Jimin had one goal and one plan he has followed for the past few years of his life without letting anything disturb it.
Meeting Yoongi wasn't part of the plan.
Falling in love with Yoongi wasn't part of the plan either,
...especially when he turned...
hello dear friends, this chapter might contain a couple of triggering scenes for some of you, as one of the main characters will face abuse, it is not too explicit, but there are descriptive scenes of violence, please proceed with caution, or you might just want to skip over them
have fun reading!
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Jimin's pov
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Jimin tried to pry his eyes open but his eyelids weighed way too much, it had become a difficult mission for him to do so. Struggling to discern whether he was daydreaming or getting back to his reality, an unknown feeling of anxiety started to crawl on his skin.
He kept on trying, pushing his body and mind to his limits, he had to get up, he didn't remember why, but it was of utmost importance for him to be awake and in an alert state.
He blinked a couple of times, but it was still dark, way too dark. Was he going blind? Was he still dreaming?
For a moment he felt panic clenching his gut, but then, slowly, he managed to come back to his senses, and it started making a bit more sense. His vision was just fine but rather the room he was in was so dark, that it hardly made a difference.
Simply opening his eyes a couple of times didn't completely help him regain consciousness completely. No, the opposite actually, Jimin was still feeling like floating, wishing he was daydreaming, mind fuzzy and confused beyond limits.
Where was he?
But then he started feeling. Pain.
It was uncomfortable, and with each passing second it became more and more obvious, his body screaming at him. Something was wrong, way too wrong for him to be that relaxed.
The position he was in was entirely uncomfortable; his legs felt weak and wobbly, his arms were stiff, and his body as a whole was fighting an agonizing fight with itself with aching bones and bruised skin. At some point, he started moving his hands, slowly, with a lot of effort, but everything hurt. Each time he touched his skin, it burned.
On top of that, the air around him reeked of a strong and unsettling smell.
Too sinister to be in a dream. Iron, which could have meant one thing only.
Blood.
He tried to move his body again and realized he was not cuffed or tied up, he was free to move, but he was skeptical about doing so. His vicinity was obscure, he didn't know what or where to touch. He decided to take it slow and safe, by just standing up. He mused that couldn't harm him, but as soon as he stood up, he felt blood rushing speedily to his ears and landed back on his knees and hands with a dizzy head.
