Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

forty three

Jimin's mouth felt just as numb as his limbs, yet somehow, he found his lips spitting out instructions, the palms of his hands itching in remembrance of locks sifting through fingers.

"Get him to the bathroom and pull his hair out of his face."

Jimin could picture it seamlessly, the stuttering film in his head providing the lingering image of himself rushing a trembling Jungkook to the bathroom as sickness coated his lips in bile. He could feel Yoongi's questioning gaze heavy upon the side of his face as they listened to the muffled, far off sound of Taehyung's panic and Jungkook vomiting. Taehyung hadn't taken the phone with him in his haste, and so they heard Jungkook's misery from a distance. Yet it wasn't any less horrifying.

Jin was closer now, though he had opted out of saying much in order to allow Jimin focus. He only watched with worried eyes and a tension wrought figure. Jimin felt so bad for putting him through so much stress within only a few hours. He kept glancing from the phone to Yoongi to Jimin, as though unsure whom his heart ached for the most. And Jimin could imagine he was quite a ridiculous spectacle. The supposed caretaker leaning upon the man he was meant to protect, a mess of washed out skin, shuddering lips, and ripping hands. How pathetic.

"He's shaking like crazy..." Taehyung whispered something hysteric, and Jimin realized he'd grabbed the device and was now holding it close to his quivering mouth. He could hear Jungkook gasping, whining for Taehyung, for Jimin, for anyone, saying that he was stuck there again.

Taehyung's breathing sounded near a panic attack against his ear, his voice scratchy and high with dread. "Jimin, I dunno what to do, I dunno what to do!"

Jimin shook his head.

"When's Hobi getting back?"

"He—He should be here in a few minutes." Tae mumbled. A soft, shaky gushing sound left his mouth immediately after, and Jimin assumed he was trying his best to soothe Jungkook. Jungkook who was small, and afraid, and trapped in that place again. Sick in someplace deeper than the churning pit of his stomach, and convinced he was blood and bruises, drowning in the dark.

He could feel himself getting floaty, could feel the panic puncturing more holes in his lungs. Yoongi's clasp tightened drastically.

"Good, good," He spoke, but he felt like crying. "Okay."

Yoongi's fingers slid up his arms in a skittering trail of soft, subtle heat. Dancing upon his tight form until they reached his caving shoulders. He directed Jimin in his direction with a pressure so light, it felt as though winds were kissing at him.

Then he drew his hands together.

Flower, breathe.

He's too gentle with me.

The tender movements on Yoongi's hands could have been enough to prompt an endless stream of tears from his aching tear ducts. But his eyes were grounding in a way. Both grounding and freeing, that flickering dimness woven through with given pieces of the sky. It reminded him of the difference between his air and his poison, even if it felt like a fine line.

"Ji—" He heard Jungkook sob. Taehyung was trying to hum him a lullaby, weave a sweet perfume through air that smelled of terror and illness, but Jungkook couldn't seem to stop crying.

"Kookie?" He asked, and there was another gag.

"Hy—ung..." He coughed. He sounded so very ill, so very hurt. "M' scared—I—I don't feel—good..."

He's in so much pain.

"I know, I know," He whispered, but the words felt useless flapping on his tongue. "But no one's gonna hurt you. You're safe. You got out of that place and those people can't touch you again."