Aboard the Black Swan | P.JM |

Coins and Confessions

Y/N POV

The walk to Jimin's hut was a slow, silent, and painful process. He leaned on me heavily, each step a visible effort that sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over me. My bandaged palm throbbed in protest, but the pain was ignored since my focus was elsewhere.

Pushing the door open, and a familiar scent enveloped us—the scent of sea, salt, leather and something uniquely Jimin.

"Let me help you change your bandage," I said softly, once I'd helped him sit on the edge of his bed. He didn't argue, just gave a tight, weary nod. A faint flush crept up his neck as he slowly, stiffly, began to unbutton his shirt. I turned my back, giving him a sliver of privacy, my own face heating. The soft rustle of fabric filled the quiet room. When I turned around, he was sitting with his back to me, the shirt pooled at his waist. The sight earned a gasp from me. The clotting was a violent, ugly splash of purple and blue against his skin, the wound itself an angry, sutured line.

I focused on my task, my clumsy, bandaged fingers working to unwind the soiled linen. The air grew thick, charged with a new, unspoken tension. My breath hitched as my fingers accidentally brushed the warm, unmarred skin of his side. He flinched, not in pain, but at the contact, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth. My own heart stuttered in response. I was hyper-aware of his proximity, the scent of him, the trust it took for him to sit there, vulnerable, letting me tend to him after everything.

I was just dabbing a clean cloth in antiseptic when a soft knock sounded at the door. It opened without waiting for an answer, and Captain RM stepped inside. He froze on the threshold. His sharp dragon's eyes took in the intimate scene in one swift, comprehensive glance. A look of surprise, followed by a flicker of something that looked almost like apology, crossed his features.

"My apologies. I... I will return later," he said, beginning to retreat.

"No." "Stay."

Jimin and I spoke at the same time, our voices overlapping. Jimin's was rough with pain, mine tight with a desperate need to get this over with. RM paused, one eyebrow arched slightly. He closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms. The debrief would happen here, now.

I returned to my work, my touch as gentle as I could manage as I cleaned the wound. Jimin flinched, his muscles tensing.

"You approved it," he bit out, his anger flaring, directed at RM. The movement made him wince sharply.

"Jimin, please, don't move," I murmured, my hand hovering over his back, afraid to touch him again. He ignored me, his focus on RM.

"You knew the risks. You knew what she was asking of Beomgyu. Of me. You let this happen." He said. RM's gaze was unwavering.

"I did. Because her assessment was correct. There was no other path with a higher probability of success. This was the only play."

"A play?" Jimin tried to turn, a gesture of fury, but the motion pulled at his injury. A sharp, pained gasp escaped him, and he bowed his head, his body trembling.

"Stop or you'll tear the stitches!" I pleaded, my own pain forgotten in the face of his. I pressed a clean pad against the wound, my hand resting lightly on his uninjured shoulder to steady him. RM watched the exchange, his expression unreadable.

"He is in the infirmary because he is brave, and because he chose to be," he stated, his voice cutting through Jimin's ragged breathing. "My failure was in underestimating the emotional variables. I did not foresee you reacting with such definitive force. That is on me. The collateral damage is mine to bear as well."

The admission hung in the air. Jimin's shoulders slumped, the fight momentarily knocked out of him by the pain and RM's blunt ownership of the blame.

I began winding a fresh bandage around his torso, my arms circling him. The proximity was intensely intimate, my forehead nearly brushing his back as I worked. And yet, my hands stayed steady. Something about this situation made my fluttering heart calm down.