VMINKOOK / THE ART OF BEEKEEPING

20

Jimin tugs him under, forcing more and more reservoirs to saturate his throat and pixelate the image of salvation previously appointed to him. All he feels now is monochrome sticks and stones and freckles of dust begin to infiltrate his lungs. Jimin causes frenzies of distaste about him as he drills innocent, helpless nothing's into Taehyung: just another fish caught in his net. Taehyung can feel his life draining from him, as he attempts to move horrendously, his body slowing down with each grind of movement.

"Having fun, baby?" Coos the executioner, with no concept of human emotion, just simply running his fingers all over the scales of the nameless, faceless fish, enjoying the power that comes with the struggle. Taehyung still, disturbingly, felt like platinum. He felt as if the torment was okay, was dignified, because the heat of his capturers fingers was so fucking rich.

Taehyung's response isn't verbal, he just pushes himself against Jimin more, allows the older to grasp at power and to kiss punctures into Taehyung's throat. The blond gives himself to Jimin in that moment and just revels in exhibitionism of it all — delights in the looks of grave envy cast his way from girls and boys who aren't as special as him right now, who haven't yet been brought upon the most expensive ship of them all. In this moment, he feels alive, feels like Jimin's spitting starlight into his blood and good lord does he feel okay with the idea of letting him win. And that's what he does, moaning quietly into the echoing ocean and willingly nosediving into this new body of water compressing against his back.

One drop, two drops, three drops, and—

His jump is hindered, prevented, as another entity seems to slap him from the mindset lacking in self-worth. There he stands, a pirate of a canoe, with oars which cascade against the tug of ocean waves; such small, insignificant things, which have the power to part the sea.

"Taehyung." He says, like the intimacy of the heavens, coaxing away the demon, which leaves branding marks against his neck and jaw, "let's go outside, yeah? Get some fresh air."

Jeongguk clutches his wrist and it's almost like the netting is shed and he's free, completely, with only the lingering thump of his heart to remind him of the danger he'd been in only moments ago. Nodding without so much as a second thought is perhaps another dangerous idea, as it means Jimin's netting hook onto him a little tighter. "Can't you see we're busy, Jeon?"

"Like I care." He scowls, prying Taehyung away and gently manoeuvring him through the safety of passages that lead to the garden — the somewhat empty and sanctimonious garden, barren of such electrifying music and regretful thoughts.

They stand within the eyes of the moon, the stars preaching heaven against their silken skin, evaporating blasphemy from their loins and embedding new coats of rationale within their blood stream — within Taehyung's blood steam. His breaths are heavy, disbelieving, as he watches the pool of chlorine-stained water before him, now void of humanity, only haunted by solo cups which compromise the image of insanity. Manmade water seems a whole lot more tranquillising to him than the hubbub of metaphysical water in the building behind them.

Jeongguk takes in the younger's wide eyes and panting breaths, almost feels bad about the truly objectified way he appears, his skin glistening with the same integument as a used toy. "You alright?" It's a redundant question really and Jeongguk knows that, but, in this moment, he thinks Taehyung needs a formality.

"No.. I— I .. I don't know." He gulps, clutching different patches of his neck, sensing where the flowers of owning are beginning to blossom, "I dunno what happened." His voice is barely audible, if Jeongguk hadn't solely placed his focus on Taehyung, he probably wouldn't have even noticed he'd spoken.

"You're drunk, Taehyung," Jeongguk informs him, as if the younger wasn't aware, "and you're at a party, and it's just normal you're going to get.. I don't know, lured into the fun of it?"

"That's..." Taehyung breathes exasperatedly, ignoring the pattern of his ugly heart against his ribcage at the kindness within Jeongguk right now, "uh, that's.. that's not... I— oh, fuck." He didn't mean to cry, he really didn't, but, beneath the glares of the stars and with a mind that vibrated with muddled and blitzed dispositions, he found himself easily victimised by the repulsions of salty scintilla — the ocean he'd been drowning in seemingly leaking out through his eyelids.

"Taehyung..." Jeongguk's voice was a little hoarse due to the surprise of those tears. He'd been expecting Taehyung to be angry or a little too merry, certainly not despairing, it was rare to find someone despairing after a session with Jimin's black soul.

He didn't offer much choice when he prompts Taehyung into his embrace, allowing the blonde to sob relentlessly into his shoulder, as he doodles apricot sunsets and monkey bar-induced scrapes of knees into his back, fingers dispelling negativity from Taehyung's loss of control. In all honesty, the blonde himself wasn't entirely aware of what made him cry, but just everything was growing too much, everything too stressful and nagging at his mind. He felt as if everything in his life was topsy-turvy and the only way to get back on track was to release the puddles of despair crawling amongst his liver.

Jeongguk smells like cherries and microwave puddings, and the squeaking leather of his jacket is somewhat solacing a sound as it laps up Taehyung's form and braces him in the comfort of Jeongguk's arms.

He shushes the snivelling boy softly, resting his chin on top of his furrow of curls, eyes securing the area and ready to shun anyone who neared. What his eyes didn't quite pick up, however, was the irritated gaze flummoxed to him from the kitchen window, a gaze which resolved firmly on their bodies huddled together so serenely. No, he didn't quite catch the despairing gaze of Park Jimin, who'd lost all sense of humanity on the dance floor.

AN

woo we love a chapter full o' metaphors and emotions