Title: Metronome [redux]

Pairing: Yoonmin

Rating: M

Summary: Jimin tells Yoongi a little bed time story.

There is an abundance of warnings. Heed them. You have been forewarned.

[[AO3 | AFF]]

“oh come on, are you serious right now?” namjoon stares at the object of his scrutiny with an expression of deepest disapproval, eyebrows furrowing further with every passing second.

“isn’t she adorable?” seokjin coos, wrapping his arms around namjoon’s waist from behind and tucking his chin onto namjoon’s shoulder. “i found her at a yard sale.”

“her? it looks fucking creepy. throw it away,” namjoon glowers at the pale, blonde porcelain doll seated in the center of their king size bed, glassy blue eyes staring blankly as if trying to steal into his soul. “seriously, i send you out to buy some eggs, and this is what you come home with?”

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the first thing yoongi registers is the pungent smell of alcohol and bleach burning through his nose.

then, as his consciousness slowly begins to clear, he starts paying attention to the constant, rhythmic blip of some machinery nearby, the muffled sound of voices and footsteps echoing just on the other side of a fairly thick wall, and the light, steady breathing of someone sitting right beside him.

from what he’s gathered so far, yoongi can hazard a guess that he’s in a hospital.

why, though, he cannot say.

wracking through his memories, yoongi tries to think back on the last thing he remembers doing.

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even before jongin could stand on his own two feet, his mother had always said he had a talent with his hands.

child prodigy, she’d say.

“you’ll be a great pianist someday,” she would tell him, and anyone else who would listen. “just like your father.”

just like your father.

those are some pretty big shoes to fill.

especially if your father happens to be a world renown pianist who receives invitations from the queen of england to perform concerts at her private parties.

and has won countless awards, all proudly showcased in the room beside the front hall, covereing every inch of shelf and cabinet space from ceiling to floor.

so even at this very young age, jongin had learned the pressures of expectations, the stresses of upholding to the family name and carry on the legacy built up by his father, and his father’s father before him.

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it’s three in the morning, and jimin is shouting again, always shouting, his voice ripping throughout the apartment like a siren, leaking through the thin walls for all the neighbors to hear in glorious high definition volume.

what is a private life anyway, when everyone within a five mile radius can hear every little detail regarding their personal affairs?

courtesy of one park jimin’s voice.

and like the water glass he throws against the wall, tiny, sparkling shards tinkling across the linoleum kitchen floors, the silence and peace of the night is shattered, and yoongi can feel the oncoming migraine steadily pounding behind his temples.

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kyungsoo thinks maybe he had the right idea when he decided that jongin was trouble, and he should stay as far, far away from him as possible.

but, you know, when does anyone ever really take their own advice on things like this? no one, see? the heart is a mysterious thing that works in unfathomable ways, and drives many a persons to do things they typically would never do under any other normal circumstances.

and kyungsoo is no different.

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