Twisted Every Way || Vmin/Yoonmin {Complete}

7 -- The Truth Untold

 Jimin came to slowly, as he usually did. He sighed, turning his head; once more, he felt an odd wave of refreshment through his veins, but a vague throbbing in his forehead. He laid still for a while, letting himself awake gradually. He had experienced this enough times to recognize what his body was doing. But today, there was something different; he heard a piano.

His eyes opened slowly. He recognized the melody somehow, yet as the blur in his vision steadied and his eyes focused, he realized his surroundings weren't so familiar. Above him was a tall black ceiling; beneath him was a bed; there was a thin black fabric acting as a curtain around him, and beyond that thin curtain there seemed to be dim light. He sat up cautiously. Looking down at himself, he saw he was still in the white silk button-up shirt and the tight black pants that he had performed in the night before. Though frazzled, he calmly pulled the curtain aside. The world around him was dimly lit and cluttered. Boxes, tall shelving units, and piles upon piles of paper were in plain sight. But in the center of it all, turned away from him, was a figure in black at a keyboard, playing.

He didn't know what to think as he slowly stood up. It looked like something out of a dream, except with all of the magic sucked out of it. He stepped toward the figure with caution, his brain still trying to catch up with the rest of him; was he still dreaming? He reached out toward the figure. He almost expected the man before him to disappear in a puff of smoke before his fingers could brush past him, but that's not what happened. Jimin's hand landed gently on the man's back; the man, in turn, immediately snapped his spine straight. It wasn't a dream.

"... Who are you?" Jimin asked. He pulled his hand away as the man slowly turned around. As their eyes met, Jimin's eyes started to glass over, though he wasn't sure why. He recognized the man's face, though he had never before seen it so clearly. The man looked up at the blond with pure shock. Jimin gulped as he stared at him in the silence.

The ghost knew he should have seen this coming. He internally cursed himself for not being more careful. He could tell that, over time, Jimin was developing more of an immunity to his concoction. Once, earlier on, he had started to stir while he was still being carried back to his room. The ghost had narrowly avoided disaster then, laying him down and just barely disappearing again before the boy opened his eyes. Since then, he had slowly strengthened doses to avoid it happening again. This time, it hadn't been strong enough, or perhaps he had just waited too long. He couldn't bring him back right away, knowing that the heir's brother still laid there on the floor, and so he had gotten up to his music and apparently lost track of time.

"Who are you?" the blond asked again, his voice numb.

"Jimin..." the ghost sighed, pain written all over his face.

"Answer me," Jimin said firmly, his lips starting to quiver. The man stood.

"Well, I'm... I'm your angel..." he admitted, breathless. For once, he was completely unprepared. Jimin took in a breath, squeezing his eyes tight; a singular tear fell and streamed down his face. The man before him felt his heart stop beating.

"I thought my angel didn't have a physical form," he murmured, crumbling.

"I... I..." The man reached out, toward Jimin's face, but Jimin stepped back, just out of his reach, and looked to him again with his eyes overflowing.

"Who are you really?" he demanded though his tears. "The Studio Ghost?" Even through all of his distractions, he'd overheard just enough of the rumors to know that such a thing existed. Only now was he realizing that he had been too naive to connect the dots himself.

"Someone who adores you," the man found himself saying, attempting to step toward Jimin only to be avoided again.

"Your name," Jimin specified regretfully.