In the Dead of Winter || •PJM• ✔️

Group

Jimin stares down at his bare feet, amazed at the dirt there. He never looked closely at his feet. Why would he? They're like the rest of his body - gross. Really gross, actually. He sighs and leans against the wall in his temporary bedroom. An hour ago they made a daring escape from the town and piled into a working SUV. Turns out they weren't from around Jimin's area. They come from a high school. Well, a boarding school. It's not too big - probably made for about a hundred students - but it's big enough that Jimin's convinced he's safe here.

Upon arrival they took his weapons and are probably holding them in an armory of some sort. He didn't ask. Why would he? It's not like he's in any position to make demands. They didn't ask his name yet surprisingly. He's wondering if they have a leader. That attracti- ahem, strong woman from before seemed to imply that this place belongs to her. Of course he's curious about the story. He hopes he gets it soon.

There's a knock on the door. He doesn't answer. Seconds later, there's a creak, then a soft pad of footsteps. Jimin looks up and almost screams. "He doesn't bite," Y/n says, closing the door behind her. Holy shit, they have a dog?! And why's she carrying a box? She sits on the bed next to him, the German Shepherd sauntering over. "Sit," she commands. The dog does.

"Wow," he mumbles. She opens the box, revealing several tools. And by tools, Jimin means self-care tools. Scissors, a bottle of sprayable water, razors, nail clippers: all things he needs right now. She takes the scissors first. 

"You look like a caveman. I can style it if you want," she says. He nods in acceptance. On instinct, he turns his back so she can get to work, stealing a few glances at the obedient dog. Honestly, it's pretty stupid to turn his back to a stranger holding a weapon, but he doesn't even care anymore. Regardless, that's not the point. The point is: she never cuts his hair.

"Y/n?" he asks. She scoots closer and plays with his long hair, him relishing in the sensation hitting his spine.

"You're going to answer my questions," she says. "And for each question you answer, I'll cut more of your hair. Is that fair?"

"Information for barber services? I'll take it," he replies.

She chuckles. "Name?"

"Jimin."

"Full name."

"Jimin Park. Park Jimin preferably."

"Korean," she says, getting to work. He feels snippets of his hair falling on the bed. There's silence for a few moments, then, she stops. "How old are you? I'd guess thirty-seven, but maybe after a shower, twenty."

"Twenty-six," he replies.

"Old."

"Oh please, you look twenty-three."

"I would say cute and bright, but I'm not seeing the cute yet." He shifts back to glare at her. Meanwhile, she gives him a wave and gets back to work. More snips. More black locks falling on the sheets. "Why were you in that town?" she says, working as she speaks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? I've been scavenging that town for ages and never saw another person. I lived out there for a reason."

"To be alone?"

He nods. "To be alone. You kind of ruined that."

"I would apologize, but I'm not really sorry," she replies. "Aren't you glad? That place was swarming with Deadbaits and Divas."

Jimin snorts. "I know how to handle Deadbaits. They're common where I live."

"They're common here too. This one was hiding in the shadows. Lost a good man to it." She stops, brushing some of the hair. "We have working showers. Clean water. The pipes still work. We got a plumber on campus, probably about as useful as Jungkook."