A/N: Sorry if I confused anyone because I changed the name of the story. I just thought it was more appropriate if this story was called "Young Forever" because that's the theme of the 화양연화 series, and the title song of their special album. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and sorry for taking so long to update again!

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*Jungkook’s story*

It’s our second month of searching for the seventh member. None of us have found him yet, but as the days pass by, we all start to feel more and more empty. I believed it was because God was literally telling us how we should have already found him, and how we're going to lose him completely if we don't find him soon.

There's still three months til autumn—which was the deadline set by Yoongi—so we don't really have to rush anything, but I would definitely feel a lot better if we found this guy quickly. I started getting more and more frustrated, and at one point, I even got mad at this guy that I didn’t even know because he wasn’t showing up.

Although the past few days have been frustrating, business never changed. We explored to different cities farther from our original town, and in those cities, we made more allies and more enemies, working with other gangs to pry needed information out of enemies.

We each had our own roles in the group. Jimin and I were the fighters, Yoongi and Jin were the torturers, and Hoseok and Namjoon were the information gatherers and battle strategizers. Sometimes we changed roles (Yoongi would sometimes be the battle strategizer and Hoseok would become a torturer for certain missions), but we usually stuck with our original roles.

We also each had our own specialties and what we were best known for. Jimin was given the nickname “Little Boy”, not just because his face looked like a little boy, but because of the fact that he could explode and kill anything in its path like the 1945 atomic bomb that hit Hiroshima (Namjoon taught me this).

Jin was known as “The Heartbreaker”, for obvious reasons. He was somehow able to make people fall in love with him with a snap of his fingers. They could be young, old, male, female, dog, it didn’t matter. He used this to his advantage and trapped enemies into telling him everything we needed to know.

Namjoon was known as “Fire Mouth”, mainly because he was able to knock down his opponent with a few words. Namjoon used his words wisely during business, and the fact that he was smarter than any gangster out there made it easier for him to knock down his opponent’s self esteem and mental state with just one sentence, maybe two.

Yoongi was called “Zombie”, because he never talked when it came to business, and he only ever did his work, which was killing and/or torturing people. It could also be because his super pale skin made him look dead, but I’m not exactly sure about that.

Hoseok was called “Smiley”, because he likes to kill and torture people with a smile on his face. I mean, Hoseok never stops smiling, so the nickname suits him. I’m known as “Chucky”, simply because I’m a ‘little kid’ who kills mercilessly.

We used to never think about the seventh member during work, and we only thought about him once we got back home. But, of course, we started thinking about him more and more. I could tell the hyungs were getting frustrated, but I felt like I was the only one dying from the inside because of my frustration. I just wanted to find this seventh goddamn member, why was that so hard to do?

One day, on a Sunday in June, we got home earlier than usual and we set out to go hunting. We all split up, carrying a walkie-talkie on us in case we ever got in trouble. We put our masks on and spread out around town.We talked into the walkie-talkie every 30 minutes just so everyone would know where we are and that we’re safe.

Just as it passed thirty minutes and I went to go pick up my walkie-talkie, I heard someone scream.

I wouldn’t have paid attention to the scream if it just a normal person’s scream, but this was far from a normal person’s. This scream sounded like it came from someone with an angelic, pure voice, but I could hear so much pain, so much fear in the scream, that I couldn’t help but be led toward it. I started walking towards the direction it came from, and before I knew it, I was running.

As the scream got louder and louder, the town got farther and farther. By the time I found where the sound was coming from, I found myself in the countryside, a few miles away from the town. I was standing in front of what looked like an abandoned barn, with red paint peeling off of the walls and dead grass surrounding the building. I was a bit reluctant to go in, because I didn’t know what could be inside, but I went in anyway. The scream was practically pulling me in.

As I peeked into the entrance of the barn, I saw roughly ten figures huddled around in a circle, swinging their baseball bats at what seemed like some sort of animal in the middle of the circle. As I stepped closer, I realized that animal was in fact a person. A very, very beautiful person.

And that person was glowing.

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*Taehyung’s story*

Although I know my exact birth date, I don’t really bother with keeping track of my age, and what happened on what year. I just find it annoying to have to keep up with something that doesn’t really mean anything, except for how long you’ve been living. What’s the point of wasting your time keeping track of your age when you could be living life? Wait, what was I going to talk about again? Oh yeah, let me start from the beginning.

I’m Kim Taehyung, but don’t bother calling me that. Just call me Taehyung, because Kim isn’t even my name. I added it to my name when I was little because it seemed cool to have another name that isn’t similar to my mom’s. My mom’s name is something along the lines of Nam Somi. I only know that because I’ve heard countless men that name while they had in her room.

My mom liked hitting me and hearing me scream and cry. She also liked drinking a substance called alcohol, which I guess is some sort of ‘guilty pleasure’ drink. And the one thing she liked doing most was having . I didn’t blame her for liking the things she liked because every human has the right to like whatever they want to like. Just like how I have the right to like elephants and grape juice.

I don’t blame her for the fact that I grew up to become a messed up kid. I also don’t blame her for the pain and scars I’ve had from my childhood. I don’t like blaming people, because I believe people can always change. The one thing I did blame though, was my mother’s actions. Hitting me, kicking me, pulling my hair out, choking me until I cough blood, those were painful. I knew that she just wanted to let her stress out on me, but I can’t lie; they hurt a lot.

That’s the reason why I left my house. My mom never used me for anything other than a stress reliever, so once I got tired of being beaten up to shreds everyday, I ran away from home, with my elephant notebook and two gallons of grape juice.

I remember I barely survived the first month away from home. I was starving, lost, and cold, and I couldn’t go back home because my mom would’ve literally beaten me up until I died. Then, one day, I was walking on the streets in the dark, and someone grabbed my arm harshly, pulling me into an alleyway. These people claimed that they were gangsters and they said something about how they had to kidnap me to seem more powerful, or something like that.

I was kept at that place for a very long time. I don’t know exactly how long I’d been there, but it was probably 7 or 8 years. See, I wouldn’t exactly know because I don’t keep track of my age or the current date. You could say I was a prisoner there, but that wasn’t exactly true, because they gave me food, water, and sometimes read me bedtime stories.

As I got older, they started teaching me how to properly punch and kick people, and they even taught me how to shoot these bent stick-like machines called guns. Apparently these guns could kill people, which I guess was a bit scary to think about.

After a few years of staying at that place, they let me roam around freely in their house. I would read books, watch tv, draw in my elephant notebook, etc. The place was filled with books, so I read a lot of them, sometimes getting help from the owners of the house. In those books, I learned about a lot of fighting techniques, and when I asked the owners about it, they even showed me how to use them correctly and when to use them during battle.

These people, the owners of the house I stayed in and my supposed kidnappers, were quite nice to me. I became close to them, and in the end, they