band aid → yoonmin

22

Yoongi heaved a deep sigh for the nth time that day.

No matter how long he sat in front of the blank screen, no matter which hidden parts of his brain he explored, no matter how frustrated he grew - he just couldn't think of a song.

Composing, music was Yoongi's passion. Ever since the tips of his fingers had brushed against the keys of the old piano that stood abandoned in the corner of his childhood home he knew it.
Music was his destiny.

No matter how unsupportive his parents had been, no matter how many people had tried to bring him down, no matter who had tried to stop him - when it came to music, the one thing that made him feel whole, nobody could change his destiny.
Nobody but him.

So why
Why didn't even a single melody flood his mind, the touch of a feeling animate his creativity?

Yoongi certainly didn't have an answer to that question.

A loud thump echoed trough the studio as his stubborn head collided with the solid wood of his work desk.

Think think think!

A frustrated groan itched in the back of his throat and the man allowed his tired eyes to rest for a moment.

For how long had he been working now?

A glance at his watch. Four hours.

Four hours and zero outcome.

He was about to wreck trough his brain once again, in desperate need for an idea to pop into his mind as a soft knock on the door sounded trough the otherwise silent studio.

Must be Jimin. The little boy had been awfully quiet all this time.

"Yes?"

The door opened just enough for the little to stick his head trough the small crack, big doe eyes staring into his daddy's sacred work place (he'd never been allowed in there again since the So Far Away incident).

"Dada?"

"Hm bug?", Yoongi spoke and motioned for the boy to come in.

The mere sound of Jimin's naked feet pitter-pattering against the floor and the way his silver locks messily fell into those sparkling eyes seemed to lift a heavy weight off the older's shoulders, all the stress that had been building up within the last four hours miraculously melting away in a matter of seconds and he couldn't stop his lips from stretching into a gummy smile, the frown that had been etched into his skin fading into a relaxed expression.

"C-Can you come into the living room for a second?", his little boyfriend asked, stubby fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his Mickey Mouse t-shirt.

Oh no.
What did he do this time.

The man reluctantly followed the younger into the living room, several scenarios of what kind of mess the boy had made in the living room already playing in his head.

Please don't let it be the carpet.
Not the carpet.
Not again.

But all his worries vanished into nothing but thin air as they had reached the, to his surprise, completely unharmed living room.

Jimin guided him to sit down on the couch before he pulled a folded, messy looking piece of paper out of his pockets. He unfolded it with trembling hands and stood in front of the confused older, taking a shaky breath.

"He-", his voice broke, throat suddenly bone dry and he swallowed thickly and awkwardly cleared his throat, a sheer blush coating his cheeks and rising up to the tips of his ears.