don’t yell

20170506

~.~

Jimin was a happy child. His smile would cut through his chubby cheeks and leave his eyes slim half moons. He was a careful child, too. A fear of his, or perhaps his worst fear, was being chastised by his parents. Not that his parents were scary or anything. He just didn’t want to disappoint them.

And yes, maybe that’s true for most children. But Jimin was actually terrified of it. He’d go out of his way to never misbehave, always do as he was told, always work hard. When the inevitable slip up took place he’d be so ashamed that he’d get dizzy, and weak in the knees. Teary. He’d sweat as he anticipated the sharp words of his father, or the yells of his mother. It hurt more than anything else to be yelled at.

That Jimin and this Jimin are oddly similar.

Not in physical appearance, Jimin hopes.

He’s taller (maybe not tall, but still), his cheeks are more chiseled and his hair, stuck to his forehead with sweat, has been bleached and coloured past its natural matt black.

The cast down eyes are the same though. The way he bites his lower lip. The way his heart is pounding in his ears like the beat of a drum. He might not look five years old anymore, but he certainly feels like it.

And it still hurts. More than practicing six hours a day. More than bright lights and flashing cameras through lenses in his eyes. More than slipping in the shower at three a.m. when he’s so tired he doesn’t even register being on the floor until the pain kicks in.

And the yelling hasn’t even started yet.

Behind him, s are lined up. He can feel their presence. And in the top corner of his vision he sees them in the mirror, also with their heads cast down. They’re holding their breaths. Just like Jimin is.

In front of him, standing by the mirror with a look Jimin can only imagine as disapproving, stands their choreographer, Song Sungdeuk.

A very important characteristic of Song Sungdeuk’s: he’s a yeller.

He yells when he’s mad.

And that’s scary. While it lasts. But it’s short and intense and then it’s over. And if anyone misbehaves often during choreography practice it’s not Jimin anyway. It passes.

But this?

The staring? The waiting? The silence?

It’s like he knows. It’s like he can feel Jimin shaking in anticipation for his words to fill the air and boom against the walls. It’s like he can hear Jimin’s heart slam against his ribcage.

This is not like Song Sungdeuk at all. And Jimin does not like this change in character, not at all.

He feels like he’s rotting in his own shame. Can it not be over already?

Just as he’s about to look up, just to see the older man’s expression, he starts speaking.

“Be more careful, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin snaps his head up.

Blinks.

What?

“You’re a good kid.”

And with that, the choreographer leaves. Doesn’t slam the door. Just walks right out of there.

It’s awkwardly silent for a couple of seconds as everyone, including Jimin, waits for Jimin to react.

When he tries to exhale, it comes out a sob. Before he knows it, he’s on his knees, and there’s a hand on his shoulder, Jimin’s brain vaguely senses Taehyung’s presence behind him as he cries. He weeps. At one point he must have collapsed as well. Out of exhaustion, stress, lack of food. The usual.

The next time he opens his eyes it’s just for a couple of seconds. Someone, probably Jeongguk, is carrying him to the car. And then he’s out like a blown candle again. They let him sleep through the car ride.

They let him sleep for hours.

----

He expects there to be light when his eyes open again. But someone has done the blinds. And tucked him in.

He’s about to sit up, but an ache like a pinch stings in his poor head, and he has to come down to rest against his pillow again. No matter how soft it is, how warm it is between the sheets, how nice and quiet it is in his room (where Hoseok for some suspicious reason isn’t present), he can’t get comfortable. There’s guilt, frustration and shame gnawing his insides out. He has no idea what time it is, but he should be practicing. Or, just doing something.

Buying something to replace the speaker in the dance studio with.

Because he broke it.

He broke the speakers.

The pain in his head intensifies and Jimin flinches. He wants a painkiller. Some water. But he doesn’t think he deserves it at the moment.

He’s weak. That’s why they left him here.

They went: “Jimin overworked himself again” and “Let him off easy, it was an accident.” or “Just let him sleep.”

They pity him.

Jimin is so pitiful. Why can’t he work hard like the others without collapsing, huh?

His eyes are still sore from the crying before, yet he can feel his eyes prickle with tears again. He groans, rolls over, pulls the sheets over his head.

Should he just disappear? Would life for everyone else be easier then?

No, that would be selfish. People are counting on him now.

The air is getting thin under the covers, but he doesn’t bother to remove them.

Luckily, before his thoughts can spiral any deeper down into the depths of his mind, the door opens. He holds his breath. The gap in the door lets a sliver of light from the livingroom spill into the thick darkness of Jimin’s surroundings.

“Jimin?”

And just like that, the tension in Jimin’s head releases. Just a little bit.

It doesn’t take much for Jimin to relax.

When he was a kid it was his mother's soothing singing voice. Now he says it’s tea, but that’s a lie.

No, his true source of calmness now a days lies fully in the hands of his hyung.

Min Yoongi.

He'd find comfort in a lot of things. His musky scent, soft hair, cool hands, calm and carefree demeanor, and the lazy tone of his deep voice. Of course, Yoongi simply being there is the comfort itself, but Jimin likes to list the things that come along like a promise with his presence.

How did it start? Jimin can’t remember.

They were not really that close during debut days. Jimin didn’t have time to be friends with anyone besides Taehyung and Jeongguk at the time. Even him and Hoseok were awkward in the beginning. He was shy and insecure. Yoongi was cool and intimidating. Cool like the temperature.

At one point the strains in their members-only relationship melted. They were similar, in many ways.

Maybe the other members notice, maybe they don’t, but it doesn’t matter to them.

When Yoongi works late in the studio Jimin brings him tea, snacks. Even if he just lies there on the sofa playing games, even if he annoys the older by asking questions, even if he falls asleep, Yoongi always thanks him for coming.

When Jimin practices late in the dance studio, Yoongi is the one who gets him to come home to the dorms. Sometimes he stays. Distracts Jimin from working on purpose. Or he’ll practice along, which usually ends with them rolling on the floor in laughter.

They don’t need to talk about problems.

Taehyung and Hoseok try their very very hardest to understand, but then Jimin has to talk. Remind himself of his issues.

With Yoongi, no words are needed. They just understand each other. They know what the other needs. And in that way, understand what they themselves need.

Yoongi doesn’t have to tell Jimin to relax. Yoongi being there brings relaxation out naturally.

Jimin’s eyes fall shut. He hears Yoongi’s footsteps approaching the bed, the door falling shut with a soft click behind him.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” Yoongi whispers, pulling the blanket down to reveal Jimin’s face. He’s crouched down, leveled with Jimin’s bottom bunk. “You look like , by the way.”

Jimin groans. He can only imagine.

Hair a right mess, face red and swollen, eyelashes wet and stuck to his face. He’s still in his dance clothes under the blanket, sweaty and dirty.

“What time is it?” he manages to whisper, but even so his words crack as they escape his hoarse throat.

“Ten in the morning.”

Jimin fills in the blanks himself. Namjoon is in the studio working on the album, Taehyung and Jeongguk had other schedules today, he should be practicing with Hoseok, Seokjin and Yoongi just about now. After that they have a meeting to attend about upcoming schedules for their comeback. And then a commercial photoshoot.

“Jimin, breath.”

Jimin scoffs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, before forcing them open. There’s a little light shining in through the blinds, lining Yoongi’s contours. He looks beautiful like that, Jimin thinks. His hair hangs black and soft on his forehead. His skin is pale, a little oily, and it shines prettily in the half-dark as Jimin’s eyes slowly get used to his surroundings. Yoongi’s eyes are slim and catlike, a little makeup still smudged in the outer corners, and they’re full of understanding today as well.

Jimim blinks several times, letting his eyes slide shut again. He needs to stop staring at Yoongi. It’s an unhealthy habit.

“I’m fine,” he says.

He does feel fine. His heart is racing, and that’s totally because of the stress, and his flushed cheeks are merely a result of embarrassment at how gross he knows he must look.

The gnawing feeling is calming down, at least.

“Feel like sleeping any more?” Yoongi asks, running his hands through Jimin’s tousled locks. The gesture has comfortable tingles traveling down Jimin’s cold-sweat-slicked back. Jimin can’t see his hyung, but he knows the other’s eyes are also closed. It sounds like it.

“I’m hungry,” Jimin mumbles after a while.

So Jimin ends up showering, while Yoongi cooks up some ramen in the kitchen.

The warm water caresses his skin and undoes the knots in his muscles. He rubs shampoo into his scalp, flinching at the aches in his shoulders when he raises his arms, and cleans the rest of his body quickly.

He gets dressed without looking in the steam covered mirror.

His dripping hair wets his white tee-shirt, but he doesn’t care. He pulls on some sweatpants and skips the socks.

The kitchen smells like cheap, fabricated spices and kimchi. Yoongi threw some spinach into the ramen pot, as well as some fishballs.

“If only Jin-hyung were here.”

Yoongi jumps, before flicking Jimin’s forehead. “Ungrateful ,” he scoffs.

Jimin stands next to him, awkwardly watching as he pours the noodles into a bowl. One bowl.

“Yah,” he whines half-heartedly. When he gets no answer, he pinches the older’s waist, making him flinch.

“What?! I thought you wanted to wait for Jin-hyung to come home and cook for you.”

Jimin laughs weakly. He doesn’t ask about where he’s actually supposed to be right now. If Yoongi doesn’t say anything he assumes it’s okay for them to stay in the dorm today.

He feels relaxed, and nice. And at ease. A nice change from constantly fretting around about his responsibilities.

“I’m hungry hyung,” he tries, the whine coming out strained, hoarse vocal chords and all, while poking Yoongi in the side again.

Yoongi turns, facing Jimin with a very unimpressed expression.

“Really?” he hums, poking Jimin in the stomach.

Jimin yelps, “My abs!”

Yoongi scoffs this time, pinching Jimin’s stomach through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You wish,” he laughs.

Jimin laughs too, grabbing Yoongi’s waist with both his hands to tickle back.

He ends up with his head leaning on the older’s shoulder, hands still on his waist. Yoongi’s arms come to hug him back, a kiss is pressed onto Jimin’s shoulder.

Jimin shivers at that, tries to ignore the gesture and focuses on breathing.

Yoongi is his hyung, his friend, his very very good friend.

“I’m tired,” he whispers.

Yoongi’s grip around him tightens.

“I know,” he says back, voice thick and comforting. His chest vibrates when he speaks. Jimin didn’t ever realise they were this close until he feels it. “We’ll eat, and the you can sleep. Manager-hyung said you could have this day off. And don’t feel guilty now, you deserve it.”

Jimin exhales a long and slow breath. “Okay,” he says. He pulls away from the hug, immediately missing Yoongi’s warmth.

His eyes sink to his bare feet. He can’t help but feel pathetic, despite Yoongi assuring him it’s fine to rest for a day. He studies the floor for a few dragging seconds, before Yoongi’s slim, cold fingers lift his chin up.

“Don’t pout,” he says, poking Jimin’s cheek with his other hand.

Jimin frowns, first in disgust and then in thought. Only, he’s not thinking. Obviously not, since his next move is to close the distance between him and Yoongi and place a kiss on his cheek. He doesn’t move from there, cheeks heating up, and kisses Yoongi again instead. He kisses his right cheek, his left cheek, and Yoongi’s hands grab his hips. When Jimin’s finds Yoongi’s lips, his heart skips a beat, feeling the older’s slightly chapped ones against his own, which are wet with saliva. His hands scratch at Yoongi’s back as they nibble at each other.

It feels okay.

Jimin can only feel okay now.

He doesn’t think, about more than the way he feels anyways. And the way Yoongi feels against him.

He likes his hyung way too much, doesn’t he.

~~

a/n

what have i done

Relaxing song rec:  PRICKED - Winner (MINO & TAEHYUN)