Hate would be a correct word to explain what goes on in Yoongi's head. After his childhood he learned to never love or care for anyone. That makes you weak, that makes you vulnerable in your enemies eyes.
He found that boy lying there, sleeping curled down on fetus position, shivering cold and beaten. He knew answers to be hidden inside that boy's mind.
And he didn't feel anything as he carried him out of here. He had no plans to help him.
His plan was to use whatever he could get off from him and his memory. However, as usually, nothing goes according to the plan A.
--
Greeted by birds singing as he steps out of an open door. It's mid-summer, hot and humid. His eyes squint as the sun-lights meets his eyes.
He looks around, scared. His heart beat fast again, anxiety on it's peak. It's been that way often, recently.
His mother always told him, as he was still a kid, to always think twice before making a choice. Because one wrong choice has the power of changing your life upside down.
He knew he made a mistake, walking out that one night.
Trees are swinging by a light breath of nature, making the humidity ease a bit.
"Hey there."
He freezes, keeping breath in, legs feeling weak. He woke up inside this wooden house without any glue of how he got in and whose house it is.
With a gulp he turns to the voice and blinks his eyes nervously.
"Stop shitting your pants for god's sake!"
Black haired guy laughs in amusement.
He feels like crying, missing home. Before he can stop himself, a tear flows out landing on his cheek, sun reflecting on it.
The black haired man walks closer, analyzing him from head to toe with smirk on his face.
"I-I-I'm sorry," he gags out in panic, picking his nails out of habit.
Black hair turns his back on him and walks towards the door he just came out from.
"Come in, have some food," he says, like an order.
He sits on the dining table, made of wood, unpolished. He doesn't remove his eyes off this guy, who eats porridge right across the table.
His porridge waits on the table, untouched and cold. The guy glances at him.
"I see, not hungry?"
He looks at the porridge suspicious and shakes his head. But his stomach disagrees and lets out a noisy growl.
"It's not poisoned," he adds and sighs, taking the plate away.
"They must've done a lot to you," he mumbles and throws the plates at the sink.
"C-c-can I leave? I want to go home," he whispers, his voice disappearing out of fear. The guy walks in front of him and leans on the table as he looks at his eyes.
"Where is your home?" he asks and doesn't move away.
Again his anxiety jumps out and panic colors his skin white. He tries to tell him but he can't remember. It feels like his head has been hit with a huge brick and a piece of that brick is still inside his head.
"Ah--" he closes his eyes new tears pushing out.
"Also I can't call the police.. I have some undone business with the people who had you," he says then, causing chills running through his bones.
He remembers going out for a walk at the late night after fighting with his best friend. He was so angry, furious even. After pumping to those guys everything seems hazy. He only remembers the heavy fear paralyzing his body and mind.
He blows out air, eyes wet he looks up. "Who are you?"
He smiles awry, tilting his head. "Who are you? Can you remember your name?"
Slowly pacing from one eye to another he whispers: "Jimin."
"Jimin, good," he nods and looks around his face, scanning again, as if he was trying to find a remarkable flaw on it. "How about you?" Jimin asks again.
The black hair steps back and closes his half open mouth, looking out of the window.
"Too bad, it's the warmest summer in a while and I don't have air conditioner."
Jimin feels stupid and low, but still looks outside. Then it hits him hard.
It was January.
"W-what month is it?" he gets up quickly and runs to the window, massaging his eyes to make sure he isn't dreaming.
It was January. Late birthday party for his best friend. They had a huge fight. It's supposed to be January..
"You don't know? Since when have they had you?" he asks, mostly from himself. It's clearly July, the trees on their full growth shining green.
Jimin falls on his knees, how did this much time pass by?
"I- I really need to go home," he turns on the black hair guy and knees to him. "Please, let me go home," he quietly begs.
He squats in front of him and smiles again. Something in his smile screams at Jimin, hurts him when he doesn't even know if he can hurt any more.
"Can't you stay for a while?" he simply asks. Sudden softness in his voice stops Jimin.
"I need you to remember everything, you've heard them talk. I need what's in here," he says and points to Jimin's head, licking his lips like a hungry lion. "Who said I won't help?"
"Ah-- what's happening!?" he screams and covers his ears, rocking back and forth trying to calm himself.
And he stays. Not because he wants to. But because he has no options - if he wants to stay alive.
YOU ARE READING
Wrongdoer ➳ yoonmin
Fanfiction"If I just had went home, if I wasn't so drunk and if I..." "If so, we wouldn't have ever met" "I wonder if all this was worth meeting someone new" Wrongdoer is a story about much more than pain and suffering, much more than winning and losing. It'...
