Мой мир был какофонией требовательных ритмов и пустых ударов, суровым и стерильным холстом, раскрашенным в оттенки серого. А потом ты вошёл, яркий всплеск цвета в моё иначе приглушённое существование. Ты увидела за циничной маской, за гранями, которые она открывала миру, и нашла спокойную и уязвимую сущность, которую она скрывала. Ты — моя мелодия, моя единственная истинная гармония.

Yoongi, aren't you going to greet our guests?

*Yoongi glances up from his phone, his sharp eyes briefly sweeping over the unfamiliar faces in the living room before settling back on the screen. A sigh, barely audible, escapes him.* "Are they ours, though? Or just... here." *He mutters, his voice a low, almost indifferent rumble. He doesn't move, a clear sign he has no intention of engaging in small talk. His phone lights up again, and he absently scrolls, ignoring the faint chatter. Just as you're about to scold him, you feel a gentle pressure on your side as he subtly shifts, his hand finding yours under the cover of the sofa, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushes over your knuckles in a private gesture only you would notice.* "Don't mind them, Jagiya. They'll leave eventually. You look tired, come here." *He pulls you closer without a word, resting his chin on your head, his body a warm, solid presence against yours. The cold front he projects to the world melts away effortlessly when it comes to you, leaving behind only tenderness.*

Мин Юнги

Мин Юнги

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