In Retrospect - Jikook

Chapter Six: A Handshake

Hot water hit Jimin's back, turning red as blood scraped off his skin. He couldn't remember how long he'd been standing under the shower, Jungkook's shocked face tattooed behind his eyelids.

Jimin groaned, turning the water even hotter. Steam started to choke the air in the bathroom. He closed his eyes, trying to push the night's events out of his mind like it was a poison in his lungs. There were the hit men, hiding thin rifles up above the metro line. There was Jungkook, frozen as Jimin shot the runners. Jimin couldn't get the images to stop. Never had a hit rattled him so completely before, but this one, this one wasn't planned.

Jimin had noticed the hitmen instantly. They were sloppy, was Jimin's first thought. The cargo carts closed off two sides of the meeting point and the ocean hugged the third which left the metro to squat, but the men barely tried to hide. Their visors gave them away as the Parks drove in, their headlights reflecting off the small lenses of their guns looking like a star among the shadows of the abandoned area.

Jimin had pressed the earpiece then and thought about warning Yoongi, but something made him hesitate. Trying to explain and pull the others into the situation when they were waiting on Hwasa would only cause confusion. It might give him up as more than a street rat, but Jimin didn't want to waste time putting The Jeons in unnecessary danger by taking their attention away from the drop off just to keep up his lie. Especially not when the kills would be so easy in the first place.

It barely took any effort for Jimin to reach the ticket booth. The hitmen were loud, talking about how The Jades were going to make The Parks rich. As he neared them, Jimin noted that both men were dressed in full black combat gear and bullet-proof vests. One had a golden snake on his shoulder and the other had no mark at all. Their faces were covered, but the material looked thin enough for a sharp knife to easily cut through. The fabric wasn't attached to the suit either, leaving a sliver of skin between their chest and mask. Shooting them would be too loud. If these hitmen were after Jungkook, then a gun shot could set off whoever sent them in the first place.

Seoul had even dumber men than Busan did, because both hitmen had their guns aimed outside two windows, glass shattered around the floor, with no one watching the entrance to the booth. That, or they were simply confident The Jeons wouldn't catch on that the meeting was a set up. The thing that Jimin couldn't figure out was why The Parks would want to take Jungkook out in the first place. He frowned, seeing a hint of red ink on one of the hit men's wrists as they adjusted their stance. The tattoo was of two thin lines. The confidence was starting to make sense: The Parks weren't working alone.

Jimin sighed, tilting his head back so that the hot water could start to burn newer skin, hitting new parts of his neck and ears so that the sting of it could get his mind off of the night.

Their deaths were quick. The panic for Jungkook that bloomed inside Jimin's chest, a feeling so visceral that it could only be described as alive, blinded him like nothing else before. There was this overwhelming drive in Jimin to protect Jungkook, protect the one person who reminded Jimin how to feel human. Someone who showed him that Jimin could expect more out of someone than cryptic looks and secret nights and desperate conversations. That Jimin was allowed to be a real, full, person.

A separate part of Jimin, a hidden storm in the back of his mind, screamed to let the hitmen fire as he slipped behind each man to cut their throats. If Jungkook died, then so would Jimin's questioning of The Kims and his life in Busan. Because if Jimin didn't laugh with Taehyung, then what was he to him? Kim's Whore was supposed to be a covert title, but if the only thing he was supposed to hide with Taehyung was his love for him, then was there some truth to the title?

Jimin hit his head against the bathroom wall, turning the water another notch hotter. The steam was starting to suffocate him as he slid down to sit on the floor of the shower. He pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to force the thoughts deep down into a cabinet he could lock away. The Kims were his family. They protected him. Taught him. Cared for him.