Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven..
Found the devil in me
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Jeon Jungkook goes on a search to find his boyfriend after the police proved no use.
What was expected to be a silly search wi...
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It’s Jimin – the same Jimin who Jungkook fired a couple of years ago, in person. Jimin, his former right hand man. Jimin, who broke down and cried when he received the news of his termination.
“Hosoek told me you’d checked in,” he admits before Jungkook can say anything. “I… assume you’d like a token?”
“A – a what?”
“A token. For the washing machine.”
“Oh,” Jungkook replies stupidly. “Right.”
“Would you like one for the dryer as well?”
“Uh, sure… Thanks.”
Jimin hands him his key card along with what looks like two plastic coins. Jungkook closes his clammy fist around them, his laundry bag curled up in the crook of his elbow.
“We only offer a standard program of roughly forty-five minutes, so no mud or dirt or tough stains,” Jimin explains and nods towards the machines at the far end of the room, treating him like any regular guest. “You’ll find washing powder and fabric softener over there,” he adds and gestures at a shelf in the corner. “Feel free to ask if you encounter any problems.”
“Don’t apologize,” Jimin interrupts him quickly. “You did what you felt was necessary – okay? We’re all just doing our jobs.”
Jimin was always full of empathy. Back when they used to work together, he was the expressive one, the one who was easy to read. It was one of the things about him that Jungkook appreciated the most. The Jimin standing in front of him now is different. His face is drawn tight and closed off, covered by a determined mask of distance and professionalism. It’s obviously a rejection; he could just as well have pushed him away.
Jungkook accepts it with a quiet nod. He can’t force Jimin to talk if he’s not willing; he doesn’t want to force him. It’s understandable, anyway. Nobody wants to have a conversation with the guy who fired them.
He heads to a washing machine in the corner, shoves all of his laundry into the tub, haphazardly adds some washing powder, and spends a moment figuring out how the system works before it agrees with him. It might turn out to be the longest forty-five minutes of his life but he keeps his back turned on the awkward silence and decides to wait it out, busying himself with his phone instead.
He seeks out Taehyung's photo again, a nervous yet comforting habit, but his smiling face only shows up for a second before his phone goes dark. The dead battery logo flashes, even though he’s certain the battery was over 80 percent. He frowns at his own confused reflection on the screen and realizes that someone is standing next to him – but it’s not Jimin.
Whoever it is they’re uncomfortably close. Jungkook's first reaction is to look up but he can’t. His head is locked in place, as if someone is pushing him down, forcing him to double over; he can almost feel the weight on the back of his neck. From this angle he can only see the glare of the fluorescent lights on the linoleum floor and the soapy bottom half of the laundry machine, his clothes sweeping in and out of view.
There’s movement in the corner of his eye. He stiffly moves his gaze to his left and sees a pair of bare feet. They’re filthy, like they’ve been dragged through mud. The hem of a long, white dress also floats into view, ragged and torn – followed by hair. Long, pitch-black hair nearly blocks everything out. It’s tangled and dirty and close, practically hovering over him.
The person begins to speak, directly into Jungkook's ear. The voice is no more than an unsettling whisper but it fills his head with a string of nonsensical words.
“Ignore her.”
He startles at the sudden interruption.
“Don’t acknowledge her in any way,” Jimin instructs him. “She’ll leave eventually. Sorry about the inconvenience,” he mutters in an afterthought, like he’s casually addressing an issue with the washing machine. “This one’s a regular here.”
Jungkook folds his hands tensely around his phone, his skin stretched tight and white around his knuckles. He’s trying not to listen but at the same time he can’t help but try to decipher what the apparition is telling him. The whispering is so obsessive, rabid, and intense that it’s hard to ignore. If he has to listen for a second longer he’ll go insane, he’s sure of it.
“I can’t help you,” he blurts out, desperate to make it stop.
“Hey –” Jimin hisses nervously. “I told you –”
“I don’t know what you want but I can’t help you.”
The frantic whispering stops abruptly, retreats from his ear.
“Whatever you’re looking for is not here, okay? Please leave.”
For a few seconds the atmosphere in the room turns heavy, oppressive. Jungkook's phone flickers to life again and the weight on his neck lifts, leaving him light and slightly off-balance. He cautiously squints to the side and finds the spot empty.
