Chapter Text
PART III
Certain Things
The next morning comes in the blink of an eye, and Jimin is the first to wake up. He scrunches his nose and furrows his brows as the first rays of sunlight filter through a gap in his mostly closed curtain, disturbing what has been the most comfortable sleep he’s ever had.
He tries to hide his face in the pillow, turning his neck to the right side, but instead of soft feathers, he finds his mouth being filled with a bunch of hair that sticks to his dry lips like glue and makes him open his eyes in surprise.
Jimin blinks slowly, trying to adjust to the clarity as his eyes travel around the room. The first thing he notices is the absolute mess everywhere. There are clothes scattered all over, pillowcases carelessly thrown on the floor, the lights are still on, making it nearly impossible for him to look up, and even the sheets are halfway off the bed, leaving him bare. But there’s no cold, because clinging to his body as if he’s a life vest in the middle of the sea is Jungkook, whose warmth is so strong, it actually makes Jimin’s skin sweat.
His attention is instantly drawn to the person next to him, as he forgets about everything else.
The heavy weight lying almost fully on top of him is Jungkook, his face buried in the side of Jimin's neck. His arms are wrapped tightly around Jimin’s middle as if he was afraid someone might take him away in the middle of the night. Their legs are tangled together, both of them naked, sticky, and warm, and Jimin can feel every inch of Jungkook’s skin pressed against him.
The alpha’s hair is spread all over the only pillow left on the bed, the one they shared the whole night, lying so close to each other that the air from their lungs must have mingled at some point, and now Jimin can smell nothing but Jungkook. His lips are parted, his two slightly larger front teeth peeking out, making him look even more like a bunny.
It might be the first time Jimin has seen him with such a relaxed expression: his thick brows are low, his impossibly long lashes resting on his cheeks and fluttering slightly with each soft breath that escapes his nose, pressed to Jimin’s neck as if Jungkook wanted to breathe him in all night long.
Jimin bites his lip, nearly flinching as his teeth graze a cut likely made sometime during the night. He leans his head back against the pillow and stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, his heart beating fast as memories of the night before float back into his head, making his face burn and his stomach churn.
He barely notices the discomfort that travels up and down his body—aching muscles and sore parts he feels embarrassed to acknowledge. They really did it. They fucked.
Jimin’s body feels satiated, maybe for the first time in his life, his bones soft like jelly, his head buzzing with satisfaction. He feels warm everywhere, and he knows it’s because Jungkook is hugging him tightly; he knows that the moment the other alpha lets go, he’ll feel cold again, and that has nothing to do with the lack of a blanket on top of them.
He waits for the customary anger or even regret, to greet him as they usually do every morning when he opens his eyes, but he’s met with nothing but comfortable silence, disrupted only by the soft sound of Jungkook breathing against his neck.
He feels weird, different perhaps, but he doesn’t know exactly why. Jimin was never good at reading emotions; his brain was trained to recognize only the things that might become a threat to him. His own feelings are even harder to comprehend, especially since Jungkook came back, and they all got messed up and crazed. He has been feeling more things he’s never felt before, things he finds hard to categorize and things that make him feel completely unguarded.
His eyes drift back to Jungkook, heart pounding inside his chest to a point where Jimin worries it might wake him up. He should get up, let the other sleep, and go take a shower because every inch of his body is either covered in sweat or come, but he doesn’t move. He can’t.
He finds himself stuck in place somehow, as if Jungkook is pulling him close with only his presence. So instead of leaving, Jimin just watches him, the same way he used to do when he was younger.
Back then, he would lie on his side and stare at Jungkook, who used to sleep in the bed right next to him. Jimin didn’t know why he did it. His attention span was very low, and he couldn’t stay still for long, but somehow, when it came to watching Jungkook sleep so soundlessly, Jimin found it hypnotizing.
He was too young to understand why his heart sped up or why his cheeks flushed. He didn’t know why he felt so shy about it either, nearly jumping out of his skin when Jungkook suddenly opened his eyes and looked directly at him.
It was like he knew Jimin was staring all along, and that made things even worse. Jimin would cover his head with the blanket, his heart beating so fast it was like he was having a heart attack. He’d stay there for what felt like a long time—or at least to his child’s mind, it felt like a long time—and only after a while would he peek out from under the covers, just to find Jungkook sleeping again, as if Jimin’d imagined the whole thing.
Now, he’s also not sure why, but he finds himself just as stuck as he was over twenty years ago, briefly wondering how much time can pass, how things can change, yet how his feelings can remain the same.
Jimin is hit with the urge to pull him even closer, to bury his nose in Jungkook's hair and breathe in deeply to smell him. To smell them together. His cheeks burn even more, embarrassed by the direction of his own thoughts.
He takes a deep breath and tries to move slightly, doing his best not to disturb Jungkook’s sleep. But he can’t go very far because, as if sensing him move, Jungkook holds him tighter, his nose digging into Jimin’s neck as he exhales deeply, making Jimin tingle all over. Then Jungkook smacks his lips like a toddler before falling deeply asleep again, and Jimin doesn’t have the strength to move anymore.
His heart eases a bit, his lips curling up without him even noticing. He looks down at Jungkook with soft eyes, chewing his lip hesitantly as he raises his left hand to touch one of the long strands of hair tickling his jaw.
His fingers sink into it and they feel like silk against Jimin’s skin, soft and smooth, tangling around his palm. Jimin touches him carefully, mesmerized by the sensation. He had touched Jungkook’s hair before, pulling and pushing roughly to make him move the way he wanted, but this is the first time Jimin is gentle with it.
It reminds him of that time back in the forest, when the black rabbit climbed onto his lap and Jimin carefully caressed it. Jungkook’s hair is much smoother, though. His nose doesn’t scrunch up as much either, although Jimin has seen him do that quite often.
He looks quite cute like this, hair falling over the pillow, lips parted, letting soft, warm breaths kiss the skin of Jimin’s neck back, making him feel so warm and fuzzy he needs to hold back his chuckles in order to avoid disturbing his sleep.
Jimin’s fingers keep stroking Jungkook’s hair as gently as he can, and although he’s not used to being delicate, he tries his hardest to be. He doesn’t want to wake Jungkook, doesn’t want to disturb him. But at the same time, Jimin can’t stop himself from touching him. Even though their bodies are deeply entangled together, somehow, it still doesn’t feel like it is enough.
Jimin watches the way Jungkook’s lashes move with his breathing, the way his left cheek is smashed on the pillow, his nose so round and cute Jimin kind of wants to bite it. He doesn't look scary like this, doesn't look like someone capable of killing a bug, much less another human being. Jimin finds him mesmerizing, so hypnotizing he is unable to look away.
His intention of running away slowly disappears, and as the clock ticks by, he just stays there, as quiet as he can, too afraid to move and break the bubble that seems to surround them. The world is silent for a moment; time feels frozen in place, and for the first time in his life, Jimin can just exist, with no other thought but Jungkook in his head.
It ends way too soon, though. Even though it’s probably been hours since he woke up—the sun is high in the sky by now, and the room is a little warmer than before—it still feels too short, because Jimin barely registered the passage of time.
“What are you looking at?” Jungkook suddenly asks without even opening his eyes, making Jimin’s soul almost jump out of his body. His heart, which had been beating peacefully, starts pounding inside his chest as waves of adrenaline run through him, making his cheeks flush all the way down his neck.
He clears his throat awkwardly and begins to untangle his fingers from Jungkook’s hair, only for Jungkook to grab his wrist and place his hand back with an annoyed sigh. “Keep doing it,” he orders bratty, snuggling his face against Jimin’s neck, sending tingles all over him.
Jimin laughs before he can stop himself, the sound coming out almost like a giggle, making him flush as he presses his lips together to keep from making any more weird noises. Jungkook chuckles against his neck, seeming to notice Jimin’s awkwardness.
It makes him feel even more embarrassed. Jimin has no idea how to act—he feels odd and out of place. He doesn't understand why he feels this way; it’s like the time they spent in the forest when they were kidnapped, but multiplied by a hundred. Now, he feels strangely vulnerable and bare. It’s as if he’s shown something to Jungkook that he shouldn’t have, shared a part of himself he didn’t even know existed.
Jungkook, on the other hand, seems completely fine, and for some reason, that bothers Jimin endlessly. Why is he the only one feeling this way? Did last night mean something different to Jungkook? Is he overthinking it?
“You’re so spoiled,” he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth disapprovingly, but his fingers are already scratching Jungkook’s scalp again, sliding through the smooth strands gently, even though deep down he wants to pull just to get a reaction out of him.
“I learned from the best,” Jungkook mumbles, and Jimin rolls his eyes, amused.
He wants to ask, to talk about it and read Jungkook's expression closely, but the moment Jimin opens his mouth, his tongue feels hot and heavy, and he can't form a single word. He bites his lips again as the silence stretches around them, this time feeling so full, it’s impossible to relax.
Jimin can feel Jungkook's body pressed against him, feel his breath on his skin, and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, holding him in place a little tighter. Neither of them dares to speak, and the quiet seconds morph into minutes that feel like hours.
Jimin starts to get more agitated, the impatience inside him growing. He squirms a little, trying to shift positions to look at Jungkook's face, but the alpha only holds him in place, burying his face even deeper into Jimin’s neck, making him groan in annoyance.
“Jungkook,” Jimin growls in warning, tugging a strand of his hair slightly.
“What?” Jungkook asks innocently, as if his fingers aren’t digging almost painfully into Jimin’s waist.
“Are you going to open your eyes or what?” Jimin tries to look down at him, watching the frown on Jungkook’s brows deepen as he replies.
“No,” Jungkook says, almost like a stubborn child.
“Why not?” Jimin asks, dumbfounded.
“Because I don’t want to.”
Jimin’s jaw drops in amused disbelief. “Jungkook,” he says, his tone filled with warning.
“Jimin,” the other replies in the same tone, making Jimin press his lips together to keep from laughing.
He never saw Jungkook act like that, not even when they were kids. Usually, it was Jimin who was the spoiled, bratty one, while Jungkook would always take the older role, being considerate and way too mature for his age.
It makes Jimin want to squish him tightly and bite his cheeks, which is so fucking weird, he decides to ignore. He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “We can’t stay here forever,” he says softly, scratching Jungkook’s back slowly. “Can you just look at me?” It comes out more like a plea than Jimin intended, his tone nervous and unsure.
He feels his hands sweat and his stomach churn in anticipation, his heart beating so fast he’s sure Jungkook can hear it. The other alpha sighs heavily, his breath hitching, and his scent turns slightly distressed. It seems like in the early morning, Jungkook finds it just as hard to control his own emotions. They swirl in the air around them, making Jimin release soothing pheromones without even realizing it, his fingers gently rubbing his head up and down.
“If I open my eyes, are you going to look at me like I’m the biggest mistake you ever made?” Jungkook finally asks after a moment, his voice low and vulnerable, making Jimin’s heart jump.
“No!” he answers way too fast, as if the thought never occurred to him, because honestly, it never did.
Jimin doesn’t know much about his own feelings, but he’s not dumb. He knows exactly what Jungkook makes him feel, and since the beginning—whether it was anger or hate—Jimin knows that now, it’s neither of those things. Not anymore. “I would never... I just... I don’t know how to act, to be honest,” he continues, a little hopelessly, laying his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling as if it has all the answers he needs. All the words he didn’t know how to read yet, all the things he can’t say.
“Just don't send me away,” Jungkook whispers quietly, before he finally raises his head and opens his eyes, looking at Jimin with such honest eyes it takes all his breath away, as if he was just punched in the stomach. “I don’t think I could bear it if you do.”
Jimin’s heartbeat increases. He opens his mouth to say something, but again, nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he’s feeling, doesn’t know why Jungkook’s words hurt him so much, at the same time that they light his insides up with bright lights.
The fire seems to burn his skin slowly, its flames licking Jimin’s process of thought, as he stares into Jungkook’s eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, knowing it’s coming, knowing it’s going to die, yet still mesmerized by the hypnotizing prospect of it.
The silence stretches once more, the air filling with heavy emotions. Jungkook’s eyes search desperately for the answer in Jimin’s face, but there’s nothing there, because not even Jimin himself knows what he’s feeling, what the name of the strange emotion is that makes him want to bring Jungkook closer and push him away as far as he can at the same time.
It’s frustrating not to know. It makes Jimin wrinkle his brows in annoyance and avert his gaze, chewing on his bottom lip as he tries and fails to form any coherent sentence.
Jungkook seems to take that as a response, though. His shoulders slump, and his scent sours so much it makes Jimin choke. His alpha growls, commanding him to do something, to reach forward and rip the sadness out of the other’s eyes, but Jimin finds himself frozen in place, flabbergasted by his own inner turmoil.
Before he can get his shit under control, his time seems to run out. Jungkook gets up awkwardly, his cheeks flushed as he avoids Jimin’s gaze. His movements are uncoordinated, and his scent is bitter. Jimin sits up too, his chest rising and falling as he watches Jungkook’s naked form search for his clothes in the mess of the room.
His body is full of Jimin’s marks, his neck purple, his stomach full of nail trails, his hair messy and wild, lips still bruised. But his eyes are down, and his hands are trembling, and Jimin’s heart hurts so much he thinks he might die. He gets up before he even knows what he’s doing.
“Jungkook,” he says in a deep voice, feeling his own body sore all over.
Jungkook stops in his tracks. He stands up in the middle of the room and looks around awkwardly, scratching his nape as his eyes roam through the pieces of clothes thrown everywhere. He chuckles without a single trace of humor, refusing to look in Jimin’s direction.
“You probably want me to leave, right?”
“Do you want to take a shower?”
They both talk at the same time, Jungkook’s eyes widening comically as he hears Jimin’s words. “You… you want me to stay?” he asks, almost in disbelief.
And Jimin can’t help but find him cute, even though Jungkook is technically older than him. His heart does a crazy flip inside his chest, and his eyes soften as he watches the other’s confused expression, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
Jimin sighs fondly, his hard exterior melting away so effortlessly he wonders what kind of power Jeon Jungkook has over him. He can’t answer him right now, doesn’t know exactly why he’s so unwilling to let the other alpha go just yet, so he doesn’t even try to come up with a cheap excuse.
He takes a step forward slowly, feeling his legs shake with the weight of his own body and the come striping down his inner thighs. His cheeks burn a little, but he ignores the weird sensation or the satisfied groan of his alpha as he walks toward Jungkook, feeling the dark eyes scan every inch of his skin.
“Come with me,” Jimin says, grabbing Jungkook’s hands in his palms and directing them to his private bathroom.
It gives him déjà vu from the time they made out in the dining hall restroom, and Jimin bites the corner of his lips to stop himself from chuckling. Because just like back then, Jungkook follows him in silent surprise, eyes big and round, stuck on their connected fingers.
It’s almost childish, as if they haven’t done much intimate things just a few hours ago.
Jimin opens the door and pulls Jungkook inside, before slamming it closed again, locking them together in the smaller space. He turns around to face the other, and the moment their eyes meet, they both look away with flushed red cheeks.
Neither of them knows what to do, and for a few minutes, they just stand there in awkward silence, refusing to meet the other’s eyes.
“Hm… want to do it now?” Jimin asks after clearing his throat, and Jungkook looks at him with wide eyes.
“W-what?” he stumbles over the words.
“The shower,” Jimin clarifies, pointing at the space behind Jungkook’s back, who looks behind his shoulder to look at it with a strangled sound.
“Of course,” he chuckles, turning his back so Jimin doesn’t notice how red his face is.
Of course, Jimin sees it, and it makes a little of the tension inside him subside as he presses his lips together, not to laugh at the other’s awkwardness. At least he is not alone in this.
Jungkook steps into the shower first, stretching his hand to help Jimin inside as well. Jimin grabs his fingers, even though he doesn’t need the assistance. He feels his chest inflate with pride as he watches the way Jungkook's arm veins bulge with the effort to pull him close.
He likes that Jungkook is strong, likes how powerful and capable he is. And if in the past those traits were the reason for his hatred and jealousy, now he feels only satisfaction to know how good his alpha is.
Jimin almost chokes on the direction of his thoughts, his face blooming bright red.
Not his alpha. Jungkook is not his.
He clarifies to himself, feeling the bitterness of his own alpha annoyance at the refusal.
It’s not like we mated. Jimin tells himself, he is not mine.
Yet the thought of Jungkook with someone else nearly makes him vomit.
He is so busy with his inner monologue that he barely notices as Jungkook opens the faucet of the shower, only realizing a little too late, when the alpha jumps back with horror as a jet of freezing cold water hits him right in the face.
“What the fuck!” he growls, surprised, closing his face up before turning around to look at Jimin with absolute betrayal, hair damp, clinging to his head, and trembling purple lips, like a wet stray dog.
And this is enough to make Jimin break. He bends forward, almost falling with the laughter that builds inside him, loud and free, making his eyes disappear and his cheeks hurt from the stretch.
“Oh my god,” Jimin squeaks, trying to breathe past the deep giggles bubbling out of his throat. “Shit.” Jimin holds his stomach as it hurts from the effort, his lungs begging for air, and his eyes tearing up.
“You think this is funny?” Jungkook asks, trying to act mad, even though his eyes are soft and tender as he watches Jimin nearly fall face-first onto the floor. He wraps an arm around his waist to pull him up and help him steady. “Who the fuck takes a minus-degree shower?” he mumbles grumpily, only making Jimin laugh even harder.
Jimin doesn’t know exactly why he’s laughing so much, but once he starts, he can’t stop. Just a glance at Jungkook’s soaked face is enough to send him over the edge again. He calms down after a while, wiping the corner of his eyes as he looks up with a taunting glare. “Real alphas aren’t afraid of the cold,” he says, just to be annoying.
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now to be an alpha, I have to take freezing showers?”
“That’s pretty much the only requirement,” Jimin shrugs with a smile.
“That’s bullshit,” Jungkook replies, unbothered.
Jimin walks past him to adjust the water temperature, his lips still stretched into a smile. “They’ll take your alpha card away,” he taunts, amused.
“Fine by me,” Jungkook scoffs.
Jimin chuckles again, opening the faucet once more. This time, he makes sure the water is a much warmer temperature before turning around with outstretched hands.
“Come here,” he calls softly, heart racing when Jungkook grabs his hand right away. Jimin pulls him closer, his smile so big it makes Jungkook smile too. “You look like a baby,” Jimin says.
“I’m older than you,” Jungkook reminds him, looking down closely as the water falls around them.
“So?” Jimin asks. “Still a baby,” he says, getting on his tiptoes to kiss Jungkook’s lips.
It’s just a peck, but when he pulls away, Jungkook’s face is bright red, as if he hadn’t touched every centimeter of Jimin’s body already. His shyness makes Jimin laugh again, and the more he laughs, the more embarrassed Jungkook gets, which makes his cheeks flush even more and consequently makes Jimin laugh harder, like an endless cycle.
He groans grumpily and averts his gaze, looking around. “Where is the shampoo?” he asks, confused, and Jimin finally clears his throat.
“I don’t have it,” he replies with a shrug, and Jungkook looks back at him with a raised brow.
“How do you wash your hair?” he asks, shocked.
“With this,” Jimin says, stretching his arm to grab the only soap bar on the shower shelf. He swings the soap bar in front of Jungkook’s face as the alpha watches him silently.
Jungkook’s shock makes Jimin want to laugh again, but he presses his lips together to stop himself.
Jimin understands. It might be weird not having shampoo, but the thing Jungkook doesn’t know is that a few months back, Jimin didn’t even have the will to live. His hair care was quite literally the last thing on his mind.
Jungkook doesn’t know that showers for Jimin are more of a punishment than a time to relax. The cold, freezing water makes his muscles tremble and resets his brain in a way that only hard pain can.
Jungkook doesn’t know how bad it is inside Jimin’s head, doesn’t know that he’s the one responsible for making things a little easier, but the darkness is still there, creeping around the corners, as if waiting for the right time to resurface.
Jungkook doesn’t know how fucked up Jimin actually is, and he’s not about to let him know anytime soon. Jimin doesn’t want him to run away, because deep down, he knows that the moment Jungkook realizes just how fucking weak he actually is, he’s going to leave.
Jimin learned from a very young age that people don’t like a sick, crippled person. Nobody wants to carry the heavy weight of another human being on their back. People want partners, equals, not a fucking burden.
He shakes his head, trying to push his own thoughts away, taking a deep breath as he looks into Jungkook’s eyes. It feels like the other can read every single one of Jimin’s thoughts, as if he knows all the ugly parts he tries so hard to hide.
It makes Jimin shy away. “Turn around. I’ll wash your back,” he asks, holding Jungkook’s waist to help him move, without waiting for an answer.
The moment the alpha is fully turned and Jimin sees the whole expanse of his broad back, his breath catches in his throat. His stomach twists, as if a hand is squeezing it, making him press his lips together as bile rises to his throat.
From this close, Jimin can see every single one of the scars that adorn Jungkook’s skin—thick, white lines that travel up and down in random patterns. Against his will, a memory flashes back to Jimin’s mind, the first time he saw Jungkook being punished.
Jimin was around ten years old at the time. He still remembers the cold concrete ripping the skin off his knees when he was forced onto them, remembers the fear creeping into his chest and the adrenaline running cold down his spine. He remembers the moment the sack was lifted from his head, and he was blinking his eyes open for the first time in a while.
It was one of those times when masked people would kidnap him from his bed, waking Jimin in the middle of the night with kicks and screams, sending pain through his sleepy brain and making him fully awake in a matter of seconds.
He couldn’t breathe properly because of one especially hard punch thrown to his ribs. Every breath shot pain through his body, making him press his lips together not to whimper. He knew his father hated to see him cry or show any emotion other than pure hatred and anger.
Joon-ho used to say that he hated when Jimin cried, but Jimin knew the look in his eyes wasn’t one of disgust. He liked it—liked to cause pain and watch him suffer. It was such deep hatred, Jimin knew it wasn’t just for him. It was like Joon-ho wasn’t punishing his son, but someone else. When he looked at Jimin, he didn’t see his own child; he saw something—or someone—else.
But the moment Jimin opened his eyes, what he received was not the customary beating. It was something much worse, something that made his heart nearly stop. The chill he felt was so deep it was as if he had been frozen in place. Because right in front of him was Jungkook, kneeling in the same position, but his arms were stretched out and held up by steel chains.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and because he was facing Jimin, the ugly scars that had already begun to mar his golden skin were hidden from view.
Jimin squinted when their eyes met. His vision went red. He hated Jungkook—so much—that for a moment, he momentarily forgot about his own pain, about what was to come.
He gritted his teeth, his face twisting in disgust.
Jungkook had always tried to outdo him, to be better, to push him down until Jimin’s face was pressed into the dirt. He was Joon-ho’s favorite, the source of his pride and the object of all his praise.
Jimin hated his father, but he was still a boy, and he couldn’t help but dream of earning his approval. Nothing mattered more to him than making Joon-ho look at him with something other than pure boredom or undisguised disgust.
Jimin wanted to be loved by his own father, wanted to make him proud. But Jungkook was always in the way, always two steps ahead.
Just earlier that day, Jimin had been accompanying his father in an interrogation. It was a drug dealer who had been passing information to the Kim pack, and now he was tied to a chair, covered in blood and still refusing to talk.
Jimin watched from a corner, his eyes wide, his hands trembling so much that he had to close his fists tightly. The scene disgusted him, engraving itself into his memory and making him want to vomit, but he still couldn’t look away.
He watched as the man was tortured and beaten, his screams so loud they made Jimin’s ears bleed. Then, suddenly, Joon-ho pulled him to the front. He looked down at Jimin with a malicious glint in his eyes and handed him a bloodied knife.
“Here,” he said. “Take out one of his eyes.”
The command made Jimin’s breath hitch. He raised his shaking hand to grab the knife, his fingers instantly coated in blood, nearly making it slip from his grasp. Jimin had to steady it with both hands, his heart pounding so fast in his chest that it made him dizzy.
He took a step closer, standing in front of the man tied to the chair, eyes traveling up and down the man’s wounded body. He no longer had a hand; his arms were covered in open cuts, and his face was bruised. One of his eyes was swollen and purple, so much so that it was impossible to see beyond the swollen lids.
But the other eye, the dark, small one, was staring directly at Jimin, following his every movement. Jimin took one more look at his father, who was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching him with amusement, as if he was sure Jimin wouldn’t be able to do it, as if he already knew how weak and pathetic his son was.
Jimin felt his heart clench painfully, because, in some ways, despite his cold reality, he was still a child. It hadn't been so long since he laughed out loud and ran around the trees in the forest behind his house. It wasn't so long since he felt happy, free, hopeful, and warm. He remembered that feeling very well, so it was hard to adjust to the coldness and pain.
Every day, he tried harder. Every morning, he woke up more determined, but when the sun set and he was back in his room, it all crashed down on him like a wave, smashing his determination and making him bleed as he lost more of himself, bit by bit.
Jimin wanted to be the best, wanted to excel at least in one thing, so maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad. But why was everything so much harder for him? Why was he so weak and pathetic? Why couldn't he just adjust like Jungkook did?
Jimin shifted his gaze to the boy standing near his father. Their eyes met for just a moment, but it was enough for Jimin to see the way Jungkook blankly gazed at him, his hands behind his back, his head held high, eyes cold and dark.
He looked at Jimin as if, just a few years ago, they hadn’t spent so many nights hiding under the covers with a flashlight as the thunder clashed around them and the storm raged outside. They’d distracted each other with silly stories and muffled laughter.
He looked at Jimin as if once they hadn’t meant everything to each other, as if once they hadn’t been all the other had.
Somehow, that hurt more than the rejection from his own father. Somehow, losing his friend made him bleed deeper. Deep down, Jimin knew that the one he was trying to make proud wasn’t his father. Maybe the one he wanted to look at him with something other than hatred and disgust was not the head alpha.
Maybe it was someone else.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Jimin shook his head and let it go. He stepped closer to the prisoner, locking eyes with him as he pressed the blade just beneath his eye. A single tear fell from the man’s eye, his blood already staining Jimin’s small hands, making him press his lips together as his own eyes started to prickle.
Jimin felt the bile rise in his throat, his throat constricting, and his breath shaking.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t force himself to cause pain to someone like that.
His hands trembled, his knees nearly buckling. At some point, he knew the tears were streaming down his cheeks, because no matter how hard he tried, Jimin was still, at his core, a human. He couldn’t conceal it very well, and maybe that’s what made his father hate him even more.
Jimin could hear the man sneering behind him, could hear the mocking laughter, the taunting comments. He bit his lip and held his breath. He needed to do it. He was so tired of everything, so exhausted and helpless. He just wanted to end it all right there.
He dug the blade deeper, feeling the hatred fill his veins as the man’s blood mixed with his tears. It was warm and sticky, making Jimin grip the handle with both hands to keep from dropping it.
He knew that the moment he did it, it would be over. He would be saying goodbye to the rest of his humanity, his childish innocence, the little bit of hope that still remained. And somehow, it felt harder to let go of that.
Jimin closed his eyes tightly, feeling the tears fall like a waterfall as he raised the blade. If he didn’t look, maybe it would be easier.
The next thing he knew, he was shoved away with a force so strong it sent him crashing to the ground, his hands scraping and bleeding on the hard concrete.
He looked up, eyes still wet, seeing Jungkook standing tall where he had been before. His hand moved with agility as he pressed the tip of the blade against the man’s sclera. Without a single moment of hesitation, Jungkook pushed it deeper, making the man scream in pure agony.
Jungkook dug deeper and deeper until the handle was completely drenched in blood.
Jimin watched the entire thing with wide eyes, his breath caught in his throat, until Jungkook finally looked at him again. There was blood on his cheek, right where Jimin knew the dimple would appear when he laughed. But it had been so long since Jimin last saw him laugh, he briefly wondered if it was all part of his imagination—if somehow he had hallucinated all the times he poked that little dimple with the tip of his index finger, just to see Jungkook laugh even more.
Maybe that never happened. Maybe they were never that close, that clean, that innocent.
The silence stretched until it was broken by Joon-ho’s chuckle. “Well done, boy,” he said, patting Jungkook on the back, though there was something dark in his eyes, something dangerous in his voice. He looked down at Jimin with a roll of his eyes, not sparing him another minute of attention as he returned to the man who was writhing in pain.
When the interrogation ended and everyone left, Jimin stayed behind, staring at the lifeless body tied to the chair. He watched it for a long, long time, completely frozen in place, until his feet finally moved. He turned around with heavy steps, leaving the room and breathing in the pure air of the night.
His cheeks were sticky with tears, his hands still covered in blood, but he barely paid attention to any of it. He ran—just ran—until he was out of breath, until he entered the woods that had once been so familiar to him. He passed by the trees in a hurry, feeling the leaves hit his face, his body, his eyes.
But Jimin didn’t stop. He kept running as if he were being chased by a monster, as if stopping would mean death. It felt like that—like he was about to die.
He only stopped when he reached the river's shore. His body came to a halt when he saw him standing there, not far away. Somehow, Jimin had known he would be there. He had caught him watching the little fish in the lake so many times, hiding behind a tree so his presence wouldn’t be noticed.
Jungkook was there again, looking down at the water, his bloodstained hands clenched into fists at his sides. Jimin wondered why he didn’t kneel down to wash them, wondered if he even noticed the state of his own body. Probably not.
This time, Jimin didn’t bother to hide. His breath ragged, he stopped a few steps behind Jungkook, his hands clenched tightly, his eyes brimming with tears. “Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice shaking.
Jungkook shrugged, not even bothering to look at him. “Because you wouldn’t.”
“How do you know that?” Jimin frowned, his whole body shaking with anger.
This time, Jungkook did turn around. He stared at Jimin for a while, his eyes completely devoid of emotion. “You’re weak,” he replied simply, as if that were enough of an explanation. And really, it was, wasn’t it?
Jimin pressed his eyes shut, feeling the tears collect on his lashes and finally spill down his cheeks. It hurt. So much that he couldn’t breathe for a second. Those were the words his father constantly said to him. Those were the words he told himself every day. But somehow, hearing them come from Jungkook’s lips hurt so deeply that Jimin lost his balance for a moment.
He should’ve stepped closer. Should’ve pushed Jungkook’s face, thrown his body to the ground, and shown him that he wasn’t weak after all. But Jimin couldn’t force himself to. He felt tired, exhausted, broken beyond repair.
“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked simply, his eyes still tightly closed, tears dripping down his chin and falling to the ground.
“Why?!” he screamed, his lungs burning as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. His hands dug into the grass beneath him as he choked. “Why, why, why?” Jimin repeated over and over again, the words swallowed by the sobs that wouldn’t leave his lips.
Jungkook didn’t answer, of course. He just turned around and walked away, leaving Jimin there, kneeling on the ground, crying like a lost pup. And that hurt even more.
Jimin wanted him to stay and curse him out for being so pathetic. Wanted him to kick him, spit on his body, wanted him to say hurtful words just to make him bleed more.
Being left alone was worse.
It only reminded Jimin of how lonely he was. It reminded him that he had lost the only person who had ever mattered to him. It reminded him of his own inability to make anyone stay.
His father hated him. Jungkook hated him. He hadn’t seen Mr. Beak in so long, and every time Jimin tried to approach him, he distanced himself as if he couldn’t be seen with him.
Even his own mother had left him. The one person who was supposed to love him no matter what was the first to be ripped away from him.
By the time he was ten, Jimin realized for the first time that he was alone in the world. And if the woods felt big and scary now that Jungkook wasn’t with him, he was terrified of how the rest of the world would look like.
So when Jimin looked at Jungkook, kneeling in front of him, he somehow felt satisfied for a moment. His hatred grew, wrapping around his broken heart, making him realize that hating him was far easier than missing him.
“Ah, you’re finally here,” Joon-ho’s voice caught his attention, his amused laughter echoing around the dirt room. “We can finally start.”
One of the guards handed him a long leather whip. The wooden handle fit perfectly in his hand. “Let’s see if an audience makes things more exciting, Jungkook.”
Jimin still didn’t quite understand what was happening—not until the first lash of the whip landed on Jungkook’s back, throwing his body forward with such force that only the chains around his wrist kept him upright.
A whimper escaped Jungkook’s lips before he tightened his jaw, clenching his teeth and keeping his eyes low as blood poured from the open wound and splattered onto the floor.
Jimin was frozen in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or feel anything. Shockwaves traveled through his small body, making him tremble all over. Before he could recover from it, the second blow landed.
This time, Jungkook let out a gasp. His eyes squeezed shut, his expression twisting into a mask of agony. His shoulders shook as his body collapsed forward, only held up by the chain around his arm. The third lash struck before he could even try to stand, and this time he couldn’t keep the scream trapped in his throat. It echoed through the room—loud, painful—making Jimin’s ears ring and his vision blur.
But Jimin only realized he was crying when the fourth blow landed. His vision was completely obscured by tears that fell freely down his cheeks, he couldn't see anything. He could only hear: the sound of the whip cutting into flesh, the blood dripping onto the floor, Jungkook’s muffled groans.
Jungkook was still just a kid, and yet he had the strength to grit his teeth and endure it, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d been punished like this. Now, Jimin couldn’t see his face anymore, couldn’t see anything at all, but he could smell, hear and even taste it on the tip of his tongue.
He wiped his cheeks clumsily, his hands shaking as he cleared his eyes. When he looked back, he found Jungkook’s eyes on him, blood dripping from his chin from a cut on his lip—bitten to muffle his sobs. His eyes were red, breath ragged. Blood pooled around him, and his back was completely shredded.
But his eyes were clear, staring directly into Jimin’s. His brows furrowed in an angry grimace, his breath ragged as though he had just run a marathon. And Jimin couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.
Once, Jungkook was the one who made him laugh the most. Now, he was the one who made Jimin cry more often than his father’s torture, more than the mockery and ridicule of people, more than the cuts that adorned his skin.
Jungkook was the one who made him bleed and die inside. Jungkook was the one causing him more suffering than anyone else.
Jimin hated him for that. For making him choke on his own air. For making him feel so much pain. Jimin hated him so much that he couldn’t breathe past it. His heart shattered into a million pieces, and he couldn’t look away from Jungkook’s round eyes, eyes that once held an entire galaxy but now were completely devoid of any light, any warmth, any hope.
Jimin hated him, but still, when Joon-ho lifted his arm to strike again, Jimin lunged forward, crying so hard that he could barely see anything. But he still knelt at his father’s feet, still clutched the fabric of his expensive trousers, still begged him desperately. “Please, daddy, please don’t.”
Jimin had never called him that. To him, Joon-ho was always “sir” or “father” at the most. But at that moment, Jimin wasn’t thinking. He felt like a toddler again, like a lost puppy, desperate and afraid, clinging to anyone who could make the pain go away.
He called for his father—the one who gave him life. He begged over and over again. “Please, don’t… please stop.”
But that only made Joon-ho angrier. He let go of the whip to grab Jimin by the collar, pulling him up to his height. He raised Jimin’s chin with a painful grip, forcing him to look into his eyes.
“What are you crying for?” Joon-ho spat. “Tell me why!” He screamed, his eyes burning with rage. “Do you love him?”
Jimin shook his head desperately.
“No, no,” he said over and over again, because he knew what his father did with the things he loved. He knew he wasn’t allowed to love. He knew he would lose everything if he did. “I don’t,” he insisted.
“What are those, then?” his father asked, his thumb smearing Jimin’s tears, pressing deeper into the skin of his cheek until the pain shot through his head.
Jimin didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one his father would like to hear. He pressed his trembling lips together, trying his best to stop the tears from running down, trying to be stronger, proud, determined. But he couldn’t, of course. His scent was filled with sadness and distress, his lashes wet, his cheeks red, and his nose running.
It was pathetic, really, and it made Joon-ho even angrier. He clenched his jaw as his eyes darkened, and the moment he raised his hand, Jimin knew what was coming. He closed his eyes and waited, a part of him relieved that Joon-ho’s attention wasn’t on Jungkook anymore.
But before the blow could land, he heard Jungkook shift his body, making the chains rattle.
“Sir,” he called. “Can I get the rest of my punishment?”
It made Joon-ho chuckle. He let go of Jimin with a hard shove and got back on his feet.
“Are you that eager for pain?” he asked, amused, grabbing the whip one of his men handed to him.
“I'm strong. I can take it,” Jungkook replied, determined.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Jeon Jungkook,” Joon-ho growled angrily. He turned to his right, where Sunwon had been standing by the wall, watching everything with dull eyes.
“Are you seeing this?” Joon-ho asked him. “It was your idea to raise them together. Look at this fucking mess now.”
He was screaming and growling, but Jimin couldn’t hear anything. His eyes were focused on Jungkook’s back for the first time, and he saw that between the new bleeding wounds, there were old, healing scars, carved so deeply they would never disappear.
Jimin covered his mouth with his hand, his fingers trembling as he cried silently.
Joon-ho still drew two more whips across Jungkook’s back, sending blood everywhere—some even splattering in Jimin’s direction. The warm red liquid landed on his cheeks, mingling with his tears, his pain, his sorrow.
Later, when he was sent back to his room, Jimin threw one last glance in Jungkook’s direction, hoping— praying —that he might look back just once. But, just like in the woods earlier, Jungkook ignored him, not sparing him a second glance as someone freed his arms and helped him stand.
He even walked out of the room on his own legs, covered in blood from head to toe, yet with his head still held high and his chin up.
Jimin could only watch him from behind, his own face completely red from crying, his eyes swollen, his body drained. At that moment, he understood why his father favored Jungkook so much; the difference between them was clearer than ever.
Back then, Jimin had simply thought Jungkook was stronger than him. It didn’t occur to him that the humanity which made him so emotional and raw had already been stripped away from Jungkook a long time ago. It didn’t occur to him that, while he still had a small sliver of hope to cling to, Jungkook had already lost everything.
What kept him standing wasn’t physical strength; it was the impossibility of breaking what was already broken, of killing someone who was already a walking corpse, of hurting someone who had nothing left to lose.
It wouldn’t take Jimin much longer to understand that. Just a few more years, and he too would lose everything—would become just as “strong,” just as “powerful.”
Sometimes, he wished he were still as “weak” as he had been back then.
Jimin blinks as memories drift away, his scent turning bitter as sadness washes over him. Sensing the shift in his mood, Jungkook tries to turn around, but Jimin holds him in place, keeping a firm grip on his waist.
“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, his voice full of concern.
It had been a long time since Jimin thought about those things, since he let himself remember the past. He sighs, full of sorrow, and rests his forehead between Jungkook’s shoulder blades, feeling the muscles tense and then slowly relax beneath him.
“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks, instead of answering, his thumbs gently tracing the ridges of scars on the small of Jungkook’s back.
It takes a moment for Jungkook to understand what he means. The second he does, his back stiffens, and he tries to turn around again. But Jimin doesn’t let him, holding him tightly, wrapping his arms around Jungkook's middle, pulling him close until there’s not an inch of space left between them.
Jungkook’s shoulders slump as he lets out a heavy breath, his hands coming up to rest on Jimin’s forearms, drawing him even closer. “It doesn’t,” he says after a moment, the warm water falling around them like a protective veil.
There’s so much Jimin wants to ask—why Jungkook received such a brutal punishment, how he managed to treat the wounds, how much it must have hurt. A heavy wave of sadness crashes over him, and he feels like he’s about to cry in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.
He hugs Jungkook tightly, pressing his forehead against his back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose as anger mingles with sorrow, a bitter taste lingering in his throat. Joon-ho did this. The scars on Jungkook’s back, the pain he endured—it all traces back to Joon-ho.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, barely aware of the words until they slip out.
Jungkook lets out a weak chuckle. “What are you sorry for? It wasn’t your fault,” he reassures, finally managing to turn around in Jimin’s arms. He keeps Jimin’s arms wrapped around his waist as he tilts his head up, meeting Jimin’s gaze. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats softly.
For some reason, Jimin finds it hard to believe. Something tugs at the back of his mind, urging him to understand something he can’t quite grasp. His throat tightens, his nose tingles, and he’s left speechless, struggling to hold back tears.
He wishes there were something he could say, something he could do to ease Jungkook’s pain. He wants to turn back time, to stop his father, even though he knows full well his ten-year-old self would have been powerless—and maybe even his current self still would be.
Jimin wishes he were smarter, that he could understand the feelings that spill from his eyes, from the tips of his fingers as they trace along Jungkook’s skin, from his scent swirling almost sweetly around them. He wishes he weren’t so broken, so odd and out of place. He wishes he knew how to care for Jungkook the way he deserves.
“I’ll get you some shampoo next time,” he says instead, hoping the simple words somehow convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say.
It must, because Jungkook’s smile is so wide and genuine, it cuts straight through Jimin’s hardened shell, shattering it to pieces.
“Next time?” Jungkook asks, his eyes forming crescents, flashing his dimple and bunny teeth.
Jimin shoves him away, cheeks turning red, averting his gaze. “Shut up,” he mutters, masking his embarrassment with false annoyance. Jungkook sees right through him, of course. At this point, Jimin doubts he can hide anything from him anymore.
Jimin’s awkwardness only makes Jungkook laugh harder, and he wraps his arms around Jimin’s shoulders as Jimin turns his back, pretending to be deeply interested in the bathroom wall. “You’re cute,” Jungkook murmurs, propping his chin on Jimin’s shoulder.
“And you’re annoying,” Jimin replies, pushing him back with a finger to his forehead. “Get out if you’re done. I need some privacy to wash... other parts.”
Jungkook’s scent flares slightly at that, and his body tenses behind Jimin. “I could help you,” he offers, his nose nuzzling the side of Jimin’s neck.
Jimin presses his lips together to keep from laughing. “No,” he says, pushing Jungkook away with some effort.
“Why not?” Jungkook pouts, and this time Jimin can’t hold back a laugh, feeling his chest lighten as he steps forward to pinch Jungkook’s cheek a little harder than gently. Jungkook grimaces but doesn’t lift a hand to stop him.
“Because I’m your boss, and I said so,” Jimin replies, smirking.
That makes Jungkook scoff, finally prying Jimin’s hand away with an exasperated expression. “You’re not my boss.”
Jimin tilts his head to the side, feigning confusion. “No? Then how do I pay your salary?”
“You don’t pay me anything!” Jungkook exclaims in disbelief.
“Whatever you say, dude ,” Jimin replies with a wicked smirk, knowing full well how much Jungkook hates being called that.
And Jimin finds it funny how some things never change, because just like always, he lives to get under Jungkook’s skin, to push him until he loses control. There’s a strange comfort in the way Jungkook reacts instantly, grabbing the side of his throat and pressing him against the bathroom wall with force.
The plan to get cleaned up is quickly forgotten as Jimin pulls Jungkook closer by the hip, letting him take the lead, letting the other muffle his thoughts and turn his insecurities into ashes, his fears into fleeting daydreams.
Jimin realizes he likes to have Jungkook like this—moaning against his mouth, growling at his neck, whispering dirty words in his ear. He likes Jungkook’s panting breaths, the way his muscles tense and flex under his touch, the way he lets go completely.
He likes the way they turn to smoke, igniting into a sweet, torturous flame that licks up and down their bodies. He likes the way Jungkook makes him feel—likes having him in his arms, close enough to catch every single beat of his heart.
Maybe he feels more than just “like.” Maybe it runs deeper than he’d ever want to admit, growing and expanding inside him until there’s no space for anything else but Jeon Jungkook, burning inside his bones, owning every piece of him.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.