midnight | jikook ✓

six

Fingertips grazing his worn pages, his mind drifts in and out between the unseen stars in the skies. His thoughts are occupied with the sun's relentless beat of its rays, and hair as dark as midnight.

Him. The midnight boy evokes something within Jimin he swears on the stars he's never felt before, and his presence draws him in like an insignificant moon pulled into the boy's orbit.

Him. His unfamiliarity reminds him of the hidden nebulas that we could never find, the worlds we could never land on.

Him. Jimin can not help but be drawn to the unthinkable.

The unpredictable.

Minutes tick by, slower that the existence of the stars. Jimin finds he's counting down the hours until midnight, thrill and excitement settling deep inside his bones. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, hours feel like infinities.

At six sharp, soft knocks rap against the door. Inhaling, eyes squeeze shut he sprints down the stairs. Guests swarm each corner of the room. Impeccably styled curls and immaculate wear is all Jimin can see, tension high in the air.

It's not quiet, no. Jimin finds that the chatter is a little too loud, and laughter ricochets off the cream coloured walls. Everyone says the the right things, brings up the right subjects, chuckles at the right time. Jimin feels as if its perfection intoxicates his being, choking on the burden of expectations.

Forgotten. He settles in a small crevice, alone. The boy hates that he feels so desperately small. He observes as his parents wear their unfaltering smiles, facades of joy welded in their expressions. They find him, smiles still affixed on their faces, though their eyes are as dull as the grey clouds that cover the skies. Absent of any emotion.

Soon, Jimin's wearing his strained smile until his cheeks ache. He says the right things, he brings up the right subjects, laughs at the right time. The right moment. He weaves his place in the crowd of monotone characters. Indistinguishable, indifferent.

-

Jimin perches near the edge of the rooftop, hands cupping his face as he watched the sleeping streets beneath his feet. He can finally breathe.

The stars were forgiving, blessing the streets of Busan with gentle breezes. Whispers of the wind and sweet melodies sung by birds were all Jimin could hear, it a calming solace from all the fake laughter and chatter Jimin had forced himself to etertain to a while.

The gathering earlier on felt like an eternity, Jimin just waiting for that illusion of laughter and happiness and the image that everything's totally alright to just vanish from existence. And anyways, as the crowds faded and chatter stilled, Jimin had watched as the content etched on his parents faces slowly disappeared.

Jimin sighs, as he swings his feet over the edge. He hates how impatient he feels, the need to see the midnight boy not wanting to leak from his skin. He hates that the thought of never seeing him again affects him a little bit too much, like his heart had just dropped into the very pit of his stomach.

Can you blame him, though? Jimin just has so, so much to ask, unanswered questions bugging him like an itch that could never be reached.

Anyways, Jimin does think that it'd be just a little nice to admire the sharp angles of his face. I mean, can you blame him? His face looks like it had been personally crafted by the universe itself. As much as he hates to admit it, Jimin had never been so floored by a person's looks before like he'd been with him.

-

It's one in the morning as Jimin paces along each rooftop barefoot, singing tenderly under his breath. He runs along the tiles as quickly as he dares, trying to ignore the way his sole of his foot scraped tiles beneath him.

Jimin has to mentally gather every single bit of his strength every time he leaps across the gap between rooftops, not knowing how that midnight boy had done it so effortlessly without a moment's hesitation. And it's worse considering the scarf he wears is a little too long, sometimes wrapping around his head and muffling his very vision.

God, he really shouldn't have used Taehyung's scarf.

Jimin grits his teeth, scowling. He hadn't gone far from his own rooftop, though admittedly he didn't quite know where he was going, and now he's faced with a gap that's a lot too far to jump. He half wants to give it a rest and go back, the pain in the soles of his feet practically insufferable.

But the memory of yesterday plays through his mind, his determination sinking back deep beneath his skin.

"Just stay off them, Park Jimin."  The memory relents, Jimin involuntarily clenching his fist. He doesn't want to give up yet, and he doesn't want his wild story with this midnight boy to come to an end just yet. He wants to make his presence known. Jimin wants to make his mark.

An idea worms it's way through Jimin's mind as he acknowledges the cloak of fabric wrapped uncomfortably around his neck. Slowly, Jimin unwinds the scarf, the corners of his mouth twitched just the slightest bit upwards. He does feel a little bad for using Taehyung's scarf, but if this works, it'd find his way back to him sooner enough.

Eyes darting around the rooftop, the boy spots a weathervane, his excitement the reason for the bounce in his step as he runs towards it.

Coughing because of the plumes of smoke, Jimin quickly ties Taehyung's bright red scarf around it tightly. And soon enough, Jimin's smirking, chuckling just a little evilly under his breath.

"Stay off your rooftops? I beg to differ."