VMIN / THE GUTTER

15

The fog is thick — it settles over the town like a swarm, an infestation, that spreads like mould, dark and damp. It makes sodden work of their warm summers, and the air grows dense with the condensation of it. It's a phenomenon, and not a very welcome one, at that. It gurgles from the reservoir beyond the woods, and sends a ripple of contemptuous humidity across the area.

It's hot. Hot fog.

Amidst it, is the waltzing varsouvianna music, that extends across the atmosphere of laughing patrons, as they disappear in and out of a red and yellow striped tent.

Jimin watches the hot water vapour as it melts down the faded colours of the circus tent, and the music sends a sense of unease about him. He crosses the slush of grass, with it's dew-dropped blades, and his basketball shoes get soaked, yet his skin is still hot. The sun still trembling beyond his vision.

Kwan and Ora skip about, the duo overjoyed; sunburnt arms extended, holding at each other, as they crawl about all the sites.

Yoongi chuckles, as he gnaws on some candy floss, letting it soak down his throat. "This place is great." He comments mindlessly, sunglasses slapped over his face, despite the absence of harsh lighting.

He'd been right. The twins still loved clowns, and it really was the perfect birthday gift for them. Of course, Jimin hadn't enjoyed it so much, as, truth be told, he wasn't particularly fond of circuses or cretins in colourful makeup.

Either way, he's happy that his sister's are happy, as he and Yoongi escort them around the place. They'd already indulged in many of the prepossessing and bizarre acts, along with having observed the elaborate decorations the performers provide. Now, they meander around stalls, listening to the accordion, and watching all the children, with professionally painted faces and cotton candy in tow, run around, giggling. Parents and young adults create a bombinating hum of chatter as they sip juniper tea and watch the acts with fascination.

"That acrobat was fucking radical." He continues, laughing to himself, as he walks, a little airy amidst the damp humidity.

Jimin side-eyes him and chuckles, "you're so easily impressed."

"Oh? So you reckon you could do what she did, could ya?"

"What, squeeze myself in a little box?" Jimin scoffs, lightly says, "I could do that any day of the week, man."

"Bullshit." Yoongi snorts, as he continues to walk, the pair subtly following the twins, but keeping a decent distance so as to let them have some freedom. He, too, seems to be having the time of his life, as the vibrant colours of the circus refract from his eyes, and he kicks wonderfully into each step. "Fuck is up with this weather, though?" He asks, frowning at the unusual spreading of fog, wrapped around them like clouds.

Jimin frowns, but he can't deny the weather grates on his mind — it feels eerie in some way, and the events that transpired in the woods just the other day, still weigh down his heart.

Taehyung had opened his eyes. The whole forest had gone quiet. And Jimin's hand was holding his, but Hoseok and Namjoon were gone. His father was gone.

It was just him and the blue-haired boy, who was panting, and his eyes were pink, shaking with fear. He'd apologised — Jimin remembers that much, amidst the blur of actions that had ensued. He'd apologised and he'd clutched at Jimin's fingers and Jimin grits his teeth, remembers saying, "it's okay." Despite the fact it wasn't. Neither of them knew what to do. They left, and things grew cold when they let go of one another's hands. The fog began to spread that night. Jimin gulps to think of it.

He's so wrapped up in thought, in fact, in the icy memory of the night before, that he physically jumps and recoils when a flower is suddenly placed before him.