“You knew they were going to get caught didn’t you?” Seungri speaks, staring at the ceiling.
I sigh, this was the third time he’d asked.
“Yes, I did, but all I wanted was manager-sshi to be alright-”
“And Taemin?! He’s practically a child!”
“He’s 18, RI.”
“Still!” he speaks angrily.
“Look, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Did you not see what they did to Kibum? How can you let that happen to him? I know you’re ready to throw me under the bus on TV shows with no regrets but have a heart Jiyong!”
I clench my fists, “Will you please put hyung after my name. I’m older than you.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he states.
“I wasn’t!” I shout back.
“Then answer me! Can you live with the fact that Taemin got hurt...or possibly dies because of you?”
“It was either the maknae of a competitor group or our manager.”
“Kwon!” he sits up, glaring at me.
“Look,” I cut him off, “the circumstances were clear. It’s survival. Not my problem if he doesn’t make it. And why wouldn’t he survive anyways? Kibum’s lasted two months, almost three now. They’ll be fine.”
“This isn’t like you at all, Jiyong.”
I shrug.
“Jiyong?”
“What?”
“This is all your fault.”
“Okay.” I reply, “If you’re so worried why don’t you go do something? Alright? Go. Go and help them. You think you’re high and mighty? Fine! Then get the hell out of here and don’t come back you brat!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?! And why the hell do you look ready