Jimin doesn't feel much as he watches the casket containing his father's body lower into the ground. The rain pattering on his umbrella sounds like static. Like he's watching the scene through a fuzzy television set, and it isn't actually happening to him. The sudden, rapid decline of his father's health and the subsequent cardiac arrest that killed him don't feel real. They haven't caught up to him emotionally yet. Jimin thought they'd have more time.
But fate is capricious.
His father's passing hasn't attracted a large turnout. A few close friends that he only remembers from card nights, and their mates. His father's boss and a few employees from the company. Jimin's aunt talked about flying from Texas with her alpha and two kids, but he never heard back from her and they haven't shown up. But that suits Jimin fine. He can only accept so many condolences and nod so much. In all honesty, he stopped processing anything after getting the call from the hospital.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Park, but I'm afraid your father has passed away."
With his mother in her own state of deterioration, all of the funeral arrangements were left to him. Jimin needed a minute, needed a minute just to breathe, but dead bodies could only wait so long. He slogged his way through the mess of things that realistically should've been taken care of before his father's death on his own. Buying a plot in the cemetery, buying a casket, buying a headstone, arranging a funeral and memorial service. Now that Jimin is finally here, finally checked all of the boxes to get his father into the ground, he feels like the emotions should release in a torrent.
But they don't. He doesn't feel anything.
Jimin isn't really paying attention when the minister closes his bible. No one in his family is particularly religious, but there was something comforting in the idea of leaving the memorial service in the hands of people who regarded the concept of death with reverence. They didn't ask for a list of sins, and Jimin kept quiet about them. For once, he allowed his father the luxury of being treated like normal, respectable citizen.
When the funeral is over, he leaves. He feels a little like he should stay and help the men starting to shovel dirt back onto the coffin, because it seems horribly selfish to leave all the work to them, but he remembers that he's supposed to be in mourning and they probably won't let him. He's going to leave, but a pair of men stop him. He recognizes them as the two who arrived late; he hadn't thought much of it, at the time. He can't catch their scents in the rain, and their faces aren't familiar. But they're perfectly coiffed, wearing crisp black suits, and that's all Jimin really needs to know.
"Park Jimin?" the one wearing a pair of black-framed glasses asks, extending a hand. When he smiles, a pair of dimples sink into his cheeks like craters. Jimin finds it disarming and, although hesitant, shakes his hand.
"Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"
"My name is Kim Namjoon. I'm with Black Rabbit Casino."
The bottom falls out of Jimin's stomach. He wheezes like he's been kicked in the gut, grinding the heel of his hand against his eyes. "You guys are quick," he says. "Bastard isn't even buried yet."
"We've been in contact with your father for some time now about his debt," Kim Namjoon says, like this isn't the first time he's had to do this. That pretty smile masks a machine. "As you are his sole beneficiary—"
What Jimin barks out isn't exactly a laugh, but it's close enough. "What benefits?"
Namjoon remains unfazed. "I understand your mother is... institutionalized."
"Keep my mother out of your fucking mouth," Jimin snarls, hackles raising. "You can say whatever the hell you want about my father, but don't you dare mention her. This is between you and me, and you fucking know it."
