Pulse [Yoonmin] [Vkook]

4. Innocent Soul

Trigger warning, actually for the whole story...

Almost 2 000 words

Not edited.

"I swear, I'm fine mom!" Jimin said, standing in front of the theatre, watching the clouds getting darker and darker.

"Be honest with me, Jiminie. Have you being stressed?! Are you visiting your psychologist regularly? Is th-"

"Mom, I'm fine. Please, don't worry." Jimin made sure to reassure his mother that he is studying well, cooking and doing household chores, without starting a fire in the kitchen.

I don't really want to go to home, yet... Its getting darker, the night is slowly coming, I actually need to go to my special place. Its a park, only forty minutes walking from my dorm, its quiet, the view there is awesome, and the stars look breath takingly beautiful! I'm lusting the strawberry ice cream which is sold there...

I can call... Yoonie.

He will like it right?

Jimin nodded in approval, taking his phone out, scrolling down to find Yoongi's number. The Phone was ringing for a while which gave Jimin a bit of anxiety, but finally Yoongi picked up, a bit winded.

"Jiminie?!"

"Yoongi-Hyung? Are you okay? Your breathing sounds kinda irregular." He almost heard a small grin from the other side.

"Everything is fine. So how are you Jiminie?" Jimin suddenly smiled, hiding behind his sleeves. How is it possible? Why are his cheeks so red, why is his tummy ticklish, why does he get so effected by Yoongi's raspy voice?

"Hyung, I was wondering if you want to hang out? I know a great place which you will like, its very peacefull." For the short time Jimin knew Yoongi, he made sure that firstly, Yoongi hates noisy and crowded places, secondly, that he is a sucker for his gummy smile.

" Sure..! Well you already know my address... "

" Be there is 20 minutes. Get ready Yoon~"

~°~

Yoongi looked around his wardrob, searching for something to wear. He was older than Jimin, but pastel hoodies and other childish clothes were all he had. Soon he tuck himself in a comfortable and soft baby blue hoodie, fixing his hair a bit.

He was a way too skinny. He didn't like what he see. A small scar on his face from his last visit for his mom. His so called father hit him, hard enough for him to fall on the floor, lost in his Mother's tears.

He is sleeping with a weapon in his drawer, under underwears and T-shirts. He remember the taste of his own blood, he remember begging him to leave him alone. Worthless. Helpless. To small to protect himself.