Chapter Text
Jimin wakes up to an unclear, dark form surrounded by blurs of aseptic white and aquatic green. When the foggy image comes into focus, he is confronted with an astonishing, yet deeply unsettling sight.
The vision of his father standing at the foot of his hospital bed seems more bizarre than the grotesque shapes of all the monsters that have haunted him since childhood.
But here he is, in the flesh. Stiff and wiry, donning an expensive dark blue suit, all stern lines and sharp angles. He is talking to someone to Jimin’s right, but his body feels so heavy, he can barely gather the strength to turn his head. With great effort, he manages to discern that the other person in the room is a middle-aged woman wearing a white coat - Doctor Han. She is talking in hushed whispers, clear urgency in her soft voice.
“-is why we decided to call his family. He has gone through extensive trauma, I am sure you understand this is the best choice for your son- “
“What I understand is that it is better for him to be with his family. Not cooped up in here because of some baseless hunches.” His father cuts in, dry and condescending as ever.
“Mr. Park- “ Doctor Han sounds taken aback, speechless. “These are not ‘baseless hunches’, your son has been exhibiting what I believe to be a confusional state, what happened seems to have perturbed him greatly. I am no expert in that field, that is why I suggested that- “
“Indeed. You are no expert in that field.” He says curtly. “Have you made this suggestion to him?”
“I have. He refused. But he is in no state- “
“If he does not wish to stay, then so be it. He is an adult and quite capable of making his own decisions. I am not committing him.” His father’s tone becomes harder, interrupting the flustered doctor once more.
There is a steady swell of anxiety that had been rising within Jimin ever since he opened his eyes and saw his father, but the word ‘committing’ precipitates a small gasp past his lips. The other two appear not to notice Jimin stirred. Doctor Han crosses her arms defensively, a deep frown on her otherwise kind, round face.
“Mr. Park, I urge you to reconsider. You are the only one with the power to truly help Jimin in this situation. A full psychiatric evaluation needs to be conducted- “
“No.”
This time it is not his father’s voice that cuts through the doctor’s words. It is Jimin’s.
“Ah, Jimin-ssi you’re awake.” The doctor says warily. “I was just speaking to your father about it being more beneficial if you stayed a little longer, for us to better assess your condition.”
Jimin’s eyes stay fixed on his father’s, drowsiness long gone. The man looks much older than the last time he saw him, some gray appearing amidst his jet-black, neatly combed hair. His expression when he looks at Jimin is the same though: detachment and quiet aversion.
“Father.” Jimin gives him a short nod, but his palms are sweating profusely. That heavy, inscrutable gaze still manages to perturb him all these years later.
“Jimin.” He responds, vacant.
Jimin swallows around his growing disquietude and turns his attention to Doctor Han again.
“That won’t be necessary, Doctor Han. As I have told you before, I am feeling quite well. I believe my physical condition has improved enough so that I can leave, right?”
“Jimin-ssi, there are more factors besides your physical condition, as we spoke before.” The doctor says softly, motherly, like she is speaking to a child. “It would be important if you stayed, we could discuss this further privately if you’d prefer…”
“There is truly no need, Doctor. I would like to be discharged today. As much as I am grateful for the wonderful way you took care of me here, I am really in need of some homemade food.” Jimin chuckles, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.
“I think it would be best if- “
“Doctor.” His father’s voice rings clear and assertive. “My son has spoken, and I am in a hurry to go back to my affairs in Busan. As you have summoned me here with such urgency, I left many things unattended that cannot remain so. I believe you have paperwork to fetch in order to complete this process as quickly as possible, am I correct?”
“I- “ Doctor Han appears to be scandalized by his father’s cold demeanor, and Jimin almost laughs. He knows how much the older man is holding back not to be even harsher. He does not like to be contradicted or defied, even in the subtlest of ways. “Yes. I shall go get the forms.”
She heads to the door, but hesitates at the threshold, turning back to Jimin.
“If you’ll allow me, Jimin, I will schedule an appointment with our best psychiatrist for you. We can do an outpatient evaluation, and it would be so very good for you to have someone to talk to about what happened.”
There is a worry written all across her features, that Jimin doesn’t accept. He knows why she is telling him this, but he will never agree. He is fine. He has always been fine. She just doesn’t believe him. Like everyone else in Jimin’s life, apart from his mother.
He is used to it. The concern. The pity .
He cannot stomach it.
He forces a big, placating smile.
“It’s okay, there’s no need to worry. I was a little confused when I got here, but I am feeling much better now. You took good care of me, and you can rest assured that I am leaving fully healed, Doctor Han.” Jimin says politely.
Doctor Han’s nearly exasperated gaze shifts again to Jimin’s father, but the silent hostility emanating from the man seems to crush her remaining hope. She turns on her heel and leaves with a bowed head and hurried footsteps.
The heaviest silence follows. And then-
“You are to come with me to Busan. You will stay at my home for no longer than one month, and then you will depart. As you are now homeless due to what happened, I can arrange to help with rent if it is needed, for the first few months.”
His father’s tone is monochord and doesn’t leave a lot of space to argue. Still, Jimin is beyond unnerved by this situation. Why is he here? His father never genuinely cared for Jimin, only saw him out of pure obligation a handful of times in his life since he and his mother split up when he was four years old. Why is he playing the concerned parent right now? Jimin takes a deep, deep breath before asking the question, eyeing how his father moves briskly to exit the room.
“Why?”
With his back turned on him, he sees Park Jungho’s posture become even more rigid.
“Your mother. In the past, she has made me promise that if anything were to happen to her, I would come to your assistance. I am honoring that promise. That is all.”
“But if I leave with you, how am I going to visit Mama? She was transferred to the Asan Medical Center because it has a better Burn Unit. I should stay in Seoul until they allow visitors, I want to see her and- “
“Jimin.” His father cuts in, with that bone-chilling, authoritative tone. “Get dressed.”
-
Silence as oppressive as the thick, black smoke that had poisoned Jimin’s lungs, contaminates the space around them. He has been hunched, playing with the loose threads on the sleeve of his ratty, gray sweater for the better part of three hours. The beige leather backseat of his father’s Bentley is comfortable, but all of Jimin’s body aches and screams with tension.
The drive back to the city where he was born seems to stretch on and on into the dark, endless road. The sky is pitch black and starless, the car only being intermittently lit by the faint, orangey street lamps. And Jimin wants to ask questions. He wants to speak his mind, but can’t seem to sort through the whirlwind of his disordered thoughts. Finally, he picks something to say, already anticipating a harsh or no response.
“Father.”
Silence.
“Father, have they told you everything that happened? At the hospital?”
More silence.
Jimin gathers that they had. Except, Father doesn’t know the whole story. Even Jimin has trouble recalling a lot of it, the details all too confusing and hazy for his pain-filled mind.
“Mama- She had been getting worse. They were making her worse. I kept seeing them more and more, for days before it happened.”
“Shut up.” His father grunts dangerously low. A warning.
Jimin doesn’t heed it.
“ They were the ones that caused it. The fire. Everything burned because of them . We almost died , and still, you won’t believe me!” Jimin’s tone goes up, in time with his anger, starting to bubble up after years of repression. “Mama is always right. You’re too narrow-minded, you don’t understand a single thing. You pretend you’re so magnanimous, you act like you’re better than us, superior, but you have no clue what we’ve been through. You haven’t got the faintest idea of what I have seen - “
“ Enough! ”
The horrible scream makes Jimin’s heart jump to his throat, effectively silencing him. His father grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles get pale white. Without warning, the man turns brusquely to Jimin, and he can’t help but gasp in horror. His father’s face is contorted with rage, eyes bulging out, forehead veins pulsing aggressively. The corners of his lips downturned, while he bares his yellowed teeth - a grimace of true hate.
“Listen to me very carefully, Park Jimin. You will not, ever, ever again utter your mother’s name in my presence. You will not speak of her, you will not mention anything even remotely related to her. You will not speak of that fire, and you will not speak of them . Whatever demented ideas your mother planted in your mind, they are to be buried. They do not exist! You have always been just like her - an attention seeker, lost in your deranged imagination, and perpetually playing the victim! Shit!!”
There are car horns slashing violently through the night. His father straightens the wheel and curses, abruptly correcting their trajectory and making Jimin bump his head hard on the window with a dull thud. Jimin hisses as he rubs the side of his head that throbs painfully, already feeling a bump forming there.
He hears his father inhale a couple of shaky, enraged breaths as he presses on, choosing to keep his eyes on the road.
“You are coming into my house, and this time, you will not, I repeat, will not fill my wife’s and my son’s heads with made-up stories. You will keep your head down and your mouth shut, or so help me God, Jimin, I will march back into that hospital, and I will commit you. I will make sure you rot in there for the rest of your miserable, pathetic life.”
And Jimin barely reacts. Because for the first time today, he can make sense of his father’s actions. Now, he is totally being himself. No false pretenses, no fake promises. Jimin is used to being yelled at. It somehow brings him a sense of order, confusion giving way to resignation and the ache in his chest that always accompanies him.
All of a sudden, a chilling shiver runs down his spine.
He feels its presence before he sees it.
Jimin’s head shoots up, eyes immediately landing on the familiar black silhouette on the previously empty passenger’s seat.
Slowly, it turns its ghastly head towards him, neck cracking horridly at an unnatural angle. Its skin is gray and shriveled, an emaciated face with hollowed eye sockets, but the most terrifying part is its mouth. A crooked jaw that hangs so low, that the chin reaches its chest, distorted in a never-ending silent scream.
Jimin stifles a whimper.
The Mouth is here with its foul breath and rotten teeth, ready to follow wherever he may go.
-
The Jeon Mansion is the only colonial Japanese-style house in the entire Dalmaji Hill. The enormous two-story building was purchased by his father’s wealthy family just before he got married to his mother - an extravagant wedding gift. The estate is surrounded by tall trees that protect the garden and mansion from view. The house is built with a western brick exterior, but it has traditional dark gray giwa tiles covering its gabled roof, including the section that swoops down over the front entrance, creating a cozy porch.
From the outside looking in, no one would ever think this imposing, yet quaint house would ever be the stage for any dark or eerie happenings.
But Jimin knows better.
Being back in the place where his life had first started to crumble is proving to be another harrowing experience.
If it’s not the bone-deep loneliness or the violent ache that invades him due to his mother’s absence at his side, it’s the feeling of constantly being watched that sucks the life out of him.
Jimin knows The Eye is around, even though it still hasn’t shown itself.
The monsters lurk at every corner of the mansion, but they keep their presence hidden. They are there, but they don’t want Jimin to see them. Not yet, at least.
His feet often take him to the same place. Without even realizing it, he finds himself in the dusty attic, where his mother’s grand piano and painting supplies took residence. Perhaps, because there he feels engulfed by her presence, surrounded by easels, old canvases, and memories. Oh, how he misses her… How he misses being held by Mama, kissed on his cheeks and forehead as he inhales her sweet honey and rose scent.
Thankfully, the hospital has been allowing her to make a few phone calls, so Jimin has been able to talk to her briefly, a couple of times. With her soft voice bathed in a distant echo, she tells him she has been doing better, she tells him the dreadful burns on her legs are healing, and that there have been no signs of them . Jimin makes all the efforts in the world not to cry while he speaks to her, even pretends they aren’t here. Mama feels relieved, happier than she has been in years, even though she misses him fiercely. That is all Jimin wants. To protect where he can, because when it mattered, he was unable to.
The days blur into each other, in a monochrome, disfigured mass, drenched in dreary February rain. He feels numb, cold, lonely, like a bitter ghost floating through the wood-paneled hallways of the too-big house.
He is ignored by almost everyone: his father, his stepmother, even the house-keeper, and so he returns the favor by never addressing them, unless strictly necessary. Alas, maybe the one person Jimin would desire to find him invisible, is the one that notices him the most.
His step-brother has been staring at him with a look Jimin cannot decipher, but that deeply unsettles him.
Jeon Jungkook looks very different since the last time Jimin has seen him. They were children when he last stayed at his father’s house, he was twelve years old, and Jungkook ten. And things hadn’t ended well, with Jimin being rushed back home to Seoul with stinging, raw cheeks and angry tears in his eyes, after spending only 5 days of the initially planned two-week-long stay during his summer break. Only because he told the truth. All because Jungkook was a spoiled little brat with a mean streak.
But now Jungkook isn’t the lanky little kid he was ten years ago. He has grown taller than Jimin and much more built, his muscled body very clear even under the oversized black clothes he favored. His dark hair is longish and slightly wavy, reaching his sculpted jaw. His ears are decorated with an array of small silver hoops and piercings, and his arms with eye-catching tattoos. He looks mysterious, intimidating, even though his eyes are still as round and big as they were when he was a child. And Jimin doesn’t know what to do with himself when the weight of his gaze is set upon him.
It makes him restless.
Restless, and sad, and anxious, and confused is all he has been since arriving in this cursed house.
Tonight is the third consecutive night that Jimin cannot sleep. The rain punishes the glass windows with cataclysmic force, the sound too loud for him to be able to even close his eyes. So he gets up. Jimin takes his huge, dark blue puffer jacket and heads outside. If the storm is keeping him awake, he might as well witness the wrath of nature in its full glory.
Sitting on one of the wooden chairs on the porch, he watches the heavy rain pour over the garden, coming endlessly from the pitch-black abyss that some call the sky.
Somehow it is weirdly soothing. The disarray in front of him placates the one within.
The only moment of peace Jimin has had this entire week is over all too soon.
He hears the front door opening and he turns to look, startled.
The cause: Jeon Jungkook.
His step-brother’s black eyes flit over Jimin’s face, seemingly disinterested, but still, the boy makes his way to the chair next to him, sitting down silently.
Jungkook takes a lighter and a pack of Marlboro reds from the pocket of the expensive black padded jacket he threw over his loungewear, and starts lighting a cigarette. The younger takes a long, first drag, making the tip light up with a pretty orangey hue.
For some reason, Jimin can’t look away from the long clouds of smoke that Jungkook exhales to the humid hair around them.
Neither of them speaks for a few minutes, until-
“So… Why are you ignoring me?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper.
Jimin wasn’t expecting such a direct question. He swallows thickly before he answers.
“My father doesn’t want me to speak to you.”
“Mhmm. Is that so?” Jungkook says, his tone reads skeptical, sardonic. “And what about you? You wanna speak to me?”
Again, Jungkook’s forwardness makes him blink and look at him. The boy is already staring, head cocked to the side. There’s a mild curiosity coloring his normally arrogant, but handsome , features.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. And it’s not like things ended very well when I tried talking to you last time I was here.”
Jungkook hums once again, appearing to be thinking about something while he expels yet another lungful of smoke.
“Last time you were here, I was a puny, sniveling scaredy cat. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve changed quite a bit in ten years.”
“Maybe you did, but they didn’t. Especially Father.”
“Well… Your father- ” Jungkook takes another long drag of his cigarette before completing the sentence. “ -is a proper fucking twat.”
Jimin almost chokes on his own spit. Jungkook is looking at him with a crooked half-smile.
“Wouldn’t you agree?” He asks, lifting a perfect, pierced eyebrow.
“I would.”
“When you told me all that shit… About the house, about your mom, I just didn’t know what to do. I got scared, like a fucking kid would.”
“I- can understand that. But at the same time, I begged you to keep it to yourself. You knew what would happen if Father got wind that I had been talking about the stuff I saw. He put his hands on you too.”
“He did. He learned not to do it anymore if he wants to keep all his fucking teeth.”
The sudden aggression in Jungkook’s voice makes Jimin recoil a bit. Nevertheless, he can understand it. Living under the same roof with his father for all these years must have been challenging for Jungkook in its own way, even though he has so many comforts and privileges, being from a rich family, spoiled rotten by his wealthy mother since birth.
Jimin would be able to brush this off quickly, had it not been for Jungkook’s smug smirk when his father lost his temper with him, back then. Jimin got slapped, shoved, and screamed at and his step-brother just stood there, mirth in his eyes, like he got some kind of petty revenge.
Jungkook clears his throat and continues smoking as if nothing had perturbed him.
“So. Do you still see them?”
“Yes.”
“I asked Father about what happened, but he wouldn’t give me details.”
Jimin looks away. He doesn’t really fancy talking about that night.
“How many are there now?” His step-brother presses on.
“Three.”
“Three… Used to be two, right? You told me about them. The Mouth and The Eye.”
A shiver runs down Jimin’s spine, and the porch light seems to flicker ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Another one started appearing a few years later.”
“What is it?”
“The Hands.” Jimin says simply, feeling dread pooling in his gut just from mentioning the most terrifying monster of all.
“So, The Mouth, you told me back then it looks like a grayish corpse with a huge, black gaping mouth. The Eye is like a giant bloodshot eyeball, and its optical nerves hover around it like slimy tendrils… What do The Hands look like?”
Shit. Jimin really doesn’t want to talk about it.
“If I tell you, maybe you’ll run off to mommy and daddy to tell them you’re scared again.” Jimin spits through gritted teeth.
“I won’t.” Jungkook lowers the cigarette, tapping some ashes onto the floor. “But if you don’t want to tell me that’s okay too. I get it. Can’t imagine how you feel after what went down.”
“Right.”
Quiet.
“Your mom can’t see them, right?”
“No. Only I can. I have the ‘Sight’, Mama can only hear. It’s bad enough. I am glad she can’t see them.”
They stop talking once more.
The weight of the silence between them is as palpable as the swelling storm. The rain intensifies.
“You think they did it?”
“What?”
“The fire.”
And Jimin just nods, unsure of how Jungkook reached this conclusion. Is he that easy to read?
“Fuck… “ Jungkook mumbles gravelly.
He appears to be at a loss for words for the first time.
The younger flicks the cigarette butt with a practiced gesture and promptly lights another one, inhaling deeply. Wordlessly, he offers it to Jimin.
And Jimin vaguely wonders if Jungkook is sadistic, dumb, or just a plain douchebag. Offering a cigarette to someone who had just recently almost died of smoke inhalation seems, at a minimum, mind-blowingly tactless.
He doesn’t know what compels him to take the cigarette from his step-brother's fingers.
Jimin takes a deep, measured drag, breathes the smoke in, lets it settle heavily in his lungs, fill him up. He thought he would choke and cough it all out, but maybe all the black, noxious shit he breathed in during the fire has made him build some kind of tolerance. Or perhaps he just likes playing with fire.
Jimin finds the sensation pleasing, likes the flicker of orange light when he wraps his lips around the cigarette and sucks in. Likes the spiral of gray smoke that comes out of his mouth and nostrils.
So engrossed he is in this new transgression, that he misses the shadows in Jungkook’s lingering gaze.
“I guess I just wanted to tell you that I believe you. I never told you I did. This house… Yeah, it’s old. The floors creak, the lights flicker, the pipes moan, but that’s not all there is to it.”
A flash in the sky precedes the deafening rumbling of thunder. The porch light goes out and Jimin’s heart starts hammering in his chest.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Jungkook is standing up, taking the last drag out of his cigarette while he runs his other hand through his long, wavy hair. He pensively plays with his lip piercing, licking over his lower lip. Somehow, Jimin finds the movement mesmerizing.
Oh, fuck no. Is he really finding his arrogant, privileged step-brother even remotely attractive at a time like this? What kind of bullshit is this?
“I think that… In some fucked up way, we might be able to understand each other.”
Jimin doesn’t answer. The storm rages on, onyx clouds rolling menacingly in the sky like a black avalanche spitting up angry lightning.
“Anyway- uh- g’night.” Jungkook grunts before stepping away and into the house.
So, Jeon Jungkook, brat-extraordinaire, thinks they might “understand each other”. Says he believes Jimin.
The question is, does Jimin believe him ?
-
It is surreal how Jungkook, who had all the potential of becoming a heartless, narcissistic sociopath, turns out to be kind of an alright dude. Raised by a vain, egotistical, shallow mother and a violent, tyrannical, cold stepfather, the boy could have definitely ended up way worse than he appears to be. Jimin guesses all the money might have balanced things out a little. Daddy wouldn’t hug him, but at least he had a bedroom full of the most expensive toys. Mommy was always working or hanging out with the girls, but at least Jungkook’s nanny played hide and seek with him and kissed him good night.
Jungkook has been staying at home more, as he is enjoying the break that precedes his third year of college. The spring semester starts in March, but he doesn’t seem very eager to go back. He is a Business major, planning on joining the ranks of his stepfather’s Bank, even though he would rather study acting or photography. No one in their right mind would let Jungkook pursue that though. So Jimin thinks the boy just resorted to tattoos and piercings to mildly piss his parents off, his own way of rebelling.
It is very noticeable how Jungkook is so carefully composed and put-together in front of his mother and stepfather. Even though he hates them and shit-talks them every time he can, Jungkook has full control of his expressions, behaviors, and words when his parents are around, it is truly enviable. On the other hand, Jimin’s observations are limited, as both Jungkook’s mother and Jimin’s father are workaholics and spend an insane amount of time away from the house. To Jimin, it is a blessing because it minimizes contact with them, but it also seems to stimulate Jungkook to seek him out. And Jimin has… mixed feelings about that.
His mind still doesn’t feel like his own, he loses track of time, keeps wandering off to the attic at odd hours without realizing, confused about how he got there. He always feels watched, paranoid, on edge, and the stress of it continues to take its toll on his sleeping patterns, so much so that Jimin concludes he has been sleepwalking and that is why he doesn’t remember when he finds himself in the attic, or in the middle of a dark hallway.
Every day he seems to get a little worse. Jimin tries to get his mind in order, he is supposed to be resting and getting his strength back, but what happens is the exact opposite. His own thoughts escape him. Memories elude him. He is scattered, spread too thin, and he thinks he might rip apart at some point.
He feels like the house is absorbing him, tearing at his sanity with its secrets and tenebrous energy. The fact that he knows the monsters are there and keep circling him, but don’t show themselves is making everything even more maddening.
This certainly isn’t the right time for him to open up to someone.
It’s just that the only times when he feels like he is gathering the pieces of his broken self are when Jeon Jungkook sits with him in the attic, or on the porch.
And they talk.
It doesn’t hurt that the younger boy happens to be easy on the eyes. Or maybe it does, because Jungkook certainly wouldn’t share Jimin’s… inclinations . Not that it would matter. Jimin would never involve himself with anyone, he never has in all of his twenty-two years of life. Most definitely not at a time like this, much less with his freaking step-brother .
But Jungkook’s lips are pretty. They aren’t very full like Jimin’s but they are perfectly shaped, his lip ring moves enticingly while he speaks. Jimin can’t stop his eyes from slipping to the glint of it. Is Jungkook speaking to him? What is he saying? How long has he been there?
“Hey, are you listening?”
“Uh?”
It appears he was lost in his head again. Jimin suddenly realizes they are in the attic, and that he is sitting in an old, rickety wooden chair, staring at black and white drawings of nude people. Low, golden light casts soft shadows on Jungkook’s solemn, but attractive face.
“Were you distracted again?”
“Yeah, I- sorry.” Jimin blinks the fog away and gathers the charcoal drawings his mother created a long time ago, tucking them away in the worn-out mahogany desk again.
“I was saying this house has been here for a century… Dates back to the Japanese occupation of Korea. I’ve read there was a massacre in Dalmaji Hill, in like… 1925. The local population rebelled and they went to a bunch of mansions of Japanese government officials and murdered them in their sleep. Needless to say, they were slaughtered shortly after. This was the only house from that era that wasn’t torn to the ground. Who knows what kind of fucked up shit went on inside these walls.”
Goosebumps erupt all over Jimin’s arms.
“Makes sense. I think that everything that went wrong in my life started here. Mama said that she started sensing evil presences when she moved here. I guess they noticed she was different. They began trying to get into her head. With time… they succeeded.”
“Does she hear three different voices?”
“Yeah.”
“So three voices, three monsters.”
“The Unholy Trinity.” Jimin scoffs.
“What are they, though? Are they demons, monsters, specters…?”
“Does it matter? They’re evil, that is all I need to know.”
There is a moment when they stop talking. Jimin grows nervous with all these questions and looks down to stare at his own slightly trembling hands, but at the same time, he can’t help but keep answering. Jungkook always seems to be extremely interested in everything Jimin has to say about the monsters, about his and his mother’s experiences. He might be a fan of the supernatural or something.
“You believe in God?” The boy asks suddenly.
“I used to.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I stopped believing when The Eye showed up for the first time. I had been begging God to make The Mouth go away, for years, and all of a sudden there is a new horror staring at me while I’m in the fucking shower. If God really existed, why would he allow that? Why wouldn’t he listen to a child’s pleas?”
Jungkook makes a small noise of agreement, leaning back on the worn-out burgundy armchair he chose to sit on.
“Or maybe God isn’t who we think he is. Maybe he’s just some sadistic fuck, playing with his little dolls.”
That makes Jimin snort. He doesn’t think he has laughed in months and months and months.
“I think that’s the most sound theory, if he really does exist. God is evil and these are his cruel angels.”
The quietness in the room is lighter now, pleasant even. Jungkook is slouching on the blood-red armchair in an all-black ensemble - leather jacket, and the tightest black skinny jeans Jimin has ever seen, his hair is tousled with a wet look that suits him a little too much. Maybe he is going out with friends tonight. Or has a date…
His step-brother smiles back at him, a little smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips. Looks good . Looks dangerous.
“What do you think they want?” Jungkook asks, tone low and smooth.
Jimin considers the question. He has asked himself this plenty of times, and can only come up with one answer.
“To feed.”
“What do you mean?”
“They prey on us, and yet they are like parasites. They feed on human misery. On fear, and anger, and despair. Once they’ve had their fill, they retreat, hide away in the shadows again. I think they haven’t been showing up because they got one hell of a feast during the fire. Maybe they are still full. But I can feel them getting stronger, more restless as the days go by. They’re around. Waiting for the right time…”
“So they’re here. They clung to you.” Jungkook states matter-of-factly.
Jimin nods.
“Mhmm.” The boy hums, his gaze unreadable.
“I don’t think you need to worry though. You don’t have the Sight or the Hearing. They won’t be able to do anything directly to you. Your mother and my father never noticed anything, right?”
“Well… Yeah. But like I told you. Sometimes it’s like I can just feel something.”
“You’ve never heard anything though. Whispers, voices, orders…?” Jimin tenses up.
Jungkook shakes his head and it makes him relax a little.
“That means they have no way of getting inside your mind. Those who have the Hearing are, sometimes, susceptible to ill-intentioned entities worming their way into their brain.”
“Like your mom.”
Jimin sighs and nods.
“And you? Have they ever managed to get inside your head?”
“Not directly. I only see them, I don’t hear their voices so they can’t talk to me, control me. They just scare the living shit out of me and make me miserable. With Mama, it’s just… It’s terrible. They make her hurt so much if she denies them…”
“How do you stop them?”
Jimin laughs again, but this time it is bitter.
“You can’t. The best way to get rid of them quickly is to give them what they want. Let them say the shit they want, see the shit they desire, take what they need. The more Mama resisted, the worse it got.”
“So you need to obey them, in order for them to leave you alone again...” Jungkook murmurs, pensively.
There is a peculiar sparkle to his eye, that Jimin doesn’t know the meaning of, too concerned with his own bullshit to detect whether or not he should find this endless questioning weird.
“It’s funny… Mama always lit her candles, said her prayers over and over, burned incense over and over, hoping it would make it better. I mean to her, I think it had some kind of placebo effect, made her believe she had more control over things. But look where it got her…”
Jimin starts shaking, running both his hands over his blonde hair, and tugging at the strands. The night of the fire is still something that triggers intense distress. He barely remembers that day, and he had also been asleep in the bedroom when the flames started, passed out until a fireman broke through the window and extracted him from the house. Jimin just knows that Mama had been getting tormented a lot more by them, and so she intensified her prayers, lit all of her candles, spread hundreds of papers and cards with images of saints, of Jesus and the Virgin Mary all over the living room table and the floor.
She fell asleep with dozens of candles burning around her.
The fire department ruled it an accident. Jimin ruled it the perfect situation for evil to triumph.
“You said you would let them do what they want. What did they do to you?”
“I- I don’t remember… I- I know they make Mama say and d- do things. Things she never would- I know they did things to me… But I c- can’t remember. I’ve been feeling weird… Confused. It’s this house… It just takes from me.” Jimin’s breaths come in short, quick gasps, his heart rate spikes and he feels he is going to faint at any moment now.
“Hey, hey, hey…” Jungkook gets up and approaches Jimin, putting a large, warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Jimin nods quickly, hiding his face with his hands. He doesn’t want Jungkook to notice that his eyes are getting wet. What kind of man is he?
“Hyung… I get it. You went through a lot. We can just stay here, you don’t have to say anything else.”
Hyung. Jungkook hasn’t called him that in a long time. Even the last time he was here, the younger boy always refused to use honorifics with him. Jimin swallows thickly before he replies, feeling Jungkook’s hand sliding down his shoulder, to his back, caressing over his sweater with slow, up and down movements.
“‘S fine. You don’t have to stay. I mean you were going out right?”
“Yeah, but she can wait for another day. You’re clearly not well. Not gonna leave you alone like this.”
She.
“I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like to be stood because you decided to babysit your step-brother, Jungkook.”
“Not girlfriend. Hookup. And I’m not babysitting you. I’m keeping you company when you’re going through a tough time.”
“N- no. You should go, really…” Jimin insists, rubbing hard at his itchy, stinging eyes.
“Jimin-hyung, I’ve been a prick to you in the past, so let me make it up to you, show you how different I am from the brat you used to know.”
That surprises Jimin - that soft tone, so he turns back to look at the boy, and catches a flash of a strange, crooked smirk. But when their gazes cross, Jungkook’s expression is one of neutral, calm empathy.
Must have been a trick of the light… Or Jimin’s paranoid fucking mind.
“Okay?” Jungkook asks.
His hands start massaging the back of Jimin’s neck and his shoulders with a firm, pleasurable pressure.
Jimin shudders a bit and sighs before responding.
“Okay.”