roses may look so beautiful but they are armed and protected with death - ivy to hang from and thorns to bleed crimson.
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jimin sat in his own study, hands gripping the arm rests of his wooden chair and pearly whites nipping at his bottom lip. a vase of a dozen red roses sat in the middle of the organised desk, the red shade the exact same red he bled nights before.
there was an ivory note tacked to the side, neat handwriting that was surely yoongi's. after all, the man had delivered them himself.
jimin plucked the note nervously, shaky breaths emitting from plump lips as he read.
you lied to me baby boy. i know that you hurt jungkook. but it's okay. blood spills eventually, and i'm just hoping that someone won't have to clean up yours. love, yoongi x
son of a bitch.
but the roses, as threatening they may seem with the sharpened thorns and crimson petals screaming murder, he smiled at the (maybe) romantic gesture.
he may be a complete mystery of the devil's work, but he really was a gentleman.
