—am i just
imagining?

OCTOBER 4:
MIN YOONGI

==

"turn the fuck around and drop that knife."

despite the fact that min yoongi himself holds a handgun between his shaking fingers, he can't help but feel like the one at a disadvantage in the situation. circumstances aside, he is actually quite capable of defending himself; not every cashier at local convenience stores knows how to wield and shoot a gun, yet here he is.

maybe it's just yoongi's sheer, rotten luck for his awful shift time (why did he have to drop out of college? working in old, ratty stores until twelve a.m is definitely not something he wished for), but he's encountered plenty of thieves before. sometimes they carry old baseball bats on their shoulders, or sometimes a few blades hooked to leather belts, and occasionally a gun itself.

whatever the case, yoongi ends up chewing them out with several colorful curses in a long, continuous chain, and then—in a finishing touch—shoots a few empty rounds from his handgun. the moment most people see the barrel whiplash forward and then back, they get the hell out of the store.

but then. this kid in front of yoongi—he isn't like most people. at all.

"i said," yoongi has to use all of his effort to keep the tremor out of his voice, "put that fucking knife down, you hear? i'll shoot. i don't allow weapons in this store."

the guy is staring at his fingers, a long and—to yoongi's sheer horror—rusted blade in his large hands. he continues to walk slowly up the aisle, white shirt stained with something akin to phelgm, maybe. yoongi swallows and clasps his hands tighter on the firearm, finger wavering precariously over the trigger, and he steps away from the counter.

"who the hell are you? i'll call the cops! get the fuck away from here!"

the boy continues to ignore yoongi's threats. he finally stops walking a mere three or so feet away from the counter, and then he looks up.

it's the same, really: bloodshot eyes, cracked lips, sickly skin, grungy hair. yoongi has seen it countless times before. and yet—this guy, this bastard has him erupting in goosebumps, lungs frozen to ice, throat parched and burning. he finds himself stuck in place, unsure of what to do.

"stay...back..." yoongi manages to choke out. just call the police, you dumbass! the phone is right there!

but he can't. and he doesn't know why. because as soon as that guy places his practically translucent hands on the counter and stares at yoongi with a semi-gaping mouth, yoongi can't move.

for once, he's scared.

yoongi stays frozen in place as the teenager looks up, mouth gaping inhumanly wide as his eyes roll back the slightest. he swallows sharply, hands tight against the handgun.

and then, the boy speaks.

"eomma, it hurts."

glass is shattered, and yoongi is alone once again in the store, an empty gun in his hands.

==

"what the hell do you mean, 'send it to the detective agency'? why can't the police see me?!"

"sir," the woman sighs, voice bristled over the phone, "i'm afraid we can't help you right now. the police is extremely busy with the recent subway explosion, and if the man isn't in the store anymore, the only way we can help you is if you show the footage to the dete—"

"are you fucking kidding me? it's midnight! what the hell does the police have to do at this hour?!"

"listen here." irritation laces the woman's voice. "i am in no mood to be treated poorly by someone of the likes of you, and the police is doing a hell of a lot right now for the people, so we don't have time for individual affairs. you can either show the footage to the detective agency, or give it a rest. goodnight."

a bit too dramatic for yoongi's tastes, but nevertheless, the call ends and he sighs into his hands. what the fuck is he supposed to do about the door that stupid kid broke? he can't even exit without stepping over a few glass shards. no doubt about it, his boss is going to be pissed, if not fed up entirely.

although he doesn't want to admit it, the woman does have a point. nothing was technically stolen—just a small bit of vandalization—, and showing the footage to the detective agency a few miles north is as good of justice as he is going to get, even if the police is involved. he's even seen the stories about the subways, so he knows the situation of social services at the moment.

but still. maybe it is that woman's rude mentality, or likely the vandalization guy himself, but yoongi can't help but feel uneasy. there was something extremely disturbing about the teen in the store earlier; he feels chills even thinking of the slightest moment from that time.

as he drives to the agency (traffic, obviously, is nonexistent; who the hell would be driving on a neglected back road at midnight?), yoongi occasionally spares glances to the store cam nestled into the passenger seat. as stupid as it sounds, he was actually too—scared to even watch the footage. what if it doesn't even look threatening to the detective agency? what if they call it off as some minor vandalization charge without even finding the guy?

"shut the fuck up, min," he grumbles to himself, tightening his fingers on the faded leather of the steering wheel. "stop acting like a kid. you're twenty-three, for christ's sake."

in less than ten minutes, yoongi pulls up to the nearly empty parking lot of the detective agency with weary legs, holding the camera like a baby in his hands. the building is an elaborate, decorative structure with massive white columns (that look frankly unnecessary, in his opinion) and tinted windows, and he feels intimidated just by stepping foot on the premises.

with a subtle nod of his head, yoongi enters the building via spinning doors (man, how the hell does this place afford shit like that?) and looks around. scarcely anyone is there, save for the tired-looking woman at the check-in desk.

yoongi begins to walk forward—and then, abruptly, someone roughly shoves past him.

he stumbles backward, half in surprise and half in balance, tightening the grip on his camera. a disheveled man with bleached light hair slams his hands on the check-in desk, arms trembling from the impact.

"i need to see someone!" the man yells, his words garbled. "i—i don't fucking care who, but i need to—i need to see someone now, it's, it's—"

"sir—excuse me, sir! please calm down, what's the—"

"h-hey!" this time, it's yoongi who speaks, his voice steadily growing angrier. "hey, what the hell, man? you can't just shove past me, i was here first. i have something urgent to—"

"i don't give a fuck right now!" the man screams, fingers clenched in his hair, and yoongi takes a shocked step backward. "you guys don't fucking get it! this is urgent! my—my best, my best bud, he—" he turns to face the woman. "get me a detective, get me someone, i don't fucking care who, just please—"

"sir, you have to tone down the language, i can't understand what you're saying—"

"hey, listen," snarls yoongi, clamping a hand down on the man's trembling shoulder. "stop yelling, alright? we can hear you perfectly fine. and i've got something just as urgent, so stop acting like everything revolves around you for a sec—"

"no, you listen!" the man grabs a fistful of yoongi's collar, his face finally visible—and that's how yoongi sees the tears in his eyes. "my best friend has been dead for four goddamn years and i saw him on the news two hours ago. do you fucking understand? do you?!"

"what?" yoongi breathes. he can't even hear the desk clerk's frantic calls directed to the man because—what kind of a story is that?

before yoongi can say another word, the man shakes his head frantically, fingers clasped, and continues with shaky words. "please, i just...i need someone. it's...i need to know..."

he wipes his eye.

"i just...i want my taehyungie back..."

the room is enveloped in agonizing silence for a long period of time, and then the desk clerk sighs with a hand on her weary face. "look, sir, i'm—all our detectives arrive the earliest at six a.m. i, i can't get anyone to you at the moment. you'll have to wait until morning..."

with a sputtered cough, the man looks up quickly. "wh—what? no, no! i need someone now! he could be out on the streets right now! he could be alive! goddammit!"

"i can book an appointment with one of my workers, but that's the most i can do at the moment—"

all the noise around him drowns away as yoongi steps backward, eyes hazily on the man. he knows he should be fighting for his own appointment, he really does. the whole situation could cost him his paycheck—hell, his whole job. but that man—to yoongi, he looks utterly broken, utterly depleted and he just can't intervene.

it—it just isn't right.

"okay. okay, fine. fine." yoongi snaps back to the current situation, watching as the man steps away from the counter with a snarl on his lips. "then by god, i'm staying in my car the whole fucking night until one of your detectives show up. i'm not leaving tae alone like that. especially not when he could be fucking alive."

"i—" the woman swallows, averting her eyes to the floor. "well, you're more than...welcome to wait, if that's what you would like."

the man doesn't respond, instead electing to collapse into a plastic seat situated on the far side of the wall and place his sweaty face in equally sweaty hands. yoongi can't tell if he's crying; but tears or not, he forgets completely about his own motives for coming and decides to sit next to the man.

"hey."

turning to yoongi lazily, expression bored and seemingly irritated, said man speaks. "hey."

yoongi coughs into his hand. "so, um, i'm min yoongi. and you?" after an awkward span of tense silence, he sighs. "listen, man, i'm planning on staying a while, too. might as well get to know each other, right?"

the man bites his lip, averting his eyes to the door. with the back of his hand, he wipes his nose and taps the heel of his boot against the tiled floor. "it's jimin," he says quietly. "park jimin."

yoongi nods, leaning his elbows onto his thighs. jimin decides he's had enough of the conversation, apparently, and pulls out his phone, pressing his thumb against the home button. subconsciously, yoongi trails his eyes to the screen of jimin's phone, the white light slightly hurting his vision.

and then, he swears his heart stops.

"what the—what the fuck?" yoongi stumbles away, eyes wide and horrified. "who the fuck is that in your home screen?"

jimin narrows his eyes in distaste, lip curling. "um, it's my best friend...? the hell's up with you? got a problem? think it's weird, huh? like everyone else—"

"that's—" yoongi swallows, throat dry. "he's...he's your...best friend? that kid in the photo? that's him?"

jimin doesn't reply, instead deciding to cock an eyebrow at yoongi. but the latter doesn't care. because even though that photo depicts a smiling young teenager with crinkling eyes and a squarish grin, with fluffy bangs and healthy lips, it doesn't go past yoongi.

"hey, yoongi. yoongi! what's up with you?"

yoongi blinks.

"your dead best friend fucking vandalized my store an hour ago, jimin."

==

1900+ words!!! we're gettin places boy
my god im hyped for action
slash bTS'S FUTURE COMEBACK IM STILL IN TEARS????