—if i can see,
then how do i find him?

OCTOBER 10:
KIM SEOKJIN

==

it's surprising how he still finds himself behind the smoothie bar counter, a polite smile on his face, while the dull concept of kim taehyung lingers in the back of his mind. seokjin hasn't bothered to street sing ever since that hat-stealing episode several days before; there just isn't a drive for him to follow.

because the only thing that's on his mind is taehyung—and finding him.

two hours after his afternoon shift ends, seokjin is finally back inside the dirty walls of the apartment he manages to afford (and it's not like the money comes through good terms; he's made countless bad decisions, but they all yield the cash he requires). the sun is tired, slipping below the horizon—and he is, too.

it's six o'clock. seokjin has one hour.

but in all honesty, he likes it. seokjin likes the adrenaline rush, the constant pressure of losing minutes faster than he can count. he likes it when namjoon can call his shitty, broken phone and ask, "hey, you free tomorrow? the group and i want to discuss stuff with you" and he won't feel completely out of place.

seokjin likes feeling useful for once, and not a burden.

so when the sun coughs its last ray of light into the coming evening, seokjin slips on the best clothes he has in a closet of scattered appearances, combs his hair, and exits the flat with a beating, terrified heart.

but maybe that terror is a drive in its own.

==

the establishment isn't as elaborate seokjin expects it to be—though that certainly helps to ease his wracked nerves.

it's a timid but decorative bar, with tinted glass and bottle lights; unsurprisingly, it fits namjoon's personality precisely (professional but hey, he's still young and abstract, isn't he?). there's a flat screen against the wall playing the news, some minor headline about a guy being shot in the shoulder, but seokjin doesn't pay attention to it. that kind of shit happens all the time in the city.

"kim," seokjin tells the name to the waitress at the door, mustering the sincerest smile he can pull off. "a reservation for five, yeah?"

"right this way, sir."

and there they are, hushed murmurs exchanging between four—perhaps lunatics, but seokjin could care less of what their titles are. namjoon looks up, grabbing the attention of his group, and beckons seokjin over.

"you showed up, huh, seokjin?" he gives a shit-eating grin. "and only half an hour late."

"fuck off, kim," seokjin retorts right back with a crazed laugh, sitting in the empty chair next to a quiet man in a navy blazer. the table is scattered with half-empty glasses and opened menus, but seokjin kind of appreciates the clutter—makes it seem realistic, and he sure as hell needs that consolation in this world of vehicle explosions and dead, walking boys. "i've got unmanageable hair."

"can't argue with that," pipes up a black-haired male from across the table. "i know the struggle. you shouldn't pester him, namjoon; you don't know what it's like."

"ah, so that's a jab at my hair, huh? fuck you too, yoongi."

"well, he's got a fair point," a different guy, this time with a head of orange, leans back with some type of margarita drink in his hand, "considering you've got about, what, four hairs up there? i bet that's accurate."

namjoon barks a laugh at this, shaking his head in amusement. "that's jung hoseok," he tells seokjin with a slight spark in his words, throwing a thumb in the first's direction. "biggest dumbass at this table, but he can see taehyung, so that's all that matters."

"how flattering."

"and i'm min yoongi," says the sharp-tongued man from before, offering a brief but brilliant smile. he nods towards the man next to seokjin who has yet to say a word, eyes affixed to the tablecloth almost in intense contemplation. "that's park jimin. we, uh...we have our own experiences with taehyung."

"so you know him?" seokjin asks, swallowing in nervousness as jimin shuffles slightly in his seat.

"...well, i don't personally. the kid just broke the door of a convenience store that i work at, and i met jimin at the detective agency when i went to—to show them the footage."

"no one saw taehyung in the film except for us, 'course," hoseok adds, sipping quietly on his drink. "but jimin over here, he's got personal connections with the boy. they're—"

"tae's my best friend," interrupts jimin, voice low and quiet. seokjin briefly glances at him, and they lock eyes for the slightest moment before jimin sits up and places his elbows on the table. and god, the man looks heartbroken; jimin's eyes are hooded and blurry, like he's one minute away from crying his wits out, and grief practically drips from his voice.

"yeah." seokjin flicks his eyes to namjoon, and the latter's demeanor has visibly darkened. "jimin and taehyung, they...they were real close."

seokjin's tongue is dry. how is he supposed to respond to that? he can't imagine what it's like to see your dead best friend on television after four long years, especially realizing that he may or may not be fucking possessed.

so he says nothing, and quietly folds his hands under the table.

hoseok finally breaks the silence, mustering a grin that manages to lift jimin's head the slightest. "don't worry, kiddo. we're gonna save your bud, okay? we're gonna bring him back."

it's highly irrational, of course. seokjin can hear the sheer optimism in hoseok's words, but that's all it is—optimism. all five of them very well know that the being which has killed countless, that bleeds from its arms and whites its irises, is not kim taehyung. hell, the kid they're trying to find could even be dead.

they don't know a damn thing. their situation is like being given a map of their city and told to locate someone halfway across the world—it's practically impossible. but from the way jimin manages to smile, even if only for a moment, and takes a deep breath that relaxes the shoulders of everyone at the table, seokjin really can't disbelieve hoseok's words.

"so here's what we know," namjoon leans over the table and lowers his voice (it seems so intense, in seokjin's opinion; but really, it's just namjoon being careful that no one hears them discuss the whereabouts of a supposed-to-be dead murderer). "as of now, we're the only ones who can see taehyung, and he's been...causing all of these crashes and headlines to occur. but since he's just been exploding vehicles and breaking objects and whatnot, maybe that means he...he can't hurt humans directly."

seokjin looks up, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

"it makes sense, i guess," yoongi responds, chewing the inside of his cheek. "because if people can't see him, wouldn't it make sense that he's unable to touch them, and vice versa? like—touching thin air or something?" like a ghost. the words are unspoken but everyone hears it, the faintest whisper in their brains.

"then..." seokjin swallows. "then how is taehyung able to use things like, like gasoline and stuff? shouldn't people be able to see the jug?"

"...maybe when taehyung touches objects, they aren't visible to the normal eye anymore?" hoseok offers, and jimin scoffs incredulously in response.

"like a fucking invisibility cloak, huh."

"it's the only explanation out there," deadpans yoongi, giving jimin a glare. "unless you have any ideas, chim?"

"don't fucking call me that. you don't deserve to."

"yeah? like you deserve to sit around all high-and-mighty while we actually try and find explanations to the problem? look, i get your bestie is out doing unspeakable things, but that's all the more a reason to find out why—"

"no, min yoongi, you don't fucking get it, okay?" jimin snaps, slamming his hands on the table and attracting the attention of a few people nearby. "your best friend is not dead and killing people right in front of your eyes. hell, tae's probably out doing it right now and here we are, sipping fucking margaritas and acting like the world is perfect just because we aren't dead yet. so don't you dare say you understand, because you don't understand a thing of what i'm going through."

yoongi hisses, "you son of a—"

"hey, hey!" hoseok gives a pleading stare to the both of them, raising his hands. "c'mon, this isn't the time for arguing, okay? we're all trying here. it's difficult, i know it is. we all aren't detectives, are we?"

seokjin isn't sure, but he notices hoseok falter the slightest at those last words.

"hoseok's right, guys," namjoon sighs. "jimin, i know you feel the urge to help him, but we are. what would you rather us do: try and find solutions individually, alone in our apartments? doesn't this at least feel—safer?"

it's like a slap on the face to everyone at the table. because yes, it does feel safer: so much safer, and seokjin can't be more thankful for them. jimin seems to think so too, as he shrinks back into his seat and looks to his lap, lip tucked under his teeth.

"yeah. it does."

"jimin," yoongi sighs, "fuck, 'm sorry—"

jimin finally looks up, eyes wide, but it's clear there's something else on his mind. "oh man. oh god, holy shit."

seokjin furrows his eyebrows. "jimin?"

"i just..." jimin stutters a laugh, shaking his head. "fuck, i can't believe we didn't think of this before, god...i'm such a dumbass..."

"jimin, quit it, what the hell are you rambling about?"

"his grave," he blurts, and four pairs of lungs simultaneously hitch in their ribcages. "that's how we can figure out if...whatever that thing is has taehyung himself or not."

the silence is deafening.

"are you saying...?" hoseok can't even finish because jimin nods fervently, breath a mere shudder off his lips.

"yeah. i'm saying we dig taehyung's coffin out and see for ourselves."

==

jimin calm tf down u were bawling ur eyes out like 4 sec ago
yall the next chaps are gonna be 😔
massive shit goes down & tht weird ass newspaper comes into play
but yeah bye ilu