every man dies, but not every man lives. – agust d

the streets of seoul are crowded with people. busy, busy businessmen scatter all around the major roads, suitcases in hand, entering and exiting the tall skyscrapers that stretch far above them to greet the sun and stars. the heart of korea is where contracts are signed and company alliances are created, where singers are free to sing and dancers are free to dance, where fifteen-year-old boys can hope.

it’s where dreams come true.

jungkook follows the stream of citizens going on about their day, a child amidst a world of adults and—it’s okay. this is okay, he thinks, as he effortlessly slips a skilled hand into the pockets of an unsuspecting stranger before taking a quick turn into an alleyway—the alleyway adults warn children not to go to because it’s dangerous and bad things happen in dark places—and counts the money in the leather wallet that belongs to someone named kim namjoon.

he stuffs the bills deep in his own pockets and this is okay, he tells himself, it’s okay and fine and jungkook is only fifteen and he’s surviving.

he is sixteen when he feels that he is being eating alive by this thing he sees everywhere he turns called life. it’s cruel and harsh and there isn’t a pleasant way to escape from it; jungkook is desperate, so, so desperate and—he makes a mistake.

raises a hand out, fingers unfurling, almost imagines that he’s answering a question in the classroom. but jungkook roams the streets at night when he should be solving math equations and he trains himself to pickpocket by just a brush of fingers against fabric when boys his age are working on two thousand word essays. he hasn’t gone to school long enough to learn the rights and wrongs and so this is okay, this small act of robbery is all he knows when his stomach grumbles with unrivaled hunger.

there is a white-haired boy with his back turned to jungkook, standing a few meters away in the small space between two buildings. jungkook reaches out to perform his usual routine, a quick touch inside the stranger’s pocket before turning back to scramble away as his hand grabs onto an object, when he feels a grip on his wrist and somehow, he ends up pressed against the brick wall, air punched out of his lungs when he makes eye contact with intense dark orbs.

grits his teeth and winces at the hard hand pinning him down; should’ve expected this, really, because they’re in a quiet alleyway in the middle of seoul, where dreams come true and dangerous things happen.

“what the do you think you’re doing?”

jungkook blinks at the rough voice from in front of him and wishes he could shake his head and truthfully say, i don’t know. he settles for remaining in silence instead and what he hopes is a glare that will make the white-haired boy loosen his grip, and even though jungkook is taller, his opponent is much, much more intimidating.

someone else comes up from behind them and jungkook tenses because—because one person he could take on, maybe, but two? it’s another boy, this time with bright orange hair and a too-happy smile on his face that only makes jungkook more suspicious. he’s seen people like him before, people who don’t belong in dark alleyways and walking in on thieves. his voice is light when he speaks, “hyung, i got the—” he stops when the shadows shift and he notices jungkook. “oh, who’s this?”

the boy holding him down shrugs, far too casual for the situation they’re in. “don’t know, but the brat tried to steal my wallet.”

orange hair raises an amused eyebrow, almost impressed. “really now? what’s your name?” he asks, like jungkook didn’t just try selfishly to rob his friend.

“what’s your name?” jungkook shoots back and sometimes, he wishes he had more of a filter on his mouth.

“cheeky,” the boy comments, “well, i’m park jimin and the one you tried to pickpocket—bad decision, by the way—is min yoongi.” as if jungkook doesn’t already know that all of this was just horrible judgement on his part.

“jeon jungkook,” he returns the formality, unfamiliar syllables rolling off his tongue because he’s been no one for so long that he’s forgotten how his own name sounds spoken aloud. “it was nice to meet you but i really have to go, so if you could just—”

“,” jimin makes a one-eighty spin to look down the road and when he turns back around, there’s a glint of something in his eyes. fear, maybe. excitement. adrenaline. “they’re coming. hyung, take this, we need to go.”

jungkook sees that jimin is carrying a large bag over his shoulder for the first time. it gets shifted to yoongi who finally releases his hold on jungkook to hoist the bag up and the two of them are bouncing from feet to feet, preparing for something big.

the sirens in the distance finally register in jungkook’s brain and a buzz of panic floods his body. yoongi spares a sideways glance at him and something along the lines of a smirk dances on his lips. “you should run too, kid.”

and then they’re off, sprinting away under the shadows, maneuvering through the busy streets of seoul with practiced ease, and jungkook—

—jungkook runs after the colours of white and orange.

.

he finds out later the reason why jimin and yoongi were being chased by the police.

they’re in a small truck speeding down the road, yoongi squeezing the vehicle into impossible spaces from behind the wheel. when jungkook had first caught up to the pair, wheezing from a workout he didn’t ask for, jimin had laughed and patted him on the back, saying, “jungkookie, you came!”

he hadn’t replied to that—partially because he was too out breath but also because that was the first time in a long time anyone has said his name so affectionately that he didn’t think he could get his vocal chords to work even if he wanted to. the last person who called him jungkookie was taehyung and taehyung—isn’t around anymore. taehyung hasn’t been around for five whole years.

music is blasting from the speakers of the truck and jungkook learns that yoongi can rap and jimin can sing. they’ve long since lost the police (it makes him wonder just how often they do this because going under the radar from people who are trained to uphold the law shouldn’t be this easy) and jungkook is sixteen when he listens to the stories of two strangers more attentively than he ever has before.

“yoongi likes to compose songs,” jimin twists around from the passenger seat to face the younger boy in the back. “he’s the best rapper i know and you should really listen to his lyrics sometime, jungkook, they’re amazing.” there’s a kind of pride in the orange-haired boy’s voice as he turns to look at his partner fondly. “we met a few years ago and we’re planning to produce our own music one day. in the meantime, we rob banks to afford the necessary equipment because that really isn’t cheap.”

“was that what you were doing earlier?” jungkook asks, thinking back to lost dreams in dangerous alleyways, the electricity that seemed to vibrate off the skin of strangers he shouldn’t have tried to pickpocket. “robbing a bank?”

jimin’s eyes light up. he gestures to the back of the truck. “yup! all the money’s in that bag over there. we’ve gotten pretty good at going in and out really quickly.”

“but why are you… here,” jungkook gestures vaguely, “on the run?”

jimin’s previously bright smile immediately falters. the sunshine in his eyes is replaced by a tranquil kind of sadness and beside him, yoongi grips the steering wheel just a little bit tighter.

“our parents didn’t like it,” the white-haired boy answers, tone bitter, gaze refusing to leave the road in front of him, “said we should grow the up and start studying for a real job, become something respectable instead of spitting nonsense out into a microphone.”

jimin nods. “we ran away together,” he adds quietly. “we’re still a long way from achieving our goal but we’re happiest when we do this—even if it means committing a few crimes along the way.”

and jungkook doesn’t exactly understand what they mean because it’s always been about survival for him. he does things because he needs to but jimin and yoongi—they’re doing this because they want to and while it’s still a foreign concept for the younger boy, he thinks that these two strangers he met by chance, these fellow thieves, are truly living life.

the rest of the ride is filled with small talk, questions here and there that jungkook answers selectively. sometimes when conversation falls short, the silence will be filled with the soft hum of jimin’s singing or the murmured verses of yoongi’s rap and jungkook will simply listen. it’s strangely comforting, he finds. it’s nice.

eventually, they turn into a small neighbourhood that’s completely foreign to jungkook. the truck pulls into the driveway of one of three tall apartment buildings and all of them climb out one by one. ten flights of stairs later, yoongi unlocks the door to room 1019.

it’s a shabby little place, barely big enough to fit jimin and yoongi, let alone jungkook in addition. messy floors scattered with all sorts of music equipment jungkook can’t even begin to name and the small kitchen in the corner is littered with unwashed dishes piling up to unknown heights on the counters.

he glances at the open front door behind him. jimin and yoongi are distracted, talking about buying some more groceries using the money they just obtained, and jungkook could easily, effortlessly, walk out and never see them again. he doesn’t know if he fully trusts the pair of thieves yet, has no reason to trust them really, but they let him tag along and even called him jungkookie.

his mind resonates a firm no followed by a don’t you ing do it, and it’s just trying to protect him from possibly being backstabbed in the future, but—maybe it won’t be too bad. maybe it’s okay to follow his heart just this once. (maybe he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.)

so jungkook is sixteen when he meets eighteen-year-old jimin and twenty-year-old yoongi, two criminals who rob banks with smiles on their faces in hopes of making it in the music industry, and—

—he stays.

.

jungkook is eight when he still remembers the two figures that stand by his side. they hold his hands when the traffic light turns from red to green, allowing them to cross from one end of an unfair world to another.

he is eight when he first takes—takes, takes, takes and never gives back. it starts with little things like a small hairclip on the back of a young girl’s head and a pin stuck on a high school student’s backpack. his mother and father applaud him for his hard work and he beams because he doesn’t know any better.

he is eight when he understands the phrase finders keepers, losers weepers and is determined not to be a loser.

he is eight when mother and father decide that they have had enough. living is hard and raising a child is even harder, so jungkook stands alone outside their home, waiting for two figures that never return.

he is sixteen, in a too-small apartment in seoul, when he dreams about what it would be like to have a family.

.

it’s a strange thing, jungkook stares at the three servings of takeout on their dining table, to have expendable money.

jimin passes him a plastic fork that looks like it’ll snap in half right when it hits the food and jungkook takes it in silent awe. the rice on his plate is probably already cold by now and he’s still staring at it, unmoving, as the other two dig straight in.

yoongi glances up at him when he notices jungkook just sitting there and speaks through a mouthful of white grains when he tells him, “eat.”

he eats the best meal he’s had in years because when was the last time he’s had anything other than cheap, greasy fast food? and if he’s almost in tears by the end of it, rice directly off the plate, no one comments on it.

laughter escapes jimin’s mouth when jungkook chokes from swallowing too fast and he sends a glare at the boy who is amused by his suffering but his stomach has never felt so full and maybe—maybe he should share more meals with these not-strangers.

they eat again only five hours later, which is normal, jungkook realizes, this is what normal people do. it’s the first time in who knows how long that he has three meals in one day and he’s sixteen when yoongi lets him decide what they should order for dinner.

“lamb kabobs,” he says automatically and then they’re driving to the nearest store that sells jungkook’s favourite food, just like that, and it makes him so, so grateful that he didn’t leave through the open door when they first got back to the too-small apartment.

he grins through bites of meat as they pass one stick of chopped lamb pieces between the three of them and he doesn’t think a more genuine smile has ever passed through his lips.

.

they go on another run when the money gets sparse. them as in jimin, yoongi, and jungkook included.

the target this time is a small grocery store at the corner of a quiet street and jimin and yoongi are in dark sweaters, a hood over their heads just in case, but other than that, they look like normal citizens. it’s nothing as glamourous as the black masks seen in movies but jungkook thinks that the simplicity of it is perfect; they don’t exactly want to stand out and give the workers something to recognize them by.

the two of them leave with backpacks over their shoulders and jungkook stays parked a few streets over. he climbs into the driver’s seat and he’s giddy because this is nothing like the small-scale pickpocketing he usually does. since it’s his first official time as an accomplice in a robbery, a major offense against the law, his job is to wait for the others and drive them the hell out of there once they get back.

he gets to drive the truck.

jungkook has never driven a truck before, doesn’t even have a license unsurprisingly, but what’s one more criminal act added to his track record, anyway?

he’s tapping on the wheel anxiously, nervous energy in his veins, when the back door flings open and jimin climbs in clearly out of breath and hair a mess, a wide smile stretching across his face. yoongi comes into view not a second later and he’s yelling go, go, go! but jungkook is already starting the engine and changing gears.

his foot slams onto the gas pedal too hard and the truck swerves into the wrong lane for a wild moment, curses flying into the air, and it’s a rough start but not too bad for jungkook’s first time. they get onto the main road fairly safely and the two older boys slump back in their seats as the adrenaline dies down. they their respective backpacks and jimin’s eyes are gleaming when he calls out over the roar of background noise, “look what we got, jungkookie!”

a few month’s worth of groceries fall out when the bags are flipped over and dumped empty, along with a couple hundred dollars worth in cash that the younger boy has no idea how they even got their hands on. they look proud, more like children who got away with an elaborate prank rather than shoplifting, and jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever forget this moment.

when they’re far enough to know that there’s no threat of being chased and when all three of them are laughing, laughing, laughing, he looks into the rear view mirror at the white and orange haired boys in the back and asks, “what are you guys planning to make for dinner now that we have so many ingredients?”

jimin looks him dead in the eyes. “ah, jungkookie, if there’s one thing you need to know about yoongi and i it’s that neither of us can cook for .”

“what?” he risks a glance behind him and the truck swerves a bit in response. “then why did we go to get groceries? why didn’t we rob a convenient store or something?”

“don’t worry. we know someone who will make us food.”

.

jungkook is maybe ten-years-old—he’s not so sure anymore after days and weeks and months all blurred together—and alone in a busy, busy world where no one ever has time to just pause and offer help to others. people always have places to be, things to do, and maybe this isn’t so okay anymore—maybe he just wants someone who isn’t rushing through life.

he is maybe ten, older now but not old enough, and he’s made a place for himself in a corner of the local park. sometimes he sleeps under a large tree, where the chilly night air can’t reach him as easily, but he tosses and turns and the prickly grass underneath him really isn’t exactly the best mattress. other times, he seeks shelter in the structures on the playground, which is more tolerable, but he’ll wake up aching all over from staying in a small, cramped space for too long.

(lots of options. none of them appealing.)

he is maybe ten when he sees another boy just like him, lost and taking the days in one by one. when they meet, eyes wide with a childlike innocence that only they can pull off, it’s like everything falls into place and perhaps taehyung, with his boxy smile and the skyline of seoul on his shirt, can make everything okay again.

he is maybe ten, maybe eleven, and he finally allows himself to be a kid. taehyung holds his hand and he’s excited to experience things the universe has to offer, excited to live, and he sleeps curled up next to someone he trusts after two lonely, lonely years.

he is maybe eleven and things have been going so well and he doesn’t get why taehyung is saying that he needs to leave; doesn’t get why the older boy feels unfulfilled in the place where dreams come true. “i can feel myself fading, jungkookie,” taehyung tells him one day, and leaves the next. “maybe i’ll come back and find you after i find myself.”

he is maybe eleven when he sees that boxy smile for the last time and jungkook wonders what this unfair world has done to the boy who wears the city on his sleeves.

.

“who’s this?”

the person on the other side of the wooden door stares at jungkook. it’d be intimidating, almost, except he’s not suspicious or stern, just—curious. cautious. all reasonable reactions when a stranger is standing at the doorstep.

“seokjin-hyung!” jimin invites himself in, holding up the shopping bag. “we brought groceries again. do your magic for us, eomma.”

seokjin scowls but opens the door wider for yoongi to pass through too. jungkook hovers by the entrance, hesitant about stepping into a foreign house, but seokjin is smiling at him despite not knowing who he is and nodding at him to come in, so jungkook figures this is okay. if jimin and yoongi trust this person then it must be okay.

he steps through the door and turns around; thinks he should probably introduce himself. “um, i’m jungkook. thank you for letting us come over.”

“nice to meet you, jungkook,” seokjin is all friendly smiles and warm feelings as he leads jungkook to the kitchen where jimin has already dumped out all their groceries on the dining table in waiting. “i’m seokjin. i share this house with our friend, namjoon, but he won’t be back until later.”

“don’t tell me he’s still at the studio this late,” yoongi frowns, the clock behind him reading 8 pm.

and jungkook blinks because—namjoon—he thinks he’s heard that name somewhere before. before meeting jimin and yoongi, when he was still on the streets surviving through pickpocketing. the name leaves a carving in his mind but he can’t quite recall where it came from.

as seokjin turns on the stove and starts to cook for them, jungkook listens to the stories that they share. yoongi had looked up to namjoon in middle school, when he first got into rap and the whole underground scene—“hyung was a total fanboy,” jimin comments and red creeps onto the white-haired boy’s cheeks.

before yoongi had dropped out of college in second year, he met namjoon in one of their composition classes and they just clicked. studying music himself, namjoon understands that the industry is ruthless and unforgiving and although they make jabs at each other full of blunt words and rude remarks, jungkook can tell that both jimin and yoongi really appreciate the support they’ve been getting.

it’s when they’re a few minutes into eating the home cooked meal that the front door opens and seokjin gets up to greet the newcomer. he grabs a new plate, scoops up some of the extra food from the pan on the stove, and places it in front of the empty seat of their dining table.

jimin leans over to jungkook just as the person he guesses is seokjin’s roommate walks into view. “this is the one yoongi-hyung fanboyed over all throughout middle school,” he whispers intentionally louder than necessary, giggling as he earns a scowl from the white-haired rapper.

“namjoon…” he mumbles when he sees seokjin’s roommate. it takes a moment but something in him puts the pieces together and he suddenly understands why the name sounded so familiar the first time it was mentioned. “wait, kim namjoon?”

there’s a moment of surprise before namjoon’s face splits into a dimpled grin. “jimin, yoongi, you didn’t tell me you brought over a fan.”

“jungkookie, you know namjoon-hyung too?” jimin asks.

“no, i—” and he stops because how can he explain that he’s actually seen this person on the street a few months ago, that he completely forgot because he doesn’t usually remember the names or faces of people he’s stolen from? his voice is quiet, embarrassed by all the attention being focused on him at the moment, and he takes a deep breath. “um, i think i might have your wallet.”

he reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out the long-forgotten leather wallet and hesitantly places it on the table before him, unable to look the underground rapper in the eyes. namjoon picks it up muttering, “oh my god,” and on the sidelines, yoongi bursts out laughing.

jungkook keeps his gaze downcast as jimin fills the others in about the younger boy’s pickpocketing situation and by the end of it, jungkook asks to go to the bathroom because he kind of really needs to hide his face and compose himself before he can appear in front of them again. or before namjoon realizes that all the money has been taken out.

it's seokjin who shows him the way to the restroom because namjoon is too busy yelling, “see, i ing knew i didn’t drop my wallet somewhere that time!” and jungkook quickly learns that the younger roommate is known for being clumsy.

as they walk, jungkook takes in the size of their house and realizes that for two college students, this place is big. it’s not necessarily fancy but he can definitely tell that between seokjin and namjoon, they have a fair amount of money at their disposal. aside from the bedrooms on the second floor, the other rooms seem relatively empty considering namjoon probably spends most of his time at the studio and maybe, thinking about it now, the apartment he shares with jimin and yoongi isn’t too small for the three of them.

maybe it’s just big enough.

.

jungkook is sixteen and he has blood on his hands.

not his own blood, no, these fresh stains of red are from yoongi. they had been reckless—too many successful runs lately and they got confident, cocky, arrogant, and they weren’t fast enough, couldn’t possibly outrun a bullet.

the universe had to set them in place, couldn’t let a group of mere criminals get out of line, and yoongi is only twenty. only twenty and pursuing a dream that others wouldn’t even dare to seriously consider as a career. he’s only twenty and still so young. only twenty and he’s dying from blood loss in the back seat of their truck.

jungkook slams his foot on the gas pedal, hands clenching the steering wheel hard to prevent them from shaking. he races across town, to the other side of seoul where they’ve heard about a doctor who treats patients, no matter the kind of injury or the circumstances, without asking questions. a trail of screeching tires creates a cacophony behind them but the sound is muffled out by the heavy thump thump thump of his heart.

he doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know that there are tears streaking down jimin’s face. the orange-haired boy is holding yoongi’s hand, begging the rapper to stay conscious, we’re almost there, hyung, you have to hang on, and he dabs away crimson red from the purity of yoongi’s snow white hair.

yoongi reaches a hand up to pull jimin closer to him and it’s hard to ignore the crack in the younger boy’s voice when he tells him, yes, i’m here, don’t worry, we’re going to stitch you up, w-we’re not going to let you die—

“jimin, park jimin, my jiminie,” yoongi’s breaths are weak and barely audible and he’s slipping, slipping, slipping. “listen, okay? shh, just—listen.”

so jimin listens. listens to the last words that may ever come out of the aspiring musician’s mouth and yoongi’s heart is failing and jimin’s heart is breaking and they’re so broken. jimin leans in to hear the whispered words, a dying boy’s breath on his ear, and he sobs hard, harder, until the world can’t help but cry for two thieves in a small truck in the city of dreams.

“i love you too, hyung, since the very beginning, i love you so much, yoongi, i love you—”

.

yoongi doesn’t wake up for almost two full days.

the three of them stay in a spare room that the doctor generously offered them, never once leaving the bedridden boy’s side. they’re all clean now, washed up and rid of blood stains, the fear of losing a friend in the back of an old truck mostly subdued.

it’s on the night of the second day that jungkook hears a low groan. he’s the first to react, jumping up and appearing in front of his friend in an heartbeat. “yoongi-hyung,” he says, softly, afraid of shattering once-broken things again.

“jungkookie,” yoongi replies, and his voice comes out all scratchy but he’s alive. “please——water.”

and jungkook scrambles to get a cup. he wakes up jimin, who fell asleep in the corner after insisting on staying awake the entire first night, on the way back and jimin dashes to the bed where yoongi is, knocking into desk corners and tripping on lamp cords but doesn’t even seem to register anything other than the person in front of him.

“hyung, hyung, how are you feeling?”

“ty.” he chugs down the water jungkook hands him in a few gulps and leans back against the wall. “remind me never to get shot by a bullet again.”

jungkook stands back as the two of them embrace through the hiss of pain yoongi lets out from the sudden pressure on his wound and the sigh of relief jimin exhales. yoongi is twenty; only twenty and still so young. he motions for jungkook to join their group hug, whispering thanks to the younger boys and the three of them promise to be more careful next time, promise to never let one of them get this close to death again. yoongi is twenty and breathing regularly again and his heart pumps strong and for the first time since he was six, jungkook lets the tears fall.

they’re alive.

.

jungkook is seventeen when the two figures in his dream change in the guest room of a generous doctor’s house. his subconscious comes to life as soft hues of colours dance across closed eyelids and splatters of white and orange fill in the images, vibrant in a world that has been dull for too long.

he is seventeen when, for the first time, he is able to associate the figures with real names: park jimin and min yoongi.

he is seventeen and he wakes up beside his friends, sandwiched between two bodies that make him feel warm, in a place he has always longed to be.

.

they leave the stealing to jungkook for the following weeks.

it’s unofficially agreed upon that yoongi isn’t allowed to leave their apartment unless it’s for small walks around the neighbourhood. definitely no robbery attempts. the wound in his lower back has mostly closed up but it’s still healing, still painful, so while jimin takes care of him at home—because as it turns out, almost dying can do wonders for a relationship and they’re together now, a couple, a thing—jungkook goes out to get the essentials they need.

he comes back every week with a little too much pocket change for a teenage boy. they joke that he should look into a career as a magician when he pulls out all the other weird things he gets sometimes from people’s pockets. but his favourite items are the coupons because there’s something powerful about walking up to the counter and getting an employee to give him free stuff without having to sneak around the back and steal it himself.

more often than not, jungkook will return to the sound of harmonized voices coming from yoongi’s room, which has turned into their makeshift studio. he thinks they should make an album one day because even if their parents didn’t appreciate their passion, other people in the world will surely recognize their talent when they hear the songs.

“that’s the plan,” yoongi tells him when he voices this and ruffles his hair, but they both now that it’ll be way further down the road if they are to actually produce an entire album.

the future is bleak and scary and a little more than pessimistic for boys their age, but jungkook holds onto hope for the first time in his life.

.

the streets of seoul are crowded with people. busy, busy businessmen scatter all around the major roads, suitcases in hand, entering and exiting the tall skyscrapers that stretch far above them to greet the sun and stars.

jungkook looks out the window, watching the stream of citizens going about their day, and for once, he isn’t evaluating potential targets. he sees a man wearing baggy clothes that would be all too easy to slip a hand into and a girl who is so focused on getting to her destination that she isn’t paying attention to her surroundings at all and—he smiles. he doesn’t have to do that anymore, doesn’t have to constantly worry about how he’s going to get by each day anymore, and he is seventeen and he’ll be turning eighteen in a few weeks and he’s living.

the three of them still go to visit seokjin and namjoon sometimes, claiming that they’re only there to actually eat some healthy food once in a while rather than having takeout all the time, but jungkook knows that both jimin and yoongi like the reassurance that there are people out there who are willing to help them out even if their own parents aren’t. he’s happy that they have people they can rely on.

other times, his mind wanders to seven years ago, when he met a lost boy with bright eyes and a shirt of the city where it all began. he hopes to meet taehyung again one day to let him know that while taehyung himself was fading, he saved jungkook in the process. and maybe he is still waiting—“i’ll come back and find you after i find myself”—but he thinks the wait will be worth it when he sees that boxy smile again.

for now, yoongi raps and jimin sings and jungkook joins in whenever he feels like it. they rob stores and spend the extra money on music equipment and they’re making it. taking life head-on.

they’re in seoul in a just-big-enough apartment, the heart of korea where dreams come true. jungkook thanks the world for dangerous alleyways where good things happen and shares meals with white and orange haired boys. and this is okay, this is more than okay—

—this is great and jungkook finally has a family now.

he’s found his home.