Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

eighteen

There was a pretty, sleepy boy sitting in his living room.

From where he stood in the middle of the pastel yellow kitchen, the younger's phone clutched tight between his fingers, he could see the slow dipping of his lemon haired head, the way his gentle shoulders dropped so heavily, almost as though they would fall right through his chest and crush his lungs. The memory of his eyes, empty and lost, missing their usual warmth was still fresh in his mind. Missing their usual warmth...except for when he spoke in flowers and paintings. Then he could find the soft, sunshine petals blooming and floating across them. And the haziness, the low hanging clouds dispersed enough to see him in there, small inside his shrinking body.

The bags beneath his lashes were like bruises pressed to his skin.

He knew pretty boys with sunshine smiles weren't supposed to look like that.

The exhaustion etched into his delicate features was dark and hefty enough for his heart to stutter and resound in his chest, even that thudding creature hidden beneath his cage of shaky bones burdened by the weight he held so obliviously.

After all of the stern scoldings he'd received for neglecting his own needs, he was surprised Jimin could be so careless, so inattentive towards himself. Though, he knew, perhaps better than most, that appearances weren't everything. He had seen it, very few times, when Jimin could no longer conceal the shattering cracks in his skin, and the slivers of a carefully hidden truth painted a story upon the lines of his face. And for a few seconds, the shape of his body suddenly grew insubstantial, and his words thinned out, into mere wisps of smoke.

The pretty boy with the sunshine smile carried heavy clouds full of sorrow. But he didn't know what, couldn't begin to guess to what extent.

He just knew Jimin had begun to disappear from himself. He began to drift away inside his mind, somewhere far, far away, to where Yoongi could not follow. And sometimes his face would twist in a pained wince splattered in dark blues and worn grays, as though a thought had shattered something inside.

He could hardly see him, when he'd walked reluctantly into his bedroom.

There had been something covering his eyes.

And-according to Taehyung's frantic messages-it wasn't an unusual occurrence.

Yoongi hadn't meant to snoop, he really hadn't.

It had been completely and totally accidental.

After giving Jimin a cup of sloshing water and a pill of pain killing Motrin, he'd decided to head back upstairs, to his bedroom, to turn off all the devices he'd left up and running. And coincidentally, as he was saving his work and shutting down Jimin's laptop, his phone had begun to ring, the One Piece theme song resonating throughout the room, and bouncing off the walls.

He just happened to check the name blaring up at him from the warm, virtual screen, and realized Kim Taehyung, the friend Jimin was always babbling about, was calling.

Seeing as, he couldn't exactly pick up, Yoongi waited until its incessant tone ceased, giving way to silence once more, before unblocking Taehyung. And then, the barrage of text messages came through. He'd taken his phone and himself back downstairs, giving himself a clear view of Park Jimin, before reading through them.

spillthetea🐸☕️: jimin

spillthetea🐸☕️: stop ignoring me

spillthetea🐸☕️: jimin hyung

spillthetea🐸☕️: please

spillthetea🐸☕️: look i know what you're doing