monoↄhrome

Great. If that’s the case, then my first wish is for Daehyun to become quieter. You know, make his voice a few major tones lower... Or just make him whisper. Except for when he’s on stage, we kind of really need his singing voice to stay just as powerful as ever.

It’s not my fault, he wanted to say; I’m still not good at this. Except that it’d been quite a long time since Jungkook became a recognizable idol and that excuse definitely got too outdated for his current experience, he realized.

Reaching up, he pulled the cap further down his face, letting it cast a deep shadow over it, as he continued to walk forward, his shoulders only slightly more slumped than a moment before. “Hyung, mercy. I rarely go outside without my manager or group, I’m not used to–camouflages. I thought plain clothes would be okay.” He muttered just a tad grumpily, annoyed at himself, casting a quick glance at his own attire. It was what he usually wore and he has never been one to pick bright colors or lots of accessories, so he figured it might be fine for a casual outing where he didn’t want to be recognized.

Yongguk was slightly amused. No, scratch that; he was greatly amused, side-eyeing the younger idol without much discrecy. It was no use trying to be lowe-key about it if he knew that his voice would’ve betrayed all about his actual thoughts. “It’a alright, young Padawan. I shall teach you my ways.” The male said, not quite sure if the other would get the popcultural reference, but figured that if not, it might become just another thing he should teach him about. It was refreshing, after all -- to hang out with someone that much younger, a whole another generation. Although usually uneasy, Yongguk was quite charmed by Jungkook’s talents and skills, and there was a whole lot of inner curiosity in him about the fellow idol.

Catch my muse ( ✍️ - Drawing something with so much focus they don’t even notice your muse walking in )➤ accepting

Yongguk is not a visual artist at all. When his pens and pencils touch the paper pages, it’s not an expression of artistry, a conscious movement to create what other people, upon seeing it, would call art. It’s rather an expression of thought, a way to deal with too many things going on at once inside of his head, a chaotic testimony to his existence. Whether he wrote music, words, drew pictures or abstract lines and smudges, it was always the reflection of him, of things he couldn’t tell anyone, didn’t want to or had no idea how. Whatever ended up on the page, whether physical or digital, it was a proof of a turbulent process, driven by emotions, created under an impulse; raw and honest.

He very often tended to lose himself in the midst of that creative movement, the world disappearing and closing itself in the small space between his mind, eyes, hand and the canvas.

This was new, it was new for someone to need an excuse to hang out with her. For someone wanting to hang out with someone like her. To be honest, it had been a while since anyone had put an effort into meeting up with her. Not just because they needed something. It gave her a strange feeling, one she could not really place anywhere? Discomfort. Uneasiness. Happiness?

Mainly happiness.

It made her feel warm, but yet not really as for some unexplainable reasons, it would always leave her cold. “You need an excuse to hang out with me? ME?” Sena raised her brows as she looked at him in disbelief, as if he was making up a lie. Which would, of course, be not funny at all. “Since when do you need an excuse for anything?”

Yongguk felt odd when she looked at him like that, like he did something unthinkable, maybe even wrong. It was probably even worse of a feeling than the one he had felt before coming to her, when he hadn’t been sure if he needed an excuse or not, if he was a welcomed guest -- or just a bother. It was a continuous thought inside of his head, ridden by that seed of anxiety at the back of his mind that couldn’t be plucked, ever; what if he’s not needed, not wanted, not good and useful enough.