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Summary
Sometimes, Yoongi becomes frustrated when he looks back on his time with Jungkook. Everything about the younger, doe-eyed boy was so beautiful.
The way that the sunlight would frame his small scar and focused pout whenever he sat at the keyboard, absorbing everything Yoongi taught him.
The way he would brush Yoongi’s mint coloured hair out of his eyes and press their noses together. The way his long lashes would flutter in bliss whenever Yoongi’s long fingers would press against his entrance.
Jungkook’s very being was art, and Yoongi trying to grasp onto the memory of him felt like seizing a prized painting from a burning museum, praying to make it out with the entire piece.
Maybe Yoongi shouldn’t have set the museum on fire in the first place.