Two Sided

Chpt 1

Jungkook squeezed V's hand as he held the gun close to his chest, tears blurring his vision. He was thankful V had a hold on his wrist and was guiding him because if it weren't for the other, Jungkook would've fallen by now and not have the courage or willpower to stand back up and keep running.

This was now, the present and not the past, even though the actions of some people caused them all to be in this place. Some actions that can never be taken back. Ever.

But, like this, it was for the best; best for the past actions for happening. It was a life or death situation, but that was okay. They were going to be okay

Because he promised.

The individual does actually carry on a double existence: one designed to serve his own purposes and another as a link in a chain, in which he serves against, or at any rate without, any volition of his own.

It all started with a letter.

An innocent fan letter to an idol to spark that distant thought.

Distant thought and memory that belonged to that idol.

An idol who had captivated the hearts of thousands, if not millions, of people.

An idol who was considered more famous than other legendary idols that had been around far longer than he had.

An idol who made time for fans, who had rumors spread around like crazy about him whenever he showed a fan kindness, whether it be slight skinship at his fan meets or a happy chuckle from a joke.

An idol whose time costed money. Lots of it.

So why did one letter, a letter showing how much he looked up to him, catch his eye so quickly and why did he become so subconsciously attached...?

•••

3 months earlier

The curtains filtered the bright lights from outside, making them dim in the grey scaled room. One man was sitting on the edge of the bed while the other was dead asleep, one arm over his eyes while the other was spread to the side, one leg propped up while the other was bent and spread. His lips were parted but there were no breaths. No breathing.

Dark eyes looked to him, scanning over his naked pale body in slight disgust. He had done his job, a job he was able to accomplish faster than the other made it out to be. A job that would take most people days to prepare for and weeks to follow through with.

Making sure evidence was destroyed was probably the most fun yet hardest part of the job. Make sure anything you touched was wiped down, leave nothing that your bare skin came in contact with, including the blankets, used condoms and dirty tissue used to clean up the aftermath. He slid black gloves on and cringed at each rolled up tissue he picked up, sticking his tongue out while muttering, "Ew...ew...ew...ew...ew.."

Once everything was cleaned, sheets were even changed and the body was slightly moved from the position it was in, he sighed, pulling on his black leather jeans and his baggy white button up shirt that was thin. He tucked the bottoms into his pants, securing it with a belt. Looking in the mirror he debated whether or not to roll up his sleeves or leave them to hang along with his arms, and after five minutes, he agreed on the latter.

Slipping his shoes on, he grabbed a sharpie that was in his jacket pocket and took a piece of paper out as well, writing a note on it. He placed the note next to the pink haired male, staring down at the lifeless body, adjusting the paper so it was on the pillow right next to his head. Lifting his hands, he created an imaginary camera, looking at the scene through it.