Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

seven

The first meal Jimin ever made for Yoongi was the hardest.

He had no idea what kind of food Yoongi liked, so he just decided to take his best guess and go for something simple. After standing for a full minute in the entryway of the kitchen, paralyzed with shock and pain, because everything in it screamed Seo-hyun, he found his aunt's pastel yellow floral apron, which he pulled over his head simply for the nostalgia. He could clearly remember coming home from school to find her in the kitchen, a kitchen she decorated just like this, surrounded by white vases full of sunflowers, yellow daisies, and marigolds, and singing softly under her breath, her silky black hair pulled into a high ponytail as she worked, her lithe hands moving smoothly and with practiced ease, this same apron smeared with ingredients and flour and condiments, because she had always been just as clumsy as he was. He would tug off his heavy backpack, and change quickly into something more comfortable-usually a pair of sweatpants and one of Taehyung's shirts that he'd let him borrow, and rush into the kitchen to help her. He would tell her about his day, and the dumb kids that made fun of him, and what his music teacher had told him about his voice, and she would laugh, and ruffle his hair, and say something witty and sarcastic that would have him cracking up, and she would shoo him away, claiming that with all of his snorting, he would spit all over the food.

He would lean against her shoulder because he could barely stand with how hard he was laughing at that point, and she would pat his back, and he would always, always thank her for the food before digging in. He would lie, and make fun of her cooking, pretend it was disgusting, but she always called his bluff. He was enjoying it way too much to dislike anything she made.

He almost teared up, seeing that apron wrapped around his own body, seeing the pastel yellow walls, and paintings, and white counters, and yellow flowers. The yellow curtains, because god, did his aunt love pastel yellow. Everything reminded him of her. She'd left her entire being etched into the entire house.

He could almost feel her fingers where they'd touched these counters, hear her guiding words as he got to work on making a bowl of Bibimbap. He couldn't help but smile wistfully at all of the color filled memories that rose to the surface of his mind as he cooked. Eventually, his blonde dyed bangs started to get in the way, falling into his eyes whenever he tilted his head down, and he just happened to reach into the pockets of the apron.

And found pastel pink hair clips.

He giggled quietly, eyes crinkling, and glanced towards the ceiling as though he could meet her teasing gaze.

She always claimed she was psychic.

He pulled out a few of them, and pulled his bangs back, keeping them tucked behind his ears.

The same way she used to clip back hers.

And then he continued, moving about the kitchen as though he'd worked in it a thousand times. Because in a way, he felt like he had. He wondered what memories Yoongi had of Seo-hyun. Did he see her bustling around in this apron, fixing the flowers, and mumbling to herself, singing under her breath, and ruffling his hair whenever he did something silly?

He was tempted to ask.

But he didn't.

He knew Yoongi wasn't comfortable with him, though hopefully he would be soon. He just hoped his Bibimbap would win him over.

When he was finished, he was greeted with a perfectly seasoned bowl of Bibimbap, and a proud smile found its way to his lips, stretching over his face, bright enough for his skin to glow. He was made of sunshine.

"Noona, look!" Jimin cried out, studying his creation with wide eyes. "Look what I made! I think it's the best Bibimbap I've ever cooked! Are you proud?"