In the Dead of Winter || •PJM• ✔️

Stranger

Warning: This story is rated M. There is sexual content, swearing, drug use, violence, and adult themes ahead. You have been warned. This is a zombie story. Prepare for themes of depression/self-harm and character death. If you get triggered by either of those things this story is not for you. I'd rather you skip a story than be harmed by it, please protect yourself.

All characters are depicted as 18+ and please remember - this is a fictional story, I am not trying to sexualize any BTS member or interpret them as bad people. This is completely fictional, please don't take it too seriously. With that being said, enjoy In the Dead of Winter...

DAY 782

Jimin shuts the locket, tucking it under his shirt as he always does in the morning. He sighs and stares up at the wooden pallets, sunlight peeking through. His eyes squint at the rays peeping in, but he decides against vocally complaining. Not like he has anyone to complain to anyway.

Being in the apocalypse has been beyond difficult. Jimin's lived in more groups than he can count, each one ending in flames. He has a beard at this point, his hair almost down to his shoulders, his skin coated in dirt. It's not like he has access to much water. Jimin literally lives in a barn. Sounds gross, sure, but it protects him from the zombies. The Howlers that come out at night always keep him up. They're the most aggressive zombie variant. Every group he's been in has always had the same rule: don't go out at night.

Jimin strokes his hair with his long nails. He rarely cuts his hair, and his poor nails get the same treatment. Not by choice. Jimin sighs at the feeling of his greasy hair, his feet trudging him down into the main segment of the barn. The hay beneath his body squishes, his beat up converse kicking up some dirt as he goes. Today's the day. Scavenging day. The worst day of the week by far.

He gathers the little ammo he has, taking his pistol and shoving it in the waistband of his battered jeans, taking his tactical knife as well. He makes sure it's concealed in his pocket before swinging his backpack on and exiting the barn. Jimin groans at the sudden light, squinting right away. Great. Now he looks even older. He'll get wrinkles at this point.

With a small will to live still burning in the pits of his stomach, he starts trotting down the dirt road. He needs food and water. Only one problem: the town he goes to is slowly but surely getting drier. He gets as much as he can then comes back. Of course he'd love to take everything all at once or all in one day, but the trip into town is half an hour. Half an hour to and from, an hour total not counting the hours it takes to stealthily gather everything and try not to alert any zombie variants to his presence.

There's a few around during the day. The basic 'humanoid' zombie, where a human is infected from a bite and walks around undead. However, the longer the infection holds in a person, the more they mutate. The most deadly during the day are the Behemoths. Big fucking zombies the size of sumo wrestlers that have no face and swing their arms around like hammers. Doesn't sound like much, but those fuckers have good ears and take lots of bullets to kill. No knife will stop them. If one of those things finds Jimin, he's dead.

Luckily, Behemoths aren't common; they often stay underground. With no eyesight, there's no need for them to get any sun. A common during the day are Divas. A female variant that have slim legs and arms. Unlike the regular undead infected, the Divas can run and jump. They stick to rooftops. Similar to the Behemoths, they can't see. Jimin can't make a single noise while scavenging, otherwise he's dead.

Jimin pulls himself out of his thoughts. There's several zombie variants, but thinking about them won't help. It'll only make him feel worse. He frowns, and soon enough, the half hour trip flies by. He finds himself in the center of the small town, the wind hustling all around him, brushing through the dead trees and shaking their branches. Jimin can't stop his grunt. This is what his life has come to, huh?