#and make a thunder storm :) i was really bad at piano lessons. can you tell

[bmpmp3]

and of course here's the drawing from my recent voicevox cover~

[darkpoisonouslove]

I’m scared about what you’re gonna come up with these, but still, I can’t resist 😜 So 6, 17, 48 please

I’d say don’t be scared but you’re probably right to be. XD There is angst as usual but happy endings, too, so it’s not so bad, I guess.

Number 6 is at the bottom because it became the longest and I want to use a cut.

This may or may not be part of the Fake Dating AU verse. But if it is, it would fit somewhere after chapter 14. (Just for future reference.)

17 – audience

The sound of the piano drew her out of her shelter among the books just like he’d hoped it would. She’d retreated to the section of the living room that was turned into a library to find some peace and quiet after their loud fight. It was ironic, really, how much he’d said because he didn’t want to talk. But it was so hard to express his emotions in words when all his life he’d been taught not to feel so he’d switched to notes.

He knew she could read them but it didn’t scare him like it did when it was his mothers listening to him play. She wasn’t going to reprimand him if she didn’t hear what she wanted to. She just wanted him to talk to her and that made her the only audience he’d ever wished for. Because she would do her best to understand and accept his feelings and guide him through them.

So he let the piano wail and scream when he couldn’t, poured out all the pain he’d been in even before their fight–and that had only made things worse–and had the music apologize to her for the hurt he’d caused her. And it seemed to work, for her expression softened as she listened and a tear fell from her eye now even if it had been glistening there way back during their argument.

It prompted him to leave the keys alone and pull her close, drawing her into a hug, his fingers moving over her cheek now to wipe away the tear-stain. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered, the words quiet with fear but not for himself. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to fix what he’d broken.

“And I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” she said, her voice trembling like it never did, hurting him with her pain. “I just wanted you to tell me what’s wrong, let me in and allow me to help you,” she said, her voice breaking as she clutched weakly at the collar of his shirt.

“And I should’ve let you but I’m not used to… someone caring about me,” he was quick to say before she could keep blaming herself. It wasn’t her fault he’d been raised to run from genuine contact and made to fear getting close to people. “I promise I will do better,” he stroked her cheek, letting the words seep into her skin and help her calm down.

“And I promise to be more patient,” she said as she gifted him with a timid smile that had him leaning in to capture her lips. They were irresistible to him as they always voiced the sweetest of things and he wished to never stop hearing them. They were music to his ears and he was her willing audience.

We had a mild storm the other night and this was born.

48 – lucky

The thunder rumbled outside and it was only the warmth of Griffin’s body pressed against him that helped him keep his heartbeat steady. He tried to focus on her quiet breaths–they sounded like safety–and not on Tharma’s cackling that he could hear in his mind. Or the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound of the–undoubtedly cold–rain that was pouring outside.

“This is so soothing,” Griffin spoke and he could hear the content in her voice even if he couldn’t see it on her face thanks to the way her head was laid down on his chest.

“What, the storm?” he asked incredulously, the words slipping from his mouth before he could quite get his shock under control.

“Yes,” Griffin said, her voice firm and carrying hints of excitement. “It’s perfect for falling asleep to the soft sound of the falling raindrops.” All he could hear was the aggressive downpour and the violent wind. That was of course when there weren’t deafening thunders that called loudly to his nightmares. “And the knowledge that we’re in here where it’s warm and dry, and… cuddly,” he heard the mirth in her voice, “while the storm is raging outside,” well, she got that right, “is so cozy.” She pressed herself harder into him as if to convince him in the truth of her argument.

“I wouldn’t use that word,” he said as he chuckled forcedly, trying to keep the mood light and not drag her into the hurricane in his own mind. “There’s too much thunders and howling wind for it to be peaceful,” he said, hating himself for the quietness of the words since he couldn’t make them louder. And he was afraid to. Afraid that the lightnings would be turned on him if he voiced his complaints.

Griffin moved to look at him and he sighed before meeting her gaze rather reluctantly. “I’m here and I love you,” she said before pressing her lips against his neck and making her way upwards, the softness of her kisses tickling in a way that chased away the unpleasant shivers to replace them with their opposites. “And I’m ready to whisper it to you until it drowns out everything else in your mind,” her hot breath hit his ear, caressing his skin with her promise.

He pulled her closer, entirely on top of him so that he could feel all of her skin. “I’m lucky to have you,” he said as she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck. His hands tangled in her hair and the softness of the purple tresses chased away the harshness of the memories of electricity coursing through his body and cold biting at his skin as cruel, vicious words rang in his ears.

Here’s an idea I’ve had since forever and I finally managed to get motivated enough to write it. It is an AU in which Faragonda has trouble using her powers and Griffin comes to the rescue.

6 – wings

“There’s no use,” Faragonda said as she plopped herself down on the grass after her latest failed attempt to summon her magic and complete the task of blasting the boulders at the clearing to pieces. “I will never get it.”

“Of course you will,” Griffin put a hand on her shoulder, her touch so impossibly gentle considering the enormous destructive power of her magic. Faragonda could still remember the tremendous wave of magic that had swept over her when she’d first met Griffin who’d stepped in to protect her from three other witches that were bullying her. She’d never felt such raw power before, not even from her own mother who was a fearsome witch infamous in countless realms. How she wished she’d inherited an ounce of that talent but her own powers were laughable at best and nonexistent at worst. She would’ve ended up badly injured if not for Griffin’s interference. “You just need more practice.” Griffin was so patient with her, as if she was special when it couldn’t be further from the truth. She never showed the temper Faragonda knew was lurking under the surface. She’d felt Griffin’s outrage feeding her powers and making her glow with a green magical aura that had scared off the other witches before she’d even unleashed her magic. But those strong negative feelings were nowhere to be seen in their interactions which only made Faragonda feel worse.

“More practice?” She chuckled bitterly. They’d been practicing for almost half a year now with Griffin guiding her calmly and with care only for her to fail again and again. “I’m just wasting your time.” She’d been thrilled when Griffin had agreed to help her. She’d been left in awe of her power and, later, of her comprehension of magic and she’d thought that maybe she’d finally learn. But it was rapidly becoming apparent that that would never happen.

Griffin studied her for a moment and it was the first time she was left unnerved by her gaze. If she agreed with her, there’d be no more reason for them to meet and… she’d lose her best friend. Her only friend. Every other witch inevitably started taunting her for her lack of powers. But even the fact that she’d be the family disappointment that was not talked about at social gatherings didn’t hurt as much as the thought of not seeing Griffin anymore.

“Okay,” Griffin said, making her freeze. “One more try and I won’t press anymore. If you can’t, you can’t and we both accept that,” she was talking as if Faragonda’s success was somehow her responsibility and impacted her directly, making failure her problem. But she’d already done more than anyone else ever had. She’d not only refused to give up on Faragonda, but she’d also encouraged her to keep trying. She’d been just about ready to admit defeat before Griffin had shown up but her lessons had kept her going for six more months despite the constant disappointment for both of them. Even if Griffin never showed any feelings of the sort to her. “But you have to promise me to give your everything, okay?” Griffin put both her hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes, her expression serious.

Faragonda didn’t want to fail her even more so she nodded, summoning all of her determination to see this last attempt through. More for Griffin rather than for herself.

Griffin smiled at her in a way that managed to give her strength and faith even when she knew she would fail and let go of her shoulders to offer her a hand.

Faragonda took it and found herself on her feet when Griffin pulled her up with so much force that she almost stumbled forward, leaving them close to each other, the space between them full of tension. She couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or something unspoken on Griffin’s end, but she knew what it was with her.

Griffin didn’t let go of her just yet. “I know you can do it,” she said, her voice quiet  but not because she didn’t believe in what she said. She was a force of nature and she didn’t need to be loud to be heard. The quiet words contained much more confidence than anyone’s shouts could, much more confidence than Faragonda had. Yet, they didn’t make her afraid of not delivering and only helped her focus on the task at hand instead. Griffin was the only one who had that effect on her. Everyone else made her feel worthless. Including herself.

Griffin finally released her grip on her and made her way to the center of the clearing, reaching for her magic if the significant shift in the atmosphere was any indication. And the slight green glow surrounding her form. She was using a lot of power.

“What do I have to do?” Faragonda asked because she needed instructions. Not that they had ever helped her achieve anything but without any she didn’t stand a chance.

Griffin didn’t answer, focused on what she was doing. Her magic wrapped around the boulders around, making them glow as well, and forced them out of the ground before lifting them in the air. They kept raising higher and higher, driven by the spell Griffin was murmuring and channeling her magic into until they were so high Faragonda could barely see how they drifted closer together above Griffin’s head.

She turned her attention to Griffin, wondering what was going on in her mind. There was no way her weak magic could reach them there. Her blasts had barely made it to the stone surface when they’d been on the ground just a few feet away from her.

Griffin’s eyes opened and the magical aura disappeared as she put an end to her spell. But that meant-

Faragonda looked up to see the heavy boulders plummeting down towards Griffin. They would crush her and she didn’t seem to have any intention of moving, her eyes trained on Faragonda. She had to save her.

That remained the only thought in her head, her whole focus and energy going into it and before she knew it, Griffin was tightly clasped in her arms and they were at the other end of the clearing, the boulders smashing into the ground behind them.

Faragonda waited for the commotion to stop, clutching Griffin hard in her embrace with her eyes closed as she tried to shake off the terror of the experience. “Never again,” she hissed, her voice shaking, when everything calmed down around them and her heart was pounding a little slower, the feeling of it in her throat subsiding enough to let her use her voice more. “Do you hear me, never again,” she growled louder, pulling away to scowl at Griffin which would, hopefully, get her point across.

The expression she was met with was one of total fascination, though, and it took her a moment to process what could’ve evoked that response. But when she looked down, she found herself dressed in a sparkling dark blue skirt and top. It was a fairy outfit and it finally dawned on her that she’d just flown them out of harm’s way. Wings. She had wings. She had transformed and was a fairy.

Griffin reached to touch the shimmering things that were sprouting from her back and she felt the ghost of her touch in the nerves on her back. Apparently the wings were connected to them. “Well, that explains the lack of results,” Griffin said, her voice quiet again but this time it was full of respect. “Stained glass only reveals its beauty in the light.” The witch was in awe – something Faragonda had never seen from her and it helped loosen the grip that the fear had on her throat.

If she’d been the family disappointment before, now she didn’t have to worry about that because they would just outright cut off all contact with her. No fairy was welcome anywhere near them, much less allowed into the family. Her outfit was much brighter than her future.

Griffin seemed to sense her thoughts, for she summoned her magic again but before Faragonda could start worrying, a mirror appeared in front of her and the reflection of her wings captured her attention.

They were indeed the blue of stained glass and weren’t shimmering which left them clear and transparent, see-through just like glass. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered as she touched her hand to the cold surface of the mirror in an illogical attempt to touch them.

“And you’re beautiful, too,” Griffin’s reflection smiled at her. “A beautiful fairy. Just as I thought.” Her hand was on Faragonda’s shoulder again and if anything, the soothing effect of her touch had multiplied now that their friendship was silently confirmed.

Faragonda would ask how she’d come to the conclusion but she was too preoccupied with her overflowing emotions that were all over the place and the only thing that grounded her was the security of the knowledge that Griffin was still her best friend regardless of the fact that she was a fairy. She wasn’t angry at the revelation as Faragonda was sure her family would be. And that was all that mattered right now even if the future was more than scary. So she covered Griffin’s hand with hers, relieved to feel the warmth of her skin and her support because she was sure that that was all she had left besides her newly found winx.

[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter than Sweet (36)

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: Angst

Word count: 3.8K

Previous / Next

As you leave the gym, limping slightly, you wonder to yourself whether or not Jimin will explain to the others what that fight was about.  You can understand them wanting to know - they had to break it up, after all - but something tells you that Jimin will probably skirt around the question if at all possible, and you can’t imagine Hobi will break yours and Jimin’s confidence and disclose anything either, should they think to ask.  

You shake your head at no one in particular, sighing.  Poor Hoseok… getting dragged into all this.  You’re really going to have to apologise to him later.  

Sounds of thudding and banging suddenly come from somewhere upstairs, interrupting your thoughts, and the alarming noises above distract you so much that you almost don’t notice what’s happening right in front of your nose.  

Yoongi’s door is open.

You heart starts to pound, the air leaving your lungs when you see Yoongi himself pop his head out of the doorway to peer down the corridor in the direction of the hall and then up at the ceiling, frowning in confusion.  He doesn’t spot you until it’s too late; by the time he turns his head to look in your direction you’re already stood right outside his doorway, your hands clasped together nervously in front of you.  

“Yoongi…” you breathe softly, your gaze rushing to memorise every inch of his face lest it disappear so cruelly again.  It feels like years since you last saw him, not days, and even though his whole posture is screaming anxiety you can tell by the way that he scanning you, eyes wide, that he’s doing exactly the same.  

His hair’s a mess, like he’s just woken up, and it takes all of your effort not to reach out and run your fingers through it.   You can’t stop yourself from stepping forward though, drawn towards him like a magnet, wincing and rubbing at your hip as it throbs with the movement.  God, that’s going to ache for days.  

“You’re hurt?” His voice is raspy, like he hasn’t spoken since that fateful conversation.

“Just a little,” you reply quickly, eager to move onto much more important topics - like fixing this mess you’ve found yourselves in.  “Can we talk?  Please?  I need to-”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“You don’t have to talk... I just want a chance to explain,” you plead, aware of how desperate you sound but not caring about it at all.  Yoongi frowns, shifting his weight from one foot to another with his hand resting on the doorframe, and he’s just about to speak when another crash comes from upstairs, louder than the last.  

“It sounds like you’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”  

How very wrong he is.  There’s nothing more important to you than him right now; even if Namjoon was tearing down the very walls around you, making things right would still be your first priority.  

Yoongi starts to retreat back into his room but before he can step too far away or close the door you quickly grab a hold of his hand in desperation, forcing him to stop.  How can Yoongi’s hand in yours feel so comforting even when it’s ice cold?  He looks down at your hands and surprises you by not pulling away when you link your fingers together, squeezing gently.  

“I miss you,” you admit bravely, struggling to speak past the lump in your throat.  He looks back to you, and you hope it’s not just wishful thinking that gives you the impression that Yoongi’s beginning to thaw, his expression becoming just the tiniest bit softer as the seconds tick by.  

“I don’t know how to do this,” he sighs after a moment, letting his head hang forward and shaking it defeatedly.  

“Maybe… I can start coming for my piano lessons again?”  That’d be something at least… a start to repairing the damage you’ve caused.  He lifts his head again, studying your hopeful expression before finally nodding his consent.  

“You’ll only start sucking again if you don’t,” he adds, the corners of his mouth turning up into the smallest smile you’ve ever seen.  If you’d have blinked you would’ve missed it because in the next moment it’s gone, Yoongi’s face becoming serious and sullen again. You know you definitely saw it though - the way your heart is thundering in your chest is proof enough that it existed.  “Not sure I could endure that torture again.” Despite everything, Yoongi's savagery still manages to make you laugh.  You knock your shoulder into his playfully, feeling lighter than you have in days, and this time he really does smile, lips curving, eyes creasing.  

Unfortunately, a sequence of loud thuds from upstairs interrupts the two of you, and when you glance at the ceiling, chewing your lip worriedly, Yoongi squeezes your hand before releasing it entirely.  

“Go on, go fix whatever needs fixing.”  He knows you too well, he really does.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely, both for understanding your need to leave and for granting you the chance to make things right again.  Yoongi leans his head to the side, resting it against the doorframe as you turn to leave, and when you glance backward at the end of the corridor you see him still standing there in the open door, watching you go with a thoughtful look on his face.  

Climbing the stairs is not a comfortable task right now, not with your hip protesting the way it is, and you're about to climb the flight to take you upstairs to Namjoon’s room when another loud bang both startles you and makes you realise he's actually still somewhere on this floor.  

You follow your gut all the way down to the study, trying not to listen to that little voice in your head that's telling you this is a very, very bad idea.  You're fairly certain he would’ve killed Jimin if the others hadn't intervened, and here you are delivering yourself to him only fifteen minutes later.  What hope do you have if he decides to take out his rage on you too?  

Still, for some reason you seem to have some misplaced faith in Namjoon that makes you think he won't knowingly hurt you.  Stupid, really, seeing as he's the reason your left side is throbbing like it is.  It's probably because of the way he acted the other night; that brief glance of his softer side he gave you when he’d wiped your tears away.  

Not that that incident seemed to have had any kind of influence on his behaviour today.  Namjoon certainly wasn't soft when he was revealing your antics to Jimin, nor when he was breaking his nose.

Still, it's too late now.  Your feet have already carried you to the open door of the study, and as you take in the carnage laid out in front of you your eyes slowly widen, heart pounding as your adrenaline spikes.  Namjoon hasn't noticed you yet, and you thank God for that.  He's too busy pacing the study floor with his hands twisted in his hair, his eyes fixed on the floor as he mutters to himself frantically in Korean.  He's stepping over books that he's ripped from the shelves and loose pages that are littering the floor - the eye of a storm, leaving destruction in his wake.  He's toppled a whole bookcase in its entirety and flipped the table too, the lamp that usually sits atop of it lying in pieces against the far wall.  

Some thought must set Namjoon off again, because suddenly he starts grabbing book after book off the remaining bookshelf, throwing them against the wall as he yells in frustration, and there's so much strength and anger behind it that they actually dent the plaster, chips of it falling to the floor.  It isn't until one hits the wall not too far from you and makes you gasp that Namjoon actually realises you're there.  

He becomes deathly still but remains completely tense, drawing himself up to full height as he faces you.  He looks terrifying; his lips pulled back, fangs bared, hair in disarray from the way he was tearing at it before.  

“Get out,” he snarls menacingly, each word aggressively punctuated, and you really would be well and truly frightened if it weren't for what you see when the swinging lampshade suddenly casts light across his face.  

He's crying, and the sight of it takes your breath away.  Streaks of salty tears are running down his face, plain to see now that you know they're there, his pain-riddled eyes shining with moisture as they stare back at you, watching you guardedly.

You’re so caught off guard seeing him this way. Being witness to such rare vulnerability from Namjoon makes you wish you could say something to offer some comfort, your heart aching for him when a fresh bout of tears rolls down his cheeks, but what can you say?

An apology would probably seem insincere, and asking if he's alright would just be idiotic - it's all too obvious that he's a million miles away from ‘ok’ at the moment.  Maybe actions speak louder than words?

Very cautiously you enter the room, watching Namjoon's body language closely as you take slow steps towards him.  You’re looking for any indication that he might suddenly fly into a rage again or lash out, but if anything he starts to increasingly unsure and suspicious the closer you get, no anger in him left to be seen.  The tears keep coming though, dripping one after another down his cheeks as he blinks, looking down at you once you're stood in front of him.  

You give him a small smile that you hope is reassuring, acting on instinct when you gently reach up to touch his face.  Namjoon actually leans back a little when he realises what you're doing, his eyes widening as he stares at your hand like it's a foreign object, hovering just in front of his face.  He glances back down at you, at that little smile you're wearing, and then exhales heavily, his breath shaking like he’s frightened of you.

Copying his gesture exactly you gently run your thumb over each of his cheeks, wiping away his tears one by one until they finally cease to fall, and when you're done Namjoon just stares down at you like you're… you don't even know.  The expression on his face is so foreign you can't even begin to identity it.  

You let out a breath you hadn't even realised you'd been holding as your hand leaves his face, managing to look away from his intense gaze long enough to look around you and survey the carnage.  You still don't know what to say so you set about tidying up without a word, collecting the books you love off the floor and placing those that are still intact back on the remaining bookcase.  

Surprisingly enough Namjoon joins your efforts after a minute or two, remaining just as silent as you.  It makes you gawp when he effortlessly lifts the bookcase back in place. It'd probably take two or three human men to do the same task, but Namjoon makes the solid wood look like it weighs no more than cheap plywood.  He rights the table and chairs too, and within fifteen minutes the room looks semi-presentable again.  The lamp’s still broken, and there are still dents in the wall, but there’s nothing either of you can do about that.  

“I'm sorry for what he said,” you apologise once it's done, feeling like you have to say something, turning on the spot to see Namjoon stood right behind you.  You don't have to mention Jimin’s name for him to know exactly what you're referring to, and just the mention of it is enough to have him clenching his jaw tightly.

“It's not your apology to make,” he answers through gritted teeth, a dark look flashing across his face before he banishes it with a slight shake of his head.  “I'm sorry you got hurt.”  He briefly presses his fingertips to your hip, obviously having noticed the way you were wincing as you'd bent up and down picking up his mess.  His touch sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, all your hairs standing on end as he breaks contact.  “And thank you… for coming to check on me.”

Namjoon hesitates for a second, glancing away uncomfortably as he shifts his weight from foot to foot and folds his arms across his chest.  

“It's been a long time since anyone cared enough to do that…”

“The others care about you-" you start to disagree, but Namjoon cuts you off with a shake of his head and a bitter smile.

“No, they don't.  Not anymore.  And neither should you.” You frown, keeping silent, watching pain contort Namjoon's handsome features as he continues.  “I destroy everything.  Anything and anyone I love, I ruin.  They keep their distance; it's safer that way.”  Pausing as you watch him look to the ceiling and the floor, inhaling and exhaling hard, you can't help but feel sorry for him.  

Namjoon might act like a total asshole most of the time, but part of you wonders if perhaps that behaviour is borne partly by his self-inflicted isolation.  If you never interact with anyone, if you hide yourself away and let all these thoughts fester - you're unloved, you're destructive, no-one does or should care - then of course you're going to be a social nightmare.  He's stuck in a vicious cycle, playing the role that's now expected of him, both by the others and himself.

Still, you're convinced there's something softer in him.  You can see it now, in the glassy vulnerability in his eyes, and you saw it the other night when he wiped away your tears.  To do the things he did for his sister, too, the lengths he went to try and save her and the ferocity of his reaction just now.  Namjoon’s clearly more than capable of caring, and very deeply, if you're not mistaken.  

“I think you think you think worse of yourself than anyone else here, Namjoon,” you tell him softly, reaching out and placing your hand on his folded arms, rubbing his cold skin with your thumb gently back and forth.  Again he looks confused by the softness of your touch, and it makes your heart hurt to think how long it must’ve been since anyone at all showed him any innocent affection.  “Just because you're a vampire, it doesn't have to make you a monster.”

Namjoon remains quiet, but you can tell he's spinning those words around in his mind by how deep in thought he suddenly looks, gazing down at you, his eyes flicking between yours.  He unfolds his arms and takes the hand that'd rested on them between both his own, cupping it gently.  

“I've been so cruel to you, toyed with you… how can you- I don't deserve-"  You cut him off by quickly standing up on your tiptoes and pressing a soft, quick kiss against his cheek.  Namjoon’s too shocked for words when you sink back on your heels, letting your hand slip from between his easily as you take it back.

“I have faith there's someone better in there, somewhere.  He just needs someone to believe in him.”  You flash him a hopeful smile, and after a second, after he's blinked once and then twice, a slow smile grows on his face too.  It's different to his usual smiles; this one’s sweet and almost shy, his dimples making an appearance as he looks down at the floor.  

“Thank you,” he tells you again as you're heading towards the door, his hands in his pockets now.  For once he looks his age; the gangly, unsure middle child of a group of seven, not a leader, not a monster.  

“Anytime, Joonie.”

You aren't sure whether to expect Jimin to be there or not when you get back into his room, but he's sat waiting for you on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.  When you push open the door he immediately looks up with wide, hopeful eyes.  Rising from the bed he rushes over to you, sighing your name in relief but stopping just short of touching you.

“He didn't hurt you?” Jimin asks, looking you over.  It's ridiculous really, him worrying about you when his face looks the way it does, all swollen and bruised.  Once again you feel a pang of concern for him, one that you quickly push away.  You’re still mad at Jimin for what he said, especially after seeing what a devastating effect it had.  

“I'm not the one he's mad at,” you answer shortly, stepping around him to pause by where Nova is lying atop of the sheets, stroking her gently as you speak. “You really hurt him Jimin - you know how sensitive he is about his sister, and you still went ahead and used that against him.”

“So I should’ve just let him keep saying that stuff about you?” He opens his arms in exasperation, shrugging his shoulders.  

“Of course not,” you sigh, letting your hand drop from Nova and turning to look at him sadly.  “But what you said was just cruel; not like you at all.  I don't know what to think.”  

What you're saying is true - the Jimin you love would never be so callous as he just was.  Now that your anger is fading you're just disappointed in him, and you think he can read that quite plainly from the look that you're wearing.

For the first time since you've met him, Jimin looks small and lost, staring at you helplessly from across the room.  

“Just… hearing him say those things, finding out that you've been-" He stops himself short, grimacing as if he's in pain, not looking at you when he asks, “...Have you slept with him?”

“No!  During the movie the other night… Tae wouldn't have done anything if Namjoon hadn’t been encouraging it.  And then once he started… Namjoon joined in too.”  You brace yourself for a whole different fight to start then but all Jimin does is sigh, pushing his hair back.  

“Of course he did,” Jimin mutters to himself, looking tired rather than angry now, and more sad than anything else.  

“Was what you said about his sister true?”  you ask, unable to keep yourself from asking the question that had been running through your mind ever since those words had passed his lips.   It catches Jimin off guard, making him look at you for the first time in a little while, those perfect lips of his parting.  He hesitates for a second before answering, but then finally nods.

“It's true.”  

You feel a nasty, irrational pang of jealousy on hearing him confirm it, and you know it's ridiculous, all things considered, but it's still there.  It makes you drop your eyes from his face and swallow hard, hating the mental image of Jimin with someone else.  God, what a hypocrite you are.  

“It was after Ji Su…”  You presume that must’ve been the name of his childhood sweetheart - he’s never actually said her name before, and you can hear the pain in his voice when he does.  “Geongmin was there for me.  It was never anything serious; I doubt we’d have even looked at each other under normal circumstances but… being stuck in that hospital together… it was a comfort.”  When you look back at him again he shrugs, watching you with a worried expression as he takes a few steps forward, closing some of the space between you.  

“We only slept together once, right after she found out she was terminal.  She was scared she’d never…” He leaves the end of the sentence hanging, knowing that you’ll know what he means whether he says it out loud or not.  “No one ever knew about it until now.”  

“Until you threw it in Namjoon’s face,” you add harshly.  Jimin has the good graces to flinch, finally repentant enough now to look well and truly ashamed of himself.  A silence falls between the two of you as you look at him, trying to figure out how you feel.  

You love Jimin, and one stupid mistake on his part isn’t going to change that.  Hell, if it could then you’re sure you’ve already made enough to have messed things up more than once already.  Despite having no doubts about your depth of feeling for him, however, you’re not sure whether or not you want to be around him tonight.  Everything feels so raw, and though you’re not angry anymore you still feel fragile, like the slightest of things could set you off, and you don’t want to risk you and Jimin getting into an argument about nothing and saying things you might regret later.  

It’s with that thought in mind that you collect a change of clothes from your drawers and the nightwear you keep underneath your pillow, not seeing Jimin’s wide, frightened eyes until you turn towards the bathroom to seek out your toiletries.  

“What’re you doing?” he asks, and even though you’ve noted his troubled expression you somehow miss the tremble present in his voice.

“I think I’m going to sleep somewhere else tonight… just to give us both some space,” you explain, pulling out a clean pair of underwear and adding it to the pile in your arms.  Maybe you could ask Jin if you could stay in his room?  You know he’ll be more of a gentleman than the others, and you’re not sure Yoongi would welcome you back to that extent just yet.

Jimin’s eyes grow even wider, his hands shaking at his sides, all of which you neglect to see until a quiet, breathy ‘no’ brings your attention back to him.  When you finally look at him, really look, you feel pain stab at your heart as your lips part in a silent gasp.  You’ve reduced him to the appearance of a little boy, one who’s spilling tears down his cheeks from terrified eyes, biting his bottom lip as his chin wobbles, grabbing at the bottom of the vest he’s wearing like he’s trying to cling to something, anything for comfort.  

“Jimin…”  

Before you can realise what’s happening Jimin’s closed the gap between you and fallen to his knees at your feet, wrapping both his arms around your thighs as he presses his face into your lower stomach.  He’s sobbing against you, completely silent, only the shaking of his shoulders giving away how distraught he is, and all you can do is stare down at the top of his head, dumbstruck, unsure what on earth you’ve done to prompt this kind of reaction.  

“Please, don’t leave me,” Jimin pleads thickly, upturning his wounded, tear-stained face to look up at you, “Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t leave, please.”