Pretty Boy (Jin X BTS)

-12-

When Jin woke up he was no longer in the van. He was actually laying on a couch in another basement. He briefly wondered how many basements there were in Korea for these men to already have two hideouts – both with basements to keep Jin locked in. This one was admittedly nicer than the last. There was actual furniture in there. Only a couch and some cushy chairs along with a study wooden table but it was something instead of the damp, cold and bare room that in had been tied in previously. It actually looked like a home instead of a concrete dungeon.

Jin's eyes wandered more and he sighed and smiled in relief when he saw Hoseok scrolling through his phone while sitting near the stairwell to the first level of the house. Jin shifted, the couched beneath him creaking slightly as he let his feet touch down on the hard, carpeted floor. Hoseok looked up from his phone but instead of smiling or bouncing around or showing his normal, happy persona, Hoseok seemed quite grim.

"You're in trouble..." His voice was sterner than Jin had ever heard before. It was still strong despite being somewhat muffled by his mask. Jin wished he would take the stupid thing off but before Jin could even think to reply, Hoseok was standing and walking back up the stairs.

"Hoseok?" Jin stood as well, noting that he still didn't have a shirt on.

Hoseok stopped, halfway to the top, eyes casting down to look at the man below him. Jin wasn't shaking or frightened. He looked confused and lost. Hoseok knew why. The man he saw as a friend was abandoning him. Hoseok couldn't fix that, though. His allegiance was strictly to his gang.

"RM told me to let him know when you woke up. Jimin is coming down when I tell them." Hoseok hated the way Jin's eyes widened and fear seeped into the brown orbs at his words. Jin did shiver at that. He decided he hated Jimin and wanted nothing to do with the man. Jin realized Namjoon must have said he could have his alone time with him.

Jin wanted an out. He didn't want to be punished or whatever kind of hell on earth that man could come up with, "But Hoseok-"

The gang member cut Jin off, his eyes apologetic but his voice showing no emotion, "I can't save you, Jin. I'm sorry. I'll be back later to help pick up the pieces." And with that, Jin's only hope had vanished.

He was left alone for another hour, he supposed. He was starting to get a bit chilled with nothing covering his top and his stomach was growling as well. Jin hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning and he was starving. It had to have been closer to the evening and Jin had missed lunch. He was used to eating in between meals as well and not eating was slowly becoming a torture of its own. Whenever he wasn't scared out of his mind he was hungry. He tried to pace to take his mind off of it. His footsteps became his only companion, his sneakers almost silent on the carpeted floor.

The door finally opened to the top of the stair well and Jin froze as he saw Jimin and Yoongi coming down the wooden stairs. Jimin's eyes locked with Jin's immediately and Jin shuddered as a smile spread out on Jimin's lips. It wasn't an unkind smile and it showed no hostility but Jin supposed that was what made it so scary.

Yoongi on the other hand was stoic and reserved. He didn't make eye contact with Jin, instead letting his eyes wander Jin's chest and stomach freely. There was something dark in his gaze and it made Jin shudder all over again with new found fear. He was carrying something in his hands. It was a case of some sort, leather and black. Jin knew it couldn't be anything good.

Nothing was said. No words were exchanged, only Jin's ragged breathing and the sound of Jimin's booted feet coming closer and closer to the older. There was something almost feral about Jimin. He had changed his clothes and combed his hair back from his forehead letting two of the larger locks fall down almost into his eyes. Gone was the mottled look and now Jin was met with a man dressed smartly. Jimin was wearing a long sleeve button up top, the color a rich red, darker than scarlet but not darker than blood. His slacks had been ironed recently, the crease prevalent in the black cloth and held up by a black belt with a silver buckle.