I love how everyone calls Jimin small but he's literally a cm shorter than Suga. + This chapter is longer than my imaginary dick.
—𝙈𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚
"Are you alright? You look really tired," Jimin asks for the hundredth time, head cocked to the left slightly and jaw rigid. His eyes do that thing, where his monolid eyelids lower slightly and the irises turn dark with worry. He leans closer to Taehyung and a lemony musky scent overlaid with sweat giddily barrels towards the boy.
Taehyung frowns and tilts his head to the broad expanse of the sky. Endless. He can feel summer pressing against his skin, it's warm and the air buzzes with excitement. There's a gentle breeze that's been blowing for the past hour but its barely discernable against the infallible heat of the sun, it's oppressive and bears down all the orphanage children. Jimin barely seems to be sweating; by contrast, Taehyung slouches on one of the metal, uncomfortable, rigid benches in the courtyard—practically swimming in sweat. It's too hot.
The yard is wide, made of gravel that spills out from the ground, erupting like tiny volcanoes where heat and age have become too much and have made the ground crack. It's a sorry sight, once dark grey freshly pressed gravel, now grey as a pigeon and littered with vulgar green dandelion leaves and lanky blades of grass that stand guard of the gravel. They tower like obtrusive sentinels, unwanted and dictator-like.
The yard is surrounded by four walls that leer at the meagre space and cover half of the yard in dark shadows. The bench Taehyung and Jimin sit in lightly brushes the shade.
"Couldn't really sleep last night," Taehyung murmurs out, his lips are chapped and there's a raspy edge to his voice that shows that he needs water. Discretely his fingers sneak into his left pocket and his posture imperceptibly slackens as his fingers brush against a reassuring piece of paper. It's worn under his touch, soft and weathered like a soldier who's survived a calamitous war.
The map. He doesn't know why he stored it away in his pocket instead of keeping it safe under his pillow. But he feels this connection to it, a drag that entices him to keep it close. Keep it where nobody else will find it.
Jimin gives him a nod, "Same, I kept having wet dreams of Hyeri—kept me up all night."
Taehyung flinches. He shoots his smug friend who's now smirking infuriatingly, a death stare. He clenches his jaw and breathes out. "Why are we friends?" Taehyung half whines, pouting. He fake vomits.
Jimin cackles in reply.
"Do you wanna' go get a drink?" Jimin asks, eying the matron who stands like a lampost in the far corner of the yard, eyes scanning the yard with eagle-like precision. The strict woman seems to derive pleasure out of watching the children of the orphanage slave around, picking weeds from the yard or running laps.
Taehyung shoots him a conspiratorial look. "The matron'll spot us and then we'll have to run laps," he hisses out, the words barely making it out of his parched throat.
He receives a wink in return. "We'll sneak in," the shorter boy replies, grinning like an excited preschooler who's just had the best idea. Absentmindedly he runs a hand through his hair, dull almost-jet-black hair bouncing and falling loosely over his forehead. His hands are tiny, small stubs of porcelain fingers complete with a small, baby-like palm. But despite this, they're rough and calloused.
Taehyung huffs out a breath. "Fine. But if we get caught I'm blaming your baby brain." Jimin smirks, "deal."
Conveniently one of the orphanage children, Jackson, slips and ends up falling onto Hoseok and they both end up on top of each other, drawing the matron's attention away from the pair. There are several groans and a "Jackson I think you broke my knee you fatass," and then an "I'm naturally thicc," as the pair sneak away.
