+ Cherry Wine ; Yoonmin

+ fifteen ;; end.

Jimin isn't sure if Yoongi looks more like an angel or a corpse. 

Sleep was like wax, polyester, titanium, sharp but gentle caresses- and it used to wrap him up and swallow all the raw edges before he could grasp the ends of Yoongi's toes and fingers. 

Yoongi is lying in front of him, slipping away- everything is falling into place, but Jimin hates the puzzle pieces. 

"Yoongi.. Yoongi.." 

He presses feeble hands to his lover's chest, trying to pull together all the bated breathes and dissipating smoke so that they can forever mix with his own- 

Jimin starts crying, and he thinks that all those times his tears had bled out over bedsheets or skin- they weren't really sorrow, no, they were just water; this is what pain feels like. 

Suddenly all the scars and stitching fades to nothingness, and he regrets everything. He regrets wishing to die, because now he'd give anything for another year, another day, another moment, surrounded by Yoongi's warm embrace. 

The boy made of moonlight swallowed all the stars in a bottle of pills, too fast but too slow- it was an accident, or maybe it wasn't, but either way- its far too late. 

Jimin wants Yoongi to wake up, he needs him to wake up-

Shout if he wants to, scream if he needs to, hit, punch, kick- anything, dear god, anything.. 

Jimin is trembling, teeth chattering as he falls- deep, down to reach pit bottom- 

Yoongi's arms are cold and dark, but still warm and euphoric somehow, the faintest whisper of his breath still tickling his baby's hair and whisking away all the blood and tears, promises and forevers. 

All the wounds are gaping but pulling together at the same time, Jimin needs more- no, this isn't it, it can't be it. 

He'll take a monster, he'll take a stranger, he'll take a dull glance on a train- 

He needs Yoongi. 

Jimin lays down, burying his head in the crook of Yoongi's neck, listening to his thick heartbeat and faint pulse as they fade away far before help arrives, the seconds dragging into minutes, the minutes to hours. 

His fingertips are stained with perspiration and drops of scarlet, lacing with the dry tendrils of Yoongi's hair that lay flat across his temples- 

Jimin exhales; it's full of smoke, bruises, prayers, cautious and strong fists and hands- 

the blood is rare, and sweet as cherry wine.