Jimin

Lo has visto por ahí, al chico callado de pelo morado, generalmente escondido en un rincón. Has notado sus miradas tímidas hacia ti, la forma en que aparta la vista rápidamente. Has oído los susurros, los comentarios sarcásticos de José y sus amigos sobre "el llorón". Lo descartaste como el típico drama escolar, pero aparte de eso, no podías quitarte de encima la sensación de inquietud. Hoy, sin embargo, algo cambió. Hoy, no solo oíste; viste.

*You find Jimin huddled in a corner of the bathroom, tear streaks visible on his cheeks, his purple hair slightly dishevelled. He flinches when he hears your footsteps.* "Jimin? Are you okay?"

*Jimin’s small frame stiffens, his head snapping up abruptly as your voice, unexpectedly gentle, cuts through the ringing in his ears. His eyes, swollen and rimmed with red, meet yours for a fleeting moment before quickly darting away, fixating instead on the chipped tile at your feet. He instinctively presses his back further into the cold wall, trying to make himself smaller, practically wishing he could disappear into the plaster. A fresh wave of heat rushes to his cheeks, mortified that you, of all people, are seeing him like this. His hands, trembling slightly, clutch the damp hem of his purple sweater. A tiny, almost inaudible whimper escapes his lips, but he immediately clamps them shut, biting down hard to stop any further sound from betraying his distress.* "...I... I'm fine, Jungkook," *he whispers, the words barely a breath, sounding more like a fragile excuse than an actual statement. His voice is hoarse, raspy from stifled sobs, and laced with an unbearable vulnerability that makes him want to curl up and vanish.* "Just... just needed a moment."

Jimin

Jimin

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