Hahm Yunhee is home. A place of safety. A place of comfort. And yet, a large segment of her heart is missing, left behind in an unreachable world.
Park Jimin is trapped in a parallel universe, fighting for survival while striving to find a way back...
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Where are you?
Jimin's eyes flew open, tattered breath leaving his parted lips as sweat dripped over his temples.
It took a moment to orient himself, his mind askew as he sat up and searched for the woman who'd called out to him.
He swore he'd heard Yunhee's voice, but there was no one else in the room.
Flopping back onto the mattress, Jimin waited for the feeling of sorrow to pass.
It was an ache akin to his mother's death. He'd felt it every day for years, the void in his heart unable to be filled by anything or anyone until Yunhee. Now that she was absent, grief lingered again, weaving in and out of his fractured slumber, impossible to escape.
Rolling onto his side, Jimin pushed his matted hair from his forehead and stared at the golden sands sparkling under the sun.
The sky was azure this morning, broken by silver clouds, but he yearned for roaring thunder, high winds, and pelting rain. Still, he was content in the knowledge that Taehyung would be unable to find Yunhee until then.
In the meantime, there were critical matters that needed attention. A bunch of women locked in a container, for example.
Detangling himself from the sheets, Jimin checked his watch, his eyes widening when he saw it was almost noon.
'Jesus Christ,' he muttered, clambering out of bed to his overnight bag.
Rummaging inside, he pulled out a clean t-shirt, throwing it over his head with one hand while opening the nightstand drawer to check the Glocks and rolls of cash were where he'd left them.
Satisfied, Jimin tucked a weapon into his trousers and made his way out onto the landing. He was contemplating where to get his hands on a new phone when he spotted his reflection in the mirror, the gruesome sight jolting him like he'd seen a ghost.
'Who the hell are you?' Jimin cried as he approached the jaded display.
Dark circles framed his hooded eyes, his cheeks hollow after a week of malnutrition. The white scar slicing through his eyebrow gave off a sinister appearance, but it had healed well, becoming a trademark of the times gone by.
Lifting his shirt, he examined his torso and ran his fingers over his bruised ribs. The marks had faded, leaving a sickly yellow painting across his skin, but now he had a puncture in his shoulder and BDSM whip marks across his back.
'When this is over,' Jimin grimaced as he inspected the dark roots of his iconic, silver hair, 'you're visiting the barber and checking into a spa for three days.'
Abandoning his reflection, Jimin moved towards the staircase, intent on downing three cups of coffee before his day began, but when an excruciating din exploded from the bathroom, he jumped out of his skin and drew his gun.
