*says she's not gonna update in a while*
*updates earlier than she usually does*
*sigh*
___________
Freshly showered and after a relatively decent dinner, Taehyung walks into his cell in his usual large shirt and boxers attire. Droplets of cold water fly out of his damp hair as he ruffles it messily and approaches his desk, on top of which he finds the small phone he left in Jimin's office yesterday.
With a sigh, he grabs the cell, unlocks it with the code that has been previously given to him along with the forms, and opens the contacts list. As expected, all the requested contacts are saved with the names he asked to be assigned to them, and as he scrolls down he finds the contact he's been searching for.
He licks his lip and, with a heavy heart and a thumb hovering over the call button, sits on the lower bunk bed and musters up the courage to press the fucking button. Slight anxiety takes over him as he hears the ringback tone. It evolves into full-blown panic as he hears a static for a few eternal seconds, before a familiar stern voice speaks out.
"Hello?"
"Dad?" Taehyung says softly, lips trembling. "Dad, it's me."
"Are you alone?" He asks in a strict tone.
No asking about how he is, about how he's holding up. No telling him how much he misses him. Not an ounce of relief in his voice after Taehyung disappeared for a week when he was supposed to call him the morning after his incarceration.
Okay. Alright.
"Yeah." Taehyung recomposes himself and speaks with a firmer voice. "How's... work?"
"A fucking mess, I'm drowning in files and unsolved cases. I just wanna throw all of this shit to the trash and send all the fuckers to prison. It was easier when you were helping out."
"Which trial's the closest?" Taehyung asks, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
"Some idol called Choi Minho."
Taehyung quirks up an eyebrow and falls back to lie on the bed, phone pressed against his ear.
"Defendant or litigator? And what are the charges?"
"Some girl sued him for allegedly sexually assaulting her. There are witnesses saying she was spotted inside the hotel the idol stayed in and--"
"Dad," Taehyung interrupts him, corners of his lips twitching as he bites back a laugh. "Choi Minho's gay."
There's a silence for a few seconds before his father speaks again, suspicious.
"How do you know that?"
"Trust me." Taehyung chuckles.
Then it's silence again and Taehyung can only hear the sound of his father's breathing. It's somehow soothing and calming, and for just a bit the muscles in his body relax and he allows himself to close his eyes, until he recalls the reason why he called him in the first place and all of a sudden he stiffens again.
"Tell me," he starts, doubt dripping from his shaky voice. "Dad, why did you refuse to come see me at visitation?"
More silence. The breathing sounds stop. Taehyung's throat feels dry.
"I... thought it was an unnecessary risk. People could see us and recognize me."
"There are private visitation rooms." Taehyung responds although he knows his father is aware of that, very much aware.
"Still, they could recognize my car in the parking lot, or see me going into the prison, or--"
"So you're just not going to see me for f-fifteen years?" Taehyung's voice cracks and he doesn't even bother hiding it.
"Son, there are exceptional authorizations that are given sometimes, I can arrange one and you can come see me if you want."
Taehyung laughs bitterly. "You and I both know they only give those for funerals. Planning to not see me until you're dead?"
He hears his father sigh and he can clearly picture him leaning on his desk and taking his glasses off to set them on the wooden surface before bringing his fingers to his face and massaging the bridge of his nose in that manner that never fails to make Taehyung stifle a laugh. He reminisces every time he's seen that, every time he's been a disappointment and a pain in the ass to the point where he made a migraine creep into his father's head. Every time he successfully made the usually calm, cold-blooded and respected judge front falter, every time he managed to make the blank, emotionless mask crack slightly.
Taehyung remembers all that and realizes, somewhat resentfully, that if he doesn't see his father before he dies his last achievement would be to have made him drink out of sorrow.
"Good night, dad." Taehyung says.
He doesn't wait for a reply and ends the call, stretching his arm out and letting the phone fall to the floor. He stares up at the underside of the top bunk: the specks of gray dust in the corners, the thin threads coming out of the worn out mattress, the slightly rusty metal, the scratches, stains that resemble dried up blood that wouldn't come out despite being washed, every single trace of time that recounts a story Taehyung's not sure he wants to know.
He wonders how much of his story will remain within the thick walls of this prison in fifteen years.
"I should've figured you had some daddy issues." A voice suddenly speaks out, pulling Taehyung out of his contemplation. "A lot of things make sense, suddenly."
Taehyung props himself up on his elbows, bending one of his legs and whipping his head towards the doorframe of the cell.
A man with dark brown hair, tan skin and a smug grin stands there, leaning against the wall, bare arms crossed on his muscled chest that looks good under the thin material of his tank top. His neck and collarbones are still covered in purple blotches while his damp hair is slicked back and seems slightly shorter than what Taehyung recalls.
"You cut your hair?" He asks, dodging the sensitive subject.
"You're observant. I got a little trim, yeah." Jungkook says and watches as Taehyung falls back on the bed with a thud, shirt riding up and exposing his boxers and tummy. He arches up an eyebrow, and approaches his cellmate. "No teasing this time? Should I be worried?"
"Is your inner attention whore shaking 'cause I haven't flirted with you enough today?" Taehyung groans, exasperation clear in his voice.
Jungkook feels the sting of his words and it almost angers him, until he sees the heartbroken expression on Taehyung's face, the way his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and how he inhales and exhales deeply, carefully, pacing himself.
There's an unexplainable twinge in Jungkook's chest that somehow pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed and rest his palm on Taehyung's bare, soft tummy.
"It's not as effective to insult me while trying not to cry, you know." Jungkook whispers, absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles on Taehyung's stomach with the pad of his thumb.
"Go fuck yourself." Taehyung spits. "Aren't you supposed to be plotting my death? Or was I wrong all along to think the almighty Jeon Jungkook isn't a little bitch?"
Jungkook stops caressing Taehyung's belly. Instead, his fingers dig into the flesh as he grabs his hip roughly and pulls him down the bed before leaning in an inch away from his face, his other hand coming to cup his jaw firmly. He sees the ire dripping from the boy's eyes and the way they glisten slightly from unshed tears. Taehyung glares at him for a second and Jungkook swears he sees a slight droplet starting to fall down his long eyelashes, but then Taehyung closes his eyes and it disappears.
"Look." Jungkook commands, holding his face tighter. "Look at me."
A quiet yelp comes out of Taehyung's parted lips before he opens his eyes. There's something about the way Jungkook stares down at him with those, dark, intense eyes, and he doesn't know what it is, but it just breaks him and he lets out a heartbreaking sob. A single tear rolls down his cheek. He holds back the others.
Jungkook's voice is soft and gravelly when he speaks. "If you've really got fifteen years in this shithole, you need to be tough, okay? It'll crush you. It'll crush you and your relationship with the outside 'cause this isn't a fucking game, Gucci boy. Time doesn't wait for you. People don't wait for you. You need to let go and start over." He brushes his finger across his cheek, drying the small tear so gently Taehyung doesn't know what to think. "You can't cry. Not in front of them. Bottle it up, don't ruin that image of the fearless piece of shit pretty boy they've got of you now, okay?"
Taehyung lets out a chuckle at that, though the laugh is faint, weak. It still makes the corners of Jungkook's mouth twitch before he represses the urge to smile.
"You've already failed once and broke down in front of me. Let me be the only one who's ever seen you cry in this place, okay?" Jungkook adds, still brushing his finger against Taehyung's cheek although there are no tears left.
Taehyung laughs more enthusiastically this time. "That question sounds wrong in so many ways."
"Fucking hell, you're cuter when you shut up and cry." Jungkook lies, rolling his eyes and groaning in annoyance. "Don't make me regret not killing you."
The older man smiles, lips shaping into a pretty box smile and starry eyes crinkling up at the corners. He shifts slightly and Jungkook remembers that his hand's still on his hip. Taehyung's bare skin feels smooth and warm, so much that he just wants to touch more, feel more.
He instinctively allows his hand to travel up the man's soft tummy, grazing his sides, slipping under the shirt and--
Taehyung's eyes flutter shut, lips parting around a sweet sigh, and it's the way Jungkook's stomach throbs that snaps the younger man back to reality.
He gasps and pulls his hand out of Taehyung's shirt, hurriedly standing up and walking to the center of the cell. He rakes his fingers through his dark brown hair, slightly pulling at the locks to remind himself of how fucking stupid what he was about to do is. He breathes out, ignores the heat coursing through his body, and throws his head back.
"Curfew's coming up. I need to deal with some business." Jungkook declares, not daring to turn around for fear he might make a stupid mistake.
"As in ask your minions to stop plotting my death and focus on someone else 'cause I'm nice after all?" Taehyung jokes, sitting up and still trying to recover from the previous events.
Jungkook can't help but snort, shoulders shaking as he holds back a laugh. "You haven't earned that yet."
Silence falls on both of them, and after a bit Jungkook clears his throat before dashing out of the cell without a word. He recomposes himself, wipes the idiotic smile off his face and pushes the image of the pretty boy out of his mind. He straightens into his usual confident posture and walks sanguinely down the hallways. Curfew's coming up, so he only has two hours before the guards check the cells and the blocks are put on lockdown.
He spots the man he's looking for sitting on a couch inside his block with a couple other inmates, all surrounding a table and visibly playing cards. Jungkook sees one of them throw in a full house and the rest of the men groan in annoyance.
"Jae." Jungkook calls and one of the men whips his head up, smile falling off his face as soon as he sees Jungkook. The man instantly scrambles up to stand, but comes to a halt when Jungkook speaks again. "You can stay seated, I just need to tell you something."
"Boss, I was actually looking for you this morning, we need to talk about--"
"Listen to me first." Jungkook commands and the guy clamps his mouth shut. "Call off the Gucci boy thing. Let the others know he's not a threat anymore."
Jae gulps audibly, eyes widening as the other men stare down at their cards way too intensely for it to seem natural.
"Actually, you might not wanna do that, boss." Jae says.
Jungkook quirks up an eyebrow, frown appearing on his face. Is he defying him? Refusing to accomplish his orders? If he didn't know better, Jungkook might've thought that.
But the look of fear on the man's face says otherwise.
"You know the guy who was busted by Officer Kim in block B? Had some powder in his cell? You asked us to beat him up so he doesn't talk?" The man keeps going, gauging Jungkook's expression which is growing more and more suspicious.
"What about him?"
"We... did as you said. But he said even if he did talk it wouldn't affect us." Jae recounts, voice hesitant and fearful. "Cause the drugs he got... they weren't from us."
Jungkook stiffens. He rolls his hands up into fists, clutching so tightly his knuckles turn white. The veins in his arms pop out, pulsing under his skin like he's about to crush someone's skull. His blood boils, anger rising and engulfing him whole. Never, not once in all those years he's been in charge of this prison, has anyone taken the initiative of starting a drug trade. Not when he clearly showed that anyone who tries to challenge him will either lose their family, their dignity, their life or all three.
"Who the fuck is selling?" He growls.
Jae braces himself for what's coming. He inhales deeply, and speaks.
"Your cellmate."