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txemrn · 2 years ago

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Ricochet

Part IV: "... This Isn't What I Wanted (or Is It Everything?)"

Need to Catch up?

A New Boss (a prequel of sorts)

Part I: “Like Moths to the Flame”

Part II: “So Far Away, but Still So Near”

Part IIIa: “And I Know It Gets Dark…”

Part IIIb: "...But I Know the Way."

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x F!OC (Tatum Erikson); Tobias Carrick x F!OC (Tatum)

Series Music Inspo: Ricochet by Starset (more of an acoustic fan? Check it here.)

Chapter Music Inspo: "Shapeshifting" by Taylor Acorn

Series Summary: Almost two decades ago, he gave love a chance–and she betrayed him. Now after all of this time, Dr. Ethan Ramsey and Dr. Tatum Erikson realize that their past feelings might not exactly be ancient history–especially now that they are forced to work together.

Chapter Summary: Tatum has called for assistance from the main OR, but will they be any help when several emergencies emerge at the same time? Tatum takes courage and finds her voice when she remembers an awful experience; she meets a new, young surgical resident

Warning: 🔞mature audiences only 🔞 TW: dub-con/non-con 🍋; strong depiction of a medical procedure; strong depiction of a medical emergency involving newborn infant and mother; language (including a slur against woman); angst; discussion of infidelity

Word Count: 4300 (+/-)

A/N: Characters and some plot belong to Pixelberry! Not beta'd, so please excuse my errors. Fair warning: this is not my strongest chapter (I mean, it took my FOREVER to actually finish it and post), but I hope you enjoy the journey regardless.

A/N 2: It really has been forever and day, so here's a recap: *clear throat* Previously in Ricochet... Unable to sleep after his encounter with Casey at Raf and Sienna's wedding, Ethan's heads in to the hospital despite it being his day off; after a challenging talk with Tobias about unspoken intentions with Tatum, the chief heads over to the L&D ORs, where he finds a terrified Tatum in the midst of a rare, very lethal surgery, and her hesitation doesn't go unnoticed by the staff in the observation deck as they ridicule the new chief of OB, Tobias being the ringleader of the hate; Ethan sternly bans them from witnessing the once-in-a-lifetime surgery before turning to encourage Tatum in the most Ethan-way possible: with just a look...

~🖤~

Remaining in her sterile surgical gear, Tatum carefully takes a seat on a metal stool, saving her back for the arduous surgery staring at her on the operating table. She anxiously chews on her lip, her eyes darting across her patient's open abdomen before fixating on her fresh set of steel tools.

The procedure she knows like the back of her hand: clamp, cut, control bleeding. But, with the placenta growing outside of the uterus and into other organs, into the delicate vasculature of the pelvis, it's like going into this surgery blindfolded.

The uterus has to come out–and the patient is well aware of this and prepared. But, this isn't like any other hysterectomy. Will it cost the patient her ovaries? Her bowels and bladder? Her life?

Tatum urgently stands back up, staring at the clock on the wall. It had been over twenty minutes, and her STAT page was yet to be answered by surgery. Too slow for L&D standards; way too slow for her own standards. And at this rate, the patient’s spinal anesthesia is going to dissipate before they even start.

Damnit… think, Tatum, think…

She could always page Ramsey.

No.

Tatum refuses to resort to that. Well, not that calling on him for assistance would be the worst thing in the world.

She had a brief moment of weakness–more like a moment of uncertainty, actually–when she discovered her patient’s unknown lethal condition, and Ethan clearly recognized the fear etched on her face from the gallery; truth be told, the accreta scared him, too.

However, Tatum is a highly skilled physician; her reputation for excellence precedes her. If she needs help, she will ask for it–and she has.

She's embarrassed that she even needed Ethan's reassurance earlier, even if it was just for that moment, that simple nod of 'I believe in you.' Sure, it was supportive, and it gave her that extra push she needed to power forward.

But that look, that damn crystal gaze…

Damnit, why did she have to freeze? It was only for an instant, a very brief second. Tatum Erikson doesn't need a vote of confidence. Not from anyone, not even from the famous Dr. Ethan Ramsey. She is independently strong, independently capable.

But now, Tatum feels as if she's accidentally exposed a secret side to herself, like her own Achilles' heel; it's quite possible now he knows he still has an effect on her.

Worse, now she knows he still has an effect on her.

She turns to Wanda the charge nurse, who shrugs her shoulders to the physician's unspoken question.

Tatum takes a deep cleansing breath, trying her best to stay calm. "Can someone please tell me where the hell is my backup ?"

"Right here, Doctor…"

Hearing the monotoned boredom of an unfamiliar male voice, Tatum spins around to find two gentlemen moseying into her operating room, drying off their hands with blue sterile towels. The tension raking her nerves is instantly relieved, seeing her help arrive.

The older of the men continues. "I'm Dr. Aaron Tanaka, chief of surgery," he nods his head towards the taller gentleman. "And this is one of my fourth-years–"

"Sup?" The young surgical resident smoothly winks at Tatum, popping gum under his mask.

Oh great, a kindergartner… Tatum rolls her eyes as the healthcare team assists the men into their protective gowns. As the physicians roll their gloves over the cuffs of their sleeves, Tatum escorts them over to her patient, catching them up to speed on what has happened so far. Together, Dr. Tanaka and Dr. Erikson develop several plans of how to overcome the patient's lethal risk of hemorrhaging.

"Whoa…" the younger surgeon exclaims, "I have never seen anything like that–"

Tatum clears her throat, glaring at the amateur physician.

"Should I start charging admission?" The patient jokes on the other side of the blue drape, causing the room to snicker loudly.

Tatum leans toward the young doctor, her tone low and syrupy. And quite sarcastic. “Try not to say everything that pops into that feeble little brain of yours–” He pops his chewing gum, winking with a finger gun. Fucking residents…

As the room quiets down, the patient softly whistles to get her surgeon's attention. "Dr. Erikson?" Tatum tucks in her hands, carefully wiggling her body closer to the head of the table to hear the patient clearer.

"Yes ma'am? You ready?"

The patient lowers her voice. "He's not, eh, doing the surgery, is he?" referring to the surgical resident who was shocked by the scene.

The blonde guffaws. "No, ma'am," she glances back to the young doctor who is now talking cooly with her staff, the nurses dow-eyed and eagerly laughing at everything he says. But suddenly, he fixes his flirty, soft copper eyes on Tatum. His intense gaze fools her into inadvertently staring too long as she begins to take note of his tall, trim physique. He begins to smolder, causing her to turn her attention back to her patient. "H–He's here for… my entertainment."

“Is he hot? He sounds hot.” Tatum gives a dramatic wink while her patient shoots a knowing look in return, clicking her tongue and giggling.

“Erikson?” The anesthesthetist breaks her from her reverie, confirming the case status. “We’re ready.”

"Perfect.” Tatum takes her place on a metal step stool, matching her height with her assists. She’s above average height for a woman at five-foot-nine-inches, but still, the men tower over her. She looks around the room with a commanding stance. “Are we set then?"

"Ready when you are, Doc," Dr. Tanaka affirms, others nodding in agreement.

Tatum cracks her neck, taking a big deep breath. "Okay, then," she exhales, surveying her staff, "now who's ready to have a birthday party?"

After a few shared chuckles, the patient was safely intubated and given the proper amount of anesthesia. Seeing that she was safely asleep under the appropriate gasses, Dr. Erikson quickly proceeds with her cesarean surgery, and in record time, she delivers a beautiful six-pound, thirteen-ounce baby girl.

The OB takes the tiny infant in her arms, making cooing noises to welcome the tiny one into the world as she suctions out the mouth and nose with a green bulb syringe.

But as the birthday cheers begin to quiet down around the room, the situation abruptly becomes dire: the baby is limp, her skin becoming dusky gray at the cut of her cord. Tatum continues to stimulate the baby to breathe with no avail.

"C'mon, baby girl," Tatum's words become gruffly matter-of-fact. She wrestles with her legs, flicking her feet vigorously with her fingers, but her tiny frame lays flaccid in the physician's hands like a limp fish.

Lifeless.

No cry.

"Nurse?" Tatum urgently calls out, quickly handing off the stunned baby to the waiting NICU staff. "Keep me updated–" she orders as the team hooks the baby up to specialized monitors, performing the necessary interventions to resuscitate.

Tatum briefly closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before she focuses on the surgery. Opening her eyes, she nods assuredly to Tanaka before continuing. “Pickups.” The surgical tech hands the obstetrician a pair of tissue forceps and a cauterizing tool to continue with her surgery. "I need an update, ladies," Tatum shouts. Her tone is assertive and controlled, commanding and clear. Inwardly she is panicked, but she remains calm, a testament to her leadership skills and her quick thinking.

"We're just past a minute of life. Pulse is 52. Starting compressions… draw up epi… let's get an umbilical line…"

Fuck. Tatum's nerves tangle as she listens to the baby's team of professionals administer medications and physical maneuvers to make her spontaneously breathe on her own. Still, the OB continues steadily and carefully with her surgery, glancing over at the baby every few seconds.

C'mon, baby girl. Cmon. Mama needs you–

Suddenly, a trill of alarms begin to blare rapidly, stealing everyone's attention. Before realizing what had happened, warm, crimson fluid spatters across the surgical field, saturating Tatum's arms, gloves and gown; her mask and shield are covered with blood.

"Erikson!" Shouts the anesthetist, "BP 67/23… heart rate now in the 150s…"

"That vessel on the lateral portion of the accreta blew. She's bleeding out, Erikson–" Tanaka quickly suctions the field of the pooling blood. "She's getting shocky… and fast. How should we proceed?"

Fuck. Tatum grabs a stack of lap pads and tosses them to the young resident. "We need to find the source of this bleeding." He nods and instantly begins soaking up the copious amounts of fluid with the large, thick pieces of gauze as Tatum explores the body cavity with Tanaka.

"BPs dropping," anesthesia hollers.

"Give me a second–"

"Erikson! She doesn't have a second–"

"Bolus her and mass transfuse four units–" Feeling their stares, Tatum looks up at her concerned anesthesia team. "Now!" She growls, her eyebrows furrowing as she returns to the carnage. "Then cross and match four more units… and buy me a goddamn second!"

Taking a deep breath, Tatum flickers her attention to her assistants, both of them giving her an approving nod.

"Damnit! Dr. Erikson! I can't get this intubation on the baby. We need you–"

"Dr. Erikson! Vitals not improving–"

“Dr. Erikson–!”

Tatum glances around the room, her paralyzing fear slowing down time. All she can hear is the thunder of her own heart racing, the rasp of her breathing echoing in her head. She sees the concerned faces; she hears the whispers of doubt and concern from her colleagues

She’s losing them. The possibility of losing either of them never crossed her mind, but both? A mother and child? This wasn’t the plan; this was never part of the fucking plan.

The sting of tears pricks at Tatum’s reddening eyes.

What do I do?... what have I done?

------

The torrential downpour hushes to a dull tapping of raindrops as hollow roars of thunder rumble in the distance; but, the storm was just beginning for Tatum as she lays frozen in her bed, her sanctuary that she shared only with the love of her life.

And now, his best friend.

The room suddenly feels so different, so strange and unknown. It seems so ordinary, no longer special. The warmth of home has melted away, leaving a peculiar chill of unfamiliarity.

There's a handsome smell, a spicy musk that hangs in the air. But, it’s not Ethan.

There’s a pair of distressed jeans tossed carelessly on the carpet, but the body heat that lingers isn’t from him either.

There’s a set of arms possessively wrapped around her naked body. The skin feels … different. The hair? Different. The actual grip and weight on top of her: it’s different.

It’s not Ethan.

What have I done? Tatum’s eyes pain with the threat of tears, her chest beginning to rise and fall in search of fresh air, in search of clarity. But with each gasp of a new breath, she quietly whimpers in agony for the ache in her heart.

She had broken the most precious thing she owned. That she will ever own.

"You awake?" Tobias croons in her ear as his large hand massages the soft, flat planes of her belly. He tenderly works his way down, his fingers intimately petting her sore, swollen lips between her thighs.

She winces, her toes curling as her body grows rigid from his unwanted touch. She consciously holds her breath, hoping he won't notice her terrified nerves.

"What’s wrong, baby girl?" he whispers, pressing his full lips against her neck, biting at the sensitive area. “Are you needing more already?”

Tatum can feel his heavy erection against her hip, his intentions painfully aware. He slowly rocks himself against her body as if to charm her like a serpent, hypnotizing her to give him exactly what he wants. Another rendezvous; another fuck; another sin.

Desperate for a gentle hand, she foolishly lost herself in Tobias’s caress earlier that evening. She was vulnerable, inebriated, and lonely. In her altered mind, even for just a small moment, being in his arms made sense–well, being in someone's arms made sense. She needed Ethan. She was broken and hurt, and she despairingly needed her boyfriend’s love and comfort.

But, Tobias was there. His words, the look on his face, the heat in his touch: it was exactly what she needed to sooth her wounds. For the moment.

And now, he wants to claim her once more.

Shit, can a woman deny a man if she’s already given in once? Does he have a claim over her, a right, an expectation? The conversation played out in her head: 'You said, ‘yes’ earlier, you tease. You whore…'

Oh God, would he turn on her? Shame her publicly? Worse, would he tell Ethan before she could… that is if she decided to actually tell her boyfriend–no, she had to, right? But if Tobias told Ethan before her, would he be honest about what happened? Or would she become another victim of slut-shaming? 'She couldn't be faithful; what else is she lying about?'

It was one time; it was one mistake. Does that unravel three years of trust? Three years of commitment? Three years of love?

Tatum already knew the answer, and the taste of bile grazes the back of her throat.

She needed to stop this from happening again. But how can she while still protecting herself?

This was a grave mistake…

Tobias gently rolls her over, kissing hungrily against her pout. His tongue swipes across her plump lips, his large hand roaming down the outside of her thigh. But then he stops, sensing her awkwardness. “You okay?” His voice is haunting, dark, his gray eyes piercing her vacant stare.

No. “Uh-huh,” she lies with a nod. The corners of her mouth begin to curl as his hand grips behind her knee, hitching her leg around his waist. Goosebumps ignite across her skin in betrayal as he pushes himself against her throbbing clit.

Stop, her brain screams.

“Relax, Tate,” he growls before reclaiming her lips, nipping and bruising them. "Let me make you feel good."

Tell him to stop.

“Is this okay?”

No. She reluctantly shakes her head 'yes' in agreement.

He aligns his girth with her entrance, fisting the sheets next to her head as he hovers above her docile form.

Say something! Do anything! she screams to herself, but she is paralyzed by fear. It's more than just the fear of the consequences of what's happening. Tatum is terrified of herself.

Then again, maybe she believes she deserves this. It wasn't going to be pleasurable for her, rather an act of attrition. Maybe that's why her body allowed his advances. Maybe she needed to feel the discomfort as a form of punishment for what she had done against Ethan. Maybe this was a last ditch effort to settle the score, to make things even.

Feeling Tobias's weight begin to push into her, she turns her head to her phone laying on the bedside table, praying for Ethan to call her, text her, anything to interrupt this.

But nothing comes through.

And suddenly, she sobs out a painful moan.

------

“Dr. Erikson—!”

Say something… Do anything…

Tatum subtly shakes her head, the horrid memory fleeing her thoughts. The frantic voices of the NICU team pull her attention to the struggling infant.

“Please, doc, we need this intubation. We don’t have time to wait for our back-up–”

Tatum watches the mother’s abdomen pool with blood before turning a pleading stare to her colleague. “Tanaka–?”

“I’m on it.” He elbows his wide-eyed resident, “Suction.”

Say something… Do anything…

Seeing the men take over, Tatum instantly rips off her dirty gown and gloves and positions herself at the head of the baby’s bed.

“Would you like for us to call our back-up?” The neonatal practitioner urgently interrupts.

Tatum remains silent, seemingly ignoring her. She slides a metal apparatus into the infant’s mouth before guiding a clear plastic tube inside the throat and past the vocal cords. Attaching an ambu bag to the special tube to assist with the baby’s breathing, she watches the tiny chest rise and fall in coordination with the squeezing of the ventilation. Tatum steals a stethoscope from a nearby nurse’s neck and listens closely to the lungs.

“Breath sounds…” she moves the flat, round bell to the other side of the tiny torso, “equal and bilateral.” Tatum smirks as on-lookers silently praise her with sighs of relief. “Now,” she continues, “get this kid some epi. Oh! And ma’am?” She turns to the practitioner while handing the stethoscope back to the nurse. “I don’t need back-up.”

Slipping back into her sterile apparel, Tatum rejoins Tanaka and his resident, but quickly notices that he still hasn’t been able to find the source of the bleeding. She looks to anesthesia, “Where are we on our blood?”

“The first unit is pouring into her, but–”

“--she’s bleeding it back out–shit!” Tatum stares at the flood of viscous crimson.

“How would you like to proceed?” Dr. Tanaka questions. “Maybe order some more blood?”

Tatum thinks in silence, racking her brain for a solution.

“Should we call someone? Maybe someone who knows?” Anesthesia sardonically suggests, earning him a hateful side-eye.

“Maybe you should just plug the hole up with your finger,” the resident chuckles, his attending suddenly glaring in disapproval. Tatum glances at him, her eyes squinting into a glower as her eyebrows furrow.

These idiots–

But then she stops. She slowly cocks her head with curiosity as she suddenly considers his words.

Actually…

"My apologies, Dr. Erikson,” Tanaka interjects. “Perhaps we should–"

“--plug the hole up,” Tatum interrupts the seasoned surgeon, echoing the resident's poor joke, only this time, there is a certainty in her voice. "I’m going in." She instantly sticks her gloved hand into the open abdominal cavity, gently feeling her way around the thick, warm fluid.

“Dr. Erikson,” Dr. Tanaka chides, “this… is… highly unusual–”

“Just keep suctioning,” she orders, her hands tenderly brushing against the fragile uterus and the delicate vessels.

Tanaka scoffs, giving a knowing look to a worried anesthesia provider. The tall, young resident looks to his mentor, unsure of what to do… or if there was anything to do. He nervously looks back to Dr. Erikson, but suddenly his jaw falls open.

Her eyes are closed.

"Erikson–?" the anesthesiologist attempts to get her attention.

"Give me a sec," she carefully feels her way through the body.

His voice grows frantic. "Her vitals are–"

"Got it!" She instantly peers up at her staff with relief before turning to her tech. Her hand remains deep inside the patient, her arm twisted at an odd angle. "Get me a 3-O vicryl suture on an SH. Now please."

Tatum works quickly in silence as she temporarily fixes the weak, broken vessel. It wasn't a long-term answer, but this would buy them time to thoroughly clear the area of the accreta while cauterizing the necessary vessels before they performed the hysterectomy.

"Okay, so–" She flashes an innocent gaze to anesthesia, batting her eyelashes. "What were you saying about those vitals, doctor?" She's grateful she's wearing a mask to hide her smirk, but she knows her eyes are giving her away.

"Stabilizing, ma'am, uh. Doctor."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dr. Tanaka suctions to clear the field–and it stays that way.

"How did you know that would work?" The resident questions, his warm gaze fixating on the blonde OB.

Tatum stops, thoughts racing through her mind as she considers her words. She then subtly shakes her head, returning to the operation. "I didn't… but sometimes even when you don't know what the answer is, you just have to do something. It’s way better than nothing."

------

Impressive. That's the word men use when a lady doctor kicks ass. The anesthesia team along with Dr. Tanaka couldn't stop talking about Tatum's heroic move of plugging up the ruptured vessel with her finger–and doing so only by her sense of touch, completely blind. If she were a man, they would've given her a cigar; but to be described as impressive? She knows her battles; she'll take it.

As they transfer the patient to recovery, Tatum takes a moment to herself to bask in the relief of saving a life. Of saving two. She slips back into the sink area to be alone in silence.

Taking in a deep cleansing breath, she allows her nerves to relax for the first time in several hours. She tightly clenches her watering eyes shut, taking pleasure in the subtle sting of warmth after being in the frigid sterile air.

She grips firmly to the edge of the sink as she wiggles and contorts her body, feeling the sudden release of tension as her joints crack and pop.

She's grateful; she knows the success of the surgery was not by her doing alone. She would never be foolish enough to be that cocky, to truly think that something like this was completely in her control. There's only so much in her power, so much that science and her skills can fix. But when lives are left to chance, she’s grateful that the gamble fell into her favor.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

Instantly recognizing the familiar lax vocal timbre, Tatum looks up from the large steel sinks to find the tall, surgical resident, leaning against the doorway outside the operating room. She smiles appreciatively at him as he takes off his blue mask.

He's young– maybe in his late twenties–and handsome with a natural caramel glow to his skin. The lines of his face are cut sharp, chiseled into perfect angles. He’s slender, but well-toned; his green scrub top pulls snug around the musculature of his biceps. Although his hibiscus-laden scrub cap covers his head, his sun-kissed brunette tresses are pulled back into a tiny ponytail. Most of the hairs, however, have already worked their way out of the elastic, resting on the nape of his neck.

"No," Tatum shakes her head, "not at all."

He steps into the room, casually sliding his hands into his pockets. “Can I just say… that was incredible.”

Tatum stifles a bright smile, feigning nonchalance as she picks at her nails. "I mean–" She glances back up at him, but seeing the glint of excitement reciprocated, she instantly forgets whatever smart-ass comment she was about to make and squeals. “God, that was fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

"The fucking coolest!�� One of the most interesting cases I've seen in a while," he sucks in his bottom lip, his dimpled grin plastered wide across his face. "You just…” he snickers under his breath, “wow, I don't see myself forgetting this anytime soon."

Their playfulness quickly vanishes as Tatum catches a hint of something in his tone. Is he flirting? Becoming hyper-aware of his proximity, an err of awkwardness falls between them. Feeling heat bloom on her cheeks, Tatum quickly attempts to rectify the situation by clearing her throat, rolling back her shoulders to straighten out her back. “By the way, thank you," she starts, "for your help in there with the, uh… with the, um–" Unable to find the right words, she begins holding up her pointer finger, spinning it around in the air. "Um… You know? The whole fingering thing–I mean–"

He chuckles, coyly looking down at the ground before meeting her gaze again, flashing his pearly whites. "Dr. Erikson, are you accusing me of 'fingering' in your OR?"

Tatum's eyes widen. She purses her lips together to stifle her laughter. Oh, so you're a bad kindergartner… "That… that's not what I meant, uh… doctor… um–"

"Bryce," he holds out his hand to take hers. "Bryce Lahela."

Speechless, Tatum mindlessly places her hand in his palm. She clears her throat again as she shakes his hand sternly in a poor attempt of being professional. "Nice to officially meet you--" she states matter-of-factly, "--Bryce. I'm–"

"--going to Donahue's," he interrupts.

"What?"

He snickers. "You're going to Donahue's for a drink."

"Oh, am I now?"

"You are," he takes a step closer, the front of his Crocs kissing the toes of her tennis shoes. "With me. Those are the rules."

"Rules?"

"Mhmm," he hums as he lifts up her hand. Tatum didn't realize that he was still holding on even after their professional handshake. He points to the small tattoo on her wrist that she normally covers with her watch. "See this right here?"

"My tattoo?" She giggles sardonically to herself, curious as to what line he's about to feed her.

"You're a Virgo," he flashes a smirk, "which means we need to satisfy that impulsive side of yours by grabbing drinks together. In celebration of your badassery today, of course."

"Oh, of course," Tatum jests, pulling her hand away from him. "Too bad I'm not a Virgo," she turns to walk away, but stops herself, glancing back to him. "Also… you suck at astrology," she giggles before walking away from the sink area.

Bryce chuckles under his breath before jogging to catch up with her. "What’s with the Virgo ink then?"

Tatum rolls her eyes, glancing briefly at the collection of connected stars. "Long story–"

"--which… you can tell me… over drinks at Donahue's!" They both fall into laughter as Tatum comes to a stop in the hallway.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Hey, I wasn't lying about the rules. We have to celebrate."

Tatum looks up and down the empty corridor before crossing her arms, considering his proposition. God, is this what she is resorting to these days? Last night, Tobias and tonight, a resident? Who really is this guy anyway?

Tatum wasn't sure if he was messy or complicated; but he was gorgeous, and he was available. Maybe. And he wasn't Ethan Ramsey.

"One drink. As colleagues. That's it."

~🖤~

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

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taeescript · 3 years ago

Text

IV. Script of the Angel (m)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!reader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 9.1k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned. sexual content present.

𝔞/𝔫 >> another long chapter. sorry! the oc is as opposite to me as day is to night, but i have always enjoyed writing characters who are different. i feel like i’m being challenged to expand my own writing skills. as always, enjoy (: feedback and comments always appreciated. (i am curious: do you prefer long or short chapters?)

previous part || masterlist || next part

The taxi arrives much earlier than any of you anticipate. Jungkook is halfway through telling you about the unfortunate event of being kicked out of his rented room when the annoyed-looking driver quickly shoves you both inside. He asks you where you are headed. You lean forward and give him the address of your house. The driver mutters how the drive is less than five minutes away, but he accepts the job nevertheless. “How about you, Sir?” the driver asks Jungkook. Jungkook is at a loss of words until you intercede. “Same place,” you say. Jungkook gives you a confused look. “You said you don’t have any place to stay tonight so I’m extending an offer. Also, sort of like a thank you for finding and staying with me through this storm.” Your words come out much shyer than you had anticipated. He gives you a slight smile. “Are you sure it’s wise for you to invite a stranger to your house?” You blush. “You’re not really a stranger.” “Ah, I’m not? Well I’m a suspect to a murder case.” “No, you’re not! Jimin was only talking to you as a witness.” “A witness? He seemed a little too hostile for that.” As the conversation had carried on, you didn’t notice how close he became until you turned to come face to face with him. The small smile he always has continues to linger on his lips. You pull back and turn to hide the flush on your face that you know for sure is present. Once the heat seems to have left, you glance at him again. He is still regarding you with curiosity. Extending a hand towards him you say, “$10 per night. I’ll be your landlady and you’re renting a room from me.” He laughs and you can’t help but stare with wonder at how white and straight his teeth are.

...

The Body is a miraculous item of study. Inside, we have these little chemical messengers that act on receptors to tell us: wake! At the same time, they tell us: sleep! Just what are these chemical messengers that run around us like tiny men in a sleep-wake factory? First, when we are getting ready to sleep, Melatonin is produced in the pineal gland to send us a message telling us that it is time to enter slumber. Their levels increase as the level of darkness increases. Once our body is asleep, a surge of multiple hormones play a role. You have growth hormone from the pituitary gland telling (a child in particular) to grow and repair tissue; you have antidiuretic hormone (ADH) increasing so we don’t have to get up and pee in the middle of the night; you have oxytocin that may peak at about five hours of sleep influencing the content of our dreams. You wait nervously outside the bathroom door. You had both returned to your house and you had changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and a sleeveless top. Your hair was tied in a bun on your head; your scalp itching to remind you that it had been a while since you washed your hair. However, you had more pressing matters at hand. You had told Jungkook that he was allowed to use the shower first but after drinking one too many cups of water – your throat was so dry – you now desperately needed to use the washroom. The water is still running and you can slightly feel the heat escaping the warm room through the small crack of the door. It was ajar and the smell of your shampoo wafted out to meet your nose. It made you wonder if your shampoo had always been so sweet and inviting. As you are the only resident of the house, there had never been a need for multiple bathrooms and thus your only solution is to patiently wait outside until your guest is finished. After what felt like five minutes but in actuality five seconds, you take a small peek into the bathroom. The glass shower door has been fogged up and you can only see a very hazy silhouette of its current occupant. If you were to dash in and release everything in your bladder at a fast enough speed, perhaps Jungkook would never notice that you would be in there. Just as long as you moved fast enough. You wanted to weigh the pros and cons of this decision but your bladder would not let your mind concentrate. Before you could control your body, you rush into the bathroom. Everything but the feeling of pleasure from the release of the buildup of pressure in your pelvis is forgotten. You close your eyes and let out a satisfied sigh. When you are finished, you deftly stand and flush the toilet. You momentarily lean over the toilet, reveling in the new weightlessness of your body, when the realization of the scenario you are in hits you. You had just walked into a man showering in your house. Not only that, you had used the toilet while he was washing up (naked) less than a feet away. If you really didn’t get out of the bathroom now, Jungkook would definitely see you in here. If you really didn’t get out of the bathroom now, Jungkook would think you are a peeping tom. If you really didn’t get out of the bathroom now – It is too late, however. You hear his voice from behind you, “Well, this is a surprise.” You turn as slowly as you can. Jungkook stands with the white towel around his waist. He does not look much different than when you had seen him drenched by the rain, but this time you are able to smell the masculine scent of body wash off of him. The first time in the rain, you had been unable to help yourself and glance at his defined abdominal muscles through his soaked shirt, but this time you choose not to peel your eyes away from the sight. The gulp you takes makes its way slowly down your throat. “I needed to use the toilet really badly,” you somehow managed to squeak. He tucks the end of the towel into the side all the while looking at you with a teasing smirk. You do not need to look in the mirror behind you to know the shade your face has turned. “I’ll be going now,” you murmur and turn to leave the room. “Without washing your hands?” he teases you. As if he now is not regarding you as a full out pervert, he probably thought you as unclean as well. You can’t remember what you say in response to that as you shuffle to the sink. The water is warm when it runs out of the faucet. Your mind is unfocused on the task in front of you as you can only think of ways to escape or talk your way out of this situation. “How are you supposed to wash any the germs away if you scrub like that?” You feel his voice vibrate along your back. You immediately tense up when his arms wrap from behind around you. His hands gently take your slimmer hands into his own and together they move through the lathering actions. He pumps the hand soap and his lips become dangerously close to your cheek when he reaches in front. “Clean between each finger and the side of your palm. People often forget to wash the area around the thumb and most of their less dominant hand,” he continues to lecture you. “Just be still,” the plea to your body and mind only being silently voiced out in desperation. There is no extra cloth to wipe your hands dry and so he uses the towel around his waist instead. Each action he does only made you become ever more anxious and self-conscious. When he seemed satisfied with you, he lets you walk away. You will your legs to maintain its strength as you take the steps needed to exit the small steamy room. You are stopped again when he says, “Are you always so innocent?” There is a part of you that wants to turn to look at him, but another part warns you that if you do, a larger temptation will face you. He strolls to stand before you. His eyes slowly make their way from your toes to the top of your forehead; then his gaze holds you steadily in place. You swallow again under his scrutiny. Taking a step towards you, he slides a finger under the strap of you tank top. The simple action makes you shiver. “Tell me, how long have you been living alone?” Your mind tells you not to answer him. What are you doing anyways? Just an hour ago you were thinking about Baekhyun and now you are being consumed by Jungkook. “How long has it been since you’ve been… touched?” his question comes out barely above a whisper – that is how close he is to you now. “I shouldn’t – ” you words are suffocated by his kiss. His lips mold until they wrap around yours. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you fall into him with such speed that it scares you. You feel both dread and thrill in your stomach. He tastes warm, that is the only thing your mind is capable of detecting. Other than that, your brain can not function and you feel yourself shiver in his embrace. You wonder if he has his eyes closed as well or if he was looking at you. Perhaps if you opened your eyes you would have an answer to your question yet you felt afraid of doing so. He pulls you waist closer to him and the dew on his chest seeps through your thin top. His skin is warm, but the now-cold water causes your nipples to become erect. He can feel them straining through the top, but rather than having his hand rise up to meet it, he slides his hand deeper into your pants. Your body tenses up at the invasion. “Relax,” the single word slurs as they are passed between your lips. The suggestion comes in the form of a command and your body strangely listens. With his hand, he forcefully grips the left cheek of your behind and roughly presses you lower body into his. The simultaneous sensation of pleasure and pain runs through your body. His other free hand brushes the nape of you neck. Your hands act of their own accord, and you find them running through his hair, all the while as he tugs on your lips; all the while that you become wrapped in his embrace. Your fingers become brushed with water, and you draw a wet finger down the middle of his back. It is his moan you hear this time, and the thrill rushes through your body again. For the next few moments, the two of you are captivated with exploring each other’s body. You think that he is about to lift your shirt off when instead his hand slips through the barrier created by your underwear. You freeze again. His lips leave yours and trace a pathway until he stands behind you, and your back is pressed tightly against his torso. All the while, his hand makes a crawling rotation until they rest on you lower abdominal. You place a shaking hand on top of this. You don’t even notice that your fingers have become icy cold. “Trust me,” he whispers into your ear. His voice is so low that you mind barely registers what he has said. You heart rises in speed in proportion to his hand that moves out from beneath yours and continually slides downward.

...

You wake with a beating heart. Your eyes fly open, and they are greeted with the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars you had placed on your ceiling. It had been a dream. Your breathing fights to become regular again, but the more you think about what you had awoken from, the more it loses in its battle. You know it is all a dream, but why was it then that you still feel the pressure on you lower abdominal? With a crack, your mind finally reels out of its stupor and a new burn in your stomach causes you to flush again. The act of sex is not foreign to you. You had given that away to Baekhyun the night you realized you were truly in love with him – the night he had proposed to you. But that had happened a long time ago and since his disappearance, you had never given yourself to another man. The thought had never even passed through you. So why was it that you had these thoughts now? Towards a man that you had only just met? Also, how was it that he could make you do something like this? Your hand slides out from your underwear and the band’s near soundless snap practically hands you its embarrassing reality on a gold platter. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had touched yourself. The concept was always too taboo and awkward for you to embrace. You were also not a person that became aroused by sexual thoughts, yet a simple dream had made you lose control of your body. You wiped your hands on the bedsheets, and turn onto your side in bed so you would no longer feel the pressure of gravity on your already tense body. Jeon Jungkook. You only invited him at the spur of the moment. You had both returned home and wordlessly showered and got into bed. You had offered to make a simple meal but he had kindly rejected telling you that he was too tired. He had also jokingly told you not to worry about breakfast tomorrow as it was the least he could do in return for letting him sleep at your place. Continuing on, you told him that he was allowed to use your bedroom so he would be more comfortable but he had patted your small sofa instead. He always carried a pillow with him and told you he could fall asleep anywhere as long as he had it with him. You squeeze your eyes shut. Why? What was this? Who is this man that has barged into your safe house?

More importantly, what is he doing to you? You curl into a tighter ball and press your thighs closer together.

...

The scent of sweet in combination to savory fills your nose and sends a chill through your body. Your eyes remain closed, still infused with slumber but you bring the blanket closer to you. A small breeze sends another intoxicating spiral towards your nose. It smells like pancakes. Perhaps with a thick layer of maple syrup and a cube of butter. There is also something that reminds you of salt – bacon. Sizzling, warm, crunchy bacon. The distinct aroma of coffee is blended in there as well. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you open your eyes. You yelp. Jungkook nearly tips the coffee cup onto your drawer when the sound suddenly occurs. He looks down and sees your wide eyes staring up at him. He meets them but you quickly shift your pupils. You look… nervous. Seeing the unexpected visitor makes you remember the events of last night. Your palms start to sweat and you only draw the covers closer to your chest while sitting up. The corner of the sheet dips past your shoulder and he catches the flash of smooth skin. “Sorry to wake you,” he scratches his jaw embarrassedly, “I saw you were asleep and I promised breakfast. I thought I’d try to quietly slip in and leave it by your bedside.” You eye the said meal on your drawer and note that your nose had not lied to you. “It’s okay,” you try to say. However, your voice is groggy with sleep and so you clear it once. “It’s okay,” you say clearer this time, “But you really didn’t have to.” “It’s nothing. I’m an early riser anyways.” He makes a motion to leave. “Wait,” you call after him. He turns back to look at you. His gaze is piercing and the strange flush that never failed to make an appearance returns. “I’ll join you outside,” you tell him. Smiling, he nods. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

...

When you had left, Jimin had sat down at his desk feeling extremely dejected. He was supposed to protect you and make sure you never shed another tear. That was his promise to his best friend. Yet here he is, as the cause of your pain once again.

“Sir, the files you had requested.” Yoongi knocks on his door. As the youngest detective on the team, he is often coerced into doing the grunt work. But his tenacious and hard-working attitude gave him rise on Jimin’s list of people he respected. Jimin tilts his head to peer above the top of his cluttered desk. New files had been opened along with the scatter of older yellowing papers. His whiteboard is nearing a grey colour at the amount of times he has written things down and then erased them. Yoongi listens and is about to leave his senior alone but stops at the door. “Sir, if I may, will you allow me to make a comment?” the younger asks solemnly. Jimin turns to regard him. His eyesight blurs and he has to hold onto the corner of the desk to steady himself. Quickly masquerading the moment of weakness, he coughs and stands straight again. “You haven’t left the station in three days. You sleep at the desk and your back is in so much pain you shuffle to get coffee. It smells of Chinese take-out and stale pizza in here with another strange concoction of coffee and sweat.” Jimin raises an eyebrow at him. Yoongi clears his throat but does not waver in telling Jimin his mind. “Go home, Sir. You need some rest. The case will still be here when you return. It’ll also be of benefit when you return with refreshed eyes and mind.” Yoongi stands still all the while looking forward. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Jimin walking towards him. His mouth starts to become dry knowing the harsh words he will hear from the his senior for speaking out of place.

Jimin tiredly places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi rotates his head in surprise. Sighing, he says, “You’re right. My body is on the verge of breaking down.” He sniffs once. “And I do smell like shit.”

Yoongi chuckles, both out of nervousness and relief.

“I’m leaving the team in your hands then,” Jimin grabs his jacket from the coat hanger.

“Me?” Yoongi says astonished, “What about Lieutenant Namjoon?”

The laugh draws more strength from Jimin’s lungs than he anticipates. “I haven’t seen that guy for the past three days in the station, and both you and I know I’ve been living here. You’re young, but I like your attitude. The others like you too.”

Yoongi cannot help but smile at the praise. He salutes as Jimin walks out the door. “I’ll do my absolute best!”

“I expect nothing less,” Jimin calls out and waves.

...

He had fully intended to walk home, but there are so many thoughts in his head he needed fresh air to wash out the stale one in his lungs and to clear out his mind.

Sitting at the park just a block away from the station, he takes a small bite of the cookie he picked up from the station’s café. It is sickening sweet and he wonders how he had lived on these cookies when he used to pull all-nighters for previous cases.

“I knew I’d find you here,” a voice interrupts his quiet.

Jimin looks up and sees Namjoon smiling at him. Namjoon’s hair is swept back and he is sporting a white polo shirt along with khaki pants. His police jacket is slung over his arm and hides his badge within. At a quick glance, Namjoon looks like any normal civilian enjoying the autumn afternoon.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jimin lazily greets his friend.

Namjoon takes a seat beside Jimin. In one hand, he holds a brown paper back and this is what he extends towards Jimin.

Taking a peek inside, Jimin notes a container that has some type of potato salad along with another stacked container with mixed rice.

“Youngji told me to pass this to you,” Namjoon answers his unasked question, “We thought you could do without any more of the crappy station café food – full of MSG and sugar.”

The smiling face of Namjoon’s soon-to-be wife enters Jimin’s vision at the mention of her name. The two had recently moved in together and there were days when Jimin felt envious when hearing about Namjoon brag about his fiancée’s skills in the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jimin says.

“I’m not slacking on the job by the way,” Namjoon says.

“You’re not? I don’t recall seeing you in the office for the past couple of days.”

“I got called into a meeting with the board of directors. They wanted an update on this Angel Killer.”

“Angel Killer, huh? Quite original.”

“Not my call on what we name the perps.”

A lull in the conversation comes to as Jimin caves into the meal set before him.

“Not a spinach and green bean casserole, I see,” Jimin jokes.

Namjoon laughs. Starting from a few weeks before, Youngji had gone into a fascination in preparing green foods. The entire floor soon came to understand that Namjoon would be eating the same casserole for his next few meals.

“I convinced her out of it,” Namjoon says with a grin, “Told her that she already spoils me with all her other cooking.”

Jimin chuckles along with Namjoon. He digs his fork into the meal before him. The taste of food that did not come from a can is such a welcome sensation to his body he can’t help but sigh.

“Youngji’s a fantastic cook.”

“One of the best.”

“Well, here’s to you forever gaining weight.”

Namjoon comically nods and rubs his belly.

“Well, Y/N’s a pretty good cook too. The pasta looked delicious the other day.”

At the mention of your name, Jimin falls quiet.

“You know, I understand you better than you think. That look you have, Jimin. I can see that the case isn’t the only reason you’ve been trying to keep yourself busy and inside the station. We all saw Y/N leaving the station the other day.”

“I guess that also means you all saw how upset I made her.”

Namjoon takes an inhale followed by a slow exhale. “Stop me if I’m prying too much, but what happened?”

Jimin takes an even deeper sigh. “She found out that I’m still looking into Baekhyun’s cases after all these years.”

“Ah,” was Namjoon’s simple response.

“I mean, I’m not doing anything wrong, am I? The reason I’ve never given up on finding the truth is to find some closure for myself. For her… For the both of us.”

Jimin means the words he says, but when he hears them from his own mouth, it feels strange.

“Well… what if closure for you doesn’t have the same definition for her?”

Namjoon’s comment make Jimin tilt his head in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Namjoon stretches out his legs in front of him. The park has quieted down as most of its visitors have returned to work after their lunch break. Only a couple of people still remain, but they are scattered so far around the park that none of their faces could be made out.

“Closure for Park Jimin means to discover the truth. Closure for Y/N might be simply to accept that her fiancé’s gone. She was in so much pain when he disappeared and it took her forever to even leave the house. Her first steps out were because of you. The reason she has the strength to move on today is because you’ve constantly been by her side. Maybe the reason she’s been able to accept that Baekhyun’s no longer with her is because she sees that you’ve accepted it as well.”

“She saw the files that indicate that perhaps Baekhyun was murdered.”

Namjoon’s next sentence becomes lodged in his throat. He closes his mouth then opens it again but only to have it return to its previous state. At last when he finally finds what he wants, he says, “That complicates things, doesn’t it?”

Jimin closes the food container and returns it back into the bag. In the time they had been talking, he found that he had lost his appetite. His two thumbs press against the sides of his temple and gently massage it in circles.

Everybody knows how much Jimin cares for you; some even think that the extent of it is due to Jimin’s secret crush on you. But Namjoon knows the reason why. He can’t help but look at his colleague and friend with sadness. An ancient promise that causes anguish to those in its pact.

Placing a warm hand on Jimin’s back, Namjoon leaves it there for comfort. “Is that what you believe? That Baekhyun is gone because he was murdered?”

Jimin shakes his head. As if the thoughts in his brain could not get any more complicated, the simple question makes things worse. “I don’t know, Namjoon. I have absolutely no idea. I’ve been working this case for years now, but everything always comes up to a dead end. A part of me wants to believe that Baekhyun simply decided to walk out of his old life to start a new one and he’s alive somewhere out there. Yet another part, the detective part, can’t ignore the knowledge that maybe something bad did happen to him that night. That’s why he never returned.”

“Did you uncover anything new?”

“No. Not for that case.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. He can sense something else in Jimin’s tone. He is unable to tell if Jimin says what is on his mind as the conversation is redirected.

“What did the directors say about Sara Michel’s case? I’m assuming that’s why you went to meet with them.”

This time it is Namjoon’s turn to furrow his brows. Namjoon had never truly wanted to become Lieutenant. Jimin knew that Namjoon had been offered the position because he first had turned down the offer. Namjoon never expressed any bitterness about it; no, instead he had said he had been thankful. Namjoon had always said how he wanted to become Lieutenant before asking Youngji’s hand in marriage. When they spoke, the only frustration Namjoon ever expressed was the unexpected amount of responsibilities that came with this new position.

“They want to know if we have any new leads. As they say, if we don’t have anything by 24 hours, the case is as good as gone. If there really isn’t anything then they want us to wrap it up. File it as another unsolved case and focus on the new big project: the whole deal we’ve been working over at with the Narcotics Team.”

“The drug related gang suicides, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We can send a couple of guys over.”

“That’s the thing though. The Board doesn’t want a few guys. They want the entire team on board. Agent Hoseok’s barely keeping above the waves with this one. HR is breathing down his neck as apparently, some well-known powerful figure’s gone missing because of this.”

“Guilty?”

“Likely, but since he’s clearly an influential guy, the Missing Person’s unit might be dragged into it as well. His lawyers have also been stalking out at the station in case anything does come up. It’s going to set the whole station into turmoil.”

Politics. Jimin hated it all. If someone was guilty, he believed that they should see the justice they deserved.

“So what should I say to them?”

“Huh?”

“The Board. You’re the one who’s worked the Sara Michel case the most. What should I tell them about our progress so far?”

Jimin bit the inside of his cheek. Progress… Did he have that? Perhaps, but at the end: speculations. That is what they are. He couldn’t take the chance. “Tell them we may have something. Try and deter them from trashing this case. Be ambiguous.”

Namjoon waits to see if Jimin would further elaborate but the other doesn’t speak again.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, “But you will keep me updated on whatever you find, right?”

Jimin nods.

Namjoon knows that the conversation is over so he stands. Stretching, he rolls his neck once and then follows it similarly with his shoulders. “I’m going to head back to the station. Go home. Get some rest.”

“None of you want me at the station, huh? I stink it up too much?”

This earns him a grin from Namjoon. “You’re the brightest mind we have on the team, Jimin. But right now it’s shutting down right in front of my eyes. Recharge it and return when you’re ready.”

Jimin nods again and lifts a head to say goodbye. Then, he is left to his own thoughts once again.

...

She runs. Fast.

He looks down at the three words. They are the only things that fill his laptop screen after he hits enter. Writer’s block: something he didn’t quite enjoy. That was why he liked to move around so much when he writes. That, plus the fact that he can see his subject clearly.

The girl is thin and wiry but the definition of hard deltoid muscles are outlined by the afternoon sun. He enjoys a challenge and she might be one.

Dane observes her like the hunter might to his prey. He notes down everything - from the pathway she takes to the speed of her jogging. Everything is important.

What a contrast she would serve compared to pretty Ms. Michel. Now, where should he display her this time?

Everything must be chosen so that it meets perfection. She is a prancing antelope that dances unknowingly for the lion. Man is an animal after all. We all belong in the Wilderness.

His eyes look up from his script and watches as the girl stretches once she reaches the bench. She is bent over to catch her breath and she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. A small device is wrapped around her arm and she touches it to presumably change the song. Her black and blue leggings contrast with her lighter skin. Once she has rested enough, she jogs a couple of times in place before going forward and then turning the corner out of his sight.

So pretty and elegant. He wants to wrap his arms around her, and feel her pulse between his fingers. He wants to make her into his next angel.

Dane is patient. He is willing to wait until the right opportunity. He will see to it. Unwritten.

This is the third time at the park, but each day that he has arrived, she is also there. He did not need to be a rocket scientist to know that this must be her daily route. Soon, he will be able to continue on his story.

...

Jimin could not understand why, but after that day with Namjoon at the park, he found himself returning to it quite often. He would make excuses to grab a coffee, but would then find himself wandering back to the bench. He enjoyed the quietness the small area offered. It allowed him to gather his thoughts in peace before returning to the hectic environment of the station.

After allocating time spent of sitting silently under the warmth of the sun, Jimin finally stands. The park is much quieter now as the remaining people have also left. He gathers the brown bag with leftovers from the local bistro and starts stretching his legs. From the corner of his eye, he notices that somebody is running.

There is not enough time for him to get out of her way and she crashes into him the moment she turns the corner. The impact is not great and she merely stumbles back in shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he bows in apology.

She is out of breath but she shakes her head and bows as well. “No, it’s my fault! I’m sorry I didn’t see you!”

He waves it away and they share another awkward laugh before the girl in the black and blue leggings smiles and continues on her route.

Bending to pick up the brown bag he has dropped on impact, somebody else captures his attention. That person is someone he cannot seem to forget and even this slightest sight of him causes Jimin to scowl.

He is able to recognize that jacket from anywhere – that grey jacket this man wore the day he walked into the police station. He is currently sitting on a bench nearly halfway across the park. Jimin shouldn’t have been able make out any facial features at his distance, but he swears that the man’s eye follow a runner down the path.

The other man seems engrossed with something on his laptop. His eyes never seem to leave the screen and Jimin is unable to tell whether Jungkook is typing or whether he is watching some type of video. Regardless of what he is doing, Jimin has already decided that it is not good.

About to walk up to him, Jimin suddenly stops in the midst. It is not because somebody else has bumped into him or that he is caught up in another thought.

No.

It is because he recognizes the second figure that appears from behind the first.

...

The previous writer’s block disappears as fast as it had appeared. His fingers are now flying across the keyboard as he continues to write the perfect plan. In fact, he is so captivated by the growing paragraphs that he does not notice when another figure appears from behind.

“What are you doing?” your voice startles him.

He whirls around and snaps his notebook shut. You stand behind with a slightly surprised expression on your face. He is able to tell because your large eyes are wider than usual, and your mouth makes a small “o”.

Time had flown by so quickly that he had forgotten he was supposed to meet you at 1:00pm. Quickly checking his watch, he sees that the time is 12:50pm.

“You’re here early,” he notes. Scooting over, he then pats the seat next to him. You timidly follow his instructions and sit down beside him. The scarf you wear loosens as the wind blows and you fix it once.

“I was just in the area. Do you like croissants? I bypassed a popular bistro on the way here and bought us some.” You hand him the small box. “I know croissants are unexpected from a place like that, but I can promise you – they’re really good!”

Jungkook peeks in the box. Packaged in rows, there is a set of treats in chocolate, strawberry cream cheese and plain.

“Sets of three,” Jungkook mumbles.

You look up at him. “Sorry?”

He gives you a small laugh, yet minute as it is, it still makes your heart tumble. “A set of three. I like working in sets of three,” he tells you. Jungkook opts for the original.

You wait until he takes a bite before a smile breaks across you face. “Good, huh?”

He nods, crumbs falling onto his laptop. He brushes them away before they can dirty it further.

“What did you want to meet me for?” he asks you.

From the strangely shaped bag you had brought with you, you take out a wooden stand and a large piece of rolled paper. He watches as you set up you easel and clips the paper to the side. It is blank.

“I come here often to paint,” you explain as you take out another small bag that is filled with sketching tools, “I think it’s so beautiful here.” You don’t add that you had chosen this place because when Baekhyun first disappeared, this was the closest you could be to Jimin without actually bothering him at the station.

“So you called me here to watch you paint?”

“Sketch, actually. Today I’m here to sketch but in a couple of days I should be able to paint.”

Jungkook leans back in his seat. He sees that a new light has taken over your eyes as you take everything from the park into memory. Your pencil twirls in your fingers. Another small gust of wind blows the scarf away from your neck.

Over their time together, they had become so used to being in each other’s presence that you no longer shy away from him. There were moments when you would be reminded of the first night he stayed at your house, but believe you are not one to dwell in the past so you quickly forget it. At this moment, he is drawing the collar of your jacket up and fixing your scarf so that it would no longer loosen.

While he is helping you, you continue to talk, “You know, ever since I saw you, a feeling has been itching at me. I kept thinking that before bumping into you at the station, I had seen you before! Now I know. You were the guy who thought I was a street artist!”

Jungkook’s fingers falter as he sets them back on his lap. He does not move. What was it you had just said?

“I was at the square near my studio that evening. It was particularly nice. I remember a small ensemble playing classical music too. You had been the one to knock over my canvas.”

No. It was not him.

“Wait. It wasn’t you. It was the lady you were with!” When you remember, you gasps.

Jungkook turns when he hears you. There was not supposed to be a single person that could have remembered him with Sara that night. That was never part of the plan. When he turns his focus on you, there is a look of shock and realization. A fire begins to burn in his stomach.

You hold your hand to your mouth. You can see that Jungkook is staring at you and the guilt eats away inside. You should have seen it coming. He was a handsome, intelligent and skilled man. He had showed up out of nowhere. He was also a stranger to the city. The two of you had met outside the station. Of course he could not be here simply because of work.

He must have been here with his girlfriend.

And they had bumped into you that night on their date.

“Y/N, what is it?” Jungkook asks gently.

You sets the pencil down on the easel. “That woman you were with… That’s your girlfriend, wasn’t it? Oh my god… if she were to know that you’re staying with me right now. She would probably think that I’m some girl who is trying to steal her boyfriend.”

Your face only reddens more when Jungkook’s laughter echoes around the park. It lasts for quite a while and you do not know whether you are feeling humiliated or angry at him laughing at you.

He catches his breath and smiles widely at you. “That wasn’t my girlfriend. She was someone I was meeting for the night.”

“For a date?”

“No. For work.”

You do not know why, but you breathe a sigh of relief. “Well, I also remember you liking my painting. Do you remember?”

He gives you another smile. “Sorry, Y/N. I don’t.”

Disappointment makes your chest ache. Never good at hiding your emotions, it makes him smile again when he sees the obvious frown. He places a hand over yours. “I’d still love a painting though, if that’s what you’re offering this time.” It is infectious, that is what his smile is. You take you hand away from beneath his and regard the quiet scenic park again. “Do you like this place? Should I paint something for you here?”

He nods. “I’ll like anything you paint for me, Y/N.”

You blush at the way he says it so matter-of-factly. Looking up, you scan the surroundings once again before a large shadow rushes towards you and grabs your wrist.

You are hauled up to your feet roughly.

...

Seeing you so casually walking up to that man made him mad. But it wasn’t that which made him practically race across the park. No, it was the combination of him fixing your scarf, laughing with you and then taking your hand. He cannot allow such a thing to happen.

“Jimin!” you yelp, the pain cutting through your wrist. It burns and you feel as if somebody had dug a knife into your skin to split your bones.

Jimin has momentarily forgotten your disorder as he is blinded my rage. How dare Jungkook be sitting beside you like the two of you are friends? This man may be involved in a murder case. He may as well be the only suspect.

“What are you doing here with him?” Jimin demands.

You can barely get the words out – that is how tight Jimin is gripping your wrist and hurting you.

Jungkook is still seated, but upon seeing your face turning bright red and perspiration beading your forehead, he stands. “Detective Park, I believe you are hurting Y/N.”

His words are a cold splash of water on Jimin. He quickly releases you and you whimper while holding your wrist. He reaches towards you, but you draw back, closer to Jungkook.

“I’m so sorry,” his apology is gushes, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You rub your wrist. You know it is not broken, but the pain lingers still. You gingerly rotate it before shaking your head. “I’m fine. You took me by surprise though.”

Seeing the discomfort in your eyes, Jimin instantly feels guilty. The first time he sees you after the fight and he manages to hurt you again. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. He wants to add “with him” but he did not think it was appropriate.

“I was meeting Jungkook. I wanted to do some sketches for a painting.”

He hated your causal use of the name. He hated it with such a passion.

“Detective Park, it’s been a while,” Jungkook extends a hand.

Jimin clenches his jaw but grabs it and shakes it forcefully. “Mr. Jeon,” he says through his teeth.

You can detect the hostility between the two men. You knew Jimin didn’t like Jungkook but you couldn’t see his reason why. Jungkook had only ever been nice to you. Really, Jungkook was one of the nicest people you know.

“Why did you need to meet him to do sketches? I didn’t even know the two of you knew each other,” Jimin begins interrogating.

You falter. You had been so caught up in the previous few days you had forgotten to tell him your new housemate. Truth be told, the whole situation is so unusual for the two of you because you would talk to each other nearly every day.

“I’m temporarily living with her,” Jungkook says, unable to resist the temptation. He has already calculated and anticipated the change that would occur over Jimin’s face once he says those words. He knows that it would affect you more, but there is a type of satisfaction in seeing the rage that spreads over Jimin’s face.

It takes everything in his already weak power to hold his emotions in. Heat is already flowing to his face in which he could not control, but he could still stop the explosion of curses from leaving his mouth.

Your mouth is opened ajar once again. All the worse scenarios are running through your head.

Jungkook sheepishly rubs his neck. “Oh, this is awkward. I thought you had told him, Y/N. You two seemed so close.”

Oh yes. It is absolutely delightful in seeing the impact of his words on Detective Park Jimin.

“I – ” you start, “I didn’t get the chance to yet. Um, well… Jimin…. Jungkook is staying at my place for now. He has no other – ”

“We need to talk,” Jimin interrupts you.

You open your mouth and close it again. “Okay,” you say timidly. You start to walk towards him.

“Grab your things with you,” Jimin says sternly.

You want to refute his words but there is a sort of silent anger you recognize. You send Jungkook an apologetic look before packing away your easel and paper. Jimin waits for you and you quickly whisper, “I’m sorry,” before going away.

The two walk away like a father leading his disobedient daughter. Jungkook can only watch with amusement at the new turn of events.

...

“You’re living with him? You’re living with him? You’re living with him?!” You hear Jimin repeat the series of questions again. Your finger lightly taps your thigh and you note to yourself: the sixth time. That was the sixth time he asked the same question.

Jimin had thought for a long time on their walk to the station of what he could say. Countless words had been flying through his mind however he just couldn’t seem to find the correct ones to string together. That had led him to only repeat the one fact he is being faced with: You are living with Jungkook.

You sigh. “Yes, Jimin, I’m living with him.”

“How could you decide to do that without talking to me about it?” he explodes at last, “You barely know this guy and you invite him into your house? He’s a criminal. He’s a murderer.”

This makes you frown. Your eyebrows crease together and even your pretty face cannot hide the ugliness of your anger. “Park Jimin,” you start sternly with his name, “I don’t think it’s fair for you to make that assumption. I don’t even think you should be making that assumption.”

“Still, the two of you are living together!”

You sigh again.

Jimin stops in the middle his pacing for a second to collect his thoughts. “Fine. But what makes you think you know him enough to decide whether or not my assumption is fair?”

“Well, what makes you think you have enough power over me to stop who I’m living with?”

“I have a responsibility for you, Y/N! I don’t want you to get hurt. Jeon Jungkook is dangerous!”

“There you go again! Making another assumption! Why are you even saying this?”

“You know exactly why. It’s because – ”

“If you say that it’s because of your gut feeling I’m going to walk away right now.”

He pauses. “I just know, alright? I have evidence against him.”

“Show it to me, then.”

Presently, the two of you are arguing inside Jimin’s office. The blinds have been drawn, but the glass door is definitely not enough to hide the increasing voices. Jimin rummages through the multitude of papers and files on his desk. His thoughts are once again jumbled. He is unable to think straight at the moment and it makes him forget where he has put the files in the first place.

“You don’t have it, do you?” you accuse, “You just hate him. I don’t know what your reason is, but that’s mean. Jungkook is a good person. He takes care of me.”

Your tone is filled with exasperation. You did not enjoy when things did not go your way. Neither did he. That is the reason why the two of you tend to avoid conflicts by not being involved in each other’s personal matters. This time, however, Jimin needs his stance to be known.

“You’ve known this guy for what, two weeks? What do you mean ‘he takes care of you’? He barely even knows anything about you.”

You do not bother to correct Jimin that it has in fact been less than that. “He’s taken care of me more than you have alright?” you stab him with the words. Your face flushes the moment they leave your mouth.

Jimin’s next words are so calm, they border on hostility. “More than I have, you say? Please, enlighten me.”

“He… He supports me. He’s there for me when I need him. He’s… He’s…” With each stutter, you can feel yourself losing this fight. Pride and rage cloud your judgment, and nonetheless, you throw out your last attack, “He doesn’t try to convince me that my fiancée was murdered.”

His eyes become hard.

There are tears wavering in you eyes and you tell yourself not to blink such that they would not fall. “You tell me to try and move on after Baekhyun’s disappearance. You tell me that it’s for my own good; all this pain and guilt and frustration at losing him… You’re just as guilty, Jimin. You’ve never put Baekhyun behind you and now you’re saying something as ludicrous as him being murdered. I won’t accept it.”

He hates seeing you cry. He hates it so much. He hates it enough to contemplate easing up on your decision to live with this stranger.

No.

Walking away from you, he digs through his jacket pocket and produces an extra set of keys. He had learned to carry this around with him since knowing you. He never knew when you needed to come by and borrow his house keys.

“Take this,” he places the keys into you palm and curls your fingers around them, “When you’re done with this tantrum… or whatever this is, come home. I understand that Jeon Jungkook needs a place to live, so rent out your place to him. But I cannot have you staying alone with him. You are to live with me while he is an occupant there.”

You scoff at him, incredulously. You grip the keys in your hand before slamming them soundly on his desk.

“I am not a child,” you solemnly say, “You cannot control me like this. I am a free to make my own decisions, and I will do what I want.”

With that, you spin on your heels to exit the office. Your pulse is racing as you turn to face him again. You avoid looking directly at him but stare above past his forehead. You are afraid that if you see his expression, you would falter.

“I respect your decision to not like Jungkook. But if that’s the case, and as Jungkook is living with me, you are free to never come by my place. We will not welcome a guest who only has the intent of unsound accusation.”

You end the argument with that and stomps out the door.

...

Jungkook is waiting for you outside the station as you leave. You are so blinded by your emotions you nearly miss him until he grabs your wrist and causes you to yelp.

Immediately, he retracts his hand. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

You still want to yell at somebody, but Jimin’s injustice towards Jungkook stops you from screaming. You rub you wrist that is still sore from being grabbed previously. Adjusting the strap of your canvas on your back, you continue to walk forward.

“He’s so unfair,” you whisper.

Jungkook catches it.

“Nobody ever asked him to look out for me. I would have been fine,” you say.

“He cares for you,” Jungkook says gently.

You do not want to hear the words. Still, it is not like you can ignore them once they’re heard.

“He is worried. I am a stranger, and a man. Unfortunately, society has a stigma around single strange men who sneak up to a female to offer his phone while it is pouring rain in the middle of the night.” He tries to make a joke with you. Thankfully, it works as you lightly laugh.

“Well, still. Jimin is being stubborn. He has prejudices against you; ones that have no basis.”

“Let me guess. He thinks I’m dangerous. He thinks I might hurt you. With my involvement in his case, he might even think that I’m a suspect.”

You do not want to answer.

Jungkook stops you from walking. Your strides have been short but only increasing in speed. He is no longer sure if you even know where they are walking. With one hand still on your shoulder, he says with a soft voice, “He has every right to think so, Y/N. We have only started to get to know each other We both have secrets that we have yet to reveal to each other. Perhaps I am dangerous. Perhaps I may have the intent to hurt you.”

You look into his eyes which steadily hold you own. “But you won’t, right?”

He smiles at you. “Of course not.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” you say with resolution, “That’s what a relationship is built on. The slow accumulation of trust towards the other party. I don’t care if you have secrets, Jungkook. If you ever do want to share them, I will listen. But at the end, you don’t have to. I want to know you as you.”

He nods. Now with the rollercoaster of emotions within you coming to an end, you are able to see that the weather is beautiful that day. There is the soft melodious chirping of birds from all around you, and the streets are not busy as people have yet to be off work. A warm patch of heat is on your back as the sun greets you between the clouds.

Jungkook is quiet beside you for a while, until he says out of the blue, “Jimin really loves you.”

You whirl to regard him. “Jimin doesn’t love me. He is only tasked to look after me.”

His eyes soften when he looks at you again. He doesn’t follow up with anything, only turning his head back forward.

The speed of your heart’s beating rises slightly at his comment. You do not understand the purpose of him saying that. You do not understand what led to him to say such a thing.

“Jungkook,” you call out.

“Mhmm?”

“I still want to paint a picture for you. But I don’t think I can right now.”

“What do you mean?”

You had stopped walking beside him. He notices that and stops as well. When he finally turns to look at why you had stopped, he is greeted with the image of you standing with your wrist in the air. He sighs in concern and takes your wrist gently.

“Alright, let’s get you home,” he says kindly.

...

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