MY PSYCHO | VKOOK✓

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

---ELEVEN

2 YEARS LATER...

Deep in the very heart of belle rave penitentiary — the prison facility used to contain "metahuman" criminals, whatever the fuck that means — sits a cell unlike any other in the building.

In the middle of the open indoor space, in clear view of all the other cell doors, sits a massive, metal wire-fence, every inch of its interior space visible from the outside.

In the very center of this fenced area cage, swings a svelte, pale body, all long limbs and alabaster skin.

He dangles upside down from the ceiling of the cage, held suspended in mid-air by what look to be strips of cloth, ripped from the remnants of his bedsheets.

They were fucking itchy and polyester, they're lucky he didn't just choke himself with it to end his misery.

He misses his so called Puddin. With every inch of his aching, devilish, little heart.

He hasn't seen Mr. J in so long, and Taehyung may or may not have started to harbor a doubt or two, as to whether the older man is truly coming for him as he'd believed...

But these days, Taehyung is too preoccupied with a burning, ravenous anger, to miss J too much. He's just about another jeer-filled audience from the pathetic shitheels they call guards around here, from snapping and breaking their tiny necks one by one.

But he's also trying /not/ to get himself shot and killed, at least not before Jeongguk breaks him out of here (hopefully), and certainly not before he sleeps or everything but sleep) on their silk sheets one more time. so Taehyung tries to find his zen.

Tries, being the operative word.

He dangles, limbs wrapped around the fabric, with all the smooth, lithe grace of slow molasses; he leans back, the long arch of his neck and sternum bowing beautifully, eyes closed. Trying to find his center.

His blonde hair dangles below him, shining golden in the light. That's when the metal bars on the other side of the room swing open with a loud, abrasive beep, letting in a veritable troop of men, all dressed to the nines in goddamn bulletproof vests and helmets. Idiots.

Taehyung doesn't even open his eyes.

He's finding his inner peace.

Trying.

Their idiot leader, however, strolls up to his cage, and Jeongguk doesn't miss the way the moron mutters to his team to "shoot up" if he "acts up."

When Taehyung gets out of here, he's going to yank that prick's molars out, one by one, and shove them down his throat. there's a lurid glint in his eyes when he grins at Jeongguk, one that makes him want to tear his throat out with his bare hands.

"You gonna' come down, or what?" he asks.

Taehyung gives him a slow, a bloodthirsty grin. The idiot laughs at it, like he thinks Jeongguk's giving him a pretty smile, or something. But Taehyung has some time to kill, so why not.

With a devilish little smile, Taehyung twirls down from his makeshift perch, long legs hooking momentarily on the swing before his bare feet land on the concrete.

The man laughs, breathy and hungry for something he'll never, ever get to touch. "Yeah, look at you. Damn.."

Taehyung barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

The man sighs when Taehyung comes up to him, curling his hands around the bars. "You know the rules, hotness. You gotta' keep off the bars."

Taehyung looks up at him, doe eyes deceptively innocent , tilting his head to the side. "Those bars?" He murmurs, pink tongue slipping out to lick, languorously, sensually, up one such metal bar.