psycho → yoonmin

||20||

warning. |

"Jimin, it's Yoongi."

Jimin's heart almost stopped beating, skipping a few beats before returning but this time more frantic.

"W-What? Where is he? What happened? Taehyung, tell me!" Jimin panicked, though trying to stay as calm as possible, but with Yoongi...who knows what could have happened.

"T-The bathroom! You've gotta go help him, Jimin." Taenyung spoke at an insane rate. "He...He wouldnt let me in! He wouldnt let me in and kept crying, evening crying for you!"

Jimin thanked Taehyung with a small hug before running off down the hallway the other had so hurridly came from.

The boy's shoes squeaked against the floor, scuffing it as he took off. An eerie feeling washed over as his adrenaline pumped through his veins.

"Yoongi!" He cried out, the boy's bathroom door clear in his line of vision. "Yoongi!" He yelled out as he swung the bathroom door open.

Immediately, the sound of small whimpers and silent sobbing filled the small echoing room.

"Yoongi?" Jimin called out once again, but this time his voice was much more softer and gentle. He approached the only closed and locked stall. "Hey, hey Yoongi...It's me, Jimin." He knocked softly to not scare the other.

"J-Jimin."

God, Jimin wished he'd never would have heard that. The boy's voice cracked, it sounded impossibly broken. It sounded as if Yoongi was the only one left on the planet, filled with nothing but emptiness and loneliness. It was filled with nothing but negative emotions. It was something Jimin never wished to hear from the other.

Jimin sighed a breath he'd been holding in and rested his head against the closed metal door in relief.

"Yes, it's me. Yoongi, what's wrong? Will you let me in?"

Jimin's voice carried into thick air. There was a long silence. A small shuffle was heard before a tiny click echoed, signaling that the door was now unlocked. The younger carefully opened the door.

Everything was taken in in the matter of 10 seconds. The older boy sitting on the lid of the toilet, sobbing into his hands. The small drops of sweat that left the boy's fringe matted to his forehead. Bruises appearing on one of his eyes, lip yet again busted. The small droplets of blood rising from his wrist.

The small shiny, but dirty red used razor blade that lay forgotten on the dirty bathroom floor.