Don't Call Me Angel || VMIN

είκοσι δύο

TW// gun violence

Distant buzzing filled Jimin's head, making him feel fuzzy and groggy so that the pain along his jaw seemed far off. Although the straps around his wrists and shins had been removed shortly after Yongsun had left, he hadn't moved, remaining curled up in the chair for what must have been hours. To the dancer, whose concept of time had vanished the minute that scratchy bag smothered him, it felt a thousand times longer and if someone asked him, he would have been adamant that at least three days had passed. That was if they could get him to talk.

He was currently wondering whether he had worn out his voice to the point where he could no longer use it. His father had drawn out their meeting and subjected him to a few more choice cruelties, prolonging the pain he was causing him. Nearing the end of the other's departure, the smaller had simply stopped reacting. His screams and sobs had ceased as though snatched from his throat and he hadn't argued or protested any further, knowing that, despite how much he begged and pleaded, nothing was going to put a stop to it.

An eerie silence had surrounded him ever since he had been left alone, the thoughts rioting in his mind loud enough without him needing to make more noise. Who knew one's own head could get that loud? His hands were clamped over his ears, his eyes were squeezed tight shut, and his knees were tucked into his torso so that he resembled a frightened child. Truth be told, that's all he currently was, a scared boy, one barely free of his teenage years, wanting nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare to find himself cosied up in his bed.

Increasing the pressure on his ears, Jimin squinted at the mirror, taking note of the trembling figure in his reflection. He hadn't realised he was shaking so much and the longer he stared, the harder he shook, until he had to grip onto the armrests for support. Someone had to be watching him, he was certain his father would have one of his henchmen surveying him every hour around the clock, and he shrank back from the viewing panel. Like that was going to help, he mocked scathingly.

At some point, whilst he was in his semi-catatonic state, a bed had been brought in, complete with a set of matching pillows and blankets. It looked like it was straight out of a magazine's furniture catalogue, one that certainly shouldn't be anywhere near this place. Now that the ravenette acknowledged it, a new wave of shivers spread through him, haunted images flashing before his eyes. They were so vivid, all of the groping hands and wandering fingers, that he wiped his palms across his face in a futile attempt to clear them. His skin crawled and he wished he could do something to end his mental agony.

Nothing was working, no distraction was strong enough to carry them off. Nothing, that was, except the grinding of the metal door swinging open.

Cowering back as the familiar outline of Jackson filled the doorway, Jimin actually hoisted himself out of the seat and hurried away from the advancing figure. It was funny how he was finally able to move when faced with the prospect of being near that man. The locks clicked shut, eliminating any hope of an escape he had, and he watched the elder drop onto the mattress, resting his arms behind him for support. That couldn't mean anything good.

The dancer's heels collided with the plaster of the wall behind him and he lowered himself into the corner, prying and pushing against the floor to put as much distance between them as he could. It was almost like he had conjured the other into existence when those memories had resurfaced, complete with his mess of silver hair and lustful smirk. The ravenette could sense the desire in his gaze and he hoped that whatever the elder had been sent down to do wouldn't require any contact. Judging by the heat in his eyes and his lazy posture on the bed, it wasn't looking promising.

However, no such advance was made in the minutes that followed and Jimin was starting to believe he had been sent here to torment him with his presence alone. So, there would be no need to move any closer, right? It definitely seemed that way until Jackson stood up, making a cold sweat break across the younger's forehead. Taking his time with each step, the gap between them slowly dwindled to a mere few inches and the other crouched down in front of his trembling frame.