Warning??: He just talks about his childhood it doesn’t talk explicitly, just implications of death and abuse really.

Anywho~ my story telling is lmao  enjoy and let me know what you think

Instead of taking you back to the living room, he leads you into his room where he sits you down on his bed. The queen-sized mattress is familiar, dipping under both of your weights. It takes you back to the time Taehyung handcuffed you both. How you had to spend a night in Jimin’s room, a pillow wedged between you both.

You suddenly feel insecure, lowering your head when you realize your dimple is out on display for him. But your insecurity doesn’t match the amount of anxiety and fear that’s swelling up inside of Jimin as he glances at you warily.

He doesn’t know how to start, suddenly clearing his dry throat and scratching the back of his neck.

Eventually he starts. At the very beginning, when his father left him and his mother, the woman going insane in result. It had been gradual at first, her attacks more verbal than physical as she began to go out more, drinking and looking for a replacement. Then it became violent, fear grabbing at his younger self and forcing him into a cage of trauma and loneliness. He could vividly remember his thoughts and feelings, the pain and the torture. He was utterly lonely. He had to face this ordeal all on his own, wishing for a day that he’d be able to escape from the punishments that laid waste to his body. No one was there to help him survive, he did it on his own despite his desire to keep taking it until he could feel no more and finally part from a nightmarish life such as his.

Jimin paused every now and then, gauging your reaction, only to find you concentrated on solely him. Your expression was distressed, eyes glossy as he continues on about Chief Ahn, coaxing him to escape and providing him a switchblade. You immediately knew where this was going, Jimin trembling and out of breath, choked out how he continuously stabbed his mother, after she tried strangling him, even after she was no longer breathing. Everything had built up, the pain, the loneliness, the depression, and came flooding out of him in that moment he decided he needed to defend himself or else he was not going to be escaping any time soon.

At that time, Jimin might’ve been wary of any men who saw any kind of attraction in the monster that had been his mother. But no one has ever reached out to him before, and he would’ve taken anything to escape that hell house. If Chief Ahn hadn’t pushed him, maybe he’d be rotting away dead after so many beatings at this moment. That still didn’t change the fact however that he had gone ahead and murdered her.

He went on about meeting Min Yoongi, the boy who took him into his family and treated him like a little brother. Through him he had met Namjoon who had a great sense of justice and deduction, prompting them to join him in studying to be a detective. Taehyung had been the goofy and yet serious-when-needed kid when they went to a training academy, unsurprisingly becoming Jimin’s best friend despite their polar opposite personalities. Hoseok and Seokjin were met at the precinct.

Then the story took a turn and he spoke about Jungmi, how they met, how he totally fell head over heels for her. He was blinded, thinking that maybe not all females were terrible. He’d sincerely thought the guys were being hypocrites, that Taehyung was only jealous, that Yoongi was trying to get with Jungmi. Up until he found her in bed with another man.

Of course. Of course. They were not to be trusted, he told himself. Women were the epitome of evil. Liars. Succubi. He despises them.

Another side of him thought they were horrible beings. Scary creatures hidden under the skin of a human. That side feared them. They were not only scary, but they were weak. Easily killed. Easily broken. Easily giving into lunacy.

He hates, hates, hates them. Despises, detests, loathes.

“Jimin.”

Startled, his body jumps slightly at his name being called.

Hands reach out to him, for a second they’re drenched in scarlet and he’s retreating away in fear until he blinks to only find them clean. Glancing up, you’re there, knelt on the ground before him with a soft smile lighting up your expression.

You’re an angel, he thinks. Whereas another side of him believes that its all a facade, that you’re nothing like an angel, only a manipulative demon that’s ready to tear out his innards until he’s no more.

However, you gently swipe your fingers over the tears that had been rolling down his cheeks. Your fingertips are soft, careful and hesitant as you catch the crystals that fall from his stinging mocha eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice sounding much like a melodic lullaby, one that he vaguely remembers his mother singing to him when his father was still with them. A brief reminder that his mother had once been the most beautifullest woman to ever walk the earth until she became one of the most hideous and most terrifying creatures to set foot on it.

You carefully stand up and Jimin is quick to throw his arms around your waist and bury his face into your stomach. Your chest tightens at the sight, letting your hands dangle at your sides just like the last time he’s opted to holding you.

Surely what he’d done in the past would bother you, haunt you even, but not as much as they haunted and tortured the man - who was much like a scared child at the moment. However that was the past, Jimin is a good person, you believe. If he hadn’t done what he did, then he wouldn’t be here. It was a matter of be killed or kill and survive. He never meant to attack his mother, it was self-defense, and yet he still blames himself and lets it haunt him that he killed the woman who gave life to him.

Jimin falls asleep like that, waking up immediately when you try to pry away his arms, only to refuse to let go of you. He’s much like a little lamb, a cub, a pup even, urging you onto the bed and curling up into your back with his arms around your middle.

His calmed breaths lull you into a deep sleep, falling into a serene darkness that is later interrupted by the intervention of sunlight pouring in from the narrow crevices of the window blinds. You expect him to be curled up against you when you wake up, only to be surprised by your front row seat view of his marred backside.

The older is in the midst of getting ready for work, picking through his closet for a shirt, until you inevitably squeak in surprise.

He jumps, yanking off the nearest clothing to shield his torso as he turns to regard you with an embarrassed frown. The blood has rushed to his cheeks, and my goodness, how could someone look cute while simultaneously having the blessed body of a god? However, you stray away from the fact that he is absolutely gifted with toned and rippling muscles, and focus on the fleshy marks that decorate his skin.

“Sh-… how long have you been awake?” he asks, eyes flitting around the