Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12209853.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Gen, Multi
  Fandom:
      방탄소년단_|_Bangtan_Boys_|_BTS
  Relationship:
      Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin/Min_Yoongi_|_Suga, Jeon_Jungkook/Kim_Taehyung_|_V, for
      now~, Bangtan_Boys_Ensemble_-_Relationship, OT7_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Kim_Seokjin_|_Jin, Min_Yoongi_|_Suga, Kim_Namjoon_|_Rap_Monster, Jung
      Hoseok_|_J-Hope, Park_Jimin_(BTS), Kim_Taehyung_|_V, Jeon_Jungkook,
      Original_Character(s)_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Abuse, Drugs, Prostitution, Drug_Abuse, Abusive_homes_;_;, Heavy_Angst,
      Mafia/Gang_AU, Suicide, Self-Harm, Self-Destruction, Family, everything
      bad_and_ugly_but_these_are_short_stories_rly, Friendship, Abandonment,
      Pedophilia, Child_Abuse, Orphans, ;__;, Angst
  Series:
      Part 1 of To_the_Very_End
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-28 Completed: 2017-10-01 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 5758
****** Tomorrow, Be Ours ******
by jungcooks
Summary
     cras es noster meaning "tomorrow, [will] be ours"
     their childhoods were paved in such a way that they would end up
     being in power of the underground.
     these are previews of Memento Mori.
***** Kim Seokjin *****
The night his father passed, Seokjin was out running a job. It had been a hit
and run, an assassination by a rival that was—obviously—jealous of their
success. Ironically, it resulted in their business rocketing. When Seokjin gave
the cue to destroy all remaining traces of that gang, there were three major
families left that had their fingers in the underworld. Before doing so
however, Seokjin made sure to grab all their assets—policemen, government
officials, political candidates, and all the so called legal power that ran
this country. Without it being said, Seokjin’s gang was at the top of the food
chain and their future lay in his 22-year-old hands.
Saying they were a gang was really an understatement. Surely, they meddled with
all the illegal affairs, without an area that they hadn’t stepped foot in.
Their organisation worked more like a government than their actual government,
always stringing their puppets as they made the big bucks. Seokjin closed his
eyes to recall all his father’s elaborate explanations of their history, and
how it was all possible because of three brothers—only one brother had stood to
continue the legacy, building it on his own, and it had been a family business
ever since. The classic, almost cliché, story of starting from the bottom to
the top and really, they were at the top, and have been for the past two
generations.
Seokjin sat at his father’s desk, uncomfortable, toying with the pen that had
been used by all the men before him. He was never a nice man, his father, but
he had tried his best to raise him and Yoongi for this life.
Seokjin’s father, known as Black-Eyes, was the head of their organisation. He
also a board of other leaders that focused on different areas of business.
There was an obvious need to have a structured hierarchy. When Seokjin became
the immediate successor to his father’s position, the older men were not happy.
Any attempt to take the seat however, would lead to their death. Seokjin’s
inheritor had to be his offspring, and if unmarried, it was anyone Seokjin
chose. The latter had never been done as tradition was vital. With the board
members being as faithful as they were to his father, they knew not to dwell on
something as inevitable as this and offered their advice willingly. It would
turn out better for business, anyway, as Seokjin did have promising potential.
As dirty and dishonest and dangerous as it was, Black-Eyes had wanted his only
son to be the man to run it after him. But when his wife had convinced him to
keep the abandoned baby they found a few months after Seokjin was born, Black-
Eyes needed to amend the plans he already made. Only now Seokjin had realised
the workings of his father, as nasty and hurtful as they were to the both of
them. Yoongi was not left unthought of after all.
He spun in the large chair now, replaying his moments of regret, feeling the
weight of expectation and responsibility suddenly surround him. It was so much
more than selling drugs, than checking the immigrants, than keeping the bribing
constant and sufficient… so much more than taking another person’s life. It was
so much more than just being in a gang, especially since he had been holding a
knife before he could walk. Momentarily, he wondered if Yoongi had went through
something similar over the past few years.
Seokjin’s memory soon fluttered out of his reach and his hands tightened around
the pen. Black-Eyes’ funeral was being held today, and he was waiting for his
driver to pull up. It wasn’t long before there came a honk from outside. The
small house was Black-Eye’s abode, wanting to keep his docile wife happy as she
preferred not to show off their riches. Seokjin walked downstairs to find his
pale mother sobbing softly in Yoongi’s arms. He smiled at them and took her
into his own grasp. Her touch chilled him. Yoongi tried to smile but didn’t
know how to fake it. He hugged Seokjin tightly, not hanging on for long.
Yoongi walked out the door immediately after letting him go.
"Come on, ma,” he whispered to his mother. They held hands as they walked to
the car.
***** Min Yoongi *****
Yoongi had been left on the doorstep of The Zoo, one of their bordello’s, when
he was still pink and wailing. Black-Eyes had ordered for him to be sent to an
orphanage, but his wife convinced him otherwise. Seokjin was only a few months
older and the company of a younger brother was comforting to both him and his
mother. She had secondary infertility, and her doctors never gave her a
positive answer. So, the two had fed off the same breasts, played with the same
toys, and held the same weapons.
Black-Eyes never adopted Yoongi or permitted him to call him his father, hardly
treated him like a son, yet never sent him away. He figured it would be a good
investment to train the two of them together—having already set their futures
in his mind. Seokjin’s mother was a different story altogether, and she was,
until now, the brightest star Yoongi sees. Surely, he knew Seokjin could feel
the same way about his own biological mother, but it was an intense feeling to
love Mother Kim as Yoongi did. He spent his life believing she was the only one
he ever truly loved.
There came a time when Black-Eyes finally wanted Yoongi to leave his house,
placing him under the club manager of Cosmos, Astro. Yoongi however, didn’t
complain, couldn’t complain; he never said no to Black-Eyes, never stood up for
himself. Seokjin’s hysteric rage had shocked even him; he had never known his
true heart even after 15 years of being his brother. Secretly, he didn’t see a
problem with going out to work but Seokjin’s words made him hang his head.
Yoongi suffocated in shame. He regretted his unconscious neglect for Seokjin
and the tendency for him to save himself before anyone else. His constant
consolation throughout the years was that it didn’t matter if he was raised by
Black-Eyes, his fate had been decided the second he was found as a baby. The
elderly man had always made it clear he would be a dog for the rest of his life
while Seokjin was destined to take over the business.
With that schema in place, the never-ending reminders from his ‘father’, along
with the wounds of abandonment, Yoongi vowed to keep his attachment to Seokjin
close to non-existent. But wouldn’t he only suffer more, if he continued to
cower from love?
Not wanting to desert Seokjin, like he had always done, Yoongi broke from
Mother Kim’s arms to help his brother up from the blow. Black-Eyes laughed at
the scrawny team; they didn’t have a fighting chance, but, oh God, they tried.
At one point, Yoongi had fallen unconscious from the pain and when he woke, he
was already on his way, alone in the car, to Cosmos.
That night, the brothers cried themselves to sleep. Seokjin could not see for a
week and Yoongi’s bed was now a rotting wooden floor. Yoongi ached with
familiar abandonment because Seokjin never came for him. As with all the other
unnecessary emotions that circulated within him, Yoongi channelled them into
his work. It had taken him no longer than 3 months to be tied with puppet
strings; another year for him to realise his own potential; and in his 4th year
of being Astro’s apprentice, he had beaten all the veterans of the business.
His reward was a pat on the back, a spit in the face, and getting severely
drunk.
Yoongi’s unacknowledged devotion for Seokjin grew with every step of the
ladder; it was kept alive by knowing his brother kept tabs on his achievements.
He wished he could have heard a peep of Seokjin’s life.
Finally, the day came when he did get the news of Black-Eyes death, and they
were set to meet again. Yoongi thought his heart was going to fail on him. The
years of indoctrination made him cold and the warmth of happiness burned. It
hurt to look at Seokjin and feign indifference while his fingers trembled in
his pockets. Yoongi was an expert at disguise, always had been, but it had to
be the hardest thing he had done in the past six years.
Seokjin had then visited Yoongi the night after the funeral, wanting to make up
the lost time.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin had said in a draggy tone, their faces were flushed and
sweaty. “I’m… I’m… your boss.” Drunken laughter filled Yoongi’s small home.
“You’ve always been my boss, really.”
Seokjin smiled blissfully before declaring Yoongi his new right-hand man.
***** Jung Hoseok *****
Hoseok’s favourite thing to do was stand on the ledge of the roof. He had
become a creature of night from working at the club, only sleeping while the
sun was awake. The city was a sky of stars from up there and he’d always dreamt
of going to space. A cigarette burned away as Hoseok climbed up the ledge.
Ah, it was cold, and it was euphoric. To have the wind tease his balance, to
feel it poking chills into his blood, to be in utter awareness of his body.
Hoseok sighed in pleasure and let his gaze fall towards to street, a long way
below. Ah, it was a rush, a thrill, so tempting that Hoseok needed to look
away. In the end, he knew it would’ve been too quick of a way to die. No, he
needed to please the pain till it’s about to reach its climax before he stops
and starts the process again. There was no fun in death, but suffering has
always been addictive. Not that Hoseok liked to be this way, not that he’d
wanted to be like this.
There were really only two futures of having a childhood like Hoseok’s: either
the individual becomes strong and influential or they become destructive and
empty. He obviously walked down the latter path.
The abuse had started from as young as he remembered and followed him like a
tick. It wasn’t until Hoseok turned 10 that he realised how cruel and repulsive
the whole ordeal was. From then on, he had been thrown from orphanage to
orphanage for disobedience and unruly behaviour.
The horny bastards always tried their tricks on him, and even though he was
always weak with bruises, he bit them back. Some flushed and barbarically
punished him for false accusation. Some loved a feisty kid to toy with. Some
made sure they always overpowered him. Sometimes it was the caretakers, and
sometimes it was his orphan brothers. Hoseok was always shipped off to another
warzone when their stories grew askew and their lies couldn’t add up anymore.
It honestly felt like a victory to leave one home, and the car rides were the
only time of peace Hoseok had before his armour had to be donned again.
Fleeting around his traumatised mind was the question of why it was him that
had to suffer the most. What had he done as a baby to have karma catch up to
him so quick? With every touch and every kick and every look of nasty dominance
he looked up at, he withdrew deeper into his remote heart; barricading doors,
stacking brick walls, designing a palace he could get lost in when the agony
was overbearing. Hoseok came to accept their abuse and spent another four years
wrestling with being violated and abused and stripped of his dignity and
willpower. Every night he picked the day’s events and chucked them into the pot
of anger that simmered inside him.
On his 14th birthday, which wasn’t accurate to his actual birth day, Hoseok
finally ran away. He regretted not murdering the whole lot but decided he
wanted to walk the streets a free man. Without money, food, or an extra pair of
clothes, he wandered around the streets of the city for the next two weeks
before stumbling into a pickle. He had been scrounging for a bite in the trash
behind a bustling nightclub.
It was only when he won the jackpot of finding chicken bones with thin slivers
of meat still clinging on that did his sharp senses return. His attack was
quick and nearly lethal; but he was clumsy and lethargic and basically an
amateur at self-defence. Hoseok had been brought to his knees. A blade tickled
his chin as he found himself being dominated, yet again. But the eyes were kind
and curious, and not malicious and aroused.
Seokjin had looked only a little older than he was, but carried himself in such
a cool manner that Hoseok would’ve believed them to be a decade apart. It was
also hard not to be drawn to a stranger that gave him a meal and a bed after
nearly killing him. His only condition was that he accept a job. Why should he
refuse?
Ah, the amount of hell he went through would’ve killed anyone else; it was also
a hell he appreciated as opposed to what he had experienced before. From the
amount of lives he took to the number of drugs he consumed to the collection of
scars on his body, Hoseok should have either been locked up for life or in his
grave.
But here he was, standing on the ledge of the roof of the club he has worked at
for the past six years, somehow bittersweet that he was still alive.
***** Kim Namjoon *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Living in a one-bedroom apartment in the slums of the city wasn’t any one’s
dream but his father’s smile and determination to do whatever he could to feed
his family had always filled Namjoon with hope. As he watched his father’s
coffin burn, he felt as though he were on fire too; he knew what was about to
unfold with him gone and how fast his little inheritance would be spent. The
storms didn’t need time to build, which surprised him—he thought he could have
gotten his shit together before the world crashed.
His mother was unemployed and uneducated and in denial about her alcohol
addiction. It was revolting to know that his father sacrificed his health to
work at a factory that paid him only a fraction more than what he earned when
he was a fisherman just so she could indulge herself. His younger sister, Mina,
tended to her every need, sober or not.
Their home, which was supposed to be the safest part of one’s life, was turning
into a battle zone. Mother against children, a home now divided and could not
stand. If it weren’t for Namjoon’s desperation to see him and sister get
through life, to get through torn school uniforms and empty stomachs, they
wouldn’t have made it any further.
The slums were almost like a close-knit community. People knew each other,
people supported each other, people didn’t even rat each other out. Namjoon
didn’t know any dealers personally, but he did know where to find them. When a
sixteen-year-old kid walks into a bar in this part of town, there wasn’t a head
that turned. His arm was immediately taken by a lanky boy he thought was half
his age. He took him to the backroom, where the smoke was heavier and it stank
of sex. Namjoon’s bones ached, his mind muddled. He knew this wasn’t the
way—his father never succumbed to easy money—and he seethed in disgrace.
The kid didn’t knock before entering and they were just in time to watch a man
get killed. The gangster was so offhanded about the incident, and the
witnesses, that Namjoon finally knew what it meant to feel shit scared. His
escort actually laughed at his frozen stance and had to push him forward into
the room, past the dead person that Namjoon couldn’t tear his eyes away from,
and into a seat.
“Who are you and what do you want?” the gangster casually asked with a playful
smile; he began wiping the blood from his knife as Namjoon stuttered for a
sentence.
“Need help to speak better?” the cocky kid offered.
“What are you still doing here, kid? Get me a fucking drink.” Namjoon heard him
scramble away. His fear amplified now that they were alone.
“I…”
“That guy,” the man said with a jerk of his head, “wasted my time.” Before an
elaboration made its way into the conversation Namjoon sat up straight and
threw out the words as though he were in a rap battle. The gangster coolly
leaned back in his seat and took it in without question.
“You young scum are always looking for quick bucks,” was the first thing he
said. “This isn’t a hit and run”
He frowned at the ground but unhesitatingly said, “I know. I know… I’ll do
whatever it takes to get my family fed.”
“I don’t care about your shit. As long as you don’t play a Judas, we’ll be good
friends.” Namjoon left the bar with a kilo of ganja tucked in his jacket that
night, with orders to deliver them across the city.
Four months passed—their fridge was never empty, their mother was rarely sober,
and Namjoon’s involvement had only deepened. He remained good friends with Kang
for his ability to slip in and out of a situation with his words, along with
selling more than they’d ever expect of this scrawny nobody. He was also
getting noticed by the ones higher than Kang, which had its goods and bads. No
questions were asked at home but Mina’s furrowed eyebrows at the amount of food
on their tables and expensive liquor reminded Namjoon too much of his father.
One night, she finally burst.
“You’re not telling me something,” she had cried, in the midst of a
conversation that Namjoon was not interested in. Her small frame slammed onto
him as she grabbed his shirt, her eyes wet with tears. “Where is this money
coming from?”
Namjoon avoided her eyes but raised his voice. “Do you want to go and work
instead? I bet you wouldn't last a week.” He pushed her away and cracked his
neck. The only thing he didn’t like about this was the fact that his
temperament was changing—he was becoming timid, mean, filled with temper. Mina
stood her ground with her head held high.
“If that is a challenge, I will take it.”
That night, a naïve fourteen-year-old girl entered a pub, and no one turned
their heads.
He had no say no matter how violent his rage was. This was not a hit and run,
this was not a hit and run. Their mother did not notice that Mina was no longer
at home but always cried in joy when she saw Namjoon.
One night, two months after Mina was sent to a brothel, Kang had said to
Namjoon, “You can buy her back you know, but I’m not sure if she’ll want to
go.”
Despite being unaware of Mina’s whereabouts, situation, or feelings, Namjoon
continued to climb up the ranks, continued to roll in cash, continued to give
up his life in order to save the destruction of his sisters. Despite knowing
that her soul would probably already be dead by the time he reached her.
Chapter End Notes
     thanks for reading!! ;____;
***** Park Jimin *****
Jimin only had his father and his older brother, Jihyun. From a young age, he
always saw unknown ladies walking through their beaten down home, and none of
them looked like his mother, none of them acted like a mother. He found knives
and weapons and bags of powder scattered around carelessly. When he asked his
dad what they were, he’d only get a beating. His childhood was watching them
walk out the door before he got picked up for school by a friend’s mother, and
returning late at night after his day-care centre had dropped him off.
Before his adolescence, he had bravely approached his father, not wanting to be
left out from their little secret and because he did not like being alone.
There was no consideration before his father put a heavy hand on his shoulder,
and a forceful palm across his face. After that day though, his father made an
attempt to introduce the kid to the basics. Cigarettes, first. Holding your
drink, second. Posture, stance, fists. Then the knives, and then the drugs. He
was only ten.
The focus intended for school was directed towards learning the trade his
father specialised in: sex. Jimin’s puberty hadn’t even peeked through the
curtains yet, but his boyhood was intrigued by the exposure of the opposite
gender, and the thought of paying for something so mysterious fascinated him.
His father was in charge of a back-alley prostitution business—his clients were
cheap men, homeless men, men of class that came to the slums to escape the
public eye.
As a business they were, of course, at the bottom of the hierarchy but his
father never wanted anything more than the cut he earned. It had always been
sufficient for his two boys and himself.
Jimin learned that there was a system, like any other business that operated,
and his young brain evolved around how to run it. New girls come in, they’re
screened, they’re tested, they’re put in for a trial. Customers come to the
door, give their preferences, pay. His father kept the pressing matters like
records and profits to himself and Jihyun while Jimin did his best to make his
father proud—he was first assigned to watch the alley for suspicious
characters, and the police. Then he was assigned to checking the clients at the
front door.
After six years of being educated on the do’s and don’ts of the business, Jimin
felt like he was a king of this tiny back-alley world. Which Taehyung and
Jungkook, his only friends left, said they always envied. Throughout the years,
Jimin’s father had allowed them to help out, offered them a cigarette or two.
One coming from an orphanage, one from an oppressed home, both boys savoured
the open rebellion, the taste of the underground life. But Jimin had grown
wits, could sometimes see into the future. He knew this wasn’t the kind of
thing innocent boys like them should do and so somewhere along the way he had
forced them to turn around before it was too late. They never spoke again,
although Jimin was never oblivious to their movements.
Once when the upper-class men came to collect their share, Jimin’s father was
short. Their business had not been doing well—their girls were sick, some had
run away, clients complained and never returned. Even after begging, there was
no mercy. Even after years of being loyal and on time with payment, there was
no tolerance. With a menacing message of stabbing Jihyun in the stomach, they
demanded the money be ready by tomorrow. They couldn’t make it to the hospital
before the boy closed his eyes for the last time.
Two weeks after the incident, a young boy a few years older than Jimin visited
their brothel. His father’s polite manner made Jimin cringe, seeing respect and
fear for a minor was something he had never seen before. They spent a good
while talking in the office before Jimin was called in.
“This is my son, Jimin,” his father introduced in a proud voice.
“I’m sorry about what happened here,” was the reply. It was genuine, it was
shameful, it was sad. Jimin did not understand who or what this person was; he
didn’t know any person that still possessed emotion in this gang.
“It’s okay, Seokjin. I-I-It was my fault.” His father was a strong man to hold
back his tears, but Jimin’s fury was building.
“My father sent me,” Seokjin started, suddenly staring at Jimin, “to apologise.
We try to maintain a level of professionalism but some mongrels take for
granted the amount of power they hold.”
Seokjin stands up, offers his hand to Jimin’s father. “I also hope you’ve
considered our proposal?”
To that his father bowed his head and squeezed onto Jimin’s shoulder. “He is
ready.”
***** Kim Taehyung *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was the cherry of the cake, the whipped cream on dessert, the chocolate
sauce over the ice-cream. Taehyung had dragged his finger across the surface,
tasting only the compliments that went with the actual dish. Undoubtedly he
craved for more, but Jimin did not allow it. That selfish bastard; Taehyung
knew he wanted the glory to himself, knew that he and Jungkook were only
luggage because it was at Jimin’s strongest point that he pried the
opportunities away from them.
Did he think he was the only one that wanted to rise above his fucked up life?
Of course, to others, Taehyung’s life was filled with favourable circumstances.
Because who wouldn’t want a family that could afford private education and
foreign tutors? Who wouldn’t want a family that was powerful and rich and
influential? Who wouldn’t want to live in a mansion, with butlers and maids and
cooks? Who wouldn’t want to be forced to family traditions, and high demands,
and extravagant expectations? Taehyung didn’t want to, that’s for sure.
It was logical and almost irresistible to blame the company he kept; Jimin had
been his friend since the first day they met at the playground when they were
6, and once they met Jungkook, the boy never let go. Being raised by stiff,
stoic parents that were only ever home to drill him to do better in school and
to stop hanging around unworthy boys, only heightened Taehyung’s need to
retaliate. There was no freedom of speech, no room for expression, so
Taehyung’s sole outlet was spending time with his friends.
Most of his adolescent years consisted of being with Jimin. Jungkook, who was
two years younger than them, was immediately welcomed because they thought he
was cute—he had been cold and crying when they first saw him at the age of 8.
He had run away from his orphanage but was soon convinced by them to return
because they could not take care of him, not at that very moment. Often
Jungkook would sneak out and meet them at the playground before dinner call.
Those were their happiest moments, being able to release the frustrations they
carried from their homes. Reckless pre-teens, running through the streets and
screaming and doing petty crimes.
Taehyung’s caretaker, a near-blind fool of an uncle, only accepted his parents
plead to ‘babysit’ him because he would get free lodging and meals. Taehyung
could sneak in and out, not come home, slack from school… and all would be
fine. Until he got carried away with hanging around Jimin’s new job and forgot
that the private institution he attended had close ties with parents. His
mother and father returned without notice, because Taehyung had missed a few
weeks of school.
Taehyung’s parents never raised their hands, but their heartless eyes and empty
touches were enough to make him grow spiteful. Since a pre-schooler, he
remembered being compared and dissed and demeaned, mostly without reason. Love
had always been absent, he probably didn’t even know what it was like to be
loved, and support was inexistent. All the riches they had could not buy the
desires that lay deep in his heart, the desires that were only fulfilled when
he was with Jimin and Jungkook.
So, when Jimin, of all people, told him to fuck off from his life, Taehyung’s
already decrepit reason to live crumbled away. More so he missed school, more
so he denied his fear of loneliness and abandonment, more so his parents nagged
and nagged and nagged. Jimin’s reasoning behind his renunciation was for him to
not get sucked into gangsterism, because his future would be bright if he
looked at it without hateful eyes; Taehyung was therefore unsure of why
Jungkook was also denied the opportunity, seeing that the boy would be a lost
cause if he, too, didn’t have Jimin. It didn’t matter, he didn’t care… not
really at least, he had always been a selfish person anyway.  
After a while of moping and cursing his best friend, he decided he didn’t want
to climb on someone’s back to hike up the mountain.
Jungkook was all for it, his innocent eyes glistening. They were on their way
to the city, to the nightclub that Jimin brought them to once in a while. There
they had met a few gangsters that seemed friendly, that seemed to have their
arms open genuinely. Taehyung, in his all his proud might, thought that they
could walk in there and get to know them. What did these kids know anyway?
The night went on as planned; the environment did not change despite Jimin not
being around, and Taehyung was in euphoria.
It wasn’t until Taehyung lost count of the drinks he had mixed that he realised
something was wrong. Jungkook wasn’t pressing against his side, not anymore,
and a shrill shock passed through his body. He wanted to get up to find the boy
but there was a sudden hand on his shoulder and he was dragged out of the booth
he was sitting in.
“Hey, what the fuck?”
A bag was thrown over his head, and he was knocked out.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you enjoyed it so far! Thanks for reading ;u;
***** Jeon Jungkook *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jungkook, age four, did not understand his parent’s goodbye the day he was sent
to the orphanage. He waved back happily, interested in the somewhat friendly
faces of the people here and the cheerful kids with battered clothing. For a
few days, he did not question where his parents were.
When he finally came around to asking the Mother, she smiled sadly and told him
they went away and weren’t going to be back for a while. The question never
stopped coming; sometimes a long while would pass before Jungkook brought it up
again, and sometimes he wouldn’t stop for weeks. When he grew four more years,
he demanded an answer. There was no sugar-coating it this time; Mother knew
there was no pretty end either way. Mother had tried to comfort him but he
broke from her grasp. As their home wasn’t properly funded, there was no
obstacle to get out.
He ran aimlessly, passing signs and streets without observation. When he came
to an empty playground, Jungkook climbed into the tunnel and let himself cry
freely. It wasn’t long until he heard muffled voices outside and he covered his
mouth, not wanting to be found. When a head popped into the entrance, they both
screamed dramatically and Jungkook tried to escape through the other end, only
to find it blocked by another boy. A minute passed of glancing from boy to boy
and he hurriedly wiped away his stained, snotty face.
“What’s wrong, kid?” one of them asked, although he wasn’t any much older. His
big eyes penetrated through Jungkook’s, and his smile was hesitant, almost
worried. But Jungkook didn’t speak; he sobbed and pulled himself close. If he
thought hard enough, they would probably disappear.
“Let’s just go Taehyung,” the other boy said in a jaded tone. He was already
turning around to get out of the crawl tube. “I told you I wanted ice-cream.”
Taehyung, still staring at Jungkook, nodded and said, “I’ll buy one for you
too, if you come.”
Jungkook sat for a while longer, contemplating, before scrambling out of his
cave and catching up to the two boys. It was the best decision he had made in
his life; not only were they fun and warm, they always visited the orphanage to
escort him for their daily meetups, and considering he had no funds, paid for
all his indulges.
Mother knew that there she had no leash on the children she dutifully raised,
but her worries were never gone unsaid. When Jungkook started to sneak out more
and more, when he started to smell like cigarettes and alcohol, she knew she
had to put her foot down.
But, of course, Jungkook did not listen. His relationship with Taehyung and
Jimin was precious to him and they soon represented the parents that left him.
Although two years apart, the boys took care of Jungkook as much if not more
than Mother did; he knew he would choose them over anything the world could
offer. Jungkook’s days were spent lounging in Taehyung’s massive house, waiting
for him to return from school unless the latter had ditched; and their nights
were always spent with Jimin. As he was also a perfectionist, Jungkook made
sure that he absorbed as much knowledge, useful or not, as he could after he
dropped out of high school.
The life Jimin had introduced to them was hard to get out of, no matter what
sweet words Mother used. At the back of his mind, Jungkook knew her intentions,
knew that she was only trying to prevent his downfall. He’d never admit it,
even to himself, and savoured every moment of being out on the streets. Most
days, he’d only return to sleep in his rickety bed and he hardly saw anyone
else in the orphanage. Through it all, Mother was always silently supporting,
knowing her influence was only so powerful.
After Jimin had cut them off, Jungkook never left Taehyung’s house. He knew the
heartbreak Taehyung was feeling, saw it in his now vacant eyes; and since he
had always been taken care of by them, he knew it was his turn to return these
actions. They soon found some solace in each other and Taehyung voiced out the
plan he had conceived. Jungkook thought it was brilliant, similarly wanting to
have a permanent position in the gang without Jimin’s hand to hold.
Although he was afraid, Jungkook knew that this night would open up some sort
of opportunity, so he thought big and did big. When they reached the club, they
greeted their mutual friends that Jimin had introduced to them on a few
occasions before. Somewhere in between the dancing and the shots, Jungkook was
pulled aside by someone that he had flattered in the past.
“Oh, hey,” Jungkook slurred up at the tall man, “just the person I was looking
for.”
The man smiled and stood a little closer. His breath tingled Jungkook’s ear as
he leaned in towards him.
“I’ve been looking for you too. You came with Taehyung, right?
“I did,” Jungkook whispered back.
“Shall we give him a little scare?”
Chapter End Notes
     so this is the end of the 'previews'. I'm not sure if I should start
     a whole new work together or continue the following chapters here..
     Anyhow, thank you for reading and I hope it has been enjoyable so far
     (*/▽＼*)
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