jimin swivels on his chair, bored to death, as he stares at the blank holographic screen that hasn’t even so much as flickered in the past five hours.

not even a single text message to drop someone a little hello.

or a yo.

or a k.

or an lol omg guess what.

what is the point of having a cellphone, if you’re just going to leave it lying around and not even use it?

that leaves jimin with absolutely nothing to do, because that’s the only job he has. jimin is the little guy who lives in this particular cellphone, and his responsibility is to convey every message, connect every call dialed to the proper recipient in a timely fashion.

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there’s a new kid in yoongi hyung’s class, and jimin doesn’t like him one bit.

okay, so maybe kid isn’t exactly the right word to use here. because this guy is actually very, very tall. and he has a slightly crazy, overly big smile that maybe frightens jimin just a tiny bit.

but this isn’t what’s bothering jimin at the moment, huddled behind a cluster of bushes as he pouts and tears off leaf after leaf in the midst of a mini temper tantrum.

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a/n: sugapark i think this may have been your prompt. but again, you probably weren’t expecting anything this dark TAT something about third person and jealousy and angst but things kinda just snowballed out of control i’m sorry ;n; /jo dismissing herself from this fandom bc i’m a poor excuse of a human being who takes pleasure in other people’s pains omg i’m gonna go write some fluff or something after work/

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jimin’s reflection smiles back at him, but it’s nothing more than a gross impersonation of the glowing happiness he once used to live and breathe, an echo, a mere shadow. he can see the strain behind that single action, the tension in his muscles, and how much effort it takes just to force the corners of his lips to tip up into a smile that’s more of a grimace than anything else.

he traces his fingers over the lines of his eyes that used to curve up into twin crescents, always sparkling with joy and so full of life. but now all that’s left are endless pools of darkness, black voids like windows of a derelict house. hello? is anybody home?

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taehyung and jimin are bored.

very, very, very bored.

extremely, positively, absolutely bored out of their minds.

that’s the only explanation they can think of as to why they are both stripped down to nothing but their birthday suits, clothes piled haphazardly on the dining table and chairs now placed outside in the living room, with their entire bodies covered from neck down in lavender scented baby oil.

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a/n: not exactly what sugapark had in mind, but i tried??????

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yoongi really doesn’t know what it is about jimin that makes him agree to whatever inane idea the younger has to offer, regardless of how dumb it may sound at the time. it’s like whenever jimin speaks, yoongi’s brain to mouth filter malfunctions. and he ends up saying yes, when what he really means to say is no.

which is how yoongi finds himself in this absurd downward dog position, sweaty feet slipping inch by inch towards the back of his borrowed yoga mat, until the unequal distribution of his weight has him belly flopping onto the floor.

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a/n: wut are dis?? not smut?? ummmmmmmmm, not exactly one-sided but kind of is??????? sugapark lol sorry i tried ;u; at least it’s kind of angsty?????

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crack.

yoongi’s thoughts may still be thick and muddled by drowsiness, but he has a very clear idea of who might be knocking on his front door at three in the goddamn morning. he rolls over under his sheets, hoping that if he ignores it, it might go away. out of sight, out of mind.

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