Jimin doesn’t really remember what time he went to sleep last night. He doesn’t even remember where the hell it is he’s sleeping currently. His neck feels as stiff as a board and his body is curled up on itself so much, that he probably can’t unfold himself from this position. At least – not without groaning in sheer agony as his joint and bones clicking unhealthily.
It’s pretty cold too. His bed is never cold; it’s huge, always warm, always fluffy and probably the best bed in the entire world all bias aside. He wouldn’t be curled up into a little ball if he were asleep on his bed.
He thinks though, that despite the uncomfortable position, he could’ve slept wherever the hell he was until morning easily. He remembers being so very tired that he could feel it coating his very bones. So tired that he had drank through more cups of coffee than usual that day and nothing had helped. He’s not usually so tired, but recently it’s been morning after morning of waking up and debating as to whether he actually needed his job or not.
But what’s brought him back round from his sleep – or still trying to at least, he’s considerably stubborn – was a warm hand carding through his hair and fingers ghosting across his cheeks.
And just as he’s about to groan a complaint about how rude it was to wake a peacefully sleeping person, he’s brought fully crashing back down to reality by a voice that he could recognise even in his most sleepiest of states.
“Hey baby, it’s bad to sleep here.”
His voice is so deep and so raspy that Jimin can imagine it vibrating in his chest with each syllable. It’s quiet, practically a whisper, and cautious in a way that if he went any louder, it would shatter the peaceful and tranquil scene he sees before him.
That peaceful and tranquil scene being a once sleeping Jimin, of who’s peacefulness has been well and truly shattered now he’s awake.
A groan of complaint escapes Jimin’s lips regardless and it’s rewarded by a beautiful chuckle that makes Jimin’s very body shudder and ears crave to hear more of.
“What made you decide to sleep on the couch today?” The deep voice asks with a lilt of fondness, curiosity and amusement.
Jimin really doesn’t want to open his eyes. He knows what he’ll see when he opens them and he wont be able to go back to sleep again. And he really, really needs sleep.
He hums instead, enjoying the long calloused fingers tangling in his hair like a cat enjoying attention from an owner that had been neglecting them.
“Well,” Jimin begins, voice laced and groggy with sleep. “My husband told me he was going to be late.” He stretches a little, pulling out the aches and pains that had ceased up from his stiff position.
Jimin shuffles next to the man beside him, pulling the top half of his body to lean more against his chest. His cheek rests on a crisp white shirt still tinged with the outside cold. But Jimin can feel the man’s warmth just seeping through from under it. He burrows his cheek into his chest more in search of that warmth he so craves and gives out a contented sigh.
Two long arms curl around the small of Jimin’s back and lips brush against the top of his head letting a small chuckle out. “And you were being a good husband and waiting diligently for him to return?”
Jimin hums out an agreement, enjoying the feeling of comfort chasing out all the aches and pains and stiffness that he had initially woken up too. They could be anywhere in the world, but he would always be comfortable in these arms.
“Do you know where my husband is?” Jimin asks, voice softer than before as it’s still dazed by slumber. But there’s just the tiniest hint of sarcasm laced in his cheeky smirk.
The man chuckles; breath puffing onto the crown of his head before he kisses it gently. “He’s in the best place in the world.” He explains and Jimin makes a noise of question in response.
“In your arms.” The man barely whispers.
A beat passes between them of absolute silence, before it’s shattered by Jimin’s giggles as he buries his whole face into Yoongi’s shirt. His sleep has officially been washed out of his body even though he still feels heavy with tiredness.
“That was so corny. You were doing so well.” He giggles, voice muffled by his husband’s shirt.
Yoongi sighs defeated, yet affectionately. “Hey, I’m allowed to be corny, that’s what love does.”
Jimin snorts. “Gross.”
Jimin finally opens his eyes and sneaks a peek through his lashes at the face of his husband. It was paler than usual, if that were even possible, but it looked as though all form of colour had been sucked out of him. His obsidian eyes were shut peacefully, were set into dark circles that needed more than just one night’s sleep to clear.
His once slicked back and ready for business raven locks had fallen out of order, falling around his face in a way that could only have been caused by hands running through it irritably.
Jimin pulls one of his hands out from where it had been trapped between their two bodies, and gently scratches lovingly at the nape of Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi leans into the touch grateful and needy, his turn to act like a cat starved of an owner’s affection.
Somewhere in the vast space of their apartment Jimin can hear his alarm clock buzzing in that high pitched mechanical way that you associated with bad thoughts – like early mornings.
He groans, hand flopping back onto his chest. “Is it morning already?” He asks and hopes more than anything that it’s just a trick of his mind – that morning is really many hours away, and he’s currently just hearing things.
“It is.” Yoongi replies gently. His arms not moving to let Jimin go and lips still pressing chaste kisses into his hair.
“You stayed out all night.” There was no lilt to his voice to make it a question; it was a statement. One that he wasn’t overly happy with but one Jimin would have to deal with.
“I’m sorry.” Yoongi breaths out between kisses. “Are you mad?”
Jimin shrugs lacing his fingers in Yoongi’s shirt. “Not really.” And it was the honest truth. He wasn’t angry, he knew that this was the deal that came with Yoongi, that he could spend nights not knowing where he was or what he was doing. He could end up falling asleep on the couch countless times in the future trying to stay away just long enough to kiss his husband once when he comes home and then fall into bed together.
He was frustrated by the fact he hadn’t really spoken more than a few words to Yoongi all week save messages. And he was irritated by the fact that work was pulling his newly wedded husband away from him. They were meant to be still enjoying their honeymoon stage 6 months into the marriage, not suffering through late lonely nights and missed meals.
If they were a normal couple, Jimin would be bitching to him about staying out all night. Mind racing with images of Yoongi accompanied by mysterious bodies tangled in foreign sheets. He’d throw things and point fingers and get so jealous his skin could very well turn green.
But they weren’t a normal couple not by a long shot.
“You were working, it can’t be helped.” Jimin smiles, lips stretched in the fabric of his shirt.
“What did I do in another life to deserve you?” Yoongi sighs serenely, holding onto Jimin just that little bit tighter.
“Clearly, you were a saint.” Jimin scoffs letting himself relax in his grip for a few more seconds.
But the annoying buzzing of the alarm is still going, reminding them that the world is still turning and they both need to get moving. It was a much needed push in the right direction, even if it was the most unwanted push ever.
Jimin sighs, patting Yoongi’s stomach thrice before pulling himself out of his arms and off the couch. It took all his effort and strength and he gave a long sigh of exhaustion.
“Sunshine, why do you look so tired?” Yoongi asks, arms following Jimin’s movements and sliding from around his waist to his hands before he tangles their fingers together. His voice is even, calm and cool and to an untrained ear, it’s how it usually sounds.
But Jimin was no untrained ear. He could hear all the worry and concern echoing through Yoongi’s words even though he didn't put them foreword.
He smiles softly, untangling his fingers and cupping his lover’s face. It’s rough with morning shadow and he makes a mental note to leave his travel shaver out for him before he leaves. “I’m always tired, Yoonie.” The pads of his fingers smooth over the dark under circles of his eyes, as if his touch alone could make them disappear. “How long will you sleep today?”
“A few hours, I have to be back by 1.” Yoongi explains voice more serious as he contemplates the probably endless set of tasks he has to get back too a.s.a.p.
“Have you eaten?” Jimin asks, fingers still gently trying to caress the sleep from under his eyes.
Yoongi nods, eyes shutting. “Last night yeah. I’ll grab food before I head back in.”
He wont, he’ll sleep until the last minuet and forget just like he always does. It's not like he does it on purpose, the man just has so many other things flittering through his mind.
The rhythmic touches under Yoongi’s eyes must be lulling the poor man to sleep as Jimin can see his chest falling with deeper breathes. He places a kiss to each of his eyelids and Yoongi doesn’t stir. He smiles fondly and saunters over to their living room cupboard, pulling out their fluffiest brown blanket and draping it over him.
Jimin had always been a good boy. A little sarcastic from time to time, but his intentions and morals were good. He always looked both ways before crossing the road. Never once did he forget the importance of manners and a well placed please and thank you. He had only ever gotten tipsy once because he wasn’t really sure what his limit of alcohol was. He’d never touched a drug or cigarette his entire life despite numerous peer-pressuring incidents. And he went to church every Sunday wearing his Sunday bests without a single complaint on his lips.
He was a good little Christian boy. He liked being a good little Christian boy.
That was, until he met Yoongi.
Yoongi wasn’t a good Christian boy. He wasn’t good and he certainly wasn’t Christian. He was from the darkest corners of Seoul. The types of places that wouldn’t be able to describe to you a sunflower they were so dark. Where their source of light was neon and not natural and their air was illegal vapors not oxygen.
He was everything that Jimin had learned not to be. Everything he was told not to do. He was the nightmare his parents told him whenever he thought about straying from his Good Christian morals. He was the clear-cut example of everything the bible is not.
But, sometimes, to get to God, first you gotta meet the Devil.
Temptation was all it took to banish Eve from the Garden of Eden. And it was temptation that led Jimin on his little adventure into the darkest parts of Seoul. His apple was Yoongi and although he tried to be a good boy, and stay on the right path – it didn’t take long for him to accept the fact he would eat his apple of temptation every time it was presented to him. And he would do it willingly and happily.
He still looks both ways before crossing the street, always says please and thank you, gets tipsy only when he forgets how low his alcohol tolerance is and he’s still never touched a drug or cigarette. But he no longer goes to church every Sunday. At least, not without a complaint on his lips.
It was bitingly cold for late September, and Jimin dried himself from his shower and donned his work clothes in record speed. The now peacefully ticking alarm clock read 6:05 and he had a good few 50 minuets or so before he had to be on the road.
The bed was still neatly made from the morning before, their white sheets pulled tight over the King size bed with the grey throw pillows stacked neatly in their little lines.
Why do we need so many pillows, Sunshine?
Because I like sleeping in a nest, Yoonie.
He flung the curtains open embracing the harsh reality of the grey Tuesday morning that lay bellow their penthouse apartment. From up this high he couldn’t hear the bustling, obnoxious traffic from the streets of Seoul bellow them. On good days, when the haze was at it’s bay, he could see so far the city looked endless and the large ceiling to wall windows let so much light in it made the place feel like heaven.
Almost as high as the gods.
He tottered himself back into their large walk in wardrobe, humming to himself as he went. He turned to the right side, ignoring all his more colourful clothes and running his hands across the expensive darker colours his husband so loved to wear. He pulled out a new crisp white shirt, folding it delicately over his arm before locating the skinny grey slacks and matching blazer that Jimin just loved to ogle his husband in.
Yoongi didn’t like wearing ties, even though his collection was incredibly extensive but Jimin was adamant that he would look unkempt without one. But the poor man was so exhausted; Jimin supposed he deserved a little comfort during his high intensity workdays. He hung the clothes on the back of their en suit, knowing his husband wouldn’t dare leave the house without showering first. He pushed around in one of the draws under the mirror until his hands came across a yellow post-it pad and a black marker.
I left your shaver by your toothbrush, you’re looking a little stubbly ~ ♥.
Jimin tended not to eat much in the mornings, a coffee and a piece of fruit easily tying him over until lunchtime. But it was his forgetful husband that he had to worry about now. He set to work on a quick breakfast – pancakes of which could be easily reheated. He covered them in foil and pulled out the yellow post-it pad and pen he had pocketed from the bathroom.
Eat it all. If I find remains in the bin, I’ll make you eat those too ~ ♥.
By then it was dangerously nearing the time in which he had to leave. He looked over to his sleeping husband, coffee cup nursed snuggly in his hand as he finished the last remaining dregs of it.
He really didn't want to wake Yoongi up. He was so exhausted after all, and you know what they say about sleeping dogs...
But rationally, he didn't want him sleeping on their couch. It was a nice couch; don’t get him wrong. But from the way Jimin’s own body was still aching from his uncomfortable nap on the couch – he was certain Yoongi’s frailer body would only suffer ten times more.
He slips his cup in the sink before tip toing his way over and sitting down softly on the edge of the coffee table just in front of the couch.
He runs his hands through Yoongi’s hair – hands catching on hardened hair jell. “Yoonie, you should move to the bed.” He explains softly.
“But I’m sleeping.” Yoongi counters in his deep baritone, lip pouting out in a child-like manner.
Jimin smirks. “You can sleep in the bed.” He explains. “I have to go to work now.”
Yoongi’s eyes snap open at the sobering reality that they’re going to be separated again and his hand snakes up to interlock with the one Jimin had been carding through his hair.
“You could just stay?” He asks in that persuasive way that always made Jimin cave just a little bit.
He kisses the palm of his hand and Jimin giggles. “But I like work.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes irritatedly. “I know. It’s the only reason I still allow you to go.”
Jimin scoffs. “And when you say allow me to go, you obviously mean; don’t complain when I make my own decisions.”
“Just stay already.” Yoongi grumbles like a whinny child.
Jimin pulls their interlocked hands to his mouth and smacks a sloppy wet kiss to his knuckles. “Will I see you tonight?”
Making a face at the slobbering mess on his knuckles Yoongi shrugs. “Maybe, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, please do.” Jimin adds leaning foreword and capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s needy and passionate and full of all the unspoken want and loneliness that they are both filled to the brim with. And even though it feels like hours – the kiss is incredibly short and broken all too quickly.
“Love you.” Jimin bids in goodbye, pulling himself up from the coffee table.
“Love you more.”
“Good morning Mr Min, looking good again today.” A cheerful and peppy voice greets that can only be that of doorman to their apartment block – Mr Choi.
Jimin smiles, teeth and gums on show. “Good morning Mr Choi. I’m beginning to wonder whether my husband has paid you to shower me with compliments every morning.”
There’s a glint in Mr Choi’s eyes that only comes from years worth of teasing the younger generation. He was supposed to have retired a few years back, but the old man was stubborn and one of those people who felt more like themselves at work. He was pretty tall and still pretty youthful looking, and if he wasn’t capable at his job Yoongi would have kicked him out on his ass by now.
But Yoongi was soft and respectful when it came to his elders. A good trait instilled in him throughout his youth. If Mr Choi wanted to carry on working, Yoongi wasn’t going to deny him that happiness. But he would station a few more men around the building just in case.
“Even if your husband were to slip me more money to do so, I’m a man that doesn’t tell lies.” He chuckles, voice a little raspy from the early morning air.
Jimin smiles. “You’re too sweet Mr Choi. All this flattery will go to my head.” Jimin swats a hand at him dismissively before casting his eyes out to the empty street in front of the apartment block. “Is Hobi-hyung not here yet?”
“He called to say that he’s running behind a little.” Mr Choi explains with a knowing smirk. “Late night.”
Jimin sighs. “Yoongi too.” He tugs his bag higher up his shoulder before leaning his hip against the counter. “Is something bad happening Mr Choi?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr Min, no one tells an old man anything.” Mr Choi smirks. That was completely untrue – Mr Choi knew everything.
A honk of the sleek black BMW from outside snaps Jimin’s attention from Mr Choi just long enough for him to slip out from the security desk and open the door. “Have a nice day, Mr Min.”
“You too, Mr Choi.” Jimin smiles slipping through the door held open for him.
Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Jimin shuffles out into the crisp autumn air and straight into the front seat of the car. “Good morning, Hobi-hyung.” He greets bubbly.
“Morning, Mochi.” Jung Hosoek – the personification of sun and rainbows greets peppy as always. Jimin’s eyes rake over the disheveled appearance of his hyung of which is contrasting so well with his chipper voice.
Hoseok’s suit is far less than fresh, crumpled and crinkled in the worst ways; tie pulled down so low from his neck there’s not really a point in wearing it. The top three buttons of his wrinkled to all hell white shirt are undone and his chestnut brown hair is flopping unkempt around his face.
Hosoek typically has the most beautiful golden tint to his skin, but today he looks almost gauntly pale. His eyes sunken into dark purple bruises in a look Jimin has seen all too well on his husband.
“Jesus hyung, you should be at home resting.” Jimin scolds, running a hand through Hoseok’s hair that’s wilted into his dark round eyes. He pushes it back from his tiredly smiling face in some attempt at getting some order back into it.
Hosoek, in his typical bubbly way, batters Jimin’s hand away in his best attempt at getting Jimin not to worry about him. “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” He beams flicking the car into drive. But as he pulls out into the harsh Seoul traffic – yawning deeply as he goes – he swerves harshly to avoided a car he hadn’t seen in his sleep deprived state.
“It wont be if you keep driving like an idiot.” Jimin wines worriedly, small body flung about in the big front seat even though his seatbelt is securely fastened. “Pull over, let me drive.”
Hosoek chuckles, battering another dismissive hand Jimin’s way. “I got this.”
“You’re driving on what – little to no sleep? Pull the fuck over hyung, I don’t want to die today.” Jimin reasons, voice stern but steady.
Hosoek rolls his eyes, his irritation harder to cover than he usual considering how exhausted he is. “I’m perfectly capable of driving us to school, Mochi, so just sit tight.”
Jimin lets out a huff, folding his arms across his chest like a child. “Pull over before I call Yoongi.”
Hosoek chuckles at what he sees as an empty threat. “Of course you will.”
“He’s sleeping right now.” Jimin muses, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I wonder how well he’d take to being woken up at the knowledge that you’re being unsafe with me in the car?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You know I would.”
With only a few seconds debate, Hosoek screeches tires across asphalt as he pulls up along the curb and flings the car into park. Jimin unbuckles his seatbelt and slips himself across the middle console to plop himself in Hosoek’s lap.
Hosoek lets out a chuckled yelp. “Parking it right here Jimin?” He jokes.
“Either move, or I’ll drive like this.” Jimin explains with his own eye roll add on for extra affect.
With skilled smooth moves, Hosoek slips effortless out from under Jimin’s little body and flings open the drivers door simultaneously. Jimin can see the muttered curses that are wrapped around Hoseok’s lips as he rounds the car. But they’re conveniently silenced as he throws himself into the passenger seat his signature smile back on his face.
Jimin shoots him another worried look, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he does. It was just so unlike Hoseok to be so tired to the point he’s acting irritated. Hosoek was one of the kindest and brightest souls that Jimin had come across after all.
Hoseok raises his eyebrows in anticipation. “Well, lets go then before we’re late.” He orders strapping himself in.
Jimin smirks sarcastically shooting an; “Of course, your highness.” Before gently putting the car in drive and slipping effortlessly out into the Seoul streets. “Now, I’m going to drop you home and then get myself to school.”
“Jimin.” Hosoek warns low and evenly.
Hoseok’s voice is usually so loud and bubbly. A voice that many people find annoying and tended to tune out, but for Jimin it was a voice that came with a warm feeling of softness and comfort. Hosoek carried the greatest weight of care and worry in his loud words. Of which took many people so long to find because Hoseok was a little eccentric.
“Jimin huh?” Jimin muses already driving on course to Hoseok’s dingy little flat in Hongdae. “Pulling out the big guns using my name there.”
“You know I’m not gonna let you take me home and then drive yourself to school.” Hosoek explains, voice worryingly soft and quiet despite the yawns he’s trying to fight down. “Yoongi wouldn’t allow it, heck I wont allow it. Take us to school.”
Jimin shrugs. “I’ll be fine. You however, will not.” He spies Hoseok out of the corner of his eyes, his body unanimated and slumped in the front seat – looking so much like a Duracell bunny that’s run out of juice. “You’re not any good for anyone like that. It wont be much different whether you are or aren’t with me today, but if you aren’t you can sleep up and come meet me after school.”
“Hosoek.” Jimin counters sternly. “Even Yoongi gets to sleep for a little while, why can’t you?”
“I don’t like this.” Hosoek grumbles, the negative sound something so rarely heard through Hoseok’s lips. “You know the rules.”
“Then I take full responsibility for what happens today.” Jimin replies. “I’ll message Yoongi and tell him what happened. I’ll keep you updated every hour with messages as to how the day is going. Just – please, for not only your own sake, but mine, go home and rest.”
There’s a long pause in which Jimin can practically hear the cogs and gears twisting and turning in Hosoek’s head as he grapples and debates with himself on an endless loop. “Fine.” He irrevocably replies through a heavy-duty sigh, just as Jimin turns down his road.
“Man, you must be incredibly tired to be agreeing so easily.” Jimin jibs.
Hosoek shoots him a death glare that’s supposed to make people shake in their boots, but all Jimin sees is a pouty teddy bear. “Shut the fuck up.” He supplies unbuckling his seatbelt before Jimin’s even stopped. “One message every hour, drive slow, let me know if you think anything is weird.” He explains, eyes trained on Jimin’s, and a finger pinning the younger in his seat.
Jimin waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, go and rest Hobi-hyung.”
“Mochi, I mean it.” Hosoek adds, voice darker and more persistent than before. “Anything seams weird, call me.”
And Jimin nods, hard and certain because if there’s one thing he’s learnt over the years of being with Yoongi – it’s not to question orders from him or his men. “I will, I promise.”
And with a final nod, pleased with the promise placed between them, Hosoek’s face splits into the huge grin that Jimin is so used to seeing. He slide out the car, lets out a little wiggle and a double wave before shutting the car door and shuffling towards his apartment.
Jimin had always liked teaching. He enjoyed being able to show children problem solving skills that would help them through their studies and later in their lives. He liked being a role model for the kids, someone for them to lean on throughout their ever-stressful lives. But most of all, he liked the way children thought and the way they acted. There was never a dull day, never an uninteresting topic of conversation and there was always something funny to behold.
Which is where he currently found himself, stood at the doorway to 1-5’s classroom, watching as the boys kick a rather large ball amongst themselves. Their feet were bare in their slippers all their socks folded together to make said large ball. Loud rumbling laughter echoed through the room and down the halls at the intense concentration and absurdity to it all and Jimin just couldn’t find it in himself to scold them.
“Do I even want to know?” Jimin asks to no one in particular.
One of the more quiet girls, who reads more than she speaks, caught his eye and shrugged teasingly, before slipping his eyes back to her book.
“Guys the bell went, you should be sat down.” Jimin tries once more, dumping his basket full of teaching goodies on the desk and placing his hands on his hips.
“Seonsaengnim! Give us five more minuets, we’re at a personal best!” One of the boys shouted over the low chanting of numbers being counted by his fellow teammates.
Jimin rolls his eyes. “And what’s your personal best?”
“12.” One of the girls sighs from the back of the class, clearly bored with the ridiculous game that had taken hold over their class.
Jimin laughs. “If you can get to 60, I’ll give you all perfect scores on your next test.” A roar of excitement and challenge erupts in the classroom. “But, you only get one try.” He adds and the shocked gasps and groans that echo back made Jimin cackle evilly under his breath.
Needles to say, the boys got to 18 before the sock ball suddenly loses it’s perfect trajectory, flinging itself to the other side of the room and landing in one of the trash cans.
“Guess you’ll just have to study for that perfect score.” Jimin snickers. “Sit down, let’s start class.” The students file exceedingly reluctantly back to their seats, wasting another 5 minuets to do so when it should only have been a few seconds.
To say the school Jimin taught at was one of the more – notoriously bad schools was an understatement.
“Seonsaengnim! Where’s you’re husband?” A child bellows from the back of the class, anything to keep them from actually studying.
Jimin had begun writing out the target structure on the board, little arms stretching as high as he possibly could. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Because you drove yourself to school today.”
Jimin chuckles, placing the chalk back in its place and pulling their worksheets from his basket. “I’m more than capable of driving myself to work you know.”
He could practically hear the eye rolling from his sarcastic 1-5 class. “But he always drives you.”
Jimin snaps his eyes in the direction of the voice. “Who always drives me?” He asks passing handouts to the first kids in each row.
“Your husband, and he’s not here today either, where is he?” A different voice asks and Jimin’s eyes snap across the room too it.
He hands the last row their handouts. “Write your name at the top.” He explains offhandedly. “I’m really confused, why would my husband come to school?” He adds.
“Because he’s the 1st year gym teacher?” Another child explains like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
If Jimin was drinking he would have spit the liquid all over the front row of kids. “Are you talking about Jung Hosoek seonsaengnim?”
“You think we’re married?” Jimin clarifies again and he isn’t sure if he’s about to burst into endless giggles or stare horrified at the floor for hours on end. Hosoek, Jung Hosoek – basically his brother. “We have different surnames you idiots.” He scolds mockingly. Giggles erupted from his lips and he’s thankful his body opted for the later option.
“I told you.” It’s one of the girls that speaks up this time. “He’s cheating on his husband with Jung seonsaengnim.”
Jimin can’t help the laughter that flows from his lips – wholehearted and passionate. “You’re all idiots.” He adds before shouting out the page number in their textbooks to turn to. It’s already 15 minuets in to the lesson and he can barely contain his laughter as he struggles through the beginning instructions.
Sometimes, when Jimin has a few minuets to himself, he likes to look out at the High School kids he saw and taught every day and wonder what they would be doing in 5 years time. Hosoek always has a keen eye at picking out which kids would end up on the wrong sides of the law and which ones would pull themselves from the gutters and do well. He would spend more time with the kids he could see going down the wrong path and push the kids he could see doing well to their limits.
It’s always so black and white for Hosoek – good or bad. Yoongi is the same; everyone in his little world is the same really. But Jimin just can’t see it like that. The world is always a half full glass to him, and though he can see anger and disobedience sparking through some of the kids he teaches, who was he to know for certain that they would grow up to be bad?
He’s been questioning what constitutes as good and bad recently too. He can’t bring himself to see it being all black and white. Killing is bad, yes. But if you are protecting yourself from being attacked and accidently kill the attacker is that a bad thing? Because the attacker was being bad to begin with so it’s just self defense, surly?
“I think we’re going to have to call the police.” He hears the head of 3rd year muttering frantically with the homeroom teacher to class 3-3. “This is far more serious than just a simple fight between boys.”
He had overheard about the fight that had broken out along the 3rd year corridor just before 4th period. The two boys involved Cha Wonpil and Jeon Jungkook were no strangers to fights within school. However, this incident had gotten a little more heated, with Jeon Jungkook pushing Cha Wonpil down a flight of stairs after his fist collided nastily with his nose.
The 3-3 homeroom teacher titters. “A bad egg that Jeon kid, he’s on a fast train going nowhere.”
“Maybe it would be for the better to just expel him.” The head of 3rd year concludes; there isn’t an ounce of sadness in his voice. In fact Jimin found himself shuddering at the distinct traces of thankfulness in his voice.
Jeon Jungkook was a troubled child not a troublesome child, and the way that people brushed him off as a nuisance made Jimin’s stomach churn and blood boil. No one had bothered to ask Jeon Jungkook why he acted out, why neither of his parents ever came to school when they were called or for parents’ visits. No one bothered to look too closely as to why his uniform was always dirty and ripped. No one seamed to want to care either as to why the boy grew skinnier everyday and was constantly tired.
Jimin wasn’t an expert, but he had picked up a few things from his studies and adventures working as a teacher. There was more than meets the eye with kids and Jeon Jungkook was no different.
Do you think Jeon Jungkook is good or bad?
Jeon Jungkook, 3-3, likes bowling and Japanese manga.
Oh wait, is this the kid that’s always getting into fights?
Yeah, I suppose he is.
Bad kid going down a bad path, trust me.
Sometimes it was hard to trust Hosoek’s opinions, even if 9/10 times he was right.
Hosoek isn’t coming to collect him from school. He had been called to sort out something else and wouldn’t make it in time. Jimin doesn’t mind too much, he understands just how busy Yoongi and all his men get and he isn’t about to get in the way of that. But the aching and creaking from his body is screaming at him to get his ass in bed. But he’s worried about the effects of a heavily exhausted human behind a metal death trap. He had scolded Hosoek for the exact same reasons just that morning, after all.
To be fair, the school isn’t too far from home – a five min walk to the subway and then four stops to their closest station to the apartment. It’s probably about 20 minuets if he pushes it, but it’s safer bet than risking crashing a car. He pulls his coat tighter around himself and hefts his bag more securely on his shoulder before setting out into the street lamped illuminated streets of Seoul.
Jimin didn’t think he would fall in love with Seoul so quickly and so completely. He was raised in the beach shored sunny skies of Busan, of which couldn’t really prepare him for the neon metropolis that South Korea proudly called it’s capital. It was always lively, always thriving and always interesting to Jimin. His eyes wondered over something new and fascinatingly different from his Busan youth with every glance across the streets. It never ceases to amaze him how every corner turned in Seoul was different from the last.
Not that Seoul is perfect – far from it. There are more drunken office workers than public bins, more litter crushed under your feet than freshly fallen autumn leaves in a forest and smoggy air that made the healthiest of athletes sick. He knows it isn’t safe to walk around late at night on his own. He was constantly hearing shit happening in random notorious pockets of Seoul and know they were to be avoided at all costs. Whenever he walked the streets alone, whether light or not, he knew to hold his bag as tight to his body as possible and keep a vigilant eye.
It isn’t just because he lives in Seoul – Seoul is shady sure, but it’s nothing unexpected that comes with living in a big city. He supposes every child of the modern era is taught to be vigilant in the way that Jimin was. To not follow strangers, or take candy from strangers, or walk alone late at night. The list of rules are long and unwritten, but well known amongst everyone.
But he knows he’s far more attuned to the dangers of the world now that he’s married to Yoongi. Far less naive than that 20-year-old boy stepping of the train in Seoul ready to start a new adventure out in the big wide world. He has numerous people coming down on him to stay focused and wary. So many people teaching him tricks of the trade so that his eyes were opened to things that they never once were.
Yoonie, are you busy?
What’s the matter?
I’m being followed.
I think they waited for me outside school.
It’s two people.
Where are you?
Why aren’t you in the car with Hosoek?
Hobi-hyung was busy.
I was selfish.
Turn on your location.
Now, head straight for 4 blocks and take a right into the first warehouse you see.
This isn’t the first time Jimin has been followed. But Yoongi had been adamant that it would never happen again, ever since things went too far last time. Jimin rarely walks around the Seoul streets on his own, and even when he does he knows he’s being watched like a hawk by hidden associates of his husbands.
When they had first started dating – of which seams almost like a lifetime ago to Jimin now – he had been followed home and approached at least three times a week.
And every single time it scared him to his core.
He would never get used to this; he knows that. And although he likes to complain about the fact he’s protected more than the Queen of England, the fear that constantly seams to bubble it’s way up in him was thankful for the protection. Jimin is a stubborn, strong, independent man of the 21st century, but by god he knows that the overprotective procedures put in place around him are really worth it.
The street is fairly busy as he tries to keep his pace the same so as not to alert the two guys behind him that he’s caught wind of them. He’s not sure where his sixth sense of knowing he’s being followed comes from. He supposes it’s just a skill picked up after it happening so many times. But as he hears his shoes pat lightly on the cement, he can clearly hear the echoing of the two sets of shoes mimicking his steps getting closer with each one.
They were still a good distance behind him; a distance Hosoek referred to as the ‘opportune space’. In which, a person could keep an eye on their target and their ticks without bringing attention to the person of whom they were tailing. Unless, of course, you had a trained eye for this thing.
4 blocks has never seamed like a very long walk to Jimin before, but with every step he feels as though the 4 blocks are stretching longer than usual just to tease his poor heart and nerves. He clutches his hands so tightly into the material of his bag strap that he’s wondering if he could very well rip it in half. His breathing is ragged like he’s been sprinting 4 miles instead of strolling 4 blocks and he feels a sheen of sweat drip down his neck uncomfortably.
Around the third block, the pavement turns into an alley alongside a park rather than along the main road. The path narrows and the streetlights are spaced further apart. He can hear children’s giggles and parents scolding from the park and it brings a sigh of relief from his lips involuntarily. But then he hears the echoing footsteps speed up ever so slightly, the distance decreasing to the point he can see their distorted shadows stretched out on the pavement near his own.
He feels his breath catch in his throat, his hands gripping impossibly tighter as the smell of lingering cigarette smoke fills his nostrils.
The moment you can smell them, you know they’re too close.
He’s only meters from the warehouse that Yoongi has told his to go into. There are rows and rows of them, the street of apartments and houses breaking into an industrial area. The first one looms large and bright before him like a beacon of hope – and he doesn’t think twice.
His feet stomp onto the pavement at a faster and harder level as he breaks into a sprint. The sudden movement catches his pursuers slightly of guard and is exactly what he hoped for as he gains a few seconds head start of them.
His chest is aching with the stinging cold gulps of air he’s inhaling – pushing his body as fast as it can just for a few meters more. His hands are shaking when finally, finally, came up to the silver doors of the warehouse and he pushes at them with all his strength.
They don’t budge.
The two men are catching up now, and he can practically feel the smugness radiating off of them as they rounded on their cornered prey.
He bangs his palms against the rough and rusted door with all his strength, desperation fueling his movements and adrenaline finding any means possible to keep himself alive.
But suddenly, hands came down on his shoulders and spin him around before slamming him back roughly against the door. He can feel metal dig uncomfortably sharp into his back, his face scrunching in pain and an involuntary whimper escapes his lips as another calloused hand grips at his jaw tightly.
He can feel hot soju stenched breath fan across his face as chuckles push themselves onto his skin, their grip tightening ten fold as Jimin struggles in their clutches.
“Don’t fight, Mochi, it’s useless now.” The voice is deep, laced with adrenaline and excitement yet it sounds exactly like every other thug Jimin has had the misfortune of crossing.
He snaps open his eyes, vision falling on two men of equal height and build. They look young, at least late 20s, both with raven hair slicked back into the neatest of fashions. They’re donned in suits, one grey and one black pinstripes that hang uncomfortably on their frames and stink of musk. The suits are so wrinkled and old as if suddenly pulled out of a forgotten hideaway because a use had been found for them. The thug’s grins stretch into that of Cheshire cat smiles, dark orbed eyes glistening hungrily.
The man in the pinstripes is younger, taller and thinner than the man in grey. His skin is golden dark and under his left eyes is a small cross-shaped scar that looks at least a couple years old. Jimin can feel a slight shake to the kids palms on his shoulders – a shake that he knows all to well as fear masked by adrenaline.
Jimin has realised that the man in grey is only a few inches shorter than his friend and looks as though his ego makes up for those few inches lost. His smile is larger, deeper and more menacing. It’s an intense smile that comes from years of experience that his younger friend just doesn’t have. His hands don’t shake as his grubby fingers dig into the soft skin of Jimin’s jaw. There’s a practiced calm and steady to them that makes Jimin’s stomach flip with disgust.
He wishes he didn’t see their faces.
In movements all to quick for his frightened mind to keep up with, he feels himself being pulled away from the door causing the unwanted hands to release his jaw and shoulders. He’s yanked away from the disgustingly close proximity of his stalkers and pulled protectively behind his rescuer.
“On your knees, hands on your head.” Hosoek’s dark even voice spits, one hand curled all too tightly around Jimin’s wrist, the other round the trigger of a gun pointed mercilessly at his stalkers. It’s a dark edge to his voice that Jimin has never heard before – because there was never any need for Hoseok to get angry around Jimin.
The harsh blunt voice is so contradicting to the squealing sun shining squawks Jimin’s so used to hearing from his hyung. It’s so unnerving to Jimin that it sends a horrific shiver wracking through his entire body.
The man in grey scoffs a few strands of jelled hair falling loose into his eyes. “Last I checked. Two guns are better than one.”
Jimin hears the nauseating click of two more guns being pressed firmly into the backs of his stalkers head. And surly enough, two men he only really knows by face appear from the shadows.
“And three guns are better than two.” Hosoek isn’t here to fuck around.
It was clearly that Hoseok wasn’t going to be releasing his grip on Jimin’s arm anytime soon. The grip is iron tight like a vice and yet Jimin finds it somewhat grounding in the horrific outlook of the events of the night.
Hoseok had dragged Jimin inside the warehouse after one of Hosoek’s acquaintances had brandished keys and unlocked the door for them. Hosoek had flicked his gun from the stalkers face to the inside of the warehouse, gesturing them to go first before dragging Jimin inside like he was annoying baggage.
“Strip them.” Hosoek orders, voice dark and harsh, eyes narrowed ferociously and never once leaving the faces of the men in front of them. His associates do as their told, surrendering the men of their weapons before pushing them onto their knees in the middle of the warehouse.
“I really hate to repeat myself.” Hoseok spits, and the stalkers shakily raise their hands to their heads.
The warehouse is large, their quiet voices echoing around the large space as if they were shouted. Large blue and grey containers rest in rows as far as Jimin’s eyes can see and low hanging lights droop from the ceiling – rocking back and forth to produce inconstant light.
The swaying of lights make Jimin feel like he’s on a boat. That mixed with his sudden swirling head ultimately leads to a churning nauseous feeling building in the pit of his stomach.
The gaggle of them stands in silence, with Hosoek’s gun pointed right between Grey Suit’s eyebrows. The two stalkers have their heads lowered from the promise of death pointed before them.
Everything is still and yet everything is moving so fast it’s mixing so many different feels through Jimin’s head. He feels like he’s falling, gasping for air in a claustrophobic space as he realises he’s incredibly and conclusively still petrified.
“Hyung…” His voice comes out in a small dry tone that he can’t even recognise.
“Shut up.” Hosoek spits, clearly not in the right mind set to be sunshine.
Jimin has never even heard his hyung get this angry before, let alone bare witness to it. Hosoek is always fiercely caring and flamboyantly outgoing. His greatest happiness is seeing you happy, he’s always awake at 5am to answer your random late night thoughts and he’s brilliantly funny and thoughtful and strong.
When Jimin had been told Hosoek would be his bodyguard he couldn’t help but giggle at the man who was nothing but a ball of fluff and looked like he wouldn’t even hurt a fly. But Yoongi had warned that Hoseok was more than capable at his job and that to see Hosoek serious was to see death.
Jimin was beginning to understand what Yoongi had meant and it left a whole new sense of awe towards his hyung – but it was terrified respect nonetheless.
After what feels like an eternity, and yet no time at all, the all too familiar headlights of a sleek black Mercedes S Class pulls into the warehouse. The car screeches across the cement so that its left hand side faces them strategically blocking the view of the exit for the stalkers on their knees.
The car doesn’t even come to a complete stop before the back door is flung open and shiny loafers are clacking on the cement.
Yoongi looks every bit as powerful and intimidating as he did the first time Jimin had seen him. His sharp, cat like eyes are trained on the men on their knees face set in the sharpest of scowls Jimin has yet too see from Yoongi. His hands casually fasten his suit jacket button before he slams the car door shut behind him. The bang rings uncomfortably in the echoing silence of the warehouse and continues to ring in Jimin’s ears long after the sound has actually gone.
Yoongi’s jaw is clenched sharp and tight with pure white-hot anger. His obsidian eyes are void of all sparkle that Jimin is so used to seeing. Instead, they bring more uncomfortable shivers down Jimin’s back from their flat, merciless and cold glare.
The sleep deprived bags under Yoongi’s eyes look somewhat menacing with the dark icy aura he’s emitting. He pushes his hands into the pockets of the skinny grey slacks Jimin had picked out for him this morning and lets a sneer pull to his lips.
“Mochi, go get in the car.” Hosoek orders, hand slipping from its vice grip on Jimin’s wrist.
“No.” Yoongi counters, voice deep and authoritive in the vast expanse of the warehouse, eyes still trained on his prey before him.
If Jimin weren’t so terrified, he’s certain his face would be mirroring the same baffled look as Hosoek next to him. “What…” His hyung begins only to be silenced by Yoongi’s gruff retort.
“I said,” Yoongi’s voice is louder and crisper than before demanding so much respect and authority. “No.”
His shiny black shoes clack against the floor, their rhythmic noises echoing ominously off the walls and crates around them. He swats his hand in a ‘move the fuck away’ gesture to Hosoek’s acquaintances and they scurry away from the stalkers, guns lowered as they retreat into the shadows once more.
He cocks his head from side to side as he eyes up the men before him like they’re a five star meal. The man in grey raises his head, eyes locking with Yoongi’s and lips pursed ready for an onslaught of profanity aimed his way.
But instead, Yoongi kicks the man in the gut and said man hunches over with a low groan, hands falling from his head to cradle his stomach.
Yoongi’s eyes finally snap over to Hosoek, hands still slipped into his pockets as if bored by the whole situation in front of them. “Kill them.” He orders.
Hosoek’s eyes go as wide as saucers. “But, hyung…”
“Did I fucking stutter, Hosoek?” Yoongi snaps in a voice so cool and void of emotion Jimin can feel his whole body shake with fear.
“No, sir.” Hosoek replies after a beat, words gritted out through his teeth. He turns his head ever so slightly in Jimin’s direction. “Go get in the car.” He mumbles.
“I said, no.” Yoongi growls across the space. “Are you going fucking deaf, Hosoek? Getting forgetful? Jimin stays. Kill these bastards.”
Jimin. Yoongi rarely ever called him Jimin, only when he was angry or needed to be serious. It made Jimin’s knees buckle ever so slightly and a whimper escape his lips.
Hosoek catches Jimin just before his knees slam into the cold hard floor. Hands gripped tightly on his upper arm as he pulls the boy back up to his feet.
“Hyung…” Hosoek’s voice is practically desperate and pleading. But Yoongi is not hearing any of it.
Yoongi lets another small growl of anger snap pass his lips. “Clearly you both need a lesson in the severity of disobeying me.” His teeth are grinding out words as if they are poisoned. “Kill. Them.”
Jimin lets another whimper past his lips, bottom lip trembling uncontrollably as he scrambles to find purchase on Hosoek’s leather jacket. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s hearing.
Surly Yoongi wouldn’t do this, surly the man who vowed to protect him for the rest of their lives would snap out of whatever dark place he’s in and pull Jimin away from here. If not Yoongi, then surly kind and caring Hoseok – right now, Jimin would take anything to escape this nightmare.
“H-hyung, p-please.” Jimin garbles, voice shaking so much with fear he’s surprised he’s making any sense.
“I’m sorry, Mochi.” Hosoek sighs, voice void of all the anger and darkness it once had, sadness and guilt lacing it instead. His eyes are so heavy with appologise and regret before he pulls them away from Jimin’s face unable to bare it anymore.
“N-no, I-I can’t, Yoonie – “ Jimin’s voice is hysterical now. He turns his eyes to that of his husband’s, a one last ditched attempt at trying to find any reason or trace of sense in him. But Yoongi’s eyes are back and locked with the hunched pathetic frames of the two men who knelt before him.
Two gunshots ring so loudly in the silence that Jimin can feel them pierce through his ears to the point it feels like they’re bleeding. The sounds of lifeless bodies falling unceremoniously to the floor are muffled in his ringing ears – he can hear screaming but for the life of him can’t understand why.
He falls to his knees, Hosoek letting him drop this time as his eyes blur from collecting tears. He can barely see the remains of the stalkers, all he can register is the loud screaming, ripping through the air like a jagged knife. A harrowing horrifying scream that makes his skin crawl. He raises his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to block it out – but it still rings out clearly in the warehouse.
He feels warm calloused hands wrap around his wrists and gently prize his hands away from his ears.
“Sunshine, you need to breath.” Yoongi orders, at least Jimin thinks it’s an order but it’s laced with far more kindness and calm than his voice had been moments ago.
Jimin takes in a staggering breath, gasping for air he hadn’t realised he needed and the screaming stops. It takes a while for his brain to register it had been his own screaming tearing through the silence.
He gulps down lungful’s of air like a starved man, hands balling into fists, suspended in front of his face in Yoongi’s grip.
“Baby, steady breaths, breathe with me, come on now.” He soothes, voice so calm and so caring. Yoongi exaggerates his breathing, reaching a long finger away from Jimin’s wrist to lift his chin up, locking eyes with him.
Jimin can see the spark back in Yoongi’s eyes, the dark orbs endless and liquefied as they searched his own in guilt and worry. His milky skin has a slight pink tinge to his cheeks, like he’s suddenly been reanimated.
Soon Jimin’s breathing evens out and is replaced with sobs that leave his body completely limp as he collapses in on itself.
Yoongi is there to catch him, arms easily slipping away from his wrists and around his body, pulling his up into his arms bridal style. Jimin continues to sob as Yoongi stands to his feet, pushing Jimin’s face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, shielding him from the mess on the floor.
“What was the point in that?” Hosoek shoots angrily.
“That could have been him, Hosoek.” Yoongi explains calmly. “I don’t think either of you really understand just how desperately the scum bags of Seoul want their hands on Jimin.”
Yoongi sighs deeply. “You don’t. Else you wouldn’t have left him to walk home alone.” Hosoek doesn’t reply, his silence is guilt and repentance enough.
“I thought you wanted him to be kept away from all this, he doesn’t belong to this darkness.” Hosoek whispers.
“That may be so,” Yoongi begins, shoes clacking on the cement as he makes his way back over to the car. Jimin’s sobs are quieter, more like emotional hiccups and staggered breaths. “But sometimes I think he forgets who he married.” He brushes some loose hair away from Jimin’s face, his eyes are scrunched up so tight and fingers clinging to Yoongi’s suit for dear life.
“He married the head of the biggest Mafia group in the whole of South Korea, after all.”