Work Text:
What a funny joke. A hilarious, clever prank. The vampire hides in the closet, waits for the human to come home, and then terrifies her because he likes to listen to her heartrate spiral out of control and her eyes go wide with fear that he was the one to create.
Park Jimin, in some way, is punished for his hubris.
You come home at the same time you always do. The car pulls in, the engine turns off, the faint jingling of keys mingles with your pattering footsteps to the front door. Jimin is gleeful with ugly mirth at the look on your tired face turning from exhaustion to terror.
All
he has
to do
is wait.
Your room door comes next. He’s so excited he doesn’t even breathe, just to make sure he is truly silent as the dead, and he tilts his head between your clothes to peer out and gauge the perfect millisecond to jump, and his vision seems to go still as untouched water without a breeze.
Viciously, you’re tossing your cardigan to the floor and rapidly prying off the buttons on your blouse. He’d think that would be the most concerning thing about this situation, the simple fact that the pale blue decal of your lace bra was exposed for him to clearly see, hugging the swell of your breasts as you shifted with underlying agitation. But it’s not.
What leaves him disjointed and stuck like some sort of unnerving statue is the muted trails that shine down your dripping cheeks and onto your collarbone. The long-gone makeup, smudged into nothingness. The cupreousness of your eyes did nothing to ease his shock, nor the soft sniffling that accompanied it.
Jimin croaks out your name, a disgusted question masking the fear and concern he truly feels. The only reaction he is awarded is a start on your part, followed by your eyelashes blinking wetly against your apples and trembling arms covered yourself as you gape at him.
“Wh-wha?” you splutter back. “What? Wh-why… I… You…?”
There’s a long moment where emotions he can’t identify swirl past your flooded gaze, finally coalescing into panic and squeezing shut as more shuddering sobs wrack your body. Nothing can stop him then – not God, not himself, not anything. He’s tightly wound and jumpy as a mouse, but he creeps towards you with wariness, hands debating what to do with you. Your knees give up in that time, letting you collapse back onto your bed as you cry harder into your wrinkled shirt, and Jimin sniffs unhappily as he decides to sit tentatively beside you.
“Hey,” he half-snaps, though his voice is quiet. “What’s wrong?”
There hadn’t been any real point in asking that. It takes three minutes of your bleating and crying for you to even try to form words, and Jimin opts to gingerly place a frigid hand on your shoulder. He can see the way your skin prickles at the temperature, gooseflesh appearing all around his touch, but you lean into it anyway. More minutes tick by, and he doesn’t know who moves, you or him, to make it so that your partially-dressed form is crumpled into him, hiccuping and rocking tenuously in his lap as his fingers lithely stroke you in a way intended to be comforting.
Gran’s necklace, he eventually hears stuttered and muffled against his chest. Gran’s pearls she gave me. They’re gone. Don’t know how I lost them. Can’t find them. Looked all over work. They’re gone.
“It’s just a necklace,” he spat in response, in complete contrast to the way his cheek presses to your hair and his fingers continue working in serene circles against your skin.
“B-but it was hers,” you bleated back, and Jimin rolls his eyes.
You calm down. Eventually. It’s dark outside by the time your breathing evens out and your heart lulls, and Jimin doesn’t have to move so he doesn’t. Vampires don’t cramp up. At midnight, you’re fast asleep in his arms, and he’s still glowering at the blank wall as he listens to the concerto of your parasympathetic nervous system.
It’s only a little difficult to situate you in your bed properly, on your pillow with the covers pulled up. He allows himself a brief glance at your body – smooth, pretty skin, a little splotchy from your hysterics but still pretty – and counts himself lucky.
You wake up too early, as you went to bed hours earlier than you needed to. Your head hurts like hell, and you take the extra chunk of time in the morning to take a long shower, make a big breakfast, and hesitate outside of Jimin’s door before deciding to leave him alone. He was probably upset with you.
As it turns out, you hadn’t lost the necklace at all. By some dumb stroke of luck, it had just been tucked in the gap of your driver’s seat, and you thanked your stars that you hadn’t put on makeup because you cried again at the miracle.
Park Jimin lays in bed, waiting. You leave home a little earlier than you normally do. The car pulls out, the engine revs, the gravel crunches under the tires as you head down the road. Jimin is silent as he holds back a smile, picturing the look on your tired face turning from exhaustion to overwhelming surprise.
All
he’d had
to do
was wait.
(As it turns out, the pearls smelled very much like you, and hunting them down from the rotten bitch that stole them off of your desk in the building required little effort on his part. You would come to work to find out the girl that worked several cubicles down from yours would be out with a broken leg, and send her a get-well card that she would never reply to.
Oh well.)