Two guys sitting in a cell

Kang Jimin, younger brother to Jin Aria, game addicted introvert, can say proudly that he has never in his entire life gotten into trouble; he was a good boy, both in childhood and as a teenager.

He'd chosen to be rebellious in a way that his father wouldn't be called, save for that first time, chosen something relatively harmless to indulge in, the severe man hadn't nit-picked, as Jimin expected, his father had better things to do, business to attend to, no time to admonish his good for nothing son for spending most of his time in a seedy internet café.

His sister never really interferes, too busy living her life to care about the troublemaking little brother, who was only half her brother on a good day and never truly her sibling on a bad day, he knows he looks like his father, hates the similarity to the point he avoids mirrors, hates that he does not share more features with his lovely mother, perhaps Aria would have been kinder to him if he reminded her of their mother more.

At first, he'd hoped that she would come and drag him home by the ear, hoped she'd give him a tongue lashing so severe he wouldn't dare go back to the numbness of gaming. All in vain, Aria never notices his long absences, never cares enough to worry about her brother's future. He understands. Resigns himself to the mausoleum house, an impenetrable silence.

Until his sister bursts through the doors, beats his bullies to a pulp so effortlessly he wanders if his sister has been swapped, and then sends him to prison with the promise of coming the next morning. For all intents and purposes, Jimin should be bursting with anger that his sister got him arrested. He does not feel anger. Yes, the tightness in his chest oddly grips at his being but it is not painful, there is a bittersweet fragrance on his tongue, and a lurch in his stomach.

So, Kang Jimin resigns himself to this too.

He could do with a different cell mate, though.

When the police officers shove them in the wide, cold cell, a burly man, who smells from several feet away of beer and piss, is the only other occupant. For the first hour, as they staunchly ignore one another, time crawls away at a snail's pace, he counts the exact number of times it takes for the large hand on the clock mounted on the wall just outside their cell to make a full turn, the number of tiles on the floor, and the cracks on the ceiling.

The drunk man wakes four hours into their arrival, gives them a once over, grumbling something under his breath about dammed kids; Jimin could have been content waiting out the rest of their time locked up, but he takes notice of the man's lingering gaze and a stone drops heavily in his stomach, the constricting pressure in his chest chokes the air from his lungs, he seats up taut as a bowstring, not daring to move in the slightest. When the man inches in his direction, Jimin bites his lip, pushes past his pride and dignity to slide next to the other boy, practically plastering his body to the much taller teenager, who looks down at him, his brown waves sliding over his forehead to cover his dark brown eyes and the way his eyebrows quirk up in that charming way they had when they'd been stuck together earlier in much different circumstances and Jimin hadn't allowed himself to notice for more than a mere second for fear of the other teenager striking him in his distraction.

Jimin prepares himself for an outburst, an angry snarl, yet unexpectedly, the teenager wraps an arm around Jimin's waist, effortlessly lifting him so that Jimin is sitting across his lap. The protest on Jimin's lips dies quickly when the other boy quirks an eyebrow, now visible as he tilts his head back, Jimin settles his head on his chest, finding the rhythm of his heartbeat soothing. The man's shuffling stops, he curses under his breath, calls them faggots but otherwise slinks back to his own corner of the cell. Jimin breathes a sigh of relief.

Often, Jimin is described as an androgynous beauty, his looks appealing to both sides, more often than not getting him into trouble; the pretty girls in his school hate him for his popularity with the boys, and the boys hate him because of their insecurity, especially the macho tough guys. Jimin is used to being ostracised, it still stings to have everyone against him for the simple reason being his looks, his gaming accounts are registered as female users, a decoy to stay under the radar from his classmates. He should have been more careful, shouldn't have gotten involved with someone he knew attended the same damn school, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him and before Jimin had known it, he was already entranced by the famous war god on the gaming platform. Now, Jimin only hopes that the news doesn't reach his classmates.

"About the account...don't - don't tell anyone," Jimin says, voice cracking.

He shifts in the teenager's lap, unclenching his fingers from the v-lined sweater of the other boy, his eyes wander around their cell, nervousness licking at his insides, but as he waits for an answer his gaze sweeps over the cell, noticing the intense glare the drunk man has on them - he stands up suddenly, swaying in place. Jimin snaps his head up, bravely emptying his brain as he presses their lips together chastely.

"Is he still watching us?" Jimin whispers, a tremor running through his body.

"Mhm, put your legs on either side and come closer," Wang Chen replies softly.

Before Jimin can contemplate his words, Wang Chen manhandles him into position, easily shuffling Jimin's body to sit astride his lap, legs on either side of his hips. Jimin gasps, and before he can fully process the change, the other teenager splays a hand on his lower back pushing their bodies flush together. Jimin's lips part on another gasp, he falls forward, mouth brushing over Wang Chen's jaw, this close together Jimin can feel the shudder that runs through the other teen as if it is his own, can feel the heat emanating from the other boy seeping into his body, a wave of warmth rising to his ears.

"What about now?" Jimin asks, butterflies crawling in his stomach.

"Still watching." Wang Chen answers, his voice sounds ragged, deeper somehow.

Jimin lifts his head, eyes meeting the dilated dark pools of the other teen, his mouth opens, closes, words dying in his throat, Wang Chen's other hand grips his thigh, slowly trailing upwards to slip beneath his hoody where it settles firmly on his waist. Jimin's mind explodes - the entire scenario something out of an erotic novella - his legs unconsciously tighten around Wang Chen, his hands hook around his neck, lips parting, Jimin tilts his head, watching engrossed as the other broader teenager bends his neck, coming closer and closer -

"Oi! Your bail is here."

A police officer shouts, banging on the metal bars to gain their attention, the drunk man mumbles and grumbles as the officer leads him out, the young police officer only spares the two teenagers a wry glance before shaking his head and leaving them alone.

Suddenly, the room feels tighter, warmer, the air thinner, a pressure building up, their eyes meet again, and they jump apart as if burned. Jimin shuffles to one end of the uncomfortable bench, resolutely training his gaze anywhere but the other occupant.

"Thanks," Jimin says lowly.

"Whatever," Wang Chen mutters back.