Smoke Me.

Chapter 40: Foot in the mouth

AN: This chapter is from Namjoon's perspective. And the next four will be as well.

'Bambi. He makes me think of a pink-haired Bambi.'

"Don't you like exercising at all?" Jimin asked.

"I like jogging and lifting heavy stuff. But dancing? Not my style."
"Did you take it seriously? Like the one time you've tried it?"
"Jimin...To begin with, dancing's not supposed to be an exercise." I sighed with exhaustion. His big pleading eyes did not help me say the swear words that I've been thinking for the past ten minutes. Thoughts got louder when he pulled me off the bed by the hand and started spinning me around.

I was getting real close to making a happy Bambi trip.

"See? It's fun? Isn't it?"
"Fun..." I mumbled. Eyeing the exposed skin through the half-open black and white striped shirt.

He kept moving my arms up and down, making me dizzy by turning us to the door and then back to the desk. And then he kept moving around until I was straight out nauseous. And despite my strong stomach, I freed my hands, took the necessary three steps, fell on my knees, and vomited in his university-provided trashcan since it was nearer.

"Oh! I'm so sorry. Are you ok?" He was rubbing my back one minute later. Sounding all worried and sweet. "Do you have motion sickness, or..." But the rest of the question died on his tongue.

The hand that's been touching my shirt was now likely soaked from the cold sweat.

He got up and got me water.

I was shaking, head spinning, holding onto the trash can for dear life.

Wondering how Jungkook must've been feeling right now.

"Do you want me to bring some ice or I don't know, medicine?"
"You know that won't help."
"I don't know what you're...."
I cut him off roughly, snatching the water bottle from his hand, frowning.

"You fucking know that won't help."
"Oh. How many days are you...."
"I'll be fine. I'll heal. I heal quickly. Not worried about myself."

I kept my head above the trash can and stared at the clear liquid that came out of me for one second before my stomach didn't agree to that visual.
"Then are you worried about someone else?"
When I didn't answer and kept still for at least five more minutes, shaking and wishing I could jump out the window, he helped me lay down. And hesitated in taking off my sweat-stained T-shirt.

"May I..."
"Go ahead."

The faded scars I got from stabs and beatings had him open his eyes wider. Scars that Jungkook's never asked about. But that now seemed to have Jimin's hands trembling. The cheery music playing in the background seemed even more out of place than before.

"They don't hurt anymore. Not one's recent. I think."

"Good to know. Raise your arms? If you may."
He changed my clothes four times during that night. Got me to drink too much water. And went as far as to massage my aching muscles.

He was an angel.

So, I hated him.

Since I was once again, indebted to a junkie.

Like there was some sick joke being played on me by the universe.

Jungkook was sick too. But thank the devil, that V was there to help him get better.

"Shit." I vomited all the stomach acid in my trash can which woke Jimin up three nights in a row. Just in time to get him to help me crawl my way to the communal bathroom.