Chapter Text
“Here we go again,” Jimin mumbles to himself as he pushes the door to the psych ward open.
It doesn’t take long until someone notices him lounging around in the entrance area and he’s being met with a beaming smile that Jimin can not, for the life of him, shoot back at the nurse. His whole face hurts at the attempt and he’s internally screaming at the cheerful greeting, feeling like he’s being mocked rather than welcomed with open arms.
Because no, this is not a good morning and he’s not here because he’s overflowing with motivation to change something in his life, make healthy choices and get put on a bunch of mood stabilisers.
All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d just opened his mail in time, paid his bills and his rent like the responsible adult he should be with twenty-six fucking years but the hard truth is that he’s not.
It’s that he’s coming out of mania after a month of doing nothing but partying and online shopping, thinking he’s the king of the world only to find his life in shambles.
Not only did he get kicked out of the small shithole he could afford, but he also lost the shitty job he accepted as a last resort - barkeeper at a shabby nightclub - after his boss found out that he was doing nothing but flirting with the guests, collecting phone numbers and handing out free drinks left and right. And if that’s not enough there’s also the nasty fights he had with his family the past few weeks, which now means he can’t even stoop so low as to crash in his old teenage bedroom.
All in all the shittiest week of his life would’ve ended up with him getting drunk underneath a bridge or in front of a supermarket if it wasn’t for the call that came just in time.
Nine months on the waiting list and Jimin had already forgotten that he’d asked for a bed in the open ward at the height of crippling depression.
Back then it probably would’ve helped him, saved him from living off of mouldy pizza leftovers for weeks on end, but well - what’s done is done and Jimin knows it’s all temporary. Because he’s been through that shit a hundred times over.
“I don’t need a tour. I’m a regular,” he says to the nurse without even bothering to read the nametag or exchange some small talk, some friendly formalities.
“Okay, then… you’re in 5B -”
And that’s where Jimin stops listening. He doesn’t care much about the irritated look on the nurse’s face either, when he turns around and goes straight to his room, planning to crash on the bed and not get back up again for at least ten hours.
But of course, that’s not how it plays out.Because when he opens the door, he’s promptly reminded that his karma sucks and that the universe will use every freaking opportunity to kick him in the balls so hard that it doesn’t have anything to do with some kinky fun anymore.
Which is exactly where he knows the person sitting on one of the beds from.
Jimin doesn’t remember his name, nor his age or anything about him, but he does remember how prettily he moaned and looked up at him through long lashes when he tied his hands to the bed frame, how obediently he stuck out his tongue for Jimin to put his cigarette out on it and he vaguely remembers noticing the scars on his arms when he scratched up and down them, leaving angry red marks but he didn’t think anything by it.
It was attractive even, in that dark way that draws him to other people who are equally fucked up in the head, and made him wonder if they would get along even outside of bed but of course, he never planned on testing that theory.
Never anticipated that he would be forced to live with the guy who he gave a fake number to and threw away like trash, like the absolute asshole he can become when his fucked up mind doesn’t allow him to think past his own emotions anymore.
They are running rampant in a different way now, his heart jumping into his throat, along with some bile and his stomach clenching uncomfortably like he’s going to be sick any second.
Jimin swallows harshly and briefly thinks about calling the whole thing off but it’s too late anyway.
Before he can quietly leave the room again, they’re making eye contact and Jimin wants to die - until confusion washes over him because there’s something important missing from those big, brown doe eyes.
A glimmer of recognition.
Every reaction - from screaming curses at him to weeping so heart-achingly loud the nurses come running -, absolutely every reaction would’ve made more sense than what plays out in front of Jimin’s eyes. The guy smiles, an awkward and pressed smile but a genuine one.
“Hi,” he mumbles and tears his gaze away from Jimin’s face, walking over to what should be his bed instead. “Sorry I parked my stuff here, they told me I’d get a roomie soon but I thought that’s tomorrow. What day is it again?”
His movements are sluggish as he grabs his gym bag up from the bed, his face scrunching up under the weight. He is slowly walking back to his side of the room, dragging his feet like an overly tired, old man would.
“Wednesday,” Jimin mumbles, brows twitching together as he keeps watching his every move, keeps waiting for the moment he snaps.
Maybe he should start off with an apology? Maybe that’s what the guy is waiting for, but strangely enough, it doesn’t seem like it.
It almost seems like he doesn’t remember him at all.
Which is impossible, so he must be pretending.
But what for? It’s not like they just ran into each other at the supermarket, an awkward but quick encounter that is easily forgotten, pushed to the back of one’s mind and never to be thought about again.
No, they will spend weeks, maybe months on end sharing a small room, breathing the same stuffy air, suffering through the same tense silence and there’s no way around having this conversation.
His best choice of action is diving right into it, really, as long as his new roommate is playing dumb.
“I didn’t expect to see you again… not here, out of all places.”
A loud thud startles Jimin.
He stares at the bag that has been so carelessly dropped to the floor and then at the guy again, bracing himself for a wave of unfiltered fury. If he’s in here, there’s a great probability of him suffering from a mood- or personality disorder and once diagnosed with one of those, the doctors might as well add anger management issues as the cherry on top.
Perhaps he’ll be met with a fist after all, even if all Jimin has seen before from that guy was eagerness.
So much so that he started rambling about all the dates they could go on, listing every single oh-so-vanilla and definitely-not-vanilla-at-all scenario he’d come up with.
Jimin decided to cut him out of his life when he arrived at carving their initials into a tree or their thighs, quote-unquote, as he “doesn’t mind”.
Thinking of it, eagerness might not be the best descriptor for the young man in front of him. Now, Jimin can come up with a lot of different words that could fit well: lovesick, obsessed, on the brink of falling for delusions of love.
Fuck, maybe he’s stalking him.
Jimin has seen way too many horror movies not to at least accept the slim possibility of a stranger hacking the psychiatric hospital and killing off everyone who’s on the waiting list in front of the guy who fucked him so well he literally fucked him into insanity.
“Huh?”
Huh?
That’s it. That’s all he gives Jimin, a confused sound with an equally questioning expression on his face.
“Look,” Jimin starts, unsure where he’s going with this or why there’s even a need for it, ”I’m sorry for giving you the wrong number. It was an asshole move but can you please stop this whole pretending you don’t know me thing because it’s getting really creepy?!”
“I would if I knew you? But I’ve never seen you before?”
With his head tilted to the side and his eyes as round as they can possibly get, he doesn’t seem too sure of that anymore. He takes Jimin in, from the split ends of his hair to the very tips of his toes and - shakes his head with a huff.
“And I think I would remember if you gave me your number, wrong or not…” He mumbles under his breath, so quietly it’s not clear if he even intended Jimin to hear it or not.
“Do you… do you have a twin brother or something?” Jimin asks because it’s the only possible explanation at this point. Either that or that guy is so good at pretending, he deserves an Oscar for his performance.
“I think I would also know if I had a twin brother…”
A hint of annoyance washes over his face, followed by a deep, soul-crushing sigh.
“Where would we know each other from?”
“Come on, you didn’t forget me,” Jimin says confidently, as he walks over to the bed and puts the plastic bag with what little is left of his belongings down on it. “You’re just playing games and I guess I deserve it, but don’t you think we can solve this like adults?”
So mature of him not to take this guy seriously, because him actually forgetting all about that night, even if it was months ago, would hurt his ego too much.
“I promise you I’m not playing games or something? Why would I do that?”
Yes, why would he do that and sound so honest with his words? Even the frustrated tone of his voice matches his message of not only being utterly at a loss but also talking against a brick wall that is Jimin. Because this just doesn’t make sense.
“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook,” he adds as if his name alone would solve this. “And if you don’t tell me where I supposedly met you, I can’t help you.”
“At a club,” Jimin sighs, patience running thin, “we met at a club and I took you home with me. We spent the night together, got up to all kinds of kinky shit and then you started talking about how long you’ve been wanting a boyfriend and that I’m perfect and all that stuff and it creeped me out, so I gave you a fake number.”
“Uhm…”
Jungkook’s face falls and gets consumed by lines and creases like he bit into something incredibly sour, a lemon multiplied by a thousand.
Never in his life had Jimin looked at someone seemingly fighting the urge to vomit all over the floor in disgust from being reminded of their night together.
“That’s impossible - like, honestly really impossible. I don’t even-” He gestures up and down Jimin’s body, moving his hand in oddly shaped circles as he points at Jimin’s crotch. “Like that. I don’t like that, you get me?”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re not into men?”
That can’t be it, because it would be absurd.
Jimin remembers very well how much he - Jungkook - was into that, how he begged him in the sweetest, filthiest way to put his cock in his mouth, to use every hole until he can’t walk anymore and while they didn’t go there, him claiming that he doesn’t like dick now is simply bizarre.
Jimin can’t hold his scoff back, no matter how hard he tries not to lose sight of the fact that he’s the asshole in this situation, not the guy who pulls disgusted faces and acts all scandalised by something he wanted so badly.
"I am not into men," Jungkook repeats with a couple of nods, the first one seemingly not enough to put his point across. "You have to mistake me for someone else. That's not impossible. If you were at a club, you would typically drink alcohol, right? So who says your mind didn't just… get faces mixed up."
“I was drunk but not that drunk,” Jimin says because it’s a way to keep his ego intact.
The truth is, he remembers Jungkook’s face so well because it was the best night he had in years, possibly ever. But he’d rather bite his tongue off than say that after Jungkook made it clear that the attraction is one-sided now.
And sadly he’s not high on the explosive mix of chemicals his sick brain produces when he’s manic, not in a state where he thinks that to be absolutely impossible.
Jungkook could very well regret their night together once he sees him in the bright light of day and this could be his fucked up way of getting him to back off, not make another move on him.
“It’s not like I would jump you if you admit that you know me,” Jimin goes on and it’s not entirely true, because some part of him definitely does feel like bridging the distance between them and slamming Jungkook against a wall, reminding him that way.
It would be against the rules, as all kinds of relationships between patients, but it wouldn’t be the first time Jimin breaks them.
He stays where he is, though and keeps on talking to Jungkook like you would to a small, annoying child that is convinced that chocolate milk comes from brown cows.
“You don’t need to be scared that I’ll tell anyone either, just quit pretending please.”
"Hey, listen-"
Jimin might be pushing him into a corner but - in his mind - that also means closer to admitting the truth. Jungkook starts moving his leg in a nervous tick, bouncing it up and down, up and down, up and down.
"I don't even know your name? Why would I pretend not to know you if I did ? Why would I be scared? I promise you - I just don't know you?!"
“Jimin,” he says, hoping that will finally ring a bell because Jungkook screamed it until his voice was hoarse.
If that doesn’t work then - he’s gonna have to accept the fact that he’s the only one who found that night to be memorable. The possibility of that stings already, even if it was just a one-night-stand.
But with that being the only thing Jimin can draw his confidence from, failing in every other aspect of life, something deep inside him is already crumbling at the thought that he apparently sucks at giving his flings the times of their life too.
"Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi…"
That's a lie.
Nice isn't having your eyes glued to your ever-moving feet because you can't stand the idea of holding eye contact.
Nice isn't standing up after ten, fifteen more seconds to stop your legs from broadcasting your fragile mental health so openly.
Nice isn't rushing out of the room you have to call temporary home without a warning.
“Hey…”
Jimin tries to stop him but he’s too late, too perplexed to do anything about it.
He spends the next five minutes sitting on his bed, staring out of the window and trying to make sense of what just happened until he eventually gives up and decides it’s time to go for a smoke.
Too bad that his way out is right past the staff room and Jimin half-expects someone to stop him, force him to take that tour of the ward after all or shove some meds down his throat before he even saw a doctor, but what happens is even worse.
He sees Jungkook there, talking to one of the nurses, loud enough for some bits and pieces to travel through the corridor.
The scraps of their conversation contain a bunch of signal words that would have Jimin make the run for it - hallucinations, convinced he knows me, psychotic, unsafe - if it wasn’t for the fact that he simply has no chance to.
Once Jungkook announces that he’ll go on a quick walk and rushes past Jimin not deigning a look at him, two nurses do. They stand in the doorframe with their unwavering beaming smiles like they’re machines, stuck in a programme Jimin can’t decipher.
“Park Jimin-ssi, would you come here for a moment, please?”
There’s a short moment of considering not to follow what is not a question, but an order hidden behind a friendly face but he doesn’t want to get kicked out after not even an hour of being here, so he takes a few tentative steps towards them.
“What’s up?”
Kim Seokjin , that’s what the name tag on his chest reads, but Jimin shall save him under plump lips and gentle eyes. Next to him stands Kim Namjoon , in Jimin’s mind: toned pecs and dimples. In the end, they’re all the same: against him, judging by the loud sigh slipping over Kim Seokjin’s lips.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he answers scarcely, his brows raised and the expression on his face must say that he’s not up for having this conversation, not at all.
But Jungkook left him no other choice.
And maybe Jimin is mentally cursing him out right now, maybe he’s not fine, far from it, but they don’t need to know that. It will go straight into his file, which will fall into a therapist’s hands eventually, who will then pester him with a thousand questions and end up diagnosing him with some shit he doesn’t have.
Like hallucinations and psychosis.
Fucking Jeon Jungkook.
“I think you saw your roommate talk to us,” Namjoon starts to explain, his voice purposefully low, even though they’re alone. Every other patient seems to be out and about or crying themselves into a coma in their room. “And he told us you were acting unusual, telling him you know each other even though you don’t. Do you have a history with delusions?”
“No, I don’t.”
That’s not exactly true, delusions of grandeur are as much part of his manic episodes as his growing annoyance is part of the whole psych ward experience. But where do you draw the line?
He’s not paranoid, he doesn’t think he’s the reincarnation of Jesus Christ and didn’t try to bless Jungkook, he simply reacted how any other person would’ve.
Even healthy ones.
He’s not fucking psychotic.
“Did you want to get on his nerves, test the waters?”
Great, one out of the two nurses running the show this shift thinks he’s a walking asshole or an even bigger nutcase than he actually is. The other one - plump lips -, gives him a pitiful nod like he understands something unspoken but obvious.
“You might also be very stressed, trying to adjust to the new situation. You said you’re a regular but coming here won’t ever be something that’s done without an emotional reaction to it. You don’t have to deal with that on your own, we’re here. But it’s important that you don’t scare the other patients. Did you want to break the ice with Jeon Jungkook-ssi by pretending you know him?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Jimin says because they’re practically hand-feeding the excuse to him and insisting that he does know Jungkook would only make him look even more insane than he already does.
It would also mean outing Jungkook without his permission and believe it or not, he’s not the kind of asshole that would ever do that to somebody.
“What was it? Breaking the ice or testing the waters?” Namjoon presses, his scepticism apparent. “Because we don’t want troublemakers here, Park Jimin-ssi. If you feel like you’re heading towards impulsive and reckless behaviour because of your bipolar disorder, we need to know.”
Of course they don’t want troublemakers.
Open up, be yourself, but only as long as it doesn’t mean any inconveniences for us -- that is what they’re saying and Jimin can’t help but scoff a little.
He’s quick to cover it up with a deep inhale, though and then nods like he’s expected to.
“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck with him anymore.”
“That’s good. We’re trying to keep the atmosphere around here positive and as uplifting as it can possibly be, so we have rules in place. However, it’s a place to learn, so -- if you feel yourself slipping towards a very dark place or the opposite, please come to us.”
It’s too late for that, Jimin thinks. Dimples has made his point clear and although his expression softened quite a lot, Jimin is not foolish enough to fall for it. He’s–
“Do you need something?” Seokjin interrupts Jimin’s train of thought, looking over his shoulder into the staff room for a second. “Something to calm down, perhaps? If the stress is too much, there’s always the possibility for medication if need be. We also have specific teas, though, and we’ve heard great things about them.”
“No, thanks. I was actually about to go for a smoke, so…”
So he obviously just wants this conversation to be over. Seokjin might be playing nice right now, but as soon as Jimin does something that doesn’t sit right with him, he will be just as rude and unforgiving as everyone else. And that time will come.
He’s terribly on edge already, feeling his blood boil but he doesn’t want to force it down with meds and herbal tea is a joke. It would be like slapping a bandaid on a gaping wound and he might do that with drugs and alcohol sometimes but that’s not what he came here for.
“Okay, see you later then. I handed you the plan, don’t forget lunch is at 12.”
Yeah, yeah is what Jimin almost says but he nods instead, shoots them a half-smile and then he’s gone, leaving the building and lighting his cigarette all in the span of ten seconds, if not less.
He greedily sucks the smoke into his lungs and just stands there with his eyes closed and his head tilted back for a moment, trying and failing to calm down.
His heart is still pounding hard against his ribcage and his hand is shaking a little as he brings it to his mouth again, the cloud of smoke that he exhales clearing just in time that he can see a certain someone wander about on that little patch of green in front of the building aimlessly.
He’s headed towards the gate, wanting to go for a stroll at the nearby park maybe but Jimin won’t let him. He’s faster, stopping Jungkook with a hand on his shoulder, his voice somewhere between pissed and confused when he uses his free hand to take his cigarette out of his mouth and asks: “What the hell was that?”
Jungkook flinches.
No, his entire body jumps at the mere touch of Jimin’s hand on his shoulder. He is sure he swallowed enough of his frustration down for the gesture to be mellow, not forceful or potentially frightening but that is what Jungkook seems to be.
Scared, deadly so.
He takes a couple of steps forward, his head ducked and his shoulders raised, all details to make himself appear smaller, to disappear and hide away in broad daylight.
For seconds on end, excruciating silence surrounds them, only disrupted by the distant sound of cars and laughter from somewhere around the property.
Jimin just stands there, his mouth agape, every muscle in his body frozen, his hand still hovering in the air.
It could be seconds or minutes until he blinks himself out of that state because nobody ever reacted to his touch like that and it has him frozen with guilt and irritation at first.
“Sorry,” he mumbles eventually, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, it’s too late for that,” Jungkook scoffs with a voice so bitter there’s nothing left of the soft undertones from before, no nervousness that had his voice be airy, mostly breath.
Jungkook straightens his posture and rolls his shoulders once, twice, fighting against the tension that has to still linger deep inside his muscles from freezing up like that, recoiling into himself.
Although, Jimin can’t even find traces of terror in Jungkook’s eyes as he turns around, directly facing him. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t take the opportunity to look at their feet - his own ones just in black toe socks -, or at the light blue sky, or somewhere, anywhere other than Jimin.
“So, you had something important to say? Shoot.”
“Yeah, uhm,” Jimin starts, blinking at him, getting whiplash from the change of his whole demeanour. It gives him chills but there’s also anger bubbling under the surface and it festers in Jimin’s mind, feeding him nasty thoughts like why is he being so dramatic when he doesn’t seem to care in the next moment?
“Why the hell did you tell those nurses that I’m psychotic? I get that you’re - “ he draws air quotes - “ not gay and I covered for you but you can’t run around telling everybody I’m losing it just because…”
His voice trails out, the hard edges in Jungkook’s face making him falter, if only for a moment.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, why you’re so desperate to pretend you don’t know me but it has to stop.”
“Why? Because you are so desperate for me to know you?”
The response leaves Jimin gobsmacked for a moment, almost like a hard slap in the face would. There’s nothing left of the sweet boy who promised he’d do everything for him that night and maybe it was a bit naive to think that sober Jungkook would have the same soft eagerness about him but a complete 180 in personality?
Nobody could’ve seen that coming, not even upon knowing he’s a headcase just like him.
No, they’re different.
Jimin wouldn’t treat someone he got so intimate with that way.
He might give them the wrong number but he would never meet them with that cold stare, that complete and utter indifference in his eyes.
It’s cruel, almost, but instead of recoiling and leaving him alone, it only fuels Jimin’s anger.
“I’m not desperate, I just don’t want to end up getting locked away because you’re too much of a coward to admit that you do know me.”
There he is, still refusing to accept that Jungkook forgot all about him even if everything points to it right now.
“Listen. I do not know you and your insisting that I do will not change anything about that.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.
“Fucking hell, my face is probably similar to a million guys in Seoul, you can literally pick and choose. I’m not responsible for you getting locked up if you’re dead-set on knowing a stranger and having him acknowledge your existence. What kind of bullshit is that? If you keep on being a creep, I’ll continue to react.”
“I’m not a fucking creep! What exactly are you trying to make me believe here? That you have a freaking doppelganger out there who has moles and acne scars at the exact same places as you?” Jimin asks, having trouble keeping his voice down.
It’s shaking with anger at this point, as are his hands, balled into fists, the cigarette dropped to the ground and slowly burning out at his feet.
“Do you always keep track of identifying marks on someone’s body and is that something you don’t consider creepy?” Jungkook asks nonchalantly as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Because I certainly do.”
“Not as creepy as asking somebody to be your boyfriend after a freaking one-night-stand,” Jimin snaps back at him, “so I guess we’re even.”
Jungkook narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side in both anger and scepticism.
His demeanour is as challenging as it is annoyed, everything Jimin does and says obviously rubbing him the wrong way. Jungkook clenches his jaw and after a bit, exhales sharply through his nose.
“Oh of course,” he sneers, his smile bitter, snarky and - not even directed at Jimin. Jungkook stares up at the sky and shakes his head yet again, taking his sweet time before he continues their conversation and looks back at Jimin. “So what did we do?”
“I literally just told you,” Jimin says, annoyed confusion straining his voice.
“So you fucked me.”
Oddly enough, that sounds more like a question than a statement.
“No,” Jimin starts but then loses his conviction, even if it’s still fueled by anger. “Well, I guess depends on what you consider fucking but we didn’t… go all the way. You told me that you don’t want that, but we did virtually anything else.”
“Virtually anything else? You were all cocky and ready to pick a fight a second ago but now you can’t go into detail anymore?”
“Do you really want me to, out here?” Jimin asks, still a little taken aback by Jungkook’s newfound confidence when he couldn’t even say the word dick in the privacy of their room.
A look over his shoulder proves that nobody is around, though, the next group of patients who came outside to smoke not within hearing distance, but Jimin still keeps his voice down, just to be sure.
“Fine, if you insist. I tied you to my bed, spanked your thighs, dripped hot wax all over your body, put a cigarette out on your tongue, fucked your mouth, edged you until you cried and fed your come to you,” he lists all cut and dry, as if those are items on a grocery shopping list, not a night full of kinkiest shit he’s been up to in a long time.
“And all of that sober or drunk?” Jungkook simply asks, as unimpressed as Jimin. However, that somehow cuts even deeper than his adamant attempts from before.
Like this, it seems like the idea leaves Jungkook entirely cold.
“I guess you know you shouldn’t do any of that even tipsy,” he adds, miming sex ed teachers all of a sudden before he reaches for something on the ground.
It’s Jimin’s dead cigarette, half-burnt and cold.
“Fire?” Jungkook asks but doesn’t wait for Jimin to react. He hooks his fingers into the pocket of Jimin’s pants and pulls him one step closer so it’s easier for him to reach inside and grab the lighter. It happens in a matter of a couple of seconds, Jungkook being all up in his personal space and stepping out of it again, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag.
“Would’ve given you a new one if you just asked,” Jimin mumbles all perplexed and a little pressed, the sudden closeness making his breath hitch for a second.
He fumbles with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, gets one out and holds his hand out for Jungkook to give him his lighter back.
“I didn’t even know you smoke. You always said no that night when I offered.”
“Answer my question,” Jungkook says instead, holding the cigarette he picked up out for Jimin, his hand positioned so the filter is almost pressing against his lips.
“Drunk,” Jimin mumbles as he leans forward slowly and takes a long drag, making sure he doesn’t exhale the smoke in Jungkook’s face. It feels strangely intimate but in a way that is so different from the night they spent together that Jimin’s brain has trouble following up and gives him weird chills that run all the way down his spine and back up again.
It’s the creepiness of Jungkook’s duality that makes him feel this way, he tells himself, even when his gaze gets stuck on Jungkook’s lips for a second.
“But you practically begged me to,” Jimin adds his weak excuse that he only makes to soothe his guilty conscience.
The fact that the guy in front of him has nothing in common with the guy he fucked is not exactly helping in telling himself that Jungkook wasn’t too drunk to consent.
“Doesn’t matter. I bet the whole begging went straight between your legs but usually, thinking with your dick isn’t the way to go about things,” Jungkook scoffs and takes the cigarette away from Jimin to inhale himself, just to repeat the gesture from before: giving Jimin the chance to do so as well, practically sharing like there’s nothing to it.
“It is when you’re drunk and manic and lonely and there’s a pretty boy who’s like take me home, you can do everything you want to me ,” Jimin mumbles and closes his lips around the filter, somehow unable to keep up the eye contact while he does.
Maybe opening up to this version of Jungkook is a bad idea, but it’s not like he’s got anything to lose and they’re going to talk about all the ugly sides of their illnesses in group therapy anyway.
“Right, who could say no to that,” Jungkook chuckles bitterly, still talking about what he did in a way that’s distant, something from a fictitious tale. Jimin feels his intense gaze on him throughout it all, Jungkook’s eyes don’t dart away for even a second. “Is that why you’re here? You’re bipolar?”
“Well, technically I’m here because I got kicked out of my place and I got nowhere else to go, but yeah… that’s the official reason,” Jimin rambles, not knowing why he’s suddenly so talkative, so eager to share everything about his life with someone who makes every effort to make it seem like they’re total strangers.
It’s not a good sign, but if Jimin gave a fuck about warning signs, he wouldn’t be here now.
“So you’re no good news in every imaginable way possible.”
“Yeah… I guess so.”
He tries to hide his insecurity behind a crooked smile, doing what he always does when people call him out on his failures, his reckless behaviour, on being a total mess - using it as a shield rather than admitting that something in his life, all things in his life, are going terribly wrong.
Jungkook reciprocates it, his own smile a mixture of tight and inviting whereas his voice goes along with the latter, weirdly soft for what he’s about to say:
“I want you to keep your distance as much as that is possible, do you understand that? No begging in the world should make you fold and put a cigarette out on my tongue again.”
Now Jungkook tears his gaze away to stare at the stub in his hand, the glow almost out but still burning hot enough for Jimin to feel it radiate against his lips as Jungkook points it there, perhaps an inch away, not more.
“Because I don’t want to have to act to make you listen and learn. Okay?”
Jimin opens his mouth to say something like what the fuck, are you threatening me? but out comes a quiet “ okay ” because Jungkook obviously is threatening him and some part of Jimin is impressed rather than angry.
Some part of him even likes it in that twisted, fucked up way that gives him chills again.
He doesn’t show it, though, only allowing his eyes to go half-lidded for a split second, because It wouldn’t sit right with Jungkook, that much is clear.
He’s not playing around, not trying to activate Jimin’s horny caveman brain but telling him to shut it down for good when he’s around him. But the fact that Jungkook is nothing short of stunning so close up, even with a whole new, dangerous expression on his face, is not helping.
“You’re hopeless,” Jungkook chuckles and turns his hand, “go on, take the last drag.”
And Jimin does, his lips brushing over Jungkook’s fingertips for a fleeting moment and he can’t say if it’s an accident or not. But even so, it proves Jungkook right.
He’s hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless when it comes to reigning his sexual energy in, can’t get the images out of his mind, even if they take an entirely different form than what they had that night now.
It’s not like he minds, Jimin has always been open for everything as long as it gives him a thrill, it’s just new that he’s so pathetically obvious about it, so gone for someone who literally just told him he doesn’t want him.
“I mean it.”
And it’s not like Jimin actively decides not to listen to Jungkook, the message behind his words is clear and it echoes somewhere in his brain, although the space between his ears feels empty if he’s honest. The reason for that is Jungkook’s actions, the way he reaches for Jimin’s wrist and wraps his fingers around it.
He expects Jungkook’s skin to be warm and sweaty from nervousness, from the tension hanging in the air, but it’s cold, almost comfortably so.
Jungkook turns Jimin’s hand so his palm is facing upwards and brings the cigarette end close to his skin, a reserved smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t be trouble.”
With that, he flicks the cigarette away and turns around to walk to the park.