The air is cold, frigid, cutting into the exposed skin of his face like a newly sharpened knife. He’s been looking for shelter for the past hour and still has yet to find a place to rest his head. He hates Christmas. Well, no, that isn’t entirely accurate. Christmas used to be Jungkook’s favorite time of the year, but that was when he had a family – when he had people to love, people who (he thought) loved him. The streets have been his home for the past two years. It’s been two years of struggling, of learning to survive, of being all alone. It’s been two years since...they left him.

Jungkook understands why they did it, he really does; they had a better chance to survive without him, but that doesn’t make the tiny stabs of abandonment that prick at his emotions ache any less. The jacket is frayed and thin, and he pulls it closer, trying to contain what little body heat he has left.

It’s beginning to snow,  hail-like hard pellets falling in the form of tired flakes to form a silent shroud upon the earth.

“,” Jungkook mutters under his breath.

He’s nineteen and a man, he reminds himself as he fights back the tears threatening to fall. He’s a man, and men don’t cry.

An angry rumble comes from his stomach -- and he wonders, when was the last time he ate?

Five hours ago? Six? Yesterday?

He doesn’t remember.

The flakes are falling harder now, pelting his face and nearly soaking his jacket all the way through. Fear seeps into his core. He’s worried. This year has been especially rough. He hasn’t been able to find much work or many places to stay. He’ll have to spend the winter outdoors, and if the last few weeks are any indication, this year is going to be a blanket of white.

An aroma, delicious and mouthwatering, is coming from the building he’s standing next to, and the scent drifts over tantalizingly. He his lips unconsciously. His stomach turns into an angry choir, belting out notes, forcing all within earshot to listen to its song of hunger. Embarrassment fills his gut and the tears from earlier finally win the battle. He’s hungry and helpless and emotional.

He’s nineteen and a man and scared that he’s going to die on the streets. Why wasn’t he worth saving too? How could they just leave him, their child, their flesh and blood? He’s just nineteen and not ready to be a man, but they left him with no choice.

Jungkook runs across the road, making his way into a side alley, hoping to find an overhang he can stand under so the blue-hued ice crystals don’t soak his clothing any more than they already have. Teeth begin to chatter against each other, and he’s trembling as the wind lashes out, whipping against his face.

He silently thanks God when he notices a spot that offers some shelter from the storm. Jungkook leans up against the wall and slinks to the ground until he’s seated. He’s tired, bone tired. The last time he slept was two days ago when a kind ajumma had let him rest in the back room of her restaurant. She’d offered him the chance to use it again, but Jungkook’s hates owing people. He knows he has no way to repay her kindness so he refused her offer.

Sleep swirls around him like a whirlwind and he tries to fight it afraid he may not wake up, but his eyes feel heavy, as though weighed down by large boulders. The pull is too great, and he sinks into slumber and hopes that when he wakes up this all will have been nothing but a bad dream.

“You think he’s dead?” The voice sounds like it’s far away, and Jungkook wonders if he’s dreaming.

“Naw, he’s breathing,” a deeper voice answers back.

The second voice reminds him of his father. It’s rich and sweet, like hot chocolate or warm apple pie, and he likes the sound. The tone is comfortable and Jungkook feels a sense of protection as the unknown man speaks. A tear rolls down Jungkook’s cheek. He hasn’t felt safe in a while.

“Hyung, he’s crying in his sleep,” the first voice says.

“Aww, man. Poor kid, he’s shivering,” the deep voice replies, and kindness drips from the each word. It’s molasse thick, and a sliver of hope slips past Jungkook’s wall.

He hears rustling before a heavy object, a jacket 

, he thinks, lands on his body, and Jungkook wants to snuggle into the warmth but is afraid to move, afraid that he’s dreaming, afraid he’ll wake up and find himself alone.

“Jin hyung will kill us if we leave him here,” the first voice says.

“Mmm, we don’t know anything about him, Jimin-ah,” the hot chocolate voice answers back. “What if he’s dangerous or doesn’t want to come with us?”

“He doesn’t look dangerous, hyung. He’s just a kid. Plus, you didn’t know anything about me when you found me either, ‘member?”

“I do.” The voice sounds like it’s smiling.

“Well, we won’t know anything if we don’t wake him up. The snow’s coming down harder, and it would be wrong to leave him here. It’s Christmas tomorrow, hyung. We can’t leave him alone. Please?” the voice begs, and Jungkook silently begs with him.

The deep voice sighs, “You’re right. It’s Christmastime; no one should spend Christmas alone in the cold.”

Jungkook feels his body being shaken gently.

“Hey, wake up,” the voice says gently, and Jungkook wants to cry because someone is touching him, acknowledging that he is human and alive and real.

He struggles to crack an eye open half-way. He feels weak, a like a battery with its power drained.

“Can you walk?” the deep voice asks, and Jungkook wants to nod but his body is not responding to his commands.

“I-I think so,” Jungkook’s voice cracks, his throat dry and stinging.

“Mmm,” the voice responds.

He’s startled when strong arms grab him around his waist. He can feel the stranger’s warm breath against his skin, and it feels like life. He hadn’t realized until now how much he missed human contact, the sensation of another being near is exhilarating.

“Jimin, help me get him up.” The voice sounds beautiful, and Jungkook shivers as the man’s words tickle across his skin in tiny puffs. “Kid, when was the last time you ate something? I swear I can feel your bones. Jimin-ah throw the jacket back on him for me. I think he’ll collapse if I let him go.”

“Jung-Jungkook…”

“Huh?”

“M-my name,” Jungkook says, feeling stupid leaned up against the stranger, struggling to talk, “is Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you Jungkook. Sorry about the invasion of your personal space, but I swear we’re not criminals. We just want to help, okay?” the voice says against his ear. “My name is Namjoon, but you can call me hyung.”

“Okay, hyung,” Jungkook whispers.

The man’s practically carrying Jungkook, and normally he wouldn’t allow this. He’s nineteen and a man, but right now, right now, with Namjoon’s strong arms holding him up, he feels every bit the nineteen-year-old child he’s been cheated out of being. He wants to be protected and looked after, wants to be loved and noticed. So just for this moment he allows it, forgetting his pride and sinking into the comfort that Namjoon’s arms are providing.

“We’re almost there,” the first voice says, and Jungkook realizes he is sandwiched between the two men. “My name is Jimin, but my friends call me Chimchim. We can be friends if you like.”

The man’s voice is like sunshine to Jungkook; it’s bright, cheery, and friendly. He tries to smile but fails. Still his heart sings. Someone wants to be his friend 

.He used to have friends, lots of them, but when it all fell apart they conveniently disappeared. Jimin’s invitation is the most beautiful thing he’s heard in awhile, and Jungkook should answer but doesn’t because what if they leave too?

They stop, and Jungkook can feel Namjoon fishing around in the pocket of the jacket that is draped over his body. He hears the sound of