it's a beautiful thing.

nulla // it's a beautiful thing.

What he sees isn't a mother, but a girl— a young girl who has seen motherhood too soon, with trembling arms wrapped around herself and eyes focused on her feet. Bright, ginger hair; dull, watery, dark eyes; pale, freckled face.

It wracks his brain.

It scares her, the way he's looking at her, scrutinizing her like he's trying to piece together a frustrating puzzle. I'm terrified enough, she thinks.

With one more look, he mutually gazes at her and can see the wear and tear. Clear as day. The guilt, the pain, the father, the shame, the daily life— completely different from most of those her age.

She's knackered down beyond relief, a faint smile gracing her lips to force a mask poorly hiding her shame and fear. He offers a smile of his own, also forced, just to pretend he didn't nearly give her a pitying look earlier. Then they both look down at their shoes, as if they're the most interesting things in the world.

Jihoon, ignorant of this tense exchange, hops on his seat, trying to swing on his own with no success. Blowing a raspberry, his doe eyes start to glower at his mother. He hates it
when she's deathly still... like a lifeless statue.

"Ma," he whines for her for the third time. She blinks at the ground.

Slowly, she walks over to him, wary of the man now openly staring at them. He doesn't mean to come off as creepy or dangerous— although any typical person would view this as endearing, with his growing smile at the small child that crinkles his eyes in a pure way— but she's not in her right mind.

She refuses to look his way when she feels his eyes on her, as she awkwardly pushes her son's back and watches him swing, gradually pushing him harder for him to fly up higher.

And he soars up and away.

But he always comes back down to meet her.

Taehyung's eyes crinkle again, the urge to approach them getting stronger by the second. He doesn't want to alarm her, but he subtly wants her to get the message that the worst in her life is more than likely over. That she's going to be okay. That she shouldn't stay in the past, however much it blatantly appears to sting her.

He doesn't really know how, though. He doesn't want to come across as insensitive.

His hands fall limply at his sides. But his back doesn't rest on the metal behind him. He's still thinking, wracking his brain over this, and then his attention instantly shifts when the child swings a little too high.

Jihoon screams, and something about the tone of it is off. The mother freezes.

Taehyung flies off his seat and holds his arms out, as the child lets go of the chains, just as he suspected.

Nari rushes over a second later, mentally shrieking in horror at her hesitation. Jihoon plunges into Taehyung's arms, safe, if not a thrill's breath from wailing, his little heart shooting up his throat. Taehyung rocks the toddler, brows knit in concentration, gently cooing at him before he lets out a sound between weeping and laughter.

"I am so sorry," Nari wails out, breathless in mind-numbing fear. "I don't even— I can't believe—"

"It's okay," Taehyung assures her softly. He swears he can hear her heart beating rapidly from where he's standing. "Everything is okay."

Jihoon peers up at his saviour, a comforting coat in his feeble grasp. The stranger's presence is so warm against him, so secure and rigid, and so different from his mother's touch.

With trembling hands, Nari meets him halfway. Taehyung's arms stretch out with her child, and she brushes hands with him. She shivers, teeth clamped together, as she forces a small, "Thank you."