Jungkook's pov
From my position I could get a good look at that girl and what she was painting.
Her shoulders hunched as if she had closed in on herself and was trying to hide, from the world and especially from me.
I hated that she was so afraid of everything, that she was so pure.
In my hands she was a delicate flower and I a man trampling nature, breaking every flower in my path.
Y/n was like the prey falling into the wolf's trap.
The little girl wandering around the amusement park out of curiosity, losing her parents.
She was a canvas still blank, longing to be painted; a body and soul suffering but still not corrupted by the world.
Here I was watching her sweep miserably across the canvas in colours at odds with her being, thinking how her soul could heal, which way was best.
On one side, Y/n, the girl with a heart as shattered as the objects she had smashed the day before, needed as much love as the whole universe could contain.
On the other side was the girl of a few moments ago, so tense, so vulnerable in my arms.
She might have been pure, but I was sure she knew what a man's gaze meant, what it meant when two skins brushed against each other.
Perhaps I had gone a little too far while trying to teach her to observe herself, to understand that art is simply within her.
Perhaps she was right in saying that I should not touch her.
The fact is that I am not used to having people around me, to having to interact with them. I don't know how to talk, what is right to say and what is not; when and if it is right to touch someone.
And it's been so long since I let a girl get close... not that I could consider Y/n the woman I could fall madly in love with.
In my eyes she was just a little girl, small, helpless and... pure.
She had nothing to do with me and, above all, she hated me.
I watched her as she tried to explain to me what she was seeing in her imagination and from her breaths, from her rehearsed voice, I could tell that I might have a power over her, of I don't know what entity.
Moral? Physical? Sexual?
She gave me the impression that she hadn't told me everything that was on her mind, and the thought pressed deep into my bones.
Y/n probably has more inside her than she shows and I was intrigued as the reason why fate brought us together.
She is the complete opposite of what I represent.
She is quitness, order.
Calmness and rationality.
I am darkness, chaos.
Destruction and terror.
Yet our moods matched. Our fears, since we met, had aligned to create a masterpiece worthy of admiration.
As much as she hated my art, she was part of it. It was just bullshit that my art didn't convey anything to her. If it really did, she wouldn't have had to cry in front of one of my paintings.
The truth is that she hated my art because first of all she hated parts of herself that bind her to my paintings.
And it is fascinating that all she has to do to discover herself is to immerse herself in the fears they cause her.
I want this for her.
She will suffer but she will rise again with her head held high, perhaps with a few more scars.
So, what if fate brought us together for this reason?
Even if I only create destruction, what if it could save her, not before destroying her even more?
I focused my attention back on Y/n's painting rather than on my own thoughts and realised I had probably spent a very long time thinking and brooding.
In fact, the girl had almost completed her creation: it depicted a snake, a viper to be exact, against a dark background.
I moved closer to observe it better as she was completing it.
That depiction clashed with what she wanted to show others and it was the demonstration I had been waiting for.
There was more than the bow adorning her thighs, there was more than those branded loafers and that impeccable appearance.
There was darkness in her too.
A lot of it.
"What does this painting mean to you?" my voice caught her by surprise, as it did every single time I actually spoke to her.
"It's a snake, Sir."
Did she think I was blind? Was I supposed to get nervous now or wait for another demented statement from her?
I took a deep breath to push away as much of the irascible part of me as possible.
"Nice of you to tell me what was already obvious in itself," I said sarcastically.
"The only thing I'm interested in is knowing what it means to you."
I moved next to her and she turned only for a moment to meet my eyes but, abruptly, returned to her original position.
"It's l-like..." she had started to stammer.
Like what? It could have been anything: from a phobia of those creatures to the personification of carnal sin.
The unconscious had a thousand nuances, one more twisted than the other, and I was interested in the one that had led her to draw that snake.
"Y/n!" my tone sounded almost like a hoarse shout, which made the girl sitting in front of me flinch, who, until the second before, had not stopped twitching her fingers nervously.
I grabbed the canvas in my hands, preventing her from finishing her work.
"If you are unable to give me an explanation of your art, don't even consider yourself an artist."
I threw her creation behind me, braking it, finally provoking a reaction in Y/n.
She finally looked at me steadily: unmoving expression, static but full of anger; eyes shining with hot tears, abundant with frustration and melancholy.
I took an empty canvas and placed it back on the easel.
"Paint again and speak to me only after you have delved deeper into your unconscious and can give me an explanation of your art."
She curved back, letting her face be hidden by her long, straight, dark hair.
She could hide her face but not the tears that came rushing against the apron which covered her thighs.
She began to paint again, with more sluggish movements than the nervous ones her hands dictated to the brush.
She was much slower and did nothing more than tug with her nose while a few tears still ran down her face.
I spent endless hours watching her paint and she never once deigned to look at me, to speak to me, I think a little out of fear and pride together.
She had not been drinking and if she ever needed to go to the bathroom, she had not made the slightest mention of asking me if she could.
She had missed lunchtime and her face was now pale. From time to time I could feel her stomach asking me for mercy.
It was addressing me directly, it wanted me to leave Y/n alone, to let her go and allow her to fill that aching stomach.
But I wasn't done with her yet.
It was her dream but she had to sweat it out. I knew I could help her but she had to break down the barrier that wouldn't let her see herself inside.
Certainly her hadn't been an easy life and I was only complicating it for her, but she had to realise that she had all the strength she needed to face anything.
All that time I had stood by the canvas, motionless, with my back against the wall, not observing what she was painting but studying her face, inch by inch.
She had a mole right on the tip of her nose, which I found funny, and one under her right eyebrow.
Her eyes were really big and completely pained.
I wondered if they ever smiled, it was a shame to waste them only to cry.
Her cheeks were slightly pink from recent crying, while her nose was reddened.
Her lips, perfect as they were when she arrived, were now a little swollen and chapped from all the times she had nervously bitten them.
A necklace of small beads adorned her long neck and came almost in line with the neckline of her jumper, as blue as the clear spring sky.
It showed off her shape given how tight it was and... I was staring at her breasts.
What the fuck, Jungkook, she's a little girl for you!
I looked away immediately, I was out of my mind.
I flinched and decided it was time to focus on Y/n's second creation of the day.
I was now behind her and in front of me was a painting that was finally better than the previous one.
It still depicted a snake, but now this one was harmless and one hand was fearing it tightly.
It still wasn't excellent but it was something and I was proud of my rough manners, I was sure they would serve a purpose.
Or at least I thought so, because either it was my rough manners that had made her paint better, or it was her vanilla scent that had confused my ideas by showing me that painting as something it was not.
She was ironing out the last details while I inhaled that sweet scent coming from her hair, almost relaxing I would say, something I was not used to since that shithouse had never seen such a graceful and perfumed creature pass by.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by a thud against the front door, assuming someone was knocking, aggressively.
I left Y/n there and headed for the entrance. I was so absorbed in what had happened up to that moment that I had forgotten to open the studio, so I turned the key and opened it to find before me a man not much taller than me, with non-Asian features, dressed entirely in black.
He did not say a single word but his eyes wandered towards the interior of the studio.
"Can I help you?" I said unnerved, his eyes resting on me now.
"Where is she?" authoritative tone, totally unnerving.
How dare he speak to me like that!
"Be more specific" I looked at him with a look that hinted at the annoyance the man was causing me.
"Kim Y/n, is she here?"
I tried to remain impassive even though that question troubled me.
A man had been looking for her, he had come all the way to me to find her so he had probably been looking for her in college too and that imbecile headmaster had told him about me.
Was she in danger? Was she involved in some prostitution ring?
My mind, in a single moment, had sifted through several options as to why that man was looking for her.
"I don't know who she is!" I replied coldly to his question, giving him a murderous look.
"Now go away and never allow yourself to disturb me again."
With that said, I slammed the door in his face and closed the shutters on the door so he couldn't peek in.
I hurried back to the lounge to check on Y/n. She was still sitting on her stool painting and seemed not to have noticed anything, fortunately.
I cleared my throat to get her attention.
"Lay the brush down, that's enough for today," she stopped painting and turned towards the entrance of the salon, looking at me as if she didn't believe what I had just said.
She let go a sigh of relief and resumed a softer posture as she got up from the stool and, taking off the apron, stretched to ease the pain that must have come to her back, given the many hours she had been in that position.
She still stood in front of the painting as she stretched and I leaned against the doorway of the salon with my hands in my pockets, looking at her again, head to toe.
Her long hair waved along her hips and her short skirt opened the view to really long legs, despite Y/n being so petite.
She turned her attention back to her bag and picked up her phone, checking something, then gasped.
"Sir Jeon it's really late, I have to go, it will already be pitch black outside."
She would have to cross Seoul alone, with it already quite dark outside as a man was looking for her.
Having streetlights installed along the alley and repainting the studio façade myself wasn't enough to keep her from feeling in danger.
Danger could reach her anywhere and it was not appropriate for her to return home that evening.
What if that man had been looking for her at night? What if he had broken into her house?
It was not safe for Y/n to be alone that night.
"It's raining hard, it's really hailing" the first plausible excuse that crossed my mind seemed the most suitable one, and she would certainly believe me.
She emitted a faint sound of astonishment mixed with displeasure.
"Follow me, you must eat and change for the night."
It was decided. She would stay over at my place.
I made to go up the stairs but her voice had reached me and stopped me.
"Sir, I can wait for the rain to stop and I will go home."
I turned around, standing on the third step while she was standing on the first looking down at me, making her big eyes stand out more.
"It will not cease. Now, unless you have a jealous boyfriend who don't want you to sleep at another man's house, do as I say, I don't like repeating myself"
She sighed audibly behind me as I walked up the stairs and she began to follow me, muttering something to herself, irritating me.
"Miss Kim, is there a problem?" I stopped short and she slammed into my back, not expecting me to stop climbing the stairs.
I turned around and my reflexes did it all on their own. Y/n had lost her balance and my arms promptly grabbed her, one around her waist and one behind the back of her head.
We were so close and she still couldn't look me in the eye. She must have hated me so much.
I removed my hand from behind the nape of her neck and, with my arm around her waist, pushed her so that she could climb the stairs two steps in front of me and not behind.
Once upstairs, to our right was the kitchen and I led the way, opening the door and turning on the light.
That was probably the only room in order because I didn't usually cook my own food but preferred to order takeaway.
In fact I didn't understand why I had come up with the idea of taking it to the kitchen, I mean, what was I supposed to cook?
I probably didn't have anything in the cupboards and I didn't even know if I remembered how to cook.
I told her to take a seat around the table.
"Water or beer?" my question rang in her ears totally inappropriate given her confused expression.
"I don't drink alcohol, so water" of course she was the perfect girl, teetotal and chaste.
How boring!
I handed her a glass filled with water and opened the fridge while she drank totally thirsty: I found inside some side dishes that had been there for days, some tomatoes, a badly coloured carrot and some eggs.
In the top door sideboard, next to the fridge, were three packs of soy noodles. With these, the eggs and tomatoes I could save our dinner and make some rameyon, my version of course.
I fetched a frying pan and a pot and turned on that cooker that had been disused for months.
"You want to cook like this?" a voice behind me was taunting me as it watched my every move without hinting to help me in the slightest.
How rude!
I turned around and gave her an impish look asking her to explain what her problem was.
"Your hair, Sir, it's not hygienic to cook with your hair down or it might end up in the food."
There was that know-it-all air about her, it was unnerving but she was right and I felt like a man who didn't know any manners.
Or wait, I didn't really know them, no one had ever taught them to me.
"What should I use? I don't have anything to tie them up with."
She made a sign with her hand to tell me to wait and lifted one sleeve of her jumper. She removed what looked like a pigtail from her wrist, as light blue as her jumper.
Did she really think I would let her put something like that on my head?
It was really pathetic.
She stood up and walked over to me.
"Can you sit on the chair? Since your hands are dirty I'll tie them up for you."
I laughed in delight at her words. Her and her stupid ponytail...
I looked back at her and she had the most serious look she had given me so far, enjoining me to do what she had told me.
I sat down. I had just done what she had told me and this made no sense.
I was the bigger one, I was the authoritarian one, I was the one who dictated rules.
Whereas now I was letting a little girl arrange my long hair in a tail, without protest or so much as a protest.
Silence fell in the room as she positioned herself behind me, trying to keep my head still, which I kept moving.
She began to run her fingers through my hair and... it was relaxing.
The last person who had stroked my hair had been my mother and that moment was taking me back 25 years.
At least, it was relaxing until Y/n found a knot and immediately I moved my head in annoyance.
"Stop, Sir Jeon. I can fix it but if you keep moving you'll only feel more pain."
Her voice near my ear as she leaned in to get closer to where that annoying knot was.
Her voice was melodious, sweet, mild.
I was beginning to realise that our relationship was fluctuating.
It chased moments of hatred, where we both glared at each other angrily , and others of quiet, where our souls did not fight against each other but found a compromise not to destroy each other further.
And this was that moment of stillness, when the only noise was that of the water in the pot boiling.
"Are you done?" I said impatiently, touching the back of my neck, brushing Y/n's cold hand, immediately retracting mine reflexively.
"Yes, you can cook without any problems now."
I quickly stood up and saw her hold back a laugh as she looked at me with a new look: it was amusement I saw.
I was curious to see those eyes laughing but not because of me.
"Little girl, if you keep laughing at me I'll make sure I find another reason to make you cry."
Her face darkened quickly and she returned to looking at the ground, avoiding my gaze.
Now I was one who was laughing.
Still giggling, I dipped the soy noodles into the pot and threw the tomatoes into the pan with some oil, sautéing them a little.
After the noodles were cooked to a certain degree, I passed them into the pan.
I needed some milk to make the spaghetti mix well and the cooking water was not enough to cook the eggs in the middle.
Maybe there could have been a carton of milk in the sideboard under the cooker and...
"What the fuck, Y/n!" I was startled to death to realise that this girl was next to me, watching me cook.
"How long have you been here beside me?" I was not at all used to the presence of someone in my house but my reaction was still not normal, I couldn't be scared of such a harmless being as Y/n was.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I've been here since about the time you browned the tomatoes" she told me in dismay but with a hint of amusement in her voice.
I nodded to reassure her that I had accepted her apology as I managed to find that carton of milk I was looking for.
Thinking for a moment about her inability to express what her art meant, I felt compelled to make some suggestions.
"You should write down your thoughts, especially before and after you paint, so that you can dig deeper into yourself."
In the meantime I was turning the spaghetti to prevent it from sticking to the pan.
"Like in a diary, Sir?" her voice was weaker as she said those words.
I nodded turning off the fire as dinner was ready.
I took two plates and placed them on the table, pouring copious amounts into each.
She took her seat and watched me, waiting for me to sit at the table too, opposite her, to talk.
"I am already writing in a diary"
I couldn't help but smirk at that revelation. So, I could have full access to Y/n's thoughts, I could satisfy my curiosity and understand what was going through that shy, know-it-all girl's head.
What would had happen if I stole it from her and finally found out what she tended to hide behind that perfect appearance?
My stomach churned with excitement.
I had finally found something interesting to focus my attention on.
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*mischievous grin*
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