Pretty | Yoonmin (DISCONTINUED)

forty six

Yoongi didn't sign much after that. He contented himself with finding small slivers if peace within Jimin's steady presence, his nose pressed flush against the crook of his shoulder breathing in as much of his scent as his dizzying mind would allow. It was calming, and even knowing Taehyung was a boy of dusted strawberry blush on soft honey cheeks and low words taken from rainy purple nights, Yoongi couldn't prevent his all consuming fear. He had been a prisoner of it for too long, for so long that even in moments where he felt nothing but true bliss, the frigid memory of its bloodied grip still haunted him, burning his seemingly pure flesh.

There were times when Yoongi would hear bursts of strange, unfamiliar laughter tinkling from the kitchen, and no matter how kind and sweet it was, he seized up in Jimin's hold, momentarily convinced a stranger wishing to do him harm had gotten into his only shelter. He hated himself for that. He hated his fucked up brain and its fucked up tendencies, hated the fact that Jimin kept looking at him with worry in his eyes when he should have been trying to relax and conversing with his best friend. It once again made him think of Hanji and the many others like her, manhandling his limp body with chilled hands and hissing icy curses against his wet cheek. He was just a useless doll that the world had carved the life out of, and it was hard to remember the progress he'd made when he was reminded every day that he would never be normal again.

He was only snapped out of his heavy reverie when Jimin's other friend Hoseok appeared in the doorway of the kitchen with Jungkook under his arm and announced it his bed time. Yoongi had been so preoccupied by the latest events that his medicine hadn't even been strong enough to knock him out. Yet now that Jimin was standing from the sofa and gathering a glossy eyed Jungkook into his arms, he could acknowledge that hefty weight pressing upon his numbed bones and the drowsy haze layering his vision.

He was exhausted, just like aching Jimin and tear streaked Taehyung and paling Hoseok. But he was frightened of slumber, for with it, it brought rough hands thick with the scent of crimson iron, and a house full of screams.

Jin, that observant little shit, seemed to catch onto his conundrum right away. He waited until after Jimin had disappeared with the others upstairs before talking to him about the issue, and for that he was grateful. He just wanted Jimin's anxious heart to ease, and for the ghostly child all young and scared to sleep through the night undisturbed. He wouldn't help at all by being his usual messed up self.

"My Yoongi-ah." Jin sighed once it was just them in the living room. He looked tired too, though he did his best to hide it. But Yoongi felt it like a wicked best friend sixth sense, could feel his weary strings loosening their hold on his stance, and his sleepy eyes growing foggier and foggier. Jin, though undeniably insufferable, was also a selfless dumbass who would sacrifice everything he had for the sake of others. Yoongi didn't protest when Jin settled down on the cushions and tugged Yoongi into his lap for some traditional best friend snuggles. He knew Jin needed them as much as he did.

When they were younger, and they were three instead of two, Yoongi would always be in the middle of best friend snuggles. He was the smallest out of Jin and Minyoung, the most petite, and they both curled around him perfectly, two soft heat sources for him to nuzzle into.

But now, it didn't feel so bad just having Jin to snuggle with. He was nice and warm and comfy and he always smelled like home. He smelled like the only home Yoongi had ever really had in his entire life.

He listened to Jin's heartbeat, uttering a familiar, whispering lullaby to his own.

"You should sleep," he murmured, squeezing Yoongi's sides. "You need your rest. A sleep deprived Min Yoongi is everyone's worst nightmare."

Yoongi wished he had the energy to snap at him, or push him away like any other time. But he suddenly felt seeped of energy, gray cotton and soaking water, frustratingly tired and achingly afraid.