It's a little late, but it's here now~~~

It is exactly three months after Hoseok’s nineteenth birthday when they start falling apart. All because of a letter and a hiring contract.

****

Seokjin stares blankly at Jungkook’s back as they walk back home from the boy’s school. He’s started attending a high school near their residence. After that cursed Friday, Jungkook had turned back into the gloomy boy they had all come to know. That night, when Taehyun had come back home bloodied and limping, Seokjin had watched the happy Jungkook disappear horridly in front of his eyes.

What is left behind is a boy who talks but only in whispers, laughs but it’s always fake. A boy who eats but never asks for second helpings. Who laughs in the mornings and cries at nights.

****

Taehyun stands agape in front of the man smiling at him. He eyes the business card shoved under his nose and stares back up at the man aghast. The man pats his back fondly and waves the boy goodbye with a, “we’ll wait for your call.”

****

Hoseok decides to read the letter. Namjoon is with him when he does.

“I’m going to read it, Joonie” the boy tells him while they are walking back home.

Namjoon watches Hoseok’s fingers as he opens the letter. How they tremble as he tears the side. He watches Hoseok heave deep, erratic breaths to calm himself down and Namjoon curses himself for feeling nothing but anger.

And as Hoseok’s eyes flit over the small piece of marble paper, inscribed with beautiful pearl-like penmanship, he can’t stop his eyes from watering. Because Hoseok is crying, weeping in his hands, as he reads, then rereads, his mother’s letter. His hiccups echoing in the empty apartment.

Namjoon doesn’t ask of the letter’s contents, and Hoseok doesn’t tell.

What breaks his heart, however, is how Hoseok excuses himself to the balcony to make a phone call. It’s the first time Hoseok is hiding something from him. Something tells Namjoon it won’t be the last.

****

“When’s the consignment due?” Jimin asks as he enters the rundown factory. He speeds down the corridor towards the only door in front of him. A boy, with innocent brown eyes and a gun, tucked under his belt, close behind him. Trying desperately to match his match his steps.

“Three days from today. Eight PM. Byungwon Pier.” The much younger boy parrots back sticking just behind him. Jimin nods and jerks his head at the door once they reach it and the boy hastens to pull out a key from his jacket pocket to open the metal door.

As Jimin enters the room, that is filled with the sunlight that filters through a hole in the ceiling, his voice turns a dangerous low. The tenor in his voice gives way to heightened bass and he strolls in leisurely smirking at the man sitting right under the sun hole. Tied to a chair. Bloodied and seemingly unconscious.

“You can leave, kiddo,” Jimin mutters, cracking his knuckles as he saunters over to the wheezing man. His voice echoes deviously in the small containment room and Jimin grins maniacally when the man in the chair whimpers at Jimin’s voice. He crouches down in front of the man and the younger boy watches how he grabs the chains wrapped around his body and pull at them. Blood dripping as the metal links digs deeper into the wounded skin. “How’s it going Youngho?” His voice looms.

“Y- Yo-” The man tries to form words but Jimin cuts him off as his grip on the chains around the man’s neck tightens.

The boy then turns to the younger one in the room, not losing his grip on the chains, and declares in all nonchalance. “You can leave if you want, boy. It’s not going to be pretty. Last warning.” Without waiting for a reply he then turns to the man and pulls out a screwdriver from his jacket pocket. Tapping the man’s forehead ideally with the of the device, he mutters in a maniac whisper, “let the fun begin.”

The boy stands in the corner of the room never taking his eyes off the pair. The torture continues until the man faints.

Jimin pats the boy’s back as he exits the room, using his T-Shirt to wipe the blood off his hands.

****

Yoongi stares at the order placed in front of him and then at the address in his phone’s GPS. It’s at a music agency that is located quite far from his apartment complex. Fifty pizzas and seven two-liter soda bottles. He can’t help but pat his back for getting such a huge delivery. Because the costlier the delivery is the higher the tip.

He’s waiting outside the elevator, counting his tip when he hears it. An acoustic guitar playing the chords he’d stayed late into the night to create a melody out of, followed by a rendition of the same harmony he’s slaved hours over trying to get it just right.

His hands go limp by his side and he ignores the elevator ding its arrival as he walks up to the studio with its doors slightly ajar. Peeking through the open slot he can make out a man strumming the guitar and another working on the console. He can barely the ending trails of their conversation so Yoongi edges ever so close to the open door.

“It’s a good a beat, but I just can’t come up with the bridge.” Says the man on the guitar as he stops strumming for a while. “Should we used a Five-Five-Two pattern?”

The other man, elder no doubt, gruffly refutes the suggestion shaking his head as he says, “it does sound fine, but it doesn’t give me that feeling, you know?”

Yoongi watches the guitar guy roll his eyes and slump down into the couch he’s seated on. “Let me guess. That feeling of ‘ecstasy’?”

“Yes, you dimwit.” The other bites out.

“Maybe if we had the original artist here instead,” his friend begins with a shrug, “we’d already be done with the arrangement by now.”

The man on the console turns at that and Yoongi could swear he’s seen the man somewhere, he just put a finger on where exactly. “That’s the thing, though.” He huffs tiredly and continues, “I did go back to his place to look for but they say he’s moved six months ago.”

“That .”

“It does.” The man acquiesces reaching out for one of the soda bottles on the coffee table. “He sold me some of the best tracks I’d ever heard. Was gonna recruit him even.”

Suddenly, it hits Yoongi like a sandstorm. He knows exactly who that man is and without even meaning, Yoongi gasps out in disbelief.

The two men turn to him but Yoongi isn’t scared as he steps into the room. For once, he’s anticipating their attention.

****

Namjoon eyes the boy as he speeds around the room. He knows exactly where Hoseok is going. Knows exactly why he’s trying his hardest to look his best.

He turns the other way and closes his eyes. Not responding when Hoseok says he’ll be late. Crying when Hoseok doesn’t even check him for lack of reply.

****

“An… Acting contract?” Jimin wonders out during recess. He watches Taehyun squirm in his seat and pats the boy’s arms to calm him down. “Show me the card.” He pushes an open palm for Taehyung to give him the business he’s kept safe in his pencil case ever since the man gave it to him.

With shaking fingers Taehyun places the card in Jimin’s hand and bites his lips tentatively as he watches Jimin scrutinize it. After a long five seconds where Jimin continues staring at the card, Taehyung speaks again, “I- I think it’s f- fake. Right?”

Something in his voice, Jimin can hear it, sounds desperate. Like he wants the proposal to be true. “Why would he suddenly want to offer you an acting gig?”

“M- Maybe,” Taehyun begins, scared to be right because he really wants this. He knows he does. Even Jimin can tell he does. “Maybe it really is fake, huh?”

Jimin watches the clouds rise in Taehyung’s eyes as he sees the chance go. “Did he tell you why he thinks you’d be a good actor?”

The younger boy shrugs and pouts as he explains, “he says they saw me act in the open theater that I went for with my class. But besides that, he said he was mainly just street-casting.”

The elder bites his lips at the broken puppy look Taehyun sends his way and despite his misgiving smiles at his friend. “You should try, though.” When Taehyung jerks his head up in surprised Jimin ruffles his hair and continues, “I’ll accompany you. We should at least check this thing out, right?” He waits for Taehyung to nod then continues. “If it’s fake, then that’s that