Chapter Text
Ever since Namjoon could remember, he had been able to read, to speak words, to sound them in a way that seemed to be an echo of fantasy from a novel. His voice was like whiplash, silver like steel. And his tongue was the notion of impeccable locution, his idiom unlike that of any other.
Often, if not more than constantly, he was found with a beautiful piece of literature within the grasp of his long fingers, their texture felt like velvet feathers against the sensitive nerves of his fingertips.
Touch was one of Namjoon’s favourite senses, but it hardly compared to smell. Oh, how he loved the freshness of a brand new book whose pages had yet to be split open and revealed. He felt the same about old books also, Namjoon loved every sense he had, in one way or another, every single one of them allowed him to experience different things, and each one of those things gave him a sense of equal enjoyment. When it came to books, he wondered who before him had graced their pages, and marvelled at their fondly written words. Namjoon loved a lot of things, but nothing more than books.
It was a rainy day, a day that would see only the bravest of little black garden ants potter along the grey pavement in a scattered notion of urgency. Most likely to collect fallen crumbs from the corn dog stand that had previously occupied the sidewalk, only minutes before the rain had set in.
There was a scarce amount of people on the usually bustling and market store filled cobblestone street. Nothing but the odd honking of car horns, and pitter patter of sky tears, echoed through the nearly hauntingly vacant thoroughfare.
Namjoon glanced out of the second story window, and stared down thoughtfully to the small bookstore that sat grounded across the street, adjacent to an equally as minuscule coffee house.
All of the buildings across the road were almost identical to the one that he was currently residing in. The outside was old laterite stone and mortar, coated in a generous layer of veneer white paint. The coffee shop and bookstore, and all buildings on either side, were curtly defended by an old white brick wall, topped with black spires and pointed finials.
The twenty four year old retracted his abundant gaze and returned his dark, hazel eyes back through the raindrop splattered window, and down to the open book splayed upon his crossed thighs. The cane chair beneath Namjoon creaked as he resituated himself, his left elbow heavily leant against the varnished desk, while his hand easily held the books double pages spread widely open, its spine slightly bent.
Namjoon’s hot chai tea on the edge of the desk, that was currently staining its wooden surface with white heat, sat long forgotten. His mind was so absorbed by the words before him that not even the fresh scent of cinnamon could draw his focus from the frayed pages in front of him.
He was in the process of reading a large and thick book, its cover was a texture of faded purple, and it’s spine was embroiled in thick strips of cracked gold. The title on the front cover was almost unreadable, but Namjoon could mediate the fine, cursive print like a painting restorer could remedy varnish. It’s words spoke clearly in his brain: Between The Pages .
From the some thirty thousand words that Namjoon had already read, he had came to the conclusion that he was completely entranced. Both by the book, and by its content. It was unlike anything that he had ever read before. Somehow, it felt whimsical and enchanting. Yet at the same time, its whole aura ebbed with a sense of loneliness. The writer had taken a lot of care to capture every aspect and every emotion possible, the characters were so differently based, yet somehow, they slotted together perfectly like puzzle pieces.
The words were drawing out emotions within Namjoon’s heart that he had only ever felt a number of times in his life, the pain and anguish made his chest twist and warp in such raw and deep ways, that he almost felt as if the characters turmoils were real. It was like the sentences and words he was reading were being spoken by a real person, a real person that had real thoughts. And maybe they did.
Namjoon commenced his gaze to run along the worded lines, his eyelids twitched at the anticipation he felt by what was coming. What was coming? He didn’t know. But, he very much wanted to find out. And so, his eyes found the last place that they had touched, they found the last word that he had sighted, and then, he began.
“And where do you think you are going?” A stern voice boasted from the other side of the rumpus room, it frolicked and boomed around in the ugly olive drapes, and seemed to make the old yellow walls ten times more unsightly than they already were. Jimin physically and inwardly cringed at the tone, but not before he rolled his young eyes in a silent defiance.
“I am going to the library, I wish to borrow a book.” He responded coolly, his black and greasy hair gleamed under the light of the oil lamps around the room. However, the nervous twitch of his fingers gave away his bold exterior, for it was impossible to not feel somewhat frazzled when being derided.
“Oh… the library you say?” The voice laughed out wickedly, before Jimin’s father stepped into the same flicker of light as his son. The older man’s eyes seemed to squint under the burning flame of light, but it didn’t deter his gaze from his kins own flawed ones.
“Yes… the library. I need to expropriate a book for my art class.” His voice didn’t shake, Jimin refused to put himself in a vulnerable position, especially in front of somebody as browbeating as his father.
“Well, my dear, dear son…” he paused for a moment, and began to walk forward, the old floorboards wheezed under the pressure. “I will not allow you to do such a thing.” The man finally stood before Jimin, not more than an inch taller. “As a matter of fact” he queried, “I have forbade you from visiting that unholy place many, many times. And for some… odd, reason, you believe that you are free to do whatever it is you wish. Especially without suffering the repercussions and consequences of your actions.” Jimin took a step back at that, his father was far too inbounds of what he considered to be proximal space.
Namjoon’s brows furrowed together, his grip on the side of the page tightened slightly as he flipped it over. The twenty four year old had been waiting for this moment from the time he had started reading, the signs that some type of physical altercation would happen had been building since the first chapter. There was a smouldering tension between the two characters, a tension that couldn’t be eased with words.
“Repercussions and consequences are one in the same, father. I could breathe and you would still find a reason to reprimand me, for you detest everything that I do.” Jimin responded in a way that appeared nonchalant and under bearing, but, he really did detest confrontational situations. The twenty two year old wished for nothing more than to have a rapport with the man that stood before him, but that was an impossible wish, for his father was an impossible man, with impossibly high expectations and standards.
The greying man reacted in the expectant way that Jimin had known he would. A sharp hand swung out and slapped him perfectly on the cheek, just like it always had. The feeling was not foreign. It tingled along Jimin's tender skin and sweltered up his face, a soft and lightly flushed red mark began to surface, it jarred his otherwise pale and well kept complexion. The young adult kept his head tilted to the side, not looking his father in the eyes. There was no point, he had already lost. Just as always. Jimin’s convictions were of little significance when in the older man’s presence, what a perplexed and childlike parent he was.
“You better keep your tongue concealed within that filthy little mouth of yours,” his father spat out, and grabbed Jimin’s face roughly, which in turn tilted it so that their eyes locked together like ice and fire. Jimin’s gaze refuted the one that stared back at him, it was like a Viennese waltz, except the dancers absolutely objectified the others presence.
“And what if I were to defy you, Father? Would you have me locked in the larder again to become drunk off the scent of rum and intoxicated by the drunkenness of vin de pays?” He asked in a sarcastic tone, unable to keep his mouth latched under the scolding eyes of his dictator.
Namjoon sighed gently as he finished the paragraph. The father and son sure did have a horrendous relationship, but he couldn’t say that he had any pity for the father. His own parents had never placed a hand on him and he was going to make sure that if he had his own kids in the distant future, that they two would have an upbringing that was free from violence and creative control.
Although only twenty four years old, Namjoon had read many, many books, and visited even more places than he could count on two centuries worth of fingers. He felt sympathy for the protagonist, whose parent was clearly extracting him from any free will or demiurgic adventures.
In Namjoon’s opinion, young minds needed adventure to keep stimulated, they needed to dare and risk, and to spread their wings, even if it meant falling from the nest a few times. Nobody ever learnt life lessons or experienced dreams by staying in their home all hours of the day, especially not when their home environment wasn’t exactly sound.
It left him thinking for a moment, would Jimin’s father actually hurt him more than he already had? Namjoon didn’t doubt it for a second. The man had been a menace since he had been introduced, twenty five thousand words earlier. Namjoon could feel the tension seep into his fingertips, it left his shoulders feeling heavy and stiff. The brunet didn’t exactly want to read about a child, well, somebody he considered to be a kid, having the lights beaten out of him by a man that was meant to protect him. Still, Namjoon continued on out of sheer curiosity, and because he loved the writer's vivid description.
“I would do far more than that, boy,” the older man grinned out. “Quite frankly, I am growing quite tired of having to remind you of what courtesy is.” And then, it were as if a memory had sprung out of his father's head like a bean sprout. “In fact, one of the other gentleman at the supper club, well… he recommended that I try it another method, one that he quite often uses on his own children, particularly his daughter, when they decide to act ungovernable.”
Jimin frowned at his father's sudden declaration of punishment. Usually, there were servants all around, bustling about completing chores, and bending to whatever will the older man requested of them. But, when the twenty two year old looked around, a strand of hair hanging in his left eye, he realised that the laborers were nowhere to be seen. In fact, it didn’t appear as if anybody was in sight, except for the few personal guards that his father kept, who were standing stone still against the wall in the furthest corner of the monumentally large rumpus room.
“Ah, so you have finally noticed.” His father's deep and disparaging voice gleamed out in the slowly thinning air, the words slipped out through glistening veneer pearly whites. “It appears that we have the manner to ourselves today, is that not just simply spectacular? A whole evening of affixing between father and son.”
Jimin found himself in a state of complete and utter scepticism. His father had never given him any out of the ordinary reckonings, well, ordinary by their households standards. He still had a vague momentum of memory in the form of a burn somewhere on his back, it was half his age old, he hardly remembered the reasoning for it at all. In fact, he recalled very little of his youth. The only thing that Jimin cherished vividly was the scent of oil paint and his mother’s long hair.
“What do you intend to do?” Jimin asked, and placed his artistic hand on his father's broad shoulder, in a non forceful attempt to create some sort of space between their chests. Although, as the twenty two year old suspected, the other man didn’t budge. Not even a millimeter.
“What do I intend to do, you ask?” Jimin’s father smiled. He smiled that eery and perverse grin that lifted the slight wrinkles at the sides of his lips. The young adult had grown to loathe that smile, he probably even detested it to some extent. But even so, the grievous man that stood before him would always be his flesh and blood, and they would always be connected in the deepest sense of the word.
With a twisted notion, his father gestured to the guards behind them, the man didn’t even have to break his gaze to do so. That was how much power and prowess he held over every occupant of the household, not that there was many dwelling around.
Jimin suspected that his current situation had been a strategically planned ‘intervention’ on his father's behalf. What the man intended to do? He was not sure. But it had never been so severe before. Not once had his punishments been spared the onlookings of the peasants, or the servants that worked the corridors and polished the empress ballroom.
Not even eight sunsets ago, Jimin had bared the humiliation of a tight, pig skin belt, being lashed against his shoulder blades right in front of one of the kitchen hands. She had not even reacted, or flinched. No, the middle aged woman had simply gone along with the task of creating a fine and delectable three course feast. She had spared not but one glance his way when Jimin's father had bent him over the kitchen worktop, and violently lacerated the sensitive skin of his bony upper back.
The twenty two year old supposed that he did not find his punishments as humiliating as he had as a child, and the kitchen hand that day had probably no longer felt the need to wince at all. For Jimin was sure that the woman had seen far worse of his shortcomings than a simple belt. Even so, there were two men approaching him, two men that had seen him grow up, two faces that he had become familiar with, and even attempted to make light conversation with at one time or another. But, he had given up on such endeavours long ago, for the occupants of the household only listened to one man, and that man was not Jimin.
The brunet’s eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, and finally extended his free hand to grasp the handle of the teacup that had been neglected upon his desk, the substance inside was surely as cold as the Atlantic. Even so, he brought the rim of the fine China up to his lips, and swooned internally as the lukewarm milk and tea torrentially swept down his throat.
Once Namjoon had placed the cup back down, over the strongly created ring of white heat stains, he finally decided to internally recap on what he had just read. Quite frankly, he did feel a little uneasy. Namjoon knew that the book was based in a different period in time, a time where punishing your sons and bedding your daughters was socially acceptable, and not in the slightest frowned upon by society.
He often wondered what his own life would have been like had he been born during a similar period in time. Would his parents have been harsher, and less open to his free way of thinking? Namjoon sure hoped not, he couldn’t ever imagine his parents doing those horrible things, especially not anything as awful as what the protagonist of the novel had been subjected to.
Namjoon had inwardly shuddered when he had read that Jimin had been lacerated by a belt, especially in front of an onlooker who had done nothing at all to prevent it. It was almost as if he could feel the whipping sensation himself. The screams and cries hadn’t been mentioned in the description, but the twenty four year old was sure that there would have been no shortage of them if it were a real situation. Only someone with no nerve cells could stand a beating like that and not have a physical or emotional reaction.
He wasn’t stupid, and he certainly didn’t lack better judgment. If there was one thing that he had figured out about the story and its contents, it was that the writer had an awfully dark and realistic take on the world. Everything that he had read up until it’s current point, had left no pillows to soften the blows. Everything was written as it would have been in a movie, except there was no heroic person to step in just in time, there was no mythical fairy to grant the protagonist a wish. But more importantly, there seemed to be little, if no remorse at all on the antagonists part. And that fact worried Namjoon slightly, he was absolutely sure that there were worse things heading in his direction on the next page.
Just as he was about to resume reading, a tinkering ring sound, that resembled that of an old clock tower shrill, rung throughout his entire apartment. A familiar smile played itself across Namjoon’s rosy cheeks, his deep dimples created divots as his smile spread to his eyes.
Namjoon leisurely stood up, the cane chair creaked expectantly as he did so, and somehow, the rain seemed to louden. Whoever had rung his doorbell would become soaked if he didn’t quicken his pace. The brunet quickly slipped the pair of light blue slippers on that had been sitting next to the chair. He began to walk across the polished cedar wood floorboards, his mind solely based upon saving the poor soul that was huddled at his doorstep. Namjoon hoped that they had somehow been thoughtful enough to lend themselves the shelter of an umbrella, but he suspected that wasn’t the case when another frantic ring rang through the hallway.
He passed the living room and kitchen entrance with a pep in his step, but not before he had almost tripped down the stairs that came from his office and bedroom area above, Namjoon had never been the most coordinated person. But reading and writing required very little physical movement, which meant he was safe from the hazardous world of breakable and trippable objects… most of the time. His broken reading glasses disagreed.
Once he made it to the front door, he vaguely glanced through the slightly open letter slot in between the curves of the white wood, however, the opening wasn’t big enough to see whoever was out there.
The young adult glared down briefly at the arms of his white work blouse, it was crinkled and uneven, his sleeves were rolled up to the midline of his wrists. The stripy black and light grey slacks that adorned his legs were unzipped at the crotch area, and the black leather belt that held them up was unbuckled as well. He hadn’t noticed that he was still holding the book until he attempted to fix himself up, he didn’t want to look like a glutton, especially if it happened to be a work colleague.
Namjoon muttered to himself and frantically did up his fly, the belt was a more tedious task, and he struggled to slot the buckle in without painfully pinching one of his long fingers.
“Coming!” Namjoon shouted, as he hurriedly pushed back his sandy brown locks. His voice sounded a little too loud for the proximity that he was from the front door, but nevertheless, he yanked the heavy slab of carved wood open by its black brass handle. The person who awaited him on the other side was totally unexpected, but he was excited nonetheless.
“It’s about time you let me in!” Kyungmin whined out with a pout as she swept her long, black hair out of her deep eyes and pulled the red umbrella in her grasp down as well. She tugged Namjoon into an eager one armed hug, which didn’t at all match the fake cutesy girl attitude that she often retained. He hadn’t expected to see his sister, she was meant to be abroad studying.
“Sorry sorry, I was distracted.” He smiled cheekily and rubbed the back of his head. She glanced down to his hands, and returned the smile, a perfect copy of his own.
“You were reading again?” Kyungmin asked, yet it came out more like a fact. As if she knew that nothing could disperse his mind from the pages of a good book, especially if it was well written. He nodded coyly and stepped aside to let her in. She immediately began to strip herself of the black raincoat, despite the umbrella, her hair was soaked. She looked like a Siamese cat that had been forced into a bath as she placed the umbrella into the wrack.
“Let me get you a towel!” Namjoon quickly offered as he shut the front door. She quickly dismissed him. “Nah-ah, I don’t think so mister. We haven’t seen each other in months, I couldn’t care less if my hair is wet.” The upbeat twenty year old scolded as she walked into the living room, and promptly plonked herself down on one of the rooms various recliners. He admired her energy, if only he had been as driven and carefree at her age.
“Might I interest you in a hot beverage, perhaps tea, coffee, or hot chocolate?” He spoke out in a fake accent as he too entered the living room. Kyungmin rolled her eyes horizontally and stretched her long legs out on the uplifted foot rest. He took her body language as a definite ‘no’ to his accented question. The brunet sat down on the grey sofa across from her and placed the book gently, face down on its material surface.
“So, are you going to tell me why you aren’t in Switzerland anymore, and how you ended up on my doorstep?” He asked earnestly, with a much more deep and serious tone to his voice, she laughed. “Relax, I’m not going to build a blanket fort in your living room and I’m certainly not going to bunk here, we aren’t children anymore.” Kyungmin sighed, her dark hair swung heavily down her shoulders.
“I'm here because I completed my course, I got the certifications I needed, and I thought that it would be nice to come and visit my only brother while I still had the chance.” Namjoon raised an eyebrow and nodded for her to continue. It sounded like she was excited, he knew that sullen and fake look on her face like he knew the back of every book on his shelf.
“I got my CGEIT and a place opened up for me in the United States, I’m moving there next month. I wanted to tell you in person because I knew that you would be the most happy for me.” She grinned largely, his sister had always been smart, intellect was something that they had always shared, but he had never had a dream as big as the one of his sibling. Whilst she would grow up to rule the world and step over every hurdle that life would throw at her, Namjoon would be home, cozy in his spacious apartment, with a good book in his hands.
“Ah I knew that you could do it!” He gleaned enthusiastically and threw his head back in a laugh, “I don’t know why you were so stressed, you know that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. I’m so proud of you.” Kyungmin screamed like a banshee at his response and quickly raced over to him, her socks slipped on the slick floor as she bounded into his arms and leapt on him like an energetic cattle dog.
“You’re my favourite brother, have I ever told you that?” She picked off some lint from his shirt as she muttered to herself more than to him. Her energy was up and down like a roller coaster, nonetheless, he placed an arm around her and tsked. “I’m your only brother! And don't forget to pay my rent when you become a self made billionaire.” She slapped him upside the head for that comment, but didn’t move away.
They rarely got to see each other in the present days. They were together all the time when they were younger, but they were grown ups now, and grown ups didn’t have as much time to play.
“So, what book did I disrupt you from reading upon my arrival? I’m dying to know which hopeless romantic star studded fiction you’re reading this time.” He almost choked on his own saliva, he wanted to deny that he constantly read romance novels, but not even he could have lied to himself in front of her willful gaze.
“It isn’t romantic, quite the opposite actually”, he sighed out in exhaustion as he passed her the book, she immediately flipped it over to read the fine font text on the back cover.
Between The Pages
The riveting and doleful novel of a young man, who dreams of becoming a neoclassical artist in eighteenth century Choson Korea
Kyungmin placed a hand over her chest, “doleful? What can be so doleful about wanting to become an artist? Are you sure this novel is any good?” She asked confusingly as she handed the book back to him gently, she knew how much he cherished anything with a cover and words inside of it, plus, the book was pretty.
“Trust me, it is more than doleful, more like forlorn and completely and utterly miserable.” His words were sincere, so she believed him. Never judge a book by its cover. After all, it’s the inside that matters.
“Well… why don’t you read me some? We always used to read together when we were little.” She said softly, as if afraid he would say no. Namjoon shook his head, a frown upon his face. “I don’t know, why don’t we choose another book to read? I have so many that you can pick from.” He really didn’t want to read it out to her, the whole concept of the book was so personal and yet it was fragile all the same. Though his sister wasn’t the type to cry when a dog died in a movie, he still worried that the content might upset her.
She scoffed. “As if, I’m not a baby. I want to know what is so amazing about this book, that you have most likely been hauled up in your study since you got home from work, clearly it must be special. You have an eye for beauty, I want to hear it.” She then added her final blow, which sent Namjoon toppling over the edge inside his big brain. “Plus, if you don’t read it to me, I will just find it online.” Kyungmin was as straightforward as ever, Namjoon sighed and rubbed his eyelids until weird shapes swam in front of his eyes.
“Okay okay, I’ll read you some. But we aren’t restarting!” He affirmed. She simply nodded at his antics, and motioned for him to start, her grip still tight around his bicep. Namjoon opened up the novel to the little purple ribbon book thread, that was firmly attached to the spine, and between the pages that he had left off on. The twenty four year old sighed deeply and, under the watchful eyes of his sister, he began to read. Aloud.
Multiple webs of hands were on Jimin’s body within minuscule seconds, they crept above his skin like pricks of spinning needles. His father simply watched as the guards detained his son, detained him from nothing but his own integrity.
“Lead my son to the cellar, and be sure that he is well kept.” The grey man stated in an order, the guards both nodded as he continued to speak. “I don’t wish to dismiss either of you, if you complete this task without hassle, I will handsomely reward you.” Jimin’s father finally released the harsh grip on his cheek bone, and smiled gleefully as Jimin was dragged away like a lamb to slaughter.
“Release me at once!” He shouted, and struggled to pull himself free of their grip. Jimin did not want to use violence to get the two men to let him go, it was clear that even they were somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. Nobody wanted to be seen essentially man handling a young person into the basement cellar of an extremely rich generals manner, it appeared to be suspicious and unethical. Their hold on him was not violent at all, nor was it rough essentially, but still. They were getting credited and would receive a lump sum reward that was worth more than whatever was about to happen to him.
Suddenly a harp of real fear struck his heart like a boat oar broke the surface of water. It was rigorous and deep, it twinged a part of him that was pressuring his fight or flight mode. Instinctively, Jimin pulled his entire body backwards, which caused one of the men to loosen their grip on his shoulder. However, it wasn’t enough. He was not only outnumbered, but some part of him feared of what his fate would be if he were to escape. Surely his father would burn the entire art exhibit down, he would rip and slash through every canvas in their home, and the man would most certainly destroy the portrait of his late wife that hung in the astronomy tower like a ghost.
“Don’t allow him to get away!” Jimin’s father shouted boisterously from somewhere behind when he had noticed the struggle. The twenty two year old slumped and complied when he thought about the fate of his artworks, they were his treasures. Bending to his father's will, was a fate far better than his life’s work being burnt at the stake.
The corridors and hallways slowly became darker and more decayed as he was led down to the cellar, the stone walls were dust riddled and smelt of old egg bread. It was not a pleasant scent, Jimin wrinkled his nose, and shook his head to remove the black strands of hair that itched his eyes.
As they began to ascend the final leg of stairs down to the cellar, Jimin began to wonder why exactly it was that he was being taken down there. The only items in the cellar were old devices from a past grevions time, a few boxes of wheeled cheese, and a larder that was a separate room off to the right, perhaps servants quarters somewhere around too. Even so, there was absolutely no reason or logic for his father to request him down there, something was not right. Jimin could feel it inside him, his bones were cold and his heart was racing like a moon rabbit.
‘Run!’ Was what Jimin’s heart was bellowing at him, he wished so deeply that he were able to listen to it. But it was too late, his feet were planted firmly on the clay flooring of the basement cellar. It felt chillingly cold down there, usually, Jimin only ever went down there to fetch some spirits when he needed to wallow in himself for a little while. But now, he was there for an entirely different reason. The best wind wheels inside of his head began to move when he noticed what was in the middle of the room, it were as if the air around him had gone stale. His entire body went rigid.
“Father? Father, what is this?” He asked incredulously, as he took a step back, the guards that stood on either side of him made no effort to obtain him still, they knew that he was not going to be able to get out. Especially not when the general of the house was circling around the room like a well calculated century ward.
“I am delighted that you have finally taken interest in asking before doing, my dear, dear child.” Was the cold and sarcastic response that was tossed back at him like a heavy sack of potatoes, but not before it was followed up by an even more sinister cavalry. “You see, the gentleman at supper club, is quite famed and refined. A genius if you will.”
His father walked in front of Jimin, across the room and stood in the middle of the decaying space. The greying man came to a halt next to the big workbench that had various items of different calibers sat atop its surface. Some in particular made Jimin question his very existence.
“In recent times, I have had to punish you more and more.” He exclaimed profoundly as he picked up a heavy pair of iron shackles, and dangled them tauntingly in the air from his fingers. Jimin noticed immediately that they were not the typical slave bearing hand immobilisers that were commonly forged, but rather they had modifications. On the inner side, they had gaunt and pointy looking edges, they resembled that of the tips of arrowheads, or perhaps even megalodon’s teeth. The chain that linked both of the cuffs together, was met in the middle by a ring of cast iron, which was most likely used to attach the shackles to something else.
“You refuse to listen to what I have to say.” His father's counterfeit smile dropped, he began to make his way over to Jimin and the guards with the opened shackles in his hands. “Because you refuse to listen, I am going to make you listen.” The man came to stand right in front of his son, their eyes met. But there was no longer a battle, Jimin tilted his head slightly to the side, and eyed the person that stood before him.
The raven haired man knew that there was not even the slightest ounce of bluff within his father’s voice, or even within his eyes. He had crossed the line when he had decided to challenge the man’s rules earlier, and now, he would have to suffer the consequences of his reckless behaviour. Ever since he was a child, he had been raised to always respect the ruler of the house. Jimin had been told that he was to always obey two people, god, and his father. ‘One that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity.’
Kyungmin placed her hand over the pages of the book, which in turn caused Namjoon to look to her. She had a vague look on her petite face, one that he couldn’t read, which felt odd and foreign to him. She sighed and shook her head, and then turned to face him.
“Well, you were right. It certainly isn’t a romance novel, and doleful was absolutely true…” she trailed off, as if thinking of something in a faraway place, another dimension. “I know that it’s just a book, but, my god. Does the writer want people’s hearts to implode?” She sighed out over dramatically and waved her arms around in animation. He smiled sadly.
“I thought that too when I begun to read it earlier in the day but, for some reason, I can’t seem to stop reading. I want to know what happens, actually, I really want to see the character get a happy ending.” He concluded as he spoke, she rolled her eyes at him and ruffled his hair, that felt clumped together from a day spent in musk gel. But, she nodded all the same, in an agreement which she didn’t necessarily need to voice, but she did regardless.
“It makes me feel sad you know? I just want to enter the book and hug him, I want to tell him that it’s not normal and that it’s wrong to be treated that way. But back then, I guess it was normal, wasn’t it?” She asked in a quiet tone, her voice shook slightly, the air was getting a little too dense.
“You’re right, it was normal back then.” He nodded, his eyes slanted in that way that they did when he was intensely focused on something. “A lot of kids were killed by their parents. They didn’t have forensic evidence back then to prove anything, plus, everyone was more focused on hunting witches and enslaving people. No one probably cared about what went on in traditional homes.” It was a fact, and he knew that for sure. If anything, the novel felt more like a recount of actual events, rather than fiction.
“Do you think his dad will put those shackles on him?” She asked, her question a lot more composed this time, he wanted to say no. “I think so… I think his dad is a really cruel person. I wonder if it’s because his wife is dead. Earlier in the book, when I was reading alone, it mentioned that Jimin remembered her hair, and that she was his father’s ‘late wife.’ Kyungmin scoffed, and crossed her arms. “You can’t be seriously thinking that her death is an excuse, can you? If anything, you should cherish your child more! It’s obviously only the both of them in the house. That man needs a big wake up call!”
Namjoon sighed, his sister wasn’t the best at understanding him when it came to his diverse perspective. He was often able to see things from multiple points of view, no matter how awful those views were. He absolutely agreed with her, the father in the story was disgusting and mean. But in Namjoon’s eyes, everyone’s current them, was a result of what they had been through, perhaps the father had been given the same upbringing. He didn’t know for sure, but he hoped to find out in later chapters, preferably when his sibling wasn’t sitting next to him. As much as he enjoyed company, reading was his solace, his quiet place where his mind could run wild through the pages. He craved that more than he craved oxygen.
“Okay okay,” he responded simply, “well, do you want to continue? It’s getting late.” He gestured to the window at the front of the room, which was reflecting the bright sunlight of a setting giant. She nodded and poked him in the shoulder, her expression one of eagerness. He smiled at her and Kyungmin suddenly looked as if she had the stars in her eyes. Namjoon returned his gaze to the contents of the book.
“You reap what you sow.” Jimin’s father announced, “hold out his wrists.” It was a command, and one that the two guards eagerly abided by. They grabbed his arms roughly, and held them forward so that his palms were faced upwards towards the ceiling.
His entire body jolted when the cold iron touched his skin, but it wasn’t until the shackles were closed around his thin wrists, that he suddenly felt a heavy ebb of pain. The spikes on the inside of the shackle curves were thick and weren’t hollow. They had immense weight behind them, which caused the sharp pendages to dig into his milky skin.
Jimin refused to make even the smallest sound of discomfort despite his uneasy feelings. As well as being raised to respect his father, which he had failed at multiple times, he had also been taught that things like crying and complaining were womanly things to do, and that men absolutely should not weep or moan like a housewife would. Though, he too had failed at being manly quite a few times, very few of those times however had been in his father’s presence.
A resounding ‘clink’ sound of metal against metal, drew Jimin from his vacant thoughts. The shackles were locked and there was no way they were coming off without his father’s permission.
“You May release him now and go about your other duties.” The guards immediately dropped Jimin’s arms, and he almost pulled a muscle in his back as they did so. The heavy weight of the iron caused his hands to sink like a stone in a lake, the twenty two year old quickly used all of his strength to hoist his wrists back up. It hurt even more once they had stopped supporting his arms, the entire weight of the spikes was resting solely on the ulna’s of his wrists. Discomfort was a very large understatement.
Jimin did not want to ache his body more by turning himself around, he did not need to look to know that the guards were gone, especially when the heavy door at the top of the stairs was slammed closed on its hinges.
“Come forward.” His father notioned with his slightly crooked pointer finger, from where he had returned to the workbench in the centre of the room. Jimin was not sure that he would be able to walk that far, for the weight on his arms was heavy and painful, but regardless. He was hardly in the position to argue, it would be unwise. Unwise indeed.
The twenty two year old began to walk tediously across the floor, his sweaty black hair hung in his eyes, and he could not sweep it back despite it’s annoying presence. His red and purple coloured Jokki was beginning to stick to his torso in sweat, the cream coloured loose shirt that he wore underneath it was even worse off. It was hot in the cellar, and the added ingredient of anxiety was not helping in the slightest.
Once Jimin arrived at the table, he made sure to stand at least one metre behind his father. Being under the false assumption that he was allowed anywhere near him without being asked, would be a poor thought upon his judgment.
Jimin’s father was not the most unsightly man, his body was fit and strengthened from years of hard work, much like the amount of wealth he had been able to accomplish. His hair was lightly weathered grey, and his skin was soft from the sheer amount of self care and cosmetic accessories that he was able to comfortably afford. A lavish lifestyle was all that Jimin’s father would accept, nothing less. But, perhaps something more.
In one way or another, Jimin was thankful. Without his father’s wealth, there was absolutely no way that he would have been able to purchase such rare and expensive paint colours, nor the lead pencils that were made in the exotic land named England, probably created by some extremely intelligent Anglo-Saxon.
The older man turned around to face Jimin, a long and thick looking chain hung densely in his palms. It definitely had some length to it, it touched the ground on either side of Jimin’s father’s shoes. Briefly, he was reminded of a time one triennium ago, when a chain had been the first thing that he encountered after returning home from an unauthorised horseback ride.
“Stand over there.” The voice boomed, despite the owner of the voice knowing full well that Jimin was close enough to hear him, even if he were to whisper. The man was pointing to a clear space next to the table, except it was more than it seemed. As Jimin walked over quietly, he glanced up, and noted that one of the wine rack hanger hooks was right above the place that he had been appointed to. However, somebody had removed the hanging rack and it was now only a big hook above him.
Jimin stood meekly where he had been assigned and almost huffed out when he was forced to heave the shackles back up. They were so heavy and he could already feel bruising being imprinted into his wrists, similarly as to how a wet hibiscus flower would colour a fine ladies lips.
Jimin’s father walked over to him, the chain dragged in one of his hands, but the other was being used to carry a wooden tripod stool. The man sat the stool down next to Jimin, and then climbed onto it with the chain still in his hands. Instead of looking up, the young adult negotiated himself to stare at the wall across from him. The sounds of chain clinking and metal moving was abundant in his ears.
“Lift your arms.” It was a vague statement, Jimin almost wanted to question it. He wanted to say ‘how do you expect me to do such a thing?’ But, he did not. Instead, he lifted them. And it hurt. It was painful, the sharpness of the shackles began to rip his skin and slide down his wrists as he lifted up his arms. Their weight was so substantial that Jimin was sure he was holding up the entire world.
And then suddenly, the majority of the weight was gone.
The charcoal haired man glanced up briefly, and noted that the chain was looped through the cast iron circle that conjoined the shackles together. The chain was strongly attached to the wine hook that hung above him. The relief Jimin felt from the shackles was short lived when his father mercilessly yanked the chain up, it was the first moment in the whole day, that Jimin had actually let out a noise of pain.
“Oh, be quiet. It is not so bad, is it?” He stated, rather than asked, as he yanked the chain up higher. Jimin winced and bit his lip, hard. He closed his dark eyes also, in any attempt to somehow subdue the words that craved to slip through his lips.
Once the chain was completely fastened to the hook, and at a length in which Jimin’s father liked, the older man stepped down from the stool. Jimin was practically standing on the ends of his toes at that point, his entire weight on the tips of his feet. If he were to let himself hang, the pain would be completely unbearable in his arms. Not even he could withstand that, and he did not wish to either.
Jimin’s father pushed the stool in front of Jimin with his foot lazily, and then walked around behind the young adults defenceless hanging body. Thankfully, it appeared that his father had the common knowledge to know that his son was physically incapable of making it up on the stool. That was apparent when a rough pair of hands grabbed him by the hips, and easily lifted him up to stand on the wobbly three legged stool.
“I have always thought that you had a curvaceous fizique,” his father commentated as he stepped away from Jimin to admire his work, and then walked around, out of his sons view, to the table of which he had previously taken the shackles and chain from. Jimin grit his teeth, but he could not bring himself to speak, as much as his father wished to gain a rise out of him. It was far more wise to keep his lips sealed and his thoughts to himself.
His father shuffled around for a few minutes, with various mutters of ‘what shall I select?’ and ‘no, no this will not do,’ before he came back around into Jimin’s view. Although, Jimin could barely hardly see a thing, because of the fringe that hung in his eyes. Despite that, he could make out something hanging in his father’s hands, it was black, and appeared to be made of some type of animal skin. Because of his experience with his father’s slaves, and from his knowledge from being with horses, Jimin concluded that the object in the man’s hands, was definitely a stock whip.
“The gentleman at the club are quite correct aren’t they? My son does take after his mother.” The older man before him conveyed in hostile honesty, a lopsided grin spurred the corners of his lips. Jimin’s frown could not have grown any deeper even if he had wanted it to, he was well aware of the type of ‘activities’ his father’s friends participated in. He was one hundred percent sure that another gentleman from the club was definitely father to one of his own daughters children. Though he would never express that knowledge alou d, everyone already knew.
“That’s absolutely vile and disgusting!” Kyungmin shouted, with absolutely no regard at all for Namjoon’s eardrums. He almost jumped at her sudden voice, and she immediately apologised when he gave her the nicest death glare possible under the circumstances, though his smile betrayed him. “Sorry sorry, it’s just that’s really… gross.” She shivered and held onto his arm tighter, as if in fear that she would fall into the same fate as the girl that Jimin has described. Namjoon simply rubbed her arm comfortingly.
“The cruelty of some fictional characters is pretty harsh, I sometimes wonder if the characters are a reflection of the authors true and raw emotions,” Namjoon admitted consciously. “I can’t help but wonder what the author was thinking, or going through when they decided to write this novel…” his voice trailed off, Kyungmin nodded in agreement. “I was wondering the same too,” she mused. “When I read the blurb on the back, it was quite short. Which is weird considering the actual book is so detailed and well written. It’s like, the author knew it would be a shock to the system when somebody read it.”
Frankly, Namjoon was shocked at the grasp she had taken of the novel in such a short time of reading it, he had read far more of it than she had. Though, he knew that he shouldn’t have been surprised, their brains were practically one in the same. Hers was probably even more refined than his was.
As far as the story was going, Namjoon felt a little perplexed, and for the first time in a while, he questioned whether or not the protagonist would finish with a happy ending. The book was big, very big, he was sure that it had some five hundred pages. Even so, that didn’t mean the end would be pleasant. He craved for endings to be pleasant, especially for characters that he felt deserved it. Unfortunately, he had realised a long time ago that sometimes good people didn’t get good things. It was unfair, but it was life.
“This story is getting so dark Joon, and I haven’t eaten since my flight this morning, should we go and get something?” Kyungmin asked, and as if on cue, his stomach decided to grumble like thunder. She chuckled. “I would love to get something,” he responded curtly, “I’ve been so engrossed in the book all day that I haven’t even eaten.” It probably would’ve been more wise to not say that, she always complained that he was incapable of taking care of himself, even though he was older than her. Namjoon could hardly disagree, he often broke things, and any food he tried to make himself ended up as burnt as coles in a fireplace.
“You’re horrible at taking care of yourself! Try harder!” She swatted him upside the head, and stood up. Namjoon pouted and rubbed his head. It was almost six in the evening by what the clock on the opposing wall said, which meant they had been reading for a long time.
“How about you stay in, keep reading if you want to, and I’ll go get us something to eat?” She asked as she swayed her long hair back and made for the entrance hall, her eyes were trained on him until she vanished through the open way between the front door and the living room. Namjoon immediately stood up, “it’s getting dark outside, i don’t think it’s such a good idea to go alone…” he sing-songed after her dramatically in the rhythmic tune of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, he could practically feel her eye roll.
“I do have a car you know? It isn’t like I’m going to be wandering the streets of Ilsan searching for street food.” Kyungmin scoffed, but nevertheless handed him his blazer jacket that was hanging on the hook in the hallway. She could have handed him the much warmer, and much more practical, winter coat that had been next to it, but he supposed she had made her selection just so his pants and top would match. She had always been that way, ‘you should always be well presented, you never know what opportunities you may miss by looking like a dag.’ He recalled her words perfectly, he loved his sister.
“After we eat, I think I’ll go back to my condo, I want to see the dog, and I’m sure that your weird friend forget to feed my fish again,” she said accusingly. Namjoon just laughed. He had never understood why she preferred a loud, high end condo. His spacious apartment on the outskirts was far more quiet, it also had a decent sized yard out the back, and was followed behind by some nice woodland. As for his ‘weird friend,’ well, Namjoon understood why Kyungmin thought that Yoongi was weird, he really wasn’t the type to act himself around those he wasn’t close to. He was such a meticulous and methodical person on the inside, but only Namjoon and a few of their other friends knew that. Still, she had pestered Namjoon to nag Yoongi into feeding her fish, so she couldn’t have found him that odd of a person.
Once Kyungmin had her raincoat on, and had also berated Namjoon into putting on a matching suit tie, they were finally off and out of the door. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, and had left behind a nice scent of air and a soft cold breeze.
The car was parked out the front, and Namjoon had to bite his tongue when he noticed that she had totally ignored the road sign, and had parked inwards instead of with the bonnet facing the road. Her car was a Lexus, quite new, and not at all neglected. Everytime he rode with her, it was basically a given that he would be put to work at one of the car washes around the city, while she sat in the driver's seat and ordered him around with a packet of candied strawberries in her hands.
Regardless, he did get in the car with his dear sister, he had almost forgotten that speed signs didn’t apply to her. He was sure that she was going 60KMPH in a 40 zone, but still, he was happy to have the company.
ØØØ
It had been a nice evening, they had gone to a little restaurant boutique in the city, where Kyungmin had treated him to American hamburgers, and various odd flavours of some weird ‘soft drink’ from Australia. He had enjoyed it a lot.
Namjoon’s watch read 9:30pm when he finally arrived home, the gate creaked open loudly, just as it always did when it was open or closed. His walk to the front door was filled with a soft hum and a quiet sense of peace. He did love company, and he liked people. But Namjoon’s favourite company would always be books, and tea on the odd occasion.
Once he was inside, he immediately stopped still, something was off. Very off. A cold chill ran down his spine, Namjoon’s keen instincts were flying off the radar. He was sure that he hadn’t turned the upstairs light on.
The twenty four year old slowly and quietly crept towards the base of the stairs, where the nicely polished wood floor boards reflected the light above.
It was quiet, which he guessed was a good sign. Nobody was rummaging around in his belongings, if they were, he would have been able to hear it surely. Namjoon had an excellent memory though, the possibility of him randomly turning the light on when his sister had arrived, was slim to none. He always read upstairs with the lights off during the day, since there were always lovely natural splashes of sunlight.
With the bravery and conviction of a mouse, he grabbed one of the fire pokers that was sitting on the mantelpiece on the left side of entrance hall. It was certainly a decent weapon if necessary, though the brunet hoped that he wouldn’t have to do that to somebody. If there was anyone upstairs, the people that would deal with them were going to be the police.
He began to walk up the stairs, and tried not to make his presence known as he did so, which was tricky considering they creaked whenever he stepped on a loose joint of flooring, it didn’t help that the bottoms of his dress shoes were wet, and squeaked loudly against the wood.
Namjoon made it to the upstairs median, which was the space between his bedroom and the office. The office light was not on, it was exactly how he had left it hours earlier. However, when he turned to the left, his bedroom door was wide open, and a heavy stream of light was beaming out it. All he could see was his bookshelf and a small wall piano from where he stood, his bed was around the corner. And suddenly, he felt very very anxious. He clutched the poker tighter and silently walked towards his bedroom.
Each step he took felt like pins and needles in his feet, he was so nervous that he actually felt like throwing up or convulsing on the ground as he walked. There was definitely somebody in his house, and he had no doubt of that in his mind.
When Namjoon made it to the open door, he inhaled deeply, every ebb of anxiety felt like he was drowning, his young heart raced with fire and panicked eagerness to run away. And maybe he should have, he certainly wasn’t brave enough to face whoever was in there. Only a very cold hearted person could break into somebody else’s house, but then again, he wasn’t exactly sure how they had gotten in. He always left all windows and doors locked, except for the upstairs ones, and it would have been quite hard for somebody to climb up and get through those. He also didn’t want to assume that the person or persons were evil, it could have been a poor homeless man seeking shelter.
With that thought in mind, and with trying to make the best out of a horrible situation, the twenty four year old finally decided to peep inside.
Namjoon stepped over the invisible threshold between his bedroom and the median, and when he did, he thought for sure that his eyes were deceiving him.
Everything around his room looked normal, everything, there was nothing out of place, it was all left exactly where it should have been. His figurines were untouched, his books unscathed, even the little couch he had in there against the window was unharmed. He thought that everything was fine, until he finally looked to his bed.
There, lying on the huge array of lightly mint coloured pillows, and the thick, blue Saturn comforter, was a person. A person. They were right there, face turned towards him, except, their eyes were closed. They were asleep. It was a boy, no a man. But he looked young. His hair was dark black, and hung split slightly over his lidded eyes. But that wasn’t what sent Namjoon’s intelligent brain into overdrive, no.
It was the clothes, their lithe body was clad in a cream coloured undershirt, covered over by a red and purple Jokki, with intricate sequins and jewels sewn into the front. Their pants were red also, and appeared to be traditional baji pants, which were an essential part of old Korean hanbok. They fit loosely on the man’s body. But as Namjoon trailed his eyes down further, he realised something, and it caused a horribly sick feeling to curdle through his gut.
The man had shackles on his wrists.