GOOD BOYS GO TO HELL | VKOOK

00; KIM TAEHYUNG

[ 00; ruinous ]
— KIM TAEHYUNG

Trembling hands of
the trembling man, hold
my mouth to hold in a
scream.

"WHERE the hell is Taehyung?" A pudgy man yells as he paces back and forth in the small dressing room. He has a cigar hanging between his lips, threatening to fall from his mouth and onto the floor each time he barks out another order. His greasy hair is matted to his forehead from sweat, a dirt brown suit squeezing him tightly.

Three members of the band are sitting on a tattered leather couch in front of him. Old cigarettes litter a worn coffee table and lighters flicker to spark up new ones. Their feet are kicked up and the arrogance that oozes from them stifles the air of the small room.

Yoongi, who was writing in a small notebook, straightens up and looks at the stage manager, smoke filtering out his nostrils before he sighs. The piercing on his brow moves with every change of his expression, and his muscles fill the black shirt covering his chest and torso. His arms are decorated profusely with tattoos and he runs one of his inked hands through his hair before grumbling.

"He'll make it."

"He better."

One of the men on the couch can't help but roll his eyes. "And what'll you do if he doesn't?"

The man sputters. "Just make sure he gets here!" His face is beet red as he shuffles away and slams the door behind him while the men on the couch laugh.

At the back of the building stands Taehyung. His back is against the brick outside of the venue and his shaggy black hair settles in front of his eyes as he closes them in bliss, blowing a heavy trail of smoke between his lips. He was supposed to be on stage in about five minutes, but he had been caught up— matters that simply couldn't be ignored had garnered his attention.

Kim Taehyung, lead singer and guitarist of the notorious rock band Intrepid had no real worries in life. He made his way inside with amble speed, an easy grin on his lips despite the actions he had just previously committed. His careless attitude was almost infuriating and nonchalance practically dripped off of him. His hands were covered with thin fingerless leather gloves that were hollowed out on the back of his hand and his knuckles, and silver studs decorated the leather.

His cigarette had been abandoned quickly as he chose to smack on some cherry flavored gum. A white and black printed blouse clung to his muscles and outlined his chest spectacularly. Only two buttons were closed, and the tan skin of his chest was exposed for all to see.

His arms were covered in ink, and branches crept out from under his shirt and up his neck. A bandana was wrapped around his forehead and sunglasses dangled from his pants pocket. it was way too dark for them to be anything more than a nuisance if he put them on, and as he walked his heavy black boots hit the floor in a soothing rhythm.

Reaching his destination he pushed open the weighted bathroom doors and shuffled in with a sigh. Turning the tap on hot, he peeled off his wet gloves and set them on the side of the sink. His wrist ached and his bruised knuckles throbbed with every movement of his long, slim, fingers. With his hand under the tap he watched as the water tinted red. He hurriedly tried to rub the rest of the substance off his skin but to no avail.

"Fuck..." he groaned. "Just a little more." he pleaded as he scratched forcefully at his palm. With the blood refusing to come off his hands, he rinsed his gloves under the water and shoved them back on– hoping no one would notice the blood staining his fingertips as well.

He only had a minute or so until he needed to get on stage, yet he stayed in the bathroom and pulled out a clear baggy almost filled to the brim with white powder. The pungently bitter taste of cocaine dripped down the back of his throat, before he chased it down with a bit of brandy he had hidden in a flask on his belt loop.

He let out a sigh and shook his head, his dark hair falling in waves around him. He stared at his reflection in the mirror– dark circles rested under his bloodshot eyes, and his nose was red. He shrugged his shoulders, covered in ink from his hand to his neck and grinned. He blew the remnants of the narcotics off the sink and stuffed the baggy into the pocket of his leather jacket. He squeezed his eyes open and shut as a last attempt of loosening up before he finally left the bathroom.

The pudgy man from earlier rounds the corner as soon as he steps out and yells, "You! You need to be on stage. Right now." Taehyung groans.

"Do you think this is a joke? I've been looking everywhere for you!" He chides as he walks through the dingy hallway, his gritty voice becoming a constant irritant to Taehyung. The sooner he stopped talking, the better.

"I had things to take care of, Danny boy! I'm here now so don't get your panties in a bunch." Taehyung grinned, his hand coming to rest on the shorter man's shoulder. "The show doesn't start until I get here, so the last thing you need to be telling me is where I need to be. Ok?" His smile held a sadistic twinge and the man shuddered. "O-of course. The band is waiting in the–" Taehyung cut him off with a pat to his shoulder and turned around towards the direction of the stage.

"Ugh," Taehyung muttered, wiping his palm on his black jeans. "He's a walking fucking grease bucket."

He parades through the crowd of working people setting up on stage for a show that starts in 28 seconds, yet he continues his leisurely pace. Like he said, the show doesn't start until he arrives. There's nothing for him to worry about. His nose stung, but he knew soon his blood would be pumping with adrenaline and he would be on cloud nine.

"What the hell is that on your fingers?" Namjoon asked, drumsticks twirling between his fingers. Taehyung just smirked in response. The drummer let out a huff of amusement. "You're fucking crazy, man."

"Yeah? Like the two of us are any better." Yoongi snorted from up front, guitar pick settled in between his teeth.

"I hope Daniel didn't give you guys too much trouble." Taehyung muttered as he rested the guitar strap around his neck and came to a stop in front of his mic. The curtains were still closed and the mics were off. A late start.

"What? He's a pussy, what trouble would he give us?" Hoseok chortled, his voice carrying to the front of the stage.

"He's fucking annoying. I swear I want to plug my ears as soon as he opens his fat mouth."

"Maybe if you showed up on time..." Yoongi started, a teasing lilt to his voice. "Never gonna happen." Taehyung grunted. "Then I guess you're going to have to put up with it." Yoongi deadpanned, his pick out of his mouth and in between his fingers.

"Boys, curtains open in 10 seconds." Taehyung takes his jacket off and throws it to the side, rolling up his sleeves to show off his tattoos. As soon as the lights settle on him and Yoongi plays the first note on his guitar, Taehyung grins.