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oddinary4bts · 10 months

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Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

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And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

“You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

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@btsborahaee

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aajjks · 1 year

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you multi piece of talent! is there something that you can't do!

okay my mood board request is for a story of mine. it is titled as "9 months in hell"

It is a yandere themed story.

the oc is a VERY distant relative of his.

she's a couple therapist/ relationship counsellor.

he's a police commissioner NOT THE HERO night in shinning armour kind of police in contrast he's quite named and feared for his doings. he has connections with politicians and underground criminals.

my face claims are kim taeri and jeon jungkook.

the aesthetic is very neutral and greyish.

it's like she's leading a normal simple life and he's living it abnormally. so she's happy and he's just monotone. Kim taeri has cute pictures in pin 📌 her with roses 🥀and kookie he has many as well but I think it's better if it has that natural vibe.

senior commissioner jungkook and doctor arin. 💊 💗😔

And also there's a line that he once said to her when their (only from her side) situation or (platonic) relationship was still in good terms "the only doctor that I need is you, you just come back" she couldn't grasp the actual deepness and meaning behind it 😔

jungkook + Kim Taeri moodboard! [commissioner jk x therapist!taeri]

ps. You’re so sweet 😭❤️ I hope you’ll like it!

pics not mine, cr. to Pinterest!

#my moodboard

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sondertaewonder · 10 months

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Some of my Series 🩷

I have four series at the moment, but my main three I hold very close to my heart, and I think they’re a pretty good example of my work, so I wanted to share them (and some moodboards I’ve made for them) here!

Please be warned, I am a ✨rambler.✨

Under Your Spell

“The lives and misadventures of boyfriends witch Taehyung and animal shapeshifter Jungkook.”

I started UYS in early 2019 as my fourth fic on Ao3, so it’s my oldest child, lol. It’s an urban fantasy AU because I adore urban fantasy, featuring a witch Taehyung from a magical family, and an animal shapeshifting Jungkook from a non-magical family! The series itself is mostly just a collection of one-shots of different moments from Taekook’s relationship, from life and relationship milestones to mishaps. There’s also one spin-off, though it a LOONA-focused on.

The series is mostly one I come to when I want to write fun smaller works, but even if it’s nothing huge or special, I adore it quite a bit. I’ve rewritten or reworked parts of the series to improve them and have plans to continue fixing up some things that I’m not satisfied with, as well as adding new fics once the inspiration strikes.

Overgrown

“Siberian tiger hybrid Taehyung and German shepherd hybrid Jungkook navigate daily life, the past, and a country that’s still learning to accept them.”

Overgrown is my second oldest series that got its sleepy (ha) start in late 2019 under the series name ‘Animal Instincts (Human Hearts)’, though that obviously eventually changed. I don’t know if there’s a popular term for this, but I like to call it a free hybrid AU — basically just an AU where the hybrids aren’t currently pets. The series follows Siberian tiger hybrid Taehyung and German Shepherd dog hybrid Jungkook in a post-ownable-hybrid South Korea. At the moment it’s a bit focused on Jungkook’s work as a police officer, but the last edition brought in more of Taehyung’s experiences, and the fic I’m working on now will hopefully dive much more into the world building I have in mind for this AU.

The series started out as a simple one-off work, then tentatively grew into a series, and as I’ve worked with it more and came up with more ideas, I’ve found myself being really in-love it. As I tend to do, I’ve done some edits on the original three fics and plan to revise the fourth to better fit with the current work-in-progress. I’m really excited to eventually share it!

Pushing Up Daffodils

“The story of Persephone and Hades, but make it Taekook and ridiculously sappy.”

PUD is a series I started in early 2021, and it’s my longest series, mostly because its first installment is my longest fic yet (one that took over a year to write, yikes). It’s a Greek mythology Hades & Persephone AU that I wrote, first as just a vague idea, and then at the encouragement of a friend. It follows more modern recreations of the original myth, essentially involving a lot less kidnapping (and incest, why was that ever a thing) and a lot more sappy lovebirds. Taehyung takes on the role of an outsider, the King of the Underworld, Hades, and Jungkook of spring god, the curious Kore. The series consists mostly of one main fic, a small sequel, and one tiny in-between flash-fic.

Fanfiction vocabulary has so many hyphens—

This series has a special place in my heart. The main work in it took me a lot time and I put a lot of effort into trying to keep it somewhat historically accurate to the time. I have plans to both rewrite some sections of it (are you noticing that I’m never satisfied?), and to eventually add a modern-time installment, but I’m waiting for the urge to return to the series to hit me before I get into any of that.

So those are my babies 💕 I technically have three other series, one of which was a two-fic Halloween series that I wrote mostly as just writing exercises, and the other two currently only have one installment each (and one isn’t even made a series on Ao3 yet). These are just the ones that make up the bulk of my works, so I feel like they’re the best introduction to what you can expect from me :)

Bye~

#ao3 writer #fanfic writer #bts fanfic writer #taekook #taekook writer #my ao3 works #I’m still learning how to tag #my tags on ao3 don’t give me a good track record

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call-me-amanda · 3 years

Text

𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗯𝗼𝗮𝗿𝗱 — 𝗧𝗼𝗽 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁

made for @pjmaparty

↳ 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊 𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

↳ 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 | 𝚗𝚊𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎

↳ 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 | 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎

“Hide the sun

I will leave your face out of my mind

You should save your eyes

A thousand voices howling in my head

Speak in tongues

I don't even recognize your face”

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unbwilievable · 6 years

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police officer!jungkook

#bts moodboard #btsmoodnet #bts au #jungkook moodboard #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #bts scenarios #bts imagines #mymbs #police officer au #aesthetic moodboard

336 notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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mantis, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

moodboard created by @tiemeuptogoldenchains

summary: The world is full of secrets. Some are punishable by death or, at least, someone seems to think so. The police chief is hiding a secret. His secret is that the police department has a hired mercenary named the Mantis.

warnings: rated M (18+) – reader discretion is advised: this story contains topics some may find sensitive and disturbing, including sexual and physical violence; language; the use of money and sex in exchange for murder and brief description of one; a psychotic break from reality; questionable moral compasses; smut (fem reader, dubious consent, sex in an office after hours, scratching / biting, m-receiving oral, edging, overstimulation, restraint); non-idol!AU - police chief!Yoongi x mercenary!reader, ft officer!JeonJungkook as Yoongi's accomplice and confidant; switches between Yoongi's and JK's POV

think 'American Horror Story' mood + vibes I would classify this as horror. Not condoning any of this behavior, in case that isn't blatantly obvious. Last chance to turn back.

“Stop pretending.”

“Stop making me pretend.”

Another sip.

“Stop drinking.”

“Stop making me want to drink.”

He sucked in a breath.

“What do you want me to say?”

She flicked her bangs with a tick of her head. Eyes like bottomless pools of death.

“Stop making me chase after the fucked-up ones.”

His stomach churned as he remembered the scene. So much blood. Pictures all over the body, revealing the terrible acts that had been done, smeared with entrails and red. The stench was awful. Snapped bones sticking out, evidence of torture before cruel death finally closed the eyes of the poor young soul trapped in the wrong time, wrong place.

“You’re the only one who can handle it.”

She slammed the shot glass onto his expensive mahogany desk. The wood shook under force of her fist, rippling all the way to him on the other side. He felt it underneath his overlapped hands. The whiskey shuddered in the bottle. He did not know how she became that strong and he didn’t really want to know.

“I told you I don’t like the ones who kill the kids,” she scowled. “Fucking coward. Cowards like you sit at your glamorized desk jobs, too scared to box with shadows.”

“Only shadows can box with shadows.”

She sucked on her teeth and licked her lips. He watched the pink tongue slide over the plumpness, somewhat sexual and yet there was something disconcerting about it, as if he was watching a snake’s tongue flicker.

Not that far off, because she had a habit of not blinking.

“Did you have someone clean up?”

“I had Jungkook do it.”

She smirked. ‘Your favorite lackey.”

His dark eyes flashed. “You left a mess.”

Her eyebrows raised. “An untraceable mess of suffering.” Not blinking. Disturbing how little she blinked. “You told me you wanted him to suffer.”

“He deserved to suffer. You saw what he did to that teenage girl.”

“And the other two before you called for me.”

That stung. It wasn’t said maliciously though, only a matter-of-factly. Her head tilted at an odd forty-five-degree angle. There was a tenseness in her shoulders that he recognized, even under the black parka. Underneath she wore a tight dark green sequin dress. The sequins were darker in some places, caked with dried blood. His eyes flickered to it.

“I sprayed down before I came. Any sample will be useless to forensics.”

He didn’t know how she knew these things and he really did not want to know.

“Why do you wait before you call me?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t wait on purpose. I need leads, evidence.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Hm. The police really are useless.”

Now it was his turn to slam his palm into the desk, snarling. “Without me, you would be rotting in jail.”

Eyes on him, accusing.

“Either way, still a prisoner.”

She planted her hands on his desk, rising. His eyes followed her movement, parka flaring out as she raised her knee, crawling onto the desk slowly. The dress was short, nearly revealing her panties, legs bare and bruised. Her fingers spread out, curling like insect legs, skittering across the desk. The scent of whiskey mixed with blood neared as she did. Barely blinking. He retreated his hands from the desk, leaning back in his chair, chest tightening, fear dispersing through his veins. Moonlight flitted over her face from his blinds. Her boots hit the edge of the desk before she stopped, looking down at him.

“Mantis,” he breathed, neck tensing as he realized how low his voice had become. “What are you doing?”

The slow smile that was growing on her lips was terrifying.

“Say it again, Chief. Love it when you say my name.”

The hands were skittering closer, lurching her body towards him. He could see her cleavage from this view, the silver necklace with the scythe pendant swinging against her collarbones.

“That’s not your name.”

She threw her body forward, gasping in his face, hot breath tickling his chin. She was hanging off the edge of the desk, eyes so wide the red blood vessels were standing out against the whites and her lashes.

“It’s my name to you, Police Chief Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi didn’t believe in religion anyone after the things he’d seen in his lifetime, but for some reason his brain began to pray as she lowered herself into his lap, tongue extended, licking his cheek. He began to pray for this monster and began to pray for himself, because his body was reacting, shivering as his cheek became cold with the residual saliva.

“I want my payment,” she growled, voice grating and animalistic.

“How much?”

“I want the money,” she chuckled darkly. His heart dropped. “And the bonus.”

He could feel the weight of her body, the tools in her parka. He didn’t want to know what they were. He didn’t want to know what she had in all those pockets. Those long fingers danced above his chest, tapping his name tag with a snicker.

Yoongi knew he was toeing the line between justice and anarchy.

“Take it,” he muttered, looking away.

The lump in his throat couldn’t be swallowed. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see her face. He should have put her in handcuffs. But Yoongi knew the law he sworn to uphold was flawed, far too lax for the heinous crimes that some committed. Prison was too good for them. Tax dollars wasted on those lowlife pieces of shit, letting them exist in the name of humanity. The crime scenes flashed in his mind, young bodies perverted and torn apart.

People who did things like that didn’t deserve humanity.

He growled deep in his chest.

Yoongi could feel her fingers undoing the buttons of his uniform. Pushed herself in, spreading it open, yanking his shirt out of his pants. He wore a white t-shirt under it. Her nails danced over his chest through the thin fabric. The sound of metal on metal. Her hand gripped the collar of his t-shirt and yanked it towards her roughly. He gritted his teeth as he heard the fabric rip, cut straight down. That blade was sharp. One wrong move and Yoongi wouldn’t doubt she could drive it into his stomach. Her thighs slid down his as she lowered her head.

He cracked his eyes open.

Unblinking, the Mantis was staring at him. Grinning as her tongue stretched out, licking his sternum, clutching her switchblade with one hand. Legs open, dress slipping up her thighs, exposing her black panties. His chest shivered at the contact, cold saliva hitting his skin.

When she breathed his name, it sounded like toxic fumes.

“Yoongi…”

He ground his teeth. “Put the knife away.”

Small, almost innocent licks down his chest. Still holding the knife up, silver blade glinting in the moonlight.

“Mantis.”

“Yeeeeeees.”

Yoongi wanted to say that he did not like this. Her lustful hiss made his spinal cord shiver in its vertebrate. Yoongi wanted to say that this part was the worst part. The blade closed, tucked back into that giant parka. Yoongi wanted to say he hated this part right here.

But his vision was clouding with desire.

She licked down his torso, sliding down, off his lap, eyes always on him, scarcely blinking. His shredded shirt was pushed to his shoulders as she ran her nails over his chest, harshly scratching him up, and he felt his back arch, pressing into it, fresh pain shooting through his nerves. Needing it. Maybe thinking he deserved it, maybe just liking it for what it was.

Her pupils dilated, making her eyes seem bigger.

Now, a familiar image that Yoongi’s mind conjured every time he tried to get off by himself.

“Looks so good on you, Yoongi.”

She made more, more red marks of her scratches, all over his torso, almost drawing blood. They stood out against his pale skin, even paler now because of how much time he spent inside, shut off from the world. Slowly but surely, he couldn’t take the world anymore. The world and its stupid rules, the world and its stupid morality.

At this point, Yoongi wasn’t sure who was more fucked up, him or his hired mercenary that was undoing his belt, nearly drooling, unzipping his pants and dragging them down, forcing him to raise his hips. His cock popped out, already ready for the hungry mouth. Red, throbbing, and angry.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was her spiderlike fingers gripping his thighs, wicked eyes fixated between his legs, wet lips swallowing the head of his cock.

His head hit the back of his leather chair, shuddering breath rattling his lungs as her tongue wrapped around and around, cheeks hollowing as she sucked him off. Yoongi knew how wrong it was. He knew it was bad, enjoying the way she roughly worked his dick, scraping the head against the roof of her mouth and deep into her throat. So fucking deep.

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t make it a habit.

He swore to himself that he wouldn’t become turned on by this.

But soon it became the only intimacy that he received and then the only intimacy that could bring him to climax.

That’s why Yoongi couldn’t look.

That’s why Yoongi couldn’t watch.

Otherwise, his brain would be trained to remember those eyes, those large unblinking eyes nearly consumed by black with how enlarged her pupils were, nails digging into his thighs, head rocking as she bobbed up and down to get more into her mouth, more and more until his legs were shaking, his nails clawing into his palm, tearing up his own skin.

“Give it to me,” she growled around his cock, spilling saliva onto his balls and his chair.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, snapping his head down. “I fucking would have if you didn’t speak,” he hissed.

Oh no.

She grinned widely around his dick.

He had opened his eyes.

Shoulders pulled back, tits straining against her green sequin dress, dried red blood flecking down onto her thighs. Chaos in those black holes that should have been eyes. She swerved her head, changing the angle, the head of his cock rubbing against her teeth and he gasped at the sensation, choking on air as she rammed his cock into her throat again and again and again. Now he was staring at the ceiling, legs uncontrollably trembling, so close, lost in the euphoria of terror and pleasure, her soft lips clamped around him, from base to the bottom of the head, stimulating the sensitive skin roughly before she swallowed it all once more. The inescapable tightness of her throat shattering him, the low, guttural moan tearing from his chest, staining his ears.

Poisoning his memories, added to the data bank of his next masturbation session when inevitably Yoongi would be waiting for the next serial killer so he could call her again for more.

He burst into her throat with a gasp, having no time to warn her, but it didn’t matter because she swallowed greedily. Against his better judgement, Yoongi’s eyes traveled down, seeing her eyes rolled back into her head, exposing the whites, low groan vibrating his length as she drank him. Her tongue swirled around, pink tip peeking out from her lips and pressed against the veins of his jerking cock. The eyes rolled back, black pools locking with his.

A purely entropic gaze.

Yoongi remembered the moment back then. Back when he was the head of the Violent Crimes Unit, not the police chief. Back when his boots were on the ground, chasing empty leads, hating himself because he had found victim number thirteen and no closer to the end. The moment when the black parka appeared in the darkness, hood up and face covered. He had thought it was a man at first, maybe even the psycho he was looking for. His partner wasn’t with him because they had split up to search the abandoned buildings. He had shouted, stating he was police. The black parka was advancing. He had a bad, bad feeling. Raised his gun to shoot.

“I know where the killer is. He is planning another one as we speak.”

The voice grating and animalistic.

Hand raised, pointing to the building behind him. Yoongi hadn’t turned around.

“How do I know the killer isn’t you?” he barked.

“You don’t.”

He couldn’t see the eyes of the person.

“You can kill me or you can trust the Mantis.”

And now the Mantis was on her knees, taking him deep once again, his cock already hard again because of that tongue suffocating him, her eyes unblinking, boring into him, sin incarnate as Yoongi prayed, prayed he could be forgiven for craving this.

Her.

“Hey, hyung…”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

Jeon Jungkook chewed on his lip, staring at the police chief. The door to his office was closed, locked. It seemed almost silent here. Outside the door, the night shift was settling in the department, the usual crowd ready to take on the evening. No outstanding cases trying to ruin Yoongi’s sleep.

Not yet anyway.

“Um…”

Yoongi turned his head, giving Jungkook’s nervous expression an impassioned look.

“That thing you had me do the other night…”

“Yes? Is something wrong?”

Those brown eyes shook with fear. “Who is doing those things? Are you sure they’re… on our side?”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered downward to his desk. Remembered her body crawling on it, slinking towards him, fingers skittering over the wood.

“They’re not going to hurt you, Jungkook, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Is it… right?”

Yoongi’s sharp stare made Jungkook cower a little. “You know as well as I do that a good lawyer and some faked tests easily gets a criminal out of the punishment they deserve. That’s what being rich does for the justice system.”

Jungkook lowered his head, nodding. Then his eyes lifted, dark brown orbs full of concern.

“But… are you okay, though?”

No.

No, Min Yoongi was not okay.

He smiled.

“Of course, I am.”

Skittering.

Yoongi’s eyes snapped open and the Mantis hovered, limbs splayed out over him, eyes and grin far too wide, elbows and knees at odd angles. He felt the weight on his chest, her hand on his sternum, pressing down unforgivingly. It cut off his breathing, leaving it in tense rasps.

“Get off.”

What was she wearing? He had to blink the sleep from his eyes. She wasn’t listening, tilting her head this way and that, tits strapped to her chest with a black sports bra, his fucking police uniform pants slung low on her hips. Did she drag them out of his hamper?

The Mantis had never visited him at his home before.

Oh fuck. How did she get in here? Why? Why was she here, on his bed?

She raised her free hand, adding more pressure onto his chest, making him grunt as she cracked her fingers, lowering them and tracing his cheek with her nail. Shivers racked his spine at her touch, already breathless as she crushed his lungs.

“Yoongi, I miss you.”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. His body was frozen in fear.

“I don’t have any cases for you,” he choked out.

She would have looked sad with her pout, but her eyes were still too wide, still too unblinking. He couldn’t fucking think because he couldn’t fucking breathe. She leaned down, finally moving her hand to place it by his arm. Yoongi gasped for breath, coughing in her face as she neared, unbothered by his body twitching under her.

“I don’t need cases,” she whispered, venom dripping from every word, licking her teeth. “I need you.”

Don’t look, his brain told him, but it was too late, he was already trapped in the overwhelming chaos.

“Need you in my mouth again.”

And she ripped off the covers, his bare chest underneath, scrambling backwards on all fours, far too fast, disturbingly fast, gripping the sides of his underwear and yanking down, gasp tearing from his throat because he was already hard, fuck, how could he already be hard? He knew the answer. Her eyes locked with his, grating huffs of breath heating his throbbing cock.

“The tastiest I’ve ever had,” she growled.

Yoongi gritted his teeth. “Shut up and put it in your mouth.”

She cackled and swallowed him whole, making his eyes roll back as she rammed it all the way down her throat, snarl in her chest vibrating the head. Her pink tongue swirled around, dripping saliva onto his balls, flicking his stiff length roughly. Yoongi hissed, shutting his eyes, feeling her nails digging into his hips, punishingly tight, up and down, up and down, too much, oh fuck, it was too fucking much, the way the sensitive head scraped against the roof of her mouth, the way her cheeks hollowed, the way she hissed around it.

“You like this, Yoongi? You miss me too?”

“Fuck!”

She fucking talked, cutting off his climb to orgasm. He slammed his fists down to the bed, shoving his hips into her mouth and she wrenched her head back, laughing maniacally, spit flying everywhere. His eyes snapped open and she bit down on his inner thigh, wide eyes fixated on him, chaos, chaos, chaos in those giant, dark, shaking irises.

He clenched his teeth, killing his own scream as pain shot up his thigh and stuck him to the core.

“Answer me,” she snarled around his flesh, revealing the purple marks she was leaving with her lips peeling back.

His cock ached, begging for attention, needing that mouth, the only mouth that could make him orgasm now.

“Yes, fuck,” he rasped. “Yes, I fucking missed you, you crazy bitch, get your mouth on me right now.”

She detached her teeth, grinning far too widely.

“Sure.” Her tongue slid out, drooling all over the purple-red head, making him moan. “Chief.”

Her reply burned him, but not for long, because her punishingly tight mouth was on him again, cramming him into her throat, and his hips were rising of their own accord, fucking that vise with reckless abandon, staring at the ceiling because this was all so very wrong, also very fucked up, but it felt too good, the mouth was too good and too tight and too wet and Yoongi shuddered as he came, sucked dry almost in an instant, her low feral gurgle as she swallowed him, so hungry, never satisfied.

Never fucking satisfied.

Yoongi winced, feeling her licks all around again, stroking him to hardness, teeth rubbing against the length, just a little pressure so the fear rose within him, and then back to the licking, the satisfied grunts and her nails dragging up and down his thighs, leaving marks.

He was getting hard again.

He wanted it.

He hated that he wanted it.

This was supposed to be his safe place, his home.

And Yoongi was glad that she finally, finally decided to invade it, wanting him over his promises of letting her kill once more.

There was something wrong them him, surely.

“Why do you bother waking up?”

“Fuck!”

He dropped the knife. It clattered against the wooden cutting board, specks of red blood spraying over his half-sliced carrots. Yoongi whipped around to a head tilted forty-five degrees, standing at the entrance of his kitchen, wearing a large black t-shirt and nothing else. His black t-shirt. Was it from his fucking hamper?

“You made me cut myself, you bitch,” he hissed, holding his hand, continuously bleeding from his knuckle.

She moved far too fast, too fucking fast, suddenly right next to him, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her face, smearing the blood all over her cheeks. He tried to pull away, but her grip was too strong, her eyes were too wide and she had his knuckles pressed into her soft cheek as if he was punching her.

Yoongi froze.

Crying.

Why was the Mantis crying?

The Mantis could not cry.

The tears mixed with the blood, streams of clear fluid running into bright scarlet. It left tracks of sharp lines, sinking into the scars on her face. She stared at him, not blinking. It was like she didn’t know she was crying. Out of convention, Yoongi’s other hand raised to brush the tears away.

She slapped his hand aside.

He recoiled, narrowing his eyes.

“How the fuck do you get in here?” he hissed.

“You leave the living room window unlocked.”

An icy shadow ghosted down his spine. She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, no malevolence. Her eyes were bloodshot, red vessels overtaking the whites of her eyes. She released his hand. It hung in the air; the shock so vast that his body was completely rigid. Yoongi’s thoughts began to race a mile a minute, remembering all those months ago when he was staring out his living room window.

Waiting.

The black parka.

Appearing.

Him reaching over, unlocking the window.

The Mantis didn’t enter. She left.

The disappointment, crushing him on the inside. The desperate elation when she appeared, invading his home, nearly crushing him with her strength, saying the words he wanted, need you, him praying that it wasn’t him asking for those words, him forgetting it was him earlier that evening, staring at the ceiling and speaking to it like it was the chaos, I miss you, I miss you, come to me, my Mantis, praying she could hear him, praying she knew.

The tenseness in her shoulders, forever on guard, even when her face was botched with tears and blood, dark pink sclera and overblown pupils, backing away from him. Leaving him. Her hands raised, palms flat into her cheeks. Unblinking bloodshot eyes watching him through her fingers. It took Yoongi a moment to realize the low, bubbling laugh was rising from her throat, moist and raspy, a weakening gurgle akin to a fluttering moth trapped in a spider’s web, being spun round and round with sticky silk, the sound dying slowly like how the spider injected their digestive fluid into the exoskeleton to liquify the meal.

It morphed into a wet, choked sob.

Her hands moved, spreading the blood and tears all over, her lips, her nose, her eyelids closing for a split second to cover them too, polluting her face. Eyes opening again, black overtaking the iris.

Watching him.

It was highly unsettling to Yoongi that he was becoming aroused with every passing second.

Her tongue slid out.

It was trapped between the sides of her hands, lips parting and the pink muscle pushing past the flesh, flickering from side to side. With a haunting jolt, Yoongi realized he was hearing words, haggard, gargled, torn noises that barely sounded like words.

“An insect…”

Her nails dug into her cheeks, sinking into the flesh so hard her knuckles were white and lines of pink-red instantly blossomed.

“Developed in the arms of spite.”

Tongue disappearing into the black cavern, spit running down her chin, chaos, only overwhelming chaos in those pupils, seeing something he couldn’t see, something far away and close at the same time, like he wasn’t there.

“They will persist no matter how much they are hated.”

Her hands abruptly dropped, torn up by her own action.

“Why do you wake up?”

It sounded accusatory, but was she even talking to him? She was looking in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused, unsteady, unreal. Yoongi took a step forward and she recoiled, snarling, throwing her head back and forth, splatters of mixed bodily fluid flying all over his kitchen.

“Filth!”

She was shrieking, the most pained scream Yoongi had ever heard in his life, as if she was being murdered from the inside right in front of his eyes, fingers locked like insect legs, jerking erratically in the air as she backed up, hitting the doorframe and not reacting. It was like she forgot where she was. Her voice became small, concentrated rage, throwing her head up to the sky.

“You are the filth!”

Her body completely locked, hair all over her face, pupils shaking, staring at the spot in the ceiling, up into the heavens that could not help those forced to the ground.

He could only gape.

Her lips barely moved.

“You underestimate agony.”

She was accusing the above, fury and despair fused together.

“You created the cruel, so don’t be surprised when they prey on you, the fool.”

Yoongi did not understand the meaning, but he knew, he knew with every fiber of his being that it was not as nonsensical as it appeared.

“M… Mantis…?”

Electrified, she whipped her head to him, jerking away, hitting the back wall of the hall. Eyes bloodshot, terror soaked into every muscle, ashamed at being witnessed. Her chest seemed to flutter, hard nipples standing out prominently under the jersey material. Her hands were curled unnaturally, close to her chest, fingers locked at odd angles. Face soiled and destroyed by things he couldn’t see.

“Mantis?” Yoongi echoed hollowly again, forcing the word out of himself, hand still frozen in the air, outstretching towards his hired mercenary, his sin, his craving. The tendons of her neck stood out, shadowed by dark veins.

Her lip curled and his stomach churned uncomfortably at the vacancy in those bloodshot eyes.

“You failed me.”

She disappeared from his view.

Yoongi knew that if he followed, he was going to die.

She wasn’t speaking to him, not directly. For some reason, Yoongi knew that. He could tell. The tone she used with him, on him, teeth snapping against his flesh, it was different than the tone she just used.

You failed me.

It wasn’t about him.

It was about who he was.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Me?”

Jeon Jungkook pointed to himself as Yoongi handed him a sketchpad.

“You had practice as a police sketch artist, yes?”

“Y-Yeah, but it was only for a short while,” Jungkook replied, seeing the heavy band aid on Yoongi’s left hand. “Did something happen to you? I can get a better artist to–”

“No, Jungkook, it must be you,” Yoongi said dismissively, locking the door of his office.

Jungkook clutched the sketchpad, eyes wide. “A-Am I in trouble, hyung?”

“No.”

Instead of sitting in his chair behind the desk, Yoongi dragged the other chair he used for guests and placed it in front of Jungkook, sitting down in it. He could not get the images out of his head. You failed me. He could not stop thinking about it. It was ruining him. She was not coming, no matter how many times he called. Yoongi lifted his head, hiding his shaking nerves with the hardness in his eyes. Jungkook looked back at him, terrified.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

Yoongi didn’t answer right away.

He waited, one, two, three, four full seconds. Then he reached over his desk and pulled the tray of pencils to Jungkook. The young man was an insanely talented artist, an even better investigator.

“I am going to describe a person to you and I want you to draw them.”

Jungkook lowered the pad of paper.

“Is it… them?”

Yoongi did not answer right away.

He did not.

One. Two. Three.

Four.

Four full seconds.

He looked Jungkook straight in the eye.

“I am going to describe a person. You are going to draw them.”

Jungkook nodded quickly, reaching over to grab a pencil.

This was a very big risk, so Yoongi had to do everything the old-fashioned way. By hand, without computers, searching through microforms in his spare time. He only had one helper, the same helper he had had all this time, Jeon Jungkook, putting him on this case that wasn’t even a case. It was only a hunch, but he put Jungkook on it anyway.

Alone.

After Jungkook sketched the image, Yoongi told him to look at it. Study it. Remember the face. Jungkook promised. Then Yoongi burned the paper, turning it to ash. The officer had bitten his lip.

“That’s them?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook said the thing Yoongi had thought all this time.

“She’s beautiful.”

He told Jungkook to look for anything. Anything that could find a name, a relative, a school picture, fucking anything that would help uncover an identity. Yoongi relieved him of all his other duties and sent him hunting.

“Hyung… did she hurt someone she wasn’t supposed to?” Jungkook asked, a tinge of protectiveness in his voice. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, Jungkook.”

Yoongi swept the dark ash into his trashcan before looking up at the young man.

“I think someone hurt her a long, long time ago and I want to know why.”

Jungkook had been told to run, not walk, to the location. He had been in the middle of flicking through old microfilms at the public library before Yoongi had texted him on his other phone, the one used for things like this, dark locations of bodies torn apart that needed to be cleaned up professionally.

He could barely stomach the stench sometimes.

The only reason he kept doing it was because the police chief trusted him. Yoongi made sure Jungkook got paid a large bonus too, but Jungkook would have done it regardless of the money. He knew who these people were – proud, disgusting creatures that flaunted their affluence and social status, abusing it to feed their perverse desires, knowing they were immune to the law with a good attorney and their enormous wealth.

Jungkook saw the pictures.

Some of them made him throw up.

Immune to the law? Maybe.

Immune to death? No.

He did not know who the person behind it all was until Yoongi described them to him, in striking detail, every line and curve of her face. Correcting his lines, shaking his head when Jungkook drew the eye shape.

“No. Upwards here. Wider. Emptier.”

Jungkook had stared at those eyes, wondering if he had ever seen such chaotic eyes in his life.

“Ticks this way.”

“That doesn’t seem natural.”

Yoongi had paused.

“She is not natural, Jungkook.”

He wore a mask, lugging his backpack and case of tools with him. It reeked in here, several floors under an old warehouse, mutilated and ransacked by looters. It was close to the sewers and it smelled like it too, the stench so strong that Jungkook had to switch to a mask with a heavy filter. The plastic dug into his skin. On the lowest floor, there was a door at the end of the hall.

A dim light.

The flashlight on Jungkook’s case of tools was on, leading his way. His right hand was free.

He froze, seeing the dim light and the cracked open door.

He drew his weapon.

Besides the tiny, flickering light at the end of the hall and his flashlight, there was no other illumination down here. It made Jungkook uneasy. He turned off his flashlight as quietly as he could. He wasn’t scared of the dark.

He was scared of the light, because the light meant someone else was down here.

Jungkook did not want to fire his gun, but he would if he had to.

Slowly.

Carefully, making almost no sound even with the amount of equipment he was holding.

He was at the door. There was a different smell here. Ammonia. He narrowed his eyes, peering through his goggles. They provided night vision, but he turned that feature off for the moment. The visible crack of the door only showed the giant hole in the wall, and the roaring river of sewage. The wall looked mangled, some recent, some from a time long ago. Cinderblocks crumbling and cracked. Some parts dark and stained. He could see this because of the flickering light.

Jungkook’s stomach churned uncomfortably.

He listened, ears straining. Silence.

One nudge of the door and it screeched, old hinges barely holding on. In an instant, Jungkook’s gun was up and aimed, searching for a head.

There was nothing.

Only ammonia-saturated bloodstains and a lone candle in the center of the room, lighting everything.

Jungkook stared at the low stump of wax. It had been burning for a long, long time. Where was the body? He looked to the open wall, to the roaring sewage. Stains. Some fresh.

It smelled so fucking bad.

The flame extinguished and then there was nothing but darkness surrounding him.

Jungkook told Yoongi what happened after they left the hospital and went to a quiet place.

Both of them agreed it wasn’t right.

But the police chief assured him that she must have done it on her own. Neither of them knew exactly why, but Jungkook saw the disturbance in Yoongi’s eyes. He gulped before asking.

“Did she… come for payment yet?”

Yoongi didn’t respond to him for a full four seconds. Then he said, “No.” The older man sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I would be careful, Jungkook. Maybe don’t go home today. Stay at mine.”

“Do… you think…?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook, but let’s not take the chance.”

Both Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook entered Yoongi’s home and searched the whole thing, top to bottom. They made a grave mistake.

They split up.

Yoongi opened the door to his bedroom to find a candle at the base of his bed, sitting on one of his dinner plates. The white wax dripped down the length of the candle, as if it only been burning for a short while. His eyes widened and his vision went black.

“Hyung?”

Jungkook heard a heavy sound and dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Rounded the corner and a hand grabbed him by the throat, using the momentum of his existing movement and the element of surprise to slam him into the wall, sliding him down with impossible strength. Jungkook choked, trying to spin his body farther in attempt to break free, but he couldn’t. He blinked his watering eyes, squinting to take in every detail. Black parka, long legs, bare, black boots. He swung his fist at the hood, twisting his knee to kick off the wall.

The hood swung back, too fast for him and the blood cut off from his head, the iron grip on his neck deteriorating his strength. He howled as a sharp pain stabbed at his other knee, a black boot striking the side of his kneecap and nearly dislocating it with the precise force, causing him to crumple.

The hood slipped off, revealing the face and hair of his assailant. The hand released him.

He couldn’t fight back anyway.

Jungkook stared up into wide, unblinking eyes full of entropy, shock freezing him.

He hit the floor, pain radiating from his shoulder to his knee, blood rushing to his head far too suddenly, barely registering Yoongi’s fallen unconscious body. From this angle, Jungkook could see into Yoongi’s bedroom, see the dinner plate on the floor and the burning white candle.

In an instant, the black parka swooped down on him, snatching his handcuffs and throwing his weapon aside, causing it to scatter in the direction of Yoongi’s unmoving body. She took the gun out of his holster so fast that Jungkook could tell she knew exactly where it was and how to remove it.

A practiced action.

“It’s you...” Jungkook wheezed.

She straddled his body, but his wrists were already together, presenting themselves to her.

“You’re the one that does all the dirty work,” the rough voice rasped back.

She slapped the handcuffs on his wrists and he sucked in a tight breath, staring into the chaos. She looked back and Jungkook wasn’t sure if she was actually looking at him or through him. That was the only way he could describe it, as if she wasn’t actually seeing him even though she was definitely looking at his face.

Yoongi had described her in perfect, striking detail.

“You are the… M-Mantis.”

Her black pupils seemed to refocus. She didn’t blink.

Her voice was like dead leaves being crushed by inconsiderate passerby.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

Fear.

Jungkook wasn’t afraid of the dark. He was afraid of the light, because the light revealed everything.

She adjusted her weight, putting it right below his ribcage, on the fleshy part where his organs were. He winced, flexing his muscle to redistribute the weight. He could see her bare thighs, feel a thin strip of cloth under the parka, pressing into his uniform. She planted her hands on the sides of his head, fingers locked and splayed out like insect legs.

She brought her face close to his, hot breath on his skin.

Fear.

Jungkook began to pray.

There was something not right in those eyes. It freaked him out. He wasn’t exactly religious, didn’t think he could be forgiven after all the things he had done, falsifying and destroying evidence, but for some reason Jungkook felt the need to pray, staring into those hardly-blinking eyes and hearing that grating voice that said his name.

“Did he tell you my name?”

He swallowed. “Y… Yeah.”

Those chaotic eyes pierced through him and Jungkook prayed harder.

“You make the bodies disappear.”

He nodded very fast.

She shook her head, slow, measured. “I did not like doing it.”

Jungkook was really not sure if she was talking to him or not.

She brought her face closer, closer, forehead touching his, spine unnaturally bent back to do so, as if it was pulled on a string. He stopped breathing. Sheer terror coursed through his veins. Jungkook had a strange, euphoric feeling that he was about to die.

No.

Not die.

Like a part of him was about to die and he was ready to accept it.

“Noises.”

Her gravelly whisper against his lips like toxic fumes, poisoning him.

“People make noises when they’re sick.”

Jungkook inhaled.

She jerked down, skittering, skittering, so fast. Jungkook gasped, hearing the button of his uniform pop off with the force of her grip, zipper sliding down, and as if by instinct, he lifted his hips, his clothes being pulled and torn off, his cock popping out.

With shame and horror, Jungkook realized he was hard.

He shut his eyes. He couldn’t look.

“Oh, f-fuck!”

Suffocating, hot, wet, swallowing him whole, so deep Jungkook didn’t think it was possible. He heard the sound of air being pushed out, cheeks hollowed, and then he yelped as the suction began, a rough and violent pace that hurt, tearing whines and cries from his throat, the sensitive head of his cock roughly scraped against the roof of her mouth.

To his surprise, the pace slowed.

His chest rattled, heartbeat slamming in his ribcage. Up and down. It was too little.

“M-More…”

To his surprise, more.

No.

Jungkook needed more.

“H… Hurt me… L-Like how you started… p-please…”

He didn’t know why. He just knew that was what he wanted. Whether it was guilt for breaking the laws he swore to uphold or because he liked it, he didn’t know.

“W… Wanna cum like t-that…”

Maybe it was both.

She rammed his cock into her throat and Jungkook nearly screamed, sucked into the brutal pace and the tight hole, crotch soaked with spit, over and over, so constricting it hurt, but it was so good for some reason, too much but so good, his eyes watering, and he was so scared that she would stop that he kept sobbing.

“Please keep going, please keep g-going, shit, God, don’t stop, p-please…”

And his hips were going up, eyes opening to look down and see hers rolled back into her head, the whites cracked with red blood vessels, guttural growls vibrating his cock as she viciously bobbed her head up and down, spiderlike fingers spread out and nails digging into his thighs, pain shooting up his core, and then those blown-out pupils slid back and locked on him, image unreal, his purple-red cock disappearing over and over into a black hole, heart seizing in dread.

He came.

Splattering down her tight throat, breath torn from his. Jungkook choked on nothing, all thoughts killed but somehow not dead, drinking in every detail of her carnally gulping him down, clawing at his hips and thighs, pain and pleasure, and now he knew.

He would remember this.

He would crave it.

Jungkook would reimagine it in great detail and know there was something wrong with him, trying not to accept it, but deep down he knew that part of him had died, and now there was a hunger that would never be satisfied.

Her tongue worked him, head turning on his dick, not blinking. He shuddered as her teeth brushed against the sensitive skin, fear prickling, and then she switched back to licking, teetering him on the edge. He was getting hard again.

Something about this was very wrong.

Jungkook wished he didn’t like this.

He put his head back on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

If he didn’t like this, then he was normal.

But he wasn’t.

And that scared him.

Jungkook sensed movement out of his peripheral vision and he turned his head. The faint sliver of dark brown orbs, watching. Their eyes locked. Two insatiates controlled by chaos unknown.

Yoongi looked apologetic.

Jungkook felt his cock twitch and he sucked in a pained breath, locking his jaw.

“Sleep.”

“W… Wait...”

He was shaking.

His whole body was covered with scratches and bites. He had been forced to orgasm so many times in such quick succession that his cock physically hurt by being exposed to the air. He was on his side and she was over him, fist centimeters away from the back of his head.

The exact spot she would need to hit to knock him out.

Jungkook did not think she would listen, but she did.

“Are you… going to kill him?” he croaked out, throat overused from his noises. “Please… don’t.”

He could hear her breathing, heavy, grating.

It sounded like a knife being dragged on wet cement.

She got off him, standing up. Unlike Jungkook, she was fully clothed.

Everything hurt.

“Please…”

Heavy, thudding footsteps. She reached down and gripped the back of Yoongi’s police shirt, dragging it up, up, his superior coughing and choking, gritting his teeth. She pulled him up and flicked her wrist, digging her fingers into the collar of the shirt, yanking him close to her face.

“He suffers because of you.”

Yoongi was breathing hard, throat straining against the strong grip. He corrected one of his feet and she kicked his knee, making him wince and clench his teeth to avoid screaming.

“He knows what path he’s walking,” Yoongi hissed. “I told him a long time ago to keep his distance, but he’s stubborn.”

She tilted her head nearly ninety degrees. A sharp crack struck the air, her neck popping.

“You also know what you are doing and you have done it anyway.”

She dropped him.

He crumpled to the floor, body singing with pain, but he refused to give into it, snapping his head up and grinding his teeth, breath in tight wheezes, hand on his sternum, trying to rub out the pain. She looked down at him, unblinking. Tilted her head at a forty-five-degree angle the opposite way.

He felt consumed by the chaos in those eyes.

Devoured.

"I… don't want you freaking out on me again," Yoongi rasped out, making no attempt to stand. "You freak out on a job and I'm screwed, along with the entirety of the police force and yourself."

For a moment, he sensed a violent, all-encompassing fury in her gaze, so great Yoongi involuntarily retreated into his bedroom, crawling backwards, followed by vicious eyes that then became stricken with torment, so fast he didn't have time to make a sound.

Her arm swung out, lightning fast, a black scream.

Jungkook was shouting on the floor, dragging himself across it.

"No!"

Thud!

Yoongi stopped breathing.

Scriiiiiiitch.

Her hand was on the bedroom door, punching into the heavy wood, dragging her nails across it, harrowingly cutting through the airless silence.

Her pupils were so dilated that the black seemed to invade not only the irises, but the whites of her eyes, any visible sclera cracked with scarlet bloodshot vessels.

Her hand stopped moving.

Fingers splayed out and bent like insect legs. Like a predatory beast, she towered over him, pure muscle and power, immobile, perhaps the image prey witnessed seconds before being torn apart. She removed her hand from the door.

The paint was torn up.

Whatever pain Yoongi has previously felt was morphing into other primal emotions, fear, desire, veins on fire, burning.

She pointed to him, right between the eyes.

"You are lying."

A vicious, feral snarl.

He was.

Yoongi was lying.

He knew he was.

If he didn't not tell the truth now, that unblinking gaze promised suffering.

"What..."

He was forcing the words out, remembering the apparent break from reality in his kitchen, remembering her reaction to his cut, remembering red streaks smeared on her face and the streaming tears, his bloody knuckles pressed to her cheek.

"Happened..."

His voice felt like it was clawing up his throat as he stared into cold entropy, fear festering at his scalp and sinful fire ravaging his insides.

Yoongi looked down.

"To..."

His eyes flickered back up.

"You?"

Her head tilted forty-five degrees.

He almost heard it, that guttural animal noise that was her voice growling his name.

Yoongi.

It was only in his head though and Yoongi was beginning to think he could no longer trust his head.

She moved. His eyes snapped to her rising wrist, following it immediately. A single finger raised, pointing straight upwards. She extended her arm, up, up, up, so far up that the side of her parka raised.

Pointing.

She was pointing to the sky.

"The filth."

She whispered it very softly, almost a terrified whimper of a child.

It turned his blood ice-cold.

Her arm lowered slowly. Slowly. Her palm turned inward towards her chest. She placed it flush in between her breasts. Pressed down, so hard and so intensely that the fabric bled out last her splayed fingers. He noted the placement of her hand.

Fingers pointing downwards.

"The beauty," she hissed out.

No.

His mouth went dry.

Yoongi looked down to the ground, past her legs, to Jungkook leaning against the doorframe, pants up but not buttoned, staring back at him with the same horrified expression.

Yoongi paused.

He read the poorly scribbled notes once.

Twice.

These kinds of medical records were still kept on paper due to their age. Hospitals these days were working on digitizing everything, but some things couldn't be recorded digitally due to lack of information. Some people could not be verified due to lack of identification.

Some people such as a little girl with no name.

He read the sparse medical record a third time.

"Jungkook."

The officer hurried over, taking the outstretched piece of paper.

Yoongi did not know.

But he knew.

Jungkook looked like he was going to vomit.

"Oh... God..."

The large brown eyes looked up at him, stricken with disgust.

"You don't think..."

Yoongi didn't say anything.

He didn't need to, because Jungkook was thinking the same thing.

"Let's get out of here."

The Mantis looked down at him now. Her hand dropped.

"Are you angry at me?" Yoongi breathed out.

She didn't speak.

She turned around and stepped over Jungkook, avoiding touching him. Step by step. Slow, meticulous, deliberate and Yoongi was getting up, panic and voice rising, shouting at her back.

"Your payment!"

She paused at the top of the stairs.

"Take it."

His pulse screamed in his ears and his nerves stung with blinding pain that wasn't inflicted physically.

"Take it all. And your bonus," he rasped out.

Praying.

Yoongi was not a religious man, not anymore, not after all the things he had witnessed, cruelty inflicted by man to another for senseless, empty reasons, because the real reason was always selfishness, human selfishness, someone who always thought they superior, superhuman, disillusioned by the belief that one could be unbound by the chains of crime and punishment.

And sometimes, they made monsters.

She wasn’t looking at him.

No, not monsters.

Please, my Mantis.

"I don't want it," she spat coldly.

He had to take a leave of absence.

Him, the police chief Min Yoongi, took a leave of absence for personal well-being, because he knew the meaning of the filth in the beauty and because his Mantis was not returning to him.

He couldn’t think about it and yet he couldn’t think about anything else.

The medical record came back to haunt him, notes scribbled with a shaking hand. Yoongi didn’t believe it was written like that because of a careless doctor. He truly believed it was written in such terrible handwriting due to the nature of the injuries detailed. It didn’t say who inflicted the injuries, except the assailant had carved it into the skin of the young girl.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about that part. It made him want to vomit.

The doctors had attempted to reconstruct what was left.

Fuck.

“Fuck!”

Yoongi threw his glass and it shattered against the wall, alcohol and crystal blossoming over the paint, soaking his hardwood floor, splattering an arcing pattern upwards.

He screamed.

He screamed again and again until he was hoarse, screaming for someone he didn’t know, screaming for a child that he couldn’t and wouldn’t have the ability to save because that was a long time ago and he too was only a child, but he knew if he checked the past records there would be no significant reports because he was sure the police showed up multiple times, always deeming it was nothing, always dismissing the complaint, staring into the eyes of a tortured soul that was slowly deteriorating into an instinctual insect mind, not seeing it for what it was, and the words replayed over and over in his head you failed me, you failed me, you failed me, and it was not about him, he knew it was not about him, but those words were about who he was and what he did, and he didn’t know if he could do it anymore, he didn’t, he couldn’t, and why did it even matter if she was never coming back?

Yoongi crumpled to the floor, suddenly weak and lightheaded, shuddering.

He was not a weak man.

He had just had enough.

“Hah… hah…”

Maybe staring into the eyes of selfish desecraters did that to someone.

Yoongi felt like he wanted to rip his skin off.

He shouldn’t have gone looking. It was better not knowing. He closed his eyes, laying his head on the hard floor. The worst part was that he involved his subordinate in it, forcing him to take personal leave too.

No.

That wasn’t the worst part.

Fuck.

“You became what you hate the most, you selfish fuck,” he growled to the alcohol dripping off the wall, his voice clawing up his own throat.

“You’re a coward, Police Chief Min Yoongi.”

He whipped his head around and immediately blacked out.

Pain.

He opened his eyes.

His head hurt.

This was not his house.

Jeon Jungkook started and found his own gun between his eyes. He heard the district click and sound of a finger on the trigger. A groan beside him. He shifted his eyes and he found the police chief next to him, groggy and disoriented, the chief’s handgun in the other hand, pointed right at his boss’s face. They were both fully dressed. Unbound, laying on what he assumed to be Yoongi’s bed.

He looked up.

The Mantis looked back at him, face completely blank.

“M… Ma–”

The muzzle of the gun pressed into his forehead. His eyes widened, words dying in his throat. Even without the guns, Jungkook doubted he and the chief could overpower the Mantis.

“Shh.”

He also doubted that he had the desire to do that.

“You need to go back to your jobs,” the grating, animalistic voice snarled.

“No.”

Hoarse, raspy, broken.

Jungkook felt his heart lurch as Yoongi spoke.

He sounded like he was dead inside already.

“Just fucking kill me if you want to do it so bad.”

Click.

“D-Don’t, please…” Jungkook pleaded softly, limbs frozen on the bed, too afraid to move. “Please don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Was this how they died?

Was this how every one of them died, paralyzed by an unblinking gaze?

But instead of Jungkook’s life flashing before his eyes, he struggled to focus on the form kneeling on top of them, fury and wrath and pain bound forever to that soul, wearing that large black parka fitted over the majority of her body, jaw clenched, fixating on that sinful mouth he remembered choking and sucking the life out of him, fear and desire and struggling to breathe.

She threw Yoongi’s gun aside.

It clattered to the floor the same time her hand closed around Yoongi’s neck and began to choke him.

Jungkook opened his mouth and then there was another violent clatter and then no air, absolutely none, airway blocked and crushed by strong, curled fingers with an inhuman grip, gurgling gasp and clawing at the iron-like hold, panic rising, seeing black so fast he almost didn’t hear her.

“I only kill filth.”

He couldn’t think, could barely hear Yoongi beside him thrashing and fighting to stay alive.

“I have never killed humans.”

She threw them into the pillows, releasing them and he coughed, sputtering, every rattling breath painful and throat burning, hands around his neck, feeling blood, feeling bruises, feeling damaged, but it was nothing, nothing compared to that medical record that haunted him every night since reading it, forcing himself to raise his head.

She had moved to the end of the bed.

For a split second, he swore she seemed almost like a young girl, rubbing her fists into her thighs, voice shaky and small, eyes wide and terrified, shoulders tucked back, her entire frame trembling.

“You have to go back.”

It was like she was a whole different person.

“You guys have to catch the bad guys so Mantis can cut their heads off.”

She jerked her head to the side and Jungkook looked the other way, remembering Yoongi beside him, his hands finding the chief’s shoulders, asking with a strained wheeze, are you okay, and Yoongi nodding, pointing back to the bottom of the bed. Jungkook looked back to the Mantis.

Her head tilted at a forty-five-degree angle.

Cold.

Cold, cold chaos reflecting in those eyes.

“Get back to work,” she snarled.

Not the same voice seconds before.

Not the same voice at all.

Fist on her thigh, rubbing hard.

“What do you want?” Yoongi panted, breathing erratic and wounded. “To kill again?”

A slow, slow grin.

Something was different.

Or was it the same?

“I want the same thing you want, Chief,” she hissed, unblinking, tongue slithering out and tracing her lips, freakishly snakelike. Predatory. A piercing shiver shot up Jungkook’s back. Her fingers splayed out, bent like insect legs, shoulders locked, gradually lowering herself to the bed, not blinking, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t be feeling anything but fear, he should run and go home and pray, pray for what he wasn’t sure, but he found himself letting go of his superior and waiting, waiting, waiting for that raptorial grip to close in on him and he knew Yoongi was waiting too.

Shallow breathing.

Thundering pulse.

She was in his face now, licking his cheek, wet and cold.

He had been wanting for a long, long, time, ever since that one faithful night returning to the office to gather his phone he had forgotten, hearing a ripping noise from the chief’s office, crawling towards the sound, peering at a crack at the bottom of the blinds that covered the thick glass, his eyes widening, watching.

Then earning the police chief’s trust. Becoming his trusted confidant.

Every step to get here.

Here, to these unblinking eyes.

A grating, animalistic rasp.

“Stop.”

She stared into his eyes, pupils dilating and overtaking her irises.

“Pretending.”

Jungkook smiled.

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #jungkook smut #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

151 notes · View notes

bluemueana · 3 years

Text

𝕀 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Gender neutral reader

Genre: Fluff, song oneshot

Warnings: slight mention of alcohol consumption

Note: Although the moodboard implies a male-female relationship no pronouns are used in the actual story.

I recommend listening to ‘I like me better’ by Lauv while reading !

Word count: 0.9 k

To be young and in love in New York City (in New York City)

To not know who I am but still know that I'm good long as you're here with me

New York was a magnificent city. A paradise where you fell in love.

Fell in love with the most wondrous man, Jeon Jungkook.

You were facing responsibilities, pain and devastation from adulthood. But with Jungkook at your side, everything seemed easier to accomplish. He would make sure to be with you while you went through understanding about self-love. He would be the one to love you throughout your ups and downs and to make your day better.

To be drunk and in love in New York City (in New York City)

Midnight into morning coffee

Burning through the hours talking

You could be running from the police with him and you’d still laugh, knowing that he’s with you. The way he’d hold your hand and tell you that he loved you would make you forget all about your problems. His soothing voice would say anything and you’d feel free from all the burdens. Conversations with him were never-ending. Midnights would turn to mornings with extra caffeine with him. And such moments would make you realize just how you loved him.

Damn, I like me better when I'm with you

I like me better when I'm with you

I knew from the first time, I'd stay for a long time 'cause

I like me better when

I like me better when I'm with you

Such moments would make you think back to the first time you met him. Back to when you first saw those bright and captivating eyes. The eyes which make you fall in love again and again.

You were slowly drowning all the drowsy emotions you had felt from that day with some beer and that was when you saw him.

He was leaning against the wall opposite to the bar with a glass in his hand.

He looked lost in thought and seemed too tired to even raise his uninterested gaze.

But when he did look up, his eyes met yours. And he didn’t move them away. The both of you stood there, completely lost in each other. It seemed like forever had passed when he had walked over. Once he reached you, he hesitated to say anything. You helped him with starting.

“I’m Y/N”

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

I don't know what it is but I got that feeling (got that feeling)

Waking up in this bed next to you swear the room

Yeah, it got no ceiling

If we lay, let the day just pass us by

I might get to too much talking

I might have to tell you something

You both were good with words. Words which would make the other blush the whole day.

But when it came to expressing feelings for each other, nothing would come out. How do you explain you love someone wanting to use words more special than ‘I love you’ ?

No, a simple ‘I love you’ couldn’t portray the emotions you felt for him.

Thankfully, words weren’t needed for this. You both could just stare into each others’ eyes when you’d wake together and it would be enough for you two to want to look at each other the whole day.

Besides, words sometimes would be too much. You might end up talking the whole day about the way butterflies would form whenever he looked at you even when it’s been 5 years together.

Damn, I like me better when I'm with you

I like me better when I'm with you

I knew from the first time, I'd stay for a long time 'cause

I like me better when

I like me better when I'm with you

Stay awhile, stay awhile

Stay here with me

Stay awhile, stay awhile, oh

Stay awhile, stay awhile

Stay here with me

Lay here with me, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy, oh

You were each others’ first everything. Be it your first kiss, your first relationship or your first time.

And it being him would make you feel like the happiest person on Earth.

He was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

You both hoped for the same thing, for this bliss to last forever.

I like me better when I'm with you (yes, I do, yes, I do, babe)

I like me better when I'm with you (ooh, no)

I knew from the first time, I'd stay for a long time 'cause

I like me better when

I like me better when I'm with you

Better when, I like me better when I'm with you

There were times when you’d feel insecure about the relationship for numerous reasons.

But he’d reassure you.

His smile would make you smile back, forgetting about your troubles.

His comforting embrace would make you want to stay in his presence forever.

The way he’d whisper sweet ‘I love you’s and would play with your hair when you hugged him would make you hug him tighter.

The way he wouldn’t get angry at you when you’d shout at him while having a panic attack, and would continue to calm you down made you sure he was the one.

The way he’d stay with you no matter how troubled and messy your life was, the way he’d care for you all the time makes you tear up.

How can someone love anyone this much ?

How did you get so lucky to have Jungkook with you ?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I’ve realized that I haven’t matched the lyrics that well to the story.

But I like it, writing it made me all giddy inside.

Let me know what you think !

-kenna

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20 notes · View notes

helenazbmrskai · 3 years

Text

Young Flame TEASER

🚒 young flame TEASER + moodboard

🚒 words 581

🚒 Pairing (firefighter jimin x fire investigator y/n ft. best friend/colleague jungkook)

🚒 Genre (firefighter au, crime and mystery au, romance au, smut, fluff, angst)

🚒 Summary (After twenty years of silence the ’flamethrower’ took four young victims lives yesterday when a penthouse in Gangnam burst into flames. The police still haven’t stated whether the fire was accidental or incendiary.

(or)

When a serial killer is on the loose romance should be the last thing what’s on Y/N’s priority list, however, it’s hard not to be swayed by the evidence as Park Jimin a young firefighter started to set her heart on fire instead of putting out the flames. The man seems to appear everywhere Y/N traces back the clues until there are only two options in front of her. Shall she believe her heart or her brain?)

🚒 note: I don’t know when I can post the full story but until then enjoy this sneak peek! If anyone else would like to be tagged I’ll happily add them!

tag list @preciouschimine , @generousrunawaylove, @nikkiordonez12, @ryunies, @sweet-anime-loli, @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d

Read it under the cut!

”Can I help you with something ma’am?” Your high ponytail flicked from your shoulders as you turned around your axis, you were still waiting for your partner, Jungkook to arrive so you sipped your cheap coffee that you got from a shop near the airport in front of the fire department not bothering to enter and arrive early without your colleague slash best friend. You two have time to settle down even if he runs a bit late.

Coming back to Korea was refreshing and somehow nostalgic, it’s almost a shame that you can’t take some time off before you have to shake yourself back to work, feeling the exhaustion from the long flight and still suffering from jet lag you dumbly tilt your head to the side in question, blaming your tired mind when you froze because of this stranger’s ridiculous handsomeness. His body looks firm under the uniform that you instantly recognise as one of the fire stations current workwear, honestly with that gifted look you expected him to be a model and not a firefighter.

You were about to open your mouth to talk - and inform him about your profession - as the young firefighter arched up a quizzical brow due to your stubborn silence when Jungkook decided to play his childish games and push you hard as if it’s a normal form of greeting smashing you head against the stranger’s covered chest that he failed to see before he decided to operate his sly scheme.

”Y/N!” Jungkook can’t contain his excitement seeing you after so long since you left to America to do that ’Advanced Fire and Arson Training Complex’ course that helped you gain more experience and knowledge, you were gone for two years but it seemed like to him that you left ages ago. He’s thrilled to work with you again, that boy he got assigned to after you left reminded him how much you were a blessing to work with.

”You little shit I see you haven’t changed while I was away, you really are a big baby Kookie.” Rolling your eyes in a good-natured way without any hint of malice even if he made you look like an idiot in front of a handsome firefighter. Thanks to his quick reflexes you were not able to throw him off balance and he stabilized the both of you before you could get close to kiss the ground.

”Usually women take me out on a date before we get entangled with each other like this.” The airy chuckle is music to your ears that left his plush lips. You can count his lashes from the proximity and his playful comment makes you blush hard and quick. Lost for words after you regain your own footing you watch him like a fish out of water, but someone above must have pity on you as the alarms go off making the firefighter spring into action.

”Well I guess it’s my cue to leave little lady. Let’s talk about that dinner some other time, huh?” You were not even able to utter a single word to him the only time he heard you talk when you called Jungkook a little shit, making a huge idiot out of yourself and this handsome man asks you out to dinner? What on earth is going on?

”Wow. Smooth. I like him.” Jungkook has the audacity to laugh at your dumbfounded expression acting like all of this is not his fault entirely.

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hisunshiine · 3 years

Text

Money Heist | knj | Part 3

moodboard 1 | moodboard 2 | playlist | Netflix ReImagined BTS Masterlist

↳ #NetflixReImaginedBTS: Kim Namjoon x Reader starring in a bank robbery au

↳ M-18+, implied sexual content, major character deaths, bank robbery actions (violence, use of weapons, deciet)

I had never seen anything as mesmerizing as the sun rising beyond the horizon, the contrast of the blue ocean as the warm-toned colors of the sun and skies reflected on it and bounced along with the gentle waves. I took a sip of the mango juice I had poured into a glass as I stared out of the captivating scenery.

Hawaii was a beautiful state.

When Ilsan suggested it should be our next destination after we had arrived back at the beach house, I did not like it but as he adamantly explained, none of us had been identified by the authorities.

It was the perfect time to flee South Korea. We could go undetected and did not have to hide out at Jindo until the heat settled. Ilsan suggested that we could go immediately. Sadly, despite how much of your life you plan for, reality would never reflect your wishes. Sometimes shit happened that was out of your control.

I learned that the hard way. We lost Daegu and Gwacheon while fleeing the bank. Busan and GC were arrested and the authorities knew the identities of Seoul and Gwangju.

The devastation was not the right word to use to express the anger I felt when the police plastered the images of some of us on national television. Unfortunately, Busan and GC were very popular among the locals in Jindo and often went out. People recognized them and it was by the grace of God that Ilsan woke up and heard the commotion of the police busting in and led me out of the beach house.

Guilt was not the right word either. What I felt was far more crippling and disheartening. I left my boys. I did not know where they were or what they were doing to them. I kept wishing that they were alright somehow, that they were still breathing somewhere. However, Ilsan was far less optimistic. He stated on our way out of the country the Korean government would most likely execute them, reminding me that we held the President of the country hostage, tied him up, and stripped him of all of his rights and pride.

Moreover, the stinging pain of actually losing people who I had spent every waking moment hurt me in ways I ever thought possible. As soon as we landed in Hawaii, I sank into a state I could not recognize.

Thankfully, Ilsan took care of me.

As sadistic and ruthless as he was before and during the heist, I saw him in a different light after we had arrived here. He made sure I had the space to process everything that happened when phase four was activated. I failed to protect Daegu and we lost him. I was supposed to have his back and I could not even do that.

GC could not look at me. Everything was ruined from then.

I understood his anger and sympathized when he demanded Ilsan throw me to the police. I understood. He could never forgive me. I felt his pain, the betrayal he felt despite it all being a moment where I did not react accordingly. He hated me and I understood, so I took every hurtful word, every shove and slur tossed my way.

Ilsan would not stand for it.

Regardless of how infuriated GC was, Ilsan forced him to push his feelings aside so the rest of us could make it out alive. I was not allowed to leave Ilsan’s side. He whispered in my ear, as we waited our turn to escape through the backup exit Gwacheon had created, that he was not feeling secure around GC and that I should not either. He said he had seen teams go against each other during a heist and he did not appreciate how GC glared at me.

I never left Ilsan’s side. Even after we came back to Jindo and met up with the Professor. I was not allowed to leave his side. He could not rest properly until we had cut ties and went our separate ways. Ilsan was adamant about getting out of South Korea as fast as we could.

All trust for GC had disappeared and understandably so, but Ilsan could not risk GC opening his mouth and giving the authorities any sort of information about him or me. So, I kept my distance and GC repaid the favor.

I wish I could see him one more time. I did not know where he or Busan was but I was certain they were in the police’s custody.

I clutched my glass as my forehead gently touched the cold surface of the door window looking out to the white beach. Forgiveness was all I wanted from GC and from Busan. I hoped someone was caring for his shoulder. Busan had become weak during the heist and I feared for his recovery. The Professor sent a doctor over to the beach house and he fixed him back up but I was sure that the police did not prioritize his health as much as we did.

My heart ached.

Unfortunately, due to the Professor’s involvement, Interpol was informed and a lot of people suddenly wanted to help South Korea capture everyone who was part of the heist. We had to be careful. It was only a matter of time until our identities would have been revealed too.

Too many thoughts occupied my mind, I did not register that Ilsan was behind me. I felt his bare chest grace my back as his arms wrapped around my frame, his chin resting on my shoulder blade, “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Morning.”

“What are you doing up?”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

I shook my head a little as I allowed a small sigh to come out of me. I wanted to tell him what was roaming my mind, the concerns I had, and the overwhelming guilt I felt but knowing Ilsan, I figured he would brush my feelings aside and tell me I was overthinking. Yet as soon as I felt his plump lips on my neck I closed my eyes and allowed the tender kisses to comfort me.

“Talk to me,” he hummed into my skin.

“The others. I’m thinking about the others.”

“Busan and GC?”

“Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung,” I murmured as I remembered learning their names on the plane ride to Hawaii. Ilsan bought a newspaper and he translated what the headlines said about the two thieves. I turned to face him, “Hoseok and Jungkook are still out there. You saw the news yesterday. The kitchen is still hot, Namjoon. There’s too much attention on us.”

“Not on us.”

“It’s just a matter of time.”

“It’s been three months since we did it.” He placed a kiss on my forehead as he pulled me closer to him, “Three months, baby. We are comfortable here and people mind their business.”

“It’s a matter of time.”

“Maybe. But right now, we are safe. We are rich. No one knows us as Namjoon, Y/N, London, or Ilsan. We are Mr. and Mrs. Son.” He smiled, showcasing his dimples as he reached for my hand and kissed the wedding band he had bought a month ago. With new identities and a small ceremony, Hawaii had become the staple of our love. Despite the stress and anxiety that came with robbing a bank, we managed to find a place to settle in and begin our lives as a married couple. It was calm here. And Namjoon was right, we were safe … at least, for now, we were free.

I stared into his rich dark eyes as he swayed my hips. He was being playful.

Ilsan had been hard to read since I met him almost a year ago. However, despite his resistance and innate instincts to pull away and not trust anyone, he somehow began to let his guard down. I knew it bothered him that he was responsible for another person. Much like myself, he was a soloist; always had been and figured he would be forever.

Lovestruck when he least expected it as well. It came as a surprise to both of us. However, I did not regret falling for him.

Ilsan was more than I had ever expected for myself. He was strong, smart with his decisions, and he had a lot of knowledge and experience under his belt. Regardless of his disappointment for the newfound responsibility - mostly due to a deep-rooted fear that he would not be able to protect those who trusted him the most - he never shied away from showcasing his affection for me, his passion for my body, and his enthusiasm about our love.

I leaned into his palm as it began to caress my cheek. Our eyes locked on each other as we studied one another. He pulled me closer to him, his hand now clutching my jaw as his lips met mine for a long and sensual kiss. Groaning into it slightly as the intensity grew, I felt his other hand traveling down to the hem of my t-shirt. His fingernails dug into my thigh as he exposed more of my skin while sliding the t-shirt upward, “I will protect you,” he promised into the kiss, “I will do everything to keep you safe.”

My hands traveled down his bare chest as the kiss grew more passionate. His tongue entered my mouth, slowly dancing sensually and poetically with mine as it became hungrier, almost as desperate as the first night we shared our first kiss.

I could never get tired of kissing him. His lips were soft, pillow-like as they met mine. He took his time; exploring every inch of my body and assuring I received mine before he did. A true gentleman. Often, in our afterglow, he would brag that he took great pride in fulfilling me the way I wanted to.

Those months at the beach house, we had each other on every surface imaginable. Never slowing down our pace, we kept exploring each other. I wanted him, always. I could not keep my hands to myself and neither could he. It was an intense and passionate beginning, one that drove me intoxicatingly mad. The need for each other’s embrace grew so powerful that it almost turned into a drug.

His touch was something I could not be without for too long. It felt as if I was incomplete without him. And he had - numerous times - expressed the exact same unyielding longing for me.

To the others, our relationship came across as something purely based on the physical aspect. Although it started as such, I could not deny that was the basis of it. Today, however, Ilsan was a man I saw a future with, one I cared for deeply. I had said yes when he proposed.

Rose petals all over our condo in Hawaii. Little cute notes scattered everywhere to find the ring he had bought.

When I first met him in Jindo, he did not strike me as a man filled with overwhelming patience, affection, and a whole lot of romance. Ilsan was the embodiment of a romantic lover.

As stern and direct as he was, just as attentive and soft-spoken he could be around me. He cared. More so than any man I had the displeasure to date and call a boyfriend. So, I said yes. I became him and he was mine.

Lost in the drug that was his scent, I moaned into his hungry mouth. Our tongues danced fiercer as desperate pants escaped us while our bodies overheated in arousal. He pushed into the door window, pulling one of my legs over his hip as our lips kept a steady and needy pace.

The print of his erect length brushed against my stomach and my body reacted by shooting electricity from my core as excitement overcame me.

Ilsan and I had not been able to keep our hands off each other ever since our first encounter together. The innate attraction was still very much prominent, even after a year, we could not get enough of each other. It was as if any rational train of thought disappeared and all that was left was this primal and raw need to destroy and claim one another.

Speedily, I reached for his clothed bulge. A growl into my mouth appeared from the depths of his throat. The sudden hold on it along with my desperate need to prepare him to penetrate my eager slit made him clutch my throat in response.

“Baby,” he said slightly out of breath. I stared into his dark eyes, undeniable lust pierced through them as he gawked down my entirety, “I want you slow,” he murmured. I eyed him momentarily, contemplating the words as a ray of memories rushed in my head.

Ilsan and I were not only perfect for each other in terms of lifestyles or love language but we were compatible in ways I had never experienced with a man. When I say he changed my stances and opinions about certain things, I meant it. He was unfamiliar, virtually everything about him was new and exciting. So, when we shared our first lovemaking, I was pleasantly surprised that he fucked me as I had always wanted.

I never instructed him.

It was as if his body was made for mine. Like two perfectly sculpted clays, morphing into one as we explored every inch of each other and discovered that we were nothing without one another but together, we could become something far greater than anything neither of us had experienced.

To say I was deeply in love with him would not begin to justify the emotions I felt for him. He was beyond words. Our love was beyond life.

“Slow,” I nodded and I felt his large hands cupping my rear before lifting me up. My lips found his as he carried me back to bed.

He reached for my legs, closing them together as he elevated them. I grinned when he began to place tender kisses on my ankles before he nipped at my toes. I stared into his eyes with a nervous pant, unaware of what he meant by taking it slow.

Usually, our love was passionate and raw but today he wished to take things slower. I did not mind it. It was a slight surprise and often when he did this, it meant he had something up his sleeve.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Nothing.”

“You’re being suspicious of me.”

“I’m not.”

He laughed and forced my legs open before allowing them to rest on each of his hips, “Hmm,” he hummed as he stared down at me.

“What?”

“You should be suspicious.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at him and he eyed me momentarily before he caved and pulled out a small box from his pocket, “What is this?” I used my elbows to lift myself up.

“Open it, Princess.”

“Why? What is this?” Excitement overcame me as I sat up. He threw himself beside me and watched as I opened the velvety red box, “Namjoon,” I kept repeating into a delighted giggle.

“It’s nothing special.”

“It’s not our anniversary yet,” I eagerly opened and gasped suddenly as soon as I spotted the heart-shaped emerald necklace that was staring back at me, “Oh gosh, it’s beautiful.” I was spellbound, my gaze kept studying the rose gold chain and how captivatingly the rising sunlight reflected on the stone.

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.” His rich baritone voice explained how Valentine’s Day was coming up in a couple of days and he wanted to give me something thoughtful. “I know we can’t be like every other couple and celebrate. It’s fine that you are worried, baby, I respect it and appreciate that you keep an eye out for us but I did not want you to lose this day.”

“You’re so sweet.” He flashed a tender smile as I took his hand in mine, “I love you.”

➰

The ambiance of the restaurant was something that captured the romance of this night. I had never been the type of woman who enjoyed a trivia holiday but I had to admit since Ilsan became my partner, I wanted to experience love with him. And he was good at it too. Everything was planned out. From my outfit to the place we would celebrate our love.

I sat opposite him, studied how gently the candlelight beamed at his olive skin. Spellbound and utterly captivated by his striking features as I took in his beauty. Ilsan looked amazing in a suit, he chose a beautiful one that complimented my long dark dress. He was reading the menu of the French restaurant he had picked for the occasion. He began to correct his tie and I could not help but watch as his knuckles turned white by the grip, how merely moments ago that same hand was clutching my throat.

“What?” He asked without glancing away from the menu, “What are you thinking?” I let out a small giggle, caught red-handed in my perverse thoughts. “Do you know what you want?” He ripped his eyes from the leather-covered book and caught my gaze, “You haven’t looked.”

“No.”

He eyed me momentarily. Everything around us was practically nonexistent. The chatter from the other guests faded, the soft violins playing from the speakers died down until everything evaporated and it was just us there. Sitting across from one another with a champagne bottle, red rose petals were casually thrown on the white table, and candle lights between us.

I slid my hand over to him and he caught it. His thumb gently caressing the ring on my left finger, “I like this,” I began, remembering the fight I initiated earlier this morning, “I never apologized.”

“Don’t.”

“I should,” our eyes met again. “I wish I could be like you and forget about the heist.”

“You’re inexperienced. I get it, you’re nervous.” He leaned over and placed a tender kiss on the back of my hand, “You worry. I get it, Princess.”

Ilsan had been involved with a lot of robberies and knew how to act and think afterward. He was right. I was inexperienced. Smaller shops were my thing and I never truly worried about police knocking on my door for stealing a Dior bag. But the bank of Korea was something else. We had gotten away with 700 million KRW. Divided equally among us. Unfortunately, we had to cut our time short and flee for our lives but the amount was better than nothing.

“You’re right. I’m being too obsessive.”

“Relax a little.”

“I will,” I retrieved my hand and began to look at the menu, “From now I will relax.”

➰

Ilsan excused himself during the dessert. I watched him as he left for the bathroom. Sinking to the chair, I felt fulfilled by the French meals the chef so deliciously had prepared. The crepes on my plate kept staring at me but as much as I wanted to finish the beautifully decorated crisp pancakes with fresh fruits and powdered sugar, I could not force myself to overeat. So, instead, I drank my champagne glass finish.

I observed the other guests. Some were on a date like we were and others were alone. I caught a glimpse of a woman in a suit who was sitting alone two tables from me. My gaze fell on her plate and I could not help my mind from wandering. She had been there since we arrived yet her plate of snails was untouched. She must have sensed that someone was watching her because she stared back at me and I hastily ripped my eyes away. Just as I did, I noticed two men in suits both continuously studied me. My heart immediately sank. I tried to brush their stares away earlier as Ilsan suggested, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves but now that he had gone to the bathroom and most likely would be gone for longer to pay for the meal, I felt uncomfortable being on their radar.

Then as I attempted to calm my nerves, two Hawaiian police officers entered the restaurant and I froze in my seat. My heart sank again, this time faster until it had reached my stomach. The sight of the officers knocked my breath away and I hastily reached for my purse and coat. They glanced around and had not spotted me yet, so I speedily without hesitation and without drawing too much attention on myself walked to the register.

Ilsan waved me over as the hostess handed him his credit card, “We need to leave,” I sternly whispered.

He studied my face briefly before he scanned the restaurant, “Where?”

“Two men by the entrance.”

“You sure?” He eyed me and the expression on my face must have been enough for him. He took my hand and we rushed toward the back of the restaurant.

“Stop them!” Someone shouted and we began to run.

The employees in the kitchen were startled by our sudden appearance and halted all activities. Ilsan yelled at them to point at the back door and when no one took our situation seriously, he drew his gun. Scared into submission, a chef pointed behind himself and we rushed over to the exit.

➰

We made it back to the little condo we had rented with cash. Still, with the Professor’s plan in our minds, we acted accordingly. Leave as fast as we could. I began to pack all of the essentials. Clothes and such did not matter. The money bags and our safety was our only concern.

Ilsan paused and clutched my hands before we kissed each other. This was going to be our first separation. He reached for the bags of money and walked out of the condo.

We hid a beat-up Chevrolet Impala close to our condo, able to blend perfectly once we used it to escape. Ilsan went over to it. I had only a few minutes to throw off the authorities by destroying the condo. With the television on, I began to mess up the space we had called home and created some memories that would never leave my mind.

The mention of the heist made me halt. I stared at the television as the news anchor spoke about how the authorities had caught Seoul in Finland. My heart sank once more. I froze as my eyes were glued to the screen. Images of his arrest appeared and I whimpered at the sight of him. I did not notice that Ilsan had returned. His gentle touch eased me as I had unknowingly held my breath, We watched as the news anchor explained that one of the thieves known as Gwangju was found in a hotel room in Ankara. Jung Hoseok had a full-blown shootout with the police, unable to escape, trapped like a mouse in a maze, he shot into them well-knowing they would fire back.

“He took charge,” Ilsan whispered as he gently caressed my back. Tears began to blur my vision as the realization of losing another one of us set in, “Baby?” Ilsan said until he shook me slightly, “We don’t have time for you to break down,” he reminded, “Let’s go.”

“Yes, yes,” I murmured as I wiped away the tears.

However, the mention of the assigned cities Ilsan and I had roamed in the condo making both of us stop once more and draw our attention back on the screen. The news anchor began to explain our appearance based on the hostages’ descriptions. Soon, police sketches appeared on the screen. Ilsan and I froze as we studied the candidly accurate portraits of us. Right down to his dimples and my hairstyle the day of the heist. Still, they did not know our identities.

“Thank God,” Ilsan hissed as he took my hand and guided me out of the condo.

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tipsydipsydo · 4 years

Text

Hello!!

I’m going to start this BTS Dog Hybrid-Series soon and I hope you’ll be interested in it!

It’s gonna be mostly fem! reader fics, I think. (But maybe Jungkooks fic could turn out as gender neutral or for male readers!)

But before you start reading the first fic, you should read the prologue at first to be able to understand this universe and some of the specific names!

The most important Names to understand this Masterlist:

Hybrid: Dog Hybrid Shapeshifter, they’re able to shift their usually human form into a dog.

Vixen: Half-Hybrid. One parent is a hybrid, the other parents is a human. They’re not able to shift their shape, but they’re able to get “Hybrid pups” (fully formed hybrids) together with an other hybrid.

Human: …just a normal human. xD

[Dates]:

Published: 21th January 2020

Last Update: 21th January 2020

『© tipsydipsydo』

All listed and linked work (that includes my writings and my moodboards) in here is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

Do not repost, plagiarize, translate or use any of my work in general!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Please respect that. I’ll fight any illegal use of my work!

Thank you.

「Information: Only the unique combination of pictures, the colour schemata and editing of the moodboards is my intellectual work! I don’t own the pictures themselves and all credits are going to the rightful owners!」

Restaurant owner! Jin x Baker! & short/chubby! Reader

▪Jin: Gordon Setter! Hybrid

▪Reader: English Cocker Spaniel! Hybrid

Genre: Fluff, Smut

[Summary]

Just a year after the reopening of his grandfathers restaurant, Jin can hardly save himself from all the guests and the prebooked reservations. It’s simply an advantage of being a hunting dog hybrid. He can smell two miles against the wind, if the butcher delivered good, quality meat to him or not. And if it’s not good enough for him, he simply goes hunting by himself. How good that he doesn’t have to worry about you and your exquisite brownies and cupcakes that you always deliver him freshly baked to the restaurant every day. Just like him, you have a wonderful sense for good quality and a fantastic taste. Even if the urge to not only eat your sweet cupcakes, but also something else, to eat someone else out is getting bigger and bigger…

▪read here

Student! Namjoon x Student! & nerdy/virgin! Reader

▪Namjoon: Tamaskan Dog! + Wolf! Hybrid

▪Reader: Human

Genre: Fluff, Smut

[Summary]

Namjoon has often seen you in the library, but he had never dared to talk to you. Every time he sees you sitting at your regular place in the library, you seem so immersed in your book on the table in front of you that Namjoon didn’t want to be rude and interrupt your reading. He prefers to watch you from his seat in a safe distance and have a smile on his lips when he hears that you have hiccups again. The advantage of being a hybrid and even a half wolf! And then he sees his change to finally get to know you better when you desperately try to grab a book from a shelf you can’t reach. Namjoon is tall, he’s still a half Wolf!

…but he didn’t thought that this might be his fate.

▪read here

Soldier! Yoongi x Police officer! & Black/Poc! Reader

▪Yoongi: Belgian Malinois! Hybrid

▪Reader: Rhodesian Ridgeback! Vixen

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

[Summary]

A few years after your high school graduation, on a friday night after your work, you unexpectedly meet your old school-crush Min Yoongi from your grade in the nearby bar. He joined the military after school and had a rapid uprising career as a soldier in a elite unit. And all that in the shortest possible time! After some small talk, a few beers here and a few shots there you get closer to each other than you ever dreamed of. When you stumble into your apartement, kissing each other with hungry lips, you get to know there are so many unspoken things under his cold, quiet and distant facade.

▪read here

Dance Therapist! Hoseok x Shy/Tall/Thin/Freckles! Reader

▪Hoseok: Golden Retriever! Hybrid

▪Reader: Dalmatinian! + Greyhound! Hybrid

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst (?)

[Summary]

Like every Tuesday afternoon, you pick your little sister from her weekly dance therapy lesson up. Like every Tuesday afternoon, you will meet the dance therapist of the small dance group, Hoseok. And like always, you will have the feeling that your heart is about to stop beating when he greets you with his bright, sunshine-like smile. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself, you’ve had a crush on this young man for already a half of a year or even longer. The person, who’s slowly getting your little sister out of her shell. You fell in love with an absolutely handsome, talkative and extrovert Golden Retriever Hybrid who wouldn’t see anything more in you, except the pretty noticeable appearance of a tall, skinny girl with too many freckles on her face (that couldn’t be called cute or attractive in any way, you think) and never speaks to him.

…right?

▪read here

Epilepsy Assistant! Jimin x Epileptic! Reader

▪Jimin: Samojed! Hybrid

▪Reader: Human

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

[Summary]

He finally did it! After three years of living on a subsistence minimum, he still managed to successfully (and with top grades!) complete his training as an epilepsy assistant hybrid and now holding proudly this important certificate and with it his whole future in his hands. Even if his life was so far a single disaster, fate had been even a little bit kind to him, so that he was given with the rare ability to notice epilepsy attacks at an early stage and so being able to save the life of peoples.

…and now, a week later, he can hardly believe his luck that he was hired by one of the city’s wealthiest families as an assistant for their epileptic daughter. But he didn’t know that she’s at the same age with him and that she’s so pretty and lovely too…

▪read here

Shepherd! Taehyung x Florist! & Wearer of Glasses! Reader

▪Taehyung: Australian Shepherd! Hybrid

▪Reader: Collie! Vixen

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst (?)

[Summary]

Taehyung has always been the type for a big family with many children. He comes from a family with many relatives and countless cousins. You would have loved it to fulfill his wish to have a family with you already long time ago. But you have bad eyes, terribly bad eyes. And they are getting even worser, the ophthalmologist had to tell you on your last visit that you could go blind soon. You’d love to have a whole house full of kids with Taehyung, but you don’t want to burden your kids with having bad eyesight just like you and then blindness at an early age. You want your children to discover the whole world with all their senses and not be the reason why they couldn’t see all of this with their own eyes. But after another doctor’s appointment, you can bring Taehyung wonderful news…

▪read here

Mountain Rescue Service! Jungkook x Skier! & Ginger! Reader

▪Jungkook: Siberian Husky! Hybrid

▪Reader: Finnish Spitz! Vixen

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut (?)

[Summary]

Jungkook volunteers on the weekends in the mountain rescue service during the winter, because he loves the snow and the cold as a Siberian Husky Hybrid anyway and because he can see you on this way on weekends too in addition to normal school. You are a passionate skier and in a few weeks the most important competition of freestyle skiing of the season takes place, which is why you spend every free minute on the ski run to Train for it. And even the explicit avalanche danger doesn’t stop you from getting back on your skier without permission of the mountain rescue. Finnish Spitz are just like this, stubborn and with their own will. Of course it happens the way it has to be… how lucky you are, that Jungkook knows you well enough and as a precaution he also went that afternoon to the ski run in the hope you didn’t mess around with mother nature…

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tath21 · 7 years

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i want to sin for you.

#police!jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #moodboard #bts edit

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ggukcangetit · 4 years

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Dreamcatchers

Moodboard #10

Character: Jeon Jungkook

Title: Dreamcatchers

COMING: 29th May [hopefully]

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Genre: Detective au; police! jungkook; police! oc;

Word count: 2k so far

Warnings: Umm… mentions of violence, trauma, etc. Stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama.

Summary: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

A/N: hi everyone! first bangtan story coming up from my end. i’ve written a ton of fanfiction before lol. but this is my first bts ff. still unfamiliar with and find it difficult to write reader self inserts, so this story is going to have a named oc. i’ve been wanting to write a police! jungkook story ever since reading One Thing Right by @hobios. so this is a lame-ish attempt.

#jungkook moodboard #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jimin #taehyung #seokjin #yoongi #namjoon #hoseok #c me write bangtan

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kpopaeipathy · 5 years

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When the Curtain Falls (BTS Oneshot)

Pairing: No Romantic Pairings

Genre: Angst (NC-17)

Summary: Taehyung is a non-professional tagger. His stepfather, who is a police officer, uses that to incriminate him for burglary and send him to a reformatory where he meets the other members of BTS. The boys leave the reformatory one by one before Taehyung, who only leaves when he’s about to turn 18. Upon returning home, he finds his stepfather beating his mother and reacts violently. This makes the stepfather even more furious with Taehyung, who runs away and gathers with his friends (BTS members) to get around the situation. While the stepfather incriminates Taehyung his violent act, the boys seek evidence to clear Taehyung and perhaps save his mother.

Word Count: 26k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, underage, hyyh typical violence, implied/referenced child abuse, youth violence, physical fighting, domestic violence, blood, framing.

Playlist

A/N: This is for @hyyhbigbang and it is co-written with @dihcorrea. We're sorry that the end is kind of fast but we were struggling to get it done in time, or else it'd be a giant story. We hope you like it. Moodboards and playlist were created by the amazing @hungline (We loved them all, thank you so much <3). Crossposted on AO3.

----

"Won’t it be weird to be out there again?" Yoongi asked. Unlike the others, he was the only one staring at the door where Seokjin and Hoseok would be leaving soon.

"Probably," replied Seokjin, smiling at how his friend was trying to conceal how worried he was about saying farewell. Of all the friends he made at the reform school, Yoongi had been the first and the most different from him. It was still hard for Seokjin to believe that they had become great friends simply because they shared a room and respected each other's space. "But I’ll manage it," he finished, finally attracting Yoongi's gaze.

If there was something that Yoongi knew all too well, it was Seokjin’s adaptive nature of Seokjin. The older boy knew full well how to use his beauty and charm to make things easier for him. Everyone knew that it was that "skill" that had put him in the reform school, but Seokjin had never seen it as a bad thing; it was simply the way he had found to live the life he’d had before entering the reformatory. Even then, inside the facility, his ability had helped everyone he had become friends with. Mainly Hoseok, since it was Seokjin’s charm and Namjoon’s intelligence that revealed the true culprit of the crime for which he was incriminated for.

"I can’t believe I'm not gonna see you again," Jungkook complained. The troublemaker was the youngest in the group and was practically adopted as their mascot, but he liked to treat others as if they were the same age as him.

"I wouldn’t worry about that," Seokjin replied. "We’re not the best influence for a kid like you."

"I'm not a kid," Jungkook complained, slapping the older boy's hand just as he was about to mess up his hair.

"Actually," Hoseok interrupted, holding Jungkook by the neck to mess his hair too, "I think the kid’s right. Why don’t we try to keep in touch after we get out of here?"

It was not exactly a bad idea. After all, everyone had entered the reform school so young, and for some reason everyone had become good friends, perhaps even best friends. For some of them, those boys were the only true friends they ever had in their lives. Keeping in touch after they separated seemed to be worth it. Besides, some of them were so troublesome that they might need help even outside the reform school.

It was what Yoongi thought as he looked back at the exit door. But this time he was not the only one who looked at that door with concern. Taehyung was also afraid to get out of there and go back to his own house. As bad as the reformatory was, he had found good people there--people who counseled and helped him. Outside, he had practically only seen violence and pain.

"Whatever," Seokjin shrugged, grabbing a business card inside the backpack he was taking with him out of the reform school and placing it in the Taehyung’s hand, startling him. "This is the gas station telephone next to my house. Just call and ask for me. They'll find me."

Seokjin's complacent smile and the fact that he had put the paper in Taehyung's hand made the younger boy uncomfortable. Everyone there knew, including him, that he would be the most likely to seek help from others, but Taehyung did not like to think he would be weak again. If he were to meet his friends again, it would not be out of fear, but for nostalgia.

"Since I have no pen here," Hoseok said, "Someone's gonna have to remember my address."

Automatically, everyone looked at Namjoon, who simply raised his eyebrows and complained, "The fact that I'm good with computers doesn’t mean I have the best memory."

Regardless of what his friend had just said, Hoseok spoke his address aloud for all of them to hear. If Namjoon did not remember everything, surely the others would be able to help. When he turned back to the hacker again, however, Namjoon simply nodded, proving that everyone was right to think he would be able to remember the address without difficulty.

Hoseok simply smiled. Namjoon was very intelligent, but extremely modest. Hoseok did not care about it, since he only cared about the health and freedom of his friends. He had been unjustly imprisoned as well as half of the others, but it was Namjoon who had helped him find his own freedom, so Hoseok would do anything to help the others too, regardless of the crime they had committed or not.

"I wanted to know if they're going to be sad when I leave," Jimin commented, tapping Jungkook's arm, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. Jungkook sniffled, still trying to appear tough in front of his hyungs even with snot dripping down his nose. The younger could be brave and quarrelsome, but he was very emotional.

"I'm leaving first, so they’re gonna miss me more," Yoongi commented.

Snorting, Jimin shrugged but said nothing else. He also did not like goodbyes and would miss all the friends he had made in that place.

"Time to go!"

They looked at the guard who waited for Seokjin and Hoseok with the gate open. After a year forming a bond that seemed too strong to be broken, it was finally time for them to separate.

Everyone was sad to see the two friends leave, but that was only the first of the farewells. Three months later, Yoongi would be holding his own bundle of clothes, ready to leave the place that had kept him safe for a few years.

Again, he stared at the gate while the others complained and talked about how they would miss him. Yoongi was not afraid of leaving, or at least that was what he had thought during the three months between Seokjin’s and Hoseok’s departure and his own. He was not afraid of the world outside the reformatory. In fact, he was afraid of what he would do while he was out loose in the world. He had already erred once, even if unintentionally, so what would keep him from making a mistake again?

"You don’t have to worry," Jungkook's voice made the older man turn to him. "When you think of strange things, just remember what I told ya."

Yoongi smiled as soon as Jungkook finished speaking, which elicited an even bigger smile on the young man's face. Jungkook, when he was welcomed by the group, felt that he had a new family, so he did not regard others simply as his friends, he considered them all as older brothers. They were the ones who had helped him overcome his anger and feel free even though he had been locked away. So whenever he had the opportunity, he also tried to help the others.

The advice he'd given Yoongi was more of a reminder than advice. When he discovered that Yoongi was a pyromaniac, Jungkook tried to think of the best way to prevent his friend from becoming fascinated with the fire again. "Fire, in any situation, is like me when I’m angry. It’ll only destroy everything in its path," he had said, making Yoongi smile whenever he was reminded of his fascination and of Jungkook.

"I'll never forget," Yoongi assured the younger. Then he handed his phone number to Jungkook and said that he and the others could meet him at the shelter. That was the best he could do to keep in touch.

Again, the farewell was sad, but it was not the last. Another three months and Jimin was prepared to return to the world outside the reform school. This time, Jungkook could not hold back the tears.

"Hey, boy," Jimin called to him and wrapped his arms around the younger man's shoulders, "We’ll see each other again, so why’re you crying?"

That made the youngest cry harder. Jimin smiled. He knew the exact reason for Jungkook's tears. It had been Jimin who had supported him and had taught him to control his anger. It had been Jimin who had made him use his knowledge of muay thai for good. Jimin was also afraid to leave the young man alone, but he knew that Jungkook was strong and could move on.

"You'd better give your phone number or address to this boy soon, before he leaves your shirt drenched with so many tears," Taehyung grumbled.

He did not want to get rid of Jimin, but he was also curious to know where the one who looked like a playboy lived. Besides, he did not like to see Jungkook crying. If the strongest of them, despite being the youngest, was able to cry so easily, how would he endure it when it was his turn to return to the real world?

Taehyung still stared nervously at the gate every time his friends left. But he had not yet decided whether he was afraid of what would happen outside or whether he was afraid of what would not happen. Thinking that he would never find the only friends he had ever done in his life was difficult.

"Tae is right," Namjoon agreed, "You better show him right away that you'll see each other again."

Jimin continued to smile and did as he was told. The address of one of the city's most expensive condominiums was put into Jungkook's hands, but the younger one soon lost the paper to Taehyung, who was afraid he would eventually wet it with his tears.

Each time it seemed worse to see the friends going away, especially to Jungkook and Taehyung who were always left behind. When Namjoon was leaving six months later, the two young men seemed to be losing the last healthy limb of their bodies. Namjoon had never seen the two of them with a more sad countenance, though they were holding back the tears very well.

"It looks like someone's dead," Namjoon commented, trying to make a joke, but could not get a smile from either of them. "Hey, I'm just leaving you guys alone for a few months. Why are you like this? It's not like you’ll be alone. You still have each other."

That made Jungkook smile slightly. It was good not to be completely alone in that place. Ever since he had appeared there with a black eye and a great deal of anger to overflow, he had been welcomed by the group, which was not yet fully formed. Although he was the most competent in fighting, the elders always protected him against the other children in the reform school and against himself. Always being with them was a relief.

"I don’t know if this is a good thing," Taehyung grumbled, catching the attention of the two friends. "He's just gonna have me to hit now."

Namjoon laughed, but Jungkook felt a little offended.

"Like I hit you often," he muttered between his teeth.

Namjoon laughed even harder. Of course, Jungkook did not beat them up with anger or quarrel with any of them, but the boy was crude by nature and even his displays of affection could hurt sometimes. Even so, everyone was so fond of the youngest that all the generous "pat" pardoned.

"Just try not to leave him with any bruises," Namjoon managed to say between the laughter.

As it was very rare to see the older man laughing like that, Jungkook ended up joking. He slipped an arm around Taehyung's neck and pulled him against his chest, giving his friend a light chokehold.

"I can’t promise anything," he asserted as Taehyung tapped his arm and tried to break free.

And it was in that spirit that the two young men endured the last two years of their sentences in that place. One protected the other, one taught the other, one confided to the other. At the end of their stay, Jungkook and Taehyung felt that they knew everything about each other. In addition, they set out to record the information on how they could find their friends and promised to continue talking when they were outside. Even if they could not talk to the others, they would not miss each other.

The day they left the reform school, they stood for a long time in front of the gate. Jungkook was not worried because he was sure everything would work out. He was being incredibly optimistic, especially after all he'd learned from friends in the reform school.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was still afraid to take a step forward. He knew he would keep the promise made to his friend to find him and the others. As for the rest, he was not sure of anything.

"Hey, are you okay?" Jungkook asked, seeing Taehyung's worried face.

Shaking his head to get away from the bad thoughts that were beginning to invade his mind, Taehyung smiled at Jungkook and stated that everything was fine.

"Do you wanna go home with me and wait for the best time to come to your house?" Jungkook continued, still surprised by Taehyung's reaction to the exit from the reform school.

Shrugging, Taehyung replied, "I don’t think there's gonna be a better time than this. He must be at work and my mother must be alone at home. I think if I get there now, she'll think of a way to tell him that I came back."

Although Taehyung finally seemed optimistic, Jungkook felt apprehensive. Taehyung was now of age and any quarrel with his stepfather could lead him to jail rather than to reform.

"Well, if you need anything, you can call me," Jungkook said when he heard the horn of his mother's car for the second time. "I gotta go."

"Don’t worry, I’ll be okay," Taehyung smiled as he shook hands with his friend and told him to go his way.

He could not deny that he was a little jealous of seeing Jungkook's mother picking him up from the reform school. He knew that his friend was a minor and needed a responsible person to get him, and that he was already of age and did not need this kind of authorization, but still, he wished his mother had come to see him.

Did she remember that he was leaving that day? Was she all right? Was she still thinking about him? Was she still alive?

All those questions passing through his head made Taehyung swallow hard. There was only one way to know the answer to all that. He only prayed that he would find her alone at home so she could respond.

Taking a deep breath, he went his own way, forgetting his friends as he thought of everything he might end up finding when he got to the apartment where his mother and stepfather lived.

Could he stay there? Would his stepfather let him stay? Would he willingly accept him or would he be drunk and aggressive as he usually was? And if he could not stay, how could he find another place? Where could he get a job? Where were he going to sleep?

All the friends he had made in the reform school offered him their own houses to stay in, but Taehyung knew that half of them could not help him because they still lived with their parents, and the other half was probably as stressed with money as he could get.

It seemed that all the worries he had left aside while he was with friends in the reform school bombed his head as soon as he set foot outside the facility. When he stopped in front of the door of his stepfather's apartment, he was already having a headache and biting his lips with concern.

He took a deep breath and held the doorknob, making sure the door was not locked. He planted a smile on his face, knowing that his mother would like to see him cheerfully, and opened the door to the scene he hated most in the world.

His stepfather's hand cut the air like a sharp blade and struck the left side of Taehyung's mother's face. The force of the blow was so great that the woman went off balance, tripping over her own feet and falling to the floor on one arm while using the other to shield her face in a reflex.

What happened next didn’t last more than a minute.

Taehyung saw his mother's face turn red, contrasting with other old, dark bruises on her neck and arms. Taehyung's own vision reddened with fury and he took a deep breath as he looked around the room.

Beside the door, above the shoe rack, which contained his stepfather's many shoes compared to a single pair of his mother's high heels, there were three empty beer bottles. Without thinking twice, Taehyung took one of them and advanced into the room, toward his stepfather who still ignored his presence and was now kicking his mother's ribs.

With a movement practically reflecting the stepfather's first blow, Taehyung cut the air with the bottle and struck it at the top of the stepfather's head.

Taken by surprise, the man took a second to realize the seriousness of the blow, and his own brain had a slight delay in switching adrenaline for pain, making the man slightly dizzy and disoriented.

When he noticed that his stepfather turned away from his mother, Taehyung, still blinded with anger, reflected another blow from the aggressor and hit his stepfather's belly with what was left of the bottle in his hand. With that blow, the man was completely disarmed and looked deeply into Taehyung's eyes as he swallowed and held both hands to Taehyung's hand that still held the shard of the glass bottle against his body.

Taehyung was also looking into his stepfather's eyes, which were no longer higher than his own since they were now about the same height, and could not help notice when they suddenly clouded. Blinking, Taehyung seemed to regain consciousness. His eyes widened and he tried to drop the shard of the bottle, but the hands around his prevented it.

As he looked down, he came across the blood. Blinking rapidly a few times, Taehyung's lips began to tremble, as well as his hands, when he used his free hand to remove his stepfather's hands from over his.

Once free, Taehyung stepped back, staring in amazement at his red-stained hands.

He then heard a groan of pain ahead of him, and glanced at his stepfather in time to see him try to step back and trip over his own foot, falling to the glass coffee table and splintering it beneath himself.

Taehyung was still struggling with his own conscience to help or not the fallen man in front of him when he heard his mother's battered voice utter his name behind him.

Turning quickly, Taehyung ran to his mother to help her up.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her nervous eyes searching her son's face for any injuries. That usual gesture of fear and worry hurt Taehyung far more than the fact that his mother had forgotten that he would leave the reformatory that day.

"Mom…"

He didn't have time to clear the lump that was formed in his throat to finish the sentence, as his mother looked behind Taehyung and saw her husband lying on the broken glass of the coffee table, blood staining the police uniform that he wore.

“What happened?” She looked back at Taehyung, who began to shiver again as tears welled up in his brown eyes.

The anguish and fear he saw reflected in his mother's widening eyes only served to make him tremble even more as he looked back at his bloodied hands.

"You have to get out of here," his mother insisted, pushing him toward the door, "Go!"

He tried to refute and stuck his feet on the floor so she wouldn't get him out of the apartment, but his respect and love for his mother prevented him from using any kind of force against her. Although feeling a coward, Taehyung let his mother put him out. Once the door closed between them, tears finally trickled down Taehyung's cheeks and trembling lips.

Then, he ran.

***

Jungkook's parents were more disappointed than sad when their son was arrested for assault. They hoped that Taekwondo would relieve Jungkook's explosive genius rather than burn it down, and when the latter happened, they only asked the divine that the punishment Jungkook would receive was enough to do what taekwondo couldn’t do for the boy.

Since they hoped that their prayers would be answered, Jungkook's parents prepared a welcome party at their home. This was a party Jungkook had not expected and could not enjoy, for his mind was still caught in the expression of doubt on Taehyung's face as they left the reform school.

As much as he wanted to feel good about being free and to have fun listening to his old friends tell him about what happened to them while he was in the reform school, Jungkook was easily distracted by the feeling that something bad would happen to Taehyung.

When his cell phone rang, Jungkook answered hurriedly, and when he heard Taehyung's breath and choppy voice on the other end of the line, he was sure his intuition was right.

"Hyung, what's up?" Jungkook asked worriedly. The sense of foreboding escalates as the hesitation from Taehyung's end worries Jungkook even more. If Taehyung asked, he is sure that he would drop everything to help his friend.

"I just wanted to know if everything was alright out there," Taehyung said. “Was everyone happy with your return?”

As much as he wanted to believe his friend, Jungkook knew something was wrong. Of course, they had promised to keep in touch, but neither of them believed they would talk anytime soon, especially if it was just to ask if all was well.

“Are you sure that's all? It sounds like you’re running,” Jungkook asked and heard another pause in the older boy's response.

"I'm fine," he replied, "Mom asked me to go buy something to celebrate my return, so I'm running."

It wasn’t just the breathless running that was upsetting Jungkook, but also his friend's lies; Jungkook could practically hear the lump in Taehyung's throat and hear the tears fighting to leave his eyes.

"Hyung, please," he insisted, "Tell me what's going on."

One more pause, “It’s nothing, I promise. I'll call you later.”

With that, Taehyung ended the call.

Jungkook didn't know what to do. He knew something was wrong and that Taehyung had just lied to him, but he could do nothing but call his friend and try to find out what was going on, or at least find out where Taehyung was running to. However, he did not believe Taehyung would say even if he insisted.

Because he couldn't rush out of the house and roam the streets looking for Taehyung, Jungkook decided it was best to talk to someone who could make Taehyung talk. Jungkook searched for the new numbers he had saved on his cell phone as soon as he got it back from the reform school, and as soon as he found Seokjin's number, he called his friend.

As Seokjin had explained to them upon being released, the gas station attendant answered the phone. Quickly, Jungkook asked for his older friend and the attendant promptly replied that he would talk to Seokjin to return the call.

Without really having anything to do, Jungkook hung up and waited for Seokjin's call while pretending to be interested in the party his parents had prepared for him. It wasn't that he didn't want to have fun with family or old friends, but one of his new - and more troublesome - friends was in trouble and he would rather help him than stay there pretending like nothing was happening.

So, just to do something, Jungkook tried another of the new numbers on his cell phone and called Yoongi. Unfortunately, his friend was also absent. The shelter girl who answered informed him that Yoongi was out working and would not be back until later, but she would deliver the message and Yoongi could return his call. Jungkook gave his cell number to the shelter girl and hung up.

Jungkook would wait. He would tell his friends everything as soon as they return his calls, but he needed to find someone who could act faster. Much faster. So he looked again at the new saved phones and called Namjoon, which would be his last hope. If his friend did not answer and none of them return his call within half an hour, he would change tactics and go to Hoseok’s or Jimin's house for his friends to help him.

***

The “No Unauthorized Entry” warning was not enough to stop Taehyung from breaking into the abandoned building, let alone the lock that secured the gate grilles. Since the chain was wide, the opening Taehyung got by pulling one side of the gate was enough for him to pass through. At that moment, he didn't care about the illegality of his act; he just wanted to hide for a moment.

After being thrown out of the apartment by his mother and making the unexplained call to Jungkook, Taehyung still ran a couple of blocks until he found the abandoned building.

He wasn't thinking straight when he called Jungkook. Luckily he managed to hold back and not ruin the big reception that was going on at Jungkook's house.

When he saw the abandoned building, Taehyung didn’t think either. He had nowhere to go, so that building seemed like a good place to hide from what he had just done. However, Taehyung had sat down to collect his thoughts for only a minute when he realized that he had been foolish to think that he would forget his sins.

His hands were still bloody and it made him despair again. He started rubbing his hands together, but he realized his clothes were also stained with blood. Fortunately, he had not found anyone on the way from his house to the abandoned building, so no one had noticed that he was so bloody.

Taehyung continued rubbing his hands and clothes, trying to remove the blood that kept him from forgetting that he might have killed his stepfather - and even if he had not, he had certainly hurt him badly. Regardless of whether he did that to protect his mother, it didn't change the fact that he'd attacked someone. Nothing would change the fact that he, for a moment of fury and insanity, had become what he hated most: a violent person.

It was only when his cell phone rang, echoing on the unfinished walls of the empty building, that Taehyung stopped trying to wipe off his stepfather's blood.

He glanced at the display to see who was calling, but he couldn't see anything because his eyes were already watering. He answered anyway, thinking it might be his mother or Jungkook. He needed to tell everyone that he was fine.

The voice he heard on the other end, however, had nothing to do with his mother's delicate, feminine voice or Jungkook's soft, husky voice.

"Taehyung, where are you?"

That call was the last straw for Taehyung. Tears streamed down his cheeks again, and even if he tried to control his sobs, he knew that the moment he answered he couldn't hide anything from the person on the other side.

"Hyung," Taehyung said, his naturally strong voice was weak and even he could hear the lump in his throat, "I miss you."

After that sentence, Taehyung said nothing more. He simply cried. It was as if each tear fell for a different reason. He cried because he really missed the only friends he made in his life; he cried because he wanted to be with his mother, because he wanted her to be safe, because he wanted not to attack his stepfather, and because he didn't really regret it - his mother's security was much more important.

Taehyung cried for a long time and his friend on the phone said nothing, just listened to him cry until the sobs stopped and Taehyung's breathing settled. He still gave Taehyung time to calm down, and only then did he repeat the question with which he initiated the call.

"I'm in an abandoned building three blocks from my house," Taehyung replied, rubbing his face to wipe away the remaining tears on his skin.

After giving his stepfather's apartment's address to his friend, Taehyung hung up the phone with the promise that he wouldn't leave until his friends showed up to see him. Since he had nowhere to go, Taehyung didn't find it difficult to make that promise, much less keep it. But it wasn't until the next morning that Taehyung had other news from his friends.

It was the noise of the gate chain that woke him up, and for a moment Taehyung thought that the contractors had decided to resume construction right now that he needed the empty building. That’s just my luck, he thought. But when he heard the voices of the people coming in and apparently teasing each other, Taehyung let out a breath he didn't even notice he was holding, and his muscles immediately relaxed.

"Taehyung, where are you?" Seokjin's baritone voice reverberated on the walls, and Taehyung smiled.

Watching his friends together again reminded Taehyung of the year they spent together in the reform school strengthening that bond of friendship, and he almost forgot why everyone was there. However, it would be impossible to forget what had happened the day before, at least for a long time.

As soon as they saw him, Taehyung's friends reacted differently; trying not to freak Taehyung out, they controlled their surprise and worry, but Taehyung could see one thing was shared in all expressions: empathy. With a weak smile, Taehyung tried to hide his own feelings. It was that empathy he was afraid of; it was because of that empathy that he was reluctant to contact his friends after what he did.

Jimin sat on the floor next to Taehyung, though "throwing himself at Taehyung’s side" was a more appropriate expression. Though he was unable to smile from his swirling thoughts and feelings, Taehyung struggled to show his friend a funny expression.

"Here," said Seokjin, coming closer and extending something wrapped in paper towards him. "I thought you might be hungry."

Taehyung curiously opened the package and found some muffins and stuffed breads. Jungkook approached and sat on the other side of his friend, knowing that Jimin would not walk away. In a natural, almost unconscious gesture, Taehyung held out a muffin to the younger, like he always did in the reform school.

One by one, everyone set on the dirty floor.

"How are you doing?" Yoongi asked, leaning forward.

Taehyung looked up from the muffin he was eating, his mouth full and cheeks prominent as he chewed. Taehyung’s brown eyes were as confused as those of a child hearing the signal indicating the end of recess.

"Did you get hurt?" Yoongi asked again and this time pointed to Taehyung's bloodstained clothes. The younger one blinked twice before responding with a forlorn nod. Of course, his friends would worry that he was injured, and Yoongi wouldn't simply ask if he was fine soon after seeing him bloody waking up in an abandoned building. It was obvious that something was wrong, but the second oldest in the group seemed to be content with the silent answer.

"We won’t ask what happened," Hoseok comforted, "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

"You can tell us when you feel ready," Jimin said, but corrected himself as Taehyung's eyes shifted from Hoseok to him, "I mean, if you feel ready." He emphasized the word "if.”

"Or we can just set fire to the house of the people who did this to you," Yoongi commented, shrugging as if that were a normal suggestion. But it was the scolding look of the other boys that made Yoongi tell Taehyung to forget what he had just said.

If his stepfather's apartment were not the same as his mother's, perhaps Taehyung might even have considered that idea, but thinking that it might come out worse than the attack on his stepfather, he preferred to be quiet and let his friends refute Yoongi's idea.

"I..." Taehyung looked at all the faces around him. No one had expected him to talk so fast, not even him. But as soon as the first word came out of his mouth in a deep, husky voice, a flurry of words ensued. It wasn't like the night before when tears created a lump in his throat and he could do nothing but cry. No – this time, the words seemed to have a life of their own and came out without him having to think about them.

Taehyung told them how he got home and how much he wanted to meet his mother again, and how he almost stopped breathing when he found his stepfather assaulting her. He told them that he couldn't think of anything but how much he needed to stop his stepfather and his own actions, those thoughts had also gone muddy in the whirlwind in his mind.

He re-lived every second and, as if in a trance, he began frantically rubbing his hands together to try to wipe away the now-dried blood.

Jimin took one of his hands while Jungkook took the other, trying to stop him from rubbing them, but he barely noticed. When he finished speaking, his breath came out as if he had run all the way back there.

"Ok. At least now we know what happened," Jungkook said, just to break the silence.

"But, guys, I..." Taehyung started, but was interrupted by Jin.

"No, you don't really know what happened after you left," commented the eldest, "And it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that you're here and you're fine, and we'll take care of you."

"Which brings us to another matter. Taehyung can't stay here," Namjoon said and looked around, but everyone waited patiently for him to finish. "This place is not even a little bit appropriate for living. There is nothing he might need and..."

"I can't go home," Taehyung fussed. "All that blood and... if he's dead, I..."

Everyone else shushed him together, putting a finger to their lips in a gesture to tell their friend to shut up.

"Who says you’re going to your house?" Namjoon asked. "That's not what I was talking about."

In a second, the younger ones started to play and mock, teasing Taehyung and the older ones. Then everything seemed lighter and simpler, as it only seemed when the seven of them were together. For a while, Taehyung allowed himself to enjoy his friends' presence even though he couldn't forget everything else. At least now his friends were there and he felt stronger knowing he had their support.

None of them paid attention to the time. At one point, one of his friends had loaned Taehyung a coat so he could get rid of the bloody clothes, but no one could tell how much time had passed before or after that.

“We must find a decent place for you to take a shower and get rid of the rest of this blood,” Hoseok said before they left the building. Taehyung felt lighter and freer knowing that he could open up to his friends.

The seven walked the city streets as if they had no worries in the world. The day was sunny, the sun was so bright that it seemed to be helping the boys cheer up Taehyung.

Even with the small breakfast Seokjin had provided, by that time everyone was hungry again, but no one paid attention to it despite the growling stomachs.

Despite the busy hours and streets, people walking around at their lunch hour didn't notice or simply didn't care about the seven young people walking around.

They talked, laughed, and joked, and Taehyung had finally started to interact more, putting his worries aside with some effort. The walk to Namjoon's house was not difficult in the company of friends, even though Namjoon did not exactly live near Taehyung's house.

No one noticed when Jungkook stopped walking and almost stuck his nose in the window of a store, so close his breath was steaming up the glass. It was a large electronics store, and in the front there were several large TVs with crisp, bright images.

Jungkook wasn’t interested in buying a TV or any other electronic product. He didn't have to be glazed to the window of such a store if he wanted something. His family was not as rich as Jimin's, but his parents had enough money to buy whatever he asked, and he didn't have to covet a TV like that since he had a very similar one at home. No, Jungkook was not interested in the devices, but in the images that were shown on each of them.

"Hyung," Jungkook called without even looking at the others. His black eyes didn't leave the screens on the other side of the glass. He did not want to miss any part of the news.

Of course the others had no way of knowing which one Jungkook was calling, since they were all older than him, but no one cared or asked any questions. Everyone turned at the younger boy's voice, as they would have done even if he called someone's name. When they realized that they had already walked a few steps, they approached him, alternating glances between Jungkook's serious face and the window.

Jungkook pointed to the glass-exposed TVs without saying anything else. He didn't need to say anything, he thought. The pictures would say for him.

On all TVs, the images were the same: the news. At first no one seemed alarmed or surprised. They were only curious because Jungkook had found something interesting enough to call them, but that was before they heard what the reporter was saying.

"After being found injured in his own home, the policeman was taken to the nearest hospital, where he spent a few hours in surgery. Doctors reported that there was no complication during the procedure and the patient spent little time in the ICU because he woke up quickly after the effects of the anesthesia had passed. His condition is not critical at the moment, but he will continue to stay at the hospital for further care." The reporter's well-trained voice came out strong and calm, despite the macabre content of the news story.

Taehyung felt his heart skip a beat, his brown eyes wide and his mouth half open, but he didn't believe he could really express what he was feeling. A mixture of relief and panic invaded him like an avalanche.

He didn't need to hear the cop's name to know that the woman was talking about his stepfather. Nor did he need to watch the pictures on TV to know what the cop's house was like when he was found, because it was all etched in his mind, the most vivid memories he wouldn’t like to have.

But if the man was alive, it meant that Taehyung did not have to carry the weight of his life (or death) on his shoulders. He could handle the guilt of injuring his stepfather in a moment of fury and desperation to defend his mother, but he was not a killer.

Relief brought tears to his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He had cried too much that morning. Besides, what would happen now? His stepfather wasn't exactly the most understanding person in the world, and judging by the things he'd already done, he wouldn't avoid a chance to tell that it was Taehyung who had hurt him. The same fear that had made his heart skip a beat now made it beat faster.

Taehyung forced himself to ignore his own thoughts and pay attention to what was happening on the screen.

Images of the hospital had changed, and now everyone could see a couple in a studio, sitting behind a half-moon table of polished wood and marble with a big screen behind them that read "POLICE ATTACKED AT HOME."

Taehyung swallowed hard. He had a strong feeling about how this was going to end.

"According to the victim’s testimony to the police this morning, the attack’s perpetrator was his own stepson, who allegedly used a broken glass bottle to injure him in a sudden attack of rage," the reporter explained.

"The victim states that the stepson has a history of violence and an aversion for rules, and the police are engaged in the investigation and search for Kim Taehyung, the victim's stepson," continued the other reporter with a blank expression.

A picture of Taehyung appeared on the screen as the reporter spoke. The brown hair was a little shorter in the photo than it actually was, since it was an old photo. Then the image changed and a blond man who was in his late thirties appeared on the screen wearing a police uniform.

"We are not going to let such an attack go unpunished," the blond policeman spoke harshly. "An attack on a police officer is, in addition to a crime, a disrespect to the authorities of this city. If this continues, no one else will be safe. A troubled young man can't go around doing whatever he wants," his voice was louder now, more angry. "Let's do our colleague justice by protecting this city."

Taehyung couldn't believe that they were distorting everything! These journalists just passed on the information they received, but they were not right. They had been modified or were incomplete, and the police were saying the same things as his stepfather. Taehyung knew that, but he couldn't help feeling frustrated. His stepfather was a police officer and had enough power to influence the entire department. The police, in turn, were contaminating the media. Taehyung understood that the consequence of all this would be that no one else would believe him, much less want to know his side of the story. Now everyone would see him as a troubled, violent young man who hurt people for no reason.

These thoughts were only reaffirmed when the TV image changed again, this time showing his picture on one side and the reporter on the other.

"Kim Taehyung was convicted of theft just over three years ago and has just left the reform school, his departure coinciding with his 18th birthday. As an adult, Kim Taehyung seems to have become more violent. We ask that you be careful, but if you see him or have any information that can help with the investigation, please contact the police. Your identities will be protected and you will not be in any danger from such contact." Just as the woman finished her sentence, the aforementioned phone number for the police appeared below the screen.

"Investigation my ass!" Jungkook was outraged. "I doubt they want to investigate anything. They've decided to blame Tae for everything."

"I said we should set his house on fire," Yoongi said in a serious tone. He didn't seem to be kidding, and his friends knew him well enough to know it wasn't even a joke. Everyone looked at him very seriously. "What?" He continued. "I doubt he’d be doing all this if he had to put out the fire of that cowardly ass."

"Maybe they don't know what kind of people they're dealing with," Jimin thought aloud. "Maybe he lied to his colleagues in the police department and they don't know who he really is."

"Regardless, it's no longer safe for Tae to be on the street. Anyone can decide to report him. We need to get him to a safe place and think about what to do," Hoseok concluded.

As soon as Hoseok finished speaking, the door to the electronics store opened, accompanied by the sound of a bell ringing. A salesman came out wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt with the store logo stamped in his left pocket. The seven young men struggled to act naturally, but those who knew them would know that it was unnatural for Yoongi's small eyes to be so wide open.

"Can I help you?" The man asked with a smile, and Namjoon knew he didn't suspect a thing. Either the man was not good at remembering faces or had not seen the news. Anyway, Namjoon chose not to risk it.

"Not really. Thank you," Namjoon replied with a small forced smile that showed his dimples. "We were just looking." To his friends, he whispered, "Let's go."

They had better get out before the salesman recognized Taehyung. And there they were again, heading for Namjoon's house.

Maybe it was the fear of someone recognizing Taehyung wandering the street, but the boys practically ran to Namjoon's house. They arrived exhausted, hungry and thirsty. It was no surprise that they decided to eat and drink before they started talking about what was going on. Besides, no one really wanted to get back to the subject. Each of them was thinking of a less intrusive and disturbing way to bring the issue to Taehyung and remind him of everything that had happened to him. Taehyung, on the other hand, didn’t want to involve his friends more than he had already involved in his problems.

This was a delicate moment and no one was in a hurry, after all, no one wanted to make it worse. So, they silently ate the food Seokjin and Yoongi prepared for them. There was no joke or attempt to improve the mood, as had happened until they found out what had happened after Taehyung left his stepfather's house.

Finally, after everyone had finished their meal and was having some beer - except Taehyung who simply looked at the beer bottle in his hand and remembered what he had done - Hoseok decided to say something.

“I think we should do something to bring out the truth.” It was rare to see Hoseok so serious, as he was usually the most excitable out of all of them. “We can't let Taehyung be incriminated for something he didn't do.”

"As if that hadn't happened before," Taehyung grunted, but his comment was ignored by the others.

"Hobi hyung is right," Jimin agreed, "It's not fair for Tae to be arrested for something so serious when nothing they are saying is true."

"It makes no difference," Taehyung grunted again and was ignored.

“Maybe I have an idea on how to do that,” Namjoon said, causing everyone to look hopefully in his eyes, except for Taehyung, who kept analyzing the beer bottle as if it had been the bottle he had used for hurting his stepfather.

"Tell us." It was Seokjin's turn to grumble, but he wasn't as discouraged as Taehyung, so he wasn't ignored.

"We know Taehyung has been wrongly accused before," explained Namjoon, "and that it was all a trick of his stepfather."

"It's true," Jungkook agreed, remembering all the stories he had heard from Taehyung about the case that had taken him to the reform school. “He was charged with theft by one of the owners of the house he was hired to graffiti on.”

"Exactly," continued Namjoon.

"And what does this have to do with the present case?" Yoongi asked. Although he was playing with his lighter and not even looking at his friends, he was paying more attention than they could imagine.

"It has to do with the fact that they’re using his past against him," Namjoon explained. “Having a police record is always a high point in becoming a suspect. With that and the fact that he has his stepfather against him, Taehyung doesn't have much chance of having someone by his side. If we can prove that he was wronged in both cases, he’ll have a chance to be heard.”

“I might know someone who can help us,” Hoseok added, “if we can get this evidence.”

All of Taehyung's friends began to agree, seeing in Namjoon's suggestion the perfect, though incomplete, plan to rid Taehyung of that accusation and possible imprisonment, or of a life in hiding.

"I told you it won't work!" Taehyung shouted this time, as his grumblings were being ignored. The bottle in his hand hit the table hard, but fortunately he didn't break it and wasn't hurt by the gesture.

Everyone looked at him in astonishment, but all Taehyung saw was empathy returning to his friends’ eyes. He was fed up with that empathy.

"Don't you get it?" He complained, his eyes once again filling with tears and his hands shaking. “None of this will work! No one will believe me, no one will doubt my stepfather's word! Do you think I never tried to report him for assaulting my mother? Do you think I didn't try to say that I had done nothing wrong when they accused me of theft? No one ever believes me if he's on the other side accusing me. None of this will work!”

Taehyung wanted his friends to understand and move away. He didn’t even want to stay at Namjoon's house, because if he were ever found, his friend would be accused of hiding a criminal. He believed with all his might that he had no chance against his stepfather, and seeing his friends try to help him, knowing it would be in vain, was difficult for him to see. His friends' startled glances made Taehyung feel even worse.

"And stop looking at me like that," he grunted again and went back to analyzing the beer bottle; he was getting tired. “You don't have to feel sorry for me and think I'm scared or something. I just don't want you to get involved in this anymore than you already are.”

A silence fell over the room, along with a tension so thick that a knife could cut through it.

“Are you nuts?!” Yoongi's voice cut the tension and startled his friends, including Taehyung who stared at him wide-eyed.

No one had ever seen Yoongi be so incisive. Usually the second oldest in the group seemed to be thinking of something else, always with a neutral expression and eyes wandering as he watched the fire or the horizon. They knew their friend paid attention to what they said, but he never did anything but make a quick suggestion or ask a question that urged others to speak for him. That outburst of indignation was new to everyone.

"No one here is sorry for you," Yoongi said, his voice louder than usual. "Of course, what’s happening is not fair, but we’re not sorry for you because we know you’re able to get over it with your head held high, as you did last time."

"We’re your friends, Tae," Seokjin added with a slight smile on his thick lips. He was the only one who could dare to interrupt Yoongi, such was their trust in each other because they were cellmates - and the fact that Seokjin was older also helped a little. “We’ll do everything we can to help you through this, as you did everything you could to help us when we were in reform school.”

“Besides,” Namjoon added, “we're already tangled in it, so there's no point in running away or pretending there’s nothing happening.”

Taehyung was still shocked by what Yoongi said, so he didn't have the nerve to interrupt his friends. Besides, he knew that if it was any of the others in his situation, he would do the same and feel the same way, so he couldn't blame his friends or stop them from helping.

"Tae," Jimin called, causing his friend to finally stop staring at Yoongi, who was still looking at Taehyung with an annoyed expression. "I know how you feel. I know fighting this is tiring and it seems better to let it go. But you, like all of us, know that hiding the truth is harmful not only to you but to others as well. What will happen to your mother if you keep quiet and get arrested again? What will happen to us if you don't speak up this time?”

Taehyung frowned as he considered what he had just heard. He didn't want to involve anyone in his troubles, but remembering what he saw his stepfather do to his mother while he wasn't around made his heart clench in his chest. Jimin was right; hiding the truth would not only harm him, as Taehyung first believed, it would harm his mother and friends, the only people who liked him and protected him.

"We can do it, Tae," Hoseok said cheerfully, trying to relieve the stress and irritation from his friends. “I know someone who’ll listen to you and make others do the same. We just need to find the evidence, and I know we can find it for your cases like we did for mine.”

"And now that we're out here," Jungkook added, "it will be even easier than when we were stuck in the reform school."

Hoseok's lawyer was brought up then. He had believed in Hoseok when the young man was arrested, and as soon as Namjoon and Seokjin got into the reform school computer room and got the evidence to acquit Hoseok, the lawyer helped release him. If they got the evidence, that same lawyer could believe Taehyung and help him be heard and prove his innocence.

Seeing friends so keen to think of a way to help him, Taehyung could no longer reject their help. He had only three options: being arrested for assaulting his stepfather, living on the run, or proving his own innocence. He had a hard time believing he could succeed in the third option, but as he listened to his friends' explanations and reasonings, he was beginning to think it might be worth a try.

With no further objection from Taehyung, his friends understood that they had the freedom and consent to plan what to do next and how to help Taehyung.

Once again, Taehyung spent most part of the night awake, if not listening to his friends' ideas and plans, then thinking about all the decisions that were made that day and the possible consequences.

It was agreed that they would be divided into 3 groups. The first group would go to the house whose owners accused Taehyung of theft to retrieve camera images that could prove that Taehyung did not enter the house to steal it. The second group would go to Taehyung's mother to talk to her and ask her to help and testify against her husband, telling the truth: that Taehyung was simply protecting her. The third group would go to the police file to try to get the files from the previous case to prove that everything was orchestrated by Taehyung's stepfather to incriminate him.

At first, they wanted to keep Taehyung hidden in Namjoon's house, but as the young man refused to stand still while the others helped him, it was decided that he would go with Namjoon to the house he supposedly stole, where he would be less likely to get caught, while Jimin and Hoseok would go to his mother, and Jungkook, Yoongi and Seokjin would go to the police file.

Taehyung could see the logic of the plan and was willing to try it, since he knew his friends would do it anyway, even without him. If he compared his own attitudes with those of his friends, he would know that they were doing nothing that he would not do. However, he couldn't stop thinking about the possible consequences of what they were doing.

First, Namjoon accompanying him to a place where Taehyung had already been wrongfully accused was very dangerous. If the owners of the house saw him, they would surely report him to the police and Namjoon would be taken as his accomplice. In addition, he could be accused of attempting to steal from them again, for revenge or whatever reason his stepfather or the homeowners might invent.

Second, talking to Taehyung's mother made Taehyung's chest tighten. He was aware that what his friends would ask of his mother was extremely disturbing and painful. Besides not being able to go to her because the police would be waiting for him, Taehyung refused to put his own mother against the wall, asking her to do something she was afraid of. Taehyung knew that his mother had never reported his stepfather because no one would believe her and so she would be even more vulnerable at the hands of that rascal.

Third, breaking into the police file was extremely dangerous and highly unlikely. He still couldn't believe his friends would try to do so. Still, if anyone had a chance to do that, it was Seokjin, who had been able to convince the reform school guards to release Namjoon's access to computers, even though “must stay away from computers” was clearly written on Namjoon’s sentence. The oldest in the group had a way of convincing people that even his friends couldn’t understand. But if they were caught, they would be arrested for sure and their sentences would not be soft, and they had no reasonable explanation for doing so.

Taehyung feared for himself, but he feared much more for his friends and his mother. Even if he was arrested again, this time for much more than three years, he would rather take it than see his friends being arrested again, or seeing his mother suffer more than she was already suffering.

When he finally managed to close his eyes to rest, Taehyung had no good dreams, as they all involved everything that could go wrong with their plan. When he woke up, Taehyung was even more apprehensive than when he went to sleep, but he was aware that he could do nothing to stop his friends, so he could only wish them luck and ask them to be careful when they all left Namjoon's house to put the plan in motion.

***

After everything had been cleared up and the groups were set to put all parts of the plan into action, the boys considered leaving Taehyung at home. He would be in danger if he walked the streets now that he was wanted by the police, so staying at Namjoon's house would be safer. But the truth was that Taehyung was still a little nervous and very agitated with all the decisions his friends were making, and there was no denying that all the other six guys were afraid that if they left Taehyung alone at that moment, he might do something stupid that would endanger the whole plan.

So since letting Taehyung's emotions run wild trying to convince his mother to help didn't seem like a good idea, and getting him close to a police station was out of the question, there he was, following Namjoon's long strides.

The older one usually worked alone, it had always been that way. He didn't really need help and it was usually easier to concentrate if there was no one around, but he didn't care about the company.

Namjoon didn't say much along the way, but Taehyung didn't seem to notice. The younger one spoke almost nonstop, his voice low and hoarse, but he didn't seem to expect any response from Namjoon.

It was obvious that Taehyung didn't notice, didn't even pay attention, but Namjoon watched him from the corner of his eye from time to time. Even though he knew Taehyung's generally lively, chatty nature, the elder knew that at that moment it was all just a facade. The younger one was more nervous than he wanted to admit and talked nonstop to try to cover it up, but his friend knew him too well not to notice.

Taehyung hadn't talked this much since everyone was in the reform school together. Namjoon would have to live under a rock to not notice his friend's behavioral changes, which, as Namjoon had imagined, changed again when they got to where they were going.

Taehyung was suddenly completely silent.

Namjoon could almost hear the beating of both hearts. His own was calm and steady since he was no longer intimidated by the work he had to do. He was used to all that: the adrenaline, the care he knew he needed to be. Taehyung's heartbeat, on the other hand, though Namjoon couldn't really hear it, was racing and out of step. The almond eyes were wide.

It was no surprise. Taehyung knew every part of the plan as well as the others - not that it had been easy to convince him that it should be done. No. His eyes were wide with the shock of recognition.

He did not expect to return there. After a year in the reform school, this was the last place he expected to be.

The drawing on the high wall with the white background caught his eye. Every well done detail demonstrated the zeal with which it was made. The bold colors expressed joy and movement as it should be. The images, the represented children, seemed to dance without worry, as he had once done, at a time that seemed too distant to be precise.

It was his work. The design, the colors, even the small signature on one corner of the wall where the work ended, had been carefully done by him.

Contrary to what many might think, graffiti was a type of art and had nothing to do with vandalism. Also, some people might not like it, but Taehyung had talent. The art on the wall showed it. It also showed that his talent was recognized. Or at least it had been before he was arrested.

That was how it had started. Of course, by the time things happened, Taehyung had not linked one thing to another, but he had enough time to do it in the reform school.

He had been hired by the family who lived there to do the art on the wall. The family liked graffiti and had discovered his talent. It had been a good and satisfying job. Unfortunately, it had also happened on the same date the family was stolen from.

After that, Taehyung had been accused, without much of a chance to defend himself, of being the perpetrator of the theft. He found himself in a quick, confused rush to prove his innocence, but nothing seemed to work. Even his lawyer looked at him with suspicion, and with the influence of the family that had been stolen, it was not long before Taehyung knew the inside of the reform school.

Luckily, he also met his friends, which was why he was currently looking at the art that was still on the wall and remembering it. Because his friends believed in him more than himself and were willing to prove they were right.

Since Taehyung trusted and believed in them, he must also believe that they would get what they wanted, he had also seen their efforts to clear Hoseok out of charge and the positive results of it. But even so, he hoped Namjoon would take the first step.

Namjoon, in turn, had decided to give his friend some time to get used to the idea and accept, react to it, but he was already getting nervous from all that silence. Since Taehyung said nothing and shed no tears, Namjoon decided it was time to act. After all, the longer they spent there, the more likely someone would pass them and recognize Taehyung.

"Well, let's go," Namjoon finally said and Taehyung nodded.

The two of them approached the wall. They were going to break the law again. In fact, almost the whole group would do it and there was no innocent one this time. Convincing Taehyung's mother to help would be uncomfortable and probably difficult, but it was the only thing within the law they would do. The other two groups had to be more careful.

But at that moment, Namjoon was not worried. The possibility of breaking the law would only keep him on the alert. He wouldn’t have suggested attempting to acquit his friend if that were a problem. For him and Taehyung, however, the illegal part would only start later. For now, the biggest concern was not letting the youngest of them be recognized.

Despite the little movement of people on the wide, well-lit street, Taehyung kept his head covered by the hood of his sweatshirt. Shorter and more agile than his older friend who had a tendency to be clumsy, he offered to climb the wall while Namjoon watched the street.

The eldest of the pair looked around, happy to let the younger help. Normally he could do everything on his own, but it didn't hurt to have an assistant. He also knew from Taehyung's concentrated expression that having something to do was comforting.

Taehyung balanced the best he could on the wall and climbed up, trying not to think that he could be recognized at any moment by someone walking down the street, or worse, that someone could leave the house and see him there. Instead, he kept his focus on the small camera in front of him.

Namjoon had asked him to get technical information about the camera over the garage wall of the fancy house that was filming the graffiti, the exact camera he was looking at, at that moment. Taehyung had not asked questions before and was not asking now. He knew that his friend had it all planned and chose only to trust him. Namjoon's skills had worked to get Hoseok out of the reform school. It was hard to believe, but they could work now, too. After all the discussion with his friends and the scolding he took, Taehyung was trying not to be pessimistic.

It was easier said than done, but he could at least not disturb his friend.

Namjoon jotted down quickly and accurately all the information his friend passed while clinging to the high wall like a koala. The camera’s brand, as well as the model, the year and, lastly, the trade name of the company that managed the recordings. Rich people like those who lived there weren't the kind who ran their own security. They hired other people or companies to do this kind of work for them.

When he was over, Taehyung jumped off the wall and landed easily on the sidewalk. He waited until he received an affirmative signal from his friend and climbed back up the wall, this time with the main entrance gate to help him lean. He repeated the procedure and gave Namjoon the same information about the second camera, which was positioned to film the entrance to the house.

Namjoon made another positive sign and saw his friend skilfully climb down the wall for the second time. He himself had already noted the location and position information for each camera. He might need them or not, but he didn't want to risk it. To save his friend, every detail was important.

He patted Taehyung's shoulder and started to walk away, putting his hands in his pockets and acting casually, knowing that Taehyung was doing the same behind him. The first stage of their part in the plan was complete.

***

Jimin and Hoseok were not as satisfied with their role in the whole plan. Although it seemed like they got the easy and least dangerous part, they believed they actually got the worst part of the plan. They were certainly the best option for doing what was in their charge, but they would not like it at all.

After all was decided, while they were on their way to the hospital where Taehyung's stepfather was hospitalized, Jimin and Hoseok were silently wondering what they would do to complete their task. They were undoubtedly the friendliest and happiest people in the group (aside from Taehyung who wasn't very excited lately), so it's no fairer than them to be responsible for the most socially interacting part of the plan.

Listening to others talk about what they should do, anyone would think the task would be simple, but they were not fooled. Regardless of having the group's greatest social skills (apart from Seokjin who would use his talents for other purposes), they thought they fell far short of the task they were given. Convincing Taehyung's mother to do something she feared would not be an easy task.

Like the others, Jimin and Hoseok believed that Taehyung's mother would eventually give in to the opportunity to help her son, as they knew she loved Taehyung. They spent at least a year listening to their friend speak well of his mother and fondly remember all the good times they had together. They heard all about how she was willing to marry Taehyung's stepfather so she could support and give her son a father. They knew all the suffering and pain she had to go through while she was married. All because she loved her son and believed that staying with Taehyung's stepfather was the best way to take care of her son, even if she needed to catch up with the man who supported them.

Regardless of the marriage, Taehyung's mother's primary goal was to take good care of her son, and when the boy was arrested, she had no chance to help him because she was injured and the whole case was quickly closed. Jimin and Hoseok would appeal to the fact that this time she could help her son and escape herself from the pain this marriage caused her.

When they arrived at the hospital, it was not difficult to find out which room Taehyung's stepfather was in. Nor was it hard to find out that Taehyung's mother was practically trapped inside the room to take care of her husband and only went out a few times to eat. So Jimin and Hoseok had to wait in the hospital cafeteria until Taehyung's mother showed up to eat.

As bad as it sounds, the two friends were not surprised when lunchtime was over and Taehyung's mother didn't show up. If Taehyung's stepfather was as bad as Taehyung had said, he would surely deprive Taehyung's mother of some meals. They just couldn't understand how it could happen inside the hospital, where nurses and doctors would notice if someone was starving.

They were still patiently waiting for Taehyung's mother when a man wearing a blue coat came to them and called them to talk to him in his office. Because they were afraid of missing Taehyung's mother, Jimin and Hoseok resisted the doctor's invitation a little, but as soon as the elder said he wanted to talk precisely about the person they were looking for, the two friends followed the doctor to his office.

As they entered the office, both boys looked around the room. Each reacted differently to the new environment. Jimin remembered the time he had accompanied a friend on an appointment, but remembered very little about his own appointments with a doctor, so the place looked like any room that was clear and looked sterile. Hoseok, on the other hand, remembered very well the consultation he had had when he was arrested, when they thought he was on drugs to steal a cop's gun, so he felt a little nervous inside those walls. Even so, the two sat in front of the doctor's desk, as requested, and waited.

After finally hearing what the doctor had to say, they felt their faith in humanity being restored. Apparently, when he visited Taehyung's stepfather's room for a consultation on the patient's condition, the doctor noticed that Taehyung's mother had some unhealed wounds and some bruises that were still apparent. Seeing other women in this situation, the doctor ended up asking no question to Taehyung's stepfather about the matter and waited for the woman to leave the room unaccompanied to question her about her injuries. Unfortunately, the woman said she was very clumsy and kept hurting herself, banging on furniture and falling. Despite continuing to suspect of aggression, the doctor could not say anything if no one reported the aggressor.

However, the doctor's suspicions fell on the person they least expected: Taehyung. After exposing the fact that he was worried about the policeman's wife who had been assaulted by his stepson, the doctor expressed fear that Taehyung had not only assaulted his stepfather, but had been assaulting his own mother.

Jimin and Hoseok couldn't be more outraged by the doctor's suspicions, but they couldn't say they were surprised either. As Namjoon had said, Taehyung was all too likely to be accused at that moment, and anyone would suspect that he would be the most violent person in the family.

Even so, Jimin and Hoseok responded similarly to the doctor's accusation, tightening their lips in a thin line and clenching their hands into fists. They wanted to defend their friend and shout to the whole hospital to hear that it was not Taehyung who was the perpetrator of his mother's aggression, but his stepfather. If it depended on Taehyung's friends, even the doctor could be attacked at that moment for talking such bullshit.

Fortunately, the two boys were not stupid, so they did nothing against the doctor, nor told the truth that few knew. They simply said that they also suspected that Taehyung's mother had been abused for some time and so they wanted to see her, to persuade her to have an exam and to have documented that all her injuries were a consequence of the beatings she had taken, for only with such a document she could expose her attacker. At no point, however, did they imply that they knew who was responsible for it.

Noting that the young men were trying to help a woman they knew and apparently appreciated, the doctor proposed that they talk to Taehyung's mother, and if she agreed to take the exam, he would arrange for everything to be done correctly and discreetly, and yet would sign and stamp the report so that it would be taken to the police to make the complaint.

With someone else on their side, Jimin and Hoseok practically celebrated the unexpected advance in their plan. They just didn't do it because they still had to talk to Taehyung's mother. Hoping that they would succeed, they went back to the cafeteria and waited for Taehyung's mother once again.

Once again, the two friends spent a long time waiting for Taehyung's mother. Enough time to be concerned (again) about how they might approach the subject and persuade the wife to do an extensive and intrusive examination and to testify against her own husband. It was only when Jimin and Hoseok lost their smile of excitement that the confidence had put on their faces after talking to the doctor that Taehyung's mother entered the cafeteria.

Figuring the woman might be starving for skipping lunch, Jimin and Hoseok waited for her to grab the food and sit down for them to approach.

"Excuse me," Jimin caught the eye of Taehyung's mother, who seemed quite surprised to be approached by the two young men, but then smiled when she saw the sincere smiles on their pretty faces. Seeing that she was willing to listen to them and was not afraid of them, Jimin continued in a low voice so that only she could hear, "We are friends with Taehyung."

This time the woman widened her eyes and turned her head from side to side, looking for any sign of her husband or any other police officer. Then, making a hasty gesture with her hands, she asked them to sit down.

"How is he?" She asked immediately, lowering her voice as Jimin had done and leaning over the table to get closer to her son's friends. “I asked him to run away and I didn't hear from him anymore. When I saw what Minsuk told the police on the news this morning, it was too late for me to explain what really happened.”

Jimin and Hoseok looked at each other with frowns, finding the statement strange.

"What do you mean?" Hoseok asked as they looked back at Taehyung's mother. “Didn't the police get your statement about what happened?”

Taehyung's mother sighed and stared at her own food for a few seconds before looking up and answering:

"Minsuk told them I wasn't home," her voice was altered by the lump that formed in her throat and her eyes filled with tears. “According to his testimony, I only arrived after Taehyung rushed out of the house and he was already lying on the floor when I arrived. I also asked them if I needed to testify, but Minsuk was able to convince them that taking my statement would be a pain for me because I had to testify against my son. They made sure to stop me from talking, as if I could collapse at any moment.”

Seeing a tear that Taehyung's mother couldn't keep from running down the beautiful woman's pale cheeks, Jimin and Hoseok were sure they could convince her to help Taehyung in this case. It was obvious to them that she wanted to testify in favor of her son, but was being held back by her husband and the police who believed in Taehyung's stepfather.

Unfortunately, her statement that Taehyung was simply trying to defend her that day would not be enough. Jimin and Hoseok remembered this as they sighed and looked with sorrow and compassion at the wounds of the woman in front of them. Taehyung's mother was a woman as beautiful as her son, with perfectly aligned facial features. However, all this beauty was marred by the dark circles under the almond eyes, the pale skin, and the bruises of different colors due to the different dates on which they were made. It was time to do their most difficult task, and Jimin and Hoseok wished not to do much harm to it.

Once again the two friends looked at each other, expecting the other to take responsibility for the task and perform it. Jimin rubbed the back of his neck and Hoseok cleared his throat before speaking.

"Ma’am," the eldest of them said gently, "in fact, we came here to ask you a favor."

Taehyung's mother raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly.

"We're helping Taehyung prove he's innocent," Hoseok clarified, looking around as he pronounced his friend's name to make sure no one could hear him. "But we need your help."

For a moment, various emotions crossed the woman's face. Taehyung's mother was afraid for her son who could be discovered if they were heard there, she was relieved to know that someone was trying to help Taehyung, she felt pain for not being able to help him at such a time, she was hopeful that she could finally be useful to her boy, and finally she was afraid to know that she would have to face her fears.

"What do you need?" She finally asked, gathering all her remaining courage and all the love she felt for her son. As always, she was willing to do anything to take care of Taehyung.

It was then that Jimin and Hoseok understood why Taehyung had always said his mother was brave even though she had never done anything to stop her husband's aggression. It wasn't a matter of having the courage to say what needs to be said, but it had to do with the courage to do whatever it took to help the one she loved. Fortunately, this was Taehyung, so both friends could breathe a sigh of relief.

It didn't take long for them to explain what Taehyung's mother needed to do, including the forensic medical examination and the future statement she would need to give. They didn't miss out on the fact that the doctor who had operated on Lee Minsuk, Taehyung's stepfather, would be responsible for her examination, and Taehyung's mother smiled slightly as she remembered that the doctor had approached her to ask about her injuries.

While Jimin and Hoseok explained what she needed to do, Taehyung's mother seemed several times worried, tired, or doubtful, but at no point did she interrupt them or express any thoughts against what they were asking of her. Taehyung's two friends could see the apprehension seize the woman, but were amazed at her prompt agreement.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Jimin couldn't hold back the question. They hoped to find more resistance in explaining everything she should do.

The smile on Taehyung's mother's face reminded Jimin of his time in the reform school with Taehyung, when Taehyung smiled without difficulty. The drawn lips made the cheeks swell and the joy reached the brown eyes without restriction, as if that face were made for that expression of happiness. The tears that had once again accumulated in her eyes did not change the fact that they were happy.

“All I've done,” she explained, “all I've ever wanted is for Taehyung to be happy, have good friends, and live a good life. It shames me to know that it took him to be arrested to find someone he could trust, but I'm glad nonetheless. No matter what price I have to pay, I just want my son to be happy. What you ask of me does not seem to be a price high enough to compensate for all the harm I caused him by choosing this life we have lived for so long.”

It had been a long time since Jimin and Hoseok had been sad enough to shed tears. Not even when they ended up in the reform school did they feel so sad. Seeing a mother say that she had to pay more, in addition to all that she had already suffered, to make up for all the effort she had taken to care for her child, was like someone trying to tear their hearts out.

Jimin and Hoseok struggled to smile and tell Taehyung's mother that she had already paid dearly, that she had already paid a price beyond due for a wrong choice she had made a long time ago.

Trying to shed the weight of all those bad energies and negative emotions, they escorted Taehyung's mother to Lee Minsuk's doctor's office. As they had imagined, it had not been easy to talk to Taehyung's mother, but fortunately she was exactly the angel Taehyung had described.

***

The trio of Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook were the most eclectic of all groups. Someone who knew each of their personality would think they would find it difficult to mingle and would fall into an uncomfortable silence on the way to executing their part of the plan. But if this person really knew them, they wouldn't think that. After spending enough time getting to know each other while in the reform school, the seven young men were united as if they had spent their entire lives together, and these three demonstrated it in an endless conversation on their way to the police’s file.

After a little debate, Seokjin had taken the car out of the garage for the task, not only because it would be easier to drive back and forth with it, but also because his task was a little farther than those of the other groups. Then, shortly after Namjoon left with Taehyung heading the house whose wall Taehyung had graffiti three years earlier, and Jimin and Hoseok left for the hospital, the two oldest of the group and the youngest of all were accommodated in the SUV Seokjin had bought a few weeks earlier, with Jungkook nudging Yoongi insistently to get him to join the conversation while he and Seokjin talked about sports.

The concerns that plagued the others did not even seem to cross their minds because they were so confident. Poking around files and information that they shouldn't see wasn't exactly something they hadn't done before and they knew they could do what they needed without getting caught. After all, they had a plan. More or less.

At least they had agreed before leaving Namjoon's house that Yoongi would control his mood swings and wouldn’t try to set fire to anything, and if he tried, Jungkook was tasked with stopping him. After all, it would not be easy to explain and get away with it if the police file center suddenly caught fire. And Jungkook would try hard not to get too angry about anything and use his muay thai skills, but the youngest had been learning to control those impulses with Jimin's help since he was in reform school, so Seokjin wasn't really worried about that.

The oldest of them was in charge of opening the way and allowing the other two to access the files they were looking for. Seokjin would use his skills so that the stewards of the police file would not bother Yoongi and Jungkook while they did their part of the job.

He'd been trying not to use his good looks and good conversation to get what he wanted since he'd left the reform school. It was hard to resist, but he was trying hard, since he had learned from his friends that he had other qualities and didn't need to resort to that. However, he could not deny his help in the plan to acquit Taehyung. If this was the specific skill they needed, that was what he would use, and everything else that was needed. After all, his friend deserved it.

Yoongi's eyes were half closed, silently plotting an effective way to restrain Jungkook's tireless finger, which was constantly poking him, so that he could finally take his nap in the SUV's passenger seat when the younger man suddenly fell silent and jumped on the backseat, his hands gripping the two front seats firmly for that.

For a second, Yoongi thought he would finally get some sleep, so he closed his eyes again, but opened them at once when he felt the wind move near his face and tried to avoid widening them when he found Jungkook's hand five inches from his nose, pointing to something in front of the car.

"There it is, there it is! We’re here," Jungkook said with his cheerful voice and a huge smile on his face. Seokjin smiled as Yoongi mumbled a nod that was ignored by the other two.

Yoongi knew that his friends often ignored his moodiness and he didn't care. They paid attention when it was important and enjoyed it when he was in a good mood. That's what mattered, especially since no one was to blame for him being bipolar, literally. The others had just learned to live with it.

The police file center was a huge building that looked more like a post office shed than a police station. In fact, it wasn't really a police station. There was a police station a few blocks away, with police working to handle all kinds of complaints and making rounds. No, the file center was a warehouse type. That was where all evidence of all investigated cases was taken and filed. That's why it had that name.

Seokjin stopped the car just before the file center. He didn't want anyone to link the car to them if something didn't go as planned and they had to get away. It was not the first time for any of them doing something they shouldn't and he wanted to be prepared.

As the responsible young man, despite his explosive temper, Jungkook straightened as he got out of the car. This was no time for jokes, and after the trio walked closer to the center, he waited outside with Yoongi as Seokjin entered, just as they had agreed. They would wait for a signal from the eldest to sneak in and do their part. For now, it was Seokjin's turn.

The older one took a relaxed stance as he walked through the door. He felt confident and the smug smile that spread across his full lips as he watched the counter ooze charm.

It was perfect. Well that was just perfect. The file center parlor looked like a very simple reception, with a few waiting chairs and a high counter that could hold three computers, but only one of them was being used by none other than a beautiful brunette with straight brown hair stuck in a ponytail and a flawless blue police uniform. The atmosphere seemed very favorable to him.

Seokjin straightened his broad shoulders and shoved his hands in his pants pocket as he approached and rested his free elbow on the counter. His words were almost sweet as he greeted the woman with a simple "Good afternoon," but when the woman looked away from the computer screen to him, his dark eyes had a seductive glow.

He saw the policewoman swallow hard and he knew he had already gotten what he wanted. With the hand that was in his pocket so far, he made the gesture that he knew his friends outside would see through the door's glass. The woman would see nothing but his handsome face for a while.

"So, we meet again," Seokjin said with a slight tone of surprise in his voice.

The policewoman raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as she studied Seokjin's face, swallowing once more as she noted his beauty.

"Do we know each other?" She asked huskily, then cleared her throat and straightened in her chair trying to hide that she was rocked by Seokjin's appearance.

With an exclamation of surprise and a complete change from cheerful expression to one of wounded pride, Seokjin put a hand to his chest and asked if she didn't remember him. Looking concerned that she had somehow managed to hurt the handsome man in front of her, the woman simply said no.

"Gee, I thought you noticed me at the academy as I noticed you," he explained as soon as he got her answer. Then he looked away to the hand drawing abstract drawings on the counter, as if brooding over a thought. "It seems my interest in you is not reciprocal."

Suddenly the woman sucked in her breath and completely forgot to try to pretend she wasn't interested in Seokjin. She waved both hands in the air and nodded before answering.

"No, no!" She vehemently denied it. “Surely the interest is reciprocal.”

"Are you sure?" Seokjin asked frowning and leaning over the counter to get closer to her. "You don't even remember meeting me at the academy."

"You mean at the police academy?" The policewoman asked huskily again as she blinked nonstop and stared straight into Seokjin's dark, deep eyes. He simply nodded as he pouted his lower lip, drawing the policewoman's attention to his mouth. "Of... of course... I remember you."

Seokjin smiled at that answer. To the police officer, it sure seemed that he was glad she remembered him, but he was really happy because she had stammered to lie to satisfy him.

"So, you remember me?" He looked suddenly excited, his baritone voice rising a tone and drawing the cop's attention back to his mouth. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

Seokjin's response, both physics and the one that came out of his lips, was enough to make the cop relax and smile as she looked back into the dark eyes.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, more likely to go back to work now that the mess was over. Besides, it was obvious that she would do everything she could to keep Seokjin talking to her.

Shrugging, Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, disguising himself to watch the camera the woman should be watching and that was showing exactly how Yoongi and Jungkook entered the building through the side door.

"To tell you the truth, I kind of lied to you," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck and lightly pressing his lips. "I knew you were assigned to work here, so I thought I'd come see you, or rather meet you again."

Nothing Seokjin could say would have put a bigger, happier smile on the woman's face in front of him. The possibility of having a man like Seokjin interested in her seemed like the best thing that happened to her that day (or any other day of her life). She was not even aware that she had never seen that beautiful face in her life, or that she had never met those beautiful round dark eyes. Just knowing that as a simple policewoman who kept the police file and was not much watched by men like that, Seokjin being interested in her was enough to distract her from her work, which she didn't even think was that important.

That's what Seokjin focused on while he was there distracting her so that Yoongi and Jungkook had the peace and time to look for what they needed to clear Taehyung. Always remembering his false interest in the brunette in front of him, Seokjin asked her why she had been assigned to this work, if she enjoyed her job, why a beautiful woman like her was still single, why she was there alone during the day, among others. If his role in the plan was to get a girlfriend, Seokjin would have had enough of her by the time the day was over, as the policewoman answered each of his questions as if she had really known Seokjin for a long time and as if she didn't need to hide anything from a suspicious boy that was blatantly distracting her from her own work.

Not once did the brunette look from Seokjin to the monitor with the cameras she must be watching, or care that her co-workers were returning to their posts. However, as soon as Seokjin noticed the first policeman appear beside the woman, he checked the security cameras and saw that his friends were already heading for the exit. Not wanting the new front-desk occupant to watch as two intruders fled the file center with a stolen file under their arms, Seokjin extended his charm to the new cop.

"Good afternoon," Seokjin said as he reached for the policeman who was watching him with a frown. Seokjin's relaxed smile and charm were enough to make the man shake his hand and smile back. "I'm Yun Taewon," he lied, "a friend of Nanjeong from the academy." Of course, she hadn't said her name during the conversation, since she thought he knew her, but he had no trouble reading it on her badge and making sure to record it for that moment. "I just came to say hello to her, since I found out she's working here."

"It's nice to meet a friend of officer Jeong," the policeman chuckled as he sat down and patted the brunette on the shoulder beside him. "She doesn't talk much."

Smiling in Nanjeong's direction and winking at her, Seokjin made it clear that he knew the advantage he had over the other cop, since the woman had been talking to him for at least half an hour. Chuckling, Nanjeong did not deny what the policeman said and was glad to have Seokjin realize that she was really interested in him.

"I think I better get going," Seokjin said as he looked at the clock on his own wrist. Then he looked back at the brunette and added, "Why don't you give me your phone number so we won't lose touch again?"

The cop didn't even think twice. She took a pen and paper, wrote down her own phone number, and quickly handed it to Seokjin, who made a point of stroking her fingers and blinking back at her as he took the paper.

"Why don't I have your phone number yet?" Seokjin heard the other cop ask while he was leaving, and he didn't even have to fake a smug smile as the policewoman answered that the other cop didn't deserve her phone number.

Seokjin knew it was not right to use people to get what he wanted, but he could not deny that it was pleasant to know that he had conquered a beautiful woman and that he could do it again whenever he wanted. Nothing could inflate his ego more than that.

***

Namjoon and Taehyung didn't talk to the other boys. They hadn’t. Each group had their part of the plan to complete, and at the end, when they had everything they needed, they would gather the information and evidence they had gotten and move on to the next step. But for now, one task didn't depend on the other, and it might be even safer not to keep in touch at the moment.

So, the hacker and his friend went on to do just that, hacking. At that moment, the illegal part of their task would begin. Climbing the wall of a house, especially one that was supposedly stolen by one of them before, to see camera specifications could be a suspicious act, but it was not against the law. Illegal was what they wanted to do with that information.

Unsurprisingly, Namjoon knew the companies that did this kind of service. His curiosity and his gift for computers had led him to get to know them a little deeper. He had even ventured into the systems of some of them years before, when he was discovered and arrested. But it hadn't been that long before and he was convinced he still knew enough about these companies not to go wrong.

That's why he had almost smiled when Taehyung read the company name to him from up the wall. The hacker didn't want to overestimate himself. It was not good for any hacker to be overconfident or arrogant because it made them make mistakes. Mistakes made them leave marks that in turn made them get caught. But Namjoon trusted his skills just enough and needed. Besides, he could now also say that he knew the company he was dealing with.

The confirmation that his information about the company was not outdated was that it was completely empty of people when the pair arrived. Namjoon had done time and transport calculations hoping to find it just like that and smiled at Taehyung, showing his dimples in response to his friend's surprised exclamation.

Of course, he could try to hack into the company system that monitored the cameras from his own home and his own computer, as he had done several times before with other companies. But he knew that if he did that, he would be risking finding blocks and not finding the files he wanted for several reasons. But the matter was too important for him to risk not achieving his goal by silly details. Besides, the sooner they could gather all the evidence, the better, and he had an ace up his sleeve prepared especially for it.

So, there they were, already inside the company, walking around the rooms and cubicles until they found the office he wanted and where he knew he would find the files.

It was a small, dark room with a large computer whose keyboard had many buttons attached and several monitors on the wall in front. Namjoon sat in the high-backed padded white chair and took a good look at everything before letting his fingers work on the keyboard as if they had a life of their own and knew exactly what they were doing.

Taehyung let his friend work while looking around. He no longer looked, and didn't feel, as nervous as before. Perhaps his task of verifying camera information had helped more than he expected, and now the silence in the room was comfortable rather than a palpable tension.

It did not take long for the methodical and focused Namjoon to make some images appear on the monitors in front of him, catching the eye of Taehyung, who turned away from the door, where he was watching the rest of the office, to pay attention to his friend's work.

Gradually Namjoon was getting closer to what he wanted. He used the information Taehyung had given him to get to the right camera. He would check the wall camera first, the one that filmed the graffiti wall. He would do one thing at a time, with calm and detail. He couldn't afford to let anything go unnoticed. So, already fiddling with the log files, he concentrated his search on the approximate day and time of the police charge.

Taehyung saw his own image appear on the screens before him and searched for a chair to sit on. He didn't want to admit it, but the feeling of seeing himself on the monitors, as he had been three years earlier while graffitiing the wall, was a bit odd.

In the pictures, he wore light clothing. Faded jeans and a plain white shirt whose hem he had tucked into the waistband of his pants, which was complemented by an equally white belt. He would take the spray paint cans out of a black backpack he'd left on the floor near the wall and wouldn't let a single splash of paint get on his clothes as he made the shapes appear on the wall with serious expression and focused eyes.

Namjoon slightly increased the speed of the video, just enough so that they didn't take so long but without missing any detail, after watching how Taehyung's talent made him paint a beautiful picture on the wall, as well as the satisfied look on his face at his complete work before gathering his graffiti material, storing it all back in his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder as he walked away. A few steps further, Taehyung's recorded image stopped again and took one last look at the graffiti before nodding, as if approving his own work, and walking away from the wall, far enough to go out of the camera's range.

The hacker advanced the video until hours later, and even when several people stopped to watch Taehyung's art on the wall, the artist did not return to the scene, wearing that or any other outfit. Then, as a precaution, he replayed the recording even before his friend arrived with his backpack full of paint cans, and analyzed each moment. Thoroughly, he watched every minute of the video until he got to the previous day's recording, yet he found no other image of his friend. There was simply no record of Taehyung made by that camera the day the graffiti was made, the day the house was stolen and Taehyung was charged with committing the crime.

Neither reacted to that, however. Not yet. But Namjoon was careful to save the entire file of the graffiti-specific day recordings on a flash drive he had carried with him in his jeans pocket.

With the next camera, which was filming the entrance to the house, Namjoon was even more careful and detailed. He began by watching the early hours recordings of the morning, or rather at dawn, and proceeded from there. He didn't want to miss anything, didn't want to leave any breaches that could be used against Taehyung. He and all the other boys knew the graffiti artist was innocent, but they would need more than certainty to prove the truth.

Both Namjoon and Taehyung knew the time when the house had been stolen. Police had made a point of disclosing this information when they accused Taehyung of theft. But the two friends ignored the alleged evidence that the police had presented years before and resisted the urge to advance the recording. Instead, they watched, almost calmly, the many hours of video that were playing at the same slightly hurried speed as the previous one.

Nothing unusual happened throughout the day and no one but the residents themselves entered or left the house until the time of the robbery.

The pair watched the camera-recorded image of a man walking through the gate and into the house, and Namjoon slowed the image so they could see it in real time. He wore dark jeans and a very dark brown sweatshirt, with a hood that covered his head over the cap he wore.

The two friends frowned. It was obvious from everyone's clothes that had been filmed by both cameras that the day was hot. So why was this man dressed like that? Besides, it was clear it was a man. As much as the clothes covered his whole body and he kept his face hidden from the camera as he tried to keep it behind him as he entered the house, his height and walk made it clear that the person was a man. More than that, he was incredibly big and strong to be mistaken for a woman.

Namjoon said nothing. He didn't want to say anything until he could prove it, but the unarguably suspicious man who dressed in an absurd manner for the weather was incredibly big and strong to be mistaken for Kim Taehyung himself.

Taehyung was tall, but although his slender body showed some muscles, he was nowhere near what they saw on the monitors.

But neither of them said anything and Taehyung held his breath for a moment. This time his nervousness made him quiet rather than chatter.

No one broke the silence as they waited for the images to pass on the monitors, and as the man in the sweatshirt stepped out the front door of the house, looking around cautiously and holding a small box in both hands, the adrenaline made Taehyung jump from the chair. He controlled himself shortly thereafter, but his expectation was visible in the hand that clutched the arm of the chair so hard it made his knuckles white.

Namjoon straightened a little to get a better look. As the man approached the gate, Namjoon could see that the small box he held was unmistakably the family jewelry box that had been stolen that day, for which Taehyung had been charged. But the face the man was trying to keep down so that his cap and hood could hide him could not resist looking up. He knew exactly where the camera was and had deliberately avoided it when he entered the house, but at that moment, with the item stolen in his hands and feeling confident, the thief looked straight at it.

Taehyung gasped.

The face that appeared on the monitors was tanner than his own, perhaps only a few years older, but surely the features were tougher and the eyes, so light brown that they were almost green, had not had the slightest hint of kindness.

The thief, the man who had been shot by the security camera leaving the house with the stolen object in his hands, did not even look like Kim Taehyung.

Namjoon gave his friend a small smile and gave his shoulder a slight shake. Taehyung showed him a square smile before they both controlled themselves and looked back at the recording.

They saw the owners of the house return, saw when the couple's wife left the house, obviously desperate, and when she returned as her husband called her. They saw when the police arrived, spent a lot of time talking to them, taking notes and watching the camera as Namjoon and Taehyung had done earlier. They also saw when the police left and the woman was crying at the door of the house hugging her husband who had an angry look.

But they saw no sign of Taehyung in the recording.

Namjoon saved that file the same way as the previous one and got up. The pair had already got what they had fetched there.

Taehyung followed his friend out into the street and back to his friend's house, his hands never stopped shaking as he fought a smile all the way there.

***

It was hard to tell who was more nervous on the way to the doctor's office, but Hoseok and Jimin had already settled for the fact that they had a job to do. As hard as it was to believe how easily and quickly Taehyung's mother had agreed to help, neither friend could deny that this was exactly what they wanted.

They both tried to have a neutral conversation with her to try to calm her down, or at least make her think of other things so as not to be even more nervous about the examination she was going to have.

The doctor was at his desk typing something into his computer when they entered, but he immediately stopped what he was doing and stood up when he saw them. The man glanced at his watch and then smiled, thinking that the two young men had managed to convince the woman faster than he had imagined, but deciding not to comment. He didn't want to change the woman's mind.

"Do you know why you're here, Mrs. Lee?" Asked the doctor, looking away from her to Jimin and Hoseok and then back to her as he waited for the answer.

"You will examine me," the woman replied in a calm, firm voice. If she was nervous, as Jimin and Hoseok knew she was, she didn't want to show it to the doctor, or maybe it wasn't the examination that made her nervous. "You'll record all my injuries and bruises in a report that I can use to report who did this to me."

Her eyes met those of Jimin, who nodded, then Hoseok's, who grinned. Neither of them had mentioned it, but it seemed she knew she didn't need to mention who was guilty and innocent in the whole story. After all, the woman had seen the news and knew exactly what version the whole population was listening to. She was unwilling to cause further confusion until her son's friends had enough to acquit him.

"Are you ready then?" The doctor asked. When she answered with a nod, he asked her to accompany him to the small room next door, where he examined the patients. He asked her to take off most of her clothes and took some instruments while she did as he asked, the doctor's gaze on her expressing nothing but professionalism and concern.

If it was impressive to see how many marks she had on her body when she was dressed, the boys would have made many disgusted faces if they had seen her at that moment. It was not just her face and arms that had bruises and cuts, but her whole body.

When Taehyung's mother was dressed only with her underwear, she finally looked down at the counter and realized that there was a camera along with utensils the doctor had put there. She widened her dark eyes almost involuntarily, completely amazed at the possibility of being photographed like that.

“No. Please don't be surprised!" The doctor exclaimed quickly, extending both hands to her with his palms facing forward to show that he would do nothing. "I want to ask your permission to photograph the wounds."

As she blinked twice but said nothing, with both hands still covering her breasts, the doctor went on.

"I'm not a coroner. I want to help and I will do my best, but the exam that I am going to take cannot be considered a forensic medical examination. It can, however, be used by a coroner as a support for a forensic examination, and as we don't know when a coroner will be called upon to examine you, or how many of these injuries and bruises you will still have by then or what they will look like, I need to be thorough."

"Are you saying your exam won't make any difference to the investigation?" Mrs. Lee asked with her expression finally changing from startled to confused as the frown replaced her wide eyes.

"I'm saying my exam may be the exam used by the coroner if some bruises have already left your body when you meet the coroner," he replied and then was surprised when he received the shadow of a mocking smile from her.

"I'm not sure if this is a possibility," Taehyung's mother said more to herself than to the man who stared at her.

She was not mocking the situation. She would not dare to mock the beatings she had taken in recent years or the marks, visible or not, that the beatings had left on her body and mind. But she couldn't help but find the doctor's suggestion that the marks could disappear to be naive. She had been living with it long enough to know that the bruises were slow to display all their profusion of color and tone mix until they finally disappeared. In fact, usually when they disappeared, others replaced them. Mrs. Lee had a hard time remembering what her skin was like without the marks, or what it was like to lie on the pillow at night without crying before falling asleep.

"That's where the camera comes in," continued the doctor as if the woman had said nothing. "If I photograph everything and attach the photos to the report, the coroner will have a more specific and realistic view of how you are now and will be able to attach everything to the report itself for the expert and the police. Then the evidence against the perpetrator will be even more concrete."

Mrs. Lee saw in the doctor's eyes who he thought had assaulted her like that. She saw that and was filled with indignation, but made an effort to control herself. Arguing with the doctor who was trying to help her would be of no benefit. Then she focused on the words of Jimin and Hoseok, who were waiting for her on the other side of the door. They were doing their best to exonerate her son and needed her help.

She needed to work hard. She had waited until that moment to face her fears and to help her son. This time, keeping quiet and letting herself be examined might be more useful than speaking.

Then she nodded as the man took the camera again and took pictures of most of her wounds and bruises. He brought the camera closer to her skin but barely touched it. After that, he looked at each bruise from various angles and touched them lightly, earning a few moans and pained expressions from the woman. The man mumbled as he continued his examination and wrote in a small notebook he had left on the counter, but Mrs. Lee could understand nothing but a few words: "dark," "sensitive," "recent," "a week" were some examples.

She stopped paying attention. She didn't need his words to know that she had very purple bruises from the night before, some that had already begun to lighten, but still had a strong shade of yellow that indicated they weren't that old, and others that could hardly be seen. All of them still ached, and she could almost remember the moments when they had been made. Almost because, in fact, many of the beatings were so similar that she sometimes confused them.

The doctor finished examining the bruises and moved on to the wounds. Most were small cuts made by strokes. Some, near the eyes and lips, had obviously been made by punches, but when they ached and burned, they were not so different from those in her legs and arms. In fact, after the doctor examined them, she herself realized that the ones on her face seemed more open, since the skin was more sensitive, but they were not so deep.

She herself had never stopped to think so much about her wounds. Taehyung used to do that, which is why he was so angry with his stepfather when that sort of thing happened. That's why he had such a hard time accepting the situation his mother was in.

When she felt a tear roll down her face, she forced herself to think of something else. It wasn't her job to brood over those feelings and regrets. This was the doctor's job, who despite the babbling, remained focused. Her job at that moment was just to let him examine her. She had finally found a chance to help her son and had grasped it bravely, trying to ignore the chills it caused her. That was what mattered, nothing more.

The silence, however, lasted short. She bit her tongue quickly trying to stifle the scream she couldn't stop but it only turned it into a moan. The doctor had raised her right arm over her head. She didn't understand why, as she had stopped paying attention to what he was doing, but the sharp pain that engulfed her upper arm brought her attention back to him.

Wide-eyed, the doctor jerked away. "What happened here?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath to try to get used to the pain, she lowered her arm again and almost managed to shrug. What had happened to her arm anyway? A baseball bat or a push against the wall of the house? She didn't remember exactly what had made it start to hurt like that, she just knew it had been that way for a while.

At her vague answer, the doctor examined her aching arm a little further and she managed not to scream again, though she was panting when he was done.

It was not long before the two returned to the office where Jimin and Hoseok were and where they both covered Taehyung's mother with questions as they realized how pale she was while the doctor accurately typed in his report and added the photos he had taken to the file.

The man saved a copy on his computer, as he did with all his patients' files, but handed over an envelope with the printout of the written report and the photos in Mrs. Lee's now shaking hands.

Then they said goodbye to the doctor, who was now satisfied that he had done his duty to help the woman who had obviously been mistreated for much longer than he had imagined.

Jimin and Hoseok remained concerned even after the color began to return to Mrs. Lee's face (the good color, not the purplish bruising one), and made sure to accompany her to her husband's room even when she said several times that it was not necessary. They walked slowly beside her and made no comment on the times she had to stop to breathe before she continued walking, and when she stopped in front of the hospital room door to look at them with a loving smile on her bruised face. Neither of them could, nor did they want to avoid smiling back.

"I'm very happy to hear that my son has friends as good as you," she said and handed Hoseok the envelope the doctor had given her. The young man held it carefully while his friend answered.

"He deserves even more than that, Mrs. Lee."

They knew she was still in pain after the exam, which although they hadn't seen it had obviously been difficult, so they didn't try to hug her, but they felt very proud when they kissed her cheek at the same time and made her smile again.

Using this as a farewell, the two waited for the woman to enter the room to move away and walk quietly to the hospital entrance before opening the envelope and reading what the doctor had written. Jimin's almond-shaped eyes were wide as he turned his head to find Hoseok smiling at him.

The doctor had recorded everything in detail, including the fact that Taehyung's mother had injuries just a few weeks or months earlier. The man suspected that Taehyung had caused these injuries and did not seem to have changed his mind when he handed the report into Mrs. Lee's hands, but now the boys knew that he had not stopped to analyze what he was writing while he bothered to report everything. Because if Taehyung had been in jail for the past three years, something that all jailers could attest to, how could he have injured his mother just a few months earlier?

Jimin and Hoseok replaced the report and photos inside the envelope and carefully closed it before leaving. With or without such a forensic medical examination by a coroner, the report was enough to show that Taehyung's stepfather was lying when accusing him of Mrs. Lee's injuries.

***

Meanwhile, just as Seokjin had thought, Yoongi and Jungkook saw the gesture he made with his hand as he approached the counter, and set off. They had researched the building a little before and knew that the front door was not the only entrance.

They had prepared, of course, with Namjoon's help for what they knew they would find. On the side of the police file center building was a little-used door that served more as an emergency exit than anything else, but it was a direct entrance to the shed where the evidence was stored. They got all this information and a copy of the master card that was needed to open that door with Namjoon, who had already broken into the police file before. But the hacker had not imagined when he entered the public system before, that he would need this information later to save a friend.

As they pushed the heavy iron door on the side of the building together, they knew they were right about something else too: because it was lunchtime (and they had chosen to arrive there at that specific time on purpose), the woman who was completely enchanted by Seokjin at that moment was the only person there.

Since the warehouse was not a police station and did not have the same functions as one, it did not have to have the same number of officers working together, and when lunchtime came, most of them would leave and only one or two would stay to attend the public if necessary. After all, it was just an hour of lunch.

But one hour was enough for two young men like Yoongi and Jungkook to find what they needed. After all, they were not like any other youth and had acquired some interesting skills in their teens, and had learned some things from Namjoon. Not to mention that, fortunately to them, it wasn't two cops who were working at the file center at lunchtime that day, but only one, and at that moment she was so enchanted by their friend that she wouldn't even notice if Yoongi really burned it all down.

They soon found the main warehouse area and entered. It was because of this place that the building appeared to be a shed from the outside, because it was actually a shed from the inside, too, that the police department had partially transformed to house all its evidence of closed and open cases, whether solved or not.

The pair spent a few moments just looking at the large shelves over five meters high where evidence boxes and folders were located. Yoongi raised an eyebrow as he raised his head to see how far the shelves were going, wondering how the police expected to reach upstairs, but lowered it with a shake of his head when he saw a ladder as high as the shelves.

Jungkook was the first to move, and it was not long before he found a computer on a small white table near the door, almost hidden behind a rack of boxes. He promptly went back to the door, called for Yoongi, and made him sit in the padded chair in front of the computer.

He was more agitated than his older friend (in fact, probably anyone in town was more agitated than Min Yoongi, but Jungkook wouldn't start a discussion on this matter voluntarily) and he knew that the other would be annoyed if he had to figure out the filing system of the shed and to search folder by folder until he found the evidence of the theft case that Taehyung had been charged with and convicted three years earlier. So, the youngest made sure Yoongi was comfortably typing commands into the computer before starting to search for what he wanted among the shelves.

Yoongi didn't even grumble a complaint when the younger one did it, because he was already wondering what was going on in his head. He was slightly grateful for his friend's consideration when he began to search the digital files of the theft case, but of course he would not admit it.

Jungkook thought it would make more sense if everything was stored by date or last name of the accused. It was a simple, easy-to-follow logic for those who have been working on it for years as well as for novices, and the police intended to make it easier for police officers across the city to access those archives, not to fool curious intruders. Mainly because they didn't believe any curious intruders would get to that warehouse with the cops in the front room. Of course, they were not prepared to deal with those intruders specifically, but Jungkook shrugged as he began searching for the date Taehyung had been charged with theft.

As he passed the shelves, he wondered how well Taehyung was holding up, even though he was only two years older than Jungkook himself, the youngest of the group. Of course, he had been overwhelmed and wept with his friends in the morning when they found him sleeping alone in the abandoned building, but who wouldn't do it while taking on so much pressure. If it were with him, Jungkook thought, he would have tried to unload his emotions by punching something, or someone.

He realized that he was right about the evidence storage criteria and that they were archived by date and by name. He followed the very large "K" he found near the date of the robbery and then found a folder where he could clearly read "Kim Taehyung."

He glanced around to make sure Yoongi was still busy searching the digital evidence of the case among the files saved on the computer, and then opened the folder. Taehyung hadn't told them much about the theft charge and the police investigation because he didn't know much about it himself. All he knew was that he had been accused of stealing the house of the family that had hired him to graffiti a wall, and the police seemed to have sufficient irrefutable evidence that the lawyer, who the state provided because Taehyung could not afford one, had not much to do to defend him, even though he was innocent.

So Jungkook thought it was worth taking a look at such irrefutable evidence that the police had against his friend to know what they were dealing with. After all, there was a big difference that tipped the balance a little more to Taehyung's side this time. Unlike the state attorney who had allegedly tried to defend him three years earlier, all his friends trusted him completely and would do everything they could to exonerate him. After meeting and spending a year together in the reform school, neither of them had reason to lie to others, just as neither of them was willing to go around judging the others. They knew each other's character.

The first pages in the folder were pages of printed reports that had been written by the officers who worked on the case. The young man knew that Namjoon and the other boys would want to carefully analyze every word of those reports, so he turned the pages carefully.

Soon he found what appeared to be a transcript of a telephone call, which he read more carefully, line by line. He frowned when he realized what that transcript meant. Taehyung had been denounced by an alleged witness who quite conveniently did not want to identify himself, but reported seeing the tall young man with brown hair and almost black eyes entering the house after finishing the graffiti on the wall and leaving with a box of jewelry that belonged to the housekeeper.

Jungkook pursed his lips to a thin line. That was a big lie, because Taehyung had never entered that house. Taehyung himself had told them this, and once again, they had met in the reform school, where most of them were not innocent of the charges that had brought them there. Taehyung had no reason to lie and didn't like to do it, not even when he needed to.

But Jungkook kept looking at the documents in the briefcase, calming his own explosive temper with the thought that these people didn't know Taehyung as well as he did. It was one of the things Jimin had taught him to do to avoid the urge to want to settle things violently.

He found no evidence, or even a hint that such a stolen jewelry box had been found among Taehyung's belongings, even though he knew and read from the record that his friend's house had been carefully searched by the police.

By the time he reached the last sheet of the folder, Jungkook already believed that he would find nothing as relevant as the transcript of the anonymous denunciation call, and almost didn't read what was written on it. But thanks to Namjoon's insistent recommendation that they be thorough, it was just almost. His pretty eyes widened so much that they were almost perfectly round as they ran through the sheet.

All the information about a video on the evidence list was recorded, including date, time, duration, even the folder, code and name of the video file that was saved in the police database with an acronym, which indicated to which case the case belonged. In addition, from what Jungkook could see in the record, he had been sent just as the call that denounced his friend had been made. It had not been taken from the database of the security camera company that the stolen family hired, but sent anonymously.

Jungkook's once wide eyes suddenly narrowed. How had the police not found this strange and not investigated further? It was as if they didn't want to discover the truth behind what was obviously a frame. Because it was clear that it was a frame, and Jungkook didn't think so just because he was Taehyung's friend and wanted to get him free of the charges.

He closed the briefcase with a quick flick of his hand and didn't even think before turning and hurrying along the corridor. He had no way of making any copies of those files and he knew his friends would want to see them, so he couldn't just put them back in place. In addition, he needed to show Yoongi that last page to help him find the video in the database. Because, Jungkook thought with a smile on his face, they could make a copy of the video and save it on a flash drive for Namjoon to watch it later.

As he approached Yoongi, however, Jungkook noticed that his friend's eyes were glued to the computer screen, already observing every detail of the video that was described in the folder. He knew it was the same file thanks to the name and code that appeared at the top of the screen.

Since Yoongi did not look away, even though he realized that his friend was beside him, Jungkook observed the monitor as well, noting that there was no sign indicating that it had been recorded by a security camera and that it didn't even indicate the date and time of the recording, as this type of file usually contained.

Without saying a word, the two friends watched what was left of the video, which showed the outside of a very beautiful and elegant house, focusing on the front door and a path that looked more like a garage cutting through a beautiful, but simple garden. When, after a few moments, the recording showed a person carefully walking out the front door of the house holding a small box with both hands, Yoongi frowned and Jungkook moved closer.

The image was a little out of focus, perhaps because of how far away the person was from the camera, but they could see the size of the box, which they knew to be a jewel case because of the accusations and file Jungkook still held tightly. It was strange because the image looked slightly less blurred in the hands than in the thief's face, but the face that appeared on the screen was Taehyung's.

The duo didn't question that. It would be even stranger if there was no evidence pointing directly to Taehyung as the thief, especially because of the incredible speed with which everything happened to get him arrested in the reform school. For that very reason, those two were already hoping to find something more incriminating in the police records.

But that didn't stop Yoongi from squinting in the direction of the video while the screen image showed Taehyung looking at the camera proudly, as if he knew he was being filmed and that was exactly what he wanted. This was not Kim Taehyung's way at all, Yoongi knew well, but that was not what he was paying attention to.

Since the image was more blurred in his eyes, Yoongi gave his full attention to the thief's hands, which were the only things besides his face that were not fully covered on that obviously hot day. As much as Yoongi seemed not to pay attention to things around him most of the time, he was actually very observant. He just didn't like to show it. Nor did he show at that moment, not even to Jungkook that was right next to him, for they would both have time to discuss this when they joined the others.

Because Yoongi was sure they would all be very interested in discussing how the hands holding the box looked bigger and grosser than Taehyung's beautiful hands, even though the face in the video evidence was his. The graffiti artist's fingers were long, but nowhere near as hardened as shown in the video.

The pair left after that, with the evidence folder on Jungkook's firm hand and a copy of the video saved on a flash drive that Yoongi carried in his back pocket. They walked to the car without looking back and waited for Seokjin inside as they controlled the unrest caused by the work done.

***

It was late when everyone managed to get back to Namjoon's house, so it was no surprise when they decided to spend the night there. Also, after their seemingly productive day, Taehyung's friends wanted to cheer him up again, ignoring the problem and spending the night as if all was well.

Since everyone was excited about what they had achieved during the day, the subject was basically about what had happened to each group. Namjoon and Taehyung told about the videos they had found at the security company, Jimin and Hoseok talked about Taehyung's mother and the help they received from his stepfather's doctor (in addition to complimenting Taehyung's mother for being so brave and beautiful, despite the injuries), Seokjin told how he managed to distract the policewoman and still get her phone number (which generated some jokes and innuendo), and Yoongi and Jungkook told about the evidence they got from the police file center.

It was the information Yoongi and Jungkook gave about the video they found that caught the most attention and made the others find it very suspicious, but it was Namjoon who expressed their friends' thoughts.

“Why would the police use an anonymously sent video if they could just get the original video from the security company?” Namjoon asked, but received only a shrug as response.

As if it were a movie night, as everyone was relaxed at the time and very interested in what they were going to watch, Namjoon played the video that Yoongi and Jungkook found in the police database. It didn't take long for him and his friends to realize, just as Yoongi had already realized when he first watched the video, that the video was tampered with.

Because they saw the original videos from the security company, Namjoon and Taehyung noticed something in the police video that Yoongi didn't notice but suspected. The images were all in the original videos, but not as they should be. In the video sent anonymously to the police, the man who came out of the stolen house with the jewelry box in his hands had Taehyung's face when looking at the camera, but Namjoon and Taehyung knew that that face was not in that part of the video. In fact, that face was in the other video, the original video of the wall where Taehyung had graffiti. Whoever sent that video to the police had gotten their hands on the original videos and mixed them together, making it look like Taehyung had stolen the jewelry box when in fact he had never entered the house.

After explaining this to his friends, Namjoon added a note about finding out who sent the video to the police. Understanding nothing, his friends asked how he would do that.

“Just as I'm going to trace the origin of the anonymous call you found transcribed in the case file,” he replied, but it still seemed a mystery to his friends.

Knowing that it would be much harder to explain than to do, Namjoon didn't go into too much detail, he simply grabbed his own computer and started opening some programs that showed a bunch of code that no one else understood but him.

That ended the night for everyone. Maybe it was because they were full of adrenaline as they did everything they needed to do to get the evidence to help Taehyung, and when they finally relaxed they were exhausted, but they all fell asleep fast and each lay in a corner, sleeping scattered around Namjoon's house, who was the longest awake, as he was fiddling with his computer trying to find the origin of the anonymous video and call.

The next day, when everyone woke up, including Namjoon, who was the last to wake up for he had been much of the night working on the video and call research, it was obvious that none of them had anything to do until Namjoon was able to finish his research. So, they had breakfast and each went their own way. Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook went to their homes, Seokjin and Yoongi went to work, and Namjoon called to let his boss know he was missing the day, and then stuck to the computer again. Taehyung was the only one who stayed at Namjoon's house even though he had nothing to do.

He had spent the entire day before in the street, exposed to the curious eyes of others who could recognize him at any moment. So, it was decided that he would be hiding that day.

Fighting boredom, Taehyung tried to do several things while waiting for Namjoon to finish what he was doing. First, he tried to understand what Namjoon was doing by watching him work. But it was clear that he could see his friend on the computer all day (or his whole life) and not understand how his friend's head worked, much less the program he was using, or the codes he was typing.

Then he decided to fight his conscience to call his mother to find out how she was feeling after the exam his friends had asked her to do. Like his friends, Taehyung was pleased and proud that his mother had the courage to do it for him, but he was also sad that she had to go through another suffering before it was all over. Unfortunately, as he had arranged with his friends when they first met at Namjoon's house, Taehyung should keep his cell phone off to prevent police from using GPS to locate him.

Without many options, Taehyung tried to watch some TV at low volume so as not to disturb his friend, but he found he did not want to see his face plastered behind journalists who knew nothing of the truth and accused him of being violent and fugitive.

Finally, he gave up on anything and took out a notebook and pencil to draw on. While Namjoon was concentrating on the computer, Taehyung made several drawings in the notebook he had found on Namjoon's desk. Some of the drawings were of old graffiti he had made before he was sent to the reform school, other drawings were of graffiti he wanted to have made before going to the reform school, but one particular drawing was what he had decided to do after go to the reform school.

After meeting his friends, Taehyung began to create in his head an image he would love to create to put on a very large wall. Finally, he had the opportunity to draw what was on his mind: seven young friends talking and having fun. This was Taehyung's new family and he didn't regret at all how it had been formed. He could only be grateful for having it at that moment.

It was only in the evening that Taehyung ceased to feel lonely even though he was at home with his friend. Namjoon finally finished his research and was resting, so Taehyung prepared ramen for both of them and they sat together to talk.

As much as he wanted to ask what Namjoon had discovered, Taehyung knew that his friend would not want to tell the same story twice, so he would have to wait until everyone else arrived to know his answer. The closer they came to revealing the truth, the more Taehyung felt excited again. If everything went as his friends said it would, he could soon see his mother and live a quiet life as he had not lived for a long time.

Fortunately, the other five arrived not long after, with Jimin and Jungkook bringing food to the others coming straight from work. They wanted so much to hear the news, understand and reveal the truth, that they didn't even think about stopping somewhere to eat, they already called the younger ones for help.

When everyone was sitting in the room, fed and rested, Namjoon decided it was time to explain what he had done and how. In fact, he would not explain exactly how he had tracked the video and the call, since none of his friends would understand what he was talking about. But he would be as accurate and clear as possible in his speech.

“As you know,” he began, and everyone was silent paying attention (no one wanted to lose any part because they might not understand the rest), “the video was sent anonymously to the police, just as the call was made to them." Everyone nodded. “First, I'll explain how I managed to find the caller.”

Then followed an almost endless monologue. Namjoon's friends were so afraid of missing some detail of what he was explaining that they dared not ask any questions.

Almost without stopping to breathe, Namjoon explained that the call, despite being identified as anonymous, had a phone address (“almost like an IP address,” he explained to those who knew a bit more of computers than the others). All lines can be tracked as long as the call takes long enough for the tracking program to run, which happened in the denunciation call against Taehyung. Once Namjoon had found the address of the public telephone from which the call was made, he had no problem breaking into the city's camera system and pulling up the files from the date the call was made to see who had used the phone that day. After getting the image of the person's face, Namjoon ran a program that was linked to the civil identification system and quickly found the name, address, and identity of the person who made the call. With the name of the person in hand, it was not so complicated to find the person's private telephone and get the conversations by message and the calls exchanged between the person who made the denunciation call and someone who could incriminate Taehyung.

"Are you saying that in what, less than 24 hours you were able to link the person who made the anonymous call to Tae's stepfather?" Seokjin asked, wide-eyed just like the other boys, who were also gaping.

"In less than 12 hours," Namjoon replied with a shrug, "I did that last night."

Since no one asked another question like that, Namjoon thought everyone had understood and accepted the fact that he was very fast, and continued with his explanations, this time about how he had tracked who sent the video.

What Namjoon didn't know was that no one there had understood how he had done it so fast. It seemed extremely complex that he had access to all those systems and made such fast searches. But then Namjoon's friends remembered that he had been doing this for a long time and that when the police caught him for breaking into their system, he had already broken into several other systems around the city. He probably still remembered how to do that, or still had some kind of hidden access stored on his computer.

Namjoon's explanation of video tracking didn't seem as unlikely as call tracking, but it was just as absurd. According to Namjoon, the flash drive he inserted into the security company's computer to copy the original videos had a virus that he himself had created and put on the flash drive. By the time he connected the USB flash drive to the company's computer, the virus was in charge of replicating all of the company's system information, including online server network access passwords. Since he had already noticed that the person who sent the video to the police had actually tampered with the original videos, he simply accessed the security company files with the passwords he had copied and found out who had access to the original videos. That was when Taehyung's stepfather's involvement in the situation became even clearer.

“The truth is, the police went looking for the original videos,” Namjoon explained, lowering his voice as if someone could hear them through the thick walls. This was, in fact, a reflection of his discovering on Lee Minsuk's most important secret and the key to Taehyung's exoneration. “But who got these videos from the company was Lee Minsuk.”

"My stepfather?" Taehyung asked in amazement.

"But there's no claim to that in the case report," Jungkook intervened, amazed that something had happened and no one had registered.

"That's because he did something for the cops to forget about the original videos and his involvement in the case," Namjoon explained. "We have no way of knowing what it was or how he did it, but he did, and any jury or judge will come to that conclusion after seeing the company records saying it was him who took the videos."

"So, he was the one who tampered with the images?" Hoseok questioned.

"Not really," Namjoon replied, cracking a smile that let the others see his dimples. “Like I said, I have all the phone and message records of the caller who, believe it or not, was the same person who tampered with the video.”

"Did Lee Minsuk hire someone to incriminate Tae and was stupid enough to leave evidence against himself?" Yoongi asked, chuckling mockingly. “There really is no hope for the police in this city anymore.”

"Maybe he didn't know," Namjoon argued, speaking low again. “The messages I retrieved had been deleted. Perhaps he thought that by erasing the records on the phone, he could do the same on the phone company server registry. But he doesn't know this is no use and that all companies keep track of the last five years of all phones.”

"Glad he only got three years in prison, then," Jimin joked, making everyone laugh, including Taehyung who was extremely relieved to have his friends helping him out like that.

"Now we just need to figure out a way to send this to the authorities so they can reopen both cases and acquit Taehyung," Hoseok added. He was more than eager to contact his lawyer to begin the process of acquitting Taehyung.

"Wait a minute!" Jungkook almost shouted, getting up to place his two legs crossed under his body on the couch where he was already sitting. “How are we going to send this to the authorities if we can't trust the police? Because after all this tampered evidence, and they didn't even take Tae's mom's testimony about what happened at the house, even when she found Lee Minsuk there, we can't believe they'll do the right thing.”

Seokjin thought of the policewoman who was so enchanted by him that she forgot to watch the warehouse camera. Of course, that was exactly what he wanted, but it was another indication that they couldn't trust the police, not even the cops who wanted to do the right thing.

"I don't think we can count on your lawyer this time, Hoseok," Namjoon said before anyone else gave any opinion, because no one would deny that Jungkook was right. Neither of them was willing to risk letting the police tamper with the evidence again.

"But why...?" Hoseok asked.

"Because he won't be able to use any of our evidence," Namjoon replied, looking sad but resigned. “All of our evidence is authentic, but almost all of it was obtained in ways… let's say… well, illegal. With the exception of Mrs. Lee's examination and the complaint she promised to make, we broke into places and systems to get everything else. The lawyer cannot rely on stolen evidence, and he will not be able to do anything without it.”

“So, we're back to square one. We've got it all, but we can't use it, and meanwhile Taehyung is still being sought and that news is being relentlessly repeated on the news,” Seokjin said.

"Maybe not," Jimin said suddenly. His eyes were a little unfocused and he didn't seem to be looking at any of his friends, or anything specific to tell the truth. Jimin seemed to be in another world as he spoke, several possibilities running through his head, but when all eyes turned to him and no one said a word, he knew he must explain what he was thinking.

"Maybe we're not back to square one," Jimin said again. “Maybe we can use one of the weapons Lee Minsuk used against Taehyung. Of course, we're not going to tamper with anything, and we don't even have to, but let's make everyone realize what we perceive, that Tae is innocent and the previous evidence is false.”

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Yoongi asked.

"We can divulge it," Jimin replied with a shrug. “On the internet and on some television station. They accept almost anything as long as it's a good story.” Jimin saw that everyone else was slightly widened, but as they said nothing, he continued. “We can send a note explaining what we want to do and we don't have to say who we are. They also accept it if it's anonymous, as long as the content is good and not a lie.”

“This will make someone, if not everyone, more interested in a second investigation and perhaps this time the police will investigate properly and use the right evidence. Or maybe they'll even have another team investigate, a team that is not close to Taehyung's stepfather and is not influenced by him. There must be someone honest and competent in the police,” Hoseok said as soon as he realized what Jimin wanted to do with that plan.

They all smiled at each other. That was a good plan. It wasn't exactly what they wanted, especially since it would take Taehyung some time to be completely cleared, but for them, what mattered most was that their friend wouldn't end up behind bars.

They got up and prepared everything that would be needed. Namjoon wrote a brief note indicating what this was all about, and the others packed their evidence: copies of the files in the police evidence folder, flash drives with the original and tampered videos.

Before doing what they had just agreed to, Jimin called Taehyung's mother, wanting to explain to her what they would do and how it would help her son, which he knew Mrs. Lee wanted with all her strength. Once more surprised by the woman's courage, Jimin heard Mrs. Lee say that she didn't care how they would acquit her son as long as it happened. As if it were a prize for the woman's courage and kindness, Jimin let her and Taehyung talk (conversation that lasted more than half an hour due to the emotion of the two interlocutors), and Mrs. Lee agreed with her son that, as soon as the news with the information Taehyung's friends found came out in the media, she would go to the nearest police station and file the complaint against her husband.

Within hours everything was delivered to the studio door of a major television station, the one that was responsible for the most watched news in the country, the same one Lee Minsuk had used to spread the word about Taehyung.

The seven friends huddled in Namjoon's living room to watch the evening news, some even with fingers crossed in anticipation, and they felt a mixture of satisfaction and disbelief as they heard the reporters talking about the evidence they had sent.

Some footage of the video the station had received was broadcast on TV as reporters inquired about the truth and what was really going on in this case, which they now realized seemed to begin three years earlier, or even more, judging for Mrs. Lee's injuries that the doctor's report indicated. Reporters did not know where the evidence had come from, or whether it was true or legal, but they released it nonetheless, inciting (almost demanding, in fact) a further investigation. Almost exactly as Jimin had imagined would happen.

The young man was right about the population too, he realized. As the days went by, the population itself put pressure on the police, who assigned another team to reinvestigate Taehyung's case, now linking the three-year-old theft case with the current assault, involving all abuses of Lee Minsuk.

The seven friends could still hardly believe that they had finally been able to do justice when they saw policeman Lee Minsuk being handcuffed by his honest colleagues into a car.

Well, he was no longer a cop now, since he lost his badge. He had been found guilty of all charges, including harassment, personal injury, obstruction of justice, abuse of power, and a few others that Taehyung could not remember the exact words to say. Now Minsuk would serve an even greater sentence than he intended Taehyung to serve when he accused him.

Taehyung, who at that moment was hugging his mother with all his friends surrounding him as they watched his stepfather's arrest, had been cleared of all charges against him, with assault on the police being regarded as a legitimate defense of others. He didn't know before, but the definition of that term was exactly what he had felt and done the moment he used the bottle against his stepfather.

The young man decided not to give any kind of interview when the TV stations that were covering the arrest of the former policeman approached. He didn't need the visibility that could bring him. Now that he had gotten his freedom, he just wanted to enjoy it with his friends and his mother. After all, now that the seven were free and out of trouble, they could finally resume their lives. The right way this time.

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