Jikook ao3

three strikes, you're out

Summary:

jimin should've never left his house after midnight. not when there's danger waiting for him at every corner. he realizes that a little too late.
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The night is cold. A lot colder than Jimin had expected.

He regrets his decision of wearing shorts as soon as he leaves his apartment, but he was just so hot. His AC broke down right as he went to turn it on, the scalding heat of a July afternoon turning his skin sticky. He barely survived the day, with no one available to come fix it sooner than next week, trying to cool off his body with cold showers and ice cream. But the inevitable happened - he ran out. And Jimin was nothing if not stubborn. He writhed in his bed for a long time, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat and hot to the touch, until he couldn't take it anymore. All he could think about was his favorite red bean ice cream and how badly he wanted it. So, in the spur of the moment, he got out of bed and was out the door as soon as he slid his shoes on.

What he didn't take into consideration is how chilly it could get at night. The wind bites at his exposed legs and makes him wrap his arms around his torso in some form of self-protection, walking faster to reach the convenience store down the street. At least the short walk alleviates his burning skin and he sighs in relief at the feeling.

The store is relatively quiet, only a bubblegum kpop song circling around through the speakers. Jimin looks around. He seems to be the only one on a late-night hunt for snacks to quell his cravings. With a short bow in the cashier's direction, he makes his way to the back of the store, already knowing exactly what he's looking for.

As soon as he reaches the fridge section, his skin prickles with goosebumps, running his hands up and down his arms in a pitiful attempt at warming himself up. He should've definitely thrown a hoodie on. Behind his back, he can hear the bell chime as someone else enters the store, but he's too focused on looking through the fridge to turn around.

Strike number one.

He bends forward, trying to find the ice cream he's craving, but it just won't seem to catch his eye. All Jimin can think about is how upset he's going to be if he doesn't find it. His bottom lip juts out in disappointment, eyebrows furrowing together. Just like a little duckling, as his mother would say. He wants that ice cream so badly.

Raising on his tippy toes to look further back, he gasps softly in triumph. Samanco. He found it. With a wide smile pulling at his lips, he opens the door to the fridge and bends down to pick out the fish shaped ice cream, content with his finding. He can finally go back home.

Turning around, he tries to dash quickly for the front register, eager to eat his dessert on the way home, but he fails to realize there was someone already standing close behind him. In his clumsiness, Jimin crashes into another body, small hands raising up to steady himself against a strong chest, a meek yelp escaping through his lips. He thinks he somehow also manages to step on the stranger's shoes. He looks up with wide eyes.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but it surely wasn't to be completely towered over by the person in front of him. His head has to tilt back in order to meet their eyes. And when they do, a huge lump suddenly forges its way up Jimin's throat, instantly taking his breath away. He's never really been one to acknowledge strangers, especially not dangerous looking ones. His mother always warned him, said that pretty and delicate boys like him should be careful. There are so many bad people out there that would love nothing more than to hurt him. He thinks he might be staring in the face of danger right now, and yet he can't seem to look away.

The first thing he sees is big doe like eyes looking down at him, their beauty truly misleading, holding a certain roughness. They look as if they're scrutinizing Jimin. He trails down the slope of the stranger's nose, to a pair of heart shaped lips, that to his utter shame, he lingers on for a little too long, eyes locked onto a shiny lip ring. He lowers his gaze only to look at where his hands are resting on top of a hard and sturdy chest. There's a pair of arms on his sides, fingertips digging into his hips to help steady him. The contrast between their arms makes Jimin's head spin for a second. They look strong, so much stronger than his, covered from knuckle to shoulder in dark ink, contrasting beautifully against pale skin.