JUNGKOOK

Days on trial: 56

"And what about this one?"

"Green," I nodded confidently, as the doctor held up the last of his colour flashcards.

We'd been going over them for weeks now, gradually filling up my patient file with new colours. Apparently I was struggling with blue tones, but I just had to take the Doc's word for that. I wouldn't know blue if it slapped me in the face.

"It's not uncommon for natural Multi's to find a particularly stubborn resistance to certain colours," he clarified reclining into rolling desk chair he was on, behind a sterile white desk. "It could be because particular receptors are damaged, or are just weaker than the others, or sometimes they just don't produce enough of the hormones to fulfil the quantities needed to supply every single receptor."

His overalls were a pale green, loose-fitting and a little crinkled. Throughout the entire trial, his smile had never wavered. If he was getting continuous results like mine, mind you, why would he frown? It was exactly the result he was after.

"So if someone isn't completely in love, they won't see in complete Multivision?" I asked, having always assumed that it worked like a switch. I hadn't considered that the colours built like pressure on a trigger instead.

"It's not an exact science," the doctor hummed, jotting notes down into my file. "No two humans are the same. Love is the cause, the colours are just a reaction."

"And that means alternatively, you could be completely in love, but see no colours at all, right?" I asked, still trying to make heads and tails of my own former predicament.

"If the reaction isn't triggered, yes. Hormone imbalances, dodgy receptors, stress, they can all have an impact - but you know this already. It's the whole reason you signed up for the trial, wasn't it?"

His words lingered and I contemplated my motives.

The clearer the colours became, the less clear my intentions were.

I knew why I had started the trial, but I wasn't sure why I was continuing.

I'd been offered the chance the withdraw following the breakdown of my relationship, and I had so nearly taken it.

I was starting to wish I had.

It would have been easier to judge my current feelings without the colours. Whether I liked it or not, the expectations that came with each new colour only mounted to the crush I was letting simmer. It was in human nature to associate colours with love. But mine were artificial, so how could I trust that my feelings weren't too?

"A few of the testers have made a support group," the doctor informed me as he was writing out a fresh prescription. "What you're experiencing, though in theory is normal, is actually an incredibly unique thing. They're holding a mixer just before New Year's on the 30th. There's a flyer in the lobby, if you're interested."

"Cheers," I nodded, taking the prescription and heading on my way - but not before picking up a flyer on the way out.

I stuffed it into my pocket, along with my phone, which had just flickered with a new message from Tiff.

Was good to see you the other day, Googie. I hope you've had a chance to think about what I said. Let me know xxx

'No' was the only appropriate response to all three of her statements.

I hadn't thought about her proposition once - I hadn't even discussed it with the boys. Her appearance that night had been erased from my memory, replaced entirely by what my friends had done for me.

Tiff wanted to be friends, too. Friends who still fucked. Friends who still went as each other's plus-ones to holiday events. Friends.

I told her that 'friends don't lie and fuck other people when they shouldn't'. She cried, and I felt horrible, so I told her that I'd think about it.

Looks like I was the liar now.

I buried the thoughts of it all as I got lost in my work again that afternoon.

The tip of my brush danced elegantly up the side of the motorcycle gas tank I was working on. I was used to working on cars, so the change in shape was a challenge for me. Dusky pearlescent rose waltzed a celestial trail down the tank body, contrasting it's shining black finish. Shimmering underneath the studio lights, I was in awe of the tiny glitter particles which would trickle from the brush.

When everything had been monotone, I didn't realise quite how gorgeous metallic tones could be. The idea of losing this, the gift of seeing my craft, was overwhelmingly calamitous. Withdrawing from the trial would have been a hell of a mistake.

"You know we've got perfectly good coffee in the kitchen, right?" My dad's tutting drew my attention away from my work.

"Huh?"

I was still studying the shapes I had outlined on the motorbike's body. Solar planets colliding into stars, constellations sparkling in the light, it rivalled pictures of the milky way. The client had been specific: Neptune, Jupiter, Pluto, the moon, the sun. He wanted them all, and he wanted them at home in a bed of twinkling stars.

My dad whistled once he caught a glimpse of what I had been working on. "Not bad."

It was as close to a compliment as I was gonna get, so I nodded and gave him thanks.

"S'pose you've earned it," he mumbled, putting a steaming takeaway cup of coffee next to me. I could smell sweet caramel in the vapours and tilted my head, recognising the branding on the side of the cup.

"Where's this from?" I laughed, furrowing my brows, knowing dad had been working on a blown head gasket that afternoon. I hadn't noticed him head off to get coffee - not that he ever would. He thought the idea of coffee shops was pure idiocy. He made sure to tell me that each and every Wednesday when I left work early to go to one.

"Kid on a delivery bike dropped it off. Got your name on it," he spoke bluntly, tutting as he left the room, muttering something about technology frying my brain.

It's not that I couldn't remember making an order - I knew I hadn't made an order.

Taking a sip of the hot brew, one, two, three, four pumps of caramel syrup caressed my tongue. Almost scalding my oesophagus, it sank into my body, warming my stomach. The heat seeped from the crux of my sternum right into the tips of my fingers and my toes, and I smiled.

She'd done well.

Unlocking my phone, I flicked up our message thread, warming my thumbs up to type.

Thanks for the coffee.

No, too basic. Delete.

You don't owe me anymore.

No, too blunt. Delete.

You can be cute when you want to be.

No, too soft. Ughhhh. Delete.

"Fuck it," I muttered, closing the chat and opening up my delivery app, scrolling until I found our coffee shop. Within a minute, a vanilla macchiato (with coconut milk, as always) was ordered and on its way to her office.

For a second, I panicked in case it wasn't actually her who had sent me it - but she was the only one who knew about my disdain for coffee actually tasting like coffee.

It had been an innocent mishap - the waitress had simply given us the wrong orders on one our first meetings. Annie's upturned mouth and slightly flared nostrils as she took a sip was the first give away that something was amiss.

"Would you like any coffee with your syrup?" She had teased me. Though it was before I could see colour, I'm pretty sure my cheeks had flamed red.

It was the first time I had ever told her to 'go fuck herself' - the start of a beautiful friendship.

I found myself smiling fondly at the memories, shaking my head to concentrate back on my work.

There was a flutter in my chest - probably just the caffeine attacking the health of my heart. I paid it no notice.

The same flutter made its presence known to me again as I saw Annie, gleefully spring out of her office to meet me at the end of the day. I'd come straight from the studio to her, so I knew I must have looked like shit, hands covered in a myriad of metallic tones.

Her loose hair bounced as she half-skipped across the road, gentle waves framing her face like she was a work of art. She was wearing that red lipstick again, the one that had set my receptors off in the first place and I couldn't help but fixate on her smile. It was still my favourite colour.

"Someone's had too much coffee," I called while she was still a short distance away, teasing her animated movements.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Mr Jeon," her heavenly laughed echoed.

I supposed she wasn't wrong. She'd texted me shortly afterwards to say thank you, but that Chloe was stropping due to her lack of a coffee delivery. Not wanting to lose favour, I sent through another order, but this time for her entire office. It was just Annie's signature coffee and a few flat whites, which would have been fine... had Chloe not also texted Jimin whining about Annie being sent coffee.

Like me, he hadn't wanted to lose favour either, so had ordered her entire office frappuccinos.

Even that probably would have been fine, but apparently one of her colleagues, Namjoon, had been on his lunch break and decided to pick them all up coffee on his way back in.

She'd sent me a photo of nearly a dozen coffee cups on her desk, while she was sipping on the first one I had sent her. 'You started a trend', she captioned it.

I warned her that her body wouldn't be able to handle that much caffeine - to which she replied with a 'whoops', and a picture of three empty cups a few hours later.

"So what's the plan?"

"Bucket list items number six and number eight," she hummed, not realising I didn't have a clue which order things were in. "We're gonna eat the rainbow and watch your favourite film in colour."

"Two in one go? You're spoiling me."

"It's all the coffee," she laughed. "It's got my energy up."

By the time we had arrived at Annie's apartment, after a detour at the grocery store, the heavens had opened. Wind whistled against her window panes, carrying an onslaught of rain with it. Violently pouring, raindrops scattered like shrapnel.

Our hair was soaked and our clothes were wet right through, but it didn't seem to matter. She's laughing, just as she always was as she flicks on her heating and sends me to her bathroom to get fresh towels.

"I don't really have any clothes for you to change into," she spoke apologetically, before a lightbulb shone above her head. "I tell a lie. I've got loads of men's shirt that I use for sleeping in. You can chuck your jeans in the tumble dryer if you like."

"You got any shorts or anything?"

"Not sure my booty shorts are gonna do much for you I'm afraid, Kook," she glanced towards me, lashes low, cheeks dimpled.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was flirting with me. I could hear my pulse in my ears, my eyes wide and slightly alarmed. Was I supposed to flirt back?!

"So take my jeans off, and...?" I almost choked. "Just not wear anything?"

"Gasp," she spoke instead of making the sound, sarcastically. "So you mean I'd see... your legs?! Scandalous."

"Fuck off, Annie."

"Don't be such a baby," her eyes rolled mischievously. "Boxers are still a thing. You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it, I just figured wet jeans would be a hell of a lot more uncomfortable. It's up to you."

"Just don't stare at me, you perv," I used her insult from a few nights ago against her, and she looks at me with a smirk realising that she might just have met her match.

Annie had started cooking by the time I was changed.

She'd rummaged out a few options of clothing for me, but I ended up going with an extra-large black RIPNDIP shirt, with a little white cat hidden in the pocket. She'd told me that he was called Lord Nermal, and when she pushed the fabric of the pocket down, you could see that his little paws had middle fingers up. I'd never seen a shirt that encompassed her personality more.

Eventually I chose to forego my jeans - she was right, they felt fucking horrible. We'd be under the faux fur throws on her couch regardless, so it's not like I'd be that exposed. Still, I was thankful I'd chosen a decent pair of branded boxer briefs when I'd woken up that morning.

"Something smells good," I hummed, soaking up the scent of pan-roasted peppers. She was making fajitas and I was on salad chopping duty.

"Hopefully it'll taste good too."

In a pair of burgundy yoga leggings, with a wide neck white shirt draped off one of her shoulders, Annie was breathtaking.

Uncharacteristically, her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, or perhaps it wasn't uncharacteristic of her at all - I'd never seen her at home in her comfies.

I'm well aware that I'm staring, but I'm beyond the point of caring now. I want her to notice the way I look at her. It's the same way I'm convinced she looks at me - with intent.

There's no message I want to convey, nor subliminal messages for her to pick up on. Just that I'm here, and that I see her.

I really see her.

I see the dainty green gemstones studded into her tragus. I see the plumy-grey bruise on her forearm from where Jimin accidentally whacked her with a controller on games night. I see the pink of her tongue that's clamped between her scarlet lips as she's trying to unscrew the machine-tightened lid of a jar.

I see the shadows that contour her face, and the light that illuminates my favourite parts. I see the decadent gold chains that sit atop of her collarbones, trailing down her chest. I see the flush in her cheeks when she notices me looking at her, again.

I see her, and I realise I can't see anyone else in the same way.

I don't want to see anyone else in the same way.

To see Annie is to see colours.

"Are you gonna help or are you just gonna watch me struggle?" She laughed, cooling the tension simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I hold my hand out for her to pass me the jar, opening it with ease. "What would you do without me?"

"I'd just go and ask my hot neighbour," she teased. Her flirty grin isn't missed by me, but her words distract me.

"Hot neighbour, eh?" I try my best to sound like I'm unbothered.

"Mhmm, firefighter. Very strong. Could have done that jar with his pinkie."

His pinkie?! I'd used my whole entire palm. Fuck.

"Probably has weak lungs," I say, shaking my head into my neck when her back is turned. Why am I still talking?! "Just from, like, the fires and stuff."

"Nah, his lungs are perfectly fine. Great stamina."

Sta-STAMINA?!

How does she know about his stamina? Oh God, she's dating her neighbour. She's fucking her neighbour. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

"Stamina is good, but you need endurance," I retorted like an absolute child, trying to place myself above her neighbour. "Like when I'm painting. I can paint for hours and my hand doesn't even cramp."

I sounded like a nerd. Stop talking, Jungkook.

"No? That's good to know."

"Yeah, I-uh. It's just-um," I stammer, wanting to steer the conversation away from her hot neighbour, but failing miserably. He'd already won.

"I mean it's fine," Annie shrugged, adding chicken strips into the pan with a sizzle. She doesn't look at me as she talks. "If my firefighter neighbour wasn't in, I could always just ask his husband."

I pause for a second, slowing the hand I was chopping lettuce with.

"His... husband?"

Oh god, sweet relief. He's married.

"And then if his husband it out too, I suppose I could text you," she finally looked at me, smug. She knew what was she was doing. "Last resort."

We were too competitive for our own good.

"I might already be busy helping out my own hot neighbour," I shrugged now, chopping away at my lettuce. I'd taken on her role, not looking at her as I spoke, and the power trip was fantastic. I just knew she had thinned her eyes to cast judgement over my words.

"Oh yeah?" Her voice was playful. "Mrs Tanami often need you to unscrew her jars?"

I dry retched.

"You're disgusting, Annie," I said dramatically.

"I didn't mean it like that," she laughed now, beautifully, throwing a tea towel directly at my face. "You're sick."

I catch the cloth and throw it back towards her gently, so that it lands just beside where she's working. I know she'll need it again in a minute. "I'm sick of you."

"Then leave."

"I've got no trousers on."

"I don't care."

We both know I'm not leaving. Like a pair of magnets, I don't think I'd be able to leave even if I tried.