Chapter Text
Jimin lays still, quiet, barely daring to breathe. He waits until he is certain his attackers have moved on. And then he waits some more. Just to be safe, of course. Although he’s already moved well past any respectable person’s boundary of safety…
The worst of it is that Jimin doesn’t even know why he was beaten up. Sure, the fact that he’s a well-known smuggler might have had something to do with it. But the finer details still elude him.
Jimin operates a don’t ask, don’t tell policy with his work: He doesn’t ask what he’s moving from one place to another, and the clients don’t tell. There’s more plausible deniability that way. Oddly enough, it keeps him safe.
Mostly.
As he finally dares to move, dabbing tentatively at the bleeding cut on his lip, Jimin idly wonders whether ‘mostly’ is good enough anymore.
Pulling his hand back to survey it, Jimin knows that the situation is bad. His palm is practically covered in blood. Judging by the throbbing in his head and his wildly blurred vision, it’s not the only facial wound he has to worry about. But right now, Jimin needs to get out of here and find somewhere to lay low for a bit. It’s going to be tough, given his physical state. He winces as he rises to his feet, gently attempting to put weight on his right ankle.
“Fuck,” he hisses as he almost topples over into a nearby bush.
Of course the bastards had stolen his car. Jimin knew as soon as they ambushed him that if he was getting out of this at all, he wouldn’t be getting out of it on anything but his own two feet. It’s just a shame his usually nimble feet are such a mess.
Slowly, dragging one foot behind him, Jimin limps along the path beside the road. The evening is pleasant; mild, with a fresh southerly breeze. Glancing up at the position of the moon, he estimates the time to be about 2am.
Jimin likes to work by night. It’s easier to move goods around under cover of darkness, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, however, this also means that not a single car goes past that he can even attempt to flag down for assistance.
Maybe that’s for the best, he thinks. He wouldn’t want to get himself in even more trouble.
With no phone, no money, and no car, Jimin only has his wits.
He hopes they are enough.
*****
In the crisp night air, the blood has dried uncomfortably on Jimin’s face. He feels his lips swelling more and more with every passing moment. Glancing down, he can actually see his lower lip protruding.
Which gives him a clear idea of how bad the situation really is.
Trudging along the roadside for what feels like hours, Jimin has no idea it’s only been forty-five minutes. Of course, he has no way of knowing. He never wears a watch and his phone is God knows where, now. Panicked, he hopes the security on it holds up to the thieves’ hacking attempts. Or he could be in a whole world more trouble…
Jimin pauses, his ankle throbbing painfully. He glances around, attempting to get a sense of the lie of the land. Pondering his route, Jimin decides to take a narrower back road that shoots off to his left. Perhaps he will find a farm, or some other place to rest his weary bones for the night?
Despair strikes at his solar plexus and he sends up an impassioned prayer to deities he has never believed in, desperately asking for help. Jimin doesn’t want much – he just wants to get out of this alive…
No matter how hard he prays, nothing changes.
Nothing ever does, he thinks bitterly. Perhaps he should have listened to his mother when she tried to make him pay attention in church.
But wait… What is that in the distance?
Warm, glowing light creeps into the edges of his vision. Somehow, Jimin is able to pick up his dragging pace to get closer to the tantalising sight. At first he fears it is a mirage. However, the closer he gets, the more the vision solidifies. Soon he is looking at a large house with a well maintained, prettily illuminated garden. The house itself is dark. In the shadows its silhouette is forbidding. But as Jimin approaches, he notices a small sign out the front.
Kim’s B&B
(By prior arrangement only)
Ignoring the second line, Jimin fizzes with relief. A bed and breakfast! Of all the places he could stumble upon, this is potentially the most ideal. A stone weighs his stomach down as he realises he has no money, no documents.
Ultimately, however, that shouldn’t matter. Jimin has used his legendary charm to manage far more difficult situations.
The ancient gate protests loudly as he pushes it open. Lavender, rich and fragrant, fills his nostrils as he shuffles through the garden toward the front door of the house. A nightjar sings, its percussive melody surprisingly sweet to Jimin’s ears.
It must be the relief.
He exhales deeply as, at last, he makes it up the two small steps to the front door. Ringing the bell, he waits.
No answer.
Well, it is the middle of the night… But Jimin has no other choice but to try again. He rings the bell, knocks on the door, and waits some more.
Nothing.
“Oh, for fucksake-” he curses, cutting himself off.
Perhaps he can find somewhere in the garden to lay his head for a few hours? It’s almost summer so it shouldn’t be too cold…
Maybe it is delayed shock from the events of several hours ago, but Jimin begins to shiver uncontrollably, pulling his leather jacket tightly around himself.
Suddenly, a harsh creaking noise slices through the air.
“Didn’t you read the sign?” an exasperated voice calls from above. “By prior arrangement only.”
Jimin’s eyes dart upward. A man hangs halfway out of the first-floor window, wearing striped blue and white pyjamas. His posture is the epitome of annoyance. Time to lay on the charm, Jimin thinks, rearranging his face into an easy smile.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you. But I find myself in quite a lot of trouble. You see, I was attacked-”
“But the sign says by prior arrangement only,” the man repeats. “It is four o’clock in the morning and I have no prior arrangement with you.”
Is this guy for real? Jimin wonders. Taking a step back, he squints a little closer.
Contrary to his initial impression, the man is young. Around Jimin’s age, probably. And Jimin’s stomach gives a lurch as he registers that this man is astonishingly handsome. He muses that this man’s face would be less out of place on a billboard in Seoul than it is here in the wilds of butt-fuck nowhere in the middle of the night…
But as nice as that is, it doesn’t help his situation one bit.
Reeling a little from the glare being directed at him, Jimin thinks quickly. Maybe if he plays this man at his own game?
“You’re right. You don’t have a prior arrangement with me. But I didn’t have a prior arrangement to get attacked and have my car stolen, either,” he explains.
The man’s posture softens. He leans forward.
“Oh,” he utters. “That is unfortunate.”
Jimin looks at the man.
The man looks at Jimin.
He steps back and begins to shut the window. “Well, goodnight. I hope you find somewhere that can help you-”
“Wait,” Jimin wails. Unbidden, a sob breaks free from his chest.
The window pauses mid-close. The man ducks his head underneath it and peers down at Jimin.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” Jimin lies, though his voice breaks on another sob.
A heavy sigh flies through the air and the window closes with a thud.
Fuck, Jimin thinks. What am I going to do now?
He is attempting to gather his thoughts when the front door opens and a wary-looking face pokes out of the small gap.
“Wow, you really don’t look good,” the man says, ending with a low whistle.
“Thanks,” Jimin snarks. He attempts to roll his eyes but the action causes him to hiss and clutch at his head.
The man opens the door a little wider.
“Look, I don’t usually do this. You’ve read the sign… But you seriously look a mess and I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go back out into the night alone. Maybe I can make a small exception? Just this once?”
Jimin freezes. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” the man replies. “Come inside.” The door swings fully open and the man stands aside to let Jimin through.
“Oh my God, I can’t thank you enough-”
“You’re not getting something for nothing. I appreciate that you’ve been robbed, but we can discuss terms in the morning,” the man states brusquely. As he takes a closer look at Jimin underneath the soft hallway light, his face falters a little. “Your room is the first on the right when you go up the stairs. You’ll find a robe in there. Change into it and come back downstairs and I’ll treat those injuries for you.”
“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, slightly overwhelmed by the awkward kindness being shown.
But the man hasn’t quite finished speaking. “Oh. Just so you know. My room is the first on the left. My room is off-limits,” he says grumpily. His strong eyebrows shutter down toward his eyes.
“Got it,” Jimin agrees. Wincing heavily, he drags his pain-wracked body up the stairs.
Internally, he house is far cosier than the exterior would have one believe. A soft, inviting décor of dark wood and warm colours has Jimin instantly feeling at home. Despite the circumstances.
First on the right, he repeats to himself as he reaches the landing. Ah. A thick wooden door, slightly ajar, invites him into the space. He shivers at the internal temperature – obviously, no guest was expected tonight – but quickly finds the robe and strips down to his underwear before casting a glance in the full-length mirror on the outside of an antique-looking wardrobe.
“Shit,” Jimin curses as he begins to take in the full extent of his injuries. His torso is almost entirely black-and-blue, his left eye almost swollen shut and his lips grotesquely inflated. A mottled red abrasion snakes its way from just above his hipbone around to the middle of his lower back. That one’s gonna hurt in the morning…
“Hey! Are you OK?” he hears a rich voice call from the ground floor.
“Yeah,” Jimin replies.
“It’s just you were taking a long time so I worried that you might have passed out or something,” the apologetic response comes.
“I’ll be down in a moment,” Jimin explains, kicking his torn and soiled clothes into a corner before slowly making his way back downstairs. Thank God his favourite leather jacket remains mostly unscathed.
The absurdity of the situation doesn’t escape Jimin. He’s wearing a robe. Aside from his boxers, he’s naked underneath said robe. And he’s about to allow a stranger to clean and tend to his injuries…
An extremely handsome stranger, at that.
When Jimin tentatively enters the spacious living room, his host practically jumps to his feet.
“I realise we haven’t been introduced.”
Yeah, and you’re about to see me almost naked, Jimin thinks, stifling a laugh.
The man sticks out his hand. “Kim Taehyung. Of Kim’s B&B.”
Jimin studies him for a moment. Taehyung’s hand is slender, long-fingered, bony. I wonder if he plays the piano? Jimin thinks, taking it in his much smaller, chunkier hand and shaking it.
“Jimin,” he replies, without elaborating further.
Huge, heavy-lashed eyes in the warmest shade of deep brown sweep over Jimin from head to toe. “I’m a trained first-aider,” Taehyung explains. “Had to sort that out before they licensed me to run this place. Let’s take a look at those injuries, hmm?”
Jimin feels suddenly at ease with this odd, angular man. The reasons for it elude him, but the fact remains. So without further delay, he unties the robe and shrugs it from his shoulders.
“Holy shit,” Taehyung murmurs under his breath. “Whoever they were, they really did a number on you, Jimin. Hold still, OK?”
Wincing as Taehyung brings a damp cloth toward his face, Jimin is surprised when the expected pain does not materialise. Those spidery fingers are incredibly gentle as they clean the blood from Jimin’s wounds – first, from his eye and then from his lips. Taehyung steps back a little, brow furrowing as he contemplates where to attend to next.
Dipping the cloth back into the tub of warm, soapy water beside him, Taehyung moves closer once more. Carefully, he cleans Jimin’s chest and stomach, hissing in sympathy as he gets a better look at the abrasion above his hip. “I’ve got some ointment for that, and the bruises,” he says quietly. “It’ll soothe the inflammation and help you get some rest tonight.”
“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, dropping his eyes to the floor.
The gentleness of Taehyung’s touch has a strange feeling prickling at the back of Jimin’s eyes and nose. Abruptly, he realises that he is about to cry again. Before he can stop it, a fat tear rolls down his cheek and drips right on to Taehyung’s hand.
Taehyung’s eyes dart up in confusion. “Jimin?” he says quietly. Not pushing, not expecting an explanation. Just… Letting Jimin know he’s there.
“My ankle hurts,” Jimin whimpers, desperate to deflect from his tears.
He’s falling apart in front of a man he doesn’t even know! It’s been a long time since Jimin was able to put his trust in anyone, and he’s not about to start now…
Taehyung glances at him in alarm. “Why didn’t you say? Let’s get you sitting down, then,” he urges, gently walking Jimin over to a wooden chair. His gaze flicks down to Jimin’s ankles, pupils widening as he notices the severe swelling on the right hand side. “Oh, that looks sore,” he says regretfully. “I’ll get you a compression bandage.”
Jimin blinks, and Taehyung is over the other side of the room and rummaging through a large box. He strides back over, triumphantly holding a piece of fabric aloft.
“Just let me… Ahh, there you go,” he fusses as he applies the bandage to Jimin’s foot. “Is that comfortable? Not too tight?”
Jimin, unable to speak, nods and shakes his head as appropriate. He remains mute as Taehyung painstakingly applies ointment to his cuts and grazes and covers them with adhesive bandages. He was right, the pain is already less noticeable, Jimin realises in wonder.
It takes Jimin a couple of minutes to twig that Taehyung is no longer touching him. He realises sharply that Taehyung has just said something. And he, like the idiot he is, has missed it.
“Uh… Sorry?”
Taehyung sighs, pushing a hand through hair so thick and lustrous it should be illegal. “I said that I’ve turned on the heating in your room, and it should be a bit warmer by the time you go back up. Also, you will be needing some clothes. I can lend you some of mine, for now. If you come upstairs with me I’ll sort it out.”
Struggling to his feet, Jimin goes to reach for the robe to cover himself. But Taehyung is too quick. He holds the robe out for Jimin to slip his arms into, then offers his hand for support as they slowly climb the stairs. Taehyung ushers Jimin into his guestroom then indicates for him to sit on the bed.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he promises before darting out of the room.
I already feel so much warmer, Jimin realises. Surely the heating couldn’t have done so much in that short a time?
Several minutes later, Taehyung returns with not only some pyjamas and day clothes, but a plush-looking towel, a toothbrush, and a large glass that he sets down on the bedside table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small blister pack of paracetamol.
“Take two of these before you sleep, you’ll feel better for it,” Taehyung instructs. “The bathroom is through that door,” he indicates to the back of the room, “and I will see you tomorrow. Get as much sleep as you can, OK? I’m not expecting any guests so I will be downstairs whenever you’re ready to show your face.” He stands up, shrugs awkwardly, and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.
For a long moment, all Jimin can do is stare at the door after him. What a strange yet kind-hearted man. Jimin has definitely never met anyone like him before.
He washes up, relieves himself, then swaps the robe for the cosy cotton pyjamas Taehyung has left for him. Jimin then fills his water glass and downs two of the painkillers.
It is only when he is lying in bed, relaxing under the gentle ambience of the bedside lamp, that he realises that Taehyung’s ungainly attentions have knocked the stuffing out of him more than any beating ever could.