rock bottom ;; jimin & jace
@pxjace
Jimin knows first hand how disappointing reading numbers can be. In fact, he’s disappointed about them every damn month. Bills were beginning to pile up, and he was beginning to consider moving again. Just a couple months ago, Jimin had been making enough income every month to pay off his debt completely and then some. Stripping had proved itself to be his holy grail financially -- for a while anyways, but as Jimin’s thumb and and index finger clenched the paper of this month’s rent, he was surely rethinking all of his decisions. He was slowly coming back to square one, like it was when he was younger. He’d just upgraded to something nicer, in a better neighborhood and he can’t see himself going back to where he was in that piece of shit studio apartment in the ass crack of Seoul. He just couldn’t. He groaned deeply, letting the paper fall from his fingertips and ran his digits through his bright hair instead.
“Wook,” Jimin called to his furry creature, petting the spot on his lap. When the animal settled gently atop her owner, Jimin pet the hair against her nape, careful of the feline’s collar, “what are we going to do?”
He leaned back on his couch, looking at some bags that laid unpacked on the floor next to his bedroom door -- he hadn’t even finished packing, and he was already on his way to getting evicted. He had to do something, and fast. He laid back and evaluated his options for a while. He figured he could fill out some applications for some restaurants around the corner, or maybe apply for a job as a cashier in the supermarket downtown. He hadn’t had to work a normal job like those in so long, he forgot how he’s even supposed to conduct himself. He doesn’t think his attitude could be socially acceptable throughout the whole day, and he would think that would be a problem. “Fuck,” Jimin breathed, throwing a hand over his eyes.
He refused to go back to his old apartment. He would always be looking over his shoulder, scared of what would happen to him every time he went down that alleyway -- scared that his next time would be his last. He always came home with smudged makeup around his eyes, or heels up to his neck making the most obnoxious clicking sound against the pavement. He sometimes thought that one day, the group of gangsters that live across the street might have their way with him, he seemed to draw their attention every night, even though it was always unwanted.
“Wait,” Jimin countered to silence, startling Wook slightly, “what about the...what was the name of that place, Wook?” Jimin asked not expecting an answer in response but rather lifted the cat from his lap, and went on a mad search for the pants he had worn to work tonight. When he has successfully found them, he dug in his pockets for the smallest piece of paper he had been looking for, and indeed it was there. “The Tavern,” he read allowed, and under it were the vaguest landmarks that surrounded it’s location. A brothel was what Jimin was sure it was. He had overheard some customers talking about it when he was working the floor one night, and he made sure he could document the details while he could. He had been trying to find some other job for a while, but he hadn’t realized how real his debt was becoming until now.
He thought stripping at a strip club had been rock bottom for him, but looking at the paper in his hands, this was proof that he would do much worse in the name of money. Jimin had called a cab and found himself 20 minutes later dressed in all black -- jeans that hugged his ass and his perfectly, a simple flowy button down shirt that had been black as well, and a pair of chunky black pumps with a thick, high heel. He did his usual makeup, just a simple line on his top lid, and smudged black on the bottom. His hair stayed in a sweep across his forehead, coming right under his brow, and he only wore a golden watch as an accessory. He didn’t even know if he’d find what he was looking for, but he’d look at least decent while he was doing.
He was out the door in minutes after putting a sufficient amount of food in his cat’s bowl, and his taxi had arrived coincidentally right as he was exiting his door. Jimin gave the driver a general area, and the elder promised to try to get him there. Quicker than he thought, Jimin was being told he arrived, and he had paid the driver, and when the white vehicle drove out of sight is when his situation became most real. Jimin was out searching for a fucking brothel. He wondered if this really was the path that he was meant to go down -- wondered if living comfortably was really worth selling his body -- giving consent to maybe hundreds of people everyday to do as they pleased to him. Had he really been down this bad? Jimin didn’t know what other people classified as their worse, but Jimin decided that this would be his. Besides, he didn’t even know if they would accept him. He propelled forward, looking for areas that sounded familiar. The people that discussed it wasn’t all that clear, but he thought he had been close. It took him a minute, but Jimin had came across an unmarked building, one that had been directly across the street from a landmark that the customer had mentioned. He looked around him and took in the dead silence, and wondered if there should have been activity if this was the place, regardless, he was here now, and it never hurt to try.
Jimin descended the stairs to the door of the building, and simply knocked upon it. Whoever answered, he’d figure out how to ask them what he needed, but for now, he needed proof that people were even in there. This entire neighborhood gave him the creeps. Jimin stepped back and gave it another minute before he turned around and decided he wouldn’t just stand there looking foolish, his foot hitting the first step on his way back up the stairs.