↝ are you sure you don't have any childhood grudge against sug-
shut the fuck up and just take the order, latte boy ↜
█████████████████
| where min yoongi seems to prefer extra black americano, but the red-haired barista is de...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sky looms over the kaleidoscopic city with its dressing of twinkling stars and Yoongi savors the chill in the breeze. Months have passed since he had been given back his freedom, and every night since then he finds himself seated on the iron stairs spiraling towards the vast sky on the terrace of his new-found home, and the sharp, clean blade in one hand. He lets his thoughts run awry as the world around slows down on its wheels and he revisits his content past every night. Had it really been only a year since then?
The stairs vibrate him awake of his wistful memories as his phone rings a few steps ahead of him. Propping himself up on his elbows, Yoongi can't help but let the smile dominate his face as he checks the unknown caller ID. He knew he'd call. And he did.
"Yoongi." The same old husky mumble. His breathe hitches at his throat at the sound of his voice. Yoongi still remembers the first time he had fallen in love with this voice; the timbre of it beckoning him like the flute did to those Hamelin children, and the pitch resounding in his head every night his attacks hit him.
He still says his name like it's a prayer on his lips, like his name could break if he so much as raised his voice half a pitch, and everything inside Yoongi stills. How long had he been yearning to hear his name fall like this from his favourite pair of lips?
