Chapter Text
Jimin takes a lot from the store, disappearing behind what seems like thousands of aisles in search of essentials, non-essentials, and whatever catches his fancy. Though he knows Jimin doesn’t mean it, he explains the situation in a way that makes equal parts of guilt and embarrassment roil up in his chest. For the first half-hour of searching (and resting, too — walking on foot is tiring), Jimin shouts out what every product is for. Tampons, in case we have any more nosebleeds. Sunscreen for obvious reasons. Do you think we’ll need Pepto-Bismol? Jimin eventually stops shouting when Jungkook eventually stops responding. It doesn’t damper his spirit. Jungkook can hear him whistling from across the store, a simple, light tune, one that Jungkook finds himself mimicking in a lower register. In the meantime, Jungkook does a lot of nothing. He walks around a bit, observing everything that he finds. Behind the front counter is a pharmacy, as expected. Jungkook tries to pronounce a few of the names on the orange vials, but gives up once he gets past the ones with more than four syllables. There’s more to see, though. The pharmacy is much more personalized. Domestic, even. There’s a staircase leading up to what Jungkook can only assume is a living space of some sort. Snooping into the lives of the people who must've called this place home seems like a little too much, so Jungkook settles on investigating only what he can find on the first floor. He flips over a picture frame that fell on its face. The glass is a little scratched, but he can make out three faces. An older couple, maybe in their early 40s. The pharmacist, he assumes, is in her white coat, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. Between them is a little boy, no older than seven. His smile is squished on one side where he presses his face to his mother’s baby bump. Jungkook looks at the picture for a long moment. He leaves only after his vision dissolves behind unshed tears.
After that, Jungkook decides to distract himself. He sets himself to the task of reorganizing the shelves Jimin bulldozed through, constructing a makeshift chair from packages of toilet paper to model as his station. He stacks cans alphabetically first, then by expiration date. When he’s bored of that, he moves on to grouping them by taste. He crosses his feet politely and waits for Jimin to be finished. At some point, he gets a little peckish, so after he makes sure Jimin isn’t around to tease him, he sneaks a pack of M&Ms off from the shelf and shovels a few into his mouth. He finishes half the pack before the guilt makes the chocolate taste sour on his tongue. He stashes the unfinished, half-ripped wrapper beneath the other sachets of chocolate candies. A few moments pass, and he feels more at ease. He can sit down again.
“Hey, Jimin,” Jungkook says. His voice is nasally, blocked by the tampon, so he pulls it free. The slide is a bit dry and irritating, but once it’s out, thankfully the blood doesn’t start up again. He shoves it in his back pocket, promising himself to throw it away when he finds a trash can. He could throw it on the street, honestly. It’s not like there’s an environment he needs to preserve. He frowns.
“Jimin?” He forces his breath to come in quieter pulls, stifling the whooshes in and out until they were soundless. There’s nothing in the drugstore, then. No sound other than the blood rushing in his ears and his quiet steps across the laminate floors. There is nothing at all, certainly not the sound of Jimin’s whistling. Jungkook steels himself, creeping towards the last place he’d seen him. The aisles are eerily empty. Jimin is only one person, but his presence is large. Without him, the store might as well be a vacuum of deep, meaningless space. He stalks past the toothbrushes and dental floss, noticing Jimin’s backpack dropped outside a pair of double doors marked EMPLOYEES ONLY in thick, blocky letters.
“Jimin,” he calls out once again, tentative. He slings the backpack over his own shoulders before pushing the door open with a toe. It gives an inch. Then, it is abruptly slammed back shut. Jungkook shrieks, stumbling back and clutching at his sore toe. Jimin’s voice rings out from behind the door, warbling at higher tone than normal. It sounds tight, somehow: tight enough to tremble. Jungkook’s chest clenches.
“Chill, chill. It’s okay. Everything’s fine. Just don’t try to open the door again, okay?”
“Jimin? You didn’t answer when I — Wait, why not? What’s—!”
“Everything’s fine. Don’t work yourself up.” Jungkook wants to respond indignantly, wants to yell back that he’s not working himself up, that he’s justly angry, but Jimin’s tone is odd. Something is wrong. Knowing that makes him a bit more docile.
“Go wait for me outside. I’m right behind you. Promise.” Jungkook tightens the straps of the pack against his shoulders, nails biting into the leather like it might do something to ground him. He doesn’t dare to push the door open again. Jimin told him not to, so he won’t. But:
“The sun’s already set,” Jungkook whispers. That seems to give Jimin pause. So much time passes that Jungkook convinces himself that Jimin hadn’t heard him at all. He parts his lips.
“It's late, so...” Jungkook presses his face against the door, trying to see through the t iny gap between the double doors. A sliver of suntanned skin, black earrings. There’s motion — something swaying so slowly that he barely catches it. He wants to peer closer, but Jimin’s fleshy hand rushes to cover the gap in the door. Jungkook jolts back like he’s been shocked.
“What, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark!”
“It’s your fault anyway! You talked like nighttime is the worst time to be out.” Jimin lets out a laugh at that, like he’s relaxing the tensions. And yet, his hand doesn’t come down from the gap in the door. Jungkook swears he can hear the static electricity crackling in the air.
“You’re right behind me. You’re right behind me, right?”
“I’m right behind you,” Jimin repeats.
So, Jungkook leaves. The sky isn’t so dark yet that something (or worse, someone ) could sneak up from behind. The sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, but its lingering rays light the earth in a gentle, bluish light. It’s dim, and he can’t see his shadow, but he can make out most things if he squints. He stills sees color instead of differing shades of black, but when the wind blows, it’s chill. Jungkook sits outside, ass plopped against the cool concrete curb, exactly where Jimin told him to wait. Dusk is best silent. When Jungkook first moved to the city, he had to adjust to constant noise. At all hours of the day, there is always somebody doing something. Cars revving, chirping sounds of traffic, blinking neon lights that blind him, demanding to be seen even when he shuts his eyes. The city is deserted — at the surface, at least. There are no commuters walking home in droves. No schoolgirls walking hand-in-hand, snacking on fried street food. There is only the twilight blue and himself. Jungkook takes a deep breath. It’s supposed to be fulfilling, but the air tastes sour on his tongue.
“Is that smoke?” Jimin asks. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his gaze is trained on something in the distance, carefully avoiding Jungkook’s eyes. The ends of his sleeves are damp. He knows that Jungkook sees it, and he doesn't make an attempt to hide it, but Jungkook feels guilty all the same. Like he's stumbled upon something he should have never seen. Jungkook coughs on bitter air.
“You said it’d be two seconds,” Jungkook whines. Jimin runs his hands through his hair and doesn’t reply. Dusk is best silent, but after living through so much noise, dusk can be terrifying. Jungkook won’t say that out loud, though. He won’t embarrass himself.
“What happened back there, anyway? You didn’t want me to see.”
“If I didn’t want you to see then, why would I tell you now? Hey, you smell that too, right?” Jungkook cocks his head to the side.
“Smell what? And I’m only asking because I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. We’re supposed to be doing all this together. Of course, I trust you. I'll always trust you, but—”
“God, it’s really thick!” Jimin cuts him off, lifting his collar to cover his face and his nose. Jungkook follows his eyes to see a roaring fire in the distance. Orange flickering flames spark up into the sky, mixing with the black smoke and the bluish sky. What’s strange is the pattern of the smoke — it cuts through the air, trailing in a long line from west to east, as if it’s moving, propelled by something. Jungkook coughs helplessly to expel the floating ash from his lungs, but it does nothing but leave him breathless and doubled over, gasping for air. Jimin has to pull his shirt over his face for him.
“That was not there three seconds ago,” Jungkook mumbles between wheezes. Jimin is pushing him in the other direction, away from the creeping smoke. His voice is muffled by the shirt, but it sounds urgent, and Jungkook is a little too rattled to pick a fight. He lets Jimin push him for a while, and when Jimin breaks out into a sprint, he follows. They race through the streets, weaving in and out of alleys and nearly tripping over their own feet every time. It’s work for Jungkook, of course. Running isn't easy for anyone, but he can tell it’s taking more of a toll on Jimin. His breath rushes out loud and heavy, and he’s sucking in another inhale just as quickly. Jungkook yanks on Jimin’s shirt and pulls him into an abandoned garage lot parked off the side of the main road, a few hundred feet from where it's paved. The warehouse is empty, naturally, but the overhead door is opened just wide enough for them to duck under. Jimin’s breath is still rough and uneven, and once they're hidden from obvious sight, he immediately drops to a squat, panting.
“That smoke. It was… those were the mobs you were talking about, right?” Jimin still can’t catch his breath. When he opens his mouth to respond, all that passes through is ragged whooshing air. He settles for a jerky nod.
“What do they want? They should—they should be mad at the politicians. Or the scientists. You know, the people who knew! Why do they want with us?”
“Because,” Jimin huffs, pulling himself up to his feet with some effort. He leans against Jungkook’s back, pausing to let his lungs refill. Jungkook waits for him to finish his sentence, and it looks like Jimin just might, but his dark eyes flash first with realization, then fear, and he’s forgotten Jungkook’s question entirely.
“No, nonono. We cannot stay here. Here’s not safe. We gotta go. We gotta go, like, yesterday.”
“What?”
“They don’t stop for anything. They clear out everything. Every building, every room. That’s when I— that’s how me and Taehyung almost—”
“Taehyung? Who’s Taehyung?”
“Kook, we have to go!” Jimin wrestles himself out of Jungkook’s grip and tries to crouch out under the overhead door. He manages to duck his head under before something cold pressed against his temple. It’s not his body that freezes first, but his blood. It runs cold, clotting in his veins.
“Don’t move! I mean, please. Please don’t move.”