Chapter Text
WITH THE AMOUNT of peace and dignity he had contributed to Novus Seoul’s residents, latest Presider Mr. H3 will forever be remembered and our deepest condolences to his family and associates. Please do show some primly reputable ceremony of importance on this day onwards.
It was a drizzly gray night of the 13th of June 3172. The headlines all over the news spread wildfire about the good passed away Presider, Mr. Han Heunghyuk, respectably known as Mr. H3. Mister H3’s infamous face plastered and some important people mourning about his lost was on the front page of every newspaper being sold outside stores, vendors and even on the footstep of markets and vacant lots. Started with hemiparesis followed by an abrupt stroke hence resulted to his unfortunate death. Some said it was suicide, some said he was assassinated but the truth remained closed doors only known by few.
In this metropolis of Novus Seoul, an exceedingly cold city which painted the whole horizon with the hue of crimson and black, was being ruled by a Presider. Generation after generation, a Presider was never been elected by the people. He was elected by the government themselves. So it wasn’t a surprise when none of the living souls, residents rather or simply called Novians, opened a thrilled ear to the news.
Other corresponding news statically interrupting, meddling, finding a way to show to this dark part of the continent like crack of dawn wouldn’t even make it for Novians to know that indeed sun existed. A vacuity of some sort, full of austere-looking buildings, collapsing power lines, cinder-bricked marts, and barbed wires around authorized quarters.
A city full of black or red clothing residents, haunted histories, coated nothing but dictatorial fortress, taught every creature that life wasn’t their very own to hold. Rephrasing the sentence earlier, every orphan’s life deliberately served the government in a favor return of them simply being alive. To those orphans who refused to work underdog, labeling them as outcasts wouldn’t just do the trick. They were being hunted down, tormented, forced to work because it’s mandatory and in some everyday scenario, executed.
So the tabloid, in a holographic form of a screen, materialized underneath Min Yoongi’s fingertips before dragging it across him and scanned with humdrum slit of eyes, caused indifferent reaction to the headlines. If anything, his tone wasn’t accusatory this time. It was exhausted. Exhausted was Min Yoongi when his voice floated with words, “Mr. H3 died in his three-story rented flat in Northern 33rd Avenue of Novus Seoul at the time of three-thirty three AM.” A stretched pause with matching silent treatment from the listening occupants of the same room as Min Yoongi himself, “Tell me this is a fucked up coincidence that none of you took part of.” He gestured idly to the five participants, standing and judging him intensely like he was actually thinking with his arse.
“Look, before you go suspecting us, why don’t you spare yourself a minuscule of your lazy nights to try and investigate how the elapse between us, your group, to that old hag’s shits death isn’t related. I can guarantee you a zero point negative H3 percent, we’re shamelessly innocent.” Kim Namjoon, the guy who talked with guts, gestures and too much knowledge with blond sleek hair gathered cleanly on top of his brainy head, casually pointed out. He was right. He was almost always painfully right in this kind of clarification.
But all Yoongi needed was exactly just that. Clarification. As if shoving his exhaustion wasn’t enough to show how he just wanted no near misunderstanding between young adults. Between the only important souls that mattered to him. More often than not, he savored this moment of calibrating with them because only then Yoongi knew that their teamwork wasn’t waning. Their teamwork and goals from the very beginning weren’t anyhow rusting like what Namjoon, the official leader of the group, feared coming to life.
“It may temptingly look like t’was done by us but hey, how could we just boldly attack without a blueprint? We aren’t careless, oh no no. You taught us better than that. Come on, Hyung.” Another male with lighter tone, brunette fringes underneath his lopsided snapback and strangely has long face that matched his pointy nose, added out. He was leaning against the wall, beside a young man with dark hair that almost curtain its heavy-stare eyes, same sharp nose and bronze skin but nevertheless attractive.
“Shut up, Hoseok. I very much don’t need your vibrancy right now. And why is Taehyung glaring again?” Yoongi rubbed his eyes, hologram disappearing back to its concrete device on the desk after a brief swipe of his hand. It wasn’t like he isn’t used to them. It was because he is so used to them that Yoongi knew whether something’s up or bothering each one of BTS, their group name.
Hoseok looked at Taehyung before nudging him. The boy blinked, glanced around and when it registered to him that he effectively got audience, Taehyung frowned and slightly shook his head. The way he would every time his brain preoccupied mostly half of his attention and the glare was never intentional. They all knew that.
“Something’s up on my processor. I think it needed reboot. Uh…I’m clean myself and in all honesty we didn’t even leave the lair since yesterday. Isn’t that enough evidence?” Taehyung reasoned out, voice profoundly low-key enough for his age. He is definitely bothered, Yoongi decided. Because Taehyung doesn’t even know how to break his relationship with his affection to these computer devices, he probably can’t turn a neck just for an hour away from it. Not a wonder why he was the genius hacker or computer geek of the group.
“Alright. For evaluation, it’s good to see that you guys are still vigilant about what’s going on AND I am pleased to hear from you…your reasons or whatever that is about this case. Seriously, whoever killed Mr. H3, he did us a pretty good favor. We wouldn’t even have to sweat a plan for it.” Yoongi said. A beat after his words, he drew out a languid yawn before slouching on his seat, crossed his arms followed by the shutting of his eyelids. Obvious sign that he was done for the night.
“Yeah. Thanks for the unnecessary meeting. You could’ve just discussed this shit with me earlier instead.”
“Got a lot of other things in mind, Namjoon.”
“Of course. As usual. Well, I’ve got my own business too. See ya around.” Namjoon waved dismissively. He motioned a curt nod to the man behind him. A man blessed with enough shoulder length, burgundy locks, soft but tantalizing orbs and almost as tall as Namjoon. His calm expression was evident when he held the leader’s gaze with his own.
“Seokjin hyung, you comin’?”
Seokjin has the corner of his left lips tugged upwards. He’d been expecting this question from Namjoon, a question still being asked even though they knew the answer too well. It was how things go between them. This was how they prefer each other’s company and a deep understanding that may remain silent but apparent on both sides.
“I am.”
The second one to shuffle towards the door were Taehyung and Hoseok without so much as a look in Yoongi’s direction but the fifth boy stayed, turned his pace to where the pale skin relaxing Yoongi is. He stood there, facing Yoongi’s desk, expressionless. Maybe spacing out or just simply staring.
Even from the stillness of the atmosphere, Yoongi felt the familiar stare and he wasn’t even foreign from it. He was accustomed to it that all he can ever respond was a sigh. Outside their lair, the showering rain didn’t halt any second. Still drizzling, thunders of red may strike on the canvas of the cityscape but not on them. The hideout of their lair was far from the surface; underground only accessible by them six but located enough by some of their trusted network connections.
“What.” Came out Yoongi’s exhausted tenor. He has his eyes closed, body fitted perfectly on the withering wooden chair, nonetheless so much aware of the presence of the boy that took another chair identical to him. He heard how it scraped the rosewood linoleum and imagined how the boy sat on it with much slouching posture compared to him. Difference may be that of opposite figures, single table served as their only barrier.
Now this became habitual, Yoongi thought. It drowned to him that the very reason why this young lad was attached like a growing mustache was because he let him. Yoongi was guilty on his part where he didn’t make any efforts on pushing the boy away. Being true to himself, Yoongi would definitely confess that he would not regret it one bit. Despite it turned out completely out of his control, meeting the boy and letting him join the group was never a mistake. Everyone adored the youngest, even someone like Min Yoongi.
“Jungkook, sleep somewhere comfortable. My desk might give up on you.” He has his droopy eyes opened just enough to see Jungkook had his head resting on top of his folded arms which was messily placed on Yoongi’s table, hiding his entire face. The latter shifted a little but made no attempt in moving. His jet black hair subtly swayed like it was flicked by summer breeze. Sad reality though, there was never summer in Novus Seoul.
For a moment, Yoongi thought he was drifting off but the sound of a soft voice echoed into the corners of the room told him otherwise.
“Nothing will give up on me unless I give up on it first.” Jungkook’s words were muffled against his skin. No doubt Yoongi caught that clearly.
“Sure. Get out.”
“Don’t mind me, really.”
“I don’t, actually. It’s just that—”
“Hyung.”
Yoongi recognized this tone. He would always recognize this whenever Jungkook was on the verge of spilling something dangerous that Yoongi doesn’t want to hear. Yoongi wasn’t naïve. Hell being the backbone of BTS surely wouldn’t require a naïve person for qualification, would it? During the course of two years with the members, Yoongi was the type to read the atmosphere so well he could predict people’s fortune but kept it to himself for safety reason. And Jungkook doesn’t try concealing every blunt action or words that he shows or speaks.
Be it his young age, or young mindset or maybe just because he is Jungkook. Yoongi wouldn’t want to trouble his mind thinking about the kid. But the idolization reached new level and Yoongi was afraid of how far will it pierce the surface of its limitation. He does not calculate.
Jungkook lifted his head, their gaze touched. Set in a straight line was his mouth. Something warm and disarming flashed into his eyes and Yoongi watched how the boy’s serious stare fixated on him deepened as second goes by. A warning bell rang into his neurons, making Yoongi abruptly dropped his eyes—to his lap, to anywhere but Jungkook. Though, he didn’t miss the fleeting solemn look in the younger’s face.
“You can say it.”
The latter looked like he was contemplating, blinked and heaved a heavy sigh but offered a reasonable answer that reassured Yoongi’s nerves, “I’m not leaving. I like it here, in case you did not know.”
Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Instead, he opted to the usual remark he would always say.
“I know, Jungkook. I know.”
卍 卍 卍
At some point the rain was pouring, then hailing and for normal circumstance, the downpour came in uneven waves. Sometimes it tapered, then again, a massive downpour. Drastic cycle that every Novians were acclimatized to. Yet he forced himself to drag his legs according to what his brain would command. He had a hard time punching his father’s code into the screen for an exchange of a ticket. It won’t last long though, no. Exactly fifteen minutes before any authorized personnel of the station would notice that something’s peculiar about the code he’d have just entered.
Once he boarded the subway, he stood and clutched the nearest handrail he could hold, as if to save the last breath of his life. Extremely soaking wet and merely seeing his surroundings because of swollen eyes—reflection on the tinted windowpane exposed his pitiable self—,the young man hug his trembling body in an attempt on warming himself up. In five minutes, he will reach his destination. He needed to reach his destination in one piece so he was trying to blink the droplets out of his eyes, chestnut brown fringes plastered on his forehead.
There were barely passengers in the train. A middle aged woman with pencil-cut skirt and a reddish coat who doesn’t bat an eye toward his figure, two men in different clad of crimson and charcoal black few seats from him, and the only girl who maintained the most stoic face she could muster dressed in faded black seated four bars away.
What grabbed his attention was the old man, on his right, sitting alone and lonely. The ragged black clothing and shoes, dowdy hat that seemed like it belonged to the man’s golden days, almost dead eyes, chapped lips and the set of incomplete crooked teeth that he revealed when they’d glanced at each other. He realized that the old man was grinning.
There was something about the sitting passenger that he can’t shrug off just like that. He observed him keenly before making up his mind and finding his guts to wobble his way towards the grinning elderly. The moment his bottom touched the surface of the maroon cushion, a hand closed suddenly around his bicep. Flinching out of his core made the fingers tightened all over the hold.
“My, I think I know exactly where you are going.” The old man whispered, acrid smell escaping the mouth that was too close for the young man’s comfort.
“Let go.” He protested with hoarse but stern voice and tugged his upper arm back with an incredulous face because what the hell was this guy’s problem. He seemed like the one who would cause no harm but it was still early to decide for that the second the elderly took a hold of his arm.
The hand disappeared as quickly as it seized, before he could have the time to put up a fight. And he was wedged in a conundrum of how to stay sane or let the pandemic crazies of this metropolis invade his own sanity. But really, he was just over thinking because the next words got his eyes widened in disbelief. How did this old guy know? He doesn’t have any answers to that.
“Orphan?”
His palms were sweating, throat dry, body still doused and he started to feel a throbbing headache forming in his temples. The next thing he knew, he was convulsing. When the elderly man took a brief scan to the latter, his eyes softened and immediately draped his arm around the young man. He felt a reassuring squeezed and then made himself comfortable despite the differences.
“May I ask, uhm, Sir? How did you know?” He squeaked.
“I just know when I see one. And I am really sorry for scaring you. Like I said earlier, I think I know exactly where you are going.” The old man grinned again, and this time the chestnut brown haired lad genuinely smiled, eyes forming crescent moons underneath that bob of dripping fringes. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Because he didn’t came unprepared. He knew exactly what the old man was enunciating. And he classified this blessed man as one of those homeless networks that he gained knowledge of just a couple of hours ago.
“Don’t take them lightly, kid. But don’t be a scaredy-cat either when you reached their lair. I see you one new member in the nearest future. You’ll have them. They’ll treasure you. Family is a sacred word, son. You’ll be part of the new generation.”
“Thank you. So it’s true, then. They really do welcome…orphans?”
“They are orphans themselves and possess a great ability to inspire others.”
“I heard.”
“The next stop is yours. You’ll find your way to their lair once you follow the isolated way with lots of us, homeless people in a row, occupying the boulevard. That’s the lead to the underground. But a fairly reminder, son. There are tricks and traps designed for the dumb government officials. You might want to avoid that. Associate yourself to the network, you won’t get lost. Just be brave enough to follow your intuition. You’ll live.”
The sentences were shroud of tangled mess when he tried to digest all at once. He was definitely new to everything. New to being alone, new to travel from far away avenue, new to talking to strangers like they’d been colleagues since day one, and probably risking his very own life just to seek that one place he knows he definitely belongs to.
It may not sound promising but he would definitely choose this path than selling his soul to the bloody government. A life where he controls his own, rather than being underdog to the filthy bastards who was the reason to his only family—his father—‘s death. He clenched a fist.
The train ceased on iron rails, indicating that he finally reached his destination.
A new life waits.
A new member to join BTS.
♛ There goes nothing. Done with part one! Didn’t expect sugakookie, did you?
Somehow they’re like my secret affair OTP in real life not in this story, worry not.
I need an enormous amount of sleep or caffeine.