SOMEHOW
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.CHAPTER 1.

Droplets of sweat rolled down Taehyung's nape and accumulated even more on his clammy hands. The lights hot on his skin and the clothing tight on his lean figure.

Yet, his fierce stare toward the camera overpowered any sign of anxiety, like always. His eyes, though warm— full of vigor in the form of vibrant brown and speckled with serenity with tints of green— would never fail to make someone shiver. It was not because of his vivid beauty. It was his desolate faraway haunted gaze that made the air around him tense.

And yet that's what made him the hottest runway model in the industry. You could feel his aura,  his presence, through the lens and the covers. Your eyes would no longer be your own but his. That was Kim Taehyung.

Are my shoulders relaxed enough? Fuck, why does this blazer feel tight? My breakfast must have been too heavy.

"Taehyung-ah look up!"

Taehyung looked up at the speed of light at the cameraman's cue. His hair whipped back, revealing all of his cover-ready handsome face.

Click!

The shutter of the camera cued him to adjust his position. He dug one hand into the pocket of his chinos and had the other playfully pulled down on his bottom lip. His eyes were honeyed with a harsh, sultry dark brown that contrasted with the innocent boyish grin that curved his delicate lips. There was no evidence of the thousands of thoughts that raced through his mind or the millions of nerves that ran up his skin.

I feel like I can't breathe. I think it's because my posture is all wrong. He planned to adjust his squared shoulders but click! There was no stop and wait in the modeling industry. There was only the ongoing hustle of the soulless doll-like models who followed their puppeteer's command.

Taehyung could sense the panic that had flickered through his eyes that moment when he tried to adjust his posture before the shutter sounded. That picture would become one of the many that he'd tear into shreds if he ever came across it in a magazine like all the others he deemed imperfect.

Perfection.

Kim Taehyung the model only knew of perfection and anything less from him he'd automatically deem himself a failure.

Again he felt that pressuring sensation in his chest that made him feel like his lungs were trapped. It's the blazer, he realized as he transitioned into another pose. It's too tight damnit. I knew I shouldn't have eaten this morning especially when I went out to eat yesterday with Jimin. I have to stop eating so much.

He could feel his shoulders wanting to slump but he didn't give himself the chance to do so. He tilted his head to the side and tightened his smile until it mirrored a genuine smile. Somewhat.

Click!

He felt the eyes crawling down his skin. He knew it. He felt it. He had put on weight and it made him want to shrink and curl into a ball.  Did Kim Taehyung the model recently gain weight? Just the mere thought of how the headlines could look or the gossiping whispers could sound made him sick to his stomach. Why did he suddenly start hearing his own heart? Why was he so imperfect? Why did Taehyung see Kim Taehyung as the epitome of imperfection and flaws? Why was he never good enough for himself?

A loud clap that made all the motion in the entire room stop, disrupted his thoughts. He turned his focus to the lady standing by the cameraman. Raising her shades with the lift of her pinky, she flashed him a beaming smile. "You look extraordinary, Tae darling, as always. I get this feeling your shoot will sell out the first week of publishing yet again!"

He tilted his head at her with a slight eyebrow raise before wiping the O off his lips once he remembered where he was. "You think so? Thank you so much! He shot her a smile back, trying not to make it forced.

She whispered something toward the cameraman and directed for the lights to be lowered before coming over to Taehyung. He tensed at the sudden grip of his wrist, her manicured nails digging into his skin. He could hear the thumping coming from his heart loud and clear. Just inches away from having it feel like it was near his ear. I knew it.

"Most people wouldn't notice," she said, placing a red manicured nail on the screen of the camera," but if you look closely, the seams stretch a bit. I wonder why when this shirt was handmade for you, Tae darling." She looked back and forth between him and the camera before walking a circle around him.

Each clack of her red bottom heels went in hand with her every pull and prick at where the seams stretched on the shirt he wore.  Taehyung kept his head looking straight, focusing on the wall knowing well the distaste that was wrinkling her face was as harsh as the embarrassment that burned him.

"You do know that it is your job to stay slim. You are not meant to bend the clothing or wear it. You're meant to let it wear you. . ." She talked. And talked. Every word droned past him, it was like the buzzing of a persistent fly that just wouldn't shut up.

The buzzing got louder every time she said," here," at every imperfection she found. The slightest stretch and she would be quick to pinch it. An eerie silence was festering within his head. It was bubbling in his stomach and clawing his chest. Oh. . .he realized the embarrassment had disappeared and what filled him instead was now disappointment. Disappointment at himself, like always.

And that hurt like a bitch.

"Tae! Tae, let's go! I'm so hungry I think I'm gonna faint," a voice chirped, and a small pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders. Jimin got on his toes to get a better look at the shots of Taehyung on the camera.

"Wooow," he exhaled, awestruck, but Taehyung saw no reason for the awe. There were too many flaws in the picture. He merely gave him a mindless "hmmm" before packing up his things. Jimin noted the change in atmosphere, but he simply stayed silent and observed him.

"I suggest you skip dinner tonight and tomorrow so we don't see this issue again," her words kept echoing in his mind relentlessly. Every crevice of his brain vibrated those words, on and on— Jimin came beside him, the tilt of his head revealing his worry at Taehyung's silence.

"Taehyung?" Jimin muttered, his voice slightly high, looking up at him.

"Jiminie let's go eat. I'm starving." Fuck it, Jimin was hungry and so was he. He wanted to eat, he was going to eat.  With a satisfied grin on Jimin's face, they both exited the bustling photography studio and into the crowded streets of Seoul. Taehyung walked, holding his head high to try to play the facade of being put together. When he noticed Jimin took a different corner than the usual path they'd take to go to their favorite restaurant he quickened his pace to catch up to him.

"Hey! Aren't we going where we usually go?" Taehyung huffed.

"What, so you can order a salad and call it a day by starving yourself? Either way, the old man and the ahjumma are on vacation so we're going to get noodles at this new shop!" Jimin turned on his heel to face Taehyung, a devilish grin on his lips," Come on, let's go eat all the carbs!"

••••

Taehyung noticed how the transparent noodles in Jimin's bowl shimmered at a certain angle if he slightly adjusted his neck. For some reason, that left him open-mouthed and silent.

"Tae-Tae, are you even listening to me?" Jimin asked, from across the wood oak table, his tone high-pitched and puppy eyes colored with worry.

Taehyung placed his chin on his intertwined fingers and leaned forward. "Of course, Jiminie," he said, smirking, "I just didn't quite catch everything you said. Could you repeat it?"

Jimin pouted and shot him a glare with squinted eyes before eye-rolling.  "Damnit Taehyung—do your ears work? Here let me help you!" He leaned over the table intending to pull Taehyung's ears.

A glimmer of light flickered in Taehyung's almond-like eyes as he picked up the chopsticks on top of his bowl," Well, come and get it!" He swatted Jimin's hand away with his chopsticks and all the other attempts after that one. It was a game of fingers and chopsticks—a game as childish as it could be but they couldn't care less, their light laughter was proof of that.

A smile showing off his perfect teeth beamed back at Jimin in victory. They recomposed themselves and sat back down in their seats.

"To summarize everything I said, because someone—" Jimin shot Taehyung another glare,"—wasn't listening, I was invited to a party, and I'm forcing you and Namjoon to come!"

"Another party? We literally went to one not that long ago and you know how I feel about big crowds," Taehyung murmured, he averted his eyes away from Jimin and to the table instead.

Jimin noticed Taehyung's change in attitude, from how his eyebrows drew down and how he placed his hand on his collarbone. "Please," he said in a high pitch. He placed his hand on Taehyung's and leaned forward to fully encompass his hand in his. Taehyung ignored him and instead spent the fleeting seconds eyeing the salt and pepper shakers on his left. Crystalline remnants decorated the exterior of the shaker and, rather absent-mindedly, Taehyung rubbed his fingers tips against the rough pieces of salt.

"Tae," Jimin's voice had a serious edge to it that Taehyung found slightly pressuring just like the way he squeezed his hand.

Parties were nice, they were great, a waste of time, and a distraction from reality. He felt very uncomfortable in social events. He couldn't even drink since his lightweight body could barely tolerate alcohol. No one knew this. Not with his rehearsed chuckles, controlled smiles, or confident posture. Taehyung was as good of an actor as he was a model then again he'd been forced to act since he started his modeling career and was pushed in front of the spotlight. It just took the right amount of everything and no one would catch onto his mask.

Taehyung turned his eyes back to Jimin, who was patiently waiting for a reply.

"You said it starts at 10 P.M sharp? Okay, just one more party though," Taehyung lightly tapped Jimin's nose with the tip of his finger. Jimin's ever-growing smile made the stressed wrinkles at the corners of his lips soften.

"At 10 P.M sharp! Tae, thank you!" Jimin practically jumped up with excitement, his balled fist shook to a joyful tune of their own. Taehyung couldn't stop a
chuckle from escaping his lips at Jimin's joyful outburst. Jimin's happiness was infectious but it wasn't strong enough to keep Taehyung's mind from fretting about tonight.

As he slurped his noodles he could feel the regret weighing on the back of his mind. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why did I ever agree? I must be a masochist to have put myself in this situation.

••••

A pair of espresso brown eyes looked up at the bright afternoon sky scattered with snow-white clouds beyond the ceiling window. His breath was calm and steady—nothing like how it was last night— conscious and senses wide awake.

He was alive. Somehow.

Jungkook didn't fear death, but he didn't accept it with welcome arms either. He was instead more fearful of life and all that lived. His mother would always say," You should fear what's alive for life is for the living. It's not a deadman's world." His mind was eerily silent as he glanced at the familiar objects instead of entertaining the thoughts about his mother and family.

He recognized the familiar framed photo of a man whose smile outshined those of the men posing with him and cradled a bowl of soup in his arms. The image brought him such relief that he let go of the breath that he didn't even know he was holding. He found his eyes traveling back to the window ceiling to stare at the sky and its moving clouds. Spots of sunshine would trickle in through the window ceiling and disappear as the clouds moved. For a brief moment, all he could hear was his own breath and the muffled noise of the cars and people from outside. It was soothing like a lullaby but the feeling of something slick running down his torso reeled his attention back to reality.

He turned his head downward, trailing below the blood-stained bandages around his torso was a light stream of blood. He sat up, holding tightly to the edge of the bed. The cool linen sheets grazed his roughened, scarred skin as he slowly got up with ease as if he wasn't wounded at all. Then again whenever he was injured it was like he never was since his nerves struggled to translate pain to his brain in certain areas of his body.

He cracked his neck and knuckles as he limped, body stiff, to the nearby mirror. Checking the wound out he sighed, the wound isn't so bad but I'm going to have to change the bandages before I leave. The mirror reflected the image of a young shirtless man whose body was beauty's incarnation, though with plenty of noticeable flaws.

His arms were muscular and toned with slash marks ranging from small to large covering them but the tattoos hid them under a sea of ink. His stiff breaths rippled his sturdy chest and sculpted abdomen that were accompanied by even more scars and tattoos.

If one described his body as scrumptious, then there was no word good enough to describe his face: a sharp jawline, cupid's lips, and Athena's collection of silk for his tousled hair. Despite his looks though, his character was far from perfection, the number of people he'd make squirm and cry daily could account for that.

Fast approaching footsteps neared the door. He moved as quickly as his body would allow, looking around for his black trench coat that hid an armory of weapons for his disposal. Even the small knives he'd usually have all over his body, chest to legs were nowhere to be seen.

It was just him and the overly white room. Guess this room is my weapon then. The doorknob turned, and the door opened to reveal a very tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man with a folded shirt and rolls of bandages in his arms. It seemed like intuition told him to look to his right before fully entering the room.

Hazel eyes meet Jungkook's.

Jungkook was behind the door, white-knuckled hands latched onto a pillow. His face was stern, body rigid, legs in a fighting stance, eyes locked on the man. He was ready to suffocate the person who walked through those doors.

Sweet silence.

Then raucous laughter broke the tension in the air.
"Really? A pillow as a weapon?" the man asked in his booming voice, pausing to wheeze. "How the hell are you even considered one of the most lethal assassins in the industry? Let alone an assassin?" he tried catching his breath from laughter but found himself unable to when he settled on the edge of the bed to place all the things he was carrying.

Jungkook blinked, finding it a bit hard to laugh after planning out a gruesome scenario in his head on how he'd deal with his supposed target. Yet, the man's laughter made it hard for his lips to stay neutral and not slightly raise.

"Hey," Jungkook said pointing a finger to the man," the number of housewives who've killed their husbands with a pillow is a lot, Jin." He quirked his eyebrow, grabbing the bandages and swiftly replacing the old ones around his torso like he's done plenty of times in the past with fresh bandages. In haste, he put on the shirt that Jin brought over.

Jungkook noticed a flicker of pain cross Jin's eyes, he could feel his stare was directed to the scars all over his body and the line of stitches on his neck that still poked through the thin fabric of the shirt.

"I don't need your pity. Save it for someone who does," he said. He sat on the bed beside Jin to put on his boots which were no longer stained with grime and blood. Thank you, as always.

"Are you at least going to tell me what happened to you?" Jin asked.

Jungkook remained silent, focusing on lacing his boots.

"Jungkook—"

"—Ambushed, Jin," he snapped. "I was finishing my last kill and I had unexpected company. Things got messy and here I am." He sighed and shook his head, looking up at Jin, voice softening. "Thank you for everything but I should get going. Where are my things?" He stood up abruptly, wanting to leave as quickly as possible.

As much as he owed his life to Jin, there was pressure on his shoulders to endlessly work himself day and night. Money was one thing, his employer was another, but it was his way of punishing himself for even being in this profession in the first place.

Call it twisted logic but he was far from repentance and he figured digging himself into a hole so deep that nothing would be able to save him would suffice. He could erase this suffocating pressure and swallow the guilt whole and lose himself but he didn't.

He wouldn't allow himself to.

He kept his wings cramped in his back, sewed shut because Jeon Jungkook did not deserve many things, not when he's taken so much from others.
He was the grim reaper, including his own. Death's Shadow, as they called him.

"Listen to me before you go then," Jin said," Yoongi already accepted the request for you. The request is from someone willing to pay any price. At 10 P.M. a party will take place, where A-list celebrities and—" Jungkook lightly placed his hand over Jin's mouth.

"Just message me the details," he said," and I'll go over Yoongi's plans on my way over. I'll wait for you downstairs." He disappeared down the hall, leaving Jin behind shaking his head and sighing.

He'd be lying if he said the reason why his feet took him to the kitchen wasn't originally because of hunger. But because he felt guilty about eating Jin's home-cooked food he looked for something else. Right away when his fingers caught it after fishing through Jin's cabinets, he felt his shoulders lighten just lightly. Slipping a thin, rolled-up cigar onto his palm from the hidden cartridge he found, he leaned over the stove, letting the flame light up the end. Hearing Jin's footsteps nearing him, he turned the stove off and took a quick long drag.

"Oh, come on! That was a gift I got, Kook!" Jin clicked his tongue, dropping the things and coat he carried into Jungkook's arm and snatching the cigar away. "Also Seonghwa said no smoking for you since he had you on some medication while he was patching you up."

"I was just lighting it up for you since my presence seemed to stress you. See how good of a friend I am? And tell Seonghwa I'm going to die either way," Jungkook's naturally serious tone contrasted from the second long cheeky smile he gave Jin. He took his weapons, slipped into his trench coat, and hooked his keys onto his pinky. Parting ways with a brief silence of staring at each other since Jungkook wasn't the type to hug, they parted ways.

"Call Seonghwa, okay!"

"Sure," Jungkook replied lazily, feeling Jin's worried fill stare still following him.

"Stay safe!"

"I'll try." Jungkook gave Jin one last wave before slipping through the gates but his hands paused from fully closing the doors behind him when his ears caught Jin's whisper.

"'Only 21 yet this is the road you were forced to take. I'm the older one and all I can do is pray and help you until death comes for you. Pathetic. . . I'm sorry."

Same colored eyes and yet such different lives.

♥𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 ♥