Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[ 02/10 NEWS ] Jimin makes history with his new album at the Melon Music Awards!

[ ↑ 3240 ↓ 85 ] Jimin has it all to succeed : an angelic voice, unparalleled beauty, a kind heart and passion for his art!
[ ↑ 9286 ↓ 7 ] KING!!!!

[ 02/11 NEWS ] ALONE : an album that reaches #1 on all charts! 

[ ↑ 1425 ↓ 13 ] I’ve yet to come across one artist who writes such meaningful lyrics as Jimin does. Deserving of his fame!
[ ↑ 2340 ↓ 621 ] it was such a beautiful and raw album, but why is no one talking about the concerning message behind the hidden track?

[ 02/12 NEWS ] Fans speculate about possible meaning behind Jimin’s ALONE’s hidden track “set me free” : a metaphor for how controlling an idol’s life is or a call for help?

[ ↑ 9381 ↓ 28 ] Some have gone too far into the interpretation of the song, Jimin has already spoken about it! It talks about mental health in a very artistic and sensitive way!
[ ↑ 9264 ↓ 761 ] A call for help for what ? He told us in his live that he has been the happiest he could be in years !
[ ↑ 2394 ↓ 3211 ] It’s not only the hidden track, it’s his attitude towards the camera that makes fans worried. Something’s wrong, and if you don’t see it, you’re in denial.

[ 02/13 BREAKING NEWS ] Cancelled concert, performances missed, interviews postponed : Jimin seems to have disappeared and the company responds with vague and unclear statements. Fans demand to know where he is.

[ ↑ 29 499 ↓ 11 ] A photo has been circulating throughout the media, why do you try to hide it and protect someone who might know where Jimin is?

Taehyung’s fingers tremble as he scrolls down the comments. The next one he reads causes his vision to swim and his heart to sink by his feet.

[ ↑ 89 371 ↓ 204 ] We demand that Kim Taehyung speaks to the authorities.

One month ago,
Seoul, January

“And— cheers!” Everyone erupts in joyful laughs and smiles as glasses clink together. “For Jimin!”

A beam shines across Jimin’s face. 

He mirrors everyone around the table and drinks up the champagne in his glass before raising it, the emptiness of it earning a few choked laughs from his staff. “I’ve said it time and time again, and I will not get tired of repeating it—thank you for all that you’ve done for me. Without any of you here, I wouldn’t have come this far,” Jimin blurts out as honestly as he can get—he speaks with his heart out, with his eyes pouring sincerity and gratitude, and it’s received with wide and honest smiles. 

“You’ll make us cry!” Someone shouts from the end of the table, and Jimin can’t help but respond with a giggle and a playful, “You better cry!”

Jimin smiles at the claps that erupt, and takes the opportunity that they’ve all been gathered at the restaurant to thank them all again, directing his empty glass to the team. The place isn't huge, only two more tables are occupied by people who are already too engrossed in their own conversation to turn their heads toward Jimin whose voice might be a little louder than he intended it. Just a little.

“Thank you; Manager Lee, for dealing with all the stressful parts of the organization and schedules,” his manager raises his own glass amidst laughter while he wipes a non-existent tear from the corner of his eyes. “Thank you, Taemin, for the incredible dance routines you create for me—I couldn’t dream of a better friend and choreographer,” Jimin continues as Taemin offers a prince-like bow. 

His impromptu speech goes on to each and every member of the team gathered around the table; nearly thirty beaming faces cheering for him and his success in completing the recording of his song and finishing his new album. There’s still a lot of work ahead, but the majority is done, and that alone is a significant achievement for him. A successful step toward another comeback. 

“To my security guards,” he barely has the time to mention them that four big and bulky men instantly raise their biceps comically, and Jimin nearly bursts into laughter before he manages to continue with a somewhat steady voice, “and to the youngest of them who protects me like his life depends on it!” 

Chuckles and claps burst while the spotlight shifts to the figure sitting right next to him, who stands up to flex his muscles in dramatic poses.

Kim Taehyung —the youngest of his security guards, and the one who has been assigned to follow Jimin closely to all and every event. Despite only joining them a year prior, Jimin remains under the impression that Taehyung has been by his side ever since he debuted, five years ago. 

It’s his attentive eyes, his protective instincts and his ability to process and anticipate danger— although, there hasn’t been any kind of real danger so far—that have made Taehyung an irreplaceable part of Jimin’s security team. Since he started working for them, the incidents of fans running into Jimin's personal space have lessened, and the public appearances have grown much safer and more comfortable with time. 

Jimin often likes to joke about how the sea of people move around Taehyung, as if he’s the one controlling the direction of the flow. He also affectionately often refers to Taehyung as The Tiger, someone whose sharp and threatening gaze is enough to order others to back off—and the nickname became so widely embraced within the company that even the fans adopted it.

“Let’s not forget all those who couldn’t come, and those who are currently working back at the office—thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” Jimin ends with a bow, smiling at the cheers he gets drowned into, swimming in that warmth made of support, love, and happiness. 

“Thank you for making it easier for us to work around hectic schedules,” Yongsun, his stylist, says with her hands clasped together above her head in a thank you pose. “We couldn't dream of a better idol to work with!” 

“That's too much—I’m just a twenty-six years old guy.”

“And you’re way too humble,” Taehyung’s words are accompanied by hums of agreement coming from all sides. It earns a chuckle from Jimin. 

All in all, he truly believes that he couldn’t have found a better company and better staff to guide him through his career. He isn’t lying when he admits that he wouldn’t have made this far without them—he’d have given up long ago. 

He would have given up a year ago. 

After the dessert, Jimin excuses himself as quietly as he slips away from the team, finds his way out of the restaurant, and settles by the guardrail he finds there. 

The location is rather serene—it’s set atop a hill on the outskirts of the city, with nothing but fields and forest surrounding them, the scent of pine and earth heavy in the air. From here, the fields stretch out miles ahead, swaying in the wind, and behind them, the sight of Seoul and its thousands and thousands of lights bubble with life. 

It’s calming.

Time slows down, too.

They couldn't have chosen a better place to meet. 

Despite the possibility of being recognized by the staff—which he was—and by the clients, Jimin finds himself feeling safer in this place than anywhere in the heart of Seoul. Although, he would argue that there haven’t been many moments during which he feared for his safety. Not when he’s always surrounded by his bodyguards. 

Especially when Kim Taehyung walks by his side.

It may be due to his age—born in the same year—but he has never once taken his job lightly, even by mistake. His guard is constantly on, his eyes looking for danger in every situation. It’s as comforting as it is funny for Jimin who hasn’t seen this level of professionalism before. And he welcomes it with open arms.

As a heavy exhale escapes him, he leans over the guardrail a little more, and lets his eyes fall to the fields, absentmindedly humming the song he had been singing all day in the recording studio. It didn't need a lot of takes to get it right, though. It didn't take more than one, truly, but he has been singing it to himself, once, twice, taking in his own lyrics, the meaning of it, the emotions and memories they carry with them.

“Alone.” 

A fitting title for the lyrics. A fitting title for the challenging period he describes in his song.

A fitting title, for someone who's loved by the world, yet feels utterly and completely alone. 

His fingers tap against the metal. Quick, quick, quick. He isn’t nervous. He doesn’t think he is. The deep, almost painful breath he takes, however, suggests otherwise. 

A flickering light catches him off guard. Quick, sharp, appearing as fast as it disappears. 

At first, Jimin believes it must be the reflection of something metallic lost within the fields, but as his eyes scan the dark surroundings and adjust themselves better to the darkness, he quickly understands that it’s not a reflection—it’s the flash of a camera. 

A shutter is heard.

Another shot.

A sigh escapes him. Subtly, he turns around to offer his back to whichever excuse of a fan is hiding—or, barely hiding—in the fields. He should have known, shouldn’t have believed that there was no possibility that his location wouldn’t leak one way or another and allow sasaengs to follow. It’s inevitable, no matter how many precautions they take. He should be used to it, and yet each time it surprises him like it’s the first time all over again. Maybe for the sole reason he hopes that, every time, it will be different.

That they’ll leave him alone. 

“Drank too much?”

Jimin’s eyes smile first before his lips do. A familiar silhouette appears. It eases his worries before they even get to reach his bones. The door closes behind Taehyung and the commotion coming from inside the restaurant fades as he steps out in the cold night, while Jimin leans back against the guardrail, visibly more relaxed. “No. I can handle a lot more than that.”

“A lot more than four glasses of champagne and two of wine?” Taehyung raises an impressed brow, and Jimin giggles before he switches into a fake-serious expression.

“Of course. Who do you think I am?” 

Taehyung chuckles as he walks closer to the guardrail. Jimin watches him rest his hands above it and look straight ahead. 

His bodyguard is wearing another suit today—dark blue, this time. It's nothing out of the ordinary, he wears one every single day, but Jimin had noticed that unlike the other staff members, Taehyung never shows up in more comfortable and less professional clothing. It might be what he feels the most comfortable in, Jimin doesn't have any idea, but he finds this simple detail comforting. For him, it means that even outside work hours, his bodyguard will continue protecting him. Not turning off the protecting mode until he gets through the threshold of his home. 

How much safer can he be?

For a moment, Jimin searches for a shift in Taehyung’s face, something that gives away the fact that he noticed the “fan” hiding somewhere a few meters from them. There’s, however, nothing. Taehyung’s eyes sweep the surroundings, scan it in the same way he would if it was a crowded street through which Jimin would have to go. 

So, impatiently, Jimin nudges him. “Are they still there?” 

Taehyung turns his head enough to meet his eyes with a confused look. “Who?”

With a jerk of his head toward the fields, Jimin’s fingers mimic a camera snapping a picture. Confusion dissipates from Taehyung’s face as he immediately looks down again, now scrutinizing the place with eyes so sharp that Jimin nearly jokes about him turning his Tiger-mode on. Though, instead, he waits. 

Waits, and waits, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to catch a glimpse of a single soul. 

No way they’d get away so fast.

Frowning, Jimin turns around, lips parting as he points at where the silhouette had appeared, but surprisingly—there’s nothing. The spot is empty. 

“Well,” Jimin tilts his head in surprise, “it seems you scared them off. Good job! Do you have some sort of super-power, or what?” 

A huff escapes Taehyung. “Who knows? I might be able to make a soul or two disappear in the blink of an eye,” he says and offers a wink that has Jimin laughing and nearly falling against the guardrail he catches himself onto.

“Yeah, that would have been so useful now! Blink at me, and teleport me home, please!” 

On cue, Taehyung exaggeratedly blinks at Jimin, and Jimin immediately jumps on the spot to pretend he’s disappearing, playing his part without any sort of hesitancy.

It’s been easy to slip into this kind of playful exchange with his team—especially with those close to his own age. He’s fortunate enough that he hasn’t had any terrible experiences with the staff, which he believes has spared him from additional complications in his already hectic and tightly-scheduled days.

“Do you want me to check down there?” 

“No, it's fine. If there was someone, they're probably gone by now, no need to give them any more attention. And, if they got me, let's hope they got my best profile!” 

“I don’t believe you have a bad profile.”

The compliment makes another giggle bubble up Jimin’s throat, a breathy ‘well, thank you’ escaping him. 

They allow themselves to enjoy the silence of the night for a bit longer, until the cold finally presses them to head back inside.

Before he walks through the threshold of the restaurant, Jimin pauses to turn around and glance back one last time. 

Out of curiosity. 

Out of confusion. 

Though he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, he believes he hears the sound of a shutter again that suggests a few shots have been taken with one, single click. He frowns. Might be my mind. It could be an auditory hallucination due to his exhaustion and the very fact that he hears that same sound countless times a day—his brain occasionally replays it, even during the night. 

It’s nothing too unusual. Cameras are on him every single day. Snapping, snapping, and snapping.

There’s one thing he wished he would be able to do, nonetheless; turn off the so-called celebrity mode. For a day, or even a second. Just for a moment. 

Then maybe he’d be able to rest his mind.

Tonight isn't yet the time, and that's why a smile stretches his lips as soon as he joins his team.

...

Jimin is what the world calls living art.  

Someone whose silky voice soothes as much as it bewitches. Someone whose appearance leaves no man indifferent, a perfect blend of soft and sharp. Features so ethereal that it would take countless brushstrokes to get even half of it down onto canvas. Someone whose everyday gestures and movements are as graceful as his dancing is. 

Someone who wears the title of South Korea’s sweetheart elegantly and humbly. 

Taehyung agrees with it all. He would be a fool to think otherwise. A liar, even. 

It's no wonder, really, that the number of listeners and fans has increased at a quite impressive speed in the last few months. As Jimin's bodyguard—someone who constantly walks closely by his side—Taehyung has seen the shift in the crowd they would have to sometimes swim through at the airport, or public events. He has seen the numbers multiply, the interactions intensify, the commotion growing more and more unstable despite the situation remaining under control by the rest of the security team. 

Everyone goes crazy for Park Jimin. 

For good reasons.

The shutters of cameras are heard. Thousands all at once, bouncing off the walls of the set where a creative team of at least twenty people stands. Taehyung sits back with a couple other people, his eyes darting from his watch to the photographed subject.

The set is beautiful on its own; a room filled with flowers, bouquets and bouquets draping the divan, spilling onto the floor and crawling up the walls. The colors, thousands and thousands of them, contrast with the pure white clothes that cover Jimin's skin, and yet, he steals the spotlight as effortlessly as he does in any crowded room. 

Lying on the divan, an arm suspended mid-air, hanging from the armrest, Jimin gazes back at the camera with eyes full of melancholy. 

A fitting emotion for his new album, Alone. It's one thing Taehyung will always get captivated by—Jimin’s ability to act with such ease, to convey all and any emotion through his eyes alone.

To grasp the beholder's attention, utterly and completely, until they feel it under their skin. In their bones.

Taehyung had thought about acting, once. He also thought about singing, about dancing, about any other art form—but none ever became a dream of his. His mother didn’t have enough to pay for art school, couldn’t afford the price of such ambitions—just as she couldn’t afford much that involved higher studies. It never bothered him, though. Why would it? It was out of her control. She’s always been a hardworking woman, a mother who’d sacrifice anything for her son—and Taehyung has always been grateful for that. 

In return, he started working as soon as he could to help. Strenuous summer jobs at first, he’d work from early in the morning to late in the night for minimum wage, sometimes bouncing from one workplace to another. Again, it never bothered him. It kept him busy, shaped him into a more responsible man, taught him to handle situations he never thought he’d be able to, at that age. 

Before finding his way to this company, he worked exclusively as a bouncer for a quite popular place in town, and, ironically, it was a video of him dragging two burly men out of the club that got him in contact with Park Jimin’s company, which then led to his recruitment.

He vividly recalls how shocked he had been after picking up the call in the middle of the day. Surely he did know about Park Jimin—who didn’t? The thing was that he couldn’t believe it. Why him, of all people? He had promptly dismissed the offer at that time, convinced it had been merely another scam or prank call. However, the following days, he had been surprised by countless calls, countless requests for him to think it through. 

On a rainy day, it wasn’t a call that he received, but the visit of a neatly dressed man bearing both a business card and a file containing detailed information about the job he wished to offer Taehyung.

At last, he accepted. 

The memory still makes him chuckle to this day. Who would have thought? Certainly not him. 

“All right, we’re all set!” The art director announces the end of the shooting. Following Jimin’s happy claps, everyone celebrates another successful photography session.

“Thank you for your hard work!” Jimin exclaims with a few polite bows, nearly fleeing from the set with a smile that is nothing but contagious, even to Taehyung who’s mostly known for his reserved nature when it comes to expressing his emotions.

Between the time Jimin disappears into the changing rooms to slide into the comfortable clothes he had been wearing this morning and the time he reappears by Taehyung’s side, half of the flowers from the set have already been collected. One of the bouquets, one of the smallest ones, is held between Taehyung’s fingers. Pink and purple peonies blended with white lilies and blood red anemones.

“Looking to bring a souvenir back home?” Jimin teases as Taehyung huffs.

“Not home—but back to the company. You spend most of the time in that practice room, I thought this might be a nice addition, though they will certainly not last long.”

“They won’t,” Jimin agrees, eyes flickering to them. He delicately brushes the leaves with the pad of his fingers. Smiles. “Anemones,” he recognizes, gaze flickering back to Taehyung’s, “you know they were the flowers that sprang from the blood of Adonis?”

Taehyung blinks. “Adonis?” 

“The mortal, lover of Aphrodite,” he begins to explain as they walk out of the set, down to exit the building. 

“I’m not good with Greek mythology,” or any kind of mythology, for that matter. Not that Taehyung isn’t interested in it—but he never really had the time to read much, even less those types of books. “What’s the story? Did I pick up flowers that bring bad luck?”

Jimin giggles. “Not bad luck! I mean—I don’t believe it brings bad luck. The flowers bloomed with the mix of his blood and her tears. She was holding his dying body when the anemones appeared—take it as you want, but I believe it symbolizes the short nature of life. And love.” 

“So you’re telling me I picked flowers that scream about death and grief and horrific tragedy?” 

“You picked beautiful flowers with a beautiful meaning,” Jimin corrects.

Not so sure about that.

Taehyung gives one last amused smile before the building’s doors open before them, and his face immediately hardens. His brows furrow, his eyes grow sharper and more alert, and his step grows more confident as he walks slightly ahead. 

Cheers and screams burst from both sides of the path that opens for them, where the fans excitedly jump behind the crowd control barriers. They must have been waiting for quite a while now from the looks of some—red noses and trembling lips which barely stop them from trying to get Jimin’s attention. Their eyes shine, while their hands wave happily. 

The distance between them and the crowd is enough security on its own before they reach the car, yet Taehyung’s arm is ready to lift at any moment if needed. And it does—when Jimin suddenly slips to the side to approach the fans on his left. 

Taehyung’s quick to react as he follows him closely, the screams only getting higher and louder with excitement, and when Jimin perches himself over the barrier, Taehyung slams the bouquet into another guard’s arms to slide an arm around Jimin’s chest—not touching, but letting it stay there as another protective barrier in case he’d have to act fast. 

“What are you doing,” “Step down,” “Don’t get too close like that”— all of these burn at the tip of his tongue, and yet he remains silent as Jimin laughs, seemingly delighted by the sight of the excited fans attempting to give him gifts. From flowers to chocolate boxes or letters; these are usually collected by the staff during fansigns or other events, and never during these kinds of situations, yet Jimin looks like his eyes have settled on a keychain swinging behind everyone.

“Help me get that keychain!” Jimin requests excitedly and waits for the fans to bring the gift forward, while Taehyung’s eyes dart everywhere to ensure nobody crosses the line. Thankfully, it isn’t the case, and Taehyung doesn’t have to forcefully swat anyone’s hand away, yet he can’t suppress a silent sigh at how damn reckless Jimin is. He trusts his fans way too much for Taehyung’s taste. 

But it’s not like Taehyung doesn’t like the challenge or hasn’t been warned about Park Jimin’s close relationship with his fans—he has. He’s been prepared for that.

“We need to leave,” Taehyung reminds him as soon as the keychain finds its way into Jimin’s hands.

With a wide, satisfied beam, Jimin shakes the newly acquired stuffed chick toy before Taehyung’s eyes, laughing when Taehyung encourages him to back down with a slight pressure of his arm around Jimin’s waist. “Isn’t it cute?”

“Yes,” Taehyung answers in a single breath when Jimin waves lovely goodbyes and thank you’s to his fans before Taehyung guides him back to the car.

Despite his public façade of ‘cold indifference,’ according to Jimin’s fans, he is anything but annoyed by Jimin’s carefree personality—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. And to be fair, it’s hard to believe that anyone could be annoyed at someone who spreads happiness as naturally as Jimin does. 

They might be polar opposites when it comes to expressing their feelings, it doesn’t mean that they don’t get along. They do. Sometimes it feels like they've been working together for more than what they have; a simple look, a simple gesture, or a simple touch is enough for them to communicate. At least, on Taehyung’s side. 

With time, he learned to read Jimin’s eyes, Jimin’s gestures—and it’s exactly what he does once they settle inside the car on the backseats, windows up, and screams dying out in the background.

“Everything’s alright?” he asks, more of a habit than anything.

And Jimin hums positively, more of a habit than anything.

However, the smile he receives is not so reassuring. It’s one Taehyung quickly deciphers—Jimin’s restless. Stressed by something Taehyung can't yet put his finger on yet.

“They seem happy and excited for tomorrow's performance,” Jimin mumbles. 

Taehyung stares. 

After a short pause, Jimin sighs, “I’m scared I'll make a mistake.” 

Taehyung frowns. Although he learned with time that a Park Jimin mistake isn't exactly what anyone else would call a mistake, he can't understand why Jimin would be scared now. He practiced for countless hours, has even shared his satisfaction with his progress, so why—

Jimin averts his eyes when he reaches for his neck. 

There it is, the source of his worries.

“Is it hurting again?”

Jimin presses his lips together in an attempt to smile to conceal the pain off his face, and hums. “I asked the physician to come earlier to check on me before the performance, but I've already contemplated changing one or two moves in the choreography.”

A decision that would undoubtedly devastate him—that, Taehyung is aware of. Everyone is aware of how much of a perfectionist Jimin is, but not everyone has seen it slowly break his confidence, whether it be during practice, backstage, or even in the car where he’d allow himself to pour out his insecurities. Delivering a potentially underwhelming first-time performance due to his physical limitations doesn’t exactly align with Jimin’s standards. 

The thing is, Taehyung hasn’t exactly grown close to him the way some members of the staff have, and isn’t sure of the choice of words that would appease Jimin in this kind of situation.  

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to check with them now? It’s barely past four, they could come to the company, and—”

“I have practice tonight,” Jimin cuts off. Taehyung immediately presses his lips into a thin line as to shut himself up. No advice was needed, he tells himself. I’ll remember that. 

The rest of the ride is silent as it usually is after a shooting or event, mostly due to the fact that Jimin takes the opportunity to close his eyes for a short break between the scheduled events. Today, however, there’s something on his mind that keeps his eyes set on the window and the blurry streets. 

Taehyung doesn’t pry further. 

He glances at the keychain now attached to Jimin’s waist. 

Glances back at the road. 

...

“Woah! Who’s the lucky one?” is the first question that spills excitedly from Taemin’s lips the moment Jimin enters the dance practice room with the bouquet in his arms. “Weren’t you supposed to have a scheduled shooting for your album?” 

“These flowers came from the set,” Jimin explains with an amused smile, and leaves them in one corner of the room. A giggle escapes him when he notices the fake disappointment on Taemin’s face, as if he was previously ready to jump in pure joy at the news of his friend dating. “I told you, dating is out of the picture right now. Work is my top priority, and you know it.” 

That, and also the fact that it hasn’t been that long since he broke up with his last partner. A year and a half, a little before Taehyung joined the company. For multiple reasons, he doesn’t feel like getting into any kind of romantic relationship this fast. 

And Taemin knows it. Of course, he does. He's been by Jimin's side since high school, as a friend, a mentor, a role model. He's seen it all—happy and sad Jimin. Sober and drunk. Depressed and overjoyed. He’s been through thick and thin with him, and has never once left his side when in need. Not once. Not even Jimin’s long-date friend, Namjoon, knows him as much as Taemin does, and that’s the reason why he always feels comfortable talking about his private life with him. He doesn’t have anything to hide from him, nor does Taemin. 

“My bodyguard insisted on bringing these flowers here. ‘said it would keep me company if I decided to stay until dawn again.” Which he does too often. The fact that Taehyung had caught on to it so quickly is quite surprising, given the fact that Jimin is always the last one to turn off the lights and go home. But then, again, he does tend to fall asleep way too often in the morning—whether it’s in the car, during the photoshoots, or between two recording sessions. Putting two and two together isn’t so difficult.

“Oh, he knows you so well already.” 

“A bit too much, I’d say,” Jimin laughs. Without wasting any more time, he positions himself in the center of the room facing the wall-sized mirror and begins slowly stretching while Taemin connects his phone to the speakers.

“So, tell me how you feel. How’s the cramp?” 

“Worse.” So much worse than it looks. “I don’t think it’ll get any better by tomorrow, either. Could we—” As he turns to meet Taemin’s curious and attentive eyes, Jimin sighs in defeat, his shoulders dropping with a heavy weight that presses against his ribcage. Taemin seems to have caught on to the message, his face melting into a reassuring, albeit worried expression. 

“You don’t have to worry about simplifying the routine, leave it to me. I’m sure we’ll find something that will satisfy you. Besides, I know you’ve been hurting for a few days now, so I’ve brought some of the kinetic tapes that were left from the last time. Maybe they can help.” 

“You—” Jimin watches Taemin nearly bolt to his bag to retrieve the said tapes, and exhales an amused sigh. “You didn’t have to.” 

“Oh, but I did! What kind of friend would I be, then, if I didn’t pay attention whenever you’re struggling?” 

“Still a good friend,” Jimin assures, a smile on his lips when Taemin invites him to sit on the chair. He slumps on it right away, taking his shirt off and letting Taemin apply the tapes for him. 

As he feels the slight pressure of fingers against his tight muscle, a memory flashes behind his closed eyelids; the first time a similar pain appeared, unbearable and intense, by the end of his very first concert. It's a memory he hates coming back to, one which often pulls him back to relive it again and again. Although the pain is only half of what it was on that day, he can’t help but let the nervousness gnaw at his bones. He can’t prevent the doubts and possible outcomes from clouding his mind. 

Working on this album has been challenging enough, both mentally and physically, but it has been so worth it. The songs, the visuals, the concepts—this album came out exactly as he envisioned. It’s disheartening to accept that he might have to alter a part of a choreography he hasn’t even yet revealed—one he had been painstakingly perfecting. 

Gazing toward the mirror, Jimin watches Taemin carefully apply the second tape and unconsciously reaches for the stuffed chick hanging from the belt loop of his jeans. He only realizes he’d been tightly squeezing it when Taemin glances over.

“Oh? What’s this? A stress-relief ball?” 

Jimin chuckles, releasing his grip to raise the toy and show it. “It’s a keychain. I got it from a fan, earlier. It could definitely be used like that, though—I wonder if they meant it to be for stress relief.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, your fans give you the most useful and thoughtful gifts.”

Jimin hums. “I’m lucky.”

“I’d argue that it’s your pure heart attracting other pure hearts,” Taemin puts it simply, smiling at him. It does sound nice. Receiving what he gives—love. Pure and honest. Taemin gently pats Jimin’s right shoulder when he encourages, “Come on, let’s get to practice.”

“Yup!” On cue, Jimin stands up, a hand instinctively reaching for his neck.

“We’ll start with the original choreography and you’ll tell me whenever we’ll need to tweak it,” Taemin tells him. “And no need to pretend everything’s fine, I can see when it hurts you.”

Jimin huffs. “Of course, I could never lie to you. I’m too easy to read.”

“That, and you aren’t exactly known for being a good liar.” Jimin rolls his eyes at that, though he can’t conceal the amused smile on his lips. Alright, he’s got a point. With a grin, Taemin reaches for his phone, and starts the song. 

Set me free. 

...

Beads of sweat trace a path down Taehyung’s body. Down his spine, down his chest. His shirt along with the rest of his belongings have been left in the lockers before he stepped into the company’s private gym, his only company being his own ragged breaths and the grunts that break past his throat at each set he forces himself into completing. He’s never been much of a gymrat, nor did he have the time and money for a membership, but one thing remained constant—the sense of peace and satisfaction that washes over him during an intense workout session.

Taehyung’s muscles burn with the familiar ache of exertion, like a fire running through his veins and keeping him grounded. It’s good. It’s better than just good. He pushes through the discomfort when he adds to the weight he lifts, continues until his arms and legs give out, until he feels his head spin and his heart hammer in his chest. Until a laugh escapes him, sudden and uncontrolled.

The exhaustion. Utter and complete exhaustion—it’s one, if not the only thing that reminds him he’s alive. Sure, he could have purposes, life goals, whatever, but he doesn’t. He blames it on a life he has never chosen, filled with struggles and hardships he pushed through without a single complaint. It’s part of what makes him so intimidating and menacing to those who know him—nothing is scarier than a man who has nothing to lose, and everything to win. People know better than to stand in his way.

It’s already a few minutes past nine when Taehyung leaves after a freezing-cold shower, his duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. His stomach grumbles, screaming for food, and it’s only then that he decides it’d be good to stop by a shop or restaurant to get something for dinner. Going home with an empty stomach isn’t that smart. Before he leaves the building, however, the light coming from one of the practice rooms on this floor catches his attention, urging him to take two steps back and peek inside. 

“I think it’ll come out nicely like this, I’d suggest you rest rather than strain your muscle before the performance.”

“One more time.”

“Jimin—”

“One more time, Taemin, please.”

Taehyung clears his throat as he pushes the door open wider, giving it a gentle knock to signal his presence. The soft thud reverberates through the room and draws the attention of the both of them, and Taehyung immediately offers a respectful bow. “I apologize for disturbing you two,” he starts, his eyes meeting Jimin’s ones. The frustration he finds in them has him pause a little longer, and by the flush of both their faces and the sweat sticking their hair to their foreheads, they seem to be practicing relentlessly since Jimin came, hours ago. “I’m gonna grab something to eat—I could bring you two dinner, if you haven’t eaten already.”

Taemin glances back at Jimin before saying anything, his raised brows expressing a certain pleasing surprise, but Jimin gives a slow shake of his head in response. “No, we’re fine. Thank you, though, that’s very kind of you.”

There’s something quite curious about the efforts Jimin puts into offering Taehyung a smile despite his obvious mental and physical exhaustion, and Taehyung wonders if there’s ever been a time when Jimin has slipped and allowed himself to be authentic. Not a perfectly respectful and happy self, but a true self. It’s one side Taehyung would never understand. 

Why go to such lengths to conceal all the negative emotions just for the sake of people’s perceptions? 

“I won’t bother you any longer, then. Have a good evening,” Taehyung bows, and the two mirror his gesture with a quiet see you tomorrow before the door closes. They might stay back for a little more. An hour or two. Maybe more. It wouldn’t be so surprising. He has seen Jimin stay hours and hours inside that room, even found him sleeping there early in the morning. None of that ever seemed healthy. None of it. 

And despite how it reminded Taehyung of his past self when he would doze off between the three jobs he’d fit in one single day, he believes that there’s no valid reason for Jimin to exhaust himself this much. 

Doing it for the fans? It’s senseless. For the company? Even worse. For himself? What kind of madman is he, then? 

Over the past year he worked within the company, Taehyung came to learn that this level of dedication is seen as admirable. It stems from the love the artist has for his art, for the deep desire to offer only the best of himself to the millions supporting him and his craft. To give, as much as he receives. A certain form of respect. 

But even for someone who didn’t know anything about the routine and hardships of an idol’s life before, Taehyung believes there’s something else behind the blood, sweat and tears Park Jimin pours into his art. 

Something he hasn’t quite put his finger on, yet. 

The cold breeze hits him at the same time his phone buzzes in his pocket. He reaches for it as he walks toward the parking lot, before he pauses in his steps when he sees the name that lights up on his screen. He picks up the call immediately.

“Hey—you’ve been that busy that you had to turn down my calls all day?”

The dramatically offended tone brings a smile to Taehyung’s lips. Even through the phone, he can hear his friend’s pout so clearly. Not so scary for a tough guy like him. “Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung acknowledges, a hint of guilt in his voice, “I’m sorry. You know I put my phone on airplane mode whenever I work.”

“Yeah, yeah, just say you’re living the luxury life while your best friend keeps serving negroni’s and spritz’s in this hell hole!” 

Living the luxury life isn’t exactly how he’d describe his current life, but it is the complete opposite of his previous life. Much better. Much more comfortable. And for that— “I’m sorry. I remember The Viper’s Vault had some good clients, though. At least sometimes.”

“Exactly. Sometimes. I have no idea why the hell we’re getting more and more aggressive bastards, lately. It’s like they all texted each other about you not being there anymore to kick their asses and throw them out.”

The hypothesis isn’t so crazy. Taehyung held a reputation as the Viper itself. Some even believed he was the owner of that place and the reason behind the name, although the bar had been open for longer than he had been working there. 

Whenever there was a fight or any sort of confrontation, Taehyung never hesitated to forcefully drag one or more clients out of the bar, regardless of the injuries. Fractured limb or fractured skull; he didn’t care. His priority was always been the safety of the remaining clients in the bar. Consequently, it wouldn’t surprise him that those who have been humiliated by him before would force their way into the bar after learning about his departure.

“You can’t handle them, anymore? What would people think if they saw the King of underground boxing being overpowered by poor drunkards?” Taehyung teases, hearing Jeongguk groan on the other side of the line. 

“Ex -King. Whatever. Don’t mention that again. People forgot about that life, and I did, too. Anyway—I’m not gonna lie here, nothing’s the same since you left. The people, the whole place. You’re kinda missed.” 

“Kinda,” Taehyung echoes with a laugh. 

“Hey, I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know. I miss you too. And—” He turns around to look in the direction of the parking lot before heading the opposite way. A good walk might do him good. For thinking. Or overthinking. Or, simply, for a breath of fresh air. “You know what? I’m coming over right now. The bar isn’t that far from the company, so I should be there in ten.”

“What? Are you for real?” Jeongguk’s voice instantly goes into a higher pitch, and Taehyung can imagine the way his face must have lit up with excitement. “Oh, you just made this shitty day so worth living.” 

“Always so dramatic,” Taehyung chuckles.

“That’s my charm. ‘can’t have me without it!” 

“You’ve got a point, there. Alright, I’m hanging up, don’t break a heart before I get there.”

“Better than breaking a nose.”

“Not so sure about that.”

They both laugh before the calls end and the phone is slipped back into his pocket. He rummages through his other empty one, as well as his bag, exhaling heavily when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. 

“‘probably left it back in the lockers,” he mumbles under his breath, heading to the bar. He’ll come back in the morning—nothing’s too urgent for now. Except eating. 

Probably.

His stomach grumbles.

Certainly.

Just like he predicted, his walk into the cold night takes him ten good minutes, and a little more if it wasn’t for how packed the bar is and how Taehyung has to physically make his way through the sea of people glued to one another. The music, loud bass vibrating inside his chest, drowns out the chatters as well as the commotion he doesn’t notice before he reaches the counter, and—

“Get the fuck out of my bar!” Jeongguk snarls, his fingers like claws around the head of a man whose jaw just knocked against the counter, earning an impressed whistle from Taehyung. Another man has his nose certainly broken by how profusely he’s bleeding, but unlike the other, he very eagerly leaves. 

“Look at you, asserting your dominance,” Taehyung laughs, nearly screaming to be heard above the music, and when Jeongguk notices him, his eyes widen in relief and then annoyance.

“Please, kick this one outside! ‘night’s been Hell!” 

On cue, Taehyung grabs the man’s leather jacket before he could even protest, reacting as fast as he would have, a year ago, when he was still working in this place. Just like the old times, he mouths silently with a wink directed at Jeongguk who only rolls his eyes and slams a wet towel over the counter to wipe the blood and spilled beer. 

The crowd opens a path for him like he’s the one controlling it perfectly while the man tries to get to Taehyung one way or another—arms waving in all directions, legs kicking the air. It’s ridiculous, even more so when he’s at least a head taller than Taehyung and can’t even do anything before he’s dragged and tossed outside like it’s nothing. His face crashes against the cold and dirty pavement, and he spits something Taehyung doesn’t hear, the door already shutting close behind him.

“What a comeback!” Jeongguk yells happily with his arms wide open when Taehyung approaches the counter for the second time tonight.

“You’ll never stop giving me a hard time, will you?” 

Lips pursing and eyes darting to the ceiling, Jeongguk pretends to think for a second. “Nope. I won’t! I told you you’d be stuck with me for life, whatever path you choose.”

“Great,” Taehyung slurs with a chuckle before he approaches the seat on the far left of the counter that a young woman offers him. She must have certainly recognized him, as she flashes him a smile and a wink at his quiet thank you. “So, what did those guys do to ruin your night?”

Like he’d been waiting for Taehyung to ask that, Jeongguk exhales heavily, dramatically, while he mixes the drinks he had been requested. “The one who left on his own didn’t do anything other than try to defend his asshole of a friend. The dude you kicked out tried to sneak a pill in the drink of the woman who was sitting where you are, now.” 

Taehyung raises his brow. He turns his head to look for her, though he doesn’t find her in the mess of dancing silhouettes. “She looked like she could defend herself just fine.”

“Yup. She did. I had to intervene because the guy tried to raise a hand, too.”

Now, Taehyung’s laughing again. “Crazy that they still attempt that stuff in front of you. Don’t they know who you are?”

Three square glasses are laid over the counter and skillfully filled with the same concoction Jeongguk had been mixing. “I think they’re just bored. Seeing an almost ex-convict awakens something in those assholes' brain. I just don’t know what it is. Stupidity. Probably.”

“Ex-convict? Come on, it wasn’t that bad. You just broke a businessman’s jaw, it wasn’t like you were going to jail for that.”

“I left him toothless,” Jeongguk corrects, sliding the drinks toward the clients without even acknowledging the terror in their eyes. It’s not like his life is top secret— anyone would find that information if they searched deep enough in the archives and old newspapers. And the day of said accident didn’t exactly break out silently—it was all over the news, along with Jeongguk’s name, his face and the names of those involved in the underground boxing club that soon after had to shut its doors. “If it wasn’t for Yoongi hyung, that man would have pressed charges and gotten me behind bars for god knows how long.” 

“I don’t believe it, he didn’t have enough proof for that. Besides, he did deserve it.”

“Hell yeah, he did,” Jeongguk breathes out a laugh. He reaches for the towel hanging over his shoulder to wipe his hands, meeting Taehyung’s gaze. “The usual?” 

A nod. “And something to eat. I’m starving.” 

Jeongguk turns around to lean over the opening that connects the bar to the kitchen, yelling something Taehyung can’t decipher before he’s back to prepare two drinks Taehyung supposes are for the both of them. “So, tell me about yourself, it’s been ages!” 

“It’s been a month,” Taehyung reminds, but Jeongguk insists,

“Yeah, ages.” It makes Taehyung stifle another laugh. “What’s up with the doll?” 

A sharp intake of breath.

The amusement on Taehyung’s face dies down quickly.

He parts his lips to respond, but nothing comes out. What an idiot. He closes his mouth again and shakes his head when Jeongguk gives him a curious look. “Can we just forget I called him that? It was a dumb thing to say. He's—nice,” unlike what his past self believed. Not that he believed Jimin would be the opposite of the lovely image portrayed in the media, but somehow, wealthy individuals have always made Taehyung feel uneasy and he had assumed that it would be the same with Park Jimin. 

Oh, he was wrong. 

So wrong. 

Park Jimin is more than just a pretty voice and a pretty face—and Taehyung regrets having used the nickname so brainlessly before even getting to know him. 

“Well, he does look like a doll, though. He has the perfect face and perfect attitude and whatnot,” Jeongguk shrugs. 

Perfection is, however, unattainable for an overachiever like Park Jimin. Taehyung came to learn that even the idols who might seem to have a perfect life and a perfect career can have the toughest of lives. If not even tougher than someone who wasted his young years in countless jobs and useless fights. 

“He’s—more than that,” Taehyung speaks a bit too quietly for Jeongguk to pick it up above the music, but he doesn’t repeat himself when their eyes meet and his drink is served before him. “Everything’s fine, honestly. The job pays well, and I barely have to do anything.”

“Well, don’t you follow him everywhere he needs to go? Events? Photoshoots? Even home?” 

Taehyung raises his glass to take a sip.

Jeongguk tilts his head. “Ah, yes—all of that must be top confidential, right?” 

“‘can’t go around and spill everything about a big star like him,” Taehyung confirms. “I can’t compromise his safety, in any possible way.” That includes sharing any small detail about his own routine. 

Taehyung vividly remembers the dozens and dozens of papers he had to go through and carefully read before signing the contract. At first, he believed it was ridiculous. To have so many rules, so many details about how everything should be handled. But it isn’t so senseless, and it also proves that the company puts Jimin’s safety above all. Thing is, since day one, Taehyung has been walking on eggshells to make sure he doesn’t ruin his image and indirectly stains Jimin’s, which essentially means, no more punching drunkards in the bar. He considers himself lucky that no videos or pictures of him handling some difficult situations have surfaced on social media. Yet. 

Though, he doesn’t exclude the possibility that articles have come out before they got quickly taken down by the company’s legal team. It wouldn’t surprise him—he did, after all, spill out his past to remind them that he wasn’t exactly the perfect bodyguard they hoped to hire. 

Weirdly enough, it was precisely what they were looking for. For what, exactly? That remains a mystery. 

“I remember when that company reached out to you. I thought you were pulling a prank on me.” 

A grin spreads across Taehyung’s face. “Yeah. Me too. Believed it was a scam.” 

“They really wanted you, uh? ‘didn't give up until you said yes. They must have doubled their initial salary offer.” Jeongguk teases, clinking his glass with Taehyung’s before drinking it.

“I told you, once I'm done paying for my mom’s debts, I'll give you what I have left so you can get out of here.” 

Jeongguk huffs. “No need. I’ve come to like this place despite the shit that goes down.”

“That’s bullshit. I can see right through you, so stop lying.”

“I’m not lying. Give your mom that money, I’m pretty sure she’ll need it more than I will.”

“Jeongguk-ah,” he calls as a warning, but Jeongguk only smiles. The kind of smile Taehyung wishes he’d never see again. The kind of smile made up of years of pain and struggle. 

The kind of smile he gave him at a damn funeral. 

“Jeongguk-ah, I made you a promise. Whether you get out of here or not won’t be my business, but you’ll see the money I promised you.” 

“Let that go.” ‘s’not worth it, he can hear pending on Jeongguk’s lips.

Taehyung sighs. 

He watches Jeongguk turn around to pick up the plate he transfers to the counter—freshly baked potatoes with a bulgogi burger. With an unsure glance, Taehyung digs right into it.

“So, you’ll stay in the company? You said you’ll think about it after a year of working with them in case you change your mind. Have you?”

Chewing loudly, Taehyung takes a moment to think about it. Not that he hasn’t thought about it before, he has, and he has taken his decision, too, but he weighs in the possibilities. 

He has nothing to complain about, though. The pay is good, the job isn’t that challenging, and he doesn’t really risk his life every single day like he did, in the past. Some fans do have inappropriate behavior sometimes, sasaengs do exist and should always be dealt with, but otherwise, Taehyung doesn’t believe there’s much danger creeping around that could threaten Jimin’s life and, by extension, Taehyung’s. Since, after all, his job entails being sort of a shield. And a damn good one. 

“I think I’ll continue,” he finally decides. “For now. One more year.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t seem that surprised. He laughs and raises his glass to down its content. “I knew it. Can’t resist a pretty face like him, right?” 

“Oh, fuck off. I’m not interested.” 

“You have never been interested, and yet you seem to always end up protecting these pretty boys.” 

Not his fault he always stumbled across boneheads harassing young men. Whether those were pretty, however, he doesn’t really remember. Doesn’t really care. “Well, how strange, I never protected you.” 

Jeongguk’s smile immediately drops as he pretends to throw his drink at Taehyung with his empty glass. “I am a pretty boy, too, but I can defend myself just fine.”

“If you say so,” Taehyung huffs, raising his own glass to his lips. 

“So, the Viper becomes the Tiger.” Jeongguk whistles while he takes both glasses to refill with another cocktail he experimentally mixes. Taehyung watches him, gives him an unimpressed shrug.

“People like to give me nicknames. They’re creative. What can I do?”

“Shouldn’t you look more into the why you’re always being given predator’s nicknames, though?”

Taehyung glares at him. Jeongguk laughs. 

“Yeah, no, that’s not because of that look.”

“I’m as innocent as a doe.” 

Jeongguk’s laugh grows even louder over the bass-boosting music. “That’s an even worse lie. You can definitely kill.”

“But I won’t.” 

“Not unless a situation requires you to do so.”

That’s absurd. Especially now that he works for someone like Park Jimin—there is absolutely no scenario in which he sees himself sink his hands in human blood. “I won’t kill anyone.” 

“Sometimes killing isn’t the worst you can do,” Jeongguk reminds him, though Taehyung only frowns at him, confused by his best friend’s words. He doesn’t have much time to ask about it before more orders are being screamed at him, and something amongst the crowd catches Jeongguk’s attention. 

As Taehyung bites into his burger, Jeongguk leans over the counter to speak at a closer distance, as if he fears someone might hear him when he asks, “Do you know anything about stalking people?”

Taehyung chokes on his food. 

What?

He coughs violently and hastily reaches for his drink to down it, hating the fact that he forgot for a split second that it wasn’t water, but a goddamn golden rum. “Why the fuck are you asking me that?”

“Calm down,” Jeongguk laughs, slapping Taehyung’s back at an awkward angle from where he stands behind the counter. Instead of answering, though, he turns his head to his right and jerks his chin toward someone sitting at the other end of the counter. Taehyung looks over.

A man, probably in his early thirties, sits there. Undoubtedly Jeongguk’s type, even though he claims he doesn’t have a type. Dimples are a soft spot, and that man has them. That, and a gaze that could definitely kill—somehow, that has Jeongguk swooning, too. Call that lack of survival instinct.  

“I want to know his name.”

“Then ask him,” Taehyung deadpans. 

Jeongguk whines and shakes his head vividly. “That’s the thing, he just won’t tell me! I’ve tried everything. I smiled, called him handsome, even pulled out my top-tier flirting skills—none of that worked! He hasn’t told his name to anyone in this bar, and he’s been coming for a couple of weeks, now.”

“And you want me, of all people, to stalk him just to get his name?” Taehyung sighs, picking up his food where he left it, speaking with his mouth full when he adds, “You’ c’azy.”

“I was joking!” Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “He’ll probably tell me sooner or later—after all, why would he come back every night, uh? It must be to see me.”

“Sure.” 

“Sound a little more convinced, will you?”

“Sure,” Taehyung tries again, earning a playful slap from Jeongguk. “Seriously though, why would a guy like him come alone so many times? Is he looking for someone, or?”

“No clue.” Jeongguk shrugs and adds with a dreamy sigh, “But I really wouldn’t mind being the reason he comes back.” When he looks over, he seems to have caught the mystery man’s eyes as his face immediately melts into a puddle of embarrassment. Taehyung’s jaw drops at that. That’s a first. Someone flustering the big bad wolf that’s Jeon Jeongguk? He never thought he’d live long enough to witness it. “Give me a min’,” Jeongguk excuses himself before he nearly bolts, earning an amused chuckle from Taehyung.

“Yeah, yeah, take all your time, lover boy.”

...

It’s ten past midnight. The lights turn off, the door closes, and the silence fills the empty building when Jimin finally decides to go home. Taemin had already left two hours ago when Jimin had assured him he’d only stay a few more. They both knew well that a few minutes would turn into an hour. Or two. Despite that, he doesn’t believe he has put as much effort into these last two hours as he could have if his muscle wasn’t so strained and the pain didn’t scream at him to stop at some point. Still, he’s ready. Has been ready for quite some time, now, but he’ll never drop the tendency to perfect every routine.

[ 12:09 a.m. ] Notification (2) : Your driver is on their way!
[ 12:14 a.m. ] Notification (2) : Your driver has arrived! 

With a tired and heavy exhale, Jimin pulls his hoodie over his head and adjusts his mask over his nose and steps out into the cold night. 

From: Taeminie
[ 11:29 p.m. ] you’re not home yet, are you?
[ 12:05 a.m. ] please tell me you’re home! if you’re not, i’m coming to pick you up
[ 12:09 a.m. ] that’s it, i’m coming

Jimin laughs on his way to the waiting car, typing out his response. 

From : You — To: Taeminie
[ 12:15 a.m. ] don’t! i’m already on my way. in the taxi rn. don’t worry about me, i’ll get home in five and be asleep in ten ;)

As he presses send, he peels his eyes off his screen to lean toward the passenger seat’s backdoor, but before he can take another step, his body freezes. He’s only two steps away from the car, a dark gray Mercedes-Benz, but it’s enough distance to realize there’s nobody inside. And yet the driver’s door is wide open. As though someone just ran out of it and abandoned their car. 

With the headlights piercing through the darkness and the low growl of the engine, the scene looks like it’s been taken out of a horror movie. It’s eerie. 

It’s odd.  

It nearly pulls a laugh out of Jimin’s throat. A nervous one.

“He could have asked me for the bathroom instead of leaving his car like this,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, looking around. Another car approaches soon after. This time, with a sign atop it, signaling that it’s an official taxi. 

That's his driver.

Jimin blinks. Looks back at the Benz. Sweeps his calm and silent surroundings.

Nobody.

There’s nobody else around.

“Park Jimin-ssi?” the man, probably in his late fifties, calls from the taxi after rolling down his windows. He must have noticed Jimin’s hesitancy, judging by the way he now picks up his phone and reads the name again before showing Jimin the screen. “It says Park Jimin. You booked a ride through the app, is that right?”

“Ah—yes!” Jimin chuckles. “It’s me. It’s—me,” he repeats under the man’s confused gaze. With an apologetic bow, Jimin hurries inside the car, looking around one last time to see if he can find the owner of the other abandoned car.

“Who would leave their car like this?” the driver asks as soon as the door closes and Jimin secures his seatbelt. 

“No clue,” is all Jimin manages to say as he rests his head back and exhales heavily again. He’s too tired for a conversation, too tired to try and guess whose car it is. All he wants and all he needs right now is a warm shower and his warm bed. 

The day has been long enough like that.

He closes his eyes for the rest of the ride, trying not to fall asleep on the way home. 

From: Taeminie
[ 12:20 a.m. ] let me know when you get home
[ 12:22 a.m. ] so i can sleep (๑•́︿•̀๑) 

Jimin sees the messages once he enters his apartment and gets rid of his shoes in the hallway. He unhooks the newly acquired keychain from his belt loop and gives it an instinctive squeeze. 

A sigh escapes him. 

Taemin was right—it definitely works as a stress ball. 

A smile pulls the corners of his lips up. His fans will never cease to surprise him, sometimes it’s almost scary how well they can read him. They must have sensed his worry and stress while creating his new album, even when he hasn’t explicitly talked about how anxious the release makes him. 

However, he’d like to believe it’s a good kind of stress. He just wants to give his fans the best. And every day, they prove to be more than thankful for his efforts. 

It makes everything worth the blood, sweat, and tears he pours into his art. 

It really does.

From : You — To: Taeminie
[ 12:25 a.m. ] home!!!
[ 12:26 a.m. ] thanks for checking on me!
[ 12:27 a.m. ] and thanks for today, too. im eternally grateful for all you do for me. 

The phone is put down on the kitchen island along with the keychain and his bag, before he heads straight to the bathroom. 

A quick shower, and then bed. 

Finally. 

Clothes off, curtains drawn, he doesn’t waste a second to turn on the tap, ready to exhale all the air he had been trapping in his lungs all day long. 

But as soon as the water crashes down on him, he does the opposite.

He swallows a scream. 

And holds his breath.

It's cold. 

Not just cold. It's freezing cold. 

With a disheartened whine, Jimin jerks the faucet handle to the other side. He waits a few seconds, shivering from head to toe, but nothing seems to change. The temperature stubbornly remains the same. 

Great. Just great.

Of all the times for this to happen for the very first time since he moved last year, this had to happen the night before his comeback. Luck isn't on his side today. 

Bracing himself, teeth gritted, he rapidly wets his body and takes the fastest shower he’s ever had. Well. If the hot water isn’t back by tomorrow, he’ll have to make a call. It’s unfortunately going to be tomorrow’s Jimin’s problem. 

...

Taehyung’s fingers drum over the wheel. 

Seconds feel like excruciating long minutes, for some unknown reason.

His free hand reaches for the rearview mirror and adjusts it so he can see his own eyes. Slightly red, but no swelling in sight.

“No eye bags. Good,” he mumbles to himself. Not that he really needs to care about his appearance—he only does for his job—but he didn’t exactly spend the most restful night, and the last thing he wants is for somebody to question his dedication to his job. 

With a sigh, he leans back to rest his head against the headrest and waits a bit more. It’s only been ten minutes since he parked in front of the building where Park Jimin’s penthouse is, but it’s the first time he’s waited that much. Did he forget that Taehyung is supposed to drive him for his performance later? 

“Well, there he is,” he breathes out. “South Korea’s pride.” Taehyung’s eyes lock with Jimin’s the moment the latter rushes out of the building with a face that clearly tells he knows he’s late. Although barely. 

Instantly, Taehyung leaves the car to hurry to the other side and open the door on the passenger’s seat before Jimin could reach for its handle. 

“Good morning.”

Jimin bows quickly when he approaches the car, lips parting in a supposedly Good morning that gets stuck in his throat. His eyes, wide and confused, are set on the front of the car, and for a moment Taehyung believes there’s either 1) a cat sitting there for god knows how long, 2) a huge scuff mark he had somehow missed, 3) Jeongguk’s butt’s marks—don’t even ask him what happened last night—or— 

“That’s your car.”

Taehyung blinks. Looks back at the vehicle. Analyses it. 

Yup. Still the same as day-one.

He nods. “Since I started working for you, yes. Your company lent it to me. I believe you’ve seen it a thousand times. You’re—is everything alright?” 

As if Taehyung just snapped his fingers to snap him out of it, Jimin jerks a little as he nods, though his eyes linger a little more on the car before finally slipping inside. “Yeah! All good. I was just wondering. Good morning, by the way.”

Taehyung scoffs. “Good morning,” he echoes. 

The door closes.

Taehyung remains glued to the spot for a second, before he tilts his head with a silent laugh as he walks back to the driver’s seat. Seems like he isn’t the only one who spent a rough night. 

“Congratulations on the release of your album,” it falls honestly from his lips, but he can’t deny that he’s grasping for a thread of conversation. For some reason, a sense of unease hangs over him, and by the quick glance at Jimin through the rearview mirror, he isn’t the only one experiencing it. Although, Jimin’s discernible nervousness is more than justified, considering today isn’t just any day.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes out, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t speak another word before Taehyung starts the engine and drives them off. 

“There’s still time before we arrive, you can rest for a bit if you want.”

An amused sigh is heard behind him. “I’m fine. I’d need at least eight hours to be fully rested.”

Taehyung perks up at that, frowning. “You didn’t manage to sleep at all?”

“Barely,” Jimin admits. “Someone found it amusing to knock on my door all night.”

Another glance through the rearview mirror. Taehyung can see it now—the slight redness on the corners of Jimin’s eyes. “You don’t have any neighbors on your floor, though. Do you?”

“No. The company owns the floor—it’s just me. It must have been someone who drank through the night and couldn’t find their apartment’s door.”

“That makes sense.”

Jimin hums. 

There’s a pregnant pause. 

At a stop, Taehyung notices the droplets on the windshield. Between the moment he taps his index against the wheel and the moment he slides it on the side to activate the screen washer, the red had turned green, and one drop turned into millions. 

One more unlucky day.

“I guess it announces a sunny day ahead?” He says, half-questioning and half-affirming it. At least the performance will be happening indoors and not wide in the open under the unexpected heavy rain. 

Jimin, however, doesn’t seem bothered by it. Or, rather, he seems bothered by something else. 

“Did you leave with your car, last night?”

Taehyung speeds through the orange-turned-red light. “I left it at the company.”

“You came back for it, right?” 

Another glance. Jimin is looking right at him. Taehyung clears his throat, not exactly keen on revealing his night out, although he probably wouldn’t have a problem if it ended differently. “Why?” 

Jimin doesn’t say anything, and though Taehyung’s eyes darted back to the blurry road behind the curtain of pouring rain, he can see Jimin shake his head. “Nothing. I saw your car in front of the building, last night. It was midnight. I figured you came back for something.”

Taehyung presses his lips together. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying,” Jimin assures. “I’m just—nervous. About today’s performance. Sorry about questioning random things, it’s—” he sighs heavily, like he’s been wanting to admit this for a while now, “I’ve been on edge for a couple of days now, couldn’t sleep for the past few nights, and I think today might be the day my nerves will kill me.”

A short laugh escapes Taehyung. “They better not, your fans are waiting for you.”

“I know,” Jimin says, and Taehyung can hear the smile in it. “Should at least wait for the end of my album’s promotion before killing me, right?”

Another chuckle. “Yeah. That would be great.” 

The tension that had slipped into the car unbeknownst to them slowly dissipates. Taehyung’s grip on the wheel lessens and his shoulders relax, too.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes out.

“What for?”

“Picking me up.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“I know today was supposed to be your day-off.”

Taehyung parts his lips in surprise, but quickly closes his mouth at the lack of words forming in his mind. Instead, he scoffs. “Who told you that?”

“My manager.” Of course. “They told me you requested it a few weeks ago, yet here you are.”

“It wasn’t for something important,” to me. 

If Jeongguk heard him right now, he’d be scolded and called a fake friend. The thought makes him bite down a smile. Today marks the 5th anniversary of Jeongguk being titled The King on a filthy underground arena—but it also marks the first anniversary of that rotten place being seized and locked. The grand title Jeongguk wore proudly died with it, for a lot of filthy rats’ satisfaction.

“A friend celebrates a new chapter of his life,” Taehyung adds. It’s not so far from the truth. 

“That sounds important.”

“Not in the way you think it is.”

The tires screech against the driveway. 

Under the pouring rain, Taehyung discerns hundreds of silhouettes. Hundreds of fans, waiting for the doors to open. There’s nothing for a second, or two, before screams erupt on both sides. It takes Taehyung a moment to understand that they’re reacting to the hand Jimin had discreetly slipped through the slightly open window he rolled down. A smile pulls the corners of Taehyung’s lips up. 

The energy Jimin gets every time he makes an appearance will never cease to fascinate Taehyung.

They slowly drive off to the back of the building, the security staff mentioning for them to approach before they close the barriers behind them. It’s only when the car comes to a halt that Taehyung feels Jimin’s hand on his shoulder. 

A light touch that nonetheless surprises him. 

He turns his head toward Jimin, meeting those honest, gleaming eyes. 

“Can you show me your wrist?” Taehyung asks quietly, causing Jimin to blink up at him, curiously.

“My tattoo?”

“Yes. That one.” 

Without hesitation, Jimin leans forward, pulls his sleeve back, and offers his wrist. Taehyung reaches for something he’d kept in the pocket of his suit, and ties it around Jimin’s wrist.

“A green bracelet?” Jimin gasps, certainly not expecting to receive anything, even less a gift from his bodyguard. Not that it’s anything expensive—it’s just a thin, green string, that looks like the red one Taehyung is wearing. “What is it for?”

“Luck,” Taehyung puts it simply. “It’s nothing big, but I figured you’d have a better use with it. I don’t really believe in luck—”

Jimin huffs a chuckle that cuts him off. “You gifted me something you don’t believe in? What are you? A witch hexing me?”

“For me, I meant to say,” Taehyung corrects, amused. “I don’t think a rotten soul like mine can have any luck in life.”

“That’s why you have a red one?” Jimin jerks his chin toward the bracelet around Taehyung’s wrist. Blood red.  

“In a way. It’s not meant to bring me luck. My best friend gave me this one,” he explains, glancing at his own. “He said it would protect the ones I cherish from violent deaths.”

“Wow,” Jimin breathes out, “that’s heavy.”

Taehyung gives a slight shrug. “It has worked until now, so I figured this one would bring you good luck, like it’s supposed to. You can throw it out after today, if you want. It’s not like I bought it in a luxurious shop.”

“No way!” Jimin immediately grabs his wrist when he leans back into his seat like he’s shielding it from Taehyung. He looks almost offended that Taehyung suggested throwing it out. How funny. “I’m keeping it for as long as it stays on! I like it. It’s beautiful. And it goes with my skin tone, too. Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung huffs quietly. “Of course.”

Jimin glances back at the bracelet for another moment, the apple of his cheeks rising at the sight of it. Until he says it again, “Thank you. For everything. I mean it.”

For a second, or two, Taehyung stares. You don’t have to thank me, he thinks, but doesn’t speak it. Instead, he nods and covers Jimin’s hand with his own. Lightly. Barely even closing around it. But the touch makes him smile a little. Jimin’s hand is small. Warm. Soft. Just like he remembered it to be. “And I meant it—what I said the first time we met. I meant it all.”

“I know. I know you did.”

1 year ago

Taehyung had always loathed the pouring rain. 

It never came alone. 

It was always accompanied by misfortune. Disaster. Blood. Death.

That day wasn’t an exception. 

At three in the morning, drenched from head to toe, he lost his home. A damp and poorly ventilated studio that served as a home—but a home, still. His keys wouldn’t work. The landlord had changed the lock. 

It hadn’t been for the lack of money; Taehyung never missed a damn date, even when he had barely enough to eat. He had paid. He had been lawful. He had done everything right. So, why? 

Four in the morning, he was back in the underground. Rotten place filled with freaking floor nets, rusty pipes, dozens and dozens of sweaty guys. Ragged breaths, screams that were closer to guttural growls than anything human-like. He was too tired to mind any of that, at that point. The noises, the moistened air, the heavy scents—none of that held any importance. All he wanted was to find his best friend, to pull him out of that broken ring, and tell him to not end up like Taehyung himself. Miserable. Alone. Abandoned in the streets. 

Jeongguk deserved better. Better than this low life. 

The rain, however, didn’t seem to agree.

Five in the morning, the place was seized. Surrounded by police offers, blue and red flickering into the darkness of the night, sirens beating in Taehyung’s eardrums. It took a few hours of questioning. 

The rain never stopped. 

Late in the afternoon, early in the evening, they both found themselves sitting at the Viper’s Vault’s bar. A day felt like a month. 

In one, single morning, it all went downhill. Taehyung couldn’t even pinpoint where it had started. Where it went wrong. What they did wrong. 

“They’ll take all my damn money.”

Taehyung drunk at that. Said nothing. It wouldn’t have changed anything.

“I have nothing left.”

To that, Taehyung refuted. “You have this bar.” 

“This bar that we have been both trying to leave for five fucking years,” Jeongguk reminded. He’d been boxing for that exact same reason. 

Taehyung refilled both of their glasses. “I may have something.”

“What? Don’t tell me it’s that shady job offer again. That sounds too good to be true.”

“And if that was real?” Taehyung challenged, eyes piercing through Jeongguk. 

“We’re fucking low-lives. We aren’t made to meddle with rich people. That’s a recipe for disaster. Selling your kidneys would be safer.”

It wasn’t like Taehyung never considered it. He did. That, amongst a hundred of crazy options. “Whatever. If they come back, I’ll sign it.”

“You’re crazy.”

He was. Had been. 

But he couldn’t let go of an opportunity that may as well be his only door to a better life. Not for him—but for his mother. For Jeongguk. 

However, for the last couple of weeks, Taehyung had been pushing that opportunity away, turning down calls, messages, and he thought it wouldn’t come back. That this time, the door had been closed shut. Locked. Chained. 

Until nighttime came and, with it, the pouring rain.

As he stood there in front of the club, a man wearing a black suit and holding an equally black umbrella handed him the same card he had received, days prior. 

Taehyung stared. 

The door was open. Yet he remained frozen in the threshold.

“What’s the catch?”

The man frowned. “There’s no catch.”

“Why me?”

“We are looking for a candidate that is capable of protecting the most important figure in this industry.”

Taehyung didn’t understand. He hadn’t even reached out. Hadn’t done anything to catch the attention of such a renowned company. Nothing made sense. 

Nothing.

There had to be a catch.

“I have debts,” he blurted out. Honest. Too honest. “I’m far from the perfect civilian.”

“That is none of our business,” the man said. “As long as you vow to protect Park Jimin’s image through your own and choose the right path to avoid any scandal, you are the perfect candidate, Kim Taehyung.”

A sigh. Taehyung looked up. The rain had slowed down. Started to fade. The door opened a little wider, and he budged. Just a bit. “How much?” 

“Fifty million won. Your first month. The next ones will be negotiable.”

Taehyung’s heart jumped out of his throat. “That’s madness.”

“That’s our last offer.”

“What are you even trying to protect that boy from?” Taehyung couldn’t even comprehend the numbers he had heard. He continued searching for the catch. There had to be one. There had to be. “Am I gonna get killed in a month? That’s why?” 

The man let out a breath akin to amusement, though he remained unshaken. “No. Will you accept the offer, yes or no?”

No response to his question.

No matter how much Taehyung would try to pry, he’d receive no answer. And the money was too much—too much for him to turn down the offer. Whether it meant for his life to be threatened or not. “Yes. Yes, I accept it.”

The rain stopped. Taehyung should have been able to breathe more comfortably, yet he was suffocating. 

The man soon enough guided him to a black car, and Taehyung followed. No question, no words spoken. He heard another one talk to him, speak about rules he had to abide by, warn him about things Taehyung didn’t even understand. He was handed a fifty-page long contract, had read half of it by the time they arrived at a towering twenty-story building, and, after an excruciating long moment spent stuck between two men in the elevator, he found himself sitting across Park Jimin himself.

Taehyung didn’t talk. His eyes were set on the contract.

He was still looking for the catch. 

The stranger who brought him—another bodyguard, Taehyung had guessed—sat by his side on the sofa that faced the one Jimin had been sitting on when they entered the room. He had laid down the papers over on the table, spoke more words that Taehyung barely listened to, and, when he finished, allowed Jimin to speak,

“Did you sign?”

He had his eyes piercing through Taehyung’s. It wasn’t menacing, nor was it necessarily kind. It was something in between, something Taehyung couldn’t quite comprehend. “Not yet. I want to.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Why are you hiring me?”

A question for a question. 

The man gasped as though Taehyung offended him, but before he could even speak, Jimin silently requested for him to leave. It seemed unusual—the man looked at Jimin with surprised eyes. Taehyung watched. After a silent exchange, the request was granted.

The door opened and closed with a rattle similar to a cough. Taehyung held his breath. 

He soon enough became hyperaware of his own state. Drenched in water, sweat, alcohol and probably spit from the night spent at the Viper’s Vault—he was all but presentable. He was wearing a suit, sure, but it wasn’t really helping.

He wasn’t suited for the job. 

He wasn’t.

“My manager has been the one scouting for bodyguards,” Jimin was the first to break through the awkward silence that had settled between them. “We had a talk, just the both of us, and we agreed on hiring someone who would spend most of their time with me. Someone who knows how to deal with any kind of situation.”

Taehyung pulled on the collar of his shirt. Tried fixing whatever he could fix. It felt so unfitting—him and his pathetic appearance in front of a visibly perfect being that is Park Jimin. 

Even more unfitting was the kindness in Jimin's eyes. As though it didn't matter to him. Not as much as it did to Taehyung. 

Taehyung was never meant to meddle with the rich.

It only brought misery, he learned it with Jeongguk.

“Are you in some kind of danger?”

“No. Not anymore.” Jimin smiled. A smile so beautiful Taehyung believed he lost himself in the sight of it. 

For seconds. 

For minutes.

Until he figured out the reason behind his heart shattering. 

His eyes darted, as though he had seen something he shouldn’t have.

The smile reminded him of Jeongguk’s; a plea was hidden behind it.

“I’ll sign it,” the words tumbled from his lips at such a high speed that it rendered him dizzy, rendered Jimin confused. “I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking for money.”

Honesty will kill him one day.

And so will loyalty.

“T—Taehyung-ssi, please, stand up—”

“I’ll do anything I can to ensure your protection,” Taehyung assured from where he kneeled. Head down, hands on his thighs. Begging. Promising. He didn’t know how else to show his sincerity. Hoped it was enough. “Anything. I mean it. I won’t take this job lightly. I promise you.”

“Taehyung-ssi, I believe you. There’s no need for all of this—please, stand up.”

He didn’t. He lowered himself even more, bowed until his forehead pressed against the warm palm that prevented him from hitting the ground like he intended it to. “Whatever this job entails—I promise you, Park Jimin, that I won’t take my eyes off of you. I’ll protect you. Even against the pouring rain.”

Jimin’s exhale rang like a gentle giggle into Taehyung’s ear. When he raised his head to meet Jimin’s eyes, he noticed the relief in them. Amusement, too. But mostly—solace. “I’ll take your word for it. I’ll expect you to be by my side, even under the pouring rain,” he echoed.

Taehyung nodded. 

He lowered his head further down, and despite Jimin’s reluctance, he let him bow down until his forehead kissed the ground.

This way, he couldn’t see the purple bruises on Jimin’s neck anymore.

Chapter Text

It has to be superstition. 

Jimin remains torn between fearing it, too, or regarding the trait as endearing. 

It’s as though Taehyung is afraid that the water cascading over their shoulders would turn into sharp knives, piercing through their flesh, cutting them into pieces. 

A grim belief. One Taehyung has always taken seriously.

Nonetheless, Jimin never had it in himself to ask about it. Not the first time they met, nor the few times Taehyung showed up to the company on his official resting days for the sole purpose of making sure that Jimin was alright. 

It was endearing, in the beginning. Nothing alarming. 

Yet, as time passes, it becomes harder and harder to deny that the rain might be linked to an unpleasant memory in Taehyung’s head. Perhaps even painful. Perhaps even traumatic. That would explain the nervous jittering of Taehyung’s leg whenever he drives through a storm. That would explain the close and almost obsessive observation of each and every move Jimin makes. 

That would explain a lot of things about the mystery that is Kim Taehyung.

As the time for his performance draws near and the final touches are applied to his makeup, Jimin closes his eyes and focuses on clearing his mind. Focuses on taking deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. The keychain he had brought with him is squeezed in his palm, crushed by his shaky fingers. 

Once. 

Twice. 

“Jimin-ssi, you’re on in five minutes!” 

A third time.

His eyelids flutter open and his eyes meet his own through the mirror before him. He gives himself a nod, pushes himself up from the chair, and heads in the direction of the stage. Before he adjusts the in-ear monitor, he can hear the fans’ encouragement, can feel the vibration of his name being chanted over and over. The knot swelling in his throat soon deflates, and warmth blooms in his chest when he meets Taemin’s sparkling eyes and sees his “fighting!” fists. 

What manages to relieve him the most is, strangely enough, a gentle touch around his wrist just before he climbs on the platform. Fingers squeezing the green bracelet. Very lightly. For barely a second. The stage is already rising when Jimin turns his head and catches the sight of Taehyung looking back at him. Jimin smiles. 

Solace settles in his bones while the cheers erupt in louder and higher pitches.

Until they die down.

And the haunting notes of Set Me Free drop.

The dancers, his silhouette, his shadow, move around him, vibrate with the choir screams, their hands movements jumbled. 

Chaotic. 

Tormented. 

At the center of the stage, bathed in the glow of flickering lights, Jimin’s eyes close for a heartbeat. Feels the music travel through his body. Breathes in. The notes. The lyrics. The memories attached to the song.

When his eyes open, they pierce through the camera set on him. The shadows move around him in time with the music’s beat, and his body begins to move instinctively, guided into the steps engraved in his mind. And his voice... 

‘Finally free.’

It carries the weight of the pain and torment inside his head. 

Visceral. 

Searing. 

Raw.

His body flows naturally, the rhythm intensifying, the movements following its course. Slow. Sharp. Fluid. All at once. One at a time.

A battle inside his mind.

The distorted voice in the background gives its place to Jimin’s soft and velvety one.

‘Look at me now.’

All eyes are on him. All eyes are always on him. The lights flicker and flash in synchrony with his movements. 

‘Now set me free.’

The choir’s haunting screams, hushes, voices are back, the shadows carry Jimin entirely, cling to him, crowd his space, suffocate him, and—

They all drop in one, single, and last note to reveal Jimin standing motionless with his eyes piercing through the camera with an entirely different emotion.

Relief. 

The crowd bursts into roars and screams of awe and admiration. Jimin’s chest heaves as he remains on the spot for a little longer, letting himself feel; the relief. Catharsis. Freedom. 

And then, the mask is dropped, and a beam dances on his lips. 

The dancers offer a bow before leaving the stage. And though the music is gone, the screams only grow louder, louder and louder. It shakes the stage, vibrates inside Jimin’s chest, and it’s a feeling that has always managed to surprise him. No matter how many times he experiences it. It leaves him breathless, satisfied, grateful.

“Woah,” he breathes out before a giggle escapes him at the uncontrolled and energetic cheers. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

He can hear the clear YES! screamed in unison, earning yet another laugh from him. Though the adrenaline still pumps in his veins, he can feel the stress coming down and the weight he had carried with him fading. 

A hand instinctively finds its way to his neck. 

“I’ve come to perform this song, Set Me Free, for the first time in front of you. It was cool, wasn’t it?” Another laugh into the mic at the cheers and one hysterical, SO HANDSOME! “Ah—thank you, thank you. My album came out an hour ago, I hope you enjoy every minute of it. I poured my soul into it. Please enjoy this next and last performance for today!” 

With a smile, he walks back to join the group of dancers who came back for the second performance. And as he closes his eyes, feels the heat coursing through his body, hears the rabbit against his eardrums, he tells himself—

The past is over.

You’re no longer trapped, now. 

It’s over.

...

“That was insane!” 

Jimin bursts into joyful giggles as he’s met with a wave of applause from his team backstage, congratulations and praises dropping from all sides. 

Taehyung stands in the back. He watches them pat Jimin’s back for his performance, watches Taemin pull him into a hug so tight it leaves Jimin breathless for a second or two. 

He looks happy. 

He looks relieved.

As though all the worries that had been weighing down on him these last few days have finally been chased away. 

When people start to leave the room, however, Taehyung notices the slight shake of Jimin’s hands. It’s visible even when he tries to conceal it by running his fingers through his hair or hiding them behind his back. 

“You were incredible,” Taehyung speaks when their eyes finally meet. “You owned the stage like you always do.” 

Jimin’s eyes smile first. “Thank you, Taehyung-ssi. I appreciate it. I guess—” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper when he adds, “the rain didn’t bring any misfortune yet.”

Taehyung blinks. 

Had he been looking that wary? 

“I guess,” Taehyung echoes. It isn’t like the rain always carries misery with it—pouring rain, however, is another story. With a polite nod, and after noticing that everyone had left the room, Taehyung does the same. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“Got it!” 

Taehyung steps out, hand on the handle. 

A sharp gasp, however, halts him mid-step. That, along with an eerie, mechanical voice uttering something he doesn’t quite grasp. 

“Is everything alright?” Taehyung peeks inside again, but all he can see is Jimin’s back as he stands in front of the mirror.

The mechanical voice speaks again. 

This time, Taehyung hears, ‘NOT FREE!’  

“The—What is this?” Jimin spins around so quickly that Taehyung jolts in surprise. In his hand is the keychain he had received yesterday, still as fluffy and round as it was when the fan gave it to him. Nothing strange at first glance.

Taehyung remains confused, lips parting in an attempt to say something, but then Jimin squeezes the toy and it speaks again. 

‘NOT FREE!’  

Distorted. 

Robotic.

“It wasn’t saying anything before,” Jimin insists. “What’s this?” 

Now that’s a question. One Taehyung doesn’t know how to respond. 

What nearly makes him laugh, though, is the intensity of Jimin’s gaze locked with his, as if he’s certain that Taehyung has the answer he’s looking for. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t know—someone reanimated the poor dead chick?” 

Jimin exhales in defeat. His shoulders sag. “Not funny.”

“Not saying it is. Are you sure it’s not someone else’s?” 

“Who would have the same one?” 

Taehyung shrugs. “Let me see,” he suggests, and takes the keychain from Jimin’s hand.

“Hey—don’t rip it!”

“I’m not ripping it,” Taehyung assures. “It’s meant to be open like this.”

“What do you mean?” 

Taehyung shows him the velcro that held the two parts of the keychain closed before he digs his fingers in it. He pulls out a small piece between his thumb and index, a black box akin to a battery. “Seems like this is the culprit.” 

To prove it, he presses on it, and another ‘NOT FREE!’ comes out of it. 

“Well, sounds like you owe a fan some money.”

Jimin’s frown deepens. “Is there something else in there?” 

Discarding the object on the table beside them, Taehyung opens the plushie even wider to pull all the cotton it was filled with.

“H—Hey, I told you not to rip it!” Jimin gasps.

“I’ll buy you another if you want.” 

“It’s a fan gift, I’m sure there isn’t any other keychain like that.” Jimin sighs and waits while Taehyung lays the cotton on the table and turns the material inside out. Nothing strange hidden in there. His eyes travel up to meet Jimin’s, but the latter’s gaze is back on the small recorder. Silently, he reaches for it, and presses again.

‘NOT FREE!’ 

‘NOT FREE!’ 

‘NOT FREE!’

‘NOT F—!’

Taehyung clears his throat. “Do you want to track down the person who gave you this?”

This time, Jimin looks up. His features soften immediately as he realizes how troubled he appeared, and offers a faint smile. “No. No need for that. I was just surprised, that’s all—it’s silly, and I’m sure it’s been there since the beginning, I just haven’t been squeezing it hard enough. I don’t get the joke, though, but maybe it’s related to something I’ve said during a live. Who knows.”

It doesn’t sound so absurd. Fans do, indeed, remember almost every single word Jimin has spoken. And it’s not so surprising—it’s all over social media, and some of them spend a lot of time rewatching lives, events, or any other medium. It’s easier to remember this way. “You can ask about it in your next live,” Taehyung suggests, “perhaps someone will be able to understand and clear out the mystery.”

Jimin hums. “Perhaps,” he echoes, though he doesn’t look like he even listened to a single word that slipped from Taehyung’s lips. Absentmindedly, Jimin reaches to take the empty keychain and refill it with the same cotton, this time leaving the mystery recorder out.

“I’ll wait for you outside, then.” With another polite bow, Taehyung excuses himself, and leaves the room with, as his only response, a faint hum of acknowledgment. 

...

The ride back to the company had been silent—Taehyung hadn’t spoken a word, whether it’d be about the keychain or about Jimin, and the quiet was exactly what Jimin needed after that performance. 

As he arrives at the company, he notices that his neck throbbed less than it’d been. 

‘Remember, two days without practicing,’ his physician had told him. Two days seems do-able. Jimin can feel the pain ease already. Thankfully, it’ll be gone for at least another few months. 

“We’ve prepared everything for the live, let us know if you need anything else.”

Jimin snaps out of his train of thoughts at the voice, looking up at the staff members, before he sweeps the surroundings as he enters the room. 

Right. The live. 

He’d almost forgotten how to do them. But it’s always been something that they’d do for all of his comebacks, and canceling it without a good reason isn’t an option. Whether he feels like doing it or not.

The room is nicely decorated in his album’s colors. There are balloons, streamers hanging all over the wall to be used as the background for his live, as well as a cake lying on the table to celebrate the new album. All he has to do is sit, turn on the live, and put on his best smile.

“Hello everyone!” Jimin immediately greets as soon as the live turns on, gaze set on the settings to make sure that everything’s working. The numbers of viewers multiply, the hearts burst into thousands on the side of the screen, and the messages pass by like blurs in the chat. “Wow, so many of you are joining. Welcome!” 

The apples of his cheeks rise higher at the mint hearts that fill the chat; the color of his new album. He reaches for the screen to slow down and try to catch a few messages in between, seeing the countless praises flying all over. 

“Everyone, my album is out, now! It’s called “Alone!” You’ve waited a lot for this one, right? Are you enjoying it? Did you enjoy my performances?”

Praises keep flooding. 

[ @jmn701 ] Yes!!!!

[ @pjm1013 ] JIMINIE YOURE SO COOL! 

[ @j13minie ] your album is so beautiful!!!!! 

[ @0002pjm ] CONGRATS

[ @13xpjm ] I can’t stop listening! 

A giggle bubbles up his throat. “Thank you. Thank you,” he repeats as his eyes quickly attempt to read as many messages as he can. 

Between all the lovely messages, he catches a few people asking about his neck. Of course, his fans would see the tapes peeking through the shirt he wore for the songs and immediately worry. It’s comforting to see just how much his fans care for him. 

“Don’t worry about me! I haven’t felt this happy in a long time—you can believe me. Releasing this album allowed me to get rid of a lot of negative feelings I had to carry with me for so long. Not anymore. Alright? Not anymore,” he assures with a warm smile, his eyes melting into crescents at the hearts that never stop appearing. 

He isn’t lying—releasing the album has taken away a lot of the weight that used to suffocate him. Admitting to having struggled and sharing his positive encouragement to his own future self has helped him heal a small part of his soul that had been broken. And perhaps it will never be completely mended—but to be able to go on with life without having to pick up the pieces every single day is freeing. 

Jimin leans back against his chair and picks up the album laid on the table to raise it towards the camera. “As you know from the few posts I’ve already made about it, this album was challenging for me to put together. This is a reminder to myself, and to all those who struggle in life, that, when you see yourself beginning to fall, you should be the one to save yourself. No one can do it for you—nobody knows your struggles and strengths as much as you do.” 

As he opens the album to go through the various songs and lyrics, he glances at the chat to catch a few more messages. He squints a little, giggles when he sees more and more hearts as well as hugging emojis, but soon enough, his smile fades.

Slightly.

Just for a second.

It comes back a little less genuine. A little less enthusiastic. His eyes dart to his album in an attempt to conceal it. Unconsciously, he reaches for his bracelet. Tugs slightly on it.

“What kind of twisted words are these?” he mumbles to himself. Barely above a murmur, he believes it hasn’t been caught on by the mic, either. He clears his throat a little as he speaks clearly again, “I thought you might be curious to know what is behind the creative process of the song, so we’re going to go through them together! Let’s start with “Set Me Free!””

He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“I’ve said it already, but I’ll say it again,” he begins slowly, “this song is the most personal one. It’s about breaking free from the things that hold you back and that trap you into a vicious cycle you struggle to come out of. Writing and composing this felt more therapeutic than the rest of the album—I guess because it’s the first song I’ve fully worked on.” He chuckles a little, knowing that his fans might have already seen right through him. “Through this song, I confronted my fears, my insecurities, my pain, and turned them into a powerful message. Into something liberating. I think the title speaks for itself.”

Before he jumps into the next song, Jimin leans once more to try and catch a few interesting questions that could be answered right away. 

“Ah, I’m glad some of you can relate and find the strength in it,” he says softly, eyes still focused on catching the messages. They soon lose all their focus when the same words he’d read before appear.

Like it had burnt and blurred his sight, Jimin darts his eyes back to his album. He keeps his smile, pretends to go through multiple pages and comes back again, and it all lasts barely a few seconds, but it’s— suffocating. 

“Let’s jump to our next song, now, shall we?” He suggests, half-cheerfully, half-disturbed.  

The chat is flooded, yellow and mint hearts appearing in mass, but it remains a blur for the rest of the live. He doesn’t find it in him to look back again.

Not once.

[ @131313 ] “set me free?” what makes you believe you’re free, now?

...

The quiet of the corridor is interrupted by the buzzing sound of a button being pressed, followed by the gurgle of water flowing into the paper cup. 

Taehyung’s eyes travel back to his knuckles, still a little red and faintly bruised. His muscles ache, stretching as he tilts his neck to each side once, but it’s pleasant. 

When he hears a door open somewhere behind him, he reaches forward to take his now full cup, straightens up and takes a sip. Steady footsteps approach right after. He glances over the rim of his cup, moves to the side to permit access to the fountain, his eyes narrowing in recognition. 

Jimin stops before him. He doesn’t seem to have even noticed Taehyung’s presence as he takes a cup from the pile and fills it. Too focused on his task. Too lost in the present. 

“Jimin-ssi?”

It takes a second to get a reaction.

Jimin’s tired and hazy expression drops, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Oh—Taehyung-ssi,” he acknowledges with a faint bow, quickly taking a large step back with his half-filled cup. The slight urgency in his movements makes Taehyung frown. 

“Did the live go well?” 

A nod. Jimin’s other hand wraps around the cup as if he’s warming himself up on the hot surface. “Didn’t you watch it?”

“Ah, I didn’t,” Taehyung admits, lowering his head. “I figured I’d have the time to exercise before you finished.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Jimin offers a gentle laugh. “You aren’t required to watch them. It’s not part of your contract. I was just, mh, curious, I guess?” 

It’s a little awkward, in a way it has rarely been. 

Taehyung nods. 

“Were you exercising in the company’s gym?”

“No, I was boxing.”

Jimin’s eyes grow wide and round. Right. Taehyung has never spoken to him about boxing. “Really? For how long have you been into that? Years?”

“I got into it a few years ago, yes, but I never practiced—” legally, is what he means to say, but he offers a faint smile instead. “I started taking some... classes recently. It’s not regular, but it's a good start. My friend taught me the basics, and he’s the one training me from time to time.”

The somberness sitting in Jimin’s eyes slowly melts away before they turn into brighter crescents. “I see. There are still a lot of things that I don’t know about you.”

“I suppose there are.” It’s not so surprising—not only isn’t he used to talking about himself, he doesn’t believe there is a necessity to do so with someone like Park Jimin. Despite how easily their conversations usually flow, they aren’t particularly close, nor should they be—their relationship is strictly professional, and Taehyung intends to keep it that way. 

After offering one last nod, Taehyung silently excuses himself and heads to the elevators.

“Wait.”

A gentle hand reaches for his arm. A subtle touch.

Taehyung turns to meet Jimin’s eyes, curiosity flickering in his own. He expects a question, one that must be burning on Jimin’s lips, but instead, he’s met with a stare. A long pause. And,

“Did you,” Jimin begins, nervously licking his lower lip, “not watch one single second of it?” 

A ping of guilt pinches Taehyung. So that was it. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “I haven’t. Is there something you wanted me to see?” 

Jimin smiles. “No. No, there isn’t. It’s—” he breathes out a chuckle, as though he realized the silliness of his own thought. “Forget it. Tonight we’re leaving together, right?” 

There’s a silent response swimming in his eyes, and the abrupt topic switch confirms that there’s a lot on his mind. There’s still a lot on his mind. But who is Taehyung to pry further than what he already has?

“Yes. We’ll be leaving in the same car along with Taemin-ssi and Jihye-ssi in about an hour from now.”

“Alright. Good,” Jimin repeats, his hands back to somehow warming up his water. A gesture that’s meant to bring comfort, Taehyung supposes. “I’ll go back to my studio and rest until then. Could you wake me up if I fall asleep?” 

“I will, Jimin-ssi. You don’t have to worry about that.”

...

“Hey.”

A gentle hand wraps around Jimin’s wrist to halt him in his step before he could enter the restaurant. His head immediately turns to Taemin, who invites the other staff members to walk ahead of them and take the seats that have been booked for them. “What is it?” 

The moonlight hits the back of Taemin’s silhouette, and the lack of streetlights around them makes it harder for Jimin to adjust to the darkness and recognize the emotion in his best friend’s eyes, but when he notices it, he slowly pulls his hand out of his grasp. 

“It’s not what you think, hyung. I promise.”

Taemin’s brows shoot up in worry. “Jimin-ah—”

“Jimin-ssi,” another voice urges them to look up toward the entryway, where Taehyung is still holding the door open. “Are you not coming?” 

“We are,” Jimin assures, biting down on an amused smile at the sight of his bodyguard waiting so patiently for him. It baffles him to this day that his fans have decided to call his bodyguard a tiger. It’s absurd. Kim Taehyung resembles more of a puppy than any other predator. “Give us a minute!” 

“Alright.”

Though Taehyung doesn’t budge, he crosses his arms and looks up to the dark sky to give the both of them some sort of privacy. 

“Listen,” Taemin tries again in a much quieter voice, this time reaching to gently squeeze Jimin’s arms in a way that’s meant to give him comfort. “If what you told me is true—”

“It’s just a thought. I promise. You know how I tend to overthink things—that’s probably it. My brain is playing tricks on me.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

What if it isn’t, then? The possibility carves a hole in Jimin’s chest. “I haven’t slept well these last couple days, hyung, it’s normal that I happen to come to crazy conclusions,” Jimin reasons. He finds Taemin’s hands, gives them a little squeeze, and smiles warmly at him. “Come on, there’s no need to look so concerned. Especially not tonight, this is not the day for you to be looking so gloomy!”

That, combined with Jimin’s wide beam, has Taemin break into a chuckle. “Alright.” He squeezes Jimin’s hands back. “You know that I will always be here for you, right? Whether you think your current thoughts are senseless or not, I don’t mind. I want you to lean on me, just as much as I lean on you.” 

Warmth blooms in Jimin’s chest. “I know. Thank you, hyung. Come on, let’s go.”

He takes one step forward, but gets quickly halted before he can take another.

“Taem—”

“Do you truly trust him?” A whisper. Hushed. 

Jimin would have laughed if the situation was different. If the night wasn’t so cold, so menacing above them, and if Taemin’s eyes weren’t flickering with so much inquietude. 

Nonetheless, Jimin gives a half-nod. He holds Taemin’s gaze, fearing that his answer would change if he were to glance back at Taehyung. “I do,” he murmurs.

I think I do.

There’s no reason not to. Right?

When he walks back inside and hears a whispered “Are you alright, Jimin-ssi?” he nods with much more conviction. 

He’s certain, now.

I do.

I do trust him.

More than anyone else.

...

The night unfolds as it always does with the team: with joyful chatters, clinks of glasses, laughter, and smiles. It always starts with a few words about the day, a nice meal and nice wine, before the conversations split into small groups of people used to spending the most time together. 

For Jimin, it was Taemin—the both of them could spend days and nights talking about subjects that mattered and subjects that didn’t matter, they would never stop. 

For Taehyung, it was— well. 

No one.

Sometimes, it was Jimin. He would begin with a simple glance at Taehyung, notice his silence, and ask a random question, or try to include him in the conversation he’d been having with Taemin. 

“What about you, Taehyung-ssi?” 

Most of the time, Taehyung couldn’t give an answer; someone was already grappling for Jimin’s attention. Other times, like right now, he isn’t following the conversation. 

He doesn’t know who or what they’re talking about. Doesn’t know what the question entails. And, it’s not so surprising when his full attention is captured by a very mysterious individual he has never seen during the company’s gathering.

The man sits by Jimin’s left side. He arrived later than the rest of them, excused himself with a respectful bow, and sat without another word. Nobody asked for his name, nor did he introduce himself, and Taehyung couldn’t help but stare at him, baffled. What confused him the most, though, was the gentle touch against Jimin’s neck and the ruffling of his hair, like one would do so with a close friend they haven’t seen in a long time. 

Or, maybe, a lover. 

That can’t be. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off of him. And it wasn’t for the sole reason that the man didn’t introduce himself—apparently, he didn’t need to, because everyone already knew who he was—but mainly because—

He’d seen him sitting at the Viper’s Vault’s bar the day before.

“Taehyung-ssi?” Jimin tries again. This time, Taehyung peels his eyes off of the man and looks at Jimin. That’s when he notices the slight tiredness on his face. 

Ah, right— Jimin did mention having not slept much last night.

“Yes?” Taehyung asks back, glancing at the watch on his wrist, the hands ticking 11 p.m. already.

“Is everything alright? If you don’t feel comfortable answering, it’s fine, really, but I’d feel better hearing you say it instead of ignoring me,” Jimin giggles, although faintly.

Taehyung feels himself deflate.

You idiot. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. You were saying?”

Jimin’s smile falters. His lips part to explain, but before he could speak a word, the mystery man pushes his chair back and stands up. He has his hand on Jimin’s shoulder when he leans in to whisper something in his ear, and Taehyung watches Jimin nod and mouth a silent thank you. Taehyung’s eyes travel up, but this time, they find another pair staring right back into his. 

Sharp. 

Threatening. 

And inviting him to follow.

Taehyung’s jaw tenses. “What was it about?” he repeats as he watches the silhouette disappear into the back of the restaurant.

“Nothing important,” Jimin dismisses. 

If his guts weren’t twisting sharply inside him, Taehyung would have insisted, would have apologized and paid more attention to what Jimin was talking about. Instead, he excuses himself, drops his chopsticks next to his empty plate, and heads to the bathroom.

As soon as the door opens and closes behind him, the chatters and laughter die down.

Silence settles. 

He looks around.

The stalls are all open. Empty. There’s only one person standing by the urinals. Taehyung walks up to him. Settles to his left. Unzips his pants. 

“Has no one ever taught you not to stare at strangers?”

The sound fills the place; liquid on porcelain. 

It echoes off the cold, tiled walls with a chilling clarity. It grows into a forceful stream. 

Taehyung stares ahead without a word, and it only worsens the already tension-filled atmosphere. 

The stream tapers off.

The man stifles a laugh when it stops after a last drop, although it seems forced out of his throat rather than genuine. He’s the first to tuck himself back in and head to the sinks. Taehyung allows himself a short moment of stillness before he does the same. 

The squeak of the rusty taps turning bounces off the walls, and the water then sputters out in fits. While Taehyung stares at his own hands, he notices from his peripheral the slightly frantic way the man scrubs his hands and wrists, as if trying to wash away something he could feel, something Taehyung couldn’t see. 

“Nobody has called you by your name.”

The taps close simultaneously. 

Their eyes meet in the glass facing them, cracked only where Taehyung’s reflection stands. It’s unfitting. 

The man smiles, and his dimples fully appear, digging into his cheeks. Yeah. He’s definitely Jeongguk’s damn type. 

“They haven’t?” the man asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. It draws a short breath of disbelief out of Taehyung.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you join a company’s dinner. Why?”

“Why am I here tonight, or why have you never seen me here?” 

Taehyung sharply turns to look at the man, eyes boring into his. Frustration gnaws at Taehyung’s bones, his jaw clenching tightly until he forces it to relax when he hears the strident hiss of his teeth grinding. “Both.”

“I’ve been busy. My schedule doesn’t exactly align with the dinners Jimin invites me to. Today, it worked out.” 

“And what exactly is your relationship with Jimin?”

The man’s brow shoots up in surprise. He drags the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, and Taehyung has the unfitting impression that he’s the one being scrutinized. Dissected by those sharp eyes. “I’m his friend.”

“A friend nobody has heard about.”

“A friend of twenty years, to be exact.” 

Taehyung freezes. A childhood friend? 

“Besides, I’m a private person. Jimin respects it enough to not talk about me to anyone who might not know me. Which only includes you, tonight.” 

Taehyung can’t help the breathless and humorless laugh that escapes him. A nervous reflex. “Such a private person that you don’t even tell your name to your own friends?”

“I have. You’re the only one who doesn’t know.”

His patience wears thin. “Then what is it?” 

“Kim Namjoon.”

That easy? “And what’s your reason for not giving Jeongguk your damn name?”

Namjoon parts his lips to answer, but he breathes out an amused sigh instead. “I think you’re not exactly in the right position to be interrogating me. You’re the one with a quite questionable past, I should be the one asking you. What are your exact intentions towards Jimin?” 

“Why don’t you ask the company? They’re the ones who hired me.”

“You’re the one who accepted.” 

Now, this is funny. “Do I look like I want to hurt him? I’ve been protecting him for a year. Besides, if you’re so close to him, why hasn’t he told you how exactly I was hired?” 

“He has.”

“Has he? You seem to—”

“I was the one who found you.”

What?

A sharp hiss rings in Taehyung’s ear. It’s his brain. There’s nothing else breaking the silence between them. No sound. Nothing.

“He told me his manager was scouting for bodyguards,” Taehyung tentatively says, carefully choosing his words, now. There’s something unsettling about the unwavering gaze of Kim Namjoon. Something that makes Taehyung feel like he’d just fallen into a trap.

And he doesn’t have any idea how to get out.

“And I gave him your name.”

“You found me, incited the company to hire me, and now you’re questioning me about my intentions towards the very person you wanted me to protect?” Taehyung clears out with a sigh of disbelief. Yet it doesn’t make Namjoon budge. To him, it seems that there’s nothing strange with how he is acting. It’s maddening. “What exactly are you expecting from me?”

“That you keep your word and protect Jimin,” Namjoon puts it simply. 

“Haven’t I been doing just that?” 

Doubt persists in Namjoon’s gaze. “Have you?”

“Have I?” Taehyung echoes. He reduces the distance between them, and takes another step forward until their faces are only an inch apart from each other. Namjoon doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem to breathe. Not even his heart seems to be beating. “What’s your freaking deal?” 

Namjoon’s gaze bounces between Taehyung’s eyes before he brings a hand to Taehyung’s shoulder and taps it. “You might have already guessed it, but I found you when Jimin needed protection the most. You were the perfect fit. Nothing to lose, everything to win. A low-life with exceptional strength. A face that convinces people to stay away.” 

Taehyung’s jaw tenses. More than praises, Namjoon’s words ring in his ears like mockery.

“You do your job well. Yet, I fear that in eliminating one threat... I inadvertently invited another.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue in annoyance. “If you’re so threatened by me, then what are you waiting to tell them to fire me?” 

“And have you escape when you could be caught in the act?” 

“What act?”

No response.

The hand that rests on Taehyung’s shoulder taps him twice. Nothing too harsh. Nothing too light. It’s a pressure that feels like a warning. If Taehyung didn’t have some sort of self-control, he’d have ripped that hand off of Namjoon’s arm. 

Leaning closer to Taehyung’s ear, Namjoon whispers, “I trust you to not make me regret choosing you.”

Taehyung swats his hand away.  “Stay away from Jeongguk.”

Namjoon smiles. “He has my number, now. I doubt he’d want me to stay away.” 

The door opens before Taehyung gets the time to react, the suddenness of it surprising both him and Namjoon. It reveals a slightly flushed and confused Jimin who nearly gasps at how he almost bumped into Namjoon.

“Jimin-ah—are you alright?”

Jimin looks up to meet Namjoon’s eyes after he steals a quick glance at Taehyung. “Yeah—yeah, I am. Jihye is asking for you, you’ve been gone for a while.”

“Ah, you’re right, I’m going now,” Namjoon chuckles. Taehyung believes that he sees Namjoon reach for Jimin’s shoulder blade to offer him a gentle pat before leaving the bathroom. This time, not a warning—but a reminder. I’ll be here for you. It nearly makes Taehyung scoff. 

As he takes a step to head out, too, Jimin frantically slams the door shut, grabs Taehyung’s wrist, and pulls him forward until he has his back against the door. 

“Jim—?”

“Please, guard the door.” 

A pregnant pause.

Taehyung stares. Blinks in confusion. He then watches Jimin urgently dragging his own body to the first stall as if it were a dead weight. If he didn’t know him, Taehyung would assume Jimin was about to puke. 

Taehyung knows him. 

Jimin is still about to puke.

“I’m not a doorman,” Taehyung deadpans. 

“No, you’re my doorman,” Jimin slurs, a hand against the stall’s door. Taehyung stares as he waits for Jimin to frown and correct, “I mean my doorguard,” Jimin’s frown deepens. It’s still not right. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a second, and tries again, “Bodyguard.” 

There you go. Taehyung hums. “You're drunk.” 

“I’m tipsy,” Jimin corrects, his index raised to his nose, pressing against his cheek and closed eye. And, Taehyung, as much as he wants to refute it, bites down an amused smile and presses his back against the door.

“Very well. Care to fill me in on why I am guarding the door for Your Highness?” 

Jimin rolls his eyes at the nickname. “Because of—this.” In a heartbeat, he rushes into the bathroom stall, the door slamming back with a resounding thud before Taehyung hears him throw his guts out. 

Well. That explains a lot. 

“That bad?” Taehyung tries to conceal the amusement in his voice as best as he can. He really does.

“It was the food, not the drinks,” Jimin whines before another wave hits him. “Something—” he stutters on a breath, “something was wrong with the meat. Or the soup. I'm not sure.” 

“Okay,” he easily gives in. “We all ate the same thing, though.”

“I have a sensitive tummy.”

Another wave.

“You sure do,” Taehyung scoffs. 

The handle rattles behind him, but the door doesn’t budge with his weight fully pressed against it.

Someone’s voice calls from the other side. “Uh? Excuse me—?”

“Five minutes,” Taehyung requests.

“Uh? Kim? What’s going on? I just need to—”

“Five. Minutes.” 

A pause.

The man coughs exaggeratedly. “Alright. No need to use that voice with me. I’ll be back, no big deal.”

Taehyung crosses his arms against his chest. He thinks he hears footsteps fading behind the door, but the sound of Jimin nearly choking on a breath drowns it. “Do you need help, there?” 

A shaky intake of breath. Then, a grunt. “No.” The metallic clang of a handle reverberates against the wall tiles, a second before the sound of rushing water bursts. Jimin emerges from the stall right after, the flush of his face now replaced by a much paler color. “Thank you, though. For—guarding the door,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair to push it back before he opens the tap and splashes water against his cheeks.

“No problem,” Taehyung says, though he barely moves from there. “Feeling better?” 

“Barely. No, actually—I feel terrible,” he admits as he keeps wetting his face, though by the looks of it, it doesn’t help one bit. Jimin huffs, a sound filled with frustration and pain. “And it’s not the alcohol. It feels different. It feels worse.”

“It might be the stress coming down?” 

Jimin stifles a laugh. “No. It never comes down like that.” 

Taehyung watches him bring a hand to his stomach, probably where the pain has started to coil up, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. He’s squirming, too, albeit faintly, and Taehyung finally turns to leave. “I think it would be better if you went home. And if you want to, I can drive you.” 

“I’d love that,” Jimin says, exhaling harshly, “but I already told Namjoon hyung that I’ll go with him. Would it be too much to ask you to go back and tell him I don’t feel so good?”

Taehyung stills. How convenient that he has to report Jimin’s well-being to someone who doesn't trust him at all, right? He can already feel the piercing gaze cutting right through him in an attempt to confirm that Taehyung isn’t the cause behind Jimin’s sudden sickness. He ponders, for a second, about asking who Kim Namjoon is, since he hasn't gotten properly introduced before, but the sight of a weakened Jimin makes him swallow down his question.

“I’ll tell him.”

A breath of relief escapes Jimin. “Thank you, Taehyung-ssi.” 

Before he closes the door behind him, however, Taehyung glances back one last time. Waits for Jimin’s tired eyes to meet his. And asks, “Was there any instance you doubted my intentions toward you?” 

Jimin’s brows twitch. He stares. Parts his lips. No sound comes out of them.

Nausea crawls up his throat again and yanks him back into the stall. 

...

The world spins. 

The once joyful chatters begin to distort. 

The clinking of cutlery against the plates morphs into unsettling, metallic scraping. 

The background music slows, wraps, and the notes stretch into screams, into screeches. Into cries of terror. 

“I’m fine,” Jimin manages to speak when Namjoon quickly gets a hold of him with an arm wrapping around his frame. 

Tentatively, Jimin pinches Namjoon’s forearm, tries to let him know that he doesn’t need assistance. And though he doesn’t, it isn’t exactly easy to do so on his own. Taking each step in a room that keeps spinning around him isn’t easy. 

“I’m—fine.” He’s standing. Walking. Alive. That’s what he means to say. 

At least, he could bid goodbye to the team without raising any kind of suspicion. At least, he could walk on his own to the door without falling or tripping. 

A few minutes ago, he had been throwing his guts and stomach out in the bathroom, and hadn’t it been for Taehyung, he’d probably still be on his knees, head into the basin, trying to dissociate reality from the eerie hallucination he had started to get. 

He can’t quite grasp what exactly went wrong—all he recalls is having a nice meal, nice evening, nice conversations. Everything had been good. Wonderful, even. Earlier today, he had been on stage, performing his songs for the very first time, and it had gone smoothly. Not only that, but the responses and reactions he had been receiving on his live and social media about his new album have been overwhelmingly positive. Thousands and thousands of messages praising him, thanking him for sharing something so honest and raw; so many beautiful letters that brought him to tears.

It was good. 

Today has been good.

Yet sometime during the evening, he felt that crippling sensation sink into his skin. Akin to the one he felt when he heard that keychain speak or read that live’s strange comments. Except that this time, it isn’t just a fleeting feeling in his head. It’s everywhere inside him.

It was burning him. Coursing through his veins. Coiling up in his stomach. 

Until it reached his brain. 

“He says it’s not the alcohol, you heard him,” Taehyung speaks in response to whatever has been said. Voice low, almost too quiet to be heard.

From the little Jimin can see with his glossy eyes, he notices the silhouette of his bodyguard almost blocking that of his and Namjoon while they walk out of the restaurant. As if he’s protecting them from whoever could be out there, waiting to snap a picture of a terribly drunk Jimin. 

No.

That’s not the alcohol.

“Whatever it is, you’ve been with him too long in that bathroom.”

“What are you even insinuating?”

“What do you believe I’m insinuating?”

“Hey,” Jimin manages with a stuttering breath when he reaches the passenger’s seat of what he recognizes being Namjoon’s car, and enters as slowly as he can while Namjoon holds the door for him, “please—stop talking so loudly.”

Jimin collapses into the seat. It wasn’t that high, yet it felt like he fell from the second story of a building.

“I apologize,” he hears Taehyung speak again, but it’s so far that Jimin isn’t even sure he’s apologizing to him. A few more words are uttered, yet nothing that’s comprehensible to Jimin’s dizzy mind. 

Instead of attempting to understand, Jimin leans back against the seat, rests his head properly, and takes deep, slow breaths with his eyes closed. Before the door closes on his side, he pulls the seatbelt and fastens it within a few, pathetic tries, as if his perception of the space has been totally compromised by something he can't grasp. 

His hand finds its way to his stomach, resting there while he tries to keep it all inside and not let another wave of nausea crawl up. 

The sound of the engine starting distorts in Jimin's ears and so do the words he thinks are spoken by Namjoon. 

All Jimin does is hum. A yes, a no, he doesn't even know that much. He just pretends he's still there and not slipping. Away. 

Far, far away. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Again.

When he opens his eyes again, he nearly screams. 

He's home. 

He’s— what? 

Heart thrumming in his eardrums, he stretches out his hands to grasp at his surroundings, to feel the softness of his mattress, of his sheets, and to confirm that he’s lying on his bed. When? How? He jolts upright with such force that he nearly throws his guts to the floor in the same breath.

The room spins in a disorienting blur.

“Careful.”

Jimin startles. His eyes wide in horror pan to Namjoon, who’s sitting there, at the edge of the bed. His lips part, his fingers trembling, his head spinning. “H—hyung,” he tries breathlessly. It’s hard to focus, hard to decipher the expression on Namjoon’s face. “What happened?”

“I want to know, too.”

Jimin’s chest spasms when he inhales. “I—feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m not,” he echoes as if he needs to say it too, for it to be true. He nods to himself, “I’m not.” 

Namjoon remains still for a moment while Jimin takes in his surroundings. He grabs his sheets, twists them, covers himself. His movements are a bit erratic, his hands uncoordinated, but he manages to clear the fog in his head nonetheless. Half of it, at least.

“Jimin-ah,” Jimin perks up at that, “what were you doing with that bodyguard back in the restaurant’s restroom?”

What was he doing? 

Jimin stares—at least tries to stare into Namjoon’s eyes. His sight, however, remains blurry. He frowns. What kind of question is that? Despite the pregnant pause, Namjoon doesn’t falter, and Jimin forces himself to ponder over the possible responses he could give. 

None come to him. None, except for,  “As far as I know, I wasn’t offering special services.” 

Namjoon chokes on his saliva. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not—” 

Before he could finish, Jimin falters and collapses forward, his muscles and brain betraying him in a sudden and unexpected lapse of control.

Namjoon is quick to catch him, his hands steady and firm on Jimin’s arms. “Hey, you’re okay.”

That’s a lie.

It’s a lie, and Jimin knows it, and Namjoon does too, and it’s just—

“—horrible. This is— horrible,” Jimin cries out. “What’s happening to me?” 

Nothing feels right. His headache, the dizziness, the fire coursing through his veins. The shake of his fingers, of his eyes, of his lips. 

A hand cradles his forehead for a few seconds, and the coldness of its palm makes Jimin melt into the touch and sigh in relief. He stays there as long as Namjoon lets him, breathing in and out calmly. 

“I think,” Namjoon starts, gently pressing against Jimin’s forehead to help him into a sitting position again, “what you’re experiencing are the side effects of an addictive substance.” 

“What?” Jimin immediately reacts. “What? What? It’s—no, it’s not. I didn’t take anything! And even if I did—no, I didn't! I didn’t, hyung, believe me, I didn’t!”  

“Jimin, I believe you, but—”

“I have an event scheduled tomorrow, I need to be presentable, I can’t go there if I—”

“Jimin,” Namjoon cuts the panic short with firm hands grabbing Jimin’s hands. “Hey, calm down. It’s fine, alright? It’s fine. The effects will fade, and your system will clear that in less than a day from now. Alright? It’s fine,” he repeats, and Jimin pauses for a second before he forces himself to nod. 

Nod, nod, and nod.

“Look at me.”

Jimin does.

“Did you mix your pills with someone else’s?” 

“No,” Jimin frowns, shaking his head just as vigorously as he had been acquiescing. “No, I haven’t. I took the ones you prescribed me—I haven’t exceeded the dosage you recommended. I promise. I was so anxious, I just took two, and—”

“Two are fine,” Namjoon reassures, “three, too. Can you tell me where they are?”

“In my bag. Where’s—where’s my bag?”

“I’ll get it,” Namjoon gently caresses Jimin’s arm when he leaves to retrieve the bag Jimin had carried all day with him, probably left back in the hallway. When he comes back, he drops the bag on the end of the bed, opens it and takes the orange bottle, filled half-way up with the pills. He uncaps it and shakes one into his hand.

“These are the same.” Jimin turns to his nightstand table and clumsily grabs a similar bottle, almost empty, and gives it to Namjoon. “It can’t be the pills, right? It never happened to me. I promise you, I didn’t take them with alcohol, or—”

“These are not the same.”

Jimin freezes.

What? 

Namjoon takes a deep breath when he gives the bottle back to Jimin and shows him the pill that was inside the bottle he’d carried with him. In the car, in the company, everywhere. It was always with him, just in case he needed it to manage his anxiety, and it had never hurt him. It had never caused him side effects of any kind. 

“The dosage you take—the one I prescribed you—is only 0.25 mg. I told you the maximum is at 4 mg, for extreme situations, and it’s sixteen of those,” he starts calmly as he turns the pill stuck between his thumb and index. “Jimin, these are 2 mg. How many did you take?”

“Three,” Jimin blurts out immediately, his heart pounding, pounding, and pounding. “One in the morning, two this afternoon, and I—are you sure these are 2 mg? It doesn’t make sense, I never changed it, is my name still on the bottle?”

Namjoon reads the indications on it. Confirms it with a nod. “Someone must have switched them.”

“No—that doesn’t make sense. Who would have done that? For what reason?” 

“Did Kim Taehyung have access to your bag?”

A searing pain knocks against Jimin’s skull when he shakes his head. “Why do you keep doubting him? He didn’t do anything! You were the one who found h—”

“Did he, Jimin-ah?”

Before he knows it, the emotions overflow, and a cry gets stuck in the back of his throat. It’s too much. The pounding in his head, in his ribcage, in his ears, and the pain all over his body. Not to add the senseless doubts Namjoon has about his bodyguard’s attention. “Yes,” he breathes out before he hides his face into his hands. “He did. I left my bag with him before we left the music show this morning.”

A defeated sigh is heard. “Alright. Alright, I’ll see what I can d—”

“Nothing,” Jimin is quick to say, his voice on the verge of breaking as he pleads, “nothing, please, don’t do anything. I trust him. I trust him,” he repeats. “So please, don’t do anything. Don’t tell him. It’s already embarrassing enough as it is.”

A pause. 

It’s excruciating. 

How is he supposed to rest, now? 

“It’s not, I promise,” Namjoon ends up murmuring when he comes back to gently pat Jimin over the blanket that covers his thighs. A comforting gesture that surprisingly helps. A little. “I don’t think anyone has noticed.”

Jimin glances up, hopeful. “You think so?”

And Namjoon smiles warmly. “Yeah. You kept it together pretty well until we were in the car. You’re fine. Don’t worry about that now, alright?”

A nod.

“It’s preferable that I stay for the next two hours in case the symptoms worsen,” he says, and it makes sense. It does, and it also helps Jimin relax his tense body. “If you haven’t experienced any kind of hallucinations, I doubt you’ll do, now, but we never know. You can rest, alright? I’ll be in the living room in case of any emergency, and I’ll leave when I’m certain you’re safe from any sort of complications.”

“Thank you, hyung,” Jimin exhales and lets his head fall back into the cushion, the fall startling him just like it did back in the car. With a shaky hand, he wraps his fingers around his wrist. Around his green bracelet. “Thank you.”

...

The music is as loud as ever, the vibrations as intense under his feet, inside his ribcage. The bar is crowded, overflowing with drunken people, and when Taehyung approaches it, a few of them huff in anger for being pushed to the side without a single care. 

“I need to talk to you.”

Jeongguk peels his eyes off the client he was talking to as he shakes the cocktail he started making, a frown appearing on his face. It must be for the worry on Taehyung’s face, or the fact that he hadn’t been so demanding for a year. “What’s up?”

Not here, Taehyung’s eyes tell. “Too many people.”

A brow raised. “I’m working.”

No shit.

Taehyung parts his lips, but Jeongguk is already walking away to serve the two drinks he’d been ordered. “Jeongguk-ah,” he tries again above the music, hurriedly skipping two other seats and pushing his way between two men, “it’s Kim Namjoon.” 

This time, Jeongguk jerks his head right in his direction, eyes wide and round. 

“That’s his name. The one you were trying to—”

“Come behind the bar.”

Immediately, Taehyung pushes himself back and heads behind the bar, following Jeongguk at the end of it, to a corner where fewer people could catch their conversation. Not perfect, but good enough, Taehyung guesses. It isn’t like the main subject is anywhere near the bar, at the moment. Nowhere near the Viper’s Vault, either.

“You need to listen to me on this one, Jeongguk-ah, that man—”

“How do you know his name?” Jeongguk cuts off, a coldness to his tone that confuses Taehyung. He’s come to warn his friend about a potential threat, and yet, there’s frustration painted all over Jeongguk’s face. 

“I met him. At the company's dinner.”

A nod. Nonchalant. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Taehyung echoes. “You don’t ask why he was there? Or why he suddenly showed up right after I saw his face for the first time in this very same bar? You don’t find it odd? You don’t find it crazy?”

“It’s—” A sigh falls past Jeongguk’s lips, Taehyung sees it rather than hears. ‘can’t hear much above the boasting songs. “He told me his name, last time.”

Taehyung’s face falls. Stunned. 

“He told me a lot more than just his name, actually,” Jeongguk admits, and although the dim light, dark blues and greens, obscures the details and true color of their skin, Taehyung unmistakably notices the flush of embarrassment spread across Jeongguk’s face, his cheeks turning a bright red. “I know he’s friends with Park Jimin. And... well, he told me a lot, but in another kind of contex—”

“You two fucked?” Taehyung blurts out, connecting the dots a bit too fast. 

Jeongguk’s jaw drops, but no excuse follows.

Taehyung can’t believe this. “You two fucked!” he shrieks. 

“Don’t scream it, idiot! Are you crazy!?” Jeongguk hisses and slaps Taehyung’s neck with the towel, leaving a bright red mark from the force of it. Taehyung, though, remains utterly unfazed. “Tone it down! I’m serious!”

“He’s using you, and you just gave your ass!?” 

“He’s not using me and—why the hell are you assuming he fucked my ass? I top, too!” 

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this,” Taehyung repeatedly sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair, a million thoughts running through his head.

“Not only are you overreacting, you’re also being paranoid—”

Screams break out.

The mass of people start to gather around two big men—the source of that damn commotion. Fucking great. Has the Viper’s Vault always been so messy? 

“Let me deal with them,” Taehyung shouts over the music before he’s abruptly pushed back, nearly colliding with the counter. 

“Shut up and protect your own image! Jimin-ssi is more important than these two idiots,” Jeongguk screams back, disappearing into the sea of people, leaving a disoriented Taehyung behind.

Jimin-ssi?

More important?

Image?

This is the first time Jeongguk has mentioned Jimin in this context. And it’s the first time Jeongguk has actually called Jimin by his name and in a way that would suggest they’ve either met, or Jeongguk heard a lot about Jimin through someone else.

And not through Taehyung.

“Party’s over!” Jeongguk screams at the same time the music dies. It’s then that Taehyung sees one of the trouble-maker collapsed on the dirty floor dance and the other being dragged by the only bouncer working tonight, and kicked out of the club. “Everyone out! Now!”

Disappointment bursts into chitchats and whines, yet the bar begins to empty as per Jeongguk’s demand.

Taehyung rounds the counter to reach for Jeongguk’s shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically as he takes a good look at Jeongguk’s split brow arch and lips. There’s also a bleeding hole where the silver jewelry should be. 

“Motherfucker got my piercing,” Jeongguk complains, wiping the blood. “Fuck, that was my favorite one.”

A chuckle. “I’ll get you a new one. Come on, sit down.”

With a heavy exhale, Jeongguk lets himself be guided towards one of the stool bar, accepting the towel Taehyung hands him to press against his bloody lips. Softly, he calls once the silence settles all around them, “Hey, Taehyung?”

Taehyung hums.

“You never told me the reason Jimin’s team hired you.”

Taehyung frowns. “Because I have no idea. I already told you.”

Jeongguk nods, like he already expected that response, eyes averting to the floor. “And... if I told you that Namjoon knows?”

A baffled sigh escapes Taehyung. Of course, it had to be Namjoon. He can’t even believe that Jeongguk’s calling that man so casually, already. “What the hell did he even tell you?”

“Not much,” Jeongguk assures, probably sensing Taehyung’s frustration, “but... I wouldn’t be so wary of him if I was you. You know, he cares about Jimin. I could see that much. Which, in all honesty, makes me wonder why he would trust you, of all people, to keep his close friend safe.”

Taehyung’s mouth parts, but the breath of disbelief he’s been holding doesn’t come out. “Now you’re doubting me too?”

“I'm not doubting you, silly,” Jeongguk snorts, “I’m the only one who can actually confirm that you’re the best choice for a bodyguard. I mean, you’re kind of playing my bodyguard,” he says with a playful wink, while Taehyung rolls his eyes. “What I mean to say is that your past is too shady. You’re not exactly the bubbly type with people, you don’t easily show kindness the way people do. If I didn’t know you as well as I do now, I wouldn’t have trusted you around my friends,” he admits, and Taehyung can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him. He almost argues that he was, in fact, Jeongguk’s first friend, though the point he makes isn’t so wrong. “Which makes me wonder... was Jimin in real danger when you got hired? And how bad was it?” 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung repeats, turning the stool around to lean back against the counter. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary yet. Crazy fans, yeah. But nothing that would require a personal bodyguard to be there all the time.”

“Yeah, that’s my other question. When exactly is that threat coming up?” 

Taehyung stares at the ceiling. 

A good fucking question. 

He’s been asking himself exactly that for a year now, without once getting a good enough response. It’s not like he’d been desperate for one, though. Not when the salary is that high. “Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it like I always have.”

A sigh. From his peripheral, he sees Jeongguk nod. “Yeah, of course you will. Anyway... you said you’ll pay for my piercing, right?” Taehyung turns to look at him, a curious brow raised at the way Jeongguk’s eyes round and sparkle. “Can I get the piercing I’ve been eyeing for a while? It costs 120 000 won—”

“You want me to pierce another hole with my bare teeth so it fits?”

Jeongguk swirls on the stool. “Never mind!”

Chapter Text

There’s something hidden in the darkness. 

It doesn’t move. It stares. 

One pupil. Another joins in. Bottomless pits framed by long and spindly lashes that curl in unnatural ways. They stretch out when the orbs blink, tangling and interlocking, ugly and horrific. 

It stares.

It keeps staring.

Until a silhouette appears all around.

Until it hurls itself at Jimin’s throat.

A piercing scream shatters the silence of his apartment. 

Jolting up until he’s nearly lurched forward, Jimin darts his wide eyes frantically all around the room, a hand to his heaving chest where his heart pounds so fast, so hard, so painfully that his fingers tremble over it. He’s drenched in cold sweat, completely and utterly disoriented for a good, long minute, and it takes a little more for his breath to stop coming in ragged gasps. 

I’m home, he tells himself when reality sinks in and the panic fades. 

I’m safe. 

I’m home. 

It was just a dumb nightmare.

At the realization, he lets out a heavy exhale, cut short by a breathless laugh of disbelief. “You’re so dramatic, Park Jimin,” he huffs. 

He slowly stretches his arms, leaning forward until he’s bent enough to hear the cracks alongside his spine, and sits back up again for a short moment. Closes his eyes. And, with a sharp and controlled motion, twists his head to hear the satisfying pop echo in his bedroom. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not his head, nor his stomach. Apart from sleepiness, he doesn’t feel anything strange. Not dizziness, nothing. A sigh of relief escapes him.

Despite the thousand questions that build up inside his head, he tries not to dwell on last night’s event for too long. 

It just happened.

Maybe someone swapped the bottles without intending to.

Maybe the paper fell and was glued back onto the wrong bottle.

Holding his clothes like he’d hugged his pillow, Jimin shuffles to the living room, squinting a little at the morning light. A smile pulls the corners of his lips up when he notices the note on the kitchen island, next to a new prescription for his medicine. 

I left before midnight!
I know it might have felt like a lot because it was your first time taking such a high dose, but I promise you there aren’t going to be any consequences.
Don’t worry too much, alright? We’ll talk about this later.
Stay hydrated and eat!
Shoot me a message when you’re awake.
— Namjoon :) 

Having a psychiatrist for a friend comes with its own valuable perks. 

After sending Namjoon a quick message and leaving his phone behind, Jimin heads straight to the bathroom and slips under a hot and well-deserved shower. This time, no surprise—the water remains at a good temperature until he feels his muscles relax and his head lighten.

And perhaps he takes a little longer than usual, but he guesses he has a good excuse to do so today. 

When he turns off the water and reaches for his towel to dry himself, he notices the absence of his clothes near the sink. He looks around, hoping to maybe find them on the ground, but nothing. 

Did he forget them back in the kitchen? He's certain he didn't let go of them once before the shower. Is that another side effect? Blank memory? 

Hesitantly, he pushes the door open and steps out of the bathroom. The coldness wastes no time to bite his skin and the tip of his toes. The beads of water dribble down his body, slowly drying, and beads of sweat seem to replace them. 

Before he steps out of the corridor, something in his guts urges him to stop. 

To wait. 

To hold his breath.

Something feels weird.

A few seconds pass. 

He hears the neighbors downstairs. 

A door closing, a chair being dragged. 

He hears his own heart thumping, thumping, and thumping. For a split second, he believes he's grown another one. Another heart. It's loud, too.

Tightening the towel around his own frame, Jimin swallows thickly, and finally walks into the kitchen with a hurried step. 

They’re here.

Next to Namjoon’s note. 

Jimin's clothes.

Though he tries to swallow down the insane scenarios that force themselves into his head and rationalize, he nearly trips when he grabs his phone, dials Namjoon’s number, and puts it on speaker.

It pings.

Once.

Twice. 

A breath louder than his own bursts in his ear.

“The number you're trying to reach is—”

Hurriedly, Jimin scrolls through his contact list. 

His second attempt is Taemin.

It rings.

Jimin doesn't budge. Not when it rings again for the third time. 

Not when it breathes again into his ear.

His Adam’s apple bobs.

“Hello?” 

“Taemin-ah!” Jimin bursts in relief, jerking his head back to an empty room. An empty corridor. He’s shaking. 

He swears he could see something slip back into his guest room. 

Paranoia. 

Please, let it be paranoia.

“Am I—bothering you?” 

“Good morning, Jimin-ah,” Taemin greets softly. “No, don’t worry. I was preparing breakfast and feeding Ddaeng and Kkongie.” 

With another breath of relief, Jimin runs his fingers through his hair and nods more to himself than anything. He smiles at the mention of Taemin’s cats—he wouldn’t have minded waking up to two cuddling up to him on his bed. 

“Why? Are you feeling alright? You told me you were feeling a bit dizzy last night. Better, now?”

Jimin nods again, tugging on his towel to pat his skin dry before slipping into his clothes. “Yeah, yeah I’m feeling better. I think I drank a bit too much, and with how tired I felt, it wasn’t a very good idea.”

“Oh, I get that! Not something that a good night of rest can’t fix, though,” Taemin giggles, and Jimin joins in. 

Yeah. Thankfully. 

“Why did you call me, though?”

“Oh, it’s...” There isn’t any solid reason. Somehow, paranoia got a hold of him for a minute or two, and once again, he puts it on his lack of sleep. Lack of rest. And, stress from his comeback. “I was wondering if I could spend the rest of the day with you? You know, after today’s event.”

A pause.

Jimin leaves the towel over the chair once he’s ready and picks up his phone to press it against his ear instead. He hears a soft meow and Taemin’s whispered not now kkongie-yah, and a smile instantly brightens his face. 

“Yes, of course! What kind of question is that? You know you’re always welcome here.”

Jimin chuckles. “I know,” he murmurs, nervously scratching the edge of the kitchen island as if he expects to rip off a bit or two, “I’ll text you when the event ends, and we get on our way.”

“Want me to pick you up?”

“No, no need. Taehyung-ssi will drive me.”

“Oh,” Taemin breathes out, pausing for a second. “Alright. Tell me when you’re on your way, I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Jimin hums. “See you later.” 

After hanging up, Jimin tightens his fingers around his phone, keeping it pressed against his ear for a little longer before putting it down over the cold surface. 

He holds his breath for a second. And another. 

The silence is disturbingly heavy.

For someone who finds comfort in a home devoid of cameras and thousands of pairs of eyes locked on him, Jimin feels eerily unsettled now that he’s alone. 

It feels like the quiet has come alive.

Like the silence creeps on him.

Jimin pushes himself off of the edge of the kitchen island, takes the clothes under his arm, and tiptoes toward the hallway, doing his best not to be heard. On his way there, his thumb swipes over his phone, tapping the emergency number, ready to dial. 

His steps slow as the guest room door comes into view. It’s slightly open. Barely a crack. The fact that he closed the blinds all the way to the bottom doesn’t help him peek inside, either—it’s pitch black. Nothing spills out of that crack. Not a hint of light.

A long moment passes. 

Jimin stands frozen, eyes glued to the opening, like he expects something to come out of it. 

When it doesn't, he reaches for the door handle. His palm almost slips with how clammy it is, but he holds the cold metal tightly as he breathes out as quietly as he can and pulls the door toward him.

It clicks shut.

Jimin waits.

Nothing happens.

He doesn’t look inside the room. 

Hopes it’s just paranoia.

...

There’s something different about Jimin today.

Taehyung supposes it’s the elegance of his outfit—a long, cream-colored leather coat splitting open from his shoulders down his arms to reveal the white shirt underneath, coupled with tailored dark gray pants. Today, he looks especially good. There’s no denying it. He had spent quite some time getting ready at the company and, given that today is Taehyung’s first experience with a particularly big event, he concluded that the company takes appearance even more seriously than for any other ordinary event.

Yet... there’s still something else he can’t quite pinpoint. Something about the silence hiding a loud, busy mind. 

The car comes to a halt. 

As soon as he feels Jimin shift to leave, Taehyung reaches for his sleeve, tugging just lightly to silently tell him to wait, and comes out first on his side. 

The cameras are already flashing, thousands pointed in his direction and lowering when the media notices it isn’t their main subject yet. No matter how much Jimin’s fans prattle about the menacing bodyguard, no matter how many times he shows up on videos and photos posted and reposted by the fans—the media doesn’t care about him. And he’s grateful. More than that. Not that he would give attention to snarky or bad comments about him either way, but considering that he spends a ridiculous amount of time by the side of someone so important, he’s grateful for not suddenly gaining overwhelming attention.

Taehyung’s sharp eyes travel across the crowd as he walks around the car, adjusts his suit, and meets the gaze of one of the event’s staff members whose hand appears to already rest on the handle of the door. 

It isn’t the first time other security members have tried this, it isn’t, and yet, it still manages to irritate Taehyung. Not a question, not a glance, they all seem to be irrationally impatient.

Just who do they think they are? 

Sharply, he slams the barely opened door closed and challenges the man’s gaze until the latter decides to take a step back; To abandon the idea of getting anywhere close to Jimin.

The sound of shutters being pressed is heard. Countless pictures are taken. 

But it multiplies by a thousand when Taehyung finally opens the door and allows Jimin to step out. 

And when he does, time slows down for a split second. 

Flashbulbs burst in a frenzy of light, screams and gasps erupt all around. The atmosphere shifts instantly. Excitement and joy and admiration spread. The air molds around him like he’s the only one standing there—like nobody else matters. 

Not as much as Park Jimin himself. 

Jimin pauses for a moment to offer a warm smile and a wave of his hand. He’s polite, as he always is, but there’s something in his half-crescent eyes that leaves Taehyung a little concerned. For the photographers, reporters, and other fans, Jimin looks as radiant as he always does. Yet somehow, as Taehyung watches him politely bow and smile, he believes the gleam that usually surrounds Jimin isn’t as bright today.

Uncertainty? Tiredness? A simple hungover?

The memories of last night pass in a flash inside Taehyung’s head. The images of Jimin stumbling into the bathroom stall, staring at his own reflection like it’s slipping from his own control, and collapsing into Namjoon’s car’s seat.

“It’s not the alcohol. It feels different. It feels worse.”

Taehyung could recognize the symptoms. Has seen and experienced them before. The crippling anxiety leading to the habit of picking at nails, lips, clothes. The trembling of one’s fingers, jaw, eyes. The dilated pupils and possible dissociation moments. He knew it wasn’t alcohol—but these matters are private, and he simply couldn't pry further. 

Today, as he notices the slight uncertainty in those eyes, he wonders how terrible has the night been for Jimin. 

“Look here!” someone screams, and a dozen other reporters yell the same on the other side. 

As Jimin walks through the path, he turns to both sides and offers a few seconds-worth of simple poses. Something to keep them entertained as they snap, and snap, and snap.

“A heart! Make a heart!” 

Jimin doesn’t immediately grasp it, and amidst the overwhelming cacophony of screams blending together messily, it’s not so surprising. The sheer volume of excitement from the crowd is intense, making it feel like they’re closer than they actually are, but it’s enough for Taehyung to walk two steps behind him without bothering anyone. 

It’s when people start making hearts with their arms that Jimin responds with a small one with two fingers, beaming at the collective aww! he receives.

“Jimin-ssi! Can you please sign this for my son?” 

Both Jimin and Taehyung’s heads turn to the reporter who’s struggling to extend his arm between the photographers in the crowd. He holds up a pen and Jimin’s previous album, hoping to get closer, but Taehyung doesn’t move or suggest taking it for him until Jimin takes a step forward.

“Oh!” Jimin’s eyes grow wide as he points at the man. “I know you!” he adds enthusiastically when he recognizes the reporter, reaching for the pen and album to sign. Taehyung moves instantly to be by his side, a hand raised in defense. “Thank you for the beautiful articles you always write about me! I’m looking forward to the one you’ll submit for this album.” 

“It’s an honor!” The man beams, speaking another few words Taehyung doesn’t register. 

He doesn't listen.

The sounds of the cameras snapping are muffled.

So are the voices, when he notices something odd.

His attention is drawn to the arm that surges from the crowd on the other side, in Jimin’s direction. A hand moving in a blur, fingers crooked like it’s desperate to grasp, grip, tear.

Taehyung is quick. Too quick. 

Everything happens in a second.

He slides to Jimin’s left side, catches the wrist before it touches a strand of Jimin’s hair, and twists it sharply, rapidly, so much that he hears a clear pop of the muscles tearing between the shutters. The arm is hastily retracted, swallowed by the crowd that doesn’t even seem to have noticed the commotion. 

And while Taehyung dissects the hundred faces he has before him, most hidden behind cameras, he hears Jimin give his blessings to the man’s son for who he signed. 

“Thank you again, my son will love this!” 

When Taehyung turns his head, Jimin is already walking back, and he doesn’t waste any second to join him. 

There’s something wrong hanging in the air.

Taehyung doesn’t quite understand what, yet.

...

The past three hours seemed endless. 

Jimin’s smile started to hurt. A pain that began in his cheeks, ended in his heart. The cameras didn’t leave him for a minute; nothing unusual, something he’s even used to, yet for the past hour he wished they vanished into the thick and suffocating air around him.

It’s a radical change. He himself isn’t sure of what’s happening to him. Or, perhaps, he is sure of it—so much that he refuses to believe in it. So much that he doesn’t even consider it a reasonable possibility. 

Once the event is over and Jimin is escorted back to the car, he feels his entire body begin to relax. The sounds, the voices, the shutters dimmed down to leave place to a much more peaceful atmosphere, until everything gets muffled when he slips inside and the door slams shut. Only then, he realizes his muscles have been so tense that he now can feel the sharp pain of cramps. His hand immediately flies to his neck, his head thrown back against the headrest, and his chest expands with the breath he takes. 

“Is everything alright?” 

Jimin’s exhale comes out shaky. A sound too weak to be called a laugh. He finds Taehyung’s question amusing. “I’m good,” he reassures, keeping his eyes closed for another breath or two. “I haven’t been to important events like these in a long time. It always feels like the first time—it’s nerve-wracking.”

When Jimin looks up, he nearly startles at the piercing eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror. The surprise lasts only a second before he notices the softness and worry in them. 

“Are you worried about me?”

Taehyung averts his eyes. Jimin’s smile grows bigger. An endearing display of shyness. “When am I not?”

The car engine comes to life with a growl, muffling the gasp that had escaped Jimin’s lips. While Jimin remains completely silent for another minute, Taehyung adjusts his grip around the steering wheel to drive them away and join the main road. 

“All of us are worried you aren’t getting enough sleep,” Taehyung adds like it’s obvious, and maybe it is, but it doesn’t alter the fact that Jimin was taken aback by his words, “especially now that your schedule is packed like crazy.” 

“Oh,” Jimin nods slowly. “Have I been looking that sleep-deprived? I thought I did a good job hiding the dark circles.” A giggle fills the car, but it’s soon cut short by Taehyung’s voice.

“You did.” 

Oh. 

Jimin clears his throat. “Then... what gave it away?” 

“For those who pay attention to it—your eyes. It’s subtle. But you don't seem to be able to focus on one person or one camera at a time. You look around to avoid staring for longer than three seconds to keep you engaged and awake. I guess your fingers gave it away too—they keep shaking.”

Jimin’s attention darts to the hand resting on his thigh to confirm it. Although, now that he’s in the car, far from the crowd, he isn’t shaking anymore, but he does feel the pad of his fingers slightly vibrate. He must have been unable to control it earlier. Was it that obvious? “I slept,” he starts, a little weak, like he’s trying to convince himself it was a restful night. “I slept, last night,” he repeats. “It’s not the lack of sleep. I think… it’s more about the struggle of keeping the anxiety under control.”

A hum in response. 

Taehyung halts at a stop sign. 

Somehow, Jimin expects the clouds above them to thicken and weep heavy rain, but they don’t. The sky remains bright. Albeit a little hidden.

“Turn right,” Jimin instructs when Taehyung flickers the left turn signal, before he promptly switches to the other, no question asked.

“The company is the other way,” Taehyung reminds him, “so is your home.”

“I know, but I planned on spending the day at Taemin’s. If you don’t mind dropping me there.”

“I don’t,” Taehyung assures, turning at the next intersection. “I didn’t know you had plans with him.”

“It wasn’t really planned, I called him this morning,” it starts simply, but then Jimin feels the knot tightening his guts in the way it had been this morning, and he doesn’t find any other way to untie it than let his mouth run endlessly. “To be entirely honest with you, I’ve been feeling terrible since last night. You’ve seen it. You’ve seen me. And like I told you—it wasn’t the alcohol. I woke up feeling worse than I would if it were a hangover. My mind was elsewhere, and I kept putting these nonsense scenarios into my head, so of course my guts were telling me to call Taemin hyung and ask him to hang out to, you know, clear my head. So, you don’t have to worry about me not getting any sleep tonight, we won’t be partying! I promise!” 

He ends with a nervous giggle; one he swallows when the silence persists.

Ah. Did he overshare?

Jimin clears his throat again.

“I know you don’t really care about all of this,” he adds. “You can turn left, there!”

The car follows the path.

“I care,” Taehyung finally says. “You can talk about anything, you know I’m listening.”

I know. Jimin tilts his head to the side to gaze outside, a faint smile dancing on his lips. He’s used to Taehyung’s silence; the kind that tells Jimin he’s being heard, listened to without any judgment. 

Believing that he could be a burden is a mistake—Taehyung has never been one to mock him. Never. Not even the times Jimin got tipsy enough to be rambling for hours. Shamefully, he reminisces the time he even ended up talking about his exes, and albeit he was a bit too drunk to remember every detail of that night, he remembers the low hums Taehyung would offer him from time to time to assure him that he was listening while he was driving him home. And Jimin could have believed Taehyung only did so to remain respectful, but when he had been asked to “forget about those who hurt him” the very next day, he understood how much his bodyguard sincerely cared.

“I’m not good at comforting people,” Taehyung admits after a pregnant pause, like it’s the reason he doesn’t dare speak a word whenever Jimin talks at length. “I don’t really know how to.”

When he thinks about it, Jimin wouldn’t agree. Sure, Taehyung has never comforted him with words, even less with touches—no member of the staff has—but the comfortable presence he offers is considered a form of comfort. One that fits Jimin. 

Silence can offer comfort, too. 

Nonetheless, Jimin subtly encourages Taehyung to delve a little deeper—rare are the times Taehyung opens up about himself, and though Jimin doesn’t want to pry, he can’t quite contain his excitement whenever his bodyguard trusts him enough to reveal a part of his life. “Maybe the reason for that is that you were never comforted by someone?” The questioning tone should allow Taehyung to respond, either agreeing or refuting Jimin’s assumption, yet—

Taehyung’s lips remain frozen. He glances through the rearview mirror, and when Jimin’s eyes meet his, he feels himself shrink.

“Ah—I don’t mean it in a bad way! I believe that the reason you think you have no idea about how to comfort someone is that you haven’t had someone show you. Not that I really believe that nobody has ever comforted you, you must have family and friends who do, right? What am I even saying,” Jimin giggles, the words tumbling so fast his brain doesn’t even register them before they’re spilled.

“I don’t get stressed or anxious,” Taehyung explains, plainly. Simply. 

Jimin smacks his lips loudly and nods to himself. Right. “You definitely aren’t the sensitive type, are you?” he breathes out an amused sigh. “I wouldn’t have minded being like that, too. I get overwhelmed a bit too easily, especially recently.”

“Is that why you take those pills?” 

Jimin’s breath hitches.

What?

Taehyung isn’t looking at him. He isn’t glancing, not even when the silence settles.

And, for a moment, Jimin forgets how to draw air into his lungs. 

“Did Kim Taehyung have access to your bag?” 

“T—To your left,” Jimin manages to request instead, and Taehyung does as he’s told.

“Jimin-ah, did he, or did he not?”

“How did you know?” Jimin whispers. He bites down on his lower lip when Taehyung meets his gaze again for a brief moment. 

“I didn’t. I made the hypothesis that last night’s symptoms were due to either a sedative or any other calming pill. You just confirmed it.”

“You—” Jimin starts, his fingers tightening around his seatbelt, “how could you—?”

“Sorry. I know it’s not my business. It caught my attention because—”

“You take them too?” 

Taehyung turns his head when Jimin suddenly leans forward, hand grabbing Taehyung’s headrest. A surge of adrenaline grips him at the flimsy possibility that his bottle got mixed with Taehyung's by accident. Not that it would explain why his name was on it. However—

“No,” Taehyung replies calmly, reaching behind his head to silently pull Jimin's hand off the headrest. “Sit back.” 

Jimin obeys.

“I see that you carry the bottle with you. I don't mean to pry, however you're not hiding them either when you're around me.” 

A nod. It makes sense. Jimin has indeed been carrying the bottle with him all around, so it's not so surprising that Taehyung noticed it a couple of times. Nonetheless, one question remains loud in his head. “Do you believe others noticed?” 

Another glance through the rearview mirror. Jimin holds his gaze, until Taehyung looks back at the road. “No. I don’t think anyone noticed. Except—your friend.”

“Namjoon hyung?”

Taehyung hums. 

Now that Taehyung mentions it, Jimin realizes last night was the first time they both met officially. Given that Namjoon isn’t part of the company, it isn’t odd that his face remains unknown by most of the staff members. “It’s normal,” he says with a small smile, “he works in psychiatry.”

Jimin swears he hears Taehyung’s breath hitch.

“He’s a psychiatrist?” 

Jimin nods. “I mean, he’s a bit more than that—he’s the clinical director of the forensic psychiatry services. You’ve probably seen him in the news a couple of times, he’s pretty popular,” he chuckles faintly.

“I haven’t.” Whether he means it or not, Taehyung’s voice falls sharply. When he speaks again, however, it’s above a whisper, more to himself than to Jimin, “So, he works with criminals.”

“Not necessarily—”

“Which way?”

Jimin blinks curiously, before he understands that Taehyung is talking about directions. “It’s—straight ahead. Down the main road. We’re almost there.”

“Alright.”

There isn’t quite a time Jimin remembers them having a long and deep two-way conversation, but this time is one of the rare ones where he feels that something has bothered Taehyung to the point that he wants to cut it short. It’s a little odd. “I didn’t tell you when you picked me up earlier, but—thank you,” Jimin says, tentatively, as they approach the destination. “For yesterday. You stayed with me until I was in Namjoon’s car, and I know you might think it’s your job to watch over me even outside official schedules, but... thank you.”

The grip around the steering wheel lessens visibly, and Jimin realizes Taehyung had been a little tense the moment his shoulders relax and a sigh escapes him. “I would have driven you home if he wasn’t there.”

“I know.”

“Next time... let me know who your friends are, before something like this happens.”

So that was it. Taehyung had been wary of Namjoon since last night, and was probably doubting his intentions when he took Jimin home. The thought brings an amused smile to Jimin’s lips. How silly. Warmth spreads over his chest, a sense of relief and safety blooming there. As long as Taehyung remains by his side, Jimin believes he’s more than just safe. 

Right?

“I will. Sorry about that,” Jimin giggles. “But—you know, you can trust him. I promise.” 

And he should trust you too.

The car resumes its path down the quiet street. 

Jimin presses a palm against the tapped side of his neck. The pain isn’t as unbearable as it had been, and he assumes it’s due to the soothing feeling seeping under his skin as they approach his friend’s home.

“It’s here,” he announces before Taehyung pulls over to allow him to unbuckle his seatbelt and leave the car. “Thank you for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taehyung offers a nod and a faint smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Pushing the door closed, Jimin waves one last goodbye before he hurries inside, hoping that nobody has yet noticed him—he isn’t exactly subtle with his extravagant outfit. He takes the elevator to the third floor, and knocks a playful song.

Taemin answers almost immediately.

“Hey, come on in!” he beams, a radiant glow on his face that steals a smile from Jimin. He’s already wearing his chick-patterned pajamas, and Jimin wishes he could slip under the shower to do the same right now. “You look so good!” 

“Ah, you think so?” Jimin giggles as he takes his shoes off and jacket when he steps inside, the comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around him. Two fluffy cats appear from the living room, followed by adorable meows like they’re welcoming Jimin home. 

“They missed you,” Taemin says, though the cats swiftly leave when Jimin pretends to playfully catch them. “So, how was it?” 

“Terribly long,” Jimin sighs honestly. “I believe there were more reporters than usual. It felt unusually overwhelming.” As they head toward the living room, Jimin takes into his hands the warm cup of coffee Taemin offers him, and settles on the couch next to him. It doesn’t take long for Ddaeng and Kkong to join them, pressing their weight against Jimin as though they know exactly who needs their presence the most. It makes Jimin giggle.

“What about your neck?” 

“It feels alright. Way better than before.”

“You have at least one more day before your next performance, right?” 

Jimin nods. Nothing is scheduled for tomorrow, so it’s a good opportunity to check his condition with his physician. 

As he sits comfortably in a home he feels safe in, with a friend he feels safe with, the painful knots slowly unravel, as though the pain had been mainly caused by the amount of stress he’s been experiencing. 

“Ddaengie is always so grumpy,” Jimin chuckles when the white cat finds a comfortable place on his lap despite being the one who avoids being touched the most. And, indeed, when Jimin tries to caress its head, it shakes it rapidly and pushes its paw against Jimin’s palm. “‘reminds me of Taehyung.”

Taemin nearly chokes on the sip of coffee he just took. “What?”

“What?” Jimin echoes, blinking innocently at his friend. “He’s like Ddaeng—looks grumpy and cold on the outside, but is a sweetheart on the inside. Why are you looking at me like that?” He throws his head back when he laughs at Taemin’s utterly confused expression; his brows are creased in the middle like Jimin just blurted out the most insane thing ever. “I’m telling the truth!”

Taemin slaps a hand against Jimin’s forehead, the sound causing Jimin to burst into laughter. “Do you have a fever?” 

“No!”

“There’s no way you look at Ddaengie and think about that scary Tiger!” 

“What, you also call him that? The Tiger?” Jimin waves his brows, absolutely loving the way Taemin looks more and more concerned. 

“He looks like he could kill!” 

“Yeah, he’d kill a fly for me!”

“Jimin!” 

If it wasn’t for the cat in his lap, Jimin would have collapsed down on the couch with laughter. His chest starts to hurt a little, and when he inhales deeply to stop himself, he looks up to avoid breaking into another fit and dries his tears. “You’re so dramatic! I thought that, with time, you’d come to understand him, but you seem to be even more scared than the first time you two met.”

Taemin sighs heavily. “That’s because I saw a glimpse of what he’s capable of. Should I remind you that he almost broke someone’s wrist at a concert?” 

“That’s because the person grabbed my jacket and pulled on it so hard it ripped! He was just doing his job!” Jimin defends immediately, looking back at his friend. 

“Yeah, well, what about the time he tackled three people to the ground at the airport?” 

“He just pushed them back, they were crowding me!” Jimin explains, the memory not exactly pleasant. It was overall an overwhelming day, and he had been grateful for Taehyung’s lack of patience at that time; not only were cameras right up in Jimin’s face, there were also hands and arms invading his space. When he heard the people fall, he was able to take a small breath. It was needed. “I promise you, he’s far from scary. He’s a kind and caring guy.”

Taemin’s lips purse as he reaches for the TV remote control, side-eyeing Jimin like he doesn’t fully trust his promise. “I’m keeping my eyes wide open for him.”

“You don’t have to,” Jimin promises, a faint chuckle escaping him. “He’s good to me.” 

He’s caring, in a way nobody has been before. 

“Alright, if you say so,” Taemin rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. The TV turns on for him to navigate through the channels in search of something to watch, while Jimin playfully boops Ddaeng’s nose. “Should we watch a movie and order food?”

“Yeah! Have you watched that new thriller drama?” 

Taemin turns to look at him after switching to KBS News. “Oh, you mean Connection?”

“The first few episodes are really engaging!” Jimin says eagerly. “Are you up to date with all of them?”

“I think I’m one or two episodes—” Taemin’s sentence is abruptly interrupted by the reporter’s voice resonating through the apartment, as it mentions a name that instantly catches both his and Jimin’s attention. “—...behind.”

Jimin’s breath hitches. 

His hand grabs his thigh, his fingers digging, his nails sinking.

[ JANG GROUP : remarkable young CEO gains widespread acclaim for his achievements at only 30 years old! ] 

“The public admiration for Jang Junwoo, CEO of the Jang Group, is soaring! Looks, intelligence, charming presence; Many young professionals see him as the perfect role model, while industry experts praise his innovative decisions that brought his company to South Korea’s top 10 richest ones. As his popularity continues to grow, many are watching closely—”

The voice dies down as soon as the screen turns black with a sudden click. 

Nervously, Taemin clears his throat and puts the remote down on the table, staring at it for a bit like he messed up.  

The air is a little heavy, a little suffocating, but Jimin nonetheless relaxes and offers a faint smile and a mouthed thank you when Taemin shyly looks back at him.

“Let’s enjoy tonight and forget about the past,” Taemin says softly, reaching to rub Jimin’s arm soothingly and gently drawing back the hand that was squeezing Jimin’s thigh. 

With a hum, Jimin nods. He swallows down his doubts and fears, refusing to let them paralyze him like they did, a year ago. 

What if the past refuses to let me go, hyung?

...

It’s a day off.

A rare occasion, especially amidst a comeback. Taehyung should have probably seized the opportunity to tackle the tasks he’s been postponing, indulging in some kind of self-care, or even driving all the way back to Daegu to visit his mother he hasn’t seen in months. In years. 

But he let that slip away. 

He’s been lying on his bed since dawn, staring at the ceiling, hoping that exhaustion swallows him whole. Knocks him out for another hour or two. He can’t exactly pinpoint the reason he hasn’t been able to step a foot out of his room, though it likely stems from the stark transition from the lively days he spent non-stop with Jimin to the silence and solitude of his apartment. 

It’s odd. 

It’s almost as if he’s forgotten how to live as Kim Taehyung. As if he’s only been able to be Jimin’s bodyguard. And nothing else.

As his eyes wander from one corner to another of his room, Taehyung is once more struck by how drastically his life has changed since he began working for Park Jimin. Unlike a year ago, he has a quite nice apartment. It’s small, could barely fit three people in there for a night or two, but it’s nice. Better than what he used to live in. There are no drops of water dripping from the cracks of a wall, no mold climbing up the ceiling, no windows broken by drunk passersby. It feels like a luxury. It is, for him. It might be the norm for most people, and he guesses this is what students usually have, before they get a better and stable life. 

Late into the night, he can still hear the neighbors talk through the thin walls, as well as the crisp sound of high heels tapping against the parquet floor above him. It’s not perfect, but the inconveniences don’t bother him one bit. 

“You’ve always hated rich people for what they get so easily while you’d need to starve yourself to death to get a third of that, and I feel no different, I promise you, but what changed with Park Jimin?”

Taehyung gazes at the hand he raises above his head, fingers spreading. His knuckles turned a greenish, yellow tone in the past few hours. For a moment, he wonders if Jimin noticed them, but he assumes he hasn’t. It’s better this way, he thinks. It could worry him.

“Why do you care about what he has to say?” 

Taehyung sighs. He isn’t certain. A lot has changed in a year. He has changed. In a way. Although the past doesn’t want to let go of him, and he wonders if one day, he’ll be able to let it go, fully, completely. Wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to be someone... better. Whatever that means. Maybe it’s a foolish thought. Haven’t they told him that he was hired strictly for what he had done in the past? 

Again, what for? 

That damn question will remain unanswered. 

Taehyung reaches for the phone lying next to him, exhaling heavily. He scrolls for a bit before he finds Jimin’s new album, and plays it. Phone discarded again, he squeezes his eyes shut, and lets the music fill the room. Lets Jimin’s voice wrap around him.

        ‘I can hear the voices listening’

        ‘Don’t know who they are’

        ‘Tell me, will I find myself again?’ 

        ‘When I go too far?’ 

There’s something stuck inside Taehyung’s ribcage. Heavy like stones. Odd. When he replays the moments Jimin has felt a little too overwhelmed lately, that sensation only grows heavier. He frowns. It’s like something is creeping. Like it’s building, swelling, and it’s getting ready to burst at any moment from now. 

Taehyung wonders what. 

        ‘Alone again.’

        ‘What’s the point?’ 

His phone buzzes.

From : Jeongguk  — To : You
[ 4:12 p.m. ] i just woke up
[ 4:12 p.m. ] msorry
[ 4:13 p.m. ] still up for another boxing sesh?

...

Spending the day with Taemin proves to be a well-needed reset for Jimin. 

It’s always the case, has always been and will always be, but yesterday was particularly helpful. It allowed Jimin to let go of his usual worries by diving into deeper conversations with Taemin, and allowed him to clear his mind with dance practice. They spent the rest of the day reminiscing past memories, smiled and laughed until they felt their stomach cramp up. 

It was nice. 

It helped Jimin wake up with a much better glow, with a smile that was complimented by everyone, and a certain calmness in his heart that guided him throughout the morning performance on stage without the nerves biting his guts. 

He had worn red, too, a bold choice that had earned more praise from everyone. Especially from Taehyung.

“The red... it suits you the most. I really like it.” 

Jimin had broken into a smile, certainly not expecting it. But it definitely had been a confidence boost for him. Sure, Taehyung compliments him sometimes, but most of the time it’s only after Jimin asks him about it. This morning, he didn’t need to do anything but wear that color. 

Maybe he should wear it more often?

“It did, hyung, it went really well,” Jimin assures, adjusting the strap of his bag when he comes out of the elevator and holds the phone against his ear. He glances down at his green bracelet, a smile on his lips. He adjusts it too, though it doesn’t look like it’s falling off any time soon. “And I haven’t taken one yet. I’m managing the stress as much as I can without them.”

“That’s good,” Namjoon tells him from the other side of the line. “I think having a full day to reset with Taemin, even if you went to practice, was a very good call.”

Jimin hums. His attention is caught by the three boxes left by his doorstep, two of them certainly being decorative items he ordered recently, but the one at the top, a dark, large box, doesn’t come with any sort of address or anything written in it. Was it dropped here by mistake? 

Jimin types in the code to open the door before he pushes the boxes inside. “What about you? You told me you found someone, was he the one you spent the night with?”

As he kicks his shoes off in the hallway after closing the door, he hears Namjoon clear his throat excessively. It makes him smile. It’s the first time Namjoon has mentioned a potential love interest, so obviously, as his best friend, Jimin couldn’t just drop the matter—he has to ask about that mysterious tattooed man again. 

“Yeah. We... spent some hours together. Nothing too crazy.”

“Nothing too crazy,” Jimin echoes before he laughs at Namjoon’s groan. He leaves the boxes on the kitchen island next to his phone, gets rid of his bag and jacket, and puts Namjoon on speaker while he inspects the black box. It opens like one of those expensive brand boxes, and Jimin wonders if the company has left him a gift from one of the brands he recently represented. “So, when are you going to tell me his name?”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Yet,” Jimin corrects, lifting the lid and reaching for the wrapping paper with careful fingers. As he starts to peel it open, something ugly and heavy twists and turns in his guts.

“Yeah, yet. It’s... well, it’s not like he isn’t interesting. He is. And handsome, too, but you know I don’t go for looks. He simply happens to have them. And—Jimin? Are you listening?”

Jimin is frozen. 

Tetanized on the spot.

Eyes so wide they might as well be slipping out of their sockets.

His heart is in his throat. In his ears. It slips out of his tongue. It’s ugly. It hurts.

You look good in red, it says, black on white. A note. 

Under it, a lingerie set. A red, lingerie set. 

Underneath—pictures.

Dozens of those. Maybe more. Jimin can’t bring himself to check. Can’t bring himself to look at them any longer. 

Nausea crawls up his throat. 

You’ve always looked good in red.

“Jimin? Hey, Earth to Jimin? Can you hear me?” 

With agitated hands, Jimin urgently gathers all the photos and throws them into the bin, forcing the tone of his voice to remain steady. “I'm here, I'm here. Sorry, I—” he hastily shoves the lingerie into the bag, too, and his bile seems to boil at the back of his throat when he notices one of the photographs slipping away and collapsing by his feet. “I’m good, please continue, hyung.” 

He falls to his knees to grab the photo, eyes darting away as he trashes it along with the others.

His ribcage can't contain the agitated rabbit in it. His heart might as well explode. When Namjoon speaks again, all Jimin hears is the distant sound of drowning. 

At the back of his mind, the image of that photograph by his feet.

Of a body. Of a man. Of lingerie.

A hint of his Nevermind tattoo above expensive red lace. 

...

“Please, get rid of the red suit and make sure I do not wear that color anymore.”

Jimin’s voice still echoes in Taehyung’s head. It was an odd request. 

This morning, he had dropped it as soon as they met with the designers who were in charge of the stage outfits, hinting at an issue that seemed inherently wrong. Was it too heavy? Too tight? Too uncomfortable? Could a color even be so bothersome? 

Nobody dared to ask a thing, and Jimin hadn’t given a reason, either. 

And despite the team’s indifference to such a request, Taehyung couldn’t stop dwelling on it. Could it be because of him? Had his comment grossed Jimin out? It hadn’t yet looked like it, yesterday. Everything seemed fine. So what had changed overnight? 

The questions persisted through the morning ride from Seoul to Daegu. 

The company had arranged for them to leave today and be back in three days for the rest of Jimin’s busy comeback schedule, which would allow Jimin to not only perform at another music show tomorrow, but also film content for the fans, whether it be while visiting the city or anything else. 

Taehyung vividly recalls the excitement that sparkled in Jimin’s eyes when they talked about it a while ago. Vlogging had always been one of his favorites because it allowed him to take control of the camera and share with the fans anything he wanted, without any limit. Within his own limits. Yet, during the three-hour drive to Daegu, Jimin had barely uttered a word. 

Had only spoken once.

“It’s not raining yet,” to which Taehyung wondered, “Why would you be expecting rain?” 

It remained unanswered.

Jimin had closed his eyes then, and had let himself be taken into Morpheus’ arms for the rest of the ride. Taehyung hadn’t tried prying any further. Maybe he had spent another sleepless night? Not that it would be any of Taehyung’s business.

But he could be a little worried, couldn’t he? 

They arrive in the early afternoon, confirming the reservation and bringing the luggage to the floor they entirely booked, not only for safety measures but also to ensure there were enough rooms for the whole staff.

It takes longer than expected to confirm everything, and when Taehyung walks back into the lobby with his and Jimin’s suitcases, he stills in the middle of it. His eyes sweep the surroundings. He looks back. The rest of the staff, a dozen of them, are still talking in the hall, deciding on where to eat, but Jimin is nowhere to be seen.

“You’re looking for Jimin?” 

Taemin’s voice surprises him. Taehyung turns around, nodding. “I thought he’d ask for me to bring him his suitcase before leaving. Is he in the bathroom?” he asks, chin jerking to mention the lobby’s restrooms at the far back. 

“No, he went back to his room. Our manager accompanied him.”

“Oh.” 

Something feels... odd. Taehyung can’t quite pinpoint what. 

“You were expecting him to visit the city, weren’t you? That’s what he always does first when he travels; take his phone and snap some pictures to post later next week,” Taemin offers a soft chuckle. “But I guess he preferred to lay down for the rest of the day. Everyone is probably taking the day off to cool down anyway.”

Seems fair. 

Taehyung gives another polite nod.

“Are you—” Taemin pauses, seemingly conflicted, certainly pondering over asking or not the question that flashes in his mind. “Are you worried about Jiminie?”

As his bodyguard, shouldn’t he be on high alert at all times? Shouldn’t he be, in a way, worried about his safety and well-being? Perhaps Taemin means it on another, deeper level, but Taehyung nonetheless gives a slight tilt of his head. “Isn’t he looking more nervous than usual?” 

“Well,” Taemin clears his throat, and nervously rubs his arm. “Yes. Maybe. Hasn’t he talked to you?”

“About what?”

“About what troubles him?”

He has. Jimin has always shared his worries, whether they’d be in the car, backstage, on the way to a scheduled event. Now that he thinks about it, however, Taehyung believes the topic has never changed—Jimin’s worries were always centered on his performance and the fans’ reactions. It was never about something more... personal. “I’m not sure.”

Taemin presses his lips together. Nods. “Then, I wouldn’t recommend that you ask him... too much. It’s not good for any of us to dwell and pick at open wounds that are trying to heal.”

Open wounds?

Though confused, Taehyung acquiesces. “I won’t. You don’t have to worry.”

Taemin offers another polite bow before he leaves. 

With a heavy breath, Taehyung slides his fingers into the pocket of his vest, absent-mindedly checking for a tissue, but when he doesn’t feel the expected soft fabric, he stills. Frowns. He pulls out the small object he hadn’t expected to find there—a sleek, black device, barely noticeable if one were to let it sit somewhere. Even less noticeable in one’s pocket.

Taehyung rolls the device between his fingers to inspect it, not really used to seeing tiny pieces of tech like these. It couldn’t be his—he doesn’t own useless, expensive objects. What bothers him is that the vest hadn’t been left anywhere for someone to mistakenly put this in, except for the brief moment he left it in the passenger seat of his car, earlier this morning. He’s also certain that it wasn’t there when he put the vest on, at home.

He tilts his head. 

Stares for a little longer.

And breaks into a faint laugh of disbelief.

“It couldn’t be you, could it?” Taehyung mumbles to himself, an amused smile on his lips. When he turns around to scan his surroundings, he doesn’t find anyone. He’s on his own.

Or is he?

With another breathless chuckle, Taehyung brings the small object close to his lips as he walks to the closest bin, speaking into what he believes is a listening device. “Well, aren’t you too suspicious of me, Kim Namjoon? Have you found something, already? Maybe my evil plan to kidnap Jimin?” 

Taehyung rolls his eyes.

The device is tossed into the bin.

...

Those pictures violently and continuously flash in Jimin's mind. 

It's been hours. Hours. So why hasn't he been able to chase them away? He threw them away. Tied the bag, brought it down, got rid of it. Yet he couldn't do anything with the ones remaining in the back of his mind. Knocking. Knocking. Knocking again.

It's over.

It'd been over for more than a year. They were over. 

Why would the past be brought up now, of all times? It doesn't make any sense. It doesn't. Jimin hadn’t looked back once, never wanted to look back once—why is he forced to, now of all times?

Due to the constant knocking of that memory, Jimin hadn’t been able to close his eyes for the whole night. He hadn’t been able to sleep, either, when he tried to, back in the car. Hadn’t been able once they arrived at the hotel, and he slipped quietly into his room.

It’s been an hour.

He’s wide awake. 

Every single stressful memory from the past few days appears in flashes inside his mind. No matter if he closes his eyes, the images remain just as crisp under his eyelids. 

The source of his worries can't be easily pointed at. There have been too many instances in which Jimin has felt the churn of his stomach, the twists of his guts, and he only realizes now that his visceral reactions from the past few days hadn't been unfounded.

The shutters of a single camera following him into the most quiet and private moments. 

The accusatory and mocking recording hidden inside a fan-made keychain. 

The creepy messages popping up in his lives’ chats.

The car waiting at the company late into the night. 

Taehyung’s car.

Jimin shifts in his bed and lies on his left side, facing the wall-sized window that opens onto a large balcony. He stares. Tries to empty his mind. While one hand holds onto the pillow, the other hand rubs against the sheets underneath him. An attempt at chasing away the anxiety prickling at the extremities. A vain attempt. 

He tosses and turns a few more times. Breathes in and out, in and out, again. But the feelings only intensify. They melt into irritation. Frustration. 

He can’t shake it off. No matter what he does.

As he allows his hand to find its way between his thighs to trap it there for a minute, he wonders if he can get rid of those intense emotions differently. He doesn’t have much to lose, anyway. 

He waits a moment. A few seconds. A few more minutes. 

Before he unzips his pants, pushes them down at a convenient height, and slides his hand under his briefs. It’s a little awkward. A little tight. It’s pure frustration that he wants to get off of him, and perhaps this is the most foolish idea, but he’s desperate. 

After massaging the tip just enough for the precum to start dribbling down, Jimin shoves the briefs down too, and wraps his hand around himself. Properly, this time. He’s barely even hard yet, and he isn’t sure he can get there. His eyes are closed shut, his face pushed into the pillow, and he feels... ridiculous. 

Yet, something shifts inside his head. His mind wanders. Slips through his fingers. The anxious memories are replaced with... a voice. A gaze. A touch. All so familiar. 

Thoughts he shouldn’t be having. 

A person he shouldn’t be thinking about.

Not like this. Not right now.

Jimin can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. Not when he feels the knot in his throat loosen to let another fire burn at the pit of his stomach. His hand works on its own, like it’s not his anymore, like it’s just here to help, here to assist. 

It builds fast. Too fast. He didn’t anticipate it, and while his pace quickens, he finds his entire body seize up when it bursts unexpectedly. He muffles a gasp and a moan into the cushion, his breath stuttering and his thighs quivering through the aftershocks. 

His chest heaves. 

It heaves.

Heaves.

When the fog inside his head dissipates, he finds himself in an awfully embarrassing position. Yet he doesn’t move. Not just yet. He keeps his face hidden into the pillow, keeps his wet, cum-coated hand around his now soft length, and waits. For what, exactly? He doesn’t know. 

He simply waits.

Until a knock makes him jolt. 

He freezes. 

Another set of knocks. 

Jimin gasps in horror. 

“Jimin-ssi?”

Oh, no, no no no. 

Jimin’s abdomen spasms with the breath he takes as he hastily pulls himself up, reaches for one of the towels left by the edge of the bed and wipes himself somehow clean. Clumsily so. 

“Are you awake?” 

This is so terribly embarrassing. “Y—Yes, give me a minute, please, Taehyung-ssi!” 

“Take your time.”

If Jimin has to take one positive outcome from this, it is that the shame is now far greater than the anxiety he had been feeling all day. He’ll take that. 

Once the towels are thrown back into the bathroom, his hands washed, his shirt changed, and his hair somehow fixed, Jimin opens the door. As soon as his gaze meets Taehyung’s gentle one, Jimin feels out of breath. 

“I apologize for coming so late,” Taehyung speaks first. “I could have come directly after we arrived, but I figured you’d want to take the time to sleep.” 

Right. It must have been at least an hour or two since they arrived. “What for?” Jimin asks, though his attention falls onto the suitcase Taehyung is holding, the realization just hitting him. 

“You forgot this downstairs.”

“I... did. Thank you. I didn’t even realize I was missing it,” Jimin giggles faintly. He bows another silent thank you while he takes his suitcase back into his room. He hears Taehyung excuse himself, sees him bow, and Jimin hurries back to the door frame. “Wait!”

Taehyung walks back the step he took to leave and looks back with confused eyes. “Yes?” 

Now that Jimin takes a good look at him, he realizes that he isn’t the only one who has changed into more comfortable clothes—Taehyung got rid of his suit to wear a plain white shirt tucked into beige tailored pants. And perhaps he hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but Jimin notices the slightly beige watch on Taehyung’s wrist, too. It’s an old model, nothing expensive judging by the brand he doesn’t recognize, and Jimin wonders if it’s the vintage look that appealed to Taehyung, or if it has any sentimental value.

Jimin looks up to meet Taehyung’s gaze again, and despite the very loud are you alright? question brimming in those eyes, Taehyung remains silent. And waits.

“I was wondering,” Jimin starts, trying to conceal the embarrassment he feels with a smile and pressing himself against the door frame, “I know you told me you don’t feel anxious, but, is there maybe something that you do that helps you feel more... at peace?”

Taehyung ponders over it. “If you mean getting rid of some intense feelings, I’d say I exercise. Mainly running and weight lifting.”

“Oh.” Jimin nods. It’s a reasonable solution. It would actually benefit him, too, he believes.  “Is there a chance you’re going to exercise, now?” 

With a quick glance at his watch, Taehyung gives a slight shrug. “I wasn’t necessarily planning to right now—is there anywhere you’d like to go? I’ll accompany you to visit the city.”

“No, not today,” Jimin chuckles, endeared by the immediate offer. “I’ll go tomorrow. Tonight, I’d like to stay inside. I’d like to...” he trails off as he shakes his arm in an attempt to show what he means, and Taehyung attempts to finish his sentence,

“Get rid of the anxiety?”

Jimin hums. “So, if you’re planning on exercising... Can I come along?”

If the question surprises Taehyung, he doesn’t show it. “Sure,” he says, simply, “but the hotel’s fitness room might be full now.”

“I don’t mind, as long as we have a range of equipment we both can use.” 

“What I mean is that the surroundings might not be ideal for your anxiety if a dozen people are staring while you try to work out.”

Oh. Jimin breaks into a smile, partly playful, mostly grateful for the thoughtful remark. “That’s why you’re here with me. To block their view.”

A huff. “Since when have I been hired as a view blocker?”

Jimin looks up, and taps his chin with his index finger as he pretends to think about it. “It’s the natural course of events; after being the door guard, you become the view blocker.”

“Interesting changes in my career.”

“You’re a multi-talented guy, what can I say?” 

Though he tries to hide it when he glances down, Taehyung breathes out a laugh. “Alright, I’ll change and come back to you in five minutes.” 

A nod. “Perfect.”

As Jimin closes the door and gets ready, the knots tightening his guts loosen. The images that have been haunting him seem to leave him alone. At least for now. They don’t flash back in his mind when Taehyung comes back. Not even when they head a few floors down to join the fitness room. 

The five pairs of eyes they meet in the room soon disappear without Jimin even realizing—the room empties itself while he and Taehyung begin their usual routine and immerse themselves in a fifteen-minute treadmill run. They don’t exchange any word nor do they listen to music until they both stop to move onto different weight machines, sharing an amused glance at the difference.

“Leg day on a Monday? You’re a beast,” Jimin laughs as he catches his breath, while Taehyung smiles and shakes his head.

“What about you? I see you’re starting off strong.” Taehyung jerks his chin toward the bench press Jimin positions himself onto after loading it on both sides. “Need a spotter?”

Jimin brings his hands to the bar, looks back at Taehyung, and smiles shyly. “Please.”

Taehyung’s up in no time. He stands behind at a safe distance, checking the weight again with an impressive wave of his brows. “Forty on each side? Are you trying to impress me?” 

Thank god Jimin hadn’t lifted the bar yet because he’s certain he would have dropped it at the familiar tone Taehyung used with him. It’s not only that he isn’t used to it, but also that they haven’t found themselves in this kind of situation before; alone, off official schedules, and engaging in more personal activities. 

A sigh of amusement escapes Jimin nonetheless, his gaze traveling back to find Taehyung’s. “I can bench press a hundred kilograms, Mister. You think I’m weak?” 

“I haven’t said a word yet,” Taehyung chuckles. “Let’s start, then. Until failure?”

“Until failure,” Jimin confirms. 

Positioning himself better, Jimin pushes the bar up once he’s ready, and begins the set. He hears Taehyung counting in barely audible breaths, and he allows himself to focus on each push. It doesn’t start easy, and it certainly doesn’t get easier. And it’s not only due to the heavy weight he put, but to the low, encouraging words slipping past Taehyung’s lips. 

Jimin tries to not listen solely to Taehyung’s voice, mainly because it’s much deeper, raspier than what he’s used to. And it certainly doesn’t help him focus. 

“Come on, you got this,” Taehyung urges when Jimin starts to slow down and his arms begin to shake. “Five more. Come on, I know you can go on.”

Jimin sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and huffs a silent yeah. He pushes one more, but the next one seems three times heavier. Taehyung’s hands are under the bar, brushing against it but not helping. Not just yet. 

The thing is... Jimin could have pushed five more. Maybe even six. Seven. Who knows. But his mind begins to slip away. His focus starts to wither. His nose picks up the faint fragrance on Taehyung’s clothes. His ears capture each and every sound Taehyung makes. Every word he speaks.

“One more,” Taehyung encourages when Jimin is about to put the bar back into place, but instead he whimpers as his muscles strain. “One more.”

The last one isn’t really his own work. Taehyung has a hand under, almost lifting half of the weight up as Jimin’s arms give out, and when they do, completely, Taehyung catches the bar easily and places it back rapidly. Like it’s nothing. Like he’s lifted twice this weight before. Many times.

Jimin breathes rapidly from where he lies, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

This was a bad idea.

A terrible idea.

For multiple reasons, but mainly because this isn’t helping. Sure, he’s not as anxious about the pictures he received, however... He’s certainly not calm, either. His body is already screaming at him. Not only pained, but excited.

Ah. 

That's embarrassing.

Jimin made a quite good choice of wearing baggy sweatpants.

Damn it.

...

“Do you feel a bit of relief?” 

Jimin hums and nods.

Taehyung doesn’t believe him.

While he looks over at Jimin, the latter stares ahead as the elevator’s doors close. His cheeks are painted a faint pink, the hood of his sweater pulled over his head, and though his hands aren’t visible under his sleeves, Taehyung guesses Jimin’s nervously playing with his fingers. He doesn’t look relieved. Nor calm. No matter how much he pretends. 

Taehyung’s eyes dart to the ceiling. He doesn’t want to pry, especially not when Taemin had explicitly demanded not to dig into Jimin’s source of worries. Whatever they may be. 

“Thank you.”

The doors slide open. 

“For helping me work out,” Jimin explains.

“It’s nothing,” Taehyung says as they walk through the silent corridor to reach the door to Jimin’s room. “If you want to, I can book a table at a restaurant nearby, for you and Taemin-ssi.” 

Jimin looks up.

“I looked it up when you were getting ready, it looks like a nice place for you to be without being bothered by fans or the media—the place is known for the strict entry rules. I figured you’d prefer having a much calmer dinner than joining the whole team,” Taehyung admits.

There’s surprise painted all over Jimin’s face. Like he can’t believe Taehyung would do that. A small, faint giggle falls, then, and he nods. “That sounds nice, actually. But you know you’ll have to join us, mh? Everyone is aware that I’m in this town. You don’t have a day of rest, Mr. Kim.”

The playfulness earns a smile from Taehyung. “I will be invisible, you can trust me. I’ll eat at a nearby table, if you wish.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jimin chuckles, pulling on the hoodie for it to slip from his head. “I’d love to eat with you two.”

Taehyung’s smile widens. “Great. I’ll call them and book for 8pm.”

“Perfect.” Jimin seems a bit more relaxed when he steps into his room and waves a small see you later, before closing the door behind him. 

For a moment, Taehyung stands there. Waiting. For god knows what. He’d done the same when Jimin changed earlier, mainly due to how often Jimin would look in the showers’ direction, or even the lockers’ door. Like he’d expect someone to come out of there. Taehyung hadn’t questioned it, had simply stood there with attentive eyes and ears despite confirming that they had been alone for more than an hour. 

It’s a little odd. 

Standing there as though Jimin will open the door to ask for help, like he’d done back at the restaurant, the other day. 

A sigh.

Taehyung isn’t able to shake off the unsettling thought that Jimin reacts like one would when they firmly believe they’re being... 

Watched.

... 

Jimin’s heart sinks. 

It might even cease beating for a minute. Or two.

His back is glued to the door, his clammy palms pressed against it, while his eyes are set on his bed. On the sheets, slightly wrinkled, and on...

The pile of photos spread all over it.

His chest spasms at the breath he takes, and he hesitates on flinging the door open to call Taehyung. 

He doesn’t. Doesn’t even speak a word. Barely even makes a sound. 

He doesn’t know what’s in the pictures, but the fear starts to settle on his bones at the simple realization that someone entered his room. How? Nobody should have access to his room, nobody in his team has ever had the need to have access to his room either. Has the receptionist given it to someone else? It can’t be. It couldn’t be that easy. 

A mess of thoughts, of questions, of hypothesis—that’s what his mind looks like right now. 

He decides after a few minutes to finally peel himself off the door and approach the bed with hesitant steps. But as he does, his guts twist. 

Twist. 

Twist... 

His eyes snap wide open in shock. Horror painted on his face. He thinks he might pass out. He feels himself passing out.

He doesn’t.

He stares right at the pictures, one after the other, shots that could be edited together to form an entire, completed video of the moment he... jerked off.

Jimin reaches for the first photo, his throat thinner than a straw. It’s him. Lying on his side. Face hidden in his cushion. Hand around himself. 

Desperate. Frustrated. Pathetic. 

It looks like it’s been taken from somewhere outside the room, on the other side of the wall-sized window, judging by the angle and reflection of the glass. In an urgent move, Jimin rushes to pull the curtains open, bloodshot eyes darting to try and find someone on the patio, but there’s nothing. No one. He checks for the lock, expects it to be closed, but...

Click.

It’s not.

It’s open.

Jimin’s legs give out. 

When he collapses over the bed, he goes rigid. He doesn’t dare take another step out. Doesn’t dare check the corners of his room, his bathroom, his closet, under his bed. 

He stares at the ceiling. Barely blinks. 

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. When he does, it’s to read the only picture scribbled in red. 

Look at you, all wet and needy. Just like I remember you to be. Were you pretending it was my hand around you?

Jimin’s fingers shake. He turns the paper.

You’re mine. You know that, right? My slutty doll. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Panic seizes Jimin’s whole.

Taehyung comes knocking at his door. How come two hours have already passed since he left?

“Jimin?”

There’s no response.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes. Did you fall asleep?” 

Jimin remains silent. Pretends he’s fallen asleep, even when he hasn’t—not for one second.

Not for the entire evening. Not for the entire night.

... 

It’s been an hour and a half. 

They should have been at the restaurant by now. Should have already eaten. 

Taehyung had to cancel the reservation when he didn’t get any response after at least thirty minutes of calling and knocking at the door. At first, he believed Jimin had fallen asleep, but knowing that he’s a light sleeper would mean that all the noise Taehyung made was enough for Jimin to wake up. He could hear him. He had heard him.

“Kim Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung nearly jumps up from the seat he had been waiting on when he hears Taemin arrive in the lobby, a small smile at the corner of his lips. Since Taehyung couldn’t find another way to check if Jimin was alright—except asking the receptionist to give him access to the room, which he believed to be a last-resort solution—he had requested for Taemin to talk to him. To make sure that Jimin was, for one, alive, and for two, fine.

“Is he awake? Is he alright?” 

It must be the worry in Taehyung’s voice that makes Taemin’s eyes grow apologetic. “He’s fine,” is all Taehyung needs to take the breath he seems to have been holding for nearly two hours. “He’s not hungry, but I’m still going to buy him dinner. He hasn’t been eating for the entire day, and I know he’s famished, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

Taehyung nods rapidly. “What happened, then? Did he really fall asleep?”

“It’s...” Taemin trails off, unsure of what to say. “I think it’s better if you talk to him directly.”

“What?”

“He’s waiting for you,” Taemin says, mentioning the elevator. “You can talk to him while I buy us dinner.”

For a second, Taehyung hesitates. If Jimin had been awake earlier, he supposes he hadn’t wanted to talk to Taehyung. What changed?

With a polite bow, Taehyung thanks Taemin and heads up in hurried steps. 

He expects to wait another minute by the door, but as soon as he knocks, it swings open like Jimin had been waiting right there. 

“Hey,” Taehyung breathes out, a bit surprised, a bit worried by Jimin’s slightly puffy eyes. His lips are red and swollen like he’d been biting them out of nervousness, and the smile he offers Taehyung is forced. His hair is also disheveled, and Taehyung wonders if he’d been sleeping, after all. 

“Hey,” is all Jimin whispers back. 

A thousand questions burn the tip of Taehyung’s tongue. But with the silence that settles between them, he figures he’d be best to avoid asking anything unpleasant. “Taemin-ssi is buying tonight’s dinner.”

Jimin nods. “I know.”

“And I canceled the reservation.”

“I know.”

Taehyung nods back. 

Another pregnant pause.

Taehyung swallows another are you alright? and waits.

Before Jimin opens the door a little wider, and invites Taehyung in with a gesture of his arm. “I have a weird request.”

Taehyung’s brows twitch. He can sense Jimin’s panic in the way he curls his toes and balances his weight from one foot to another, and in the way he keeps trying to scratch the paint off of the door. 

“How weird, on a scale from zero to ten?”

That seems to do the trick.

Jimin breaks into an amused laugh and allows Taehyung to take off his shoes before entering the room and close the door behind him. “Can you...” he pauses as he looks around the room with agitated eyes, and pats his thighs with nervous hands. “...check my room?”

“Check your room?” Taehyung echoes. 

Jimin nods.

Though he doesn’t understand at first, Taehyung looks around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The sheets on the bed are wrinkled, but he supposes Jimin had been sleeping in there. It’s nothing weird, per se. 

“I don’t mean just looking,” Jimin adds with a hint of endearment. “I mean, checking... everything.”

That makes Taehyung perk up. “Everything?”

Jimin lowers his head. “Everything. Please.”

It’s not a weird request. Rather... it’s a worrying one.

Taehyung inhales deeply. He starts by opening the wardrobe by the entry where they stand, pulling on the drawers underneath. Only a few, cleaned towels as well as another cushion lie there. He continues with the cabinets in the bathroom. Nothing odd either. 

When he comes back into the room, Jimin remains glued to the spot, waiting. 

“The bed, too?” 

Jimin nods. 

There’s no question asked. No judgment made. Taehyung lifts the mattress to look under it, and though he doesn’t find anything at first glance, his attention ends up getting caught by a small-sized object. He puts the mattress down, shifts to be on his knees, and looks under. 

While he extends his hand to catch the object, he hears Jimin suck on a sharp breath. 

“Were you looking for this?” Taehyung pulls himself up and blows the dust from the USB stick he gives back to Jimin. It’s a plain black one, without any brand name or anything else plastered on it, but by the surprised look on Jimin’s face, he hadn’t expected for it to be lying there. 

“T—Thank you,” Jimin says despite his uncertainty. It doesn’t look like he’s grateful. Far from that. When he takes the USB stick, he does so with shaky fingers. His eyes remain on it for a little longer, until Taehyung reaches to gently squeeze his arm.

“Hey, you would tell me if there’s anything you need from me, right?”

Jimin holds his gaze. His breathing is uneven, Taehyung notices. “Yes.”

“And that includes protection from anything and anyone, alright?” 

Jimin nods. Albeit faintly. 

“Jimin-ssi.”

“I'm fine.”

No, you're not. Taehyung closes his eyes to breathe in. And out. He’s never been a patient man, everyone is well aware of that. It’s not a side of him he’s proud of, far from that, but he can’t help it. Yet with Jimin... it’s different. He doesn’t see himself being anything other than patient. Doesn’t see himself reacting as impulsively as he does whenever something doesn’t go his way. 

“Jimin-ssi,” Taehyung tries again, “is your safety compromised?” 

“It's... not.”

“You sound unsure.”

“It's not,” Jimin reiterates. Hesitancy still drips from his lips. 

Taehyung doesn’t mean to pry further, doesn’t mean to make Jimin uncomfortable in any way, yet he can’t help but ask, “Is that yours?”

And Jimin’s eyes immediately find their way back to the USB stick. He clutches it like he’s scared Taehyung will take it away and look through it. “Yes.”

His responses are short. Sharp. Clear. He doesn’t want to expand on it, and Taehyung gives up with a faint sight.

“Do you need anything else?” Taehyung supposes this wasn’t the only reason Jimin called for him.

Yet Jimin responds negatively. Silently. 

“Do you need me to stay with you until Taemin comes back?”

And though Taehyung doesn’t sound one bit amused, his words make Jimin chuckle. It’s faint, probably out of nervousness, but he keeps the smile as he shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s...”

“The lack of sleep?” Taehyung tries when the silence extends to awkwardness, and he doesn’t mean it to mock the excuse Jimin keeps giving, but somehow he hoped that this would push Jimin to tell him the real reason he’s been on the edge lately. 

It doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Jimin murmurs. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

There’s something on the tip of his tongue that threatens to spill. But it doesn’t.

There’s something on the tip of Taehyung’s tongue, too. But he keeps it there, all the same.

...

Jimin can’t decide on which one is more tormenting; keep burying the truth and hide it from the only person who can protect him fully, or risk everything spiraling out of control if he dares to break the silence. 

Somehow, he believes that burying this deep down is the best choice he has. There’s too much at risk. Too much to lose. He needs to resolve this situation on his own—he can’t get anyone involved. Not when it concerns his past. His mistakes. His carelessness.

After Taehyung had left, Jimin had remained glued to the spot, staring at the USB stick. Gathering his thoughts. Getting his nerves under his control. He had moved to the bed only after Taemin knocked and brought in a warm meal carefully packed in the container. 

“I’ll stay with you,” Taemin had offered. Three times. But Jimin had refused. Three times. 

Despite the unsettling sense of danger, Jimin couldn’t bear to spend time with anyone within these four walls. Not when he couldn’t be certain someone wasn’t listening. Watching. Filming. He couldn’t risk it. Can’t risk it.

He finds himself sitting on the bed, take-away growing cold by his side, and silence settling heavily in the room. After Taehyung’s thorough check, Jimin is certain that he’s alone. That nobody hides in a corner of his room and lurks. Yet he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Can’t chase away the fear that a pair of eyes is dissecting him. Continuously so.

The USB stick is plugged in and the folder pops up onto the screen. 

Jimin’s Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t want to open it. He doesn’t. 

His index hovers over the trackpad, hesitant, shaky. Nervously, he wets his lips, glances once at the door, at the blacked-out window, and taps twice. 

It opens.

There’s only one video in it. 

Titled with the date it was filmed. A little over a year ago.

10/13 

On his birthday.

Jimin’s throat tightens. He remembers that day clearly, though he wishes his brain wiped it out by now and erased it completely. The memory slams into him like a violent blow that tears through his thoughts. Burns his mind. 

When he clicks on the video that expands over the entire screen, obscene moans and wet squelches of skin slapping against skin fill the room.

Jimin’s heart sinks into an endless pit. 

“Don’t—don’t film... please—!” 

It’s him. His own voice. Pathetic, broken, shaky.

The camera trembles a bit before it stabilizes enough for Jimin to have an obscene sight of himself on all fours. Naked. Vulnerable. A cock ramming in and out of his bruised, red hole, leaking a mix of cum and spit. There are marks all over his ass from being swatted, over and over again, and bruises on his waist from the tight grip the man had around him.

It looks bad.

It looks terrible. 

It didn’t feel nearly half as bad at the time. He believed it felt good. He believed it was euphoric. 

He felt desired. Wanted. Loved. Or, rather, owned. 

But right now, as he watches in pure horror his own past self babbling, crying in pleasure, Jimin feels sick. 

A mocking laugh is heard. It chills him to the bone. It’s not here with him, not anywhere close, yet it feels too intrusive, like it’s seeping under his skin, settling in his bones.

“Are you watching?” 

The voice sends another wave of shivers down his spine. He holds his breath and it’s painful. 

It’s killing him.

“A filthy and dirty doll,” the man speaks—a voice that’s been added to the video, like he edited it just for Jimin to watch in the comfort of his hotel room. His moans are still crisp and loud and desperate, and they turn overwhelming; he’s crying. Yet the man only laughs. “Hear yourself? Crying for me to fuck you harder. Calling out my name like the pretty whore you are. And now—you think you’re free? You think I’ve ‘set you free’?” 

Another icy, unsettling laugh. Teetering on the edge of maniacal.

“I haven’t set you free, doll. I haven’t forgotten about you. I can’t forget about you. ‘can’t forget about your obscene body, your nasty mouth, your attitude. God, I want you back. I want you. And I’ll get you. Do you hear me? You’re mine, whether you want it or not. You’re mine. Mine. Mine, mine, mine,” he repeats, over and over. Hysterical. Terrifying.

In the video, Jimin’s shaky hand tries to reach back, a silent request. His body keeps being rocked back and forth onto the mattress, until it’s seized by violent tremors. 

The video freezes.

But the voice remains.

“I know you don’t want the world to see how much of a dirty whore you are. Am I right? I won’t release it if you’re obedient. But I know you will be. I know you’ll obey me. When haven’t you?” He laughs. Laughs, and laughs. “Meet me. Next week, meet with me. You can bring your pet if you want, I don’t mind. I’ll show him how much of a slut you can be. I’ll tell him who owns you.” 

Bile crawls up Jimin’s throat. Burns it and tears it open.

The video ends, his laptop is shut violently closed, and he urgently flees to the bathroom to throw up nothing but liquid. 

His pants grow into pained moans, and into cries.

Leave me alone. 

Leave me alone.

Leave me alone.

Please. 

...

Taehyung can’t sleep. For some unknown reason. 

It’s two in the morning when he unlocks his phone for the umpteenth time since he lied down on his bed. He tosses and turns again and again, closes his eyes only to reopen them moments later, his patience wearing thin. He sighs.

It’s not working.

Nothing’s working.

It’s too silent. Due to the previous places he’d call “home,” Taehyung is used to people talking at night, to people shouting, fighting, running and punching. It’s all he knew, all he needed to fall asleep. The silence, on the other hand, brings an unwanted feeling to the pit of his stomach. 

After another fifteen minutes of waiting, he gets up on his feet, puts on casual clothes, and leaves his room. Maybe a late-night walk will help him. It’s not like he can find anything better to do with his time and lack of tiredness.

In the dead of night, the hotel corridor stretches out like a long and shadowy tunnel. The silence persists, broken only by Taehyung’s steady footsteps. 

For a brief moment, he hesitates as he walks past Jimin’s room. Taehyung can’t see the light underneath the door, so he assumes he’s sleeping. Or, at the very least, attempting to. They haven’t seen each other since Taehyung left the room after retrieving that odd USB stick, and he knows he isn’t required to watch over Jimin in these situations, especially when the staff has specifically booked the entire floor for Jimin’s safety, yet... Taehyung couldn’t calm his agitated mind and desire to check on him.

He shakes it off for now, and walks down the corridor.

When he arrives at the end of it and reaches for the button, he’s caught by an unsettling sight; a painting hanging between the two elevators. An addition that wasn’t there before. At least, he doesn’t remember seeing anything like this in the morning. 

The oil painting, framed in an old dark wood, depicts a forest. 

A suffocating sight. The trees are gnarled, twisted, branches intertwining in a chaotic tangle that seems to reach out beyond the canvas. Beyond the darkness painted in gradient all around. As if the beholder is holding a torchlight to try and discern something.

As he squints, Taehyung notices the river, or a lake, painted on the right and hidden behind the trees. And, in the corner of the canvas, lost in the dense undergrowth, stands a rabbit. Small. White. Eyes wide and alert and terrified. It looks right into the beholder’s gaze. Nearly as a scream for help.

The elevator pings. 

The doors open.

Taehyung looks behind him as though he expects someone to come out of the dimly lit spaces he can’t quite discern from here, but the silence lingers. 

Despite the confused state of his mind right now, he presses the button again to prevent the doors from closing, and enters the elevator. 

The silence of the corridor is soon replaced by the low hum of the hotel’s lobby. He walks past the reception, bowing a quick “good evening,” to the woman behind the desk, and heads towards the large glass doors behind the lobby that lead to the private patio. 

Taehyung breathes in, almost in relief, when he feels the cold air hit his face as soon as he steps outside. Though the place is quite isolated with its high glass guardrail hidden behind a good number of plants, Taehyung can hear the people passing down the streets, the cars driving through the city, and some young people enjoying the night. It’s an atmosphere that brings much more comfort than plain silence. 

It’s a relief. 

Taehyung settles into one of the empty couches, slumping into it with a satisfied hum. He closes his eyes for a moment. A smile making its way across his face. 

“I could sleep like that,” he mumbles to himself, a bit amused. Half-joking. It wouldn’t exactly be the wisest choice, especially since any member of the staff could simply peek through their room’s window and notice him fast asleep; at least, the west side of the booked floor could. These rooms have a direct view onto the patio. And being seen like that isn’t what he’d call professional. Something he’s been trying to work on. 

As he peels his eyes open, he lazily counts the number of rooms with the light on. None on their floor. Not so surprising, considering they’d have to wake up early. 

The yawn he lets out is quickly cut short when he notices the light turn on inside one of the rooms booked by the company. His mouth closes shut immediately. He straightens up to watch closely as the curtains of that room are pulled to the side, and a familiar silhouette appears. 

“You—” Taehyung sighs in disbelief. 

The glass door slides open, and Jimin walks into the patio, hesitant steps leading him close to the guardrail. His hair is disheveled, like he just woke up from a terrible nap, but his eyes tell another story. He looks exhausted and frustrated out of his mind, and Taehyung realizes Jimin hasn’t been able to sleep for even a second, either. 

He’s nervously playing with the bracelet Taehyung gave him.

“Hey,” Taehyung tries to call. 

It startles Jimin who immediately jerks his head toward him. The panic melts into relief when his eyes meet Taehyung’s, and he instantly slumps his arms over the guardrail.

“Hey,” he echoes with a lazy smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

Jimin huffs a giggle. Taehyung swallows his. 

“Can I join you? People will start complaining if I keep talking to you like this.”

Taehyung nods. 

Without speaking another word, Jimin disappears back inside his room, and while Taehyung waits for him to get ready and join him, he leans back onto the couch once more. He gazes up at the night sky, the stars barely visible through the thick dark veil, before closing his eyes briefly.

Moments later, he hears the soft click of the patio door opening, followed by the gentle padding of footsteps. 

Taehyung opens his eyes to watch Jimin step out, warmly dressed in an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like he’s drowning in it—it makes Taehyung silently chuckle. “Another sleepless night.”

Jimin flashes a small smile. “Another sleepless night,” he echoes, slumping onto the couch next to Taehyung with a sigh of relief, looking somehow more relaxed than he had been. He runs his fingers through his soft, recently washed hair, slips off his sandals and brings his bare feet onto the couch to settle in more comfortably. “What happened for you to wake up in the middle of the night?” 

It’s not that he woke up—he didn’t even manage to close his eyes for a second. “I’m not used to the silence.”

“That’s an odd thing to say,” Jimin breathes out a faint giggle. The first one of the day. Taehyung hadn’t realized just how strange it was to not hear it until now. It felt like a piece of Jimin’s soul had been taken. Stolen. 

Jimin is a bright presence. A burst of sunshine in human form; and that, everyone can attest. It’s hard not to grin along with him when he beams and the apples of his cheeks rise, when he laughs and his entire body collapses. His energy, his joy, is something that’s impossible not to be drawn to, and Taehyung hadn’t realized just how much he believed that nothing and no one could ever break and tear down that warmth and light. 

Had one told him that the brightness in Jimin’s eyes would dim and threaten to die so drastically fast, Taehyung would have scoffed. Joy is his natural state, he’d have said. Why would the spark ever fade?

“You haven’t told me what has been keeping you up all night, either.” 

Jimin stares. Taehyung mentally kicks himself. 

But instead of responding with another “Nothing,” Jimin turns to face Taehyung properly, slips an arm over the back of the couch and rests his head against it. Pondering over the question. Or thinking about how to switch topic.

Taehyung beats him to it.

Or so he thinks.

“Do you paint?”

“Have you ever loved?”

The questions fall at the same time. Two, completely opposite questions. It startles them a little. Before they burst into laughter. 

“What kind of question is that?” Jimin asks back, a hand hiding his giggle. “You’ve seen me paint for a couple of vlogs already! Of course I do! Of course you know that!” 

“What kind of question is yours,” Taehyung claps back, though his smile doesn’t stop dancing over his lips. 

“What? These are very normal questions to ask, at our age!” 

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been in love once in your life, Kim Taehyung-ssi!” 

“Shh,” Taehyung shushes despite Jimin’s already quiet voice, earning another giggle from Jimin. There’s a silent “come on, tell me,” on his lips, too, but Taehyung’s response might not be what Jimin expects. “I have not,” he says without much thought, “I don’t believe in the love you’re mentioning.”

Jimin’s brow raises. “You don’t believe in it? What kind of response is that?”

Taehyung huffs, amused. “The kind of response from a man who believes that love is a made-up concept. People mistake the rush of dopamine and the various chemical reactions for something deeper.” 

Jimin presses his lips together. Not offended, not one bit, but he certainly looks like he’s keeping a laugh in there. “You think love is just a series of chemical reactions?” 

“Mh,” Taehyung nods calmly. “Why? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing!” Jimin instantly raises his hands up in defense, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But, somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

Taehyung snorts. “What does that even mean?” 

“Well,” Jimin leans back as he pretends to think about it. “First of all, I remember you saying that you don’t date. You made it clear twice on your first day at work.”

The day your staff interrogated me like I was a wanted criminal, Taehyung nearly corrects, but he continues to pay attention as Jimin counts a second finger like he’s listing all the important points.

“Then, you’ve always shrugged off the rumors about you and our makeup artists, like these were too ridiculous to even bother you.”

Taehyung tilts his head and raises a shoulder like he’s agreeing—why would he be bothered about dating rumors that are not only untrue, but also senseless? He doesn’t remember being attracted to these women, or anyone on the team, to be entirely honest. 

“And,” Jimin continues, showing a third finger, “you live for your work.”

Taehyung stares. 

Blinks. 

“Well, don’t we all live for our work? Money is what keeps us alive. It feeds us and gives us access to a home.”

“I mean, you live for your work,” Jimin emphasizes, yet Taehyung remains clueless. “There’s not one thing that seems to be more important than work. And I don’t necessarily mean being my bodyguard, I mean... working. It seems you haven’t really been living.” 

There’s something undecipherable in those eyes. Sadness, Taehyung guesses. Melancholy. Perhaps pity? He doubts it. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” Jimin assures gently. “But your focus is solely on it. I don’t see you have either time or interest in dating. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t believe in love.”

“Do you?”

Jimin raises his brows curiously.

“Do you believe in love?” Taehyung explains, and Jimin’s eyes melt into crescents.

“Of course, I do.”

“Of course,” Taehyung echoes flatly. “What do you mean, of course?”

Jimin giggles. “Unlike you, I’m a big lover of love and romance. I believe in the deep connection two souls can have and build together. The trust, the care, the love—there’s something very special about receiving that kind of attention and love from the person you hold the closest to your heart.”

Something burns on Taehyung’s tongue. But he closes his mouth instead. Nods. 

“Do you believe you wouldn’t be able to experience something like that?”

To be honest, Taehyung has never given it much thought. He didn’t exactly have good examples of real and beautiful love—all he witnessed throughout his life were supposed lovers ripping each other apart until one would be left with barely any remnants of their own self. 

Love, to him, isn’t something beautiful. 

It’s a concept the people he’s known have used as an excuse for all the terrible acts they’ve done. 

“I believe that the kind of love you are talking about can be found in friendships.”

“The kind of love that makes you fight for the other to be seen, cared for, understood?” 

Taehyung nods. “That’s familiarity and comfort. You can find that in family. In friends.”

A gleam of amusement flashes in Jimin’s eyes. As though he’s taking it as a challenge—as though he can see that there’s something inside Taehyung he can catch and present to him as proof that they don’t have such a different view on love. “The kind of love that makes you feel safe? The kind of love that is needed when you’re at your lowest? When you don’t have anyone or anything that could pull you out of the water you’re drowning in but them?”

Taehyung understands Jimin’s point. 

And though it doesn’t apply to him, it allows him to ponder over it. Think it through.

Before he murmurs, “Have you experienced that?”

Jimin’s breath stutters. His smile falters for a second. “I have. Once.”

Taehyung nods for a moment. Like he’s processing it at the same time Jimin is. “It was as beautiful as you describe it to be?”

There it is. Hesitancy. Avoidant eyes. And a response that doesn’t match his sudden nervousness, “Yes. It was. And so much more.”

Taehyung frowns. “How so?”

“They were always here for me when I needed it the most,” Jimin begins, propping his chin over his arm to look ahead, in a slight daze. “They actually were the one who helped me during my debut. And as you may know, debuts are... hard. Mentally, physically. I couldn’t rest for a day. I couldn’t fail for a day,” he corrects, voice a little pained. “They helped me with everything I needed. Provided food, comfort, safety... and a home. It’s not the one I own today, I moved out from that apartment a while ago,” he explains before Taehyung can even part his lips to ask about it. “But... they fought for me. In ways nobody did. They fought for me for five years.”

Taehyung holds his breath. He wasn’t expecting to hear about such a long relationship. Not when he hasn’t seen or heard a word about it through the usually persistent and nosy media. “Then—what happened, for it to be over?”

Jimin drags his tongue over his upper lip. It seems that he attempts to keep his smile for another few seconds, before that mask crumbles. “People... change. Some can turn the beautiful relationship you had built into something ugly, and it happens without you even noticing it. When you do... it’s already too late.”

An image flashes in Taehyung's mind. Just as vivid as it would be, if he were to witness it with his own two eyes, right now. 

Unconsciously, his gaze pans to Jimin's neck, and it lingers long enough for Jimin to notice it before Taehyung does, a hand nervously covering the spot. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get too personal about this,” Jimin breathes out, but Taehyung is already shaking his head and reaching for Jimin's knee. 

Tentatively. Hesitantly. 

He squeezes it gently, like he believes the gesture would be enough to convey his sincerity, and though it surprises Jimin at first, he breaks into a shy smile. 

“I'm the one who should apologize—I don't have any words of comfort to offer. I don't even know what I can give you, right now, other than physical safety,” Taehyung says, honesty pouring out of him. “Your words remind me a lot of my friend. My best friend. And despite how many times he suffers through similar experiences... I don't get any better at comforting someone in need. I'm... sorry. I'm not sure what I should do, now.” 

Jimin’s smile grows. A little endeared. A little timid. It looks like Taehyung isn’t the only one unsure of what to do. Somehow it’s a relief. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Jimin covers Taehyung’s hand with his own.

It’s the first time they’ve touched each other like that, yet it doesn’t feel... odd. They’re not exactly the closest despite how well they get along, but this doesn’t feel out of place. 

“You don’t need to do anything,” Jimin reassures. “It’s not like I talked about all of this for you to chase away all those bad memories with a snap of your fingers.” 

“I can definitely try, though,” Taehyung says as he playfully snaps his fingers, and Jimin immediately reacts with a dramatic fall back onto the couch, like he was hit by an unseen force. 

They both laugh it off. Their hands slowly slide away from each other’s hold to fall back onto their respective laps. 

Their eyes meet in silence, and smiles are exchanged. Grateful. A little tired. 

“You spoke about your best friend going through similar experiences,” Jimin starts in a whisper, “what does he do to forget about them?”

That’s a good question. And the response makes Taehyung huff, amused. “Break noses and jaws, probably.”

Jimin blinks, stunned eyes flashing wide open, suddenly very awake. “Is your best friend a wanted criminal?”

And the chuckle Taehyung thought he could keep inside ends up bursting. “Not wanted anymore.”

“Taehyung!” Jimin shrieks quietly, dramatically, and though it comes out suddenly, Taehyung doesn’t point out the familiarity with which Jimin addressed him. “How bad did those people hurt him?”

Taehyung’s lips part. 

But the images that flash through his mind force the words back down his throat. The smile that had been dancing on his face fades, and the amusement gleaming in Jimin’s eyes disappears just the same. 

They remain silent for another moment. 

Until Taehyung notices the apology at the very tip of Jimin’s tongue, and cuts him off before he can even utter a single word,

“There’s one thing he did that prevented me from protecting him every single time, and it was hiding a part of his life from me. I don’t need to be aware of every detail of your past or personal life—I need to be aware of what you fear.”

Something flashes in Jimin’s eyes. A flicker of hesitation. “You want me to be honest with you?”

Taehyung hums. 

Jimin smiles faintly. Though they’ve been speaking discreetly since Jimin walked onto the patio, he whispers his next words even more quietly, so much that Taehyung nearly doesn’t hear him. “I fear that it’s already too late for you to change anything.”

Chapter Text

Sleeping a maximum of an hour was a terrible idea. Nonetheless, it is surprising that Jimin was able to actually fall asleep at all. 

Though new, talking so freely with his bodyguard has been quite... nice. They’ve been joking around for quite some time, but they never reached a point where they'd share such private parts of their lives. Never has Jimin mentioned his ex before, and never has Taehyung mentioned his friends before this. Perhaps it’s the change of air, from Seoul to Daegu, that helped them open up a little more. Perhaps it’s the fact that they both couldn’t close their eyes for a second, that night. Jimin doesn’t know. But it felt... comforting. It’s not like he shared the more sensitive information with Taehyung, but somehow it alleviated half of the weight off his shoulders. 

Despite the tiredness, Jimin managed to offer yet another outstanding performance in front of his fans, and used the remaining energy he got to visit parts of the city he's never been to, to record for potential vlog and content. 

The day slipped away faster than he expected, and though he was sure he'd drift off during the ride back to Seoul, he finds himself wide awake, skimming through the fan letters he received—the ones Taehyung had carefully collected after the performance.

It’s late in the evening when they drive through the quiet night. The radio croons with low jazz that Taehyung decided to put, a barely audible murmur but a soothing sound that accompanies Jimin’s quiet hums and the sound of the letters being carefully ripped open and read. It’s filled with handwritten letters, flat and adorable acrylic keychains, kids’ drawings—as Jimin goes through each one of them, his smile grows warmer and warmer. He missed this. Missed taking the time to read his fans’ letters, missed the feeling of being wrapped up into an invisible hug at each word of support he’d read.

One particular letter has him scoffing. When he looks up, he notices Taehyung’s curious eyes through the rearview mirror. Jimin smiles.

“You went through them all?”

“Not yet,” Jimin says, trying to swallow down a giggle. “But there’s this one from Cha Hawol, seven,” he starts reading it out loud, his voice shaking with amusement, “who’s a big fan of Park Jimin’s Tiger and, hear me out, wants to become someone like him, one day.”

Taehyung breaks into a faint smile, concealing it when he looks to the side for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Park Jimin’s Tiger,” he echoes in a faint murmur. “I’m stealing your fans, now?”

“I think that’s absolutely lovely. It’s the first time someone’s talked about you in a letter,” Jimin giggles. “He says he wants to become as strong and intimidating as you to protect his mom,” he adds as he continues to read on the back of the paper, a very child-like style that makes warmth bloom in his chest. “Isn’t that cute?”

There’s a faint pause.

Jimin looks up from the letter, tilting his head as he waits for Taehyung’s response.

The quiet stretches for another moment—there’s something on Taehyung’s mind, but he doesn’t seem to want to share it.

“Mh,” Taehyung ends up humming. “It is.”

Jimin gazes back at the letter. Reads it over as though he missed something that Taehyung caught immediately. But nothing stands out. 

Is it about the concept of a loving family? 

The thought stirs uneasily within Jimin. He realizes with a sigh that he knows so little about Taehyung’s life beyond the friendship Taehyung mentioned yesterday. But what about the rest? About his family? His parents? Does he visit them, to this day? It’s a question Jimin has never mulled over. Taehyung is always by his side, it’s a known fact, and now, Jimin wonders if Taehyung ever finds time to see his family, especially if they live far from the bustling life of the capital. 

Carefully putting the letter onto the pile he’d already opened, Jimin reaches for another one. He searches for Taehyung’s gaze again, hesitant. 

“Taehyung?” 

Taehyung looks at him immediately. “You’ve dropped the honorifics.”

“Ah—” Jimin’s mouth parts in a silent gasp. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking so familiarly with him, it’d come so naturally that it felt like they’d always been addressing each other in this way. 

“I don’t mind,” Taehyung speaks before Jimin can stammer out an apology. “If anything, I should be the one asking if you’re okay with me addressing you the same way.”

“Of course! Please go ahead!” Jimin’s response bursts out a little too eagerly, but he quickly laughs it off and resumes opening the letter he has between his hands. “I actually... had a question. More like a request. Or an invitation,” he says, half-rambling.

Taehyung hums to ensure he’s listening, but Jimin doesn’t immediately speak.

He realizes that although his eyes follow the words written on the letter, his vision is too blurry for him to properly read it. His fingers, holding onto the paper, shake every so faintly. 

“Jimin?”

Jimin perks up. A smile appears at the corners of his lips. “Do you mind... joining me for dinner, next week?”

“Do you need a bodyguard with you? Who are you meeting?”

Somehow, Jimin didn't expect Taehyung to be so blunt about it. It makes him scoff. “Why? Didn’t you think I was inviting you out for dinner?”

Taehyung snorts. “As much as you’re every man and woman’s dream, Jimin, there will never be anything between us, our relationship is strictly professional.” 

“You sound so boring,” Jimin says playfully, leaning back against the headrest to peek outside at the blurry lights of the city passing by. They must be close to Seoul, now. “It’s a bit... odd.”

“How odd?”

“Do you know Jang Junwoo?” It comes out as a whisper. Jimin wonders if Taehyung even caught it. But when he glances at the rearview mirror, he sees the calm and indifferent expression on Taehyung’s face. He doesn’t. 

“Who is he?” 

Jimin forces a smile, though it feels a little strained. “A... popular businessman. He’s the CEO of the Jang Group. You must have heard about them.”

This time, Taehyung nods. “Sometimes,” he admits, his eyes focused on the road. “Their company kicked me out of my last condo. They kicked everyone out before tearing it down to build a new office building.”

“Oh.”

Now, that’s something new. Was Namjoon aware of that? 

Swallowing thickly, Jimin nods back, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “I see. I’m sorry. I’m certain you don’t want to be there with me, but—”

“I’ll be there,” Taehyung cuts off. Definite and, mostly, reassuring. “Why wouldn’t I be? My personal view on people doesn’t change anything about work. If you ask me to accompany you somewhere, I will. I don’t have to question anything about it.” 

“You sound like you’re in a super strict contract with me where you need to save me from some big predator creeping from the dark,” Jimin giggles.

“We never know. Some hide pretty well.”

Jimin sinks back into his seat with a quiet hum, heart heavy. 

And some don’t hide at all. 

...

The night is cold. The rain stopped. 

It began pouring as soon as they reached Seoul, weakened by the time Taehyung dropped Jimin off, and stopped when he arrived in another much quieter neighborhood. 

He tried not to dwell on it. It didn’t stop him from regretting not asking for Jimin’s number. It’s an odd thing, now that he thinks about it. He believed that being Jimin’s assigned bodyguard meant that he’d have all he needed to have easy communication with the one he’s protecting, including contact information. Yet, even after a year of working for this company, Taehyung still doesn’t have his number. 

The streets are quiet, but it doesn’t mean they’re empty. The strong blend of smells causes Taehyung to scrunch his nose and narrow his eyes. He didn’t miss this. Didn’t miss the pungent smell of the so-called low life he had been a part of. Cigarettes, drugs, alcohol. Piss and puke. Taehyung should have pulled Jeongguk out of it a long time ago. But even after a year of finally having the opportunity to, Jeongguk kept being stubborn. Kept insisting on wanting to be the one who’d afford moving to a better neighborhood, a better apartment. 

“I’m telling you, old man, I’m not a part of that life anymore. Why? You miss gambling that much?” 

Taehyung hears Jeongguk’s voice before he can see him. He enters the narrow alley in calm and slow steps, eyes on the two silhouettes that appear between the façades. A man stands before Jeongguk, although he seems to struggle to keep his balance. 

“I lost all my fucking money! You said you’d do it again, you said—”

“I didn’t say shit,” Jeongguk spits. There’s smoke hanging in the air, and it’s only after Taehyung comes closer that he sees the cigarette between his fingers. “It’s been over a year. Get over it, old man, you can’t bet all your money on me anymore.”

“You fucking—”

A loud crack bounces off the walls at the same time Taehyung’s hand wraps around the man’s head and crashes his skull against the concrete façade. Jeongguk takes a quick step to the side and checks his clothes in case any blood has spluttered on them. Not much seems to seep. Or perhaps it is simply because the wall stops the flux.

The man’s pained scream turns into labored breaths, his eyes wide in terror the moment he realizes whose hand is still pressing against his head. His body trembles. Under the influence, Taehyung notes. How unsurprising. “Y—You—”

“Get the hell out of here,” Taehyung seethes, pulling on the man’s hair hard enough to make him stumble a few steps back. “And never show your face again. To any of us. You got it?”

A controlled scream escapes the man, between frustration and anger or even fear, Taehyung isn’t so certain. His mind must be nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Yet the message seems to have been well received. In a second, the man runs off, his body colliding against the façades once, twice, and a few more times before he manages to leave the alley. 

Pitiful.

“Your entrances will always be iconic,” Jeongguk chuckles from where he’s pressed against the wall, taking another puff. He offers the half-smoked cigarette with inviting eyes, but Taehyung declines it with a shake of his head. “Right, you quit after getting hired by Prince Park,” he says more sarcastically than anything, and it makes Taehyung frown a little.

“You’re high?”

“Tipsy,” Jeongguk corrects. 

Now that he’s close, Taehyung realizes that Jeongguk’s drenched from head to toe. White shirt sticking to his chest, barely anything left to imagination, while his ripped jeans are a few tones darker. His hair is disheveled and wet. He must have been standing under the pouring rain and remained here even after it calmed down. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Daegu.”

“I came back an hour ago. What’s up with that long face? Did something happen?” 

Jeongguk stares with hazy eyes. He shrugs it off, takes another puff and throws the cigarette to the ground so he can crush it under his sole. Breathes out the remaining smoke. “Mister Handsome ran away after getting a taste of my pretty ass.”

Before he could give a proper response, Taehyung asks for clarification. “Run away? Like—?”

“We spent the night together,” Jeongguk begins, closing his eyes like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “And... it was great. Like really great. He’s big, and thick, and—”

“No need for that kind of information,” Taehyung cuts off. 

Jeongguk sighs an annoyed, “You’re boring.”

“I dozed off right after,” he continues. “When I woke up, he wasn’t there anymore. Not only that, he deleted all the messages from my phone, and his number. ‘wrote a note like a coward.” To show what he means, Jeongguk pulls a wrinkled piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and gives it to Taehyung. It’s a bit wet, the ink still bleeding, but Taehyung manages to read it nonetheless. 

     I’m sorry.
    We shouldn’t have gone this far.
    You don’t deserve to be used.

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. To say it’s a surprise would be a damn lie. Of course he knew how it’d end. Not that he had expected it to end so quickly.

“Don’t,” Jeongguk speaks before Taehyung can, beating him to it, “I know what you’re gonna say. I know you tried to warn me. I was stupid, and I didn’t listen, again. Okay? I know.” 

“I’m not gonna say anything,” Taehyung sighs. “You know I’m never gonna blame you. One thing I’d like to understand is why you’re always getting involved with these types of guys.”

“He was different.”

“I’ve heard this many times before.”

“No,” Jeongguk shakes his head, insisting, “he was different. He listened to me. He comforted me. Hell, he even cleaned me up after, who the fuck takes care of their one-night stand after sex?” 

Taehyung stares. It isn’t like he’s the best person to ask that. He wouldn’t know. 

Probably someone who knows what to love and be loved feels like, would be his response. Probably someone like Jimin.

“Point is,” Jeongguk continues after the lack of response, “he was good to me. We got to talk every time he came back to the bar, and I promise you, it wasn’t like the other times.”

Taehyung hums. Lets his eyes trail down to Jeongguk’s chest, looking for something he believes he could notice through the damp shirt. Jeongguk immediately understands.

“No, I don’t have any bruises, hyung. Trust me, now?” 

A nod. Although Taehyung wouldn’t say he fully believes that Namjoon’s intentions were better than Jeongguk’s previous flings. “How much did you share with him, for the past couple days?” 

Jeongguk crosses his arms against his chest. Presses his tongue against his cheek. And looks away. “I’m not sure. How much would you consider ‘a lot’?”

“You talked to him about me?”

“He didn’t exactly have any other intention than learning all about you, did he?”

“Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung warns. “What did you share?” 

Nervously, Jeongguk glances back at Taehyung. He plays with his lip piercing as he hesitates for a bit more, but Taehyung’s insistent gaze urges him to finally speak. “Just promise me you won’t get mad at me?”

“I won’t.”

...

A sleep-depraved anxiety ball. That’s how Jimin feels when he arrives home. It’s almost like he’s dragging a dead weight back into his apartment. 

The first thing he does is kick his shoes off and push the luggage somewhere by the entry hall, too tired to unpack everything now. Too exhausted to do anything other than jump right onto his bed; the simple thought of having to take a shower now makes him scream internally. 

As soon as he takes a step forward, he feels something slip under his bare foot. A letter. From the place it’s been found, Jimin guesses it’s been slipped under the door, but the other possibility boils uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach. 

Turning on the light to his living room and kitchen, Jimin brings the letter to the kitchen island where he opens it with hesitant fingers. 

Thursday. 8pm. The Deer’s Heart.

A sharp intake of breath. Jimin turns the paper over. 

Wear red. Don’t be late. You know better than to test my patience. 

The letter is discarded over the surface. 

Jimin crouches, nearly collapses, and rests his forehead against his knees for a moment. He feels like a collar has been wrapped around his neck, tight, and linked to a leash he can’t seem to get rid of. Can’t seem to cut off, no matter what he does. And if he dares pull on it, tug and run away, he knows he’ll be strangled with it. 

And it’ll be worse than submitting.

Lifting his head just enough to prop his chin over his knees instead, Jimin chews the inside of his cheek and tries to swallow down the memory that keeps flashing in his head. The Deer’s Heart is a five-star Michelin restaurant where Jang Junwoo had taken him for their very first date. It’s a place that’s not only expensive but extremely luxurious—only important faces are seen there. 

At that time, it had felt... unfitting, to say the least. Jimin had never been used to eating at such a place, he had never been a big fan of the luxurious life, either, but it had nonetheless been a nice experience, putting aside his own silly discomfort. The night had resumed in the equally-expensive villa Junwoo brought him to, and despite how many times Jimin tried to convince himself that it had been the loveliest night he had spent in a man’s arms... 

It had been the first time he had heard Junwoo talk to him like he was a property. 

“You’re mine.”

Jimin’s breath stuttered, another thrust rocking his body upward into the bed as he scrambled to grip the sheets underneath. He didn’t respond. Didn’t feel the need to. Until a hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. To focus. To speak.

“Say it. You're mine. You're my doll. Mine.”

Jimin's moans turned into broken ones. High-pitched. Breathless. Almost scared. But he managed to obey nonetheless, because he wanted to be good. 

He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be desired. Owned. 

It was everything he ever wanted. 

“I’m yours. I’m yours—I’m yours and yours only.”

Jimin waits, phone pressed against his ear and the incessant waiting beep falling into his eardrums. He’s still in his squatting pose, back toward the kitchen island, eyes darting everywhere around him while he nibbles on the corner of his thumb’s nail.  

“Hey, Jimin-ah.”

“Hey, Namjoon hyung,” Jimin sighs in relief. His attention trails back to his thumb where he accidentally managed to pull the skin enough to make it bleed. He presses his lips against it. 

“Are you back from Daegu?”

Jimin hums.

“You're okay?” 

No. Of course not. “Yeah,” Jimin says anyway. He lets his back slide against the surface behind him, sitting down and keeping his legs close. “Can you check a thing for me?” 

“Sure. Aren't you gonna tell me how it went, though?” 

Jimin pauses. Looks at his thumb. Still bleeding. He licks it again. Nervously. “It went well. Can you, like, get access to the system from where you are? For... Reports. Criminal reports.” 

The line crackles. 

Namjoon must have moved. 

“Jimin, what happened?” 

“Don't... ask me about that,” Jimin pleads in a murmur. “Can you please check it? Please.” 

“For who—”

“You know who.” 

A stuttered breath. A pause. 

“Jimin, has he come in contact with you?” 

“Not in the way you think. Please, Namjoon, just check this for me, please.” 

Jimin hears him swallow loudly. “Yeah. Give me a minute. Hey, you're safe?” 

“I'm home,” is all he says. It isn't a lie. Whether it's safe to remain home or not... that's another thing. “Are you at your office?” 

The sound of a chair being pulled and rolled back follows a hum. “I was about to leave.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t,” Namjoon whispers. He must have put the phone on speaker somewhere near his keyboard; the sound of the keys being rapidly tapped on echoes on the other side of the line. 

Jimin keeps on gnawing at his nail as he waits. His eyes dart from one corner to another of the living room he can see from where he sits, on alert. 

After a few mouse clicks, Namjoon breathes out in defeat. “I think the police deleted all the reports. At least, if there has been any, for the past year. There’s only one here, and it’s probably going to be taken down soon because it just got registered into the system, like, two days ago.” 

Jimin holds his breath. “What is it?” 

Namjoon grunts. “He was forced to leave a strip club after acting violently towards a dancer. Even though the dancer wanted to press charges, the owner of the place looks like he suffocated the case. It wouldn’t be a surprise to know they paid the witnesses and the dancers to not have anyone spread it. Apparently, the dancer’s been laid off since.” 

“It’s...” Jimin exhales heavily, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t understand. He’s... never been this way. He wouldn’t have done this before, I—”

“Jimin,” Namjoon interrupts calmly, “we’ve had this conversation more times than I can count. It’s not because the meds stabilized him that he has never been this way.”

“But he wasn’t,” he insists, “he wasn’t violent with me.”

Namjoon breathes out loudly. In disbelief. 

It makes Jimin wince, and correct, “For years, he wasn’t violent.”

“Physical abuse isn’t the only form of violence, Jimin.”

“I handled it. I could handle it.” Jimin knows he sounds utterly crazy right now, trying to convince not only Namjoon but himself, too.  “It wasn’t personal, I knew that he didn’t mean all of that. He wasn’t a criminal, hyung, I promise, he—he wouldn’t have done all of what he has,” it ends in a whisper. Like he regrets speaking it as soon as it spills from his lips. 

“What has he done, other than this?”

Jimin presses his tongue against his cheek. Silent.

“Jimin,” Namjoon insists, “what has he done? You wouldn’t have mentioned him and asked me to look for any reports if he didn’t do anything to you. You need to tell me.”

“I don’t,” Jimin says, and despite how confident he wants to sound, it comes out a bit shaky. “I don’t need to tell you. I’ve got this under control. Trust me.”

“Don’t you remember why we hired a new bodyguard, a year ago, under a completely new and strict contract?” 

Jimin inhales sharply. “Joon—”

“You need to tell me, so that we’re ready to report right away if something happens. Jimin, you have to remember that the whole world is looking at you right now, you’re a big name, now.”

“Well, that’s one scary thing,” Jimin says playfully, though it barely sounds like it.

“That means that if something, anything happens to you, the company would need to act fast. We can’t risk making the situation worse only because you believed that whatever happened wasn’t worth mentioning.”

Jimin’s chest rises. Namjoon’s right, he knows that. “I have this under control,” he insists nonetheless. “I promise.”

It’s a difficult promise to make—but he doesn’t believe he has any other choice. He can’t risk having any pictures or videos leaking across the internet, all because he couldn't summon the strength to stay silent a little longer. He’ll meet with him, stand firm, and ask him to disappear from his life for good. That’s what he hopes for. 

“As much as I trust you, Jimin, I also know you.” 

A short, amused huff. “You know I deal with things very well. Especially when it comes to him.” 

Namjoon grunts slightly. In a way that tells he's about to argue again. 

“Hey,” Jimin speaks again, “I'm being careful. Besides... Taehyung is always with me. He never leaves my side. So...” There's another sigh on the other side. “Whether you trust him or not doesn't really matter, hyung. He has always protected me.” 

“I wasn't gonna say a word.” 

“Oh.”

“I know I've been a little too wary of him, and I apologize. I've been suspecting him due to the nature of the life he lived before joining you. I feared that my first judgment of him had been wrong and that he was the criminal people would talk about.” 

The criminal? 

“You... You didn't tell me that. You never talked to me about him. You said he was someone we could trust. Taehyung’s not a criminal.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Namjoon winces. “It’s... his actions. Something about what he did, or rather, how he handled some situations in the past. They weren’t always... legal.”

“He couldn’t have joined the company if he had a criminal record,” Jimin reasons.

“Not if the people he wronged haven’t cared enough to report.”

Jimin looks down at his thumb. The bleeding stopped, but there’s blood all over his hand. He supposes he accidentally smeared it through his hair, too. “...but he didn’t hurt anybody. Did he?”

Namjoon shifts. Jimin hears it through the phone. “Look, it’s nothing that was done without a good reason.”

After the doubting, Jimin didn’t quite expect Namjoon to side with Taehyung. It surprises him a little. “So... you’re done investigating him?” 

“We can say that. He’s cleared.”

“I have your word that you won’t ever doubt his intentions toward me?”

Namjoon chuckles. “You have my word.”

“What made you change?”

“I’ve met with his best friend. A few times.”

Jimin perks up at that. “You know who his best friend is?” Despite it not being his intention, his tone comes out accusatory. Like he can’t believe Namjoon hasn’t told him about it before. Like he can’t believe Taehyung hasn’t introduced his best friend to Jimin first. 

But then, it hits him.

“He’s the one you’re dating?!”

“I... No, we’re not dating,” Namjoon refutes, his voice a little shaky, maybe a bit nervous. “I told you, didn’t I? He was an underground boxer. And I needed to make sure that the money Taehyung receives from your company doesn’t go into opening another illegal fighting club. It’s—”

“What would it change?” Jimin cuts off. There’s frustration dripping from his lips. “What would it change, if he used the money he got from the company to do whatever he wants once he decides to leave? Because you know just like me that the contract can end at any time. He isn’t going to be my bodyguard forever. And I— god, Namjoon, you were the one who insisted that he was the best fit to protect me! You already did your research, why did you continue to dig into his private life?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon breathes out. 

A way to calm Jimin down. He knows it because Namjoon allows a moment of silence. 

Jimin breathes in.

“I would never forgive myself if I unknowingly put you through danger. I needed to make sure that Taehyung’s intentions haven’t changed.”

“...They haven’t,” Jimin murmurs. He trusts him. He trusts Taehyung, more than anyone right now. “Do you still feel guilty, hyung?” 

“Jimin, it’s not about—”

“You still feel guilty for having introduced me to Junwoo, don’t you?” He doesn’t need Namjoon to answer. It’s a rhetorical question. “I’m telling you, once again, none of what happened between me and Junwoo was your fault.”

“Jimin—”

“It was a simple company dinner you invited me to,” Jimin continues. “That’s all. You didn’t force me to talk to him, you didn’t force me to be with him. Alright?”

“You shouldn’t downplay it like this. I invited you because he was searching to sponsor an idol. I was the one who put you in that situation.”

“And you couldn’t have known that it wasn’t a legitimate sponsorship,” Jimin argues. How would any of them know that Jang Junwoo, a wealthy and reputable business owner, wasn’t looking to provide financial support genuinely? “Look, we can’t keep arguing about this. I told you time and time again, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have guessed what he wanted in return, not when he was being dishonest with you. It’s been... a long time. Way too long for you to feel guilty about any of this.”

Namjoon sighs heavily into the phone. “I’m sorry.”

“I never blamed you. I never will.”

Another moment of silence allows Jimin to notice the sound of the rain splattering against the windows. It starts slowly but quickly grows sharper, louder, and heavier. 

The temperature seems to have dropped drastically in a matter of seconds. Jimin’s shivering.

“I’ll keep an eye out for any new reports on him,” Namjoon reassures. “I will also get in touch with my contact at the Jang Group to gather details on his current psychological evaluation. I’m certain there’s something related to his deteriorating mental state.”

Jimin nods and hums. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Be careful. Talk to me if it becomes too much. Call me if he does anything that threatens your safety. Or... call Taehyung.”

A smile pulls the corner of Jimin’s lips up. He nods again. More to himself than anything. “I will. Don’t worry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ah.”

The line is cut off. 

The rain is so loud that it sounds as though it’s piercing through the roof and drowning the penthouse.

Jimin remains on the cold floor for another minute.

When he pushes himself up and nervously rubs the dried blood on his hand, a deafening thunderbolt erupts outside, jolting him and worsening his already uneasy and anxious state. 

Swallowing thickly, he rounds the kitchen island in quick steps to take two pills from the bottle he left there. This time, however, he checks the dosage before he swallows them. Hopefully, they’re enough to help him sleep through the night.

Hopefully.

...

The days blurred, one into another. 

Though Taehyung hadn’t asked about it, he’d wondered if Jimin had gotten the new information from Namjoon by now. 

“I swear I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You told him I set buildings on fire for insurance money and smuggled drugs for more dirty money, now you’re telling me you didn’t mean to claim I was a fucking criminal, Jeongguk-ah?” 

“He knows it was about surviving! You didn’t kill anybody! I mean—not directly, at least. And I didn’t tell him about... you know.”

It pains him a little that despite how easily it was for Jeongguk to break their years-long promise of never talking about their past to anyone else, Taehyung can’t bring himself to blame him. He saw how utterly affected Jeongguk was by the abrupt and senseless way Namjoon left him with nothing else than a poorly written note, and as much as Taehyung hates to admit it, Namjoon does seem to have been a good partner to Jeongguk. At least, for the very short time they spent together. 

What bothers him now is the fact that he has no idea if Namjoon has shared all of it with Jimin.

It isn’t as if things between the two of them had shifted in any obvious way, but there’s definitely been something... imperceptibly off. For the past couple days, Jimin acted differently. He was still there, physically, yet somehow... not. Less talkative, less present. His laughter didn’t carry the same warmth, his smile flickered but never stayed. 

Even during the interview that morning, Taehyung couldn’t help but notice the way Jimin’s eyes would drift, unfocused, as if his mind kept wandering somewhere far beyond the room. His answers were vague, lacked enthusiasm and a certain sharp wit that would sometimes dance on his tongue.

The only time Taehyung believed that the shift in Jimin’s attitude wasn’t about him and his past, was when Jimin hesitated strongly at one particular question. It wasn’t a personal one—he brushed these off easily—but it was about his title song, Set Me Free. It wasn’t supposed to make him uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to cause him that subtle but unmistakable discomfort that led him to fidget slightly and smile faintly. Despite that, he smoothly requested the next question, but it left Taehyung wondering what exactly in that song made Jimin so unsettled.

“Wear black.”

Taehyung startles, as though he’d been lost in a train of thoughts as soon as he pulled over to park in front of Jimin’s home. He stops the car completely, and looks through the rearview mirror first. Jimin avoids his gaze, still as nervous as he’d been since this morning. Or, for days. 

“Why?”

“Because,” Jimin simply says. “It’s a Michelin-star restaurant.”

Taehyung hums. It’s not like it impresses him. He always despised luxurious places and unreasonably-priced food. “Is that their dress code?”

There’s a pause. 

Jimin rubs his nail along the seatbelt before he unfastens it. “The man we’re meeting doesn’t like... colors.”

Taehyung frowns. “And that’s supposed to make me want to wear black? For an entitled man-child?”

This time, Jimin perks up, eyes widened in shock when Taehyung turns to him. 

Yeah, he could have avoided saying that. Honesty will certainly kill him, one day. 

“I...” Jimin begins, hesitant, “I just believe it’s better to not cause a scene. I mean... if we can avoid it. It’s just for tomorrow night. Then, we won’t have to meet him ever again. I promise.”

Taehyung’s face melts into reassurance. “Hey, I was kidding. I’m going to wear black, if that’s what you also want me to wear. I won’t put up a fight, okay?” Silently, Jimin nods. “That guy seems like a real pain in the ass, though. Why are you meeting with him?”

Wrong move. Wrong question.

Jimin stills for a second or two. Then, he grabs his bag, opens the door, and nearly bolts out of the car. Before Taehyung can leave to follow him and somehow apologize, Jimin stops to remind him, breathlessly, “Pick me up by six. Don’t be late, please. We need to make sure we get there on time, alright?” 

“I—yes, alright, I’ll be there,” Taehyung easily agrees as he takes off his seatbelt, reaching for the door handle before Jimin can close the door. “Wait, wait, Jimin-ah—”

“Thank you for today,” Jimin cuts off, forcing a smile, and closing the door before he rushes back into the building, like he’s running away from somebody.

And that’s the cue for Taehyung.

Jimin doesn’t want to spend another second with him for today. The reason, though, is blurry.

While it seemed like they reduced the cold distance between them during their time in Daegu, the last few days have driven them ten steps apart, once again.

Taehyung throws his head back against the headrest, closes his eyes, and pushes all the air out of his lungs. 

“Why are you this much of a mystery, Park Jimin?”

...

It’s Thursday.

And as expected, Jimin didn’t get any sleep last night. 

Instead of falling into Morpheus’ arms, Jimin had been awake every damn second of that night. Mind racing, heart erratic, the anticipation of the dinner turned into dread as the hours passed. He tried to replay a thousand different scenarios on how tonight could unravel, but not one seemed to appease his worries. 

Not a single one.

He knows this dinner won’t be easy. And the more time passes, the more regretful Jimin feels about inviting Taehyung. About bringing him into the mess he should have handled on his own. But he knows that this was inevitable—one day or another, Taehyung would have met Junwoo, or at least, heard about him and Jimin’s past. It was only a matter of time, and he couldn’t keep on running away.

The idea of the two of them in the same room, however, is almost frightening. Jimin knows that the tension will thicken the air like poison. He knows. He knows Junwoo too well. And the scariest of it all? Junwoo’s unpredictable. 

Jimin can’t be certain he won’t do something as twisted as showing exactly what he’d sent Jimin, these last couple weeks. The pictures. The videos.

He dreads it. 

Junwoo’s obsession has evolved into something terrifying. It felt like stripping Jimin of all dignity, leaving him exposed, raw. Ripping each and every layer of him to shape him into the perfect doll to control. 

Taehyung can’t be made aware of it. He can’t. 

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

A breath in. Another out. 

Jimin stares at the red suit on his bed. It arrived this morning, along with the card he’s now holding between his fingers.

Wear this for me, will you?
You know how much I crave to see you in red.

It had always been like that. 

Red suits you, he’d say, over and over again, to the point where Jimin would make sure to always add a touch of red to compliment his skin. Red bracelets, jewelry, belt, makeup. It was Junwoo’s obsession. It became Jimin’s obsession too. 

He’d felt beautiful. Red really suited him. 

Yet, now, as he stands in front of his reflection, heart thundering in his ears, he feels all but beautiful. 

The suit is stunning, sure. It’s a deep red one, hugging his forms in all the right places. It was tailored perfectly for his silhouette, like he’d taken his measurements right before it was made. While the shirt and tailored pants were nothing out of the ordinary, the detail connecting both parts is definitely eye-catching. A corset-like fabric clinging to his waist, cinching and tightening just enough to accentuate his frame. 

Though it doesn’t show off any skin, Jimin feels all too exposed. 

It’s too bold. Too elegant. It’s a suit that he’s certain would make it impossible to look away from—and that’s exactly what Junwoo wants. 

Jimin feels sick.

The doorbell rings. 

Six o’clock. Right on time. Somehow, that steals a faint laugh from him.

“Hey,” Jimin casually greets, feeling his shoulders relax as soon as the door opens to his nicely dressed bodyguard. Black suit, just like Jimin had requested from him. 

“Hey,” Taehyung greets back. Though he tries not to show it, Jimin notices the surprised look on Taehyung’s face. The way his eyes slightly widen, his brows raise, and his lips part in a silent comment. 

Perhaps it’s because Jimin is wearing exactly what he told Taehyung not to wear. A color. And on top of that, a striking color. A seductive one. Not only that, but his makeup has a hint of red, too. Smoky eyes and plump, cherry lips.

Taehyung contrasts sharply in comparison. His hair is parted naturally, falling in soft waves that frame his bare face. There’s not a hint of makeup, no jewelry in sight—just his natural beauty. And Jimin would be a fool not to admit how beautiful he is.

“You look...”

“Don’t,” Jimin hurries to say. 

Taehyung closes his mouth immediately. Confused. 

“Don’t say anything about my suit,” Jimin explains, embarrassment written all over his face. 

A soft laugh leaves Taehyung’s lips. “I wasn’t going to mention anything. I thought I’d tell you that you look nice,” he says, nonetheless. Honest. 

It’s not the first time he’s commented on Jimin’s appearance; he already told him countless times that he looks good. It has never meant anything special. After all, it was one simple observation, and Jimin is confident enough to admit that he does look nice in nice clothes.

Yet, unlike the other times, Jimin can’t help but breathe out a sigh of relief, warmth blooming in his ribcage. 

You look nice. No need to think beyond that.

“Should we go?” 

Jimin nods vividly. 

There’s something comforting in the way that Taehyung doesn’t push Jimin into talking about the dinner, nor giving him any information about the man he’s meeting tonight. It’s a calming ride to the restaurant, low jazz playing in the background, comfortable silence hanging between them. 

It’s perfect to ease Jimin’s mind. Even if it lasts for just a moment.

“It’s fancy,” is the first thing that slips past Taehyung’s lips when they arrive, the waiter leading them through the space and to their booked table. There are only a few tables, each one set apart within a generous distance, which is surely the reason the noise level remains pretty low. The conversations can’t be heard from where they sit, only hums and nearly muffled laughs. 

Fancy is quite an understatement for the luxurious and golden interior. It’s too much, for Jimin’s taste. Has always been. But to Junwoo, it’s a place made for Jimin. 

Fancy places for fancy little things. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jimin says with a faint laugh once they’re settled comfortably. When he glances at his wrist, he sees that five minutes remain. They’re right on time. Jimin breathes out in relief. 

But his entire body goes rigid the very next second when he senses a faint touch against the nape of his neck, where his moon tattoo barely peeks. Before he can turn around, he catches a glimpse of Taehyung rising from his seat, catching the wrist of the person Jimin failed to hear approaching. 

“Wow,” a familiar voice breathes out, and the confidence that Jimin had built on the way here suddenly shatters. “What a good tamed bodyguard.”

Breath caught in his throat, Jimin pushes his chair back to turn toward the man, heart leaping to his throat as soon as he recognizes that face. 

“Junwoo,” his voice is barely heard. His eyes twitch, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like the sight before him is nothing but a product of his imagination. “Taehyung, let him go. That’s Jang Junwoo.” 

There’s a moment of hesitation before Taehyung’s grip lessens and Junwoo draws his arm back sharply to fix the ever so slightly wrinkled sleeve of his suit for it to remain impeccable. Just as impeccable as the rest of his appearance. The hair neatly slicked back and parted in the middle, the black shirt underneath his equally black suit, and, of course, a dark red tie that matches with Jimin’s suit perfectly. 

Of course that was his intention to begin with.

“What a striking first appearance,” Junwoo chuckles in a way Jimin knows all too well. It might sound soft, charming, even, but it’s filled with something more... dishonest. Mockery. It doesn’t help that he’s at least 3 inches taller than Taehyung—he looks at them both with a sick look of superiority, chin tilting upward. “Jang Junwoo,” he introduces himself, hand extending toward Taehyung with a disarming smile, his dimples digging into his cheeks. 

Albeit hesitant, Taehyung takes his hand, “Kim Taehyung. I’m Jimin’s—”

Junwoo takes his hand back before he could hear the rest of Taehyung’s introduction, not one bit interested in it, gaze flickering back to Jimin and speaking over Taehyung when he says, “You look beautiful. I knew you’d wear our favorite color.”

Don’t. 

Please, don’t.

Jimin glances at Taehyung, more stressed than anything, his mouth parting open and close. “Let’s... sit down.”

“Please,” Junwoo encourages as he reaches for the chair to pull it back for Jimin. 

It’s embarrassing. 

Moreover, when it’s done right under Taehyung’s nose. 

Though shamefully, Jimin nods and silently takes a seat back, not sparing a glance at Taehyung who sits next to him in total silence. He doesn’t want to see the kind of expression Taehyung has, right now. 

“Ah, how long has it been, Jimin-ah?” Junwoo asks from where he sits in front of Jimin, his focus entirely on him. Eyes dark and piercing, filled with something... predatory. “More than a year, hasn’t it?” No. Not when you’ve been stalking me. “You look even more beautiful than the last time we saw each other.”

“Junwoo, please, that’s unnecessary.” Jimin manages to keep his voice steady, but he can’t help that his throat is already so tight. Junwoo’s stare is intense. Unnerving. Taehyung’s here, he wants to add, but that’s certainly the reason Junwoo’s acting the way he is. Staring, complimenting, flirting—he does it without acknowledging Taehyung, like he shouldn’t be here. Like he isn’t even here. 

“Why would it be?”

“We didn’t come here for this.”

Junwoo’s brow raises, amused. “What did you come here for?” 

The waiter interrupts them before Jimin has the time to respond, presenting the bottle of wine Junwoo had apparently picked earlier. Jimin leans back and presses his lips together into a thin line through it. He can feel Taehyung’s questioning gaze on him, but he doesn’t have it in him to look back, yet. 

The starters were served almost immediately. 

Foie gras. 

Jimin hasn’t touched that dish in a year, for all kinds of reasons. He never thought he’d get to eat it again, and it’s reluctantly that he picks up his fork to dig in. All but hungry. “I came here to know what you want.”

“Oh, doll,” Junwoo chuckles. Jimin’s blood runs cold. “I already have what I want.”

The words send a violent shudder through Jimin. His fork clatters onto his plate. “Don’t call me that,” Jimin quickly blurts out, nearly choking on the bit of food that stuck to his throat. 

Without even flinching, Junwoo hums. Soft. Dismissive. Like he hasn’t heard it. Or, worse, like he doesn’t care. He takes another bite in slow movement, eyes never once leaving Jimin. Watching every twitch, every breath, every shift, chewing leisurely like he’s feeding off of the fear that rolls off Jimin. Like he’s savoring the tension and the sharp stare of Taehyung that Jimin can see from his peripheral.

It’s suffocating. 

“I wanted to congratulate you on your comeback,” Junwoo adds with a smile. “Well, in fact, I’ve done it quite a couple of times already, but you never responded. That offended me, you know?”

Because they were blackmail materials, not congratulatory gifts. 

Jimin clenches his jaw after swallowing the last bit of food, and as small as the portion was, his stomach feels stuffed, about to burst. “I’ve been busy,” Jimin falls into the play, faking a smile that amuses Junwoo.

“Of course you were. You’re back at the top, aren’t you, now? Interviews and events left and right, performances, lives,” Junwoo enumerates, and Jimin shifts ever so subtly on his chair, his guts twisting uncomfortably at the thought of being followed at each and every public appearance he did, since his comeback. “That must take all of your time.”

“It does,” Jimin confirms. Short. Cold.

Yet it does nothing to erase the amusement off Junwoo’s face. “Park Jimin, always so hardworking. It’s not news. You’ve always been that way.”

“I’m not the person you believe I am.” I’m not that easily manipulable anymore. “I’ve changed a lot since we last saw each other.”

“Have you? Or is that a wish you have for yourself?” Junwoo chuckles, before his gaze shifts toward Taehyung for a brief second after the unnecessary loud bang of his fist against the table to put his glass down. Jimin straightens up at that. Of course Taehyung would be annoyed. Who wouldn’t be, after being forced to sit down and listen to a conversation that doesn’t even involve them?

“I have changed,” Jimin insists.

“Into what? A pitiful doll? One that needs a dog to follow you around and watch your every move like you’re some fragile little thing?” Disdain and mockery drip from Junwoo’s lips, and Jimin has just enough time to catch Taehyung’s forearm before it rises above the table. Jimin squeezes him, feeling how tense Taehyung grew in the span of a second, silently requesting him to bear with them just for a little longer. 

“Stop being an ass, Junwoo. It’s not like that.”

Something hysterical flickers in Junwoo’s eyes. “You think so? Then why is he here?”

You fucking asked him to be here. Jimin’s jaw tightens, squeezing Taehyung’s arm a little tighter. “He’s my bodyguard. You know I can’t just go around without any security everywhere.”

“Is that it? Or were you scared I’d lay my hands on you?” 

“I know you wouldn’t do that.”

Junwoo’s smile twists into something creepy. A smile Jimin knows all too well. “You seem to know me well. I do know you, too. And I know you don’t need someone to hover around you like a parasite. You’re a capable man, aren’t you? Even though you like it when you don’t have to think. Does he also know what your favorite wine is? Your favorite meal? Your favorite activity to do whenever you feel stressed?” 

Jimin’s vision starts to swim. He feels Taehyung’s hand reaching for his, but his mind can’t process what Taehyung is trying to do, too focused on keeping himself grounded on something. On the chair. On Taehyung’s arm. 

It burns his throat. Anger, frustration, or fear, he can’t pinpoint. “He’s not what you think,” Jimin breathes out weakly. Barely above a whisper. 

Or perhaps he hasn’t even spoken it at all. It doesn’t look like any of them has heard him. 

“How about you stop playing around and watch how you talk to him?” 

Jimin’s heart leaps to his throat. Eyes wide in shock. He jerks his head back to Taehyung, completely frozen at how confidently the words fell from Taehyung’s lips. Sharp, like knives. Just as threatening. It’s the first time Jimin has ever heard him speak like this.

A chuckle of disbelief comes from the other side of the table. Junwoo leans back against his chair. Jimin can’t even look at him anymore. “‘you got a sharp tongue, don’t you?”

“And you’ve got a filthy mouth.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin hurriedly calls, breathless, hand finally moving to catch Taehyung’s wrist and try to take back control over the tense situation. A foolish attempt. “It’s not worth it.”

“No, let him speak,” Junwoo encourages, that sick and perverse smile tugging on his lips. “I don’t think I’ll have the chance to hear him, after tonight.”

“Not if you keep provoking me,” Taehyung spits back, ignoring the way Jimin grips his wrist tighter. “And if you keep talking to him like that, you’ll quickly find out what I’m here for.”

This is what Junwoo wanted. Jimin can see it in the way those eyes flicker with sick satisfaction, tongue dragging along his lower lip, fingers drumming over the table. This is exactly what Junwoo wanted. A sick game of his that Taehyung unknowingly agreed to play. And Junwoo is reveling in it. 

Jimin’s teeth grind together. His jaw aches with how tight it’s clenched. 

The tension is shattered by the sudden appearance of the waiter, forcing Jimin and Taehyung to sit back. To breathe in. 

Their plates are taken to be replaced by the equally expensive-looking meal. Jimin holds his breath through it. Refusing to look at anything but his own plate. But even then, he wants to avert his eyes. 

“Your main course,” the waiter signals, following it with a fancy description of the dish that doesn’t get processed by Jimin’s brain. 

The hanwoo steak—Junwoo’s favorite—lies on his plate, rare. Barely cooked through. Bleeding. It’s pulsing and raw, and nearly looks alive. 

It’s like Jimin can hear it beating. 

The sight heightens the unease inside Jimin’s guts. It cuts off the already weak appetite he still had. 

He can feel Junwoo watching, waiting for a reaction, but when the waiter leaves, it’s toward Taehyung that Jimin turns his head, urging him to lean in just enough to hear Jimin’s whispered, “You can wait for me outside. I’ll tell him we have to go—”

“I’m not leaving you with him,” Taehyung assures. He speaks quietly, but not quietly enough to not be heard.

Jimin stares. Something warm burns under his skin. “Then, please, let me handle this.” 

There’s a silent response Taehyung seems to swallow down; Jimin can see it. Yet he doesn’t argue, doesn’t even try to, and simply offers a nod. 

“Junwoo—”

“Eat,” Junwoo demands. His eyes turn dark. No gleam of amusement. Like he’d just turned off his emotions, like it was that easy. “I want you to eat it. You look pale, you should be eating something consistent. Come on, you know that’s my favorite meal, right? Don’t make me sad,” he says, and yet there’s not a hint of sadness in his tone. There’s not a hint of anything. No emotions. Nothing. “Eat it.”

Taehyung shifts in his seat, but Jimin quickly reaches for his thigh without even thinking. Letting it rest there for a moment until he’d stopped moving. “I’m going to eat, Junwoo, but you’ll need to tell me exactly what you’re expecting from me.”

“You know exactly what I want.” Junwoo reaches for his fork, stabbing it into his steak, bloody juice splattering onto his own fancy suit. Red stains. “Should I say it loud and clear for your bodyguard, too?” 

“It’s over,” Jimin repeats, hesitantly grabbing his own cutlery and urging Taehyung to do the same by nudging him with his elbow. “I’ve told you countless times. It’s over.”

Taehyung doesn’t move, and that only increases the size of the knot inside Jimin’s throat. He nudges him again, and this time, Taehyung at least pretends to dig in. 

Junwoo’s smile returns. And as much as it’s unsettling, Jimin hates to think that it suits him. He can’t deny it—it’s a charming smile. One that helps Junwoo get everything he wants, whether it is work-wise or... relationship-wise. 

Jimin despises how utterly weak he was for that smile. How utterly stupid he was for not seeing past it. 

“You know,” Junwoo continues, his tone casual now, like they’re back to discussing old memories. Like he isn’t slicing the meat so slowly that Jimin can see each nerve being cut, the juice spilling from it. “Some things don’t end just because you say so.” He brings the piece to his mouth.

Jimin can’t bring himself to do the same. 

“I can’t give it to you,” he speaks quietly, cutlery striking the edge of his plate. “I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

Surprise flickers in Junwoo’s eyes. He chews slowly, swallows just as slowly, and even the way his Adam’s apple bobs seems threatening. “You can’t?” he echoes Jimin’s words like he’s trying to process it. “You can’t?” 

“Junwoo—”

“I don’t think you understand that you’re in no position to take back what I own.”

Jimin’s heart sinks.

The place feels like an illusion in which the walls keep closing on him.

Own.

Junwoo said it confidently. Like Jimin’s nothing but a property. His property.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Jimin tries to reason, shaking his head. He’s angry, furious, yet the fear seems to take over his mind. He senses how easy it is for Junwoo to make him lose control over the situation.

“I mean it,” Junwoo repeats, not budging when Taehyung pushes his plate forward and shifts in his seat as though he’s ready to leave. Or ready to throw a punch. There’s no in-between. “I mean it with every fiber of my being, Jimin. What’s mine will always be mine. Civilized conversation or not. If I need to become a hunter to catch the prey that's escaped me, I will. You can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Satisfaction dances on his lips. In his eyes, on his tongue. It’s everywhere. He knows he’s won. 

And Jimin can’t help but choke on a breath he fails to take at the realization that the situation is beyond his control.

Junwoo won. 

And the prize is his own pitiful self—Park Jimin.

...

The night is suffocating. 

It’s not raining, yet Taehyung believes it should be pouring. A storm should have probably been swallowing them by now. 

“Hey,” Taehyung tries, voice soft but edged with urgency. Instead of answering, though, Jimin’s walking pace quickens until they reach the car. Taehyung hurries after him, nearly chasing him. “Hey,” he says again. 

Jimin’s hand wraps around the car door handle, yanking it open, desperate to slip inside, but Taehyung is quick to slap his hand against the window and snap the door shut right in front of him. Jimin freezes. 

The click of the door echoes in the stillness. It leaves them both standing in the heavy silence of the parking lot. It doesn’t help that they’ve both left the most awkward and tense conversation back at the restaurant and brought that tension back with them. It’s now gnawing at their skin. At their bones.

“Jimin, can you talk to me?” 

Jimin doesn’t move. He stays rooted to the spot between the car and Taehyung, head slightly tilted down, hair hiding his face. “Let me in the car. Please.” His voice comes out brittle. It cracks a little, too. 

It’s nothing like what Taehyung is used to hear. Nothing like the Jimin Taehyung knows.

With a sigh, Taehyung steps back, reaches for the passenger door instead of the backseat one, and pulls it open. “Here,” he encourages with a motion of his head. “Get in.”

But instead of going right in, Jimin stares. Wide-eyed. Like he wasn’t expecting Taehyung to let him sit there, right next to him. “You—”

“Come on. There’s no need to sit back there. That’s ridiculous.”

Between hesitation and reluctance, Jimin gazes between the two seats and gives in with a silent thank you before he slips into the front seat without another word. 

The doors shut with a muted click behind them once they’re settled inside. 

Silence follows. 

Taehyung doesn’t immediately start the car, and instead grips the wheel as the questions pound in his skull. He has too much to ask. Too much to understand. But one glance at Jimin’s rigid posture is enough to make him swallow down all of the questions. 

The dinner has been unsettling enough for them. For Jimin. Taehyung doesn’t need to add to it. 

“It's alright if you don't want to talk about it with me,” Taehyung begins calmly, “but I can't pretend that nothing happened back there.” 

Jimin remains silent for a moment. 

He nervously plays with his seatbelt, gaze set ahead. “I know,” he murmurs. “I don't expect you to do that. I'm... sorry.” 

“Don't. I'm not blaming you for how that pathetic brat acted—”

“Can we go home?” Jimin cuts off, turning toward Taehyung with pleading eyes. A little more, and Taehyung could swear he'd seen tears at the corners of those same eyes. It’s no use prying, and Taehyung doesn’t want to make it even worse for Jimin.

Without a word, Taehyung starts the car and drives them away.

Time stretches silently, though at some point Jimin reaches to turn on the radio, lowering the volume so that the music fills the car in a low hum. At some point, his hand moves, almost hesitant, to reach for Taehyung’s. A silent request. One Taehyung doesn’t immediately get before he sees Jimin gesture to another path.

Your home is the other way, Taehyung nearly reminds him, but he swallows the words when he understands, and turns to the direction Jimin was indicating.

It's not about going somewhere else—but it’s about losing time on the road.

“Jimin-ah,” Taehyung calls softly. Casually. Jimin hums in response, melting back into the seat as if he's finally allowing himself to be comfortable for what feels like an eternity. “I'd like to be the one picking you up and driving you home every day from now on.” It's a mere suggestion. One he could have offered a while ago. But it hadn't seemed important to go to that extent before tonight. “How does that sound?” 

Glancing at him, Taehyung sees the surprised look on Jimin's face. It melts into a smile, and a breathless giggle. A sound of relief. “Actually... I'd love that. Thank you, Taehyung.” 

Taehyung nods, focusing back on the road. 

They're arriving in Jimin’s quiet neighborhood, pulling over in front of the building. Judging by the darkened and closed windows, all the neighbors are asleep. 

Taehyung glances at the time. Ten after midnight. They've lost a little less than an hour. He isn't so certain that it helped with Jimin's nerves. 

The car engine dies down. 

Taehyung turns to Jimin. “Still don't want to talk about it?” 

“No,” Jimin says first. But there's hesitancy in his eyes. “I'm... not sure. I don't think so.” 

“I'm not going to force you into speaking about something you don't want,” Taehyung reminds him. “But... don't hide things from me. Especially the things that can help me protect you. Alright?” 

“Yeah, I...” Closing his eyes for another moment, Jimin exhales deeply. Like he’s letting go of a weight he’s been carrying for a while now. “It’s not that I never want to talk about it with you. I... actually do. But now is not—”

“—the right time?” Taehyung guesses, and Jimin offers a slow nod. “I get it. Whenever you want to, I’ll be there to listen.”

Jimin’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. He ponders over something, looking down at his hands before he reaches for his phone to hand it out to Taehyung who only stares back. Confused. “It’s been a year, and yet we didn’t share our numbers.”

True. But that’s mostly due to how strict the contract has been since day one, which included not getting any personal information from Jimin such as phone numbers, apartment code, or anything of that sort. 

Taehyung looks down at the phone. And up into Jimin’s eyes again. Before he takes the device into his hand and types down his private number. 

Jimin patiently waits. 

He startles at the way another phone pings, exhaling in relief the moment he notices it’s Taehyung’s. 

“Here,” Taehyung gives the phone back, “this way we both have it.” 

“Thank you,” Jimin whispers with a smile. Before he opens the door to leave, Taehyung reaches for Jimin’s wrist.

“Wait.”

Jimin blinks curiously. 

“Do you need me to...” With a flicker of his chin, Taehyung gestures toward the building, “accompany you to your door?”

It’s not an odd request, but he’s never done it. Nor has Jimin ever asked him to. It seems fitting now; like he shouldn’t even ask, and just do it. 

But Jimin stares, attention jumping from one of Taehyung’s eyes to the other while he ponders over it, and he ends up shaking his head. “I can’t be scared of entering my own home. I’ll be fine,” he says, though it’s all but convincing. It comes out barely in a whisper, and Taehyung almost doesn’t give him the choice to refuse again before Jimin reaches for Taehyung’s hand, and repeats, “I’ll be fine. I feel safe knowing that you’re waiting here for me to text you once I’m home.”

“I will,” Taehyung assures instantly, “I will wait for you to text me.”

The first genuine smile spreads over Jimin’s lips, and Taehyung hadn’t realized just how much he had missed it. How much the spark that usually glinted in Jimin’s eyes has now dimmed enough to be almost entirely gone.

The door clunks open. 

“1313,” Jimin says as he steps outside.

Taehyung blinks. “What?”

“My apartment’s door code. I changed it this morning. It’s two times thirteen.” 

Why would I need it? The question burns at the tip of his tongue, but instead, Taehyung huffs and asks, “Shouldn’t you put a luckier number?” 

Jimin chuckles. “That’s my lucky number. My birthday. And the day of my debut.”

“Alright, I’ll remember it if you fall asleep tomorrow morning. Don’t mind me waking you up with a jazz playlist.”

Jimin’s smile widens, his shoulders visibly more relaxed. “I won’t mind. I won’t mind at all. See you tomorrow, Taehyung-ah.”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ah.”

...

For some reason, Jimin feels uneasy as soon as he finds himself alone. 

His stomach churns as he pushes the door and slides into the building, waving a faint goodbye to Taehyung. It doesn't get any better when he takes the elevator to the last floor, and finds himself in front of his door. There's nothing that physically stops him from entering. No gifts by the door. No signs of someone breaking in. 

His heart races nonetheless. 

Paranoia has gotten a hold of his mind. 

The click of the door opening and closing behind him as he enters resounds into the penthouse. Hesitantly, Jimin turns on the light, one hand holding the phone that remains open in the conversation with Taehyung. 

He kicks off his shoes, takes off his vest, and steps inside. The kitchen, the living room, the corridors. Nothing. Not a sound, not a displaced object.

Jimin lets out a sigh of relief. 

from: you — to : taehyung cute bodyguard 🐯
[0:15 a.m.] home safely!
[0:16 a.m.] thank you for waiting
[0:16 a.m.] i appreciate it so much
[0:17 a.m.] goodnight, taehyung 😊 see you tomorrow morning!
[0:17 a.m.] thank you again for today. i wouldn't have made it through without you. 

As he presses SEND, Jimin feels a cold shiver slipping under his skin. He holds onto his phone a little tighter, looking around him, but there's nothing that seemingly feels out of place. 

Stop being so paranoid, he tells himself as he breathes in, and turns around to head back into his bedroom. 

He freezes again. This time, because of what he discerns at the end of the corridor.

A silhouette. 

Into the dark.

Eyes; wide. Menacing. Hysterical. 

His phone buzzes. 

But he can't move. Can't speak. Can't hear. 

Until it comes out of the dark.

And lunges at him.

Jimin's piercing scream shatters the silence of the penthouse.

His phone drops to the floor and lights up with the last messages he receives, but doesn't get to see. 

from : taehyung cute bodyguard 🐯
[0:17 a.m.] perfect.
[0:17 a.m.] i’ll drive off now.
[0:18 a.m.] have a good night, jimin-ah.
[0:18 a.m.] see you tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Nothing had felt right.

Not the night. Nor the dinner. Nor that crazy Jang Junwoo. 

Although Taehyung's eyes settle on the road, his thoughts keep circling back to the dinner. To the venomous exchanges. The unsettling looks. The threats, hidden under mocking laughs.

It circles back to Jang Junwoo, and the smug smile he had through the entire dinner while never letting his eyes leave Jimin. 

Jimin felt so different from all the times Taehyung had spent dinner by his side. He snapped back at Junwoo’s remarks, but he also made himself smaller, like he couldn’t wait to flee and disappear forever.

It was uneasiness. But mostly— fear. 

Too many things felt off. And the feelings are still boiling inside Taehyung’s guts.

The car rumbles into the quiet, eerie night. It’s the only sound that breaks through the silence of those empty streets he drives through. Taehyung shifts in his seat, trying to shake off the unease that claws at his chest. It’s rare for him to feel this shaken up, especially when it isn’t raining.

A drop falls onto his windshield.

Well. Fuck. 

Taehyung grips the steering wheel harder, trying to focus on the road. But something other than the few drops of rain steals his attention.

A glint in the corner of his eye. On the passenger seat.

Jimin’s ring.

What? When did he even take it off?

Frowning, Taehyung snatches the ring up immediately, surprised by the warmth that still emanates from it. Odd. He’d never seen Jimin take this specific ring off, but now that he thinks about it, he remembers Jimin fiddling with it. Nervously so.

It doesn’t explain why he would take it off, and leave it on Taehyung’s passenger’s seat.

What the fuck is going on? 

A chill crawls up his spine. A second before the sky growls, and a flash of lightning splits the sky. Thunder follows, earsplitting, sharp, like a warning. Rain crashes down on him, slamming against the windshield, blurring the road and the surroundings, and forcing Taehyung to brake. 

“Why did I fucking leave,” Taehyung curses at himself, tightening his clammy hand around the ring he refuses to let go of for even a second. The uneasy feeling he’d tried to bury since the dinner claws its way back, bigger, meaner, suffocating—something is wrong.

With Jimin.

With tonight.

“Kim Taehyung, you fucking idiot.”

Violently, Taehyung swerves the car around, tires screeching against the slick pavement, and speeds his way up back to Jimin’s place. 

The ring grows warmer, sharper, and it bites into his palm, like it’s begging to be freed. Like it’s begging Taehyung to hurry up.

As the building comes into view and Taehyung drives through the open gates, he brakes abruptly once more and hurries outside, nearly cutting his throat with the sharp edges of the seatbelt snapping back into place. 

He runs into the building, body slamming against the entrance door to open it, and hurries to take the lift. He punches the button to the highest floor, exactly where he’d seen the lights off. Jimin couldn’t have gone to bed so fast. He wouldn’t have turned off the lights in just a few, ridiculous minutes. 

He wouldn’t. 

As the doors slide apart, Taehyung bolts out, skidding around the corner—

And freezes.

His breath stutters.

Blood. 

Dark streaks of it. Smeared across the floor like the path of a wounded animal caught by its predator. 

Fear crashes over Taehyung. He feels his heart hammer, hammer, hammer. It roars in his ears as he rushes forward, reaches the door to Jimin’s penthouse. 

“Jimin!” he shouts as he bangs against the door, the impact reverberating through the silent corridor. Through his shaky bones. “Jimin, open up!” 

Nothing.

Not a sound.

No words, no footsteps.

His hand feels clammier as he tries the handle after punching on the keypad the numbers he remembers Jimin telling him.

One.

Three.

One.

Three.

It clicks. It opens. 

Taehyung barges inside, slapping the switch on for the lights to turn on, and when he allows his blurry vision to clear out and focus...

His heart drops to his feet.

No.

The apartment is a wreck. 

Objects lie shattered on the floor, glass crunching beneath Taehyung’s shoes when he hesitantly steps inside and the door closes loudly behind him. Pictures are scattered everywhere, frames cracked, and... more blood. Drops of it, not enough to confirm someone has been gravely hurt, but it’s all over the kitchen counter, the floor, and the wall. As if someone has been thrown around. Pushed against the counter. To the floor. And against the wall again. 

This is a nightmare.

This can’t be real. 

Taehyung’s heart races as he tries to process the sight unraveling before him. He walks deeper into the living room, his throat constricting.

There are more objects thrown around. Clothes, shoes, bags—all of it thrown around like remnants of a fight. 

He can almost see it. The struggle and the screams that had burst here. Fear and rage, bodies against walls, desperate shouts that weren’t heard. 

“No,” Taehyung refuses to believe it. “No, no, no, no,” he continues like a plea, rushing from one room to another, running in and out of them, turning on each and every light to make sure that Jimin isn’t just hiding in a corner. “Jimin,” he calls, calls, and calls again, “JIMIN!”  

It’s empty.

Every room.

Every corner.

Taehyung can’t even hear his own, ragged and labored breath above his earsplitting heartbeat. He rushes back into the kitchen, nearly throwing himself onto the ground when he catches a proper sight of the pictures that are scattered all around.

They aren’t normal photographs. Not even close. 

They probably aren’t even supposed to be here, inside Jimin’s home, at all. 

Panic surges as he reaches for the photographs, uncaring of how the glass splinters slice his skin and draw out more blood that mixes with the already present one.  

“That fucker,” Taehyung breathes out as he goes through the pictures. One by one. Vision swimming with rage, fingers shaking with the same sentiment. “Fucking crazy bastard!”

In each and every one of these, Jimin appears vulnerable. Naked. Tied up, or covered in cum. In tears. In spit.

In pen marking. Taehyung doesn’t even want to process the insults written on Jimin’s skin.

It’s degrading. Humiliating. It doesn’t look like Jimin ever consented to these being taken in whatever sick fantasy that bastard liked to indulge in.

Rage claws at Taehyung’s throat. Rips through it. 

“You're reaching a very tipsy Jeonggukie right now, I advise you to call b—” 

“He's gone,” Taehyung cuts off immediately, not hearing a word coming out of the phone pressed against his ear. There's loud music suggesting Jeongguk is still at the Viper. He's probably not even hearing a thing of what Taehyung is saying. So he says it again, “He's gone.” And again, “He's gone, Jeongguk-ah. He's fucking GONE!” 

“Woah, calm your ass down, fisherman, I can hear you just fine, no need to scream!” 

Taehyung is losing it. He puts the phone over the kitchen island, puts Jeongguk on speaker, and opens the trash in a fury. “He's gone because of me,” he blurts out without even thinking, tossing the content of the bin onto the floor. 

More pictures fall.

More blackmail material. 

He nearly throws himself on them, reading every threat written behind. 

You felt so good around me. I miss that. 

You looked pretty today. Did you do your makeup for your doggy bodyguard? 

Your dog almost caught me today. Funny. I almost stung him with the syringe I had for you. 

Red looks good on you. I wonder if blood makes your skin stand out, too. 

Nausea crawls up Taehyung's throat. 

Sick.  

Sick, sick, sick fucker. 

“Earth to Kim? Explain your shit properly, all I’m getting right now is pieces and bits like you're the drunk one.”

“Park Jimin has been kidnapped and I could have fucking prevented it!”

Jeongguk sharply inhales on the other side of the line. “You're... joking. Right? Who gets kidnapped out of nowh—”

“This is not the moment to say shit to me, Jeongguk.” Not when he wants to scream and burn the place down to ashes.

“Hey, I told you, calm your ass down! Tell me where you are. Do you want me to join you, or what?” 

“I’m at Jimin’s house, I—” Taehyung’s chest spasms at the deep breath he takes. His fingers are shaking. Bloody. “No. It’s no use coming here. There’s nobody. There’s— fuck, Jeongguk, I brought him home not even fifteen minutes ago! The place is a fucking mess, there’s blood everywhere, and pictures—”

“Okay, okay,” Jeongguk speaks a little clearer now, the music fading into the background. He must have left the bar for the call. “I still don’t get it, but please, don’t tell me you just entered a possible crime scene?” 

“I told you to not make stupid jokes!” 

“It’s not a joke, smart-ass, but if Jimin has really been kidnapped, you’re literally putting your DNA and fingerprints all over, and I refuse to see you being jailed because you were sloppy.”

Fuck. He’s right. 

Taehyung’s eyes dart back to the mess scattered all over the floor. Not only has he put his fingerprints everywhere, his footprints are also all over the place. Of course, he didn’t think about taking off his shoes. And of course, he had to cut himself enough to bleed and leave drops of blood all over, too. 

What an idiot.

“Tae, listen,” Jeongguk’s voice pulls him back, “I trust you wouldn’t panic like that if it wasn’t real. Hell, I haven’t heard you panic like that ever . I trust you, okay? But you need to be smart. Whatever happened there shouldn’t be linked back to you if police gets involved. Take everything you think you need and get out of there.”

Although Taehyung listens to only half of what Jeongguk says, he nods, nods, and nods. He hastily picks up the trash bag again, and starts to pick up the photographs to throw them back inside. “I need to find him,” he tells Jeongguk, breathless, hurriedly picking everything up. “I need to find him.”

Not only that, he needs to clean this up. 

He needs to get rid of everything that sick bastard used to blackmail Jimin. Nobody should get even a glimpse of these. Not the police, not anyone. 

Taehyung can’t let Jimin’s efforts to hide go to waste now.

... 

Jimin’s head buzzes. 

A voice barely reaches him. Muffled somewhere around him. There’s also the threatening hum of an engine. Tires screeching.

But everything sounds like he’s been thrown at the bottom of a well.

It hurts. It hurts everywhere. 

His head spins, spins and spins, and as he gains a hint of clarity, he realizes that the sharp pain spreading through his skull comes from the bump at the back of it. A result of the violent crash against the wall, when Junwoo grabbed his hair and slammed his head into it. It bled everywhere. Jimin remembers it. 

It’s still bleeding. He can smell it.

Or is it the blood that’s bubbling in his mouth? 

He coughs it out, tongue and lips split, tasting metallic. 

When he tries to move, he feels the sharpness of zip ties slicing through his skin where they wrap around his wrists. Around his ankles. 

It takes him another moment to understand where he is. 

Inside the trunk of a car. Thrown like a dead animal.

Light blinds him when the door gets lifted, but he doesn’t get to see or hear anything before he loses consciousness again.

Darkness wrapping around him.

Cold.

And lonely.

When he wakes up again, mind battling for clarity, not a sound reaches him.

The surface underneath him is softer. The air around him warmer. 

This time, he’s able to move his legs. His arms. 

Panic surges before he can even understand where he is. His eyes snap wide open.

He’s in a bed. A hotel bed. 

He pushes himself up instantly, but nausea quickly climbs up his throat, his head throbbing and spinning. 

“Easy, doll. You might have a concussion, so take it easy, alright?”

Jimin’s blood runs cold. He snaps his neck back to see it.

To see him.

Junwoo sits on the chair at the corner of the room, legs crossed, arms open, a smug smile stretched over his lips. Flashbacks of the fight back in his home burst inside Jimin’s head. He wants to throw up at the violence of it. At the strength Junwoo used to knock him unconscious and bring him here. 

“You’re fucking crazy!” Jimin shouts, jumping off the bed and throwing himself at the door to open it, but Junwoo is fast enough to slam it close and shove Jimin back. “Let me out! What the fuck is wrong with you!” 

“You provoked me. Hurt my feelings,” Junwoo reminds, voice so disgustingly exaggerated, dramatic in a way it has Jimin’s guts sink. “I told you what I wanted, and yet you refused to give it to me. I told you. What’s mine is mine. Whether you want it or not.”

Jimin’s chest heaves. His head spins, still, but the adrenaline cursing through his veins is enough to mask the throbbing pain. In a swift movement, he reaches for the lamp over the nightstand, yanks it so hard it rips the cable, and wildly swings it right into Junwoo’s face. 

It hits. 

At least, that’s what Jimin believes when he hears the abhorrent crash and the intense, pained moan. But Jimin’s already moving, vision swimming, not once looking back when he wrenches the door open again and successfully runs out of the room.

Fear drives him forward. He races down the hall, heart pounding in his chest like a hunted rabbit trying to escape its deadly fate. His sight remains blurry for a moment, the throbbing pain in his head sending jolts of pain, agony, through his entire body, but when it clears out enough to scan his surroundings—

The rabbit wails in agony. 

At the far end of the corridor stands a man Jimin recognizes all too well. Junwoo’s bodyguard. The one Junwoo picked at the gates of a prison. “Someone, please, help!” Jimin screams, but his shouts are swallowed by an oppressive silence.

One that tells him that the entire floor might be... empty. 

The realization that Junwoo might have booked every single room hits him.

No, no, no. 

As he rushes in despair, trying to get past the bodyguard, Jimin feels the ground shift beneath him as he’s tackled to the floor. 

“NO! Get off me! Get off!” 

“Stop acting out,” Junwoo spits. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Jimin screams, lungs straining to let out all the air he needs for it, his body battling to get out of the man’s grip, twisting and squirming, but it’s no use. He knows it. He knows. But it doesn’t trample on his determination. It only fuels it. 

“Fuck—you stupid bitch!” The man shouts the moment Jimin sinks his teeth into the man’s jaw, ripping the skin, enough to make it bleed, enough to force him to let go. 

Jimin crawls rapidly away before he pushes himself up onto his wobbly legs, blood dripping from his split lips. 

“Let him,” he hears Junwoo say, “he won’t go far. Besides... I like a little chase.”

Heaving, Jimin rushes to throw his entire body weight against the door that opens to the stairs, nearly stumbling right down, face first. He catches himself onto the guardrail, a gasp of air making him realize just how bad his condition is, but he doesn’t let himself think. He pushes himself to run down the stairs, nearly stumbling once, twice, before he reaches the lower floor and heads through the door.

The corridor feels just as silent. Just as oppressive. 

“HELP! Someone!” Jimin screams, hopeful. 

Nobody responds. 

Not a sound is heard.

Not even when Jimin bangs on a door, another, and another. Again, again, and again. “Someone, please, open up! I need help!” 

Not a soul.

Not one fucking soul.

Jimin’s blood runs cold the moment the elevator pings, and the doors open. 

“Have you exercised enough?” Junwoo mocks as he steps forward. 

Jimin chokes on a breath. His skull feels like it’s splitting in half. “You booked all the rooms,” he speaks, fear and anger pouring out of his bloody lips, a second before he collapses to his knees. “You brought me here because you booked it all and you knew I couldn’t get away.”

Junwoo purses his lips. Pretends to think as he reduces the distance between them to stand one step from Jimin. “You’re right. But you’ve got to admit that this is a very nice hotel. I’m not a bad person, you know? I wouldn’t have brought you to a rotting basement, you deserve only the best,” he states, brows shooting up to fake worry for Jimin’s pathetic, vulnerable state. 

His mask, however, falls rapidly. Like a switch. Revealing that cold, indifferent expression, devoid of any empathy.

Jimin’s bones shake. “What’s the purpose of this? You hate responsibilities. Even if you keep me as a pet, you’d let me die.”

Junwoo tilts his head. Like he’s just now pondering over it. “Well, I suppose you’re right on that one. But I don’t expect you to be high maintenance. If you obey me, entertain me, and admit you’re mine, however... we can negotiate your fate.”

Jimin spits blood. A tired chuckle escapes him. Fuck. He feels faint. “I’d rather die,” he breathes out, lungs painful, sounding like he can barely suck in the air anymore, “than tell you I’m your bitch.”

A sigh. 

Jimin hears the smile in it.

“Wrong answer,” is all Jimin hears before he sees Junwoo’s foot move, swing at him, and crash against his skull.

One year ago. Busan.

“Don’t play that game with me, Jimin-ah.”

Jimin didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He’d heard enough.

For the past hour, he’d been arguing with Junwoo about matters that, to Jimin, seemed pointless. Useless. And it had been the same thing every single day for the past few months. Jimin didn’t notice immediately that Junwoo had grown more controlling. Over Jimin’s life. Over his career. Over the friendships he had.

It was silly. Jimin told him, over and over again, ‘You’re overreacting. You know you’re the only person in my life.’

That day, however, he wasn’t so sure. 

And he had the confirmation the very moment they both entered the elevator. 

Junwoo waited for the doors to ping close before he’d do it. Before he’d smash Jimin’s head against the wall, punching the air out of Jimin’s lungs, and... drawing blood. A lot of blood.

“Are you craz—!?”

“I’m at my fucking limit, Jimin,” Junwoo spat, his hand wrapped around Jimin’s throat. 

It was the first time Jimin saw the face behind the perfect and charming mask Junwoo put for the past years. It was the first time Jimin witnessed that hysteria burning in those very same eyes he’d fallen in love with. And it was...

Frightening.

Horrifying.

That day, Jimin believed he’d die. Suffocated. Choked.

And as Junwoo kept squeezing and squeezing his throat until it’d bruise, Jimin promised himself to run away the very second the doors would open.

To break up, the very same night. 

And to hire someone who’d keep Jang Junwoo away from him. 

...

“These,” Taehyung kicks the door wider open, “are things I need you to keep away from the company, the media, and anyone else.” 

“Sure. But don't tell me you're carrying human body parts in there.”

Taehyung pushes past Jeongguk to enter the apartment, bumping into him with a grunt. “I'm not in the damn mood,” he spits, leaving the trash bag in the corner of the living room. 

Jeongguk breathes out in disbelief. He closes the door to his apartment, and crosses his arms to look at Taehyung up and down. Down and up. “I can see that. Care to explain what happened, now? And please, don't tell me I just let a wanted murderer inside my apartment.” 

“It's Jimin.” 

“I know. You already told me that.” 

Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair, wanting nothing more than to pluck them out of his scalp. He rubs his face. Tries to pull his thoughts together. In vain.

He rubs harder.  

“Hey,” Jeongguk softly calls as he steps closer, hands reaching to squeeze his arms, but before he can do so, Taehyung swats him away. He regrets it as soon as he sees the worry swimming in those usually bright, round eyes. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, honesty pouring out of him. “Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just—” guilt. Guilt seeping under his skin. Slithering between his ribs. Bursting inside. It’s his mind filled with what if’s, spinning out of his control. “I was supposed to protect him, Jeongguk. I was hired to protect him, to keep him safe, and I didn’t do it! It wasn’t fucking difficult, damn it! I just had to—”

“Taehyung, please calm down,” Jeongguk tries, hesitant. “This isn’t you.”

I know. Yet Taehyung’s eyes are frantic, his head shaking, no, no, no. “I can’t! I can’t! I should have protected him, but now—” His voice cracks as he struggles to hold it together. “Now he’s gone.”

Jimin is gone.

Gone.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you like this,” Jeongguk speaks quietly after a pause, voice steady to try and ground Taehyung despite the worry overflowing in his eyes. “Even when I got into trouble, you wouldn’t... react like this.” 

Taehyung’s barely listening. His heart is hammering inside his ribcage as the memories flash back—the keychain Jimin received, the cryptic letters Jimin would tear apart and hide from Taehyung. The creeping anxiety that was biting into Jimin’s skin. 

So many signs. There have been so many fucking signs. And yet, Taehyung missed them. 

“Hyung—”

“That fucker has been stalking him,” Taehyung blurts out, breathless, feeling like he’s on the verge of collapsing to his knees. “He’s been watching him for months. I didn’t realize a damn thing, not even when Jimin asked me to be by his side for tonight’s dinner.”

“Dinner? Wait, Taehyung, what happened?”

Taehyung’s hand is still shaking when he covers the nape of his neck and pops it on both sides. “The guy invited Jimin to dinner, and like a fucking idiot, I accepted to go with him without asking questions. Fuck, why did he hide it from me? Why didn’t he tell me? That bastard was disgusting with him. I should have known, I shouldn’t have left Jimin alone for a second. I—” 

“Hey, now, calm down for real!” Jeongguk repeats, firmer this time, fingers gripping Taehyung’s arms and digging into the skin, surprising him. “This isn’t you! You need to calm yourself down if you want to find Jimin and bring him back, okay? And, hell, he could have brought him somewhere just for the night! Why are you acting so hysterical!?”

A buzzing sound interrupts them.

With a sigh, Jeongguk reaches for his phone in his pocket, eyebrows creasing at the number he doesn’t seem to recognize. “Yeah?” 

Taehyung watches Jeongguk’s confused face morph into surprise, and then disbelief. Before Taehyung can mouth a questioning, who is that? Jeongguk takes the phone away from his ear and puts the caller on speakers.

“Look who’s calling after deleting his number from my phone and running away like a coward,” Jeongguk speaks loudly, huffing another chuckle of disbelief. 

Taehyung’s eyes widen.

“I’m sorry, Jeongguk-ah,” Namjoon’s voice comes out apologetic. Not that Jeongguk looks like he’s buying any of it. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Hell no, I didn’t. But,” Jeongguk pauses, glancing back at Taehyung, hesitant, before he averts his eyes, “it’s nice to hear an apology.”

“You deserve more than just an apology.”

“Mh,” Jeongguk hums. “You’re right. And it’s not like I’m easily gonna forgive you.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“Why call me at ass o’clock in the night for that, though? ‘missed my ass that much?” 

While Taehyung rolls his eyes and tries to take back the phone, Namjoon chokes up on his saliva. Seems a bit startled when he speaks again, like he’s lost all that confidence he’d put up with Taehyung. “No. I mean—yes, yeah, but not... Not like that. I want to try again. I’m... not good with these relationship-kind-of-things. And for some reason I was thinking about you now. I want us to try again. No secrets, this time.”

“Give it to me,” Taehyung says when Jeongguk uses his arm to prevent Taehyung from taking his phone back. “I need him to help me.”

“...Was that Taehyung?” 

Jeongguk sighs, shaking his head. “You called at the worst time ever,” he breathes out. “Or the best, you choose. You said no secrets, uh?” 

“Yeah? What’s going on?” 

Taehyung grabs the phone as soon as Jeongguk moves it closer, and blurts out, “Jimin is gone.”

A pause.

And then a confused, “What?”

“Jimin is gone,” Taehyung repeats, frustrated. “That fucker took him.” 

“Junwoo? Jang Junwoo?” 

Of course, Namjoon would immediately know who would be responsible for Jimin’s disappearance. Fuck. Taehyung’s jaw tenses, ignoring the gentle squeeze of Jeongguk’s hand on his arm. “It seems you were just waiting for that.”

“No, I—are you kidding me right now?” 

“Do I sound like I’m fucking joking?” 

“It doesn’t make sense, why now—”

“You’re the one who should know why. I’m the only freaking idiot in that company who didn’t know about this guy. Hell, I learned about him only a week ago. Why the hell haven’t you told me about him?”

“Come on,” Jeongguk tries calmly, “it’s no use shifting the blame, Tae.” 

But Taehyung isn’t listening. “You gave me that insane amount of money to keep Jimin from getting abducted, you fucking knew this was gonna happen, and you didn’t warn me! I could have prevented this! Why were you all silent about a fucking psychopath stalker!?” 

“Alright, enough of that.” Jeongguk rips the phone from Taehyung’s hand. “Listen, I’d love for us to talk things out and meet, but if you know where Taehyung can find Jimin, just tell him. He’s going nuts.”

The moment Taehyung takes a step closer, Jeongguk pushes him back with warning eyes. 

“This can’t be,” Namjoon breathes out. In shock. Taehyung lets out a sigh of disbelief. “This...” 

There’s another pause.

Taehyung feels the frustration building up, twisting into a knot inside his throat. 

They hear rustling on the other side of the phone, keys clinking together, and what appears to be a door slamming close. 

“Where are you two?” 

“Uh, home?” Jeongguk answers, exchanging concerned looks with Taehyung. “My apartment.”

“And where was Jimin last time you saw him, Taehyung?”

“At his penthouse. We were back from a dinner at—”

“The Deer’s Heart?” 

Taehyung frowns. “Yeah.”

A sharp intake of breath. “You should get in contact with the company as soon as you can. Tell them everything you know, except mentioning Jang Junwoo in any shape or form.”

“What?” Taehyung immediately breathes out a humorless laugh of disbelief. “You’re joking, right? Why would I do that when we should all be looking into him? Did you hear a thing I said? Jimin is gone.”

“And he’ll be gone for good if you start accusing one of the richest CEO in South Korea,” Namjoon huffs angrily, just as frustrated. He seems to be running now, the wind hitting the microphone in disturbing crunches, and the sound of a car door closing follows. “Trust me. I’ll get in contact with the officers I’m familiar with, they’ll be able to track him down without raising suspicions.”

No, Taehyung wants to say, shaking his head. He darts his eyes back to Jeongguk who seems to be just as lost as he does, unable to offer any word of comfort for the current situation. “How long before you can track him down?” he ends up asking instead.

“I’m not sure. I’m going to look into the places I know he could have brought him to.”

“I’ll come with you,” Taehyung suggests immediately. “Send me the locations.” 

“I told you, you need to contact the company.”

“It’s three in the fucking morning,” Taehyung snaps. “I need to—”

“Hey, I’ll call you back later,” Jeongguk cuts off after switching off the speakers to hold the phone against his ear, ignoring the frustrated Jeongguk! that falls from Taehyung’s parted mouth. “Thank you for reaching out again. I thought I’d lost you for good.”

Taehyung sighs, giving up.

“I know,” Jeongguk continues, a faint smile on his lips, cursing in the most gentle way, “asshole.” Namjoon seems to say something else, to which Jeongguk hums before he finally hangs up with a small, “I’d love it.”

As soon as Jeongguk slips his phone back into his pocket, Taehyung steps closer to speak, but before he can do so, Jeongguk’s hand reaches up to snatch his collar in a tight grip. He twists the fabric and drives Taehyung backward, forcing his back against the cold wall. 

“You need to calm down,” Jeongguk snaps.

Taehyung swallows thickly. His eyes lock with Jeongguk’s, but despite how every fiber of his being is screaming at him to act, to shout that waiting can be a dangerous mistake, Taehyung remains silent. His head dips in a defeated nod.

Jeongguk releases him. “You can spend the night here, if you want. I’m gonna go back to the Viper.” 

It’s a good idea. They shouldn’t be seen together. Not if the police get involved. And while Taehyung won’t have any alibi, at the very least, Jeongguk will. 

“I’ll go back to my apartment. I need to...” he raises his hands, spreading his fingers where the blood had dried, “clean this.”

“You’ll be alright?”

Taehyung huffs. Humorlessly. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ll keep losing your mind and act recklessly,” Jeongguk blurts out honestly. “You’re looking at me like you’re gonna do some type of shit that’ll get you closer to being locked behind bars.”

Not so far off from what he’s envisioning. “I won’t rest until I’ve found him, Jeongguk.”

“I know,” Jeongguk breathes out, brows creasing with concern. “This is not about the money anymore, is it?” 

“It’s only about the money,” Taehyung had said a year ago, confidently so, “I don’t care about forming any kind of relationship with him. We’re not friends. We’ll never be.” 

Taehyung closes his eyes for a moment, heart heavy. When he opens them again to look at Jeongguk, he doesn’t find it in himself to lie anymore. “It’s never been about the money, Jeongguk.” 

There’s something about Park Jimin that pulls you in.

And makes you want to rip the world to shreds, tear it down to blood and bones, until there’s nothing left but him. 

...

Blood tastes horrendous. 

It’s metallic and bitter, like rusted iron left out in the rain, shoved back inside Jimin’s mouth. Although he slowly regains consciousness again, Jimin wishes he’d passed out for longer, even if it’d be for the sole reason of not waking up with his tongue bathing in his own blood. 

A coppery burn lingers in his throat when he swallows. Sensing the mattress underneath him, Jimin doesn’t immediately open his eyes. He waits.

Listens.

Except for his beating heart, there is not a sound, so he opens his heavy eyes. 

He’s been brought back to the hotel room. How much time has passed? The blinds are closed, the blacked-out curtains pulled, preventing any natural light from seeping through, but there’s nothing around for him to be certain enough hours passed to be morning. Not his phone, not an alarm clock, nothing. 

It’s only when he tries to pull himself up that a sharp pain reminds him of how he lost consciousness before, and punches the air out of his lungs with a choked-up moan of agony. The pain is unbearable. His hands fly to his head, feeling the dried blood on his hair. 

The image flashes behind his eyelids.

Of Junwoo standing before him. Kicking him. Knocking him out in one, single hit. 

Jimin’s eyes snap wide open, frantically looking back at his wrist, hand instantly wrapped around it like he’s done it out of instinct. 

The bracelet.

It’s still there. 

Jimin scrambles out of the bed, breath ragged, his hands fumbling for balance as his feet hit the cold floor. The room spins. It spins all around him. He stumbles a couple of times on his way back to the bathroom, crashing against the door, knocking against the nearby wood furniture until he reaches the sink where he nearly collapses. He catches himself with shaky fingers gripping the edge of it, and looks up.

Gasps in horror.

His reflection is staring back at him. Bloody. Skin pale. Lips purple.

How much blood has he lost?

It’s staring down at him. He’s staring down at himself. Wondering how could he have been so careless, that he’d let himself get dragged here?

With shaky fingers, he reaches for the edge of the mirror, opening the cabinet, and hoping that there’s something, anything to make the pain stop. But all he finds is an orange bottle. Much like the ones with his own anxiety pills. 

He takes it.

Reads the prescription.

“The dosage I prescribed you is only 0.25 mg,” Namjoon’s voice echoes inside his head. “Jimin, these are 2 mg. How many did you take?”

His mouth falls agape, a gasp escaping from it. His vision blurs, hazy. 

The bottle slips from his fingers, clinking and bouncing off the porcelain sink. Sharp, and loud. He stumbles back, gripping the edges, attempting to balance himself, but the throbbing in his head only worsens. 

It pulses. It splits. 

Like his skull is being cracked open from the inside.

“Get up,” he breathes out shakily to his own, pathetic self, the moment he nearly collapses onto the floor. “You need to think. You need to get up and get out of here.” He repeats it, over and over again, like it’s the only thing that can push him forward.

Jimin is trapped.

It’s a fact. 

And as much as he hopes that someone will find him, there’s something else at the back of his mind screaming at him that he needs to act fast, before it’s too late. 

That he’s the only one who can get him out of here alive. 

He needs to convince Junwoo to let him go.

…

from : unknown number — to : you
[10:32 a.m.] Why did you turn down my call?
[10:35 a.m.] I’m hurt.
[10:36 a.m.] You hurt me.
[10:37 a.m.] Answer me.
[10:38 a.m.] Answer me or I’ll get mad.

7 days ago. The texts had been sent seven days ago.

Taehyung holds his breath while he scrolls through the conversation. 

He sits alone, the living room suffocating in darkness. The blinds are down, the curtains pulled. No light seeps through. Natural or artificial. There’s nothing but the sharp glow of Jimin’s phone screen casting a bright, almost medical light over Taehyung’s face. 

It’s been a few hours now since he came home, washed off the remaining blood from his fingers, and sunk onto the couch, trying to figure out what to do with the phone he’d found in Jimin’s house. The screen had been slightly shattered in a corner, but overall, it worked. 

It still works.

It hadn’t taken a lot of attempts to find the code to unlock it. Jimin’s birthday. As simple as that. Taehyung hadn’t really meant to go through it, at first. Found it too intrusive. Too disrespectful. 

But it had only taken one text for him to start looking, heart boasting in his eardrums. One text, and two others that froze his blood.

from : unknown number — to : you
[4:52 a.m.] Has this phone found a new owner, already?
[4:53 a.m.] Don’t worry, doggy, I’ll take care of him.
[4:53 a.m.] I always take care of him.

“Psycho bitch,” Taehyung breathes out, rage burning skin. 

He’d gone through it all. 

Through lines and lines of threats. Of mockery. 

At some point, Taehyung had to close his eyes, sink back into the couch, and punch his fist against his gritted teeth to not scream. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the sight of Jimin, vulnerable, sprawled out like a sex doll in the pictures that psychopath sent him.

And it wasn’t just one.

There were multiple. 

They only stopped when Taehyung reached the messages sent seven days ago.

Taehyung’s fingers shake. His vision starts to swim. 

He reaches the messages sent three days ago.

from : unknown number — to : you
[5:52 p.m.] Don’t forget our dinner.
[5:54 p.m.] Don’t forget to wear my color, too.
[5:57 p.m.] I can’t wait to get my hands on you.
[5:59 p.m.] My doll.

Taehyung gasps for air. 

A shrill, violent sound rips through the silence.

It’s his phone. His. Not Jimin’s. 

It takes a moment for Taehyung to come back to reality. To check the time. Almost eight o’clock. 

Hope bursts inside his eyes, frantic, when he scrambles to grab the phone, but he’s quickly trampled on again when he sees that the caller isn’t Namjoon.

   ( 1 ) Incoming call : manager-nim

Jimin should have been at the company an hour ago, but he isn’t. Neither is Taehyung. 

“Hello?” 

“Taehyung-ssi,” the manager’s voice comes out a bit hesitant and concerned. “Where’s Jimin?”

Taehyung’s chest heaves. 

He looks ahead. Barely discerning the details of the curtains. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung repeats. Eerily calm, despite his racing heart. 

A beat of silence.

It hurts to swallow. 

While he waits, Taehyung reaches for Jimin’s phone on his lap, shaky fingers typing down. And sending.

from : you — to : unknown number
[7:58 a.m.] tell me where he is, you sick fuck

“We received a concerning photograph of you, Taehyung-ssi.”

Taehyung’s heart drops.

He can barely focus on the manager’s voice anymore. A photograph? What does he mean? 

Jimin’s phone buzzes.

His guts twist. Twist. And twist.

from : unknown number — to : you
[7:59 a.m.] Are you sure you want to play this game?
[ Picture sent ]
[8:00 a.m.] Let’s play, then, Kim Taehyung.

No.

No, no, no no no.

“Are you hearing me, Taehyung-ssi? You need to come to the company right now if you don’t want to speak to the authorities directly.”

Taehyung’s eyes open in shock. He stares at the picture he’s been sent.

It’s him.

In front of Jimin’s apartment building. 

With blood on his hands.

And he’s throwing a trash bag inside his car, a frantic look on his face that could pass off as the one a criminal would have, following an unplanned murder.

...

“Come on, come on,” Jimin murmurs, desperate.

His fingers shake despite his attempts at keeping them steady, the hairpin in his hand vibrating as he jams it into the lock. He’s tried everything could think of, with everything he could find in the room—a hairpin, thick papers, or even a broken piece of plastic.

All useless.

The door won’t open.

His hands are clammy, slick with sweat. Desperation claws at his chest, and his heart hammers in his head. He grits his teeth, swallowing down the scream that threatens to escape.

“Fuck!” he curses in a cry when the pin breaks—half falling on the ground, half still inside the lock. With another whimper of disappointment, Jimin crouches down, head hitting his knees. 

This isn’t gonna work. He needs to find something else. He needs to—

A creak.

Jimin’s heart stops. 

The other half of the hairpin is pushed out of the lock as a key slips inside on the other side. 

The door bursts open.

With a gasp, Jimin jumps to his feet, dizziness bringing back nausea at the back of his throat, and he barely has the time to take two steps back toward the bed that Junwoo is already stepping inside and closing the door with a sharp click. Locking it.

Jimin’s blood turns to ice.

“Thinking about leaving so soon?” Junwoo’s voice is all but playful. It’s annoyed. The kind that tells Jimin he’s a second from lashing out on something. 

On someone. 

On Jimin. 

“You know how I hate when you do exactly the opposite of what I tell you to do.” 

Jimin watches as Junwoo throws a duffel bag onto the bed. The mattress dips under the weight, like something heavier than clothes is stocked in there. 

“You can’t keep me here forever, Junwoo,” Jimin attempts, breathlessly. Despite the fear, he keeps his chin up, trying to meet Junwoo’s gaze confidently. Showing that he hasn’t given up. Not yet. Not so soon. “You know they won’t wait that 24 hours pass to start looking for me, right? My schedule is packed. As soon as they don’t get a single response from me, they’re going to start looking. And you know that Namjoon always finds out where you are.” 

Hope. There’s hope in his voice. Jimin isn’t lying—Namjoon had always been one step ahead of Junwoo, in the past. Whenever Jimin wouldn’t respond, Namjoon would show up at the doorstep of whatever place Junwoo had taken him. Granted, it had always been the same places.

Not like now.

This is new.

Junwoo’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem to be so concerned about that fact. Like he’s certain nobody will find them. Not even Namjoon. “I’m not in the mood. Don’t try to piss me off.” 

Jimin swallows thickly. Tries to keep his ground when Junwoo approaches. “I’m not trying to. I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”

At only a breath’s distance from him, Junwoo tilts his head. Jimin feels himself shrink. “A conversation?” 

“You want something from me,” Jimin breathes out. “Why don’t we talk it out instead of keeping me captive like you want to exchange me for some silly ransom?” 

Something flashes in Junwoo’s eyes. Like he’s considering it. Thinking about it. Or trying to understand what Jimin is saying. 

Jimin isn’t so certain.

“You know what I want.”

“I don—” Jimin chokes up on his own words when Junwoo grips his chin so tight it feels like he could crush his bones into ashes. 

“It’s you.” Junwoo forces Jimin’s head up, forcing him to meet his wide, darkened and threatening eyes. “I want you to love me. I want you to see me as the only person who can take care of you. I want you to see me as the only person you need in your pathetic life. I want you to be mine.” 

Possession. Junwoo has always been the jealous type. He’s always reminded Jimin how angry he’d get whenever another man would approach what was his. And as foolish as it sounds, Jimin would always laugh at it. Find it silly. Find it endearing. But now? There’s fear spreading in his bones. 

“Junwoo,” Jimin tries to remain as calm as he can, voice gentle despite the tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, “please, listen to me. This isn’t you. Please—”

“Shut the FUCK up! You PISS ME OFF!” Junwoo thunders. In a violent motion, he shoves Jimin back, slamming him against the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of Jimin’s lungs. He grabs Jimin’s hair with a firm grip, yanking aggressively hard to drag him across the room.

“That fucking HURTS!” Jimin screams back, clawing at Junwoo’s hand, his scalps burning. “LET ME GO!” 

“SHUT UP!” Junwoo kicks the door to the bathroom, fury bursting out of him. 

The floor under Jimin goes from an itchy rug to cold tiles, and before he can try to gain back control of his body, he’s being thrown into the bathtub with a brutal movement. His head knocks against the porcelain again, another high-pitched cry slipping from his lips. 

“Undress,” Junwoo orders from where he stands now, hovering over Jimin, eyes wild with anger. 

Jimin can barely breathe. Can barely have a second to gather his thoughts. “Why...” he chokes up on his own breath, chest heaving. 

It hurts. 

It hurts so bad. 

His vision is clouded by the pain, the fear, the incomprehension. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Undress,” Junwoo repeats sharply. “One last fucking time. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Weakly, Jimin reaches for the edge of the tub to pull himself up, and start undressing. He takes off every piece of clothing as fast as he can, though he can barely see what he’s doing, mind too long gone. It’s a miracle he can even take his briefs without hearing another “Faster,” from Junwoo. 

When he’s fully naked, clothes lying on the floor, Jimin lowers his head. Standing there, in the tub. Weak. Humiliated.

It’s mortifying.

All of it is. 

However, what terrifies Jimin isn’t to be completely exposed under Junwoo’s eyes, rather, it’s the intensity of that hysteria bursting in Junwoo’s manic gaze. Like he’s about to lose control, and it can happen any time by now.

A ticking bomb.

“Scrub that off of you. The scent of another man on you irks me,” Junwoo spits as he shoves Jimin hard back into the tub, ignoring the pained cry that escapes Jimin as his back slams violently against the cold porcelain. Before he can even recover, Junwoo reaches for the tap, and opens it with a furious twist, water exploding from the faucet, crashing down onto Jimin like icy daggers. 

Freezing. 

Jimin gasps for air, chest heaving, skin prickling. His brain doesn’t process anything but the pain of the freezing water biting into his bones, deeper than he thought possible. 

“I want you all nice and pretty. ‘smelling like me.” Junwoo’s chuckle bounces off the tiled walls as he grabs something behind Jimin, and before he can understand what it is, he hears the squeeze of a bottle, and a sort of gel running down his body, ruthlessly so. Soap. Not any kind. The one Junwoo uses. And despite how faint it rests on his skin, the scent is invading now. 

Cedarwood. 

The stream cuts off sharply. Yet Jimin remains paralyzed by the freezing cold, his entire body shivering.

“Come on, clean yourself,” Junwoo orders, discarding the now empty bottle of soap to the bin behind. “Hurry up and put on the clothes I’ll leave for you on the bed. Don’t make me mad.”

Don’t make me mad. 

Jimin remembers how often he’d hear that. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. He’d smile, laugh, and assure Junwoo that he’d never do anything to make him mad. That was true. Too painfully true. Jimin had long been blinded by what he believed was love, pure and raw, beautiful and innocent, and it had made him act... pathetically. Constantly looking for Junwoo’s approval, for his praises, for his poisoned confessions. 

He’d worked hard for a man who couldn’t wait to wrap a doggy collar around his neck.

The door shuts close. The air bites into his skin, cold and unforgiving, and it takes him a moment to snap out of it and rub the excessive amount of soap against his skin. All over him. 

“It’s just a game,” Jimin mumbles to himself, rubbing, rubbing and rubbing his skin a vivid red. It burns. But he keeps on scrubbing. On forcing the scent into layers and layers of skin. “It’s just a game you’ll have to play for a day,” he convinces himself. Or, rather, tries to. “Taehyung will find you. He’ll find you.” 

Taehyung will find me.

He’ll find me.

He will.

Will he?

The bracelet is wet. It’s dark green. With his blood, it might turn red.

The tears spill. 

Jimin stops scrubbing when the pain becomes unbearable, and he realizes that he’s started to bruise his skin—dots of red all over it show how hard he’d been rubbing, like his veins had popped underneath. Since it felt numb due to the cold water, he didn’t realize it before. 

With a deep, shaky breath, he turns on the water, lukewarm this time, and washes off.

Water dribbles down his wet body when he manages to pull himself out of the tub and out of the bathroom. The bedroom, however, is empty. Eerily silent. 

On the bed, there’s a pile of clothes. Jimin guesses Junwoo prepared them for him. He’d told him he would. Jimin approaches them, hesitantly reaching out to touch the material, and his heart sinks when he recognizes them. 

They’re his own clothes. The ones he thought he’d lost somewhere in the house, two months ago. Which means that Junwoo has been accessing his penthouse long before Jimin received that keychain.

He’s been watched, followed, tracked for a long, long time. 

And as he takes the shirt into his shaky hands, Jimin swallows down the tears that prickle the corners of his eyes. 

Junwoo had been planning this for too long.

Taehyung will not find them.

...

The meeting room feels more like an interrogation room than anything.

The curtains are hiding half of the wall-sized windows, preventing the natural morning light from fully bathing the room. 

It’s been an hour. A full hour of waiting. Taehyung’s patience is running thin. 

When he arrived at the company, the manager and CEO sat with him with the picture they’d been sent. Strangely enough, however, it wasn’t the picture Taehyung received through Jimin’s phone. Sure, it’s been taken only a few seconds after, but in this one, he was already in his car, bloody hands grabbing the steering wheel, and concerned eyes settled on the rearview mirror. The black, plastic bag was nowhere to be seen. Which was, somehow, one less detail to be worried about. He didn’t have to explain the content of it, nor to defend that he didn’t hide Jimin’s dead body inside of it.

So Taehyung explained. He talked about driving Jimin to a location, and then driving him back home. He omitted having spent the diner by Jimin’s side. Omitted to mention Jang Junwoo, just like Namjoon had requested of him. 

And what was surprising to him, was the fact that he didn’t receive any kind of reaction. Nor did he get any more questions, until they left the room and demanded that he’d wait. 

But Taehyung waited too fucking long.

When he stands up, ready to storm out of the room, the door slams open, startling him. Namjoon appears then, closing harshly behind him. “Sit down.”

Not a freaking hello? 

“Did you find him?” Taehyung hurries to ask, breathless, but Namjoon doesn’t even spare him a glance when he puts his laptop down on the table, takes a seat next to Taehyung, and urges, again,

“Sit down.”

Taehyung exhales shakily. He sits back down. 

He watches Namjoon open his laptop, rapidly punching the keyboard and clicking on the touchpad an incessant number of times. Taehyung nearly bites his tongue until it bleeds to force himself not to ask if he’d found Jimin. 

On edge. Nervous. 

“Jimin is nowhere near any of Junwoo’s owned properties,” Namjoon finally speaks, eyes still on the screen. “Neither is he where I thought I’d find him.”

“Where?”

“His parents’ owned houses,” Namjoon tells him. “That’s where he’d bring Jimin in the past whenever they got into arguments and he wanted to... fix it.” 

Taehyung’s breathes out in disbelief. “It’s not the first time he’s done this shit?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer. Something tells Taehyung that despite his silence, Namjoon feels a part of responsibility and guilt in this situation. It’s the way he sits, rigid, jaw clenched. Like something gnaws at him, deep inside.

“Tell me you’ve found something.” 

Namjoon presses twice on what Taehyung guesses is a video, before rotating the laptop so that Taehyung can watch. “This is the only thing I’ve managed to get through the camera in the parking lot. Strangely enough, all the other cameras in the building didn’t work, that night.”

Taehyung holds his breath.

A grainy footage flickers on the screen.

The parking lot, hidden behind the apartment complex. A man steps into view from the lower left corner of the screen. And that’s when Taehyung sees it.

A body.

Collapsed over the man’s shoulder.

Limp. Motionless. 

It’s Jimin.

Taehyung’s stomach churns. He watches as Junwoo carries Jimin’s unconscious body with a sickening calm and brings him to the car. He doesn’t seem to even struggle. He doesn’t rush, either. He lifts Jimin like he’s nothing but a broken doll—one he’d break on purpose, just to fix later on. Dumps him into the trunk. And slams it shut.

A choked breath gets caught at the back of Taehyung’s throat. Anger simmers beneath his skin, his nails sinking into his own knees until his knuckles turn white and the nails cut through the fabric and through the flesh. 

“Rewind it,” Taehyung orders as soon as the video comes to an abrupt end.

Namjoon rewinds it. 

“Again.”

Again.

Taehyung’s eyes narrow. “Pause that.” 

As Namjoon does, Taehyung tries to read the car’s license plate, but it seems useless. The camera is shit. The numbers are blurry. Unreadable. Melted together, like the video has been edited on purpose. 

“I haven’t found someone to help track the car, yet,” Namjoon sighs. 

But Taehyung isn’t listening. His hands fly to the laptop to pull it in front of him as he rewinds the video again. And again. And all over again. Like it’s going to help him figure out something. 

The rage is sharp, cutting through his chest, cutting through his ribs. 

The more he watches, the sharper it becomes. There’s nothing useful. Nothing more to watch than the sickening smug face Junwoo gives to the camera. That fucker knew it was recording. 

“You knew this would happen,” Taehyung begins with a feeble attempt at containing his anger, “and yet you didn’t tell me.”

Namjoon pulls the laptop back to him. “I didn’t know for sure this would happen. Never this violently.”

“You knew he was a threat, and you didn’t do shit.” 

“Because I believed Jimin when he said he not only had this under control, but he had you to protect him!” 

Taehyung’s vision tunnels. He surges out of his seat, the chair pushed back violently against the floor, and he grabs Namjoon’s collar to yank him up and out of his seat. “Why the fuck did you have to hire me!?” he shouts out in frustration as Namjoon refuses to fight back. “You knew where I came from. You knew about all the shit I was running from. You knew I was worse than a street rat, that I’d make the perfect culprit if Jimin ever got into shit like this, and yet you dragged me into this! WHY?” 

“Taehyung, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you fucking dare tell me to calm down! You knew damn well I’d be caught in this mess! So what are you going to do now? Have me locked up while you look for him?”

“No, Taehyung—”

“There are more things you aren’t telling me. Why? Why hide all of that?”

Namjoon inhales deeply, probably in an attempt to not lose his own composure. He seems to be better at that. Way better than Taehyung is. “What do you mean?”

“Why hide your identity from me and Jeongguk? Why even stalk us? Why get involved with us? Because we’re easy preys?”

“I’m not hiding anything, and I’m not stalking either of you,” Namjoon responds calmly, but firmly. He meets Taehyung’s fierce eyes without a single hint of fear in his own, and something tells Taehyung he’s faced the anger of more people. This doesn’t faze him. Not Taehyung’s tone, nor the hand firmly gripping his collar. “I told you. I was vetting you. I was making sure that you didn’t turn out to be a danger to Jimin.”

“You were the one who chose me!” Taehyung snaps, all the remaining patience he had now dying. “Aren’t you a psychiatrist, Namjoon? A fucking psychiatrist! Why the hell would you need to vet me after choosing me?”

“I make mistakes. I have made one before.”

Taehyung’s brows raise. Before? “Don’t tell me—”

Namjoon exhales. He calmly reaches for Taehyung’s wrist, fingers tightly wrapping in a silent request to let go of the fabric of his shirt. Taehyung releases him. “I’m the Director of Forensic Psychiatry Services,” he reminds Taehyung, “my work is not limited to talking to patients in nice and quiet rooms. Beyond the paperwork, I work with people who served time in prison or risked it. Offenders of any kind. Murderers. Stalkers.”

Both Taehyung and Jeongguk risked spending half of their life behind bars.

Both of them.

But none of their offenses were classified as stalking.

“I’m handed over dozens of patient files every single day. Most of them I never meet, even less assess,” Namjoon continues. “I’ve seen your files. Nothing that was worth getting the help of our structure—but your profile matched what Jimin and I were looking for in a new bodyguard. Do you believe me, now?”

It’s not enough. Taehyung wets his lips nervously. “I don’t get it. How were you handed a file with my offenses?”

“I’m the director,” Namjoon repeats. “In order to do my job, I need access. To people. To information. Legally, my requests to get access to private profiles and patients’ criminal records can’t be refused. My position also allows me to get access to things like these CCTV camera recordings.”

“So that’s why you have all these shady ties,” Taehyung breathes out in disbelief.

“I’m not tied to them.”

“And what was the mistake you didn’t want to repeat with me?” 

This time, Namjoon’s confidence seems to falter. It’s subtle, but Taehyung sees the shift in his eyes. In the way he adjusts his collar, the fabric wrinkled by Taehyung’s previous grip on it. “Believing that you never hurt someone for the sick fun of it.”

Confusion spreads over Taehyung’s features. “Excuse me?” 

Namjoon averts his eyes. He reaches for his laptop with one hand, and the case with the other, but before he can pick them up, Taehyung hurriedly presses a palm against Namjoon’s chest, pushing him back. 

“Explain yourself.”

“I think you already have an idea,” Namjoon tries, but Taehyung’s fingers grip Namjoon’s shoulder, this time. Pinning him to the spot. Keeping him there. Namjoon seems to ponder over it for another minute, until he gives up. “Jang Junwoo... was someone whose crimes I mistakenly misjudged as accidental.” 

Taehyung stares. 

Silent.

“I met him during the time Jimin needed a sponsor, and Junwoo was ready to be one. It’s a common practice for young idols who aren’t born rich, but I still wanted to make sure he was reliable. I had only been promoted recently at that time, so I had barely gotten access to everything. When I saw that Jang Junwoo had already two registered offenses, I chose to believe they were... justified. Just like yours.”

“What were his offenses?” 

Namjoon swallows visibly. “Disfiguring two higher-ups from rival companies with his own hands.”

Taehyung’s grip lessens around Namjoon’s shoulders. “And you believed they were justified?”

“I’m no judge. These two weren’t exactly innocent, either, so I didn’t look further into the... how’s.” 

Taehyung’s baffled. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t think it would come to this point. If I remember well, you were involved in more than just one fight, and I still trusted you,” Namjoon reminds him. “I trusted you to keep Jimin safe because I believed you’d always be on high alert—”

“Now it’s my fucking fault?” Taehyung breathes out in disbelief. “How would I know he’d get inside Jimin’s apartment? How would I know he’d get that damn code to enter?!”

“It’s not what I’m saying. Taehyung, you need to keep all of this from the police, or else I can’t prevent you either from being locked up,” Namjoon insists, to which Taehyung laughs exaggeratedly loud again. “I’m not kidding. Most of the officers that operate in Seoul wouldn’t even hesitate to help Junwoo get away with this by putting the blame on you. You need to be smart.”

“And lose time? Hell no!” 

“It’s not about—Taehyung! Where do you think you’re going!?” 

Namjoon’s attempt at calling is quickly muffled behind the door Taehyung slams closed on his way out.

Taehyung hurries out of the building, face tight with rage, mind locked on one single thought—confrontation. He flings himself behind the wheel, starts his car, and types in the Jang Group’s building address before he can even secure himself with the seatbelt.

The images of that recording flash in his mind, again and again, uncontrollable and suffocating. He needs to find Jimin. He can’t sit back and wait—not when he can confront that fucker head-on, rip every piece of information out of him until he gets Jimin back.

Barely parked, Taehyung throws himself out of the car and storms inside the building, nearly forcing the automatic doors open and shoving past the people heading outside. Glares, scoffs, and chitchats grow louder all around him, but his eyes are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Frantic, he scans the lobby. Even the space screams luxury. With its high ceilings, the polished marble floor, the towering pillars. Only a few dozen employees seem to roam around. Two people by the front desk. Security guards all around. 

Stainless steel security gates stand between him and the elevators. He’d have to either jump over them or find a badge to use to go through them. 

Fucking great. 

Or... maybe he wouldn’t have to do any of that. 

“You sick fuck—” 

There he is.

Stepping out of the elevator, accompanied by a taller and wider bodyguard, is that fucker, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, hair slicked back like he’d just come out of a fitting room. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Taehyung yet, not until he approaches the gates with his badge. But when their eyes met, surprise melts into sick euphoria. A smug smile stretches Junwoo’s lips, and that sets a burning fire through Taehyung’s veins. 

Without hesitation, Taehyung lunges at him.

The badge is slammed against the machine. 

Junwoo steps forward.

And before Taehyung can reduce any more of the distance between them, two men seize him on both sides, gripping his arms and pulling him back when he trashes in their hold. “Where the fuck is he!?” 

Junwoo lets out an amused laugh. He looks down on Taehyung like he would stare at a rat lab. The disturbing thing is that there’s satisfaction in those sick eyes. Like he’s overjoyed by Taehyung’s fury. Like the situation is going exactly how he’d planned it. “Careful, doggy,” he mocks, “you wouldn’t want to make a show in front of everyone and the cameras, would you?” 

Taehyung struggles in the guards’ iron-clad hold, fury boiling over. “You’re sick in the head! Tell me where you brought him! Just fucking TELL ME!” 

“Shout a little more,” Junwoo encourages, his smile stretching even more. From ear to ear. Like a knife slicing through his cheeks, making more space for his satisfaction. “Come on, show everyone that you have it in you to kill a man. That way, when your picture spreads over the media, people will know what you did. People will know that you brutally murdered their beloved Park Jimin.”

No. 

Taehyung freezes. His eyes dart everywhere. 

People. People are looking at him. Staring, like they know something he doesn’t. Glaring, like they would with a killer. 

The possible consequences of his rage dawn on him. You’re gonna kill him, he thinks, you’re gonna kill the chances to find him. 

A phone pings.

It’s not his.

“Look at that,” Junwoo laughs as he takes the phone from his pocket. “It’s out.”

He turns the phone around and shows Taehyung the headline of an article.

[ BREAKING NEWS : Jimin on hiatus for health reasons : a disturbing picture of his bodyguard spreads among the fans ] 

“No,” Taehyung lets out, body giving up on straining against the bodyguards. “You’re sick. You’re fucking ill. Why would you take him!? Where is he!?”

“Somewhere nice,” Junwoo promises with an unsettling smile as he flips the phone back into his pocket. “I suggest you keep that energy to find a new job. I think you’ll need it. ‘got no one to protect anymore, mister bodyguard. Right?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Will you?”

“I’ll kill you,” Taehyung repeats through gritted teeth, “if you hurt him, I’ll make you regret every fucking breath you take. And if I have to break each one of your ribs, I fucking will.”

A sickening laugh escapes him, but Taehyung’s vision swims with rage. “You’re impulsive,” Junwoo notes with fake admiration, “and... not very smart. Did they pick you up from the streets, a year ago? I can’t believe they ever thought that a street dog would be good to protect my doll.”

Taehyung sees red. Fucking blood under his eyelids. “Shut the hell up!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as he does. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure that I become all he needs in his life. To breathe, to eat, to live. Me, and only me.”

Taehyung shouts out in anger as he tries to yank his arm out of one of the guard’s hold again when Junwoo turns around to leave, but it only pushes the men to drag him further back, toward the exit. 

“Don’t touch him,” Taehyung breathes out, chest heaving as he watches Junwoo walk away from him. “Don’t fucking touch him, do you HEAR ME!?” 

Junwoo’s laugh fades in the distance. His steady footsteps too. 

The desperation claws at Taehyung’s throat, but he doesn’t scream anymore. 

The time freezes. 

And then, everything is shattered by the violence with which the guards shove Taehyung through the glass doors, the cold air biting into Taehyung’s skin like sharp teeth, and the ground scraping his palms.

He bleeds.

...

Jimin’s stomach grumbles.

It’s been hours. How many? 

It’s not like he ate enough, or at all, back at the Deer’s Heart. There’s nothing left inside. It’s gnawing at his guts. The hunger. The thirst.

He tried drinking from the tap, but it wasn’t enough. Assumed that the less he’d move, the more energy he’d keep, and the less hungry he’d feel. And it worked. Somehow. A little. 

Until it grumbled again.

The moment the door bursts open, Jimin is lying on the bed, wearing the clothes that had been folded and prepared for him. It instantly pulls him up, legs sliding off the edges of the bed so that he can sit, eyes frantic and heart pounding in his ribcage as he watches Junwoo throw on the bed the same duffel bag he had brought, earlier. It’s heavy. And as Jimin glances at it from the corner of his eyes, his curiosity almost pushes him to look into it.

“All fresh and clean like I asked?” 

Jimin swallows thickly. Nods. “Junwoo,” he tries in a whisper while Junwoo steps closer, towering over him, “can we please talk?”

Junwoo tilts his head, looking at Jimin like he’s grown a third eye right in the middle. “Talk? About what?”

“About... what you’re planning on doing with me. How long are you planning on keeping me here?” 

Junwoo ponders over it. Moves his legs to force Jimin’s thighs open and make space for him. And, abruptly, he grabs Jimin’s face so tightly it hurts, but Jimin swallows the whine of pain. “I want you to do and say exactly what I tell you.”

“Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?” Jimin tries, eyes barely focusing on Junwoo’s frustrated expression. When he attempts to move his head back, Junwoo’s grip tightens, and his nails sink into Jimin’s cheeks in a way he feels it create indents in his skin. “I’ve been—keeping silent, all this time. You’ve been blackmailing me for weeks, and I haven’t done a single thing to make you angry. I haven’t said a thing about you to anyone—”

“You don’t get it,” Junwoo spits, pulling Jimin’s face closer in a way that forces him up and adds tension to his neck, the muscle straining and the cramp coming back in a searing pain that has Jimin choking on a breath. “I want you to be mine. Fully mine.” His eyes round up, pupils shrinking, staring like he’s dying to get his hands on his prey. “I want you to get on your knees when I order you to. I want you to get naked when I tell you to. I want you to kiss me when I ask you to.” 

His voice comes out fast-paced, bordering on hysteria. It’s terrifying. 

It terrifies Jimin. 

“I can’t do that,” Jimin tries weakly, “we’re not together anymore, Junwoo, please, I can’t. I promise I’ll do anything else but not—”

“Anything? Anything?” 

Jimin’s lungs struggle to suck the air back inside. Fear clogs the path. 

“Then,” Junwoo begins, tilting his head slowly, tongue dragging across his upper lip. “Don’t scream.”

Jimin barely has the time to understand why—when he hasn’t spoken a single, loud word—but then the grip around him disappears, and—

Junwoo strikes him across the face. 

Once.

Twice.

Jimin’s jaw falls open, his head swinging each time by the force of it. By the third time, his hand instinctively flies to Junwoo’s wrist. Tightening. 

A huge mistake. 

Junwoo stares, Jimin can feel it. But he doesn’t look up. Too terrified to do so. 

It’s when he allows himself to close his eyes that Junwoo yanks his wrist out of his hold and strikes him even harder, the entire palm hitting his face and violently smacking his ear.

“I don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours. Don’t make me do this, alright?” 

I’m not, Jimin wants to scream, You’re the one hurting me, but he swallows it down, and nods, nods, and nods despite how terribly his head buzzes. 

Junwoo grabs him by the throat, urging Jimin to gasp for air. Gasp for life. “You fucked that bodyguard of yours, didn’t you?”

Jimin’s blood turns to ice. His eyes grow wide, so much that he fears they’ll just slip out of their sockets. “Why—why would you say something like that?”

“Answer me,” Junwoo spits, his fingers digging into the carotids. And the fear of being choked to death bursts inside Jimin. His face grows pale, a sickness-type of white.

“No. No,” Jimin cries out, coughing at the sudden squeeze around him. “I told you—he’s just my bodyguard!” 

“Is he?”

“Y—Yes, please...”

“And yet,” Junwoo loosens the hold, just enough to let Jimin take a desperate, painful breath, “he seemed rather scared to lose you.”

What? 

Jimin’s eyes dart to Junwoo’s. Jumps from one to another. When did you see him? he wants to ask. His eyes seem enough. Junwoo sees right through them.

“He came to see me at the company,” Junwoo explains, satisfaction spreading over his features when he notices how wider Jimin’s eyes grow. “He barked like a street dog at me. But you know I don’t like giving bones for free.”

“No,” the panic starts to seize Jimin in a way that has him forget about the fingers pressing down on his throat, “no, no no. What did you do?!”

“Me? Nothing!” Junwoo’s brows shoot up in offense, pretending to be absolutely shocked that Jimin would believe he’d do something to Taehyung. “I’m not interested in him, you know I only have eyes for you. The thing is that he seems to have the same kind of interest in you.”

“N—No... Junwoo, stop—”

“You seduced him too, didn’t you?”

Jimin’s eyes prickle with tears. “No! Why— why the hell would I?” 

“That’s all you do. You act like a slut on stage, give those bedroom eyes to these men,” Junwoo’s voice is laced with poison. It hurts. It hurts so violently. “You pretended to be free, screaming that you set yourself free from me. You really want people to despise me, don’t you? ‘want them to think I caged you like a weak, little bird?” 

“Junwoo,” Jimin cries out, voice cracking, in pain. “Please. Please, stop.”

Something flashes in Junwoo’s eyes. He takes a step back, releasing Jimin who lets himself fall back onto the bed, a hand flying to his throat as he coughs up and tries to bring in as much air as he can. 

Junwoo watches.

Stares.

“I hate it.”

Jimin’s head shakes when it raises. “W—What...?”

“I hate it,” Junwoo repeats coldly, “when you act like a victim. When you pretend it hurts.”

Jimin’s heart sinks. 

But it does—it fucking hurts! 

As his lips part, all attempts to try to defend himself die down when he realizes how coldly Junwoo is staring at him. Like there’s no emotion inside of him. No guilt. No regret. Nothing.

Like he’s completely, and utterly detached from the emotions of others. 

‘A psychopath,’ Namjoon’s voice resounds in Jimin’s head. ‘Psychopaths are charming, Jimin. They delude. Manipulate. It’s normal that you don’t believe me—you’re still healing from what he did to you.’

Another hit sends Jimin’s head right into the cushion.

His hands scramble for something to pick up and throw back at Junwoo, but he’s struck across the face even more violently. 

“You’re crazy!” Jimin shouts out, fear urging him to kick, to raise his legs and push his feet against Junwoo’s stomach to shove him back. But it barely does anything. When Junwoo is pushed back a couple of steps back, Jimin jumps to his feet to run toward the bathroom. “STOP!” his voice breaks as his hair is grabbed right before he can slip inside the bathroom, his head yanked back, and his body violently pushed against the corner of the room. 

“You fucking bitch,” Junwoo spits. “The more you fight back, the less likely I’ll stop. Don’t make me kill you. You know I can do it.” 

Jimin’s heart leaps to his throat. Lodges itself there. It almost makes him puke.

As promised, the hits don’t stop. Across his face, on his stomach, against his legs. His arms move instinctively to try and shield himself, as his feet scramble to push himself up even further into the corner, sticking his back against it as though it’ll protect him.

The tears burn. They burn in his throat, blur his vision, and before he can do anything to stop them from dribbling down, the sobs tear out of him. Uncontrolled. Raw. It rips through his body.

“Stop fucking crying!” Junwoo’s shout slices through the room, but it only makes everything worse. 

The tears stream faster. Every damn muscle in Jimin’s body seizes up, locks up, completely overwhelmed by the sheer terror coursing through him. His stomach churns violently when another hit digs into his guts, the bile rising and threatening to spill.

But a particularly sharp blow sends his head knocking against the wall. Knocking the air out of him. Knocking him into a state of half-consciousness. 

His body turns to stone.

His mind finally gives up the fight. 

The tears keep dribbling, but the sobs are strangled into silence.

Jimin sits there, motionless, eyes soulless. 

The hits have stopped. Finally, Jimin tells himself. He wants to cry more. He wants to smile. Finally. 

Junwoo’s breath comes out in a slow, ragged exhale, and despite the fact Jimin can’t see his face, he knows there’s a victorious smile on his face. He knows it. And he hears it, when Junwoo speaks. “Good. You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?”

Jimin can’t even swallow. It hurts. He is used to being praised for learning fast—but it has always been about dancing. It has always been about singing. 

It wasn't about keeping quiet while getting beaten up.

Junwoo crouches at Jimin's level. He raises a hand, but Jimin's too frightened to even flinch. When it comes down, it doesn't hit him. 

Fingers brush the hair out of his eyes. Oddly gentle. Unfitting.

“I like you, Jimin.” 

The bile tastes awful at the back of Jimin's throat. He doesn't look at Junwoo.

“I like you,” Junwoo repeats, his voice much quieter. Less angry. “Pretty dolls don't make a noise, now, do they?” 

Jimin’s head shakes. It's not a proper no, but the fear racking his body. Junwoo takes it as a satisfying response, though.

“If you keep doing as I say, I won't hurt you. Alright? I won't hurt you.” 

I know you will. You'll beat me again. 

Jimin's eyelids are too heavy. They fall, and he falls along with them.

Sinking into unconsciousness.

...

“I already told you. I just wanted to talk to the owner of that company.”

“And yet we can clearly hear you shout,” the female officer insists, while the man leans back against his seat like he can’t wait for the moment Taehyung slips a word they could use against him. For an interrogation room, this surely feels like one that’s meant to bring on a death penalty sentence. “Why were you at the Jang Company?” 

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. He looks away, to where he figures is the observation room in which another officer could certainly be watching them behind a one-way darkened mirror. “Look—”

The door bursts open behind him. Taehyung jerks his head back, stunned to see Namjoon. 

“What is this? The company told you to contact their lawyer team if you had questions, not bring in one of their security team members,” Namjoon says, his voice filled with both frustration and exhaustion. 

The officers share confused glances, a hint of guilt in the way they hesitate. “We’re—sorry. We’ve heard he disturbed public spaces, and—”

“From what I know, nobody reported the incident you’re talking about,” Namjoon cuts off. With his brows raised in stupefaction, Taehyung stands up, ready to leave. “I don’t know which one of you has received a request to interrogate him, but I will make sure that your superior knows of this.” 

While the two officers bow, concealing their shame, Namjoon guides Taehyung outside of the interrogation room and closes the door behind them. 

Before Taehyung can go anywhere deeper into the corridor, his shoulder is grabbed and yanked back, and his body is shoved against the wall.

“What the—”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Namjoon coldly demands, his voice quiet, despite how empty the corridor is, for now. 

“What do you think?” Taehyung claps back. “I’m trying to track this fucker down so he leads me to Jimin.”

“You do realize that what you’ve done could have worsened this whole situation?” Taehyung’s heart skips a beat in fear. “He is not the man you threaten when he’s steps ahead of you. Anything that you do to him, he’ll do it ten times worse to Jimin. Do you hear me?” 

“If that’s the case, why aren’t you doing shit to find him?”

“I am!” Namjoon nearly screams in frustration. He closes his eyes when he seems to realize, takes a deep breath, and speaks again, “I found someone who can help us. He has a special talent, if you will, in hacking CCTV cameras in town. He already helped officers with license plates. Helped them track them.”

Taehyung raises a brow, interest piqued. “Yeah? You’re talking about a criminal or one of your patients?”

“No longer a patient of mine,” Namjoon sighs. “We only saw each other once. He’s always caught up by the police, even if he manages to live a relatively free life in exchange for these kinds of services. The problem is that... well, he’s in the hospital now. Guarded by two police officers. Legally, they won’t let me enter. No matter the excuse. It’s risky, even for me.”

“I’ll go,” Taehyung blurts out without any hesitation. He’s not going to let this opportunity drown. “Where is it?”

“No, it’ll be even worse with you. Do I have to remind you that your picture is spread all over the internet? They’ll know you’re up to no good. Only one mishap and you’ll be locked behind bars, Taehyung.”

Taehyung knocks the back of his head against the wall with a heavy exhale. He closes his eyes, lets himself ponder over it. 

Until it clicks. 

“What about Jeongguk?”

The idea, without any surprise, doesn’t seem to please Namjoon. “I don’t want him to get involved.”

“He’s already involved. Because of you,” Taehyung reminds him.

Namjoon presses his lips together. Probably swallowing down a curse. If he can even curse, that is. While Taehyung raises his brows in a “so?” kind of look, Namjoon sighs and nods in defeat. “I’ll give you the address and room number. His name, too. Just... don’t cause a scene. Be as discreet as you guys can be.”

“Who do you think I am?” Taehyung says, sarcastic. Like he hasn’t been brought to the police station for causing a damn scene. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Convince him to track Junwoo’s car. Use this,” Namjoon lifts the laptop bag he’d been carrying, handing it over to Taehyung. “It has everything he needs, including access to the police system and the footage I showed you. It shouldn’t take him long, but I know it can get tricky to get the exact locations where the car has been seen. It shouldn’t take him more than an hour—if he does, he’s playing with you.”

An amused sigh falls past Taehyung’s lips. “You don’t have to worry about that. The last thing he’ll want to do will be to play games with me.”

...

Jimin’s eyelids feel heavy. Like stones crushing his eyeballs. 

His body is sunk into the mattress like a dead weight. 

He’s on the bed? When did he move? 

The possibility that Junwoo brought him to bed instead of letting him rot in the corner of the room is almost ironic.

Beat me up and then carry me gently?

It’s damp. Jimin’s clothes are damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. As he opens his eyes, he realizes just how disoriented he is. Breath shallow, head spinning, throat hurting.

He looks ahead of him. Dazed. Confused. The whole room is blurry, his mind preventing him from seeing clearly. But he notices the silhouette, sitting in the corner. Lurking. Like a shadow that never left him. 

A nightmare Jimin can’t escape.

“Finally awake?” 

Jimin’s tongue is sandpaper. His stomach is empty. He thinks it hasn’t been this empty ever. Which makes him wonder, once again, how much time has passed since he last ate. 

But he doesn’t speak. Junwoo told him not to. Instead, he stares at the blurry silhouette on the couch. Tries to focus. 

“Playing dead?” Junwoo mocks.

Jimin swallows. Even his spit feels dry. It claws at his throat. 

“I’ve got something for you.”

At that, Jimin perks up. Food? Is it food? Slowly, he brings his hands up on the bed and tries to push himself up despite how his whole body feels like a dead weight. He probably is covered in bruises. At least, he can feel them. 

Junwoo leaves his seat to step closer. As Jimin’s vision starts to clear out, he notices Junwoo is holding a black box in his hands. Something that looks like it’s keeping some kind of expensive jewelry in it.

Jimin’s stomach roars. Disappointed. But Junwoo doesn’t pay any mind.

“I want you to wear it. Will you wear it?” 

It’s a rhetorical question. Jimin can’t say no. Even though he has no idea of what could possibly be hiding inside the box, Jimin gives a slow nod.

When the lid is lifted, however, Jimin regrets it. His heart sets out erratically. His breathing grows ragged. Chopped. 

“What do you think?” There’s a grin on Junwoo’s face. 

But Jimin’s eyes are set on the horror that lies in the box. 

It’s a black collar. A leather one. It ties up like a belt. Like a dog collar. 

The worst of it is the letters that are embedded in it. It looks like steel, the edges sharp, looking like it’d sink and cut through the skin. When Jimin reads, reads, and rereads the two words in his mind, his head spins faster and faster.

Jang Junwoo

“No,” Jimin breathes out weakly. Pathetically. He doesn’t even care that he disobeyed by speaking. He can’t wear that. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. “No, no, no, no.”

“No?” Junwoo echoes, baffled. “No?”

Jimin’s eyes shoot up in fear. He brings his feet back onto the mattress, hands scrambling to crawl back and away from Junwoo, but his ankle is rapidly caught and yanked forward so violently that a scream escapes him in fear that it would break. “Don’t, please, please please please, not that, anything but that, please, plea—”

The box is thrown onto the ground with a loud thud.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to wear it. You will wear it, because I want you to!” 

Jimin’s sobs break out of him, his head shaking a strong no, never stopping, not even when the pain becomes so unbearable. But Junwoo doesn’t allow that. He grunts, impatient and frustrated, and pulls Jimin until he’s nearly falling off the edge of the bed. Only then he grabs his hair again and drags him to the bathroom, forcing him to collapse on his knees with his head above the edge of the tub.

“You’re so damn ungrateful,” Junwoo spits. 

The tap hisses when it opens, the water bursting and filling the tub. “Let me go,” Jimin cries, choking up on a breath as his head is yanked back. “Please, stop hurting me, please.”

“I’ll only do it if you wear it,” Junwoo reminds him coldly. 

The water keeps filling the tub. 

It’s half-way up.

Fear nearly urges Jimin to throw up right into it. “I’m— scared,” he admits, voice so broken he isn’t even certain that Junwoo heard him.

It’s nearly full.

The tub.

The tap closes. Jimin’s head is yanked forward again, and a scream breaks out of him, a second before Junwoo holds his face above the water. The tip of Jimin’s nose touches the surface. And the reality of the situation finally sinks down on him.

He’s going to drown.

“One last chance,” Junwoo tries. “Will you wear it?” 

Jimin stares at his own reflection. He doesn’t even recognize himself. It’s rippled, not really clear, but he can see the bruises. Can see what he failed to feel—his swollen eye. It'll bruise, turn yellow, and black. It'll take too much time to flatten out.

Fear tightens his lungs. He can’t breathe.

“‘taking your sweet time, uh? You know I have very little patience.”

Jimin can’t even hold his breath. 

He doesn’t have time, before his head is forced into the water. 

His body jerks instinctively as his mind screams at him to fight back, to breathe, but all he gets is the icy sting of water flooding his nose, his mouth, his throat. Bubbles erupt out of his silent scream as he thrashes in Junwoo’s grip, hands desperately pushing the edges of the tub, flailing, kicking. 

When his head is yanked back up, the air crashes back into him as he gasps for it. 

He chokes violently, coughing up the water that spills from his mouth, but he can’t get out the amount that burns in his throat and burns in his lungs. 

“Now? What about now, doll?”

The voice is far, far away. Like he’s in an endless tunnel, and he can’t reach the light. His eyes sting, and he doesn’t even have the time to speak that he’s pushed back under the surface.

Another rush of water fills his lungs. 

Darkness creeps in around the edges of his vision.

He’s pulled back up. 

Back down.

Back up.

Down.

Up.

He can’t breathe.

Can’t choke out the water.

It burns.

He’s drowning.

He’s dying.

“If I knew all you wanted was a little bit of water in your mouth, you could have said so,” Junwoo laughs. He’s laughing. Endlessly so.

Jimin didn’t even notice that he started nodding violently at the question he couldn’t even process. Will you wear it? It seems his own unconscious mind saved him.

Although, as he sits on the cold tiles of the bathroom, arms and head hanging above the edge of the tub, choking out the water that still fills his lungs, Jimin feels all but alive.

...

Fourth floor.

Room 403. 

Taehyung dips his head in a respectful bow when he walks past a nurse and into the silent and lonely corridor. He’s still wearing his bodyguard suit, which seems to be enough for the medical staff not to ask too many questions. 

“All clear?” he asks as soon as he stands before the door 403, glancing at Jeongguk who’s comfortably sitting on the waiting chair, next to him. The two other chairs are empty now.

“Yep,” Jeongguk nods, adjusting the officer suit Namjoon had apparently lent him. Something about blending in, and playing it safe. Whatever. It’s ridiculous. Though, Taehyung has to admit that Jeongguk looks good in it. He could almost believe that he’d become a police officer. It’s funny. In another life, perhaps, they’d be great at it. Surely. 

“What did you tell the guards?”

“That I’ll take it from here,” Jeongguk says simply, like his face didn’t give away shit about him. It’s not so surprising, however. Not when Jeongguk’s eyes are filled with honesty and raw innocence. It’s ironic, considering his past. It makes Taehyung smile a little. “I asked them to take a coffee downstairs. They’ll probably be gone for an hour. Or more. They seemed pretty happy to take a break.”

Taehyung nods. “Thank you. For doing this, and... well. You know.”

Jeongguk flashes him a smile and a thumbs up, before Taehyung enters the room.

Despite there being two beds, only one of them looks occupied by a man in his thirties, wrist cuffed to the bed, feet immobilized in a thick, white splint, toes peeking from the end. He seems to be eating off a food tray when Taehyung pushes the curtains aside to reveal himself.

Brows shooting up in surprise, the man looks back at Taehyung. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung introduces simply, to which the man only responds with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes. Probably a breathed of course, thrown there. Interesting. “I’m here to ask for a favor.”

“That’s gonna cost.” The man picks another handful of blueberries and stuffs his mouth full of it, uncaring of Taehyung’s stare. 

“You’re lying on a hospital bed, I don’t think you’re in a position to make a deal.”

“I can also refuse whatever shit you want me to do,” the man jerks his chin toward the door. “Even if you could go past the guards there, they’ll lock you up for messing with their favorite prisoner.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain if I were you.” While the man ignores him, Taehyung snorts, half-amused. He puts the bag he’s carrying on the bed, specifically on the man’s leg, and pulls out the laptop. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I need you to track down a car,” Taehyung puts it simply. He opens the laptop, turns it on, and hands it over to the man. However, all he gets is a laugh of disbelief. Mockery in that gaze. 

“You think I’m gonna do something for you? I don’t even know who the fuck you are. I don’t work for Kim, he’s a crazy psychiatrist who thinks he knows it all. I’m not about to get involved with him.”

Taehyung’s brow raises. He won’t deny the insult—it’s not like he holds Namjoon in his heart. But it does irritate him that his request is turned down so easily. “This is important. Someone has been kidnapped, and I need you to help me find them.”

“Hm,” he hums, shrugging, “not my problem. Good luck to them, though. They sound like they got a pretty shitty life.” 

Taehyung’s jaw clenches. Rage burns inside. “I give you one last chance.”

“No thanks,” he singsongs, picking up more of the blueberries, purposely chewing with his mouth open. Taunting. Uncaring. 

The clock ticks. 

I don’t have the time for this.

Taehyung breathes in deeply. 

Breathes out.

While the man hums a damn children's song, Taehyung rounds the bed. On the table nearby, he reaches for the medical scissors lying there, and steps closer to the immobilized foot. 

“Yah,” the man grunts, “what do you think you’re doing?” 

Without any care, Taehyung slides the scissors under the layers of bandages and slices through them in brutal, jagged motions. 

Snip. Snip. Snip.  

“H—hey, hey! Stop!” 

Each snip grows more violent than the last. 

“Stop, you crazy b—!” 

Taehyung cuts far too close to the skin without a flicker of hesitation, not even caring to glance at the wound beneath until the foot is completely exposed and, under the man’s heavy breaths, Taehyung punches his fist right into the broken ankle.

The scream of pain breaks out of the man’s throat.

Taehyung flips the scissors between his fingers, ruthlessly shoves the meal tray into the ground—plates and bowls shattering—and pulls the cushion from underneath the man's head. 

“Wait, wait!”

The pillow muffles the screams of terror when Taehyung pushes it against the man’s face, the scissors hissing in his hand as he stabs it into the pillow—not deep enough to go through it, but deep enough for the sharp tip to be felt. 

“Don’t move,” Taehyung says, calmly. “One wrong move and you’ll eat through a tube forever.”

“D—Don’t!” The man shouts, his voice cracking. He tries to pull on his cuffed wrist, entire body shaking in fear. 

Not so tough now, uh?  

“D—Don’t, p—please, just tell me what I need to do!” 

“I told you. I need you to find out the license plate of a car and track down the destination. You have the CCTV video on the laptop, it’s blurry but the type of car is recognizable and so is the location of it.” 

“I—I can’t do anything if the license plate isn’t readable, I—!”

Taehyung crushes the cushion like he’s a second from sinking the scissors right into the man’s trachea. Another cry of terror gets muffled into it. “I know you can find it, you’ve been able to track down a car without any kind of picture before, don’t you fucking lie to me. Last warning. One,” he counts, pushing into the pillow. “Two.” Again. “T—”

“O— okay!” The man screams his lungs out. “Okay, okay, okay, I’ll do it, please, I’ll do it!” 

“I’ll give you thirty minutes.”

“G—Give me forty-five, plea—”

“Thirty minutes,” Taehyung spits. The sharp tip of the scissors cut through the cushion. 

The man screams. “Okay, okay, okay, okay!” 

Taehyung closes his eyes. Sighs out of relief. The pillow is thrown to the floor along with the scissors, and, without any hesitation now, the man scrambles for the laptop and starts working on it. 

Hopefully, he’s getting closer to finding Jimin.

Hopefully.

...

Jimin’s jaw pops each time he opens his mouth and closes it on the triangle gimbap he holds with his shaky fingers. His teeth sink in. It’s soft. Chewy. But it still hurts to eat. It hurts to swallow.

Delicately, he pulls the plastic aside to get more of it. It’s only halfway eaten, even though he’s had it in his hands for the past hour. The reason? His stomach is tied into knots. Nausea crawls up his throat every time he tries to swallow, too, which makes the whole eating part a real nightmare. 

It’s also the reason he’s sitting on the cold tiled flooring of the bathroom, one arm perched above the toilet bowl in case he’d have to push himself up and throw his guts out. 

At the next bite, that’s exactly what he does.

The rest of the gimbap falls from his hand as he grips the edges of the toilet bowl, his throat burning as it spills out of him. But it’s nothing. Nothing but bile. He hasn’t eaten enough to throw up something more consistent. 

Tears spill. Sobs rack him once he’s done. But even crying hurts. 

How many days have passed? It feels like an eternity to him. 

Any hope he’d have to be found has drowned, along with the multiple times Junwoo would drown him. 

Jimin couldn’t even count them. 

Now, he can’t even remember when his head hasn’t been under the water. Now seems one of the rare times his lungs aren’t filled with only water.

When he draws himself back a little, he glances at the tub. Still full. Nearly brimming. Jimin isn’t even certain that the water has been changed since the first time Junwoo pushed him into it. It still has his blood floating in it. His spit and tears, probably. 

The sound of a door opening startles him.

Hurriedly, Jimin scrambles to reach the top of the toilet bowl to flush it, but he quickly collapses due to the lack of energy and strength he has left. His head knocks against the floor, a pained moan escaping him.

Another door is slammed open, and this time, Jimin feels his heart blocking the path at the back of his throat. Beating there. Racing.

“What are you doing?” Junwoo spits. Panic bursts inside Jimin’s guts as he crawls back against the wall, far away from Junwoo, frantic eyes avoiding the ones staring down at him. “Uh? I gave you food and you didn’t even finish it?” 

Jimin’s head is trembling so hard that the sound of his teeth clattering bounces off the walls. He looks down. At Junwoo’s feet. At the perfectly clean glossy shoe that lifts just enough to crush down the rest of the gimbap under the red sole. 

It feels like he’s trampling over Jimin’s organs.

“You don’t greet me?” 

Jimin’s lips part. You have to respond. You have to greet him. You have to. You have to. 

Or else you’ll drown.

No sound escapes him. He can’t. His vocal cords are twisted, twisted, and twisted. 

“I have left you with more food on the bed. I even bought soju for you. And all you did was eat this bit and hide in the bathroom?” 

Jimin’s cries are breathless. High-pitched. 

The moment Junwoo takes another step forward, Jimin’s breaks into a scream of terror. 

One that’s quickly cut off when he’s pulled by the collar around his neck, his airflow cut off, the lettering—sharp like knives—cutting into his skin. Branding him.

Jang Junwoo’s property.

Jang Junwoo’s doll.

“Greet me.” 

Jimin’s hands scramble for something to grip where they keep sliding down Junwoo’s legs, his knees not even touching the floor anymore with how he’s pulled up, hanging only by the throat and that dog collar that chokes him.

His vision swims. With tears. With the lack of oxygen. He tries to speak, to breathe out a weak, hello, but he isn’t even certain that a sound escapes him. 

Junwoo must have noticed how badly the collar was choking Jimin by the change of color on his skin, undoubtedly a yellow and then blue hue. He lowers his hand just enough for Jimin’s knees to knock against the floor. 

This time, Jimin gasps for air. “H—hello,” he finally manages. 

“Louder,” Junwoo grunts, annoyed. “I can’t hear you.” 

“H... hello.”

“With a smile.” 

Another sob racks Jimin’s body. He’s shaken violently, the name on the collar biting into his throat again. Despite the horrendous pain he’s in, Jimin forces his lips to stretch on each side, an ugly and shaky smile appearing. “Hello,” he cries. 

“Who owns you?”

Jimin’s face is wet with tears. His ‘smile’ collapses, and his eyes keep swelling, stinging with the tears. He’d been trained so many times for this. Has been drowned, every time he refused to answer. Choked, slapped, and beaten like he’s worth nothing. He knows the answer—and he knows he can’t say anything else. “Jang... Junwoo.”

“Who?”

“Jang Junwoo,” Jimin forces with a cracking voice that sounds like all but his own. 

A smile stretches over Junwoo’s face. Jimin can’t focus enough to see it clearly, but it’s ugly. Hysterical. It’s a morbid, sick satisfaction that paints itself over his features. “And what’s your name?” 

Another sob racks his body. Nearly comes out with bile again. 

“One more time,” Junwoo tries, one of the rare times he gives Jimin another chance. “What’s your name?”

“D... Doll.”

“Good,” Junwoo praises, finally letting go of the collar. But even if the sharp steel doesn’t sink into Jimin’s throat, it still burns. Like it made a home into it. Carved each letter into the flesh. “Every part of you belongs to me. Right?”

Jimin nods. His attention is back on the crushed gimbap. His stomach roars. 

“I’m still not quite happy with how you greeted me, though,” Junwoo sighs exaggeratedly, fake disappointment heard in his voice. 

However, Jimin can’t hear anything but his own panicked and erratic heart beating in his throat. 

Sobs break out violently. “N—No, no no no no!” he screams in agony, nearly throwing himself at Junwoo’s leg, because he knows exactly what he’s about to go through, again. 

And he can’t. 

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. 

Or he’ll die. 

He’ll die for good.

“Just a few seconds, come on, you can do this. You’ve learned how to hold your breath underwater by now, haven’t you?” Junwoo chuckles, his laugh barely heard above Jimin’s wails. 

Those very same cries for help are soon muffled.

Drowned into the tub.

...

A week and a half.

Eleven days passed. 

And no fucking news of Jimin’s whereabouts.

Nothing.

Nothing.

The hacker had been able to track the car from that night to the first five locations, but it had led to nowhere. A shopping mall, a bakery, the Jang company building, and two hotels from which Namjoon had struggled to get a full list of clients. 

Nothing.

It was like Junwoo knew and made sure to switch with another driver to blur anything that could have traced him down. 

Fucker. 

Taehyung was losing his sanity. Day by day. It became harder for him to drink, to eat, to think straight. All he wanted was to sink his fist into someone’s jaw. Almost did it a couple of times—thank god for Jeongguk’s presence, every time. 

Yet it wasn’t enough. 

Spending time with Jeongguk to try and ground himself isn’t enough for him.

While the music booms all around him, vibrating through his chest, Taehyung sits at the far left side of the counter, pressed against the wall. There are three empty glasses in front of him that have been refilled a couple of times by another barman Jeongguk hired recently, and to which Taehyung had turned, over and over again, to get drunk. 

Unfortunately for him, though, Jeongguk catches the young boy before he pours Taehyung another glass of rum. 

“You should eat, not drink like you wanna fucking die over my counter!” Jeongguk screams over the music, but Taehyung’s hazy eyes are set on his screen, uncaring, barely even hearing what Jeongguk tells him.

Taehyung holds his phone up, his elbow pressed against the counter, while he scrolls down the few articles. He’s been looking at a thousand of them for the past few hours, opening the comment sections every time for god knows why.

[ 02/10 NEWS ] Jimin makes history with his new album at the Melon Music Awards!
[ ↑ 3240 ↓ 85 ] Jimin has it all to succeed : an angelic voice, unparalleled beauty, a kind heart and passion for his art!
[ ↑ 9286 ↓ 7 ] KING!!!!

[ 02/11 NEWS ] ALONE : an album that reaches #1 on all charts!
[ ↑ 1425 ↓ 13 ] I’ve yet to come across one artist who writes such meaningful lyrics as Jimin does. Deserving of his fame!
[ ↑ 2340 ↓ 621 ] it was such a beautiful and raw album, but why is no one talking about the concerning message behind the hidden track?

[ 02/12 NEWS ] Fans speculate about possible meaning behind Jimin’s ALONE’s hidden track “set me free” : a metaphor for how controlling an idol’s life is or a call for help?
[ ↑ 9381 ↓ 28 ] Some have gone too far into the interpretation of the song, Jimin has already spoken about it! It talks about mental health in a very artistic and sensitive way!
[ ↑ 9264 ↓ 761 ] A call for help for what ? He told us in his live that he has been the happiest he could be in years !
[ ↑ 2394 ↓ 3211 ] It’s not only the hidden track, it’s his attitude towards the camera that makes fans worried. Something’s wrong, and if you don’t see it, you’re in denial.

[ 02/13 BREAKING NEWS ] Cancelled concert, performances missed, interviews postponed : Jimin seems to have disappeared and the company responds with vague and unclear statements. Fans demand to know where he is.
[ ↑ 29 499 ↓ 11 ] A photo has been circulating throughout the media, why do you try to hide it and protect someone who might know where Jimin is?

Taehyung’s fingers tremble as he scrolls down the comments. The next one he reads causes his vision to swim and his heart to sink down and under the sole of his shoes.

[ ↑ 89 371 ↓ 204 ] We demand that Kim Taehyung speaks to the authority.

“Hey.”

Taehyung startles. He jumps up in his seat, his phone slipping from his hand and knocking against the counter. A little more and the screen would have shattered. 

When he lifts his head, he finds Jeongguk’s worried eyes on him. He realizes they’re the only ones left. There’s no music anymore, not a sound around them. Taehyung looks around. Frantic.

The Viper’s empty. 

Is it already five in the morning? 

“Eat this,” Jeongguk invites gently. Taehyung looks down at the plate Jeongguk is slowly pushing toward him, over the counter. From the looks of it, it’s spicy beef soup. It’s still hot, and Taehyung guesses Jeongguk cooked it just a few minutes ago. “Please. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Taehyung stares at the bowl. 

His guts twist. 

He’s not hungry. If anything, the sight of food makes him nauseous. 

Slowly, he pushes the plate back toward Jeongguk, but the latter forces it back in front of him with a sigh.

“Please, eat,” Jeongguk insists. “I’m not about to watch you starve yourself. This is ridiculous. You’re acting unreasonably.”

“The locations haven’t brought me anywhere.” The words stumble from Taehyung’s lips like they would from an automaton. No emotion. Nothing.

Jeongguk exhales in defeat. “Tae...”

“I was supposed to find him. We tracked the car down, it took us four fucking days to find it finally lead to a hotel on the first night, but he wasn’t there.” Taehyung brings his hands to his face, rubbing strongly. “He wasn’t there,” he repeats, like he needs to say it over and over again to accept it.

But he doesn’t want to.

He can’t accept it.

Jeongguk pushes the bowl closer until it knocks against Taehyung’s arms. “Hey, I get that you’re losing your mind, but we all already told you that it wasn’t your fault. And you can’t keep going on like this. Just fucking eat this, or you’ll make me lose my mind.”

Taehyung takes his hands off his face. 

But as he does, Jeongguk gasps. Nearly in horror.

There are tears. Barely anything—it’s just a bit of water at the corners of Taehyung’s eyes that won’t dribble down. But it’s enough to make Jeongguk panic. And when Taehyung realizes it, it startles him, too.

“You’re... scaring me,” Jeongguk breathes out with raw honesty.

Not because Taehyung’s doing anything particularly odd—but because he’s crying. Again, it’s almost nothing. However... 

Taehyung hasn’t shed a single fucking tear in ten years.

Ten. Fucking. Years.

“Taehyung...”

“I’m fine,” Taehyung lies, reaching for the bowl with one hand, and for the spoon with another. “I’ll eat. Sorry. Thanks. For the food.”

Silence falls over them.

Although reluctantly, Taehyung digs into the meal, under Jeongguk’s gaze.

“Can I ask you something?”

Taehyung doesn’t look up from his bowl. 

So Jeongguk asks, anyway, “What was your relationship with him, exactly?”

It gets stuck in his throat. The food. Taehyung swallows it, struggling, though he doesn’t show it.

I don’t know, he wants to say. It was only professional. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

But then, why would he feel so helpless? Why would he feel like the world is crumbling and crushing him, burying him six feet under? It’s ridiculous. 

It’s fucking stupid.

“Taehyung—”

“I don’t know, Jeongguk. I don’t know,” Taehyung cuts off, feeling his throat constrict. “It’s just work—it’s always been just work. But I’d be fucking lying if I didn’t admit that he’s done something to me. He’s... gentle, in ways that make you question if you’re even capable of the same thing. He’s gone through shit, Jeongguk-ah, but he didn’t end up like us. He fought his way up, didn’t let this whole mess we call life make him bitter.” 

Jeongguk exhales heavily. “We have a heart, too, you know. You do.”

“It’s not about that,” Taehyung argues. “We are not made of endless patience and endless love. He is. Invite him to come to the Viper once and witness a fight, you’ll see that he’ll find a way to recognize the good in those shitheads’ rotten hearts.” 

“Well, he’s—”

“Too damn naive for this sick world? That’s exactly what I thought,” Taehyung cuts off. Jeongguk presses his lips into a thin line. “I never cared for anyone like this. Not until him. The thought of him gone... it’s like losing a part of myself I didn’t even know he owned.” 

A heavy silence settles. 

Grief hangs on his shoulders.

Jeongguk’s gaze drops to the floor as though it might hold the answer he’s looking to give Taehyung. 

It doesn’t.

Jeongguk’s phone buzzes. He sighs a small ‘sorry,’ before he picks up the call, speaking more quietly. “Hey. Mh? I’m with Taehyung. He’s... in a pretty bad shape. Barely holding on. [...] Mh, I know. I know. [...] What?”

Taehyung perks up. 

Jeongguk looks confused. He glances back at Taehyung. “No, I don’t think so. Are you sure? [...] Of course, I trust you, I just— [...] Okay. Okay I’ll tell him. Can you send me the location?”

Taehyung nearly falls off his seat when he pushes himself up, hope burning in his eyes. “What is it? Did Namjoon find something?” 

As Jeongguk hangs up, he looks back at the screen, probably waiting for Namjoon to send a message. When he does and it pings, Taehyung rushes by Jeongguk’s side to see. A picture of a five-star hotel. The Hunter’s Lair, it reads. Taehyung had already looked into one, in the outskirts of Seoul. He didn’t find anything. No one.

There’s a second hotel? In the same city? 

“Apparently, the last clue that man gave us wasn’t so wrong,” Jeongguk explains. “There are two hotels with the same name, here. But this one wasn’t listed because, weirdly enough, it’s impossible to book a room on their website. It’s like they closed it, but didn’t mention it anywhere online.”

Or... 

“A crazy rich psychopath booked all the rooms for god knows how long,” Taehyung breathes out. 

It makes sense. 

Jeongguk gasps in realization. “That... Hell, that’s crazy.”

“He’s dead meat,” Taehyung spits.

“Tae, wait, we need to be smart about t—”

Before Jeongguk can stop him, Taehyung grabs the keys of his car and storms outside the bar.

He found Jimin.

Taehyung found him. Right? 

Right ?

Chapter Text

It’s a day spent unconscious. Another spent half-way through death’s door. 

Jimin never knows what to expect when he awakes. Not that he expects anything, anymore. 

However, when the first thing that he notices the moment his eyes peel open is that he’s lying on the cold floor of the bedroom with a view of the space underneath the bed, a scream of terror breaks out of him.

There’s blood. 

A ton of it.

A pool of it.

And rabbits. Dead. Bloody.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Junwoo thunders from somewhere across the room, but Jimin is shutting his eyes close, so tightly that it stings. “Get up.”

Jimin’s ragged breaths turn into choked-up sobs. 

It hurts. Tremors rack his body. It hurts so bad. 

Jimin forces his eyes open again. This time, however, there’s nothing under the bed. Nothing but Junwoo’s shoes on the other side. 

A hallucination.

“Get up,” Junwoo orders again.

Jimin weakly pushes himself up. Falls at the first attempt. At the second. 

A sigh of defeat is heard. Junwoo moves from his spot to walk around the bed and pull Jimin up by the arm, but in doing so, he worsens the already twisted muscles he’d beat, lately. It punches a pained moan out of Jimin. 

“I think you need a little change of environment. It looks like you’re tired of only seeing this room. Don’t you?” 

Jimin flops onto the bed. He can’t even sit straight. Junwoo has to pull him back up again. 

Nod when I speak to you. So Jimin nods. 

“I thought so. What about the beach?” 

It’ll be nice, Jimin thinks. It’ll be warm. 

He doesn’t even remember the season they're in. Doesn’t know if it’s cold outside. Warm. Raining, or snowing. He doesn’t know a thing about the outside world anymore. How many days have passed? 

“Mmh, what about...” Junwoo tries again, pretending to think about it. Only to blurt out, “Our vacation house in Busan?” 

Jimin’s heart sinks.

His lungs fill up his throat. He wants to throw up. He bends over to do so, but Junwoo plasters a hand over his mouth, forcing the liquid that bubbles up Jimin’s mouth down.

No. No, not that. No, no, no, no. 

“You don’t like it?” 

Fear has carved a hole inside Jimin’s chest for a long time, now, but the thought of going to that cabin makes it so much worse. 

He’d rather drown inside the tub than follow Junwoo there.

The cabin was supposed to be a nice retreat for them. A lovely home to go spend some time together, without any distraction. It’s a small, wooden cabin nestled far into the forest. Disconnected from the entire world. Not a single phone works there, it’s impossible to track them back there. Not even cars pass by. 

On top of it all, there’s... a lake.

A whole, deep body of water to drown in. 

Convenient to throw a body that will never be found.

Fear clouds Jimin’s vision. Jimin’s mind. Jimin’s brain. 

He doesn’t hear anything else. 

He shuts himself off.

And passes out again.

...

The fear claws at Taehyung’s throat. From the inside. From the outside.

It’s the kind of fear that settles in his bones and never leaves.

The hotel comes into view as he grips the steering wheel harder and harder, knuckles white and wrist tense. This is his last lead. The last bit of thread he’s holding onto. It has to be it. Jimin has to be there. 

The silence of the empty passenger seat gnaws at him. What if it remains empty? 

When he arrives, his car seems to be the only one parked around there. Like everyone left. 

Taehyung hurries inside, pushing the doors open with his entire body weight. 

The lobby is dead silent. There’s no one, neither at the reception desk.

It’s like the place has been abruptly abandoned. Frozen in time.

“Don’t tell me I’m fucking late,” Taehyung curses under his breath, feeling suddenly strangled by the rising panic. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers clutching at it to try and think, before he rushes to the front desk. 

The computer screen flickers when Taehyung gets to it. It’s still on. His mind is too occupied by getting to Jimin that he doesn’t even question why it’s still on, or if someone’s watching from a corner of the lobby. His fingers fly over the keyboard to get access to the system, and despite it taking a few tries, he gets the hang of it quite rapidly. 

Room after room flash on the screen. 

Unavailable

He scrolls through all of them.

Unavailable

Unavailable

Unavailable

His pulse quickens. The rooms aren’t booked, and yet they’re unavailable. No one has checked in. It’s like the hotel has been turned into a ghost town. 

“Come on,” Taehyung breathes out heavily as he scrolls faster, the clicks of the mouse falling repeatedly.

Click.

Click.

Click.

“Finally.” Taehyung’s heart drums in his ears when he finds the room. 

Room 513 - xxxx xxxxx

The name of the guest is hidden, but it’s not what caught his eyes. It’s the timestamp. 

The card access has been used repeatedly over the past few days. No check-in, no check-out. No room service. No status from the cleaning staff.

Taehyung turns to the rack behind the desk where the room cards are kept and aligned. It takes him a moment to find the right floor before he pulls the drawer number 5, and swallows down another curse when he notices it.

The missing cards from the room 513. 

He’ll have to break the door.

Taehyung bolts from the desk straight to the elevators, punching the buttons until the doors open and he slips into it. The ride up feels like an eternity, but once it opens again, he rushes into the corridor.

Room 501

Room 502

His heart beats out of his throat.

Room 513

Taehyung’s hand flies to the doorknob, twisting it, and his blood turns to ice when he realizes it’s already half-open. Left like that, like he was expected. 

He’s too late.

He shoves the door open with all his strength, sending it slamming against the wall. “JIMIN!” he shouts, voice cracking.

Silence answers him. Unsettling. Wrong.

Taehyung’s guts twist. The room is chaos. The sheets are half-torn from the bed, tangled in knots, damp and hanging from the mattress like they’d been gripped in an attempt to escape someone. The pillows are also drenched, scattered and ripped all over the floor, stained in deep, coppery blotches of blood. 

It’s only when Taehyung steps deeper into the room, toward the bathroom, that he sees it. 

The water seeping across the floor. Flooding it. Slicking his shoes as he stumbles forward, heart in his throat, desperation clawing at his insides. 

“JIMIN!” He screams again, like he’s still somehow here. 

But he isn’t.

Nobody is.

Not in the wardrobes Taehyung nearly breaks open. Not behind the curtains he rips to shreds. Not in the bathroom, where he kicks the door open and comes across an even worse sight. 

He hadn’t heard it before. The open tap. The water keeps flooding, overflowing the tub, carrying with it bubbles of what he thinks is soap, and... blood. Blood smeared all over the floor. 

His shoe lifts. And falls back with a wet squelch into the mess. 

“No, no, no, no,” Taehyung repeats like a mantra, desperate and raw, fingers running to the nape of his neck where he pulls on the skin. Trying to wake himself from this nightmare. “You had to be here. You had to be here!” 

Taehyung hurries to open the cabinets, to try and find something that would lead him to Jimin, but there’s nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He frantically paces back into the bedroom, eyes darting from one corner to another, until he notices it.

Hair.

Strands stuck to the corner of the bed frame. Matted with blood.

Taehyung’s vision swims in panic. His legs move on their own, stumbling as he throws himself onto his knees, fingers trembling uncontrollably as he reaches for the hair, hoping that it wasn’t his. 

Jimin’s. 

Taehyung’s throat closes up when he confirms it. 

He freezes. 

Something peeks from underneath the bed. 

Taehyung swallows the lump in his throat and drops to the floor, the side of his face hitting the cold, wet floor in a squelch, and he presses it down a little more.

He stares at it. 

And it stares back.

Taehyung extends his arm into the darkness and pulls it out from underneath, inch by inch. When he finally gets it, he turns it over where he throws it on the floor. 

A canvas. A familiar painting.

The same painting that was hanging between the elevators of the hotel, back in Daegu. 

Taehyung’s stomach churns at the realization that Junwoo had been there, too, with them. It starts to make sense. Jimin’s odd behavior. His request to scan the bedroom. The random USB stick by the bed. 

The woods are just as haunting as they were back then. Dark and morbid. Threatening. Like an invitation to fall right into Death’s claws. 

Something else catches his attention. On the corner of the canvas, the rabbit’s fur is peeking. Hesitantly, Taehyung reaches for it and brushes the pad of his trembling fingers there. It’s a bit dry. Strong. 

Hair. Shorter strands of hair.

It’s Jimin’s hair. 

And it’s glued onto the rabbit’s fur. 

Like he is the prey. Not a rabbit, not an animal.

But Park Jimin.

Taehyung fumbles for his phone, breath coming in ragged and choppy as he dials the number, mind crackling from the horror of the room.

“Hyung? Did you get him? Are you—”

“He’s not here,” Taehyung chokes out as he throws the canvas on the bed and stands up on weak legs. “He’s not here, Jeongguk. That fucker took him. Jimin’s not—” 

A deafening sound bursts. The entire room vibrates violently. 

Two frames fall off the walls and shatter against the floor.

“What the hell was that?” 

Taehyung’s panic spikes. 

Instinctively, he flips his phone in his hands to snap a quick picture of the canvas, his mind racing and screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. 

“Taehyung? Hey, what—”

Another bomb explodes, this time in the room next to where he is, bursting the sink and flooding the place in seconds. Pieces of the blown-out door fly through the air, but Taehyung is fast enough to pluck out the sharp piece that nearly tore his arm.

Taehyung bolts out without answering, pulse thundering in his ears as he throws himself into the hallway. 

“Hey—hey, I’m serious, what the fuck is going on?!”

Taehyung sprints for the staircase, nearly slipping once or twice with his wet soles over the expensive marble floor. “Bombs,” he says, out of breath.

“What?”

“That fucker put—” 

Another explosion erupts from another floor, louder, closer. The walls rattle, and Taehyung stumbles over the last couple steps, catching himself onto the guardrail before he pushes himself forward again. There’s smoke all over the place. Heat claws at his back when he reaches the lobby, and that’s when he sees the glass shattering, the roar of fire swelling and consuming the entire building. 

Taehyung throws himself through the main doors, and the force of the last explosion shoves him into the pavement, his palms scraping against it. 

The hotel erupts into flames.

Clouds of black smoke bleed into the sky.

Shards in his flesh, cutting through the now torn clothes.

“Taehyung!?”

Jeongguk’s voice is distant now. Taehyung’s phone had escaped him and landed steps behind him. But as he stares, in shock, at the horror before him, Taehyung remains frozen.

Unable to snap back to reality.

It burns. The whole building. 

It burns.

And Jimin wasn’t there.

He wasn’t there. Right? He didn’t burn with it. Right? 

There’s something else Jeongguk screams to get his attention, but Taehyung’s mind is filled with rage. Fear. Worries.

The passenger seat will remain empty on his way back.

And the realization tears through his ribs. Through his guts. Through his heart.

Jimin is gone. 

...

The road is bumpy.

That’s the only thought that crosses Jimin’s ill mind every time he awakens. The state of consciousness only lasts a few seconds, all those times.

It’s enough for him to make a second realization before they arrive, though; he’s not lying inside the trunk. He’s not even lying down. He’s sitting. In the back seat. Held securely with the seatbelt.

It makes him smile.

For once, he realizes he’s in a position where he can be human. 

Not a doll. Not a piece of meat. A human. 

He smiles.

Before he passes out again.

Something warm caresses Jimin in his sleep. It softly wraps around his body, kisses his skin. It’s probably a dream. For once, he’s not caught in a nightmare. He tries to make it last. A little longer. A little more...

As his eyelids flutter open, he realizes that the warmth he’d felt has been nothing but the sun. 

There’s natural light seeping through the blinds, bathing the bedroom he’s in. It takes a moment for the reality to sink in. When it does, Jimin’s heart sets off erratically. 

He’s lying on the bed, inside the vacation cabin that is lost deep into the woods. From where he is, he can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky lakeshore. A long time ago, the sound would bring him comfort and safety in the pit of his stomach. But now? It terrifies him beyond words. 

A panic attack seizes him. His throat closes up, sobs struggling to break out of him, and his entire body trembles. A heavy weight presses down on his chest so hard that it feels like his ribs are being crushed one by one, broken and split.

It lasts an hour.

Probably more.

Jimin doesn’t know.

But by the end of it, all Jimin can do is stare ahead, at a picture he wishes he could erase from both the wall and his mind.

     Our Summer 2024, J & J ♡

Handwritten under the picture of the two of them, beaming at the camera, with the cabin peeking in the background.

It was nice, he thinks. His life wasn't so bad, before. Right? He always had sweet, loving parents. Sweet, loving friends. 

Images flash in his mind. Of his parents. Of Taemin. Namjoon. 

More tears dribble down on the already dried paths the previous ones made as his attention pans to the bracelet around his wrist. Still tightly hanging on. Parts of it stained by his own blood.

“Whatever this job entails,” a familiar voice echoes in his head, “I promise you, Park Jimin, that I won’t take my eyes off of you. I’ll protect you. Even against the pouring rain.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar. 

You promised. 

Taehyung promised it on his knees, forehead flushed against the floor, by Jimin's feet. But he lied. He lied right in front of him. 

You abandoned me.

You left me to die.

It starts to pour.

In and out.

...

The door to the office bursts open, and with haste, Jeongguk jumps back from where he’d been wrapped around Namjoon, clearing his throat when Taehyung steps forward.

“Tell me this painting leads to somewhere,” Taehyung urges breathlessly when Namjoon turns the chair around and pushes himself away from his desk to take Taehyung’s phone. “It has to lead somewhere.”

While Namjoon sends the picture from the phone to his office computer, Jeongguk hesitantly reaches to wipe the black dust from Taehyung’s hair, as well as the blood from his torn-up sleeve. “Hey, you’re alright?” 

“What do you think?” 

Jeongguk stares. Worry melts into defeat as he sighs. “Do you really wanna fight now, of all times?”

Taehyung closes his eyes for a moment, clenching his jaw to not speak another word he’d regret. He’s burning with anger, yes, but his frustration shouldn’t fall on Jeongguk’s shoulders. Not when Taehyung’s the one who brought him into this mess in the first place.

“I’ve already seen this painting somewhere,” Namjoon says, snatching their attention, “and I’m trying to find a match, but it’s hard.”

“Then fucking find someone who can do it!” Taehyung snaps, before his collar gets abruptly grabbed, twisted and yanked forward for him to look into Jeongguk’s furious eyes.

“Calm the fuck down, Taehyung. Now is not the time to turn your back on us. You’re freaking close, and yelling at Namjoon won’t bring you anywhere closer, do you hear me?”

Taehyung’s breath stutters. He swallows down the desperation burning on his tongue, staring at Jeongguk without a word. 

As though he hasn’t even noticed the mess behind him, Namjoon speaks again to explain calmly, “I found the source of it. It’s a painting that belongs to one of Jang Junwoo’s collections.”

Jeongguk lets go of Taehyung, and they both hurry on each of Namjoon’s sides to look at the screen.

“Junwoo held a private exhibition a little less than two years ago, including this painting. It’s titled Our Summer.” 

“Fucking funny,” Taehyung mumbles through gritted teeth. The painting has nothing that evokes Summer. It’s exactly the opposite. It’s a grim, macabre depiction of a forest, and if Taehyung had to title it, it’d probably be Death. Or, alternatively, The Hunt. It fits the look of terror in the rabbit’s eyes, like it’s ready to be eaten alive in the dead of the night.

“I think he painted other parts of these woods,” Namjoon adds, a bit hesitant, as he goes through the various paintings of Jang Junwoo’s collections. “It kind of matches the description of a place Jimin once mentioned.”

Taehyung’s heart leaps. “Where?”

But Namjoon only grimaces. “That’s the thing. We never talked about it, he simply mentioned it once randomly. I remember because he said he always wanted to have his own little house by the lake. I think it was... in Busan.”

Great. It surely is specific. “It’s a five-hour drive from here,” Taehyung reminds him, “you have to be certain. We can’t just go because you think it was there.”

“Well, it would have been easier if we had Jimin’s phone,” Namjoon sighs, just as annoyed. “I’m pretty sure he had pictures of that place somewhere.” 

“I have it.”

Silence crashes down on them.

They both turn to Taehyung with wide, shocked eyes, while Taehyung hurries to pick up Jimin’s phone from the pocket of his jeans. 

Namjoon looks at a loss for words. Neither furious, neither relieved. “You had it all along?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung breathes out, handing it to him.

“And you didn’t think about telling us before?”

“Like you didn’t think about telling me about that sick psychopath?” Taehyung snaps back, and Namjoon takes the blow with a breath of disbelief. “No. I didn’t. I figured this would be in much safer hands with me. Now, come on, use it!”

With a controlled inhale, Namjoon nods and begins to go through the camera roll. While Taehyung leans in to try and find pictures that would be similar to the painting, Jeongguk takes a respectful step back, like he refuses to intrude and add another stranger’s pair of eyes in someone’s personal pictures. 

There’s nothing but selcas, concert pictures, and random nature shots.

Namjoon rapidly scrolls back to a year ago. Further back.

“Did he delete them?” Taehyung asks, holding his breath as Namjoon scrolls at a slower pace, now.

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon sighs. Until he nearly jumps into his seat, startling both Taehyung and Jeongguk. “I got it.”

“What?”

Namjoon turns toward his desktop where he transfers the picture to open it in full size. 

It’s another selca. Of Jimin and Junwoo by a lake, in front of what looks like a wooden cabin. The shapes of the trees in the background are similar to the forest depicted on the canvas. But what unsettles Taehyung isn’t how much the place matches with the painting. No. It’s Jimin’s smile. 

The type of smile that gleams. Shines. The type of smile that stretches his lips, melts his eyes into crescents. The type of smile in which Taehyung can hear that soft and warm giggle. 

Were you truly that happy? 

“Where is this?” Jeongguk asks after the awkward silence that settles between them. He must have sensed Taehyung’s sudden frustration.

“I’m not sure,” Namjoon admits. “The best thing to do would be to send this to someone I know who’d be able to take the details out of this picture, including the time it has been taken, and the location.” 

“Sounds good,” Jeongguk hums.

Without another word, Taehyung paces back and forth to try and get rid of the nervosity clinging to his skin, before he decides to slump into the couch that sits in the corner of Namjoon’s office. He rubs his bruised palms against his face. 

And waits.

That’s all he can do right now. No matter how much this makes him want to crush his fist into a wall. Into a skull. 

So he leans back, throws his head onto the back of the couch, and closes his eyes.

The sound of the keys being punched repeatedly echoes into the office, along with the clicks of the mouse. 

Hums, and quiet chatters. 

Heavy sighs.

Murmured, “It’s okay. We’ll find him. He’s alive. He’s alive.”

Taehyung’s mind seems to slip through his fingers at some point. For an hour, two, he isn’t sure. 

Time blurs into a haze. 

Exhaustion overtakes him for another while, but he jolts awake at a particularly loud notification ping that resonates through the place. 

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk calls, breathless.

Taehyung jumps to his feet and rushes by their side, heart racing in his throat. “What? Where is he?” 

On the screen, the map flickers. A red dot pulsing at a location, somewhere in... 

“Busan,” Jeongguk breathes out. “You were right.”

“Why is it moving?” Taehyung asks, eyes following the flickering dot. It keeps jerking across the map, disappearing and reappearing. Near the lake. It vanishes. Back in the woods. It covers a rather large area, but doesn’t point at a specific location. It’s like it can’t pinpoint where the picture had been taken. 

“It’s a secluded area. There’s no stable signal, there. No Wi-Fi, no network connection,” Namjoon explains. “Besides, there are two buildings shown on the map in that area. The cabin can be any of these two. One may not even be there anymore, who knows. I’m pretty sure they haven’t updated this area for quite some time.”

Taehyung’s stomach twists. 

The dot keeps pulsing. Like Jimin, it’s trapped somewhere. Out of reach. Screaming to be found. 

“I’m going,” Taehyung decides hurriedly. “It’ll take one hour at best to find the cabin. With a five-hour drive to Busan, it’s six. I need to go, now.”

“We are going,” Namjoon reminds him, standing to his feet to catch Taehyung’s wrist. “I’m not letting you go alone. I’ll also have someone be ready in case we’ll need it.”

Taehyung stares. Hesitant.

But it’s not like having Namjoon by his side is a bad idea. His head dips into a thankful nod. 

“I’m going with you,” Jeongguk adds, worried that he’d be left alone. Namjoon and Taehyung turn to him with confused eyes. Jeongguk stares back. And laughs. “What, now? Do I have to remind you two that I knocked over men twice your sizes for years? I’m your best weapon in case of emergency.” 

While Namjoon raises a brow, mouth parted, Taehyung huffs a laugh. He’s not wrong. Not one bit. Taehyung slaps his hand down on Jeongguk’s shoulder, offering him a nod. “Come on, King Jeon, it may be your time to shine.”  

Jeongguk grins.

...

The sun has already died on the horizon by the time Jimin’s eyelids flutter open. 

His body is heavy. Heavier than it’s been until now. It’s like it’s filled with fluids. With water.

His lungs, his guts, his ribcage. Like they’re minutes from exploding.

Is he dying? Is he rotting?

It takes him a long time, but when he finally manages to dig his palms into the mattress, Jimin pulls himself up into a sitting position, his back straining as he does. His spine barely holding on. 

The duffel bag he’d seen Junwoo bring back to the hotel every time is now sitting at the end of the bed. It’s zipped open. Jimin could lean in and peek inside without touching, yet he hesitates. Fearing it. 

Can he even look at what he isn’t explicitly allowed to? Shouldn’t he wait to be ordered around? Shouldn’t he even be back to lying down with his eyes closed? Pretend he’s sleeping, like a good doll?

His throat closes up on the knot he tries to swallow. 

Just a peek. Just one—Junwoo wouldn’t notice. How would he know? 

Weakly, Jimin moves. He has to physically lift himself up to be able to shift closer to the bag, like he barely has any use of his legs now. He leans in. A little bit more. A little more... Until he notices it. From the corners of his eyes.

The bag bleeds. It’s seeping through the sides.

Another peek inside the bag and...

Jimin’s pupils dilate in sheer terror. A visceral and raw scream rips through his throat, and the terror throws him off the bed, collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thud.

Rabbits. 

Dead rabbits. 

They’re bloody, just like they were underneath the hotel bed. Wet, too. As though they’ve been drowned before being ripped open. Their feet are tied up, like they weren’t given a pathetic chance to fight for life.

Dead. Bloody. Tied up. Rabbits. Drowned. Dead—

The door bursts open a few seconds later, and Jimin doesn’t process Junwoo’s presence before his hair is grabbed and he’s forced back onto the bed. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

Jimin’s cries break out of him. His chest seizes, tightness burning his ribs, crushing his lungs. A panic attack. It tears through him. Feels like it’s exploding throughout his entire body. The room distorts, the walls closing up on him at a dizzying pace. 

“Fuck. I hate that you were right,” Junwoo spits, but Jimin can’t even process his words. 

Not when he feels his throat lock up, a strangled gasp escaping him, unable to breathe. His hands, arms, legs shake violently. He feels trapped. Caged in his own skin. 

“I hate responsibilities. But you know what's worse?” Junwoo laughs humorlessly, brutally grabbing Jimin’s arm. “I hate your fucking cries. They make me wanna vomit.”

Jimin’s head spins, vision blurring, black spots dancing at the edges. He tries, he really tries to stop, to not anger Junwoo any further than that, but he can’t control any of this. It’s like he’s breathing underwater. It fills in his lungs again. Bubbles up. And... 

It crushes his guts until it spills out of him. Vomit.

All over the floor. 

“Fucking hell—you’re disgusting.”

Jimin’s teeth clatter so loudly, his entire body convulsing with the remnants of nausea stuck at the back of his throat, and he barely manages to turn his head enough to watch Junwoo reach for the duffel back at the end of the bed. 

He watches as Junwoo reaches for the dead rabbits Jimin had spotted earlier.

A rabbit?

No.

There’s no animal in there. Jimin sees it, now. It’s...

Ropes. Knives. Rifle. Hunting materials.

Another wave hits him, but it doesn’t come out. His jaw falls open, a sickening gag escaping, his chest spasming. He wants to scream again, to throw himself onto the floor and beg for mercy, but he can’t do anything but cry, gushes of tears flooding as his wrists are yanked forward and tied up tight. So tight that he fears his hands might fall, with the way his blood circulation has been cut off.

“Let’s play a game, yeah?” 

Jimin cries, his body oscillating in all directions like he’s nothing but a doll being used, tied up, and prepared. 

“I’m in the mood to hunt,” Junwoo adds, pupils dilated with excitement. “I wasn’t exactly planning on doing this so early on, but you pissed me off. Again.”

Jimin tries to scream at him to stop, to please let me go, but all he manages are wails, the snot bubbling under his nose and mixing with the tears and spit dribbling from the corners of his lips. He’s lost it. His mind. But also...

His voice.

The only things he’s managing are helpless wails. Muted by fear. Muted by torture.

“Let’s play by the lake, now, shall we?” 

Jimin doesn’t manage to shake his head, but his heart throws itself against his ribcage so loud, so fast, that it feels like it’s being ripped out and shoved back inside again. His wrists are yanked again for him to stand up, though he collapses almost instantly, unable to stand on his feet. Too weak. Too broken. 

“Come on.” 

Jimin nearly passes out when fingers slip under his already tight collar and drag him out of the room. Choking him. 

The letters Jang Junwoo sinking into his throat until it bleeds. 

It’s too late now—he’s crawled under Jimin’s skin. Gnawed and settled in his bones. 

Forever.

“Our last hunt.”

Jimin’s vision swims. He’s barely holding onto the last bit of consciousness, reality feeling like a series of shots taken minutes apart. 

It’s when the cold starts biting into his skin that he understands they’ve left the cabin. It only gets colder from there, however. Colder, and colder. Like they’re reaching the shore.

The quiet sound of the waves hitting against it snaps Jimin out of his trance. 

His eyes bulge out of their sockets at the realization and the morbid sight before him. He’s tugged forward by his tied wrists, and before his brain processes it, he’s already at the start of a creaky and old wooden bridge. 

“Step forward.”

Junwoo’s order falls like a sharp knife over Jimin’s shoulders. Body frozen, locked in terror, Jimin doesn’t move. Not until a slight push against his back makes him take that step. A high-pitched scream breaks out of him. 

“Don’t be a pussy. Take another step.”

Jimin’s entire body is shaking. It’s even a miracle that he stands without Junwoo’s help. He manages to lift his head just enough to take in the horrible painting that surrounds him.

The night swallows everything. The pitch black sky. The forest. The lake.

Beneath the bridge, Jimin can’t even glance at it. It’s a void, inky, endless, like a bottomless pit waiting to devour anything and anyone that falls into it. Around it is the forest. Dense and oppressive at night. The trunks and branches twisting like webs. Like gnarled hands trying to reach out and wrap around a throat.

The worst of it is the feeling of being watched. Eyes. Thousands of pairs of them. Hidden in the shadows, staring from the depths of the forest, from the depth of the lake. 

Jimin’s skin crawls, every nerve screaming at him to run away—

But where to?

There’s no escape. His wrists are bound, his legs weak, his mind weaker. 

“Forward. Or I’m pushing you.”

While sobs rack his body, Jimin steps forward. One clumsy step. Another clumsier one. The planks creak underneath him, like they’re threatening to collapse. 

Please don’t make me fall. 

Please.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

“Further. Come on, don’t you wanna see if the water is warm?”

It’s freezing. It’s freezing, I know it’s freezing. It’s still winter. Isn’t it? 

Jimin cries. Before he realizes it, he’s on his knees. Collapsed. He crawls forward, pathetically. Until he’s at the very edge. 

His heart sinks to the bottom of the lake.

“Good. Now, are you listening?” Junwoo waits. 

But he’s aware of Jimin’s inability to talk. 

He can’t. Fear tied up his vocal cords. 

Despite it, Jimin nods. Vividly. Frightened out of his mind. 

“I’m giving you thirty seconds. Once I start counting, you can run. Run away from me. You know this forest like the back of your hand, don’t you? We used to play there, too.”

Play?

Jimin can’t even remember. Is he messing with him?

“I’ll start now. You understood?”

Jimin swallows thickly. The world spins around him. He nearly falls into the lake.

“One,” Junwoo begins.

And Jimin’s guts burn.

“Two.”

Adrenaline pushes him up. It propels him back, back, and back, until he’s no longer on the bridge.

“Three.”

And he bolts.

...

The ride has been mostly silent.

Jeongguk fell asleep the very first minutes, which wasn’t much of a surprise to Taehyung. It was to be expected, knowing that he’d worked all night at the Viper’s Vault until early morning, and didn’t get one moment of rest with this whole mess. 

The thing that bothered Taehyung, however, was that he had to spend the entire ride next to Namjoon. Which wouldn’t be so terrible if he wasn’t blurting useless questions through the ride. Or turning on the radio, which Taehyung kept turning off. Again. And again.

“You need to relax,” Namjoon sighs after a good four hours of driving, reaching for the button to turn up the sound, before Taehyung swats his hand and goes back to gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

A thunderbolt abruptly bursts and rips the dark veil above them, a minute before the first drops fall onto the windshield. And then—it starts pouring.

Fucking hell.

Yeah, Taehyung’s not relaxing any time soon.

“Alright,” Namjoon finally, finally gives up, but it’s not like they’re that far, now. 

The night had already fallen when they reached Busan. 

And the further Taehyung drove them, the darker the surroundings grew. The city lights fade behind them, and while they’re leaving the heart of Busan, they’re entering the dying part of it. The forest.

“Is it really here?” 

Namjoon looks back at his phone and hums. “Yeah. We’re almost reaching the part without—” a heavy sigh escapes him, “—network. It stopped working now.”

“Fantastic,” Taehyung lets out, voice dripping with sarcasm. At least, that means they’re close. That means Jimin is close. Taehyung tries to hold on to that thought, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

The road grows bumpy. 

It seems to be enough for Jeongguk to wake up with a low grunt—as if the ear-splitting thunder and the pouring rain weren’t enough. “We arrived?” he mumbles. Namjoon’s the one who turns back to reach for him, probably offering a gentle caress. Whatever. Taehyung doesn’t look through the rearview mirror to confirm it.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to go by foot, soon,” Namjoon says.

“Alright,” Jeongguk hums.

Taehyung adjusts his position in his seat, feeling strangely uncomfortable. Surely it must be due to the sudden creeping cold that seeps into the car, chilling him to the bone. Or the sight of the trees standing on each side of the road, curving like they’re trying to suffocate the car. 

A corridor of dread.

Just like the painting. 

Taehyung slams the brakes.

“What the fuck—!” Jeongguk jolts in his seat, thrown forward by the abrupt stop. The tires screech against the gravel when it sends the car lurching to a halt. “Taehyung!?”

“There’s something on the road,” Taehyung notes, breathless, eyes staring ahead.

Namjoon turns his head to look. “What?”

“There’s something on the road,” Taehyung repeats.

It’s gleaming under the headlights.

Taehyung swallows thickly. Before he can speak another word, he yanks the seatbelt off of him and jumps out of the car. He hurries to grab the small object into his hand, heart sinking when he confirms his fear. 

It’s Jimin’s bracelet of luck.

Covered in blood. Only a small part of it is still green, but it’s still mainly covered in blood, barely washed out by the rain. Nearly matching with his own, red bracelet.

No.

No, no, no.

“What is it?” Namjoon asks, the sound of the car door closing muffled under the rain that starts to gradually die down. “Did you find something?”

“This was Jimin’s bracelet,” Taehyung says breathlessly. He shakes it in the air, desperation clinging to his throat when he looks around, pacing a few steps forward and back again like it’s going to help him see where Jimin is through the curtain of rain. He inhales deeply, chest spasming, nervously licking his already wet lips, blinking away the water that’s stuck to his eyelids. “He was there. He must be here. Somewhere. I need to walk from there.”

“We’re coming with—”

“No,” Taehyung cuts Jeongguk off, pointing at them with a shaky hand. “You two need to continue driving. See where this road leads you to. If you find the cabin, it’ll be better for you to have the car. I need to be on my own here. I’m sure he’s not far.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk exhales as he rushes to the driver’s seat. “Since we don’t have any way to communicate, do we just—scream?” 

“We’ll find each other,” Taehyung assures. We’ll find Jimin. “And we’ll find that sick lunatic. Dead or alive.”

They both give a quick nod before jumping back into the car, while Taehyung turns on the flashlight of his phone and heads toward the forest, led by the streaks of blood on the gravel that soon begin to wash down with the rain.

The engine fades behind him as he plunges deeper into the darkness, the branches soon scratching at his skin. He’s soaked. From head to toe. Soon, he’ll probably be freezing, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. Not for one second. 

“JIMIN!” He screams in hopes of hearing something, someone. 

However, he only hears the echoes of his voice. The rustling of leaves. The rain? It already stopped. It’s only the water drops collapsing from where they rest, on the branches and leaves.

It’s dead silent. 

Taehyung pushes deeper into the forest, tightening the bracelet in his hand to ground him and remind himself to breathe. “Please, wait a little more,” he murmurs desperately. “Just a little more.”

The distant sound of water lapping against the shore draws him closer. He runs through the source of it, branches snapping under his soles, breath coming in ragged and choppy. Until the lake finally comes into view, the surface of it shimmering under the moonlight. And a few meters from there—a cabin. Perched on the edge of the water. 

It must be there. It must be.

There’s light spilling from the windows. Someone’s there. Inside.

Taehyung’s heart explodes in his eardrums. He quickens the space, throwing himself forward to run through the cabin. In front of it, Taehyung spots a car parked there. The same one he’d seen in the footage Namjoon got from the CCTV camera of Jimin’s building.

It’s here.

It’s finally here.

Taehyung chokes on his breath as soon as he arrives, throwing his entire body against the door that gives in easily. He stumbles forward, pulling himself up almost instantly to scream. “JANG JUNWOO!”

The cabin is oddly silent.

The TV is on. Playing a documentary about hunting. 

The table is dressed. Two plates. Bleeding pieces of meat on each one. Raw.

Taehyung almost runs toward the bedroom first before he hears it.

Piercing through the night—Jimin’s scream of terror. 

Taehyung moves the very second. He dashes through the living room, brutally twists the handle of the wall-sized windows to slide it open, and runs out of the cabin.

Despite the pitch black sky, Taehyung sees it.

Sees them.

And his blood turns to ice.

Junwoo is dragging Jimin across the rocky shore, yanking his rope-tied wrists forward, not glancing once back at where Jimin’s head keeps knocking against the ground.

From there, all Taehyung sees is red.

Red. 

Red. 

Blood red.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!” The scream tears out of his throat.

Junwoo instantly drops Jimin, head snapping up, startled. Eyes so wide and round like he’s freaked out by Taehyung’s presence. Like he miscalculated, for the very first time in his sickening fucking plan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathes out, confidence barely showing in his smile. “Fucking street dog, you should have blown up!”

It happens too fast.

Taehyung doesn’t even process it.

One second, he’s running toward him.

The next, his fist is shoved into Junwoo’s jaw, a sickening crack that punches a loud and pained moan out of him and sends him stumbling backward.

It hurts. It bleeds. Taehyung’s knuckles.

But he doesn’t care. Not one, fucking bit.

“I said I’ll kill you,” Taehyung breathes out raggedly, twisting Junwoo’s arm as soon as he tries to grab Taehyung’s collar, knocking his knee with a brutal kick, and he can swear he sees it bend backward. “And I intend to fulfill that promise.”

“You can’t kill me!” Junwoo screams hysterically, blood spilling from his mouth. He lunges himself at Taehyung, tackling him onto the ground. “You’re not capable of killing someone!” He keeps screaming. 

As Taehyung scrambles to grab the rocks underneath him, it seems that Junwoo has gotten the same idea. 

“You’re a filthy dog who’s only barks and no bites!”  

Taehyung takes the first blow. Right across his face. His nose bleeds instantly, seeping into his mouth, but all he thinks about is smashing the rock he has in his hands against Junwoo’s skull. And he does.

It strikes him violently. Crashes into his temple with a sickening crack.

Taehyung repeats it.

Again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Until Junwoo loses balance. 

Until...

“TAE—!” 

Taehyung snaps out of it instantly. 

His heart rips itself into shreds at the terror in Jimin’s voice. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung breathes out shakily, panting. With frantic eyes, he realizes that Junwoo’s body has fallen to the side. Limp. Motionless. 

It bleeds. All over the shore. All over Taehyung’s soaked clothes.

He might be dead. Taehyung doesn’t know.

The rock slides from his shaky hands, and the next second, he’s pulling himself up and rushing to Jimin. Stumbling on his way there. 

“J—Jimin,” it falls weakly from Taehyung’s cracked, bloody lips. He throws himself onto his knees, urgently reaching to untie Jimin’s wrists and ankles, guts boiling at the sight of someone he doesn’t even recognize anymore. 

An empty shell. Pale. Tainted red, with purple and blue bruises. 

Weak. Empty. Hollow.

Barely weighting anything, now. A feather. Fragile.

Desperate screams tear from Jimin’s throat, raw and guttural. Sobs that force his chest to convulse, like he’s seconds from passing out, gasping for air. Gasping for life.

As soon as his limbs are free, Jimin throws himself at Taehyung, crashing into him with his arms locking around Taehyung’s neck with a force that suffocates him. Clinging to him like a lifeline. His nails sink into Taehyung’s back, terrified beyond words. And he could rip through clothes, through flesh—Taehyung doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t.

He pulls Jimin closer, holding him tighter, crushing him into his chest like he’s shielding him from the nightmare that doesn’t seem to have ended. Not in Jimin’s mind. 

Taehyung can feel the panic in Jimin’s convulsing body; the violent tremors, his hands grabbing anywhere they can, desperate to grasp and never let go, ever again, like the terror is pouring out, overflowing after being contained for so long.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Taehyung repeats, his own voice cracking, allowing Jimin to pull him even closer, closer, and closer, until there’s no remnant of space between them, until they’re sticking together. “I’m here. This is over, do you hear me? This is over.”

Jimin jolts with each sob, wailing uncontrollably into the crook of Taehyung's neck, snot and spit mixed together. 

“Breathe,” Taehyung encourages when he cups the side of Jimin’s head to press his face into the damp mess of Jimin’s hair. A way to ground himself, too. “Please, breathe. This is over, now.” 

Taehyung doesn't let go of him for one second. Not even when the sound of a car approaching reaches him. Lights flickering. And worried shouts.

“Jimin!” Namjoon runs in their direction, followed closely by Jeongguk. “Oh god, no—”

Taehyung tightens his hold around Jimin when his sobs grow more frantic, desperate, the fear consuming him and choking him. “Jimin, you're safe now. You're safe.”

It’s vain. The reassurance, the embrace, the attempts at coaxing him to calm down.

“Where is he? He isn’t anywhere inside the cabin,” Jeongguk says breathlessly after running back to check the place. 

Taehyung’s heart sinks. “What do you mean where is he, he—” The words get stuck in his throat when he jerks his head to his left, where he left Junwoo’s bleeding body. Except that now... There’s nobody there.

Nothing but the bloody rocks.

His face turns pale. “No,” he breathes out, “no, this can’t be fucking happen—”

Jimin’s strident scream puts a quick end to Taehyung’s rage, urging him to press his face back into Jimin’s hair, cupping his head, wrapping him with as much warmth as Taehyung can. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out weakly, voice brittle. “I’m sorry, Jimin, I’m sorry.”

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

The cold bites into his skin. Freezes the tip of his fingers. The tip of his nose. 

Taehyung believes that his mind disconnects for a heartbeat. Or seconds. Or minutes. He can’t tell. The world fades, blurs, goes mute. 

When he becomes aware of his surroundings again, Jimin’s cries have gone quiet. His tremors lessened. Not because the fear subsided. Not because the storm raging in his mind calmed.

“Jimin?” Taehyung tries, his embrace loosening, making him realize just how tightly he’d been holding him. 

And that’s when he feels Jimin’s head loll to the side, on his shoulder. Still. Passed out.

“Taehyung,” Namjoon calls urgently, and from the corners of his eyes, Taehyung sees that he’s running back from the car. “I called for help. They’re on their way, and they’re going to secure the perimeters so that we actively search through the woods. He shouldn’t be too far.”

Taehyung’s eyes are on Jimin. Staring. His pulse quickening, louder and louder in his eardrums. 

He isn’t listening. 

“Taehyung.”

No response.

I should have found you earlier, the words echo in his mind. The tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. How much did you endure until now?

“Taehyung,” Namjoon insists, “you should bring him to the hospital. Now.”

This time, Taehyung jerks his head up, his movements frantic like he’s on the verge of losing his mind. Tipping into madness. “No.”

Namjoon frowns. “What?”

“No,” Taehyung repeats, “haven’t you seen him? Haven’t you heard his screams? He can’t wake up in the hospital, it’ll terrify him.”

“Taehyung, you’re going mad right now. Jimin is in a terrible state, and don’t even try to deny it—not only is he malnourished, he’s covered in bruises. Who knows what else is hiding under the clothes? We need to bring him urgent care—”

Like he heard him, Jimin’s head jerks. Violently, unnaturally. It starts shaking, like his body is trying to refuse, to say no, and while Taehyung tries to keep him from hurting himself, Jimin’s head keeps knocking against Taehyung’s collarbones. Taehyung’s shoulder. 

No, no, no. 

“I’ll bring him home,” Taehyung decides, chest spasming with the breath he takes. “I’ll drive home now. I’ll bring him home. I’ll take care of him.”

“Taehyung—”

“Let him,” Jeongguk interrupts from behind Namjoon, reaching for his arm to calm him down. “He patched me up more ways than I can count, and I’ve drooled from concussions countless more times,” he says, like it’s enough to allow Taehyung to bring Jimin back. 

“No, Jeongguk, he needs to go through a thorough check-up by a real professional—”

“And he’ll act the way he’s done, here,” Jeongguk reasons, sounding just as exhausted as Namjoon does. “He’ll scream, he’ll kick, he’ll cry. It’ll add to the trauma he’s very clearly gone through. I promise you, Joon-ah, I know what I’m talking about. And so does Taehyung. Our bodies can handle a lot physically, but mentally... we never go back to how we were.”

Carefully, Taehyung lifts Jimin’s unconscious body, in a position that allows Jimin’s arms to remain locked around his neck, face hidden in that space, too. And as he silently walks back toward the car, Namjoon’s eyes follow him.

It feels like dragging a dead weight. Not Jimin’s—Jimin is lighter than a feather. Rather, it’s Taehyung’s own weight which feels heavier with the guilt. The anger. The concern. 

When he reaches the car, his eyes dart to the back seat. To the front seat. Hesitating. 

Should he lie him down? Sit him up? Which position would hurt less? Which position wouldn’t have him wake up in a panic?

With a deep intake of breath, Taehyung opens the door to the front seat, and carefully lowers Jimin into the seat, one hand supporting his head and the other guiding his body so it doesn’t collapse to the other side. Taehyung secures him then with the seatbelt, taking off his jacket to tuck it in a way that would keep supporting Jimin’s head through the ride. 

Another breath has Taehyung’s chest spasm.

He looks. Looks at how Jimin’s face remains pale, almost ghostly. Skin drained with color, and yet covered in a myriad of blues, purples, yellows. Darkening. Taehyung allows himself to reach for Jimin’s shirt, lifting it enough to check for any other major injury. They seem to have been mostly done with a fist. With a palm.

The thought has his guts twist violently. 

Why? Why, why, why? 

Swallowing thickly, Taehyung brings his hand up and carefully brushes the pad of his fingers over Jimin’s forehead to brush the hair damp with sweat to the back. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. Barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Jimin’s lips are no longer soft and pink. They’re cracked and purple, dried blood staining the corners. His cheeks no longer full, covered in tears, some clinging to his lashes. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung repeats, like he hasn’t been doing so continuously for what feels like a thousand times. As though Jimin could even hear him. 

As though Jimin could even forgive him. 

...

The water crashes against the shore. Quiet waves. 

Jimin can hear it. He hears it faintly, like he’s miles away from it and just a step away at the same time. 

It might not be real. 

Not the sound of the lake.

Nor the low hum of an engine. 

His head seems to bump ever so slightly against a surface he can’t tell if it’s soft or hard. Neither his brain, neither his body can register sensation anymore. It’s like every part of him has become numb. Uncaring of the world around him. 

Uncaring of the world that had already choked him to death.

How unfair.

Why would you let me die?

Why would you let me die, Taehyung?

Chapter Text

Four hours.

The ride back is shorter. Yet, it had felt like an eternity. 

Between the guilt and the fear of Jimin slipping into a state he’d never wake up from, Taehyung’s eyes had been darting back to Jimin, fearing yet hoping for the slightest sign of movement. Of life. Whether it be a twitch, a flutter of his eyelids, anything. 

And there had been some. Jimin had jolted a few times, startled by something his unconscious mind had played. He had cried, sobbed into Taehyung’s jacket. He had shaken like he was freezing to death—thank god for the fact that Jeongguk had forgotten his own oversized jacket, so that Taehyung could cover up Jimin with it. 

However, Jimin had never woken up from his state of unconsciousness. Not once. 

Not through the ride, not upon arrival, not the moment Taehyung gently carried him out of the car, upstairs, and into the comfort of his home.

Into the comfort of his bed.

The apartment had been cleaned thoroughly a few days ago, the mess long gone, although the flooring got stained again with the blood that dripped both from Jimin’s and Taehyung’s skin. Just a few drops. Nothing alarming. Taehyung didn’t even care to wash his own face, or anywhere his and Junwoo’s blood had started to dry—all he cared about was Jimin.

Taehyung spent the time checking again for any serious injuries, though everything looked... terrible. On top of the bruises made with either punches or kicks, there are also a few cuts, probably made by the branches back in the forest. He probably was running away. Attempting to run away. Otherwise, Taehyung would have never found that green bracelet on the road.

The bracelet, torn and red now, sits on the nightstand. For a moment, Taehyung stares at it. Wondering if it’d done the opposite of what he hoped it would. Bring misfortune. The worst of it.

Sat by the edge of the bed, Taehyung’s hand moves instinctively, now. Wiping off the blood, the spit, and what looks like remnants of undigested food, from Jimin’s body. Careful about lifting his arm, his leg, or his head. Careful about not prying or lifting the clothes too high. 

“What has he done to you?” it falls weakly, his lips shaking and burning with anger and helplessness while he brushes the pad of his fingers over the raw and bruised patch of skin around Jimin’s wrists, where the rope had almost sliced through. 

Once he carefully wiped Jimin’s sleeping face, Taehyung puts the wet towel to the side, his attention dropping to a piece of jewelry that Jimin never worn. He hadn’t noticed it before. Hesitantly, he reaches for it.

For the collar around Jimin’s neck.

The leather feels strange. The thickness of it, too. Something feels wrong about it. 

Dread coils up in his stomach when his thumb slightly presses against it. He holds his breath as he works to remove the collar, feeling sicker by the second, and when the clasp finally clicks open and the collar slips off—

Taehyung’s guts twist and crawl up. There, at the back of his throat.

The room seems to spin. The walls closing down, narrowing down to a single point of horror. Bile keeps rising in his throat as he observes the marks on Jimin’s throat. 

A series of indents etched into his flesh. As if every single line as been carved into him with metal tools. Branding him. Humiliating him.

JANG JUNWOO

Taehyung reads with horror, vision swimming. The grotesque marks give the sick impression that the very owner of that name is alive and trapped beneath the surface of Jimin’s skin. Or, rather, inside. Biting into him. Deeper and deeper. 

A sign of ownership from a sick fucking psychopath. 

Taehyung has to look away, fury raging and mixing with the desperate state of his mind. All he wants is to erase every trace of that monster from Jimin’s body. Take away all the pain. Bruises. All of it. But all he can do is stay by his side. Rooted in horror. 

Helpless. 

Fucking helpless. 

Taehyung turns on the tap as soon as he rushes into the bathroom, frantically cleaning the blood off of his hands and arms. A glance up into the mirror slaps him right across the face—he looks terrible. There’s still blood all over him, in his hair, too. But all he does is dip his head into the sink, and let the water drain all the blood.

Staying there, until he’s nearly soaked to his feet.

Before walking back into the kitchen, Taehyung checks for Jimin’s pulse one last time, takes the disgusting piece of leather he’d dropped to the floor, and throws it into the trash.

“Has he woken up?” is the very first thing Namjoon asks when Taehyung calls him.

“No.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t need—”

“I’ve checked his bruises,” Taehyung cuts off, already guessing the rest of Namjoon’s question. He leaves the phone over the kitchen island, on speaker, to check the fridge. Rotten vegetables. Two beers. Great. Nothing to eat. “There’s everything I need here. His pharmacy has ointments, painkillers and other medication that can help with the physical part.” 

Namjoon sighs. “If he doesn’t wake up any time soon, you know we have to provide via an IV.” 

“Yeah, I know. I know some shit too, ‘doc.”

“That the streets taught you?”

The door of the fridge slams close. 

“Fuck off,” Taehyung snaps, reaching for the phone to hang up, but before he can do it, Namjoon urges him not to.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry! That was distasteful. Look, I just want to tell you that we haven’t been able to find Junwoo yet. They’re still looking, but Jeongguk and I are coming back to Seoul soon. About the Jang Company—”

“You think I care about that fucking company?”

“His grandfather announced that it will shut down immediately.”

Taehyung stares at the screen. It’s not like it’s any important information for him. Not when his mind is filled with anger, the type that cuts right through his chest, rips flesh and bones, and squeezes his heart until it leaps in his throat. 

He wants Junwoo dead.

As simple as that. 

“I’ll kill him,” Taehyung breathes out, while a sigh of defeat is heard on the other side of the line. “If he comes anywhere near Jimin, I’ll be here. This time, I won’t let him escape alive.”

“Hey, I share your sentiment, but let’s not talk so lightly about murdering someone.”

Taehyung grabs his phone. “What does he like to eat?” 

The sudden question seems to have thrown Namjoon off. He doesn’t respond.

So Taehyung asks again, “What does Jimin like to eat? I need something he can stomach when he wakes up.”

“Uh... Samgyetang? Why, is he—?”

“Alright, thanks.” Taehyung hangs up. He probably hears an offended gasp and an attempt to talk again, but he doesn’t care. He switches the app to order the food, setting the time for a little less than an hour from now. Hopefully, Jimin will be awake.

Hopefully.

Taehyung comes back into the bedroom after retrieving a healing ointment from the bathroom, his heart heavy at the sight of Jimin—he didn’t move an inch. Although his body keeps shaking through his sleep like it’s still forever trapped in that living nightmare. 

One Taehyung can't seem to be able to free him from.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Taehyung squeezes a good amount of the product on the pad of his fingers and gently applies it over each dent in Jimin’s throat. His breath stutters at the heat radiating from the wounds, and he swears he can feel Jimin’s heart racing at the surface of his skin. Like it’s there. Exposed. Beating into the bits of flesh that look like they’re gone. Carved out of him.

“I’ll never let him anywhere near you,” Taehyung whispers when Jimin abruptly and unconsciously jolts. “I promise. You’re safe with me.”

Another tremor racks Jimin’s body. 

Taehyung draws his hand back. “Jimin?”

Tears. 

There are tears dribbling down the corners of Jimin’s eyes. And before Taehyung notices anything else, Jimin’s eyelids flutter open. His eyes instantly grow wide in terror. Like the sight in front of him isn’t reality. 

“Hey—!” Taehyung moves in a heartbeat the moment he sees Jimin hurriedly pull himself into a sitting position and crawl back, and before the back of his head hits the wall, Taehyung’s hand is already there to prevent the harsh impact. “Hey, hey! Jimin, look at me! It’s me, Taehyung.”

Jimin’s head shakes uncontrollably, his hands crossing on his chest like he’s shielding himself from any attack, and the sight of it twists something inside Taehyung.

“Jimin, it’s me, you’re safe, alright? You’re safe with me. You’re home. There’s nobody else, you’re safe,” Taehyung repeats softly. He tries not to lean too far into Jimin’s space despite letting his hand between the wall and the back of Jimin’s head, allowing him the time to process the situation. 

It takes a moment.

Jimin’s dilated pupils twitch frantically as he stares at Taehyung like he’s trying to understand. Trying really hard. Taehyung takes a deep breath, encouraging Jimin to do the same, although he doesn’t mirror it. He doesn’t, but the tremors seem to lessen. 

“That’s it,” Taehyung softly encourages, hand slipping from where it was trapped. He leans back to give Jimin more space, watching as Jimin folds his legs and brings his knees close to his chest. 

It’s calming down; the panic. The fear. It’s subtle, but it’s better than nothing. 

“You’re okay,” Taehyung adds when he notices that Jimin’s eyes suddenly lock on a point, somewhere by his feet. 

However, he’s not simply staring at it. The sight is definitely bringing him discomfort. Panic.

Taehyung frowns, and before he speaks, his attention pans to where Jimin is looking. And that’s when he sees it.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung instantly reassures. To avoid startling Jimin even further, he very slowly reaches for the sheets and rolls them to the end of the bed. “It happens, it’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll change them, okay? It’s just fabric, it gets washed,” Taehyung repeats. 

Jimin’s face is wet again. The tears spill from panic mixed with embarrassment from emptying his bladder all over the bed. 

“Here,” Taehyung offers his hands. “Come here, on this side of the bed. I’ll help you change.”

Jimin hesitates. He chokes up on the sobs that keep breaking out of his throat, but Taehyung waits. 

Waits. 

And waits. 

When Jimin finally feels ready, he brings his shaky hands into Taehyung's, his palms so cold it surprises him. Gently, Taehyung guides Jimin closer to the edge of the bed, never letting go until he's safely sitting with his legs hanging off the edge, feet not quite touching the carpet—his toes are curled. Like he's scared it'll burn him. 

“Can you talk to me?” Taehyung tries softly. “Can you tell me if it's alright for me to help you change?” 

Jimin's chest spasms with the breath he takes. He looks down at their hands. Taehyung realizes he's still holding his—but Jimin doesn't let him go anywhere. His fingers tighten around Taehyung’s hands, silently asking for them to remain like that. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung tries again with a deep intake of breath. He's not used to being patient. Actually, he's far from being the patient type. He lacks it. So terribly. And that side of him has never bothered him that much until now. “Jimin, can you answer me? Are you okay with changing into new clothes?” 

This time, Jimin meets his eyes. The sobs seem to have calmed down. 

A nod.

Jimin nodded.

Taehyung nearly breaks into a relieved chuckle. “Are you okay with me helping?” 

Another nod.

“What about showering? You must feel uncomf—” 

There it is. The source of extreme, unreasonable panic. 

Jimin breaks. Not into simple cries—but into sobs that make his entire body convulse. Sobs that punch the air out of his lungs, cuts his airflow. Sobs that sound and look terrifying—it’s like he’s agonizing.

It takes a few seconds for Taehyung to snap out of his freezing state of shock.

But when he does, he immediately drops to his knees on the floor, making himself smaller for Jimin so as to not be perceived as a threat.

“Jimin, hey, hey,” Taehyung tries calmly. He reaches for Jimin’s hands again, fearing that they’ll be swatted away, but he’s relieved to know that instead of pushing him away, Jimin tightens his fingers around Taehyung’s hands, nearly clawing at them. “Hey, it’s okay, I won’t ever do anything you don’t want to do, alright? If you don’t want to shower now, I won’t force you. Do you hear me? Jimin?” 

Jimin’s eyes are swollen red. A little longer, and Taehyung believes those eyes would disappear under the swollen skin. 

He gives Jimin’s hands a gentle squeeze. “No shower,” Taehyung repeats, allowing Jimin the time to calm down again. “You’re safe with me.”

You’re safe, he tries to repeat it, again and again, like he’s forcing it to be registered by Jimin’s unconscious mind. However, as he attempts to calm Jimin’s panic attack, Taehyung grows... frustrated. At himself. 

He feels helpless. Clueless. Jimin needs help, it’s undeniable—but Taehyung isn’t certain he’s able to be exactly what Jimin needs now. And it’s... infuriating. 

Taehyung lowers his head when Jimin’s sobs finally die down. He very slowly presses his forehead against the back of Jimin’s hands, takes a deep breath, and looks up again. “I’m going to bring in some wet towels, and I’ll change the bedsheets after, alright?” 

Jimin stares, like he doesn’t quite register what Taehyung just said. Still, he nods, and watches as Taehyung lets go of his hands.

“I’ll be back,” Taehyung assures, to which Jimin doesn’t respond. 

He leaves for the bathroom to retrieve a couple of towels he wets in the sink, taking as little time as he can, but as much as he can to breathe in. And breathe out.

“What has he done to you?” Taehyung mumbles under his breath, heart sinking. Down the drain. 

When he steps back into the bedroom, Taehyung doesn’t immediately understand what’s happening. He halts mid-way, glances down at the pile of clothes by Jimin’s feet. Glances up at a very naked and exposed Jimin.

His breath stutters. 

The bruises. 

They’re everywhere. Bigger than he’d anticipated. Dark patches stretch from Jimin’s lower stomach down to his inner thigh. More wounds that have started to heal yet now looking raw and angry as though Jimin scratched them open again—and he might as well have, judging by the blood under his nails. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung breathes out, stunned. Jimin turns around to face him. Tired. Exhausted. Not caring one bit about being utterly, and completely naked in front of his bodyguard. It’s like nothing can reach him anymore. Like he can’t bring himself to feel anything. Even less shame. 

And Taehyung doesn’t see the situation any differently. All he sees is... a broken, weakened, dying Jimin.

“Sit down,” Taehyung encourages as he steps closer, allowing Jimin to sit on the edge of the mattress before gently putting one of the wet towels over Jimin’s exposed crotch. “I’ll help you with your back and your arms, let me know if I hurt you, alright?” 

Jimin can barely blink with those swollen eyelids, but it seems he attempts to.

“Cleaning,” Taehyung explains, “we’re using these towels to wash up. We need to clean up the blood and sweat, Jimin.”

Jimin looks down at his covered crotch. Hesitantly, he reaches for the towel there, and very slowly begins to wipe his own skin. It’s faint, barely touching at first, but Taehyung guesses that it’s due to the fear that any faintest brush against his skin would hurt. 

“That’s it,” Taehyung encourages, barely above a whisper, “that’s good. You’re doing good.”

Encouraged by his words, Jimin continues, allowing Taehyung to wipe the rest of his body. His arms, his back, his chest, down to his legs. It’s silent for the most part, except for the few times Taehyung lightly presses on the dark bruises and earns high-pitched, scared whimpers, to which he instantly apologizes before moving further away from them.

“Are these alright?” Taehyung pushes the towels on the floor to hand Jimin the clothes he found in the wardrobe—simple, dark gray sweatpants with an oversized white t-shirt, mostly chosen for comfort to move around the apartment. He watches Jimin, waiting for a reaction. A simple nod. Maybe a hum. But there’s nothing.

Jimin’s eyes are blank. Lost. They flicker to the pile of clothes like it’s a distant thing, like he’s not even really seeing it.

Taehyung tries to crouch again, leaving the clothes over Jimin’s lap and looking up at him. “No? Something else?” He tries, just as gentle.

But Jimin still doesn’t react. It’s like he’s... shutting down. And the simple thought of it twists Taehyung’s guts painfully.

“Jimin,” Taehyung softly calls, trying to get him to snap back into reality. “Please, get these on you. You’re going to feel cold if you don’t dress properly. Alright?”

This time, Jimin reaches for the clothes, movement slow, almost mechanical, like his body is disconnected from his mind. He fumbles with the fabric, hands clumsy, and Taehyung helps him. Underwear, pants, shirt. It barely slips down Jimin’s head when a sharp sound bursts into the penthouse.

The doorbell.

The food. 

Taehyung forgot to change the option to ‘leave the food by the doorstep,’ and he regrets it instantly. The color drains from his face as he watches Jimin jerk back violently as if he’s been struck, eyes wild and wide with panic, breathing picking up fast, shallow.

“Hey,” Taehyung immediately stands up as Jimin backs away, legs tangled in the sheets as he scrambles back on the bed, “it’s just the delivery man. Jimin, hey, calm down, you’re okay.”

Jimin’s head shakes. A strong no. 

It rings again.

Taehyung curses. 

Jimin jerks again.

“I’m— fuck, I’m sorry, I’m going to grab the food, alright? There’s no one, it’s just us, you have to believe me,” Taehyung tries again, no matter how useless it is. Jimin’s falling deep into another panic attack. And Taehyung feels utterly, and completely helpless.

Jimin is falling apart, and Taehyung can’t do anything to help him.

He can’t, and it’s killing him.

...

A void.

A completely, darkened void. It’s what Jimin sees. What he feels. Until he wakes up. 

His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by something he can’t shake off. His eyelids are stuck, probably with unshed tears, his mind foggy like it’s wrapped in layers and layers of cotton. Not a single coherent thought seems to run through his head. It’s just... emptiness. His mind blank.

There’s a dull ache in his muscles, too. A tightness in his chest from the remnants of an anxiety attack. It’s like he’s all but here. Disconnected from himself. From the world.

The softness of the bed registers slowly, but it feels unfamiliar. He shifts slightly, limbs uncoordinated, feeling the heavy sheets pulled up to his chest like he’s been carefully tucked there. When? 

Swallowing hurts, like he’s been screaming for days and days until his throat became dry and painful. Jimin heavily exhales. He opens his eyes to squint at the dimly-lit room, not yet registering that the walls, the furniture, the lights belong to his home. 

His own home.

When he moves to look at his side, his heart leaps to his throat and reality finally sinks in. 

Taehyung’s there. 

He’s on his side, sleeping above the bedsheets that are, Jimin notices, fresh and clean. When did he replace them? Jimin’s breath hitches as the memories come back. 

The doorbell. The panic. 

The struggle to breathe at the simple thought and possibility that it could have been that monster coming back. Jimin couldn’t breathe, the terror had gripped him so tight that it had choked him until he had passed out.

And now he’s here.

Like Taehyung promised, it’s just them. The two of them. No one else.

Jimin breathes out shakily, eyes flickering down to his body, to the sheets pulled over him. The bruises. They’re hidden under the blanket, under his clothes, but he can feel them. Feel his skin raw, tender at the touch. As he pushes himself up, Jimin unconsciously brings his hand to his neck. The pads of his fingers brush against the bandage, there, covering the—

His stomach churns.

No. No. 

It only now dawns on him. The name. That terrifying, disgusting name carved into his skin. Carved into his neck. Taehyung has seen it. He’s seen it all. Every mark, every bruise. He’s seen it.

He’s seen that Jimin didn’t belong to his own person, anymore.

Jimin’s throat tightens with shame. Humiliation. The tears gather in his swollen eyes, and they already prickle before they begin to roll down his cheeks.

“Jimin?” Taehyung calls drowsily, until he stirs awake completely, pushing himself up in a second. “Jimin—Jimin, hey, I’m here.”

There’s a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles, but it doesn’t seem to help Jimin at all. Not when he now can feel, vividly, every letter that’s been pushed into his skin.

Panic seizes him. Stronger. Meaner. It threatens to spill even faster, but he feels the bed dip and hears Taehyung rush across the room before he hurries back in front of Jimin with a plastic bowl he'd picked up from the bathroom. Without questioning, Jimin’s hands fly to the sides of the bowl and when he leans in, it comes out on its own.

Liquid. All but bile. 

Tears spill with it, and he barely has the time to breathe in between the waves that seize him. Taehyung holds the bowl with one hand, softly brushing Jimin's hair back with his other hand. Caressing it. Comforting.

“You need to eat,” Taehyung reminds him as it begins to calm down. Jimin closes his eyes shut, breath stuttering, trying to focus on not gagging on absolutely nothing— there’s nothing left to throw out of his body. “You need to eat,” he repeats. “You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Jimin inhales deeply. He hears Taehyung move away, before coming back to press a wet towel on Jimin’s chin, lightly tapping his lips as he wipes them clean and takes the bowl out of his hands. 

“Come on, I’ll warm up the food.”

Food. Jimin’s guts twist uncomfortably, throat constricting. He takes another moment to breathe, helped by the warmth of Taehyung’s hands around his. But as he’s slowly pulled upwards, Jimin feels himself fall.

No strength in his bones. No strength in that weak, broken body.

“Hey—hey, I got you,” Taehyung whispers when he catches Jimin in his arms and slowly helps him sit back on the bed. He crouches, hands finding a place on Jimin’s knees, like he’s trying to figure out something. Jimin simply stares. If he could, he’d speak. He’d apologize. He’d tell Taehyung—

I can’t. 

I can’t walk right now. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts.

“Come on.” Jimin blinks tiredly as he watches Taehyung turn around and gestures for Jimin to hop in. “I’ll carry you.” 

Jimin stares. Unsure. Until Taehyung moves slowly back, finding a place between Jimin’s legs, helping him take that step forward. And Jimin does. He flops onto Taehyung’s back, arms locking around his neck, thighs supported by Taehyung’s hands when he stands up, lifting Jimin like he weighs nothing. And maybe he doesn’t. 

It’s warm. Taehyung’s back, Taehyung’s cheek where Jimin presses his face into. He’s warm. 

And it feels like home.

Taehyung brings them to the living room, specifically walking toward the couch that’s the closest to the open kitchen in the same space, before he very carefully lowers himself to allow Jimin to settle comfortably into the seat. 

“I’ll bring it here,” Taehyung reassures. Jimin simply nods. 

While Taehyung warms up the food, Jimin brings his legs closer to his chest, already missing that warmth around him. It hadn’t been long, barely a few seconds, yet it felt like home. The kind he’d been missing for so long. How long was he gone? It feels like an eternity. An eternity since he’d experienced the warmth of another body against his. 

And that’s all he can think about as he watches Taehyung walk around the kitchen, search through all cabinets to find a bowl, pour in what looks like soup, and bring it in with a spoon. 

Jimin smiles faintly. 

“Here,” Taehyung encourages Jimin to take the bowl as he settles by his side. Jimin hesitantly starts to dig in, before he turns to Taehyung. Staring. “I already ate,” Taehyung chuckles lightly, like he could read Jimin’s mind. “Don’t worry. This is your part. Eat it for me, please?”

Somehow, that has Jimin dip his head in shyness. He doesn’t need to be told twice. And even though his stomach constricts through the first few spoonfuls, Jimin begins to feel that warmth and satisfaction he didn’t think he’d get by eating real food. Not snacks. Not leftovers. But a full, heated meal. 

It takes quite some time for him to finish it, and when he does, Taehyung is the one to take the empty bowl away. Although he barely has the time to stand halfway up on his feet before Jimin reaches for his sleeve. Tugging on it.

There’s a questioning look on Taehyung’s face. “I didn’t order more, but I can—” Jimin tugs harder on the sleeve with a shake of his head and unshed tears that have started to gather at the corners of his eyes, unbeknownst to him. 

It takes another moment for Taehyung to figure out Jimin’s request, put the bowl back onto the table, and sit down. A little slow, and unsure. He studies Jimin for another silent moment, eyes narrowed in concern while Jimin’s fingers keep pulling his sleeve, bringing his hand closer, until it rests on Jimin’s thigh. 

“Jimin?” 

Jimin swallows thickly. His eyes drop to Taehyung’s hand, taking it into his own, flipping it over so he could press his much smaller palm against his. A faint smile pulls the corners of his lips. It’s warm. Jimin marvels at the warmth that seeps into his skin. 

It feels... grounding. It grounds him.

There’s another thing that brings him comfort—Taehyung’s hand is big. Bigger than Jimin’s dainty one. It almost makes him giggle. He never realized it. They were never this close, before, for him to notice it.

Glancing up, he finds Taehyung’s endeared eyes on him—a look that grips Jimin’s heart. Something that’s almost... intimate. Jimin quickly looks away, cheeks flushing, and focuses instead on the feeling of Taehyung’s fingers beneath his own. Gently, Jimin begins to play with them, intertwining their fingers together, letting the simple act soothe his mind. 

Taehyung doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even speak a word. Though, when he moves his thumb to caress the back of Jimin’s hand, it’s enough of a statement for Jimin.

Safe.

“You’re safe with me,” Taehyung had told him.

Jimin’s smile grows. 

As Jimin’s hand slowly pulls away, he looks up again, his craving for more warmth not yet fulfilled. 

He doesn’t really think twice before he moves closer. Shifts so that his body inches forward, closer and closer, until his knees bump against Taehyung’s thighs. Instinctively, Taehyung's hand rises, ready to catch Jimin in case he falls, ghosting over his waist but not touching. It makes Jimin huff a quiet laugh. 

“Jimin? Are you alr—?”

Jimin’s leg slides over Taehyung’s lap to straddle him, carefully but surely settling himself there, nervous gaze meeting Taehyung’s surprised one. Although he stiffens beneath Jimin, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t push Jimin away. He watches, eyes flickering with a mix of confusion and something... soft.

Jimin holds his breath. Waiting for rejection.

But it never comes.

Taehyung lets him.

He lets Jimin settle more comfortably on his lap, facing him, and the bewilderment on his face soon melts into endearment when he notices the shivers racking Jimin’s body. It’s not fear or another panic attack—it’s just... vulnerability. 

It’s the way Jimin’s mind craves, needs someone so badly. He hasn’t done this before, has never let himself seek comfort so openly, so desperately.

It’s almost... shameful. Shameful to be so weak. So vulnerable. So desperate.

There’s a brief pause before Taehyung’s hand brushes Jimin’s lower back, and it’s all Jimin needs to let go. The tension evaporates in an instant, a heavy breath leaving him in a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering shut as he melts into Taehyung. His weight sinks fully into Taehyung’s embrace, his head dropping into the crook of Taehyung’s neck like it’s the only place that could bring him comfort. 

Jimin breathes in Taehyung’s scent. Subtle. Soft. He listens to his steady heartbeat, too. Feels it beating against his chest. 

A tear rolls down his cheek, dies down on Taehyung’s neck, as reality finally sinks in. Safety— the word didn’t mean anything to him before. Taehyung had been repeating it, over and over again, but it never fully dawned on Jimin. Not until now. 

Jimin feels it. The warmth of Taehyung’s body, the gentleness of his caresses on his back, the weight of Taehyung’s head resting against his. 

This is what safety feels like.

Jimin finally understands it. 

The tears keep spilling out of his closed eyelids. 

And Taehyung only embraces him tighter. 

...

An hour.

That’s how long Jimin remained in his arms. 

And Taehyung didn’t once shift to move him away. Not even a little.

He’s never been used to this. To skinship. To this type of closeness. It always felt foreign to him, like it was something he just wasn’t made for. Yet, for the past hour, Taehyung has never felt this... comfortable. 

They’ve never been close, and yet, the intimate position didn’t feel odd. Taehyung had held Jimin close, hands resting gently on his back, fingers softly caressing it and even sometimes running through Jimin’s hair. 

Jimin’s sleeping. Taehyung isn’t sure when Jimin started to drift off. One moment, his breathing was shaky, and the next, steady. Calm. Peaceful. There’s an odd kind of calm washing over Taehyung at the thought that Jimin felt safe enough in his arms to fall asleep. Like he was so certain that nothing bad could ever happen in his presence. Like he could finally let go. Completely.

“Jimin?” Taehyung tries, a voice barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t receive any response. Not even a hum, or a sign that Jimin is about to awake anytime soon. Taehyung shifts slightly at first, turning his head so that he can look at Jimin’s serene, sleepy face. A smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. Relieved. “Come on, let’s move to bed,” he murmurs before he carefully, and slowly leaves the couch to carry Jimin back to the bedroom. 

The penthouse is silent. 

But unlike the moment Taehyung arrived a few hours ago, frantic, it’s a comforting type of silence. It’s the type of silence he chooses to believe is a reassuring one—a hopeful one. 

“He’s sleeping, now,” Taehyung talks calmly into the phone as he walks around in the living room. “And yes, he did. I ordered food and heated it up a while ago.”

“Alright, that’s a relief to know he’s able to eat on his own,” Namjoon answers, sounding even more exhausted than Taehyung is. He has probably not slept yet since the last time they saw each other. “The company has been warned, I gave them all the information I had. The police have already started looking for Junwoo, and so far there hasn't been a single report about a similar profile. I'm not certain about his whereabouts.” 

Taehyung nods more to himself than anything. He hasn’t taken the time to check the media, or anything on his phone, really—the company has even tried to reach him, but he missed some calls and declined the others. His attention has been solely on Jimin, and Jimin only. “What about the fans? Has the company released another official statement?” 

“You haven’t seen anything?”

“No. Why?”

“The company released a statement this morning. They announced that Jimin is on a short hiatus for mental health reasons.”

“Mental health reasons?” Taehyung echoes with a breath of disbelief. “Is the police hiding the shit Junwoo’s done? The hotel that fucking blew up? That’s the kind of crazy shit you can’t just get away from it. What—” 

“Jang Junwoo is one of the most influential figures in South Korea, if not the most,” Namjoon reminds him. “Of course, they cover up criminals. That doesn’t mean information isn’t being leaked. The company can’t speak about him without getting a higher authority’s permission.”

Taehyung curses under his breath, running a desperate hand through his hair. “And what about the rest? The fans?” 

“They’re not buying it,” Namjoon admits. It’s no surprise. “A lot of articles are out already, speculating about what happened to Jimin. It’s... wild. They’re demanding answers left and right, it’s only a matter of time before they start camping in front of the company to urge them to give a real update about Jimin’s current state.”

“I’m not letting them bring Jimin anywhere,” Taehyung snaps. Not until Jimin talks, not until Jimin expresses his desire to leave his home. Until then? He’s not going anywhere.

“They will not force him to speak. For now, we don’t have to worry about that. But...” A pause. Namjoon sighs into the phone. “Junwoo’s grandfather scheduled a meeting with the press to release an official statement about the future of the company.”

Taehyung’s brows crease. “Didn’t you tell me that he was shutting off all business?”

“He is. But he’s only shared it on social media, he’s yet to explain the situation to the media. I don’t know what he’s going to tell them... or how this will affect Jimin and his career.”

Taehyung closes his eyes for a moment, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to swallow down another curse. He’d been too worried about Jimin’s safety that he hadn’t thought once about the world outside the penthouse. 

About the media.

About the company.

About Jimin’s entire career. 

“This is why I should have told the world about that piece of shit, now because you wanted to play it safe, there are chances that he’s going to be protected by—”

“Because I wanted to play it safe, Jimin’s alive,” Namjoon cuts off.

Taehyung’s breath stutters.

Fuck.

Namjoon’s right.

A heavy exhale. “What should we do, then?”

“For now, we wait. There isn’t much we can do. The company is handling the media, and we’ll have to see what Junwoo’s grandfather tells the press. Whether he’s going to bury Junwoo’s crimes or, worse, twist the story to make Jimin look unstable... it’s out of our control now. Anything we try to say now will play against us. Against Jimin.”

Taehyung’s grip tightens around his phone. The nightmare didn’t end, and it kills him that he can’t see the end of it, either. He can’t even hang onto a bit of hope. It’s just uncertainty from this point forward. “The truth has to come out. But,” he looks up, exhales heavily, and says, “Jimin’s safety comes first. I’m not letting this destroy him more than it has.”

“I know you won’t,” Namjoon assures calmly. “Take care of him, Taehyung. We’ll figure out the rest.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung sighs. 

As he hangs up, a loud crash resonates through the penthouse, followed by whimpers.

“Jimin!?” Taehyung moves in an instant, rushing toward the source of the noise, and nearly stumbling when his eyes find Jimin at the threshold of the bathroom, collapsed on the cold tiles. He’s not moving, lying awkwardly and half-sprawled on the floor, with his eyes tightly shut. 

Urgently, Taehyung reaches for Jimin’s arms, slipping his own under to help him stand up, quickly checking for any sign of injury. 

“Hey, Jimin, what happened? Look at me,” he encourages once Jimin stands on unsteady feet, face flushed and wet with tears. “What happened?”

At first, Taehyung guesses it’s the pain that’s punching the air out of Jimin’s lungs, but when his eyes trail down to the small but visible wet patch between Jimin’s legs, he understands. It's the shame. 

“Did you want to use the bathroom?” 

Jimin’s still not looking at him when he nods vividly, like he’s also making an effort to contain himself. 

“Alright, come on.” With a gentle squeeze around Jimin’s arm, Taehyung walks into the bathroom first, turning around to offer his hands for Jimin to take them. “Jimin?”

Hesitantly, Jimin’s eyelids flutter open, tears sticking them together. He seems to have calmed down enough for the cries to have stopped, but the embarrassment lingers on his rosy cheeks. His tired gaze settles on Taehyung’s hands, considering the options he has, before carefully taking them.

A faint smile appears on the corner of Taehyung’s lips as he caresses the back of Jimin’s hands to encourage him to take a step further, while he takes one back. “Come on, I promise it’s safe with me. Come here.”

There’s resistance. For a good minute, Jimin doesn’t budge. 

Until he lets himself be guided, one step at a time, eyes focusing on Taehyung’s feet like he’s mirroring him. Unable to do it on his own.

“Here,” Taehyung says softly when his leg hits the side of the toilet, “do you need me to stay?”

Before Taehyung lets go of Jimin’s hands, he feels him freeze. Eyes wide in horror. Like he just realized where they are. 

“Hey—” Jimin almost slips away in fear, like he’s afraid, terrified that Taehyung will force him into something he dreads, but Taehyung catches him just in time to pull him flush against him. Tight. “Jimin, please, listen to me,” he whispers, pleads into Jimin’s ear, arms tightening around Jimin’s shaky frame. “You’re safe with me. Do you hear me? You’re safe.” 

And he has to repeat it. 

Again, again, and again, until Jimin’s uneven gasps die down. Until the panic is swallowed. 

It hurts. It hurts to hear him suffer. To hear him go back to the Hell he was forced to live through. And it hurts to admit that Taehyung has absolutely no fucking idea of what Jimin went through. 

All of these? The words, the touches? It all feels useless. Taehyung feels utterly and stupidly helpless.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers nonetheless. What else can he do, anyway? A defeated sigh escapes him. Jimin nods in his arms, though he jerks instinctively when Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair. Softly. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another nod.

Gently, Taehyung lets his hands trail down Jimin’s arms, searching for his eyes to make sure that no other panic attack is about to burst. And though he still avoids Taehyung’s gaze, Jimin seems to have calmed down enough to let himself be guided and turned around, facing the now opened toilet bowl. 

“You’re okay?” Taehyung didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but when he notices the force with which Jimin shuts his eyes, confusion washes over him. “I can—” leave if you want, is what he would have suggested, if Jimin hadn’t suddenly gripped his wrist and pulled him closer, close enough for his chest to press against Jimin’s back. 

So, instead, Taehyung stays. Glued to Jimin’s back. Mouth closed shut, swallowing down any complaint about how deeply Jimin’s nails are sinking into his wrist—it’ll probably bleed. Not that Taehyung cares much about it now. 

With his other hand, and still as hesitant, Jimin pulls his pants and underwear down. It’s tedious like this—not only the position makes it harder for him, he’s also doing it with his eyes closed and with only one hand—but Taehyung lets him. 

Waits patiently. 

And props his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Taehyung whispers, his head tilting until it rests gently against Jimin’s cheek. A light pressure that visibly helps Jimin exhale a shaky breath as he leans against Taehyung, too, before he brings a hesitant hand down. 

However, even guiding himself properly turns out to be a struggle, and the control very rapidly slips through his fingers, his hand too shaky to correct it. 

Taehyung doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say anything when he squeezes Jimin’s hand with his own, and reaches forward with his other hand, fingers curling around Jimin’s wrist to guide him back. Correcting him without saying a single word. A single breath. 

The shame Jimin felt seems to melt along with the tension in his body. Allowing himself to be this vulnerable in Taehyung’s arms without pretenses, just his raw and open self, broken into pieces Taehyung miserably fails to put back together. 

It’s only when the silence surrounds them that Taehyung lets go of Jimin’s wrist to reach for a towel, helping him wipe his inner thigh, too. “I’ll wash these,” he suggests softly as he tugs at Jimin’s pants and underwear—both slightly wet. 

Jimin doesn’t resist. He releases the death grip he had on Taehyung’s hand and lifts one foot after the other to get the clothes off of him and be guided toward the sink, just as silently. And it’s only when Taehyung realizes that Jimin finally opened his eyes, that he’s quickly back at shutting them close, tight, and jerking in fear at the sound of the tap opening. 

Taehyung quickly closes it. He watches as Jimin’s body remains tense—like he’s preparing for the worst. Like he’s waiting for something that... never comes.

It’s—

Taehyung’s heart sinks to his feet when he understands.

“Water,” he murmurs, out of breath, “it’s the water, isn’t it?” It’s not just the sight of the bathroom—it’s the fear of water. 

The trauma.

Jimin’s lips are tightly pressed together, chest swollen like he’s holding his breath, ready to be drowned. 

Taehyung has to look up for a moment, breath stuttering, chest ripping open at the realization. 

That can’t be.

That can’t be. That can’t be.

“It’s just our hands,” he breathes out all the air stuck in his lungs, pushes away the desperate scream he wants to let out. “Nothing more. Alright?” Taehyung doesn’t wait for a response before turning the faucet very, very carefully as to let only a soft stream out. Enough to help him wash their hands, and quiet enough to avoid startling Jimin in the process.

And as much as Jimin remains pliant under him, he nevertheless can’t help the shivers rushing through his entire body. 

The fear never leaves. It stays there, on the surface. Burning.

It’s the kind of fire Taehyung doesn’t know how to quench.

He wishes he could burn in it instead.

Chapter Text

A never ending nightmare.

It’s exactly what Jimin thought his life would be until his very last breath. Hell, he didn’t even believe he’d survive. Didn’t believe he’d escape the terror he’d been trapped in. He was so certain he’d die in that monster’s hands. On his way back to Seoul, a few days ago, he accepted it. 

He accepted that this lifetime was over—that Park Jimin was no longer. 

And yet... he’s breathing. He’s alive. Although sometimes it doesn’t feel like it—he’s alive. He wasn’t the one who escaped, it was all Taehyung’s help. 

A savior. It had slipped from Jimin’s muted lips yesterday when he was waiting for Taehyung to come back from his evening shower. He wasn’t heard. Barely heard by his own self. But he talked. It slipped on its own, like his mind had just made that realization. 

Savior. 

That image sometimes appears in his sleep—the sight of Taehyung’s broad frame, soaked by rain and human blood, dripping relief in his eyes. When he thinks back about it, Jimin feels his heart race in his ribcage, threatening to burst and run away, rabid. A savior. Taehyung saved him. 

Safety. Jimin learned the meaning of it, too. He thought he knew what it was about—thought it was having men dressed in black suit following him around everywhere he went without fearing for his life. No. It wasn’t this type of safety. The type that makes him sleepy. That makes him smile. That brings such a fuzzy and warm comfort inside him that he allows himself to be as vulnerable as he can be.

And that’s what he’s been feeling for the last few days. Taehyung has been taking care of Jimin in ways that felt so... natural. It’s never been forced. Never once Taehyung questioned Jimin’s actions or responses, and never once he demanded that Jimin forced himself into something he didn’t want. 

Recently, they’ve made progress. Or, at least, Jimin has. 

He doesn’t react as strongly when he walks past the threshold of the bathroom, nor does he flinch at the sight of the water at the bottom of the toilet bowl or the sink. It’s better, but not perfect. He still requires Taehyung’s presence, whether it is holding his hand, or feeling his breath fanning against the nape of his neck. It grounds him. It helps him. 

The shower hasn’t yet been mentioned to him—he hasn’t been able to take this jump. And Taehyung never forces him to. The wet towels became a routine, and Taehyung always makes sure to ask—

“Is there anywhere you’re feeling uncomfortable?”

And that never fails to steal a small smile from Jimin. It hurts everywhere still—but not when you touch me.

It’s the fifth day already. 

Five days spent locked in his penthouse. Or, rather, five days spent safely by Taehyung’s side. The thought makes Jimin’s lips curve into a smile. 

The morning light seeps through the blinds, softly bathing the bedroom in warm hues. They’re both comfortably lying under the sheets—something Jimin had to silently make Taehyung understand that it was okay for him to sleep with him, too—and while Jimin wears a plain black oversized pajamas, Taehyung’s wearing Jimin’s own favorite baby pink ones. It’s funny; how Taehyung didn’t even argue last night when Jimin carefully picked the set out of his wardrobe and handed it over to him before he could shower. Obviously, Jimin’s frame is much smaller, and despite the fact that he almost swims in those very same pink pajamas, they fit Taehyung on the tighter side, especially around his broad shoulders. 

Jimin’s smile widens. His dreamy gaze is set on Taehyung’s sleeping face, the sight enough to bring him comfort. Carefully as to not wake him, Jimin lifts a hand and brushes the pad of his fingers over Taehyung’s forehead, pushing the strands of hair away from his face. He traces down his cheekbone, his jaw. Counts the moles—on his eyelid, under his lip, on the tip of his nose. Jimin has never paid attention to Taehyung’s beautiful features before. He could be an idol if he wanted to. 

Face so effortlessly beautiful that I want to paint it, trace it with my fingers all day long. 

Cautiously, Jimin shifts a little closer, until he’s only a breath away from Taehyung’s face. He can feel the warmth of his body against his, not pressed together but touching slightly, and yet Jimin leans in for more. He brings his lips to Taehyung’s forehead, pressing a soft, light kiss there, a silent thank you. 

When he pulls back—

He freezes.

Taehyung’s eyes are open. Looking back at him. 

Jimin feels his heart leap to his throat as he realizes he cupped the side of Taehyung’s face into his hand to kiss him, the position and proximity too intimate for them to ignore it. And despite the fear, Jimin doesn’t pull back. He watches as Taehyung seemingly forces himself to clear his foggy and drowsy mind, enough to assess the situation and react by taking Jimin’s hand in his, and bring it even closer to kiss his palm.

The blood rushes to Jimin’s face. A vivid red now tainting his cheeks. 

“I didn’t hear you wake up, today,” Taehyung rasps, sleepy and hoarse voice sending shivers down Jimin’s spine. He’s probably mentioning all the times Jimin woke up in cold sweats, screaming and crying. 

Today, he woke up without feeling that knot cutting off his airflow.

“You’re already getting better,” Taehyung adds, and there’s a hint of relief in his tone. He appears less tense than he’d been these last days he spent worried sick about Jimin. “I’m glad.” 

There’s something comforting about watching him take deep and slow breaths while moving Jimin’s hand against his cheek, as if the warmth of his palm against his face is all he needs to relax. 

They’ve grown closer. Closer than Jimin ever thought they would. And it’s been so natural that he hadn’t even realized how intimately close they’ve truly grown.

“Today I have a call with the company,” Taehyung starts softly, his eyes closed as if he’s fully absorbing the warmth of Jimin’s palm. “If you want to tell them anything, would you like to write it to me?” 

When he opens his eyes, Jimin winces. Unsure. The simple thought of having to go back to his previous life is daunting. It weighs down on him. 

“It’s okay,” Taehyung assures when no response comes. “I’ll tell them you’re not ready for anything yet. I’ll tell them. It’s way too soon.”

Jimin presses his lips together into a thin smile. 

Thank you.

Taehyung’s eyes snap wide open. 

Jimin blinks confusedly.

“What did you say?” Taehyung asks, breathless, and Jimin isn’t sure if it’s the good or the bad kind of panic that’s now written all over Taehyung’s face when he pushes himself up to sit, hand still holding Jimin’s. “Did you talk? Jimin, did you talk?”

Jimin’s heart leaps. Did he speak? Parting his mouth silently this time, he slowly pushes himself up on his forearm. 

“Please tell me this wasn’t a hallucination,” Taehyung pleads, voice cracking, like he’s terrified that this moment shatters. Like he’s scared to admit that he imagined it.

Jimin’s eyes shake, jumping from Taehyung’s hopeful gaze to the hand he’s still holding, as if Jimin will disappear the second he lets go. 

“Jimin—”

“Thank you,” Jimin repeats, this time louder than before, yet still very quiet. Too quiet. He doesn’t sound like himself anymore—it’s the kind of voice that’s been hidden for far too long to sound like it always has. It’s a little rough, a little painful to let out, too, but... it’s still him. 

Taehyung holds his breath. The moment slowly sinks in, and Jimin notices the relief washing over Taehyung’s eyes, bringing in shy tears with it. Tears. Jimin has never seen Taehyung cry before. It’s a little surprising. It makes him smile. 

“Don’t cry,” Jimin manages faintly, weakly, and Taehyung chokes on a painful chuckle. 

“I can’t believe this. I really thought you—” Taehyung exhales heavily, shaking his head. He lets go of Jimin’s hand to caress his arm instead, giving it a gentle squeeze, careful as to avoid the deep bruises. “I thought you lost your voice.” Forever.

Jimin’s smile grows warm. For a singer, to lose their voice is equal to one’s first death, and it’s evident that Taehyung has been thinking about it. Has been dreading it, more than Jimin has. 

Another beat of silence settles over them. 

And while Jimin sits up properly, Taehyung softly brushes his fingers through Jimin’s disheveled hair. There’s no rush in it. He takes the time to push it away from Jimin’s eyes, to brush it like he would if he were to make Jimin more presentable, and Jimin hums pleasantly at the softness of it. 

It’s odd to think that the simple intimacy of this moment is something that would have felt so foreign before. Maybe even awkward. Misplaced, perhaps. Yet now, everything feels so... natural. 

Like they’ve done this, time and time again.

“Shower,” Jimin whispers, to which Taehyung doesn’t immediately react, though his hand stills. Jimin adds, just as quietly, “I want to try.”

It startles Taehyung. “What?” 

“Show—”

“I got it, I heard you,” Taehyung assures, breathless. “You just—Are you sure?” 

No . Of course not. 

However, with Taehyung, nothing has ever felt this safe. Jimin believes that even though the simple thought of feeling the water dribble down his body is terrifying, he wants to believe that it’ll be safe with Taehyung by his side. He might be able to ground himself, to keep himself anchored in the moment rather than fall back into the traumatic events, over and over again. 

“Try,” Jimin repeats, like he wants it to be clear. “With you.”

“Of course,” Taehyung breathes out. “Come on, let’s go together.”

Jimin moves almost instantly, afraid that if he would take any longer to move and think, he’ll regret it and back out. He even goes as far as to take his clothes off before they walk through the threshold, discarding them into the basket right away, and standing there as still as he can be when Taehyung turns around.

“O—Okay,” Taehyung breathes out, a little confused, but the surprise on his face soon melts into reassurance when he offers his hand. “Let me help you get in.”

Jimin stares at Taehyung’s hand for a moment, before meeting his gaze. “You?”

“Me?” Taehyung echoes with a confused frown. “I’ll hold your hand like I’ve always—”

“No,” Jimin shakes his head. Fear starts to seep under his skin, but he tries to push it away, chase it away and prevent his mind from being trapped. “Us.” 

It doesn’t immediately register in Taehyung’s brain. That is, until Jimin hesitantly reaches for Taehyung’s collar. He closes the distance between them and, with clumsy fingers, opens the first button. 

The second. 

The third—

“Jimin,” Taehyung softly calls, covering Jimin’s hand with his. “You want me to shower with you?”

Finally. Jimin nods.

“Can you say it?” 

Jimin inhales deeply. He slowly snakes his hand out of Taehyung’s hold and keeps opening his top. “Shower with me,” he murmurs weakly, the shirt finally opening to reveal Taehyung’s chest, “please.” 

“Alright, come here,” Taehyung cups Jimin’s now bare waist to guide him back to sit on the closed toilet seat so that he can take his clothes off, too. And as much as Jimin wishes he can look anywhere around, he can’t—he has to keep his eyes on Taehyung to prevent his mind from sinking to the bottom of his memories. 

Anything’s good to take his mind off those memories.

Anything.

Including gazing up and down at Taehyung’s naked body, lingering a bit under his belly button. Right. Even if it’s not the first time Jimin has been utterly naked in front of Taehyung, the opposite is completely new for them.

And somehow, this makes Jimin nervous. 

“Jimin,” Taehyung clears his throat, visibly just as nervous, too. “Come with me. Let’s get over it quickly, alright? It’ll be better for you.”

Jimin doesn’t argue with that. He stands up on his feet, allows Taehyung to enter the tub first before he follows, albeit hesitantly. His eyes close as soon as he feels the cold touch of the porcelain against his skin, immediately clinging to Taehyung, fingers digging into the meat of Taehyung’s arms. “T—Taehyung...”

“I’m here,” Taehyung assures, reaching to cup Jimin’s face into his hands and encourage him to look at him. Jimin does. “I’m not leaving you alone. I’m here, and I’ll be careful. I won’t do anything you don’t want, do you hear me? We’re just going to clean ourselves up, that’s all.”

Jimin’s breathing picks up. “Not—” he starts, bringing his fingers to his neck where the bandage is still very much present. “Not the head.”

“I won’t wet your face,” Taehyung confirms, “or your wound, there.”

Wound. Jimin nervously chews the inside of his cheek. Although he’s felt the lines of that name carved in his throat when Taehyung cleaned and changed the bandage yesterday, Jimin never took a glimpse of it. He doesn’t know what it looks like. Doesn’t know if it’ll ever go away. Taehyung has always taken care of it for him, and as much as it reassures him, it also terrifies him.

What if it never disappears?

“Let’s sit,” Taehyung suggests. “I think it’ll help.”

Jimin nods. He lowers himself into the tub, waiting for Taehyung to sit first before he finds a place between Taehyung’s legs, back facing him. The porcelain might be cold against Jimin’s skin, and he might be fearing the sound of the water, too, and yet—he’s not afraid. Not when he can feel Taehyung’s breath fanning into the nape of his neck. Not when he can feel Taehyung’s body warmth wrapping around him.

Not when he feels a comforting hand caressing his arm, up and down. 

“I’m going to turn on the water,” Taehyung warns. 

Jimin nods, and instinctively holds his breath. Closes his eyes.

When he starts hearing the water flow, a very slow and soft steam, Jimin’s hands quickly find a way on Taehyung’s thighs. Squeezing to try grounding himself. 

“You’re okay,” Taehyung whispers, and Jimin nods. He is. Of course he is.

A wet palm caresses Jimin’s arm, the touch meant to get him used to the feeling, before Taehyung slowly brings the shower head closer. The water barely drips over Jimin, however. Taehyung moves carefully, letting it trickle between his fingers before touching Jimin. His shoulders, his back, his arms.

It’s gentle. 

So gentle that it confuses the part of Jimin that’s still trapped back there.

‘I’ll drown you if that’s what makes you speak.’  

The tears start to spill from the corners of his eyes. Quiet. Silent. He doesn’t speak a word, lets them flow as Taehyung wets his body, hoping that his shivers and cries aren’t noticed. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

Oh. Jimin shakes his head. He doesn’t think that if they stop now, he’ll ever be able to overcome this. “N—No,” he cries, fingers still squeezing Taehyung’s thighs, nails marking his skin with how tight he’s holding onto him, “keep touching me.”

And he does. Taehyung continues, taking the soap bar next and rubbing it between his palms before he lathers it over Jimin’s shoulders, down. Softly. Slowly. And Jimin could try to take some of it in his hands too, do it himself, but he’s melting into the touches, relaxing under the careful ministrations. He feels it—feels how scared Taehyung is to hurt him, as if he believes he could break Jimin at any moment. 

“Still okay?” 

Taehyung’s hands are rubbing Jimin’s inner thighs now. With a nod, Jimin hums, leaning further back to press his back against Taehyung’s chest, until—

“Sorry,” Taehyung immediately apologizes the very second Jimin’s eyes snap open, letting his head dip in shame, face hidden into the crook of Jimin’s neck. “I didn’t mean to,” he adds, hands now still where they rest over Jimin’s knees, “do you—do you want to change positions?”

Jimin blinks. The fear seems to have been replaced by... curiosity. 

Arousal.

“You’re hard,” Jimin whispers in that same weak, hoarse voice, and it steals a breathless laugh from Taehyung.

“I’m so relieved you can speak again, but I didn’t need to hear that.”

Jimin bites down on a shy smile. He reaches for Taehyung’s hand, guiding it away from his knee and back to his inner thigh. 

“Jimin—” 

“Me too,” Jimin breathes out, guiding Taehyung’s hand closer until it brushes against his length. Half-hard. He shivers at the touch, looking up when Taehyung lifts his head and gazes between Jimin’s legs. “You can... touch me.”

“Jimin, I—”

“Please.”

There’s want swimming in Taehyung’s hazy eyes, but it blends with worry. The fear of crossing a line. 

The line Jimin wishes to erase with his own bare hands. 

He keeps his hand over Taehyung’s, watching as Taehyung wraps his fingers around him, and even the touch is so gentle that it makes Jimin breathe out a sigh of relief. The worries start to melt off his mind, his body relaxing into Taehyung’s, his head resting against Taehyung’s shoulder. 

They don’t speak another word. It’s not like they need to; the silence speaks for them. Their heavy breaths. Jimin’s quiet whimpers. 

Taehyung’s hand works slow around him, the soap helping with the wet slides. It’s almost shy at first, the pressure barely there, but then he starts sliding his thumb over the head, over the slit, making Jimin’s hips stutter and roll into his fist.

The pleasure coils up in the pit of Jimin’s stomach, pushing the remnants of fear away, memories replaced by the warmth of Taehyung’s body all over him. His mouth parts in quiet gasps, one hand finding its way to Taehyung’s hair while his other hand keeps himself steady where it presses on Taehyung’s thigh. 

“You can let go,” Taehyung whispers into Jimin’s ear, low and raspy, the kind that’s filled with desire, like he’s barely holding it in. It makes Jimin’s chest swell with satisfaction to realize that his broken and bruised body is still desirable. 

That Taehyung finds him desirable.

With a stuttered breath, Jimin rolls his hips with little more intent as Taehyung sets a faster pace to help him reach his climax, thumb playing with the slit every time his hand slides up. He presses his nose against Jimin’s temple, his breath as heavy and loud as Jimin’s, as if the sight alone is enough to push him to the edge, too. 

And Jimin doesn’t need much more to come with a silent cry, his body racked by the tremors and aftershocks, pleasure shooting down to his legs, down to his curled toes. While Taehyung keeps stroking him through his orgasm, much more slowly and carefully, his other hand caresses Jimin’s leg, easing him through it.

“T—Tae,” Jimin whimpers, breathless, eyes closed and brows furrowed with the slight oversensitivity that courses through him. His mind is high up there, foggy and hazy, and he doesn’t even hear himself beg, “Call me—” yours. 

Call me yours.

Taehyung’s hand stills around him. 

A beat of silence.

Jimin feels it at the back of his throat—a sob, threatening to escape if he doesn’t hear it.

‘Who’s your owner, pretty doll?’

“No, no. Please,” Jimin cries, heavy and hot tears spilling, and he’s spiraling back into the past again. He doesn’t even feel Taehyung’s arms wrap around him, embracing him tight from behind, caressing his chest in soothing rubs. “I’m not—not his, not his, not his—!”

“Jimin, calm down,” Taehyung urges calmly as he presses Jimin’s legs together with his own, trapping them there, keeping him in a position that would allow Jimin to feel that comforting and warm pressure all around him. “It’s me. It’s just me. Kim Taehyung.”

Jimin nods. Nods, nods and nods again. His chest spasms with the barely contained sobs he keeps swallowing, that voice still thumping painfully loud at the back of his head. He needs to get it out. He needs Taehyung to tell him Jimin is his. Not—

“You’re no one’s, Jimin,” Taehyung tries softly, though his voice is shaking, too. “You’re your own person. Nobody owns you. Do you hear me?”

No. No, he doesn’t. 

Because that’s not true. 

That’s not what the name carved into his skin says. 

That’s not what the voices in his head scream.

“I’m yours,” Jimin keeps crying, his ribcage tight around his lungs. He wants to rip it open to be able to breathe. It hurts. “Please, please, tell me—tell me I’m yours.” 

It takes another moment for Taehyung to speak. As though he’s unsure.

As though he refuses to admit something that isn’t true. And the simple thought of it kills Jimin. 

“You can be mine,” he finally murmurs, nose pressed into Jimin’s wet cheek, rocking him back and forth every so faintly. 

It works. Albeit agonizingly slowly. It calms Jimin down a little. “Yours,” Jimin breathes out, tears and snot mixing and rolling down his lips, making him slur the word. He wants the confirmation. He wants to hear it again. From Taehyung’s mouth—and no one else’s.

A hum. A heavy exhale. And finally,

“Mine.”

...

“You did what, now?” 

Taehyung sighs as he adjusts the phone against his ear, looking over at where Jimin is now sitting on the couch of the living room watching over his performances, wrapped in a warm blanket. “Listen, can you just answer my question first? Please?” Taehyung insists a little desperately, voice quiet, walking further back into the corridors as to not be heard. 

“What were you even asking me? I lost track of the conversation the minute you told me you touched him,” Jeongguk blurts out without any filter, causing Taehyung to choke on his own saliva.

“Don’t say it like that, you make it sound like I took advantage of him!” 

“Well, didn’t you say he couldn’t speak?”

“He did—” Taehyung sighs heavily. “He has. This morning, he... he talked to me. And I didn’t want to cross this line, Jeongguk-ah, I—” fucked up, he means to say, yet he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t regret it. And that’s what’s fucking with his mind right now.

When did things suddenly change between them?

“So, shoot me that question again.” 

“Jeongguk—”

“Come on,” Jeongguk repeats. “You and I know the answer, anyway.” 

Taehyung closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pauses for a moment, pondering over taking his words back and switching the topic instead, before he asks again, more quietly this time, “How can you know you’ve fallen for someone?”

Jeongguk huffs into the phone. The kind that tells Taehyung he’s grinning like an idiot. “It’s all kind of things. The little things you notice on them that you don’t even care about in others—like the way they look at you. The way they smile. The way they laugh. It’s the way you can’t sit down and accept that they’re hurting in any shape or form—you want to take it all away. The pain, the sadness. You’re ready to set your own self on fire for them, because that would mean you’d both be together, and he won’t ever have to be alone through it.” 

“You’re being overly dramatic,” Taehyung says, though his heart tightens. He can’t deny it, he’s felt the exact same thing for Jimin. 

“Am I? I’ve never seen you go to such extents for anyone as you did when Jimin went missing.”

“I’d have done the same thing for you,” Taehyung argues.

“No. Not like that,” Jeongguk refutes. “You wouldn’t have reacted like this. I already went through tons of shitty situations—and no matter how close to death I was every time, you always dealt with the situation with much more calmness. You went bonkers this time, hyung, I’m not kidding,” he laughs, though it comes out a little pained. “It really looked like a part of you was ripped to shreds. You lost yourself a couple of times. I couldn’t even recognize you.” 

Taehyung breathes out a baffled laugh. He can’t believe this. All this time, he never thought he’d ever believe in the type of love everyone boasts about. He never thought he’d ever find someone that would prove him that love does exist. It sounds ridiculous. It does. And yet—he can’t deny that what  he’s feeling for Jimin is something stronger than what he’d ever felt for anyone else.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, running his fingers through his hair. “He’s not— fuck, he’s not the person he was before that fucker took him. It’s still him but not... healed. He’s vulnerable and sensitive, and I’m—”

“—terrified that you’re, in fact, taking advantage of that vulnerability he’s showing you?”

Talk about reading through one’s mind. “Yeah,” Taehyung admits. It’s not so much about doing anything that Jimin doesn’t want now. It’s rather about the possibility that Jimin is trapped in a vulnerable state of mind that makes him want to do everything that Taehyung wants. A way to protect himself from any more damage.

Taehyung fears that Jimin is living a reality that’s distorted by his own unconscious mind.

“I can’t say anything about that,” Jeongguk admits. “He’s never left his home since you found him. He’s only ever seen and talked to you.”

Taehyung presses his lips together. That’s exactly what he fears—that he’s forcing Jimin to think that he only needs Taehyung in his life. 

He fears he’s doing the exact same thing that animal did to him.

“I had a call with the company earlier,” Taehyung says faintly. “They suggested that I book a trip for him, far from Seoul.”

“What? That’s...”

“Yeah,” Taehyung breathes out like he already knows what Jeongguk was about to say. “They had a few destinations but I refused them all. I know they want him to come back to the promotion of his album, whether he’s fully recovered or not, and they think a trip is what will ‘wake him up.’ It pissed me off.”

Jeongguk snorts. “Yeah, no wonder. ‘can’t say I’m not surprised, though, they’ve been calling Namjoon at least twenty times a day because they can’t really reach you as much. They’re scared Jimin will leave them altogether.”

“And that’s not a decision they can make. Only Jimin can choose what to do with his career.”

“Sure, tell that to the money hungry companies out there. Haven’t they suspended your contract anyway?” 

“Don’t talk to me about that,” Taehyung grunts. “I think the press held by Jang Jisung the other day scared them.” 

“Right. That old man didn’t keep his thoughts to himself. I honestly thought he was going to hide what Junwoo did but in the end he really admitted that his grandson was a crazy ass criminal that needed to purge years of sentence behind bars.”

Taehyung hums. It’s not difficult to piece things together. Although no name was mentioned, the media knew to link back Junwoo’s crime to Jimin’s disappearance, especially now that the articles about Jimin’s first sponsor are resurfacing. It’s no wonder that the company is now under scrutiny for neglecting Jimin’s security, which now pressures them to give tangible proof that Jimin is currently undergoing medical and professional help.

“What are you gonna do now, though?”

Walking back toward the living room to make sure Jimin is still in the same spot, Taehyung speaks quietly. “We’re still going on a trip, I think. Not one that the company suggested, but one that’ll make him happy.”

“You think he’s gonna want to leave?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says honestly. “I have to find a place far enough for that bastard to not find us, and yet close enough to avoid long hours-drive.”

“Sounds good. Maybe it’ll really help him. Who knows?”

“Who knows,” Taehyung parrots, a smile curving his lips the moment Jimin perks up from the couch and mouths a ‘Come here, please.’ “I’ll let you know. Take care and no fights tonight at the Viper, alright?”

“Who do you think I am?” Jeongguk laughs before bidding goodbye and hanging up.

“Namjoon?” Jimin tries when Taehyung comes back to sit next to him, immediately settling closer until he’s leaning over into Taehyung, seeking that warmth. 

“No, it was Jeongguk,” Taehyung smiles, brushing through Jimin’s hair a bit before he reaches for the tablet in Jimin’s hand. “What were you watching?”

“Concerts.” More specifically his very last one, held a few months ago in Seoul. But it’s not like Jimin sounds interested in talking about it. Instead, he makes himself even smaller into Taehyung’s arms, absent-mindedly brushing his fingers over Taehyung’s knuckles and holding his hand. As if he’d been waiting for exactly that—a touch that would ground him.

“Jimin,” Taehyung calls softly.

“Mh?” Jimin hums, resting his head against Taehyung’s chest.

“What do you think about... going out?” 

The question is vague. He’s testing it, first. Doesn’t want to startle Jimin if he doesn’t feel ready, but even the simple mention of leaving the house seems to make Jimin tense, his fingers halting their gentle tracing over Taehyung’s hand. “Where?” he asks back quietly, like he’s unsure if he wants to know the answer.

“I’m not sure,” Taehyung admits. His thumb brushes over Jimin’s hand soothingly. “It could be anywhere. Do you want to choose? We can go somewhere calm. I’ll drive us there. If you want to go with someone els—”

“With you,” Jimin cuts him off breathlessly. “I only want to go with you.”

“Okay.” It’s not a surprise. The few times Taehyung mentioned having any of Jimin’s friends visiting him had always caused panic, and maybe it’s too early to encourage Jimin to see more people now. 

Taehyung settles the tablet on his lap to search through the options they can have, allowing Jimin to silently play with his hand, and then his sleeve.

“I don’t want to walk,” Jimin murmurs. 

Taehyung hums. “Then we won’t. What about a few days nearby? Here. A place with a nice view of the city, so we don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Jimin shifts a bit to glance at the screen where Taehyung picked a two-stories villa with a private pool. A hint of discomfort flickers across his face, and he’s quick to press his cheek back into Taehyung’s shirt, going back to nervously playing with his fingers. “We don’t need... that much space.”

“We don’t,” Taehyung agrees easily. 

They scrolled together quietly for a few more minutes. Though Jimin remains hesitant about booking a place with a pool, he eventually accepts to settle on a cozy hotel apartment, tucked a little less than a two-hour drive away.

It sounds like the best option they have. 

“We don’t need to use it,” Taehyung assures as soon as the tablet is discarded so that Jimin can press himself closer to him, hiding his face into Taehyung’s chest. “The pool. We don’t need to use it. But in case you feel read—”

“I know,” Jimin murmurs, like he can read Taehyung’s mind and find the reason for that choice—to help him overcome his fear of water. His fear of drowning. “Thank you.”

A sigh of relief. Taehyung softly pulls Jimin onto his lap to hug him closer, a little tighter. Jimin’s arms find their way around Taehyung, his head finding a place in the crook of Taehyung’s neck, surrendering fully and making a home of Taehyung’s arms. The comfort and safety that comes from their embrace ease the tension on Taehyung’s shoulders. 

Makes him believe that nothing and no one can ever break what they've built together. 

They’re safe. They are. As long as they’ll have each other.

...

Jimin hadn’t foreseen just how much effort he’d have to put into keeping his mind focused on Taehyung and Taehyung only, to not let it spiral into the past.

It’s only been two weeks since he’s been back home, with no one but Taehyung by his side, and it’s been helping him. There’s been progress. He’s gone from being completely mute and paralyzed by fear to talking . He’s gone from being absolutely terrified by the sight of water to tolerating it.

It’s huge. It’s the kind of progress that Jimin wouldn’t have made on his own. Nor with anyone else.

But it wasn’t enough for him to avoid a violent panic attack on the way to the parking lot, or another as they arrived in the hotel. Yet, Taehyung’s been just as patient. 

He remained by Jimin’s side, took care of him all the same—pulled him into his arms, rocked him in gentle motions that would turn into slow dancing until Jimin’s anxious breaths turned into breathless laughter and whispered thank you’s. 

They settle in easily for their first night.

Room service brings their first dinner that they enjoy with a movie they barely pay any attention to. Jimin’s pick, of course, The Notebook. He’d seen it dozens of times, he knows it by heart by now, so he has a good excuse not to be paying attention. And, instead, he lets attention drift back to where he traces circles around and along Taehyung’s knuckles, sometimes intertwining their fingers to feel the warmth and squeeze Taehyung’s hand. And Taehyung lets him. 

They fall into a gentle rhythm that didn’t require leaving the room to visit the city—Jimin wasn’t ready, and Taehyung never forced him to.

Instead, they enjoyed spending the time inside. With movies, with food, with quiet and lighthearted conversations at night about their likes and dislikes. About each other. 

The first few days pass in a gentle blur.

The shower becomes their evening routine. Something that Jimin once feared became something he’d look forward to, every day. 

The hotel room has a wide shower stall—big enough for both to move and stand without being crowded into each other’s spaces, although they do mostly stick their bodies together—and every evening, Taehyung guides Jimin in with the same reassuring steadiness, washing away the sharp edges of his fears. Softening them. Sometimes, they don’t speak a word. Other times, Jimin would be the first to talk. The first to flick water towards Taehyung’s face, only for them to break into laughter, and fall into a playful game of who’s gonna wash up first.

It’s easy.

Easy to feel like he’s picking up the pieces of himself again. Or, at least, pretend that he’s mending his broken self with Taehyung’s help.

“What do you want to eat tonight? I saw they have a great—Jimin? Are you alright?” Taehyung comes to a halt when he walks out of the bathroom, eyes on Jimin who perks up from where he’s lying on the bed. Hastily, Jimin closes the tabs he has opened on the tablet in his hands, pushing it aside and wiping the tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Jimin smiles, pushing himself up when Taehyung climbs on the bed to join him. “I was just looking at—articles.”

“Hey,” Taehyung cups Jimin’s face into his hands, thumbs softly sliding over Jimin’s closed lids. “Why would you? I told you that the media is handled by your publicists and the company, didn’t I?”

Jimin averts his eyes. That point didn’t matter—not when most articles attached to his name are about the possibility that Taehyung is behind Jimin’s disappearance. He hadn’t seen it before. Hadn’t realized that even pictures of Taehyung circulated and were used as proof that he’d done horrible things to him.

The thought alone twists Jimin’s guts. 

There isn’t one article about that criminal. Nothing mentioning him. All the attention seems to be on Taehyung, and Jimin can’t accept it. Not when he’s the reason Jimin’s is still alive.

“Hey, you’re not falling into another panic attack, are you?”

Jimin’s eyes flicker back to Taehyung’s worried ones, before he breathes out a faint chuckle, leaning into the warmth of Taehyung’s hands against his cheeks. “No. I’m fine. And... not hungry.”

“I figured,” Taehyung hums. “Maybe we can do something in the meantime?”

Jimin closes his eyes, enjoying the soft caresses of Taehyung’s thumbs on his face. “I don’t want to leave the room.”

“I know, I’m not asking you to. But... what about the pool?”

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath. He opens his eyes to look at Taehyung, his heart starting to race inside his ribcage, panic settling in. Right. He’d almost forgotten about it. It’s not like the pool is hidden—the wall-sized window of their room opens directly to the patio that includes their private pool. It’s not a deep one, they could still stand with their heads above the surface, from what Taehyung told him, but it doesn’t alter the fact that it’s a large body of water.

Even if Taehyung will never let him, Jimin could drown in it.

He could die in it.

“Hey, Jimin, stay with me,” Taehyung whispers when he senses the panic growing on Jimin’s face, pressing their foreheads together to try and ground him. “It can be just five minutes. I can be inside, and you can sit on the edge with just your feet in. How does that sound?”

Jimin breathes in shakily. “Okay.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Okay,” Jimin repeats, a little louder. “Just... sitting. With you there.”

“I’m not leaving you for one second.”

I know.

I know you won’t.

Jimin nods. He lets the soft caresses through his hair calm him down before they move to change into swimming trunks Taehyung had apparently brought, just in case. 

It’s a little chilly when they walk into the patio, the dark veil of the night above them barely allowing them to see a star or two, although Jimin’s attention remains on the hand Taehyung is holding all the way to the pool. Tight and soft and warm. 

“You can close your eyes. Come here,” Taehyung encourages as he guides Jimin to sit on the edge of the pool, careful as to not startle him. Jimin keeps his eyes closed through it, tightening the towel around his shaky frame when the tip of his toes touch the slightly cold surface. “You’re okay. It’s just your feet. You can lower them.”

So Jimin does. 

It’s a little cold at first, makes him gasp a bit, but it’s not terrible. At least not now that his eyelids remain closed shut, too scared of opening to a large body of water and losing his balance. 

“I’m going in. Wait here for me.”

With another nod, Jimin waits. He takes a deep breath when he can’t feel the comforting weight of Taehyung’s hands on his shoulders, hearing Taehyung’s rapid footsteps before the sound of the water splashing around as he enters the pool. 

Nervously, Jimin curls his toes, slightly moving his feet around in the water until he feels Taehyung’s fingers gently wrap around his ankles. He gasps, eyes snapping open and darting to Taehyung who’s now settling between his legs, a warm smile playing on his lips. “You’re okay?”

Jimin’s heart thumps in his eardrums. He doesn’t think he’s okay. But it’s not for the fear of being pulled down and drowned, it’s... something else. “I think so,” he breathes out, chewing on his bottom lip when he feels Taehyung’s hands travel lightly along his bare calves. 

“Good.” Maybe it’s Jimin’s imagination, but he swears he hears Taehyung’s voice drop so much lower than it ever has. It causes him to shiver a bit as Taehyung’s thumbs trace small circles as they work their way up to Jimin’s knees. “We can stay like that for a little more. If you don’t feel good, we’ll leave. And if you want to try more, I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

Jimin swallows thickly. Gives another shy nod. 

He tightens the grip he has around the towel, hiding half of his face into it but peeking over. His hazy eyes linger over Taehyung’s face, trace each detail—his moles, his kind and sharp eyes, his double eyelid. He watches as the droplets cling to Taehyung’s skin, trace down his neck, get trapped on his collarbones. His hair is damp, too, and Jimin guesses he dipped his head underwater before coming to him—it sticks to his temples, runs haphazardly over his forehead too, and Jimin can’t help but reach out to brush them away.

Taehyung’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling, the blue and purple lights of the patio caressing his skin. 

He looks beautiful beyond words.

“You don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to,” Taehyung softly reminds him when Jimin lets the towel drop from his shoulders, very slowly pushing himself closer to the edge. “We can do this any other time.”

Jimin doesn’t think he’d have it in him to do it another time if he doesn’t do it now. Clasping his hands on the edge of the pool, not once taking his eyes off Taehyung, Jimin asks in a daring breath, “Can you lower me?”

Taehyung’s brows raise in surprise, hands immediately finding their way up to Jimin’s waist to support him. “Are you sure?”

No. “Yes.”

With a nod, Taehyung helps Jimin off the edge, very carefully lowering him. Jimin’s hands instantly move to Taehyung’s shoulders, gripping them a little too hard as he feels the cold water lap higher up his legs, forcing his eyes to remain on Taehyung to ground himself and not fall into panic. 

“You’re okay,” Taehyung whispers the moment Jimin gasps and loops his arms around Taehyung’s neck for safety. 

It’s only half-way there, the water reaching his waist, but it’s already too much. He should have known. He shouldn’t have tried just because—

“Jimin, look at me. Look at me,” Taehyung insists, his hands still holding Jimin’s waist. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

It takes a moment for Jimin to swallow down the sobs that get caught in the back of his throat. He inhales shakily, opening his eyes to meet Taehyung’s soft ones. “I’m okay,” Jimin lies, exhaling heavily, “keep lowering me. Don’t—don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” 

With one last surge of courage, Jimin lets himself be lowered all the way until his feet find the bottom of the pool, and for a split second, he holds his breath in fear. It’s instinctive. Like his body has learned to perfect this, time and time again. 

He clings to Taehyung with everything he has, gasping for air like he would if he were resurfacing after minutes of drowning, and Taehyung is quick to pull him tightly close against him until there’s no remnant of space between their bodies.

“You did it,” Taehyung breathes out into Jimin’s ear, soothingly rubbing his back. Not letting go. Never letting go. “You’re in, with me. You did it.”

Jimin muffles his cries into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, body still trembling in fear. He knows he won’t be pushed down, he knows, and yet his mind screams at him to run away. To escape. To call for help. 

“Jimin, listen to me. You have to let it go, do you understand? You’re with me, now. Nothing’s going to happen. I won’t let you slip. I’ll catch you, if you do. You’re safe with me. Do you hear me?” Taehyung tries, over and over again, and Jimin doesn’t realize Taehyung’s been slowly moving them around the pool before he manages to open his glossy eyes. 

They’re in the center of the pool.

They’ve moved that far without Jimin even noticing. And nothing happened. 

He didn’t drown. He didn’t die. 

He’s safe. 

“Look at me. Look at me, not the water,” Taehyung urges, cupping the side of Jimin’s face. 

Jimin’s gaze locks with Taehyung’s for a moment before he leans forward to bump his forehead against his, the impact stealing a faint chuckle from Taehyung, until they fall into a comforting silence. 

Jimin’s cries slowly fade, melting into the gentle touches and soothing caresses on his waist, his breath finally slowing. 

It takes more time than he thinks. 

He feels Taehyung guide him a little further, then a little closer again. Towards the edge, away from it. 

Jimin lets him, feeling his own heart calm its erratic course in his throat. 

“Taehyung—”

“Mh?”

“Stop,” he murmurs breathlessly, and Taehyung immediately stills. His hands are securely holding Jimin’s waist, still rubbing soothing circles there, never stopping. Jimin brings his hands to Taehyung’s cheeks, cupping them, finally feeling safe enough to not cling to him like a lifeline. It seems that the thought has Taehyung smiling. That beautiful, beautiful smile.

Jimin swallows at the silence that settles over them. His eyes linger over the soft curve of Taehyung’s lips, over the tiny mole on it. His gaze travels up to the mole at the tip of his nose, the one beneath his eye. He’s retracing every part of Taehyung’s face like he’s never seen it before. Like he’s photographing it, printing it in his mind, framing it forever. 

Time slows. 

The water softly lapping around them fades into silence, too.

Jimin’s thumb caresses Taehyung’s cheek. Slides over his eyelid. Slides down to his lips. 

Taehyung lets him. Looks between Jimin’s eyes and his lips—and Jimin does just the same.

Another beat of silence.

A shiver.

A stuttered breath shared between them.

Jimin leans in without another thought, every ounce of fear melting into something he can’t quite name yet as his lips find Taehyung’s, a touch so gentle yet burning with so much desperation that it hurts. 

Taehyung’s lips are warm, so impossibly warm, and Jimin clings to them as if he’s terrified of losing this moment if he doesn’t hold on tight—until he feels him press back into him, kiss him with much more fervor than Jimin had first intended to. Taehyung’s hand rises to cradle the nape of Jimin’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer against him.

It might be their first, but it feels like it’s their last time. They’re falling so easily into the kiss, so deeply, so desperately, that they start gasping into each other’s mouths, desperate to get more, to take more, to feel more.

And Taehyung— god, Taehyung tastes like sweet cherry balm. Like home. Warm and soft. Everything Jimin didn’t even know he’d been craving.

Jimin's fingers hold on to Taehyung's face, gasping against his lips when he's suddenly lifted off his feet and guided back against the edge of the pool, trapped between that edge and Taehyung, feeling his heart race against Taehyung's chest. Loud and erratic. 

“Kiss me,” Jimin gasps as soon as Taehyung's lips part with his in a wet smack, chasing after them and fearing that it'll be over forever if he doesn’t.

“Out of the pool,” Taehyung says, though he makes no effort to pull away when Jimin's mouth finds his again, tongue slipping inside, tasting him, craving more. “Back to the room.” 

Jimin’s mind grows hazy, slipping away so easily. He gives himself fully to Taehyung, letting him guide them out of the pool, scoop him up from under his thighs, and cover him with the towel he left back. 

“You’re gonna get sick,” Taehyung breathes out against Jimin’s lips when the towel falls from Jimin’s bare shoulders before he can even walk back inside the room, but Jimin doesn’t care. He doesn’t even mind the way the cold air bites his skin and makes his entire body shiver. 

He’ll get sick—then so be it. 

He’s not about to let go of Taehyung, not now, not ever.

Jimin doesn’t realize they’re back inside before his feet touch the floor again, the warmth of the room allowing him to breathe again, although he barely does with how desperately he tries to capture Taehyung’s lips, to flick his tongue inside, to get more and more of him. 

“Off,” Jimin whimpers when Taehyung pulls their hips flush together, the wet fabric uncomfortable between them. “Off,” he repeats. He gasps for air as their lips part with a thin string of saliva, while Taehyung hurries to take his swim trunks off of him, helping Jimin out of his own. 

They’re drenched. They’ll soak the sheets, and it’ll be uncomfortable—Jimin knows it. He does. But he doesn’t allow Taehyung to finish the sentence he starts with a “We need to show—” and instead, falls back into the bed, pulling Taehyung down with him.

He loops his arms around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him closer, and gasping in surprise when he’s suddenly pushed higher up on the bed so that his head rests on the cushion underneath.

“Jimin,” Taehyung rasps, and it’s so incredibly low that it causes Jimin to jerk in response, rolling his hips into Taehyung’s when he settles between his legs, bodies flushed together. “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.” 

Urgently, Jimin runs a hand through Taehyung’s hair, gripping it as he tilts his head to capture his lips wetly, desperately, while he wraps his legs around Taehyung’s waist, the heels pressing on his lower back to pull him even closer. The water dribbling down their skin helps smooth the wet slides as they rock into each other, so hard and burning hot. 

Taehyung’s hands are everywhere on Jimin—sliding down his sides, caressing his waist, running up and down his thighs. And the touches burn. They burn so good. 

“I want you,” Jimin admits when their foreheads bump for them to breathe in each other’s air, loud and ragged as if they’ve pumped all the air out of their lungs. Jimin keeps rolling his hips with more and more intent, searching for more friction, loving the way he can feel Taehyung slide against his own cock, against his belly. “I want you, please.” 

Taehyung cups Jimin’s cheek, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, desire pouring out of his own. Despite the dimly lit room, Jimin notices how flushed Taehyung’s face is, the sweat and pool water mixing, drops of it falling onto Jimin’s cheeks. “I don’t have l—”