CIGARETTES AND TULIPS // jikook

23 - trapped

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after jungkook walked away, the air around jimin thickened, like the very atmosphere was pressing against his chest, suffocating him. 

he didn't know how long he stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, staring after jungkook's retreating figure. the world moved on around him—people laughing, cars honking, the sun still high—but none of it seemed real. it felt like he was trapped behind a thick pane of glass, watching a version of his life he didn't recognize. 

this wasn't supposed to happen. he wasn't supposed to hurt jungkook. but he had, and the image of jungkook's broken face, the way his eyes had darkened with betrayal, played on a loop in his mind. 

he wasn't sure how he ended up with his phone in his hand, or how dean's name flashed across the screen. the sound of the ringtone seemed distant, muffled, like it was happening in a dream. his thumb slid over the screen, answering the call without any real thought, just an automatic response, like his body moved on its own, disconnected from his mind. 

dean's voice was on the other end, warm, concerned. jimin couldn't focus on the words. all he heard was noise, a dull hum of sound, but it was enough to keep him moving. 

somehow, he found himself in dean's car, the city blurring past the window, lights streaking like smeared paint. his body felt too heavy for him to hold up, like gravity was pulling him deeper into the seat, into the earth itself. he didn't even know how he got here. 

was this real? 

was any of this real?

when they reached dean's apartment, it was as though he were being led by invisible strings, his limbs moving without purpose or resistance. dean opened the door, guided him inside, and jimin followed, his eyes half-closed, everything around him feeling muted, distant. 

the couch was soft under him, too soft, like he might sink into it and disappear. dean sat beside him, his arm slipping around jimin's shoulders, pulling him closer, and jimin could feel the heat of his skin, the warmth of his breath, but it felt like nothing. he felt nothing. his mind was elsewhere, floating in some dark space where the past and present collided in a tangle of blurred memories.

they were watching a movie, but the images on the screen didn't make sense. he could hear the dialogue, the bursts of laughter, but none of it registered. he wasn't part of this scene. he wasn't part of any scene. he was just an observer, watching himself from some corner of the room, like a camera zooming in and out, catching glimpses of his body, his face, but never fully connecting with it. the sensation of dean's fingers on his arm, the way they trailed down to his waist, should have made him shiver, should have made him panic, but instead he felt cold. 

frozen. 

like he was turning to stone under dean's touch. 

"i ordered food for us," dean said, his voice soft, trying to break through jimin's trance. "you must be starving." 

jimin's stomach was twisted, knotted in on itself, like it was being squeezed by invisible hands. he wasn't hungry. he wasn't anything. dean pulled him closer, his arms wrapping tighter around jimin's waist. 

"i could wait forever for you, you know," dean murmured, his voice a low hum in jimin's ear. "i don't care about sex. i just want to be with you. that's all that matters to me." 

jimin didn't respond. 

his eyes were glued to dean's hands—those hands that held him, that pressed against his skin. they were large, strong, the nails trimmed short. he stared at them, unblinking, feeling the weight of their history, of what those hands had done to him. the room seemed to spin, the wine in his stomach churning as the memories crept in, slow and heavy. 

the scars on his hips throbbed, a dull ache under dean's touch, but he didn't flinch. he didn't move. he just let it happen, let the weight of it sink into him, let it bury him deeper into the couch, into himself.

he was drunk now, the wine blurring the edges of everything, making the world seem even more distant, more unreal. dean's voice was a distant hum, his touch a weight jimin couldn't shake off. he could feel his organs twisting, his insides burning with a quiet panic, but on the outside, he remained still, unmoving, like a statue. he wanted to scream, to push dean away, to run as far as he could, but he couldn't. 

his body didn't belong to him anymore. it was just a shell, hollowed out, worn down by the weight of everything he had been through. 

"you're so tense," dean whispered, his hand sliding down jimin's back, resting on his hip. 

the pressure there was too much, too familiar, too wrong. jimin's mind flashed back to those other times, those other hands, those other nights. it felt like his skin was on fire, but he didn't move. he didn't say anything. he just let dean hold him, let dean's fingers trace over the scars on his hips, let it all happen, like he wasn't even there anymore.

he stared blankly at the screen, the movie a meaningless blur of colors and sounds, as dean's hand tightened around him. his gaze fell to the wine glass in his hand, the liquid sloshing slightly as his fingers trembled. maybe if he drank more, he could disappear completely, fade into the numbness, drown in it. 

he brought the glass to his lips, the bitter taste of the wine hitting his tongue, but it didn't make him feel better. it didn't make him feel anything at all.

he wanted to be torn apart. 

to unravel, to break into pieces so small no one could ever put him back together. because that's what he was now. broken. ruined. 

jungkook didn't deserve someone like him, someone so dirty, so used, so far beyond saving. he deserved someone pure, someone who hadn't been touched, who hadn't been shattered by the weight of the world. 

"i don't deserve him," jimin whispered, barely audible, his words slurring together. but dean didn't hear him. or if he did, he didn't care. 

dean's hands were still on him, still holding him, still keeping him there, trapped in this horrible, empty space. the room spun again, and jimin closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear. wishing he could stop existing. wishing he could just let go of everything, and fall into the darkness that seemed to be pulling him down, deeper and deeper, until there was nothing left of him at all.

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