MARLBORO NIGHTS | VKOOK ✓

35

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PART THIRY FIVE
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He regretted it.

He regretted to have ever started doing drugs. If he wouldn't have done it, he'd be able to help Taehyung now. He'd be able to give him the love and care he so desperately longed for.

If he wouldn't have become weaker than he already was back then, if he wouldn't have given in to the effect the drugs had on him, he wouldn't be stumbling along the empry streets right now with a bottle of vodka in his hand and dilated pupils in his bloodshot red eyes.

Instead, he'd probably be sitting in his living room now, watching a movie with Taehyung and laughing about something stupid. He'd maybe cook something for them to eat, smiling like an idiot when Taehyung would distract him the whole time— and giving him everything he needed.

He'd be able to help.

But in the end that's not how things were and he probably shouldn't even imagine those things. It was simply too late for him to change anything.

The cold wind forcefully hit his stumbling figure, his loose shirt barely providing him any warmth. He just had the alcohol that heated up his body with every sip he took.

At first, he blamed his parents for him being so fucked up. He really did. Who threw his child out of the house just because they were finally accepting their own sexuality? He was 15 and already had to live on the streets, living off dealing with drugs and from time to time participating in street fights to get rid of all the anger he had for his parents, to feel the pain when he got hit, because it felt like he deserved it. He deserved the pain for being so stupid and making the mistake of telling someone about him being attracted to men instead of women. He deserved it for dealing with drugs and losing track of the right path.

He remembered meeting Jimin.

Jungkook had just won one of his fights against a boy not older than him. His knuckles were bloody, bruises forming on every part of his body. He remembered having to sit down, because he was so exhausted, holding back his tears at the pain all over him. The people watching were cheering for him, letting the boy who lost carelessly on the ground, before they patted Jungkook's back and left again.

It was a cruel thing. He had forced himself back to his feet and crouched down beside the other, carefully shaking his shoulder, "Are you okay?" He had croaked out with a hoarse voice, his busted lip stinging at its movement.

The other nodded slowly, clearly in pain. And Jungkook didn't know what he should do— he was a 15 year old boy who was homeless, participating in illegal street fights and dealing with drugs. He'd get too many questions, if he'd take the other to the hospital, the both of them clearly not seeming like usual highschool guys.

And that's when Jimin came. Jungkook still felt the fear crawl through him, the second he had felt a hand on his shoulder, thinking it might be the police. But when he shakily turned his head, he was greeted with a faintly smiling stranger, "Let me help."

"Who are you?" Was all he could say and the stranger crouched down beside him, "Park Jimin, nice to meet you, Jk," He had replied and with a chuckle. Jk, the name he used in street fights to not get recognized by anyone and later even took as his professional boxing name.

"I'll take him to the hospital," Jimin had muttered, helping the injured boy up, before turning back to the still confused Jungkook, "Stay here, I'll bring you some things you might need, okay?" His voice was soft, pity in his eyes the longer he stared at him and Jungkook could just stare and nod, lips parting in disbelief.

Someone wanted to help him.

Someone cared.

It was horrible he even had to feel this way at the tender age of 15, but who tried to convince him of the opposite? Who tried to show him there were people who cared about him? No one. Because there simply was nobody.

It was just him.

If not even his parents were able to love him, accept him, care for him, show him that he was wanted and needed— then who could?

Jungkook let out a loud laugh at the reminder, stumbling even more in his steps and having to hold himself up at a wall of a building.

But his laughs died down, tears forming in his red eyes and pouring down his cold cheeks in the freezing wind that hit him.

He had nobody.

Jimin. Jimin might have been the only one he'd always trust, the only he'd always be there for, the only one that managed to get a place in his heart. His best friend. The one who showed him what it was like to have someone caring for him. He remembered waiting for Jimin at the same spot for two hours, figure shaking from the cold and heavy rain pouring down his small, boney body.

And then there was this voice calling for him worriedly, Jimin running up to him and taking off his jacket to place it around Jungkook's shoulders. He was almost drowning in it, because unlike Jimin he wasn't muscular and broad back then.

He had looked up at Jimin through puppy eyes, fear still visible in them, when he got dragged towards a small restaurant near them, "My uncle owns it," Jimin had said, "We have an apartment above, come on, you need a bath and some new clothes. After that, we can go eat in his restaurant. How does that sound?"

Jungkook's lips were blue from the cold, wet hair sticking to his forehead with blood and bruises still all over him, "I...I...that's not necessary," He had whispered. He was scared back then. Scared, of all of the sudden meeting someone who cared.

Jimin frowned, "You know you're safe here, right? No one is going to do something to you, I just want to help you."

"But...why?" The younger had glassy eyes, "I've seen you fight for a few weeks now and I think you actually have talent for boxing. I train at a boxing club and if you want to, I will gladly take you with me someday to teach you some things. And also..." Jimin uttered, pushing Jungkook inside the restaurant and shoving him into the kitchen, where a metal staircase led to his apartment, "I can't just leave you there in the rain, when you're injured, hungry and cold. You look way too young to even be homeless," He sounded concerned and Jungkook had bit his bottom lip to stop himself from crying, "I'm 15."

Jimin stilled, as he opened the door to his apartment and followed the younger inside, "Where are your parents?" He asked carefully and Jungkook stared at the ground, "They don't want me."

He remembered, how the other hadn't said anything to this, simply leading him to the bathroom, "I will get you new clothes, take your time...Jk," He had almost whispered. Jungkook finally looked up to meet his eyes, "Jungkook. My name's Jungkook."

Jimin smiled weakly, nodding, "You can use whatever you want, i'll put the clothes in front of the door, okay?"

"Thank you," Jungkook had shakily responded and locked the door, being by himself again. His clothes stuck to his aching figure as he let himself slide down the door till he was sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom. Tears finally rolled down his cheeks and he didn't know if it were happy tears or not.

The man sobbed at the memory, throwing his fist against the hard stone wall of the building. Apparently not even drugs and alcohol could still make him forget.

He didn't want to remember any of this.

All of it was over now anyway.

Jimin wasn't his best friend anymore.

He didn't care about him like he did before.

Jungkook coughed, leaning his forehead against the wall and almost letting the bottle of alcohol slip from his grip, tightening his hold on it the second it dared to fall.

He missed Jimin.

He knew, his ex- best friend would scold him now. He'd drag him back to his house, helping him to get sober again as fast as possible and stopping him from doing anything stupid.

Yeah, that's what Jimin would do. But he wasn't here. It was just Jungkook, all by himself, alone. It was just him, the alcohol and the many different drugs in the pocket of his pants.

There was no one to stop him from doing something stupid.