insomnia

20170628

~.~

(i'll edit this tomorrow it's literally almost 4 am, sry for possibe grammar errors for now)

It’s funny how out of all the children who live at Peace Blossoms Orphanage, it’s the seventeen year old who has the most nightmares.

Yoongi swears he finds Jimin bundled up in his sweaty sheets with flushed cheeks and pupils blown wide at least three times a week. The boy is always quick to deny that he’s had a bad night's sleep, but his shaking hands at the breakfast table say differently. When Yoongi asks Tim, Jimin’s ten year old roommate, he only says Jimin is a quiet sleeper. Apart from a few whimpers here and there, there are no signs of nightmares.

Even if he tries to tell himself that Jimin is fine, that he shouldn’t even care, it doesn’t help. It doesn’t take a genius to know the boy is suffering, whether it’s from nightmares or not. And, even if Yoongi has only worked here for a month, they’ve become quite good friends. And Yoongi isn’t cold hearted, he really isn’t.

This morning is a bad one. He can already tell. It’s just a feeling. Maybe it’s because of the rain, because he had to run through the shower without an umbrella up the hill to the orphanage. Maybe it’s because it’s only six in the morning and he’s tired, eyes still stinging from when he had tared himself out of bed. Maybe because the Peach Blossoms Orphanage is generally a gloomy place, especially when it’s still dark and there are no loud, laughing children to mask the true sullen aura of it. After all, it’s a home for familyless children.

He hangs up his dripping coat on the empty rack, letting out a huff. He’s the first one of the extra workers to arrive. Knowing Maya and Ralph, they probably won’t show up. They can drag an excuse to stay home out of nowhere. Rain? Easy. Heavy rain? Even better.

To tell the truth, Yoongi would have totally done the same if he were completing his community service anywhere but here. Like a soup kitchen, or an elderly home. But he likes the children. He never thought he would, but he does. Especially the rebellious ones, they always spice things up. Even so, cuddling up in his warm bed sounds a lot more pleasant than waking up twenty or so tired children, and the permanent staff, for breakfast. Even if he hasn’t changed his sheets in a while, and his bed is just really small and uncomfortable.

A headache is already settling into his temples at the mere thought of shrilling children whines, the banging of silverware, the booming voice of Miss Christine, owner and head staff at the orphanage.

Before beginning his routine, Yoongi decides to pay the kitchen a visit. The cook is already there, giving Yoongi a curt nod before continuing to stir in the enormous (it’s basically half Yoongi’s size) oatmeal pot. He nods back, appreciating the other’s quiet character. At least there’s someone is this place like him.

A glass of water is what he needs. That, and a painkiller, but he takes too many of those already. It can’t be healthy. He runs a hand through his bleach blonde hair, taking a deep breath.

Enough stalling for time.

He goes to Jimin’s room first. Just because it’s on the top floor, furthest to the right, the perfect starting place. No other reason. Sadly, he was right about it being a bad morning.

The boy lays curled up with his knees tucked to his chest, duvet between his legs. His brown hair is stuck to his forehead, golden skin slick with sweat. A pink flush lies high on his cheeks, visible even in the dimly lit room (Tim sleeps with a nightlight). Jimin’s breaths are irregular and shallow. He jumps when Yoongi turns the big light on.

He’s not asleep then.

Instead of groaning, demanding an extra five minutes of sleep (which he does even after a nightmare, with a shaky voice, if just to pretend that things are fine), Jimin only throws a pillow over his head in shock when his eyes find Yoongi in the door opening.

Yoongi sighs, making his way to the bed on the left side of the square-shaped room. It only takes two minutes to wake Tim up and convince him to get out of the room, arguing that he’ll be the first to use the bathrooms before breakfast.

“How are you?” he asks Jimin in Korean, trying to sound as comforting as possible. They have that in common: poor Korean, accented from some place they’ve never been to. Jimin has never met his parents, and Yoongi pretends to not know his. They only talked about it once, but further conversation wasn’t needed. Since then, there’s always been this comforting ground of understanding between them. They just get each other.

He kneels down next to Jimin’s bed, poking him in the stomach. Jimin flinches, flush spreading from his pillow-covered face down his neck.

“Mmh,” is the not so convincing answer Yoongi ends up receiving.

“Yah,” Yoongi scoffs, poking the boy again. “You can sleep more if you want to. Or we could just talk about your nightmare.”

Jimin stirs, adjusting his duvet so that it covers his legs and rolling over to lay on his back, pillow still in place. He visibly swallows.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says.

“You sound like a five year old you know,” Yoongi teases, a lazy smile cutting through his tired expression.

This triggers a reaction, Jimin removing the pillow, face pink and pouty. Yoongi suppresses the urge to pinch his cheeks.

“Will I always be a kid in your eyes, hyung?” Jimin asks, before biting his lower lip in frustration, brown eyes cast down to where his chubby fingers play with the fabric of the duvet.

Yoongi stills. “Don’t worry, Jimin-ah. You’ll be out of here next year.”

Jimin looks up again, eyes wide and innocent, boring into Yoongi’s. “That’s not what I meant.”

The older blinks. He takes the younger in: white, baggy t-shirt exposing his collarbones and toned arms, hair framing his flushed face with effortless perfection despite it being messy from the night. Suddenly Yoongi’s headache is gone, replaced with a tingly feeling in his gut.

That’s not what he meant?

Jimin is Yoongi’s dongsaeng. The only “dongsaeng” he’s ever had. Namjoon, his roommate and only other Korean acquaintance, doesn’t count. He’s got more of a baby face than the actual children in this place. But… he isn’t a kid, is he.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes, if you’re not out of here by then I’m calling Miss Christine on you.”

Yoongi rises, leaving the room at a quicker than natural pace, desperately trying to ignore the tight feeling in his throat and lower stomach. He slowly makes his way through the other rooms, head in a different place as he lets his muscle memory handle the task of shaking children by the shoulders and willing them out of bed with a straining, sweet voice.

The image of Jimin’s collarbones is glued to Yoongi’s eyelids, his flush so vivid in Yoongi’s memory he can practically feel it, hot on his own skin.

Maybe he just needs another glass of water.

----

When Jimin is crying, it’s always because of one out of three reasons.

1. He’s seventeen and still lives in an orphanage. From what Yoongi knows, he came to England when he was five, and was adopted by a decent couple. But after one year, the woman got pregnant. In one way or another, Jimin ended up here, unwanted and alone for the rest of his life. That would get anyone tearing up, being the person in question or not.

2. He doesn’t have friends. This one baffles Yoongi, it always has, considering how cute and nice the kid is. Of course, he’s a little hot headed. Gets angry and sad easily. But other than that, how could you not love Jimin? He’s apparently bright as well, getting good marks in school. But it’s summer break, and Jimin never leaves the house to see anyone, despite being allowed to do so.

3. Emotional exhaustion. Jimin… feels everything. Every emotion, every sensation, to the max. Some would call him a case of basic emotional wreckage, it’s only normal for a boy who’s been through such rejection in his life. But everything means so much to him, everything he does and says is with care and to always have all that stuff going on inside his pretty little head is the perfect recipe for mood swings. He needs to release the tension somehow, and it’s either crying or screaming in rage.

Today, late Friday evening when Yoongi’s just said goodbye to Miss Christine and has begun to make his way down the stairs to the hallway, he hears the familiar soft sobs from one of the bathroom. The breath gets caught in Yoongi’s throat.

What should he do?

Try to comfort him like usual, which almost never works anyways? Or leave as if he never heard anything in the first place?

Namjoon said he was gonna get them noodles tonight. He’s hungry, and quite frankly exhausted from this week's work. He needs alcohol and sleep.

But that side, that soft side of Yoongi that comes out whenever he’s with the children in this place, wins eventually.

He takes a determined gulp of air before gently knocking on the door.

The stream of sobs quiet down to stop. Yoongi can only hear the pounding ache in his head, and the sound of children from the playroom on the second floor. The air is still, warm, calm. If he strained his ears, he would probably hear that twinkly, peaceful fairy-tale music from one of those Barbie movies, the ones with the fairies and the magic and the rainbows.

The closed door in front of him is an intimidating object. If the lock is undone, if Yoongi pushes it open, it would reveal the dark, sweaty, panicked air of Jimin’s misery. Jimin, who was despite everything still a child, alone and cramped up in the confines of an empty and unlit bathroom.

He swallows. It doesn’t feel right to enter the bathroom, almost cruel and as if he’d be intruding private territory. The thought of Jimin crying is so intimate, even if Yoongi’s seen it plenty of times before.

Yoongi knocks again, with a light hand. “Jimin-ah, come out will you? I’ll get you cake from the kitchen.”

He cringes at his Korean, taking a step back in anticipation of the door opening.

Sure enough, there are timid footsteps from the other side, the click of the lock being turned. He sees the handle move, a mess of brown hair sticking out of the opening. Jimin’s eyes are swollen, tear tracks marrying his soft facial features. He blinks up at Yoongi, hesitating before stepping out into the soft light of the hallway.

Jimin lowers his head, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’m tired, hyung,” he says, voice cracking.

Yoongi’s heart stings at the rough quality of the younger boy’s voice, finger’s itching to wipe the tears of his face. Instead, he takes Jimin’s hand. Jimin stiffens, but doesn't move away.

“Let’s go to your room then, you can eat your cake in bed.”

Jimin smiles. “I’m not five,” he mutters, but let’s Yoongi tug him up the stairs anyways.

----

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Yoongi asks, resting his eyes on the frostig on the tips of Jimin’s fingers.

Jimin nods softly, finishing the last of the sponge cake slice Yoongi had stolen from the fridge, his pink coated fingers and placing the plate down on the floor, next to where Yoongi is kneeling. He pulls the duvet up further, until it cover him to the neck. He nuzzles the back of his head into the pillow, letting his eyes fall shut.

“You worry too much about me, hyung,” he says, sleepily.

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle, feeling sleep tug at his own eyelids, a calm buzz in his temples making him feel at ease.

“Sleep well,” he says, patting Jimin’s hair. He lets his hand linger against the soft locks.

One of Jimin’s closed eyes twitches.

Yoongi’s overcome with a strong sensation of niceness. It twists his gut, makes his mind fuzzy, an uncomfortable burn in his heart.

He wants it to stop, so badly, but he can only think of one way. One way to release the tension, break the deafening silence, close the distance. “Sleep well,” he whispers again, leaning in to press a kiss against Jimin’s forehead.

The shame, disgust and regret Yoongi expects doesn’t come. He feels better, he wants more.

“Do it again,” Jimin whispers.

Yoongi stops breathing, repeating his actions and kissing Jimin’s forehead. And then the tip of his nose, his chin.

And, finally, his soft, strawberry-frosting-flavored lips.  

~~

a/n

Got this idea from watching Spielberg’s reboot of The Big Friendly Giant (the cartoon was better lol)

Song inspirations for this: Insomnia - Stellar, Lullaby - Dreamcatcher, Dream Fighter - Perfume