Chapter Text
The first day of term was the brightest. The summer sun was still warm and everyone still glowed with relaxation and perspiration, and the dull white of school corridors wasn’t so bland. The first day of term was full of wishful thinking; ‘maybe this year will be my year!’ ‘I’ll do all my homework on time!’ ‘I’ll get my sleep schedule in check and start eating better!’ It was a day of positivity that even Yoongi couldn’t help but smile at. This would be his last ever “first day of term”, and the thought swelled in his heart with a bittersweet burn.
On the one hand, he was grateful that this was his final year of these drab classrooms, and keeping his head down for fear of confrontation. On the other, he knew he’d never feel this strange sense of joy ever again. The beginning of school term was no reason to be joyful, but the warmth of the sun on his knees and the feeling of beginning was calming, even for him.
“It’s the first day, and you’ve already been called into the office?” Namjoon chuckled, dropping his bag at Yoongi’s feet and falling into the chair beside him, their shoulders bumping briefly. Yoongi’s first and closest friend, Namjoon - was a slightly taller boy with a dimpled smile. “Is it the hair?” He asked.
Yoongi ran a self conscious hand through his still strawberry hair. It had been a shock of red in July, but long days in the sun and a lack of maintenance had gradually turned it pink, or strawberry, as Namjoon had affectionately pointed out. “No, they just want to know if anything’s changed at home,” Yoongi replied.
Surprised at his friend’s apparent carefree attitude, despite the heavy subject he was about to face, Namjoon didn’t press him further. He knew Yoongi better than most, being one of the few people with privileged insight behind the stoic wall he usually had in place.
In reality, the two boys were polar opposites. Yoongi was quiet, reserved, he spoke when spoken to and no word that left him came without careful consideration. He didn’t necessarily make an effort to be liked. People either liked him or they didn’t, and he had no issue with that. He preferred his own company, therefore selected those he let into his space very carefully. Namjoon was one of the very few who had been welcomed into that space.
Diplomatic and popular Namjoon was often the bridge between friend groups, the mediator and the referee. His personality was adaptable, and he moulded it to suit the need of each individual person in his life. For Yoongi, that meant long comfortable silences, sat across from each other whilst in the middle of a text message conversation. Yoongi was athletic and talented at that, whereas Namjoon was creative with a passion for music. It was friendship formed of hard times and mutual understanding, and they both knew they’d be lost without it.
“Sucks they’re keeping you after class to do it though, huh? Couldn’t they have done this earlier?” Namjoon asked, eager to get out into the sunshine. It wouldn’t be long before dusk began to descend faster, before daylight and bright sunshine became scarce. He wanted to make the summer last as long as he could, spend the last of it lying in the grass at the park, listening to Seokjin and Hoseok playfully bicker about minor details, catching the eyeroll Yoongi threw his way. He’d made plans to meet the other half of their quartet in their usual spot after school.
“They’ve probably had loads of other students to get through, I’m not the only one with a messed up family you know,” Yoongi chuckled in reply.
Yoongi was often too relaxed and dismissive of his family for Namjoon’s liking. Perhaps he’d just never been exposed to such a life, but the seeming indifference of his friend towards his home life made him nervous, had him hoping it was all just a front to hide how he really felt. He supposed it was normal for boys like Yoongi, with a reputation like Yoongi, to try and hide any real emotion from the world around them.
Before Namjoon could find something to lighten the conversation, a middle aged woman in smart-casual suit popped out from a door opposite their seats. Her hair had been dyed a hazel shade repeatedly, and a rigid skincare routine hid that her work life had aged her. Yoongi knew that was entirely her fault. She was invested in each student she’d had “the chat” with so far, driven by a genuine need to see them at least cope. Unbeknown to Yoongi, she’d saved the toughest for last. To Yoongi, she was the student counsellor, and one of the few people he was willing to open up to. Although there were several other counsellors in the school, she was the only one he could make any form of connection with.
With a polite smile she invited Yoongi into her office, stepping aside to let him past. The boy slipped past her with a nervous smile to his friend, a boy she’d never seen before, and settled himself in a chair opposite her desk. A stark contrast to the bleakness of the corridor, the room was bright and decorated. Plain white walls were brought to life with paintings, family photos, thank you cards from students. The obligatory motivational posters were drowned out with the evidence that she’d dragged some people up from rock bottom. Instead of the standard plastic chair, she’d chosen to buy her guests a high-backed office chair, with rolling wheels and a spinning seat. Yoongi himself had found the distraction delightful in tough situations.
Her desk was another treasure trove of personality, usually a mess of papers and pens, but surrounded by family photos with a little vase. He’d spotted her one morning, clipping marigolds and petunias from the school’s flowerbeds to put in it. She liked little figurines and souvenirs; there was a hula girl with a little solar panel on her back that danced whenever she was in the sunlight, and a starfish with an obnoxious pair of sunglasses.
Planted at the very front of her desk was a placard that read “Miss Caitlin Pritchard.” His first visit to his office, she’d insisted he call her Caitlin, if not Cait. He was comfortable in her office, and after several visits the previous year they’d grown to know each other, and seeing how much calmer in comparison to their first appointments he was made her heartbeat quicken with pride. Maybe it was the summer tan on already warm skin, but Yoongi looked refreshed.
“You look well,” She commented, taking her place behind the desk. She liked it loaded with little knick-knacks, as if her own humanity and personality could connect to the youngsters she tried desperately to help. “And that hair colour suits you, but we expect it gone by the beginning of next week.”
Yoongi ruffled his hair again. “I’ll wait until they start giving me after school detentions,” he replied with a grin.
She gave him a look, but smiled anyway. “I thought we could try and stay out of trouble this year, perhaps? As it’s your last,” she suggested. She opened her file and grabbed a pen, diving straight into business. “This meeting is just to get to grips with any changes in your situation and your needs, so that I can make a plan for going forwards. Are you with the same foster family?” She asked. Yoongi nodded. “Is there any talk of you having contact with your parents?”
Yoongi swallowed thickly, organising his words in his head like a script. “They’ve applied for supervised contact once weekly,” he replied, deciding not to elaborate on anything other than the facts.
“Is that what you want?” She pressed. He only shrugged in response. “It’s your decision, you turned seventeen this year right? So you’re nearly an adult, no one is going to force you to see them if you don’t want,”
Yoongi adjusted his position as he thought. Did he want to see them? Did it really even matter if he said no? They’d already started making plans for his future, as though their estranged son was still somehow the primary focus of their lives. Yoongi knew that wasn’t true, that he placed third or fourth on the list of priorities. “My brother would want me to do it,” he replied eventually.
“Why aren’t you living with him? Do you want to tell me about him?”
“No, he moved to Korea, I don’t see him that often,” he replied. Caitlin moved to take a note. “But he said if I fail again this year, he’s moving me back with him, all sorts of weird threats, we don’t really get on,” he added. She stopped, looking up at him mid-note.
“Do you think he was being serious?” She asked, putting her pen down. Of course she’d known about Yoongi’s brother, but the two had never discussed him to any detail before. This could be a whole new mine of little issues she’d yet to learn about one of her most troubled students.
Yoongi simply gave another shrug. She’d learnt early on that sometimes he wasn’t one for words, especially as she chipped away at the layers upon layers of issues that surrounded him. So far, he’d surprised her with his willingness to talk, the summer break had clearly helped ease the worst of it. There was obvious joy, but the worry that this final year would be tougher than the rest had already started building. “I feel like maybe I should be on the safe side, just in case, but I’m not smart so I don’t even want to try when I could be doing other things,”
Another typical Yoongi move: keeping the tone of his voice light and carefree when talking down about himself. It annoyed her, made her wish some Divine Intervention could come down and throw each and every single one of his brilliances in his face, so that he could no longer deny them.
“If you want to try and improve your grades we could help you, how about I assign you a student tutor? We could start with a term, and if you feel it works you can keep working with them?” She suggested. She took Yoongi’s shrug as permission to add his name to the referral list. “Okay, so, are you still seeing the psychiatrist outside of school?” She asked.
Yoongi nodded, tugging at the bottom of his trouser leg. She had suggested he see a psychiatrist upon his referral to her the previous year. He’d followed her orders, believing really he had no other option, and hadn’t grabbed at any opportunity to leave.
“Is it still helping? How were you feeling over the holidays?” She asked, pen in hand, poised and ready to take notes.
Unsurprisingly, another shrug of the shoulders. “Fine. I didn’t lose it, if that’s what you’re asking,”
“At all? Or with just with people?”
“Just with people.”
She scribbled a quick note on her sheet and scanned over the remaining notes. “Okay, I won’t keep you any longer, I’ll arrange an appointment in a couple weeks time, once you’ve settled back into a routine, and someone from the tutoring scheme will get in touch about your assigned tutor,” she concluded, closing her notebook and setting her pen neatly down on the desk alongside it.
Yoongi let out a sigh of relief and stood up. He was thankful for Caitlin and all she did for him, but that didn’t stop the nerves from hammering on his chest, making his heart beat strangely, a cold sweat on his forehead. He hated the interrogation aspect of their friendship, hated being forced to answer questions that had no clear answer. “Alright, thanks, good to see you again,” He said hurriedly, grabbing his bag and heading for the door.
“Don’t forget you need a natural hair colour by the beginning of next week!” She reminded him with a smile. He turned around in the doorway and flashed her his best gummy smile, one that said he had no intention of following that bullshit rule in his final year of school.
Namjoon was still waiting for him outside, playing idly on his phone. He stood when he heard the door open, smiling fondly at his friend. He was grateful he’d never had need to see a student counsellor before. He stood and fell into step alongside his shorter friend, adjusting the sweater tied around his waist.
“Are we still meeting the others at the park?” Yoongi asked, aware he’d made the pair late to the scheduled plans. He hoped they wouldn’t be too annoyed with him.
“Yeah, I told them where we are, don’t worry,” Namjoon replied. With a nod the conversation died, and the only sounds were the squeaking of their shoes on the floor, and the echo as it bounced off the hallway walls. It was never an awkward silence between the two, it was one of complete understanding as to how the other ticked. Namjoon knew Yoongi liked silences and found small talk tedious, and Yoongi knew Namjoon was a thinker, who always had a daydream playing out in his mind. It worked for them.
A loud slam came from the corner ahead of them, followed by a pained groan. Yoongi tore his gaze away from his scuffed shoes and looked up, stopping dead in his tracks. The two boys stood and listened to the hushed voices, the occasional sound of a body being pushed against a locker. Unable to hear what the voice was saying, he crept closer and flattened his back to the wall, listening carefully.
“…You think you’re special just because you can sing a dance a little bit, huh? You think anyone actually gives a shit about any of that faggot crap?” There was another soft bang, another groan. Unable to stand and listen while someone was being so cruelly treated, Yoongi spun himself out of his hiding spot and into plain sight, standing right in the middle of the hallway.
In front of him, a tall, muscled boy had a much smaller, black haired student pinned against a locker by his shoulders. He looked terrified, eyes wet with tears and face turned away from his tormentor. Every time the bully shoved him, he winced in pain, the bulky metal lock on the locker digging into his middle back. He had no hope of getting the bigger student off him, he could only wait until he got bored, or broke him completely.
That was, until he made eye contact with Yoongi, It took a moment to register that there was someone stood a few feet away from them, and the humiliation that flashed through his eyes was evident. There was a notable shift in his body, was he tensing even more? Whatever was going on, his reaction drew the attention of his bully, whose eyes slowly drifted to where Yoongi stood, now with Namjoon at his side, and he froze.
Instantly he fell away from the boy he had pinned against the locker, looking like a deer in the headlights. He stumbled back several paces, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Yoongi smiled ever so slightly to himself, a slight shudder of pride creeping down his spine. Despite the softness of his features, the roundness of his face and his gummy smile, his reputation followed him where ever he went. Though very few people had any real evidence of the supposed strength and fury that garnered him his reputation, it was enough to keep anyone with a common sense away. The occasional idiot liked to try and provoke him, in a test of strengths, and he did all he could to keep his head down and out of sight of these people.
Free from his tormentor’s grasp, the other boy slid down the locker and onto the floor in a breathless heap, pulling his knees to his chest as if he could become so small he disappeared. His eyes flicked back and forth between the bully and the newcomers, waiting to see who would make the first move. He didn’t want to be involved in a fight, so he tried to plot a way to sneak past them unnoticed.
The shortest of the newcomers, a thin boy with red hair and permanent pout took a single step forward. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his movement was so relaxed they appeared lazy. If he was just a casual onlooker to the scene and not in the very centre of it, he would’ve assumed they were two friends greeting each other. The panicked look on his bully’s face told a very different story.
And suddenly he was gone, taking off down the hallway at lightning speed, as though the Devil were after him. The squeak of his trainers against the floor drifted back up the hallway towards them, growing fainter and fainter. When the noise finally died, the boy’s shoulders dropped, and a shaky sigh of relief fell from him. He hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes and scrambled to his feet in embarrassment.
“Are you alright?” The taller of the two boys asked, moving towards him with a look of genuine concern in his spectacled eyes. He had a friendly face, and despite the embarrassment burning his cheeks bright red, he couldn’t help a smile.
Jimin had found himself in similar situations before. Bullying wasn’t anything new to him, it followed him throughout his school life. It now seemed natural that someone so small and typically feminine would be targets for such people. Sometimes, strangers and friends stepped in to help, but no one seemed to have an effect like these two. They seemed to strike fear into anyone, an almost cold aura following them. The smile of the boy in glasses melted the chilly atmosphere their arrival had created, and Jimin began to relax.
“I’m fine, honestly, thank you,” the words tumbled out, laced with bashfulness. He rubbed at the sore spot on his back, wondering if there would be a bruise. He grabbed his rucksack from the floor and slung it over his shoulders.
The boy in glasses still watched him with the same look of concern, but behind him, the pink haired pouting boy hadn’t moved an inch. He watched Jimin with a curious gaze, round eyes narrowed in scrutiny. Their eyes met for a moment, sparking an awkward shudder to rush through Jimin’s body. The other boy looked away quickly, a slight pink tinge spreading along his cheekbones.
With a nervous smile, Jimin took a step backwards. “I need to go,” he mumbled, gesturing to the hallway behind him. Before either of the two students could say anything else (not that he was expecting the pink one to say anything anyway), Jimin took off down the hallway, internally punching himself for his awkwardness.
Namjoon turned to Yoongi, who watched the direction the boy had vanished in, as though he could still see him. “Poor kid,” he commented, breaking Yoongi from his trance.
“What? Oh, yeah, poor kid,” he agreed, walking forwards again. He often wondered what it was about certain people that made them bullies. If it weren’t for his preference to keep to himself, would Yoongi be one? Or had he chosen to mind his own business and let other people be?
“People still think you’re terrifying,” Namjoon commented with a chuckle. “I’ll never understand that,” he elbowed his friend in the ribs playfully, laughing louder as Yoongi’s sharper elbow aimed for his waist. Yoongi, soft and affectionate, hardly looked like the violent person people assumed he was.
To Namjoon, Yoongi was all soft, misunderstood on account of his younger self. This reputation that followed his strawberry-haired friend couldn’t be further from the truth. He was certain Yoongi had left those issues in the past, and although he was still quiet and contemplative, he wasn’t the same person that transferred to his highschool two years ago. It was a sharp juxtaposition between the person people assumed Yoongi was, and the person Namjoon knew him to be.
“We should hurry up before Seokjin thinks you’re dead,” Yoongi replied, wanting to divert the conversation away from himself.
“He’s not that dramatic!” Namjoon laughed, pushing Yoongi slightly. He hoped the other wasn’t looking at him, knowing just the mention of Seokjin’s name could turn his ears pink. Yoongi didn’t need to look at him to know, he knew his friend all too well.
“Sure he’s not, especially not when it comes to you,” Yoongi replied sarcastically.
Namjoon pushed him again, this time with a little more force. The almost yelped giggle that escaped his friend made it impossible to believe anyone could fear him.
In total, Namjoon and Yoongi were forty minutes late to the park meeting. As expected, Seokjin was waiting for them with a dramatic, playful rant and warm smile. The meeting with the counsellor had thread a string of tiredness in his muscles, and Yoongi was ready to collapse in the warm grass with the sunlight blinding him. The tired ache was nothing that a little comfort wouldn’t fix.
Comfort seemed to be the expertise of his friends. The group that Namjoon had pulled him into were the sort he needed, and they opened up a side of himself that he hadn’t been fully aware of. His three friends forced him to contradict the hard, unapproachable persona that he’d been lumbered with. The Yoongi they knew liked holding hands, and had a bright gummy smile that overtook his whole face. Sat on a bank in the centre of the city park with his head on Hoseok’s shoulder, Yoongi felt like he belonged.
“It’s only the first day back and you’re tired?” Hoseok commented, tilting his head to smile at the boy on his shoulder.
Hoseok was Yoongi’s comforter. He was the brightest of the group, the type of open friendliness that he hadn’t even realised still existed in people. He ran on sunshine and energy drinks, and Yoongi found him infectious. Hoseok was a barrel of laughs and a guaranteed smile, and Yoongi couldn’t pretend that it didn’t lift his spirits. Whenever he needed a shoulder to cry on, Hobi was the one to turn to.
“Of course he’s tired, Grandpa Yoon is always tired,” Seokjin commented, diverting his attention away from his own conversation to interject.
Yoongi opened one eye to glare at him, pouting at the humoured smirk on his face. If Hoseok was the comforter, Seokjin was the distraction. If Yoongi ever needed to bury his head in the sand, Seokjin was the friend to turn to. Yoongi liked to pretend that the problems in his life just simply weren’t there. He’d had a whole summer of ignoring phone calls and sneaking home after dark, skipping appointments and going rogue for days on end, And Jin had been by his side throughout it all. With the help of his terrible jokes and particular laugh (and it was indeed particular, the easiest to imitate and mock with a loving fondness for it), Yoongi had spent the summer feeling on top of the world.
He studied him through his one open eye. Jin sat with his legs thrown across Namjoon’s lap, hand rested on his knee. They were no closer than Hoseok and Yoongi, but there was something about the way Jin leaned into the contact, crooked finger stroking his patella. Namjoon was equally affectionate, watching Jin with a pink flush to his ears, eyes roaming his face with an intense focus and a softer affection.
“Leave me be, I need coffee,” Yoongi grumbled, unable to think of a better comeback.
“Coffee sounds good, we could get coffee,” Hobi agreed.
Annoyed at the prospect of separating yet still excited at the mention of coffee, Namjoon and Jin pulled themselves apart and stood up, stretching out stiff limbs. Yoongi stuck his hand in the air and waited for someone to pull him up.
“You’re so lazy, Yoongi,” Hoseok complained, but he pulled him to his feet anyway.
Their favourite coffee shop, a quaint little business with sofas that you could sink into and a warm log fire in the winter, was a five minute walk from the park. It was a leap back to a time that the four boys were too young to remember, but it felt homely in a future built on chrome and carbon fibre. It was a quiet place, preferred by people looking for a relaxing space to work or spend some alone time. They were regulars there, always welcomed by the staff with a smile and a wave.
Once contented with an iced coffee, Yoongi sat in an arm chair with his legs crossed. He chewed on the straw, half listening to the conversation going on around him. His mind was elsewhere, on the year to come and the changes that might be on the horizon.
“We stopped this kid from getting bullied earlier,” Namjoon said, suddenly pulling Yoongi back into reality. “This guy had him shoved up against the lockers in the science block,”
Seokjin and Namjoon had taken opposing seats, rather than sit next to each other, but the way their eyes lingered a little too long hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other two.
Yoongi had almost forgotten about the dark haired boy from earlier. He’d looked so small, with round chubby cheeks, and when he smiled his eyes joined in too. He seemed embarrassed to be helped, wanting to get away from them as fast as he could. Perhaps he was aware of Yoongi’s reputation too, and assumed he was just a hyena, picking at the lion’s prey.
“How? I mean, I’m not being rude but, you two aren’t exactly the most threatening people I’ve ever seen,” Hoseok asked. Namjoon scoffed in mock offence.
“Hey! Don’t be mean about Joonie!” Jin retorted through his giggles, reaching across the table to grab his hand. Yoongi and Hoseok grinned devilishly at each other as their fingers linked, fervently avoiding each other’s eyes.
“Yeah, don’t be mean Hobi,” Joon chimed in, trying to hide his red face behind his coffee cup.
Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Fine, you’re both threatening and I’m scared. Now could you answer my question?”
“It was Yoon, people are still scared of him,”
A boisterous laugh burst from Jin, earning the group some dirty looks from other customers. The force of his laugh caused his body to jerk involuntarily, sending his foot straight into Namjoon’s shin. He hissed in pain and glared at Jin, not lacking that fondness even still.
Yoongi was only slightly insulted. Although he didn’t look it, people feared him for a reason. Of course, rumours and speculation had driven the whole thing out of hand, but that didn’t mean the very basics weren’t true. Without missing a beat, Yoongi tried for the one way he was sure to shut Jin up: “Footsie in public? Really? People are looking, guys,”
“Yeah, no one wants to see you two being gay,” Hobi joined in with a smirk.
“Yeah, this is a respectable establishment,”
Namjoon let go of Jin’s hand quickly to hide his face, knees pulled up to his chest as though he were trying to bury himself and disappear. Jin floundered, attempting to think of a witty comeback, before giving up and sipping his smoothie with beat red cheeks. He ran a hand through his bleached hair, a habit Yoongi had noticed he fell into when embarrassed.
Yoongi smiled, feeling slightly guilty for making him feel so awkward. The affection between him and Namjoon was so obvious it hurt, and yet they were oblivious. Either that, or they were just too stupid to make the risk-free move of confessing their feelings. It brought Hoseok and Yoongi endless joy, watching the two behave like shy schoolgirls. He reached out and punched Jin on the shoulder lightly.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Yoongi said softly, giggle still in his voice.
Jin couldn’t help but smile around his straw. “What happened to respecting your hyungs? You should all have more respect for me, you take me for granted!” He demanded with mock annoyance, smile giving him away.
“Yeah well, you’re an idiot,” Yoongi replied with a simple shrug.
Jin stared at him with disbelief, feigning total offence at Yoongi’s remarks. The younger boy couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.
“Are you hearing this, Joonie?! Tell him to stop being mean to me!” He demanded, turning to face Namjoon, who was still curled in his ball of embarrassment, hidden behind his mug.
“I’m not getting involved,” the youngest of the group groaned, raising his mug so that his face was properly hidden.
Jin rolled his eyes. “You’re all so disrespectful, I didn’t raise you so that you can treat me like this,” he grumbled to himself, smiling at the giggles his pretend annoyance pulled from the others. Making them laugh was priceless, they were still very dear to him, despite their “rudeness”.
***
Jimin dumped his bag at the foot of the stairs, stepping out of his battered trainers, before making his way through to the kitchen. He stretched the ache out of his shoulders, still rubbing at the sore spot in his lower back. He was sure it would bruise, if it hadn’t already.
On the breakfast bar that divided the kitchen from the small dining space was a slip of bright pink paper. His mother always left him notes in brightly coloured paper, especially if it was something important. ”Dad’s working the long shift, won’t be home until 9, I’ll be back around six - Mom x”. Jimin smiled softly to himself and folded the paper neatly, dropping it into the bin on his way to the sink to grab a glass of water.
He still felt a little shaken from his earlier encounter. It wasn’t the bully himself that got him down. He’d learnt to deal with people like that long ago. Bullies target difference and talent, and being the overachieving Korean that he was, of course he was an obvious choice. The miserable feeling it gave him never lasted long, he knew that it wouldn’t be forever, and he was sure their motivation (whatever it may be) gave him a reason to pity them. This time, it was the chance intervention by two older students that left him feeling off. He’d felt defenceless, embarrassed in front of them. He hadn’t noticed them before, or perhaps they’d changed over the summer break, but they stood out.
The first, the one that spoke to him, was taller than his friend, with ashy blond hair and circular spectacles. His smile hinted at dimples, and his school bag was covered in iron-on patches from cartoons and kids films. His concern had been touching, and Jimin couldn’t help but feel an automatic sense of trust, as though he shouldn’t of been embarrassed to be helped by him.
It was the other boy that threw him. He was no taller than Jimin, with red hair, or was it pink? He couldn’t tell, it was like a faded mix of the two. He hadn’t said anything, only stood there looking threatening. Jimin could feel the anger that radiated from him. It made the air thick and tense. He was sure it had been him who scared the other boy away. He hadn’t needed to say a single word - one piercing glare was enough.
He was the thinner of the two, but his face was round and his cheeks were full and soft. He was pure duality, gentle harmlessness versus the violence that radiated from the way he stood and the way he narrowed his eyes in focus. He’d even made Jimin’s own gut curl in fear, nervous that they just wanted to steal his kill.
He couldn’t get him out of his mind. It was humiliating that someone so endlessly cool had seen him so helpless. In a twisted way, Jimin couldn’t help but think he was handsome.
He dropped down onto a stool and slipped his phone from his pocket. His friends may be complete idiots, but they always made for great distractions.
[Stressed in Gucci]
Small: That dickbag tried getting me on my way home again
He took a sip from his glass, not expecting a reply to come through so fast.
Kookie: WHAT
Kookie: (ง '̀-'́)ง
Small: Kook chill it’s chill stop trying to fight everyone
Kookie: yeah but it’s not chill is it
Taeter tots: mini can look after himself
Kookie: are we on about the same mini???
Small: :(
Small: My friends are bullies too
Kookie: you’re tiny and I have to protect
Taeter tots: we’re your guardian angels jimin show us some appreciation
Small: okay Kook you’re literally just an overgrown five year old, andTae you could hurt yourself in an empty room
Taeter tots: this is the thanks we get for looking after you
Kookie: so ungrateful
Taeter tots: why do we bother
Small: can y’all shut up and listen to me
Taeter tots: only if you promise to never say y’all again
Small: y’all
Taeter tots: I hate you
Kookie: I don’t hate you please do tell :)
Small: Jungkook is a good child
Small: Anyway it was the usual guy right?? And like I don’t know what he wanted really he was probably just bored I guess?? But like anyway these two other guys came along
Kookie: oh fUCK
Kookie: (ง '̀-'́)ง
Small: No it’s chill they like really freaked him out
Small: Like they didn’t say anything and he just took off running
Small: And then like one of them checked I was okay
Taeter tots: ooh do you know who they were??
Small: No idea never seen them before
Kookie: maybe we do???
Jimin racked his brains for the best possible way to describe the two boys. His mind was caught on the softness of the shorter boy’s pout, the way he rested more of his weight on one leg. He’d never been good at describing people, but the friendlier one paled in comparison to his companion.
Small: uh one had glasses and like kinda blondish hair
Small: and the other one was like my height and scary with kinda pink hair?? idk man but he was cute
Taeter tots: min back on his gay shit
Kookie: Hi my name is Jimin and I’m gay did I mention I’m gay oh by the way I’m gay
Small: I hate y’all
Taeter tots: Y’ALL
Kookie: how can someone with pink hair be scary
Small: idk but I felt threatened
Small: like he had pink hair and chubby cheeks and he was really short and like super cute and my type but
Small: d e a r g o d he seemed really mad?? Like an edgy anime protag but without the angular hair and chin
Small: he probably punches walls for fun
Taeter tots: Jimin’s a masochist pass it on
Small: stop
Taeter tots okay but do you or do you not have a hard on for someone who could snap you in half
Small: I do NOT
Kookie: Jimin’s a masochist pass it on
Small: I give up I actually give up
Kookie: we love you xoxoxoxoox
Taeter tots: it’s not bullying, it’s character building xoxo
Small: :(