Late Night Radio || Yoonmin #Wattys2018

♪Contrail♪

Jimin Focus

Jiggling the door knob and letting out a quiet 'Aha!', the short junior shuffled through the door with Jae, Tae and Hoseok close behind. It was his first time back at the house after two days of staying at Yoongi's. His cuts had for the most part had healed and the discoloration across his face was finally fading.

As soon as he opened the door, the strong scent of liquor penetrated his nose once again. He looked back at the others as they hissed their own complaints for the awfully sour odor. Hoseok rested his hand down onto the blonde's back with a grimace, squeezing his shoulder muscles and smoothing down his arm.

Jimin sighed, realizing that it was probably pretty sad how used to coming home to this he was. His father had always been a drunk and would always be nothing more. For the past few days he'd found himself trying to convince his mind that he had no father- reciting a mantra in his head over and over, drinking it in and scrubbing away the memory of his father yelling at him and his mother; the sting and ache in his body after he'd been struck.

My name is Park Jimin. I am seventeen years old and live alone with my mother. I have friends. I am loved. I'm okay.

My name is Park Jimin. I am seventeen years old and-

Repeated like a scratched vinyl. At one point he'd ended up changing his last name just out of spite for being branded like cattle- the Park name past down from generation after generation of drunkards- thinking for a while what exactly he'd change it to to break the chain (hating to be attached to the man in such a way); even went as far as searching up names on Google. Park Jimin.

Kim?
Jung?
Jeon?
Lee?
Kwan?

Min. He'd shaken the thought away far too many times now. Min Jimin.
He didn't want to think about it... just like he didn't want to think about the stupid, dopey grin that'd itched across his lips... he didn't even want to know what shade of shame his cheeks had turn when he realized what he'd just thought.

"Feel free to get comfortable." The blonde mumbled, wandering into the kitchen and clearing away a few dozen beer cans- as well as some glass bottles of various other spirits.
The kitchen was empty as it always was. The dining room table and island countertop void of dinner or any signs of life (aside from the cans).
There were no picture frames filled with their small family. No keys left comfortably on the tables. No pictures of Jimin's drawings or achievements on the fridge.

The walls were blank- the junior realized- nothing colorful or full of life like in Taehyung or Hobi's- or even Yoongi's apartment.

It was as if he didn't even live here; didn't even grow up here. His memories had been filled with so much yelling, so much hatred towards his parents. For the first time in a while, he could feel himself go numb. The kind of numb that creeped through his lips and bubbled thick tar down his throat, cemented his joints together and fogged his mind with something akin to snow in a can around his nerves.

This place was a prison.

When his eyes landed on the ugly little orange sticky note on the fridge he really could've laughed though. The thin, curly print and near comically ironic hearts at the bottom of the thing.

Out to business meeting over in Busan with the company. Text you when we're on our way home!

-love mum♡♡ :)

The blonde boy snorted, ripping the note off and staring at the two notes of money taped to the underside.
His mother hadn't even talked to him about anything that happened- hadn't said a word. He loved her, really he did, but she had a habit of blocking the bad things out if they turned her la la land-life sour.