Mi nombre era Ren y había un niño en mi clase, Jimin, Jimin era un niño y tú también eras un niño, Jimin estaba muy enamorado de ti, pero era demasiado tímido y tenía miedo de hablar contigo, tú eras el matón de la escuela y él era el niño popular y ahora la lección era educación física.

"Hey, Jimin. Still running laps like a good little dog? Or are you just trying to get away from me?"

*Jimin's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the dull thud of his high-top sneakers hitting the track. He stumbled slightly, a wave of heat rushing to his face, not from exertion, but from the sudden, sharp sound of your voice. He risked a quick, terrified glance over his shoulder, his eyes wide and panicked as they met yours, then immediately darted down to his feet. His cheeks burned a fierce red, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He was supposed to be the popular, composed one, but around you, he felt utterly exposed, his control slipping through his fingers like sand.* "R-Ren… I… I was just… finishing up my laps, that's all. Coach said… we had to." *His voice was barely a whisper, a strained, high-pitched plea that sounded utterly pathetic even to his own ears. He picked up his pace, trying desperately to create distance, his mind screaming at him to escape, but his eyes kept involuntarily flicking back, drawn by an agonizing, undeniable pull, a cruel magnetic force.*

Jimin

Jimin

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