Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

thirty one

Jimin decided that the way Yoongi's eyes glowed when he was excited was everything.

He almost didn't mind that he had yet to glimpse Yoongi's true, unrestrained smile, born from pure happiness, or colored gleams of exuberance; because the way he managed to beam just as brightly with only his eyes, the way his enraptured wonder was felt so deeply, fueled so wonderfully that his irises spun about in whirlwind of unfamiliar joy, of passionate curiosity, seemed to make up for it. The film playing on the flat screen had drawn him in immediately, and while Jimin usually paid close attention to this particular studio glibli film, no matter how many times he had seen it previously, he found himself much more preoccupied with the sight of Yoongi. It had been his assumption that Yoongi's newfound ability to fluster him would render him useless as he lay next to him.

Yoongi had done so many things over the span of only a few hours that left him flame streaked and burning, touched up on so many aspects of himself that Jimin had thought he understood, until he went and did something unpredictable. He had enjoyed painting those slow, sunset blushes on the heavenly cotton white of his snow skin, had enjoyed warming the air between them to a boiling point with his words, no matter how playful. While it had lasted, Jimin had liked flustering his hyung, liked twisting his sharp tongue into an embarrassed knot, and liked pretending to have much more confidence in himself than he actually did.

Now the tables had been turned on him, as he thought they could be. Taehyung and Jungkook had constantly teased him throughout high school for being so eagerly affectionate with others, only to curl into a rose tinted ball of tingling limbs and fuzzy, thrumming lips as soon as his words were stolen, rearranged, and thrown back at him suddenly enough to leave him breathless. Jungkook told him that he was far too soft, and while he could be quite good at flirting a little when he truly wanted to, it wasn't necessarily a natural thing. He wasn't suave. He wasn't smooth. And it only took so much to splatter him in reds, and sway his pounding heart into embarrassed quiet.

And Yoongi caring for him...Yoongi being kind to him...Yoongi going out of his way to make him feel comfortable within his own skin again...and Yoongi calling him flower, somehow managing to mix the beautifully signed word into every conversation they held, was certainly enough to leave Jimin in a roiling mess of tangled thoughts, rapid fire heartbeats, and flushed, knotted flesh.

He didn't expect to find himself strangely at peace with himself, strangely at peace with his bubbling heart, though it was ever so excited, and to find peace gazing upon the sharpness of Yoongi's doll like cheekbones, the highlights of his candy lips, stark against the shadows pooling in the corners of his eyes and mouth and cheeks and body until he was glowing, moonbeam skin, restless oceans hiding drowned stars for eyes, and a gaping, pink mouth.

He felt at peace. The constant thundering of relentless panic and overbearing sadness that threatened to blot out his world and trap him in the dark entangled with his thoughts fell silent. Yoongi had told him that his essay was phenomenal. He still had trouble believing the scene as reality. He had spent so long beating himself with those typed sentences, swallowing cup after cup of coffee only to beat himself up for a few hours more. And here Yoongi was, telling him that it was fine as it was. More than fine. Amazing. And that he would edit all of his assignments from now on.

Then he had accepted his suggestion to build a blanket fort, had truly helped him, had even, possibly, enjoyed decorating chairs and furniture and huge blankets and throwing all of his best pillows underneath. He'd implored him to order takeout, despite seeming hesitant about doing so, simply because he thought Jimin looked both tired and worn down, and needed some time to rest. Because he didn't want him to cook another meal, didn't want him to irritate his burn-which wasn't even that bad-and didn't want him to cause further strain to his churning mind and aching heart.