lucky charms ✧･ﾟ y.m [book 1]

forty-eight

When Yoongi was younger, he could remember a quiet, dusty piano room, hidden away in his house. It was a small room, and the windows were nearly always open. The walls were the color of sand and the floor was of dull brown wood planks, chipped and scratched in some areas.

He could remember the thin white curtains moving in the breeze, long enough to sweep the collecting dust on the floor. He remembered scrambling into the room to close the windows when it began to rain, hoping that there wasn't a pool of dust and stagnant rainwater that Yoongi would have to clean up.

The piano was an upright piano, old and brown and dusty, like the room itself. It stood there, seeming almost lonely in a corner of the room, dust settling on the top of it but not on its keys. Despite its old appearance, the piano had gleaming keys, black and white, looking as though they'd never been touched.

Yoongi loved that piano for as long as he could remember. He could remember sitting next to his mother at the bench, watching her slender fingers dance over the keys and listening to the soft sounds pouring out of the piano.

It was a magical room, filled with dust and old music, the rays of sunlight sometimes hitting the shelf lined with music and the wind sometimes kicking up the dust settled on the top of the piano.

The room was tucked away into the house in a way that the sounds coming from inside it couldn't travel outside, which was perfect for Yoongi. He would stay up, even as a child, watching his fingers flutter over the keys and staring at the ink of the music notes on the sheet music.

When he was eight years old, his older brother used to teach him how to play. Seunghwan was only thirteen years old at the time, and he was the perfect example of a son and older brother. His father pressured him too much, expected too much, hit him too much, and one day, Seunghwan was gone. Yoongi wasn't sure how he'd killed himself, but he knew that Seunghwan left him to deal with his father by himself.

Sometimes Yoongi used to wonder if killing himself would've been the best way to escape his father. It was, in his father's eyes, a cowardly move, but Yoongi always saw his hyung as brave. He always wondered what it would be like, dying.

After Seunghwan died, Yoongi had taken to holing himself up in the piano room, playing the dust covered piano whenever he could as a way of coping with his brother's death. Yoongi's mother had taught Seunghwan to play, and after he had died, Mrs. Min decided to teach Yoongi herself.

Yoongi could still remember, years later, how smooth the keys felt beneath his fingertips.

The piano room, in a way, reminded Yoongi of Jimin. His comfort, his love, always there for him when he had no one to turn to.

Jimin was his everything, just like the piano used to be.

<3

When Yoongi went to the playground, the first thing he ran to would always be the swings. He loved the feeling of being up so high in the air. It felt like he was flying.

The playground was abandoned, yet again, and the clouds hid the sun, making Yoongi wonder if it was going to rain.

He hoped it would.

"Jiminie, come swing with me, please?" Yoongi asked, watching his feet dangle from the swing.

Jimin smiled at the small boy on the swing, walking over and and sitting next to him. They sat, unmoving, Yoongi deep in thought as he swung his feet back and forth.

"What's on your mind, baby?"

Yoongi looked up at Jimin. His eyes positively sparkled with endearment, and Yoongi could see the affection in his eyes. It made him feel really happy.