It would be an excruciating understatement if I said I kept feeling slightly embarrassed every time I looked over to Jungkook or I caught Jungkook watching me. Although, I managed to get through the rest of the day without having to utter another word to him, which saved me from a meltdown of overloaded embarrassment.
The end of rehearsals for the day had finally commenced at around 6 PM, and everyone was eager to get home for the night. I was no exception. Fiddling about with my jacket, after I had put it on, to make it sit comfortably on me, I felt Sunghoon come up behind me and pat me on the shoulder to announce to me that he was leaving the studio. I also bid him goodnight and watch him leave the studio room just before bending down to pick up my backpack; the studio room was eerily quiet after the last few dancers left the room, their conversation gradually disappearing into the distance.
A deep breath of relief escapes my lips, just after I have my backpack placed comfortably on my back, about getting through a tough day of rehearsals and being able to get home so that I can eat and retreat into my bed for the night.
"Finding it tough?"
His voice comes almost directly behind me, and I hadn't realized there was someone still left in the room. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest from the sudden voice before quickly swivelling to see Jungkook standing before me, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Well, because of his height, he is near enough towering over my smaller body.
"Oh err-" I stutter with my eyes looking anywhere but his face, "just a little, but nothing I can't overcome."
My answer is confident and the tiniest hint of a smirk threatens the corner of his mouth because of my response.
"Good," he deadpans, "get home safe."
And with that, he turns on his heels and walks away from me in the direction of the other side of the room where the rest of BTS, the choreographer and the tour director is sitting.
Did he really just come up to me to ask me that?
Confusion buries itself into my brain while I watch his back move further and further across the room, but then a sudden occurrence happens to me.
Please don't tell me they're thinking of letting me go. I'm having so much fun doing this.
I hadn't noticed that J-Hope had caught the look of dispair across my face before I hang my head low and slowly drag my feet over to the studio room door. An overbearing feeling of a hunch starts to settle in my stomach about getting told not to turn up for tomorrow's rehearsal, and if I do, I know that I've lost my place as a dancer for the tour. In fact, the feeling is so overwhelming that I almost turn on my heels to beg for them to not let me go. However, I know with BigHit they'll let me go regardless of what I say.
Nevertheless, within about ten minutes of leaving BigHit's building, I had come to the alleyway that I know is a shortcut towards my complex building and despite having taken this alleyway over a hundred times (day or night), I still get nervous to walk through it because of how secluded the alleyway seems to be from the rest of the world. On top of that, there is just about enough lighting to see the pathway beneath my feet. Taking a deep breath, I don't second guess the idea of the alleyway when I start walking as fast as I can to get to the other end.
In spite of walking as fast as I can, I feel my heart near enough beating out of my chest and in my ears that I don't hear the heavy footsteps behind me, and it's much too late when their hand wraps over my mouth and I am held in a headlock from the perpetrator behind me. His heavy breath fans over my left ear making the skin on my neck crawl, and the rough skin over his huge hand feels like sandpaper over my lips.
"Give me your backpack," he demands roughly.
Shaking my head profusely, I hear the man behind me grunt in frustration before throwing me against the concrete wall of the alleyway. Now I get the chance to see my attacker who is taller than me and looks to be a lot stronger than me too, but I cannot see his face since he's wearing a face mask to cover his identity. A strong violent pain comes from my right rib cage from having crashed into the wall, sending me curled up onto the cold concrete floor.
Glancing through my eyelashes, I watch as the unknown man withdraws a blade from the back pocket of his jeans and holds it proudly in front of my face after he crouched down to my level. I'm repeatedly gasping and hissing in pain because of the ongoing pain in my rib, but nevertheless, I am so scared of what his next move could be that I don't dare to scream for help. My terrified eyes unwantedly lock with his dead cold stare.
"You will give me your backpack," he demands again, twisting the blade closer to my face.
Once again, and without saying anything, I shake my head again to make the man grunt louder in frustration. He stands to his feet and I notice the hand holding the blade starts to pull back. I know exactly where this is going and in the midst of all of it, I cover my face with my arm and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I could, ready for the blow of his weapon...
But nothing happens...
No sharp pain...
And no struggle of the man trying to get my backpack...
Instead, I am greeted with a noise that sounds like two people wrestling each other on the floor just a little away from me. Slowly and carefully, I peer over my arm to see there are two men, about three feet away from me, fighting on the floor. My attacker must have been taken by surprise since a new man is straddled above him and is doing his best to get the weapon out of the attacker's hand. However, the lack of lighting makes it hard to see who the new body is.
Hopefully, it's someone helping me and not someone looking to take my things as well after scaring the first attacker off.
Frozen in fear, I watch as the two bodies fight against each other, but thankfully, it doesn't take long for the new man to have freed the blade from the attacker's grip. The tables have turned when the new man points the blade towards the attacker's face while he stands to his feet and steps away from him - his back facing me.
"Leave. Now." The man commands and the attacker is smart enough to hurriedly get up and sprint off in the direction that I had just come from.
Another gasp leaves my lips when I know the attacker is no longer in sight and I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut in pain because an overwhelming headache has performed on my forehead. The blade gets thrown to the floor with a clatter and the man turns to me and immediately crouches in front of me.
"Are you alright?" He asks softly and I nod in reply.
Peeking through my squinted lids, I can see the man's shoes and it dawns on me that I've seen these pair of shoes before, but I can't quite recall from where.
"Can you stand up?" He asks.
Now come to think of it, I recognize this man's voice too.
Tilting my head up to try and look at him, another wave of agony sweeps through my forehead making me have to drop my head and hold it tightly in the palms of my hands. Pathetically, I am whaling in pain rather than helping the man help me.
"I'm going to pick you up, okay?" He informs me when he doesn't get an answer from me.
My ability to form words seems incomprehensible for the time being.
Within a swift movement, I am being held bridal carry in the man's arms and to make sure I don't fall or slip off him, I swing my arms around his neck to also feel secure and safe. The relaxing smell of his body wash and shampoo soothes my heightened senses down.
"I'm going to take you back to my place," he says hurriedly, "I'll clean you up, don't worry."
His velvet-like voice almost becomes a lullaby and my eyes begin to drupe because of the never-ending pain in my forehead.
"My head hurts," I whisper out loud.
"I can imagine," he responds, "you must have hit your head on the wall."
Trying to think back to when the attack started, I don't recall hitting my head, but the adrenaline and horror must have blurred that part out.
"Thank you," I whisper breathlessly, fighting for my eyes to stay open so I can try and get a glimpse of the man's face, but half of it is covered by a bucket hat.
"Don't thank me," he mumbles, "I just want you to enjoy the tour."
Then silence...
Nothing can be seen... or heard.
...
The sounds of birds can be heard in the near-off distance. My head feels like I've banged my head against a rock-solid pillar before trying to work out algebra. Resisting the urge to open my eyes, I feel around at my surroundings only to realize that my body aches and feels like it's stuck under a ton of bricks, but the cloud-like surface I am laying upon welcomes my defeated body in an attempt to heal what life is left. Silence hangs in the air obnoxiously.
Rehearsals.
Panic sets off like a bullet causing my eyes to ping open making me thankful that the room is dark enough not to cause my headache to become any worse. My head rolls to the side to see the bedside clock shining at 1 PM in the afternoon.
Oh, fuck! I'm super late!
My flight or fight response sets in as a priority over my pain and before I know it, I'm already at the door of the bedroom I was recovering in; despite not feeling the overwhelming protest of muscles, I am forced to wobble and stand unsteadily on my own two feet like a baby taking their first steps. Opening the door, the afternoon sunlight floods onto my face from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the bedroom door and beyond the vast living room.
I don't recall ever having such a big living room.
Despite fighting my eyes to stay open, I glance to my left to see a hanger, by the front door, that has my coat and a rack that has my shoes. Stumbling, and using the wall as support, I manage to make my way to my coat and shoes but somewhere in the background, a door opens.
Did I have a roommate?
"Where are you trying to go?" A deep voice calls out to me.
I'm doing my best to try not to turn around so fast, but just as I catch a glimpse of a taller man than me walking past the kitchen, that I also don't recall being so big and luxurious, my brain fizzles and my sight fades out for a second. Shaking my head to rid of the dizziness, I clutch my head and try to stand steadily with my hand against the wall for support.
"What are you doing in my flat?" I husk because of my dry throat.
"We're in my flat," he deadpans, "not yours."
"I don't remember going out last night, but I'm terribly hungover and late for work," I quip trying to regain any slight form of thought of last night.
Did I go out last night?
All I remember from the night before is walking home from rehearsals and getting to that dreaded alleyway. After that, everything seems to be missing from my memory.
"You're not going to work and you didn't go out last night," he informs.
Peering through my half-open eyes, I see the figure of the man before it slowly comes into focus and I notice that he is standing about a foot before me. My eyes travel from the middle of his torso, covered by a black sweatshirt, up to his face only to find that a pierced eyebrow is rising at me.
"Jungkook?"
It would be an understatement to say I am confused right now.
"Get back into bed," he calmly advises his eyebrow slowly resting in its former position.
My body, knowing it's safe with Jungkook around, begins to collapse, however, Jungkook's reflexes are sharp like a cat and he whisks me into his arms before my face hits the floor.
"No you don't," he chuckles, "you're not hugging my floor today."
Like I am a feather to him, Jungkook carries me back over the small distance effortlessly that I had made to his front door and into the room I had just come out from.
"But I'll get fired," I whine helplessly into his neck considering my face naturally buried itself there, my arms ringed around his neck.
"You're not going to lose your job, (Your name)," he says softly, but my heart swoons at how my name soothingly sounds coming out of his mouth, "I told everyone what happened last night and they're going to give you some time off."
Jungkook gets to the side of the bed prior to placing me softly down upon it, the cloud-like mattress greets my worn-out body again before beginning to soothe it gently.
"What about you?" I ask worriedly, looking up at him to watch him bring the cover over my dead-weight body.
"I'll be looking after you, but I will pop into work every now and then," he states.
"No," I deadpan making him stare at me in shock.
"No?" He questions, confused, his eyebrows pinching together.
"I can look after myself," I state, "and I'm taking up space in your flat."
Jungkook allows a nasal chuckle to escape him, "you can barely walk, (Your name)."
My eyebrows pinch together in worry and concern, my bottom lip gets caught by my teeth and on the side of my eye, I catch Jungkook's eyes shift to my lips before he blinks, shakes his head once and focuses back onto my eyes.
"This is not what I had in mind when I tried making conversation with you yesterday," I mumble frustratedly thinking only I will be able to hear it, but the deafening silence allowed Jungkook to hear it too.
"Is that what you were doing by asking about my Saturday?" He chuckles while taking up a place to sit on the side of the bed and leaning over my legs to support himself with his hand.
Keeping my eyes cast down, fiddling with my nails and undoubtedly scowling, I nod my head in response to his question; a puff of air escapes his lips to form a breathy chuckle.
"Well, I guess we shall be spending Saturday together," he says with a bright smile.
My eyebrows raise up in surprise.
"That's almost a week away!" I reply in shock.
"And?" He asks like nothing is wrong and shrugs his shoulders.
"You don't even know me," I mumble, taking my voice down a few octaves.
Nothing is said for a moment while Jungkook regards me.
"(Your name)," he says to bring my attention away from my fidgeting nails that I had started to play with again, "I appreciate that you tried having a normal conversation with me yesterday."
He begins like he's about to tell some weird history on how conversations were invented.
"But when I see a person is in need of help, especially who is my co-worker, I will do my best to help them," he says matter of factly.
I couldn't help the shy smile that creeps across my lips at the kindness of his words.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He smirks playfully at me while standing up from the bed, "don't thank me."
Our eyes lock in a manner that I am not sure how to label.
"I just want you to enjoy the tour."