The Color Black

Guilt

He stood on the balcony of the Los Angeles hotel, alone now that the concert was finished and everyone had gone to their own respective rooms.

Folding his arms across the railing, he breathed in the warm air blowing in from the oceans not far away. One foot up on its toes pecked at the ground. He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his deep black hair.

The same color it was that day.

He grimaced and stood up straight, stretching his arms taut, resting his weight on them as they pushed against the railing. He wanted to push the memory away as easily as he could push a hand through his hair.

But he couldn't.

It haunted him.

The first and last time he was every truly dismissive to someone.

A fan none the less.

She had called out his name as he had walked across an overhead walkway with the other members. He had just gotten off a plane from halfway around the world and he had been exhausted. A performance would start in a few hours, and he just wanted to catch a quick catnap before it happened.

But he was being dragged further away from the bed he could truly rest in. It made him irritated.

When the fan called out his name, it grated on his ears. He was not interested in being "on" at the moment. With downturned lips, narrowed eyes, and a dismissive wave of his hand towards her, he kept walking along, listening to Namjoon drone on with the managers about what their schedule and setlist would consist of.

Jimin grimaced to himself at the memory. He had caught just a fleeting glance of her expression  as it fell. His heart hurt all over again. She probably thought he had been such a jerk.

He pushed himself away from the railing of the balcony and walked back into his hotel room, sighing deeply. It had been a memory he hadn't been able to shake, even though it had been several years ago now.

Secretly, he wished he knew who she was, that he could find her somehow. But there was no way. So, he had vowed to only act in kindness since then. He made sure the fans knew he loved them. His activity on Twitter, chemistry with the members, his overall attitude towards his career subtly changed for the better.

But that one memory plagued him.

* * *

"C'mon, the members are waiting," yelled Taehyung against the closed door of Jimin's hotel room.

When several moments went by with no response, Taehyung knocked again and Jimin finally answered the door.

"You're so impatient," he muttered, pushing past Taehyung.

"Yah, get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Taehyung shoved his hands into his pockets and followed behind his friend, wondering what was bothering him.

"Just forget it," said Jimin over his shoulder. He kept walking, pushing a pair of sunglasses onto his face.

"I'm just making sure you're okay," called Taehyung, not willing to put up with any of Jimin's garbage this morning.

"I'm fine," said Jimin in a monotone voice as he pressed the elevator button.

The doors slid open and Jimin walked in, turning around.

Taehyung walked in and right up to his face, raising one arm and shoving Jimin to the back of the elevator. "What's wrong?"

Jimin rolled his head to the side and sighed. "Let it go," he ground out.