VMIN / THE GUTTER

8

Jimin feels the shadows as they sway beneath his feet. Since the debacle with Taehyung, he's felt like this horrendous cloud has been hanging over his head, all dogmatic with its supercilious erring of unfeeling. Like fraught hands are lulling his soul to sleep, he feels the ice in his skull, as it bedecks him in a shiny casing of terror.

Turning up to school on that Tuesday morning is a struggle, and Jimin feels like hell is having a party in his mind, as he trundles down the hall, a black cap shielding his face somewhat. His white tshirt is starting to untuck at the waist, where the white belt to his light blue jeans in synching him in. And Min Yoongi immediately shoves the fabric beneath the waistband when he comes to find Jimin. The younger hisses and jumps a little in surprise, the shock of human warmth startling him to an ungodly extent.

"Shit. Someone's jumpy." Yoongi laughs in his ear, as he swivels around and walks backward beside Jimin, so he can face him with ease. "You look like shit, man." He tells him, earnest.

Jimin's eyes close for a moment, and a sigh racks through his body, seeming to have come from deep within, rolling all through his bones. The ache of it stretches across him in such a soft manner. "Yeah, Jia was being so difficult last night." He tells him, and he's not exactly lying — honestly, as soon as he'd gotten home from saving Taehyung, the house was quiet, and he'd gone upstairs, exhausted, desperate to get some sleep, only to find his sister in his room, rifling through his stuff. Arguments ensued, and the entire house became alive with noise.

Yoongi gives a soft nod, and something kind covers his face; it's not pity, Yoongi was too empathetic and good for that, but there is a rather chasmic sort of creak to his skin, as the depth of his understanding unearths itself. "You ready for basketball practice later?" He inquires, changing the subject instantly, and Jimin's shoulders slump in relief, as they continue their meaningless conversation into their first period classroom: art.

Jimin slips into his seat, and not so subtly glances around, flittering over art supplies and the canvases all congregated together in a circle, rifling his gaze between faces and cataloging credentials. All the seats are taken, all except one.

"Apparently there's a whole group of clowns who never smile going and— yo, are you listening to me?" Jimin quickly snaps his head to Yoongi and sheepishly smiles at him from beneath his hat, batting his lashes in a way that makes the irritation in the older assuage instantly. With a hearty sigh, Yoongi asks him, "the twins are still super into clowns, right?"

"Right." Jimin smiles softly at him for recalling the details.

Yoongi nods and continues, "and their birthday is very soon, right?"

"Right." Jimin nods again, becoming more interested in the conversation immediately. "There's a circus in town?" His eyes become brighter with the knowledge, and, oh, how wonderful it was to have a friend so willing to look for things to alleviate your own responsibility; he'd almost forgotten of their birthday, let alone getting them a gift or a nice experience. There's so much on his plate, he feels one day he shall leave the house having forgotten to tether shoes to his feet.

Yoongi clicks his tongue at him, pretending to be annoyed in having to repeat himself.

Jimin just grins back.

When Miss Chung, their art teacher, enters, it's with a flurry of flower-scented perfume and the jingling of a necklace concocted of technicolour plastic; her smile is gorgeous, and she directs it at Jimin, seeming as if thanking him for fixing her bike the other day. "Morning everyone." She sings, as she comes to place her items on the desk, a large thermal, decorated with twisted daisies and florets, containing a jasmine-scented tea, in her hand. Conversations hush, because everyone likes Miss Chung — she's sweet, a little ditsy, but blossoming at the soil-engraved heart with good intentions. Her hands are covered in plastic rings, and she grasps at a strand of her hair that's soft and warm as burnt caramel and she smiles as she says, "I want you to draw what makes you feel anguish."