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taleasnewastime · 1 year ago

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In the wake of your leave | Part 4

Summary: It’s been six years since you’ve been home. Six years since you’ve been in this city. Six years since you stood in this house. Six years since you saw all these people. Six years since you’ve seen Jimin. But you’re back now, your father’s funeral the reason for your return, but this time you don’t plan on leaving and this time you’re going to take what you want no matter what.

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Unrequited love; brothers’ best friend; slow burn; mafia au; angst

Word count: 14.5k

Warnings: Angsty feelings, unrequited feelings, Jimin uses the nickname Princess, swearing, mentions of death, blood, there’s a physical fight, threats, reader being physically threatened, alcohol is consumed, talk about drinking problems, lots of feelings, reader is threatened a few times, misogyny, I guess just lots of things you’d imagine from a gang/mafia fic but overall it’s also not that dark.

Authors note: The end of In the wake of your leave! Thanks for reading and commenting and liking and rebloging and sending me messages about this story. It’s been hard to write, but knowing people wanted to read it made it a bit easier. I hope you enjoy this final part, there are parts I’m not 100% happy with, but c’est la vie! I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist | Previous

“How did the meeting with your brother go?”

Wine slops up the edge of your glass when you look over your shoulder. Jimin’s stood, a smirk on his lips as he leans against the door frame. His hair is mused, shirt rumpled and unbuttoned so it hangs loosely around his neck. You should look away, but you can’t. Jimin must catch onto that fact given the way his lips curl and his stance becomes that little bit more cocky. It’s enough to get you to drag your gaze away.

Eyes focus instead on the flickering fire in front of you. There’s something calming and comforting about watching the oranges and pale blues dancing over the logs. The heat wrapping around you like a warm hug. You feel like you need one of those more and more these days.

“Shall I pour my own glass then?”

You jump, feel rude as you twist to pour him some wine. He’s already beat you though. Not realising he’s already stood by you, you reach out to grab the wine but find Jimin’s hand. While you heat, Jimin laughs. Will you ever be normal around him? Will you ever not feel awkward in situations like this with him?

Focus again on the fire, you take a gulp of your wine. It’s sweet and sharp as it slides down your throat. Given the amount of alcohol you’ve already consumed tonight, you don’t wince at its taste.

“So?” He elongates the word. “You and Yoongi?”

“I thought you normally clocked off this late?” Your reply is blunt and closed.

“Can’t I be interested?”

“It’s more the fact you’re stealing my wine.”

He huffs a laugh and though you’re not looking at him you can feel the judgement of him noticing how much wine you’ve already had. Now you think about it, you’re unsure Jimin has ever seen you drink. You wonder what he thinks as he watches you. Remember when he told you that he once thought of you as a little girl, but now doesn’t. Is that still what he sees?

“It’s been a long day,�� you mutter an excuse without needing him to say anything, taking another gulp from your glass.

“I’ll get us some more when we need it,” he says. “Now, tell me about Yoongi.”

“You’re obsessed,” you smirk at him, still trying to stall him. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for my brother?”

It’s the wrong thing to say given the way his head quirks to the side, his lips lifting in amusement. You look away from him in a flash, taking another gulp of your wine to hide your discomfort. Wine nearly drained Jimin takes the silence to fill your glass back up. You mutter your thanks as you place your glass on the table in front of the two of you. It’s starting to hit just how much you’ve had. It turns out you can get through a lot of alcohol given only an hour and a whole host of emotions currently swimming inside you.

“He thinks I’m doing great, actually,” you twist to look at Jimin. Leg folding under you, hands resting on your lap. You find yourself wanting to make sure you catch every reaction he has.

“Sounds like you’re surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. Other people, on the other hand, I think will be.”

“Other people?”

You do a wide sweeping gesture of the room, encompassing him, the only other person here besides you. “Other people.”

His lip moves again, his amusement starting to become more apparent. “Well, I’m not surprised,” he mimics your tone.

You roll your eyes, not believing. Despite yourself, you reach for your wine again. Another long gulp, more alcohol you don’t need in your system. It feels like you need it though, it lessens the constant thoughts going around your head and makes it easier to sit here, especially around this man.

“What did he say about the thumb?”

You look back at him. He’s feigning disinterest but you can see it’s what he really cares about. You remember that first meeting with Yoongi when he offered you a roll, when Jimin shouted at him not to let you in. Remember your argument in the car. His admission on the roof, before he kissed you, after you killed a man and he sought you out. He really does care about you. All this time you’ve pushed it away, thought it was one sided and yet he’s silently, gently, been watching over you and it’s starting to show.

“What should he have said?” You feel like your voice has gone husky, but Jimin doesn’t do anything to suggest he’s noticed.

“Well, what is he going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug and smile a little when you can see the anger start to bubble in him.

“Nothing? You get sent a thumb and he’s going to do nothing? What the fu–”

He cuts himself off when he catches the smile you can’t bite back. The anger staying for a second, but he finds it hard to hold onto when you let out a little giggle. His eyebrows dipping, his lips reluctantly lifting into a smile.

“Aw, Jimin, you actually care.”

Leaning forward and placing your hand on his bare arm that’s resting on the back of the sofa is a mistake. Heat runs through you, burning you. Jimin’s eyes jump to the spot you touch, and you can’t read if it’s because he feels the same as you, or because he’s weirded out by you touching him. Regardless, you don’t linger. Pulling your hand away you wiggle in your seat, clearing your throat.

“He’s going to look into it,” you say, eyes focused on a spot over his shoulder. “He’s sure he’ll work out who sent it given they wrote a note and left it in my room.”

“Right,” Jimin’s voice sounds stiff now and this time it’s him that takes a sip of his wine.

“But it’s Yoongi, so you know, of course he’ll work it out,” you pause a beat but don’t give it much thought before carrying on. “That is if he decides it’s something he wants to know.”

Given how careful you’ve been at not saying anything over the last few weeks you’ve been back, it’s the boldest and closest to how you truly feel you’ve been. But even in your inebriated state you don’t need Jimin to tell you that you shouldn’t have said the words. And given his small frown you know that he knows you already know that. At least he’s learning something; you’re no longer a child he needs to spell things out to. Though Jimin has never babied you before, that’s half the problem.

“Is this the only bottle you’ve had?”

You hum, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to let him know that no, this isn’t your first bottle tonight.

Jimin pauses, clearly understanding what your silence means. “Want me to get you a water.” It’s not said as a question and Jimin doesn’t wait for an answer. You watch as he unfolds from his seat, crane your neck as he looms over you, he lingers to smile down at you before seeming to think better. You watch as his back disappears through the door towards the kitchen.

Maybe water isn’t such a bad idea. Even as the thought passes through your mind you swallow the remaining wine in your glass. Disappointed you search for the bottle only to find that empty too. You’re just about to stand to find more when Jimin enters with two glasses of clear liquid in his hand.

Amusement lights his face when he sees you struggling to get up and it’s enough for you to decide to stay where you are.

“Here,” he says as he passes you the water.

You take a few gulps before placing it on the table. It does nothing to dampen the rising feeling of drunkenness, you hadn’t realised how much you’d had to drink but now thinking about it you’d opened your second bottle by the time Jimin came in the room.

“I’ve been thinking about what Sam said today, about the way –”

Your groan cuts Jimin off. Picking up your feet you tuck them under your legs, twisting to look at Jimin. “Can we not talk about that right now.”

He’s smirking at you. There’s clear amusement in his eyes, almost definitely because he can see how much alcohol you’ve consumed and what that’s causing you to do. But there’s something else in his eyes too, you’d call it fondness but the thought that that might be it causes a dangerous squeezing sensation in your heart.

“What do you want to talk about then?” He asks, shuffling a little in his chair so he can more comfortably look at you.

“I don’t know,” you say exasperated. “The new Dune film, Prince Harry’s book, Climate Change? Anything would be better than talking about my murdered father.”

“And yet you came all the back here to try and work out who did it.”

You can see the words have been going around his head like a puzzle he can’t solve for a while. You choose to ignore him as if he hasn’t spoken.

“William and Harry’s argument sounded pretty dirty,” you say. “Smashing Harry’s head into a dog bowl? Who’d have thought the future King would behave like that?”

“I have something better to talk about,” Jimin’s smile does nothing to instil confidence. “How exactly did you and Jungkook meet?”

The air seems to leave you lungs. You weren’t expecting him to talk about that. About the six years you were gone, when you were forced out, when you didn’t speak to each other but when you never stopped thinking about him. He’s never brought it up before, you thought you were going to skate over the subject, pretend it never happened.

“William and Harry’s beef is way more interesting,” you say, glancing down at your still empty wine glass.

“I don’t know, hearing about all those years I missed out on sounds pretty interesting to me.”

Your heart stops, when it beats again it seems to be in your throat and causes a wave of feelings to course across your chest. All your nerve endings have never felt more alive, the room looks sharper and suddenly you don’t feel as drunk, while your mind turns to mush.

Jimin’s smile grows, his crooked front tooth beams at you before he picks up his still full wine glass and takes a sip. He knows how he’s affecting you. He knows what he still does to you. And you can’t tell if the smile is because he likes thinking he makes you feel that way, or because he’s enjoying lording the power over you.

“It was at a gym,” you say taking Jimin by surprise. “He wanted to correct all the bad habits you’d instilled into me.”

You feel your cheeks heat at the deep chuckle, keep your head ducked to keep your small smile hidden.

“And how was university?” You look up at him, what? written all over your face. “Hey, I never went. I’m interested. Is it just like they make out in the movies?”

You roll your eyes, more willing to show your smile now. “Just like the movies?”

“Alright,” he chuckles. “Forget about it then.”

He doesn’t sound annoyed and maybe it’s the reason you feel like you can keep joking with him. Getting comfier, you turn to your side, rest your head on the back of the sofa as you pull your knee to your chest. Jimin looks back at you fondly.

“Says the guy who supposedly asked after me all those years.”

You swear you see him blush, but the room is getting dark and your brain is slightly hazy from the wine that you can’t be sure.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to pick up any of my calls.”

You’re not actually sure what you would have done if Jimin tried to contact you in those six years. Ignored him, definitely. But it also would have only added to your ever-present thoughts of him and knowing he was trying to contact you probably would have only made you want to call him back. You’re sure you would have broken at some point, called him back only if feigning to see if everything was ok, but realistically hoping he was contacting for the reasons he’s saying now.

You try not to think about it too much.

“University is nothing like the movies,” you say instead of referring to his pervious comment. “There’re no frat houses for one –”

“I’m sure that’s because it wasn’t in America.”

“– and there’s more studying.”

“I guess that wouldn’t be the most interesting thing to watch.”

“You asked what it was like,” you muse.

“And I wasn’t expecting you talk about how boring the studying was,” he says. “Come on, tell me about all the wild university parties.”

You heat, not least because there weren’t many wild parties where you were concerned. If it weren’t for Jungkook you would have been a loner. You don’t particularly want to admit that to Jimin though.

“You want me to give you gossip from parties I attended over three years ago?” You joke instead.

“I want to hear about your life, Y/N. I want to hear about all the things I missed.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

You give in, leaning down you pick up the wine bottle and half fill your glass, topping Jimin’s glass with the final dregs.

“And what about you,” you ask, trying to get the attention off you. “How were the last six years for you? At least if you tell me any gossip I’ll have more chance of knowing who you’re talking about.”

“You know this place,” he says dryly and it’s the first time tonight you’ve seen him take as large a gulp as you’ve been taking.

The tone, the way his body tenses and the drink let you know long before the prolonged silence does that it’s not a topic Jimin wants to discuss. It’s safer, if not harder for you, to discuss your past.

“Honestly, I was a bit of loner at uni,” you laugh a little to try and lighten the sentence, make it sound less dyer. “I guess you know, but, I’ve never been particularly good at making friends.”

It doesn’t lighten Jimin’s mood but at least he turns to look at you now. There’s a small crease between his brows and a look as if he doesn’t quite understand what you’re saying is lighting up his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you continue to smile. “I grew up around you. You know I was a loner. No one wanted to be my friend.”

“I think I remember one of those reasons being because you hit a boy at school. I’m not surprised none of them wanted to be your friend. They were probably all shitting themselves around you.”

Your heart lifts. It’s not exactly your proudest moment in life, but you would never have imagined Jimin would remember it. Jimin obviously reads the look on your face, his lips curling before he even says the words.

“I mean my main memories of you were always the whole puppy thing you had going on,” you force yourself to not react even as you heat from within, teeth clenching slightly to not give yourself away. The fact you don’t say anything only seems to delight Jimin more. “The way you always followed me around. That slightly … downbeat thing you always had going on. It was kind of endearing.”

“Endearing,” you mutter back and then the large amount of wine you’ve consumed starts talking for you. “I think I was attempting more for … alluring.”

That earns you a proper laugh. One that resonates in his stomach and vibrates through his chest. His head thrown back and even though it’s embarrassing to your core, you can’t help but smile.

“You were trying to be alluring at ten?” Jimin asks when he’s managed to gain enough composure to speak.

“No Jimin,” you say. “I was trying to be alluring when I was fifteen. When I was seventeen and old enough to know what my feelings actually meant.”

The smile remains on his face even as his eyes flick between yours. He doesn’t respond and for that you’re partly thankful. You’d love to know what he was thinking back then, but you already know what he was thinking. He thought of you as a sister. He cared about you, but never in the way you dreamed he would.

“Anyway,” you laugh to try and diffuse the tension, “Jungkook firmly took over that role when we met.”

There’s a couple of beats before you realise what you’ve said, the insinuation you’ve made. It takes another couple of seconds before you can start to talk again. Your eyes wide, lips spluttering. Jimin’s smile only widens.

“I just mean. You know. Your role, or what you thought your role was. We’ve never. I would never –”

“I’m sure Jungkook would be flattered,” Jimin raises his glass to his lips, presses it against his smile you’re sure to stop a laugh.

“I just mean he’s like a brother,” you finally manage to get out.

Jimin hums, sounding unconvinced. You roll your eyes, whatever, you don’t need to convince him of anything anymore.

The silence elongates. The tension between the two of you rises and with it your nerves start to increase. You start to feel restless, especially with the alcohol currently swimming in your system and Jimin sat looking at you with topics in the air that don’t help you feel any comfier.

“You know what,” you say abruptly, starting to move to stand. “I’ve had a lot to drink. Maybe I should –”

“Don’t.” It’s not said firmly, in fact if it weren’t for his hand grabbing your wrist you wouldn’t have stopped. And maybe it’s the alcohol but you can’t stop looking at his hand touching your wrist. You can feel it there, have felt him touch you multiple times, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling. You’ve never felt the way you currently feel with anyone else.

Despite your reaction, Jimin lingers. He doesn’t immediately draw his hand away from you. And it’s not until your eyes finally flick back to his that he seems to even contemplate removing it. As if now he has your attention, now he knows you’re not leaving, he’s happy to let you go.

“I haven’t finished my drink.”

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you flick your eyes from Jimin, to his nearly empty glass and back.

“Five more minutes?” He asks, and though the thought of what five more minutes could bring out give you chills, you don’t move. “And then I’ll walk you to your room.”

“Scared I’m going to get lost?” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, it sounds thick and like you haven’t spoken in hours. It’s embarrassing, but you don’t let that emotion show on your face.

Jimin’s face relaxes, his lips curling once again. “Just being a gentleman.”

“Guess there’s a first for everything.”

“Oh?” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “So its just my looks you like then?”

You scoff as you push yourself to stand. You’re only half joking, but really hearing him joke so easily about something that you yearned after for so long, treating it as if it’s just that, a joke, isn’t necessarily your idea of a good time. He may love getting his ego inflated by hearing how much you yearned after him when growing up, but it doesn’t mean it’s any fun for you. Being reminded of all those feelings, of everything you wanted but knew you’d never have.

Even as Jimin laughs his hand once again reaches out to stop you. This time he misses your wrist, instead his hand grasps yours.

“Jimin,” you mutter, his name supposed to act as a warning but does nothing to sound threatening.

“Come on,” he continues to laugh, tugging you hand gently to indicate he wants you to sit again. When you don’t move, still feeling mixed about this situation, he loses the laugh. “Just five more minutes.”

It takes you a couple more seconds to decide, though no thoughts are going through your mind. With Jimin’s hand still in yours, you sit back down in your spot, now slightly closer. Pulling his hand away, he keeps it close enough so that you’re not touching but if you were to shuffle a little you’d brush against each other. It feels intimate. It feels like you should be careful. It feels like you shouldn’t be here, especially after the alcohol you’ve consumed.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he starts, but you don’t let him get any more words out.

“Can we just talk about something else?”

He nods, a small but sure gesture. There’re a few beats of silence where awkwardness starts to seep in. It makes you wonder if you should have just left.

“I never took you for a royalist.”

And just like that Jimin cuts through the awkwardness. Looking at him with confused eyes you can see the soft amusement hasn’t left his face.

“I don’t think I would describe myself as one?”

“Ah, right,” he smirks, leaning in for his glass. “But you’ve read Spare?”

Not expecting it, you smile. “You know its name?”

He shrugs. “It’s a popular book.”

“Right,” you elongate the word slightly. “Next you’ll be telling me you only watched The Crown because someone else left it on.”

“Well that’s partly why.” You huff a laugh at his words, not quite knowing if he’s joking. “That and Olivia Coleman is hot.”

Now you fully laugh. Just like Jimin did, you find yourself collapsing forward slightly, you arm brushing along Jimins. When you sit back up, your arms are still touching and neither of you make an effort to change it.

“I would never have taken you for an Olivia Coleman man.”

“Guess there’s lots you don’t know about me.”

You swallow, your throat feeling thick. Your eyes dance around Jimin’s face and that tension that you keep trying to keep at bay, starts to build back up. Faces barely a foot apart, eyes locked on one another, neither of you try move this time. You know what’s coming if you carry on, and yet you can’t seem to care.

Jimin’s eyes flick to your lips. His head starts to lean ever so slowly towards yours. Your heart rate increases as your breaths become shallower. And then the noise of a door opening and closing sounds between you. Neither of you jump, but slowly you’re brought back to the present. The realisation of who you are, where you are, what might happen if you choose to keep going. None of it good, though you both wish it could be.

Just a little longer, you think to yourself as you pull away and face the fire once again. Just a bit more time and then maybe things can be different.

“Is that five minutes?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye you watch as Jimin downs his wine and stands. You follow suit and brush past him as he gestures you to lead the way.

It’s not a long walk and it’s not dangerous enough for you to require a chaperone, but you don’t protest as Jimin does exactly what he says he would. Walking the stairs, you try to slow your pace. Even though you’ve not spoken since sitting on the sofa you want to try and elongate this night, you don’t want it to end.

Still, everything has to end. You know that better than most.

“This is me,” you say when you reach the landing, your door just in front of you.

You turn to see Jimin stood against the wall you find him leaning against most mornings. He doesn’t reply to your statement and yet he doesn’t do anything to suggest he wants to leave.

“Thanks for the company,” you inanely add.

You should say goodnight, you should leave this here, you shouldn’t do anything stupid. And yet you linger.

Jimin’s not smiling now. At least not as widely. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he stares at you from across the corridor. Maybe he’s amused that you’re not leaving, maybe he can see the reason behind why you linger. Or maybe he lingers for the same reason because he wonders what else might happen, wonders what you’d do if he closed the distance between you, wonders what could be between you if you just let it.

But no, that’s ridiculous.

You shuffle on the spot, eyes moving away from Jimin’s face to the floor in front of you. Jimin’s huffed laugh makes you jerk your eyes back to him. His smile is wider now, eyes dancing with amusement. He can definitely read every thought going through your mind and the fact makes you heat. He makes you feel like that little girl with a stupid crush on him. It makes you want to prove that you’re no longer that little girl, though the wine running through your blood doesn’t help you be coherent on the matter.

“Why did you even kiss me?”

Jimin’s eyebrow raises, surprised but the smile on his lips shows he’s not annoyed by you bringing that up. “I thought we were ignoring that ever happened.”

You ignore him with a roll of your eyes. “Because you hate me, tell me to leave, that I’m not part of this,” you throw your hands in the air, gesturing to everything around you. “And then when I’m at my most vulnerable you kiss me. What am I supposed to think?”

The smile on his face is gone now. Instead his face looks like a storm. Impossible to read. It’s like it’s always been; he can read you like a book and you have no idea what he wants.

Frustrated and slightly drunk you sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t get you,” you mutter.

Knowing when you’ve reached a dead end you start to turn to finally go to bed. Your back is to Jimin, hand on the door handle before Jimin talks.

“It was bad timing,” the words make you pause but don’t make you turn. “I shouldn’t have – you were vulnerable and maybe I took advantage of that, but I don’t regret it. The timing was crap.”

He’s said the words before, and just like before they make something stir inside you. You expect more. You want more. But as you wait it becomes clear that’s all he’s going to give you. Body facing your door, hand still on the door handle, you twist your head to look at him. He’s still where you last saw him, eyes intense, posture standing tall.

“That’s it?”

His head tilts a fraction to the side. A silent question.

“The timing was crap, but you don’t regret it?” Your voice has retained the bite. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

You turn back to look at your door, this time get as far as pulling your handle down before Jimin interrupts you.

“Is that what you want,” his voice is quieter, deeper, it causes goosebumps to run up the back of your neck. “To feel special?”

Who doesn’t want to feel special? You could say as much, but something stops you. It’s obvious he knows that already, the question rhetorical.

You hear him move closer, count as he takes three strides, enough that he must be only a couple of feet away. You should definitely go now, your escape so close. There’s the sound of Jimin taking one last step towards you, you can almost feel the heat of him seeping into your back. Closing your eyes, you cling to the door handle as if to steady yourself. It’s funny how Jimin wanting you is something you’ve wanted for so long and yet now you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“We’ve had a lot to drink,” you start to mumble out an excuse, eyes opening to stare at the dark grains of wood of your door.

“Isn’t that always the best state to be in when you need to talk?”

“I’m planning an early start,” you try again.

“And it’s already so late, what’s a few more minutes?”

“You can be impossible sometimes.”

“And you were the one who brought it up.” He chuckles, this one seeps into you, seems to rumble through you before settling somewhere deep and low. This is dangerous. It’s always been him that’s not shied from this subject, always you who’s avoided it. Of course you brining it up was going to give him an opening he’d leap on. You should definitely get out of here.

“Y/N,” your name muttered from his lips makes that feeling deep in you flutter and you physically jump at the light touch of his hand on your waist. He doesn’t respond to your reaction, his hand stays for a second before inching up your side. Despite the layers of clothing between your skin and his every point he touches heats. He only stops when he reaches your shoulder, his fingers curling into your skin as his grip becomes firmer.

“Y/N,” he repeats. “Will you just look at me?”

Heart pounding, skin tingling and feeling like you’d rather be anywhere else while at the same time want to drag this moment out for a lifetime.

Jimin’s hand stays on your shoulder as you turn. He’s closer than you imagined. You can see every freckle on his face, almost on every pore. His eyes dance around your face before settling on your eyes. He struggles to supress his smile when you thickly swallow, your breathing heavy.

“You think I would have kissed you if I didn’t want to?”

“I think a lot was going on that day,” you say. “A lot of emotions. And thoughts. And … confusion.”

He shakes his head. “You’re my best friend’s sister, were my boss’s daughter, that comes with a lot of difficulties.”

What. The fuck. Is he saying?

“I think the wine is –”

“I feel perfectly fine,” he cuts you off and then doesn’t give you enough breath to say that you don’t feel fine at all. His hand slips from the top of your shoulder down so that it’s grazing the top of your arm. His eyes dip to your lips for a second and when he looks back at you his eyes are hooded. It feels like he’s leaning into you, his chest grazing yours. “I’ve wanted to –”

“Hey guys.”

You both leap in the air away from each other as if caught doing something you shouldn’t. It’s too late but you still shuffle to look as normal as you can. It takes you a second to realise who’s spoken. Jungkook’s stood at the top of the stairs, in front of the wall Jimin normally leans on in the morning. There’s a smirk on his face that he doesn’t try to hide as his eyes go between you and Jimin.

“Oh, hi Jungk–”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Jimin’s pure anger shocks both of you in to staring at him dumbfounded. Jimin doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, just walks towards Jungkook not giving him room to respond. “Where the fuck do you keep sauntering off? You’re useless. Never where you’re supposed to be, putting people’s lives at fucking risk. You weren’t there when the fight broke out in the alley. You weren’t here tonight when Y/N got sent a fucking finger,” Jungkook’s eyes widen as they dart to you but are quick to go back to Jimin who’s still approaching him. “You’re a liability. You’re putting everyone in danger. And if I was in charge I’d have –”

“Jimin.”

Jimin pauses at your voice. Your ears ringing with his voice. He stays squaring up to Jungkook, shoulders moving up and down as his breath comes out heavily. You’re about to open your mouth and say something else, what you’re not sure, but you never find out. Jimin shakes his head tightly, turns a fraction and brushes his way past Jungkook, not looking back at you.

The air is thick with silence when it’s just the two of you. The two of you stare at each other unmoving as if recovering from a trauma. Where the hell did all that come from?

“God,” Jungkook breathes. “I wish I hadn’t interrupted. He really needs a fuck.”

The smirk he shoots you tells you everything. His amusement at what he walked in on far outweighing Jimin’s outburst.

You shove your middle finger in the air as you turn and finally walk into your room, closing your door firmly behind you.

What the fuck just happened?

“I should apologise.”

“Morning, Jimin,” you say, not pausing on your walk to the coffee machine.

“For yesterday,” he carries on in the same way you didn’t pause you’re walking. “For shouting at Jungkook.”

You force yourself not to sigh and keep watching the coffee drain into your mug. “Shouldn’t you be giving this crap apology to Jungkook?”

“Crap?” He chuckles.

“You have a tendency to never actually say the word sorry.”

You twist in time to see Jimin’s lips spread, his teeth now on full display. Despite everything that happened between you last night, you’re both relaxed. Jimin leaning back in his chair, you leaning against the counter top.

“Maybe I’m not sorry about that.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “You’re not helping my hangover.”

“You never did say how much you had to drink last night.”

“Not enough,” you twist back to pick up your coffee, hiding your growing smile.

You’re acting like a school girl. Like you’re the you of six years ago, the one who would hang on every word Jimin said, who would feel giddy with just a look in your direction. But you’re not young anymore, and you certainly shouldn’t be flirting with Jimin in the middle of the kitchen. Still, when he’s like this, it’s hard.

“I’m surprised you’re not more hungover,” you raise an eyebrow at him when you turn to look at him, this time your mug in your hands. “What with that empty bottle you got through alone. I didn’t think I’d see you this morning at all.”

And this is why you can’t ever fully let him in. Because as close as you think you may be, he reminds you that there’ll always be this blocking it; that he’s always watching, waiting to report anything back to your brother.

You take your time to reply. Walk to the table and pull out a chair to sit. Jimin simply watches you.

“As I remember I never told you any of my university stories.” You watch him try and puzzle it out, his face not showing confusion, but the fact he has no retort tells you he doesn’t get it. You don’t let him hang too long before explaining. “You’ve never seen me drink Jimin. Don’t assume you know how much I can handle.”

You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He always seems to be shocked at being reminded that you’re not a little girl, but he’s getting quicker at ridding his face of the emotion.

“I’d hardly call drinking a bottle and a half of wine handling your drink.”

“What would you call it?”

“A problem.”

You splutter, huff out a laugh, but Jimin remains emotionless. He’s not joking.

“You’re serious?” You ask, unbelieving. “I don’t have a drinking problem, Jimin. I drank last night because of a crap day. Lots of people do it, I’m not an alcoholic because of it.”

You don’t add that you’ve seen him drink plenty over the years. Seen him consume just as much alcohol without it affecting him. If you have a problem, then so does he.

“But you might be if you turn to it every time you have a bad day.”

“It was a bottle of wine, Jimin.”

“Do you drink when you go to your room?”

“It was a tough day,” your tone’s turned flat. Your smile and any thought that this was a joke disappearing. “And unless I’ve missed something, there’s no one here who’d join me for a drink.”

“I joined you.”

“Without invitation,” you smile sarcastically at him and before he can carry on down whatever line of questioning he’s currently on, you change the subject. “Jungkook’s joining us in a minute. Can we at least pretend to be normal when he walks in?”

It’s disturbing how quickly Jimin can change characters. One second he’s looking at you concerned, and the next he can transform his face with a soft cocky smile. It’s a mask, much like the ones you so often put on, one that hides your true feelings. In this moment, you can’t seem to care that this all may be fake, that the two of you are so good at brushing things under the rug, that it’s not healthy for either of you to continue pretending everything’s fine. Cracks are starting to show, you’re sure things are going to burst soon. But you don’t need much more time.

“What’s normal?” Jimin asks. “Do you want me to ignore you? Shout at you? Try and kiss you?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not funny.”

“And yet you’re smiling.”

It’s true. You’re fighting it, your face almost neutral, but with the barest of smiles showing through. Jimin’s own face is a reflection of yours.

“Just put some toast on for me.”

He gives you a small salute before standing up and doing as asked, or more demanded. With his back to you, you find it easier to let your smile beam. Maybe things aren’t breaking.

You’d forgotten you’d seen him. At the time you were so preoccupied by Jimin marching into Yoongi’s office that you hadn’t thought much about it. It’s a different outfit, but the cap over his head makes something ring in your head. You have to take a second glance and stare after him to place where you recognise it.

It’s not that you expect to know everyone here, it’s been six years after all. But you’ve been here weeks now and would think you’d have a good idea of most faces that frequent this place. There’s something about him, the way he walks or holds himself or maybe it’s just the cap because who wears a cap inside? There’s a tingling in your brain, a feeling you can’t place. And it’s not a good feeling.

“Who is that guy?”

Jimin hums as he looks where your eyes are. He only gives the guy a glance before looking back at his phone, clearly not as bothered by the guy as you are.

“That’s Brody.”

You wait for more but don’t get anything.

“And Brody is?”

Jimin’s eyes flick to you a frown forming. You’re trying to act casual about this whole thing and are obviously doing a terrible job.

“I’m just thinking someone with access to the house clearly left that thumb in my room.”

Jimin snorts at the comment which has you raising an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” he laughs. “It’s just, it wouldn’t have been Brody.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” his eyes dart around the space that’s only occupied by you. “Because he’s a fucking cop, Y/N.”

You tense as if a natural reaction. It was the last thing you thought he would say. Your skin feels like it’s crawling and you have to resist the urge to look over your shoulder. You know no one is there, but it still doesn’t stop the prickle along your spine. Why is a fucking cop here? What has he been saying? You can only assume nothing about you given the fact you’re still stood here. But what if –

“Relax,” Jimin laughs again. “You’re not going to get arrested. He’s our guy on the inside.”

Our guy on the inside. The words ring round your head. And even though Jimin’s told you to relax, that’s the last thing you can do right now.

“Still,” the word feels weird coming out your mouth, like it’s coming out someone else’s. Your tongue like sandpaper, your heart in your arse.

“He’s safe, Y/N. Relax, would you.”

“Sorry,” you say. “Think I’m just hungrier than I realised.”

He looks across at you, his eyes darting around your face as if to measure your how true the statement is. You don’t balk away from the gentle look however much you want to. Because it’s a lie. You don’t feel hungry, in fact after knowing there’s police walking around the building, your mouth feels dry and your stomach churns.

“Want me to order pizza?”

You relax a little at Jimin not reading your true feelings. “As long as you get pineapple.”

He huffs a laugh, eyes already back on his phone. “That’s why I always thought you were gross.”

The windows glint orange as they reflect the just risen sun back at you. Half the city is still cast in a dark haze created by the night, while the other half glistens orange with the promise of a new day. There’re distant noises of the city and the few people who have woken at this hour, otherwise it’s just you and the birds.

It’s chilly sat on the roof, especially with no jacket on, but it helps you think. As if the clear air helps to clear your mind. Maybe it’s a strange form of osmosis.

You thought you’d have worked it out by now and the fact you haven’t only frustrates you. It feels like it’s on the tip of your brain. As if you already know who killed your father, just can’t quite make it out yet. As if the answer is there if only you think a little more.

But you don’t know the answer. And however hard you think, it’s not coming to you.

Something should have happened; something should have clicked in your brain, or a piece of evidence should have come out. But it’s like everything you’ve found out has only confused you. The issue is you’re not an investigator, this isn’t your job or something you’ve ever done before. You don’t really know what you’re looking for, what you should be asking people or who you should be talking to. You’re clueless pretending to walk around like you have it all worked out, and it’s starting to feel exhausting.

This whole plan revolves around you working this out. If you can’t work this out, why did you bother coming back? If you can’t work this out then it’s all going to implode again, worse than last time, and maybe them disowning you won’t be the worst thing to happen.

Your fingers fidget on the cold tiles covering the roof, your mind trying to go through everything you’ve got so far.

There’s the 500 mg of amitriptyline. That’s key, it means it had to be someone close enough to put it in his drink. It doesn’t narrow down the group of suspects by much; a lot of people could have given your dad a drink with something dissolved in it. If you could just find who sourced the stuff, somewhere they got it from, or link the substance to someone; that would be ground-breaking. But all of that is easier said than done.

There’s the rival gang and the group of men who ambushed you in the ally. Though you doubt they would have killed your dad so peacefully, with no blood or guns. And even if they had somehow planted someone in the house, poisoned your dad and left without anyone realising, you doubt they would have stayed quiet about it. They would have stepped forward to claim the kill by now. Though that would have resulted in more violence than the current stalemate.

There are many people in the gang you could link to your dads death, there’s Conan not having enough power, Doug and his need to prove himself, Benjamin’s erratic and thoughtless behaviour. There’s the guy you saw in the corridor, the policeman, the person you want to keep a wide berth of but feel must be tied into this more than you can currently see.

And then there’s your brother. The person with the most to gain, the one who got it all. There’s no one with more motive. Kill your dad and now he’s the leader of a multi-million-pound gang. You’ve been gone for six years, Yoongi was always more involved with the business than you, always had more power. But everyone knew the only way he would be on top is if your dad died.

It’s not that you think your brother did it. But you also can’t confidentially rule him out.

Time is against you. With every day this continues, the risk only increases.

And then there’s Jimin. The only person you wanted to give a wide berth from the start, because you feared what would happen if you didn’t. And now that’s happening; your feelings you’ve tried for so long to supress are coming back. As if to make it worse, his feelings seem to be changing too. It’s dangerous, not least because of the fact that you crave his feelings so much. Questions are starting to roll around your mind. Questions of what if; what if he truly doesn’t see you as a sister anymore; what if he likes you the way you always wished he would; what if you give in and let whatever happen, happen; what if you finally admit that this could work, that the two of you could happen. All fantasy. All never going to happen. But you’ve always been a dreamer, and you can’t stop dreaming of Jimin.

But none of that matters; you never came back for Jimin.

You need to finish this. You need to work out who killed your father. You need to tell Yoongi and end this once and for all.

The trouble is you still can’t work out how to do that.

“Y/N.”

You’re name booms along the corridor. The tone way too upbeat for how you feel. A voice you know. Deep and powerful, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You force a smile onto your lips as you twist around to look at Conan.

“Still smiling after being sent a toe,” your smile is quick to drop at his words, another chill runs through you. “Maybe the little girl I knew really has grown up.”

He continues to walk towards you, his strides so large that he’s in front of you in no time. A large, paw like hand weighs heavily on your shoulder. The smell of beer so strong it rolls off him in waves. You resist the urge to wince.

“How did you –”

“Your brother,” he cuts you off. “Worried sick he was. Shouting at everyone to find out who the fuck sent you a severed big toe.”

That doesn’t sound like Yoongi. When you went, or more when Jimin stormed into Yoongi’s office he didn’t seem that bothered. He said he’d find out who did it, but that doesn’t mean he was shouting about it to everyone. No, it’s more likely Conan’s exaggerating, especially given the large smile on his lips. He obviously wants to get a rise out of you.

“Must have been scary,” he eggs on, his hand seeming to feel heavier the long it sits on your shoulder. “I heard Jimin was very worried about you too.”

You grind your teeth to stop yourself from biting back, but your silence only succeeds in getting Conan to fill the gaps.

“You’ve got a lot of people running around after you, haven’t you. What was it Jimin used to call you?” He pauses for a second as if trying to wrack his brain when you know he already knows the answer. “Oh. Princess, wasn’t it?”

Your stomach turns at the nickname coming out of his lips. There was a time when it used to flip for a different reason, when it came out of a different mans lips. But now, it only makes you feel a little sick. The connotation behind it, the fact he’s trying to use it to be patronising, as a way to show he’s above you, that you’re still just a little girl compared to everyone else.

Finally you pull away from him. The smile still on his lips even as his tattooed hand flops back down to his side.

“Have to go,” you mutter, turning to carry on the way you were going before he interrupted.

He lets you get a few steps away before he speaks again. “How’s the search for the killer going?”

You stop but don’t look back at him for a second, eyes focused dead in front. He sounds like it was an afterthought, but it was said almost too casually. When you look over your shoulder he’s stood where you left him, no smile, his face neutral.

“I think I’ve nearly got them,” you lie.

He hums, weight shifting a little as his eyes dance around your face. You hold his gaze, don’t let any feelings show through. Whether he believes you, you’re not sure, but finally he nods.

“Well, you know I’m here if you need anything. Anything to catch the bastard that killed him.”

You nod. Your dad’s best friend it’s the response you expected from him. Without another word you turn back and start walking away. This time Conan doesn’t stop you.

“Maybe we have to admit that he wasn’t killed.”

You and Jungkook shoot each other a look. There’s a lot of meaning behind it, less than a second and yet you both know what the other is saying. Jimin is none the wiser, though he knows he’s missing something, he’s just not sure what.

“What?” He says flatly, eyes darting between you and Jungkook.

“Nothing,” your casual response is too late. Jimin knows something’s going on and he won’t drop it until he knows what it is.

“It was clearly nothing.”

You shrug, eyes drift over Jimin’s shoulder while your fingers fiddle with each other on your lap. “I still think trying the club again is –”

“– You mean that place you almost got killed?” Jimin spits the words out, his anger building. “Fuck that.”

“Well, my father was murdered. I don’t believe it was just a heart attack.”

Jimin’s eyes continue to flick between you and Jungkook, but he doesn’t question the look again, knowing he won’t get an answer that’s the truth. He looks far from happy about it.

“Maybe we just need to accept that we won’t find out who did it then.”

“And I still think there are places we haven’t looked,” you counter. “Or things we’re missing.”

“How much longer is that going to take?”

You sigh, looking at Jungkook for help, though he doesn’t provide anything but a reassuring look. “I don’t know, Jimin.”

“A week? Two? A month? More?”

“I don’t know,” you say firmer.

“Yoongi’s not going to hang around waiting for an answer forever.”

You know. You almost say as much. But you don’t need to because everyone in the room knows as much. Jimin is airing your insecurities, verbalising one of your fears; what if you never work out who the killer is?

Silence falls over the room, awkward and tense. Everyone’s as frustrated with this as you are. Nothing’s moving forward, there’s no new knowledge, nothing pushing you closer to your goal. You know Jimin’s as tired with this as you are, and on top of it there’s nothing benefitting him.

In a softer, more defeated tone you say, “You don’t have to hang around waiting if that’s what’s bothering you.”

Jimin’s response to that is his arms crossing in front of his chest, his weight leaning back into his chair. He’s not going anywhere.

“Me and Jungkook have this,” you try again.

“Clearly.”

You want to laugh at the comment, but you also want to cry. You want to scream and shout at him. Want to tell him everything he’s clearly missing. Want him to realise just how much this isn’t helping you. Want him to understand why it feels like the world is on your shoulders right now, why you want to break down crying at every turn and why this isn’t fucking helping.

Instead you do what you always do; you bite your tongue.

“I’ve said this so many times,” Jimin says, his tone reflecting yours, softer and slightly defeated. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me stuff.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

You shouldn’t have said anything, or at least shouldn’t have lied. Jimin unfolds from his seat, his hands slapping down on the table, his chair scrapping along the floor as he pushes to stand, his face livid. You sit, unfazed as he becomes alight with rage.

“Funny,” his voice wobbles as he tries to contain the anger. “Because you two are clearly hiding something. That look,” his finger points between you and Jungkook, his voice rising with each point he adds to the list. “Jungkook always going off on his own, the two of you coming up with plans but not telling anyone else, sneaking off to fights, to speak to Namjoon.”

He pauses, nothing else immediately coming to his mind. It’s enough time that when he speaks again he’s not shouting. Now looking down at you, his tone feels far more patronising.

“If you want in this gang, you’re supposed to let us help. If you want in this gang, you’re supposed to share your information. It’s a team, Y/N. Maybe if you started acting like you wanted to be apart of it then people would start accepting you.”

You clench your teeth in time. Maybe I don’t want to be part of this gang, you want to scream back. But all Jimin hears is silence. And as always, he takes that as weakness, or as you giving up. With the shake of his head he walks out the door, taking the easy route as always.

The first thing you’re conscious of when you wake is the cold metal pressed against your forehead. In the second it takes your groggy mind to realise it’s a gun, you give yourself away and there’s no way to get the upper hand on the person.

“If you do anything I tell you not to, I pull this fucking trigger.”

You lay silent, knowing not to talk without them having to say it. But now you’ve heard their voice you try to place it. It’s deep, male, but than most people you come across these days are male. There’s no distinctive lilt, no accent, nothing to pinpoint the voice as someone you know. You can’t see them. All you can see is the ceiling obscured by a gloved hand and the barrel of the gun. You don’t dare try and twist and see their face. You hope it’s covered, because if it’s not then that’s a sure sign that this gun isn’t just a warning. Even if you thought it were safe to try and see their face, there’s nothing you can do with the information and part of you wants to put the possible knowledge off.

“Now, when I say, I want you to slowly get out of bed, stand in front of me and put your hands behind your back.”

If you were anyone else you’d make a quip about the request. Maybe you’d ask him if he wanted you to do it with a smile on your face. Or if he thought giving you so many instructions all at once would be too much for your female brain to follow.

But you’re you and though you like to pretend to be a big shot, you feel as scared right now as most people would deem normal. You’ve had guns pointed at you in the past, had a man you thought loved you point one at you, and yet it doesn’t make this feel any easier.

You’re terrified. But you would never admit that to anyone. So even as you stand, you try and keep your face straight and stop your hands shaking. Even if this is the end, you’ll keep fighting till the end.

Eyes fixed above you, heart thumping even as you steady your breathing. You feel for the covers still covering you and then awkwardly and slowly move to stand. Your heart stutters every time the gun moves against your head, even when the guy realises you’ve got the message and he can point the gun at you without it having to touch you, you don’t feel relaxed. Waiting until the last possible moment you look over at the man.

Your heart drops. You can see every feature of his face.

“Move.” He pushes the gun against your temple and despite your pounding heart you still manage to stand without breaking your flat expression.

A weird calmness starts to fall over you as he gets you to step forward so he can stand behind you. As if accepting the realisation that this truly might be the end. That he can kill you, but you’re not going to let him have anything else. He’s not going to humiliate you any other way.

When he doesn’t make you move any more, you instinctively turn to look at him to question it. All you catch is the tattoo on his wrist before he slams the gun into the back of your head.

“Just stand there and look forward.”

Resisting the urge to rub the now aching spot you give a small shake of your head. But it doesn’t stop your confusion. Shouldn’t he be asking you to kneel right now? Giving a rant about why he’s doing this? Or if you suspect, explaining why he killed your father and why he’s now about to kill you. At the very least he should be forcing you to walk out the door, taking you somewhere other than the middle of your bedroom floor.

But none of that happens. Instead silence falls over the room as you both stand in the middle of it. You awkwardly stood looking at the door, no gun pressed into you now but the threat of someone you can’t see still in your mind.

The seconds tick by and there’s no shot, no pain, no death. The man doesn’t say anything and no one else appears. Though you can’t see the man, you can feel his apprehension; something should have happened by now.

“If it was down to me, I’d have shot you by now,” he murmurs the words, they’re not spoken at full volume as if he’s worried someone will hear. “You’d be dead. A life for a life.”

You blood runs cold. It feels like all the blood drains out of your face. Is that what this is, revenge for you killing that man? But he’s not killing you, he’s waiting for someone else. For what? Them to kill you? What would the point of that be? And he’s made it here, he had to walk through the house without anyone stopping him. Maybe they weren’t part of the rival gang as you theorised. Maybe they’re part of this gang, which is why they could make it here, to your first-floor room, without anyone stopping them. But you don’t recognise him, the only thing you recognised was the –

Your heart pounds as pieces of information click together. The fact it felt like those people knew you were going to be there that day, that they drew you into that alley on purpose. The fact they all wanted to hide their faces. The interviews you did to see what information people could give. The fact you’ve not been making it a secret what you’re trying to do. The note attached to the severed finger, the fact whoever sent it wasn’t a fan that you’re close to finding the truth.

And then Conan. In the hall he so casually asked about how you’re getting on. You told him you were close. Did that scare him? Is that why he’s now going to kill you? Because he believed you and if he thought you had any evidence to prove it was him, he couldn’t let that get out?

“Did the tattoo on your wrist hurt?” There’s a beat and then the gun is pressed into your skull. Still, he doesn’t tell you to shut up. “Did you and the guys pledging themselves to Conan all gather around and do it together?”

Again, the gun presses harder into your head, this time so much that you have to lean your head forward a little. But this time it only makes you smile. You may be about to die, but you think you’ve just cracked it. Has it really been Conan this whole time? For what, more power? Because he was finally sick of your father being the only one above him? You’ll possibly never know, and honestly you couldn’t care less.

You laugh a little, becoming a bit delirious with the absurdity at what’s happening. “How does it make you feel knowing he’ll never be in power? That my brother will –”

“Shut the fuck up,” his voice is tense in a way it hasn’t been before, as if he’s close to snapping and with the gun pressed against your head, you know what’ll will happen if he does snap. “I didn’t ask your opinion, and I don’t want it. No one wants it. But that’s what you keep doing. Walking around here as if you fucking own the place. But no one wants you here.”

You’ve heard the words so frequently, from so many people that it doesn’t faze you anymore. Your brain tells you way worse things about yourself; nothing can be worse than that.

The man huffs out a laugh, pressing the gun into your head a final time before pulling it completely away. “You don’t belong here. And Conan’s about to show you what happens when you try to act like you do.”

As if magic, there’s a knock on the door. Your heart plummets. This is it then. You’ve worked it out but you’ll never be able to tell anyone. It was all for nothing.

There’s another firmer knock. Your brow scrunches, surely Conan would have just barged through the door.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widen. That wasn’t Conan and given the way the man behind you snatches you into his arms to stop you running or shouting, the gun pressing into your temple, he also realises that fact.

There’s another small knock. “Y/N. Come on. I’ve just come to apologise.”

Your mind whirls. There’s no point in trying to get Jimin’s attention, that’ll only be a sure way to seal your death. That and you know Jimin won’t do anything but barge through the door to try and play the hero. But if he doesn’t come in, if he thinks you’re ignoring him or are asleep then he’ll just leave. He’ll be none the wiser to the danger you’re in and any chance you had in trying to escape will be gone.

But at least Jimin won’t be in danger.

There’re several knocks in a row, each more powerful, each giving away Jimin’s frustration that you’re ignoring him. It makes you emotional, thinking of him behind the door, no idea that you’re not ignoring him because you don’t want to see him, but because you’re trying to save him.

“Not a fucking word,” the man leans in, whispering into your ear.

“I just wanted to say I didn’t mean what I said earlier, ok? I’m not used to not knowing everything, but I get it. I don’t agree but –” he pauses and you can image the frustration on his face. Jimin never admits he’s wrong, it’s not being missed by you how hard this must be for him. “Can I just come in? I don’t want to say this to a door.”

The door handle starts to wiggle, and the man drags you back a step. It surprises you and you let out a small yelp before righting your balance.

“Y/N?” The door handle has stopped moving and there’s a beat of pure silence before everything seems to collapse.

There’s a loud bang as Jimin enters the room, nearly removing the door from its hinges despite the fact it was unlocked. His face is one of pure shock, though he looks more concerned about you than the fact there’s a gun pointing at his head. You can feel the man shaking slightly as he holds you.

Another silence settles as each of you weighs your options.

All you can think is that the gun is now pointing at Jimin, and though you’re sure he’d rather it that way around, you’d rather it wasn’t. You also know you probably don’t have much time. Waiting for the perfect opportunity may be useless if that moment never comes. While it’s dangerous to act now, it may be the most surprising moment to do it.

One last look at Jimin, you can see the realisation that you’re about to do something cross his face, but before he can do or say anything you move.

You throw your head back, knocking the crown of your head against the man’s nose. Before he can recover, you take his shock to grab the arm holding the gun and force it to point at the ceiling. A shot goes off. Pieces of ceiling and dust rain down on you.

“Y/N,” Jimin roars as he begins to charge across the room towards you.

But with it being Jimin at the door, not Conan and now all the noise, the man realises this is a lost cause. You can see it unfolding before you; Jimin storming across the room, the man righting himself and seeing Jimin between him and his exit, the gun still in his hand.

Before you can think, you start to move.

“Jimin,” you shout as you pounce on him, knocking the two of you backwards just before another shot goes off.

The man doesn’t care that he’s missed, he’s moving before he can see the result.

“Y/N,” Jimin’s voice is below you now, his words vibrating through your head that’s on his chest.

Hands wrap around your shoulders. Awkwardly you untangle your legs and sit up, looking down at Jimin. His hair is slayed across the floor, his eyes hard as they assess every inch they can get a look at.

“Sorry, I just saw the –”

“Are you hurt?” Jimin interrupts.

“I’m fine, maybe a little winded, but you must be –”

“How’s your head?”

Instinctively you reach a hand to the crown of your head, it’s sore to the touch. But that’s not your biggest concern right now.

“It’s fine. I’ve worked out –”

“Did he do anything else to you,” he cuts you off again, a hardness seeping into his tone as if whatever he’s imaging is causing his blood to boil. “Before I arrived?”

“No, I’m fine, seriously. But Jimin, would you just let me –”

“I’m going to find that guy and I’m going to make him wish he never lived.”

You roll your eyes, even if the threat does something twisted to your insides. Someone threatening someone on your behalf shouldn’t make you feel good. And as much as you’ve been putting off getting up from your position essentially lay on top of Jimin, you start to push off him. It’s not elegant, but Jimin’s hands remain on you until you’re fully stood, and even when you’re secure on your own two feet, he doesn’t stray too far.

“I need to go after him,” Jimin seems just as reluctant to leave you, though you imagine that has more to do with the fact his bosses sister nearly got killed on his watch than his feelings mirroring yours. “I’ve already given him too much of a head start, but we know his face.”

“He doesn’t matter.”

One of Jimin’s eyebrows lift, but it looks more like a natural instinct than anything. Concern still coats his eyes. And he still stands close enough to grab you if needed.

“I’ve worked it out,” you say, the words sounding weird on your lips. “I know who did it.”

The words don’t seem to resonate with him, just like they sound weird to you, they seem to take a while to make sense to Jimin.

Now, free and with the answer to the questions you’ve been trying to work out for weeks, you don’t have time to wait for him to catch up. But when you take a step towards the door, a warm hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. You look over at Jimin, a question in your eyes. He looks like he doesn’t know why he did it himself, takes half a second to find the words.

“He could still be out there.”

You doubt it, and you know Jimin thinks the same. It’s not the reason he instinctively reached for you, but your mind is buzzing too much to try and work out another reason.

“I need to see Yoongi,” you say and when it doesn’t immediately get him to stop touching you, you add, “come, if you want.”

When you take another step, Jimin’s hand loosens on your skin and when you take a third step his hand drops away completely.

You feel on edge the whole time you walk to Yoongi’s office. Hearing Jimin only a step behind you doesn’t make you feel any better. It’s not that you’ve worked it out, not completely the situation you’ve just been in, but more what this means. Now you’ve worked it out everything else will fall into place. Everything you came back for will happen.

There’s light shining through the cracks Yoongi’s door when you reach it. You barely pause to knock before pushing into the room.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

You watch as Yoongi pauses with the glass touching his lips. Slowly, he lowers it onto the table. Really, you’re sure it would be fine if he drank it, it’s been a while since your dad was killed, if someone wanted to kill Yoongi too then they could have done it by now. But the sentence has the desired effect; you instantly have Yoongi’s attention.

“I’ve worked it out,” you start and when he doesn’t ask for more information you explain.

The way Conan has always been too casual about his questions on why you’re back; at the café when you first came back, in the hallway the other day. The fact he’s always offered his help, made it clear he’ll help you, implying he also thought your dad was killed, didn’t die naturally, but despite offering his help has always avoided you.

You tell him about the alley. About tattoos. About the finger and how he already knew about it.

And then you tell him how the man who pointed a gun at your head admitted it was Conan when he confronted by the information.

For once Yoongi looks up at you as if impressed. It frustrates you. He’s never looked at you this way, he’s never been impressed by you, and now he is you can see the surprise that’s accompanying it. Despite everything, he still doubts you.

“Well,” Yoongi mulls, his eyes darting over your shoulder to the spot you’re sure Jimin is stood. “Good job.”

There’s a prolonged pause. This time it’s you staring at him in shock.

“That’s it?” You bite.

“What else were you expecting?”

“We had a deal,” you say, incredulous. “I find the killer, I’m in the gang.”

Yoongi waves his hand as if that’s only a minor inconvenience, one he plans on trying to forget. “We’ll check your facts. If it’s all corroborated, then you’re in.”

“Really?” Yoongi’s face remains impassive, no care or emotion passing over it.

Your heart falls, you really believed him. You can’t hide the disappointment from your face, and when you glance over your shoulder as if for help from Jimin, you see your own sadness reflected. He’s quick to try and hide it, but you see it. He doesn’t agree with what Yoongi’s saying, he thinks he’s been harsh, he thinks you should join the gang and yet he says nothing in your defence.

Taking a breath in, you face Yoongi again. His eyes are still on you, his face back to being unreadable. If this is a final test, it’s a cruel one.

“Fine,” you say, voice thick. “Do whatever you want, Yoongi. Talk to whoever you need to. Check that what I’ve said it correct and let Conan carry on without consequence. I get it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there will be consequences.”

You huff a laugh, it sounds flat and sad. With a sad smile, you give Yoongi one last look before turning. You have to push past Jimin to walk through the door. This time he doesn’t stop you.

“Levels, the nightclub, tomorrow, midday.”

The woman opposite you scribbles down the details as you say them. You wish she wouldn’t, it’s not exactly hard information to memorise and you can’t help but think that the more that’s written down, the more likely this could all be traced back to you.

“You’ll need to wait for Conan to walk in before you do,” you carry on. “And expect guns.”

Finally, she looks up at you. She doesn’t need to scowl, her features are already sharp and firm. You can see how she’d be able to climb the ladder quickly. Can see how a woman like her might be able to do something you never could. Hold power in a world many think is made for men.

“We’re not stupid.”

You can’t help but glance down at the paper she’s just written all the details on. Catching your look she snatches it up, tucks the paper in her pocket before giving you another less than impressed look. This is supposed to be a partnership and despite the fact you agreed to this, not trusting the police has been built into you since you were young.

“I hope this is the last time I see you then.”

There’s no handshake, no thanks for everything you’ve done, no well wishes.

You stand, eyes a little higher than hers. For once you’re on the same side and yet you’re both still hostile towards each other. Regardless of everything you’ve done for her, all the information you’ve given her, she still looks a little disgusted by you.

“We’ll find you after,” she grunts before walking out ahead of you.

You’re stood in a club that would normally be loud and packed full of people. Tonight there are people just no music or colourful lights. Instead groups of men stand around talking in murmured voices, all together creating a chorus of noise. Stood on the edge of it all, Yoongi.

The drink in your hand trembles giving away your current mood. Nervous, apprehensive about what’s about to happen, anxious that it’s not going to pay off. Your feelings a complete contradiction to everyone else’s in the room.

Downing the rest of the bubbling drink you place the now empty glass on a table.

“Well,” you mutter to Jungkook. “We’ve shown our faces.”

“Toilet?” He says with a not so subtle glance around the room. “Want me to come with?”

“I don’t need you holding my hand,” you can’t help the comment and are at least rewarded with the barest of smiles. “But yes. Please come with me.”

Jungkook nods, back to his stiff and slightly nervous state.

It’s something you’ve done a million times, walked across a room with Jungkook following behind you, only this time there feels so much more weight to it. No one’s paying you any attention and while once you would have been annoyed by that, now you’re thankful for it.

Eyes on your exit you fight the urge to look around at the people in the room. One last look. But you can’t because you know that you’ll break if you do. You can’t afford to stay any longer. You’ve had the one drink, stayed your ten minutes. Conan will be here any minute and that means you can’t be here.

The door feels heavy when you push it open, despite the fact it easily swings open. Every footstep away from the room you take gets harder. Your heart grows heavy, your breathing a little more laboured even though your steps have gotten smaller, slower.

You stop just before the exit. Hand hovering over the handle, your escape so close and yet you’re struggling to take it.

Jungkook looks sympathetic when you look over your shoulder at him. He knows how hard this is for you, but he also knows how you need to get out of here. Something in your face or stance must give away your thought process because slowly Jungkook’s face twists into a grimace. Slowly his head begins to shake.

“Y/N,” Jungkook speaks your name with a growl. A warning, the same that’s in his eyes and in the way his body is tense and ready to reach out and grab you if you move. “We have to go. Now.”

“I –” you can’t explain, don’t have the words, even if you did you don’t think Jungkook would understand. “I have time.”

“Y/N,” it’s lower, somehow deeper than before.

You fake left and then dart right before Jungkook can stop you. He could easily catch you if he wanted so it shows a lot when his hand doesn’t immediately come into contact with your skin.

“I’m telling you it’s not worth it,” Jungkook shouts after you, clearly making no effort to follow you. “I’m not saving your ass this time.”

You ignore him. You can’t explain it, it’s a long standing feeling you can’t shake off. It’s the fact that you don’t know what’ll happen to him if you leave him there. It’s the thought that either way, Jimin will hate you after this, but you’d rather him hate you alive and out of jail than in it.

You jog back to the room you just left but pause before you fully enter. Hand hovering over the brass knob, you steady your breath, compose your face. Stopping your heart from pounding is harder to achieve.

The room is noisy, full of people stood around talking, eyes and posture alert. They’re all waiting, they just don’t realise what they’re waiting for. There’s an excitement in the air, it makes you feel a little sick, partly because they’re excited by the thought of a man turning up here and being killed for what he did, even if he deserves it you hate that everyone gathers to watch. But it also makes you feel sick because only you know that Conan will walk through that door, but only seconds behind him will be a mob of police.

In just under five minutes time.

You look around the room, half looking for Jimin, half taking in the people. You can almost already hear the gunshots. The shouts and screams. The bodies falling to the ground. Do they deserve it for what they’ve done to you? All the effort you’ve gone to just to prove a point. You’re not weak, you’re not stupid, you deserve your place in this family. And if they’re all too blind to see that then you’ll show them, just not in the way they expect.

Because after all this time, the years of resentment building and building. When you heard your dad had passed you thought you could finally move on and then you thought you could come back and take the place you deserve in this family. But even then you couldn’t. Your dad no longer the one in your way, but it didn’t matter who, even your brother requested proof you weren’t the weak, dumb girl they all looked at you as.

Your eyes land on Yoongi. He’s sipping a glass of scotch, eyes dancing across the room as a couple of men talk in front of him.

Does he deserve this? He’s your brother, the only family you have. But he wanted proof you’re strong enough for this life, so you’re going to give it.

You drink him in. His gummy smile you were always jealous off, even though you knew it was something he was self-conscious of. His dark hair which has grown so much longer than you’ve ever seen. His suit which perfectly fits him. And his dark eyes which flick around the room, always seeing.

“Y/N.”

You’ve failed to remember you’re on the clock and the reason you even came back and you’re obviously failing to look calm given Jimin’s reaction. He takes a step closer to you, concern written all over his face and his arm subconsciously raising as if he wants to reach out and touch you.

“Hey, what’s happened?”

Your eyes dart around the room. You’re not too late but it’s going to happen any second and when it does you can’t be here. They promised you wouldn’t be tied up in all of this, but only if you aren’t in the room when they arrive. The question is how you are going to convince Jimin to leave with you.

Your eyes are wild as they seek out different escape routes before finally settling on Jimin. Swallowing, you say, “it’s Jungkook.”

You feel guilty as soon as the name leaves your lips. And even more guilty when you see the shock and then determination that enters Jimin’s eyes. His hand is firm on your shoulder, a gesture that’s supposed to be reassuring, supposed to show that he’s going to take over and sort this out. You should feel good, your plans worked, but you still only feel guilt.

“Show me,” is all Jimin says, his hand adding pressure to get you to start moving back the way you came.

You give one last glace at the room and the men who stand in it, pausing on your brother before turning and leaving.

You walk to the door, don’t bother to hold it open for Jimin. You take two steps down the hall, check your watch, before your footsteps start to increase in pace. You should never have gone back, you don’t have much time now. The clocks ticking.

Unlike before, your pace starts to increase as you move down the long hall, blood roaring in your ears, but you can still hear the steady footsteps following everyone of yours.

What will he think when he discovers what you’ve done? Your heart is already starting to shatter at the thought, your brain trying to do damage control. It’ll be fine. You’ll live. You can pull yourself together enough to move on.

This isn’t a mistake.

“He’s just through here,” your voice sounds far away, like it doesn’t belong to you.

Jimin steps through the door first, you follow. The suns blinding compared to the dark interior of the club. It takes your eyes a second to adjust. Jungkook’s leaning against a wall next to some bins, not a scratch on him. Jimin stands motionless between the two of you.

“I can explain,” you start to say but stop when Jimin turns to look at you.

And then the shouts start. Shots can be heard in the distance, and while all three of you flinch, none of you move.

“What have you done?”

You’ll never forget the look he gives you. You thought you’d seen Jimin dislike you, thought you’d seen his face contort into something akin to distaste when you’ve suggested joining the gang, thought you’d once seen hatred contort in his eyes when Yoongi let you back. But now you truly know he was right; he’s never hated you. Because the look in his eyes right now is something you’ve never seen.

Deep and utter betrayal. A flicker of unrecognising, a shifting in his perspective around you.

You’ve surprised him. After everything you’ve been through, everything this ‘family’ has done to you, he still can’t believe you’d do this. He looks like he doesn’t know who you are.

You knew this would be his reaction. Jungkook knew it too, it’s why he never wanted you to go back for him, because this hurts, him looking at you this way hurts. It’s too late though. It’s done. Neither of you can change that.

Composing yourself, you say, voice thick, “we should get out of here.”

A nerve in Jimin’s jaw ticks. His eyes flick back to the door you just walked through. You can almost see him thinking about going back in there, where the gunshots can still be heard. Your heart gives another pang. Would he rather go back in there and risk getting arrested than walking away from it all with you?

“Y/N’s right. Let’s go.”

You look over at Jungkook stood a couple of metres away. His eyes are soft but with a hint of knowing; he did repeatedly ask whether doing all of this was worth the fall out.

Taking a breath, you look back at Jimin, his eyes now on you and devoid of all emotion. It’s almost worse.

Standing as tall as you can you turn towards Jungkook and start walking. You’re not sure if they’ll all follow. And you’re not sure what to feel when you hear two sets of footsteps follow, one more hesitant than the other.

#jimin fic #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin imagine

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