Time.

It is the one force that cannot be restrained. No power, neither natural nor manmade, can oppose its relentless flow.

Time performs wonders, yet it also creates disasters. It can make things disappear or bloom, destroy or heal, erase or offer a chance to relive what once was.

And among all that time challenges, two powerful elements stand beside it: patience and endurance.

You endure because you are patient.

You remain patient because you have learned to endure.

Humanity has always carried such examples. Many have come before, and many will follow, but in this present moment stands a man who defines both virtues. A soul tested by time, broken yet rebuilt, who faced death and heartbreak together, and still continues his silent battle for the part of himself he left untouched.

Jeon Jungkook. The living artist. The man whose revival was as unexpected as the return of sunlight after a long and furious storm.

He now glows with a new light, lives with deeper meaning, and walks through life with a renewed purpose.

His transformation is not only within him but also carved upon his skin.

Dark tattoos cover his arm like a shield, piercings trace the curves of his ears, a metal ring rests upon his lip, and a single piercing glimmers at the edge of his eyebrow.

The long hair that once carried memories has been sacrificed.

He cut it short, bleached it, and painted it anew to erase the essence of every touch it once held.

If he could, he might even shed his skin to feel entirely reborn. Since he cannot, he hides his tone beneath intricate ink patterns.

His voice has changed, or perhaps his way of speaking has.

He speaks little now, but each word carries weight. He is passion himself. He is the moment.

He is an artist known by his own name — Jeon Jungkook.

The well-known artist, illustrator, and urban architectural designer, the founder of Decalcomania University, a place especially established for underprivileged kids who dream of becoming artists like Jeon Jungkook one day, stands as one of the most unshakable personalities of the present time.

He stands strong after the storm. So strong that he no longer hides himself from the world. He lets people see him, know him, and hear him.

Time has favored him.

“It is almost impossible for anyone to take the world by storm, yet here we have Mr. Jeon Jungkook effortlessly doing it. Many of your admirers want to know the secret behind your perfection in every field of art,”

the interviewer said, sitting across from Jungkook as the cameras rolled.

There he sat, casually dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, his hair dyed green, a soft grin curving his lips. He absentmindedly nibbled on his lip piercing while facing the interviewer, an act so subtle, yet enough to raise the temperature of the room with his quiet intensity.

“What field of art are you talking about, miss? Elaborate, please,”

Jungkook asked simply, rubbing the back of his neck. Every gesture of his was effortless, yet impossibly magnetic.

“The art of painting,”

she replied,

“Sold out exhibitions worldwide, and recently, your work in creating music video themes, giving rise to era culture of themes in the pop industry. Each one of them has been incredibly captivating.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a small grin, that tough exterior melting into something unexpectedly soft.

“You think so?” he asked, his face almost too gentle for someone carrying such an intense aura.

“It’s not just me,” the interviewer said, smiling,

“Every admirer of yours believes that you are the moment, the artist this generation looks up to.”

“Am I?”

Jungkook replied casually, his words few and measured, his presence saying more than any answer ever could.

It was just so him. Even with his less effort, he left a huge impact on everyone around him. His aura spoke louder than words ever could.

The interviewer felt a twinge of tension, Jungkook’s questions gently flattering her heart, and then the artist broke into a wide, effortless smile.

“Well, if they look up to me, I’m glad.”

“Of course. You are someone to look up to. Thousands of children have found their path to their dreams because of you. So what else does Mr. Jeon Jungkook have planned for the people?”

“What do people expect from me?”

Jungkook asked, his voice carrying a playful mockery under that side grin.

For a long moment, silence hung in the recording studio. His questions turned the tables, making it feel like a reverse interview, as if he were the one asking all the questions.

Finally, Jungkook’s eyes drifted to the other side, finding his manager standing at a distance, signaling him to simply answer.

Jungkook had trusted this man for the past five years, the reason behind much of his success, and he could not ignore him now.

“I guess I’ll leave it up to the future. Whatever happens will happen for a reason. I’ll go at my own pace, fast or slow. I’m here to keep going.”

His answer eased the tension, lifting the dark clouds that had hovered over the interviewer’s head.

She smiled, quietly, not because of his words, but because of him.

Jungkook has changed, undeniably. From his appearance to his personality, from his aura to his style of art, everything has transformed. The magical, heavenly touch of soft, tender brushstrokes has been replaced by sprays of color and digital graphics. The warm, gentle palette has given way to neon lights and dark shades.

He no longer illustrates beauty, figures, or the hidden calm of nature. Now, his work exudes passion and aggression, each piece pulsating with intensity.

He does not capture art on just canvas anymore. He displays it through digital means also, in ways that are as bold and modern as he has become.

The hopeless romantic artist, JK, has truly died. From that burial arose a new creator, the man the world now knows as Jeon Jungkook.

Does he care that he has changed? No.

Does he miss the old him? No.

Is he completely over his past? Perhaps.

Even after years of rebuilding, reinventing himself, and embracing a unique identity, there remain fragments of the old Jungkook that could not be altered or replaced, even after five transformative years.

At the core, he is still the same. Still the old him for those who truly know him. Still a man of sincerity and passion. Still an artist.

What has changed is his style, his way of living, his attire, his motto, his home, and the way he creates and experiences life.

And yet, not everything has changed. There are still pieces of the old Jungkook that remain steadfast, like a watch resting on his wrist, quietly contrasting with his bold, urban attire. The dramatic, edgy style he now embraces might seem worlds apart from the classic, vintage timepiece on his left hand, yet somehow it fits, a silent, understated testament to the man beneath the reinvention.

It is something essential to him, especially on significant days like this interview, a detail that did not escape the keen eyes of the media. Fans noticed it too, dissecting every shot on fan accounts, yet Jungkook never commented. He never needed to. That watch has always been more than just an accessory. It is a part of him, a small, steady anchor amid all the chaos of fame, art, and reinvention.

It is a quiet reminder that despite all the change, the tattoos, the piercings, the neon colors, the aggressive strokes of his digital work, some things he still holds dear, some things he still values deeply.

Maybe, after all, this is what hasn’t changed.

~♡~

“So, how far do you see the change? Are you able to sleep well lately?”

The man’s gaze drifted down to his wristwatch. He bit his bottom lip lightly, his eyes wandering around the room as if searching for an answer. No, he hadn’t been sleeping, not through the night, not for a long time.

“Hmm… I’ll take your silence as a no,” the therapist said softly, scribbling something on his notepad before looking back at him.

“You’ve done remarkably well these past few months. Your progress has been incredible. But I think it’s time to start something new. With all the graduation pressure and the beginning of your career, I imagine it’s becoming overwhelming. I’d like to suggest a new therapy approach.”

Taehyung remained silent, the familiar wave of anxiety racing through his veins. The more he tried to breathe, the heavier the air felt. Every time he thought he could return to the version of himself he once knew, he found himself giving up right before reaching it.

“I only want to help you, Taehyung,”

the therapist continued, his tone gentle and steady.

“Keeping things from me won’t make it any easier.”

The brunet stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the ticking hands of his watch. He counted the seconds like he always did, waiting for the day to end, only to wake up and watch another one die the same way.

For him, time had become an enemy.

Time is unstoppable.

It is unbeatable and irreversible. The power it holds surpasses all that exists, both in nature and beyond.

We, as humans, know that no matter how much strength, power, or glory we possess, they all eventually fade. They can be tarnished, damaged, and even destroyed.

Yet, there are things that time cannot erase – scars.

The pain may subside, the wound may heal, but what remains as a silent reminder of suffering is the scar. And the cruel truth is that not all scars are visible.

Just like this man, beaten down by reality, burdened by suffering that came as the price for all the attachments he could no longer hold onto.

He waited.

He let time test him again and again until he grew numb. The storms came and passed, leaving behind a trail of marks – scars unseen by the world but deeply carved into his soul.

He carried countless invisible wounds, but one remained visible on his wrist. It served as a constant reminder of how merciless time could be.

He kept it hidden beneath the leather strap of his watch, unnoticed by most but not by the therapist sitting across from him, the one assigned to help him recover from what nearly ended him.

That scar was self-inflicted, born from a moment when darkness had consumed him so completely that he tried to escape reality itself. But even that attempt failed.

And in the failure, he convinced himself that he couldn’t even finish one thing on his own – that he was meant only to endure, to carry everything without ever finding an end to it.

He was not just shaped by time.

He was destroyed by it.

Time had taken away his shine and glow.

It had muted his voice, dulled his expressions, and left him numb and hopeless.

But now he is fighting for himself.

He wanted to reclaim a sense of normalcy, to exist without being treated as fragile or special. It took immense effort and strength, but this time he refused to give up.

He had endured enough silence and anxiety.

“Taehyung… I heard from Jimin that you recently made a clay model of a building he designed. I didn’t know you could do this. Would you tell me how it felt when you made it? It looks wonderful in the pictures,” the therapist asked, hoping to spark some excitement in him.

Taehyung lifted his eyes, blank and searching for any trace of feeling while recalling the moment he worked on the model. He didn’t know what he had felt.

“Was it interesting?”

The therapist prompted gently. Taehyung’s gaze drifted into the space beyond the room, and after a moment, he nodded slightly. A small smile tugged at the therapist’s lips.

“Oh, amazing. Then I suggest you do it more often. And how about your sketching? Have you done it lately? Can I see some?”

Taehyung hesitated only briefly before handing over his sketchbook. The pages were filled with detailed studies of male bodies, perfect anatomical representations of muscles and postures. Each figure had long hair and strong, defined forms. Faces were left blank, leaving only the pure study of the human body and skin.

“You always sketch effortlessly. They are wonderful. You always finish the tasks I give you. Do you know what that means?”

Taehyung peeked through his permed brown bangs, his curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“It means you’re making progress, Taehyung. Completing these tasks shows growth. I’ll suggest more challenging and interesting ones, and I’ll also help you find ways to feel less anxious so you can sleep better,” the therapist said, smiling warmly as he handed the sketchbook back.

“Now you can go and have some ice cream with your friend,” the therapist said, bringing the session to an end.

A few moments later, a familiar, striking figure walked in. A man who had grown into an astonishing presence, sharp and chiseled features, and hair dyed silver-blonde, styled perfectly and parted just so. Even in his casual stride, he looked like he belonged on a runway.

Park Jimin, Taehyung’s soulmate.

“Taehyungie, let’s go!”

The moment Jimin appeared, Taehyung’s eyes lit up, a radiant smile spreading across his face. Jimin extended his hand, and Taehyung took it without hesitation, as if no one else existed in the room.

For Taehyung, Jimin was more than a friend – he was a lifeline, the sole pillar of unwavering support for the past five years. The attention, the care, and the affection Jimin showered upon him were incomparable, unmatched by anyone else he had ever known.

Taehyung had once feared this attachment, afraid that, like everyone else he had loved and trusted, Jimin would one day leave him. It had taken years for Jimin to gently break through the walls Taehyung had built around himself, but he had succeeded.

He had shown Taehyung that he wasn’t here to leave, to falter, or to falter away. He was here to stay, to guide him, and to walk beside him through the storm. A friend who had turned savior that one fateful night, changing the course of Taehyung’s life entirely – the reason he had survived when everything seemed lost.

“I hope you’ve given him the compliments he deserves, doctor. Taehyungie has been very good,” Jimin said softly, helping Taehyung rise and prepare to leave.

“Of course I did. He’s made remarkable progress. Credit goes to you as well for being such a strong support. Now, for his reward, you can take him out for ice cream,” the therapist suggested, and Jimin simply blinked once in quiet acknowledgment, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thanks, Hobi Hyung,”

Jimin whispered, and his cousin responded with a gentle tap on his arm, smiling warmly.

“You two have fun, alright?”

Taehyung felt his heart swell as he followed Jimin out of the room, hand in hand with the one person who had always believed in him, the one person who had shown him that even broken souls could find light.

Taehyung gripped Jimin’s hand as if letting go might make him vanish, as if the world could swallow him whole the moment their fingers parted. But Jimin was never the one to let go.

Never.

He had always been there, unwavering, a steady presence through every storm and shadow.

And it was because of him, because of Jimin’s quiet, unshakable devotion, that Taehyung had survived.

For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. Whole. Seen.

And in that grip, in that simple act of holding hands, the weight of the past began to lift, leaving only hope, only warmth, only the promise of tomorrow.