Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

four

There was something strangely annoying about being forced to swallow five pills every morning.

Something irritating about depending on these small pellets that fell down your throat and scraped in your stomach and melted into your blood stream and seeped into your brain.

Something frustrating about knowing that without them, he would not be able to go on. His small legs would give out, his frigid bones would freeze into frost and fall through his skin. All of his seams would burst. Not simultaneously, but slowly and painfully, and all of the inked words printed beneath his fingers and inside his heart would spill out onto the floor and shatter upon impact.

It was almost humiliating.

But Yoongi had learned not to allow his white skin to flush as her rough hand cupped over his lips, and she tilted his chin up, his head back, and let those pills slide into his mouth, forcing water to chase after them, the tiny shudder wracking his body the only sign that he had been affected at all.

He was numb.

But with his eyes watching him with a cautious curiosity, his nails carved crescent moons resembling them into his smooth palms, attempting to place stars and brighter lights like salt on dark blue in a sky that had only ever been an expanse of endless blackness. This kind of dark that never gave way to light.

It was the absence of everything that was meant to reside within him, and everything that was cut out of him, and pulled from his chest. Broken until he could feel each individual shard sharp against him, further bloodying his insides.

He was not an unkind boy, at least he didn't seem to be.

If Yoongi let himself think that way, he could admit Park Jimin was very beautiful.

He was stiff, his muscles locked with tension around these strangers, and he'd shuffled into the house so hesitantly upon his arrival. But he was beautiful in a warm kind of way, sunshine pressing against the surface of his honey skin, and the sharp slope of his collarbones, his cheeks, his jaw, collecting shadows from the gentle artificial lights.

He looked...just a bit...like Seo-hyun.

He'd left his suitcase discarded in the corner of his large, yet cozy living room, resting on the pastel blue painted wall, and the white carpet stretching across the floor, and settled down on the sofa across from him. And Yoongi was still curled up in his fetal position, his chin resting on his knees, although he had changed into something more suitable.

He still hadn't made much of an effort, simply forcing himself into a pair of baggy sweatpants and an oversized red striped sweater that fell past his thighs and over his fingers without a shirt underneath. His feet were snug in his fuzzy socks, his toes hanging over the edge of cushions, and though he was not staring straight on at Jimin, he could see his gaze flickering over his huddled form.

Hanji was sitting beside him, or rather on the other side of the couch.

Folding those paper sheets between her paper hands, her face a blank canvas.

She was all business.

He wanted her to leave.

"I assume you have everything in order Mr. Park?" She inquired in her thin, solid voice, not even a hint of emotion beyond mild curiosity and slight impatience in her tone. Jimin seemed baffled by her coldness, a bit uncomfortable speaking to her like Yoongi wasn't sitting right there, glaring blankly at the floor to ceiling window behind him.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat.

"Um, yes..."

His voice was pretty.