Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

seventeen

It was quiet.

Quiet in a way that left his ears muffled with fluffy sweet cotton, and so thick, he could sip it from the terribly warm air of his bedroom, left softly heated by Yoongi's more than efficient heating system. Convenient, seeing as with the arrival of February came its icy, biting winds, hissing and murmurs of incoherent cries against his window pane, dusted with frost. However, Jimin was trying particularly hard to fight off the sleepy spell that both the lulling quiet and the soupy warmth had put him under. The bitter coffee-devoid of its usual vanilla creamer-and its sharp bite was the only thing prying his dark lashes apart, and forcing his wavering, tired gaze to focus on the blurring screen before him. The silence was a thick blanket draped over his slumped shoulders, burdened by exhaustion and the force of the heavy stress he was pushing away. And he was doing everything he could not to allow its arms to carry him away into a dreamless bliss.

He sighed, chest heaving and a flash of exasperation passing over his carefully collected features.

His body was made of lead and dragged him through the floor boards, begging him for some sleep. He'd pulled an all nighter, despite common sense telling him he wouldn't be able to handle it. Not that Jimin wasn't a night owl, but when he was stressed, sleeping was key. And he hadn't. Instead, he'd stayed up late into the early, purple stained hours of the morning burning his retinas and printing blue and black stamps like bruises beneath his puffy eyes, painted there by several restless nights when insomnia had chased rest away before he could even feel the ghost of its breath. The outline of the virtual letters glaring back at him from his laptop was practically seared into his mind. At this point he'd be chanting long, Shakespearean monologues and walking around in a caffeine driven daze like a fucking zombie.

He shook his head to clear away the settling fog. He had too much to do. He'd spent too much of his time playing around during the past week, and while spending some quality time with Yoongi was never a waste, he'd neglected his studies.

Like a dumbass.

So, he'd dedicated the past three days to catching up, and making all of his work absolutely perfect, something to be proud of, and something that, if she was there, she would be proud of. Sure, he probably would have finished much earlier if he hadn't been so critical, but he didn't have the pleasure of taking it easy.

That's for people who aren't like you. Smart, wonderful people, who do things right.

No, he didn't have that pleasure, and he didn't need it. He'd have to work harder if he wanted to please anyone. And he'd been slacking off.

Even Taehyung-the boy who he'd been forced to put on do not disturb after the younger started to blow up his phone-had to admit that he'd been careless. Their recent nightly phone calls barely consisted of anything school related. Instead he'd been babbling mindlessly about their favorite artists, about himself, about Tae's celebrity crushes, and about his outings with a certain pale skinned man. He'd been stupid.

Yoongi definitely wouldn't want a stupid care taker living in his house.

He'd been stupid, and now he was making up for it.

And he fell back into the quiet, his lips parting for more scalding caffeinated liquid and his small fingers flying across the keyboard, his only movements.

And time dripped by in slow, sleeking rivers of molasses.

The sky lightened and darkened and lightened again outside his window, and his billowing curtains painted pale shadows over the fluffy carpeted floor, swishing this way and that with each new burst of warmth. The clouds hung both heavy and weightlessly, and attempted to tease him into guessing their shapes, but Jimin was lost to the world.