HELLO, DARLING | JIKOOK ✔

04 || I HAVE YOU ON YOUR KNEES

The moment Jimin's eyes open, he's struck with the unbearable pain in his stomach. To make matters worse, he passed out on the floor and evidently didn't get any help from Daeshim. By the looks of it, he didn't even come home. Jimin's body is impossibly stiff, protesting against each minimal jostle it takes to sit up against the couch. His eyes wander the floor and he spots his phone as well as the bloodied knife.

It has never been this bad before. Jimin has never been immobilized by one of Daeshim's beatings. He's just thankful that he didn't press further when it came to the knife. Otherwise the circumstances could have definitely been worse.

Jimin realizes that after his orgasm, he still hadn't taken a shower. He's sitting in his soiled garments, feeling filthy. His finger is still split open and remnants of dry blood stick to the outline of it. He's incredibly pale and understands why. He hasn't necessarily been eating, save for the single piece of fruit he had yesterday. Other than that, it's been... blood.

He whimpers quietly while standing to his feet. Jimin reaches for his phone and wanders to the bedroom, searching for a fresh pair of clothes. He settles on a pair of sweats and a baggy hoodie, as well as a new pair of underwear. Jimin ambles to the main bathroom, locking the door behind him. He falls into the wall softly and tilts his head back with his eyes fluttered closed. He avoids the mirror at all costs because he knows that he won't be able to stomach the reflection.

The tile feels extremely cold against his bare feet. He's trembling while latching onto the sink. Jimin brings his underwear down with his pants, stepping out of them as they pool on the floor. There are bruises littering the pliant whites of his thighs and he chokes up because of this. He absolutely despises feeling weak and vulnerable. Those aren't his true colors. They never were when he was in high school. But they were implemented into his very core halfway through his and Daeshim's relationship. It's in this case that Jimin doesn't find art to be pretty at all because he's absolutely sick and tired of being his boyfriend's canvas.

He'd love to be painted in hues of blue and tints of purple, but mind you in a totally different way. Jimin despairs for lips and teeth against his skin. He wants nothing more than to be catered to by molten gusts of breath and a slick tongue. He can imagine it so vividly in his head, and perhaps with a specific person in mind. Yet it's so far from grasp that it almost seems unrealistic to be dreaming as such.

Jimin shakes his head, exhaling. He prepares himself for the most arduous part of the undressing process and lifts his shirt off of his body, whimpering. He drops the article to the tile floor and conjures up just enough restraint as to keep the tears from spilling. His face is red enough. He certainly doesn't need to add onto it.

He then steps into the shower, pulling the curtain closed. The water turns on and cool water emits from the showerhead, raining down on his taxed body. It hurts and yet just the same, he can locate some form of mitigation as the spurts lodge between his aching muscles, splashing against his shoulders and back.

Jimin's head falls. His arms are outstretched and his hands are flattened along the wall of the shower. He hones in on his breathing, attempting to shallow the sporadic tendencies of his heart. He can hear his phone ringing but he blocks it out and instead focuses on himself. His eyes shift beneath his lids in careful concentration. The main purpose behind his bone-chilling showers are to distract himself from Daeshim and to numb the pain. He doesn't want to think about their next interaction and what it will entail.

The ravenette proceeds to clean his body carefully. He reaches up to scrub his hair and that's when the pain is most punctual. He toughens through it and breathes evenly right up until the point he's done his shower. Jimin turns it off and steps out, wrapping his towel around his waist. He dresses himself slowly but remains in the bathroom. He stares at his blurred reflection in the mirror, simply because his face is distorted. He glances at his phone and decides to pick it up, wondering who tried getting ahold of him while he was in the shower. The notification reads Unknown Number.