Hello

~SIXTY FOUR~

Jimin winced as he stood in front of his mothers door. He didn't want to go inside, if anything he wanted to run in the opposite direction and never show his face again. The funny part was: he didn't even know why.

Jimin had been "summoned" to his mothers house on her orders, he was never one to go against her. When he approached the familiar yellow gates a smile grew on his face, yet when it came time to open the door, his heart dropped and his stomach churned.

He didn't know what he could've done wrong that his mother knew about, but he knew it was something. Taking out his keys, he slowly unlocked the door and walked in. He could hear his mother humming along to some old song and the clanking of pots.

Making his way to the kitchen he looked at all the pictures on the wall, some of when he was at the beach with Jungkook and Minho. All of them a bit chubby and a lot adorable. They had sand in their hair and a sad excuse of a sand castle at their feet. They were happy though.

"Hi, mommy." Jimin whispered, his stomach doing summersaults. Jimin's mother turned around, a dissapointed look already on her face, the sight made Jimin's heart hurt. He didn't want to dissapoint his mom, he became an idol so his mother could be proud of him.

"Mommy, did you hear. We won another aw--"

"Hush child." Ms.Park's tone was harsh, cutting off Jimin's attempt to get the dissapointed look off her face. Jimin flinched, his head snapped towards the ground. He fiddled with the hem of his flower jacket. He heard his mother put down the pot that was in her hand, cut down the stove and open the fridge.

"Sit down." She ordered. Jimin scrambled towards the table, picking a random chair and sitting down. He kept his eyes trained on his hand, not daring to look up. He knew now that he did something extremly bad, he could think of a lot of things he did wrong, but there would be no way for his mother to know.

Jimin heard his mother pull out a knife and start chopping what he assumed to be carrots. He heard them plop into the pot on the stove. Stew. His mother was making stew.

"Mom, I could make the rice." Jimin's voice was nothing but a whisper, he tried his best to break the tension in the air, plus, his mother always loved it when he helped cook. It was one of their things.

"No." Her voice was firm. She delevered the unsaid message, 'stay put and don't open your mouth again.'

Jimin didn't know how long it took for his mom to finish cooking. He heard his mothers slow steps towards the table. She pulled out a chair on the oppposite side of Jimin. She looked at her son, Minho's text messages replaying in her head.

"Jimin." She said sternly. Jimin slightly looked up at her. His hands were sweaty. They locked eyes, Jimin immediantly looked over to the side, feeling immense guilt wash over him. His mom knew. He could tell his mom knew what he had been doing.

A lump formed in his throat as he felt his mom burn holes into him. He was seethrough when it came to his mom. His leg bounced under the table, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to will himself not to cry. The thought of his mom knowing everything hurt. He knew he had dissapointed his mother, he knew she wasn't proud of him.

"Jimin, give me your phone."