JIMIN

I wake up to find Jungkook piling blanket after blanket on top of me.

He first doesn't notice, so focused on being so perfect. He doesn't even look up until I choke out his name.

"Jungkook— what are you doing...?"

He smiles widely.

"Hyung! You woke up!"

It's so hot that I'm sweating, but he just keeps smiling at me cutely before turning it back into a light frown.

"I found you sleeping— on the floor!" He exclaims, his tone scolding. "The floor is cold. And you didn't even have a blanket! Bad hyung."

I blink.

Anxiously, I free one hand from the blanket cocoon and quickly swipe it over my cheeks.

It felt all stiff from dried tear tracks.

"Kook, it's—" I glance at the clock on top of the desk. He'd even managed to get a pillow under my head.

"Five in the morning."

"I know!" He claps excitedly, pointing at the pile. "I spent a lot of time getting you all warm and cozy, hyung."

I smile at him weakly.

"I— really appreciate it."

He beams at me, eyes sparkling. But the only thing I can see from his expression is the one I'd seen earlier.

The crying Jungkook.

"Hey..."

He looks up when I call him softly, my voice shaking a little bit. This had to be right.

I couldn't care for him.

It would be selfish of me at this point, to keep him when I knew who he really wanted to be cared by.

I swallow, my eyes falling away.

"Do you, uh, want to go back to Rieul? Because— because if you want, Kook, then you can. And it c-can even be as soon as you want. Tomorrow, even. I just—"

"What? No, no."

My eyes widen.

Jungkook turns back, murmuring to himself. And then he peels a blanket away.

"Hm. Maybe it's a little bit too much. Right, hyung? How you feel now?"

I cut him off.

"Wait, Jungkook. What did you just say? You don't want to go back? But I thought..."

He giggles, making me stop.

"I did really miss Noona last night, but she has to take care of Taehyung hyung. And I have to take care of you."

I blink again, feeling more stupider than ever.

"W-What?"

"I have to take care of you." He repeats, fluffing a pillow in his hands. "Because, because see? If I didn't wake up just in time, you would've gotten sick."

I stare at him as he nods to himself.

"Yeah. Sick. Gets all cold at night on the floor, you know. I saw you shivering and shaking."

And then he pats the blankets again, giving me a sweet smile.

"Hyung, you didn't answer me earlier."

"How you feel? Too warm? Still cold?"

He wanted to stay. To care for me.

To care for me.

Jungkook kicks his feet in the air, the first signs of his tantrums. "Hyung~ answer! Cold, warm? Or just right? I don't know unless you tell me!"

I smile softly at that. Then I tuck my arms back into the blankets, even though it's so hot I'm suffocating.

Because he means well.

"It's perfect, Kookie."

And that means everything.

__________________________

RIEUL

"Taehyung?"

He looks up, dark curls of his hair hiding his golden eyes. Then I notice he's working, and quickly start to scoot back out the doorway.

"Oh— sorry. You're painting."

"Come here."

I stop. Then I peek curiously, shuffling over to his direction. He leans back on his chair, and I flick my eyes to the canvas in front of him.

"What do you think?"

And the first thing I notice is just how light it is. He'd always painted so dark— using black in almost all of his art.

But this one.

"It's beautiful."

I point at the silhouette in the center, head tilted up into the white. Then I tilt my head, blinking.

"Is that..."

"Yes. That is you." He says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. But then I freeze when he meets my gaze.

"And now I want you to draw me."

My breath catches.

"N-No."

He grips my wrist when I try to run back out of the door, pulling me down on his lap. And fear wraps around my throat.

He's going to make me.

Taehyung's going to make me draw.

He notices me start to shiver uncontrollably. I clutch my hands tightly into fists, trembling as I stare down hard at the ground.

"Then tell me why."

"I don't want to!" I yell, my heart racing now as I try to jerk away from his grip. But he just holds me tighter, voice firm.

"You can't run forever."

"Taehyung— Taehyung, don't. Don't make me." I whisper, begging. But he won't let go, and I turn my head away when he rasps.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

I tense.

"I know a natural painter when I see one. That sketch of me that you did?It was the best drawing I'd ever seen someone do during my entire career." He murmurs, and I shake my head as hard as I can.

No, no, no.

"I don't draw. I can't do a-arts."

"But you want to." Taehyung hisses, and I make a painful noise.

I don't want to hear what he's saying. It isn't even true. What he's saying isn't true.

"You want to, Rieul. But some damn thing is stopping you, and you won't even tell me what that is."

"I hate you."

He flinches.

The moment his grip loosens, I rush out of his arms and run straight out of the door. My breath falls rapidly as I grab my phone, my jacket.

I need to get out of here.

Too afraid, I leave everything behind. And then I run out of the penthouse door, my entire body shaking crazily.

Someone asks me if I'm okay, but I brush right past him.

He was going to make me draw.

You can't run forever.

His low voice echoes through my mind. I shove it away, tears welled in my eyes and cheeks completely drained as I get straight into a taxi.

But I'm running.

Again.

_________________________

The moment I get inside the empty house, I slam the door shut and lock all the locks down.

And only then I burst into tears.

So stupid.

I cry, loud sobs that seize through my chest and throat. My phone clatters to the floor, and I cry harder knowing nobody was here to see me like this.

A caregiver?

How could I even have thought to be someone like that? I couldn't even draw single line on a piece of paper.

You drew him.

My thoughts flash back to Taehyung.

I hadn't even been thinking when I'd drawn him that day. I'd sketched his sleeping face— and that had been the first time I'd ever done art since I'd quit art school.

And I'd told him I hated him.

Tears pour from my eyes, remembering clearly how he'd flinched. I'd hurt him, for sure. I'd hurt Taehyung.

I need to tell him I don't mean it.

But my body won't move. I needed to tell him now— call him, text him, anything. Or else he'd really think it's true.

But what if he wants me to come back? What if he wants me to draw again?

The front of my shirt is already stained with my tears.

I'm still too afraid.