THE ORANGE GIRL

chapter four

Monday, 26th October 2015

8:46AM | Yoongi's Apartment

The apartment was cold, monochrome with the colours sucked out from beneath the doors. Two bedroom, two bathroom, the living space and kitchen conjoined, a study secured under lock and key. The windows reached from the ceiling to the floors, displaying the picturesque city skyline that was more often than not concealed by sheer curtains. The contents were an array of raw wood, black leather, marble surfaces, fresh snow decor, exposed cement, neat silver security cameras peering at you from every corner. It was familiar, alike to your cell for the past three years, so you became fond of it. Even the golden rule that was threatened in a lethal tone with the promise of a bullet made it feel more like home.

Do not ever leave the apartment.

It was difficult to tell what a man such as Min Yoongi did by the appearance of his flat. All you knew was that whatever he spent his so-called precious time doing had landed him in riches, kept him out until unusual hours of the night, and was very, very bad.

Yoongi had set you up in the spare bedroom with nothing much to spare about it at all. There was a large bed with a black frame, white sheets to match the white dresser, the same large windows that you have wondered numerous times if you run at hard enough, maybe you would shatter through and fall the thirteen stories back to the earth. If only death were so simple to come by, but he seemed determined to keep you well and breathing until he had what he wanted.

Anything? were the first words he would ask as soon as he saw you. Whether it would be in the waking mornings, passing through at random times during the afternoon, or if you were still awake at midnight when he would decide to have an early finish. It was the same on the third morning that he shoved scrambled eggs beneath your nose, absolutely tasteless, but you did not dare to complain although the peculiar urge to do so, considering you had been practically eating shit for three years straight.

"I wish to be dead as badly as you want me to be," You muttered around a mouthful of fluffy yolk, already cutting another piece. You glanced up at him before you continued, but he was not looking at you. He never did. "So don't fret, you're the first person on my list to tell about whatever is missing from my mind."

You heard Yoongi stop the metallic sound of the cutlery against the ceramic of his plate. "And who is the second person?"

"Maybe Seokjin," You mused. "He was nice, seemed interested too."

When you flicked your eyes up to the blonde once again, you were a little surprised, even amused to find him staring directly at you for the first time since the night at the motel. His jaw was taut, pitch black eyes slightly wide as though he were just as bewildered as you to be caught so openly gazing. You paused in your motion of lifting more eggs to your lips.

"Just kidding?" You said before swallowing.

"No, I mean yes I know," Yoongi frowned. "You just sounded very like yourself for a moment."

Shrugging with indifference, you finished off the last of the eggs. "Well, that's a start, I guess."

But Yoongi was suddenly directly in front of you, pupils darting across your features as he leaned harder into his forearm against the breakfast bar. You gazed back blankly, for his eyes were moving too quickly to even bother following. Though after a moment, he gravitated back to his original position, mouth pressed into a thin line and looking doubly as frustrated, neither of you making comment about his oddly abrupt assessment.

"Normally, I can read people well, get the answers out of them simply with a look," He muttered, flicking a piece of egg about his plate. "But you, oh you are just a whole mystery in itself. You look dead inside."

"Try some prompts," You suggested, the insult brushing past as you laid your knife and fork atop your empty plate. "Ask some questions, or give me hints about the person I was before all of this."

"You killed a lot of people," He said bluntly, to which you shrugged again.

"Not surprised, why else would I be in jail?"

"Drugs."

It was your turn then to draw your eyebrows together. "Taking them?"

"Dealing them," Yoongi responded, looking past you and to the skyline the windows exhibited. The rays of the sun were curling their blazing fingers over the buildings, casting the remainder of the navy night into brilliant orange and violet as it pushed itself higher, higher into the sky. "A lot of that too."

"Interesting," You hummed, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth and he observed you doing so. It was a frequent habit he had noticed you do whilst in thought. But then you refocused on him and he was looking away. "Any specifics? What did I do? What do you do? And how do we know each other so well for you to want to kill me?"

"Longtime enemies, I cannot tell you the specifics. After all, there is the chance that you have had your memories this entire time and you are just trying to bullshit me into stalling your death. That grin you have on your face right now isn't helping that testimony."

You smiled wider. "No, it's just a nice thought that I was good at bullshitting."

To your peculiar fascination, his lips quirked. If Yoongi thought you were a mystery, then he was a labyrinth. Every corner that you turned, you would be receiving a different aspect of him, never knowing precisely what you were going to get. He switched emotions as easily as you could, like playing cards that he would lay on the table between you. Ace for aggravation. King for kindness. Though you had never experienced the latter, not in this lifetime.

The smile was wiped from his features within a blink and he was instead glancing at his watch. Rounding the kitchen counter, Yoongi grabbed his large leather briefcase and headed for the door while muttering under his breath.

"Put those in the washer, girl," Yoongi called back to you, inclining his chin at the breakfast dishes. "Contact me on the pager if you remember anything."

And when the door slammed shut, the last of your sentence slipping between the cracks of the wood, he could not deny the shudder that crawled up his spine and across his skin at the sound of your voice wishing him have a nice day.