Don't Call Me Angel || VMIN

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Knocking back a glass of water, Jimin swallowed the two round pills with ease and then set the cup down on the counter. He slunk away from the sink and headed out of the ensuite, stopping just before the bed and hovering tensely by it. Time to try again.

When they had returned, the eldest had immediately ordered Taehyung to his room so that Yoongi could redress the wound. Seokjin, after making sure his brother was alright, had tended to the dancer's needs, which were much simpler: two tablets of tramadol and time to rest. Unfortunately for him, the medication wouldn't kick in for another half an hour at least and he was stuck trying to distract himself from the continuous onslaught of aches. Running around hadn't done his body any good and neither had getting himself all worked up.

Thus far, the only thing that worked was dragging his fingers lightly over the bedsheets and letting his mind succumb to the horrific memories that piled on top of one another. Flinching back every other second, he only managed to keep it up for a short period of time before the images became too intense and he had to go back to dealing with his aching muscles. It was either psychological torment or physical pain, he had to choose one. It was ironic that he had to use one source of suffering as a means of escaping the other.

Broken whimpers tumbled out of his mouth and he cradled his hand to his chest, like a crying child who had scraped his wrist while playing at the park. He was simply unable to rid his skin of the phantom fingers that trailed up and down his arms and dragged across his chest. That was enough mental torment. For now, he would have to put up with his other pain until the medicine worked its way into his system.

How had his life come to this? What had gone so wrong that he was spending his time debating the least painful method of distracting himself from the blend of bruises covering his body?

Things had a habit of changing far too quickly for the dancer's liking. Not too long ago, his biggest dilemma was deciding whether to put maple syrup or chocolate spread on his morning waffles. That truly seemed like a different lifetime compared to the trouble he was facing now.

"Fuck this," he mumbled to himself, deciding that a better way to spend his time would be going to see how Taehyung was getting on, given that it was his fault the other was injured.

Slipping down the hall, the ravenette could hear a couple of voices coming from the kitchen and he sped up, not because he didn't want to see them, but because he was still very self-conscious around everyone else. His legs were leaden and they stung with every step. However, he continued, knowing the tramadol would soon work its magic and dull it all down.

The door stood ajar and he approached it quietly, realising the elder might be sleeping. It quickly became obvious that his caution wasn't needed and he peered through the slit, spotting him seated at his desk again. Even after all the pestering from Seokjin, he was choosing to work rather than rest. Jimin had been able to hear their argument from the bedroom he was staying in and he couldn't help wondering why Taehyung was refusing his brother. For some reason, he either didn't want to or wasn't able to relax. Then again, the dancer didn't blame him, it would be odd if he felt at ease after being stabbed.

Tentatively, he raised a hand to knock on the door. Before his knuckles came into contact with the wood, the elder turned in his chair and stared right at him, cocking an eyebrow quizzically when they made eye contact.

"You've been waiting there a while, aren't you going to come in?"

His tone was gentle, quite the opposite of the taunt the younger was expecting, and it made him even more hesitant to walk inside. He was almost tempted to turn away, flee back to the other room and pretend none of this ever happened. However, he owed the brunette an apology and it didn't seem like the other was planning on letting him walk away without talking first.