"Trust me, babygirl. You don't want to start a war with me."
___________
Park Jimin = biggest fuckboy on the planet.
You're a new student in his class. You don't how to play his games, you don't know the rules.
He drives you mad and you drive him ma...
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This wasn't the plan. He wasn't part of the plan.
Gritted fists, trudging footsteps shake the ground as Jungkook treads through the backstage halls. Steam exploding from his ears, sweltering anger lingering to torrent out of its overheated pot to tear down the surrounding walls of the deceiving building.
"She's not supposed to have a fucking boyfriend." he mutters to himself, blood urgently pumping through his body, defining the veins along his body.
He ponders continuously on what he did wrong as your words circle around his head.
'You can't honestly be saying that after what you fucking did'
What did he do? What did he fucking do?
He understands you would be mad about being arrested. But that was the police's fault, not his. You're completely innocent, he knows.
He never wanted you to get involved, he never wanted you to get arrested. He was just so scared that night, fear had ripped his tough bones apart, begging and seeking for help.
After he saw his gang torture and kill a guy for the first time with his own eyes, he had felt more than terrified.
Memories fall back in line. He remembers his trembling state, his eyes reflecting how he petrified he was to the core.
"Jungkook?" His name rings from your mouth.
"Y/N." He whispers you name back, pushing himself off the ground of the cold alleyway with his guilty hands. As soon as your figure comes into view, he runs to you, body crumpling against yours as he desperately hangs on for comfort.
"Baby, baby, what's wrong?"
He doesn't say anything, lips sealed shut, feeling like he's about to erupt into tears if he says a single word. Not wanting to think about it ever again, he simply holds onto your muddled self, the warmth of your body healing his scarred mind.
"Jungkook, why is there blood on you?!"
Pulling back, he finds smudged blood on your clothes from his own. His eyes drop to his shirt, drenched in a blameless stranger's blood, the crimson embedding itself into the once innocent shirt.
"What...?"
And that's when the police found them.
It's crazy how that memory doesn't seem even the tiniest bit horrific now. Compared to the things he's involved in these days, watching a young boy get torn limb from limb comes across as the norm.
Coming up to your dressing room, he finds your name printed on the door. Another scowl imprints his face when he notices Jimin's name right next to yours. He can't wait to get rid of him.
