ᴘᴀsᴛᴇʟ ʙᴏʏ. || ᴍ.ʏɢ + ᴘ.ᴊᴍ ✔️

thirty-three: home

Luckily Riyeon got back to Minseo's house before too long. And Jimin was relieved, just to get out of there, just to be one step closer to home where he could climb into bed and hopefully sleep his problems away. Yoongi was with him still. He got into the back of the car and sat next to him, though he had been slightly afraid Jimin wouldn't let him, that he'd be pushed away.

It was suffocating. Being in that car with Jimin, who was crying and sniffling but trying so hard not to do so. Yoongi wanted so badly for the boy to relax, to tell Jimin he could just curl up next to him and fall asleep right there and then. But his words got caught in his throat. He stared at Jimin's trembling hand, torn whether or not he should take it.

In the end he did nothing. They arrived at Jimin's house and before Yoongi could blink that boy was slamming the front door shut.

Riyeon looked over at her brother from the driver's seat.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Yoongi wished he could have answered more confidently.

"I don't know, Riyeon."

She didn't ask any more questions, instead allowing Yoongi one last look at the house before she drove off again.

Meanwhile Jimin had made no hesitation to storm into his room the second he stepped inside. And tragically, at this hour, both his mother and little sister Eunjin were awake and downstairs. So they both saw as their son and brother raced up the stairs with tears falling from his eyes and sobs leaving an audible trail.

"Jimin?"

He didn't answer his mother's call.

"Jiminie, what's wrong?"

Nor Eunjin's. He hoped, with every fiber of his being, that they would take his lack of response as a hint not to follow after him. Alas, seconds later the regrettable sounds of two pairs of footsteps ascending the stairs greeted his ears.

He shut his bedroom door. If only it had a lock.

"Jimin, what's-"

"Don't come in!" He cried. Maybe, he thought, if he sounded aggressive enough, they would listen. "Just leave me alone!!"

"Sweetheart, I just want to know what's wrong," he heard his mother say. Jimin held tightly on to the doorknob, should the woman on the other side attempt to open it. "Jimin-"

"I don't wanna talk about it! Go away!"

"Jiminie, please-"

"You, too, Eunjin!" He harshly interrupted. His voice already hurt crawling through his sore throat. "Go away! I don't want to talk to anyone right now. Leave me alone!"

There was a gentle pull at the doorknob. Jimin held on still. Thankfully they seemed to get the message after that. And once Jimin was convinced they wouldn't try to open it again, he peeled himself away from the door and laid himself flat on his bed, face in his pillow, which he gripped with his fingers until they, like his throat, ached.

But he hardly felt it. His heart hurt more than anything right now.

That all too familiar fear and dread, exponentiated now, partially thanks to Yoongi, constricted his chest and wouldn't relent.

He hated himself for not thinking about it sooner. Yoongi's innocent little idea, the one he had come up with for Jimin's benefit, but in reality was doing more harm than good in its own way.

Jimin couldn't blame him, though. He could only blame himself. For being a coward. For allowing Yoongi to dress up like that, when, again, he knew the boy didn't like it one bit. It only reminded him of the way he was now, this throttling shell he'd trapped himself in years ago, and had never even thought to break free from until Yoongi opened his arms to him.