Annie

Days on Trial: 69

Of all the ways Jungkook and I had interacted with one another, not once had things ever been awkward. There had always been an ease between us, like that of vaseline on a creaky door hinge, an adroitness not shared with anyone else. To put it simply, we just worked.

Yet as he hurriedly entered my flat, closing the door behind him, things felt precarious. 

Hair damp, small beads pooling at the ends, he'd been caught in the downpour as he ran from his car into my apartment block. Sharp and unbloated, his jaw shuffled ever so slightly, moved by his anxious disposition. It didn't seem as if he'd been eating well, small dark circles underneath his dehydrated eyes.

My curtains had been pulled shut, blocking out the mid-afternoon storm, keeping me contained in my cosy flat, lit only by lamps and never the main light. In the ambience, his skin looked warm, like fresh honey on steaming banana pancakes.

"Sit," I implored, nodding towards the velvet green of my sofa, jewel toned and tufted. Shaking off his jacket, laying it over the back of the couch, he took his spot, and it took me more willpower than I would have liked to have admitted to prevent myself from curling up next to him.

"Are you not going to sit?" He read my mind, as I distanced myself from him, perching on the edge of my rolled-wing armchair. It was by the far wall, across from the sofa, of which I had spent hours on, staring at the canvas hung above the chair. 

He'd only just noticed it, the carefully crafted sunset that held a place in both of our hearts now taking pride of place in my living room.

Every morning, I woke, and I checked it over; once, twice, three times. I looked for the colours and found them like crossword word clues, filling in the blanks of the void emotions in my heart.

They were all there. Even gold.

And it pissed me off.

"You're not here to hang out," I reminded him, knowing that being physically close was his way of feeling connected to me. I didn't want to give him the honour. "You're here to explain yourself and go."

"Sure, sorry," he mumbled, eyes dropping to his feet uncomfortably. 

Seeing him like this, dejected and forlorn, ate away at me. 

But he'd made a conscious series of choices which had eaten away at me first. 

I felt grey. 

"So? What happened?" 

I'd heard it all from Chloe already, but I wanted to hear him speak it into existence; I wanted him to acknowledge what he'd done while looking at me, knowing that his choices had hurt me. 

And speak it, he did. His gaze was unwavering, except for when he paused slightly, stringing words together in his head. There was a conscious effort from him to be crystal clear in his words, no mincing, no leaving things up to ambiguity. His claims matched Chloe's word for word.

Trust wasn't an issue here. It was his cowardness in pursuit of his colours that had caused chaos.

"I was scared, Annie," he admitted tremulously. "I didn't know that colours could just go like that."

Nor did I. The way he saw things wasn't like anyone else I had ever known.

"I was scared too," I blurted, having been silent throughout his entire monologue. It wasn't fair that he got to turn this into a pity parade. "Did you ever stop for a second and consider how I would have felt throughout all of this?"

"Of course I did," he pleaded. "It was all I could think about!"

"Funny way of showing it."

I knew exactly how I had intended on responding to him. I had been consumed by the feeling of rejection for three days straight, and so mutual rejection felt like the only logical conclusion.

He didn't want me? Fine. I wouldn't want him even more.

I'd never been more thankful to have not revealed my Multi status. It would have been embarrassing, humiliating, even, for him to have known that I felt that way about him. I had decided pretty quickly after my breakup with Tae, that I never wanted to give someone the power of my colours again. 

Unrequited colours felt borderline traumatic. Jungkook could never requite. We both knew that.

I hadn't cared for the longest time for his colours; they didn't mean shit. What mattered were the words that he spoke and the actions he took that made them obsolete. I hadn't cared that he couldn't see blue because he kissed me like he could. He could have lost them all, or never had them in the first place, and that would have been fine.

What wasn't fine was his radio silence, or the way he'd let his lack of colour cloud the way he interacted with me. He'd made me feel like being Multi mattered more than me; as if I were collateral to his colours.

"You've clearly got your own shit going on," I shrugged, reciting the words I had practised in the mirror about four dozen times. This argument had already played out in a multitude of ways in my head. "I think you need to figure that out before you're ready to jump into something new. We shouldn't have let things get so far between us. I shouldn't have let things go so far."

"No, Annie, what happened-"

"What happened was something that you weren't ready for," I spoke over him, not wanting him to change my mind. "You wouldn't have ignored me for days if it was. What happened was dumb, and stupid, and we let infatuation get the better of us."

"No, Annie, you don't get to do that," he protested, raking a hand through his hair as he got to his feet. The tension levels rose as he did. "You don't get to decide that what happened between us doesn't count for anything?"

"No?" I laughed bitterly. "Is that not exactly what you did?"

"I went silent on you because what happened between us meant everything. I lost my colours Annie, and you have no idea how much it terrified me to lose you too."

"So what? You decided to push me away instead?"

"Yeah," he relented, facing up to his mistakes. "I did. I'd lost control of everything - even the way I feel about you was out of my control. The only thing I could control was myself. Call it stupidity, call it cowardice, call it what you want, I was just trying to figure things out before I fucked them up entirely."

"And did you?" I challenged. "Did you figure things out?"

"No."

My eyes rolled.

"I didn't figure shit out," he continued, ignoring my scathing glare. "I was just as confused as I always had been. The only time I felt clarity is when you opened your door to me this evening."

"Oh, spare me," I gagged.

And then his expression changed.

Eyes sharp and narrow, he was fed up of my bullshit; fed up of having to plead against my unwavering argumentative state.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that right?" His words cut like a knife.

Yes.

"Ouch, Googie," I mocked, using a name we both knew I'd never call him. My blood felt cold in my veins. I was vying for an argument. I wanted to see red. "Rather be a hypocrite than a coward."

"You're a hypocrite because you're a coward, Annie."

Okay, actually 'ouch'. 

"Excuse me?!"

"You deflect, deflect, deflect, never admitting to your feelings just to avoid admitting you have any. Yeah it's cute at first, but do you know how fucking tedious it is? How many mixed signals you send? I never know if you actually fucking like me or not, because you only ever give me crumbs. And yet, like a fucking dog, I sit by your feet and wait for them, begging, just in case you decide throw me a bone."

"I think I made it pretty clea-"

"Did you? When?" His eyes are stern, hiding the hurt that I can hear in his voice.

So consumed by my own issues, I'd failed to consider that perhaps he'd been struggling with the confusion just as much as I had. Perhaps the colours weren't an issue; perhaps it was I who had put so much significance on them, so much dependency on my own.

I stammer, trying to find the words to reply, but for once, I don't have any.

"The pill, has it worn off?" He changed topic, trying find clarity as to where my head was at. I wanted to act as if I'm confused, as if it's all over the place, but it isn't. My focus is on him, and him alone.

His candyfloss lips were darkened by his constant state of nervous nibbling. Small uneven dimples etched into his skin as he frowned slightly, a state of discontent rushing over his features. Velvet brown eyes and hair darker than licorice accented his pale cheeks, which didn't look as if they'd seen sunlight for a few days.

The thin gold chain around his neck glistened underneath my warm lighting, and I felt like a thieving magpie, desperately searching out for something shiny to cling on to. I'd make it my own, burrow it deep within my nest, keeping it safe and hidden, just for me; like the memory of his pink tongue against my neck and the reddening of his skin beneath my nails as I'd gripped onto his safe arms in his studio.

"Mhmm," I nodded, lying.

It was still in it's tin, sitting on my dressing table.

The events of the last few days was exactly why I didn't, and simply wouldn't, tell him about my colours. It was easier this way, far less embarrassing. 

Yet my eyes had a horrible habit of betraying me. I was angry and I was frightened, but not of him. I was frightened of myself and the irrevocable damage I could do to the both of us.

Cold against my skin, and evaporating into the air as they rolled down my cheeks, silent tears began to make themselves known.

Gathering at my chin, they pooled and dropped with grace.

There was a tickle above my lips as my nose ran too, water filling my nasal passage like waves crashing through a sea wall. The onslaught was fast, and frightening, and far too vulnerable for my liking. 

"All I ever wanted in my life was to see colours, Annie, but I'd trade them in a heartbeat for you just to believe what I'm saying. For you to believe that the way I feel about you has nothing to do with them."

Memories of him struggling against the freezing ocean that had lapped against us as I told him to 'fuck the colours' played in my head.

This is what I had wanted; so why did it feel so bittersweet?

"You know I'd never ask you to do that, right?" I choked slightly. When I looked at him, all I saw was blue: peace, tranquility, endless possibilities. "I'd never want you to trade your colours for me."

"You are my colours, Annie," his voice cracked slightly, eyes gentle, expression crestfallen.

He wasn't talking about colours at all.

"That's not true," I whispered, ignoring the fact that he was drawing closer towards me.

I wasn't ready for that admittance, even though I was seeing him in more vibrancy than I'd ever experienced before. 

He was mine too.

"But it is, Annie. You've corrupted every single one of my senses. Even without colour, I'm still a Multi for you. When things were Mono, I could imagine you in perfect Multi. My world was entirely black and white, and yet you still were technicolour. How the fuck do you explain that?"

I couldn't.

I couldn't really do anything, fixated by him encroaching on my personal space.

"This is such a stupid fucking argument," he smiled weakly. "We're literally fighting because we like each other too much. Can't you just believe me? And I'll believe you?"

His hands were warm, clammy from his nervousness and the fire of our argument encapsulating his being. With his thumbs on my cheeks as if he's about to rub my tears away, his fingers rested by earlobes. I didn't want him to see me like this, but his positioning trapped me, and I'd never felt more vulnerable, more seen. 

"Annie, please," he whispered, soft lips pressing against my cheek. He dappled them gently, delicately, healing the tracks left on my skin from my tears. One, two, three tiny kisses on my left cheek; four, five six, on my right. "Let me make this right."

I sniffled timidly, not wanting him to think I'm a little gremlin, when the truth of the matter is that I'd cried hysterically, almost constantly, over the last few days.

If he'd have arrived an hour earlier, he would have caught me in the midst of a Taylor Swift induced wail session. My eyelids had been heavy since boxing day, preferring sleep over the reality of life without Jungkook.

I had resigned myself to it being the end of us, but neither of us wanted that. So why let it be?

He kissed my forehead, and then the bridge between my brows. His lips ghosted the tip of my nose, pressing against it gently. 

His eyes were on mine, begging: please.

I couldn't refuse.

And so, I sank into his lips, as they whispered silent apologies into mine.

a/n: 

things i should have been doing today: coursework

things i have done today: this

:) 

i think there might be spice in the next chapter, just a heads up, haven't written it yet so who knows. also i know he hasn't actually said sorry yet lol, dw, it's coming (but also sometimes actions speaks louder than words, so)