Crossing Seoul // Slow Updates

Prologue: If I Get High

A/N listen to this song during

I watched his hands closely as he lit his 5th cigarette in the past 15 minutes. He was like a machine. Lighting, inhaling, exhaling then extinguishing before starting again, arms cradling me as I leaned back into him. 

The air was full of the smell of tobacco each time he exhaled, his head turning away to not blow directly on me.

 I glanced back at him a little, trying to assess what I was dealing with. Was it calm, contemplative Jimin or volatile, ready to explode Jimin?

His eyes flashed a slight red each time he took a drag. The only bit of light in him, it was like he was already dead, and I was just with the body.

Depressed, monotone Jimin.

"It's full of bullshit you know," He said suddenly after my moment of staring, blowing a puff of smoke in the air, this time savoring it as he put together his speech.

"What is?", I asked, prompting him to continue, before I turned around again, nestling my head back in his chest.

Jimin started to tap the fingers of his left hand against my knee, a distraction, before he moved me away from his lap. 

He stared at me for a while, espression serious, unmoving. 

But I just stared back, not giving up. Two could play this game, if he thought he could distance himself from me in order not to talk, then he had another thing coming.

Finally, he lowered his gaze to the thrashing waves below us, his grandparents' cottage behind us, the place we had taken refuge in being alone and free for the summer.

The waves reached up as if they wanted to hear his story.

"What my grandparents say, what people must think. I know you all talk about me."

 He raised his pitch to a squeaky voice, "Jiminie hates himself, hates everything. He doesn't give a damn about anyone. There's no emotion in that kid. He'd be better off dead!"

His voice broke at that last word. Then, savagely, he threw the butt of his cigarette over the edge of the cliff with an animal growl.

"I do, I do fucking care, and I hate it. That's why I do the drugs, that's why I smoke because I care too much. I wonder what people think all the time. Wonder if they stare at my mum and dad and think what shitty parents they are. The abuser and the alcoholic." 

He gives a bitter laugh, rolling his eyes.

Slowly, I took his shaking, empty hand in my own. He was like a wild animal. Jimin looked at me, a question wavering in his wary eyes.

This poor, broken boy had never had the chance to have a mother's touch, no affection since the age of 11. That was 6 long years of no loving care. My heart ached for him.

"I don't." I said, "I don't think you are like that at all. I know who you are, Jiminie. Underneath all the drugs, alcohol and abuse. I know this one thing. You want to know what I know?"

His nod was almost unseen, I'd mesmerized him into silence, his dark brown eyes widening in disbelief at my words.

"You give a damn about too much. Things that are beyond your control. I know this because deep down we are the same. You and I. In here," I placed his hand on my chest, above my wildly beating heart.