withering leaves ❁ yoonmin

XI

It was the day of SBS Gayo Daejun, with MBC Gayo Daejun literally the next day. In Jimin's opinion, he was doing a good job of keeping his Hanahaki under wraps. He hadn't yet coughed up any petals at the event, and he was making sure to drink a lot of water so he didn't collapse from exhaustion.

Since SBS was so close to MBC, the producers decided that the smaller groups would instead submit a video of their performance, so they did not need to dedicate a time for the cameramen to practice all the bands' positioning live multiple times. After just a simple run-through, it was all completed.

Jimin was breathing very hard, and there were at least three stylists patting down his face with napkins. Someone had shoved an ice-cold water bottle into his hands, and he was gulping that down slowly, careful not to spill any water on himself.

"Is that kid okay?" He heard a producer murmur, concern lacing his voice. "They just did one run-through."

"He's sick," one of their own coordis responded. "And he's a rookie. I guess he's not used to performing when your body can't keep up."

Jimin lowered his head and shifted so he leaned back against someone for support. The sweat was soon taken care of, and his heart rate was slowly sinking down to normal. There was literally a swarm of stylist-Noonas and managers around him. And in his exhaustion, he failed to notice the many hands prodding him. Now that he was aware, it was quite annoying.

"You okay Jimin-ah?"

"Yes, yes," he brushed the concern off, taking the offered hand and pulling himself to his feet. "I'm okay."

A towel was placed in his arms, and he was directed to a certain area by an SBS producer. "Your members are over there. They're waiting for you."

"Thank you," he mumbled, walking off on his own. He wasn't sure if the producer who showed him the way was even heard his quiet words, but guessed that wouldn't be much of a problem; let's be honest, no one really knew who Park Jimin of BTS was and therefore, wouldn't be able to condemn him for disrespect.

"Jimin-ah! There you are! Hurry up, we were going to surprise TaeTae with a cake!" Jin calls from the corner, precariously balancing a box from Paris Baguette in one hand, the other grasping onto a manager's sleeve.

"Coming!" Jimin jogs up to his Hyung, taking a whiff of the strong vanilla and cinnamon that invades his senses. It was a scent that elicited a myriad of childhood memories from Jimin's memories. Snickerdoodle cookies on cold winter mornings from his mother, that one hot vanilla coffee that Jin-Hyung loved dearly, the strong cinnamon scent of Yoongi's cologne. Vanilla and cinnamon were happy scents. "Ooh! What's that?"

"Manager-Nim took me out to get a cake for Taehyung. They only had Christmas cakes, so we got one with cinnamon in it."

"But Taehyung hates cinnamon," Jimin giggled, watching as the manager turned around to playfully glare at Jin for 'wasting' their money. But his glare held no menace or anger, and the manager soon reached over to pat Jin's back a few times.

"But it was on sale, Jimin-ah! You know how I am around deals. And also, I really like cinnamon cakes so Taehyung's just gonna have to endure it."

"Isn't this Taehyung's birthday cake, though?"

"The details aren't important," Seokjin announced, speeding up his steady gait, a determined look befalling his face. "We must get this to Taehyung."

"Yessir," Jimin giggled and played along. He saluted firmly and spun on his heel back into position.

They marched in step to the dressing room, passing tents which served as dressing rooms for other rookie idols. The larger and more popular groups got RVs and full set-ups.