He had a strong stomach, or so Yoongi thought. He hadn’t really had any problem with seeing blood. He’d seen a friend back in elementary, being stupid enough to cut his finger in home ec, blood dripping from it and the boy had cried his eyes out. That was indeed stupid and he remembered himself snickering. He had even seen an accident happening downtown one time. One peeked from his car’s window at the wrong time and he saw the red liquid pooling on the black asphalt road. That time he only thought about how stupid of a driver it would be to crash upon someone (or the lying dead body would be the one to blame either way).

One time he even saw the same red gushing out from beneath his own skin. He didn’t even feel sick. He hardly felt the pain as it drew upon his skin, flowing very much like a river down his white marble skin.

Yet now his stomach churned. It wasn’t even his blood that he was seeing. It wasn’t even him that was hurting, but he still felt his stomach churning. Yoongi couldn't easily process what he just saw. It was Jimin, and he was crying. Tears were dripping down his face, eyes red and swollen. Yet tears weren't the only thing dripping from him. He was holding his left wrist in front of Yoongi and blood were tricking its way down towards his arm. Not much, but apparent. Most of the blood had dried up as well, smearing his skin red.

"Why wouldn't it bleed, hyung? Why did the blood stop pouring?"

And of all the questions and the words that the boy could utter, Jimin had been worrying about his endearment in the worst possible way. He must have been standing there dumbfounded, looking at the sight in front of him with disbelief for a moment, because he remembered Jimin throwing the same question twice.

His own left wrist itched more and a series of memory flashed through his mind. He thought about the knives again.

Yoongi shook his head. This wasn't time for that.

"What did you do Jimin?" he said as he pulled the boy inside, grabbing his other wrist.

Jimin was still crying, hiccuping softly. Yoongi motioned him towards the couch and let the boy sat there. He grabbed a rather large bowl from his kitchen and filled it with water. He then rushed towards his bathroom to get the first aid kit in his cabinet before his eyes caught the handkerchief on his nightstand. Taking it as well, he finally brought it all towards Jimin who was sitting on the couch, holding his bloody left hand, sobbing.

"Jimin, let me see," he said, asking for the boy's left hand as he sat next to him.

Jimin complied, bringing it towards Yoongi. His eyes were cast on the television in front of him, staring blankly. Yoongi took the hand gently and tried to examine it. He could see that there were cuts across the boy's wrist, right where his vein should be. There were not more than ten in total, but a particular one was pretty deep it got blood leaking out of it. Jimin was lucky though, because as deep as it was, the cut was still too low to actually tamper the vein underneath and did real damage. It wasn’t actually luck that Yoongi would deem the boy to have. He had to thank the boy’s stupidity instead.

"I'm going to clean this now so it would sting a bit," Yoongi said, voice calm. He tried to be as soothing as he could, mimicking Seokjin’s tone. Instead, what came from his lips were this expressionless tone that didn’t really came as a reassurance at all or so it came to his ear.

Jimin didn't say a word and he just went on with it. He soaked the handkerchief in water and tried to wipe the blood off, trying to move around the cut gently. The boy jerked his hand a bit when it sting around the cut but didn't say a word nonetheless. Just by looking at it he could actually understand. It was self-inflicted wounds. The boy was cutting himself up and he was probably lucky, just because he was stupid enough not to manage to get the real result he was hoping for. He cut himself up, realized that it didn't work, and ran away to his apartment again.

"Why didn't it bleed, hyung?" He was still cleaning them, thinking that he should have poured alcohol on them since luckily the blood had indeed stopped, when Jimin finally asked.

Yoongi stopped and he motioned towards Jimin, getting off the couch and kneeled in front of him instead.

"Why did the b-blood stop p-pouring? I thought that I-."

The boy didn't continue his words, just looking at Yoongi with eyes filled with despair. Somehow he found it in himself again to be jealous over the tears. Jimin was broken. He was in pain. So much pain until he even cut himself up. It even made him jealous, since he couldn't even feel broken.

"Because you should have cut down, not across," he said with a low voice. He shouldn't have said that to Jimin. The boy might really try it later and really got to kill himself next time. That was, if suicide was the thing he’d be aiming for. Looking at the wound though, Yoongi wasn't really convinced. Everyone who tried to commit suicide would be a coward at first. When that moment came, people should be thanking their own brain for having such thing called cowardice to stop them.

What about himself? Would he be a coward as well when he was holding the knife in his right grip again?

"I-i t-tried. They s-said this will m-make things b-better. P-people said-,"

Yoongi shook his head. He found his hand holding Jimin's bloody wrist gently and another wiping his tears. The action was odd, because Yoongi had never done that to anyone before.

"They're wrong. It didn't make anything better," he said.

Jimin hiccuped on his tears. They kept on falling and he finally raised his other hand to wipe on them in a haste.

"M-my parents. T-they don't want m-me and i just can't t-take it anymore, b-being home, b-being there."

Jimin could have gone to his house if only he didn't tell him to leave. That guilt was gnawing at him again. Somehow he felt that a part of this was his fault as well.

"And t-they saw me in my r-room, my h-hand b-bleeding and you w-won't even g-guess what th-they s-said."

Something stirred inside of Yoongi stomach. His left wrist itched again and he gulped. It happened long ago. Too long. When the knives and him were a lover. When they were both looked good on each other. He never talked about it to anyone, not even to Namjoon. What his parent said that they changed everything, or at least made him realized something.

"They said that you're doing this for attention. That this is your petty way of gaining their attention. That you are pathetic and childish," Yoongi said in a hushed whisper.

He doubt that it was something that Jimin parents said to him. It was what his parents had to him, though. He realized at that moment that his parents didn't actually care for him. They didn't love him. He was an heir to their business corporation, nothing more. Easily replacable, even, if it was simply for the sake of nurturing a company in the future. His path was laid in front of him and there was nothing that he could do to change that. Studying business in university was just another step he had to take, one that he wasn’t willing to continue right now.

"T-they s-said that i b-better off d-dead anyway," Jimin said.

His stomach stirred. How could a parent be so cruel. Both Jimin and his? Shouldn't they love their children like in all those movies and textbook that children saw? Yet there were always be people like them, suffering from what their parents had said. Jimin's probably wanted him dead. His didn't. His parents didn't actually want him dead. They didn't want him to live. They just wanted him to follow this road, became a being that neither dead nor alive, floating and chained between both worlds.

And that was exactly what he'd been doing.

He wasn't living or dying. He wasn't even a zombie who walked.

He was just there.

.

It was past midnight when Yoongi had finished tending on Jimin's wound afterward, cleaning and soaking them with alcohol. Jimin had to bite on his own lips and grabbed on Yoongi's wrist too tightly when he did. He then covered them nicely, wrapping them on bandages as best as he could. He certainly wasn't accustomed to this but so far he had at least done a pretty decent job.

They ended up sitting side by side on the couch in silence, Yoongi not knowing what to say and Jimin still recovering from his tears. The boy just stared blankly on the television in front of them. After a while the boy did open his mouth to speak.

"What?" Yoongi said, didn't really catching what the boy was saying the first time.

"What happened to your phone and television?" he asked again, voice soft and hoarse.

He glanced towards his television, its screen cracked and broken as if someone just swung a baseball bat towards it. At the other end of the room laid his broken phone, the one that was smashed against the wall.

"They were making weird noises so i got rid of it," he said. In the end he still couldn't get rid of the noise, though, for somehow they would always and keep on ringing.

Jimin answered him with a simple hum. Yoongi sighed. He turned his face around, looking at Jimin. The boy looked so fragile now, ready to break at any second given.

"Jimin, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry for getting mad at you last time. I didn't mean to say that to you. I'm just tired and you don't deserve to hear any of that. I'm sorry," he said.

It took a few moments for Jimin to even register his words. He looked so lost at the moment, even as he turned his head to see Yoongi. He didn't look like he was seeing him, instead looking right through him. He slowly then, very slowly, lifted up the corner of his mouth and smiled. He didn't know why but Jimin's smile always reminded him of that day in front of NB. It reminded him how human Jimin was, that he could cry and laugh and smile as easy as that.

"It's okay. I know. You just can't sleep."

He nodded.

"I just can't sleep."

Another comfortable silence crept upon them and Jimin spent it looking at him. He opened his mouth then, wanting to ask before harboring some doubt instead. Yoongi raised his brow before Jimin finally made up his mind and said.

"Hyung, can I ask you a question?"

He hummed back in approval. Probably the boy realized how much he hated questions, thus doubting his choice of action. Still, he found that he could tolerate Jimin's, especially now.

"You said something about your parents, and what they said. And it felt like you understand how it feels. Like you've-,"

Jimin stopped, curving his eyebrow. He looked as if he regretted saying the words, realizing that he pried too much. He stopped then and closed his mouth, taking back the question, leaving the sentence unfinished. Yoongi sighed.

"-done this as well?" he continued, enunciating the foreign words slowly against his lips.

This. What was the 'this' that they were talking about? Self-harming, of course, cutting through his skin as if it would grant him relief. Cutting. He was once familiar with knives. They were a friend, long ago, for such a brief encounter. But they've met nonetheless. When they did people cheer. The world rejoiced and for a fleeting moment there were fireworks setting before his eyes. Everything was warm and he was doing more than just breathing. For a fleeting moment he felt alive.

He took out his left hand and turned it around for Jimin to see. It wasn't so clear against his pale skin. It would only be visible if you squint hard enough, or if you brushed your finger against it. Only then would you feel the slight and faint bump across his wrist, crisscrossing its way like figure skater on an ice rink.

Jimin reached towards him, taking out his fingers to scan them underneath his own touch, only after the boy gave him a look as if asking for his permission to touch him this time. He shuddered from the contact. He hadn’t felt that for a long time, human touch. It was always Jimin’s that he could tolerate. It would always the boy’s that got him feeling this little current of electricity, the shudders and the warmth. He didn’t ask for more. He just found it-, oddly nice.

"My parents are businessman. We run one of the biggest stock-holding company in South Korea," he said, taking his mind off the foreign touch encircling his hand. He hated the label Chaebol. It was synonym for rich kid living in Gangnam who used money to wipe their with instead of toilet paper since they were too rich anyway. His life wasn't Gangnam or anywhere south the river. It was Hongdae and rapping venue, hearing battles on the street with hands up in the air and lips spitting rapid words  like machine gun.

"They were busy, always are. I can't even remember spending my time with them when I was a child." Such moment was non existent. They weren't a happy family spending time together on Sunday morning. The Min was a dysfunctional family with newspaper covering his father's face most of the time and a phone tugged between his mom's shoulder and ear. "They were just never there."

Yoongi didn't clearly remember about it all after all this years, but he remembered that he used to feel abandoned and lonely. He couldn't even feel lonely right now. Then again maybe it was the one that turned him into someone who didn't rely on others now. At least there was a good side of it all. Nobody knew about this before. His friends knew he got money but simply that. Everybody knew he hated his parents but these days, who didn’t, really? Namjoon at least, knew that he attended private school before and got the slightest hint of how hellish it actually was.

"I was lonely. Private school and no real friends. Courses and busy timetables. They even forced me to play classical music. The harp. You can't even guess that from me, can you?" he said, feeling a smile forming on his lips. It wasn’t a smile. It was more of a condescendence. He felt Jimin’s thumb going softly through his scars, trying to retrace each of it with the graze of his touch. "Then I saw the knives and i just thought that maybe-, just maybe, it would feel nice. People did it and say that it made everything feel better."

He remembered the first time he put the blade on his skin, the edge cold against his skin. His little fingers clutched the handle, shaking. He was just a child, really. Twelve or so.

"It did, for a fleeting moment." He remembered his skin splitting and his blood blooming red. He remembered himself hissing from the pain before life took him over. Before he knew it he was flying. He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t sad, but he was alive and that was more than he could ever ask for. It was waves washing him ashore, a first kiss with that little hint of a tongue, the first droplets of rain against your skin. No more loneliness, no more frustration, no more the world, just him and the knife together, writing a love story against his skin, exchanging kisses and hot moans. 

“It stung at first, but somehow it gets better. It was a scratch at first before it evolves into deep cutting lines and the blood came upon the skin like cute little bubbles."

He was twisted. Why did he even think of it as cute. 

"But it didn’t get any better, of course, when my parents realized it. I was stupid enough to wrapped a cloth around it, it caught their attention for the first time." He was nothing but a stupid little kid back then, thinking about how to hide it from view but instead attracted one. He had thought the same thing as Jimin did when he was a kid. Why did the blood stop pouring? Shouldn’t it keep on running? And with each blood that poured, he would feel better and better, wouldn’t he?

"They said if it was my attempt to gain their attention, it's a really pathetic one."

Kid Yoongi remembered the words stung more than his left wrist. He didn’t try to gain their attention. That was the least of his goal. He didn’t even want anybody to find out, but twelve years old Yoongi was indeed stupid. At that moment he simply knew. He was as much as an unwanted child that Jimin was. Cutting himself up more than that wouldn't make him feel better, that idea struck him like a train. It would only give his parent the satisfaction of being right. That he was pathetic. That he did it because he was a lonely little kid, screaming for help. He learned now how he shouldn't be asking for it. He should be fine standing on his own. He didn't need help. He wasn't pathetic. He would prove them wrong.

He didn't even realize he was smiling right now in a mocking gesture. He didn't even know why he talked about this. He never talked about this before to anyone, not even to Namjoon. That friend knew about him and understood him more than anybody else. Yet he started to feel that Jimin could as well, for the boy didn't give any comeback whatsoever. He kept on running his finger through his scar, feeling each one of the etched line on his wrist before he grip on them tightly.

He raised his head, taking off his view from the finger encircling his own wrist and ended on the boy in front of him. Park Jimin was weird. They met in the most absurd situation ever. Yet here he was talking about something he'd never let a soul heard before. Here he was forgetting about his fear and the awful voices that plagued his life just hours ago. Everything was simply forgotten when Jimin was there. Jimin was smiling softly.

"It's okay," Jimin said slowly.

Yoongi thought how weird this all was. Shouldn't Jimin be the one talking about his problems, not him? Why did it feel like he was the one being consoled? Why did he be the one who felt as if his problems were slowly lifted from his shoulder? Why did he feel this warmth spreading on his chest?

"You're fine, hyung."

His wrist was no longer itching.

"You're perfectly okay."

It felt like it was on fire.

.

Yoongi woke up to someone else's legs entangling his own. He woke up with body stiff and back felt like breaking. At the same time he oddly woke up with a light head. There was no headache, no thumping and no labored breathing. His body was battered, but his mind felt peaceful. He cracked an eye open and that was when he saw the brown hair of a person right in front of him, sleeping peacefully on his chest.

He couldn't feel his other arm, being pinned and used as a pillow by whoever that was sleeping beside him while the other was laid across the person's waist, with another hand encircling his wrist. He tried to pull the hand gently, only to wake the other person up.

That was when he remembered.

Park Jimin.

Yoongi quickly sat upright, ignoring Jimin's groan and trying to get his hands and legs off of the boy. They must have fallen asleep on the couch again last night. The boy had refused to use the bed and Yoongi too had grown a liking to his large couch he would rather have it as his permanent bed than the real one. It was embarrassing and downright annoying to think that they both ended sleeping together on it, cuddling like little kids.

"Get up," Yoongi said, groaning, trying to shove Jimin off the couch.

The other boy buried his face on the cushion, not wanting to move and tried his best to stick to it before Yoongi finally had enough and pushed him down hard, letting the boy fell to the floor with a thud.

“Ouch, what do you do that for, hyung? You’re mean,” he said, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

He rolled his eyes. Jimin brought himself together and sat cross-legged on the floor. Yoongi just sat there on the couch, looking at the boy. Last night Park Jimin stood in front of his apartment with a bleeding hand, crying and seemingly ready to fall apart. Last night Park Jimin had listened to him talking about something awful he’d done years ago, something he’d never told a single soul before, living or not. Today the kid was smiling, being a cheeky brat and as annoying as Yoongi knew him to be.

“Your hands okay?” he asked, making a gesture with his chin.

Jimin cocked an eyebrow and lifted his bandaged wrist. It seemed okay to his eyes.

“Don’t do that again,” Yoongi said softly.

The boy smiled, soft and warm, and every bit of a sunshine that he was.

“I won’t, hyung.”

He wasn’t really convinced but he realized that he couldn’t do anything else beside that. It wasn’t like he was Seokjin or Namjoon who coaxed out a promise out of the boy’s mouth. Even Yoongi knew how much he hated that, as if his friends were just waiting for him to break it.

Yoongi got up and walked towards the kitchen, thinking about breakfast. The sun had come up and as usual he wasn’t really keen on knowing what time it was. It was noon probably and he didn’t need to know otherwise. He was halfway through rummaging his pantry when Jimin proposed another idea.

“Can we go out for lunch?”

He groaned and practically said a ‘no’. He wasn’t a fan of the outside world. He’d been out only for the night and doing that in the morning would be an even more hellish thing to do. Closing the partition and keeping his apartment room dim-lighted was done simply because he hated sunshine. Hoseok had once joked that he was probably Dracula reincarnated.

“Come on, hyung. Just this once.”

He said no again. Why should he even say yes? Jimin was simply a runaway brat that he’d housed for the time being. Why should he even be extra nice for the boy? Not just extra. Why should he even be nice for the boy at the first place?

“For me.”

Still a no. Even if it was Namjoon, he wouldn’t probably give in to the request.

“It’ll make me feel better.”

And Yoongi learned that he was a hypocrite.

.

He didn’t know why he had said yes in the end. It was probably the fact that he was still guilty. Or rather it was the fact that he realized that Park Jimin was in need of some consoling. Maybe a simple trip to the nearest restaurant would grant the boy just that. He had taken a shower and sighed as the water hit his face. He raised his left wrist, looking at the scratch whose existence he’d forgotten for years. He remembered the feeling too vividly, as Jimin ran his thumbs across it. It felt somehow soothing, and at the same time it felt as if Park Jimin had touched the inner and most sensitive part of him. He felt right now, not quite literally, but telling Jimin that had left him feeling vulnerable, as if he’d laid out everything that there was about Min Yoongi in front of the boy. He’d certainly never done that to anyone before.

Jimin took a shower after him, borrowing and changing into his clothes afterwards. The boy hummed under the shower and Yoongi just sat there in front of his couch, waiting, all the while looking at his cracked television in front of him. Funny. Just hours prior to Jimin’s arrival, he was practically cooped up in his own room, terrified. He didn’t even dare to crack his eyes open. Yet here he was feeling safe, hearing another voice behind his door that wasn’t a whisper or his own.

The boy was beaming by the time he opened his apartment door and he found it hard to believe that last night Jimin was standing in front of it with a bleeding wrist, looking entirely broken. He acted as if nothing had happened and Yoongi didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

At least it was a good sign for Yoongi because his usual headache didn’t come marching in. He stepped his foot outside and found his surrounding still bearable to his liking. He could stand being outside of his apartment. One thing off of the checklist. Would he stomach the elevator that he loathed now? Even waiting for one had him groaning already, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently.

“Why do you hate being outside so much, hyung?” Jimin asked next to him.

He didn’t really know why. He never really thought about it.

“I got headaches whenever I go out,” he said.

“You look fine now.”

“Today’s an exception.”

“Awh, is it because of me? It’s because I’m around that your headache is gone, isn’t it?”

Yoongi scoffed.

“Shut up, brat.”

Jimin sported another huge grin and he knew without even turning his head. The elevator finally stopped on his floor and opened with a ‘ding’. He was about to sigh in relief and stepped in when his eyes caught something else instead, right when the door was opening. The sight left him dumbfounded, feet frozen on the floor.

It was Taehyung. Of course it would be. His crazy and loud neighbor, the kid that kept on forgetting his keycard, stupid and obnoxious. He was with someone else, a boy, and at first Yoongi didn’t realize who it was. It didn’t really matter, actually, because what bothered him was seeing what Taehyung had been doing with the other person.

Taehyung was making out with a boy, right in the middle of the elevator. He was having another boy, taller than he was with raven hair in front of him, one hand on the waist and the other cupping the boy’s cheek. Both boys didn’t even realize that the elevator had stopped, tongue drifting against each other lips with hot breaths and little whimpers sounding through the air.

Something churned inside Yoongi’s stomach. He got this greatest urge to turn around and flee but instead he just coughed.

Upon hearing that the raven-haired boy quickly leapt backwards, prying himself off of Taehyung’s grasp. The Kim just turned towards him instead with a stupid grin.

“Oh, hi hyung,” Taehyung said, grinning.

There were things popping in his mind all at once. First of all, he wouldn’t even think that the weird Kim Taehyung was gay. He was weird, but being gay was certainly something he didn’t expect the boy to be. Second, even if Kim Taehyung was into girls, he didn’t think that he would ever see his stupid neighbor making out inside of the elevator. Of course it got to be the elevator, sure it would be. Yoongi himself had done stupid things inside the boring elevator ride, but he wouldn’t certainly let the show go on for people’s eyes to see.

“You’ve got to admit that’s pretty hot,” murmured Jimin from behind him.

“God, shut up, Jimin,” Yoongi hissed, nudging the boy with his elbow.

“There’s Jimin as well? Sorry, didn’t see you guys there,” said Taehyung, laughing. He grabbed the raven-haired boy’s wrist and pulled him out of the elevator. Only then did he realize that it was Jungkook, the boy from before.

Something cold ran down his spine. He still remembered vividly how Jungkook was looking at him. He remembered the fear written clearly on his face. Was it just imagination or Jungkook was simply as crazy as Taehyung?

“Don’t do that in the elevator,” Yoongi said, as he quickly entered the elevator. Jimin followed behind him.

“So you like boys huh, Taehyung?” commented Jimin. Yoongi had the urged to slap the boy’s behind his head right now.

His mind was still processing what he just saw, yet his eyes were cast towards Jungkook. There was another part of his brain that reminded him about that restlessness from before, the terrified look and the weird feeling that got him feeling uncomfortable as well. There was something haunting with that look and he was half-heartedly trying to pry some sort of information, asking the boy or probably saw whether he would do the same thing right now.

Jungkook in the other hand just looked at the ground, probably feeling embarrassed and tried to avoid Yoongi’s gaze.

“LGBT wins,” blurt Taehyung, sticking out his tongue.

Jimin just laughed from behind. Yoongi hit the elevator door closed. His eyes were still on Jungkook, the boy standing next to Taehyung and finally turning around towards him. Even as the elevator door was closing, Yoongi still hadn’t pried his gaze off of Jungkook. The boy was certainly trying to avoid looking at him, opting with the ground instead. But in that split second, the boy did raise his head, stealing a quick glance towards Yoongi.

Yoongi’s heart beat faster.

“Good bye hyung, bye Jimin. We still got a playdate,” Taehyung said, this time waving his hand before the elevator’s door was closed for good.

Just as easily as that Jungkook and Taehyung were finally out of sight. Something clawed at the bottom of his stomach. For that split second, Jungkook had finally stolen a glance towards him. For that millisecond he had turned towards Yoongi, looking right at him. Yoongi clenched his fist, his heart beating fast. His palms were sweating. There were no headaches but he was still feeling restless nonetheless.

Jimin had probably realized that because he asked.

“Hyung, did seeing Taehyung kissing with a boy shock you that much?”

It wasn’t really the right question but it was better than an ‘are you okay’ that Yoongi had grown too tired to hear. He gulped down, trying to calm himself down. He was feeling okay today, wasn’t he? The voices and the fear had just stopped with Jimin’s arrival. There was nothing for him to fear. No telephone, no television, no whispers and words.

But there was Jungkook, and the boy was the most evident of all the things that he could ask for. He was more real than the whispers could ever be.

“It wasn’t that,” Yoongi said softly.

It wasn’t seeing the kiss or realizing that Taehyung was gay. That part was insignificant. It was seeing the same fear written clearly across Jungkook’s face. This time he somehow understood and he could see it.  Yoongi just realized it, but Jungkook wasn’t clearly scared at him, nor that he was scared for something that might be standing behind him.

No, the boy certainly wasn’t afraid at him. He was being afraid for him.

.

He was looking at Jimin eating half a big mac with a simple, mouthful bite. They had settled with the nearest restaurant and it just happened that McDonald was located just around the corner of his apartment building. His car was still being repaired and they practically couldn’t get far anyway. Yoongi felt like it had been years (or probably centuries) since he ventured outside. If suddenly cars were hovering off the street and cyborg roamed the earth when he finally decided to be outside for god knows how long, Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised. It was autumn and despite of the falling leaf, he had to deal with the cold wind gushing through them. Good thing was having a coat on with an extra think scarf, rolled around his neck. He hated cold (and practically everything else in this world).

The boy was having a huge appetite and Yoongi himself didn’t eat much. He sat in front of the boy, eating a few French fries and somehow he had felt full just by seeing the boy eat.

His mind, at the same time, was somewhere else. He’d been thinking about Jungkook, how the boy was looking at him. It was as if the boy could read his mind and knew about how terrified he was, as if he knew about the telephone and the whispers. Was he a paranormal or some sort? Could he read his mind or something like that? Yoongi didn’t believe in that as much as he believed in ghost but the same thing did make him curious.

“You didn’t know that Taehyung’s gay, did you?”

Yoongi raised his eyebrow. That was a weird topic coming out from Jimin.

“No I don’t. And I don’t really care much,” he said.

“But you seem like you’ve been thinking about it, hyung.”

He scoffed. He once had thought that Jimin could read his mind, but this time he was certainly not.

“I’m not thinking about that.”

But instead it did get his brain into motion. There was something unsettling at seeing the scene. Maybe it was simply because he hadn’t had friends who was gay before, or how he hadn’t seen one. It just came out as weird to him. Not uncomfortable, though, because he believed that he wouldn’t think Taehyung would be more stupid or weirder than he already was right now. Perhaps maybe it was the soft whimpers that he remembered too well, the little noises that came out from both boys. Or maybe how he remembered Jungkook’s little hand, at Taehyung’s shirt, with the latter’s own hand tracing the other boy’s jaw as their tongues drift-,

“You’re not by seeing that, are you hyung?”

And Yoongi be damned because he was such a hypocrite indeed. He said that he wasn’t thinking yet he was now as soon as Jimin asked. He thought that Jimin had done an awful job at reading his earlier mind yet he was being so good at it right now.

“I’m not!” Yoongi said, being too loud that he usually was.

Jimin gave him a smirk.

“Oh hyung, are you that ually deprived? Don’t tell me the great Min Yoongi is ually frustrated.”

It had indeed been so long. He hadn’t been with anyone for months. Since he’d taken asylum in his own apartment, he hadn’t certainly been doing anything close to relieving any , even by himself. He simply didn’t think, need, or want to. Then again, seeing Taehyung and Jungkook today just-,

“Shut your mouth and finish your big mac in two minutes. If you could I’ll buy you a second one.”

It was a challenge too easy for Park Jimin, but at least it got him eating fast and most important of all, keeping his mouth occupied. He clearly didn’t need the boy to embarrass him more than he’d done with nothing but simple words.