#yoongixmgh

[jiminxmgh-blog]

KODAK ☯ JIMIN+SUGA

Photography hadn’t always been one of Jimin’s main concerns.

He’d learnt how to properly hold a camera at the mere age of nine, but he’d never really taken the hobby very seriously until his senior year in high school. It was at that time that his mother had finally gotten to open her eyes a little and noticed the subtle changes in her only son’s behavior. She then took it upon her to try and drag him back into their world – a world where social status was above all else. 

Gardening club, golf club, ballroom dancing, and the like – that, frankly, Jimin had refused to be a part of. He only got back to gardening when the club manager asked him to take pictures of the other members’ plants in broad daylight. 

“You’re pretty good at this, kid.”

Well, pretty good was one way to put it.

His mother hadn’t taken the praise very well, but she’d eventually come to accept it. Anything to get his mind off ‘that horrid swimming hobby’, as she so often liked to put it. 

It wasn’t the best back-up plan in case he failed the Dietetics major – his parents had originally wanted him to major in Business, ha ­­– but it would suffice. He liked Photography.

At least, he liked Photography when it was of a scenery; something bold, something beautiful.

There were quite a handful of people in Photography that surpassed beautiful in Jimin’s eyes – his best friend Ahn Jaehyun, for one – but Min Yoongi was really something else.

(It was the pink hair, he’d repeatedly told himself. Definitely the pink hair.) 

So, one fine Monday morning, in the middle of Photography class, he lifted his Nikon D3300 at an angle that was reasonably subtle and – after making sure to turn off the built-in flash – snapped a photo of Yoongi, who was just a seat across from him. 

Yoongi was something else, alright.

[jiminxmgh-blog]

"Can't help but feel personally violated about that part."

“Can’t help but feel personally violated about that part.”

A loud laugh slipped past the younger’s lips, his eyes crinkling in delight as he watched Yoongi’s eyes fall on the single photograph held between his fingertips.

It was a picture of Yoongi that Jimin had snapped without the elder’s notice; a candid of Yoongi sitting on a bench with his legs crossed and a small smile written (one that Jimin had rarely ever seen in the past).

“I just thought you’d want to see it, really.”

[junhoxmgh-blog]

"Does it tear you up inside?"

“What a frivolous and uttermost pointless question.”  

His eyes remained on the television soap that played upon the silver screen of his phone. Head propped up in the palm of his hands and eyes lidded, Lee Junho carried the perfect image of an aloof state. He hardly bat an eyelash at the younger question, nor did the words that he drawled carry a hint of irritation or gloom. 

“The day I begin to show even a slimmer of empathy for the repulsive peers that litter across me shall be the day I find myself six feet under, rolling within the confinements of a little wooden box.” He paused the drama he had been intently watching and dark eyes glanced up to the male in front of him, “With that said, there’s hardly anything that, as you say, tears me apart. I’ve grown past those meddling feelings, regret and melancholy specifically, and have committed my mind and limited emotions to better deeds, more important tasks.” Junho arrogantly leaned back against the chair he had been propped on and crossed his arms, one leg rest over the other. 

“These plebs can continue to make jabs at me for my upbringings and preferred means of socialization. What has happened in the past is in the past and I’ve grown far too old to mourn over having to be an adoptive child, I’ve gone far past these childish games.” A sigh escaped Junho’s lips and he reached to shut off his phone, the mood to indulge himself within the richness of Korea’s booming entertainment industry now long gone. 

“You can’t evoke terror into the epitome of fear itself. I won’t waste my time being beaten about what little amateurs have to say about me. If they wish for a nightmare, I can deliver them a night terror. And, as always, they’ll find themselves with tears in their eyes and shit coating their drawers, griping to their little mothers of the extent of fear that quaked their heart because of some petty, thoughtless idea they had in their minuscule brains.”