#deadvibin

   If it wasn’t for a single box of  dried pears he could simply leave – it wasn’t as if he really needed them but, he wanted them. The fact they were out of his reach, clearly in view but still far from coming into his grasp, sort of makes him want them even more. A mild determination is made in mind, thick swallow given as gaze is tossed around aisle, certainty given that no eyes were currently on him at the time, Jimin goes to his toes, digits gaining a bit more leverage than before yet only succeeding in pushing package back even more. A huff of air escapes lungs, frustration building despite coming close to intended goal. Hum settles in throat, gaze veering toward a familiar figure that lingers close, attention focused on something else entirely. Ah, yes, that’s right – Jimin had dragged younger to store. Jungsu was becoming a regular at his home, stopping by every now and again, sometimes not showing up for days, weeks even before dropping in once more. 

Just like a stray cat. 

  Corners of tiers twitch, movement made towards younger with light footsteps. Hand comes to outstretch, digits taking grasp of elbow and encouraging younger male to follow him back towards a single package of dried pears, single digit raising to point towards said package he doubts younger male will have trouble reaching. He’s like a child asking permission for a desired treat, eagerness held in dark hues mixed with a hint of childish desire, “Can you get it for me?” plump tiers for a tight line, grasp given to elbow released as hand falls to side, basket handle adjusted to slide down to meet bend of appendage. Amusement becomes an apparent feature along younger’s visage, opposite tiers finding a light smile. It’s not much but it’s still being useful to someone that helps without too many questions or sticking their nose into something where it didn’t belong. 

  He’s becoming slightly dependent on Jungsu, finding it easier to relax as time goes on, rather seeing him as simple a patient he treated from time to time, or a reckless kid that tended to get in trouble too much – Jimin sees younger as a friend, someone to rely on, even if it was something as silly and foolish as taking a box from a high shelf. with ease, little effort made, packaged dried pears are retrieved, handed to awaiting hands that seem to wiggle with anticipation. Smile grows upon plump tiers as box finally comes into hands, thumbs brushing over a few labels and gaze trailing a side filled nutritional facts, dark hues casting over to younger’s profile, curiosity brimming,

“You are staying for dinner, right?” 

   Ah, yes. They’d been walking together, or more like Jimin had opted to walk with younger after seeing a certain cut along corner of mouth wasn’t exactly healing properly. He recalls nagging Jungsu about ointment that’d surely need to be applied along an irritated area, something to keep scaring to a minimum, to perhaps avoid marring younger’s features. Hand had reached up during that time, digits eager to perhaps delve into short locks an give them a reassuring ruffle ( mild affections becoming easier to display as time went on ), but all actions had been halted at the sight of approaching men. So much, there had been too many of them -- more than before. An obvious held grudge in their eyes at the mere sight of Jungsu and Jimin. It seemed one of their own had been victim to jail time with their last encounter and their gang tended to look out for their own ( something he oddly enough respected ), words an curses had been spat to them but Jimin hadn’t been given much time to react nor retort back. 

   Wrist had been grabbed, frame pulled into a nearby alley, with encouragements to run hissed underneath breath. Heart had pounded harshly, thumping against chest without mercy as feet carried him behind Jungsu who seemed determined to lead them out of trouble rather attempt to talk things through with a group of thugs. Ha, how different they were -- Jimin had wondered back then who exactly was the foolish one? The kid who ran from the problem or the one who seemed dead-set on taking a beating? Corner of tiers twitched, wrist slipping momentarily from a grasp to find a much firmer hold upon opposite extremity, smaller frame much easier to tug along, pulling into one place than the next without a single care. Jungsu seemed to know where he was going, as if he’d memorize these streets by heart, an unseen map held in younger’s head that Jimin would never come to fully understand. Passing buildings all looked the same to him, if given time he too might learn every nook and cranny -- perhaps a time when thugs weren't chasing behind them with crowbar and sharpened blades. 

   A fence had become their main adversary in escape , standing 187 cm from ground up it seemed nearly impossible to hop in one go, but the men were catching up to them, and quickly, despite Jungsu’s back ally way knowledge.  Younger releases extremity, warmth from said hold fading instantly as chilled night air brushed against palm, without a hitch Jungsu can easily make use of his own height and hop a metal prison, landing on the other-side with a slight huff escaping lungs, feet perfectly making contact against concrete without stumble. Shouting had been heard from the distance, mixed with that of Jungsu who was yelling at him to jump over -- adrenaline racing through veins and allotting blood to rush to head, Jimin goes to do the same. Surprisingly making it near the top, his own height however wasn’t helping with much else. He shifts, tossing one leg over to opposite side, digits belonging to younger tugging on hem of jeans to help pull him over. Jimin desires to hop down but can’t, leg hanging near danger is caught, a tear in jeans made as a rusted piece of metal along fence has caught him. Digits go to make attempts to free himself but find it in vain, panic settling over him upon sight of approaching figures, features scrunched in disdain. 

    Lungs were burning, already out of breath as dark hues flicker between men and Jungsu who seems to to be adorning a matching expression. Jimin shouts for Jungsu so go without him but younger doesn’t seem to budge, like a deer caught in headlights he remains put, gaze falling to men who draw closer, sight of Jimin caught causing their pace to quicken. Many thoughts must be swarming through younger’s mind, gaze flickering from one place to the next, mild sense of panic settling between the two. Extremity belonging to Jimin pushes outward, digits barely brushing opposite as he encourages Jungsu to leave without him. Younger isn’t given much time to argue, shirt fabric grabbed onto from opposing side sends Jimin toward concrete, a thud of flesh hitting hard slab and knuckles scraping against ground. Flesh tears upon impact, pain seeping in with a slight sting, nothing compared to fist meeting features, thick ring adorn along pointer catching a lower tier and tearing it open. Crimson is dripped upon concrete, a hotness seeping behind lids, causing tears to spring forth along corners -- a typical reaction given, nose barely given a brush during impact. 

   There is mental preparation for the next hit, opposing foot raised with a heavy boot to perhaps com crashing down upon a seemingly fragile rib cage. Prep for an oncoming hit, what pain to expect, what may or may not happen, can be made as much as he likes but it’s nothing compared to real pain of contact. Jimin waits for it but it never comes, lids that have come to a tight unknowing shut crack open just in time to see Jungsu back upon opposite side, kicking away an opposing enemy, shock from a surprise hit to gut causing said man to stumble back just long enough for younger to pull Jimin back to his feet. Escape seems almost futile now, group surrounding them looking even more pissed than they were from the start, but for some reason he has faith, belief it might be okay. That they might make it out just fine just as the last time -- how foolish. Without warning men jump in, like predator charging prey once it’d become weak, going in for a kill. In the past recollection of judo classes taken crosses Jimin’s mind, of course it’d been years ago, such knowledge needing constant practice, a brushing up on that he hadn’t been giving. Still, he recalled enough to at least keep off a few of the men that’d come to his side. 

  Jungsu seems to be doing better than himself, sudden realization hitting him that younger indeed knew how to fight -- getting more than a few good hits in, no falter given when said hits were returned, no matter how badly they seemed or sounded. Pain, it always seemed to hold one back, causing falter, waver in steps when it becomes unbearable. He feels such a dizzy spell hitting him when a direct hit to the head sends him to his knees, bits of crimson dripping from forehead where gash has been made. Frame is pulled up, appendages held back behind him -- made to stand in a heaving mess. Ah, yes -- this is where it’d gone badly, because of him things had gone to hell and back. Halted were the movements of younger, a deep voice flowing outward from man presumed to be leader of this band of thugs shouting out orders left and right. A falter was all it’d taken before they were both caught, Jungsu made to be held back as well, strong fighter having his battle short lived because Jimin was too weak to keep up the fight. All it had taken was a single order, wave of the hand given as words flowed outward,

 “beat the shit out of them.”

    Iron had become a familiar taste in his mouth, eliciting a few gags here and there when said taste became too strong. Slight numbness to pain given once endorphins had kicked in, hit after hit after hit had been granted to both frames. More crimson spilling upon concrete slab until it looked like someone had painted ground with red paint, or better yet spilled a can of paint  -- splattering it across. He doesn’t recall when it’d stopped or when thugs had left them to their own devices or perhaps to die, somewhere between crowbar coming into contact with features and bile rising in throat, but in the next instance short lashes are fluttering, cheek pressed against concrete, and gaze searching for younger. Frame had been pulled upward, forced and made to move closer once Jungsu had been spotted -- back pressed against brick wall, breathing shallow.  Hand had made light contact against cheek, patting it to perhaps gain some type of reaction, maybe wake younger up from slumber. Ear was pressed against chest in the next moment, subtle beats of a heart giving him a mild sense of relief. Although he still remains unnerved at the unconscious sight. 

   “J..jungsu -- wake up..” swallowed thickly is a taste of iron, digits grasping on fabric twisting it in a sudden bout of worry, anxiousness settling over him when he’s given no response. Jimin presses closer, short lashes fluttering and heart picking up it’s pace -- he gives Jungsu’s frame a firm shake, jolting younger’s body with said force. Still, no response. This is where panic had set in, gaze flickering from one side to the next, ignorance of his own injuries given as worry over younger took hold. No, no, no , no  - the thought of losing such a precious friend, one that’d come back to save him, one that’d gotten a much worse beating than himself, elicits forth a hotness behind optics. Someone else for Jimin to grow close to, someone else for him to gain attachment, someone else to lose in an accident. Wetness finding it’s way shamefully along swollen cheeks, dripping onto ground when it became to heavy to linger along flesh. A few droplets make their way to fabric, painting Jungsu’s bloodied shirt. Features dip, pressing inward along crook of neck, shoulders giving a faint shudder as he listens to a barely audible sound of breathing coming from younger’s parted tiers.

                     “Are you crying....?”

  Weakened tone falls from betwixt tiers, a flutter of bloodied lashes, crusting with dried crimson, encourage a faint opening -- opposite hues drifting to features that have been stained with tears and now even more so relief. Digits twisting along shirt release their hold, leaving wrinkled fabric in their wake, as extremity come upward, cupping opposite features. “ -- You are an idiot......I told you to go.....why didn’t you go....” things could have ended worse for him if Jungsu had left him, Jimin knows, but a part of him feels guilty, regretful that the two had been put in this situation again because of himself.  Words that have been spoken betwixt broken sobs, coughs granted as an ache in lungs returns, are not given answer, instead graced with a half-assed smile, pearly whites turned a mild blood orange from dried crimson. Jimin hates it, such an expression, as if he already knew the answer to said question. ‘I’ll protect you’ -- younger had said that in the past, yes, but had Jimin truly believed him? Not until now, and seeing such severity of said words coming to life -- well, it made him feel unsettled. 

       Who was he to deserve such loyalty? 

  Thumbs brush over swollen cheeks, flesh split in a faint gash, droplets of vitality losing their weight to drop an steadily dry along flesh instead. Without further ado, lips make contact with a swell of cheek, lingering there for a moment, lids sinking to half mast. Thankful, he was oh so very thankful for the younger, “....idiot...” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to opposite cheek, faint twitching of tiers granted as a scrunching of nose occurs along Jungsu’s features, in which lips come to press against bridge, settling down a wrinkle along said flesh. It was hardly the time to be bestowing such affections ( thought of calling for an ambulance crossing his mind ), but relief had momentarily taken hold of his actions, relief Jungsu was still alive and breathing, that this kid hadn’t become a victim of something worse because he couldn’t leave Jimin behind. His life, Jimin practically owed Jungsu his life, and leaving his own zone of comfort away for a moment or two wasn’t going to kill him. 

  Squeeze is granted to cheeks and with a final show of gratitude, plump tiers make contact with Jungsu’s own, pressing a firm but chaste peck to opposite more swollen tiers -- he lingers for a moment, faint inhale of a scent he was becoming steadily familiar with taken in as tip of nose brushes against cheek upon his retreat. Ah, well -- this thank you should suffice enough. Darkened hues don’t bother in meeting opposite gaze, digits coming to slip away from cheeks, resting upon shoulders, as weight is shifted closer. Forehead pressed against opposite, lids coming to a heavy sink, Jimin exhales, 

‘You two look so good                 together! Wow!’

‘Yeah, yeah!’

                 ‘They should kiss!’ 

‘Do it, Don’t be a wuss!                           kiss! kiss!’

‘I dare you!’ 

    Comments are tossed left and right without filter, falling from betwixt lips of drunken fellow Severance Hospital interns of whom Jimin had tagged along with for the night, all in celebration for one hellish year gone. Had more sober ears heard such words he may have grown abashed, uneasy with his current stance of one single appendage tossed around opposite shoulders ( keeping himself steady), and would have withdrawn quicker than it took to breathe. Instead he finds amusement, rational thought gone, head momentarily tossed as a hearty chuckle spills outwards from tiers at full force. Funny, it was so funny – but encouragement to complete this ‘little’ dare does not cease. Hands comes outwards, pushing along Jimin’s shoulder, causing subtle swaying movements, for appendage to cling harder to younger. Shouts only increase in volume as a few strangers join in, honestly, he’d made a mistake in allowing Jungsu to come along – he could have made the excuse that he was still too young but, Jimin wasn’t even of age ( just yet ), and he’d be speaking nothing but hypocrisy. 

     “There is only one solution –” words flow outwards, dark hues veering towards opposite features, digits curling along fabric of shirt, twisting it momentarily an allotting wrinkles to form. Grip releases after a passing second, palm sliding from shoulder to press along opposite nape, only to curl digits along neck to build a steady drumming along a beating pulse. Ah, well, this was strange.  Opposite hand comes upwards, head craning to one side as hues lock upon younger’s features – there was an option to follow through with dare, to give awaiting stares what they wanted, but, he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and he could not. Free digits trail along opposite jawline, encouraging a gaze that seems dead-set on avoiding his own, corners of tiers twitching into a subtle grin. While he wasn’t going to truly kiss Jungsu, he could give a little show so to say. If there was anything being drunk helped with it was confidence, something Jimin normally lacked while present in any situation. 

     Weight is shifted closer, opposite hand retreating from jaw, digits trailing down to brush along flesh of neck and coming to connect with opposite pair that have rested along nape – a trap. “I’m going to kiss you.” intentions are announced , head cocking to opposite side, grin stretching a bit higher. Younger must be confused if not disgusted by his sudden change in demeanor. He shouldn’t play like this, bordering a line he has no intentions of pressing closer to than needed – Jimin is no fool, even more so lacking subtlety while intoxicated, and knows where his true loyalties lay. Still, he leans closer, wondering just how close he can get before younger finds need to reel back or weasel from a grip that lacks strength to truly keep him in place. Tip of nose brushes against flesh of cheek, lids coming down to half mast, deep inhale is taken inwards – this is not a scent he’s accustomed to , one he hasn't had luxury of memorizing nor engulfing himself in. It’s foreign -- lulling forth a sense of unease if not a sudden bout of melancholy. 

     Momentarily dark hues flicker over to opposite pair – ah, well, he was pushing this a bit too far wasn’t he? Without warning lips come into contact with flesh, pressing firmly against cheek, sound of impact certainly audible to opposite ears. A kiss, was it not? Noises of disapproval engulfing surrounding area, ‘boos’ filling the spaces in between. Digits unclasp around neck, palms sliding downwards from shoulders and pushing off away from opposite chest, stumble granted as he fights to regain some type of balance. Easily he can bring forth a smile, pearly white showing through parted tiers. Easily he can ignore vocalized complaints, gaze veering towards fellow interns that give a thumbs down, an obnoxious chuckle being his answer. With hands coming upwards, digits pressing to lips, he blows a kiss to scrunched faces, movement made to turn upon heel abruptly and lose himself in a crowd.