Phantoms | jjk.

[15]: Unwanted

Home was sterile. As always.

Cold, uninhabited and desperately missing that friendly warmth that your subconscious desired so dearly.

After you stumbled inside, you placed your backpack on top of the bench, sat on one of your barstools, and pulled out your 'maid' folder.

You only made it through a couple pages of the rules—reading, sighing and considering some options—before you spontaneously called it quits and closed the book again.

"Fuck this," you groaned, swinging your hips and sliding off the stool. You walked away from the book, towards the fridge, and grabbed what you had assumed was the start of a very lonely beer.

You'd gotten used to being alone; it was no misery to you.

But that didn't excuse the boredom and defeat that slowly welled in your stomach when you sat on the couch, and went to put on the show Reaper had predicted.

You hated him for guessing right.

As the loud intro music began, you let your lungs empty into the air.

Although most of your attention was devoted to the show, it only took you a blink of a moment to react to a sound that pierced the near-perfect silence.

The door to your apartment abruptly came flying open.

One second, the room was silent and lame.

The very next, you had pulled a hidden handgun from the spine of your couch and fired a bullet in the direction of the door.

But who fell to the floor, was not who you predicted.

No uninvited government prosecutor, no gang assailant, and no personal assassin.

Who dropped to the floor in a fit of crippling pain, was Reaper.

In the flesh.

Your stomach sank. You didn't mean to do that.

He had young Jimin beside him, who dropped to his knees to attempt to aid Reaper in any way.

Although Reaper and Jimin had indeed revealed themselves as unexpected intruders, you definitely would not have shot at them if you knew.

"Red! What the fuuuck!" Jimin hollered. "You shot him!"

"Shit," you said semi-genuinely, standing up and leaving the gun behind. You approached not Reaper, but the cabinet above your fridge. "The fuck are you idiots even doing here?"

Reaper was alive, obviously.

The chaos and desperation from the shot had admittedly had a bit of an impact on the excellency of your aim.

You almost felt guilty.

Jimin continued tending to Reaper in all the ways he knew how—which, surprisingly, was not in great quantity—while you retrieved the First-Aid kit and approached the injured teammate.