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The first time Kim Dohyuk walks into the club, Jimin already knows there’s going to be trouble. He doesn’t know when or where it’ll happen, when the suspense will reach its precipice, but he always knew it would.
Walking in donning an expensive suit, gold Rolex, ruby cufflinks and gelled back hair. Half his shirt unbuttoned in an attempt to earn himself the effortlessly handsome mobster look, the silver barrel of his revolver peeking out through the holster by his hip. Corporate heir with ties to the underworld.
He takes one look at Jimin and decides he wants him. As simple as that.
It starts off with him buying Jimin’s company for luxurious parties and soirees, parading him like a prize poodle on his arm. Treating him to the finest gifts and experiences, everything that Jimin associates with a good life. Soon enough, they start sleeping together, when Dohyuk shells out enough money for Jimin’s boss to allow it.
Dohyuk fucks him everywhere. He fucks him over the dinner table, in front of his corporate underlings, in back alleys and on the bonnet of his Maybach, pressed against the glass wall of his Seoul penthouse.
He’s a good fuck, so Jimin doesn’t complain.
He doesn’t complain even when Dohyuk has a stressful day of work and reaches his breaking point by slapping Jimin across the face, hard enough that the bruise stays for days. He doesn’t complain even when Dohyun threatens to let his Dobermans have a go at him, when Jimin asks where he’s been the entire night, and whether he can step out of the home for a little while. Jimin can’t leave because he has the seal of a whore branded into his lower back, and being Dohyuk’s pet brings his boss more money than he ever did during individual gigs.
But the beginning of the end starts when Dohyuk brings someone else into the picture.
He’s younger than they are, the new boy. He’s around 19, so 2 years younger than Jimin, and shakes like a leaf when Dohyuk drags him in with a firm hand grasping the link chain that connects to a collar on his throat.
Jimin takes one look at him and knows he’s been trafficked. The way his eyes are skittish, darting everywhere, clearly doped up on drugs. Pale, clammy hands intertwined as he looks at Dohyuk. He’s even smaller than Jimin is, all protruding bones and glassy skin.
It’s quite an experience, the three of them in Dohyuk’s expensive home. Hyunwoo isn’t very stable, but he’s a fighter. Jimin and him grow close and the boy confides in him about his life thus far. Sold by his father to some crime ring, passed around for several years until he arrived here. They’re friends, and make fun of Dohyuk’s penis when he isn’t around.
But Dohyuk breaks with Hyunwoo much faster than he did with Jimin. There’s barely any courting, any honeymoon phase. It takes all of a month before Dohyuk flings his dinner plate at Hyunwoo’s face for no apparent reason, the porcelain shattering over his skin.
“I’ll talk to him,” Jimin tells him as he cleans his wounds later that night once Dohyuk is asleep, using a tweezer to pick out the shards of china embedded in his skin.
“All I wanted was to go to the fair,” Hyunwoo responds. He points at the window. “I’ve been watching it for a while now,” He elaborates, staring wistfully at the Ferris wheel and bright lights a few kilometres away. Up here, it feels like they’re disconnected from the rest of the world.
Jimin doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t know what to say.
It goes on this way, the tension and thick air burning hot. Dohyuk seems to separate his use of Jimin and Hyunwoo. He uses Jimin for sex, and uses Hyunwoo as an outlet for his anger.
Maybe because Hyunwoo reacts. Jimin doesn’t react when he’s being hit. Hyunwoo does, loud wails and heavy breathing, and that’s probably what’s more gratifying for their owner.
“You’re my little princess, aren’t you?” Dohyuk breathes into his ear one night, hips slamming against his, Jimin jostled up the silk sheets with every movement. Jimin’s wearing a diamond choker, the luminescent gems sparking under the chandelier of the bedroom.
“Yeah,” Jimin responds, feeling blood trickle down his inner thigh. He’ll have to wash the sheets later. Dohyuk didn’t have the patience to prep him.
“And you’ll always be mine, won’t you? Always do as I ask of you?”
“Yes,” Jimin agrees, eyes pressed shut, his feet tucked into a strappy pair of stilettos that drag against the sheets, studded with rubies. Dohyuk’s still fully clothed, the zipper of his pants chafing Jimin’s bare skin. It’s eerily silent in the bedroom save for the sounds of their skin slapping, just the two of them on the large bed in the even larger space.
Fingers clasp around his throat, digging into his windpipe.
“Then why did you snoop through my personal office? Why would you disrespect me that way?” Dohyuk’s voice turns icy cold. There’s a drop in Jimin’s stomach, anxious and terrified, but he doesn’t let it show, doesn’t let Dohyuk feed off it.
“I didn’t,” He responds over the little oxygen left in his lungs because it’s the truth. He would never do that.
“Don’t lie to me, bitch,” Dohyuk grits out, starting to strangle him in earnest. “You were going through the old pictures of my wife and daughter.”
Jimin has no idea what he’s talking about, and he can’t speak, vision dotting black with lack of oxygen. His lungs burn. He just shakes his head, as much as he can. Dohyuk keeps fucking into him, pace animalistic as if he’s come alive by seeing the life fade out of Jimin’s eyes.
“You were always my favourite,” Dohyuk tells him. “Such a shame.”
Jimin just stares, feeling himself diminish slowly, bit by bit. He doesn’t bother to fight, because he can’t. There’s no point, and his slim wrists are pinned down by satin ribbons that are wound tight around the bedposts. His vision is a hazy blur of Dohyuk’s face and the mirrored ceiling, and Jimin realizes that in some way, he’s getting to watch himself die.
There’s a sudden rain of glass over the both of them, and Dohyuk’s fingers leave his throat. Jimin heaves, looking up to see the other man on the floor, clutching his bleeding head. Over him stands Hyunwoo, holding the neck of the crystal decanter that Dohyuk keeps his whiskey in. The crystal is shattered over the floor, like raindrops.
“You piece of shit-” Dohyuk growls, standing up despite his severe wounds. Jimin watches from the bed, eyes wide with fear.
Dohyuk grabs Hyunwoo, tackling him down to the floor before he punches him across the face.
Hyunwoo just grins, mouth bloody.
“I was the one who went through your stuff,” Hyunwoo laughs, wide and animalistic. “You think you’re better than us, but you’re just a stupid coward who got his wife and child killed by taking up a deal with the mob. And now, you’re their little money slut-”
Dohyuk snarls, landing another punch and this time there’s a sick crunch.
Jimin yanks his arms free and scrambles to his feet, trying to pull Dohyuk away from Hyunwoo. It doesn’t work, and Dohyuk reaches for a shard of crystal and slashes Jimin across the stomach with it.
“You take out that grief on us with your tiny dick,” Hyunwoo continues, adding fuel to the fire. “How about you be a man and admit you’re just a weak bitch-”
“I’ll fucking kill you-”
“I’ve been dead for a long time,” Hyunwoo says before he yanks Dohyuk’s revolver out of its holster and shoots him point-blank in the head, right between his eyes. Dohyuk’s heavy body collapses over him, and Hyunwoo kicks him off, spitting on him like his life wasn’t worth a single thought.
It’s eerily silent after that.
Hyunwoo looks up at him eventually and his eyes are voided.
“Maybe,” He tells him. “We’ll be best friends in another life.”
Jimin’s face pales.
“Hyunwoo-”
“But I’m calling it quits on this one.”
Hyunwoo presses the barrel of the revolver to the side of his head and pulls the trigger without a moment’s hesitation, the sound of the gun going off deafening to his ears.
Jimin runs toward him, sobbing. Tears stream down his cheeks, eyes wide with grief. He takes the gun from Hyunwoo and grabs his face in his hands, using his fingers to try and stop the bleeding from the bullet wound in his head.
“Hyunwoo, baby-” Jimin gasps out. “No, no-”
But Hyunwoo doesn’t respond, his usually wide eyes empty, almost grey. Jimin’s chest shakes with his sobs, overwrought and painful.
And that’s when the police break the door down. Some neighbours heard the gunshots, even if the entire floor belonged to Dohyuk.
Jimin barely registers what happens after that. He’s cuffed and two officers escort him to the closet where they dress him in some clothes, giving him looks that vary between sympathy and open leering. Slimy hands linger on his skin, staying longer than necessary.
When he’s at the station, there’s still blood splattered across his face.
He’s broke, so there’s no one to bail him out, and no other suspects. The case takes a while but they draw it up to be Jimin killing the two of them in a fit of anger, jealous at the fact that Dohyuk replaced him with someone else. His fingerprints are on the gun, so it checks out. No one bothers to stand up for a whore, despite Jimin’s narration of the truth.
The hearings pass by quickly, his own lawyer appointed by the state not too bothered. He never speaks to Jimin, and the only interaction they have other than after the final hearing is when he tries to cop a feel in the elevator.
“Good luck in there,” He tells Jimin with a pat on the bum once the judge announces the verdict.
10 years in federal prison, for 2 third-degree murders.
-
The prison isn’t much.
He’s been sent to a small one that’s in the far east of the country, with barely any convicts. It’s by the sea, and Jimin laughs in the transport van when he remembers how Dohyuk would keep proposing a holiday to the coast, talking loud and excited about how he’d fuck Jimin in the sand and drink champagne off of him on a yacht.
He’s dropped off and stip-searched, the guard hovering a little more than necessary.
“I’ve heard about you,” He tells Jimin. “Trigger-happy pretty boy,” He coos, his fingers trailing over his body, grabbing a handful of his ass, groping the flesh. “You’ll fit in real nice.”
Jimin keeps his gaze on the door.
He’s handed his clothes. Some baggy grey smock that looks like a dress on him and loose, unflattering pants to match. He asks for a belt but receives a cold look instead.
A guard shows him to his cell, a crowded room inhabited by 5 men. There’s only one toilet, right in the middle. It’s the first thing that grabs Jimin’s attention.
He’s pushed in and the door slams shut behind him.
“Oh look, it’s a fairy,” One of the men lounging in the corner laughs. His mouth spreads open in a half toothless grin. The rest of them chuckle.
Jimin ignores them, heading to the sliding cupboard to take out his futon. It’s sleeping hours already.
“What? No hello, princess?”
“Hello,” Jimin says quietly, his back to them.
There’s a suddenly a hand knotted in his hair, yanking back. Jimin forces down a wince. He’s pulled face to face with another one of the men.
“Let’s make something clear,” The other man says, breath pungent and stinking. His beady eyes bore into Jimin’s. “You gotta respect us if you don’t wanna get hurt. Give any of us attitude again and I’ll snap you in half,” He spits.
Jimin stares back.
“Got it?” He snarls.
Jimin nods.
“Out loud, please. Let’s hear that pretty voice.”
“Y-Yes, got it,” Jimin says, trying his hardest to keep his voice stable. He’s heard lots of things about what it’s like in prison, even though Korean detention centres are known to be much better than those in America.
He just needs to keep his head low. Fade into the background.
They don’t bother him for the rest of the night, probably desperate to get their sleep too. Jimin knows that they’ll be woken up at 5 in the morning.
He rolls out his dusty, stained futon and curls up in a corner, trying to drown out the loud snores of his cellmates. One of them presses up behind him in his sleep, throwing a leg over his waist.
Jimin closes his eyes, trying his hardest to fall asleep, wondering if this nightmare will be better than all the ones he’s lived so far.
-
They have a strict schedule and the mornings are packed with duties and the like. A lot of the inmates play sports during their free hours, in the bare-bones field outside. Jimin mostly takes up dishes duty, happy in his little corner by the sinks where no one can bother him.
Jimin already feels the eyes on him, boring into his neck and back and every little crevice of his body. There are a few people who walk past his cell on purpose, indiscriminately poking their heads in to get a look at him, as if trying to confirm some sort of rumour.
He’s also been given the duty of tidying up the little library they have on the weekends. His duties are arranging the books according to genre and then the alphabet within them. He spends more time than he needs to on the task because not too many people in the prison are readers, unsurprisingly, so the chance of someone bothering him is little to none. It’s a peaceful sanctuary for him.
Jimin absolutely hates his cellmates.
They all make fun of him and didn’t let him sleep the entire night last night. They made him do push-ups so that they could mock him when he inevitably tired, even though he went over 75. If he fell or fumbled in his form, they’d clap a heavy hand down on the back of his neck, hard enough that he’d see spots in his vision.
Distantly, Jimin wonders if his life is ever going to see a shining sun.
“H-Hello,” He hears one day.
Jimin looks up from where he’s seated in the cafeteria, his tray of overcooked starchy rice and raw kimchi ready to be eaten. He always sits by himself in the large space, taking up a little stool on the lengthwise tables. Everything in the prison is grey.
Before him is a scrawny man. His hands are shaking where they lie behind his back and his hair is all over the place, eyes manic. His cheeks look sunken in, eyes bugging out, a telltale sign of long-term substance abuse. He must be in his early 40s.
“Yes?” Jimin responds, because silence always gets him punished.
“I think I’m i-in love with y-you,” The other man confesses, clearly fighting through some sort of speech impediment. His hands reveal some flowers that are obviously from the field outside, although they’re crumpled in his iron grasp, some of the stems snapped, his fingers stained green.
Jimin doesn’t know what to say, only that he’s never seen this man before. He keeps his eyes on the flowers. The other man follows his vision, and he pales.
“Aw, sh-shucks!” He shouts. “I ruined ‘em!”
Jimin feels the discomfort crawl further up this throat the longer the man in front of him seems to spiral, dropping the flowers to the floor. He brings his hands up to his hair, pulling sharply as if reprimanding himself.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid-”
“Hey-” Jimin winces, unsure of what to do or say. The other man stinks. They’re only allowed weekly showers, but Jimin always washes himself down with a mug of water secretly every day.
He’s mildly alarmed, more at the fact that nobody else seems to care, carrying on with their meals.
“Hey,” He tries again.
The moment the word leaves Jimin’s mouth, the other man stops. He looks toward him sharply, as if highly attentive.
“Did you say sum’n?”
Jimin’s mouth clamps shut, fingers white where they grip his chopsticks. The other man speaks next.
“Will you be my w-wife?”
Jimin’s face pales.
“I’m sorry, no-”
There’s a sudden flurry of motion and Jimin finds his vision trained on the ceiling now, his back against the dirty floor. He sees his bowl of food spilled, dripping over the table, and he’s straddled, realizing distantly that the other man tackled him over the table.
“Don’t say no!” He shouts, manic. “You can’t say no! Can’t, can’t, can’t!” He repeats over and over and Jimin attempts to push him off unsuccessfully. No one bothers to help him, and the other man seems to lose it further when Jimin struggles within his grasp.
Eventually, his fingers find one of the chopsticks and he wastes no time in stabbing it into the centre of his attacker’s throat, hard enough to stun him without damage. The man yowls and Jimin kicks him off, chest heaving.
He stands up on shaky legs, and he feels clammy hands clasp around his bare ankles.
They’re suddenly gone.
Jimin turns around to see the guards subduing the other man, handcuffing him. One of them barks orders for him to be put in solitary confinement on the fifth floor. He’s dragged away and that’s that, screaming Jimin’s name the entire way.
No one asks Jimin if he’s alright, and his request for new clothing is denied even though he has food spilled all over his top.
Still, he can’t seem to quell the shaking that rattles his body throughout the day and during bedtime, his teeth chattering.
His cellmates just laugh.
“You think that’s tough?” One of them says. “You should hear the way some of them talk about you.”
Jimin turns to look at him.
“Not me!” He exclaims, holding his hands up as if he cares a damn about upsetting Jimin. “I’ve got my Missus back home. Love her to the grave. But you’re gonna have to work hard to guard that little ass of yours because right now, it’s the main prize.”
Jimin turns once more, his back to the other man.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” is all he says, voice blank before his eyes fall shut.
“Then why’re you shaking like a leaf?”
Jimin doesn’t respond this time.
-
Jimin always tries to take the last batch of showers. That way, they’re usually less crowded even if it means lukewarm water rather than a relaxing hot.
He plays with the shampoo, lathering the liquid that almost seems radioactive before applying it to his hair. He showers leisurely, miraculously having the entire chamber to himself.
Jimin almost moans aloud when he takes the liberty of time to massage the shampoo into his scalp, fingers smoothing over his sore points. The water’s warmer than it usually is too.
He starts to hum a song. Back before Jimin became an escort, he used to dance. On a tall, sleek pole, in a club where he belonged to everyone. He still remembers his first song, and he hums the tune under his breath, softly so that it doesn’t echo.
Jimin looks down at his bare feet against the dull tiles, his vision flickering to when he’d always wear pumps and stilettos, his customers eager to see a pretty boy wearing feminine clothing. How he’d thought it was so tough then too, totally unprepared for the rest of what his life has in store for him.
10 years. He’s going to be here 10 years. He’ll be 31 when he’s out.
Tears leak out of Jimin’s eyes, and his face scrunches up involuntarily. He hasn’t cried about this in years; grew desensitized to everything, but he feels like everything is crumbling down right now, boring heavily onto his shoulders. The weight he’s been carrying ever since he was a child boils over, scalding every crevice it reaches.
Jimin has never done anything wrong. He’s never hurt anyone. Why has he been dealt this fate?
It was never easy; being picked up when he was a kid walking home from school. He’d been just 6, snatched into a van. Forced into labour after that, begging on streets and doing drug runs because no one would suspect a child. Then picked up and placed into sex work as soon as he’d started to grow into his body, enduring nightmare after nightmare.
He’d been taught at an early age to shut up and take everything because emotions get you nowhere.
There’s suddenly hands on his waist, and a hot exhale lands on the shell of his ear. Jimin’s stomach twists.
“Enjoying yourself?” A gruff voice says, hard thumbs digging to where he’d been branded on his lower back. A symbol of what he is.
Jimin doesn’t respond although the other man presses closer, yet another faceless creep, and he feels a hard cock poking at his ass.
“We’ve been waiting to catch you alone,” Someone else says and Jimin realizes that there are multiple people in the room. “In for some fun?”
“Please leave me alone,” Jimin says redundantly, his voice blank. “I won’t cause trouble-”
“You’re causing enough trouble walking around here like fine bait. Some of us, we’ve been locked in here for years-” There’s another hand on his waist, and then another on his hip. “- and we’ve been waiting for someone like you. Like dangling a piece of meat over the head of a hungry lion.”
Jimin feels bile rise up his throat and his eyes are squeezed shut. It never gets easier. His face is still wet with tears.
“Please don’t touch me.”
A slimy laugh.
“Now that’s a no go.” He says. “You’ll grow to love it-”
The man cuts himself off. There’s a sudden silence that befalls the room, almost haunted. Even a sharp intake of breath from the one by his ear.
All Jimin can hear are the steady footsteps of someone, padding wetly across the shower chamber floor until they stop a little further away from them.
There’s the squeak of a nozzle turning and then the flow of water.
The emotional atmosphere dips severely as if down to the negatives.
It happens quickly after that. They all leave, one by one, and it’s astonishing to Jimin who for some reason still hasn’t opened his eyes. Jimin is alone again, and there’s no one touching him.
He eventually blinks, and looks up at what caused the tide to turn. It’s safe to say that he’s immediately surprised.
It’s a boy. Not very old.
He’s showering, minding his own business. He’s tall and strong, something you can tell from his defined abdomen that sheens under the spray of water. Jimin suspects that he’s still a teenager from his boyish features, smooth nose and pink lips, skin pale and well-looked after. His hair is cropped and when he pushes it back against his forehead to rinse out the shampoo, Jimin realizes that he’s very pretty, handsome enough to be everyone’s crush in whatever high school he’s from.
This is the person that made the others scatter like ants, like puppies with their tails tucked between their legs?
The other man doesn’t look at him, not once.
And Jimin doesn’t tempt fate. Or bother to thank him. He wraps his towel around his hips and leaves hastily, his heart thundering in his chest as he lies on his futon that night.
-
Jimin realizes that that one interaction was like the moment when rain just starts to pour, the fall of it almost inaudible before it grows deafening, clouding your senses.
He starts to see the boy from the showers everywhere and it’s puzzling, how he seems to lead a different life as opposed to everyone else in this shithole of a prison.
For one, he doesn’t have to share a cell. He gets one whole room to himself, and gets separate meals and extended sleeping time in the afternoons. At around 4 pm every day, the guards usually visit all of their rooms to fuck around with them and reduce their morale to dirt. No one touches his room, which Jimin has identified to be the one in the far corner of their floor. Jimin hasn’t even seen him do any duties or chores.
And everyone avoids him like the plague.
There’s always five feet of distance even though the other man doesn’t seem to care a damn.
Jimin thinks about him as he absent-mindedly rearranges the library books, something he’s been doing over and over to avoid having to return to his cell. He thinks about how just his presence seemed to ward off the muscly men who tried to assault him in the showers. How everyone treats him like someone you shouldn’t mess with, despite him looking like a child, his baby face contrasting his hard physique and rippling muscles that are almost burned into Jimin’s mind.
His mind runs, and he’s skimming over options, the gears in his brain perusing through mental file after file.
He’s heard of prison wives before. Wouldn’t be too far off from what he’s done his entire life to keep a roof over his head. And even then, there’d be just one cock up his ass. He wouldn’t be passed around like public property, like the tattered volleyball the inmates throw around during sports hour.
Jimin gnaws at his bottom lip, fingers fiddling with one of the spines of the old books. The pages are worn and yellow, the library a part of the prison almost untouched. It’s like his safe haven, and Jimin sometimes curls up in one of the chairs behind a shelf and snoozes by the sunny window.
“Kid.” He hears, looking up to see one of the guards. “Chore time’s over. Head to your cell.”
Jimin nods, his heart sinking. He gently puts the book away, returning it to its original position on the shelf. The library was a mess before, books strewn over the floor and arranged in disarray; Jimin had taken the first few weeks to organise it all, and loved every second of it.
Maybe once he’s out, he’ll try his hand at working at a bookstore, or maybe study to become a librarian.
That’s what he dreams of that night. Him standing in comfortable clothes on a tall ladder propped up against a shelf chock full of jewel-toned books, his fingers skimming over the titles embossed over leather covers. Just him in a room full of books, on and on and on. Jimin thinks he liked reading when he was a child too, but doesn’t remember much of the days before he was kidnapped.
He barely remembers what his parents look like either, just old memories of fading cologne and kimchi stew, the feeling of being hugged and kissed and read bedtime stories each night.
Jimin smiles in his sleep as his unconscious recalls precious yet hazy memories, fingers fisting in the dry sheets, feeling as if he were a child again.
-
The next time it happens, Jimin comes out of it with a black eye.
The guards notice he’s skipping exercise hours, and they won’t have it. They pluck him from his cell and drop him at the gym, a wide-open space with exercise equipment placed over the dull tiled floors. Jimin takes a look at some of the benches, noticing the way the screws rattle as the inmates exercise.
He settles for the dumbbells, picks one on the lighter side and lifts it. He used to do some stretches before, for his dances, but decides to avoid those in case it draws attention to him.
Jimin lifts the weight absent-mindedly, his mind drifting away as it usually does. He’s been doing it more often lately; spacing out. He’d be in the middle of doing something and his thoughts would just dissipate during, evaporating into clouds of mist.
“Kitty’s tryna bulk up,” Someone laughs from across the gym. Jimin recognizes the voice. It’s the man from the showers. He hadn’t seen his face then but he can now. Late 30s, scruff on his chin, skin sun-worn, and buff enough that his uniform highlights his frame. His beady eyes unsettle Jimin. He has his pack of unsavoury friends with him too, all of them sitting by the rattly benches and openly leering at him.
Jimin ignores them although the lump in his throat grows.
It’s 30 minutes into exercise hour when Jimin hears footsteps approaching. There’s a hand on his hip and a voice by his ear.
“Need some help? If it were up to me, pretty things like you wouldn’t ever have to lift a single finger.”
The other man sneaks his hand up Jimin’s shirt, trailing over his flat stomach before dipping down to the hem of his pants.
“Stop it,” Jimin says with little amicability, his patience wearing thin.
“Or what?” He teases, probably thinking of this as a joke, taking the shell of Jimin’s ear between his teeth. “I’ve been hard since I saw you walk in,” He whispers as if Jimin would be impressed by the fact.
“I’m warning you,” Jimin responds dully.
The other man doesn’t seem to care, and promptly sinks his hand down his pants, grabbing a fistful of his ass.
Jimin sets down his dumbbell and picks up the heaviest one with gritted teeth, turning around and dropping it on the other man’s foot. He screams, yanking his hand away, the veins on the side of his head bulging.
“You stupid bitch,” He snarls before punching Jimin clean in the eye, sending him to the floor like a ragdoll. Jimin brings a hand up to where it hurts, his vision seeing stars from the pain before he punches the other man back in the nuts as hard as he can.
The guards are on them in a second, shoving them apart but not before Jimin receives another hard hit to the side of his head.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” The other man snarls as he’s subdued. “You’re a fucking whore, I’ll make you bleed on my cock, just you watch, we’ll see how tough you are then-”
Jimin just spits on him, and it’s a mammoth task even for the guards to hold him down then. He’s dragged off and that’s that, Jimin receiving a warning not to cause more trouble.
By nighttime, Jimin’s eye is already swollen shut. He can’t sleep on his side toward the wall like he usually does because it hurts so bad.
“Would it be so hard to just give in?” His cellmate, the usual one whose name he can’t be arsed to remember asks him that night, watching him wince in pain.
“Why would I?” Jimin asks.
“You’re a whore aren’t you? No offence, but isn’t this what you did for a living?”
Jimin is silent for a few seconds.
“I’m also a murderer. Don’t forget that.”
-
There’s a new guard in the prison, and he’s young and handsome enough that Jimin thinks that he’d have a crush on him if it were a different circumstance, if he grew up in a normal world where romantic feelings were commonplace. Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone.
He’s daydreaming in the library again, curled up in a little corner where he picks at his nails. His eye has mostly healed now, and no one bothers him because the perpetrator was sent to solitary confinement.
Still, it’s 2 people that Jimin has sent to the dark rooms, and it’s building animosity against him.
It’s the question everyone seems to have; why can’t Jimin take it? Why can’t he just give in and volunteer himself to become everyone’s cumdump? A boost of morale for inmates who haven’t had a fuck for years, some for decades? Why not?
Jimin doesn’t know the answer himself. Perhaps it’s because he’s tired. He’s already here, in prison. He doesn’t have to get fucked in order to have a roof over his head. He has a steady one for 10 years.
Now, his self-autonomy matters the most. He’s sick, and he’s exhausted, and he’s hurt.
Jimin wishes his bruised eye hadn’t healed. That way, he would have fewer eyes on him. Being pretty was a weapon before, but now, it’s a death wish.
“Excuse me?” He hears.
Jimin looks up and his breath catches in his throat. He sits up and wipes the sleep from his sore eyes, blinking up at none other than the kingpin of the prison.
To be fair, the other man seems to be surprised as well, his large eyes eerily sharp as he looks at him.
“Yes?” Jimin almost squeaks, unused to having company in the library. The shock is even sharper considering he wasn’t expecting to run into him.
“What’s your name?”
“J-Jimin,” He supplies, voice cracking embarrassingly. “We’ve met before.”
“Have we?” The other man responds, raising an eyebrow at him. He’s alarmingly handsome. “I’m sure I would’ve remembered someone like you, Jimin.”
“In the showers, a month ago,” Jimin fills in desperately. “I was in trouble and then you walked in and my attackers left. I’ve been wanting to thank you for that-”
He suddenly steps closer, looming over Jimin.
“I don’t make a habit of looking at other men when I’m in the showers, sweetheart,” He says. “But you might be the first exception.”
Hook. Line. Sinker.
“What’s your name?” Jimin shoots back.
He smiles.
“Jeon Jungkook,” He says. “Do you know who I am?”
Jimin shakes his head. Jungkook’s eyes darken.
“But I want to be your friend,” Jimin offers. “You seem like the only decent person here.”
Jungkook moves closer, and Jimin tries not to jump as he’s pressed against the wall.
It’s fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
“You have really nice eyes,” Jungkook says.
“Thank you,” Jimin responds, cheeks still flaming. “You have really nice eyes, too.”
“Why do you want to be my friend?” Jungkook asks, his head tilted.
“Because you seem smart, and you’re handsome.”
“How have I never seen you before?” Jungkook asks. They’re so close that their toes almost touch. “You’re just perfect.”
“I’ve always wanted to say hi, but you’re never around-” Jimin pouts, putting on his best desolate look, biting at his bottom lip.
“A shame,” Jungkook comments. “Well we’ve met now, haven’t we?”
Jimin’s heart jackrabbits in his chest. Objectively, there’s no reason to be afraid. Jungkook seems harmless and very young despite how strong he is.
Jimin just smiles back.
The casual amicability in Jungkook’s eyes turns sinister for what feels like the flicker of a flame.
“Is there something you wanted?” Jimin asks then, remembering that Jungkook had initially come to him to ask for something.
“I was looking for a specific book,” Jungkook responds. “I thought you could help me find it.”
“Yes, of c-course,” Jimin agrees, standing up and immediately swaying a little as his legs feel like lead after napping for so long. Jungkook steadies him with a firm hand on the small of his lower back, pulling him close enough that they’re just a few breaths away from each other.
“Careful,” He says. “You might break if you fall.”
Jimin’s face is ruddy red, searing hot in a way it’s never been before. He pushes Jungkook away with gentle hands on his firm chest, slinking out of his touch.
“What kind of book are you looking for?” Jimin asks, confident that he’ll be able to help. He knows every single book in the library and is able to identify each one by sight.
“The Breathless Zoo,” Jungkook answers, following behind as Jimin leads him to one of the shelves. The book is familiar, a large one with a thick hardcover but Jimin has never taken the time to open it. He reaches up on his tippy toes to grab it off the high shelf, getting a grip on the heavy spine and bringing it down.
“Here you go,” Jimin smiles, handing the book to Jungkook. The other man takes it from him, their fingers brushing as he does. Jimin notices that the arc of his hand, the space between his thumb and index finger, has a rather large scar on it, looking suspiciously like a bite mark.
“Have you read this one?” Jungkook asks him, circumventing Jimin’s curiosity. He has a sweet voice.
“No, I haven’t,” Jimin answers, honest.
“It’s about taxidermy,” Jungkook informs. “A very interesting subject. I’d recommend you take a look at it when you have the time. Quite informative.”
“How would I when you’re taking the book with you?” Jimin jokes, although he doesn’t think he’d get within 5 feet of reading anything about taxidermy.
“You’re welcome to my room any night,” Jungkook tells him, and Jimin would think the invitation held sexual connotations if Jungkook didn’t seem so pure. “Just come whenever. We can read it together if you like.”
This is going too smoothly, Jimin thinks.
“Sure,” He smiles.
Jungkook returns the grin, turning around to leave the small library. He looks back just when he’s about to walk through the doors.
“Maybe I’ll keep an eye out for you in the showers, Jimin,” He says before finally leaving, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Jimin just stares as he goes, the small of his back still burning from Jungkook’s touch.
-
Jimin’s clearest memory is the day after he was snatched off the street.
He still had his schoolbag with him and was still dressed in uniform. It was a white button-up short sleeve shirt with navy blue shorts. He remembers sitting in the dark of some musty room in a warehouse along with six other children; 4 girls and 2 boys.
They were all crying their eyes out, screaming for their mothers but Jimin was completely silent.
He just assumed his father would come get him. He waited patiently too, eyes trained toward the rusted door, latched with what seemed like a hundred heavy bolts. Just waited for his father to enter and pick him up, give him a kiss on the cheek before taking him home.
He didn’t know he was a minimum of 100km away from his hometown.
Slowly, as the weeks passed, his patience started to crumble. It didn’t devolve into panic, but something bright and hopeful.
When Jimin would beg on the streets in an unfamiliar city, he’d keep seeing his parents in the crowd. In the faceless businessmen who would often spare him half a won, in the kind-looking mothers with their children the same age as him.
Every day, it became progressively more difficult. He’d sleep on the rough stone floor of the basement of some house after whatever he earned was collected, feeding a larger pool of income and wealth he’d never get his hands on. Rinse and repeat.
“Mister?” Jimin asked a man one day who’d stopped to shell out a few bills for him. He had his phone in his hand, and Jimin realized how long it’d been since he’d seen one.
“Yeah?” The man gruffed out.
“May I use your phone to call my father?”
The man scrutinized him for a second but gave in once he saw Jimin’s feet, bruised and burnt from walking around barefoot in the harsh sun and rough ground. He wouldn’t be running away with his phone.
“Okay. What’s his number, then?”
Jimin smiled brightly and opened his mouth to recite it.
But nothing came out. He couldn’t remember it.
It’s like the sequence of numbers sat at the tip of his tongue, at the forefront of his mind, but just wouldn’t come out. It’d probably been a year since he’d been taken, and he hadn’t realized how much time had passed. His parents would always ensure that he knew their numbers in case of an emergency, and he can’t remember them now.
He thought hard and realized that he could hardly remember what they looked like anymore either.
Fat tears spilled down Jimin’s cheeks, and the man grimaced, unsure of what to do now. He quickly gave Jimin some more money and told him to buy himself an ice cream from the shop down the street, quickly scurrying away after that.
Jimin cried for the rest of the day. He didn’t stop even when it was bedtime, even when the person running their begging ring threatened to blow his head off with his revolver if he didn’t shut up.
Jimin hadn’t even known he’d turned seven.
-
Jimin sits next to Jungkook at lunch.
It’s an easy decision.
He walks into the cafeteria and stands in line to collect his tray of food. He immediately starts to hear murmuring behind his back. His ears try to pick up the words, but he only manages to grab a few yet enough.
“We’ll get him after lunch.”
“Stupid bitch sent Jaehyun to the dark room. He’s gotta pay.”
“Eunsoo’s planning to grab him when he’s on his way to his room.”
Jimin’s spine goes ramrod straight, and he’s glad for his sensitive hearing, something that’s come innately to him ever since he was a child. His mind runs at a mile a minute. He doesn’t have any friends who can accompany him, and there’s only one route to his room. He already knows where they’re planning to grab him - the dark turning near the old guards’ washrooms that are closed for maintenance. There’s no other viable option, but it really could be anywhere public because Jimin knows that no one will help him. He doesn’t have a shred of sympathy from anyone in his hellhole.
He picks up his tray of food and starts to scan for an empty table. His eyes briefly glance over the men he’d heard talk about him, looking at him openly with disdain.
And then he sees Jungkook, eating his lunch on an empty table by the only window in the large room.
Jimin takes a deep breath and beelines right for him, setting his plate down and taking a seat without another word.
Jungkook looks up, and he smiles, wide and friendly.
“Jimin,” He greets. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Jimin responds. “I hope it’s okay that I’m sitting with you.”
Jimin doesn’t miss the slight dip in chatter in the cafeteria, the burn of everyone’s eyes on the two of them interacting,
“Of course it’s alright,” Jungkook smiles. “I’m happy to have your company. I think we were destined to meet. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Y-Yes, I would.”
They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Jimin is thankful for his presence. He can’t help but feel like Jungkook is a protective charm, guaranteeing his safety. During the meal, Jimin thinks of how he’ll ask Jungkook to drop him off. He knows that he’ll be safe once he’s in his cell. His cellmates don’t take kindly to strangers entering.
“So what’d you do? I don’t imagine someone as sweet as you is capable of anything violent,” Jungkook asks.
Jimin speaks without thinking.
“How old are you? You’re talking to me as if I’m your dongsaeng,” Jimin notes with a small smile, noticing the lack of honorifics and casual speech Jungkook is directing him.
The other man laughs heartily, his eyes crinkling. Cute.
“I’m 19,” Jungkook answers. “I think I’d like to keep talking to you this way. It makes you appear as if you’re under my care. Which you are in some sort of way, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?” Jimin asks, just as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“I’ll look after you, no problem. I’m someone who believes in destiny, Jimin-ssi,” Jungkook explains, baritone smooth. “There’s a reason we were both placed here, in this tiny detention centre by the sea. There’s a reason we met in the library, and there’s a reason that we’re seated here today eating lunch and enjoying each others’ company. You want me to protect you,” He continues. “I’m going to be honest. I think you’re meant to be mine. To belong to me. I’ve been dreaming of a face like yours ever since I was a child.”
“Jungkook-”
“You’ll call me Hyung.”
Jimin’s heart is thundering in his chest, heat rising to his cheeks.
“H-Hyung.”
“Yes? You may ask me now.”
Jimin almost chokes on his own breath. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, his fingers gripping his chopsticks ardently.
But this is what he wanted.
“I-uh, nothing,” He refutes.
Jungkook’s eyes glint.
“So what’d you do?”
Jimin looks up at him, feeding himself a spoonful of stew to ease the tension. It’s watery and bland, leaving a horrible aftertaste in his mouth.
“I was incarcerated on suspicion of killing my owner and his new plaything.”
“And did you?”
“No,” Jimin answers. “I didn’t.”
“That’s what’s common between you and me,” Jungkook says. “We’re both in prison when we didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jimin looks up at him.
“You? Really?”
Jungkook nods.
“Really,” He answers. “But I’m stuck here for the rest of my life.”
There’s an edge to Jungkook’s voice that wasn’t there before, as if restrained by threadbare rope. Jimin feels goosebumps spread across his skin. The other man is very enigmatic, and he wonders if he knows it.
“Where are you from?” Jimin diverts, taking another bite of his food that’s gone cold. Still, he feels like he needs a distraction.
“I’m from Damyang.”
Jimin has no idea where that is. It must show on his face.
“It’s a small town in the country. My family, they’re large scale farmers. I guarantee you every strawberry you've ever eaten is from our company. Though we mostly have bamboo plantations, those are the tourist sites.”
So they’re rich. Evidently old money too. Jimin doesn’t know how to tell him that he didn’t grow up eating strawberries and even if he did, he doesn’t remember now.
“That’s really nice, Jungkook,” He comments before he smiles.
“Hyung,” He corrects.
“Hyung,” Jimin agrees then. “That’s really nice, hyung.”
They talk for a little while after that, and Jungkook even drops Jimin off to his cell without being asked to. Not before inviting Jimin over to his, though. Jimin declines, already feeling overwhelmed and unsure if he can handle much more.
That night, everyone in the cell stares at him.
Word travels fast in a rickety building by the coast, where all people care about is business that isn’t theirs.
-
It’s funny how ever since that one lunch with Jungkook, no one has bothered Jimin. Even his own cellmates are reluctant to speak to him.
The guards treat him funny too. Skipping over him in their usual visits, no longer poking fun at him. There are a few perplexing stares though, and no one jumps him in the dark corner by the guards’ washrooms.
It becomes understood that lunchtimes are to be spent with Jungkook. The other man seems to expect him every afternoon, flashing him a warm smile that lights up his eyes the moment he spots him. He lifts his hand and waves, beckoning Jimin over.
Jimin ignores the unsettling feelings that rise up in his belly. Jungkook is friendly. Sure, he says a few odd things here and there, things that you wouldn’t write off as normal conversation. But he’s always kind to Jimin, even if there’s an edge of perplexion to everything he does.
He’s young too. And to be locked up in jail for a lifetime, Jimin thinks anyone would crack even a little.
They eat lunch together, and Jungkook heads to the library with Jimin after where he reads while Jimin works. Although he’s started to notice that Jungkook just spends his hours staring at him rather than actually enjoying a book.
And he doesn’t look away when he’s caught either. Just holds Jimin’s gaze, giving him a goofy grin that’s half cute and half alarmingly handsome. He continues to stare openly even when Jimin gets back to his work.
“Come to my room tonight,” Jungkook tells him one day, just as Jimin finishes up filling in the logbook for his chores. “You must come.”
“Isn’t it sports hour? We aren’t allowed in our cells. At least I’m not until nightfall.”
“You must come,” Jungkook repeats. “No one will say a word.”
Jimin is hesitant. He doesn’t want to get into trouble.
“I promise,” Jungkook insists. “With me, you don’t have to worry about guards and stuff. They’re beneath us.”
He finds himself nodding and lets the other man take his small hand in his large one. Jimin’s nails are plain and short now, dull. He doesn’t like looking at his hands anymore. But Jungkook seems to love them. He keeps staring at them, tracing his fingers over his knuckles and the lines of his palm, as if mapping an imaginary route. He clasps his fingers over his slim wrists over and over, pressing into his nail beds. Jimin lets him.
They arrive soon enough, to the discreet corner where Jungkook’s cell is. The other man always calls it his room, and Jimin understands soon enough why he does. He pulls the door open, no key required, and inside is something better than what most students get in college dorms.
Jungkook has a luxurious looking futon pushed toward a large thick glass window that looks out into the rocky sea. The entire space is his. There’s a small table and floor cushions too, and a gramophone in the corner. The cell doesn’t stink like Jimin’s, rather smells like detergent and floral floor cleaner. Even more, there’s no toilet placed unceremoniously in the centre. There’s one attached in a separate room, although the door isn’t much.
Now that it’s the early hours of the evening, Jungkook’s room is painted a demure indigo, the skies outside cloudy at the sea rocky, crashing against the shore. Jimin’s always been able to smell the sea; never seen it until now.
“Do you like it?” Jungkook asks.
“It’s beautiful,” Jimin responds. He thinks he likes it even better than Dohyuk’s glittery Seoul penthouse, where he had 2 entire floors to himself.
Jungkook preens at that, and the next thing Jimin knows, he’s being hugged. Not tightly, but a careful embrace. Jungkook doesn’t squish him, holds him like he’s fragile, his hands cupping his ribs and stroking over the fine bones.
“I’m so happy that you like it,” Jungkook says into his neck. “You can stay here with me. No more sharing a filthy room with those urchins.”
Jimin doesn’t respond to the suggestion, rather posing the question sitting at the forefront of his mind.
“Hyung, why do they treat you this way? How are you..?”
“My family,” Jungkook answers, pulling back to smile at Jimin. “They’re looking after me. They donate money to this prison, almost everyone here, the guards too, get bonuses every year thanks to my family. Do you know Guard Yang? His daughter is going to college because of me. They’ll look after us now.”
Jimin looks up at him.
“Us?” He asks.
“Yes,” Jungkook answers, like it’s so easy. “I’ve already told them all about you. They’re happy that I’m not lonely anymore. I have you now.”
Jimin suddenly feels horrible, and his heart cracks a little bit. It must be so hard for Jungkook, a sheltered young boy forced into prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Jimin isn’t much older than him but he’s had his fair share of misfortune such that he’s numbed now. Nothing touches him like it used to, and his emotional sensors died when he was 7.
Jimin returns the embrace and thinks about Hyunwoo. Hyunwoo, who'd been sold off by his father, forced into his worst nightmare with Dohyuk. No escape but to take his own life.
“Jimin? Are you hungry?” Jungkook asks him then, pulling away from the hug. It leaves Jimin feeling cold. The other man walks over to the wall closet and opens it, revealing rows of juices, snacks and essentials. There’s even a small TV.
Jungkook picks up two bottles of juice and hands one to Jimin.
“This one is papaya. It’s good for your skin. Though I already think you have perfect skin. So perfect.”
Jimin smiles and takes it appreciatively, opening up the seal and taking a sip. Jungkook grins, drinking too. The juice is fresh on his tongue, and he chances a look at the label. It was produced only a few days ago. So Jungkook gets fresh food and snacks every day while the inmates make do with stale, overcooked food.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jungkook says then.
Jimin nods.
“I usually have my own lunch right here,” He says. “But I came to the cafeteria that day hoping to see you. That’s why you haven’t seen me there before. I went there because I wanted to see you again.”
A feeling washes over Jimin, and it’s suffocating and safe at the same time. He can’t pinpoint it.
“You wanted to see me too, right? I know you did.”
Jimin nods, giving Jungkook a small smile.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” The other man says, and then he turns on the little television, gesturing for Jimin to sit down. He has some movies too and Jimin chooses the DVD of an old slasher thriller, somehow feeling it almost ominous.
Jungkook’s fingers ghost over his as they watch the movie, the sky darkening outside, and Jimin barely realizes when he falls asleep.
-
When Jimin wakes up next, he’s tucked into Jungkook’s futon. It’s clearly nightfall now, the moonlight streaming in from the window by where he’s laying down. It’s completely silent, tranquil. This corner of the prison is free from the raucous chatter of the other inmates that glare even during the night. He doesn’t remember a time he’d slept so deeply before, a blanket of drowsiness still heavy over him.
Jimin sits up, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes. The moment his fingers leave his face, he sees Jungkook.
He’s just sitting there. In the corner.
Watching him.
“Jung-” Jimin stops himself. “Hyung.”
“Hi,” Jungkook says, smiling. “Why’d you wake up?”
“This isn’t my cell,” Jimin says sheepishly. “I’m sorry for taking your bed like this.”
He then moves to stand up, but Jungkook gestures for him to sit back down.
“Really, it’s no trouble. I don’t sleep much anyway,” Jungkook says. “I was watching you because you’re the most interesting thing in the room. You were so cute, I couldn’t help but pick you up and tuck you in.”
“I was sleeping,” Jimin says, feeling silly.
“And you’re so beautiful when you do. Still and serene. Although, I think I like you better with your eyes open.”
Jimin doesn’t know what to say.
“Go back to sleep, baby.”
“But what about you? It’s cold. I can head back, no problem-”
“Aw,” Jungkook cuts in. “You just want to sleep with hyung, don’t you?” He smiles, shaking his head knowingly, a blinding grin spreading across his lips.
Jimin’s eyes widen.
“I-”
Jungkook’s already standing up and walking over. He crawls under the blanket without another word, facing Jimin, eyes wide and bright. They’re always bright, pupils large and luminescent, as if holding tears of the moon.
“I’m here now. You don’t have to be scared,” Jungkook tells him. “I won’t let any monsters take you.”
Jimin stares.
“Go back to sleep,” Jungkook says.
Jimin does, and ignores the burn of Jungkook staring at him even though it feels like it permeates his skin the entire night.
-
It’s a normal day, but Jimin isn’t really feeling well.
He’s busy wiping the books down to clean away any dust when he suddenly feels nauseous, enough so that it steals the breath out of his lungs. He begins to sweat, his heart thundering, his vision starting to dissipate into black.
He shakily moves toward the entrance, alarmed and panicked.
“Excuse me?” He calls from the library door, hoping his voice carries through the corridor and to the guard on station.
It’s the cute one. The one from earlier, who he’d seen from afar. He’s relatively young, around Jimin’s height, slim build. He contrasts pretty strongly with the other guards who are mostly middle-aged and unfit.
The guard looks at him, immediately heading over. Jimin grimaces before he talks.
“Could I please head back to my cell early?” He asks weakly. “I’m really not feeling well, and I’ve completed all my duties-”
“You’re sweating,” The guard states, cat-like eyes narrowing. “Are you on any substance?”
“No,” Jimin refutes immediately. “I’m not.”
The guard analyses him, and Jimin looks at the name stitched into the breast pocket of his uniform. Min Yoongi.
He suddenly feels dizzier, and his knees buckle, spots of black dotting his vision.
Arms wrap around his waist to steady him, and a panicked voice breathes into his ear. Jimin can’t concentrate enough to figure out what's being said to him, but he fists his fingers into the guard’s uniform in a desperate attempt to stay upright. He doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the drool leaking from his mouth, the cold sweat that burns the back of his neck, the way his heart is beating so loudly it hammers in his ears.
Jimin wakes up in the clinic.
When he opens his eyes, it’s to see Yoongi and a doctor.
“Park Jimin,” The doctor says, pulling out her pen torch. She flashes it into his eyes. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” He responds, his voice hoarse and thick. Talking feels difficult. “I can. What happened?”
His entire chest hurts and it feels like there’s a cavity inside him.
“We found traces of cyanide in your system. You were poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Jimin questions weakly. “All I ate today was lunch in the cafeteria-”
“This is what happens when you make enemies.” Yoongi steps in. “The kitchens are run by the inmates too. We’re in the process of determining the perpetrator. No one else was poisoned except you.”
Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He can’t even eat now?
“We pumped your stomach. Luckily, the dose wasn’t lethal. You won’t suffer any neural damage,” The doctor informs. “But we’re going to keep you here overnight for observation. Guard Min will stay with you.”
Jimin’s eyes fall to the guard from earlier. He’s staring at him, face unreadable.
“Thank you,” Jimin says, nodding.
The doctor departs then, leaving the both of them in the unsurprisingly grey room. It’s nice enough that the bed is cushioned, not just a stone slab. Jimin looks at the IV drip connected to his arm.
“Why don’t you sit?” He asks, noticing how Yoongi remains standing even though there’s an unoccupied chair.
“I’m on duty,” Yoongi responds.
“You’ll be here the whole night,” Jimin says, closing his eyes. “Might as well sit down for some of it.”
He hears a huffed laugh and then the creak of a chair.
“Thank you. For helping me back then,” Jimin tells him, feeling the need to say it.
“Not a problem. Didn’t want you to die on me.”
Now, it’s Jimin’s turn to laugh.
“Where are you from?” Yoongi asks after a few seconds. “I don’t think I recognize your dialect.”
“Why?”
“I was looking at your papers. You don’t have any official documents. They just drew up some for your incarceration. I’m curious.”
“I grew up everywhere,” Jimin relents. “But I spent the first 6 years of my life in Busan.”
“Oh, I grew up there too. Where?”
Jimin opens his eyes.
“I’m not sure,” He answers, honestly. He doesn’t know why, but he feels at ease around Yoongi. “But I think I lived by this Plaza, It was a green neighbourhood. I think I remember there being a park, with this koi fish pond-”
“Yeongdo?”
It sounds right, and something settles in Jimin’s chest.
“Yes. I think so.”
“Can you tell me more about the park?”
Jimin closes his eyes, trying to remember. In some way, it’s nice. He enjoys it - travelling back in his memories, perusing through file after file of what’s fading each minute that passes.
“It had only one set of swings. I remember crying when I had to wait in line for too long,” Jimin reveals through a smile, peaceful and dazed. “I remember there being this huge oak tree too. Tall. I think I used to climb it. I would walk back home every evening because my curfew was when the sky turned dark. If I got back home in time, my mom would let me have ice cream before bed.”
Silence for a few seconds.
“Do you have siblings?” Yoongi asks, and there’s an edge to his voice. “Tell me about your family.”
“I lived with my mom and dad. We had a red gate. I painted it with my uncle one weekend. I think my mom was pregnant when I left, I remember being told that I was going to be a big brother-”
It’s always like this, his childhood memories. Oddly specific details and nuances remain, still thriving in the home they carved in his heart as what’s happy and untouched. It’s the crucial ones that draw blanks.
“Jimin,” Yoongi says and his voice is strained. “Look at me.”
Jimin opens his eyes and a wounded sound embarrassingly leaves his lips because he was pulled from his memories. He could almost see them; vivid in the recesses of his mind. Now, he’s back in the grey room.
“What is it?”
Yoongi’s eyes are wide.
“Were you kidnapped?” As a child?”
“Yes. I was taken on my way home from school,” Jimin answers, voice blank.
“Jimin, I-” Yoongi says. “I think I know your parents.”
Jimin just stares. He tries to fight down the hope bubbling up in his gut, spreading warm and thick like honey.
“Park Minyoung and Hae Sunmi,” Yoongi says. “Are they your parents?”
Jimin’s heart squeezes in his chest. He feels the old touch of a silky necktie against his fingers, the softness of his mother’s hand in his. Some laughter, the feeling of sitting on his father’s shoulders, the songs from the one CD his parents would always play in the car because they knew it would get him to stop sulking.
“Maybe,” Jimin says and he thinks he’d be more excited outwardly if he wasn’t so drained. “I used to call them mom and dad, so I’m not too sure. Too much has happened since.”
“What if I got you pictures?” Yoongi asks. “I can do that.”
“Why are you so bothered?” Jimin asks, genuinely curious and feeling somewhat defensive. Yoongi can’t be doing this out of the goodness of his own heart. He wants something. Everyone wants something.
“I think we grew up in the same neighbourhood. My parents and I know a Park Minyoung and Hae Sunmi whose 6-year-old son went missing 15 years ago.” Yoongi stops to flick through Jimin’s medical report, a long pale finger tapping at his age. “You’re 21. That adds up. The last sighting was when he left school. My father’s a cop, so he worked on the case. They even had a baby shortly after you disappeared, which checks out with what you said about your mom being pregnant.”
“Even if they are my parents,” Jimin says. “I don’t think they’d want me anymore.”
“They haven’t stopped looking.”
Jimin stares at him.
“They had search parties. Every year, they celebrate your birthday. Your bedroom is untouched. They’re still trying, and put your pictures in the newspaper to this day.”
“That’s not possible,” Jimin says, resigned and tired. “It’s been 15 years. Boys go missing all the time in South Korea. ‘s probably not me.”
“Why are you in denial?”
“Because it’s too good to be true. You don’t think I’ve dreamt this over and over?” Jimin asks. “I don’t have an escape. I’ve tried. So many times, I’ve tried.”
Yoongi stares at him.
“I think I remember you too,” He says. “I remember Park’s kid. Small chubby thing, always rolling and tripping over stuff.”
Jimin doesn’t meet his gaze.
“I was in middle school by then. You were the kid who’d eat chocolate on your way back home from school, right? You’d have it smeared all over your face and fingers. I remember seeing you.”
“Yoongi. Please, stop it.”
“I don’t care what you say. I’m gonna report this,” Yoongi says, standing up. “Your parents deserve to know. We’ll do a DNA test, or whatever, it’s just too much of a fucking coincidence.”
“I’m not the same kid I used to be.”
“But you’re still theirs,” Yoongi tells him. “And they’re waiting for you, even now.”
Tears leak out the corner of Jimin’s eyes.
“Please leave,” He says.
“You’re stuck with me till morning. I’ll shut up now so you can rest. But your parents deserve to know.”
Jimin doesn’t respond this time.
-
When Jimin wakes up the next morning, Yoongi is gone. The doctor checks his vitals and does a routine test, deeming him healthy and fit enough to return to his every day.
But the guards lead him to Jungkook’s cell.
“This isn’t my unit,” Jimin tells one of them, burly and standing tall over him. But a part of him already knows.
“You’ve been shifted. Your things have already been moved. Now get in,” He responds gruffly.
The door opens and Jungkook pulls Jimin inside, already giving him a warm hug. Jimin’s stomach is heavy.
“Jimin!” He says into his neck, cheery, almost squirming. “You’re okay!”
The guards leave, shutting the door before stalking off. It’s just them now.
“Hey,” Jimin says softly. He returns the embrace, fingers coming up to brush over Jungkook’s clean clothes, soft to the touch. “Did you have me moved?”
“Yes,” Jungkook responds, pulling back from the hug. “You fell ill. You have to stay here with me now. I’ll look after you,” He says, eyebrows furrowed, pupils sharp. Jungkook’s eyes are midnight black, beady and saturated. “We’ll eat and sleep together. I’ll make sure your meals are safe. Then you won’t get hurt anymore.”
“Thank you,” Jimin says. “But-”
Jungkook’s grip turns painful for a second. He’s still smiling, but his nails dig into Jimin’s waist, jaw clenched.
“Do you not want to stay with me?” The other man asks, voice a little strained.
Jimin stares up at him, and he’s aware all at once how dangerous the situation he’s in is. Jungkook is much stronger than he is. His childish nature and baby face may make you let your guard down, but Jimin has felt - can feel - the rippling muscles and hard brawn. The edge to him that hardly reaches the surface but when it does, you have no choice but to feel it, to acknowledge it for what it is. That something’s wrong.
“Of course I do,” Jimin says, if only out of self-preservation. “Thank you.”
And then the dark shadow is gone, seemingly as quickly as it came. Jungkook relaxes and his eyes are bright again, his hold on him back to gentle.
“Good,” He smiles.
They eat lunch then, simple boiled rice and marrow soup that Jimin knows has been specially brought in or cooked for them. The food is delicious and fresh, and Jungkook feeds him every mouthful even though Jimin’s mostly recovered.
They spend the rest of the day peacefully, although Jimin finds his eyes unconsciously drifting to the closed cell door.
He looks at it even as he sleeps that night, Jungkook pressed to his back, his strong arms wrapped around his small frame like a gilded cage.
-
Jimin’s new life is, frankly, almost better than the one had right before he was arrested.
Jungkook treats him like a prince. He puts flowers in his hair as he reads, always gives him nice head massages once he realizes how much Jimin likes them. Jimin, though being privy to the glitz and glamour of being the pet of the rich and luxurious never really enjoyed that lifestyle.
He’s always wanted something simple, and he’s getting it now. Jungkook puts on music and they have similar tastes, classics from the 80s and retro movies that they watch together. Jungkook says he’ll ask for a new batch now that they’re watching lots together.
“Now that you’re here,” Jungkook says. “I’m not scared to watch these horror films anymore. They frighten me, usually.”
“Why’d you get scary movies if you’re terrified of them?” Jimin asks, almost fond, realizing that he’s almost sitting on Jungkook's lap. How did he not notice? When did it happen? He’s suddenly aware of Jungkook’s hand curving around his waist, the pout of his lips against the shell of his ear.
The other man doesn’t respond, just rubs his index and middle finger in slow circles over Jimin’s waist, the touch almost making him go lax. He feels slightly lightheaded, and his eyes droop shut. He’s so tired.
“I love you, Jimin,” Jungkook tells him. “I love you so much that it makes everything worth it. You’re my favourite-”
Jimin’s asleep before he hears the end of the sentence.
-
Jimin’s only needs to step out of the room are for library hours and showering. Thanks to Jungkook, he gets to bathe every day, with nice products too. He doesn't have to use the filthy bars of soap that everyone shares.
For both occasions, Jungkook is always with him. Their showers are strictly platonic, something that surprises him.
Jungkook doesn’t touch him that way, even though he looks at him with what can be considered as more than friendship. They shower clinically and separately, even though Jungkook on a few occasions expresses deep happiness at Jimin allowing him to massage the shampoo into his scalp. He comments on Jimin’s bone structure; calls it delicate and sublime, even thinks that the shape of his skull is optimal, a sure sign of true beauty.
The compliments are odd; but with Jungkook, it feels like it comes with the territory.
Right now, Jimin’s stocking books on the library shelves. His appeal for more fiction books was granted and the new shipment arrived today. Jungkook’s sitting on one of the chairs, and he’s drawing Jimin on his brand new sketch pad. The other man has a talent for art; Jimin has suggested that he ask for a few paint kits so that he can grow his talent.
Jungkook says that Jimin will be his first exhibit.
“Jimin?”
Both Jimin and Jungkook look up to see Yoongi waiting by the library door. His voice echoes uncomfortably loud.
Jimin already feels a pit of unease, of apprehension, the negative feelings working hard to ember over the hope simmering high in his chest, bright and cloying. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for Yoongi to approach him in the days after he left the clinic. 2 weeks passed with no word, and Jimin deflated like a pricked, sad balloon.
Yoongi’s eyes flit to Jungkook for a second, before they land back on Jimin.
“A word, please,” Yoongi says.
Jimin pauses before he nods, wiping his sweaty palms over his uniform. He makes his way over to follow Yoongi out of the library, stopping when he sees Jungkook stand up too.
“Hyung,” He tells him. “I’ll come back in a bit. Give me a minute.”
Jungkook pauses, and he clenches his jaw.
“No,” He says plainly.
Jimin frowns.
“Please,” He says. “I’ll only be outside the door. You’ll be able to see me.”
“I want to know what you’re talking about.”
Jimin sighs.
“Please just give me a moment-”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you everything. I promise,” Jimin says, seeing for the first time how difficult Jungkook can be. He’s acting like an entitled brat whose favourite toy is being kept from him. “Just this once.”
Jungkook seems to debate it.
“Only this time,” He relents. “Because I love you. Stay near the door.”
Jimin nods.
He leaves the library, walking toward Yoongi who waits for him by the edge of the lonely corridor. Some of the ceiling lights flicker.
“What is it?” Jimin asks, picking at his fingernails.
“As I told you earlier, I opened up an investigation. My old man’s the chief of police now back home,” Yoongi explains. “I’m here to take this,” He says, unceremoniously reaching out to pluck one of Jimin’s hairs off his head. “And to tell you that I’m going to try to get you out of here.”
Jimin’s mouth drops open.
“What do you mean?”
“We-uh-” Yoongi says. “We looked at the case files. It’s pretty obvious you weren’t given a fair trial. A lot of the evidence that points to you being innocent was arbitrarily omitted or overturned.”
The gears turn in his head, cobbed and barely greased.
“Don’t promise something you can’t give me,” Is all Jimin finds he can say, can see through the frayed wires that make up his thoughts.
“I’m not,” Yoongi responds. “But I don’t think it’s a problem keeping you informed.”
“And the people who are supposed to be my parents…?” Jimin asks weakly. He looks up to see Jungkook’s eyes trained on them from where he stands by the entrance to the library, beady and dark, analysing their body language. Jimin loosens up, keeps his spine relaxed so that he doesn’t give Jungkook any thoughts or prompt him to come over.
“We haven’t told them, not yet,” Yoongi says. “Even though I’m 99% sure it’s you, I don’t want to build their hopes up until we have concrete proof. They’ve been through enough already. And plus, we already have their DNA samples.”
“How?”
“They-uh,” Yoongi starts. “Found a few bodies, in the months and years after you disappeared. Your parents and uncle were called in to ID them whenever their description matched yours. It got too difficult for them so we opted to collect DNA samples and do all tests remotely to avoid further emotional stress.”
Jimin flinches.
“Just sit tight, okay?” Yoongi tells him. “Even if these aren’t your parents, I’ll try to find your family either way. And get you a fair trial or review of the verdict. It won’t be easy, but we have to try, right?”
Jimin nods, feeling perplexed and short of breath, his heart pulsing.
How do things change so quickly?
“Thank you,” Jimin says quietly. “I don’t understand why you’re taking so much effort for me.”
“You’re not a criminal,” Yoongi says, plain and simple. “And it’s obvious to everyone here.”
Jimin doesn’t respond this time.
“Anyway, I gotta go,” Yoongi says, noticing the time. “Hang tight. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
Jimin nods.
Yoongi nods back and turns to leave. But he looks at Jimin just before he does.
“And about your new friend,” He says. “I’d be careful about that one.”
Yoongi leaves him with that, and Jimin watches him go, something uncomfortable stirring in his stomach.
-
“What’s your favourite eye colour?” Jungkook asks him one day when they’re trying to sleep.
Jimin hums, cuddling back into his chest. Lately, he’s been feeling as if he can’t bear to be away from Jungkook. He’s large and safe and has a narrow waist that’s easy to wrap your arms around, broad shoulders for Jimin to tuck his head into. He smells nice too, and has soft skin.
“I think purple,” Jimin answers. “I know it’s not possible, genetically. But I just think some nice lavender eyes, or even a deep purple would be so stunning.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s your favourite eye colour?” Jimin asks.
“Yours.”
Jimin laughs.
“You’re just flirting.”
“Do you like it when I flirt with you?” Jungkook asks then, running his hands up Jimin’s shirt, splaying his fingers over his flat tummy, nails grazing over the thin line of the scar where Dohyuk slashed him with the shard of crystal all those months ago.
“I don’t mind it,” Jimin answers, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue, like alfalfa honey.
“Good,” Jungkook smiles into his neck. “I’ll keep doing it then. You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to flirt with.”
“The first of many.”
“You. Only you,” Jungkook says. “I love you so much. I’ll get you that eye colour, okay? I promise you.”
Jimin can’t help but laugh.
“Sure. I don’t mind some contact lenses. Get a camera too, a polaroid one. We’ll take pictures.”
Jungkook just smiles.
-
Jimin suspects that Jungkook has been lonely his entire life. He never talks about old friends or any childhood memories. He only talks about his fun times playing with the animals on his farm.
To be fair, Jimin never really had that many friends either. He had Ilsung, a boy his age when he used to dance, and he shared a floor with Mina, a girl who used to secretly sleep with the customers in a bid to make more cash. Jimin kept her secret for her. Other than that, he had Hyunwoo, but talking about the younger boy always makes his heart ache.
“There was this dog on my farm, we named her Mimi.” Jungkook says one day.
“Mimi?” Jimin asks from where he’s reading a book in their room, Jungkook’s head cushioned in his lap.
“Yes. And she had puppies, and one of our farmhands gave me one of them because I wanted it when I was 9.”
Jimin smiles. He always wished he had a dog growing up.
“That’s sweet, Jungkook. “The puppy must be an old dog now since you’re already so big.”
“No, she’s the same,” Jungkook responds. “The puppy.”
Jimin furrows his eyebrows, slightly confused.
“She looks exactly the same. Although she doesn’t bark anymore.”
Jimin looks down at Jungkook, and there’s something hollow in his large eyes, like a vacuum.
He just smiles instead.
“I’m sure she misses you now that you’re far away,” Jimin says, working through the confusion.
“Yeah.”
-
Jimin is called to the guard’s office one evening. He goes, alone this time, and knocks on the thick wooden door.
“Come in,” A voice calls.
Jimin pushes open the door, coming face to face with an elderly man with greying roots and Yoongi, who stands by his side. There’s another man seated in one of the chairs by the table, wearing a nice suit.
He gulps.
“Have a seat, Park Jimin.”
Jimin listens, walking forward and pulling out the chair. He lets his fingernails dig into the dry leather, an outlet for his stress. Once he’s seated, hands in his lap, he looks up at the officers.
“Yes?”
“Are you aware of what’s happening outside the walls of this prison?”
Jimin shakes his head, anxiety rising up his throat.
Yoongi pushes forward the newspaper on the desk, such that Jimin can read the headline loud and clear.
Missing boy from 2006 found detained in Geoje Prison for 2 murders
Jimin’s breathing quickens.
“The results from the DNA test came back,” Yoongi says. “It’s a 100% match. Your family has been informed. Someone has also leaked this to the press.”
“They’ll think I’m a murderer,” Jimin says, feeling his heart almost bleed. “I didn’t-”
“Read the article.”
Jimin nods although the tears spill over his cheeks regardless. He can’t help but feel like his parents will be disappointed, heartbroken, disgusted that he’s a murderer. He isn’t, and he’ll never be, and now they won’t want him. All the dreams he’d conjured him until now about being their baby collapse into smoke. Still, he bites back the thickness of his throat and lets his eyes skim over the article.
His eyes only catch a few phrases at a time.
Unfair trial
Prostitution
Inside South Korea’s child trafficking rings
Inquisition into social justice system
We have failed our children
“They’re reexamining your evidence,” The man seated next to him says. “It’s all been leaked to the media. Makes for a big story. My name is Ahn Sehyun. I’m your family’s lawyer.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, unsure of how to. This is all too much for him to comprehend.
“We’ll probably need a video testimony from you. Seoul’s police force is facing a lot of backlash. Was anything out of turn during your arrest?”
“They touched me - the cops,” Jimin explains. “I wasn’t...clothed when they arrived. I had to put on something to head to the station, and they didn’t allow me the privacy to do that although that’s understood considering I was under suspicion of murder. However, I would say that they touched me more than they had to. In fact, so did the guard who searched me when I first arrived here. They barely interrogated me either. Just booked the evidence. The trial went by so fast.”
“They didn’t read you your rights?”
“No,” Jimin responds.
Sehyun nods, writing everything down onto his notepad. He stands up then.
“I’ll return in a week to discuss this in detail. And when I do, I’ll need you to be honest with me about everything, from start to finish. This is turning into a case that involves the public,” He informs before resting a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. “We’ll try our best to get you out of here.”
Jimin nods dumbly.
“Your parents will be here to see you with me,” Sehyun says. “Hang in there.”
He leaves then.
Jimin stands up too.
“I’m sorry for all this trouble,” He tells the chief and Yoongi. “This must be difficult-”
“Trust me, you’re doing us a favour,” The chief drawls out. “We hate Seoul cops. Foul-mouthed fuckers. Think they’re better than all of us, just because they see more cases. Someone ought to bring them down a peg. The real crime’s out here in the country. Explains why we’ve got more than our share of lunatics.”
Jimin laughs, strained and clipped.
“Yoongi, please escort Jimin back to his cell,” The other man says. “He’s got stuff to do other than being a media star.”
Yoongi nods and Jimin stands up. They head out of the office and it’s awkward, the silence that congeals between them.
“Are you happy?” Yoongi asks once they enter the main prison block, rounding corridor after corridor of cells.
“I’m scared,” Jimin answers honestly. “Every time I think I’ve settled, there’s a new curveball thrown in my direction. And I have to find some way to keep dodging them.”
“Isn’t this a good curveball?”
“I hope so,” He says.
Yoongi drops him off at the turning that leads to the secluded corner where Jungkook’s cell is.
“Night,” He says gruffly.
“Night,” Jimin returns, turning around to walk toward the cell door. The sounds of Yoongi walking away echo in the corridor, and Jungkook opens the door like clockwork.
Jimin can tell something’s wrong just by looking at him.
Jungkook isn’t smiling. He’s holding the door open, eyes trained on Jimin.
“Where were you?” He asks. “I looked for you everywhere. I went to take a call and when I came back, you were gone.”
“I was summoned to the guard’s office.”
“What for?” Jungkook asks, reaching an arm out and tugging Jimin into the dark room. The lights are off, and the TV isn’t on which makes Jimin wonder what Jungkook was doing. Just sitting in the dark? Either way, he’s just going to tell Jungkook what he told him the first time he’d asked.
“Remember how I told you that I was taken from my family, as a child?”
Jungkook nods.
“They found my family, hyung.” Jimin smiles as the words leave his mouth.
“But I’m your family.” Jungkook frowns. It feels like something is building, reaching its precipice.
“Yes, you are,” He relents. “But I have my parents too, Jungkook.”
“So? What does all of this mean?” Jungkook asks.
“Just like you, I’m here for something I didn’t do,” Jimin explains slowly, words calm. He’s feeling weird, and he can’t see Jungkook’s face in the dark. “The police and courts have discovered that. They’re re-examining the evidence from my case-”
“Get to the point,” Jungkook snaps. It surprises Jimin, the venom in his words.
“I have a second chance. To be free, to get out of here.”
“You can’t do th-that,” Jungkook responds, voice shaking.
Jimin frowns.
“If you go, I’ll kill myself,” Jungkook continues. “You can’t go.”
“Hyung-”
“Stop calling me that!” Jungkook screams, and the room almost shakes. “You say you love me and now you’re ready to leave! You were my favourite, my favourite-”
“I’m sorry-”
“You can’t leave!” He screams once more and Jimin grasps his face in the dark, desperate to comfort him.
“Shhhhh,” He tells him, brushing his thumb along Jungkook’s high cheekbone, wet with tears.
“You don’t l-love me-” The other man says, distraught. “You d-don’t-”
Jimin kisses him, desperate to circumvent Jungkook’s spiral that’s making him panic too. He leans up and wraps his arms around Jungkook’s neck, catching his petal-soft lips with his. The other man is still, eerily so, before he hugs Jimin back with equal ferocity, returning the kiss with something almost animalistic.
“You took my first kiss,” Jungkook says against his lips, nails digging into his skin. “Now you’re mine forever.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, rather eases Jungkook into it. He feels the other man’s breathing start to even out, reaching a steady plane although his heart thunders against his. Everything Jimin does, Jungkook does more of. He bites at Jimin’s lip viciously when he gives him a playful nip of the teeth, sucking on his tongue. His hard cock starts to dig into Jimin’s hip after a certain point.
Jimin pulls away, his cheeks sticky with Jungkook’s tears, feeling his lips burn where Jungkook bit him, the taste of iron spreading over his tongue.
“Do you want me to touch you?” He asks, eager to simmer down Jungkook’s mood to something bearable. Every man he’s dealt with is always the same; pent up until they’re not.
Jungkook nods.
Jimin’s fingers trail down to the hem of Jungkook’s pants, dipping down underneath the waistband to gently take hold of his hard cock. It’s sizable, veiny and thick, wet with precum.
Jungkook hisses at the touch.
“I d-don’t want to soil you-”
Jimin doesn’t know what that means, but he knows that Jungkook likes what he’s feeling. He pushes his pants down enough to fish his cock out, wrapping his fingers around the thick girth and jerking slowly. Jungkook’s breath hitches.
“Are we going to have sex?” He asks, voice breathy and rough. The question is oddly juvenile.
“If you want to.”
“Will it mean you’ll love me then?”
“I already do,” Jimin smiles. “We’ll do it only if you want to. Your first time should be special-”
“You’re special,” Jungkook says, urged, thumbs digging into Jimin’s waist. “I want to.”
“Okay.”
Jimin sinks to his knees, pulling Jungkook closer with firm hands on the backs of his thighs. He continues to jerk him off, lips closing over the tip of his cock, tongue darting out to swipe up a bead of precum.
“You can’t do that-” Jungkook gasps, pulling Jimin off. “You’ll be dirtied. I don’t want to dirty your face-”
He sounds genuinely dismayed, so Jimin pulls off, standing back up.
“I won’t, okay? Don’t worry,” He tells him, feeling fond. “What do you want to do then?” He asks, gently stroking Jungkook’s thick cock.
“I want to make love to you,” Jungkook answers. “Please teach me how.”
Jimin softens. He leads Jungkook to the futon, gesturing for him to sit. He gets on it too, laying down, his head cushioned against the soft, fresh pillow that smells like laundry detergent. He moves to pull his shirt off and Jungkook jumps forward to assist him.
The other man almost rips his pants and underwear in desperation to get the articles of clothing off his body, dark eyes trailing all over his skin even though he’s seen it a million times before. He surges forward to kiss Jimin again, all teeth and tongue, large hands pinning his wrists to the mattress.
Soon enough, Jimin feels as if he can’t breathe, Jungkook’s lips insistent against his. He reaches for the hem of Jungkook’s shirt too, pulling it over his shoulders.
It then starts to rain, and a crack of lighting shines through the sole window of the room, painting a fine glow over Jungkook’s body. He’s the type of boy who girls would swoon over in the big cities, the type of body and face you’d see on television.
When Jungkook finally pulls away, Jimin’s eyes trail over his torso. He’s fit, but there’s so much unexplained, like the weird burn that seems to be the splash of something acidic across his hip, the bite mark on his hand, the way his fingerprints are burnt off. Jimin doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked, but he should, and why is he thinking about this-
“What do I do now?” Jungkook asks, pressing kisses over Jimin’s neck, rubbing his hard cock over his.
“Okay,” Jimin says. “Sit back.”
Jungkook obeys immediately, springing up and resting on his haunches, hard cock standing stiff and proud. Jimin spreads his legs, not missing the way Jungkook’s eyes zero in on what’s in between.
“You’re so beautiful,” The other man breathes out. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
Jimin doesn’t respond although his cheeks burn in the dark of the room. It’s the first time he’s heard the compliment so genuinely. The rain outside starts to increase in ferocity, growing louder and louder.
He brings two fingers to his lips and starts to suck on the digits, coating them thoroughly with saliva. It’s been a while, the first time in a long time, and he’ll need all the prep he can get. Once they’re slick enough, he parts his thighs further, pressing the tips to his rim.
“I need to stretch myself for you,” Jimin explains, closing his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath as he pushes a finger inside. He fucks it in slowly, quickly adding another.
Before he realizes it, Jungkook’s pulling his hand out, and two longer yet equally slick fingers shove into his hole with such force that he gasps.
“H-Hyung,”
“I’ll look after you,” Jungkook says, somehow understanding what needs to be done. He scissors his fingers inside of Jimin’s hole, adding a third. “You’re so soft inside, Jimin, thank you for letting me feel you-”
Jimin’s eyes screw shut, bone-deep euphoria washing over him.
Jungkook thrusts his fingers inside of him, his calloused fingers rough against his walls. It’s pretty dry but Jimin keeps his mouth shut, willing to do anything to ward off Jungkook’s earlier breakdown.
So far, it seems to be working.
“I can’t believe I’m getting to do this,” Jungkook grins. “My first time, with the prettiest person on Earth, my doll-”
Jimin barely realizes when Jungkook pulls his fingers out, nerves searing at the press of his thick cockhead against his rim. Jungkook’s pushing in before he can say a single word.
It’s painful. It’s too dry, and Jimin doesn’t think he’s been prepped enough.
But Jungkook’s already fucking him like a madman, hips slamming against his, cock spearing him open on every thrust. Jimin grits his teeth and takes it, knowing that the truth would hurt Jungkook’s feelings, while he’s in the midst of rambling about love and destiny and Jimin.
“So good, so perfect-” Jungkook breathes out, and Jimin knows he’s going to be bruised tomorrow.
There’s sweat beading at his temples from pain, and it’s starting to feel good but not near enough. He would’ve been fine if it hadn’t been so long, and he can feel himself tear.
The storm outside rages on, almost deafening, the rapid slap of skin on skin almost drowned in the sea of falling rain and striking thunder.
“I love you I love you I love you,” Jungkook rambles, swooping down to kiss him while he fucks him so hard that his eyes roll into the back of his head. Jimin caresses his back, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty eyebrow. The other man probably doesn’t even realize his own strength, fucking into Jimin with such force that it winds him.
“My father always told me,” Jungkook starts, panting, his hair falling forward in thick strands to frame his forehead. His eyes glint in the dark. “That I should only make love to someone I want to marry. To my soulmate. I’ve been saving myself all these years, waiting for you. My bride.”
Jimin’s toes curl into the sheets, his thighs trembling. The tip of Jungkook’s cock slams against his prostate with every thrust, rendering him speechless. He can tell from the other man’s breathing that he’s about to cum, and he hisses when Jungkook wraps a hand around his cock, caressing.
“So pretty, so pretty and soft all over, my perfect, perfect-”
Jimin’s hole feels raw and oversensitive, stretched taut around the thick girth of Jungkook’s cock. Every thrust sends stars shooting across his vision, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from pain or pleasure, just that it’s burning across his body.
When Jimin cums, it feels like it’s forced out of him, and he barely noticed the build. It's overwhelming in a way he can’t pinpoint, his nerves burning bright, muscles aching even though all he’s done is just lie there and take it. Jungkook cums a few seconds later, biting down onto Jimin’s collarbone, his cock releasing thick ribbons of cum into his raw hole.
They spend a long time just laying there, breathing, and the ringing in Jimin’s ears takes some time to bore down to something manageable.
Jungkook kisses him, and Jimin can tell he’s smiling from the way his lips spread across his sweaty skin.
“I love you,” He says. “So much. You’re my perfect everything.”
“I love you too,” Jimin echoes, and he’s surprised to find that he means it. His heart is beating fast right now, spinning and looping, a steady swooping in his stomach as Jungkook hugs him. He’s never felt romantic love, never before, but he thinks he’s growing toward exploring those feelings with an open heart.
“What do we do now?” Jungkook asks.
“You pull out, and then we’ll clean up and go to sleep.”
Jungkook nods, and somehow, Jimin feels the entirety of the pain slam into him as his cock drags along his walls when he slips out of him. Now that there’s no pleasure to mask it, it’s raw. He can’t contain the whimper that leaves his lips.
“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks immediately, reaching over to switch on the lamp.
He watches as his cum oozes out of Jimin’s hole, tinged pink with blood. Jimin winces as Jungkook spreads his cheeks, getting a closer look at where he’s slightly injured, skin torn.
Tears well up in his eyes immediately.
“I broke you,” Jungkook whispers, voice thick. “I broke-”
“No, you didn’t,” Jimin reassures. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“I got too excited, I didn’t-”
“Don’t worry, okay?” Jimin smiles, pulling Jungkook down to kiss him, tender and sweet. “We’ll just be more careful next time.”
Jungkook hesitates before nodding.
“Let me fix you,” He says, standing up and heading to the small attached bathroom. He returns with a wet cloth, dragging it across the mess between Jimin’s legs. Jimin bites down a wince, not wanting to upset the other man further. Jungkook grabs some tissue paper and presses it between his cheeks.
“You’re precious to me,” He says once he lays down, the blanket tight over them. His arms are wrapped firm around his waist, his nose tucked into Jimin’s neck. “I can’t break you.”
Jimin hums in response, eyes already drooping shut. The pain has simmered down to a dull burn.
“I’m not easily broken,” He says sleepily. “I’m the strongest person I know.”
-
Sex becomes a frequent part of their routine. By the time Jimin recovers, Jungkook’s request for lube has already been fulfilled. There are bottles of them on the shelves, racked up, and he’s honestly lost track of the number of times they have sex a day.
Maybe it was a mistake, introducing sexual intimacy into their relationship. But Jimin can’t tell anymore.
“Minnie,” He hears a voice whispered in his ear, although it’s hazy amongst his drowsy thoughts. Jimin’s eyes crack open and he thinks he’d been having a nice dream.
“Mmmh?” He mumbles. “What is it?”
“Please,” He hears, and then he feels it. Jungkook’s hard cock pressing against his ass, leaving a wet streak over the fabric of his pants. “Want you.”
The truth is, Jimin is surprised he was able to fall asleep, to begin with given that tomorrow, his parents are visiting him. He’s been counting down the days.
Jimin doesn’t respond, unsure if he’s in the mood.
But when has it ever mattered?
“Please,” Jungkook repeats, voice sleepy. His sex drive is through the roof, and his stamina does Jimin’s body no favours. His bones ache, even though his body remains spotless. Jungkook never leaves any marks on him, something about keeping him pristine.
He knows Jungkook won’t if he says no. He knows. He’ll stop, no questions asked.
But now, Jimin doesn’t know what he wants.
“Hmmm,” He says anyway, eyes drooping shut as Jungkook slides down his pants, his lube-slick cock penetrating him easily considering they’d fucked barely 3 hours ago. Jimin wills himself to fall back asleep during Jungkook’s lazy thrusts, the other man too drowsy for something animalistic, and somehow, it works.
-
Jimin does his best to look good for his parents. He didn’t have that much facial hair, to begin with, barely a few strands on his chin, but he gets rid of those anyway. It feels like he’s dizzy, head loopy with nerves, hope and anticipation.
He holds up the little hand mirror, analyzing his face. He doesn’t have bags under his eyes anymore as he’s been sleeping exceptionally well. His lips are chapped so he remedies that with some baby oil, using what’s leftover on his fingers to minimally tame his fluffy hair.
“I miss my parents too,” Jungkook says from where he sits on the floor. “Will you tell yours about me?”
Jimin sets down the hand mirror and turns around, smiling at Jungkook.
“Of course I will,” He smiles.
“I wish I could come with you,” Jungkook frowns. “But I’m not allowed in the visiting chamber.”
“I wish you could come, too,” Jimin agrees, smoothing down any wrinkles (he’d already checked incessantly) in the fabric of his uniform. Jungkook wraps his arms around him from behind, making him jump.
“You know where you belong, right?”
Goosebumps wrack Jimin’s body, a cold shiver building at the base of his spine, grappling across his icy veins.
“Yes.”
“I’m allowing you to go as long as you come back,” Jungkook tells him, fingers digging into the soft of his tummy. “You have to come back. I don’t know what I’d do if you left me. I want you here with me forever. I made this beautiful room just for us, our perfect home.”
“I’ll come back,” Jimin says softly.
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” Jimin whispers, whimpering once Jungkook lets go. The other man turns him around and kisses him gently.
“I’ve given you my heart. Be careful with it.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Jimin still hasn’t gotten used to the privacy, knows the other inmates just have bars or a door with a window in. Here, it’s like their own little world.
Jimin opens it, and Yoongi’s waiting for him.
“Ready?”
Jimin nods.
He steps out of the room, and Jungkook’s dark eyes meet his just as he leaves.
The entire walk through the prison and toward the visiting chambers, Jimin feels as if his stomach is going to swallow him whole. He wonders if he looks the same as he did when he was younger, or whether he’s too different to still be considered the same child. In some way, Jimin still feels like a child. Maybe because that part of him was repressed at an early age, forced into a corner, but it still lives and thrives in a little nook deep within his soul.
It’s difficult to put a name to it; the feeling. Just that Jimin’s always felt alone, felt like he had to fight through every day, that everything was a transaction. That the part of him that was playful, that could trust and love, be happy and vulnerable was lost somewhere over the years, or perhaps right at the start.
However, the moment he sees his parents, he feels it bloom, the leaves bright green, the buds opening up to something vivid and pure.
They’re seated by one of the tables, and they’re holding hands. Jimin notices how they’re dressed well; his father is wearing a crisp blue shirt and pressed pants, hair combed neatly. His mother is clad in a lovely daisy yellow dress. Next to them is Sehyun, his lawyer, stoic like marble.
When his parents see him, they stand up. Their eyes are wide as they look at him, and Jimin sees nothing but love in them.
“Jimin,” His mother gasps, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Hi,” Jimin says, almost shy, the breath knocked out of him as his father pulls him into a crushing hug. He wraps his arms around him, returning the embrace, his own throat wobbling as he feels the neck of his shirt dampen as his father begins to cry.
“My son,” His father says. “I knew you’d come back to me.”
Jimin smiles, and they stay like that for a while, his hand tight in his mother’s.
When they’re eventually seated, his heart is full.
“How are you?” His mother asks, and Jimin notices the way her eyes keep travelling over his face as if trying to match him to what remains in her memory. “You still look exactly the same.”
He smiles.
“I’m doing alright. It was difficult at first, but I made a friend who protects me. I’m comfortable,” Jimin answers. “How are you? How is…?”
“Jihan,” His father fills in. “Your brother’s doing fine. We’ve left him with your uncle as only 2 visitors were allowed. They’re dying to see you too.”
Jimin nods, smiling. So he has a brother.
“Jimin,” Sehyun says then, tapping his fingernails against the metal table. “We have limited time. Please tell us everything, from start to finish. We need to appeal to the court, and for that, we need a story. I’ve taken a look at the evidence. We need you to contextualize it.”
He nods once more and then begins.
He tells them about not knowing where he was for years, just in an unfamiliar city where he had to beg on street corners or push drugs to meeting points. He doesn’t meet his parents’ eyes as he talks about his life after that, about being passed to client after client, finally finding a home with a corporate heir. How his life after that wasn’t pleasant either, up until the breaking point.
“He tried to kill me because he thought I breached his privacy. He had a room on the second floor that was off-limits, locked all the time. It turned out that it was Hyunwoo who’d snuck the key and opened it, going through his personal files. There was a scuffle and Hyunwoo shot him dead, and then shot himself too. That’s when the police came in.”
“And you touched the gun?”
“Only to remove it from his grasp.”
“That checks out,” He says. “Your fingerprints were only on the barrel.”
“On what basis did they incarcerate him, then?” Jimin’s father asks, his tone sharp. “If they’d put in more effort into investigating why he was off the map, we could’ve found him sooner-”
“Someone important was killed,” Sehyun answers. “They needed an explanation or they’d have their superiors breathing down their necks. Jimin was easy. The perfect scapegoat.”
“For years, we searched,” His mother says. “Couldn’t they have matched Jimin’s name to the database? Found the open case?”
“There’s a lot they didn’t do, which currently works in our favour,” Sehyun responds. “The officers responsible for his case are currently undergoing an inquiry because of the negative publicity.”
Jimin’s eyes widen at his words. He didn’t know the situation was that serious.
They talk for a while longer until one of the guards knocks on the door, poking his head in to let them know that visiting hours are over. It’s all tight hugs and kisses on Jimin’s forehead after that, fingers that are reluctant to let go.
Still, they bid each other goodbye and Jimin’s online testimony is scheduled for a week later.
On his way back to his cell, Jimin hears footsteps behind him. They’re slow and unhurried but he hears them anyway, echoing in the dark corridor. At first, he thinks it’s a coincidence. Anyone could be heading this way, right?
Eventually, he turns around to see Jaehyun, the bane of his existence ever since he entered the prison.
“Why are you following me?” Jimin asks sharply. His eyes skit around, looking to see if he can spot a guard.
Jaehyun just laughs.
“Thought I’d see if you were actually real. We all thought you were long dead, y’know?”
“Why?” Jimin frowns.
“You’re hanging out with the Damyang Dollmaker,” Jaehyun remarks. “If anything, I imagined you’d be strung up like a pretty little marionette on a fishing hook right now.”
“What are you talking about?” Jimin balks although he’s starting to feel nauseous.
“Your new boyfriend,” Jaehyun continues. “Jeon Jungkook. The biggest freak show in the country.”
“Cut the shit.” Jimin spits, turning around and starting to walk away. “And you’re the one who poisoned my food, so if anyone wants me dead it’s more likely to be you.”
“Don’t talk to me that way, doll,” The other man says. “It’s not my fault your boyfriend’s a serial killer.”
Jimin’s blood runs cold.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not, I promise,” He laughs. “Why do you think everyone avoids him like the plague? He’s a fucking nutcase.”
“Sh-Shut up.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I ain’t gonna bother you no more. I’m not getting tied up in that fucked up shit,” He says, leaning forward. “But I just think it’s funny that you refused to fuck me, but you’re happy taking it from someone who’s had his hands in the guts of close to 50 people.”
Jimin’s stomach feels like it’s plummeting right to the ground, heavy with rocks. He’s sweating, his heart roaring in the depths of his chest.
“You’re wrong,” Jimin spits. “You’re just l-lying.”
Jaehyun laughs, turning around to walk away. He tilts his head toward Jimin before he does.
“Sure,” He says. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. And for the fact of the matter, I never touched your food.”
And then Jimin’s alone in the corridor once more.
It feels like his throat is closing up over nothing, distress overcoming him.
It can’t be true. It can’t. Jaehyun’s just being a piece of shit who’s bitter, because Jimin didn’t sleep with him and had him sent to solitary confinement. That’s it.
Still, Jungkook picks up on his mood the moment he walks through the door. He stands up immediately, walking toward Jimin.
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Jungkook, why are you in prison?” Jimin cuts to the point.
“I was accused of murder,” Jungkook responds. “But I didn’t murder anyone. Why are you asking me this?”
Jimin sags, exhaling a shaky breath of relief. Jungkook embraces him, wrapping his arms around him for support.
“Why do you ask?” He repeats.
“I ran into someone today,” Jimin tells him. “He told me you were a murderer. He’s been bothering me ever since I came here-”
“Who?” Jungkook asks, eyes narrowing sharply.
Jimin doesn’t know why, but some part of him doesn’t want to tell Jungkook the other man’s name.
“Who, Jimin? Was he looking at you?”
Jimin doesn’t respond, pushing his face into Jungkook’s sturdy chest.
Change the topic, change the topic-
“Tell me his name. Now.”
“J-Jaehyun,” Jimin responds, barely audible. “I don’t know his family name.”
“You don’t have to worry about him, okay?” Jungkook reassures, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’re only mine to look at. He’ll never bother you again. I’ll take care of it.”
Jimin nods, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s torso, feeling his strength and basking in the safety he feels.
“Now tell me about your parents, hmm?”
Jimin nods once more, preening as Jungkook leads him to bed and pulls him under the sheets, and he tells him how happy he was through lovesick whispers and Jungkook’s fingers running soothingly through his hair.
-
Jimin’s video testimonial goes well.
He speaks clearly and with confidence, and he barely stutters. He recalls everything to the best of his memory. From what he could see through the screen, he was talking to his lawyer and a courtroom full of people, cameras telecasting the trial live.
It was nerve-wracking, but he pushed through it, even through the vague questions posed to him from the opposition that were clearly meant to gaslight him and paint him in a bad light. They were clearly trying to make him trip up, bait him into admitting something that wasn’t consistent with the rest of his story but Jimin is calculating. He always has been. It’s how he’s made it so far, and why isn’t either six feet under or lost to drugs at this point.
Once his testimony is complete, Jimin is escorted back to his room. He’s tired but happy.
When he opens the door, the first thing he sees is Jungkook holding a gift box.
“Welcome back,” Jungkook smiles, wide and unbridled. “All that paperwork must’ve been so hard and boring,” He grins, echoing the lie he was fed.
Jimin just shrugs it off, trying to downplay how nervous he is. He can’t help but feel like all of this is a ticking time bomb, that Jungkook will secretly find out.
Of course, he has full plans to keep visiting the other man once he’s out. He would never abandon Jungkook.
But he needs to live. His entire life has been restrained, cut off, his wings tied down with rough rope to the ground. He wants to be normal.
“What’s that?” Jimin asks instead, gesturing to the box in Jungkook’s hand. It looks a little homemade, basic cardboard tied together with a ribbon. Jungkook obviously made it himself.
“My gift for you,” Jungkook grins, handing it to him. “I can’t wait to see your reaction. You’ll be so happy.”
Jimin smiles, taking the small box into his hands. He spares Jungkook a look before gently untying the ribbon, his fingers breezing across the satin.
The moment he opens the box, Jimin tries his hardest not to throw up, or to faint.
Inside is a pair of eyeballs, the inner part of the box still bathed red with flesh blood. They’re still wet, connected to viscous strands that Jimin assumes are nerves or sinew.
Bile rises up his throat, fingers trembling.
“W-What is this?” Jimin asks. “How did you get this?”
“He won’t look at you anymore. The guy who was bothering you,” Jungkook informs gleefully. “I got him when he was going to the bathroom. Just reached and grabbed ‘em. Took a while before he stopped screaming.”
Jimin’s blood runs cold, and it feels like there’s an icy chill permeating through his veins.
“Why aren’t you smiling? Do you not like my gift?”
Jimin genuinely thinks he might faint, his head spinning. It takes everything in him not to drop the box to the ground, the only thing keeping him upright being self-preservation.
He was right.
“Did you kill him?” Jimin asks, trying to keep his voice stable.
“I dunno,” Jungkook shrugs. “He stopped screaming and trying to fight me off. Nothing was of value to me other than his eyes so I didn’t stick around. Now that you have them, you don’t have to worry about him looking at you anymore. Everything he saw is now yours.”
“I-I-”
“You’re so cute,” Jungkook smiles, taking the box from him and setting it to the side, then pulling him into a warm hug. “You’re overcome. I’d do anything for you, Jimin. Don’t be jealous of them. And don’t be sad, there aren’t the eyes I promised to get you. You’ll get the pretty purple ones you wanted, don’t worry.”
Jimin doesn’t respond, frozen.
He finds that he can’t look Jungkook in the eyes, not even as they eat dinner, not even as Jungkook fucks him that night, desperate and urged in their coupling, as if they’re running out of time.
Jimin hopes they are.
-
“Yoongi,” Jimin calls.
Jungkook’s napping, so Jimin took the opportunity to sneak out of the room. He still has cum dripping down the inside of his thighs, sticky against the fabric of his pants. His eyes are manic, hazy, crazed.
Yoongi turns around, vision narrowing at Jimin. He walks over to him and Jimin pulls him into a corner.
“Jimin, what-”
“Can you transfer me to another cell? Or to a room with no access? Please-”
“What happened?”
“Jungkook, he- I don’t feel safe around him-”
Yoongi sighs.
“I heard about what happened,” He explains. “Did you really not know?”
Jimin shakes his head, feeling drowsy. It’s like there’s a blanket of exhaustion weighing thick and heavy over him.
“I d-didn’t,” Jimin answers. “I didn’t know he was violent.” He explains.
“Look,” Yoongi says, lowering his voice. “Just hang in there, alright? We’ll hear the verdict in a few days and it’s pretty obvious which way it’s gonna go. He hasn’t done anything to hurt you thus far, has he?”
“N-No. But I want another room, please-”
“Jimin, I can’t do that. Jungkook’s family, they’re rich. Rich enough to make sure their son lives comfortably even in prison. They even got him off death row, and they want you to stay with him because you’re his new toy and make him happy,” Yoongi says. “Right now, keep him off your trail. If he finds out, he’ll do everything in his power to stop you from leaving.”
Jimin stares at him, his eyes stinging with tears.
“Trust me,” Yoongi says, gently taking hold of his shoulders and looking into his eyes. “You’ll be fine. Just two days. Say it.”
“T-Two days.”
“Good. Now head back and carry on with your day.”
Jimin nods shakily, turning around and walking away.
Death row.
He can’t wrap his head around it. Jungkook doesn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer. And he’s not the type to lie to Jimin either.
Jimin returns to their room and when Jungkook asks where he’s been, he says that he was taking a call.
2 days.
-
“Jimin, wake up,” Jungkook whispers into his ear. His fingers roam his naked torso where his shirt has ridden up, leaving a searing hot trail over his skin.
Jimin wasn’t asleep, to begin with.
There’s a kiss to the back of his neck, and Jungkook mouths wetly over his skin, biting down gently over his shoulder blade.
“Hmmm?” Jimin asks.
“We’re going to go on a date tomorrow,” Jungkook whispers, hot and heavy, just as his hand slips into Jimin’s pants. “We’ll have lunch in a secret place,” He says, caressing the soft flesh of his ass, nails grazing over his skin.
Jimin’s eyes are squeezed shut.
“I’ll get you something pretty to wear,” Jungkook continues, his fingers dipping between his cheeks to circle his hole. “And we’ll dance, and I’ll hear your voice and you’ll hear mine, and we’ll be together forever.”
Jimin barely holds back his gasp as Jungkook pushes his fingers in to the hilt.
“What do you say? I can feel your breathing. I know you’re awake. My pretty doll.”
“Okay,” Jimin responds meekly, his heart lurching at being caught.
“Sounds fun?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Y-Yes, hyung.”
“Turn around.”
Jimin obeys, rolling over to see him, his face barely a few inches away from Jungkook’s. The other man uses one hand to push his pants down and off his body, lifting his thigh and pulling him closer.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, right?” Jungkook asks, voice sweet, just as he lines up his cock with Jimin’s hole.
“No. Of c-course not,” Jimin responds, inhaling sharply as Jungkook fucks into him in one, smooth thrust, the glide like butter.
“Hmm,” Jungkook says, pressing a kiss to his eyebrow, his fingers digging into his thigh that he’s holding up for easier access. Jimin whimpers, the sound buried into Jungkook’s collarbone. He still hasn’t gotten used to the way his cock feels inside of him, the delicious ache of it.
“Go to sleep if you’re tired, baby,” Jungkook tells him, thrusting up into him. “You don’t have to stay awake or talk. It won’t be long before it’ll be like this all the time. I’ll be the only one to see you, have the memory of you.”
Jungkook’s words go unheard to Jimin, his mind clouded over with lust, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Jungkook grinds his cock into him in slow, torturous circles. His arms are folded between them, palms pressed flat against the other man’s chest. He’s caged.
“My parents told me that you were a whore,” Jungkook tells him, his cockhead pressing right into his prostate. “That you weren’t good enough for me. I didn’t listen to them. They don’t know you like I do. Isn’t that right?”
Jimin’s head is spinning. It feels like he’s on something, lightheaded and airy. Still, he finds himself nodding.
“I’d kill them for speaking that way about you.”
Jimin whimpers once more, eyes squeezed shut yet his helpless tears still leak out the edges. He can’t do anything but pant against Jungkook’s chest, his entire body inclined to press against his, be close.
He loses track of where he is, what’s happening, and how long it takes before Jungkook cums inside of him with a heavy exhale. His thigh trembles in the other man’s tight grasp, still holding him open. If he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he remembers a time when he didn’t have Jungkook’s cum in his ass.
Jimin’s cock feels oddly sensitive, and that’s how he realizes he’d cum too. He didn’t even notice.
Sudden exhaustion washes over him, and he knocks out, eyes drooping shut.
-
When Jimin wakes up, he’s alone.
The bed is cold, and the sunlight washes over the room through the window. It’s pale, jarring and stark. The entire space seems void of something.
He isn’t used to waking up without Jungkook, not when the other man never seems keen on being away from him. The other man’s slippers are still in the room, which furthers his befuddlement. Jungkook should still be in the room.
Jimin’s thighs and ass ache, and he can still feel cum leaking out of him and onto the sheets. He was still wearing his top yesterday, which means that Jungkook unclothed him fully at some point during the night.
“Hyung?” Jimin calls weakly, suddenly wanting to cry, as if he were a child roused from sleep, perplexed with fright because the night light’s turned off.
There’s no response, his words sounding out dully into the vacuum of the room.
Jimin stands up and walks toward the door, attempting to pull it open despite his state of undress.
Something is very very wrong, and he can feel it.
The door doesn’t budge. Not an inch. It’s as if it was just there for decoration, no real purpose, built into the wall.
Tears roll down his cheeks, cold and heavy.
He turns around, and one look at the table in the centre has him spot some folded clothes. And next to it, a book.
Jimin walks over and crouches, analysing the garments. There’s a note on top.
Once you’re done reading, wear these and find me.
Jimin wipes at his eyes, drowsy. He wonders where Jungkook got these clothes from, drifting his fingers over the pearly white tulle shirt, with ruffles on the sleeves and collar. It looks extravagantly made, like something a prince would wear. Underneath is a pair of trousers folded neatly, white silk.
His vision drifts to the book. It looks old, and it’s thick, just lots of dated, yellowing pages bound together. He runs his fingers over the spine, held together by a wiry cord. It’s obvious that it’s Jungkook’s handiwork.
Jimin opens the book, turning to the first page.
My Diary
The words are scrawled messily, clearly jotted down by a child, strokes of black ink strewn over the canvas with abandon.
Jimin smiles.
The first few entries are adorable. Little instances that were clearly important to Jungkook as a child. What he ate for dinner, his thoughts on the dress his mother wore that day. Him expressing distress at being made to do his homework, his glee at the prospect of a fair in the next town even if it meant a 3-hour drive to the city.
He flicks through the pages, eyes skimming over the childish words, and what can only be described as an innocent outlook toward the world.
Jimin eventually reaches a page from 10 years ago, when Jungkook would’ve been 9 years old.
Today, I went out to the field because I didn’t want to go to school. I wanted to play with Mimi. Mr Oh said Mimi wasn’t well because she just had puppies so she couldn’t play. He gave me one because I asked. It’s a little ugly, just wiggling around.
Jimin turns the page.
This puppy isn’t fun. She won’t play with me.
So I sliced her through the stomach and played with her little intestines instead. I had lots of fun but mom yelled at me and told me to bury her. I don’t want to. I hid her in my cupboard.
Jimin can’t put a word to the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the clammy sweat cooling nauseatingly over his face and body.
The pages going forward get increasingly disturbing. Jungkook starts to kill more animals, a lamb in the farm, a squirrel, and then a cat that snuck into the house. He always talks about studying them, his writing in the diary and thoughts too complex for that of a child. Talks about how he hid them in and around the house. Talks about mutilating them till you couldn’t tell what they were in the first place. Talks about cutting them up and stitching different parts of different animals together to make something new. Talks about stuffing the first puppy with cotton because he felt bad when she wouldn’t cry when he poked her anymore.
Jimin barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s upturning the contents of his stomach into the toilet, his trachea and chest burning.
He’s not sure how long he sits there for, hugging his knees over the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom. His eyes are closed, his breathing laboured, but he knows that he has to keep reading.
Eventually, he returns to the book. He sits before it, his face as white as a sheet, picking it up and reading bits of Jungkook’s life as he grew over the years.
Business is booming. It was a good idea for dad to open the cafe and start tours. There are lots of people now. I saw a family today, full of old people. My grandparents died a long time ago. I couldn’t help but notice how ugly they were. Wrinkled skin and ailing joints. They should stay in pristine condition. Why would you want to become that way?
Jimin keeps turning the pages, his throat wobbling.
I have this new neighbour. His parents hit him so he hides in my house. They don’t know he’s here. Stupid Yoonho. He told me he wished he wouldn’t grow to be like his parents.
I only wanted to help. He got scared when I brought out the knife and started screaming. He kicked me so I hurt him. I stabbed him till his lips turned blue then I emptied his stomach and stuffed him full of cotton just like puppy. She has a friend now. His parents never came looking for him but it’s okay. He’ll never grow to be like them. I was doing him a favour. Now he’ll be young forever. I don’t know why he’s not breathing anymore but he’s much more beautiful now.
Jungkook continues to kill over the years. The next victim is the son of the grocer from the town over, sent to deliver essentials instead of the regular delivery man. The next is a little girl with pretty blue eyes from a mixed family who visits Jungkook’s farm as a tourist. Jungkook lures her to the barn where he knocks her out and begins his experiments.
Over the years, he gets less messy. No more blunt force trauma, no more fits of anger. It becomes clinical.
Jungkook studies the human body, works through trial and error to figure out how to make bodies last. He writes as if he doesn’t know that he’d killed these people, thinks he’s saving them, thinks he’s giving them a better life where they’re beautiful and won’t age, won’t soil.
He talks about taking up the basement of one of the farmhouses, stocking it full of his creations. He gets freezers, and buys equipment and chemicals, spends all his days experimenting on bodies and turning them into something beautiful, repeating what he did with the animals but at a larger scale.
He preys on the tourists. Documents every single one, every single man, woman or child, talks about their bodies and how they reacted. Talks about mixing and matching limbs and skin, putting someone else’s eyes in someone else’s sockets, to preserve the bodies without decomposition. How he’d kidnap them and inject hydrochloric acid into their brains to disorient them, keeping track of how long it took before the light in their eyes died as he got to work. About dressing them up and positioning them as if they were dolls, the way they’d stay the same for years, evergreen, faultless and immortal.
There's a gap suddenly, a period without any entries, and Jimin identifies it to be the time when Jungkook must’ve been caught and arrested.
Jimin turns to the final page.
Now you’ve arrived at the present, my love. Do you see what I’ve been working towards? Come find me and I’ll show you the rest. Put your clothes on.
Jimin doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to find Jungkook, and his skin is crawling. He wants to throw up again but his stomach is empty, void, and it feels as if there’s a burning cavity in his chest. He’s terrified, and scared, and for the first in his life, he finds himself returning to what he was feeling when he was a child in a strange warehouse with scary men.
There are tears cooling on his cheeks and his eyes are burning.
Jimin puts on his clothes silently and clinically. He secures every pearly button of his blouse uptil the collar, making sure the trousers cinch appropriately at his waist. Once he’s ready, he looks around the room. It’s the same as always, and the door still won’t open.
So he walks over to the closet and pulls it open. And surely enough, one of the floor panels of the small space is missing. He can see descending stairs, and it’s dark. He can’t find it in himself to be surprised that there’s a secret room.
Jimin walks back into the main room and picks up the hand mirror. Without a second thought, he smashes it against the wall and collects one of the shards, tucking it under his shirt where it can’t be seen.
As he walks down the stairs, the shard bites at his skin, but he pays it no mind.
It’s a wide space, and it looks like a basement. Lots of pillars and it’s quite dark, smells musty. Jimin can hear his own breathing in his ears, and he’s terrified, his heart thundering.
Jimin walks forward.
He stops when he comes across a gorgeous chair. It looks like a throne, cushioned and studded, the arms regal and made of carved, painted wood. It’s horribly out of place in the rest of the dark area. On the seat of the chair are some pages.
Jimin jumps when he hears rapid footsteps, and tears roll down his cheeks when he feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around him from behind.
“You came,” Jungkook smiles into his ear. “I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.”
Jimin doesn’t respond.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jungkook asks, looking at the chair with him. “I looked at the floor plans. This prison was built atop a recreation centre. Dancing and painting, theatre and music. They must’ve left this behind, down here to rot. Along with lots of tools. Spanners, wrenches, saws and axes. A dream, right? The moment I discovered this room and found it, I knew it would be perfect for my final project. Every week, I come down here and polish it, keep it pristine for-”
“For me,” Jimin cuts, his skin crawling.
“Yes. For you,” Jungkook responds, kissing his cheek. “Did you read the book?”
Jimin nods.
Jungkook nuzzles his face over the juncture of his neck and shoulder and Jimin can feel his smile pressing into his skin. The other man’s skin is warm, hot, as if he’s shy, blushing.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever shown it to,” Jungkook reveals, voice soft. “You’re the only one who’ll understand.”
Jimin’s shaking. He realizes it distantly, the way his fingers rattle against his thighs.
“I want you to read the final part,” Jungkook tells him. “I’ll be here with you.”
Jimin doesn’t move.
“Pick it up and read it.”
He reaches over to take it, as much as he can with Jungkook’s hold on him.
He forces his eyes toward the words.
Today, I met Jimin. It’s the best day of my life. He’s exactly the face I was looking for. The type worth preserving. Small nose, perfect lips, bright eyes. He’ll be mine forever. I thought my life was over the moment I came here but destiny truly works in wonderful ways. It brought him to me.
“See?” Jungkook tells him. “This is how much you mean to me.”
His large hand covers his small one, turning the page. Jimin looks at his pale fingers, and wonders how much destruction, how much pain, how much horror they’ve inflicted. These are the same fingers that stroke his hair to help him fall asleep, that grip his jaw to pull him in for a gentle kiss, that push inside of him relentlessly over and over till he’s a sobbing, quivering mess in the sheets.
Jimin forces his eyes to the page.
He’s so intriguing. I had to force my hand because I can’t rely on destiny all the time. I put some mild cyanide in his food so he’d realize how much he needs me. There’s always danger lurking around the corner. Better sooner than later. He’ll forgive me in time.
Jimin doesn’t know what to identify the feelings coursing through him to be, now that he knows that Jungkook was the one that poisoned him. Maybe he always knew. Maybe he’s surprised.
Everything feels like lead, cold and heavy.
I think I’m in love with him. I’ve never felt love before. It’s just been the same. He lets me touch him, and for once I just want to wait. So the reward will be even sweeter. I’m going crazy just thinking about it. He’s already so beautiful. I can’t imagine how beautiful he is inside, where I can see all of him. There’ll be no secrets between us.
“You see?” Jungkook repeats, his other hand stroking down Jimin’s flank, settling down loosely over his hip. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He keeps talking about his childhood, about years lost. I’ll help him, like how he’s helped me. I won’t let him lose any more years. Now he’s fresh for the plucking, still rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. That’s what should remain immortal, untouchable. I can’t dirty him, let him get soiled. He has trouble sleeping so I’ve been giving him sedatives. His dark circles have already disappeared and he sleeps longer, so ethereal it makes me want to burst.
He’s my favourite doll.
It crashes into Jimin all at once. The odd way Jungkook treats him, referring to him as if he were an object. His distress at hurting Jimin during sex, his comments about Jimin’s bone structure. The way he’s always drowsy, falling asleep mid-conversation and all the time, always relaxed and boneless.
He wants purple eyes. I don’t think it’s genetically possible. I’ll have to get some imported, although there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to. I like his eyes as they are. I like how they look at me. I want to keep them as they are.
“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says and he sounds genuinely distressed. “I can’t give you the eyes you wanted. I know I’m being selfish. But you can pick your clothes, I promise. Are these not to your liking? They’re what I had in mind for you right from the start. I even had them made for you and took your measurements when you were asleep. But it’s okay. Tell me whatever it is you want to wear. I’ll get it for you.”
Jimin and I made love last night. It was so magical that I have difficulty jotting it down into words. But he’s quite delicate. He started bleeding but he was fine this morning. When I drain him, I won’t have to worry about that anymore. He’ll be all mine.
“You want to have sex with me once you’ve killed me?” Jimin asks, voice quiet.
“I would never kill you,” Jungkook says, as if the mere idea of it is ridiculous. “You would live forever.”
“I would be dead,” Jimin answers. “You’d never hear my voice ever again, or be able to talk to me.”
“I’ll have it in my memories. You’ll be beautiful for an eternity.”
“Would growing old be so bad?” Jimin asks. Jungkook’s grip on him tightens and Jimin knows he’s being foolish, that he should shut up and map out an escape route but he can’t. He can’t help but feel like this is the end of everything. “I want to grow old. And be surrounded by my family in a warm bed in a warm house. I want to build memories. I don’t want to die never having known what true happiness and life is.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond. Jimin barely bites back a sob, and he continues to read.
Jimin’s been disappearing lately. He doesn’t look me in the eyes so I know he’s been lying. I followed him yesterday.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” Jungkook asks, voice soft. “You hurt me.”
Jimin’s heart thunders in his ears.
He’s appealing to the courts for a retrial. Now, I know my baby wouldn’t hurt a single fly. He’s innocent, just as I am. But I can’t let him leave. Now that he’s mine and I’ve seen his potential. I can’t let him leave. I can’t. I can’t. He’s mistaken. He thinks that what’s best for him is to leave. He’s been fooled. There’s no way he would actually leave me. Someone is forcing his hand and I’ll find out who it is.
He turns the page.
It’s the final one.
Jimin, I love you more than words can say. I wanted to wait, but as is the timeline destiny has fated for us, you were meant to be set on your path now. I can’t let you deviate. I love you, always.
“P-Please-” Jimin starts. “Don’t-”
“You won’t understand now. But you will later,” Jungkook says, then lifting up his shirt to reveal a thick meat cleaver, the blade sharp. “I swiped this from the kitchen a year ago. I’ve been saving it, sharpening it for you. It’ll slice through you without pain, I promise. It’ll all make sense. You’ll be thanking me.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Jimin begs, his voice thick. “I’m sorry for lying. I’m s-sorry. I’ll stay with you, please don’t kill me.”
“Stop saying that!” Jungkook snaps. “This outside world, it’s already corrupting you. We were so happy before. Now all you want to do is leave even when I’ve done everything to make you happy.”
“I d-don’t want to leave, I promise, I don’t-”
“You’re lying to me again,” Jungkook spits, voice cold. “You think I don’t know you tried to open the door? You tried even when I asked you to come down here.”
“N-No, I hadn’t seen your note then. I was trying to look for you,” Jimin says pathetically, his eyes shut tightly, and it comes out feebly even if it’s the truth.
“Even then. This is your destiny.”
When Jimin opens his eyes, for a flicker of a second, he sees Hyunwoo. Just the sight of him claws a deep, painful cavity into his chest but it serves a purpose. The other boy is smiling, the way he used to once he’d warmed up to Jimin.
Jimin yanks himself out of Jungkook’s hold and runs. He doesn’t know how big this basement is, whether it spans the entire size of the prison but he can’t see an end and it’s too dark, the light only where the opening to the room was.
He starts to cry with more panic when he hears harder, faster, footsteps, getting closer and closer.
Jungkook’s always been athletic. Jimin never stood a chance.
The other man catches him in record time, grabbing him from behind but Jimin acts faster. He pulls out the mirror shard and stabs Jungkook wherever he can reach, although it’s nowhere vital. His thighs, his shoulders, and Jungkook’s grip falters for a second, enough for Jimin to kick him and run once more. The shard falls to the ground in the process, his own hand bleeding from where it sliced into his skin and he curses when he realizes it’s leaving a trail.
He presses his hand to the tulle fabric of his shirt so that it blots as much as it can, running faster and faster and then slowing so that he can hide behind a pillar.
“Jimin,” He hears a few seconds later. “My doll.”
Jungkook’s voice booms across the space, echoing and making Jimin almost lose control of his bladder. He presses his knees to his chest, trying to become as small as possible.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a chase,” Jungkook calls. “Run, puppy, run!” He shouts then, followed by maniacal laughter so disturbing and terrifying that Jimin cries harder.
Jimin starts to crawl around, silently, his fingers scrabbling over the dusty ground. The open wound in his palm stings as it’s pressed against the floor but he forces himself through it.
“When I find you, I’m going to cut your stomach open. I’m going to shove my head in and lick you clean, then stuff you full of diamonds!” Jungkook laughs and his voice has taken a different edge, like something inside of him has finally cracked. Or perhaps it’s always been there, only surfacing now.
Jimin keeps crawling, soundless. His fingers find a rock and he throws it in a direction very far away from where he is, his stomach lurching at Jungkook’s hard footsteps as he runs in the direction of the noise.
“There’s no point in this, sweetheart. There’s only you and me here. No one’s gonna ever find you and the only way to escape is up there. Stop hiding. You’ve made hyung very angry but I’ll forget it if you come out now!”
There’s the sound of something grating against the ground, metallic. Jimin peeks to see Jungkook carrying a pickaxe, dragging it behind him as he strolls leisurely around the dark space, humming a sweet tune.
Even in the dark, Jungkook looks absolutely demonic. Lips spread in a wide smile, eyes crazed and alive with something that seems finally free after being repressed for so long.
Jimin finds a small crawlspace. It’s littered with spiderwebs and is quite tight but he’s small enough to fit in. He’d be completely out of view unless Jungkook had a torch.
“Jiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,” Jungkook calls, sing song. “Hyung’s gonna find you, and when he does, you’re going to be very sorry for disobeying him!”
Jimin bites at his knuckles, trying so hard to not let his sobs be audible. The crawlspace is uncomfortably tight, a tough fit even for a toddler but Jimin is just flexible enough. The top of the cramped compartment digs into his spine and the side presses into his head, boring down.
“I’m going to slit your throat,” Jungkook sings. “So that no one ever hears your voice again! Ha ha ha! I’ll drain you well, and dress you in a bridal gown and fuck you in the new hole I’ll have carved! Stuff you nice and full!”
Just then, there’s a loud noise and a different set of hurried footsteps echoing through the wide space.
“Jimin!”
It’s Yoongi.
“Jimin! Where are you? Fuck!”
Jimin curses, crying even harder. Yoongi’s alone. If he wants to look, he’ll have to come out of his hiding space.
He knows that Yoongi doesn’t stand a chance against Jungkook.
Jimin’s heartbeat roars in his ears, so loud that he can barely hear his own breathing. It all feels hopeless; all of this. He can’t hide here forever. Jungkook will eventually find him, and even if he doesn’t, Jimin will be stuck here till he dies and rots. There’s no escape.
“Jimin!” Yoongi shouts again and the cocking of a gun echoes in the loud space. “Are you here?”
Jimin sees the beam of a flashlight dart around the space, searching.
There's the rustled static of Yoongi’s communication device, and the warped voice is unnaturally loud.
“Guard Min. Where are you?”
“Cell 601. Inmates Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin missing. I’ve discovered an underbelly to the prison.”
“Pull back immediately. Return to the office.”
A part of Jimin wants him to go so badly.
“No,” Yoongi says and he curses. “There’s something wrong here. I’ve spotted a trail of blood. Requesting backup-”
The sound of Yoongi’s communication device clattering to the ground is loud, and there’s a whoosh of air, followed by a sick, wet sound.
“You fucking bastard,” He hears Jungkook grit, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. “You’re the one trying to take him away.”
Jimin curses, crawling out of his hiding place. He moves toward the pillar, peeking from behind it.
Jungkook’s straddling the guard, the side of his face splattered with what Jimin realizes is Yoongi’s blood, and he’s strangling him. Yoongi’s trying to fight back but it isn’t working. Jungkook is 100% muscle, and the other man seems to be severely injured.
Jimin sobs, out loud. Jungkook looks up.
And his lips spread into a nice, wide, menacing smile.
“Found you.”
At the same time, Jimin’s eyes catch Yoongi’s gun that slid over the ground when Jungkook tackled him, a few feet away from him.
It’s like a race against time.
But Jimin loses.
Jimin’s fingers barely make contact with the weapon before Jungkook gets to him, the larger man easily grabbing him.
“You hurt hyung, you know. I’m only trying to look after you,” Jungkook breathes into his ear. “I’m trying so hard not to be angry with you and do something I’ll regret but you’re making it very difficult.”
Jimin screams, and he isn’t expecting Jungkook to punch him in the stomach. He feels the blow in his lungs and he chokes on his breath, feeling his mouth pool with blood. Even then, he knows that the other man held back.
“Stop it,” Jungkook tells him. “You’re making me hurt you-”
If Jimin’s going to die, he’s going to inflict as much damage as he can.
“I hate you,” He spits. “I never loved you. I lied to you because I wanted to l-leave you.”
“Don’t make me angry, Jimin,” Jungkook says, his voice shaking. “There’s no telling what I might do,”
There’s a sudden gunshot, and the other man goes ramrod straight. Jimin looks down to see Jungkook’s hip start to bleed, the dark liquid staining his clothes. A peek over his shoulder has him spot Yoongi holding the gun as he stands on shaky legs, bleeding profusely. There’s a huge deep gash across the front of his stomach, obviously from the axe.
“You worthless insect,” Jungkook spits, somehow still standing and not buckling over with pain. Yoongi falls over onto his stomach in the next moment, the gun clattering to the floor once more. The guard is eerily still, and he isn’t breathing.
Jimin watches as Jungkook reaches into his own wound, plucking out the bullet as if it were nothing, not even flinching.
Still, he doesn’t let Jimin go. Not even as Jimin kicks at him, attempts to bite him, screaming and crying.
Jungkook takes his face in his hands, the blood on them smearing over his skin.
“Enough of this, hmm? Running around?” Jungkook tells him, his eyes demonic, a deep black.
“Yoongi!” Jimin screams.
"He's dead," Jungkook smirks.
The guard doesn’t budge, and he can see the sheen of his blood trickling over the floor from where his flashlight is still on.
"Just give in, sweetheart," Jungkook coaxes, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks. "You don't have to be scared-"
Jimin’s eyes dart around, manic and crazed with panic. And then they catch it. The meat cleaver kept by Jungkook’s hip, probably meant to dismember or disembowel him.
Jungkook’s too busy trying to get him to look at him to notice the way Jimin swiftly pulls it out, and it feels like someone is moving his hands for him.
He lifts the blade and stabs it into Jungkook’s side over and over, so much so that he can’t keep track of how many times he’s plunged the blade into his ribs. Blood pours out of Jungkook’s mouth and he’s staring at Jimin, eyes wide with shock. He's still holding his face, thumbs pressed gently against his cheeks to wipe away his tears.
And he makes no move to stop him.
Jimin cries, sobbing so hard he shakes with it, his arm moving at his own volition, continuing to stab him. He can’t bear the look in Jungkook’s eyes and for a moment he sees all the months spent together, Jungkook cuddling him, putting flowers in his hair, reading him books and watching movies together, feeding him when he was ill.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin sobs, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I do love you. You’re the first one I’ve ever loved. But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be that for you.”
The knife clatters to the ground, and so does Jungkook, his heavy body collapsing to the floor. A pool of blood spreads around his body as soon as he hits the ground.
He looks up at Jimin, eyes glassy and fading.
“You love me,” Jungkook says, voice raspy, lips spreading into a bloody, blissed over smile. “You’ve said it a million times but this is the only time I’ve ever felt you actually meant it.”
Jimin doesn’t know how long he cries for.
He cries, vision white even as Yoongi’s backup arrives, leading him upstairs. He cries even as he’s kept in the waiting room, blood splattered over his face just as it was a year ago when he’d been arrested the first time. He cries when someone cleans him up, his chest aching with heartbreak and pain.
Jimin is inconsolable for the rest of the day. They try to get someone in to speak to him, get him to stop shaking and babbling nonsense as he cries. A child trauma worker arrives with a stuffed rabbit and he grabs it, shoving his face into the plushie as he cries even harder.
Somewhere in the day, he’s informed that the verdict passed in his favour. He’ll be released tomorrow.
Jimin feels hollow.
-
There’s a draft of wind, and it flows through Jimin’s childhood bedroom.
He curls up in bed underneath the blanket, inhaling the smell of home. It’s so quiet here in Busan, and he’s in the suburbs where he originally stayed, in the same house with the red gate.
Today, Jimin turned 22. He had a cosy birthday party, friends and family, lots of gifts and a nice homemade dinner. Everyone’s spoiling him as if he were still a child. It was golden and warm. His brother spent his allowance to buy him a perfume bottle and his uncle bought him a bicycle. Jimin’s parents surprised him with his very own laptop, something he’ll need now that he’s starting university later this year.
Earlier in the evening, Yoongi had come to pick him up. He took him to the park with the koi pond, and let Jimin have his turn on the swings, watching fondly from below as he climbed the oak tree he used to long before. Yoongi’s still recovering from his injuries and has taken an extended break for physical therapy.
It was a lovely day.
But Jimin can’t sleep.
He just can’t. He’s been tossing and turning in bed for so long now.
It feels like the past 14 years of his life have been in a vacuum, fictional. Like as if they didn’t happen.
And every time he closes his eyes, he sees Jungkook.
Sometimes the Jungkook he sees is sweet, vulnerable Jungkook. Sometimes the Jungkook he sees is the maniacal one, the one that still appears in his nightmares, along with what he’d read in his diary.
A shiver runs up Jimin’s spine, and he throws the blanket off.
He shucks on his indoor slippers and walks out of his room and down the stairs. He lets his fingers trail along the wall as he descends them. Their family will be moving houses soon. Something about a fresh start. They’d stayed here just for sentimentality, in case he’d ever try to find his way back home.
Once he’s downstairs, he goes to look outside the window in the landing. It’s an old house, made of stone rather than wood or concrete. He touches the cold pane, touching the drops of rain that litter the glass from the outside. He stays there for a while, soft hair mussed, tired eyes watching the way the trees outside sway with the current of wind.
It’s peaceful, the way the trees move in a rhythm.
Soon enough, his eyes drift elsewhere, catching something he’s been meaning to get to for a while now.
Jimin walks over to the pile of mail on the little table by the front door, his fingers curling over the sleeves of his sleepshirt that hang too long. He’s been getting lots of letters from people all over the country, mostly words of support and encouragement. He scours through the pile of packages and mail, taking in all of the wishes he’s received for his birthday.
Jimin’s fingers halt when they chance upon one of the packages, the address on the front giving him enough whiplash that he feels dizzy.
It’s from Jeon Jungkook, Geoje prison.
When he’d heard that Jungkook had survived, Jimin had admittedly been relieved. He’d lost a lot of blood, and Jimin had narrowly missed puncturing one of his lungs. He’d been in a critical state for a week, but ultimately survived.
This is the first he’s hearing from him.
He takes the cardboard box to the kitchen and uses a cutter to open it, revealing a gift. It’s been wrapped too, and there’s a note on top.
Jimin picks it up with careful fingers. A shudder runs up his spine, his heart skipping a beat the moment his eyes drift over Jungkook’s handwriting, memories of when he’d last seen it conjuring up a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in his tummy.
He wastes no time in reading what’s written, not willing to wait.
Dear Jimin,
How are you? I’m sure you’re fine. I’m the same as always. There’s not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about you. Do you feel the same way?
Yes.
It’s your birthday. I sent this a few days ahead hoping that it would arrive on time. If it did, and you’re reading this on the 13th, you need to come back and visit me. Give me a kiss and tell me you love me. Because I know you do. I just know. Even though you left me.
Jimin’s throat is heavy, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He isn’t going to lie. He thinks about Jungkook all the time, even when he sleeps. He’d researched him once he was out, if only to prove to himself that Jungkook wasn’t the sweet boy he thought he was. Read articles about how he’d been caught after one of the farmhand’s stumbled upon his collection. Jungkook’s DNA was all over the place, and he confessed readily, his proud smile on the way to trial what made national headlines. Jimin was too busy in the underworld, pleasing rich and powerful men to know or identify the storm he was heading into.
I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I know I scared you. I was just so angry. I only want you to be mine forever. Please, won’t you come visit me?
A tear rolls down Jimin’s cheek.
My gift isn’t much, but it’s an old promise I made back when we first met. I realized we never made good on it. Hopefully, you’ll see the potential. Happy birthday my love.
I love you, forever and always,
Your Jungkook
Jimin opens the gift, peeling away the wrapping with gentle fingers. It’s a book.
The Breathless Zoo
The book Jungkook had wanted the first time they met, in the library. He brushes his fingertips over the hardcover, over the embossed gold letters that read out the culture of longing.
Jimin makes himself a cup of hot cocoa. He curls up on the comfy sofa in the living room, the same one he’d take afternoon naps on as a toddler, the book heavy and secure on his lap.
He turns open the cover, and begins reading.
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