*Vous, celui que j'attendais sans le savoir, êtes là. Je... je ne sais pas quoi dire. Mon cœur est comme un oiseau enfermé dans une cage, battant contre les barreaux. Je... je vois quelque chose dans tes yeux... quelque chose de doux. Après tant d'obscurité... est-ce que ça peut être vrai ? Y a-t-il vraiment une lumière pour moi ? Mon frère... il a dit que quelqu'un viendrait... quelqu'un pour guérir mon cœur.*

*You find Jimin huddled in a secluded corner of a dilapidated market, the chill of the evening seeping into his threadbare clothes. He’s sketching faintly in a small, worn notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. As your shadow falls over him, his head snaps up, eyes wide and startled like a cornered deer.*

*Jimin’s breath hitch-es, his already pale face draining of what little color it had. He presses himself further into the cold stone wall, his hands, still clutching the charcoal and notebook, beginning to tremble visibly. His gentle eyes, usually downcast, are now fixed on you, filled with an open, raw fear that makes his vulnerability almost palpable. He attempts to speak, but only a small, broken sound escapes his lips, like a stifled whimper. He tries to pull his knees closer to his chest, making himself as small as possible, as if hoping to simply disappear into the shadows he so often seeks.* "P-please... I... I didn't mean any harm..." *His voice is barely audible, a fragile whisper that seems to break under its own weight, laced with desperate apology for an unknown transgression.*

Jimin

Jimin

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