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Summary
Halfway across the room, practically framed by the curled bodies of Cupid and Psyche in the Reynolds behind him, is the spitting image of Park Jimin.
Taehyung takes his first steps towards the other while he remains stock-still. They echo in the half-empty hall just fifteen minutes shy of closing, one by one until he stands alongside the other gazing up at the painting.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been followed quite so intensely,” he comments, low and quiet but with enough dismissal for the weather. “Especially being able to notice it.”