Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

twenty

After sharing a few more hushed words and silent movements that hovered over Park Jimin's fluffy head of sunshine hair, Yoongi pressed the pad of his thumb to his lips, sealing the plush flesh together and gesturing for his friend to stifle his voice. He suggested they take the conversation to the kitchen, rather than continue to risk disrupting the boy's reluctant sleep. Yoongi didn't know what kind of sleeper Jimin was. Most evenings, Jimin would appear at his door at around 9:00 to distribute his nightly medication, and murmur a gentle "sweet dreams," before walking off to his bedroom, or in some cases, the small library room tucked beside the kitchen downstairs to study, and Yoongi would lock the door and brace himself for whatever the night brought him.

If only Jimin knew how ironic that statement truly was.

This was the first time the older had actually witnessed Jimin sleeping, and it had taken firm insistence on his part to even guide the distressed boy into sleep's pleading arms. He didn't want to wake him, and spend another twenty minutes trying to coax him away from his laptop.

So, he began, pushing himself up and onto the surface of the cool, white countertop, minding the vases of golden flowers. He crossed his thin legs over each other, his long fingers fluttering across his ankles. They looked even paler in contrast to his bright fuzzy socks. How is Aecha?

Jin had busied himself as soon as the two had entered the kitchen, another wave of bittersweet nostalgia overtaking him at the sight of everything unchanged. Everything unchanged, except the most important thing was missing. Rather than allowing himself to get misty eyed again, he crossed the floor to the pantry, and searched through Yoongi's collection of tea. But he caught the name of his beloved child on Yoongi's fingers, and turned on his heel, the box of chamomile curled against his palm.

"Oh, Aecha's okay. But she broke her string recently." He mumbled, a fusion of sorrow and fond remembrance fluttering across his features.

Yoongi shook his head, baffled. He knew how delicately Jin treated his precious guitar. If he wasn't so careful with the thing, it probably would have broken or chipped to the point of no repair years ago. Yet whenever Jin came over, or on the rare occasion that Yoongi left the house and visited him in his own abode, it always looked just as pristine and polished as it had when they were kids. There were a few worn places, or dents in the wood that hadn't been there before, and the strings were replaced regularly, bent from Jin's fingers. But one had never broken before. Jin loved it too much to ever allow that.

How did that happen?

And there it was. A flush of dark peony dusting across the bends of his cheekbones. Yoongi only just caught it, seeing as Jin didn't blush in the face very easily, and the pinkness was pale and faded after only a moment. But he'd known him since they were too young to pronounce their own names. Even without the blushing, Yoongi could see the instant change that Jin tried so hard to suppress. The slight fidget in his hands, the shifting of his feet, and the ripple that disturbed the calm contentment of his expression. Bashfulness, embarrassment, and an undeniable admiration that made his eyes go all fuzzy and soft around the edges.

Damn, who stole your heart and made off with it.

"Shut up." Jin mumbled, scowling weakly. He tried to keep his brows twisted in a sour expression but it didn't suit him, especially not when his ears were burning at the tips and the corners of his lips were still lifted.

Yoongi chuckled silently, a whoosh of staticky air the only sign of his outward expression of amusement. Jin softened at his close lipped smile.

Really Jin, what's going on? What happened? I know you aren't careless enough with Aecha to break one of her strings.