Butterfly

5. The Dirt

"Y/n?"

There's a light tap on my door, Sandra's voice tentative, and I'm silent, not wanting to answer her. Sandra's silent for a minute, then her voice is quieter.

"I'm sorry. I just...I shouldn't have said anything. I know you're done swimming, and I should respect that you have reasons."

I don't reply, swallowing at the broken sound of her voice, knowing that she really is trying.

"I love you. Sleep well."

Her footsteps fade and I let out a breath, closing my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. It's completely silent in the apartment, and finally I can't stand it anymore, unlocking my door, opening it tentatively.

The lights are off, Sandra's door closed, and for a split second I'm tempted to open her door, to curl up in her bed next to her warmth, to revel in the comfort of just knowing my older sister is there, like I did when I was young, in the brief time I remember before she left.

The urge passes and I turn, walking down the hallway quietly, opening the front door. I close it silently behind me, the concrete floor cold and grainy under my bare feet, and I walk up the stairs to the roof, unsure why I keep coming back here.

I open the door, stepping out into the cool night air, my chest feeling lighter, easier to breathe up here. I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye and look over, processing the image of the boy on the edge of the roof, the cigarette, the smoke barely visible in the fading light.

I walk over slowly, sitting on the edge a couple feet away from him, looking at my feet, over the open space. He glances at me, taking the cigarette from between his lips, exhaling slowly.

We're both silent for a minute, just sitting there, and then Jimin breaks the silence, tapping his cigarette with one finger, watching the glowing ash float down, into the openness.

"A swimmer."

I look over at his profile as he breathes out the smoke, his lips perfectly curved, his jaw sharp against the softness of his face.

"An Olympic-level swimmer, at that." He turns his head to meet my eyes, raising a eyebrow, bringing the cigarette to his lips again as he waits for my answer.

I don't, instead turning to look out over the buildings again, barely visible in the dim light.

"I get it, you don't want to talk about it."

This startles me into looking at him again, and he flashes me a grin, not his usual smirk, something else below the surface, raw and veiled. "Everyone has a secret."

He looks out over the darkness again, letting the smoke trail from his lips carelessly, curling and twisting into the air. I watch, wondering why I'm still sitting here, letting this jerk smoke near me, listening to him.

"Tell me, do you always walk around barefoot at night, or is it just for me?" His smirk is back, and he quirks an eyebrow at me, taking a drag of his cigarette. "I feel honored."

I wrinkle my nose. "You're disgusting."

His grin grows. "And she speaks."

I roll my eyes slightly, looking away, over the buildings now lit only by streetlights and windows. "You think you're funny."

"I am." He lets out the smoke from his lips slowly, a smirk tugging at the corners. "I'd say, though, that your outfit overshadows the bare feet."

His eyes linger on my chest and I realize I'm not wearing a bra or even shorts, just my thin sleep t-shirt and underwear. I raise an eyebrow at him, challenging, refusing to cover my chest even though the urge pulls at me.

He chuckles, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "That's for you checking me out."

"Excuse me?"

"I know I'm pretty damn good looking, but I feel harassed when you check out my chest in broad daylight."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head at him. "I don't check people out."

"Oh really."

He smirks slightly and I tilt my head at him. "Generally, they're checking me out."

Jimin just looks at me for a minute, then his eyebrows raise, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he leans back, resting his weight on his hands, the cigarette between two fingers of his right hand. "Really."

He turns his head to me, and in the dim light I can see his eyes sweep over my body, up and down. I refuse to rise to the bait, leaning back casually like he is, swinging my feet slightly, the breeze tugging my hair back from my face. "I think you know I'm right."

He chuckles again, lightly, and we sit there in silence, the smell of his cigarette invading my nostrils, the nicotine sweet and slightly sharp.

Finally I pull my legs up on the wall, my arms holding my knees to my chest. "That smell is disgusting."

Jimin smirks, stubbing it out, flicking it over the edge again, and I roll my eyes. "You think you're cute."

"Babygirl, I know I'm cute."

I try not to react to his bait, the sexualized nickname, and he laughs softly, infuriatingly. I swing my legs over the side of the wall, getting back onto the solid ground of the roof again, unable to stand him anymore.

"I'd say I had fun, but I didn't."

Jimin squints up at me lazily, his hair messy, his eyes half-closed. "I'd say you're hot right now, but you've got dirt on your face."

I blink, caught off guard, my hand raising self-consciously to brush the grains of dirt off my cheek, and he smirks, standing, brushing past me on his way to the door. My nose fills with a sweet, slightly spicy scent, a mixture of tobacco and something I can't place, as he pauses momentarily by my shoulder, his voice low as his thumb gently runs over my cheek, brushing off whatever dirt is left.

"See you around."

I don't move, hearing the door close behind him, and I let out a slow breath, brushing my hair back from my face. What the hell? I hate him, the way he looks at me is infuriating, his voice make me want to hit him, and yet...I almost feel better.

I shake my head, heading for the stairwell, walking down the stairs slowly so I don't catch up with him. His door is shut when I reach the hallway and I unlock my door carefully, not to wake Sandra, casting one last glance at the peeling paint of Jimin's door before I close mine with a soft click.