The Truth Untold. (vminkook)

Chapter One.

Park Jimin loved the rain. It was an ambient force, much like him. Just an insignificant, background noise that no one truly listened to. The rhythmic fall of the water droplets needed no translation; its message was clear. Jimin was wrong to believe he was alone in the billowing clouds of misery. The sky was mourning with him.

His fingers trembled, knuckles whitening as he enforced his iron grip against the rim of the sink. Tearing his eyes from the glass pane of the window separating him from the suffocating waves of the outside world that enveloped him within their relentless waters each time he departed from the comforting concealment of his apartment, Jimin's gaze met his own reflection staring at himself directly in the eyes. His pallid skin was paper-white, providing him with the uncanny resemblance of a ghost. His eyes were sunken, darkened pits boring two holes into his face. Jimin hardly recognised himself any longer. The heroin continued to plague his mind, settling itself within his very heartstrings and staking its claim. It had him entrapped within shackles, leaving him hopelessly dependant. His hands began to shake once more, nerves screaming at him with impulsive need to provide them with sustenance. Jimin obeyed, arm outstretched to reach for the familiar comfort of his bag before the untimely bell on his phone cut through the tense silence and startled him, his heartbeat thudding in his chest.

Prior to even glancing at the lit screen, Park Jimin knew exactly who had messaged him, seeing as his burner phone contained the number of only one person. He stared at the blurred message, eyes hazy and stomach contorting; head pounding against his skull. The heroine called to him in a seductive muse, enveloping his train of thoughts until they were nothing but a string of repetitive words: need, need, need.

My place. Now.

Jimin fought the urge to scoff at the text message, facial features morphing into an expression of sheer disinterest. He could wait a few more minutes. Patience was undoubtedly a virtue Kim Taehyung could develop over time. He could almost envision the man's face, handsome features warped to reflect the mindless killer he was notoriously known as; mouth curled in triumph, eyes ablaze with a menacing fire that refused to be extinguished.

I said get a FUCKING move on. I have places to be.

Jimin's fingers itched with the unsatiable desire to grab the phone and send a flurry of curses and ill-wishes to the other man, telling him he had absolutely no intention of ruining the next few hours in which he had hoped to pass in the confinements of his home, away from the warped life plaguing the streets of Seoul. However, the upcoming notification was enough to still Jimin in his movements, heart thudding raucously in his chest to successfully rattle his ribcage and trigger a steady flow of perspiration down the side of his face.

I can see you, kitten. Turn away from the mirror and grab my shit.

The two of his eyes darted to each and every corner of the bathroom for the small, black device Taehyung had to have placed somewhere inconspicuously. The nineteen-year-old felt his stomach lurch, thoughts swirling his mind regarding Taehyung's reason to instil a camera. Did he not trust him enough to delegate the drugs around the city, without an external onlooker monitoring his progress? Had Taehyung begun to doubt whether Jimin's loyalties truly lied with him, or whether he would run his mouth to opposing rivals and sell out the man he had pledged steadfast loyalty to for the last few months?

Inhaling a shaky breath of air, Jimin swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty. There was no sign of a monitor anywhere, as Jimin ran the pads of his fingers along the underside of the sink and the sides of the mirror ahead of him. Perhaps Taehyung was bluffing. It would not have been the first time the latter had revelled in the idea of manipulating Jimin until he was a visible epitome of sheer panic and mayhem.