Jimin smiles weakly, waving his tickets at a slow pace. His eyes are squinting hard from the smile that is weak, delicate, but enough to radiate a strong luminesce that Yoongi thinks– really it beams like a shining star, a meteor that would shoot right through his jugular veins, but not really, no, because then he would die. And Jimin’s smile doesn't kill him, at least not in that way. No. Jimin's smile is the kind that would wash away the flood of tears you'd have after burying your dead parents, the kind that would hush aside the sigh you would settle on after a long day of hard work, the kind that would lull you to sleep, just the thought of it.

“Hyung?” Jimin motions him to come closer. Jimin’s the only who hasn’t gotten off bed yet although Yoongi’s pretty sure that boy has woken up very early to shower and pack his stuff ready to go, they have a show to perform in Paris for some foreign music festival they have on Yoongi’s not quite sure–

“Hyung,” Jimin calls out his name again. He looks so frail, Yoongi thought as he walks closer to their bunk bed, Jimin’s on top, Yoongi’s at the bottom, but he lets Jimin sleeps in his bed yesterday, well, today, because they finished at 4 am, and now it’s only a little before 8 am, God, “What time did you shower and pack your bags, Jimin?” Yoongi asks. He takes Jimin’s ticket to put together with the rests. “I’m not sure, 7? Maybe before that…” Jimin mumbles. He gets up slowly, his hand is holding on the side of the bed frame. Yoongi quickly takes the other and brings it around his nape, Yoongi’s other hand firmly on Jimin’s waist, awkwardly trying to support Jimin so he can stand.

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