Chapter Text
For the first time in a long time, the small town of Craneco was alive with the sound of chattering and laughter; it almost sounded like an actual community. The makeshift marketplace in the center of the town was filled with all its residents, both young and old. Vendors were lined up along the perimeter of the town square, selling products like hand-sewn clothes and this year’s crop yield. The sound of hagglers arguing with sellers over minute price bargains while stressed out mothers shushed their screaming, tired babies filled the air.
This was always Jimin’s least favorite time of year.
For three consecutive days, he was forced to sit under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the sun for hours on end, trying to sell a bunch of crappy apples no one wanted to buy while he sought shelter underneath a poorly-made market stand that did nothing to combat the sun's rays.
By now, the Parks had built up an interesting reputation; they were known to be charming, the kind of people you could easily strike up a conversation with, but people kept their distance. Their kind smiles and friendly interactions only went so far.
Jimin couldn’t blame them. He knew what his family was like.
He shifted uncomfortably on the old wooden apple crate for the umpteenth time that day. Its lack of cushion made the wood dig into his rear end, making it ache and burn. He tugged his straw hat lower down his face in an attempt to get the sun out of his eyes.
Ever since his dad left to ‘get more apples’ (more like suck Mrs. Anderson's face off) he was left in charge of managing their market stand. He didn’t know why his family bothered to come to this event anymore. It’s as if their stand was invisible. No one had shown even the slightest sliver of interest since they set up in their usual spot by the bakery.
The townspeople may put on a show of acceptance in front of them, but it was all a facade. The Parks were more tolerated than they were welcomed, their subpar farming skills not helping their case. After sixteen years one would expect to have made more progress within the community.
Jimin sighed frustratedly as he wiped a rag across his face. All he was doing was sweating buckets and roasting. He thought about leaving—about abandoning the stupid stall but old memories flashed in his mind, warning him otherwise. He knew better.
Jimin had tried once, but it didn’t end well for him. When his father found out, he got beat so bad he couldn’t move for three hours. His mother said nothing, as always. She had turned away and continued cutting potatoes for that night’s chicken broth, ignoring the situation as if it wasn’t happening right in front of her.
Jimin stopped considering her as his mother soon after that.
There were times when she’d show care towards him, times where she acknowledged the hurt and pain inflicted upon him by her husband. Sometimes, if his mother was in a good mood, she’d do her best to clean the blood off of her battered son and attempt to comfort him. ‘He just doesn’t know how to express his love for you.’ she’d say as her eyes skimmed over Jimin’s greenish-purple body. On the bad days, she’d leave Jimin to fester in his pain as a small heap on the cold floor.
Jimin learned to hate love. All it brought was suffering.
From a young age, he had learned how to adapt—how to survive his hellhole of a household.
He was like a mouse in his own home, never too loud in fear of drawing unwanted attention. As long as Jimin did what his parents wanted, he was alright most of the time. He just needed to keep it up for just a little longer, only two more years.
He smiled to himself at the prospect of his future.
Jimin picked up a stray branch that had fallen from the tree behind him and began to poke the muddy holes within the concrete cracks in front of him. He let his mind wander; no one was coming to the stand, they were too focused on all the better ones. Jimin was drawn out of his thoughts when a loud family passed by. He heard his fathers voice ring clear through his mind, urging him to make a sale, even if they show no interest. He sighed as he dropped the stick and began to sit up from his seat. Jimin froze at the scene in front of him. A young boy swung from between his two parents; a giggle ripping free from his throat as a big smile spread across his face.
Jimin’s face darkened as he plopped back onto his seat and turned away from the scene. He picked up the abandoned branch once more and jabbed it into the ground hard.
When was the last time he experienced something like that? Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time his mother had said an honest, kind word to him, let alone the last conversation they’d had that didn’t end up in a screaming match.
His relationship with his father wasn’t any better. Mr. Park was a heavy drinker—an angry, violent, heavy drinker. It progressed to the point where he was inebriated everyday, all the time. The alcohol had turned him into an ugly, ruthless man.
Whenever he’d come home late from the bar, his clunky work boots slamming against the house’s hardwood floors, a beer clutched in his hand, he’d be sure to make his problems everyone else’s.
To put it bluntly, Jimin’s mother was a coward. She would hide in her and her husband's shared room on these nights, the bedroom door locked, ensuring her safety from the monster that roamed the hallways. He’d prowl throughout the quiet house like a predator. The prey sat in their rooms silently, waiting for an angry roar to break the deafening silence. By morning, fresh holes would be scattered across the wooden walls and opened beer cans littered the house.
Mrs. Park would always sigh and clean up after him, a stack of picture frames in tow to cover up the new renovations on her walls.
Jimin wondered how she could sleep—how she could rest, knowing what would go on during those nights. Mr. Park always followed the same routine. Once he warmed up his punches on the house’s walls, it was Jimin’s turn. If he kept the door unlocked, he went a tiny bit easier on him which wasn’t much, really. When Jimin was young, he would call for his Mommy in between his sobs and screams.
She never came.
After that, Jimin learned very quickly that he had no one but himself. Things didn’t change as he got older. He had tried once, to lock his door like his mother did. He was so tired, so bloody and bruised. He wanted one night—one night of rest; a night without pain and suffering.
He’ll never forget the feeling of betrayal and dread that hit him like a truck when his mother had unlocked his door. There she stood, a crazed look in her eyes, and a master key in her right hand. She stepped aside, making space for her husband to enter her son’s room, his eyes black and his fists shaking. Jimin had been offered up like a lamb to the slaughter.
What a sick joke.
As his father’s fists pounded into him, one word rang clear throughout his mind: Traitor.
When he gazed at the sky that night from his crumpled position on the floor, a shooting star passed by. Although he didn’t believe in all that “make a wish” nonsense, he found himself closing his eyes, a silent prayer leaving his lips.
---
Jimin sighed deeply before standing up once more from his makeshift seat at the prospect of a customer. Gosh, this was getting old. He froze once he registered the young boy standing in front of him. Jimin recognized him. He was the Kim’s idiot son—the one they hid away. Jimin grumbled. He was most definitely not getting a sale from him, but he might as well try.
Jimin smiled a bit too wide as he tried to turn on whatever charm the melting heat would allow him,”Well Hallo there, young man! You look like you could use some apples,” he gestured to the many crates stacked on the table behind him,”Would you like a crate or two? Only $2 bucks a pop!” He batted his eyelashes at the boy like he’d seen his mother do, desperate for a sale. Men, she said, were helpless to things like that. Funny how the woman in a horrible marriage acted like she knew everything about them.
The young boy stood still, not saying anything. His hands were folded behind his back, his eyes trained on Jimin. Jimin shifted uncomfortably on his feet as his smile wavered slightly. “...Hallo?” he waved his hand in front of the boy's face. Gosh, he knew he was a dud but damn, was anybody even in there?
“Taehyung,” he replied. His voice was unusually deep for a teenage boy with a thick southern accent.
“Huh?” Jimin leaned in.
“My name is Taehyung, sir,” he folded his hands in front of his body properly before continuing,”I’d like to buy two crates, please.” His gaze was still locked on Jimin, a weird look in his eyes. Jimin opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped himself.
“..Alrighty then…” He grabbed the money from the tan boy’s outstretched hand and handed him his crates. He grimaced when he caught a whiff of the rancid apples. Was this sale even ethical?
“Hope you enjoy them.” Jimin added, not really meaning it.
“I won’t. I hate mushy apples.” Taehyung said bluntly as he walked off, abruptly ending the exchange.
Jimin furrowed his brows and froze. He let out an incredulous laugh before returning to his seat, the exchange replaying his mind. That kid was an oddity, that was for sure.
A sharp slap to his cheek silenced the giggling boy, shock overriding his system.
Cold sweat ran down Jimin’s spine, adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. He brought his hand up to his cheek slowly. He didn’t have to check to know who’d hit him.
“What the hell do you find so funny? Hm?” Mr. Park’s rough hand curled around the back of Jimin’s neck pushing his head down slightly.
Jimin opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He swallowed dryly, his tongue getting stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Smack.
Jimin clenched his hands on his knees and bit down on his bottom lip harshly. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He was as stiff as a board—too scared to make the wrong move. His head was pounding.
His father loosened his grip, his rough fingers scratching the soft skin of his neck. He turned his attention to the apple crates and began to rearrange them. “I don’t want you talking around with that boy. It’s bad enough that you’re a fuckin’ sissy, I don’t need you becoming a moron as well.” he chastised loudly,”And take that girly shit out of your hair before I shave off all the hair on your fuckin’ head.”
Jimin pulled out a wildflower from his hair that he had placed earlier. It was wilted now, its petals darkened and dying. He threw it to the ground, one of his tears following shortly after.
He sat like a statue for the rest of the night, finding odd solace within replaying his interaction with the strange Kim kid.
---
The blonde haired boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the bruises—some fresh, others old—along his body making it impossible to get comfortable.
He picked up his pen once more as the teacher droned on and on about logarithms—his least favorite topic.
He glanced outside the window, the beginnings of winter evident in the naked trees and slight chill that circulated within the poorly insulated classroom. Jimin zipped up his sweater, trying to ignore the cold nips of air entering through its various holes.
The shrill shriek of the bell caused him to jump in his seat, a few kids laughing as they packed up their things. He huffed as he did the same, the slight hint of red spreading across his cheeks evidence of his embarrassment.
When he made it out of the classroom and began heading towards the cafeteria he was stopped abruptly, a large bouquet shoved in front of his face.
Jimin’s brows furrowed. He stared at the flowers in secretive awe. They were a beautiful mix of baby’s breath and snowdrops, their dazzling white color standing out against the baby blue wrapping paper around their stems.
They were Jimin’s favorites.
The flowers began to lower slightly, revealing a straight faced boy standing behind them. Jimin’s breath caught at the familiar sight of tan skin and piercing gaze. Taehyung.
Jimin glanced around at the circle of students that had formed around them, their whispers and mumbles filling his ears. He swallowed thickly as he clutched his schoolbag hard.
“Wh…what the hell is this?” he asked aggressively, his cheeks beginning to grow red hot.
Taehyung continued to stare at Jimin, his head tilting slightly in confusion. “Aren’t these your favorite?”
Jimin took a step back from the boy. How the hell did he know that? Tears began to sting his eyes as the whispers grew louder and the stares from onlooking students grew harder. He wanted the floor to swallow him up whole. If his dad were to hear about this, Jimin would be lucky to make it to tomorrow alive.
“I-...why…why on Earth are you giving me a bouquet?!” Jimin replied, his teeth clenched.
“I want to be your friend.” Taehyung said, his calm face unwavering.
How stupid was this kid?
“Wha…is this some kind of sick joke?” Jimin said pointedly. His eyes welled with angry, embarrassed tears. He could hear the rumors forming now, all the lies that would reach every student before the school day ended. Great. This was just what Jimin needed.
He glanced at Taehyung once more before fleeing from the situation by shoving through the crowd. A puzzled Taehyung stood in its center as he scratched his head.
“Hm…I could’ve sworn these were the ones he always picked at the fair..”
---
The next few days were no different.
Each day, Taehyung showed up with a new gift in tow, somehow managing to find Jimin through his efforts of evading him, and each time, Jimin rejected his strange pursuit of friendship.
He had made a pact long ago to get out of this town as fast as possible, leaving no strings attached. It wouldn’t be fair to string along Taehyung just to drop him. He didn’t deserve that.
Today the boy was hellbent on walking Jimin home, no matter how many times Jimin protested against the idea.
“But Jiminie, I want to.”
“No, and stop calling me that.” Taehyung’s mouth drew up into an awkward, thin line.
“Why can’t we be friends?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not an answer. My momma says so.”
Jimin stopped and turned towards Taehyung,”I don’t care what your momma says.” His delivery was sharp and venomous in an effort to get the boy to leave him alone.
Jimin continued walking, his steps fast and angry. He grumbled when he heard the gravel behind him crunch and shift all the way home.
Eventually, he got used to it.
Jimin would walk in front while Taehyung walked behind him, the two slowly finding comfort in one another’s presence.
One day, Taehyung tested his limits and walked alongside the blonde haired boy and tried to strike up a conversation.
Jimin didn’t like it but…he didn’t shut it down either.
And so, they spent the next six months that way.
They began to learn things about each other, things they would’ve never expected. The two had a lot more in common than they thought they did. Taehyung wasn’t as dumb as everyone made him out to be. He was just…different—a little too forward and blunt for most people, but perfect for Jimin.
He could always rely on Taehyung to tell him the truth, to be his rock when no one else would.
Eventually, their walks grew longer. Small detours would take place here and there, the boys trying to stretch out their time together while meeting in secret to avoid Mr. Park. Taehyung never knew exactly why Jimin wouldn’t let the two meet, but he didn’t push. Jimin never liked it when he did.
But, alas, nothing good can last forever with Park Jimin. It all came crashing down on the seventh month of their friendship, when the weather was beginning to warm once more and the flowers began to bloom.
Taehyung had walked with Jimin too far this time, his proximity to his home too close. Jimin had gone lax lately, figuring his folks wouldn’t catch the two. If he hadn't been caught yet, why would he be now?
.
..
…
It was the end of another monotonous day at school, Jimin’s walk with Taehyung the highlight of his day.
Spending time with him had made things easier; Taehyung had become a sliver of light in Jimin’s dreary life.
“Minnie.” Taehyung hopped from rock to rock.
Jimin turned to face the boy.
“When we get older, let's live together forever.”
Jimin laughed, his head falling backwards. He’d never been so relaxed, felt so light.
“And how will we do that Tae?”
Taehyung smiled awkwardly and clasped his hands, something Jimin had learned he did to soothe himself.
“Hm…we can become rich. And then we’ll leave this place,” Taehyung turned to face Jimin, his boxy smile in full view,”Happily ever after. The end!”
Jimin’s heart warmed at the silly notion. It’d be nice, he thought to himself. He’d begun to slowly consider Taehyung as family—his real family.
Spending time with him made things bearable; each punch, each slap a little easier to endure knowing that he’d be able to spend time with Taehyung the next day.
They rounded the corner to Jimin’s house, his cheerful mood dampening, only 20 feet away from the front door.
“I’d like that Tae. Tell me more about it tomorrow.”
Jimin picked up speed towards his house, turning around to wave at Taehyung, a wide smile across his face.
Taehyung didn’t see Jimin for days after that.
The tan boy wondered where his friend had gone, the absence unnatural and unnerving. It wasn’t like Jimin to miss so many school days, especially right before finals. Maybe he had caught a cold? None of it made any sense.
Taehyung went to investigate the issue for himself.
He walked up the long, gravelly road to Jimin’s ranch fully this time, the smell of crops and animals more overpowering the closer he got. It was weird. Not only was Jimin not beside him keeping him company, he was headed straight for the front door of his home, something he’d never done.
Taehyung took a deep breath before knocking.
Knock knock
Taehyung waited silently. He fidgeted with his hands as his eyes scanned the porch. He enjoyed the breeze ripping through the air and shuffling through his hair. The weather was nice today, a sharp contrast to the dreary character of the home in front of him.
The home itself looked depressing. It made him wonder how Jimin returned to it everyday so easily. Maybe he should push for more answers from him…
Taehyung startled at the door swinging open, a large, burly man appearing from within the darkness of the home.
“What is it?” he said gruffly. Taehyung scrunched his nose as the overpowering smell of alcohol seemed to seep straight out of the man’s pores.
“Well..uhm..I—”
“Wait…,” the man leaned in,”...you’re that kid. What the hell are you doin’ here?” He stood up a little taller, his figure coming to loom over the boy slightly.
Taehyung swallowed thickly as his eyes shifted their focus frantically, too afraid to make eye contact with the man but too awkward to know where to look. He got the feeling that he should not be here. Maybe he should head home now while he still could, maybe–
No. He has to check on Jimin.
Taehyung opened his mouth to speak but cut himself off at the sight of something shifting in the background behind Mr. Park. A pair of scared eyes with a head of blonde hair stared back at him. The tank top he was wearing did nothing to cover up his marked skin.
Mr. Park turned to catch what he was looking at.
The man exploded into a mixture of panic and anger. He grabbed Taehyung’s face by his cheeks, his mouth scrunching up painfully. Mr. Park leaned in close and grit his teeth.
“You saw nothing boy. You hear me?” The intense smell of alcoholic breath assaulted Taehyung’s nostrils.
He stood silent, a wave of fear paralyzing him. He could no longer look at Jimin, just the intimidating face of his father. Mr. Park shook him hard.
“I SAID, DID YOU HEAR ME BOY?” He shouted.
Taehyung’s ears rang as he nodded his head vigorously, the movement limited due to the man’s grip. Mr. Park released his hold on the boy, throwing him to the ground harshly.
He landed with an oompf, his gaze catching Jimin’s once more. The fear on his friend's face had turned to…anger? embarrassment? Taehyung squinted as he tried to make out the words being mouthed.
He failed to notice Mr. Park had turned his attention to his son.
A loud crack echoed through the air. Jimin crumpled to the floor, his face peeking out at Taehyung from between his hands.
“GET THE HELL OUT!” Jimin screamed, his voice hoarse and unstable.
Oh. Taehyung thought as he scrambled to his feet. Before he could do anything, the front door was slammed in his face by a woman, maybe Mrs. Park, the force shaking the frame.
Taehyung stood frozen in front of the door. He could hear each hit and punch land through the thin walls, his heart pounding for his friend.
He staggered back, his mind racing, and began to pace on the porch, massaging his hands anxiously as he hyperventilated.
What the hell should he do?