𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 || JJK x READER

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗

Jungkook's pov
It had been dawn for quite a while, the sun had risen and was illuminating the city, while my home was still shrouded in a veil of gloom and darkness.

I had heard Y/n leave while I pretended to be asleep.
I wanted to pretend nothing had happened, I wanted to avoid looking at her or talking after what had happened.

Like every night, during this one my mother abandoned me in a dream, just as she did when I was still unable to understand her motivation.
I now knew that she had left me in that orphanage to save me from the monster that was my father, but that child in the prime of his childhood still doesn't understand this.

And so, in the meanders of my subconscious, he makes his way to seek answers that he will never find, feeling only a sense of abandonment.

Whenever I relive that scene, I used to pour out my anger and frustration against a canvas when I woke up, releasing the darkness that so struck terror in Y/n.

Tonight that child experienced a new sensation though, thanks to her. That child was able to run to someone's arms and protect himself from the loneliness that had always tormented him.

That child was so in need of comfort and love, but me?
What did an angry, suffering man who can destroy everything he touches need?

Like that child, I clung to Y/n's tender arms tonight, almost suffocating her, inhaling her scent directly from her neck, an enveloping essence that tasted of sweetness, consolation and companionship.

Briefly, I showed her a part of me unknown to anyone who knows me, the most fragile and vulnerable part of me, the little that remains.
The remaining part is getting to know her: anger, sadism, darkness.
In me it had no chance of finding anything else, or rather I would not let anyone find it.

With a great weight on my chest, I spent the morning and part of the afternoon painting, creating two pictures.
The first was in my style: a black background as if wall and floor were merging, a clock thrown to the floor, the glass broken but the lancets still seeming to tick.

The other painting was quite different from the usual: quick strokes of a soft, sand-like colour embellished the canvas, then finished by adding two brown dots, one in the centre and one on the left.

For a while I stood looking at it, wondering what meaning my subconscious had attributed to it.
Several scenes from the past days passed before my eyes and my mind lingered on one moment in particular.

Actually in one face in particular, Y/n's, with her sweet features, embellished by two moles, one on her nose and one under her right eyebrow.
This is what my mind had processed and brought back to the canvas.
My thoughts had twisted around so much as I studied her, that they had imprinted her details that made her unique.

Amongst the thoughts that my mind was examining one by one, another one made room in me: I had been able to observe those details on her face very closely the night before, while both Y/n and I were in a harmless state of drunkenness.

It had been a long time since I had had a drink with anyone and, in general, drinking makes me more obsessive, more sadistic perhaps, although with Y/n I had still gone easy.
By now it was clear that my presence, in one way or another, made her nervous and yesterday I really enjoyed provoking her a bit.

That wasn't the initial idea: my intention was just to extort her information about the contents of her diary, but confessions made drunkenly, in semi-darkness, with my breath against her skin and her trembling, frightened by the glimmer of madness in my eyes...

There was nothing more endearing than that, but then she decided to spoil the party, because she was tired.
That little liar!
It was all too obvious that she could no longer handle the tension I had enjoyed creating.