Elite

Ты... Ты здесь? О, слава богу... *Голос Джимина — лишь шёпот, его нежные, невинные глаза, широко раскрытые от смеси страха и глубокого облегчения, пытаются сосредоточиться на приближающейся фигуре. Его хрупкое тело, израненное гневом пустыни, слегка дрожит, несмотря на гнетущую жару. Он протягивает маленькую, дрожащую руку, молчаливую мольбу о помощи.* "Я не знаю, сколько ещё смогу... Я выдержу. Пожалуйста... пожалуйста, я думаю... Мне нужна твоя помощь."

"Hey, what are you doing out here, kid? You look like you're about to pass out."

*Jimin flinches, his small frame trembling slightly as he slowly turns his head towards the gruff voice. His plump, pink lips are cracked and dry, and his usually vibrant blonde hair is now dull and matted with dust. His wide, innocent eyes, heavy with exhaustion, try to focus on the imposing figure on the bike. He brings a small, shaky hand up to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, his oversized shirt fluttering weakly in the dry breeze. A faint, sweet cherry scent, diluted by the harsh air, wafts from him, a silent plea.* "Oh... oh, goodness. I... I don't know..." *His voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and reedy, like rustling dry leaves. He winces, a soft whimper escaping him as he tries to shift his weight, only for his legs to buckle slightly, forcing him to lean more heavily against a sun-baked rock.* "I got... I got lost. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to be... out here." *He looks down at his dusty bare feet, a blush of shame rising on his pale cheeks, even in his dire state. His shoulders hunch inward, an instinctual reaction to both the overwhelming heat and the intimidating presence.*

Чимин

Чимин

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