𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑀; bts os

myg : aeonian

summary: in which he changes her life.

genre: fluff

word count: + 2.3k

aeonian (adj.); eternal, everlasting.

had this idea during a chat with my mother, lol.

—

"my daughter made it! i am so proud of you! see, it wasn't that bad, right?", my mother babbled on and on, her voice filled with overwhelming enthusiasm as she hugged me, let go of me and hugged me again, several times. meanwhile, my father was taking countless pictures of me from different angles, in different positions and what else. "my oldest child graduated, i still can't believe it!", he exclaimed loudly, smiling at me; one of the most sincere and happy smiles i have ever seen on him.

now, even if all this graduating stuff was perfect, and more than perfect, there still was one problem: while many of my co-students already had plans what to do (and also what not) after school, there was me: absolutely clueless, without any perspectives. what should i do? study, yes, but what? something having to do with media? with artistic skills? i really did not know. my parents had always urged me to turn my so-called profession (they labeled my writing as skilled, why even) into a good job. "what about journalism?", my father had asked back then.

—

"i really mean it, (y/n)! you have to find something you would like to study. you can't live here forever, you need to build up a life yourself, without us. we won't be here forever, and you know that.", my mother sighed, not looking up from the book she was reading. "i know that, but i also don't know what i want to study! i just don't know!", i said, running my fingers through my locks in a frustrated way. "then go out, take a look, seek for inspiration, whatever!", the older woman said, her almond shaped eyes still focused on the book in her lap.

"fine.", i scoffed, grabbed my bag (which also included a book and a pen; which i always carried with me), storming out of the house. it was pretty chill outside, considering it was supposed to be another day in the midst of the hot korean summers. i was hurrying along the road, occasionally bumping into another, bowing and apologizing quickly after. where i wanted to go? i aimed towards one of the many parks splayed across the city of seoul, green patches in the midst of the high-rise buildings.

when i reached the park, seeing the tress above, throwing shadows on the ground, and smelled the freshly mowed grass, i immediately calmed down, dropped against one of the massive trees, making myself comfortable on the ground. the sketchbook was flipped open, revealing one of my many sketches, messily drawn with a pencil, sometimes smudged at the edges. i also had some drawings made with a pen, colorful spots in what was usually grey and black.

smiling to myself, i flipped through the pages, until i found a clean, crisp white one, holding the pencil, ready to let something bloom under my fingertips once again. but what? should i draw something out of imagination? or just .. something artistic? something creative? my thoughts were interrupted when i spotted someone leaning against the tree across of me. the young man was busy scribbling into what i supposed was a notebook, full of several pages, obviously well used. there was a look of utter concentration adorning his features, bottom lip caught in-between his teeth, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. he was not also good-looking, but he also seemed to know what he was doing. like he had an aim, a goal in life.

seeing the young man like this, intrigued me, and i knew, i had to draw him. so i watched him some more time, before gently placing the pencil on the clean paper. it was quite silent, the air only being filled with the bird's chirping, my soft breathing and the scratching of my pencil on the paper sheet. time flew by, and by now, i had finished a messy sketch of the young man leaning against the tree, writing in his notebook. at the same time, i couldn't help but wonder what he was writing. was it a story? song texts, melodies?