Don't Call Me Angel || VMIN

πέντε

Jimin stared in disbelief at the items on the desk before him, watched by Sunwoo, who was standing just across from him. His wide eyes flitted up to the elder's beguiled expression and then back down to what lay folded on the polished wooden surface. A barely-audible gasp escaped his lips and the ravenette was quick to hush it with his hand, not wanting to reveal the true depth of his shock to the other. What the actual fuck was this?

It appeared it was too late for that, the wide grin stretching the old man's aged features was enough to prove that he had sensed the younger's turmoil. He didn't look surprised by the reaction either, which baffled Jimin, and he wondered if he had been expecting something like this. The thought made him feel nauseous, but if he had failed to mask his prior emotions, this one was well hidden. Now, it was time to get into character.

As confidently as he could manage, the ravenette reached forward and lifted up the first part of the garments. Light danced upon the all too familiar fragments of diamond embellishing the shirt so that it almost perfectly resembled one he had packed away the previous night. Thousands of questions flooded his mind and he struggled to hold them back. A tentative hand picked up the accompanying trousers, but he noticed, with a frown, that this part had been changed. Altered so much that, despite remaining white in colour, they now appeared to be shorts rather than the full-length pair of trousers he'd worn. They were so short, in fact, that he hardly thought they qualified for anything more than lingerie.

"As you can see, I've made a few adjustments here and there," Sunwoo divulged, and Jimin realised, once again, his true feelings had been on full display, "But, I thought these would be more appropriate. You're not fifteen years old anymore and these designs will definitely bring out your finest features, don't you agree?"

The elder's gesture to his lower half wasn't missed and Jimin tensed, swallowing thickly in the even denser silence. He didn't try to respond, too shocked by the words ringing around the room to form a coherent answer.

"It was a shame not to trim away more of the shirt, but I didn't want it to be too dissimilar to the old piece, we want people to be able to recognise you as Angel after all."

It was with hesitant steps and a hammering heart that he made his way up to his room. Mind racing, the younger had been so preoccupied that he hadn't heard the 'goodnight' called out behind him from one of the sofas in the living room. Nor did he take note of the questioning remarks that followed. All he could focus on was the clothing clutched, as though it were a lifeline, in his sweaty palms, the sensation of the satin causing old memories to bubble to the surface of his mind. Memories he had long wished to forget. It seemed that all the hours he had spent burying them had been in vain.

When Jimin finally closed his bedroom door, finding himself stepping into the welcoming arms of solitude, he collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor. Carpet came into contact with the back of his head and, although he swore he wouldn't let it happen again, tears began to stream in earnest from his eyes. What kind of evil twist of fate was it that he found himself performing in that outfit again? And it was for his opening show as well.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the words now taunting him. Nayeon's voice was crystal clear, as though they were back in the confinements of that torturous room, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming out. He curled his knees up to his chest and willed himself to think of something else, anything else.

Minutes passed, and the ravenette pried his hands away as, slowly, the sound lessened and the torment elapsed. The ringing of a phone nearly made him jump out of his skin and, in his startled state, it took him several seconds to realise the ringtone belonged to him.