iris . vkook

thirty seven

I spotted numerous abstract pieces, but many realistic drawings and the occasional calligraphic swirls on rare occasions.

I began to wonder how long he'd spent in this apartment, and how many nights he'd stayed up on the balcony, under the stars as he created art with his bare fingertips, using whatever came to his mind for inspiration.

The place seemed to show who Jeongguk truly was.

He wasn't this sophisticated kid, living in a dreary house in Seoul with nothing to show his talent. 

He was a wonderful college student with beautiful purple eyes, knuckles made for fighting and his hands made for art. He was someone with a voice like viscous treacle, addicting and sweet. Someone who made cigarette smoke smell nice and appealing, the sour scent merging with his faint floral hint that always stained his neck. Someone who was funny without trying, warm without attempting, welcoming and protective all in one without a single effort.

The apartment just seemed to scream Jeongguk, from the homemade woollen rugs beside each doorway, to the many flowers and cacti in small ceramic pots along the window ledges, to the art plastered along the wall.

I decided that I liked this place. I liked standing on the balcony, leaning on the metal that was coated with a thick layer of lemon-yellow paint, bringing life and colour to the block of boring, bland and dreary apartments that stood insecurely beside Jeongguk's whose apartment seemed like something out of a Disney movie when compared to the others - which he had mentioned were owned by either prostitutes, drug dealers or heartbroken middle-aged men and women, maybe the occasional student if they weren't as rich as their friends.

Perhaps that's why he stood out so much.

He wasn't as miserable as the rest, evident by his almost neon space compared to the grey spaces.

I liked Jeongguk's arm around my waist, passing me a cup of steaming tea whilst his hand gently gripped onto my hip. He looked out towards the sight that I'd somehow found fascinating.

I wouldn't say that I liked it, but I didn't mind the scenery before me. It was something, a fairly rich kid thanks to my parents donating me money in hopes that it'd somehow turn me straight (don't worry, I didn't question it either), that I'd never experienced.

There was a stupid sense of beauty about it.

Women teetered around on sky-high heels, tight dresses sticking to their impossibly slim figures as they winked and giggled at oncoming customers, using seductive voices to get their money that they'd need to survive, waving bye to their fellow companions as one was 'luckily' chosen and driven away for a night of artificial love.

Men slumped around, hoods covering the majority of their faces as they made dodgy deals with other men and women, sneakily slipping bags of drugs into wanting hands through a 'subtle' handshake, though there was not much point being subtle about the action, considering everyone was used to this sort of thing.

The rather common group of loud teenagers would run through every so often, feeling big and responsible as they passed all the adults who hadn't been successful in life, whispering about the drugs and the sex that was happening around them - possibly hoping that they'd stayed inside with their parents whenever a junkie would get a bit too close for their liking.

It was stupidly beautiful.

When I was younger, the scenery from my extremely expensive balcony (which was decorated with numerous stone carvings and ornaments dipped in gold, making Jeongguk's small balcony decorated with flowers look like nothing) was just a gardener lazily throwing water onto the flowers and trees of nature's beauty - none of which I could possibly pronounce - or my parents taking a walk in the separate garden with business partners.

I'd never got to experience the sight that I saw up until now.

Hell, I only knew what a prostitute was because of my first apartment. I'd wondered why lots of women were standing on the streets and I'd texted Jimin in concern, asking if they were okay only to be told with a brutal confession that those women sold their bodies to live.

"If you're still hungry, there's some snacks in the kitchen, petal." He spoke, fingertips grazing my hip as his hand slipped under the hoodie.

I nodded, sipping my tea before turning to face him with my cheeks still full with the beverage.

He smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to my unintentionally pouted lips.

I followed him as he stepped back into his apartment, shutting the balcony door and drawing crimson velvet curtains, my eyes becoming blind to the last snippet of brutal reality.

Placing my finished cup down on the counter as I made my way into the kitchen, I spotted the sight of numerous packets and boxes of junk food. Bright bags of crisps and shiny wrappers of chocolate.

The sight reminded me of Jeongguk.

How he usually brought in chocolate to art, sharing the sweet treat with me as we giggled and sketched, laughing at how the food coated his tongue. 

"Seems like you were really mesmerised by outside, hm?" Jeongguk spoke as he sipped from a cup of fizzy cola.

"Yeah, I was weirdly drawn to it." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly, not missing how Jeongguk's eyes flicked from my bare legs to my exposed tummy as the hoodie went up with my raised arm.

It made the corners of my mouth turn upwards in response, feeling slightly shy as I felt the need to blush or giggle awkwardly.

His eyes flicked back up to my face, pulling a smug smile as he knew that he was being painfully obvious with his staring.

"Do you want to take a picture?" I asked cheekily.

"Please."