Chapter Text
Gorgeous edit for this story made by Vynix!
I can admit, I am not fireproof
It all begins one dry, summer evening in June.
It’s one of those days – morning, afternoon, and evening melding together to form one drab haze in Jungkook’s mind. The day so far has been so magnificently unspectacular, the same motions he’s gone through for the past 2 years repeated like a broken record.
There’s nothing unique or even slightly different. Nothing at all. Jungkook still wakes up at around 10 am, takes a hit, and goes back to sleep. When he wakes up hours later, eyes red and limbs sluggish, everything looks the same. The curtains are still drawn, the musty smell of his apartment still pungent in the air.
Keeping the curtains closed and the lights off is his method of self-care. That way, he doesn’t have to see the empty bowls that need to be washed and the cigarette butts that didn’t make it to the bin courtesy of a bad trip. He doesn’t have to see the bottles of soju and the family picture that has lain shattered on the floor for the past two months.
Jungkook walks over to his fridge and eats the leftover pizza he’d had for dinner yesterday ice-cold. He flicks through the channels on his TV, not really paying attention to anything. He hasn’t been able to pay attention to anything for a while now. The late afternoon goes by in that haze, Jungkook sitting quietly on the couch of his upscale apartment.
It’s all the same. The exact same as yesterday and the exact same as tomorrow.
He then takes another hit, inhaling till his eyes burn dry and decides to buy some more cigarettes. Jungkook throws on a shirt, some old band tee that his brother had given him before he’d fucked it all up. He slips on his shoes - pretty sure they’re from two different pairs - and starts to head to the grocery store down the street.
The walk is the same. Jungkook sticks to the center of the pavement, not moving out of the way even when he sees people approaching. People are quick to dart out of his path though, eyes averted and demeanor skimpish – the tattoos on his arms and rings in his ear not doing much to make him appear approachable. He skips over the one broken tile he always notices right by Mrs. Oh’s house.
He enters the grocery store, feeling the cool rush of the air conditioning hit him as he walks through the automatic sliding doors. He goes to the familiar aisle, picking up only one pack even though he knows he’ll smoke through it tonight. Jungkook craves needing something to do, so he doesn’t mind it if he has to make the walk here every day.
Today, he decides to buy a bag of chips too. Some new flavor he thinks he saw on TV. Jungkook likes the packaging, likes the way the bright purple looks in his hands.
He stands in line, eyes red and hair messy, clothes stinking of cigarettes, weed and his musty apartment. After around five minutes of waiting, he checks out, handing the cashier his credit card. Jungkook double checks that the two items are in the little plastic carrier before he starts his walk home.
Jungkook is mostly zoned out for this part of it. The hit he takes before leaving usually hits him by now, creating that soft buzz in his mind that dulls everything – making the world seem slow and fuzzy. He takes slow steps, deciding to open the bag of chips and enjoy them on his way back home.
He tears open the bag unceremoniously, right in the middle and throws a few of the chips into his mouth. He relishes the fresh crunch of it but once the taste registers, he finds that doesn’t like it.
In fact, he hates it. He hates it a lot more than he thought he would.
Jungkook drops the still full bag to the ground, leaving it on the pavement and continuing his walk.
“Hey! Excuse me!” He hears from behind him. He doesn’t bother to look.
Jungkook continues to walk, eyeing the turn he’ll have to take to cross the street. He hears fast-paced footsteps draw nearer and feels a firm tap on his shoulder a few seconds later.
He turns around, jaw clenched.
Before him is a small man. He’s looking at Jungkook with narrowed eyes, glinting with disapproval. His pink hair looks freshly washed and Jungkook eyes his lithe frame and pretty doll face, lightly amused at how intimidating this guy is clearly trying to be. Jungkook lets his hazy vision drag across his perfect skin to his plump lips and cheeks, traveling down to the small chubby fingers he’d gotten his attention with. They’re half covered by the sleeves of his lavender jacket, one of his hands holding Jungkook’s discarded bag of chips.
Jungkook is enraptured.
“You just littered,” The man says and Jungkook hadn’t registered his voice before, but now, it sounds like candy in his ears, soft and sickly sweet. He just stares.
“This isn’t your house for you to just leave trash all around. It’s still full too, what a waste-“ The pink-haired man scolds, looking at Jungkook with disapproval in his eyes. Something hot curls in his gut, fingers clenching.
Jungkook looks at his pale neck, observing his delicate collarbones and the little pendant he has on. He clearly isn’t warded off by Jungkook’s appearance. He should be. Jungkook takes a look at his thin wrists, clutching the bag.
He could snap them in half.
“There’s a bin right there,” The man says, pointing to the trash can at the edge of the pavement. “You just throw it in, it’s that simple.” He says, even demonstrating by dropping Jungkook’s chips into it.
Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, just stares. Turns out, he doesn’t have to. As soon as the man is done speaking, he shoots Jungkook one last glare before walking away, baby blue sneakers pattering across the pavement with each graceful step. His movements are fluid, light and Jungkook watches till he turns around the corner of the street and disappears out of view.
For the first time in a while, he feels something new.
-
It’s like he’s imprinted into his memory.
Jungkook can’t stop thinking about him. He can’t stop thinking about the icy contempt in his pretty eyes and the challenging aura with which he spoke to Jungkook. He can’t stop thinking about those small fingers on the back of his shoulder and the way the sunset shone over the tips of his soft cotton candy hair.
Jungkook can’t stop thinking about gripping those wrists in his hands, digging his inked fingers into the hollow of the bone.
He wants to see that look in his eyes again, just so he can break it. Make it his.
Perhaps it’s the makings of an unhealthy obsession. Jungkook doesn’t mind. There isn’t a single aspect of his life you could deem to be healthy in any shape or form. His body might be healthy, he tries hard to keep it that way, but his mind – that’s a different story.
Ever since he was born, Jungkook’s sister has told him that he ruins everything he touches. Anyone who thinks he does so involuntarily would be a fool.
If he’s given a gift, his fingers itch to destroy.
Jungkook has made the walk to the grocery store every day with the hopes of seeing him again. He lingers around the area sometimes, wondering if he’ll show. He’d never seen him before.
He doesn’t show.
Sometimes, Jungkook wonders if he imagined it all. That the other man was just a fairy who appeared to remind him of what a fuck-up he was. He wouldn’t really be surprised if that were the case.
Jungkook sighs as he thinks about him, standing in his balcony. He observes the ones below him and in the buildings around his, noticing the vibrant flower pots and the occasional hammock or grill. His balcony is bare, barren – dusty and empty save for the ash. He can afford a maid - he just doesn’t want anyone intruding on his space.
Jungkook takes a drag of his cigarette. The smoke is stale on his tongue. He’s run out of weed. Jungkook breathes in the view half-heartedly, looking at the park across the street. It’s bright and green, full of little kids running around and playing in colorful jungle gyms. He looks at the ice-cream truck parked by the entrance, kids dragging their parents toward it in an attempt to get an ice-cold treat.
“Jungkook!” He hears, a deep voice bellowing out in the air. He follows the familiar sound, looking down to see Taehyung standing at the base of his building. He’s waving his arms, a wide smile on his face. His messy curls are tucked into a beanie, inked arms covered with the sleeves of his jacket.
Jungkook puts out his cigarette on the railing, letting the butt of it join the congregation of others on the balcony floor. He’ll get around to cleaning the apartment soon.
He throws on a pair of shoes and heads downstairs, an ‘oomph’ leaving his chest when Taehyung hugs him. A few of the families eye them warily. Jungkook is the odd one out in this neighborhood, living in an affluent complex with the residents being mostly well-to-do families and the elderly. They can’t kick him out because, well, he owns the building.
That’s why he has the apartment on the top floor – so he can do his own thing without anyone to bother him.
“Hey,” Jungkook says, the both of them starting to walk out of the complex and toward Taehyung’s car.
“What were you thinking about up there?” Taehyung asks, pressing the button on his keys to unlock the doors to his car remotely. It’s a modest sedan. Taehyung cashed in most of his stuff to buy it.
“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks. The other man waits till they’re both in the quiet of the car, turning the engine on. The radio turns on too and the voice of the show host irks him, so he turns down the volume.
“You had this intense look on your face. I could spot it from ten stories below.”
“Bills,” Jungkook answers.
“Okay,” Taehyung concedes. His tone is knowing like he’s aware that Jungkook is hiding something.
They’ve been friends since forever. Taehyung had joined his school on a fund, his orphanage being a beneficiary of one of the sponsors of the prestigious institution. They’d been inseparable ever since the first day – when Taehyung had the balls to walk up to him and point out that the essay he read out in class was bullshit.
They drive in silence and Jungkook looks outside for most of it, brightening up when they reach his favorite part of this familiar route. It’s the little turn near the old theatre and the slow pull of Taehyung’s car into the parking space near the rundown auto shop. It’s all the same – the opening of the car door and press of his sneakers against the rough asphalt, the scent of engine oil evident in the air. Not pleasant, but familiar.
Yoongi’s building is old. This used to be a pretty popular area, more residential, but with the rise of gang activity and the increasing presence of what Jungkook’s parents would call the unsavory sort, everyone moved to other parts of the city. Notably, where Jungkook lives.
The two of them make the walk up to the second floor of the run-down building, some of the brick showing through peeled paint in the stairwell. The door to the apartment is already open when they get there, the wood propped up against the spray-painted wall of the hallway. They can hear some music playing from one of the other apartments further down. Someone’s having a party.
“Hey,” Taehyung says as they enter, attracting the attention of Namjoon who is currently preoccupied with making a house of cards in the living room. He stacks them carefully, with a focused precision to the way his nimble fingers move. Jungkook notices that his face isn’t as hollow as it used to be.
“Hey, guys! How’s it going?” Namjoon greets with a relaxed smile, leaning back on the floor against the couch. When Jungkook had come here for the first time, all that was in this shitty one-bedroom was a second-hand mattress pushed up against the wall. It seems that Yoongi has now upgraded to a couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table too. Jungkook thinks he can see a shiny frying pan in the kitchen.
The man in question arrives shortly, large white t-shirt hanging off his small frame. Yoongi’s hair is shaggy, like he’d just woken up. He takes a seat on the couch that Namjoon is leaning against, flinching a little as Taehyung plops down next to him and throws a long arm over his shoulder.
“Someone’s cheerful,” Jungkook comments as he sits down onto a chair, noticing the way Namjoon’s dimples are more prominent today. Taehyung gets up and heads into the kitchen, returning with a grilled cheese sandwich he’d obviously sniffed out.
“I’m just feeling better these days, that’s all,” Namjoon says, carefully balancing an ace of spades to form a new tier to the house of cards. Taehyung has a look on his face, like he wants to blow it away.
“He has a girlfriend, that’s why,” Yoongi clarifies, already starting to roll up. His pale fingers work fast to strain the weed, the smell of it pungent in the air. Both Jungkook and Taehyung raise their eyebrows.
“You have a girlfriend?” Taehyung asks, nudging Namjoon’s shoulder. The other man nods.
“Yeah. Her name is Chaewon. She’s a teacher,” He answers, looking a little proud. Jungkook snorts.
“How’d you bag that?” He asks. Namjoon makes his living as a remodeler. He’d only recently gotten the job, a few months ago.
“I didn’t bag that. She’s a person.”
“I know, Hyung,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes. “How’d you get her, then?”
“I was helping her out with some renovations. I liked her from the start, just waited till the end of the project to ask her out,” Namjoon answers. Taehyung nudges him again teasingly, a wide grin on his face.
“That’s nice,” Jungkook comments halfheartedly, digging his nails into his thighs. He looks up when he hears the telltale sound of a lighter flicking on followed by the unmistakable smell of a joint being lit.
“Is there anything else you wanna tell them?” Yoongi suggests. Namjoon looks up at him, seeming unsure. His eyes flit to Jungkook for a second, whose eyes are focused on the joint.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea-“
“Tell us. We’ll find out anyway.” Taehyung insists, now curious. Jungkook is too, looking at Namjoon with narrowed eyes. He plays with the joint in between his fingers, bringing it to his lips.
Namjoon sets the cards down, looking at both Taehyung and him hesitantly.
“Chaewon, she uh, lives with Seohyun.”
Jungkook raises his eyebrows. He finds that everyone in the room is looking at him, carefully gauging his reaction.
Seohyun is his ex-girlfriend. They broke up over a year ago. It wasn’t pretty. He hasn’t heard from her since, the other having blocked him on all social media post the breakup. Not that he cares.
“How is she doing?” Jungkook asks conversationally. He’s not sure that he even liked her. He remembers her – eager to please, swooned by the dark persona, and having some sort of savior complex. She was convenient.
“She’s fine. Joined the national ballet,” Namjoon answers. Jungkook raises his eyebrows. She’d always wanted to. Jungkook never really went to any of her performances. Perhaps he should have.
“That’s cool,” Jungkook responds. Namjoon rejects the joint when it’s handed to him, passing it to Taehyung instead who leans back on the couch and takes a long drag, closing his eyes shut.
“Have you guys spoken, since…?” Namjoon asks.
“No. You know this. She blocked me.”
“Do you wanna see how she’s doing?” Namjoon asks.
Yoongi raises his eyebrows, interjecting.
“Joon.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to tell him.”
“Yeah, so that it isn’t weird if they cross paths,” Yoongi retorts.
“Sure, show me,” Jungkook responds, getting up and settling on the floor next to Namjoon. The other man unlocks his phone. Taehyung hooks his head over Jungkook’s shoulder, curious too. He’d been friends with Seohyun. Taehyung gets along with most people. Yoongi sits back on the couch, not really paying attention.
Namjoon opens up his Instagram, quickly opening up Seohyun’s feed. It’s colorful, lots of pictures of her smiling brightly, her long black hair and small nose the same as he remembers. There are a few of her executing complicated stretches in a studio, some of her on stage and others with who Namjoon introduces as his girlfriend. Chaewon is short with a bob cut, all cute glasses and pale skin.
“She looks happy,” Taehyung says.
“She is,” Namjoon comments, scrolling through her feed. Jungkook feels an edge of bitterness course through him as he looks at her happy photos. It’s not that he misses her, not at all.
It’s just the constant feeling of being left behind. Almost everyone he knows is doing things, working toward their dreams – no matter how small. This little group of theirs became his safe space once everything fell apart. Namjoon is now working toward happiness, making small changes. It irks him.
Jungkook insists that he doesn’t feel the need to change. But the edge that it creates, any reminder, any semblance of it – it’ll drive him to the brink of insanity if he allows it to.
“Here’s her big performance from last month,” Namjoon says, pulling up a picture of a group on a massive stage, all tucked into leotards and skin-tight leggings. Jungkook spots her instantly toward the right, smiling brightly with her hair tucked into a neat bun.
Jungkook looks at the picture. He observes the bright lights, the sheer size of the stage. He lets his vision drag across each of the happy faces, flushed with relief and exhaustion until it comes to an abrupt halt at the person in the center.
Jungkook’s heart stops for a second, yanking the phone out of Namjoon’s hands.
It’s him. It has to be.
“Hey-“ Namjoon complains, trying to get his phone back. Jungkook’s grip on the sleek device doesn’t budge. He stares, zooming into the photo.
He breathes in the person in the center, gaze dragging greedily across his hot pink hair to his flushed cheeks, plump lips spread into a dazzling smile. Jungkook looks at his small body tucked into a leotard, highlighting his waist and toned arms and legs, smooth thighs almost on display through the sheer leggings and the satin of his pointe shoes. His delicate wrists are holding a massive bouquet of flowers, Jungkook’s eyes drawn to the way his fingers don’t even wrap around the base of it fully.
Such a sharp contrast to the tough little cookie he saw the other day.
Somehow, in some sort of perfect cliché of the moment, the house of cards Namjoon had been building falls apart gracefully, collapsing onto the table and the floor.
“Who is this?” Jungkook asks Namjoon as the other man tries to gather the cards, tapping his finger against the screen. Namjoon squints at the picture.
“I don’t know. Must be one of the other performers. Why, do you know him?”
Jungkook doesn’t respond. He feels something hot curl in his gut, eyes unable to look away from the other man’s smiling face, how delicate he seems up there on the stage. How content, how righteous, how pure.
Pure.
His fingers itch.
“No, I don’t,” Jungkook answers. He’s a little alarmed somewhere distant in his foggy brain but the emotions are easy to place – he’s only felt them once before. It’s something dark, clawing up his spine and seeping into his veins. There’s some sort of desperate hunger, one that he’s never felt and one that he knows won’t disappear easily.
Jungkook doesn’t believe in a lot of things but he does in fate.
Fate brings things to him.
It’s up to him whether he takes.
And up there, on the stage, smiling so brightly, so easy – Jungkook’s fingers itch to grab, squeeze, meld.
He taps on the picture, the usernames of the performers tagged popping up the screen. His fingers increase their grip on the phone.
Park Jimin
-
It’s easy to find him.
Almost too easy.
The very next day, Jungkook does the unexpected. He sets an alarm for 6 am. He goes to the gym, eats another shitty breakfast, and gets high off of some good strain he’d bought off of Yoongi.
Jungkook then takes a taxi to the address of the studio in the picture, finding a nice café just across the road from it. He orders something he doesn’t remember and sits down, right at the table next to the window. It’s an academy for dance, long stairs trailing up to a nice set of doors.
At exactly 7:30 am, Jungkook sees him. He’s impossible to miss, his hair a stark differentiator from the mundane, replaceable people around him. Just the sight of him has his blood pumping, something feral simmering under his skin.
Despite the early hour, he shines as bright as the sun – hair neat and glowing underneath the soft morning light, eyes bright and a nice jacket wrapped around his small frame. He walks with a group, all of them chattering as they walk up the stairs.
Jungkook watches him like a hawk, memorizing all the tiny details. The way his nails are short and stubby – bitten raw. The pink of his lips, the paleness of his skin in the early morning.
He can’t hear his laugh through the glass, but he’ll remedy that soon.
Jungkook watches as Jimin is swallowed by the group once they enter, disappearing behind the doors. His feet ache with the need to follow, eyes hard as they hold on to the last few glimpses of the smaller man as he enters work. Jungkook leans back in his chair, trying to make sense of what he’s doing.
Stalker
He doesn’t care. There’s some sort of instinct he has with these things. Jimin came into his life for a reason.
The staff in the café don’t push or ask him questions even when he crosses the 4-hour mark. Jungkook still sits there, occasionally flicking through a magazine.
Jungkook is used to having two meals a day, never really awake for breakfast, so he orders lunch too. Some chicken sandwich. It’s a little dry, not at all like the ones his maid would make back home but it’ll do. He eats it leisurely, eyes still trained on the door of the academy.
Jimin remerges at 1 pm. This time, alone. He steps out of the building, walking gracefully down the stairs and starting to stroll down the street.
So oblivious.
Jungkook follows. He takes his sandwich to go, the poor girl at the counter hurrying to wrap it up at his insistence. He can’t lose him.
He keeps some distance, around 10 paces between them and follows from the other side of the street. Jimin is a little pink in the face now, hair not as neat. He must have been practicing. Jungkook wishes that the walls of the building were glass so that he could see Jimin dance.
Jimin eventually stops at some other café, some small vegan place. He sits in the outdoor seating area, murmuring something to the staff who seem to know him. Jimin then takes out his phone, clicking a selfie. His small fingers are shaped in a peace sign, pressed against his soft cheek. Jungkook watches from a grocery store across the street. As predicted, the picture goes up on his Instagram story a few seconds later.
He watches as Jimin’s order arrives – some insubstantial salad without any dressing. Jimin thanks the waiter and then proceeds to pick at it like a squirrel, fork holding barely anything as he eats. Jimin adjusts his seat so that his face is underneath the shade, the sunlight instead falling over his neck and collarbones.
And as he watches Jimin pick at his food, so unaware of what’s stirring barely 15 feet away from him, all he can think about is how beautiful he’d look under him. How it would feel to have those pretty wrists in his grip, see those bright eyes starry with tears threatening to spill over his thick lashes. Jungkook wants to know if the rest of him is as blemish-free as his pale neck, whether his own hand would fit nicely around his throat, gentle. He wants to see those lips bitten raw, crying out whispers of his name against silk sheets.
Jungkook’s fingers itch, but less to destroy.
More to possess.
Jimin takes his time to eat his meager meal, taking dainty bites of lettuce, pine nuts, kale, and cherry tomatoes. He then proceeds to pack up over half of it, paying his dues and beginning his walk back. Jungkook follows, eyes trained on the soft mop of pink hair. He wonders how Jimin exists – living on so little.
Jungkook can sense that dark feeling that originated weeks ago start to grow and he wonders if it’ll always be like this, if this inherent infatuation he feels will continue to grow, seep into his bones and take over his mind as it does now. Jimin feels like a drug, one that Jungkook got a tiny whiff of by chance, one that he’s going to keep all to himself.
Jungkook watches as Jimin turns abruptly into an alleyway, hurrying ahead to see what he’s doing. He watches as Jimin crouches on the ground next to a litter of kittens, barely a few weeks old and props open the takeout box of greens.
Jungkook knows that cats don’t eat vegetables but these must be pretty hungry because they’re quick to start eating, small mouths feasting on the cherry tomatoes and tearing at the dry lettuce. Jimin watches with a fond smile, scratching at their little heads with a small finger. He then reaches out into his backpack and pulls out a water bottle, pouring some of the liquid into a bowl that’s already been kept there. He smiles as he plays with them, plump lips pushed out into a little beak as he looks downward.
Jungkook watches, fascinated. He feels that possessive feeling well up once more within him, wanting to reach out and tuck a strand of his pastel hair behind his ear. He wants to be a part of this. Maybe he could be gentle.
Jimin eventually stands back up and continues his journey back to work, disappearing back into the academy without any other interruption. Jungkook returns to his seat back inside the café, noticing the way the girl manning the counter tenses a little as he enters. He might have snapped when she took too long packing up his food earlier.
Around an hour later, Jungkook’s phone starts to ring. He answers, eyes still on the doors of the academy so that he doesn’t miss Jimin.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Where are you? You aren’t answering the door.” Taehyung’s voice sounds out.
“I’m not home.”
“Where are you? I’ll come.”
“I’m out. I’ll text you once I’m back.”
“Stop being so secretive. Just tell me.”
Jungkook doesn’t want to tell him. Taehyung wouldn’t approve of this. Not that he cares. He just doesn’t want the headache of the other man’s moral juxtaposition breathing down his neck. Taehyung has always been the righteous type. Similar to Jimin, just not as easy to break.
“I’ll see you soon,” Jungkook says abruptly, ending the call.
Jimin leaves work at 4 pm. He looks freshly showered, his lavender duffel bag handing loosely off his shoulder. Jungkook follows, watching with rapt attention. He tries not to blink, feeling like Jimin might disappear if he does. Disappear out of Jungkook’s life as easily as he came into it.
Childhood Jungkook would think Jimin was a fairy. The way he moves, light and hypnotizing, footsteps so smooth and graceful that Jungkook finds himself lulled by it. Jimin would look beautiful with a pair of glittery wings, maybe pink like his hair and lips. Maybe he’d be a pixie. He has the spirit of one and would fit perfectly in Jungkook’s hand. He’d keep him there. He’d never have to fly again.
Jimin doesn’t live in the best area.
It’s not too bad, but the streets are empty and there are barely any people around. Yoongi’s is still worse. A few cars drive through the long road, the buildings around them grey and stark. They pass a grocery store but other than that, there’s barely anything.
Jimin enters a small three-story building. He walks through the glass doors and up the stairwell, out of Jungkook’s view finally. The loss of Jimin affects him more than he thought it would, evident in the clench of his jaw and the way his mind is blank, unable to figure out what to do now that he’s out of sight.
It feels like there’s a hollow, one that Jimin would be perfect to fill. But he can’t have him now. Not yet.
After around an hour of waiting to see if Jimin steps out again, Jungkook leaves. He walks till he finds a taxi, traveling through the rapidly blooming dusk to Yoongi’s place. Jimin’s silhouette is in the back of his mind, his smiling face flashing through the recesses of it as he drives through the city. The gears are turning in his head, the weight of the decision he’s already made in his head looming over him.
When he reaches Yoongi’s, the other man is surprised to see him.
“Hey,” He says, opening the door wider to allow Jungkook to enter. The lights are off, the orange of the dusk now turned indigo, the apartment somber and quiet. It stinks of weed although it looks clean. He sits on the couch, watching as Yoongi puts his weight on the heavy door to shut it properly.
“Do you still push coke?” Jungkook asks, getting straight to the point.
Yoongi pauses, but only momentarily where he stands in the doorway. He turns around, propping a hand on the wall. He’s wearing a loose muscle tee, his pale arms on display.
“I don’t know. Why?”
That’s all the confirmation Jungkook needs.
“I want some.”
“I’m not selling it to you,” Yoongi responds immediately, without hesitation. He walks over to sit down on the couch next to him, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“You need the money,” Jungkook responds. He knows it’s true.
“Where is this coming from? You haven’t relapsed in a year,” Yoongi asks, sounding serious.
“Look at this dump. Are you really happy living like this?” Jungkook diverts, gesturing to the apartment. Yoongi clenches his jaw, eyes sharp.
“That’s none of your business. I’m not selling it to you,” He responds, tone firm. His face is hard and Jungkook knows he’s offended him.
“Didn’t you want to save up to take your sister on a holiday?” Jungkook asks, knowing immediately that he’s hit a nerve. Yoongi’s parents died when he was 17 and his sister went to foster care, the government deeming Yoongi unable to care for her on his own. Her new family lets him see her, but barely. Yoongi’s been mentioning saving up to take her somewhere nice for a while now. Beyond that, he also overheard Yoongi talking to Namjoon about how he probably wouldn’t be able to make rent this month, needing to borrow some money.
The other man is silent.
“Think about this way – if I don’t buy from you, I’d find someone else.”
“I would rather that. I wouldn’t need to bear the guilt of fueling your destructive tendencies,” Yoongi mutters.
“3 grams.”
“Jungkook-“
“I’ll pay you triple,” Jungkook answers immediately, knowing that he’s won with the look on the other man’s face. He knows that Yoongi needs the money. It’s evident in the cold of the apartment and how stark it is. The other man stares at him, lip caught between his teeth.
If there’s anything Jungkook has, it’s money. There’s nothing else.
“Reconsider,” Yoongi says, almost pleading. “I thought you left that life behind you.”
“I left myself behind too. All of this – it’s a part of who I am,” Jungkook explains, glad that he’s able to put down his feelings into words. Many people would say that he’s better off now, but he disagrees. He’s lost so much of himself. Meeting Jimin awakened something inside of him – brought back some desire to live, to act, to do something - all that he thought died years ago.
If he’s going to be himself again, he’s going to do it properly.
“You decide who you are,” Yoongi says. “Letting your vices make that call isn’t right.”
“For a drug dealer, you don’t really market well.”
“Stop joking around, Kook. This is serious.” Yoongi says, face ridden with conflict. He’s caught in between two potential scenarios – selling Jungkook the coke and aiding his toxicity or to end up on the streets with no food or shelter, only for Jungkook to have found an alternate route to his downfall.
“I’ve made my decision, Hyung,” Jungkook says, sure. His mind is racing.
Yoongi stares at him for a few more seconds before standing up, heading further into the apartment. He returns a few minutes later with a small clear packet in his hands. Jungkook’s blood races at the mere sight of the bag, fingers flexing. He can already taste the drug on his tongue, burning through his nostrils and racing through his brain. The white powder is stark against Yoongi’s pale hand, almost glowing menacingly in the dark of the room.
“Take it and go before I change my mind,” Yoongi says, flinging the bag in his direction. Jungkook catches it easily, fingers curling around it possessively.
“There’s just one more thing,” Jungkook says. Yoongi raises an eyebrow, looking burdened.
“You can’t tell Tae or Namjoon Hyung,” Jungkook says. Namjoon would get all serious with him, sit him down, and give him the talk he’s heard before but Taehyung – he’d stop talking to him entirely. They’d both left it behind a long time ago. Namjoon would come from a place of prior addiction, narrating how meth ruined his life in college, assuming that it’d be the same for Jungkook. Taehyung, on the other hand, saw Jungkook at his worst. He saw his spirals, his destructive tendencies, the irrational ticks he’d get while his pupils were mere pinpricks in his eyes. Taehyung had been the same but was strong enough to pull himself out of it.
Jungkook isn’t stupid. He won’t let himself get to that point again. It had cost him everything.
But now, when he has Jimin – he needs it. There’s a sense of entitlement to the thought, that Jimin is already his and just needs to be collected, taken. The high would only better the chase.
He’s obsessed, and there’s no other way to be alive.
Jungkook plays with the little baggie with his fingers, increasing and decreasing his grip on it. He thinks about pretty Jimin with his pretty smile and his pretty eyes. He thinks about how soft he was as he played with the kittens and how lost and vulnerable he looked as he ate – just waiting. Alone.
Jungkook is alone too. He’s always been alone. He’d grown up with family and siblings sure, but there’s never been anyone who knew him at his entirety or had the guts to challenge him for it. He’s content in his loneliness.
But now, he needs something more.
-
Jungkook discovers that Jimin isn’t alone.
He has friends, lots of them. While he eats lunch alone every day like clockwork, he frequently meets different people for drinks in the evening or out during the weekends. That’s another thing Jungkook has noticed about him. Jimin likes alcohol. He sticks to a maximum of two drinks each time he goes out, nursing the glass of alcohol in his small hands. Presumably due to his profession. Or due to the fact that he could be a lightweight.
Jimin is Jungkook’s life now.
He wakes up every morning and waits discreetly by Jimin’s building, waiting for him to emerge with his face that’s sometimes too puffy from sleep. He follows him to work and then back home, sometimes waiting and accompanying him if he goes out later.
Jungkook doesn’t have anything to do and there’s honestly no other way he’d rather spend his time. Jimin is so fascinating – an enigma of feigned self-sufficiency paired with the vulnerability of a doe during hunting season. He can sense the way Jimin toughs it up, acts like he’s okay where he is. He knows he isn’t. Jimin’s always under his eye after all. He sees it in the way his shoulders slump, posture weakening as soon as he’s alone.
Jimin obviously doesn’t like being alone. He screams roots – needing company and physical touch. That’s the thing Jungkook finds to be the most endearing about him. The way Jimin lingers once his little group of friends dissipates after work, the way he makes himself smaller on his way back home, plagued by solitude. The way he seems to bloom when he’s under someone’s attention, glowing when he feels a casual arm on his shoulder or gets pulled into a warm hug.
Jungkook knows he’ll break easy. He’s being held up by a mere string. Jungkook would take that burden off his shoulders; touch him all he’d like. He’d never be alone – vulnerable and open to danger.
He meets Taehyung and the others only once he’s sure Jimin is sound asleep in his apartment, waiting till the lights turn off and Jimin appears by the smooth glass to open it for some fresh air before he sleeps.
Jimin’s sleep clothes are always thin t-shirts and cotton shorts, the colors of them always soft and dotted with pretty patterns. Jungkook imagines how they’d feel underneath his fingertips, against the back of his hand as he runs his inked fingers over Jimin’s porcelain skin. Would he bruise easy? He wonders how he smells. He’s not going to try and find out. He wants to taste it on his tongue when it’s the right time.
Jimin also teaches dance occasionally, offering private lessons. He sees him disappear with his cute little duffel bag, sometimes to the affluent houses in Jungkook’s neighborhood. The smaller man always gets escorted to the door after, his students often lovesick teenage girls who clearly have a crush. That explains the way they met.
He’s aware of every single aspect of his routine. Jungkook also knows some of Jimin’s friends, identifies a pattern of who he hangs out with and where. He isn’t fazed when he sees him chat conversationally with Seohyun on his way out of work one day. When Seohyun throws an arm around his slim shoulders, Jungkook thinks about how those hands were touched by him. They’re now touching Jimin.
Jungkook watches Jimin right now, as he enters a restaurant with two friends. These are the two he meets the most – one tall and poised, an air of affluence to him. It’s evident in his well-looked after physique and clothes that don’t stand out but are evidently from expensive brands. Jungkook would know, he has a closet full of them. The other one is a little more approachable, soft brown curls with a face that’s always smiling, clad in colorful clothing that attracts the eye.
Jungkook follows behind them, mind working at an alarming rate. His eyes are sharp and he can hear everything louder thanks to the drugs in his blood system, watching Jimin with rapt attention. He sits a few tables away, such that he can see their side profiles.
Jungkook watches as the cheerful one takes the seat right next to Jimin, throwing an arm around the back of his chair. This one is interested in him – he can tell. It’s obvious in the way the man’s vision is drawn to Jimin’s lips as he speaks, a fondness in his eyes Jungkook can place too easy.
His fingers grip harder around the icy glass of his drink as he watches the man rest his hand over Jimin’s as he speaks, the smaller man totally in the dark about his intentions. The man’s hand moves down to his wrist, clasping around it loosely once his little story that he had to tell is finished. It stays there.
Smooth.
Jungkook wouldn’t allow him two feet near Jimin once he’s his. He’s burning daggers into his frame, glaring at the smooth slope of the other man’s nose and his heart-shaped smile.
His eyes wander and they manage to catch those of the third man on the table. The sophisticated one.
He’s looking at Jungkook, scrutinizing. Jungkook holds the gaze, eyes sharp and fingers drumming against the side of his chair. There’s a buzz between his ears from the cocaine, stance relaxed and uncaring even though he’s been caught looking.
The other man’s hair is perfect, midnight black and falling in soft waves over his forehead. He looks like the type Jungkook’s sister would swoon for and his family would approve of – well-settled and dignified. He’s the stark opposite of Jungkook with his beige and emerald green ensemble, but the same as what he used to be.
The moment is broken by the sudden thump of a hand in the center of his table. Jungkook looks up to see Taehyung, the other man’s eyebrow raised.
“What are you doing?” His best friend asks, taking a seat opposite him and effectively blocking his view of the other man.
“I’m grabbing dinner,” Jungkook answers.
“I followed you. You’ve been sitting here for 30 minutes with just a soda and staring at nothing.”
Not nothing.
“Why are you following me?” Jungkook demands, feeling irritated.
“You’ve been acting weird these past few weeks. You’re never at home and you’re super secretive about where you go. Can you blame me for being concerned?”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired of sitting at home.”
Taehyung sighs, looking down at his fingers carded together over the smooth surface of the table.
“You could just call. I’m as free as you are in between my shifts.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for not spending as much time with you, it’s just that it’s been harder for me to make rent these days especially in between-“
“You could’ve asked for help,” Jungkook says, now deciding to open the menu. He looks at all the appealing junk food written in bold letters across the laminated plastic, already making him hungry. He wonders what Jimin ordered. Nothing on the menu is what he would typically choose.
“I don’t want your family’s money,” Taehyung responds. The statement was probably well-intended but it makes Jungkook’s jaw clench. It cuts sharp, rubbing in the notion that Jungkook just lives off his family’s money. He does, but he’d rather not be reminded of it. He’s owed it.
“That’s fair.”
“Gguk.”
“What?”
“You’ll talk to me when you’re ready, right?”
No
“Yes. Let’s eat.”
Taehyung orders a greasy beef burger while Jungkook gets a steak, medium-rare. Taehyung chatters to him absent-mindedly about his work as a mechanic, something he’d picked up a while ago. It’s one of the few jobs he can take up with his two full tattoo sleeves. Jungkook responds when appropriate, trying to conceal the fidgeting of his fingers – Taehyung would realize in an instant.
Jungkook imagines how it would be if it were Jimin sitting before him instead, chewing cutely on a burger. He doubts his small mouth would be able to take a full bite. Jungkook would feed him, he wouldn’t have to lift a single finger. Just sit pretty in his lap with his mouth dropped open because it’s time to be fed.
He catches glimpses of the smaller man ever so often, careful not to draw suspicion from Taehyung. He’s still smiling prettily, now enjoying a strawberry milkshake. There’s some sort of anxiety that’s attached itself to Jungkook’s mind, perhaps fueled by the cocaine, that Jimin would not do well out of his vision. He’s far too careless – never wary of his surroundings, unaware of the intentions of the people around him.
The thought is hypocritical at the crux of it – he wishes for Jimin to be protected from all dangers akin to him. To be exclusively his, at the threat of destruction only at his hands. The realization makes him chuckle.
Jimin and his friends leave first, the happy one’s arms steady around his shoulders. He laughs high-pitched and airy at some joke, the third friend following behind with a fond smile. Jungkook resists the urge to stand up and follow, so accustomed to doing so. Taehyung still talks about something redundant, some animal shelter he’s considering volunteering at if and when he has the time.
Jungkook couldn’t care less. He’s thinking about the dangers Jimin might face on his way home. Not everyone is like Jungkook who could hold back, be patient. There’s bound to be misfortune in chasing instant gratification. Jimin deserves something more, something full-bodied and cultivated.
He knows so much about Jimin now, so much about his little mannerisms and habits that only come out in the shadow of solitude. Jungkook can pull his strings like a pretty little marionette. He’s always been highly perceptive of people, it’s what he was praised for when he was younger. He’s never usually wrong.
Taehyung and Jungkook leave shortly after, the former dropping him home with a hug and a promise to hang out the next day. Jungkook nods, agreeing. He’ll make time once Jimin is asleep.
As soon Taehyung leaves in his car, Jungkook takes a taxi to Jimin’s to make sure he’s asleep, safe in his apartment on the third floor.
He isn’t.
The lights are on, the golden lighting of the small apartment the only one visible in the building. Jungkook watches as Jimin and the man from earlier seem to sing and dance to some sort of song, loud enough to sound out dully through the shut glass of the window. They seem excited, Jimin seemingly on a sugar rush, performing wacky steps and singing into his little karaoke microphone. The other man steadies him with an arm around his waist, laughing happily too as they finish the last few notes of the song.
The other man presses his nose to Jimin’s hair once they’re done, Jimin barely noticing as he sways to the soft tune, a giddy smile still on his pretty face. Jungkook has never seen him so happy.
So naïve
Jungkook blends into the shadows of the alley next to the building opposite Jimin’s, the haven it offers perfect for him to look at Jimin’s apartment windows all he wants while staying completely undetectable. His black boots grind against the asphalt, the glow of his lit cigarette the only light in the dark alley.
He wonders if they’ve had sex. Whether Jimin dances for the other man, does pretty little pirouettes and laughs happy giggles that should be reserved only for him. Would Jimin crave for his attention or be capable of looking at him with contempt like he did Jungkook? He wonders if the malice he saw was reserved only for him.
He concludes that they haven’t. The way the other man dances around Jimin is much like a chase – feelings worked towards, not yet at their peak. Their body language does not point to sexual intimacy, still very much platonic and almost coy. Jimin sees him as a friend.
Jungkook watches as the other man leaves a while later, observing as Jimin waits by the entrance of his building for him to disappear down the street. The other man turns around multiple times to wave at Jimin as he goes, his wide smile poking at Jungkook’s patience each time. Jimin watches from behind the glass door, clad in one of his sleep shirts and tiny shorts that barely peek out under it. His thighs are on display, skin smooth and flawless. Jungkook eyes the definition to them, evidence of his practice and experience as a dancer. He wants to pull at the delicate skin with his teeth, punish him for allowing another man into his home.
Jimin heads upstairs once his friend disappears. Around five minutes later, he appears by his bedroom window as expected, opening up the glass carefully. Jungkook catches his last glimpse of him for the night before the light switches off, marking the end of Jimin’s rather eventful day.
Jungkook decides to do something new.
He heads into the building, trudging up the dark stairwell till he reaches the third floor. The entire building is eerily silent, like Jimin is the only inhabitant of the structure. Jungkook wouldn’t be too surprised if it were the case. The area is lonely, terribly so.
He comes to a stop outside Jimin’s door, the one he’s mapped out to be his based on his analysis of the building layout. Jimin has a cute doormat – a nice peach color with the word ‘welcome’ written across it in fancy white lettering. It’s the only one in the dark hallway, the rest of the doors bare and empty.
Jungkook thinks about how Jimin is only a few steps away now, sleeping soundly in his cozy bed. He wonders if his soft skin is warm from sleep, whether his features blank out when he’s in his happy dreams. He wishes that there wasn’t a solid door in between them.
Jungkook presses his forehead to the wood, wishing that he were inside now. He wonders if Jimin even remembers him. If he were to break down this door right now, rouse Jimin from his dreams, would the smaller man be able to identify him as the stoned guy he scolded on a random street a month ago?
Would he be afraid to see him? Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him. Not too much.
He could scream, but no one would hear him. Maybe Jimin would regret speaking to him, ever entering his life in the most mundane way possible.
Jungkook wouldn’t allow him to. He’d give Jimin everything he could ever want – love, attention, financial security, and touch. He’d touch Jimin all the time, so he’d never feel lonely, never have to fall asleep alone in this dark, quiet apartment building with danger looming around the corner.
Jungkook leaves soon after, deciding to head home. He’s not going to break in or force himself into Jimin’s life.
He’ll be welcomed, needed. Make Jimin an addict as he did him.
-
Jungkook lays in his bed, wide awake at 4 in the morning. The sheets smell stale, the permanent stench of weed having attached itself to every crevice of his apartment. A little baggie of cocaine lies limp and useless on his nightstand. Jungkook stares at the ceiling of his room, looking at the projection of the time on the smooth concrete. He has one of those clocks that project the time through laser, such that whenever he’ll open his eyes, he’ll get to see the time.
He picks up his phone and dials his older sister’s number without too much thought, uncaring of the hour. She doesn’t answer.
He tries again. Still no response.
Jungkook tries a few more times. She picks up on the sixth attempt.
“Jungkook.”
“Noona.”
“Haven’t you seen the time?”
“I know you weren’t sleeping. Still at the office?”
She’s silent for a few seconds.
“What do you want, Jungkook?”
“Happy birthday Noona. I remembered.”
The rapid sound of typing he can hear from her end of the line ceases, followed by more silence.
“You didn’t forget, did you?” He asks.
“Why are you calling me? You have everything you need. We made it clear-“
“How are you celebrating? Big family dinner?”
“Jungkook-“
“Has Sungwoon gotten you a nice present? He seems like the type. Although technically, I wouldn’t know since I wasn’t invited to your wedding-“
“Do you want a higher allowance? I’ll tell father-“
“Does hearing my voice pain you so much?”
Silence.
“Do I disgust you, Noona?” He asks smoothly although his jaw is clenched so hard it’s starting to hurt.
“I’m not your Noona. Not anymore.”
Jungkook grits his teeth, feeling white-hot anger sear in his chest.
“Do you miss me?”
More silence.
“Goodbye, Jungkook. Don’t call again. I won’t answer.”
The line goes dead.
Jungkook wastes no time in flinging his phone across the apartment, watching it shatter into pieces against his bedroom wall. He lays in bed, chest heaving and mind racing, anger consuming him. He clenches and unclenches his fists, body starting to sweat as he comes down from the drugs in his system, hormones heavily imbalanced by the chemicals.
“Fuck!” He shouts, voice booming across the empty space of his apartment.
He’s so angry that he feels little spots dotting his vision, the bitterness simmering in his veins. It’d been months since he’d tried, surely there should be some difference-
“Fucking idiot, running after those fuckers-“ He breathes out, berating himself. He runs his hands through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. His eyes are blown wide, pitch black, and pupils mere pinpricks in his eyes.
He looks demonic, like the very blood that flows through his veins is plagued by sin, reminiscent of the devil himself.
Jungkook lays in bed till he manages to calm down, the vivid images flowing through his mind finally ceasing. He knocks out after, waking up a few hours later to begin his day.
-
Today’s a day like no other.
Jimin still goes to work, steps out for lunch and leaves at the correct time like clockwork. He takes a bus to Jungkook’s neighborhood for a private lesson, bowing gratefully to the parents when he’s handed his pay in a pretty envelope.
Jimin’s walking is a little more upbeat, probably because today was payday. His duffel bag swings cutely on his shoulder, pink hair bouncing with every step. Jungkook follows, as usual, his black hoodie and jeans melding with the greys of the buildings around them.
It’s way past nighttime now, the area around them dark and sparsely lit with street lights, some of them flickering on the dirty grey of the sidewalk. The roads are empty as usual, barely one or two cars driving by. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, her presence imposing and almost rueful.
Jimin’s so caught up in his world that he doesn’t notice the other man that’s following him, footsteps increasing in pace. Jungkook does, watching from across the street.
The other man walks carefully, quietly, rapidly approaching Jimin from behind. His angel remains in his own world and Jungkook would berate him if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love. Jimin could do no wrong in his eyes. Even if he’s quick to interact with strangers with obsessive tendencies and destructive streaks, he lacks any sort of self-awareness or care for himself.
The man approaches rapidly, barely inches from Jimin now.
Jungkook watches as the man sinks his disgusting, unworthy fingers into Jimin’s sweet hair, throwing him against the rough wall of a building. Jimin buckles instantly, a scream leaving his lips. He makes a feeble attempt to escape, pushing at the man’s chest and kicking wildly.
With what little he eats, it’s no wonder he doesn’t have the strength to fend off his attacker.
“Get off me-“
“Give me your money, NOW!” The man shouts, pulling out a knife from his pocket. It’s small and he’s clearly inexperienced, Jungkook noticing his hand shaking as he points it threateningly in Jimin’s direction. The smaller man drops to the ground, face paling at the sight of the blade.
Jimin’s hands shake as they try to unzip his bag, crouching on the floor. The other man jabs the knife in his direction to scare him. It works.
“Hurry up bitch, or I’ll slice that pretty face of yours into ribbons.”
Seemingly endless tears stream down Jimin’s soft cheeks, hands trembling as they reach into the duffel bag, pulling out the little envelope he received today. The other man snatches it.
Neither of them hears Jungkook approach.
He swings an arm around the attacker’s throat from behind, squeezing and blocking his airways. Jimin watches wide-eyed as the other man immediately starts to choke, his arms and legs flailing around wildly as he struggles to get out of Jungkook’s death grip. The knife in his hand manages to nick Jungkook a few times in his thigh but he pays it no mind, eyes hard and burning.
He has half a mind to cut off his fingers that had the audacity to touch what’s his, strangle him till he turns blue-
The attacker soon drops the envelope along with the knife, not enough oxygen in his brain to sustain his grip on them.
“Take them, hurry,” Jungkook instructs Jimin, watching as his love scrambles to grab the money, shoving it into his bag. He picks up the knife with trembling fingers, looking at Jungkook with wide eyes.
“W-What do I do-“
“Nothing, beautiful. I’ll handle it,” Jungkook says before releasing his grip on the man. He falls to his knees pathetically and Jungkook is quick to walk in front to face him, grabbing his hair like he did Jimin’s.
The other man is still spluttering, face purple. Jungkook looks to Jimin, heart beating wildly at having those beautiful eyes on him. They’re still starry with tears, the knife looking so out of place in his possession.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart. I need you to pay attention,” Jungkook says, endeared at the way Jimin nods shakily, still frightened out of his wits.
“This is what you do when people mess with you,” He says before pulling back his arm and swinging hard, fist colliding heavily with the other man’s jaw. There’s a sick crunch. It’s like music to his ears.
Jungkook grins like a madman, high off of cocaine that he’s crossed with some percs, before pulling back his arm and punching him across the face again. The wounds on his thighs hurt like a bitch, but he doesn’t care. This time, a tooth flies out of the other man’s mouth, some blood splattering onto the sidewalk. Jungkook chuckles.
"You'll k-kill him-" Jimin starts.
"No, I won't," Jungkook responds smoothly.
He punches him three more times, each one harder than the last, Jimin whimpering with fear at every dull thump. When Jungkook releases his grip on the other man’s hair, he falls to the ground pathetically.
He’s out cold. Jungkook gives him a light kick to the belly, the other man unresponsive. He chuckles once more, his knuckles raw and red.
When Jungkook looks up, Jimin is shaking. His eyes are blown wide with fear, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. The knife in his hands clatters to the pavement. Jungkook softens a little.
“You’re safe now. Go home,” Jungkook says, the adrenaline from the altercation coursing through him at an alarming pace. Jimin just stares, his lower lip trembling with fear.
He turns to leave but freezes in place when he feels a small hand clasp around his wrist. The contact burns and Jungkook turns around, eyebrow raised-
Exactly like he predicted.
“You’re h-hurt,” Jimin says, gesturing to his thighs, the blood from the wounds having soaked through the fabric of his jeans.
“It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook says. It’s true. He's dealt with worse. He’d go to Yoongi’s to get it taken care of. A hospital is out of the question.
“I h-have supplies at home, I can p-patch you up,” Jimin says, looking at Jungkook desperately.
Jungkook wants to laugh. Is he not afraid? Jungkook just beat someone within an inch of their life in front of him. He’s a complete and total stranger. Perhaps he’s afraid that something else might happen and wants Jungkook to be with him. Jimin takes his silence as a cue to continue.
“P-Please, it’s the least I can do,” He insists and it registers in Jungkook’s mind that Jimin doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t remember him. But that’s alright.
Fate brings things to him.
It’s up to him whether he takes.
“Sure,” Jungkook responds.