[CONTENTID2]Jimin let out a sigh in a huff of breath. He was trying his hardest to be patient, but he was so close, he was almost there. His idols, his gods, his obsession for the past two years sat in those chairs. They were so close, it was all he could do but stare. He was aching to touch them, to walk up and start the awkward but necessary pleasantries of a fanmeet. Jimin watched with tired eyes as countless girls, girls, girls paraded down a steady going line of greetings and hand holdings. Each talking to the BTS members as if they were old friends, meeting again after a long time apart.

Jimin wanted to march along the fans like an equal, pushing his way through the thick of people before him and grasping on to his idols a bit too tightly. It’s all he wanted. It was his first, and probably his last fanmeeting, a early birthday present from his doting mother. Although she was a impossibly critical woman, it seemed to bring her the utmost pleasure to see her son, a smile plaster upon his face, as he held onto the ticket so tightly, he might as well have ripped it in half.

But when his mother bought a ticket for Jimin, she actually had to buy two. He found this infuriating, as the second ticket was practically a waste of money. The chair that was placed next to him was completely empty, void of all life, and had been for the past two hours. The seat was for his translator. Since writing on pads of paper was tiring most of the time, and most of the population didn’t know a thing about sign language, he was almost forced to hire a translator. Jimin frowned slightly. And for such a high hourly cost, his translator ought to be stuck to him like glue, ready to turn Jimin’s flurry of fists and fingers into tangible words and phrases. But he wasn’t. And Jimin was sitting there alone, front row, waiting for the last of the fans to trickle by before he was allowed to go up. Since his translator was “on a break”, he was forced to inform the staff about his situation. This brought redness to his cheeks and wetness to his eyes as he was told, hastily, and without a glance.

“You will only slow everyone down.” The young woman had snapped at him, clearly frustrated with Jimin’s prolonged written speech.

Well, the staff member was right. He would hold up the entire line up. If he took his time to write questions and greetings to each individual member, the traffic jam behind him would be catastrophic. The sighs of frustration and yells of pent up anger rang dully in his ear drums, just thinking about it. Jimin clenched his clammy hands together, and he produced a small shiver. Being a mute, he was used to the name calls and harsh words thrown about at him. It was a daily thing really. He should be used to it. Or, at least that’s what his translator said.

An hour later, the lineup had finally cleared, and Jimin was allowed to walk onstage. His legs were shaking so badly, he had to clutch onto the railing of the stairs for support. The first angel-like smile that graced his eyes was that of Jeon Jungkook, the maknae of the famous group. Jimin’s shoes scuffed against the stage as he made his way over to the table, clutching his pad of paper to his chest.

“Hello!” Jungkook beamed up at him. “What’s your name?”

Jimin smiled as naturally as he could, although he was sure it came across the table as a vague grimace. His heart was beating a million miles an hour as he uncapped his marker, and with trembling fingers, he wrote his reply.

Park Jimin. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!  

Jungkook chuckled lightly, outstretching his hand towards the elder.

“You’re cute!” Jungkook giggled. “Thank you for being such a faithful fan!”

Jimin was practically vibrating as he took hold of the offered limb. Jimin felt his face heat up as their skin met, although it was only for a split-second, it felt like a lifetime for him. Jimin parted hands reluctantly, before he looked onwards to the next member. And his breath got lodged in his throat.

Min Yoongi was smiling brightly up at him, hand already outstretched, for Jimin to take. Jimin’s hand shot out so fast it brought a chuckle to the rapper’s face, and to Jimin’s surprise, Yoongi intertwined their fingers together. Jimin’s heart was now beating so fast, he swore it was audible across the table.

“I’m Suga,” Yoongi’s thick voice rang out. “Nice to meet you.”

Jimin mentally kicked himself for retracting his hand from Yoongi’s warmth, and tears sprung up into his eyes when he almost dropped his marker from the tremors running through his body.

Nice to meet you! I’m Park Jimin!

Jimin finished off the cheery sentence with a tiny heart, in an effort to seem as friendly and approachable as possible. He was rewarded with a teeth-rotting sweet smile, and the elder grabbed onto his sweaty hand, yet again.

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Yoongi smile faded into a subtle frown. “It must be hard for you.”

Jimin battled the tears back with a couple hard blinks, determined to seem strong in front of Yoongi. Jimin didn’t bother to reply. He nodded has a form of response, and quickly took back his shaking hand. For some reason, his heart had slowed down. Jimin felt as though a icy river ran across the expanse of his skin, and none of the angelic smiles that lined the table did anything to warm his clammy hands.

Seokjin POV

Seokjin clambered to his feet, making his way out the backstage door. His throat felt like it was filled with sand, and he couldn’t bear to undergo the nasty sensation anymore. He did a quick scan of the stage, and found his water bottle waiting for him on the table, in front of the vacant seats. Seokjin his lips, and walked forward to receive his prize off the stage. He had just plucked the drink off the table, when he was startled by a threatening voice.

“Sir, you have to leave.”

“S-stop struggling!” Another taunt voice rang out.

Seokjin spun around, and a jolt of adrenaline ran through him when he saw what he obviously failed to see prior. Two security guards had their hands clenched around a boy’s arms, dragging him through the vacant seats, as if he were a ragdoll. The younger boy put up a pretty good fight, as the chairs they went by were flipped over and thrown about, as he flailed helplessly in their strong grip. Seokjin set his water down carefully. The boy reached out for another chair to hold onto, as if it would help him escape his fate. But he was drawn back too fast to get a hold of it, and his head was thrown back. Seokjin recognized him immediately. He was the mute fan, who came up to Seokjin with a pad of paper and a black marker in his hand. He had the sweetest smile Seokjin had ever seen, and it left him with a bit of melancholy to think about the boy’s situation. The fan’s face was streaked with greasy tears, and he held his mouth open in a silent protest. But both him and Seokjin knew nothing would fall out of his lips. Seokjin glanced downwards upon the rows of empty chairs, and spotted a pad of paper and a pen. The pen lay uncapped, and the first few sheets of paper were crumpled, as if someone had walked overtop of it.

The guard, frustrated, tightened his hold on the boy’s arms, and was rewarded with the painful grimace the boy produced, eyes closed tightly. Seokjin, deciding he had seen enough, let his voice carry over to the unwilling victim.   

“What are you doing?”

Three sets of eyes looked upwards to him, standing on the stage. The guards assumed this was addressed to them, as one of their hands tightened around the fan’s waist, before they spoke.

“This boy has been sitting here for the past hour, loitering around.” He spoke in defence. “He wouldn’t leave, even when we asked him nicely and told him the fansign was long over-r.”

The guard faltered when he saw the glare that Seokjin had shot down towards him. The idol walked down the stage stairs in a rushed manner, and walked down the front row. Seokjin picked up the crumbled paper and the abused pen, before raising them up for all of them to see.

“He is mute.” Seokjin growled. “You didn’t let him explain his situation, before you hauled him towards the doors.”

The faces on both of the men fell, and they let go of the younger boy. The fan raced forwards, and bowed several times in front of him, before retrieving his necessary supplies from Seokjin’s hands. The guards stood waiting, either for Jimin’s explanation, or  Seokjin’s dismissal. He took one look at the red marks and scrapes along the boy’s arms, and he had to bite down on his lip in order to suppress his anger.

“You can leave.” Seokjin’s voice left him oddly soothing, as if he wasn’t as mad as he tho