Genre: Angst, a little bit of fluff, insinuating smut.
Warnings: Talk of death, and gang violence.
Concept: What if the man you loved so dearly, was the leader of a gang who took everything from you?
A/N: This is my first GOT7 fic, and I’m terrified to post it. I don’t know if I’ll actually make a whole series out of this. What do you guys think? Would you read it?
Song Inspiration:
- - - - - - -
Death followed you long before you were a detective, it stuck to you like your shadow in the middle of summer. Your parents and younger sister were killed when you were 12. Your father was the best cop on the force, he was known for infiltrating and busting big gangs and drug cartels. His reputation surpassed him, and gave him a massive target on his back. He knew the game he was playing, and the consequences that could come out of it. He lost the game, and you were the only one that was left to suffer, but he raised you better than that. He taught you to take your anger and channel it into something productive, so you did. You spent your life chasing after leads, and whispers of who could have orchestrated the murder.
You were close, and you could taste it. Whoever it was, was right under your nose. You were ready to end this, but this time the rules of the game would be made by you, and there was only one way for this to finish, and that was with you winning. You sat in your office at home, scattered paper work all over your desk, the only thing that stood out more than your mess, was the graph of suspects that hung on your wall. The red thread moving around the pictures, creating a road map that only you knew how to drive. You leaned back into your chair, crossing your arms. You were stuck, and you had exasperated all your informants. You needed something new, anything to push the investigation forward.
“Baby?” A calming voice entered from behind you.
You pushed your feet from your desk, turning in your chair to see Jaebeom standing in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame. A sleepy smile, matched only with his half lidded eyes. He always tried to stay awake till you were ready for bed, you had told him he didn’t need too, and that you understood normal people needed sleep. He would shake his head and say, ‘such an extraordinary woman, deserves anything but a normal man’ and you couldn’t say that it didn’t make your heart leap to life. He was the only thing that anchored you to reality.
“I’m almost done,” you smiled, tiredly.
He pushed from the frame, striding over to you, his grey pajama bottoms hung off his hips, swaying by his feet when he moved. The light from your desk, did his bare chest no justice. He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You took a deep breath, he had just showered, so he still smelled of his body wash, and his natural scent, which reminded you of camping and burning wood. You looked up, watching him disappear from your office.
You didn’t lie when you said you were almost done, you looked through a few more files, and you felt even more defeated than normal. You pulled on the gold chain that hung from your lamp, your room immediately going dark. You dragged yourself to the bathroom, removing your clothes, letting them pool around you. Your head hanging down, unable to face your own reflection. You kicked away your crumpled clothes, flicking the light off before you climbed into bed, covered in only one of Jae’s shirts. You sunk into your side of the mattress, your head hitting the pillow like a stack of bricks.
You felt an arm creep around your waist, pulling further away from the edge, and closer to Jae’s chest. A sigh of relief slipped your lips, causing a soft chuckle to press against your back. Jaebeom nuzzled his nose into the back of your neck, leaving soft kisses around your shoulders. His hand slipping from his waist, to rest on your hip, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your upper thigh. You reached back, running your hand over his arm, his muscles tensing under your touch. You pushed back into him, his hand now no longer spread over your hip, but it was gripping onto you, pushing you back even more, while he pressed his pelvis into you.
“Please,” was all you had to whisper before he was hovering above you, his knees on this inside of your legs, pushing them open.
———
4:48 AM -
Your phone had been going off for over twenty minutes, buzzing, and vibrating on your nightstand. You reached over, slapping your hand haphazardly around to feel for it. You were finally able to curl your fingers around it enough to pull it to your side. You opened one eye, while simultaneously keeping one squinted closed. The brightness from your screen made your groan, quickly turning it down so it was a dull yellow.
Detective Rays: We have something you need to see, right now. It’s about your parents murder case.
You practically sprung from bed, tripping over your own tired limbs. You looked back to make sure your abrupt loudness didn’t disturb your sleeping boyfriend. You were lucky he was just a hard sleeper, you stared at him for a moment, admiring the way he slept so soundly, one leg peeking from the sheets. You didn’t have time to think of how in love you were with him, you needed to get to the station.
You bursted through the doors of your office, several heads popping up from their desks. You didn’t bother to greet anyone, especially since detective Rays was right at your side, pulling you into his personal office, closing the door behind the both you. He looked over you, your bun barely sticking to the top of your head, one half of your shirt tucked in, the other hanging out loosely.
“You look like a mess,” he commented before pulling out a file from a locked drawer of his desk.
“Thanks,” you snapped, standing over his file, waiting for it to reveal new information.
“This is the son, and current leader, of the gang who contracted the hit on your family,” he looked up at you, waiting for your understanding.
“Open the damn file, Rays,” patience was not a personality trait that you had picked up.
He did, and you had wished that you wouldn’t have made him. There he was, the man who you had been waiting for your whole life, the person that had caused you so much pain and agony, the man you swore had to be the devil, but he wasn’t. This man was not evil, and there was no way he could be the person who took over the gang that ruined your life.
“There must be a mistake,” you shook your head, trying to make yourself believe this was a joke.
“It’s no mistake, Y/N. His name his Jaebeom Lim. He inherited the Lim Family Dynasty, which so happens to be one of the most violent and feared gangs this world has seen since the Gambino crime family,” he spread out more paperwork, new members popping up, people you had become friends with.
“This is the first file, of hundreds. They’re so dangerous, that we haven’t even put in an undercover cop to try and get information. They have an extreme vetting system,” he kept talking, but you everything felt like you were underwater.
Your mind was swimming with questions, and so much conflict. The one person who could finally bring you happiness, after you lived in a world of sadness for so long. His father was the reason for all of it, and now he was the man you had to take down. The game just got a lot more complicated.
It was strange. It was strange how despite you were aware of the danger that you were willing to take, the moments spent with him were the only ones in which you felt really safe. Even his warning had not the effect he desired.
Jaebum was aware that a moment of weakness and he could kill you, but the more he tried to send you away and more you both realized that both were tied by a bond that transcended all logic.
"You should run", was the phrase that he repeats each morning, while cuddling you in his arms without giving you a chance to move. A little smile drew on your lips every time, hiding your face against his neck and you loved smelling the perfume which by now had become your favorite. "You don't leave me much room to do so."
Jaebum knew that one day he would have to let you go, but he wasn't ready for that moment. He wouldn't ever be ready, but he would have thought about that in the future.
"Bite me," your eyes were sincere, free from the fear that he'd read the first few times that your gazes crossed in a room full of people; "Y/N... "
"I no longer know how to live without you, Jaebum. "
The sigh that slipped from his lips made you think you were on two different worlds, two different page.
"You'd be living better, you know."
"I'll live as if something is missing and I've never been a person who appreciates things halfway."
“Y/N, Come here for a minute.” The voice makes you stop munching on your food to turn around, you dress floating around you in a delicate manner. You walk toward the voice, mouth full and jaw busy, nodding at your boss.
She is still as glamorous as ever with her tight tube dress, accentuating her curves and giving her a silhouette you had seen too many times already. “Meet Y/N, our new perfumer. She is the one who created Universal. We were able to get an exclusive contract and she is now officially our genius creator. Y/N, these men would like to write an article on your career and personal story.” Her voice is a tone lower than usual, which you take it as a way to seduce you into agreeing.
She knows you too much to actually think you could agree to do that.
“There isn’t much to say about me.” You play the innocent card, hoping this would let you slip out of an awkward moment.
“Don’t believe her, she is amazing. ” A hand goes to your shoulder and your shoulders go down in embarrassment.
The lady agrees, the hint of a smile blooming on her magenta lips. “You already know Jackson Wang, fashion designer and owner of Ateliers Wang.” The men nod, hoping to get another juicy interview with another famous person.
“Nice to meet you, can I borrow this lady for a second?” In spite of his subtle way to take you out of this, they make agree before fleeing, before swiftly pinching Jackson’s arm who giggles at your irritated state.
“I was about to reject this offer, Jackson.” You get more food as soon as you're close enough to actually grab something, but Jackson takes the petit-four out of your hand, eating it.
“Which is why I made you do it. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of bragging for the journalists. It’s good that you can do it, you asocial mole.” He jokes and grabs two glasses of champagne, handing you one “Now enjoy.” He orders and you roll your eyes, sighing.
“Boss!” You hear again but before you can localize the origin of the voice, a head appears, with long earrings and deep blue lenses.
Bambam is so elegant in his long suit decorated with golden studs and suede boots. “Elle’s editor in chief would like to write an article on how to pick a perfume and I would like to see you!”
You open your mouth and close it, in awe. “Wow, you’re really out there dragging me into shitty business.” It’s unbelievable, why are they always acting like your managers?
“It’s not shitty, it’s called being in demand. It’s quite flattering, right Jackson?” Bambam points a finger at Jackson who can only nod, a piece of artichoke hanging between his lips.
“Get their number, I’ll call them when I have time.” You conclude, not in the mood to deal with Bambam’s possible nagging if you refuse.
He winks at you and turns around, already fleeing toward another league of person in suits and shiny dress and you want to drink yourself into oblivion. It’s not that you don’t like the place, you just feel uncomfortable whenever people come after you, afraid to disappoint.
Ever since Universal’s release, things took a huge turn.
The perfume was a huge hit. People started to ask who did it and eventually, you were requested in many parties and fashion events. You were glad Bambam knew enough to actually help you dealing with the sudden popularity in the fashion world but you were slowly regretting it by now.
“Stop freaking out, you’ll be great. You’re always great.” Jackson can read your mind like it’s a newspaper, so you only smile at his unflattering support.
“Get me more food.” You say to hide your grin and he instantly feeds you the rest of his roasted vegetable, before someone taps on his shoulder to greet him.
Jackson is always one to compliment you whenever you doubt about yourself. It’s been a year since you met him, and not even once did his behaviour change. It felt good to count on someone who was always doing his best to cheer you up, even when you were feeling so down you would barely go out of your apartment.
You look at Jackson, who is now chattering in fast Chinese with another shiny man and forget about your environment; looking around the numerous people, dreamy. It’s crowded but the soft music covers the noises and it helps in giving you relief in the middle of the stress.
Ever since Jaebum left, you didn’t talk about him to anyone except Jackson. It was as if he never existed for everyone, but it was so hard to deal with his absence. It used to be hard actually, because you don’t feel so stressed anymore.
Now that you have Jackson who is strong enough for an army, things tend to be too easy for you.
It doesn’t help that Universal reminds you of Jaebum every time you smell it; and a lot of people bought it, because you smell it every single day. You learnt to live with it, it became a part of yourself, a friendly reminder that there is a missing part inside of you. You can still smell him inside your flat, even though he left almost a year ago.
And when you turn around with another glass of champagne you freeze right before bringing it to your lips.
The first person you notice in the middle of the crowd is Jaebum
Summary : You are a perfume composer, he is a lyricist, and while you’re left with too many possibilities, he is out of inspiration. Your only bond is an unknown fragrance.
A strong, smoky scent that stems from ingredients used to tan leathers—it’s usually used in fragrance with the help of synthetic chemicals.
Choi Youngjae’s smile is lunar. It’s illuminating his shy face in a way that makes you grin like an idiot. He is looking at Jaebum like he is a star and you finally understand how loved this guy is.
“I’m working on an album and I would love for us to work together on it.” Jaebum doesn’t seem to like what he is hearing, and you and Bambam don’t know how to react so you look at each other before slowly moving away from the two. You don’t go that far though because Jaebum grabs your arm to keep you next to him. You see his pleading gaze and Bambam understands right away, moving away without you and you see your tiny glint of hope fade away from the awkward situation.
“I can’t.” Youngjae’s smile fades as soon as Jaebum speaks. He looks disappointed suddenly and you want to pet his hair and comfort his puppy state.
“Why not? I know we don’t create the same music but your lyrics are wonderful and my agency needs some change in my artistic orientation.”
Jaebum snorts, his hand still around your forearm like you’re his only ally on earth. You don’t move nor speak, conscious that you can do nothing except being here and support him silently.
“This is why I can’t. I don’t write for the sake of a career. I’m sorry.” He pulls on your arm and you both walk away from a surprised Youngjae. Jaebum’s face is indecipherable. He grabs another glass of champagne on your way to the tiny balcony across the reception room, feet soft yet hurried against the hotel’s marble.
He stops to look outside and it’s like a fresh bowl of hair for him. You stay silent, waiting for him to let go of your arm and puzzled by how different he looks without the entrancing smell of his tortured being. You can’t stand the tension though, and if Jaebum is okay with staying quiet and watching the view like he is nostalgic of lost times, you pull on your arm, like a proof of your existence next to him.
He snaps his head toward you and the fingers around your forearm are gone in an instant. Jaebum is lost, right now.
“Are you okay?” You ask as carefully as you can. From what you know and observed ever since you met him, you can feel he is not okay with the sudden opportunity.
“No. I’m not okay.” His now free hand goes to his forehead before rubbing the skin, expressing his growing frustration. “I’m scared.”
You tilt your head, not surprised. “I can see that.” You wish you could be more of a support, but Jaebum without his smell is not Jaebum. His cologne is a tad too strong and it’s going against his subtle natural accord. You hate it.
“I’m not scared of failing. I’m scared of taking people down with me.” And he chuckles because the thought itself is scary. Ruining another artist’s career would end him for good.
“It could also work out and become a bop.” You lean against the balcony’s bench, eyes scanning the room and you see Bambam chatting with a depressed Youngjae.
Jaebum can’t see it, he is too busy watching the horizon. “I don’t want to create a bop; I want to do something beautiful and valuable.”
“A bop can be beautiful and valuable. Following a trend doesn’t mean being greedy.” You know what he means. Jaebum isn’t mainstream, he runs by his beliefs and what he thinks sounds good, he doesn’t want to be in the charts. It’s the same with perfumes.
“You know about it, luxury perfume maker.” He snorts and it shocks you. Your eyes swiftly go from the room to the side of his face and you suddenly feel offended. Are you being belittled by Im Jaebum, right now?
He sighs, looking back at you with eyes that you didn’t know could exist on Jaebum “I’m sorry. I should just go home.”
You shake your head, trying not to think too much about his mean comeback. “Sure. If it makes you feel better.” You know it’s not the best comfort you gave in your life, but Jaebum feels so different you can’t do anything about it. You’re only a passer-by in his problems and you already have your own. There’s so little you can do to help him, except making sure he doesn’t do something stupid.
“Well...” His voice is so low you almost don’t hear him, but you don’t need to ask because he is already walking away along with his strange odour. You watch him enter the room, you see him avoid every eye and looks, you see Youngjae hit Bambam’s shoulder softly and you see your assistant check to look for you.
He comes as soon as he notices your bored face on the balcony. “Boss, I’m sorry, I didn’t to-”
“I know.” You cut him. It’s too late for apologies and too early to talk about this. You don’t want to think about this guy for now. He has issues he can’t deal with, so there is no way you could do it for him. Maybe your mind is turning into a cold bitch, maybe you’re only using this guy for your own benefit.
But then again, he does look like he is doing the same so it’s fine by you.
“Youngjae is kind of sad, now.” He points at his friend who is pouting into the room and you both enter the place again, doing your best to try and defend your roommate who brushed this guy’s hope like dust on a chest of drawers.
You come back home by 4 and find Jaebum writing at the same spot he always is. You smell this bloody perfume in your living-room and you want to throw it out the window but you head to your room instead, ignoring him as much as he is ignoring you.
You fall asleep at 6.
Bambam arrives later with croissants and freshly made orange juice. He is wearing a burgundy suit with golden jewellery and you open your flat’s door still in your pyjamas.
“Week-ends are chill days, got it.” He snaps his fingers with a grin when he enters and hands you the bag. You can smell butter from it, it must be delicious.
“I’m exhausted, let’s just work for a couple of hours.” You explain while going to the kitchen.
Bambam agrees. “Sure. Now that we found the base notes, we can focus on the middle notes.”
At this, you make a face. Thank god Jaebum took a shower before going to bed and erased that damned scent from himself. But now the familiar feeling is back. It’s back from god knows where and aiming for your head again, blurring your consistency and shaking your sanity.
Bambam sips on his drink and speaks again. “I think this perfume is going to be great.” You love his positivism. Bambam is not the type of boy who would let you feel down. He always comes up with great compliments and positivity. If only you could be like him.
You smile at him, nodding. If he says so.
“Youngjae doesn’t want to give up on Im Jaebum.” Bambam continues the talk and now you react. It tickles your interest because it’s much more intense to think about Jaebum when you’re surrounded by his aroma.
“He doesn’t look like he wants to work with him, though.” You explain. Bambam acquiesces.
“Youngjae told me he needs to get in touch with him. I don’t want him to kill me so...do you think you could help us?” To this you lift a questionable brow at your assistant.
“How? It’s not like he will listen to me.” You have no powers over him. He drags you toward him without knowing yet he doesn’t give a damn about your mere existence.
“Do you mind if I give Youngjae your number?”
You open your mouth, in shock “Why is that? I really can’t help. Have you seen how he is, here? Tell your friend not to waste his time and look for another lyricist. There must be people who can write as well as him.” There must be, Jaebum is not the only genius in town.
Bambam shakes his head. “I think you could help us. Please?” His puppy eyes are working way too much for your taste and you don’t like it when you agree, feeling trapped into a plan that is doomed to fail.
Bambam grins so wide you can count his teeth one by one. “Thanks, boss. Youngjae will be so happy.”
“Tell him not to expect too much, honestly.”
You start working 30 minutes later and finish 4 hours later. You both came up with nothing new and you decide not to insist. You knew from the moment you woke up that you would be even more useless today. Bambam grabs his stuff and thank you again for your cooperation. You scratch your head, ready to go back to bed but Jaebum’s body is out, and heading to the bathroom.
You close your eyes, in awe. It’s like a drug you need. It gives power and motivation, but also dissatisfaction.
You decide to go to the kitchen, instead. Knowing Jaebum, he must be in need of food and pretty much very hungry at this hour. You don’t know why you start preparing food for him, and you decide to blame his scent, because it’s the only explanation to your kindness.
He goes out shortly after, sniffing the delicious smell of food and you wonder if it works on him like his own scent works on you.
“Hey,” he says, eyes puffy. His clothes are huge on his body, and it gives him cool vibes. He sits by the table and yawns.
“Want some food?” You ask, your back facing him while you’re already putting stuff into a big plate. You know he is going to say yes. He would never say no to sausages.
“You made some for me?” He is surprised. You hear a sound and the next thing you know, he is right behind you. You close your eyes because his shower gel adds to the spell he put on you.
He sees you nod and smiles. He is happy. “Thanks.”
You walk away, grabbing another glass of orange juice. You can’t talk now, but you still need to help this poor singer who wants to entrust his career to this weird guy.
“Bambam came this morning and he said-”
“I know what you’re about to say, but I won’t work with this guy.” Jaebum stops you before you can even try. How did he know?
He rolls his eyes, already stuffing his mouth and it’s difficult to understand what he says at some point “Bambam knows Choi Youngjae, Bambam is your assistant and we are ‘roommates’, so obviously he is going to ask for your help.”
“What a perceptive man.” You mock him but to your surprise, he laughs. It seems he likes it when you become daring.
“I know, right? I have a sharp nose for these things, no bad pun intended.” He munches like it’s his last meal on earth, not the least annoyed by your poor attempt at making him change his mind.
“You could still work on the song you showed me. I mean, with him.” It sounds simple. Jaebum has a song ready, and Choi Youngjae needs one, so why not work on it?
“It’s not that easy. You can’t offer a song like you give a perfume to someone.” He says and regrets it instantly.
“You should really stop talking about me like I’m doing shit.” You get angry. It’s the second time he talks to you like you’re nothing. Like your job is pointless.
“No, I mean- Shit. Sorry.” It’s surprising to see him apologize but you won’t give in. His smell is awesome, but his behaviour is the total opposite.
“I’m really doing my best. You’re the one who agreed to come to the party, and you’re the one who made me stay with you when you had to deal with this singer. I’m only trying to help.” Your voice is filled with frustration. You’re frustrated because of his behaviour, the way he deals with things and most importantly, the way he acts like life is over every time someone mentions music-making.
“I didn’t ask for your help, if you remember.” His fork is long forgotten on the table, but his voice is steady, too calm for what he is about to say. “You dragged me here instead of letting me deal with things. You’re the one who involved yourself into my business, and I don’t even know why honestly, so don’t complain when I imply that I don’t need you.”
“So why are you still here?” You know what he is about to answer, it’s logical.
“I don’t know, you tell me. If not because of you, I would be long gone, out of this bullshit. But I’m here, trying to write the shitty things I come up with in my mind. If my behaviour is too much for you to handle, I guess I can take myself out.” He reacts fast and gets up, already walking to his room and you know he is about to grab his stuff and leave. Even the tiny wind following his walking body smells like heaven but you don’t stop him. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe this whole situation isn’t meant to continue.
He is gone less than an hour later, and when he closes the door with a soft noise, you want to cry. You don’t miss him, but the smell is slowly going away and it’s ripping your insides because it was giving you fuel to continue, and now you have nothing.
You will never be able to feel this again.
“I’m taking a couple of days off.” You tell Bambam over the phone the next day. It’s a fine morning. The weather is great, you slept well, you’re about to grab lunch but your mind screams for help. You take your keys and hear Bambam ask if you’re okay.
Of course you’re okay. Your flat smells like shit, but you’re totally fine.
“I’m okay, just not feeling well. Tell the boss I’m sick.” You hang up when Bambam tells you to take care of yourself and close the door behind you. What a day to feel like crap.
The day is boring, it means nothing and it is so unlike you to feel so down. You’re not a cheerful person, this you know, but to the point of finding everything tasteless? It never happened. Jaebum won’t leave your mind and you find yourself wondering if he finally did what he wanted to do. You walk slowly whenever you see a bridge. It makes you look anxiously, hoping he didn’t do it.
You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you’re going to do. You can’t possibly create this perfume anymore, not when you have no idea where you’re going. Maybe you should let Bambam do the job and pray for it to work. He is good, he can do it.
You get a call from Choi Youngjae who pleads you to convince Jaebum and you can’t tell him he is long gone god knows where so you assure him you’ll do your best. You hate lying, but somehow you can’t crush him.
It stays that way for three days. Three days of wandering the streets and sleeping until your eyes get puffy and red. Three days of long grunts and sighs. Three days of trying to persuade yourself that you don’t need him, that he was a mistake that stained your already messy mind.
You decide Jaebum means nothing, his smell is just an illusion and you don’t need it to live. You’re strong, independent, you need no jerk to function. You convince yourself at some point, ignoring your subconscious who laughs at you for lying to yourself so blatantly.
Bambam comes back when you tell him you can start working again. You’re back on hard-working mode, sniffing bottles after bottles and talking to Bambam like you’re a new person. He is surprised by your sudden motivation, and when he doesn’t hear about Im Jaebum and doesn’t seem him, he prefers not to ask.
He is obnoxious, but not stupid. He knows your leave wasn’t for the sole purpose of healing.
“What do you think about Bergamot?” You try. It’s better than everything you mixed so far, and it’s not the best, but it’s good enough for now.
Bambam approves, opening another tiny bottle. “Oriental Leather.” he smells it and starts coughing violently.
You take it away from his hands before it can fall. It’s too precious to go to waste. “Let me see. Maybe...12 percent?” You used it only once, and it was for a very specific perfume. Back then you didn’t like how it smelled, but maybe it could go well with your current base note.
“Oriental leather is strong, even stronger than musk and maybe, maybe we’re about to make something good.” Your eyes shine when you start working on the proportion, hands as busy as your mind. Bambam watches intently, even taking notes from time to time. He will never get enough of your knowledge; he feels so lucky.
The result is great; you can feel it. Bambam loves it and it’s suddenly jackpot.
But when you’re about to take a much-needed break, a soft knock on your door makes you rush to answer. Apprehension fills you from the deepest it can reach as you open the door, breath long gone. It’s not Jaebum. It’s a stranger. You feel stupid for being so eager to smell him again and you decide to ignore the disappointed feeling into your stomach.
“Are you Y/N?” He is elegant, all suits and hair neat. His eyes are a not so typical shade of dark brown, and they shine so bright it feels like a human doll is standing in all its glory right in front of you.
“Yes...? And you might be?” You ask back. Bambam arrives behind you when he doesn’t hear any sounds coming from the door.
“I’m Park Jinyoung, I’m here to see Jaebum. He told me you’re both roommates, but he hasn’t been answering his phone for the past days so I decided to come.” He gives you a smile which fades when you answer, voice barely above a whisper.
“He moved out three days ago.”
---
You’re panicking. This Jinyoung guy looks angry and you can’t understand how he can stay so calm when Jaebum completely disappeared.
He takes out his phone when it rings. “Yes, father. I had to meet with Jaebum. No, I won’t be late.” He turns to your questioning gaze, “Work.” He smiles before looking around the place, waiting for you to speak.
“So this is where he stayed. It’s a huge flat. Are you rich?” he asks and you can’t believe it.
“No, I’m not. Do you have any idea of where he could be?” You ask. You need to know if he is safe. He can’t be dead, can he? No it’s impossible, he has all the talent in the world, he smells great, it can’t go to waste.
“No. Not at all. Jaebum often disappears and comes back like it’s nothing. I’m sorry for coming without further notice.” He is about to go like nothing dramatic is happening.
“But, you’re not going to look for him?” It’s crazy. You hear thunder outside, and understand it’s starting to rain heavily. You see flashes of Jaebum crying under the rain before jumping off a bridge, or even a roof, or anything that would hurt him.
But Jinyoung laughs, and his eyes go back to playful when they were annoyed a minute ago. “No, I won’t. I told you he often does that. He will come back soon.” Your first thought is to slap him because, come on, his friend is suicidal and he doesn’t move? But you don’t say a word, you don’t move, you don’t even show how worried you are.
Maybe he doesn’t even know Jaebum wants to end his life.
Knowing the guy, he obviously omitted to inform his friend about his dreadful intentions. It’s not a surprise then, to see his friend so relaxed, like Jaebum went on a soothing week-end in the countryside.
The latter walks past you and you get hit by the smell of pepper and musk. It fits his fierce feature. “I’ll be going then. Sorry again for intruding.” He notes how concentrated you are, deep in thoughts like you’re trying to find the answer to a complex puzzle.
You simply nod, and Bambam leads the man to the main-door, not noticing the way Jinyoung looks at him like he just came out of a very tacky movie. Your foot taps the floor restlessly and it’s a miracle you didn’t rush to look for him yet.
He wouldn’t even care anyway.
“Are you okay?” You assistant has warm eyes and your worry reflects upon his face. You try to smile back to keep your façade but inside it’s twisting. Your insides are a mess.
“Yes. Let’s stop here for today okay? It’s starting to rain; you should head back home.” You care about your assistant, you really do, but you can’t talk to him about it. If Jaebum didn’t even mention to his closest friend, then Bambam can’t be included into this. No matter how friendly and concerned he looks, he can’t be dragged into this huge mess you created yourself because of a stupid smell.
A stupid and addictive smell.
“Yes. Right.” Bambam looks away, somewhat hurt that you wouldn’t share what’s on your mind and grabs his jacket from your office’s chair. He comes back and his long fingerS suddenly tap your shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay.” You’re not surprised to hear his words. Bambam is perceptive and way too social not to understand that you and Jaebum are not complete strangers to each other. He doesn’t know about the scent, but he can see that there is something that makes you go to him.
He doesn’t ask and prefers to stay silent. He is here for work, but you’re always so lonely and have no confidence that it makes him want to scream. To him, you’re amazing and he wishes nothing more than have a tiny bit of your talent to exist. He sighs and turns around, legs tightly wrapped into torn jeans and disappears with soft motions. You look outside when a bolt of lightning illuminates the whole living-room and wonder if Jaebum is safe. You hate feeling this way. You’re even more pitiful now.
It’s hard to sleep that night. You blame it on your lack of exercise. Your body isn’t drenched enough to feel tired, so you turn around again and again, legs blocked into pale blue sheets and hair messy, spread on your cushion like a fighting octopus. You stereotypically look at the ceiling from time to time, picturING images of you creating something beautiful mixed with the familiar and dazzling scent of Jaebum. You wish nothing more than for it to stop, but you can’t decide for yourself and your soul leads the way, ordering you to be miserable and in need of his being to be able to be rational again.
You hear noises and blame it on the heavy rain clapping against your windows along with thunder. It’s tapping softly and adding to your anxiety, following your heart rate in an off-putting manner. You ignore it, scolding yourself and aware that you’re not going to be productive when Bambam will arrive next morning.
But the tapping comes back shortly after and you get off your bed. You grab your abandoned robe and wrap it around your exhausted envelope, rolling your eyes at your own paranoia. So what now, someone is going to rob your place? You decide to check the windows because maybe it’s only a matter of wind hitting the glass. You hope it is. You check all the rooms and when you don’t hear it anymore, you rush to bed again. There’S only a little time left before you’re supposed to be up and you can’t waste it on idiocy.
But on your way to your room you jump, hand over your mouth to silence your horrified cry. Your chest is about to explode and you got so scared you’re trembling. You freeze and blink when the shadow you spotted in the tiny lobby doesn’t move, against the wall. Your hand silently reaches for the wall and you turn on the light when you finally get a grasp of the situation. So this is what it is.
Jaebum is on the floor, drenched and looking exhausted.
Summary : You are a perfume composer, he is a lyricist, and while you’re left with too many possibilities, he is out of inspiration. Your only bond is an unknown fragrance.
Chypre is the French word for the island of Cyprus and is pronounced “sheepra.” It refers to earthy, woodsy, and mossy base notes with top notes of citrus.
Your second day is as horrible as the first one. Bambam is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you’ve got time for yourself. You have nothing though, excepted worries and a tiny tingle in your nose.
Jaebum’s scent is printed in your brain.
You try creating something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t make it.
His scent is mystery.
It’s frustrating for two reasons. The first one is that you don’t like it when you can’t recognise a scent, the second one is that you crave the said scent.
The sound of your head against your office takes Bambam out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.
“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. Your new boss came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Bambam started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory.
“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.
“What concept? I’m running in circle, Bambam.” You lift your head high enough to slide your hand under it and you let it fall back, eyes closed.
“Sensual? Casual? Suave? Fresh? Bucolic?” He proposes, hesitation filling his usually cheerful tone.
“It’s too...plain. Even if we have nothing, we can’t work the same way everyone does. I want to do something different, and I think this is what the boss wants.”
Bambam nods “You’re brilliant.” He walks to his office and comes back with a notepad.
“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at his working hand, eyes hidden behind locks.
“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Bambam stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”
“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.”
This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head for a brand you know nothing of.
Bambam looks pitiful as he put the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”
And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it was infuriating.
How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?
That day, you send Bambam home and stay a little longer. You spend exactly two hours mixing scents before your head start aching.
There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.
Im Jaebum’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.
When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed is as brand as new, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry.
There’s still his smell, fresh and printed in your nostrils and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.
He is not there.
You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jaebum is nowhere to be seen.
You put your keys in your flat’s door with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?
But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.
Im Jaebum is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, left hand dancing over bright white paper and you only see his back, but it’s the best relief you had in years.
He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him.
“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh.
“Hmm?” Jaebum doesn’t look up, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”
“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back it its initial colour.
Jaebum is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my flat.” It’s crazy but, he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more.
You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. “What are you doing?” you notice the numerous torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.
He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing much. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. He isn’t good with facing his own problems.
“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jaebum is astonished.
“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?
“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge!” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives.
It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone.
“It’s my business. I agreed on coming here because I have nothing left. I’m too proud to admit my mistakes and I’d rather hide here than face reality. It doesn’t mean we have to be here for each other.” It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.
You agree. True. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jaebum notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.
No matter how mesmerizing his scent is, he is apparently one big jerk. You’re not hurt by his words, because you know you don’t actually care about him. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Im Jaebum himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.
He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist start to hurt and his body hit the mattress of his new room like a bag of sand hits the ground.
He feels secured in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with bedding. The washing powder turns Jaebum into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs.
He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re not uninvolved in your newly found serenity.
And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind.
When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.
You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.
He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to be around you yet.
Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.
You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He offers a fresh glass of orange juice with an unreadable face.
“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago.
You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You enter the bathroom. His shower gel is opened and you approach your nose.
Not this scent.
After a while, you take off your clothes and decide to forget about this. You still need to work on a perfume, and you know how this is going to end up: You and your assistant against the void.
Which happened, just like you predicted. Bambam is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to your own lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.
“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.
“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend, because Bambam is already putting a sample in front of your noise.
You stop moving.
“Where did you find this?” You utter. Your brain is wandering into oblivion.
“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”
“Natural Oak moss.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when your entered the kitchen.
It is one of the element you find whenever you are close to Jaebum.
But something seems different. “You added patchouli.” Oak moss is part of a base of scents called Chypre, which includes many categories. Bambam himself wears a Chypre based perfume, but is more into the citrus part of it, with connotations of bergamot and subtle neroli. Here it’s different, it’s a mixture of wood and plants, and you understand why you thought about vetiver at first. Natural Oak moss isn’t used anymore because of it allergenic potential.
“I only added 5 percent of patchouli, even I don’t smell it anymore, how did you find out?” Bambam is chocked but his eyes are shining like you’re a goddess.
“Patchouli is the final touch, the one that lingers. Smell again, softly.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.
“This is patchouli.” You confirm and his mouth is wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person.
“So, do you think we could try? It’s unusual to use these two connotations, but I guess it works this way...”
You acquiesced, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jaebum’s identity and it’s energizing. You take a sharp breath, and Bambam laughs at you.
“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.
“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. You did nothing, and Bambam already found two base notes by himself.
Bambam rolls his eyes and decides not to answer you. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing
Base notes: Oak Moss, Patchouli.
You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jaebum.
You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Bambam is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his long and thin legs squeezed between two chairs. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home.
Jaebum’s day is the best he had in years. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time, and when his stomach starts creating its own music.
He takes out noodles from the stuff he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating into daily life matters is only natural, after all.
His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.
He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jaebum barely gets call nowadays, and excepted from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.
“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?
“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Jinyoung.” Jaebum finishes the sentence in a sigh. Jinyoung, his best-friend, could be worse than a nagging mother.
“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Jinyoung speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”
“I moved out.” Jaebum doesn’t panic. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Jinyoung’s car and supposes he must be about to go back to his own castle.
“It’s been a day. I moved in with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles and ignores Jinyoung’s astonished sounds.
“Ok, hang on. You moved in with a girl? As in, a special girl? Or...?” Jaebum snorts and shakes his head, forgetting about the fact that his friend can’t see him.
“I couldn’t write anymore. I rent a room in her flat.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days.
Jinyoung laughs at the other end of the call. “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jaebum, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”
“She’s not old.” Jaebum doesn’t want his friend to mock you. He can finally work, he feels alive.
“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Be sure that I’ll come and check the person who is most probably taking advantage of your frivolity.”
Jaebum only rolls his eyes. “I have to meet with my parents. Don’t tell my father about this or I’ll beat you up.”
“Wow easy. You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change it he was to know?”
Because he is going to push me down like dust. Jaebum thought. It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied.
“I’m hanging up.” He announces and hears his friend object, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jaebum has always been different from his environment. He grew up with Jinyoung, raised by the same nanny. Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Jinyoung grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.
Jinyoung often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Jinyoung gets mad, accusing him of being a hypocrite who is able to work freely because of the money he spits on daily.
It’s true, Jaebum doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him, providing money, shelter, food, and everything he should be able to get himself if he had a stable work. This is why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.
He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again.
You don’t speak when you find Jaebum, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jaebum blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.
“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand. You nod.
No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, Jaebum’s scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.
He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprise by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.
Jaebum is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.
You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.
“What’s your job?” Jaebum sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.
“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury box with frills and furbelows.
Jaebum doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that. “Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.
“It’s not. How about you?” His face lit subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.
He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”
“That, sounds complex.” You muse. Jaebum is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.
“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and Jaebum doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.
You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”
He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”
It feels different to deal with such an opened Jaebum. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is glowing.
That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.
Defsoul.
It sounds like some indie heavy metal band but you don’t tell him. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes back to his spot near the small table, and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.
He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.
It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.
---
Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about it.
“What are you doing?” You smell Bambam the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself being interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you smelled Jaebum’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there was only one element left to create a frank base.
You don’t know when you switch from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.
“All the samples are here, right?” The folder is huge, but it’s not enough for you. Bambam throws his vest on one of the chair and approaches your body, stifling a yawn.
“Yes. I think that quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous names, unsatisfied.
“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.”
Bambam makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”
“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language for your assistant.
“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.
You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.
You turn around to face him. He is an apprentice, after all. Maybe you shouldn’t go too far with him. “I have a lot of these at home.” You stop. Home, of course. Why didn’t you think about this sooner?
Bambam is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.
“Let’s work from my place. This is what I always did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.
“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.
“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Bambam sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you could find the missing pieces of this conundrum.
You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.
You take the day to gather some samples and ask Bambam to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, Bambam helps you carrying the samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.
You open the door and Jaebum sees two huge floating boxes enter the flat. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Bambam lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Bambam’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jaebum.
