Names- Jikook (✔️)

Chapter Six

Jimin's POV

    "Don't worry love, because all of this is not a coincidence." -DNA, BTS

    He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, yesterday's events washing like glassy waves through the caverns of his mind. He would have to confront Hoseok once he got to school, he knew, but the very thought of the way his eyes had narrowed, the guarded tone of his voice, sent waves of electricity coursing through his veins.

    "No. You can't back out, Jimin," He muttered to himself, splashing his smooth features with cold water before shutting off the icy tap. Drawing out a shaky breath, he stepped off the smooth tile of the bathroom floor and into the hall, hoping that his parents had both gone off to work.

    "Hey, Jimin!" A deep, masculine voice wafted from the front door, smooth tone the precise mixture of soft and refined that could only belong to his father. He cringed, running his slender fingers tersely through his hair out of habit, then walked in the direction of the man's call. He stood just outside the front door, crow-black hair combed neatly to the side and work tie ironed into a perfect line. "Your mother is worried about you. These past few days, you've seemed out of it." Jimin flinched; it wasn't like his father to concern himself with emotional matters in the family, especially regarding his son. True, he knew that he hadn't exactly been himself around his parents the past few days, but he didn't think they would really notice.

    "I'm worried, too," The older man allowed, opaque eyes staring him down with something like sympathy, though the last time he had shown Jimin anything but distant emotion evaded the boy's memory. He clenched the door handle tight between his fingers, tendons in his wrist bulging against the cold metal. "I care, though I know that probably doesn't seem to be the case." His father stepped forward, as if to embrace him, then thought the better of it and retracted his aging hand. Fiddling with his crisp tie awkwardly, he gave his son a curt nod before starting off down the concrete driveway. "I love you, Jimin," He said over his shoulder, so quietly Jimin almost thought he had imagined it. He sighed, and turned back into the house to finish getting ready.

    The trek to school was a long one, the street corner where his friends so often awaited him strangely empty. He couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse, but either way it was decisively lonely to brave the unpleasant weather alone. He shivered as a gust of wind howled past his ears, sending his carefully combed hair into a cinnamon flurry. The streets were dark, devoid of life; the only sound was the cool shuddering of leaves as they held their own against the cruel gusts of air blowing through the chilly morning sky. He could scarcely recall the beautiful weather that had kept him content mere days before; indeed, it seemed that spring had already lost its much-appreciated influence. Even the birds, flitting stiffly from branch to moss-covered branch, were silent, somber wings flapping heavily against the wind. He kept his vision trained on the monochrome sidewalk, its array of gray tones blending together as tears welled up in his coffee-colored eyes. His shoes dragged against the etched concrete, stopping only as another pair came into view. He looked up slowly, taking in blue jeans, a painfully red jacket, and slender arms crossed over each other through blurred pupils. He stared into an identical pair of onyx eyes as Hoseok regarded him under raised brows, head tilted slightly to one side in habit.

    "Hoseok." He allowed, willing his voice not to break, hoping foolishly that the other boy couldn't see the glistening of tears against the whites of his eyes, the dull crimson of his cheeks.

    "Jimin," He replied, obviously taking note of his blatantly glum state. He seemed to soften, as he always did when someone was in obvious distress. "Do you... want to talk about it?" His hand ghosted over Jimin's shoulder, deciding at the last minute not to touch him.