Blood Ink ✔️

36: Memories

There's a dent in the couch that measures out to be the exact length, shape and width of your body.

Shifting in your hole of safety and comfort, you huff out a breath and stare glumly at the wall. The material beneath you sinks a little further as you move, molding to your hips.

In the back of you mind, your brain communicates with your ears as they pick up the faint sound of Jungkook snoring in the furthest bedroom.

You've been settled here, curled into a lump of blank incredulousness for the past hour after Yoongi and Taehyung slipped like shadows out of the door. Your mind is whirling with the implications of Yoongi's words, the implications that didn't hit you until a few minutes after they left.

Change his bandages once a day,

Feed him.

Keep him hydrated.

All of these comments lead up to one horrifyingly unavoidable conclusion: you'll be left alone here with Jungkook, playing nurse and chef and maid, for more than one day.

Maybe more than two, or three, or even four.

How many freaking days are they planning to leave you here alone?!

And what terrifies you the most is the fact that they're leaving you here, alone and defenseless, with your only company being the injured Jungkook who can't defend you any more than a harmless rabbit could at this point.

What if someone attacks you? Breaks into this low-laying house and tries to harm you or Jungkook?

The other men might think this house in an infallible safety zone, but you're not past looking to the worst possible scenario and planning for it.

Anything is possible.

Sighing, you push yourself up from the Y/N-sized dent and drag your feet into the kitchen. You aren't sure when Jungkook will deign to wake up and grace you with his conscious presence, but you're sure he'll be thirsty when he does.

You dig through the cabinets in the kitchen until your hands come across the smooth, cool surface of a glass. Pulling it out, you fill it with ice and water, and stop on your way out to glance at the contents of the refrigerator.

Great. There's no food, and you have no money and no transportation to go grocery shopping. You can only hope for one of the softer-dispositioned men (*cough cough* not Yoongi) to remember that you exist and to bring you food before the two of you starve to death.

Pondering this, you tread back through the living room and down the hall, hardwood floors cool and textured beneath your bare feet.

Beside the sofa, your shoes lay in a discarded mess of a pile. You hop over them lightly on your way to the bedroom.

Inside the darkened back room, Jungkook's snoring echoes a little louder. He's a splayed form on top of the covers, his long body not fully settled to the top so that his still-shoed feet hang off the end.

Holy heck, does that bother you.

Grimacing, you set down the water and move around to them end of the bed. His shoes are, of course, some type of lace-up boot.

AKA, the most difficult type of shoe for another person to get off.

You set off to work immediately, not worried about waking him up because of earlier experiences from today.

You yank at the rough laces, loosening them up enough to slip the heavy boot off of his foot, then move onto the next one. Underneath, he's got in black and white striped and zig-zagged ankle socks, something that you can't help but find cute.