Chapter Text
As cliché as it sounds, Park Jimin never thought that his life would end up like this. Sure, he’d only really had as much as a pipe dream of becoming anywhere near famous or well known, but he had held out some hope. As a kid, he’d been a promising dancer with an above average set of lungs on him, and whilst he wasn’t delusional, he’d always hoped to make it into a crew or an agency, if only to give him the right to put two fingers up to his parents, who’d essentially disconnected from him when they found out that he was moving to Seoul to pursue his dreams.
Which is why, as he scuffs his trainer-padded feet across the harsh concrete of Guryang, he struggles to come to terms with the fact that this was his life now. After the agency he’d moved here for had taken him on as a trainee, they fed him with dreams and ambitions of debuting in a group and becoming an amazing artist, only to drop him two months later because he was unable to lose his cheek fat, even under the scrutiny of their harsh diet regimes. He’d managed to get a job a couple of weeks later, thanks to his school results and the sheer desperation of the shop that employed him, but he wasn’t going to be able to survive for much longer trying to afford his one-room flat along with food and water with just over minimum wage.
And that’s just about how he got here, twenty paces away from what he’s been informed by someone at his old agency as “the biggest gang hangout in Seoul”. Granted, Minsoo had meant it as more of a warning when he’d advised Jimin to stay as far away from this place as possible, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Jimin’s not actually stupid enough to go into the building, he tells himself, so he sort of awkwardly loiters a little bit away, as if by some stroke of luck someone is just going to waltz out of the place and in his direction.
He’s so intently focused on the building, the broken window in the top left that’s been haphazardly bordered up with wood, and the pipe dripping water into a slowly growing puddle, that he doesn’t notice the guy behind him until he puts an arm around his shoulder.
“Looking for something?”
The action would look friendly to any passerby, but Jimin can feel the man’s grip digging into his arm as he tries not to squeal like an absolute child at the shock of someone just appearing behind him and- oh god what has he got himself into.
The man interrupts his internal panic with an emphasised cough, and Jimin realises he’s looking for an answer. With all the courage he can possibly muster, which, realistically, is not much, he raises his shoulders and replies “Yeah, actually. Word on the street says that this place is where the real good stuff is at, you know?”. Before Jimin can even cringe at himself, he feels the guy’s grip on him slightly shake as he tries to muffle his laughter. He turns Jimin around, and moves a little so that they’re facing each other, with Jimin still locked in his now less menacing grip.
On the contrary, seeing the guy’s face only makes him more intimidated. The slight smirk on his lips combined with the one raised eyebrow just oozes confidence and power, and it all just makes Jimin more terrified. The guy tilts his head, before saying “Who’s asking?”, and Jimin honestly doesn’t think he can take much more of this.
“I-I’m sorry, it’s just that someone I used to know told me that his brother got money from coming over here and just asking to do some dirty work- oh god no not like dirty work like just running drugs and collecting money and I’m really not normally the type to do this sort of thing but I’m really low on cash like embarrassingly low and it’s just my last option and-”
“Hey, hey, kid, slow down, okay?” The guy interrupts Jimin’s external monologue with a worried look as he moves his hand from his arm to his shoulder, in a weird movement that makes him appear as more of a parental figure than a potential gang member. “What’s your name, kid?”
Jimin blurts out ‘Park Jimin’ before he can even begin to think of the consequences of telling a stranger - a potential gang member!!! - his first and last name, silently cursing himself for apparently becoming a pushover when he gets terrified, as the guy’s worried look shifts back into its smirk.
“You can call me Hobi,” he says in response. “So, is that your excuse as to why you’re sat outside at 2am, in the freezing cold might I add, staring blankly at the house with the broken window? You want to run some drugs?”.
Jimin doesn’t want to run any drugs anymore, Jimin would much prefer to go home and try to maintain a semblance of body heat in three jumpers, a coat, and a blanket, but at this point, he’s way past the point of being too terrified to do anything other than nod his head. ‘Hobi’, or whatever his actual name is, sighs, and takes his phone out of his pocket. “Give me your hand”, he states after a minute, and Jimin almost expects him to drop some white powder in it, and he stiffens. He breathes again when Hobi writes an address across his palm, shaking his head slightly as he does it. “You’re lucky that you’re cute, and that your sob story is alright.” Jimin thinks that neither of those things are true, but he nods anyway. “Go to this address, it’s on the other side of Guryang. Don’t go into the house, go down the alleyway next to it. The guy will give you $150, and you’ll give him this USB.” Hobi brandishes the small, metal plate from his pocket, gesturing for Jimin to lean in closer as his expression hardens and eyes darken.
“It’s got on it files that he needs. It’s not exactly drug running, sorry to disappoint you. But if I find out that it’s gone anywhere other than straight to the guy who’s paying for it - and trust me, I will know if it has - you won’t be seeing daylight again.”
Hobi pulls away with a bright smile, eyes crinkling and dimples showing, and Jimin swears he just got whiplash from how quickly the guy’s expression changed. He’d be laughing if he wasn’t so fucking terrified. This was such a bad idea.
“So, is $200 enough for you?”
Jimin’s head perks up and suddenly the world’s worst idea has just become the best. “Two- Yes! Yes that’s fine, that’d- yes, that’ll be just enough, thank you, Hobi.” He doesn’t mean to emphasise the guy’s clearly fake name so boldly, but the news of unexpectedly high payment has made him cocky, and he can’t bring himself to regret the action when the guy chuckles again and puts his hand back on Jimin’s arm.
“Go then, Park Jimin,” Hobi replies, with more confidence than Jimin could ever hope to imitate. “I’ll see you when you’ve got that $150.”
And with that, Hobi saunters roughly twenty paces down the road, opening the door to the house with the broken window and stepping inside with practiced ease, sending Jimin a smirk with such confidence that he honestly wonders if he hallucinated the whole thing once the door to the place has shut, and he’s left standing on the other side of the road, clutching the USB stick in his left hand.