.
The portrait mocks him.
“ You won, Kim Seokjin .” He hears it every time he looks at it. The eyes are hidden, but, if the black cloth was to be disregarded, he is sure there would only be angry eyes staring back at him. “ You’re killing my art. ” he remembers, but in his mind it sounded more like “You’re killing me.”
Time flies by when you’re trapped in your own madness.
It only takes a couple of months for him to be forgotten on the social circles of the high-society, because, when you have that much money, is hard to form bonds that lasts. There’s one person that still tries reaching out to him though, Kim Namjoon and his calls, Kim Namjoon and his text messages, Kim Namjoon and his visits that are never answered.
Autumn comes with angry red leaves that fall just like angry tears he remembers so well. By winter, the cold and the blankness of the snow seems to be a picture of his life, his heart, the portrait seems to be laughing at him. “You won.” He’s drunk all the time now, it’s better this way, finding comfort on the light buzz of the alcohol. Kim Namjoon stops trying to reach out then. Jin is glad, so glad, because what he wants - no, what he deserves - is this, him and the portrait. Just that.
When spring comes, Jin is not even sure who he is anymore. The flowers start to bloom and there’s so much color outside his windows. It feels almost like a dream. He misses the cold emptiness of winter, he doesn’t deserve all the life that’s sprouting outside, he doesn’t deserve the warm weather and the butterflies. He doesn’t deserve. That’s all.
It’s almost summer when he hears footsteps approaching him.
“Jin? Oh my god Jin…”
There’s hands touching his shoulders and face, the voice getting more and more desperate.
“Jin, what happened to you?”
He opens his eyes and sees the kind face of his friend. “Namjoon? What are you doing here?” he manages, voice sounding raspy, dry.
“You can’t just disappear on me for eight months and not think I wouldn’t break-in through your house Jin… oh god, come here.”
Strong arms pick him up, it all feels like a dream, like his vision is covered in a thin veil of surrealness. He’s showered and dressed in clean clothes, his hair is combed gently and he’s finally seated at his dinner table with coffee in one hand and hot muffins on another. How Namjoon managed all of this is beyond Jin’s understanding.
“Are you feeling better now?” his friend asks.
“I… I don’t know.”
A sigh leaves Namjoon’s mouth. “Take your time, I will be right here.”
And he takes his time. Only on the sixth day that Namjoon is nursing him like a baby, making him eat things and drink water and bathe himself, that he takes the courage to speak, to voice what has been haunting him since that cursed day in New York.
The words spill out of his mouth like angry waves, fast and without much sense. At some point he realizes he’s sobbing hard. Namjoon only looks at him, his face showing nothing, his mouth saying “okay, it’s okay Jinnie.”
The next day he wakes up to a house devoid of every artwork he ever owned, he doesn’t see hidden eyes anymore. His friend is quietly sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping tea and eyeing Jin with interest, as if asking ‘is this okay?’.
Jin wants to cry, instead, he gasps a tiny “why?”
“I want to help you Jinnie, I really do, but first you need to want to help yourself. Do you?”
It takes seven days for Seokjin to realize that yes, indeed, he needs help, he needs to get out of his own mind.
The process is not easy, it hurts in the places where Jin is most fragile and Namjoon, well, Namjoon is relentless, sometimes harsh, sometimes kind. But always there, looking, taking care.
“Why do you pity yourself so much?” Namjoon says in the mid-summer when both of them are sitting on the grass of some park, the sun hitting Jin right in the eyes, the heat making him sweat. There’s children running, a ball is kicked and there’s life, so much life around him. Someone is laughing, a baby is crying. He doesn’t have an answer.
“Why don’t you just apologize?” Namjoon says when they stare at the stars from Jin’s balcony, a tray of smoke coming from the cigarette on Jin’s hands blurring his vision, just a little. He doesn’t have an answer.
“Why are you playing the victim?” Namjoon says out of patience when the city starts to get cold again.
Jin doesn’t have an answer, no, but he thinks he understands, now, after one year of entering the madness that was Park Jimin.
He was a rich spoiled man after all.
The leaves fall to the ground again, the streets are all red but Seokjin doesn’t see anger, instead, he sees hope.
“Namjoon?” he says quietly one afternoon. Both men walking aimless through the streets. “Namjoon, I think I want to go back to New York, I think it’s time to see him again and apologize, I think it’s time to end this madness.”
His friend pats him on his head, gently combing his fingers through his hair. “Good.”
It does take a lot of Jin to buy the tickets, to book an hotel. It really takes a lot of him to discover where Park Jimin is, after a year avoiding the name, a year chanting the name. It takes a lot, but he manages.
The city is the same as he remembers, full of life and people, full of an energy that screams ‘you can do it, you can make it’. He surely hopes so.
He stands in front of the art gallery with only a white rose in his hands. Here at the Chelsea district, so near the river and with the streets so large the wind hits hard on his body. He shivers, in anticipation, in fear.
Jin enters the gallery holding his breath. The place a clearly upgrade from the old fabric from so long ago and he feels happy, glad that Park Jimin had made his name known in the industry. He walks through the wide spaces, glancing at the paintings fastly and averting his gaze the second he sees the signature. Jimin. He doesn’t feel worthy to look at them.
Almost at the end of the building he hears it, the soft melody that is the voice of Park Jimin, he’s chatting animatedly with a girl, Jin can make out some of their words, something about the concept and inspiration. Something.
As his mind screams at him that this is the worst idea he had ever had he decides to take a turn to leave the gallery immediately, however, he is stopped:
“Hey, Kim Seokjin? Is this really you?”
This is a mistake, he thinks. A mistake. Mistake. He wants to run and never come back. A hand rests on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
He shakes his head, tightens his grip on the rose and turns to face his angel, his devil.
“I wanted to apologize.” he says, extending his hand with the flower.
Jimin looks at him curiously, picking up the rose and smelling it before locking his eyes with Seokjin again.
Eyes filled with confusion. Not angerness, not sadness.
“Apologize? Why?” the artist pauses, “Are you okay? It’s been ages but you look terrible.”
And Jin wants to laugh, hysterically if possible. Because of all the outcomes he had imagined in his head, this was certainly not one of them.
“Look,” Jimin continues, concern written all over his words, “the gallery closes in twenty, why don’t we grab a coffee after? I wanted to apologize as well.”
Jin nods, muttering that he will be waiting outside.
Jimin eyes are not angry when he looks at him, Jimin eyes are not sad. And, maybe, that is enough to calm his mind.
There’s a warm coffee in front of him, a dubious piece of vanilla cake and Park Jimin. Park Jimin sitting just across of him and looking so much real, with his disheveled blonde hair and tiny eyes full of a shyness Jin never saw before. Never imagined.
The silence that bears upon them is almost comfortable, almost, because in some way they will need to break it, eventually. Jin clears his throat, he can do this.
“Park Jimin I’m so…”
“No,” the artist interrupts him, “don’t say you’re sorry. It’s been one year already and… I was not in my right mind at that time, I’m the one who should say sorry.”
Jimin grabs Seokjin’s hands then, gripping it fiercly.
“Shh, let me talk okay? I looked for you this whole time so I could say this so, please, let me say it.”
“Hah, do you know how much I looked for you? Like, you’re rich, I get that, but you’re not in the internet and you suddenly vanished the city and I had nothing, nothing about you, only your face and name, how do you do that? No, don’t apologize for that. So, as I was saying,” Jimin waves his hands in the air, clearly nervous, “one year ago, kinda, I was starting, yes? I was no one and you suddenly appeared and started to buy every single piece that had my name in it. At first I was ‘oh okay’ but then… you see, people in the art industry are not always kind, they started talking, gossiping about me, that I was only selling so much of my art because I had found a sugar daddy or something, that my art didn’t have any value, that I was nothing and… oh god.”
Jimin stops to breathe, he looks at the ceiling, as if gathering his thoughts.
“Sorry, it was really hard for me,” he continues, “anyway, the gossip was so widespread throughout the city that even my partner at that time came to know about, and… well, we were sort of engaged and we were supposed to get married, you know? On summer, with sunflowers and I already had rented my suit, it was supposed to be peachy cream.”
Jimin closes his eyes, clearly in pain.
“He didn’t even listen to me when I said I didn’t have a sugar daddy, everyone was so sure about that…” a single tear drops down Jimin’s chin, “He even called me a whore, can you believe that? On the day of our breakup, well, I came to your apartment, I was so fucking angry, and you, you were the sole cause for all the wrong that was going on in my life, or, at least I thought that. I lashed out on you and that was… very bad of me, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Kim Seokjin.”
“I…” Jin tries, “I didn’t know my actions were causing you so much pain, I don’t understand? Why are you apologizing?”
With tears in his eyes, Jimin smiles.
“Because even when you were gone, even when you disappeared… my problems didn’t. You were troublesome, yes, but… I should have acted differently, with less pride and more kindness, you were one of my first fans after all.”
“Park Jimin, I’m sorry.”
“Please, I already forgave you long ago.”
The silence settles again, the coffee gone cold, the cake left untouched. Seokjin wished his mind was quiet as the cafe they were sitting in.
“Thanks for the rose, Seokjin, I’m glad to see that you’re alive.” Jimin says, standing up to leave.
Seokjin doesn’t know what comes into him when he stands up as well, he just knows he can’t let the angel, the man, Park Jimin, go away.
“Wait.” he grabs Jimin’s wrist, making the other lose balance.
They don’t fall onto each other, Jimin doesn’t hit Seokjin’s chest and they don’t hug accidentally, instead, Jimin knocks on the table, spilling all the coffee and the food on the ground. Basically, making a mess.
“Oh my god.”
“I’m sorry! Jimin are you hurt? Sorry!”
An angry waitress comes around, glaring at them to just leave , which they gladly do. They’re laughing when they step out on the chill air of the autumn night.
“Why did you do that?” Jimin says between his chuckles, his face red and his eyes so small, like tiny crescents.
“Sorry!” and Jin is chuckling too, the whole normalcy of the situation making him feel so alive, “I wanted to give you this…” he shuffles inside his wallet and finds his card. “Here, so you know where to find me.”
“Oh.” the artist grabs the piece of paper, studying it, “You should keep mine too.”
But Jimin doesn’t give him a business card, no, he takes a pen from his bag and holds Jin’s hand. “Can I?”
Jin feels the slightly tickling of the pen brushing on his skin, he feels the breath of hot air coming from Jimin’s mouth. He feels. On the streets, sirens are playing and someone is shouting, cars pass by as fast as they can go.
“Okay… if you ever want to obsess over me again, Kim Seokjin, here is my private number.” and Jimin winks at him, his eyes glinting like stars.
Seokjin never answers, he is not given time to, Jimin disappears on the crowded streets as if he was never there. But he was and he was real, real as any human being, not an angel nor a devil, human.
“So, how it went?” Namjoon’s voice sounds sleepy through the phone, is morning in Korea after all.
“Better than I expected…”
“See? I told you that apologizing was the best thing to do.”
“He apologized to me as well.”
“Do you understand what happened Jinnie?”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“You, you spent so much time obsessing over the fact that you hurt the object of your desires, you spent so much time hurting yourself… that you forgot that you were both humans who do wrong, who make mistakes.”
“Ah, I don’t know…”
“Jin.” Namjoon says firmly, “People, they’re not like artworks, they’re not unmovable or unchangeable. They’re not a concept that you need to understand, they just are.”
Seokjin takes a deep breath, “Thank you Joonie, thank you for always staying.”
“New York makes you weird, do you know that? Now let me go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” he says.
And it’s like the four letter word defines his whole self now, he’s okay, he’s finally okay.
Seokjin is definitely okay when he receives a morning message saying:
“ hey are u still in nyc?
we should do something if u r free
btw this is jimin ”
Of course he replies that yes they should definitely do something.
Park Jimin looks beautiful on the sunny lights standing just outside the subway station, looking through his phone without sparing a glance to the people passing by, he looks beautiful and so real. Especially when he lifts his face up and spots Seokjin, eyes shining with recognition.
They spend the day walking through the streets of downtown, Jimin showing him all the hidden places a man like Seokjin would never go; all the different stores, the small children parks. Here there are no skyscrapers, no big avenues, the buildings all looking old and small in comparison to the grandness that is midtown. Jimin smiles all the time, talking and talking about this and that; when they cross a street, he holds Seokjin’s hands and doesn’t let go until they approach a place full of tourists taking pictures and speaking in so many foreign languages.
“There’s this tiny italian restaurant that I love here, the good thing is that it’s not on the crowded streets of little italy so we should be good.” Jimin says.
They’re almost in chinatown when they arrive at the place. Inside is cozy and tiny, with the cook himself coming to greet them with an accent so strong it takes some time for Jin to understand what is happening. Everything is so different from his reality, so real, so normal.
And Jimin, well, Jimin is one of the sweetest men he ever talked to, smart and funny and with eyes full of life . Seokjin wants to see them like this forever.
They part ways late at night, after Jimin sweared Seokjin needed to visit at least one cheap bar at the lower east side, because ‘ the music is good and is ten dollars for a beer and a shot ’. Seokjin never had this much fun in his entire rich life. When they say their goodbyes, Jimin kisses his cheek and it feels wet and cold.
It feels right and wrong.
Something starts to bloom then, in the middle of the coldness air of the approaching winter.
A week is spent in the company of each other, sideway glances are thrown, laughs are shared, gifts are given; sometimes, a hand is hold; every time there’s a kiss on Seokjin’s cheeks.
He needs to come back to his home, though, so he goes, holding a strange feeling on his chest and the memory of so many eyes from Park Jimin: laughing eyes, curious eyes, bored eyes.
When he arrives, his house still doesn’t feel like a home, however, it doesn’t feel like a prison anymore. He can breath and he can feel the life flowing down his veins. His house is empty but his mind is not, so he starts to hand the paintings again, one by one, savoring each brush stroke, each color. He sells some, he donates some.
Finally, after going through all his collection, he picks up the one artwork he feared the most. The portrait, the beautiful masterpiece made by Park Jimin, the ugly painting that haunted him so much. It doesn’t seem that beautiful anymore, yes, it’s incredibly good and well-made, it can be called a masterpiece , however, it doesn’t capture the true beauty that is Park Jimin, it doesn’t shows the whole universe that is Park Jimin’s eyes. Seokjin hangs the painting on the entrance hall, so he can always look at it whenever he leaves or arrives home, a reminder to himself that he can choose things in his life, that he has the power to overcome, that he has the power to apologize, that Park Jimin exists and is more than a painting. Human.
And what a human he was. Texting at odd hours and demanding to speak on the phone because ‘ I had this great idea but I need to talk to someone about it ’ or ‘ I need to tell you about what I saw on the streets today ’ or, most likely ‘ I’m fucking bored, Seokjin, entertain me with tales of the rich life ’. Seokjin complies, talking and talking for hours on end. It’s so easy to talk with Jimin, as if they had always talked like this, it’s so comfortable, it almost tastes like home. Almost.
When calls are not enough, Seokjin starts to fly to New York regularly, just because he can, just because there’s Jimin there, waiting for him with his wonderful eyes.
“Do you like to sing?” Jimin asks one day, slurping the noodles from the questionable chinese restaurant they’re currently at.
“Hm, it’s not like I’m good at it…”
A raised eyebrow is thrown at him, Jin doesn’t know if it is because of his answer or because of the way he is eyeing his own plate of food.
“So you do like it.”
Jimin smiles mischievously, “Let’s go to a karaoke tonight!”
“I…” and it’s not like the idea isn’t tempting, it’s been ages since Seokjin went to a karaoke to sing, ages, “I don’t know about that.”
“Aw come on,” the artists pouts, “it’s fun and I know an awesome place in k-town, they even serve soju! You must miss it when you’re here.”
Jin chuckles, wanting to say ‘ I missed you more ’, instead he nods and says: “okay we can try that.”
They take the train, against all the complaints of Seokjin that they could afford a taxi just fine.
“But where’s the fun in there?” Jimin asks him, when they’re already seated on a D Train packed full of people, there’s an old woman holding thousands of bags, a lovestruck couple whispering to each other, a lone student reading something on his phone. The lights flicker and Jimin gets closer to Jin, “I love watching people just living their lives.”
Even with the cold breeze of November, the streets in midtown are crowded, the 32nd St even more, full of neon lights and music and the smell of barbecue. They enter a small door that leads to what could only be a poor version of a karaoke, however, they get a booth just for themselves, which in Seokjin’s opinion, must be a lucky thing, especially in the way Jimin’s eyes brighten so much at that.
There’s a whole bottle of soju only for them, a big leather couch and tons of songs to choose. They start with the old classics first, Jimin’s voice sounding just like Jin imagined, perfect; when is his time to sing, he tries his best and with the other man cheering for him the whole song he decides it’s time to have fun, really have fun.
When the bottle is on the middle, Jin starts to sing korean songs; when the bottle hits one third, they start a duet; when it ends, they ask for more.
“You know…” Jimin says, his words sounding slurred and full of drunkenness, “you have a beautiful voice.”
And it’s funny how after the first bottle ended Seokjin can’t stop touching Jimin, his hands, his tights, his face, so when the artist get closer, face inches away from Seokjin’s, he touches the puffy lips.
“You have a beautiful voice as well.” he answers.
“You have a beautiful face.” Jimin says through Jin's fingers, eyes full of wanting.
Closing the gap between their mouths only takes seconds, Jimin tastes like soju and sugar, sweet and tempting.
The artist hums, placing both hands on Jin's neck and pushing them closer; he smiles into the chaste kiss, whispering through their mouths: “finally.”
Jin let's Jimin takes charge, opening his lips for the hot tongue of the artist. It turns out Jimin is not only good at painting, he's also a fucking good kisser, teasing and biting and chuckling, making Jin tremble just from a kiss.
“We should go…” Jimin says out of breath, face resting on Jin's shoulders, “You have an early flight tomorrow.”
Without thinking, Jin answers with more kisses, pecks on every curve of Jimin’s face; “I don't wanna leave you.”
He kisses Jimin even more, high on soju and bad songs and tasty lips.
After their first kiss on that old karaoke Seokjin start kissing Jimin whenever he can, it feels almost like collecting artwork; there's the morning kisses that are lazy and slow; the heated kisses that make Jin feel like he's a teenager again; the desperate kisses of goodbyes and hellos; the day-to-day kisses full of routine and normalcy.
By the end of winter there're too many kind of kisses for Seokjin to count.
By the start of spring the kisses start to develop to even better things.
“Remind me again why I need to go to this fundraising thing?” Jimin complains, looking at himself on the wide mirror of the hotel bedroom and fixing his tie.
“Because,” Jin kisses the skin showing on Jimin’s exposed neck, “you look beautiful in this suit.”
“Do you really think so?” he turns, “I think my butt looks bigger than what it is.”
“That's a good thing, Jimin.”
“Hmm, everyone will stare at me.”
“Good.” he kisses Jimin in the mouth, “You’re beautiful after all.”
“You're such a sap.” the artist replies, faking a serious face and failing. “But hey, after…”
And Jin perks up at that, in the way Jimin's voice wavers just a little, in the way his face look almost pleading.
“After we can do whatever you want.” he says, gazing into the brown eyes in front of him, trying to say without words that yes, Seokjin was his for this night and every night to come.
“Good.” Jimin replies, resting his head on Jin's chest, “Because I really really want to take off your clothes right now and make a mess out of you.”
Well, is not like Jin could control his own blushing.
The fundraising party goes smoothly, more than what they had anticipated. Jimin discovers another one of his talents which was: entertain rich people with conversations about nothing at all. Jin spends the night laughing and savoring all the food and drinks that are served. They don't stay for too long though.
On the back of a dirty taxi Jimin whispers in his ear: “You’re so fucking beautiful, Jin, you're the real work of art, do you know that?”
When they enter the hotel room Jin let's the artist take off his clothes slowly.
Eyes longing with desire.
“I'm gonna fuck you till you scream my name, Jin.”
And he can't barely recognize his voice, full of desire as well, when he begs: “please please.”
It happens fast and rough, as if both of them couldn't wait anymore, Jimin bites and commands while Seokjin sucks every inch of the other’s skin, leaving thousands of marks; it feels wonderful and dangerous and when Jimin comes, spilling inside Jin, he whispers “oh my god” while kissing tenderly kisses all around Jin's face.
Eyes full of affection.
Jin doesn't say the words that are stuck on his throat then, instead he just holds the other man close, savoring every sensation, every shiver that Jimin causes him.
By the beginning of the hot season, they had already fucked so many times Jin wonders when will they start making love.
He doubts their relationship then, question his own actions and hides it all away from Jimin. Only to be thrown away by surprise when the man appears on his house in Seoul at 4 in the morning.
“I missed you.” is the only explanation given; eyes filled with pain.
That night they don't fuck, they don't make love, Jin holds Jimin close, much closer than expected, while the other cries and cries.
Is then that something just in the back of his head starts pushing, pleading him to fix this situation right now, because Jimin could never cry this much, not in Seokjin’s watch.
So, he says what he has been holding for months:
“I love you, Jimin.” he says, “I love you I love you I love you” like a chanting.
Jimin sobs, whispering so quietly: “Move to New York, let's make this real, let's make us real.”
Eyes closed with tears streaming down, a contrast with the soft smile that paints Jimin's lips.
Jin’s house is a mess, a completely mess of cardboard boxes, objects thrown on the ground, clothes everywhere.
“I can't believe you're moving to New York.” Namjoon says as he helps Jin put his belongings on boxes; ‘ it's better to do alone Jonnie, if I can do it by myself there's no need to make other people do it ’.
“It was always my city, you know that.”
Namjoon picks an old cardigan, examining it quickly before tossing away: “Have you found it?”
“What?” Jin pauses, “found what?”
And his friend grins at him, his face looking just like a child's.
“What you've been looking for this whole time.” Jin throws him a questioning look at that, “you know” Namjoon gestures to the room, “all the buying and spending money and the art stuff, I know you were looking for something, have you found it in that city?”
Seokjin couldn't help but smile, the kind of smile that is soft and small and almost invisible.
“No, Joonie, I did not find what I was looking for,” he chuckles, “I even doubt that I will ever find, really… but, I think I found someone to look for it by my side.”
He feels fingers combing through his hair: “That's good Jinnie, that's really good.”
It's autumn again and Seokjin smokes a cigarette on the balcony of their new apartment, the soft rays of sun caresses his face and he doesn't think life could ever be more beautiful. He and Jimin are together, real , and in just a few hours they will be making it official, with a small party and tons of flowers and soju.
He hears the door opening and feels arms hugging him from behind.
“Hey,” Jin replies, easing himself into the embrace.
“Can you help me out this time?”
Jin turns to face his fiancé who, in turn, looks downright disheveled wearing his ‘working clothes’ and with paint all over his face and hands. Jin can’t help but laugh.
“Babe, we’re getting married tomorrow and you’re painting?”
“What? Is not like I can control my creativity, when it kicks in I need to go to a canvas immediately.”
“Hah, right. That explains why you didn’t come to our date last friday.” Jin says mockingly.
Jimin’s eyes change, concern written over them; “Are you still mad about that? I’m sorry…”
“No no! Of course not,” he touches Jimin’s cheek, caressing the soft face, “You never asked for my help though…”
“Well,” Jimin takes Jin’s hands, leading him to their bedroom, “I think I never told you, it was never the right moment to tell but, I think now it is.” he smiles, positioning Jin on the bed, back resting on the headboard, he picks Jin’s arms, moving it so slightly.
“You will pose for me Jin, I’m going to paint my masterpiece.” Jimin says with fire in his eyes.
“Now stay here like a good boy,” Jin raises an eyebrow at that, “hah don’t make that face Jin! I just need to grab the final touch real quickly.”
“But my clothes?” he asks, because he’s wearing practically nothing - a thin loose white shirt and boxers.
“No no I want this to be the most natural as possible.” he says as he leaves the room quickly.
When Jimin comes back, he’s holding a piece of red cloth in his hands. He gets closer and closer to the bed, smiling all the way.
“Let me just… adjust your hair, hmm.”
Jin feels the cloth covering his eyes and the soft touches of Jimin’s hands on his head.
“Is this what I think it is?” he feels the need to ask.
Jimin hums a “maybe”, a grin showing on his voice. The cloth covers his vision completely, he can only see dark red and it’s kinda unsettling but.
He feels the soft touch of Jimin’s lips on his own.
And his presence is gone.
Jin hears the shuffling of the artist grabbing his materials and making everything ready.
“Okay I’m gonna start, just don’t move too much.”
In response, Jin nods, too afraid of talking and messing something up.
Hours pass by in silence, only the sound of brush on canvas filling the space between the two men. Jin can hear the occasional airplanes passing by and the constant sound of sirens throughout the city. Being like this, deprived of vision, he starts daydreaming about his life, about Jimin and how lucky he is. He feels the cold breeze coming from the windows and hears the sound of the shuffling curtains, the occasional hum of the artist; it’s all so soothing he almost daze off, until Jimin stops abruptly. He can’t see what’s going on but the sound of a heavy sigh awakes him.
“The thing I wanted to talk about…” Jimin starts, voice barely a whisper “that I need to talk, really. Do you remember when things went shitty between us? At the beginning?”
Jin opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted.
“No, don’t move babe, I’m still finishing. Let me talk ok? I don’t know if I will have the courage later.”
With the only option of being silent, Jin complies.
“So, we had that fight, right? I was so angry, god, Jin, you don’t even know how angry I was… it really started to affect my art, everything I did screamed of pain and rage. It was awful. But then… something changed? I can’t remember when, probably on autumn ‘cause I remember the falling leaves.” Jimin let’s out a chuckle and continues: “anyway, at that point you were a constant on my mind, you were the reason for everything I was feeling and going through after all. But the thing is, I couldn’t even recall you, the whole you. I remembered how you presented yourself so arrogantly and how your eyes shone just by looking at my portrait; I remembered how your lips moved when you spoke and how your hair fell into your face… I remembered how beautiful and untouchable you looked but I didn’t remember you.”
“Shhh, let me finish. Hah, I bet you don’t even know how completely out of this world you look, like… more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.”
“I started to want to reach out for you again but, as you already know, it was impossible. So I decided to do the only thing I knew how to do properly, I started painting again and this time I tried to put in my art everything that i recalled of you, all the feelings that I remembered. Well, it was because of those artworks that some bigshot recognized me and made me kinda famous in this industry. I can’t say it was because of you but… you were always an inspiration. Still are.”
Jin holds his breath: “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“So don’t say anything.”
The room is quiet for a moment, too quiet, as if the world had just stopped. Jin thinks that maybe it has, until soft sounds of footsteps approaching awake him from his daze. The bed sheets move slightly and soon there’s two real thighs straddling his hips, a comfortable and known weight above him, a touch on his cheeks.
“The thing is… Jin,” Jimin whispers on his ear, “I really thought that you were unachievable, a god, my muse. But.” he pauses, kissing Jin’s exposed neck, “When we met again you looked nothing as I had imagined, as I had dreamed, you were not shining in gold and you didn’t wear a crown, in fact, you looked sad and tired and human .” he sighs, hot breath tickling Jin, “I fell in love right then and there, I fell in love because you were so fucking real, Jin. I can’t believe it, even now, I can’t believe we’re together. Thank you.”
And it’s overwhelming, the feeling, the love Jin feels for this great human being called Park Jimin. He hugs the man and smiles.
“Can I take the blindfold off now? I want to see you.”
He senses the smirk forming on Jimin’s face.
“No. Not yet.”
Little pecks are given on his exposed chest.
“You’re beautiful Jin, I could never paint the real you.”
Hands caress his torso, going down, down to his thighs, down to his legs.
A wet kiss, following by biting and sucking is given to his neck.
“Do you want this, love?” Jimin says at the same time he moves his hips down, making their dicks touch through the clothes. Jin can’t help but let a gasp escape his lips as he feels how hard Jimin already is.
“Ah, yes. Yes please.”
With the red cloth obscuring his vision, Jin can only imagine how Jimin must look right now, all smug and with wet lips.
“Good.” Jimin says, licking his way to Jin’s ear, rubbing their hips together and making a sweet friction. Jin tries to touch Jimin then, even in the darkness of the blindfold he tries, cupping the other man’s cheek and pulling his hair just a little.
“Take off your clothes, I wanna feel you.” Jin says.
There’s a playful bite on his earlobe, “Of course, love.”
He feels the loss of Jimin weight as soon as the other man gets up, the sounds of the shuffling of clothes the only clue of what he is doing. When Jimin straddles him again, he knows that the other is already completely naked.
A hand is shoved down his legs without warning.
“Is this good?”
Jin can almost see the smirk on Jimin’s words as he moves his hand in a slow languid pace through Jin’s growing erection.
“Stop, stop teasing.”
Hands are splayed across his chest, he senses Jimin’s body going down, down until there’s a ghost of a breath right above his dick.
“I wanna tease you forever.” Jimin says, playing with the hem of Jin’s boxers, “If I get to see you like this…” through the clothes, Jimin bites Jin’s length, “I wanna.”
Jin is already panting and sweating when the other takes off his underwear so painfully slowly.
A wet mouth kisses the inside of his thighs while small fingers brush at his erection without holding it properly.
Jimin rests his head on one of Jin’s thigh, the strands of his hair tickling the sensitive parts.
“Please what, my love?” he says with a mocking voice.
Hands hold his cock in place, never moving.
“You know, you’re already leaking even though I barely touched you.”
A sigh, “Don’t fret, love, I’m gonna treat you so well.” he says, sounding downright sinful, Jin could almost see the way the other man licked his lips in anticipation.
He was expecting hands but, instead, a hot tight mouth went all down, sucking his dick like a lollipop. Jimin moans then, satisfied; Skillful hands find their way to Jin’s chest and when they find the nipples, Jimin’s mouth start to move, not fast but not slow either, just the right pace to make Jin feel every trace of the tongue playing with his veins, playing with his slit. The constant rub of fingers on his nipples send shivers down his spine, he moans loudly, moving his hips up, seeking more, more of the delicious heat that is Jimin’s mouth.
He wishes he could see the other man then, with swollen red lips and watery eyes.
One hand leaves his chest, trailing down to his legs, pushing it to the side just so it can have more access to his entrance. One finger starts to tease.
Humming, Jimin gives the cock one last lick before he stops his ministrations altogether and moves Jin in a way that makes him completely open and at mercy of the other man.
Jin moans even louder when a hot tongue makes its way inside his hole.
It enters fastly, without mercy; one hand takes his cock and starts pumping at the same rithm of the tongue. The wet sounds and the feeling of precum dripping down to his stomach are almost overwhelming. He’s hot and sweating and being damn loud, whining like this is the first time someone was doing this to him.
It’s too much.
When his dick starts to jerk up, Jimin stops, releasing the tongue and hands from Jin’s body.
He wants to see Jimin so badly.
“Minnie, please, take off the fold.” Jin begs.
There’s more shuffling and he senses Jimin getting up, leaving the bed, by the sound of the footsteps Jin knows that he must be going to the nightstand. He hears the sound of a bottle being opened and he tries to hold back a moan. He know what’s coming.
Suddenly, Jin senses the puff of hot air coming from Jimin’s lips right beside his ear: “Everything in due time, my love.”
There’s not a single warning when one finger coated with lube enters him.
“God, Jin, why are you always so tight?” Jimin says in a raspy voice.
Jin moves, trying to find Jimin’s mouth in the middle of all the darkness and sensations. The finger moves, opening him up slowly and oh, he’s so fucking tired of the teasing. But, for a split of second, something changes, as if Jimin can read his mind. Big lips find his own and a impatient tongue enters his mouth, kissing fiercely. A second digit finds its way inside of him and starts working on scissoring Jin open, stretching his walls and making him feel so so good.
It’s only when the third finger enters and there’s too much saliva dropping through his chin that Jimin finds the spot he has been looking for.
“Ah!” Jin gasps.
It’s too much.
He’s pretty sure he can cum right then and there, there’s too much going on and without his vision it’s like he’s even more sensitive; but, Jimin is never one to let Jin comes so easily, oh no. The fingers leave as soon as Jimin finds his spot, the kissing and biting stops, leaving Jin alone in the darkness again.
A whine scape his lips.
He hears the sound of the bottle being opened again and the wet sounds of Jimin touching himself, panting.
It’s too much.
He feels when the tip of Jimin’s cock align with his entrance, pushing just a little.
It’s all too much.
“Are you ready, love?”
When gentle, soft hands combs through his hair and works to take the blindfold off, he cries, big fat tears rolling down his face. He sees light and he sees Jimin in all his golden glory and is at this moment that Jimin enters him.
It’s perfect, so perfect that he cries even more.
“Minnie, please, move.” Jin sobs.
And now, after all the darkness, he sees how Jimin smiles so tenderly, how sweat drips down his forehead and how his blonde hair is all disheveled.
He sees eyes full of love.
Jimin gets impossibly deeper and gives a tiny kiss to Jin’s forehead.
“As you wish.”
The cock that is buried deep into his ass leaves fastly, only to be slammed again and again, with brutal but methodical force.
“Ah, you feel so good Jin.” Jimin pants, “so hot and tight.”
They move together in unison, Jimin moving down only to be met halfway by Jin’s hips. Sloppy kisses are thrown to every bit of skin achievable by their lips, the sound of two bodies coming together fills the room. It’s wonderful.
The moment Jimin hits Jin’s spot just right, they both moan together. It feels like they’re making art.
“There, oh god, right there.” Jin pleads.
Jimin starts to move slower, reaching for Jin’s cock and stroking it lazily.
“How does it feel, babe?” Jimin asks, resting his forehead on Jin’s.
“So so good.” Jin manages to answer.
The pace gets slower, sweeter, both of them savoring the moment, whispering small confessions into each other’s skin.
I love you I love you .
They could go on like this for hours and hours, but the sensations are just too much, Jimin never stops hitting his spot, never stops moving his hand down his cock. Jin is so close to release it almost hurts.
It’s too much.
He feels his body growing hot, he sees Jimin’s face of pleasure, he hears the moans. There’s just too much going on, his orgasm hits him hard, like a wave coming from nowhere, making every particle in the room stand still, everything fading to black with only Jimin as his anchor to the world, Jimin and his beautiful shining eyes.
He spills everything on Jimin’s hands, crying and laughing at the same time, almost forgetting where he is and what they’re doing; almost, because Jimin growls and starts to fasten his pace, trying to reach his own orgasm. It only takes a couple of thrusts for the artists to be a crying mess, filling Jin with his cum.
Jimin falls down, resting his head on Jin’s chest; both of them taking deep breaths and enjoying the high that the afterglows brings to them, caressing each other’s faces and giving tiny kisses. Jin makes sure to kiss every inch of Jimin’s face.
“I love you so much.” Jin says, his words filled with the utmost truth.
Jimin snuzzles closely, biting softly on Jin’s neck.
“Let’s wash up, we’re a mess.”
Jimin wakes up earlier than expected the next morning. It must be the anxiety, he thinks. Beside him is his soon-to-be husband sleeping peacefully, looking as outstanding as ever even with messy hair and a mouth hanging open. He smiles softly at the vision.
Outside, the city ‘that never sleeps’ awakens slowly making its harsh noises that Jimin is so used by now. He glances one more time to the sleepy man and gets up, stretching while walking to the balcony, on the way he glances to the painting he had done, the portrait of Seokjin. Is beautiful, or, at least he thinks so, he has some pride on his own art after all. It truly could be called a masterpiece. However, there's still something lacking, something that the back of his mind says over and over again ‘it's not perfect’. He doubts he could ever make it perfect though, because he knows very well what it lacks: life . That thought doesn't discourage him, instead, it makes him want to paint Seokjin even more, to capture what he can of the incredible man. It's funny and sad at the same time, he thinks, because he knows already that he would never get satisfied. That's the thing about art, you try your hardest to encapture what you can grasp of real life on a single canvas - emotions, people, objects - but you could never do them real justice. Maybe that's the beauty of living. Maybe he's overthinking too much and maybe he's a lot more anxious than he thought.
On the other corner of the room he hears shuffling from the bed sheets.
He takes a deep breath, looks at the painting again, making sure to cover it properly, and walks towards the bed.
He sits on Jin’s side and combs his fingers through the strands of brown hair of his fiancé, kissing his forehead and bumping their noses.
“Good morning, love.”