Let it be known that Jeon Jeongguk was never late.

 

In fact, Jeongguk takes a special pride in his punctuality, his carefully cultivated streak of perfection - never late, never a mistake, never a failed mission. After all, hitmen don't exactly have much room for second chances.

 

It’s in his genes to be good at everything he does (though it takes him a while to grow into the realization and, later, the acceptance). He’s nicknamed the Golden Maknae for a reason, and it’s because of the same one that he prefers fighting with guns over any other weapon - he likes quick, clean, and efficient kills.

 

So when Jeongguk can only stand by and watch as years of his hard work go down the drain, he nearly combusts into a million little pieces of frustration.

 

“Hurry. Up.” Jeongguk grits out, resisting the urge to punch someone. Namely, Park Jimin.

 

At that precise moment, Park Jimin dashes by, tripping and slowing down just long enough to roll his eyes at Jeongguk.

 

“Chill out, man. We’re gonna be fine.”

 

He’s gone before Jeongguk can reach out to strangle him.

 

“I swear, Jimin, if anything goes wrong, I’m going to slaughter you,” Jeongguk glowers. It’s an empty threat, and unfortunately, Jimin knows it, but it still satisfies Jeongguk’s anger, if only briefly.

 

From another room in the house, Jimin’s voice wafts through the walls, “If I could just-“ His voice is cut off by a loud crash and a hiss. “!”

 

Jeongguk sighs.

 

“If I could just find my lucky karambit, then nothing will go wrong,” Jimin finishes.

 

Jeongguk mutters something under his breath - something about having an idea where Park Jimin could keep his lucky karambit - but he doesn’t say anything else.

 

It takes Jimin about three minutes for him to find his karambit (it had been hiding at the bottom of Yoongi’s sock drawer) and another five for him to put on his shoes, but it feels like forever and a half to Jeongguk, and he’s practically hauling Jimin’s out the door when Jimin finally says, “Let’s go.”

 

The gravel crunches underneath their boots as they walk, the sun arcing low in the sky and washing the world in a vibrant red.

 

Jimin keeps one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other playing with his karambit, flicking it through his fingers out of habit. Jeongguk keeps his arms stiffly by his side. It’s silent save for their quiet breaths and footsteps.

 

When Jeongguk finally spots the house, his stomach drops to his feet.

 

The door is already open.

 

“,“ Jeongguk mutters under his breath. “Someone’s already here.”

 

His stomach immediately twists into a knot of anxiety and Jeongguk reminds himself to breathe.

 

“Maybe he just went for a walk and left the door open?” Jimin tries, his voice sounding a little too hopeful.

 

A loud crash sounds through the open doorway, and Jimin flinches. Muffled shouting follows.

 

“… Maybe not,” Jimin adds reluctantly, and Jeongguk turns around to glare at him with a look that says This is all your fault.

 

Jimin rolls his eyes, but Jeongguk sees the way his fingers tighten around his karambits as he crouches a little closer to the ground. The playful look in Jimin’s eyes is replaced by a cold, hard determination - he looks dangerous, lethal.

 

“Come on,” Jimin nods to the door, “Let’s get this over with.” And with that, he’s gone, crossing the threshold of the house silently.

 

Suddenly, a sickening wave of nausea washes over Jeongguk.

 

He’s used to following the rules, going by protocol word for word. He's a machine in the way he executes the plans he's assigned, flawless and mechanical. This was supposed to be an easy mission, but the door is open and everything goes out the window.

 

For a brief second, Jeongguk blanches. Panic rises in and he clenches his fists, struggling to keep his mind.

 

A wave of absolute defeat rolls through Jeongguk, threatens to drown him, and his father’s voice rings in his ears from somewhere in the back of his mind, "Useless. A waste of space. Why do you even bother trying? You’re nothing but trash. You’ll never be anything to anyone.“

 

Jeongguk doesn’t realize he’s shaking until it’s too late, and at this point, he can’t help himself. It's terrifying how easily he slips back into his old habits.

 

I can never do anything right. I’m a failure. I’ve let everyone dow-

 

“Hurry up, would you?” Jimin’s voice, tinged with annoyance, breaks through Jeongguk’s self-torment, and he looks up to see Jimin glaring at him from the open doorway. Suddenly, Jimin’s brows furrow with concern and his voice softens, “Hey… You okay?”

 

Jeongguk blinks rapidly, clears , inhales sharply, “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

 

Now is not the time to wallow in self-pity - he has a mission to complete. Everything else is irrelevant.

 

Jeongguk closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Locks everything away. Opens his eyes.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

Jimin looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t press further. Jeongguk’s “thank you” remains unsaid but Jimin hears it nonetheless.

 

Jeongguk reaches behind him - his glock, as usual, is tucked into the waistband of his pants - and wraps his fingers around the cold metal. It’s familiar, harsh, comforting.

 

Wordlessly, he pulls the gun out and walks past Jimin, stepping into the house.

 

And immediately gags.

 

The overwhelming scent of expired alcohol and piss slams his senses so hard he starts to tear.

 

Jimin walks up to him, covering his nose, “I know right? I’m pretty sure something died in here about twenty years ago.”

 

Jeongguk finds himself agreeing. He can’t imagine anything actually living in this dump of a house - the furniture is falling apart, the wallpaper is cracking and peeling, the carpet is threadbare, and the faded wooden floor is dotted with small puddles of what Jeongguk can only hope to be alcohol.  Empty beer bottles are scattered throughout the small room, some rolling pathetically on their side.

 

A loud clatter, followed by a pained grunt, snaps Jeongguk out of his disgust and he shoots Jimin a look. Jimin gives him a short, terse nod.

 

They move in sync, fluid and silent, following the sound all the way to a dimly-lit kitchen. Jeongguk stops right before the entrance, putting out a hand to stop Jimin in his tracks. Slowly, he puts a finger to his lips to signal for Jimin to be quiet.

 

Jeongguk readjusts his grip on the gun in his other hand and cautiously peers into the room.

 

An imposing figure - tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in all black - stands with his back to Jeongguk. He’s talking to someone else, but who, Jeongguk can’t see.

 

“You thought you could hide from us forever? You think you can run away forever, Tae Tae?” The disgust in the faceless man’s voice thinly veils the obvious anger charging his words.

 

Jeongguk’s blood runs cold.

 

Kim Taehyung.

 

A master hacker who worked for whoever was the highest bidder that day. Rumors claim he hacked into Seoul’s power grid a few years ago and shut down the entire city for seven minutes (luckily no one was killed). Fluent in cyber code and virtually untouchable, he was elusive and nearly impossible to track down.

 

He was also Jeongguk’s target.

 

A few days ago, Taehyung had hacked into Namjoon’s files, taken all the information he needed, and left without leaving a trace. The next day, Yoongi had nearly been killed on his mission - the targets had known he was coming, had expected him, and Yoongi barely escaped with his life. It took Namjoon a few days to figure out they had been hacked, and a few more seconds to figure out who had done it.

 

Namjoon, a certified genius and ex-member of the police force, had personally ensured the security of their cyber walls, using his knowledge and experience to cover their tracks from authorities while hiding their data from other shady and less-legal organizations. Only Taehyung would have been able to breach Namjoon’s defenses - and when Namjoon finally pieced it together, Jeongguk was livid.

 

No one - no one - ed with his hyungs and lived to tell the tale. Jeongguk had been the first to volunteer for the mission, wanting to personally end the life of whoever dared to endanger Yoongi.

 

White-hot rage burns through Jeongguk’s veins, prickles under his skin, but he doesn’t move.

 

He can’t blow his cover. Not yet.

 

“I…” A cough. “I did everything you guys wanted me to do.”

 

Taehyung.

 

The man hums pensively, pauses for a second. “Why, yes… I suppose you did.”

 

Taehyung coughs again, “So let me go.”

 

The man chuckles darkly and leans forward like he’s about to tell a secret. “But you see, my dear Tae Tae, you’ve done what we wanted. And quite frankly, we don’t have much use for you anymore.”

 

Taehyung growls, “Bastards.”

 

The man straightens up and shrugs, “You’ve got leverage over us. Information we don’t want you knowing. And, well… Let’s just say that we don’t usually let the witnesses live.”

 

Taehyung lets out a weak chuckle, “You’re not the first one to try to kill me, you know? And you certainly won’t be the last.”

 

Jeongguk’s not sure whether to respect Taehyung or to condemn him as an idiot for talking back while being tied to a chair, completely defenseless and not exactly in an optimal position to be taking verbal jabs.

 

The man snarls, “Still laughing, I see.”

 

Suddenly, Jeongguk’s eyes catch a glint of metal. The man pulls a short knife out of his jacket sleeve, twirling the slim metal dangerously in his fingers. “Let’s drag this a little longer, then, why don’t we? For entertainment, am I right?”

 

“ you,” Taehyung spits out boldly, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

 

Jeongguk can almost feel the air being forced out of Taehyung’s lungs as the man’s foot connects with Taehyung’s gut, and he senses Jimin tensing next to him as Taehyung gasps in pain.

 

“Wrong answer,” the man cackles gleefully, the blade glinting wickedly in his hand.

 

Jeongguk knows he’s supposed to hate Taehyung.

 

Jeongguk knows he’s supposed to hate him, relish in every ounce of pain he feels, have no other desire towards him than to see him dead, preferably by Jeongguk’s own hands.

 

But for some strange and inexplicable reason, some tiny, minuscule part of him feels bad for Taehyung. Maybe even wants to protect him. Save him.

 

Jeongguk pushes the idea away before he can think too much about it.

 

“You’ve been running for so long, and now, we’ve finally caught up to you. How does it feel to know that your miserable life is about to end?” The man sounds disgustingly smug.

 

Taehyung wheezes, “You won’t get away with this.”

 

The man lets out a dry laugh, “Oh really? Because I’m not sure if there’s anyone left to care about you. That is… if there was even anyone to begin with.”

 

Taehyung is silent.

 

“It seems as though you’re all alone, Tae Tae,” the man continues savagely. “Parents who didn’t care about you. Friends who turned their backs on you. Enemies who try to kill you every day. To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t done yourself in already.”

 

The man moves to the side, shifts slightly to the left, and finally, Jeongguk manages to get a good look at Taehyung.

 

Jeongguk promptly forgets how to breathe.

 

Taehyung’s face, angular and hard yet soft and smooth at the same time, is pale and gaunt, marred by blood and a giant bruise blooming on his left cheek. A dark crimson stains his dry lips, trailing down his chin. Dark circles hang under his desperation-filled eyes and an oversized white shirt, wrinkled and smeared with grime and blood, hangs loosely from his skinny frame. His hair is disheveled and sticks out at awkward angles, matted and knotted and hanging down just far enough to barely brush his eyelashes.

 

He looks like he hasn’t eaten in three days and hasn’t slept in twice that.

 

But for some reason - some strange and inexplicable reason - Jeongguk’s brain decides that Taehyung is, without a doubt, the most beautiful human being Jeongguk has ever laid eyes on.

 

A slight movement catches Jeongguk’s eye, and he belatedly realizes that Taehyung’s wrists are tied together.

 

Jimin gives him a soft nudge. Silently, he mouths, “We need to help him.”

 

Jeongguk hesitates. Jimin gives him a look.

 

Jeongguk knows they need to help Taehyung. It’s the Right Thing To Do… Except this is the man they’re supposed to kill. This is the man who had nearly gotten Yoongi killed. This is the man whom Jeongguk had been looking forward to killing for days.

 

Suddenly, a strangled scream rips through the air. Jeongguk and Jimin whip their heads around to see Taehyung struggling violently against his bonds. Three deep gashes split apart his skin on the once-smooth plane of his left forearm. Every movement only seems to force more blood out of the wounds, and Jeongguk can tell that Taehyung is tiring quickly.

 

“Why haven’t you, huh? Why haven’t you given up yet? Why keep fighting? Why keep living when everyone wants you dead?” The man circles Taehyung predatorily, leaving behind a trail of blood that drips from the knife in his hand.

 

His other hand suddenly lashes out, and Taehyung chokes for air as the man grabs a large fistful of his hair, ripping his head back and pressing the sharp blade against his throat.

 

The man lets out a harsh, grating laugh and leans down close to whisper in Taehyung’s ear, “There’s no one - no one - in this world who cares about you.”

 

Taehyung’s chest heaves painfully as he tries to blink away the fatigue and the tears.

 

“Who’s going to stop me, Tae Tae? Who’s going to stop me from killing you?”

 

it.

 

Jeongguk steps out of the shadows into the dim glow of the flickering light bulb hanging overhead, ignoring Jimin’s wide-eyed incredulity and his own surprise at his boldness.

 

He takes a deep breath. Then, “I believe that’s where I come in.”

 

His arm is steady as he points the barrel of his glock towards the man’s head, the weight of the metal comforting in his hand.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flick up to met Jeongguk’s gaze in shock. For a split second, Jeongguk swears the entire world tips upside down. But then, the split second passes, Taehyung’s eyes turn apprehensive and fearful, and the world right itself.

 

“Who the are you?”

 

The man seems to have gotten over the initial shock of being interrupted and he turns his attention away from Taehyung and towards Jeongguk.

 

Jeongguk stares at the man with barely-hidden distaste.

 

“I could ask you the same thing… Except I don’t care.”

 

The man’s eyes narrow dangerously, “This is out territo-”

 

Jeongguk cuts him off, “Yeah, I don’t really care.  For anything that you have to say, really. In fact, you’re pretty irrelevant to me. You see, this man,” he just his chin toward Taehyung, “gave some very private and confidential information to an enemy of our and nearly got someone whom I care very much about killed. So now…” Jeongguk pauses to glance at Taehyung. Taehyung stares back defiantly, eyes blazing.

 

“I’m going to kill him.”

 

The man’s booming laughter breaks Jeongguk away from his silent stare-off with Taehyung.

 

“That cute,” he drawls out. Suddenly, the humor in his eyes is replaced by a threatening coldness.

 

“But you should know your place.”

 

Jeongguk notices his eyes flit toward the window a few feet away, and the realization dawns on him.

 

He has no time to think, no time to process, has only his instincts to rely on as he drops to the floor and glass shatters, spraying everywhere.

 

The floor splinters into tiny pieces of shrapnel and Jeongguk covers his face with his arms as Taehyung’s muffled screams ring in his ears.

 

.

 

By the time the air clears and Jeongguk regains his senses, the man has pulled out a gun of his own, training it on Jeongguk’s forehead.

 

“I appreciate the effort,” he says slowly, smugly, “but us and Kim Taehyung? We’ve got personal to solve.”

 

“Who’s ‘us’?” Jeongguk grits out.

 

The man ignores him and, without looking up, he says, “And why don’t you come out, too? We already know you’re there, so there’s not much use in hiding any further. And we would prefer it if you kept the weapons away,” he adds as an afterthought.

 

Jimin slowly morphs out of the darkness, hands up in surrender. He glares at the man pressing a pistol to the front of Jeongguk’s forehead.

 

The man’s lips curl upward. “Perfect.”

 

“What do you want,” Jimin growls, body tense.

 

They never find out.

 

Something flies by the side of Jeongguk’s head, just barely missing his ear, and punches the man in the chest.

 

The man manages a choked gasp, “Wha-”

 

“Oh, your sniper?” Jeongguk smiles politely. “Yeah, we’ve got one of those too,” he finishes just as the man collapses, eyes wide and lungs caught halfway in taking a breath.

 

When the man’s fingers loosen around the grip of the pistol, Jeongguk finally allows himself to take a deep breath.

 

“That was close,” Jeongguk breathes out.

 

Jimin laughs, elbowing him on his way past, “Nah, Yoongi knows what he’s doing.”

 

Taehyung struggles violently as Jimin approaches, eyes wide and terrified and maybe even a little furious, and he tries to get as far away from Jimin as possible. Except he’s still tied down and injured, and he can only let out a cry of pain as his bonds dig a little deeper into his skin, a fresh spurt of blood pushing out of his wounds.

 

Jeongguk’s heart clenches, but Jimin seems unfazed.

 

He turns around to look at Jeongguk and his head, “Should we finish what we came here to do?”

 

Annoyance flares in Jeongguk, as well as a sudden urge to protect Taehyung (this, Jeongguk ignores), “Are you ing dense?”

 

Jimin winks, “I’m just kidding. We’ll bring him back to Namjoon. He can decide what to do with him.”

 

Jeongguk glares at Jimin, but he doesn’t say anything else, pushing past him to kneel in front of Taehyung.

 

Taehyung stills as Jeongguk turns his attention toward the ropes binding him, fingers working deftly at the bonds, ignoring the sensation of Taehyung’s eyes boring into his skull, the slight shake in his fingers. His pounding heart.

 

Jeongguk's usually very good at ropework, but his mind is short-circuiting and his fingers feel uselessly dull.

 

When the last rope finally falls away (it only takes about five minutes, max, but it feels like forever to Jeongguk), Taehyung shakily stands up. Blinks once. Twice.Then immediately turns to sprint away.

 

Jeongguk tenses, ready to chase after him - except Taehyung’s legs end up giving out from under him and Jeongguk lunges forward to catch him just before he hits the floor.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed as his eyes roll to the back of his head, stuttered breaths puffing shakily out of his bloodied lips. Jeongguk's heart clenches painfully in his chest as Taehyung's body goes limp, impossibly fragile in his arms. 

 

A hand on his shoulder snaps Jeongguk out of his concern, and he looks up to see Jimin’s unreadable eyes boring into his.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

-----

 

Jeongguk would be lying if he said he had a perfect childhood. In fact, he would be lying if he said he had a good childhood.

 

At best, one could say it made him into the man he was today.

 

At worst, it nearly killed him.

 

A runaway mother who abandoned her son on the day he turned five. A deadbeat father who liked drinking alcohol as much as he enjoyed beating his son. A young boy who simply wanted to be loved.

 

His father wasn’t picky. Hands, belts, broken beer bottles - whatever he had at the time to beat Jeongguk. It always ended with Jeongguk out on the streets, chased out of the house with insults and threats that reeked of alcohol.

 

But he always came back.

 

Jeongguk always came crawling back home every single time, sobbing and starving and shivering, tears staining his face as he begged for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what, he never had any idea, but he knew he had done something wrong, something to invoke the wrath of his father. And for that, he had to be punished.

 

One time, it nearly costs Jeongguk his life.

 

It came out of nowhere, the way a storm bursts the calm - unexpected, explosive, and almost always deadly.

 

Jeongguk had been in his room - what he was doing, he no longer remembers - when his father had flung open the front door, roaring and swinging blindly, rampaging through the living room while cursing Jeongguk’s mother and screaming for his son. The sound of shattering glass and splintering furniture was enough to send Jeongguk running to his closet, shutting himself inside and curling up under the cover of darkness.

 

His father had stumbled about the house, panting heavily and loudly, calling out Jeongguk’s name with a heavy tongue while Jeongguk had squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold his breath.

 

Just as he started seeing spots in his vision, his father had found him, ripping open the door and dragging Jeongguk out by his hair, eyes blind with rage and booze. Jeongguk had screamed until was raw, until he tasted blood and it hurt to breathe.

 

It wasn’t until the vague reality of death started to seem possible that the blows stopped.

 

By then, his threshold for physical abuse had hit its limit and then double that. There was nothing Jeongguk could have done to stop himself from blacking out on the floor right then and there, convulsing in a pool of his own blood and tears.

 

He found out later that Yoongi had been out on patrol when he had heard Jeongguk’s screams. It hadn’t been difficult to find them - the front door was still open.

 

When Jeongguk woke up, he found himself in an unfamiliar setting (Namjoon’s house, he later learned). He didn’t notice the young man patching him up until a sharp pain on his rib tore a weak cry from him. Soft-featured and gentle, the man’s fingers skimmed over Jeongguk’s skin, doing his best to clean up what he could. His hands shook (There’s so much blood… ) but he had still managed to give Jeongguk a warm smile when he realized the boy had woken up.

 

"You okay?"

 

Jeongguk had tried to nod - except everything hurt. He ended up settling for a soft grunt.

 

The man chuckled weakly, fingers still deftly flitting over Jeongguk’s wounds, “You gave Yoongi a real scare, you know? I’ve never seen him look so worried before. After all, you’re so young…” He trailed off.

 

Catching himself, he quickly recovered, “I’m Seokjin, by the way.”

 

Jeongguk was silent.

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me your name - just rest and heal. We can figure everything out later,” Seokjin smiled warmly.

 

A voice in the back of his head told Jeongguk that he didn’t deserve this man’s kindness, but the insistent lull of darkness tugging at the edge of Jeongguk’s mind proved too strong for him to fend off, and he let himself be pulled under.

 

The next time Jeongguk had blinked awake, it was nighttime - the moon hung delicately in the sky and the house was quiet save for the sound of soft breathing. His wounds had stopped bleeding, and although everything still ached, Jeongguk had been able to get out of bed, slowly shuffling to his feet.

 

His limbs had moved of their own accord, stumbling forward without waiting for his brain to give instructions.

 

By the time he had gotten back home, he was crying again, ugly sobs wracking his tiny body until he couldn’t even see straight. He had knocked on the door until his knuckles bled, screaming for forgiveness.

 

At the time, he hadn’t given a second thought to what he was doing. At the time, he only needed his father’s forgiveness, his father’s love.

 

In retrospect, he had a problem.

 

His father had answered the door after a few minutes, still drunk from a few hours ago - he was always drunk - and, of course, still angry.

 

Jeongguk had cried until he ran out of tears but he told himself he deserved the pain, deserved every bit of punishment that rained down on his breakable body. He had cried until he couldn't see, until his tears blinded his vision and his gasps choked his lungs and his entire body went numb as his father laid into him - until it stopped.

 

Jeongguk had curled his limbs into his body, shivering and hiccuping uncontrollably, waiting for his beating to resume. He didn’t notice the raven-haired figure, short but well-muscled and lean, moving through the moonlight until he was dragging his savage father away from him.

 

Glimpses of metal flashed in Jeongguk’s vision so quickly he thought he might have imagined it, and his father fell to the floor, bellowing unintelligibly.

 

The figure - a young boy, most likely only a few years older than he - suddenly rushed to his side, leaning over him, and Jeongguk flinched.

 

“,” the boy murmured, face paling at the state of Jeongguk’s body.

 

Hands shaking, he had reached into his pocket and pulled out a burner phone, quickly punching in a number from memory. His voice faltered just slightly as he spoke, “Yoongi…”

 

Faintly, through the static of the phone, “Talk to me, Jimin.”

 

“I found him.”

 

“Good, bring him back to Namjoon’s.”

 

Jimin shook his head weakly, “Yoongi… I don’t think he’s going to survive.”

 

Silence. Then, Yoongi’s low voice, “Stay there.”

 

“Hurry,” Jimin whispered, but Yoongi had already ended the call.

 

Jimin looked down at Jeongguk, chest barely moving and blood oozing out of his wounds, and his eyebrows furrowed with worry.

 

“Just… Hang in there, okay?”

 

Jeongguk had thought to himself that Jimin sounded a lot like he was begging.

 

The young man from earlier before arrived after a few minutes, face immediately hardening once he saw Jimin crouched over Jeongguk’s shaking frame.

 

In a low, terse voice, “Jimin. Get him out of here. Try to keep him from bleeding out. I’ll take it from here.”

 

Jimin hesitated, then nodded, leaning down to pick up Jeongguk’s limp body. Jeongguk didn’t even bother fighting - he could no longer feel his limbs.

 

The last time Jeongguk saw his father, the man was convulsing on the floor, blood gushing out of a small nick on the spot where his spine met his skull. Yoongi’s slight figure loomed over the incapacitated body, a cold look on his face, fingers curling around the beretta in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

 

Jimin had left before Jeongguk could see anything else, whisking him into the darkness of the night, but his father’s screams still rang in his ears as he lost consciousness.

 

(Jimin later tells him, dead-panning, “He deserved worse.”)

 

Jeongguk woke up back at Namjoon’s. Seokjin was tending to his wounds again, this time while lecturing him about “making smart life decisions”.

 

In the end, Jeongguk had stayed because he had nowhere else to go.

 

At least, that’s what he told himself. It was easier than admitting he cared enough to stay.

 

A few years ago, he had decided that emotions made him weak. After all, his father always seemed to hit harder after he started crying. At a certain point, Jeongguk began pretending they didn't exist. Forced himself to believe they didn't exist. And for a long time, Jeongguk forgot what it was like to feel.

 

Namjoon eventually taught him how to shoot. The first time he hit his target, Namjoon whistled appreciatively, “Not bad, kid.” A rush of adrenaline had surged through his veins - this was something that gave him power, something over which he could have some semblance of control.

 

Jeongguk threw himself into fine-tuning his skills, spent his days and night shooting until his arm was numb with the force of recoil and his ears were ringing with the sound of bullets hitting their marks. After a year, he couldn’t miss a target even if he tried.

 

Eventually, his hyungs (Yoongi saved Hoseok from a mental institute a few years later and he joined their ranks) started to mean more to Jeongguk than he allowed himself to admit.

 

Everyone knew anyway, though.

 

Jeongguk had never believed in fate. Destiny. Forever. None of that had ever existed to him. Life was what one made out of it, and that was that.

 

In the span of his limited existence, Jeonguk had learned that life was short, but life was also long, and humans were fickle creatures. Jeongguk found himself constantly changing, evolving, adapting - he didn't believe in absolutes. Nothing was permanent, not even his hyungs, but for now, this was the life he had chosen to live. And this was the life he would continue to live until he decided not to live it anymore. 

 

Jeongguk had never believed in fate. Destiny. Forever.

 

But Jeongguk believed in second chances.

 

Perhaps that was why had decided to save Taehyung.

 

Perhaps it was because he had seen a little bit of himself in Taehyung.

 

Perhaps it was because his brain had decided for him that it would be a shame to let such a beautiful human being die so ingloriously.

 

Perhaps it was because the planets had aligned and some cosmic power had decided that he was going to save Taehyung.

 

Regardless of the reason, Jeongguk had saved Taehyung from a very probably death. Perhaps two times.

 

-----

 

“‘Let’s just hear him out?’ Are you ing insane?”

 

Jeongguk stares straight ahead as Namjoon paces in front of him, running his hands through his hair and trying (failing) to keep his together.

 

“What were you thinking? Do you know dangerous it was to keep him alive? He could have all of us killed in about five seconds flat.” Jeongguk’s not sure if Namjoon’s trying to convince them or himself.

 

Namjoon continues, shaking his head, “He knows too much and he’s a target. And now that he’s here, we become targets.”

 

He whips around to face Jeongguk, eyes flashing with anger but mostly worry, “Out of all the place you could have taken him, you decided to bring him here?”

 

Jimin, from next to Jeongguk, tries to defend him, “Namjoon, he was jus-”

 

“No, Jimin,”  Namjoon cuts him off. “There are absolutely no excuses. You could have been killed. Both of you could have been killed. And for what? To save the man who nearly got Yoongi killed?”

 

Jimin is silent.

 

“No,” Namjoon repeats, a little softer this time. He looks away. Runs his hand through his hair. Sighs.

 

“It’s too dangerous.”

 

There’s a tiny knock on the door, and all three of them jump, turning to see a timid Seokjin peeking his head into the room.

 

“He’s awake.”

 

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