Chapter Text
He’d never really used the night bus before, opting sensibly to walk to most places in pursuit of both saving money and avoiding physical contact with others. Guryang only had one bus line which ran around the outskirts of the district, and Jimin had never really had a reason to consider it before today. Now, as he perches on an ever so slightly damp seat, USB still clenched tightly in his hand and taking side glances at the only other two passengers, he doesn’t ask himself why.
The address scribbled across his palm has almost been washed off by his layer of sweat, which he tries not to think about too much as he reaches for the ‘STOP’ button and presses down. He jumps off into the night, surrounded by terraced houses on either side. He walks down the street, counting their numbers until he reaches 56, at which point he ducks into the alleyway just visible alongside it. Tilting his head up with an air of false confidence and taking a deep breath, he follows it round to the right, his feet stuttering when his eyes meet the man waiting for him.
He’s not that much taller than Jimin, surprisingly, but he’s bulky- boy, is he bulky- and his arms across his chest in a static pose that somehow still screams aggression. He’s kitted up in all black, save for the white of his trainers, and his eyebrows furrow inwards. Jimin coughs quietly, as if by some miracle the man hasn’t seen him yet, and takes another timid step towards him.
“Are you looking for Hobi?” He somehow manages to spit out, thanking every God he knows that his voice didn’t tremble, allowing the both of them to continue to pretend that Jimin is in any way intimidating.
The man looks Jimin up and down, taking in his scrawny figure, and for a second Jimin thinks he might just say ‘no’ and walk away.
“What’s it to you?” The guy replies, and Jimin can almost smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, can definitely hear it in the way he rasps as he speaks.
He almost doesn’t trust his voice to aid him again, so he simply holds up the USB stick, extending it away from himself slightly in a motion that’s intended to look like an offer, but also to try to make sure that this man doesn’t come too close to him. The man snatches the USB from his fingers, and Jimin steps back slightly at the sudden movement, lowering his head slightly. He hears a scoff and looks up.
“What about the gun, kid?”
Jimin balks, facade of confidence completely shattered as he looks at the guy through terrified eyes. He looks down in fear, only to be faced with those massive arms, and looks up again.
“Hobi didn’t give me a gun.” He manages to stutter out. He watches the man’s face turn from disbelief to anger and takes another step back as the man leans towards him.
“Listen here, kid. I wanted my USB, and I wanted my gun. I know you’ve got it. So you either give it to me the easy way, or you give it to me the hard way.” The stranger’s arms are uncrossed now, and one hand comes up to grab and Jimin’s collar and push him back threateningly. “Where’s the fucking gun?”
Jimin manages to let out a weak whimper before he feels the man’s fist collide with his face, knuckles digging into his skin as he stumbles back from the force of it. His cheek throbs instantly, red-hot pain spreading down his neck and around his ear as he clutches miserably at his face, using his other hand to shield himself from the man’s next move as he stumbles to the ground. The guy aims a kick at his chest, slamming his foot down, and Jimin thinks that this is it, he’s really going to die here. He recoils away from the kick, curling in on himself like a child. He hears the guy scoff.
“I’ll be back.” Is the last thing he hears the guy say before footsteps echo down around the alley, and he looks up just in time to watch the man disappear around the corner.
Jimin lugs his limp body back to the bus stop in record time, stopping only to catch his breath. His chest feels like it’s on fire, but he doesn’t think the driver will let him on if he looks too beat up, so he presses his face against the cool brick of one of the nearby houses whilst he waits. Every sound he hears has him petrified, and he’s all too glad when the bus finally pulls around the bend, and he’s allowed on without a second glance.
He slumps into the seat, chest heaving ever so slightly, head throbbing. As the bus starts to move he feels dizzy, and he grips onto the seat in front to stop himself from wobbling. As the adrenaline fades from his veins he tries to breathe again, ignoring the thumping in his ribs. He’s about ten minutes into the bus journey when he finally lets go of the seat and stretches out both of his hands, the faint remnants of an address scrawled over his left, and he almost feels like crying. He lost the USB, and he didn’t get the money. Shit.
He guesses he’s got about twenty minutes before the bus pulls up just down the road from the house with the broken window, his end destination, which gives him twenty minutes to somehow conjure up $150 and an acceptable cover story.
Jimin opens his wallet to two 50’s, six 10’s, and an empty pack of chewing gum. Realistically, he thinks, staring at his only remaining budget, if he gives Hobi $150 of his own money, Hobi will give back $200, and he’ll have gained $50. He clumps the money together with a spare hairband from around his wrist, glancing wistfully as his lonely $10 bill before closing his wallet. With another deep breath, he presses the ‘STOP’ button and gets off the bus.
The building looks much more intimidating up close. It almost looms over him, the walls seeming to surround him as he shuffles closer. There are faint flashes of light jumping out of the bordered up window, the only sign of any life within the house. As Jimin reaches the door, he reaches out a shaking hand and, seeing no doorbell or knocker, taps three times.
Two pairs of eyes appear through a horizontal slit in the door, big and brown and unblinking.
“Password?”
Jimin chokes on his breath, his chest thudding as he’s thrown into a fit of panic by- what? Password? Hobi didn’t say anything about a password. Has he even got the right house? God, what if they don’t let him in. What if they do let him in, what if it’s some weird cult and oh God what has Jimin gotten himself into this time, he-
“Hey, relax. I’m just kidding. You’re running for Hobi, right?” The eyes tell him.
Jimin’s chest shudders, and he’s absolutely lost for words, his mind blank, he’s slightly convinced that he might be hallucinating, maybe a side effect of the head bump. Another voice sounds from inside.
“Jungkook, for fuck’s sake, how many times have I told you to stop answering the door with “Are you the runner”? One of these days, it’s gonna be a cop, and I swear to god I am not bailing your ass when it is.”
The door swings open amidst the scolding, revealing a brown haired boy in jeans and a shirt. Jungkook, Jimin assumes, holds out his hand in a welcoming motion, gesturing for Jimin to come inside, and reaching out to grab his arm and tug him when Jimin hesitates. His vision blurs, pain shooting through his head as he readjusts to the light of what he assumes is a TV screen, and the noise of what he assumes is Hobi.
“Park Jimin, you’re back!”
“Just Jimin is fine,” he finds himself saying, a useless provision of information in an attempt to distract himself from the pounding in his mind. “I’ve got your money.” He follows it up with, desperate to get in and out of here as quickly as possible so he can drown himself in painkillers and get some sleep.
As his vision clears he takes in the room, a small TV pushed against the far wall, enclosed by three sofas and a coffee table. There are two more closed doors, and a staircase leading up into another lit room. Jimin thrusts his pile of money in Hobi’s direction, holding onto one of the sofas with his other hand in an attempt to steady himself. His body is screaming now, thundering punches hitting his head, and his chest feels like it’s on fire. He feels more than sees Hobi take the money, and flinches away when Jungkook lands a palm on his sweaty back.
“Are you okay? You seem a little shaky?” Jungkook’s looking at him with care in his eyes that Jimin struggles to recognise, least of all from a gang member, and he briefly allows his mind to wonder what the fuck either of them are doing in this dump before it resumes its yelling. He reaches his palm up to clutch at his forehead, forgetting that it was his main source of balance, and stumbling into the back of the sofa he was resting on.
“Jimin?”
He hears someone else enter the room- Hobi?- before his legs completely give out on him, grabbing inwards to his chest in a poor attempt to soothe the sheer agony. Jungkook yells out something sharp that travels straight into his head and echoes around. He pulls his head further into his arms as black spots start to cloud his vision, and the last thing he sees before he blacks out are three pairs of feet standing around him.