CHAPTER FOUR
"We don't know him. What are you talking?"
Jimin flinched in his sleep when he feels a large hand brushed against his back, eyes opening and blinking as he felt his inner wolf suddenly standing on alert. His olfactory seems to function well even through his still semi-unconscious state (thankfully), immediately recognizing the smell of cold rose tea and summer waves mixed in salty beach and fresh lavender around him and hitting his nose, tense slowly lifting off his body with the familiarity. He sighs, shuffling on the soft and rather too comfortable warm space and lying flat on his back, vision focusing on the white-bone painted ceiling.
He tried not to think about it, but as soon as his mind cleared from the foggy haze, the memory from yesterday immediately swims inside his head, images of lopsided smile and dark eyes full with bad intentions, the sound of the obnoxious laugh in his ears, the imposing tone, the nasty words, and the painful gripped on his shoulders flashing in front of his eyes like a slideshow. It still sends his body trembling from the inside.
"Hey." He whips his head to the side, seeing his alpha friend peering on him between sleepy eyes. "Why are you already awake?" His voice is still husky from the sleep, rough and lower than usual from the lack of use.
Jimin scoots a tad bit closer, seeking warmth, tucking his hands—that were now drowning in the sleeves of sweater he's wearing—in the space between their chests. "Just... I am always an early riser, you know that."
There's a low hum of, "Sure." A sound he's sure is only there to humor him.
"Yeah?" he breathes, followed by a brief moment of still silence.
"You're thinking about it, right?" One of Taehyung's hands move on his head, carding his messy hair softly and almost lulling him back to sleep. Jimin's silently thankful the boy didn't lay a hand on him direct on his skin because he's not sure he could stop himself from flinching. Or worse, leaping out of the bed and run to the safety of his own pad.
He remained silent, though; opting on burrowing his face onto the other's shoulder, the lean muscle warm against his forehead.
Yesterday had been hell.
He ended up sobbing pathetically on Taehyung's chest, two strong arms caging his shaking frame and familiar scent grounding him. The alpha had been patient on him, like the usual; rocking their bodies in an attempt to calm him and his omega down, sweet assurances of safety whispered through his hair, and not minding how he'd been a total mess. Whether he doesn't want to admit it, the event had totally scared the wits out of him, filthy words eating his sanity.
He was just lucky it had been late in the afternoon that not a single soul still loiters around the hallway, or else, he sure was doomed. He couldn't afford of anyone witnessing him in that state; it was against the image he'd been portraying for years—and he was determined to keep it that way.
It took him almost half an hour before he finally calmed down, his inner wolf exhausted. Taehyung had walked them both to his and his brother's shared apartment a few blocks down from the campus, arms wrapped around his tired body. It was already dark when they finally reached the apartment with no question or any words that could possibly lead them to the topic. Jimin was silently thankful.
Taehyung let him sit on the couch for another 10 minutes by himself, alone, the alpha disappearing to his own room and reappearing once again with a new pair of sweater and sweatpants in hand that he owned; gently asking Jimin to take a shower because it would help him feel better. Jimin knows it's true, but partly of it was because the rogue alpha's scent was threatening Taehyung's own alpha. He just couldn't tell it directly to him and Jimin appreciates his way because he's certainly does not want to remember that rebel alpha. The scent had clung onto his clothes and skin, faint but still there. The smell made him sick down to the stomach. He'd never had someone else's scent on him beside his own and the Kim brothers; and having someone else's, an unfamiliar at that, made him feel disgusting.
He took his sweet time cleaning himself; pouring shampoo and body wash onto his palm so much more than necessary, scrubbing his skin until it turned pink under the shower spray and bathroom lights. Jimin had stood under the warm water of shower hitting the skin of his back, watching the soap suds slowly trails down his feet and into the drains, closing his eyes to try calming down his nerves and his inner wolf that was still unease.
Taehyung had ordered them chicken and beer—he passed on the beer and chose coffee instead, he needs something to warm his stomach to pin down the remnants of disgust he still feels inside. They were both sitting on the couch side by side, feet tucked under their calves, a warm peach blanket that smells of cold rose tea and summer waves thrown over their shoulders to keep them warm.
There's a chicken drum in between his teeth when the apartment door flies open, forcefully enough the knob knocked on the wall and creates a loud bang through the room. It startles the wits out of him, jumping about 2 meters on the seat and falling on his side, his elbow digging on Taehyung's thigh. But it's just Seokjin; a panting mess but still managed to look awfully gorgeous.
The Kim brothers had to leave for the kitchen with an excuse of making more food (because according to Seokjin, home-cooked meal is still the best especially for comforts) and to make up for their supposed to be weekend dinner night out, Taehyung reliving the story of how he had found Jimin on the hallway of the school's building cornered against the wall by a rogue alpha. They talked in hush, careful soft voices. But their kinds have naturally good hearing he can still hear all the words loud and clear. He had to act like he's not affected when the two returned to the living room.
There's another hand that brushes along Jimin's spine that stirred him out of his thoughts, breath hitching at the feeling. He can feel Taehyung's eyes on him, even if he doesn't look up; he knows the boy's frowning at the reaction. He has to force his body to relax when Seokjin's rough from sleep voice whispers from behind him. And that he remembered he's sandwiched in the protective warmth of Seokjin and Taehyung from last night.
"Good morning, Jimin."
He cranes his neck, meeting Seokjin's sleepy soft gaze on him. "Good morning."
"How are you feeling?" He pursed his lips at that. Seokjin must have caught on his reaction, quickly shifting. "What do you want for breakfast? Any particular request, Minnie?"
"I want chocolate pancakes," Taehyung interjects, grumbling when his brother flicked him on the forehead with an, "I am not asking you," that sounds so fond rather than chiding.
"I'm fine with anything," Jimin answers after a moment, sitting up on the bed and stretching his arms above his head, "I love everything you cook, Seokjin."
-----
No one, not even the Kim brothers who have been practically attached to his hips since three years ago, know Jimin's head over heels love for arts—particularly, in painting. He once wonders if it could be considered as his dirty little secret.
And maybe, he also enjoys the thrill of sneaking out of his pad so early in the morning for a soul to actually even function well, or so late in the evening for a living thing to be still up; backpack slung over his shoulder with his art materials secure inside, dropping off the coffee shop inside their campus to get his daily dose of caffeine in the form of very sweet vanilla latte before walking flights of stairs into the main library and sitting on their usual table.
He's attending a boarding school; practically all of the establishments inside are open 24 hours. He just chose not to take a dorm inside because he doesn't want to share a room to anyone. And for another personal reason.
The idea of going to one of the art rooms in the campus pass through his mind countless of times, but also always immediately decides against it, not wanting to risk the exposure. His intelligence and uncommonly independent personality that had spread through the whole campus like a wild fire were enough. And he's determined to keep his art skills a secret—private.
And just like the any other time that he kind of feels like artistic, ideas and inspiration thrumming in his veins, Jimin's off at five in the morning, sun barely even peeking behind the horizon to start the day. He continues his trek to the main library with a tall cup of his drink in his hand, taking a sip occasionally in hopes to wake his system fully before he arrived at his destination. When he set a foot in the said library, the place was completely void of students save for the librarian.
When Jimin had his first ever masterpiece, he was nothing but a mere pup. He remembered how he's trying to kill time waiting for dinner, sitting under the shade of a tree near the riverbank. He had his science notebook perched on his lap, finishing an assignment to be passed the next day was his original plan. Until the sun started to set right in front of him, casting yellow, orange and purple, stroking beautiful mixed and lines in the dusk of sky, painting its reflection in the water of the river. It was honestly, speechlessly beautiful. He had never witnessed sunset before, only seeing them in books and imaginations, the elders always reminding them pups to get to the safety of their houses before twilight. Jimin is just a pup and it's obvious for him to abide the rules and follow the elders' words.
But in that moment, Jimin was captured by the beauty in front of him. Bewitched by the new canvass of setting sun had created. And so a moment later, he had found himself still sitting on the riverbank and breaking a rule. His science notebook opened on the back page, his pen diligently working a decently sloppy copy of the image. It was nowhere near as beauty as the real thing, but it was his first ever masterpiece, first work, first art evidence, first love. And so for him, it was the most beautiful art his hand had ever created that time. And maybe also thinks, just as beautiful as the real thing.
Jimin absentmindedly blinks at the sketchbook in front of him, snapping himself in his train of thought before squinting at the white paper, confused. He doesn't remember his hand working to start sketching at all, but there in front of him was a very detailed charcoal version of his own snowflake mark tattooed on his skin—dark and sharp and vivid, as if it was alive. He stared at it for a bit too long for no reason at all.
And as if on cue, he felt the familiar prickle on his lower left ribcage. His right hand automatically let go of the pencil in favor of holding his side. The pain now stung twice than the last time that he had to bite his lower lip to keep a whimper. He felt his inner wolf rise from his sleep, standing straight and alert. It's weird.
What's going on?
His wolf started pacing back and forth. And his head suddenly felt light and heavy all at the same time.
Quiet.
Jimin has to stop himself from huffing at his wolf, opting to focus on putting pressure on his side in failed attempt to subside the pain. He doesn't usually talk to his wolf. Not even of all the times he had been cornered by rogues. They rarely talk, to say the least. He and his inner wolf had decided a long time ago to go in their own way but still made sure to cooperate to the other's thought. They both have a choice, living as if they're two individuals trapped inside one body. To say the least, they're both independent.
The first time he talked to his wolf was the time he also first saw the faint line of his mark on his skin. His inner wolf had just blinked at him, shrugging and frowning. That faithful day left both of them confused, curious and dumbfounded. And now happen to be the second time in years, still with the very same reason, his mark.
He'd been too preoccupied in biting back a groan as a jolt of sharp pain ran past the whole of his torso, slightly panting in an attempt to normalize his irregular breathing pattern. The pain eventually, albeit slowly, subsided, leaving only a tolerable tiny needle-like prickle around his tattoo mark. He slumped on the wooden table, closing his eyes, his ears buzzing, pressing his forehead on the paper of his sketchbook before deciding to close it.
He completely missed the other heartbeat except for his own and the librarian's. It was calm and steady, ringing to his ears loud and clear if he'll just concentrate on it. But Jimin's still distracted by his own heartbeats thudding in his own ears, and so he doesn't notice.
"Are you okay?"
Jimin shut his eyes tight, his wolf howling in his head in that familiarly foreign sound of the voice coming from behind him. He carefully sat up, lowering his hand from his torso to let it rest on his lap before turning around slightly to face the other.
Deep. Dark. Abyss.
Jimin frowns at his inner wolf's words, utterly confused. Until he realized he's staring right back at two deep, dark orbs.
"Everything's fine," was his clipped answer before turning back and collecting his art materials scattered on the table. The presence behind him stay rooted, making his wolf starts pacing yet again.
"Do you need help?"
"No."
Familiar.
We don't know him. What are you talking?
Jimin thinks his wolf was being weird right now. First, talking to him. And second, continuously talking. Third, talking about weird words around the presence of the stranger behind him.
He quickly grabbed his bag, throwing his things inside unceremoniously—a thing he would never ever do when it comes to his art materials. But he has to get out of here as soon as possible, get away from the stranger still standing behind him that was the sole cause of his wolf saying weird things and causing him restless. Zipping his backpack closed, he stood up and turn and made a mistake of inhaling the air around him.
Big mistake.
Strong black coffee and raindrops, musk and solid around him.
His inner wolf howl.
Familiar.
[screech at the gif jfc jimin sue me]