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kooksea · 5 years

Text

moonlight (m);

⇢ pairing: park jimin | reader, singer!jimin, traveller!jimin, artist!reader

⇢ genre: smut, fluff, romance

⇢ warnings: park jimin being the most perfect man on earth, fingering, oral (both male and female receiving), graphic smut scenes

⇢ summary: you've never believed the "love at first sight" stories, until the day when you hear his voice. lighted by the moon, desperate to be heard by the world, with a guitar in his tiny hands. and the best thing was that you had a paper and a pen with you; this is the story of how you fell in love with park jimin.

⇢ wordcount: 19,133 (you’ve been warned)

this story is for @cxalum and @chimin-ssi —one is my best friend since 2012 who blessed me with her laugh, and the other has her presence every day around me even though we’ve never seen each other in reality. i love you! you two are the reason why i still have faith in future.

sorry in advance for my grammar mistakes!

highly suggesting this playlist i made for the story. “songs park jimin sang in the moonlight.” here. it’s a must!

Summer is in the air, even though you don’t actually found over the feeling of your skin melting in the day time, not-so-beautiful sweat drops falling down from everywhere—it’s still, somehow, relaxing in the nights. Especially around the Han River, where you can feel like breathing again, sweet winds meeting with your face and making you remember that it’s still, through thick and thin, your favorite season. You don't know how the hot season became your favorite as you grew older, but you know for a fact that it is something relevant to being in art school—a school where future jobless people are going, in your parent's terms. Not to mention they also added that they weren't going to pay anything for that school because you've never going to make a life out of it anyway. "Either you're on your own, or you're going to the technical university, where you can be a mechanical engineer who can look after her children in the future." Let's be honest, once and for all, no sentence that goes like that works for an 18-year-old teenage child, who thinks that they can conquer with their talent or whatever. That being pointed out, even if now you're wretchedly helpless, at that times it felt like you were free—like you were going to be known for your talent because you believed (for a really long time) that a person with dreams could make it if they work enough.

That, obviously, didn't work at all.

Not for you anyway.

Because it was the real life, and real life sucked, so much that you had to take two part-time jobs while trying to attend all of your classes in the art school. Two years went with non-stop shifts at the cafe and the convenience store nearby at nights for a little more money, and you were sick of it even from the beginning. And the worst part wasn't even the tiredness and constant sickness you had, but it was your lack of inspiration. Let's be real, it's not Picasso's time anymore, and you don't even have time to do your assignments on time, so how on earth can you afford showing your not-so-unique-anymore talents? Yes, you were getting enough money—at least to live, to eat and to pay the debts—but you haven't been drawing at all, even in the classes, where drawing must be the only thing you should do; you can't focus, you can't think, you can't—feel.

Now you don't remember at all why you liked drawing in the begin with. How you got used to it. Maybe you just got used to it? Maybe it wasn't talent at all? Maybe you were so afraid of math that you just assumed that you were being artistic? Maybe you could've been a great engineer? Maybe your parent's were right after all? Maybe—?

That was the actual reason why you came to the Han River tonight.

To get a little drunk, firstly, because summer and Han River in nights was the perfect combination for a beer or two (or five, but at least today you were sticking with maximum three) and the best thing was that it holds too many stories within. Too many people passing by, too many people doing the things they love, too many stories—so yeah, you also hoped to find a little bit of "freedom" in that crowded place. (Han River were holding its popularity even in nights, especially in the Summer) Also, it was a celebration, because even with too many mistakes and too many hardships, you were alive in the end, and two years in university was done in a flashlight. Yes, maybe—or more than maybe—it wasn't what you were expecting because you really expected to live your best life once you took a step in that school, but in the end, you still had your fingers with you and a backpack full of pen and papers and three packs of beer. You were going to be okay. It was, officially, OPERATION: FIND YOUR MUSE, SUMMER'19 starting now, and you were going to kill that motherfucker. You were going to find the meaning once you had in your dreams. You were going to gain them. And this time—for good.

You weren't delusional about the fact that how Han River was popular in Summer. It was crowded, overwhelming a little, but also full of sources of inspirations you could come up with. So you sit by a tree, a little back from the actual crowded area, to observe your surroundings. Opening a bottle of beer that you had in your backpack, you took a sip from the liquid you came to like after a year later in the university. (Because it was cheaper and tasted like the failures you had) An hour, maybe or two, passed by as you draw little sketches on the paper you had with you, with a black pencil. A couple smiling each other with Han River behind them. New paper. A group of foreigners having beers, sitting on the grass. New paper. Another couple holding hands. New paper. Han River alone. Boring. New paper. Dogs. Really? New paper. Word failure with a font that looks like blood dropping in the sides of the letters. Much better!

And it was already past 10 pm.

So here is what you did afterward; you canceled the operation: find your muse, summer'19 immediately, accepted your downfall as an artist, digested the fact that you were never going to find a reason to keep going, and you tossed everything into your backpack in a flash of light and started to walk through the subway to go home. What were you thinking anyway? That you were going to meet the god of the muse at the Han River, drinking red wine as an angel passes him the grapes of the heaven? That you were going to be the next Van Gogh as soon as you grab your pen, looking at the view of the beautiful scenery like there aren’t enough of Han River drawings in the world?

Yes, you knew, in all of the people you really knew that drawing couldn't be rushed, and inspiration can't and won't come that easily—you really, truly knew that.

You just couldn't have it anymore. At least not today. Not at all.

As you kept walking to the subway's direction; the noisy, overwhelming crowd's sounds starting to stay behind you, a peaceful silence embraced you with a chill wind stroking to your face from the river. You stopped there, still holding your beer (the last one) which was half empty now, you let the wind stopping by your face before finding its way behind you—letting it wash over the hopeless look on your face because that wasn't going to help you anyway. You looked at the beautiful view the river had, the beautiful view that too many people must have been pictured by now with pen and paper, and the moon that shining upon the top of it, releasing its light over the surface of the water. There was something about the moonlight, you thought. An aura, an history, a muse for hundreds of songs, the main figure for thousands of drawings out there—a magical effect.

As you let yourself be amazed by the moonlight that surrounding the river tonight, and as you let the scene in front of your eyes to hold you captured by the beautiful view—you heard a voice. It was coming far, but still, as soon as it got your attention, you tried to pay it more attention to hear it.

A singing voice.

A man’s singing voice.

His voice.

And maybe the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard.

And maybe the last voice you’ve ever want to hear.

You turned back, excited to see the person who’s singing, and excited to hear it better—and then you saw him.

You see, you never believed in "love at first sight" stories. You can't love someone like that. You only like how that person looks because, in first sight, you don't know them, and how they would turn out in the end. And it was true, it wasn't that at all. Not to his features anyway, but to his voice.

It was love at first sight at his voice.

It was love at first sound of his voice.

Despite the fact that he was singing, and playing guitar a few meters from you, it was still hard for you to predict his face. He was sitting on a bench, an open guitar box in front of him, he was covered in black pants, a black t-shirt, and a black cap on his head—if he wasn't singing, it was almost impossible to see him in this low moonlight.

Almost being the keyword, you stood there for a few minutes until your feet (it wasn't you, you swear, it was them that made you walk) started walking towards him, but not too close—close enough to see and most importantly, to hear him without making him uncomfortable. You didn't know if he wanted an audience, but he was surely giving mixed signals, actually; since he was located himself far from the actual crowd, yet he still held his guitar box open to earn money, plus—you didn't want to be seen as well.

He was singing a Shawn Mendes song, a little quietly, yet he sounded confident and peaceful from your point of view. Like he was singing for all of his years, and maybe he was. You didn't know him. The next thing you knew, and the only thing you knew at that moment, was that you sitting on the floor, the River behind you, because who needed a repetitive figure of art when you could have him instead? You don't even remember how you opened your backpack and grabbed your sketchbook and pencils, but you did, and you started to draw him.

It took you about almost thirty minutes to finish your little piece of art. You were rushing a little bit because he didn’t know that he was your model and you definitely didn’t know when he would finish his little concert, and you more definitely didn’t want to lose your muse. They were not actually coming at you that easily recently, so you figured: a chance is a chance, and despite the fact that you had no right to draw him without his permission, from afar (and looking like a creep), you just couldn’t stop yourself. Trying to imagine desperately how drawing his features would feel like for hours, looking at the fast sketch you just created from his angelic state, sitting on that bench, a guitar that looks a lot bigger than him—you were thinking that you did pretty good. Months passed without drawing anything original, anything that means something to you other than assignments and projects you had, months passed with hours of trying to find something that you would feel great about drawing—now it was there.

He was there.

Whoever he was—he was the one who gave you the feeling you once had, once you had with every inch your body.

Whoever he was—he was the stimulus that was sent to your brain, evoking the sleeping desire you once had for drawing, for creating art of your own.

Moral of the story: whoever this guy was, he was your muse.

As much as it sounded childish, or weird; as an artist, you knew that inspiration can be found in everything, in everywhere with a glance of a light. An as much as it was unusual for you to find the wake up call you were waiting for a quite a long time to make you draw again, fearlessly, in a boy standing a few meters in front of you, holding a guitar like he was meant to hold it since the earth is created, desperate to be heard by the world with his angelic voice—a chance is a chance, you recall.

But even if you were accepting the fact that your muse being a man looked like he was your age, covered in black, even though his golden hair was leaking through his, again, black cap, you can’t find an excuse for the next thing you did—and if the stranger man becoming the evoked desire you thought you lost forever for drawing was unusual, you’ve seen nothing yet.

Because when the time came and he stopped his special concert that he held only for you (even though he didn’t know that) because he had to go wherever he had to go, like how every good thing must come to an end. And no lie, you were a little surprise, and heartbroken too, when you were no longer listening to his voice. And maybe because of that little heartbrokenness you had felt in your heart, or because of your urgent desire for making him know that he has made you feel some kind of way (every artist wants to know that, that they evoked something in people), you got an idea in your mind. A solution. Eureka.

You literally rush over to him, even though he wasn’t rushing with gathering his stuff, putting his guitar into his packet again, to approach him still holding onto your drawing in his hands.

“Hey.”

He raised his head from his guitar case, one of his brows is now furrowed. "Hey?"

"Uhm...This is unusual for me to say, and I don't know how that will sound once I say it. You may even think that I'm a creep or a pervert, but I want to assume that as an artist you can understand it. Yes, I don't know you at all and you don't know me but—"

"I didn't understand anything you just said."

"Sorry," you slowed down your words to match it for human beings to understand, and even though he looked like he was about to call the cops because his shocked frame wasn't telling you good news about your unusual approach, you decide to continue other than running away as nothing happened. "I'm just...I'm an artist. I draw. I was just watching you from there, and your voice sounded amazing. You looked amazing and I may have or have not drawn you."

"You have or you haven't?" He was being funny, or you were just comforting yourself that everything was going fine.

"I have," you hold over the paper you have in your hands to him. "It's not a big thing, I didn't have enough time to go over the details, but I assumed that maybe you want to see it. I mean, you didn't know that I was drawing you and if I haven't come and approached you, you would never know about the drawing so I can't actually assume that you would want to see it but—"

"It's a good thing that drawing doesn't involve talking, otherwise you would be very bad at it." He laughs.

"What?" You ask this time your brows are the one who furrowed.

"Nevermind." He takes the drawing into his tiny hands, examining it for mere seconds that felt like an eternity to you before his mouth opens agape, thinking what to say back. "This...is amazing, I have never been drawn before, I...I liked it. I loved it. Can I keep it?"

"Yes. That was the intention."

"So you liked my show?" He raises his head to you, licking his lips. And you swear that he looked less handsome back than, or since you couldn't see him properly you didn't have any thoughts about his looks, but now...his eyes locked to yours, moonlight hiding every possible flaw that you both have normally with its low light (not that he had one), you could say that he was...handsome. Extremely, unusually; very extremely and very unusually...handsome. He was beautiful. And not that kind who had the perfect lip shape and eye shape, and not that kind of having everything where it's supposed to be. He was beautiful. And his kind was—different. Maybe it was his voice, or maybe it was his smile that hides his eyes, and maybe it was his eyes, and the way that they were different in size, or maybe it was his lips and the shade of pink it had. He was just beautiful.

"Yes," you manage to say, avoiding eye contact with him that will make him understand that you were going crazy. "Yes...I loved your voice. You're good with playing guitar too."

"Really?" His eyes go hidden as he smiles. "You're a pretty amazing artist too. How long did it take you to draw this?"

"Thirty minutes, give or take. I...I could do better, but thanks, I appreciate it. It has been a long time since I draw something like this. Something original, I mean."

"Artist's block?"

You nod.

"I'm glad you got over that then."

"Yes," you smile back. "Yes, I'm glad too."

Then he turns over to his guitar case to zip it, while you just stood there without talking. Not that it took him hours to zip it, but, you weren't sure if you have to go now without saying anything or that if you had to say anything—so you just stay. He finishes with his case before getting up and holds his guitar in one hand while giving you the other to shake.

"I'm Park Jimin."

And when you say your name to him, grabbing his hand which given to you as he shakes it. His lips crawl a little as he wears a soft smile on his face, and even with that, his eyes go hidden, and you think that it's a view to be seen—a view should be seen by the whole damn world. No, must be, even.

"Do you always play here?"

"No," Jimin points out. "I actually play in a bar near here, three times a week."

"Oh," you say back. "What bar?"

"Moonlight." Jimin addressed. "It's quite close actually. Maybe ten minutes on foot. I was just playing for fun today. It's what I do ever since I came back here."

"So you don't actually live here?"

"No," he runs a hand through his hair. "I don't live anywhere. I just...travel."

"Where?"

"I don't know," he points out. "Wherever I want to, really."

"Oh. An interesting thing to hear."

"How come?"

"I...I think I could never imagine myself like that. I mean, what you do is something I always wished for, but never found the guts for that. I...I respect you for that, I think."

He shrugs. "Why can't you find the guts for that?"

"University. The fact that I have to earn money to live."

"And what will you be doing with the money? Buy a house? Clothes? An expensive car?" He questions with a soft voice.

You pout. "I don't know...I need money. Everyone needs money. I want to open a gallery if that matters. In the future, when I become a real artist."

"You are a real artist, Y/N."

"I don't feel like one." You quickly answer back. "How do you live like that? Without working?"

"Who says I don't work? I play everywhere I go. I get good and bad memories everywhere I go. New people to meet. New people to love and hate. So, Y/N, unlike you, my inspiration never fades away. I always find a new one."

"That was harsh," you bitterly laugh. "But true."

"Yeah?" He laughs back, and you, again, watch how his eyes go and come back. He looks damn cute when he laughs. "Come listen to me tomorrow. At the Moonlight."

Your mouth goes open. "What?"

"Come listen to me." He repeats, with a lot softer voice this time. "I start at 9 pm."

"Well, Park Jimin, there's something you should know about me."

His lips crawl into a smirk. "And what is it?"

"I don't do promises."

"Me too." Park Jimin holds his guitar case as he carefully places your drawing in his pocket. "See you tomorrow then."

"Yeah," You smile and nod, even with the fact that you should be going in the same direction as he's going, you cannot move at all. And there's no chance for you to move, probably, when he turns back to say something else before fades away in this not-so-desperate night. "See you."

"And Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"Don't forget to bring your paper and pens tomorrow."

There are two things you come to know about Park Jimin when you go listen to him at the Moonlight. (1) He wasn't joking when he said don't forget to bring your paper and pens. And (2) He wasn't joking about when you had to draw him while he's performing.

Because, really, that was what he asked for you. Sit there, at this table, he was said, pointing the corner table in the small bar. I'll be performing around an hour and a half, but sometimes it can be longer depending on the audience. You can listen to me here, have a drink, and draw me. And the best part? He wasn't kidding at all. I give you one more chance today, so you can pay attention to the details you couldn't yesterday. Would that be alright?

Was it because he was egotistical little shit who liked to patronize himself? Yes.

Was it because he liked when cute girls like you pictured him like he was some kind of angel? Probably. Not to mention he looked like one.

Was it because he was helping you to find your inspiration? High chance with that.

Were you uncomfortable with him? Not even a little bit.

And, the most surprising thing was, although you have been always that the girl who had strict lines when it comes to comfort zones, it was alright this time. You didn't know, hell you didn't, but it seemed like if it's about Park Jimin—it will be always alright.

So you did. You sat there, with a cup of beer (it was on the house, at least that was Jimin said to you), your pens and papers in front of you, a little candle was on for you to see what you're drawing, and you, and him. You listened, you laughed, you fell in love with his voice again, you fell in love how he looked like he meant to be sing in this world, you feel in love how he was talking between the songs with his little but still effective audience, you fell in love he was sure to steal glances from you from time to time; between verses, between songs, between breathes...You fell in love how he holds that guitar with his tiny hands, how he closed his eyes and felt it while singing, felt it everything on the stage with every inch of his body, you fell in love with the blue spotlight they had he had on the stage.

...You fell in love with Park Jimin.

At least with his artistic side. (If that is even a thing)

You were lucky to have your colorful pencils today, because what you did today was highlighting the blue stage light on him, a microphone and guitar in front of him, his eyes closed. Although you would prefer coloring the drawing with crayons, you didn't have them with you, so you just settled with what you had. A couple of sketches were made, some were much more appealing than the others, some were shitty, some were bearable, some were kind of beautiful—though all of them were Park Jimin.

You didn't even believe when the show was ended and Jimin was saying goodbye to the not-so-crowded audience of his own. You didn't even remember how time flew over, and you didn't even see when a tired, sweaty Park Jimin came and sit in front of you.

"How was I?"

His voice jump scared you, taking you apart from your work. He was holding a towel in his hands, cleaning his sweat on him, looking terrifyingly beautiful that made you could lose your mind.

"Shit, I almost peed on myself!" You hollered at him. "A little head's up would be just fine, Jimin!"

"Concentration," He hummed. "It looks good on you."

"Thank you," you fake smiled at him, using your soft voice. "And the answer for your first question is, you were amazing. Why don't you take a look at what I got today?"

He walked to the seat you were sitting, grabbing the papers on the table. He takes his time with the drawings, humming and nodding with each of one, carefully studying the papers.

"What do you think?" He asks, scratching his left eyebrow.

You froze and stared at him with wide eyes. "What do I think? About what?"

"About the drawings, silly." He explains.

"Shouldn't I have to ask you that?"

"Oh, well, but I am asking you that," he laughs. "What do you think about your drawings? C'mon! Self-criticizing is an important step for developing, you know?"

You gasped, a little taking aback, "Oh, w-well, I think," you managed to say. "It would be better if I had my crayons with me, I think. I'm...I'd want to do some background painting like the sky, some purple and blue in the back...you know what I mean?"

"Then don't forget to bring your crayons tomorrow, angel," he winks at you, smiling. "And if you make something more beautiful than this, you'll get a prize."

"Prize?" You questioned, and he nods playfully. "How long will you keep challenging me, Park Jimin?"

"Until you feel ready. You game or not?"

"I'm game if you are," you smirk, your chest out.

"Well, beautiful," Park Jimin takes a big breath and lets it go away in the air before he starts to speak again. "There's something you should know about me too."

"And what's that?"

He smirks back at you. "I'm always game."

The third thing about Park Jimin that you came to know turned out to be the same as he said to you.

That he was always game.

Because the second day at the Moonlight, you were in the same position as yesterday: sipping a cup of beer as a candle on the table was alive and on fire, your pens and papers (and this time also your crayons) right in front of you as Park Jimin carried on his performance on the little stage that he feels alive on.

This time being more comfortable with your surroundings, you carried on with your homework as Jimin told you, watching his performance as you kept drawing him, adding the purple-blue sky that almost looked like the galaxy representing his little eyes fulfilled with life in your sketches today. You were done by the end of his performance, leaving you time to enjoy the last bits of your beer as you sat comfortably in your seat, watching his last song for today's performance.

He joins you after ten minutes or so, still breathless, his blood still runs with ecstasy he felt through with his whole body from his performance, a towel in his hands still. "How was I?"

"Amazing as usual, Park. Want to check on the drawings I made for today?" You push your chest out, confidence running through your body with being even early today.

"Someone's eager," he gives a little laugh. "Today went better for you, I suppose."

"I mean, yeah," you smile with pride. "Crayons were a good idea."

"Let me see them, and then we can get the hell out of here."

"To where?" You raise your eyebrows.

"I wasn't kidding about the prize, beautiful."

Summer nights were also your favorite: the chilly weather, the feeling of no longer being under the burning sun, the little warm breezes coming from time to time to remember that you're alive, long sleeve sweaters with shorts underneath, the almost sugary taste of the air (it's almost salty if you are near to an ocean)...They were all beautiful.

But not as beautiful as eating ice cream under the moonlight near to the Han River with none other than Park Jimin himself. The presence of your inspiration right next to you and the taste of the chocolate ice cream on your tongue. What can be more beautiful than that? Well, in fact, Park Jimin answers that question soon enough without even hearing the question itself.

"I can draw whatever you want from me if my prize is going to be ice cream every time," you thanked, licking the top of the cone.

He giggles. "Oh no, you really don't think the prize was the ice cream, do you?"

Taken aback, you raise your eyebrows up. "Well, I did."

He burst into a peal of laughter. "Really, Y/N? How old are you?"

"I love ice creams!"

"Oh my god," his mouth goes agape, he looks at you like he tries to digest your silliness but fails, "Are you five? I'm not a monster! The bribe wasn't a cone of ice cream. I bought it because you were glancing at the freezer on our way like a desperate five-year-old!"

"What was it then?" You sighed.

"I don't know if I should tell you about it now, you look like you're okay with your ice cream," he says, shoulders back, and with that, you came to learn something else about Park Jimin. (4) That he loved playing with you.

"C' mon!" You shout, having a bite from the cone of the leftover ice cream. "Don't play with my feelings, please."

"I wanted to show you something," he softly says and swallows the very last bite of his cone. His hands grab the case of his fellow friend, his guitar, and he starts to undress the instrument from it. You patiently wait, at least on the outside, as he grabs the black guitar from the case and places it on his laps. He looks at you one last time before starting to hit the strings. "Three, two, one."

And he plays—he plays something you don't know and hums a little as he keeps with the melody.

"I want to be your light, baby, let me be your light."

And he keeps playing it—although it doesn't have many words in it, the melody itself is so beautiful that your mouth goes open, and you don't know if it's the melody that made you breathless under the same bench you two met two days ago or the angelic voice or the angelic face of the boy who plays the guitar like he was playing with your life. You just know that it is, he is, beautiful.

"Jimin..." You whisper, out of breath. "Is that an original?"

"Yes, it is." He explains a smile on his face—a little smile that never goes away— "I have been working on it recently."

"It's beautiful." You try to smile as beautiful as him.

He manages to smile much more beautiful than you'll ever be. "Thank you. It doesn't have the lyrics yet, but I'll figure it out eventually."

"Is Park Jimin having a rough time with finding his inspiration?" Your voice sounds playful as you giggle a little. "Hard to imagine that."

"Ha-ha," he fakes a laugh. "Funny. I guess spending three days with you absorbed all of my creativity."

You hit his arm a little rough than he could imagine. "Tables are turned now, Park," you point out, trying not to hear his little "Ouch!" slipping through his lips as he examines the little redness on his arm.

"Hear me first then you'll kill me if you want," Jimin begs. "I need that arm to play, you know?"

"Then don't waste your first and only chance," you carry on with the play.

"Let's be artist buddies."

"What?"

"Artist buddies," he repeats and it sounds even funnier the second time you hear it. "You and I need to find our muses in order to create our works, right? Let's help each other out then."

"It sounds stupid if you point out like artist buddies," you confess. "But fine, what harm can it do, right?"

"Totally," he urged. "We can bring our productive sides of each other."

"Yeah! Let's be whatever you said then."

"Artist buddies," he sasses. "I said artist buddies."

"For a starter, that name needs a little improvement, really," you confess. "Even ice cream buddies sounds more appealing to my ears."

He rolls his eyes. "How old are you again?"

"Says the guy who named our friendship artist buddies a few seconds ago," you joked. After a mere second goes with silence, "How is this going to work?" you softly ask, pointing out the fact that you're being serious this time.

"You keep drawing me, and I keep working on this song for you," Jimin explains as softly as you. (or much more)

"For me?"

"Hmm," he nods.

"We should find something to bribe each other too," you challenged. "I think that will work for us."

"Okay, more ice cream for you then, if you want me to buy you that every time you're confident about your drawing that day." His lips get tighten as he narrows one of his eyebrows at you. "How about my prize?"

"I don't know..." You act like you're thinking for a few seconds. "You really don't want ice cream, do you?"

He rolls his eyes again. "No, I don't want ice cream from you."

"Tick tock, the clock is ticking," you start to sing, sounding like a real five-year-old this time. "Say the first thing that comes to your mind. Quick."

"Anything?"

"Well...yes."

"I want to take you on a date," he blurs out. Jimin avoids eye contact with you as he starts to speak again, almost whispering the words out in the air. "If I finish the song on time. Let me take you on a date...Y/N."

Sitting in the same table at the Moonlight, almost drawing the same drawings with little improvements here and there, sipping the same craft beer, hearing the same voice three times a week wasn't a bad idea. In fact, the more you get used to being around Park Jimin, the more you get comfortable with you and with your drawings (and with him, too, of course). The girl with strict comfort zone fades away and replaces herself with an upgraded version of you, and it's definitely fun to discover the more of yourself, the side of you that is comfortable, the side of you that allows the Moonlight's owner, Mr. Min, to hang one of the drawings you did for Jimin in the bar, the one that has Han River's moonlight on the background of Jimin playing and singing, a drawing you did a couple of days ago.

As days and weeks go by, the routine you two have become loveable for you: three night in Moonlight, three days near the Han River, and one day...something different, sometimes you two go museum, sometimes you two go to listen to a concert, sometimes you two end up in an arcade, sometimes in a karaoke room. A day you called "the cleaning day" for your souls, without drawing or studying on a song. So you and Park Jimin, now, have a deal. Six days in a week goes with drawing and singing, and obviously, working on with each other's own pieces—and one day you're off, you're free, but you're, again, together.

As days and weeks go by, you get used to the routine you two have, and the routine of your working, but something else too—you also get used to being with him. You learn about him more, and he learns about you more. You now know how he is into whiskey, and how he always orders his Jack Daniel's with two blocks of ice. You now know that he likes noodles over pasta, and he likes spicy foods more than you do. You now know that he shouts, very possessively, when he loses a game you two are playing, whether in an arcade or a PlayStation center and how he hates the feeling of loosing and always tries to sabotage you to achieve his victory. You now know that Park Jimin isn't just good with singing and playing guitar, but also he can draw too, because sometimes when he gets tired from singing he opens your sketchbook and draws some doodles here and there, and they're cute. You also came to know that you're not the only one that finds him overly attractive, because there are girls in the clubs and bars you went with him, and they are trying to start a conversation, always, but he never carries them on. You now know that he's utterly and unbelievably kind to everyone else and not just you, and he is the man that everyone would want that he makes you question your mental health from time to time, making you question yourself about if he's alive in the beginning? Or is he just your sick imagination? Because you swear that a beauty like that cannot be real, let alone the kindness and the talents he has.

He makes you laugh. You make him laugh. Then he falls down with the effect of his own laughter and you laugh more. You eat together, you play together, you draw and he sings, you meet up in noon and he makes sure that you're safe in and waves you goodbye as you took your steps that will lead you to your apartment.

The first time in your life, you're afraid of the future.

The first time in your life, you just want the time to stop right there and never starts playing again.

The first time in your life, you're afraid of losing him, you're afraid of losing what you have, you're afraid of losing what you, together, have.

"Chocolate again? You'll be sick if you keep eating the same ice cream for whole summer, Y/N."

"You can't be sick with eating ice cream on summer," you argued. "I love the flavor."

"Why don't you try something else? Strawberry? Vanilla?" He tries his best. "You always get the chocolate one."

"Well, I like my routine."

"This wasn't your routine a few weeks ago! Now what? Suddenly your life became meaningless without chocolate ice cream? What if someday they run out of it?" He nagged.

You pout with sadness. "Then I would be dead."

"I mean, they'll run out of it soon because of you."

"We'll go to the next store if they run out," you explain. "There are tons of stores in this street."

His shoulders go back. "But if you buy the ice cream from another store, that means your routine is changed, isn't it?"

Your mouth goes widely open like you hear the end is coming today. "I almost hated you for saying that, Park."

Park Jimin smirks at you in a tempting way. "Almost being the keyword, princess."

"I made you an alien today because you're wearing that ugly green shirt for three days now," you explain the drawing you had for today's performance, an alien version of Park Jimin. "It looks cute."

"Despite the fact that you just assaulted my fashion choice, I think I am still handsome as hell even in an alien shape, smart ass. You couldn't even make me ugly, but you tried, right? I guess I'm too handsome to be ugly, don't blame yourself."

You hit his arm roughly. "It looked pretty ugly to me."

"Ouch!" He cries. "Hit me a few more times like that and I'll have no arm to play guitar. Do you really want to be the reason for my downfall, beautiful?"

So when the time came, and when Park Jimin tried to change the routine you had for over one month (one and a half, actually) now, you're not feeling good about it in the first. Though, one of the things you came to know about him is the feeling you had in your mind that said to you it's all going to be alright when it comes to him won over the competition in the end.

"Really?" You said. "All the way up to that park? Just to see the night view?" You double and third check of his offering to climb some park that will lead you two having a great view of the city beneath your feet. "Just to see that?"

"It'll be fun! The view must be amazing there, trust me!" Park Jimin sounded, overly, excited while you were thinking of the breathless climb you'd soon be having.

"Fun? Being out of breath is fun to you?" You narrow your eyes at him.

He rolls them. "You're no fun. Don't you ever do sports?"

"What sports? I'm an art major, Jimin!" You shouted. "I don't do sports."

"Just...believe me, will you?"

So you nodded, not that excited because you'd always believed him, and he knew that.

The road was painful, from your back to your feet, and you felt like your lungs are going to explode while Park Jimin looked like he was having no trouble with climbing the stairs and rapids of the road at all.

"I'm...dying," you managed to say, out of breath. "I'm...I can't."

"Oh my god," Jimin stopped and looked at you from a few steps up. "I'm the one carrying a guitar in my back but you're the one who's complaining like a baby."

"I am carrying the foods and my sketchbook and...pens!" You shouted back at him.

"Let's change then," he offers. "You carry the guitar and I carry the backpack. Will it be okay?"

"No," you almost whisper from the guilt you're having. "I'm okay, thanks."

"Climb up! The sun is almost setting, I want you to see the view!" He starts to climb up faster as he holds your hand with his hands, carrying you step by step while you still try to gather yourself for one step, still out of breath. "Faster!"

"I'll catch up! You go!"

He doesn't even listen.

You, somehow, reach the top in time, his hands still connected to yours, both of you haven't any thoughts to un-connect them soon. He smiles as his other hand into the sky, a soft melody leaks through his lips saying "Ta-da!" while his eyes got bigger with the view of the sun's setting down.

It was, indeed, one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen in your entire life besides from him, actually. "It's...breathtaking. Wow."

"Wasn't it worth it?" He questions with a smirk on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, though it'd be much more convenient if they had a ropeway that goes to the top."

"Well...they have," Jimin confesses. "But what's the fun in that?"

"Park Jimin!" You think it's the right time to un-connect your hands right now to hit him with yours but he stops you before your attack.

"Stop, stop, stop," he bursts into a peal of laughter. "I'm kidding! It's not working right now. Don't kill me, please."

"You're lucky I believe you," you say, taking your hands off of him.

He smiles as he takes your hand into his again, "Shut up now and watch the sunset."

Turning your head at the direction of the view, you take a deep breath into your lungs, almost desperate to feel the cool air, you smile back to the beautiful view like it was smiling at you.

"Do you ever regret it?" You ask, a few minutes later filled up with peaceful silence that felt like the whole eternity. "Choosing not to go to the University, I mean?"

"I don't regret it," Park Jimin confidently answers, his chin is facing up to the sunset view. "I wanted to do music whole my life. It would be just...waste of years. Do you ever regret it?"

"Choosing to go to University?" You smile.

"Yes."

"If I have to be completely honest, yes, sometimes I do. But I don't feel ready to go and pursue my life, not yet. I have to figure myself out before."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do out there in the world," Jimin explains. "It's a different kind of school, you could say that."

"Yes...Yes, you could say that." you fondly smile again, facing him. "And, Park Jimin?"

"Yes?"

"If it's a school then, it must come to an end, right?"

"Yes," he squeezes the hand that he holds in his. Your hand. "Someday. I don't know if the place I'll turn back eventually will be here or somewhere else, but, I'll settle down eventually. When I feel ready. When I feel like I can make promises again. You know how hard to make them."

"I know," you almost whisper.

You don't have to say anything.

And even the next thing and the next thing after that day you two did were working on your "artistic" sides, and eating, and talking for hours...you also came to know about one thing else, a thing that you didn't have anything to say for or anything to change, or to stop it before it can happen. That is, what you and Park Jimin had now, will come to an end soon.

You just didn't know that soon was near. So near that you could almost hear it if you'd known.

Park Jimin normally performs at the Moonlight on Fridays and Saturdays, and one day in the weekdays, making it three times a week. So, the "cleaning day" you normally had was some day besides those three. The day you did arcade or karaoke, dinner or movie night, concert or in this case—clubbing. The very owner of the bar Moonlight, Mr. Min, informed Jimin to tell him that he doesn't need to work this Friday, because of some older guys having a meeting that will involve a reunion of some sort and they were paying extra. So he did have his money, plus he didn't have to work at all.

Out of nowhere, maybe the reason behind it was both of you being in your 20s, the season Summer and a free Friday night harmonized and remembered you clubbing, and being drunk, and the best part of it was both of you were in need of it.

"How is the song going for you?"

The night was starting at the McDonald's. Of course. With a big sized fries on the table left for you two to chew on.

Taken aback, he pouts and hums for a little while, trying to make up an answer he could give to you. "Out of nowhere? You asking the song?"

"I mean...You always see my drawings, I get ice cream almost every day, I became professional with drawing you—but I never get to see how you're doing."

He doesn't like that you're having a good point. "But the song must be more special, you know? You'd probably like it how it sounds right now, but I don't feel ready to sing it yet. You have to be patient with it. Or you can't wait to date me?"

"Pff," you laugh, almost faking it. "I mean, we're practically dating already. We did everything that couples are doing these days."

He fakes a laugh too, and anyone that probably hearing you two talking must felt the uncomfortable feeling between you two but no one says anything or does to stop it before one of you embarrasses themselves. "Yeah! We actually did everything."

"Yeah!" You try to fake a giggle. "I mean, pff, what's left? Right?"

"Yeah, totally." You two knew what's left of the list, but neither of you says it. It's just a scene of pure embarrassment, but you just can't enough of it. It's almost pathetic. He clears his throat, thinking the very next thing that he could come up that maybe have a chance to change the subject. What you guys needed was tons of alcohol, and it was a long night. "This is the most embarrassing thing happened to me since I've met you, by the way...it's already two months, right? We've been doing this for two months."

"The summer is almost ending," you liked how he changed the subject, all of sudden, pretending to be your knight in armor once again, like the day at the Han River. Still blushing out of the previous talk you just had, you try not to maintain the eye contact. "I don't want it to end yet."

"You're going to kick the art school's ass, Y/N."

"I mean, yes, if I could draw you every time," you joked, still blushing (by the way, how the weather is still this hot?). "But... I think it helped me. I know I just didn't draw you, you had very competitive and constructive homework for me during this summer, you know? You'd make a good teacher."

He laughs, this time in a more real way as you watch his eyes go and come again like he always laughed. "Glad that they've worked for you."

"But I feel like I've done nothing for you," you confess.

He stops chewing the fry he had inside of his mouth. "You did everything for me."

"Name one thing that I did for you, Jimin," you grab your drink to subdue your thirst. "I've almost cost you a hundred bucks already, with all those ice creams."

"Probably more than that, actually. I'm going to pay you the date we'll be having," he laughs. A little later, he turns into the serious man he sometimes is with his shoulder's back, a piece of the fry still remaining at the right corner of his lips (making him less serious), he doesn't blink as he starts to speak and never blinks as he talks back at you. "I could sit here and list you hundred things you've done for me so far, but I'm not going to name even a single one today, but there will be a time for me to say them. Not today. Today the only thing I'm going to say is 'I need a refill with that' and you can't back off now."

Maybe he didn't seem less serious with that fry, after all.

The third refill was definitely okay with both of you, but maybe not the fourth, or the fifth refill wasn't. And, the things aren't okay at all when Jimin comes with two Jager shots, one for each, out of nowhere as you were dancing in the corner of the club you two headed as a second place for the night.

"What's this for?" You shout at him, unable to hear anything except for the music blasting in your brain. You take the shot anyway and drink after tossing it with the Jimin's, for a stroke of good luck.

"I know the bartender, he said to take those shots to the beautiful company I'm having today," he shouts back at you.

"Then I think you also drank mine! Because he seems like he gave them for me!"

If Park Jimin should come to know about something about you today, it must be that you weren't good with alcohol, and your drunk state was a hell amount of trouble in the ass. "You can't even share a shot with your artist buddy!"

"It still sounds the most stupid thing I've ever heard of, you know? It's been two months and it's still lame."

"Is that so? Do you mind me turning this into a competition then?" Park Jimin dares you. "If you're game."

"I'm always game, like you," you smirk at him.

His eyes got bigger as he leans a little bit more to your a-bit-drunken-but-not-too-much frame. "My turn," he doesn't whisper, he can actually be considered as still shouting as the music is still blasting in the club, but whatever reason, it sounds like he's whispering, or you just don't hear anything but him. "I think you and your ice cream obsession is lame too."

Your mouth goes wild open, an "Ouch!" slipping through your mouth as you've been betrayed, but he's still laughing. "Harsh, aren't we, Mr. Park?"

"Maybe you can think something better to make it up then."

"Let's see," you gave him a slightly closed-lip smile, thinking of an answer. "I've hated the ugly green shirt you've been wearing so much that I want to tear it down."

"You can do better than that! Trouble finding something to hate me, beautiful?" He provoked, running a hand through his hair. "My turn now...Let's think," he gives himself a little more time and chucks on his leftover beer. "I think you suck at sports."

"C' mon! Everyone already knew that! That's not something that will make me feel like defenseless!"

He throws the empty beer cup somewhere around as he bits his lips to think more. "You want something that will make you feel defenseless?"

"Shoot me!" You provoked back, not thinking of what might have been coming.

"Alright then," he starts, nodding his head a few times. "I like you."

"What?" Your mouth goes open.

"I like you too much. Fuck—I like you and there's nothing else that takes my attention in this goddamn club besides your pink, beer wet, beautiful lips that are staring at me for a while and I want to kiss them so badly."

Suddenly, your attention goes and sticks with his lips too, and the next thing you say might be your drunk talking, or at least, the alcohol's courage.

"Kiss them then."

And he takes zero time to grabs your chin with his hands, pressing your lips together. Softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made you hold his waist as you were clinging to him, he got the idea of you liking the kiss and added his tongue to the formula with parting your shaking lips. As you two made the kiss deeper, the alcohol taste inside your mouths changes with each other's, but this is nothing at all considering all those feelings that are changing with the kiss. He takes his time with you, as he wants to cherish the moment like it's the last time (which is not), and suddenly you don't even feel like you were at a club a few seconds ago, because what Park Jimin does to you is everything but understandable, in fact your head is turning upside down and not because of the alcohol running through your blood.

It's just, pure pleasure, and it leaves you unsatisfied as he becomes the one who breaks it, your noses still touching and your body does not only feel hunger for him but also for breath. "My turn," you manage to say, still feeling high from the kiss. "Let's get out of here now," you keep breathing heavily, holding onto the hands of him which still on your cheeks.

He smirks before he leans to get a little bit more from you, right before holding your hand as he escorts you to the outside, and to his apartment.

"Fuck!—Do you have any idea about what you're doing to me?"

Those were the first things that Park Jimin whispered into your ears as he clung at you as soon as you heard the door's closing. He made sure that you were leaning against the steel door, his hands all over you as he steals another kiss from your lips and makes his way to your neck. He doesn't rush, unlike every guy you've been with, he takes his time with you, his tongue swirls around the flesh of your meet, wandering around to find the perfect stop to kiss hungrily while leaving soft kisses everywhere he goes. He breathes into your skin, sending shivers down your spine, and your brain is almost can't function, all of this seems so unreal that you're afraid of it being a long, beautiful dream. You just don't want to wake up at all.

You want him, if he's willing to give, even if just for tonight, but you want him. You hope that it feels the same about you. To let him know what you're thinking about the kiss, you let out a soft sound of his name, "Jimin," as he still examines every area of your neck. "Come' ere," you whisper into the silent and dark apartment, which only has the trails of the moonlight surrounding the night, but you swear that he shines more brightly than the sun itself. You press your teeth into his bottom lip and tug it, gentle and very softly, and he lips turns into a soft smile as a little, sweet moan escapes from his lips. He tastes like alcohol, still, but it's your first time to like the taste of the beer because he tastes amazing, and you never could have enough of it.

You break the kiss a little while longer to speak, but before you know it, Jimin eagerly attacks you with his plump lips, already swollen because of the pleasure you've been giving each other. Your back slams the steel door and it's cold, but you don't feel it, in fact, you feel on fire, and you swear that if the lights were open, he could've seen the way you're blushing now. His fingers found its way into your back, his hands cupping the shape of your ass before giving them a little squeeze, craving you. His eyes are so dark and seductive, yet you don't feel like you're in danger at all. You feel like home.

You let your hands wander his soft hair, mixing it, feeling it as the soft scent of his hair reveals itself from the flesh of his skin to the air. You kiss him back, moaning sweetly as he deepens the kiss, but he does it so perfectly that he amazes you, it's not like some tongue are going its way to your throat all of a sudden, he's eager but he takes the time, he loves to take his time, and you feel like you're in the clouds, sitting with the god themselves.

"J-Jimin," you whisper, words are leaving your mouth like a muffle, but it's hard to speak as he leaves kisses on your lips in an unstopping way. "Where's your room?"

His eyes got bigger as he never expects you to say that to him, he almost looks like he can't believe that he's having you in his apartment, and he looks cute like the way he is. "Let me," he pants, heavily breathing as his chest rises up and down fastly, the aftertaste of him still tangle around your mouth. His hands holding the back of your thighs as you wrap yourself around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as you let him carry you, direct you into the house. Jimin doesn't stop kissing you, he knows where to go, and even though he bumps here and there as he carries you into the hall to his room, but it still feels safe. You see the destination you've recently arrived as he still refuses to leave the flesh of your neck, leaving soft kisses along the way. Your eyes wander around the room, it's tidy, but you wouldn't expect anything else from him. He lowers you onto the bed, with soft gestures, almost afraid of hurting you.

You hold onto the end of his t-shirt, and it's a good choice that he doesn't wear the green shirt today as well, he's with his usual black outfit like the first time you came to know him. You stop before whatever you want to do at that moment, your lips shaking and your hands too, "May I?" you ask.

"Be my guest," he smiles as he still remains standing right next to the end of the bed, his ankles touching the mattress. You lift up the cotton fabric as he lets you make him half-naked, he takes the lead as you can't reach much more because of you sitting on the bed and throws the shirt somewhere around the room. He takes a few seconds for you to examine his body, and you always knew that he had a beautiful body, but you just can't stop staring at him. He almost looks not real. He almost looks like you're having a dream. "Maybe all those climbing worked for me, huh?" He jokes in a soft, tempting voice as his lips get a shape of a smirked smile.

"Sure they have," you mumble.

He leans over you in the bed as you get a little behind to reach the beginning of the mattress. "May I?" He asks this time, looking at your clothes. You just nod a few times, too afraid of talking, because you're sure that it's hard to speak in a situation like this. You just let him lead you how the way he wanted. He holds the fabric on you, slowly letting it slide to your head and throws it in the same direction he previously threw his. Taken aback, you feel defenseless and a bit shy as you try to hide your body from him, but he just looks at your eyes like he's seeing nothing else but them.

"You're beautiful," he stops to compliment. "So beautiful."

You don't have any choice but to believe him, do you? The words repeat themselves in your brain a couple of times, making you almost believe them. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to do, and he lets his thumbs find its way around your left cheek carefully. He starts with your neck again, you kinda know now that he has a thing for them, and he wanders around your skin as the kisses he leaves on you changes its path around it, finds its new way to your breasts. He kisses the skin of it that allows him over the bra, and he stops right before touching it. "Can I take this off?"

"You can," you murmur, allowing him to examine you, to study you, to see everything that you may offer for someone. "Please." You get up a little for him to easily take off the bra you wore today. He takes no time to toss it around somewhere and makes his attention towards to your breasts again, this time there is no fabric holding back him. He leaves soft kisses as he stops at the nipple to give it extra attention. You moan under his touch, under the pleasure he's giving.

As he gives his attention to your breasts, each one of them from time to time, your skin feels on fire and burns into ashes with wanting to make him feel the same as he did. Your fingertips move around his body and stop in the waistband of his pants. "Can I?"

"Y-yes," his voice can't hide the excitement he has. Having permission for what you're thinking in your mind, you escort your hand to feel the hardness he has, and Jimin groans harder, so you decide not to tease him more as you hold the fabric of his pants to toss it away. Jimin helps you with his underwear and pants, despite the fact that he likes to take its time with you—he just can't wait to feel your lips on his cock.

You start with your hand, holding it firmly, feeling the pre-cum on your hands while you pump him up and down for a couple of times, a heavy moan escaping from his lips. "Mmmh." He presses his up and bottom lips together to hold the moans, and it's almost giving you pleasure to see him desperate under your touch.

"Don't hold them back." You whisper to him, smirking as you think about the next thing you want to do to him. "I want to hear you."

He lets you hear him, and you start to pleasure him with your lips, starting from the bottom of his length to the very top, giving it many soft little kisses around the length. And when you reach the top of the length, you let it slide down to your mouth, giving a little pump to feel it more, and feel it better. "You feel so g-good," he moans and moans more until you stop the pleasure you're giving him.

"Yeah?" You inhale a big breath into your lungs, hungry for the air, and also to tease him a little. His mouth goes agape as he gets a little disappointment because of you stopping the pleasure you're giving. "Do you want to cum?"

"No," he says without hesitation. The little sweats dropping from his forehead to his chest, "No, I want to be inside of you."

He doesn't sound dominant, he doesn't sound like he needs it, he doesn't sound like he's giving an order—he sounds like he's asking for permission. In fact, he is asking for permission.

"What's holding you?"

"I can't believe that you're more eager than me," he admits. "But—we have all night for making our dreams come true, beautiful."

He doesn't lie about stopping you from rushing the act, and you already feel grateful for that when he wanders his fingers along to your torso and find its way to the button of your pants and he stops after touching it. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." You answer rushingly, your voice -accidentally- crack at the end of your sentence, reliving the excitement you had for him, and he likes it—in fact, he likes it too much that he cannot help but smirk at that. He agrees on with your permission and holds the button of your pants to swirl it open under his eyes, to leave you nothing but with a fabric that hides your sweet pussy—a fabric soon to be gone too, as a matter of fact.

You watch him as he grabs your pants to toss them over like the previous clothing you both had on, and he wastes no time to kiss you again, this time starting with the underneath of your breasts, and he paints kisses on your skin like you do with paper and pen, one by one until he reaches the last fabric that you have on. Park Jimin stops and looks over you, while your chest is rising up and down with pleasure; he licks his lips to tease you, to give you an alert for the next thing that is coming, to make you get ready, to make you get wetter than you're already areas if that's possible. Two of his fingers holds the top of the fabric, slowly moving it in the opposite direction, to make it go away. But he takes his time like how he always does, and it makes you go crazy, he makes you go crazy, and you just can't wait long for him to touch you.

But you're going to have to wait a little longer, because Park Jimin has different plans for tonight, to make you suffer, to make it memorable, to make it special. And when it's him the act (whatever that is) all about, you just know that it's going to be alright, remember? So you don't rush, and let him enjoy the moment, let yourself enjoy the moment. When you decide to rest your head on to the pillow and break the eye contact that both of you had, Jimin's voice gets a little deeper first time today. "No," he commands. "I want you to look at me while I finger you, baby."

And he makes sure that your eyes are connected to him before opening up your fresh womanhood for his eyes and his eyes only, a soft moan escaping into the air from both of your mouths, making the act much more special than it already is. "Please," you beg when he doesn't move a thing for a little while, making you go crazy for his touch.

He likes the idea of you begging for him. To feel him. "Mmmh," he murmurs. "Such a beautiful view. Might as well watch it until the sun rising."

"Please," you repeat, almost desperate. "Touch me Jimin, please. I want to feel you."

He enjoys it, and he gives zero fuck about it and shows you that he's enjoying every second of it. Every second of you desperately begging for his touch, for his fingers. "Fuck," he gives in. "How can you ask this nicely, and how can't I give you what you want?"

And he gives it, he gives what you want, he gives it one by one, he gives it softly and slowly. He adds his one finger into you, testing the wetness of your pussy, and he cannot hold back his moan as his finger slides right through into you without any problem, the sound of your wetness echoes around the room. "You're too wet. How can you be this wet?"

You don't say anything, it almost feels like not happening at all, the pleasure is almost too much, and your brain just can't digest the fact that you're having sex -making love- with Park Jimin himself. But the second finger he just adds is like a wake-up call from your body to say to you that this is, actually, happening. Because it feels amazing, he feels amazing, he's making you feel amazing...

"Do you like it, baby?"

You moan harder, "Y-yes," you manage to breath. "M-more."

"You want more?" He raises his eyebrows, almost judging you (but he doesn't) for wanting more. "You want me to add a third finger, baby?"

"No," you don't hesitate to answer as his two fingers reach a faster pace, your breathing goes heavily under him. "I want to feel you. I want you inside me."

"Mmmh," he likes the talk. "We'll get to that, baby, don't worry. Let me taste you first."

"I-I can't last long if you add your tongue," you confess.

He slows down with his fingers, but not stopping, and he gives them a momentum a few seconds later as you start to moan much harder with the sudden act. He gulps at your confession, but he had a plan, and he has no intention to make exceptions, even for you. He doesn't want to regret not tasting you that day, he doesn't want to spend his entire life for thinking how would you taste, he just wants to know it right here and now. Not even tomorrow, not even five minutes later.

"You can cum on my tongue," he says. "Let me taste you. Please."

You nod quickly as he dives into your pussy to have a taste for himself. His tongue finds the sweet spot inside of you the moment he digs into you, your wetness gets onto his lips, a beautiful taste of you rotates inside of his mouth, leaving an aftertaste that he will never forget. And he doesn't want to. You let your moans echo in the room as you try to hold onto something, like the fabric of the sheet on the mattress, or Jimin's soft hair—and you hold them like they are the last two things on earth to hold onto.

"Aghh," you moan under him, your body feels on fire again as he adds one of his fingers too with his tongue still inside you. "Ah! Jimin!"

He doesn't even leave his territory to breathe in air or to answer you, he just keeps it going somehow. And when he reaches a barbaric pace, you just can't hold it anymore, and he knows it. "Close?"

"Mmmh," you moan harder, much harder. "Y-yes!"

"Cum," he lets you. "Let me taste you."

So you let him as you shatter under him, time slows as pure pleasure takes over your body, nothing but his name slipping through your lips like a mantra. He makes sure that he tastes your cum, and he gulps with the mess you've just made, and he likes the idea of being the reason behind it. He just likes it too much.

"You okay?"

Your breathing heavy, your chest is still going up and down and you just can't answer that question with actual words, so instead of that, you just go with nodding. He smirks as he takes the answer, that you're more than okay, actually. That you're floating into pleasure right there, because of him.

Park Jimin likes the idea of you turning into a mess, and he thinks he can never get tired of you panting for him, begging for him to touch you that the idea makes him scared. He likes how you just lost yourself under his touch and tongue, and he likes it too much that it makes him afraid. But he just can't wait to be a mess like you.

"Tired?" He asks, almost unsure for your answer. He doesn't want to rush, he doesn't want to make you feel like you have to do it, he just hopes that you want it, but that is all... So when you shake your head as a no, quickly, wanting to feel more of him, wanting to feel every inch of him, whole of him—he just knows that you're going to be the end of him.

But he's already the end for you, that, he doesn't know yet. "Go on," you command, your voice still cracking under him. "I need to feel you now."

He smiles at your words, he never liked a girl's begging for him as he liked you, he sure knows that. "O-okay...let m-me have a condom, wait."

"No need," you almost rush. "I'm on the pill. I got tested two weeks ago. You?"

"Beginning of the summer. But you know that I was always with you."

"Yeah," you smile to his words. He was always with you. You were always with him. "Yeah. I know."

"Let me know if it hurts, okay?" He makes sure that you're comfortable, but how can you not, when you're with him?

"Okay," you can just whisper as an answer, but he hears you, he hears the trust from your eyes, the way you look at him, the way you moaned before under his touch, his fingers. He knows that you trust him, and he wants to make sure that you won't regret it.

Not even a second of it.

Park Jimin grabs his dick into his hands, placing it in the entrance of your clit while you two keep breathing heavily as a melody into the dark room, like music to ears and to the soul. He licks his lips one last time and looks into your eyes to see the trust he's been thinking about before sliding himself into you, to make sure that you're okay, to make sure that you can't wait to create a mess again.

This time he wants to join you. He doesn't get faster quickly, he waits until you get used to his length, he makes sure that you get to feel every inch of him, one by one, and he wants to feel you too. "You okay?" He checks on you before fastening his pace, before making you turn into a mess.

"Y-yeah," you moan as you wrap your legs around his waist for a better position. "Go faster."

"Faster?"

"Mmmh," you can't even reply with words, only you can moan under him. "Much faster."

Your moans got harder and harder as he fastens his pace, his hands find his way to your wrists to hold them together at the end of the mattress, a trace of dominance (like how he liked it), he leans in for a quick, sloppy kiss, because it's almost impossible to carry out kissing like that, he can only focus on grinding into you. The sound of your skin slapping each other mixes with your moanings in the air, in a delicate symphony. You feel too good, it doesn't feel real from the beginning, and your senses are going crazy under his pace that you think closing your eyes can solve the problem for a little while.

"Don't," he pants. "Look at me, baby." Although he sounds in charge, in dominance, you can feel the little caring traces in his sound that makes you melt into his words even more.

It doesn't help you when you open your eyes again, because you can almost feel your end, but you don't want it to come this soon. He looks like he won't be holding himself for much longer when he comes to lean his forehead on yours for a while, his eyes look at you so close that your heart fastens as if that is possible. He finds his way to the flesh of your neck and kisses it, plays it for a while as he slows a little to focus on your neck—although he's trying to feel you for a long time, and he may think that slowing a little can be a solution for that, it turns out that it doesn't, because when he takes his attention to your eyes again while fastening his pace in you.

"J-Jimin," you cry out. "I'm-"

"Me too, baby," he pants out.

He knows it, he knows how he makes you feel, he knows how he is making you turn into a mess, and even though it's the first time that he wanders around your body, he feels like he's known it for a quite a long time.

You start to tighten, almost swallowing him into your womanhood, feeling every inch of him into you. He tries to help the situation by holding onto your thighs with hands to pull them firmly around his waist, a way to increase his pace, even more, you see that his eyes go white and come back as a complete dark and with that, you can tell that Jimin also losing his control. You let out a hard, heavy moan of his name with curse words slipping from your mouth into the air as you use your hand to trail your fingers into his hair to his neck, and he likes it too much that a "Fuck!" leaves his mouth.

"Can I come inside?" He almost rushes it, feeling the end of his own and afraid of letting it inside without your permission.

You also feel your end approaching as his voice sounds like it's coming from the back, your mind goes crazy as your body can't hold it anymore, but you do answer his question immediately. "Yes," you say, though you don't hear your own words. "Come inside," you repeat, afraid of not being heard by him.

"I'm-I'm coming," Jimin breathes out as he lets its release find its way into you with a load moan leaving his mouth as its opening wild.

His warm liquid fills you in, and you feel your vision going black as soon as the warmness surrounds you inside, and you don't hold back anything this time with knowing that he was right before you. You keep shouting his name until you can't even speak anymore, this time your release surrounds his cock, warms it inside of you. He rests his forehead on yours, cannot find any energy to shift his body and just releases himself onto you but you like it.

Two of you tries to maintain normal breathing for a little while, foreheads still touching each other though Jimin's eyes are no longer open.

"Fuck," he can only say, and he's right with that. You agree with him in your mind, though you just can't say it with words, and soon enough Jimin finds his courage to shift his place from on top of you to next you in the bed, but he goes up a few seconds later and you don't even hold yourself to look at what's he doing, your vision starts to get sleepy. He takes his shirt from the ground of his room to clean you up, and you don't say no (you can't say no), and when he finishes cleaning you up he does the same with himself and goes into his wardrobe to get two shirts from there.

He passes you one, and you don't even remember how you got up and let him dress you once again as he undressed you before, but you appreciate it. He then finds his way next you again, this time getting the thin blanket from the end of the mattress to cover your legs as he lets his body to rest with you.

Until the morning comes.

You open your eyes alone, but the smell of his skin and the night before still remains in the sheets, causing you a euphoria once again. You let your eyes get used to the sunlight that cracks into the room, and every action from last night making themselves remembered in your mind once again while you try to wake up.

You just had sex with Park Jimin.

Although you don't want to go up, because it's always hard to walk after a night like that, you want to check the apartment to see if he's there or not, so you just use every bit of energy that is left in your body to get up, and even if that is hurting a little, you'll survive.

He doesn't seem to be home, honestly, because you can't hear any voice inside of the apartment, but he seems like he was just there when you wander around the house and find a door to that opens into a mini kitchen, and there lays the trails of a mixture of freshly prepared pancake, but you guess something is missing, like a milk. You smile how he got up early to bake you breakfast and even went to the store to buy the missing ingredients, and you just can't help but smile more when you notice his phone on charge in the counter, a page is still open: how to make pancakes.

But it's not just that, the destiny doesn't want you to smile further as a notification pops into his phone as you wander around the pancake-making page like you don't know how to cook them.

New Message: THY

TURKISH AIRLINES FLIGHT REMINDER: Your flight to Heathrow Airport (LHR) TK9009 departs Incheon Airport (ICN) at 23:45 on 15-08-19. Booking Ref: IBM00J Check-in online at: www.turkishairlines.com

You quickly put the phone down where you find it as soon as you hear the sound of the door's opening.

Shit. How should you approach him? How can you act like you didn't see the fact that he's leaving you? The message? A flight booked for tonight? But what about yesterday, and how he kept telling you to not to rush, that you have all the time in the world, while you had less than twenty-four hours? Besides, do you have any right to say something? Were you even a thing? If you didn't see that in the first place, would Park Jimin tell you about his upcoming flight in less than twenty-four hours or would he leave you without any clarification?

Your thoughts get interrupted as a familiar voice of a man breaks in the kitchen you were standing like you just seen a ghost. "Y/N? You're up early."

"Y-yeah," you fake a smile.

He can sense something is up, probably, or definitely. He knows you all too well, you recall. He doesn't say anything as he put the grocery store bag on the counter, taking a box of milk from the bag firstly.

"I was making pancakes for breakfast but I released that I'm out of milk," he cracks a little laugh as he grabs his measurement cap from the shelf and starts to pour the milk into it. "You hungry?"

"Yeah."

Trying to hide the fact that you were disappointed at the text message which was sent to Jimin's phone was easy. He'd probably associating your "weird vibe" with the crazy night you just had and didn't think that you know that he was leaving you behind after the summer you spent all together.

He just smiles at you fondly like how he smiled at you yesterday, or the day before. You weren't supposed to feel heartbroken, you knew that—you knew that you weren't exclusive, and spending just a night with him wouldn't change anything, and he was a traveler, before you and after you, he wasn't going to change for you within a minute. It was going to be okay, right?

"Yeah?" He keeps smiling at you with his small eyes again while mixing the milk with the other ingredients, the sound of his mixing fills the room. "Do you want to take a shower?"

How can he be still a sweetheart like that? How can he be still perfect even if your mind keeps reminding you of that he's leaving you, he's leaving you behind?

You weren't ready to lose him. Not yet.

"Y/N?" He repeats, his voice cannot hide the traces of his caring side that much while your brain loses itself with unstoppable thoughts of him.

"Hm?"

"You wanna take a shower?" He repeats again, ready to open the stove as his pancake mix was ready to be baked.

"Y-yeah."

"Alright then, make yourself comfortable," he smiles again with those beautiful eyes, a towel on his shoulder as he pours a spoon of mix into the pan. "There is an extra towel there, in the shelf."

"O-okay," you stumble. "I'll be back in ten, I guess."

The next thing you say to him stays hanging in the air for a while, making Jimin confused that he doesn't even turns the first pancake and makes it a little burn, but the weird thing is that something else starts to burn too.

And it's in your hearts. Both of yours.

"And Jimin?"

You come back a few seconds later and change your way from the bathroom to the kitchen again, ready to face the facts.

He doesn't take it as a serious thing when he looks at you, you can see it in his eyes, he is ready to hear you, and his mind thinks of everything else but his upcoming flight—not even a slight thought thinks about it, no.

"Yeah?"

"You should do the check-in for that flight of yours," you blurt out. "You may wanna be at the window seat. It looks like a long flight to miss the chance."

As you let the hot water finding its way around your body, your mind got an idea to never leave the shower so that you wouldn't have to face Park Jimin after what you just blurted out to him.

What an idea, right?

Kidding -or not- as an adult wannabe, you figured out that it really shouldn't be the case, at all, and the thing they say about the courage being just a matter of seconds was totally right, considering how they never said anything about after the effect of those seconds are no longer there, and yes, giving the credit of how Park Jimin made your summer the best summer of your life, something to remember for, he sure didn't deserve what you just did there. He needed more than that, much more than that—he needed the clarification, he needed the explanation, he needed a talk like how adults (real ones) does these days, he needed a proper talk to have.

But you just didn't know how to give him that.

So yeah, hot water must help you, after all, hot water must do something to your brain cells and make them open widely for you to think more wisely, and the plan was not leaving the shower unless you decide what you say to him. Technically, that was you, excepting the fact that you may not be never leaving the shower, considering the fact that your pre-planned talk for him didn't go further than this: oh, about that, Jimin, I really have no explanation and I must accept the fact that I was a little heartbroken considering I just learned how you're leaving the country less than a day later when we had sex earlier that night!

And—that was definitely not a great start.

But, maybe what they say about hot water making you think more wisely was also true, because the more you spent time at the shower, and the more you spent that time without actually having a shower at all, you start to think. And the first thing that you came across is that you have no right to be angry at Jimin, not because you weren't exclusive or anything, or not because of the night before and what happened earlier, but because—you knew that this was going to happen, soon or not. Your school was starting in two weeks, and how Jimin don't have any right to tell you to drop out off University to come and travel with him, you don't have any right to ask him to settle down.

Because you liked being with him, you liked him, maybe too much, and you never wanted it to end, at all, but—at the same time, you didn't have superpowers to stop the time and live the summer again and again for an eternity.

You were angry with the time, you were angry to be falling desperately in love with him, and it was scaring you, hell yes it was scaring you so much—but that wasn't his fault at all.

The goodbyes can never be beautiful, and yours would come in two weeks anyway. And saying goodbyes were also not your thing too.

Like how promises weren't your thing at all.

Neither Jimin's.

So you were going to get the hell out of the shower, and probably pay for half of the water bill (save water, kids!), and you were going to face Park Jimin like the adult you were.

Or...The way you imagined yourself.

As long as it works, right?

"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier."

The pancakes were good. Park Jimin turns out to be a good artist, a good singer, a good songwriter (probably), a good chef, and a good man too. And he was also good with people's passive-aggressive talks, because he didn't say anything after you confronted him before your never-ending shower, and he just waited for you to come up when you feel like you're ready, and he even waited until you start to speak and he just kept eating his pancakes. Well, in fact, he was more of an adult then you'll ever going to be.

"Well," he starts off nicely. Like you would expect something else from him. "For the records, I was going to tell you. I wasn't trying to take the flight without saying anything after the night we had, and I was going to tell you while eating pancakes. You have to believe me with that."

"I believe you." You smile fondly at him, interrupting his talk without permission, but you were the one who had to say things first. "I really do, Jimin. I figured I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at how time flew this fast. I had the greatest time of my life and I guess I just lost in it that I thought it was going to go forever, but it won't. We don't do promises, remember?"

He smiles back at you, and all those broken feelings inside your heart mend with that smile, and it makes you more scared than ever. That the man in front of you holding that much of power on you, just like that.

"Yeah," he continues. "Yeah, we don't do that. Do you know what else we also don't do?"

"What?"

"We don't also give up. And two weeks later, when you start to your third year at the University, you'll going to kick their ass off, and you'll be the most amazing artist out there, and by the time in whatever place I'll be headed to, I'll know your name, and I'll know your art." He laughs as you start to laugh much harder, and this time, we're talking about a laugh that makes you cry.

Getting a big piece of the pancakes on your plate and stuffing it in your mouth, hoping that it will stop the laugh -and the cry too- it makes it harder because they really taste amazing. "And—Jimin?"

"Yeah?" He slowly loses the laugh as you do the same way, disguising the serious person onto as face as he should be for the talk you'll be giving to him in seconds.

"I don't want you to call me or text me while you're gone, and I don't say this because I don't like you or anything and I think I made it clear that I like you so much yesterday, but, because if you stop in the middle like how it happens with everyone else that trying to maintain any kind of friendship or relationship from distance, it'll hurt me—and I don't want to get hurt. I want to remember this summer forever like the way it happened."

"Done."

"But remember that if you come back to the country in anytime soon or not, and if you don't call me when the time comes, I'll find you and kick your ass."

"Definitely going to remember that."

"And no goodbyes. I don't like them at all."

"No goodbyes."

"I guess it's settled then."

"Well," he inhales a big amount of air into his lungs. "I have some other things to add the list."

"Go on."

"First things first," Park Jimin starts after taking a sip from his coffee. "I'm sorry that you never get to hear the song, and the date we never get to do."

"Well, actually, that date was going to be your prize but I guess you just failed with that," you provoked him.

"Well," he continues after giving a little lick to his lips. "I guess I'm accepting your victory for being a better artist than I am."

"I guess you should do that."

"And secondly," he doesn't mind your interrupting at all. "Please don't say that you want to come to the airport with me because there is no way for me to get on to that plane if I know that you're waiting me out there."

You feel your lip quivers as you start to feel hesitation about every decision you just made with him. And your mind is just sure about one thing—and that is you were going to miss the hell out of Park Jimin. Every second of your life until he comes to make you a whole person again.

But up until then, you were going to settle with the memories of the two of you, memories of Han River, memories of the Moonlight, memories of the yesterday, memories of the chocolate ice cream and that stupid green shirt of him, and memories of hundreds of drawings you have with you.

You'll survive.

You have to.

"And lastly," you notice how he was also getting a hard time with speaking, considering how his lips were shaking a little and how his body movements look like he was hesitating. "I know we don't do promises, at all, but if I only had one chance at doing promises and making them real, I would promise you that—we'll see each other again. I'd promise on that."

"I'd promise on that too."

And suddenly, it's so hard to hold the tears.

Summer 2021, two years later

The third day of your exhibition, all the anxious thoughts about this being your first gallery as a graduate, professional (kind of) artist out there was starting to slowly vanish as the excitement and the impatience taking over your body. You were more comfortable with the possible customers, possible sponsorships and possible offerings whilst talking to them, the amount of sweating as trying to keep up with the conversation was much lower considering the opening day of your gallery. Many people came, and it was much more than your expectations, but you guessed that flyers about the gallery and some billboards just for you in some parts of the city were working just fine. Obviously, this was the greatest perk of being friends with the most talented layout designer in the world, who happens to be working in the best and the biggest advertising company in the country. And when Jeon Jungkook, your amazing friend, offered you a layout design he made for flyers and possible billboards, for your gallery, of course, you were in the clouds—flying through them with your whole body shaking through the excitement.

But the pieces you had done for this exhibition getting sold on the first day, at least three of them, was a great success for you that you could only imagine, and when you called your friend Jungkook for the good news, he was beyond happy for you. "It is all because of you! Many people came thanks to your amazing offer, I'm almost everywhere in the country!" You shouted at the phone as you closed the exhibition's first day and was headed to your home."Yes, maybe people came because they saw the flyers or the billboards, but your talent made them buy it, Y/N," Jungkook said that to you day. "It was your talent. Not me. Congrats."

Now, on the third day of your gallery, a glass of sparkling wine in your hand (you heard that it is what artistic people do in the galleries but it somehow tasted like nothing), you were standing in the middle as you kept approaching the viewers, giving them information about the pieces of your art from here and there with a big smile on your face.

"Excuse me, Miss?" As you were watching a few of the viewers talking about the gallery, a man in a suit approached to you. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties, with a probably stable and well-paid work which qualified him as a potential buyer.

"Yes?"

"I'm guessing you're the artist of this amazing exhibition?"

"Speaking," you smiled at him, still holding the untasteful glass of untasteful wine of yours. "May I help you?"

"Yes, actually," he started to speak. "I was wondering about the main piece of the exhibition. It looks, somehow, different from all the other drawings. The technique, the coloring you used is nothing like the others. It almost looks like it's old, but I couldn't see the price tag of that one. I was wondering maybe you can enlighten me about that."

"Oh, well, actually," you cleaned your throat. "It is something I made two years ago whilst the others are my senior year works. So, yes, it's different from the others, and it's not on sale, it's just," you stopped to think about the perfect words for the explanation. "It's a gift actually, I made it for a friend of mine two years ago."

"So I'm guessing this special friend of yours happens to be the man in the drawing, performing with a guitar in his hands in a small stage?"

"Yes," you smiled. "Yes. He is. He is performing in a bar called Moonlight, actually—"

He interrupted you. "Which happens to be the name of this gallery."

"Yes," you kept that no-longer beautiful but full of heartbroken and longing smile on you. "Moonlight."

You weren't looking at the possible buyer anymore, suddenly your eyes went somewhere else and locked with the drawing of him. Park Jimin. The drawing you placed in the exhibition as the main piece was a drawing of him at the Moonlight, one of the last drawings you made for him in that summer of yours together. The one and only thing you loved to draw without stopping, and probably you wouldn't ever sick of drawing him, never, but at that times you didn't think it would be your last.

"He must be a very special friend then," the man softly said to you and thanked before disappearing from your site and continued the little trip he was making in your gallery, the Moonlight.

He was.

No—he is.

He still is.

"Y/N?"

Your assistant called you on your phone as you were finishing your lunch in a place near the exhibition that day. "Yes?"

"A man is here asking for a meeting about the main piece of the gallery. He says he wants it."

You quickly swallowed a piece of the sandwich before speaking. "Didn't you say that it's off the list?"

"I said," she rushed. "I've said it for like...five times already, he insists to see you about the piece though. I said to him that it's not for a sale and he said he's not here to buy it. He keeps correcting me that he wants it, and I keep telling him that it's not for a sale and he's saying that he doesn't want to buy, again. I'm going crazy here. Can you rush a little bit? Please? I'm this close, like really close, for losing my last brain cell because of him."

"Alright, alright," you quickly spoke to the phone, trying to maintain a calming voice. "Don't lose your brain cells. I'll be there in five or ten minutes, can you ask him if he can wait?"

"Okay, let me tell him." The line goes off for approximately one minute and then she starts to speak again, a relief can be heard from her voice instead of tension. "He says he can wait as long as you want him to do. Maybe he's some pervert, Y/N, what's kind of a sentence that is?"

"Is he look like a one?"

"No, I mean, I don't know," she rushed again. "I have never met with a pervert before, but I don't think they look like this."

"How does he looks like?"

"He looks beautiful," she lets out a long breath. "Damn, how can he look this good? I hope he's not a pervert."

You laughed at the phone. "Well, I hope that too. Can you wait around ten minutes before calling the cops?"

"Yes," she says. "I can do that."

"Wonderful!" You joked. "See you in ten."

Opening the door of the place that will make you enter your very first exhibition, and you hope that it won't be the last, you came across with your assistant immediately since she has been waiting for you to arrive, standing anxiously beside the door. "Oh, hello," she approaches. "He's inside, in front of the drawing that he insists that he wants but not to buy."

"O-okay," you slowly speak. "Let me talk to him and I'll let you know about what he wants."

"He wants the drawing apparently," she jokes. "Oh, and a little head's up."

"What?"

"The 911 remains the number I have on my phone for fast-calling, in case we need it."

"Yeah?" You smile at her. "I don't think he'll do harm, calm down a little bit for me."

"I'll try," she says as you start to walk through the main hall. "Good luck!"

Oh, well, you'll need it. It was just, you didn't know that. Yet.

Although the gallery was small but still cozy, the walk for the room you booked for your exhibition lasts much longer than you expected, and you just don't know if this is because you were starting to feel a little anxious, and you didn't quite understand if it was because your assistant's never-ending stressful aura or the destiny's calling. But you'll know it, eventually. You turn left to enter the gallery of yours, Moonlight, and saw a man standing in front of the main drawing you have in the room of Park Jimin, with a backpack on his shoulders, a big one, and a black cap that is making him a secret in front of your eyes.

Taken aback, you stop your steps to him for a little while as he keeps looking at the drawing. He doesn't see you, and he won't unless he suddenly turns back but he doesn't, as you try to understand the familiarity you sense in the air, but everything happens so quickly that you couldn't even give a name for that before you start to speak.

"Hello?" You call him from the back, facing his giant backpack. He turns to approach you, and then the time slows like the movies. It's like watching a video with slowing it down for almost x2 times, but in reality, you just made a step forward to him as he turns to look at you, and before you can count to two, you notice the familiar soft blonde hair of him, and then his small eyes and big eye smile that would light up the fucking world in seconds, and your eyes open wider than ever possible, making you almost think that they were going to explode from their nests but luckily they won't—because it would be horrific to go blind before fully seeing the man in front of you, a man that you imagined to see again, even for one time again, for almost two years, every day and every minute of it.

It's Park Jimin, and he's real, he's in front of you, and he's standing in behind his of drawing—looking more handsome than ever.

Your heart stops—or starts to beat up like it's going to explode, and for a reason, you cannot understand, you can't decide which one is the truth. Because you don't think that you're breathing right now, but it feels like everyone in this room could hear your heart beating.

"P-Park Jimin?" Your mouth goes agape as the words slowly drip from it, with a good amount of stuttering, of course. "Is that really you?"

"Well, yes," he laughs and you cannot describe how you missed that laugh of his, making you feel like you're a special person for seeing that beautiful laugh of him because many of the people cannot find an opportunity to hear it like that. "I am. I'm back."

"How?"

"By plane," he provokes. "I came here a few days ago."

"Why didn't you call me? How did you find out about the gallery? I mean, how are you here?" The questions came out of your mind without a break, a great amount of excitement and happiness can be heard across the room or, fuck, across the country.

He laughs before saying anything. "Relax," he chuckled. "I saw the flyer."

"What?"

"I was having dinner in the city, alone, and suddenly I had to find you, but due to some unlucky events I couldn’t, but the flyer of this exhibition somehow found me, and I came here. An hour ago, actually, and I saw this drawing of me and I asked your assistant for a meet and she said that it's not for a sale, but I insisted on meeting you. She's a tough one, I must add, I begged her for ten minutes for her to call you."

"Yeah," you laugh back. "It wasn't for a sale and I kept telling her that I'm not interested in any kind of offer about that drawing because It was you. But I guess, it's different when the owner of that drawing wants to meet me."

"Yeah, I guess," he laughs back with his signature eye smile. "So you've made it. You've kicked the art school's ass."

"I guess we can say that, yes, I made my dream came true."

"I knew it," he congratulated. "It's beautiful."

It feels almost so natural talking to him that you suddenly forget that it's been two years since you two see each other, even hear from each other, except your dreams and brain of course, because there hasn't been a second without you thinking about him for two years since the day he went to the airport. You still remember the last minute you saw him, before today, and you kept remembering how he walked through the street to call a taxi to the airport, and you kept that image of him in your brain; his back in front of you, a hand of him on the road to call the taxi on the road, a different giant backpack of him on his shoulders. You hoped, for every second and minute before that, to see him again. You begged for whoever in charge of the destiny of you two and wanted from them to make your dreams come true.

And it looks like they listened to you.

"Why didn't you call me when you came to the country?" You ask without accusing him. And you hope, again, for him to understand the sincerity in your voice tone.

He knows you all too well. "Funny story, but you're going to believe me since you do."

"Well, yes?"

"Someone stole my phone while I was in the States. I don't have any numbers now, so when I came here, I was just hoping to see you somewhere, I just got lucky I guess. And funny story number two, I remembered your apartment since I was dropping you off sometimes in the summer we've shared two years ago, but an old lady opened the door and said that you don't live there anymore. I was kind of devastated, not kind of actually—too much, since I've dreamed of our first meeting after two years later much more differently in my brain in the plane for almost fifteen hours, so when she said that you moved to somewhere else, I went to the Moonlight to get drunk and Mr. Min gave me the flyer, said that you also invited him for the opening of your gallery."

"I've moved to a bigger place a few mounts ago actually," you explained. "But I've never stopped going to the Moonlight. I guess now Mr. Min and I better friends than you and him because we've been friends for two years now. He's a good guy, and even sent me a bouquet of flowers before coming here."

As you tried to provoke him, he interrupts your sentence and starts to talk. "Well, I guess I'm happy that my one and only competition for winning you is an old man that owns the bar I've used to work. With a wife and two kids, actually."

"Maybe I have a boyfriend you don't know about?"

"Do you?" His eyes go wild, a tension surrounds his voice.

You smile at him fondly. "No, no...I don't."

"No one worth your drawings so far? Or you just missed to draw me, beautiful?" he flirted. "I guess you're so whipped for to draw me."

"Well, maybe," you laugh back. "I can book you an appointment but no promises, remember? Since I'm a real artist now, you're going to have to wait for a couple of months if you want me to draw you again."

"I can wait as long as you want, remember?" He expresses.

You kept your smile, a big one, on your face as you couldn't know how to stop it. "So that means you're here for a while?"

"Well," he starts. "I think I also graduated from the school of travel, and I don't think that I can give up a hot girl that loves to draw me easily so I came back here. You may have to deal with me until you get sick of drawing me."

"I don't think I can ever get sick of drawing you, Park Jimin."

He straightens his spine. "You're the first artist that told me that, you know?" He jokes, a hand of him goes and grabs his chest to present his heart. Giving a scene that he's heart is melting through your words. "It makes me flattered."

You laugh back at him. "I thought I'm the only artist that draws you. Should I be jealous now?"

"If that will make you good, then, you're the only artist I would want in my life to draw me, Y/N." Sensing the sincerity in his voice, you smile at him, your lips shaking a little. He doesn't wait for an answer as he starts to speak again. "And the only girl I want to make songs about. And you owe me a date."

"Is that means you've finished the song?"

"Yes, indeed, I did." He explains with trails of pride in his voice. "I finished almost six original songs so far. All about you."

In a complete shock, your eyes get open widely because of his words. "Me?"

"Yes, and I want you to hear them, I can't wait for you to hear them. Every single one of them."

Suddenly you realize that you've been holding his hands in yours for a while now, and when he gives a little squeeze, it's almost like you're going to die in front of him, thinking that everything is a dream again like the night when you made love to each other. "Oh well, I owe you a date then."

"Six," Jimin breathes. "Six dates. No exceptions. And you'll pay. Remember those ice creams you've made me pay?"

"Okay!" You laugh. "I'll pay them. Dinner at 8?"

"Dinner at 8 it is."

"Promise?" You provoke, a smirk on your lips.

He doesn't hesitate at all when answering your question. "Promise."

Being an adult wanna-be, or almost an adult was much harder than being a teenager and that was something you could say after a few years in your twenties. But somehow, it all starts to work better, and a great harmony with you finding the real you in yourself, a you that you have been waiting for, a you that came across to the surface ever since you've met him, piece by piece.

You were scared of everything, a little thing called "promise", a few words that consist "I believe you", something that people like to call as "love", the life that waiting for you out there, the opportunities, the mistakes, the decisions you're going to face with.

But, right now, with the man who is holding your shaking hand, it's not scary at it seems before, you're not afraid of embracing the life anymore. You're ready.

And after all, you recall—if it's with him, or about him, it's going to be alright.

Always.

okay, well, if you came this far, thank you! i hope you enjoyed this. feedbacks are appreciated! love you.

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