Read My Lips || Yoonmin || {COMPLETED}

23

They're waiting in a lobby type area while some caretakers clear a room for Yoongi's equipment. Jimin doesn't know why the whole ordeal makes him nervous. He's just here to watch Yoongi play, he tells himself. Nothing special.

He turns to Yoongi, wanting to say something to break the tension that no one else seems to feel. "You didn't tell me you play piano for fucking orphans," he hisses.

"Actually, I play for regular orphans."

"Fuck off," he half-heartedly snaps with no real venom. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The older man looks at him fondly before slowly answering. "I...I'm not sure actually. I thought you'd see me as weak." He looks down at his toes in what Jimin perceives as shame, fading pink hair flopping with his head. He restrains the strange urge to pet it and flicks the older's forehead playfully instead.

"Yoongi, what the actual fuck? Aren't you supposed to be smart? If anything, you're the opposite of weak," Jimin rolls his eyes. "You dedicate your time and energy to other people rather than yourself and...you're a lot of people's role model." Jimin smiles, cheeks hurting but it doesn't matter, because it's true. He hopes to one day become half the man Yoongi is, at least half a damn angel. "And hyung?" he adds, voice trembling.

Yoongi doesn't say anything, but he knows he has his undivided attention.

"Fireworks." His voice is barely more than a whisper now, he can feel it. When Yoongi's lips part in confusion, Jimin continues, swallowing the lump in his suddenly dry throat. "It was a fireworks accident that made me deaf." His breath hitches, and he holds back the tears that so desperately want to escape his eyes. Fuck, he believed he was ready to tell this to Yoongi without turning into a pitiful mess. "I was sixteen." God, he's been deaf for five years already. Five years of reading lips and he still works at a fucking coffee shop.

"I'm sorry," is all Yoongi says before Jimin's vision gets blurry and he can't see the older man's lips moving anymore. Suddenly, he's off balance, leaning on Yoongi for support. The first real physical contact they've had, other than the occasional shaking of hands or bumping of elbows. He likes it, even though he's still crying, a silent stream of tears flowing down his cheeks, devoid of his usual maniacal hyperventilating or violent sobbing - Yoongi's warm, smells like peppermint, and feels like home, and for some strange reason he never wants to let go.

When the tears stop coming and the sniffling dies down, he feels vibrations on his face and freezes, because Yoongi's lips are whispering something against his cheek that he must know Jimin can't hear. The older man leans back and this time, says something Jimin can interpret. "It's ironic huh?" Jimin blinks, motioning for him to continue. "How the things that bring you the most joy also bring you the most pain." Jimin has a gnawing feeling that Yoongi's not just talking about fireworks and wonders if maybe, piano is painful for him as well. He's seen Yoongi's cheap apartment. He knows how hard it is for musicians to make a living.

A caretaker arrives in the lobby and approaches, distracting him from his thoughts, and herds a small group of children with her arms. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?" she asks in concern, worry lines etching onto her forehead as she notices Jimin's red rimmed eyes.

Yoongi faces her and explains something along the lines of, "We were just finishing. I have to go get my equipment set up," before he leaves the room.

The caretaker kneels down and addresses the bunch of small kids in front of him, about ten of them. He reads her nametag: Sister Shinhye. "Children, why don't you introduce yourselves to Jimin here? Make sure to say your names clearly, he can't hear you well." Did Yoongi tell them about him?