A/N: I'm adding a trigger warning because in my last chapter some of you weren't happy that I didn't put one... I'll just remind you that I put all the trigger warnings for this ff in chapter zero, please feel free to read them again. This fiction definitely isn't for you if you're easily triggered. I'm not going to put poetry where there isn't. Brutal things will be described brutally. I want to talk about sensitive, important subjects in this fanfiction, because I like to make meaningful works even if it's "just fanfiction", and I will do so as naturally as it comes to me. And it usually doesn't come in glittery unicorn shit. This fanfiction includes dark, sensitive themes, such as murder, rape, violence, mental illnesses, homophobia, transphobia, etc.
If you don't feel capable of reading about this, this fanfiction isn't for you. Big TW for this chapter, especially, probably one of the darkest I've written.
You've been warned, now please enjoy this long ass chapter (7,9K words bitches) and please let me know what you think...
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Namjoon enters his house slowly, careful not to make too much noise.
There's a woman lying on the couch, half asleep, lids heavy and tired. The moment she hears the door click shut, she uses the armrest as leverage to lift herself up into a sitting position. Once she sees Namjoon smiling at her at the door, she smiles back and motions him to come closer.
The tall man leaves his bag at the door and gets on his knees near the couch so he can bury his face in the crook of her neck, softly inhaling her sweet scent. As she tangles her fingers in his hair, he denotes the familiar smell of coconut scented shower gel. He takes a moment to revel in the shivers caused by her smooth fingers as they glide down his nape, lightly scraping the back of his head.
God, how much he needs this.
"Sorry I'm late," he whispers, planting a kiss on her shoulder, "there was a last minute emergency."
"It's okay. I've been waiting for you for dinner. Jaesun is already sleeping, though, so we shouldn't make too much noise."
Namjoon reluctantly tears himself away from the soft touches so he can look at his wife. Her face is puffy, she's clearly battling against fatigue, but to him she looks as beautiful as ever. He cups her cheek and stares back at her loving eyes, drowning in the sea of shining stars that live in her dark irises. He feels lucky to have her. It's thanks to that wonderful woman that he manages to get through every single hardship of his life every passing day, it's because of the way she loves him unconditionally when he comes home after a long shift that he has the strength to start another.
"Thank you for being here for me, I know it must be hard since I got promoted as head guard... All the impromptu overtime, the mood swings, and just... me being generally annoying."
She chuckles, slowly dragging her nails down Namjoon's cheeks.
"I'm your wife, it's my job to deal with your shit, just like it's yours to deal with mine."
"What shit? You're an angel," he smiles, eyes sparkling with pure love as they wrinkle at the corners.
She leans forward, her lips caressing his as they share a feather-like kiss. Namjoon's heart beats slowly in his chest, he breathes evenly and comfortably, his muscles are relaxed. He knows he's home, because he feels warm and at peace.
After dinner, Namjoon embraces his wife goodnight and goes out on the balcony for a smoke. She doesn't mind, she understands that he needs some relief, some time alone after spending a whole day surrounded by people. She just tells him to hurry up so they can cuddle to sleep, plants a sweet kiss on his lips and goes to the bedroom.
From a distance he can smell the dinner leftovers in the kitchen, he can hear the soft snores of his child in his room, and although he wasn't there he closes his eyes and tries to picture how the whole day went. Solely based on the little things he can see, smell, hear around the house, he builds up a beautiful memory he unfortunately couldn't truly experience because his job just doesn't leave him any time for that. So he sits on his balcony, cigarette held tight between his lips as he tries hard to replace the memories of his real day with images of the day he wished he had.
Anything to distract him from the things that occurred today.
But it seems that his mind isn't feeling merciful today, because it starts waltzing towards memories he'd rather forget, memories that bring him nothing but a hollow feeling of guilt. He remembers the days when he was a rookie in the police, when he was a fresh graduate and that he was excited about getting to drive with the sirens on, about having the authority to scold kids who weren't a day younger than him.
He was a smart one; the smartest among the policemen in training, actually. He was very helpful at all times, came up with good strategies during delicate operations, followed the rules and got along with his colleagues. Over the years, he outdid himself to try and get that promotion he'd always dreamed of, but he was new, young and inexperienced, they didn't assign him with operations big enough to get the recognition he needed for that promotion.
So when he got the perfect opportunity... he jumped on it like a starving wolf on a hare.
Seoul, eleven years ago...
"Hey, rookie!"
Namjoon's eyes shoot up from the documents in his hands to look at the woman coming towards him. She's got her dark hair tied up in a neat bun and is dressed in her police uniform. As she approaches Namjoon, she grabs the knot of her necktie and loosens it a bit, relief washing over her expression as she takes a deep breath.
"God, how can you still work during your breaks? When I finally get a moment to relax I don't wanna be anywhere near paperwork," she whines, practically collapsing on the bench next to Namjoon.
"That's because I actually like my job, Jisoo."
"You really want that promotion, don't you?" Jisoo watches as Namjoon takes a drag out of his cigarette. "Mind if I steal one?"
Namjoon hands her the pack and a lighter, eyes sinking back into the files. "Treat yourself."
"Thanks." She lights up the end of the stick, inhales deeply and places the lighter and nearly empty pack of cigarettes on the bench. Gray smoke slips out from between her heart shaped lips as she sighs. "Look, I'm gonna tell you something because I like you and I don't want you to get disappointed. Keep your expectations low, kid. You're fresh out of university, you're young, and as smart as you are, you're too inexperienced to be eligible for such a promotion so soon. Your smarts won't impress our superiors as much as efficiency on the field."
"How am I supposed to gain experience and prove my worth on the field if they don't give me jobs because I'm inexperienced in the first place?"
"I know it's stupid," she chuckles bitterly. "But it's the system."
"Fuck the system." Namjoon realizes his fingers have tensed up around the documents, paper slightly crumpled under the pressure. He tries to relax. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but I've been here for a year and all I've ever done was paperwork... it's just frustrating."
Jisoo looks down, nibbling on her lip. "You're still lucky, rookie. I had to go through military service first before I could get the job, even though I was just like you, one of the best and fresh out of university. They said I was lacking experience, while a lot of my male friends got to integrate the police as soon as they graduated. See where I'm going?" She chucks her still lit cigarette into a trash bin and it makes Namjoon cringe. "Be grateful for your privileges. Don't be too greedy."
The older woman ruffles her colleague's hair affectionately, flashing a compassionate smile at him. Jisoo has always been the nicest to Namjoon. She's always been there to give him advice and guide him, especially when he had trouble finding his marks at first. The other policemen in training don't speak to him — because he's the best, and being the best comes with a lot of collateral damage including being seen as a condescending narcissist by everyone else when all you've ever done was work hard and focus on your goals.
As for the rest of the team... well, most of them see him as a nerd, as an overly serious, boring man who spends his days burying his nose in paperwork in a hopeless attempt to take their place. They don't see him as a potential new member of their team, they see him as a pathetic excuse of a threat. Namjoon has never done anything to upset them, and yet he's having a hard time earning their trust and respect.
So he spends most of his breaks like that, sitting on a bench outside of the police station and chain smoking, focused on the paperwork he needs to do. He does that because other than Jisoo, he has no friends to chat with, no family to go home to, nothing. That leaves him with two options for his breaks: do nothing and contemplate how alone and unhappy he is, or bury himself in his work.
Making that decision was easy for him.
Almost as easy as it was for him to jump on the first opportunity to get what he wanted so badly, even if it meant destroying somebody in the process.
Daegu
Min Yoongi abruptly wakes up from his nap when the knocks on his door get significantly louder — and harder to ignore.
He sighs, stretches, and picks at the corners of his eyes to get rid of the crusts. He grabs his phone and traps it between his ear and shoulder, randomly picks up a bunch of files from his desk and opens one, before he gets up and heads towards the door just as the obnoxiously loud knocking resumes.
"Couldn't you get a clue that I'm fucking busy?" He growls as he opens the door to reveal a young man he recognizes as one of the receptionists.
For someone to knock at his door so insistently, he was certain it was the COO or anyone else who would have the actual nerve to defy him, not a receptionist. He put himself into all the trouble of pretending to work for nothing. Yoongi doesn't even bother sticking with his role and drops the files on his desk before sinking back into his desk chair.
"I-I'm sorry, Mr Min," the young man stutters, visibly tense, "but there's... there's a man who refuses to leave the bank until he speaks to you."
Fucking hell.
"What does he want?"
"He spoke to an advisor who rejected his request for a bank loan, from what I heard," the receptionist briefly explains and clears his throat when he sees Yoongi rolling his eyes. "He tried to negotiate but when he wouldn't leave to let the next person consult the advisor, we had to call security on him and they had to drag him out of the office. But now he's sitting on the floor and he won't budge until he gets to speak to a superior..."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Yoongi groans, "couldn't you ask the COO to take care of that?"
"I did try, she's unavailable at the moment."
That bitch. Yoongi knows she probably used the same strategy to avoid dealing with the problems, she probably just had enough patience to pretend for a while longer.
After Yoongi's father passed and left him with the responsibility of managing the family bank way too young, he was guided by the COO, a very good friend of his father: Hannah Yu.
Yoongi quickly found out why his father was so fond of her — she was the best in what she did. She managed the bank operations and solved every problem like it was the simplest of tasks. Despite her love for slacking off and taking naps at incomprehensible times of the day — a trait that oddly reminds Yoongi of somebody — she always took her job seriously.
After all, she didn't have a choice. She had to prove herself if she wanted to earn her colleagues' respect.
Those racist, misogynistic fucks weren't exactly delighted to find out a black woman was going to be their boss.
Hannah was stubborn, though. She was tough, relentless, it's her tenacity and perseverance that earned her the right to sit at the adults' table in a world where even a cis, fair skinned woman didn't have her place. And ever since she's earned that right, she's been climbing up the social ladder at an impressive pace. Min Yoongi's father was extremely fond of her, he trusted her more than he trusted his own son. The fact he put her in charge of the bank operations and asked her to look after Yoongi and train him until he became a proper CEO, that says a lot.
It's been two years now and Yoongi is only just starting to get the hang of it. He's twenty three, he's young and vigorous, he knows what his job is and does everything in his power to have it done by... somebody else.
Just like a proper CEO would.
But it looks like there's no getting away this time.
"Okay, fine, whatever." Yoongi reluctantly leaves the comfort of his chair to stand up. "He's still sitting on the floor?"
"Yes, Mr Min."
Yoongi treks towards one of the mirrors in his enormous office. He arranges his hair, lightly dusts off his suit, readjusts the collar of his shirt and smoothens out the creases in his clothes. He stares at himself for a minute, already annoyed by the whole situation.
"Here we go, I guess."
As Yoongi comes out of the elevator, he can see security surrounding a man on his knees who doesn't seem determined to budge.
The man looks... filthy. Aside from the fact his suit looks cheap and probably hasn't been ironed in a while, his rugged beard and greasy, balding hair probably make him appear far older than he is. He's kneeling on the floor and he's pathetic, he radiates despair and it seems that the man has nothing... or everything to lose.
Considering the fact he's causing a scene in a bank, Yoongi would bet on "everything". He's seen far too many men like him who are on the verge of losing all that they own and who lose all integrity the moment things don't go their way. God, how much Yoongi loathes those people.
He reluctantly approaches him.
"Get up, man. Have some dignity."
The client's head shoots up, panicked eyes locking with those of the young man towering over him. Yoongi sees panic slowly merge into confusion, then into a blatantly condescending look, a look that says exactly the same thing as almost every single person who has met him since he inherited the company, it says "That's the CEO? This kid?" and Yoongi hates it. He hates that fucking look, not because it makes him feel insecure, but because when he's given that look, it takes him a while before they actually start taking him seriously.
And Yoongi just wants to go back to his office and do fuckall. He doesn't have time to prove himself. He doesn't need to.
The man gets up, dusts off his clothes and holds out his hand for Yoongi to shake. There's a short moment of heavy silence before he realizes Yoongi doesn't intend to give him a handshake, so he clears his throat, straightens up and speaks.
"Good morning, Mr Min. I'm Hwan Byungchul. I'm sorry for causing a scene, but I just think that your employees didn't really understand my situation..."
"Oh, they did understand," Yoongi corrects him, "they're qualified advisors whom I trust to make the decisions that are asked of them. So they did understand, they just gave you an answer you weren't satisfied with. But go ahead, blow my mind."
The man audibly gulps, realizing that no, just because Yoongi is young, it doesn't mean he's going to get what he wants easily.
"Mr Min. I have a daughter. I'm the eldest of three brothers, and I need to take care of them. If we don't finish paying for our house, it's going to be taken away from us. I can't make my daughter and my brothers sleep in the streets, I need this loan—"
"Will you have the money to pay it back, with the interest, in a year?"
"Yes! Y-Yes, I'll do everything in my power to pay it back!"
Yoongi looks at the bank advisor who rejected his request. The woman looks slightly panicked by the sudden eye contact, but she manages to read the question in Yoongi's expression and silently replies with a shake of her head.
The young CEO sighs, redirecting his attention to the client.
"Well, your earnings as they are now clearly show that you'll never be able to pay it back unless you don't spend a single cent of your salary for a year. How exactly are you planning to get the money?"
"I-I'm trying to get a second job. With that, I will probably—"
"Probably?" Yoongi arches an eyebrow. "So you're not sure? And we're supposed to just hand money over to you based on probabilities?"
"But listen, my case is different—"
"Everyone thinks their case is special. We don't give any special treatments to people with sob stories. As I said, my employees are qualified enough to do their jobs properly," Yoongi starts turning around to make his way back to the elevator, motioning the client to leave with a gesture of his hand. "It's a fucking Friday. Everyone's tired. Stop wasting everybody's time."
There is heavy silence as Yoongi heads towards the end of the hallway to get the elevator. There is silence as he thinks about his next meal — that amazing Japanese restaurant down the street? Or maybe stick with lazy and get fast food delivered? — while the other man watches Yoongi stomp on his and his family's life with every step he takes towards that elevator.
What happens next, Yoongi doesn't quite understand it. Perhaps it's the fact he's always had what he wanted. Or maybe it's just because he's young, and he'll get wiser with time.
Perhaps he will never understand until he watches everything he's ever loved crumble right before him.
"What the—"
"Please," Byungchul pleads, sprawled out on the floor with his arms hooked to Yoongi's calf, "Please, I'm begging you— Please, I'm going lose everything. I'll do anything." He tightens his grip on the CEO's leg when the latter tries to shake himself out of his hold. He's crying, there's tears, drool and snot all over the fine material of Yoongi's suit. "My daughter, my sweet daughter, she can't—"
The pleads abruptly come to an end after a dry, sharp, percussing sound echoes in the hallway, replaced by a sudden groan, followed by quiet sobs.
It happened too fast for everyone to see, but upon seeing Byungchul lying on the floor with both hands covering his mouth and nose as droplets of crimson trickle down on the marble floor, it doesn't take a genius to understand what happened.
Yoongi breathes out, exasperated. He looks disgusted as he glances at his now free calf.
"Get him the fuck out of here. Delete the security camera footage of whatever happened here. I can't risk a fucking scandal."
Nobody says a word. Everyone executes the man's orders without a single protest, like their boss didn't just kick a desperate man in the mouth. Security guards drag the sobbing man out of the bank. Receptionists silently modify the footage. Advisors go back to their desks and wait for their next client. Janitors clean the blood on the floor.
Min Yoongi gets into the elevator and decides that he'll send someone to get takeout from the fancy restaurant down the street because he does want that Japanese meal, actually, he needs a break.
Min Yoongi just threw an entire family to the hounds of hell, and he's the one who needs a break.
All eyes are on the car the moment it stops in front of the gate.
Yoongi hates the attention. He mostly hates that he can't possibly avoid it without compromising. Here's the thing — he likes treating himself. He loves buying nice things, doesn't dwell too much on the price tag or the brans, to him there's no such thing as fancy or not, expensive or not. There are only things he likes and things he doesn't.
And he likes beautiful cars. Unfortunately, those are usually the ones that get a lot of attention when they pass by, and Yoongi's car is no exception to that.
So there's only one thing he can do: sit in his fancy car and hope his little sister comes out soon. He doesn't have much hope for that second part, though, because she's always been the sociable kind, the kind to linger around and chat with her friends for a while. At this point, honestly, Yoongi's gotten used to it, so he tilts back his seat and sinks into it, letting his eyelids slowly fall closed.
Twenty minutes later and after a well-deserved nap, Yoongi's woken up by his car door being pulled open, and when he turns around, he sees his favorite little monster.
"Hey, asshole," the girl says with a bright, gummy smile on her face as she slips into the passenger seat and slams the door behind her.
"Hey, brat." Yoongi smiles fondly and starts up the engine of the car. "How was prison today?"
"Great, actually! Lots of interesting classes. People complimented me a lot on my new dress. I feel super cute."
"You're probably the only teen in the world who actually likes school. I told you I had good taste." Yoongi starts driving out of the parking lot. "What about that— Put your seatbelt on— um, right, that boy who annoyed you?"
The teenager hums softly as she fastens her seatbelt. She lowers her head and nervously nibbles on her nail, biting off a patch of blue nail polish. Yoongi can see her out the corner of his eye, even though he's focused on the road, and gently pushes her hand away from her mouth.
She sighs. "The usual. Some comments. Some badmouthing. But people are on my side, now, so he barely gets any support when he tries to mess with me."
"That's good, You shouldn't pay attention to him then, focus on the people who have your back. It's gonna get better with time, okay?"
Her eyes glimmer, creasing happily at the corners as her smile makes her round cheeks puff out. Yoongi affectionately ruffles her hair. The engine of the car roars as he starts driving away. The dark brown strands feel smooth under his fingers. He quickly glances at the teen and notices something new.
"That's pretty," he compliments, pointing at the tips of her hair where the dark brown curls merge into a pale blue color. It's a little patchy, a little messy, but Yoongi thinks it looks good. "Did it yourself?"
"Thanks! I followed this tutorial on YouTube. I've also been using some products to make my hair grow a little faster."
"You're turning into a really pretty girl, aren't you? Careful, soon everyone's going to be all over you and your big brother's gonna be obligated to murder everyone."
The girl laughs and lands a playful punch on Yoongi's shoulder. The man can't contain the gummy smile that stretches across his lips, white teeth on display. He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but still uses his free hand to annoy his sister, tickling her here and there, pinching her cheek, messing up her hair. By the time he stops, she laughing and thrashing uncontrollably on her seat.
"You're stupid."
"But you love me," Yoongi chuckles. He stops messing with his little sister to grab the steering wheel with both hands and makes a turn. He can see their house a little further ahead. "You got any plans for this weekend?"
"I'm meeting up with Tae later, school ends at six for him, so maybe around nine."
"How come I've never met this guy? You hang out with him a lot."
"Because he rarely comes over, we mostly meet outside since he lives a little far from the city."
Yoongi hums, pressing a button to open the gate of their house. "Need me to pitch in a word to a bouncer?"
"Yoongi," she groans, rolling her eyes. "For the millionth time, I don't wanna go to nightclubs. And I'm fifteen, for fuck's sake, have a little sense of responsibility!"
Yoongi parks the car in front of the doorstep and puts his hand on the door handle.
"Fine," he drags out, with a cocky smile on his face. "Prude."
On those words, he hurriedly opens the door and jumps out of the car to escape his sister's imminent wrath. He feels a surge of wind on his cheek as a shoe flies out of the car and barely misses his head. He cackles uncontrollably, sprinting towards the house.
"Choke on a dick!" He hears her shout.
God, he loves her to death.
It's a little past nine o'clock when Taehyung sees a tall, familiar figure approach him. She looks especially good tonight, with her hair let down, blue and brown curls cascading down her shoulders, a short black dress showing off her long legs. He notices a bit of black eyeshadow on her dark, hooded eyes. He pockets his phone when she gets to him.
"Hot damn." Taehyung whistles. "Why would you do this to my poor heart?"
"Have you seen your fine ass in that outfit? Let me guess, Gucci?"
Taehyung laughs, bringing his cigarette to his mouth. "You know me too well, Geum—"
"Nabi," she interrupts him suddenly. Taehyung stares at her questioningly. She breathes in deeply. "I... I've decided. It's Nabi."
The confusion on the boy's face slowly fades into fondness as he understands what is asked of him. He takes one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it towards a trash can near them. He misses.
"Nabi. It suits you." He looks up at her with a smile and hooks his arm around hers, dragging her close. "Shall we grab a bite and then go to the Octagon to celebrate your new name now?"
There's slight hesitation in Nabi's eyes for a few seconds, until she remembers her brother calling her a prude and it fuels a fire she didn't know she had in her.
"You know what? Yeah. Let's go to a nightclub and party our asses off. Let me just call my brother so he can ask the bouncer to let us in..."
She starts reaching for her phone, but Taehyung stops her. "No need, the bouncers know me. I go to the Octagon all the time."
Nabi nods happily, and starts walking confidently beside her friend.
Far behind, creeping in the shadows where they can't see, a figure silently follows.
She never calls Yoongi that night.
It's three in the morning and Yoongi can't fucking sleep.
He's sitting on his balcony, leg bouncing, fingers numb, trembling from the cold. He looks like an absolute mess, his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep. The tips of his fingers are bloody from all the patches of skin he's ripped off while worriedly biting his nails. He's counting every second, and time seems to be agonizingly slow.
It's been three days, six hours, twenty-nine minutes and eight seconds.
Three days, six hours, twenty-nine minutes and eight seconds since Nabi left home and never came back.
Yoongi's pretty sure he's going insane from all the scenarios going through his head. He's got two phones on ring mode, volume turned all the way up, waiting for a call from the police, or the hospital, or anyone who might have seen one of the two hundred posters he plastered all over Seoul.
Taehyung's parents aren't in town, he couldn't reach them in any way, maybe their son is also missing for all he knows and they have no idea. Maybe he's the reason why Nabi disappeared. He can't know for sure.
God, he doesn't even know what the kid looks like. If he saw him on the street, he would have no idea it's him.
Maybe he's crossed paths with the person who took his little sister away and didn't know. Maybe he made eye contact with the asshole that's keeping her away from her home and doing god knows what to her.
Fuck, what are they doing to her?
Yoongi groans at the acute pain in his head and buries his face into his hands. His fingers travel up to hold onto his hair, pulling on the strands like he's about to rip them off his scalp. He's heaving and it's so fucking hard to breathe. Everything hurts. His stomach churns at the mere though of what she might be going through. He doesn't want to imagine it.
And he doesn't need to imagine it, because merely a minute later there's someone knocking and he dashes out of his room to practically throw himself on the door like a predator.
When he opens it, he barely has the time to see a car driving away at full speed. He almost flips out at the prospect of some stupid fucking kid doing a knock-and-run prank on him, until he notices something on his doormat. There's small CD case with his name scribbled on it. Eyebrows furrowed, he picks it up, takes it inside and inserts it into his laptop, hoping that it's not full of viruses.
And it's not.
It's worse.
"Look at the camera," a voice echoes in the background. The girl lifts up her head.
Nabi.
Her eyes are droopy and bloodshot, like she's been sleeping. She looks disoriented and it takes her a few seconds to realize the position she's in. And when it sinks in, she flips out.
She starts thrashing about, trying to scream through the duct tape gluing her mouth shut, desperately attempting to pull her wrists out of their bounds.
A man emerges into the field of the camera. He's got a mask and a cap on, as well as a pair of sunglasses to fully hide his face. Yoongi feels his blood run cold when he presses a knife to Nabi's jaw. Her eyes widen in sheer horror, her entire body stiffens. She whimpers when the blade travels up her cheek with just enough pressure to make her feel the sting without breaking the skin.
"Listen carefully," the masked man says, and his voice somehow sounds familiar, but Yoongi just can't put his finger on it. It's not what matters the most right now anyways. "You're going to gently shut the fuck up and do what's asked of you, okay, princess? Or do you want to end up like your little friend, over there?"
He points towards a corner of the room and Nabi looks in that direction. The second her gaze falls on whatever horrors lie beyond the camera, she sobs loudly, throwing her body forward. The movement makes the chair advance slightly, legs scraping acutely on the floor, but it's quickly yanked back to place by the masked man who presses his knife harder on Nabi's throat.
"What the fuck did I just say? Jesus, these rich fucking kids. You're all the same, you think you own the goddamn world. Well guess what? This is what happens when you think you're fucking better than everyone!"
The camera circles back to shoot, only for a few seconds, the body of what appeared to be a skinny boy on the floor. Only his back is visible, legs tucked in and arms wrapped around himself as he lies still, naked and covered in bruises.
"He's a lot quieter now," a voice different from the two others snickers and a new stranger steps into the frame, approaching the boy and casually resting his foot on his head.
Yoongi wishes he hadn't seen it. He really wishes he hadn't, it was only visible for a few seconds before the camera focused back on Nabi, and really -- maybe it's not what he thinks, maybe he only imagined it. Maybe he should've just ignored it.
But he can't. He can't pretend that he didn't feel bile piling up at the back of his throat and a sudden urge to throw up the moment he saw that used condom on the floor. He fucking can't.
And as if it wasn't already bad enough, it gets worse.
"Stay still," the first man orders as he pulls scissors out of his pockets.
He starts cutting her black dress in half. Nabi squeezes her eyes shut as hard as she can. Her jaw is visibly tense. Her tears are flowing down her cheeks and tainting them with black makeup. She attemps to close her legs, but her ankles are tied to the chair, making it hard to move. So she cries. She cries, and waits.
Once Nabi's dress is completely cut open, the man's eyes instantly lock on her crotch. He stays still for a moment, and once the realization dawns on him, he laughs.
Nabi whimpers.
"Holy shit, check this out," he cackles, motioning them to come. The other man steps closer and the camera zooms in on Nabi's body. "Can you believe this?"
Yoongi's fingers are gripping his laptop hard enough to crush it by now. The tips of his fingers are white and he can feel his lungs tightening so much they might explode at any moment. He wants to go through that fucking screen and gut those men alive. He wants to fucking gouge their eyes out so that they can never ogle anyone the way they're staring at his sister right now like she's a fucking circus freak.
"Who would've thought?"
He pockets his scissors and undoes Nabi's ties, freeing both her hands and ankles, then he grabs her brutally by the arm and forces her to stand up. She cries out in pain, trying her best to resist, but when the second man yanks her towards the camera with bruising force, there's nothing she can do. Her pale, bare skin appears on the screen, camera focused on her body and, especially, on what's between her thighs. On that one thing she has hated about herself ever since she was a child, on her biggest insecurity, on what ruins her reflection in the mirror every single day of her life. Nabi looks broken inside out as the men show her off like a hunting trophy, like an eerie discovery.
"Min Yoongi's little brother is a fucking tranny."
Yoongi audibly gulps.
"And while we have fun with your little faggot tranny, you are gonna kindly find an untraceable way to give us 600 million won by Wednesday. You don't do it by then, this video goes online. If you decide to give it in cash, only one of us will meet you, so you better not play any fucking games. You go to the police or tell anyone, we skin the tranny and his whore friend alive."
Before Yoongi knows it, rage is engulfing him whole, wrapping itself around his throat. The sound of his sister's muffled screams tip him over the edge and he throws his laptop across the room. It brutally crashes against the wall before falling down on the floor with some broken pieces scattering around, and while the screen goes completely black, the audio somehow keeps playing. The cries resonate in Yoongi's ears, he feels like every sob pierces through his eardrums to echo again and again in his head.
He feels like he's going insane.
Yoongi wants to fucking kill them.
Yoongi's going to fucking kill them.
Two years later...
"Fucking hell," Namjoon hears his colleague groan from afar as he stretches on his desk chair, looking spent. "I'm so damn pissed, kid."
Namjoon momentarily stops tapping on his keyboard and his eyes flicker up to look at the older man. He only captures his attention for a few seconds, though, and soon enough his eyes focus back on the computer screen as he quickly continues writing a report of his last boring patrol.
His colleague, however, somehow seems to understand that as a cue to share his personal troubles, and sighs audibly before starting to speak, as if Namjoon had asked him what was making him so upset.
"I can't ever do anything fun with this job. My schedule is always so packed. I wish I just had one night off to chill the fuck out and go out for drinks with the others."
Namjoon doesn't stop writing. He hums quietly, uninterested.
"I mean seriously, though," the other policeman continues, even rolling his desk chair annoyingly closer to Namjoon. "The team's going out for drinks tonight and I'm the only one who doesn't have his night off because of one stupid — but very important mission."
"Being in the police is a commitment that requires sacrifices, Sir," Namjoon simply replies, still not bothering to look at him.
"I know, kid, it's just... I'm getting old, y'know. This kind of shit is what got me promoted and was actually useful in my early years in the police, but now it's just pointless for me to do this... If someone with less experience took on this mission, it could actually really benefit them and even give them a shot at a higher position..."
Namjoon stops typing. He sees where this is going.
"I'm not allowed to take on missions that aren't adapted to my grade unless it's under the supervision of a superior, Sir."
The man groans, rolling his eyes back. "Come on, don't tell me you're not capable of camping out in front of a house in a concealed car for a few hours." He approaches Namjoon a little more, way past his minimum personal space bubble. "It's just for tonight. You need to watch out for anyone that comes near that specific house, especially if they drop something or try to break in, but I've been patrolling there for four months and nothing ever happened."
"Why do you have to camp out there? What's the case about?"
"Just tryna catch some guy and protect the people in there, nothing too complicated. He probably won't even show up. It's not important. I just need one night off, kid, I'll owe you one if you do me that favor. You never go out drinking with the team, so I'm assuming you're not doing anything tonight. Plus, you might even get some bonus experience points for taking on that mission. Consider it a gift."
The younger man takes some time to think about it.
He's been in the police for two years now. He's twenty-six, and just when he thought he was finally going to get a little more action after he got transferred to Seoul, all he ever got was freakishly boring fucking patrols and useless interventions. He's tired of not being taken seriously, of never getting the cases that actually interest him. He just scolds troubling teenagers and responds to noise complaints all day long, or drives around a few empty blocks during long nights where nothing ever happens.
He's bored. He wants to climb up the ladder faster, he wants more in less time, he's running out of patience.
So if giving up a night off to take on a colleague's job can help things get a little more interesting, it frankly sounds like a good compromise.
"Fine. Give me the address and the person I should be looking out for. I need the files for the case, too, so I'll have something to read during the patrol and so I can at least know what I'm supposed to do if something happens."
"You're a fucking gem, kiddo." The man grabs him by the jaw and brutally plants a slobbery kiss on his cheek. "The files are on my desk. Treat yourself."
A little confused — and very disgusted, Namjoon wipes some saliva off his cheek and shakes his head as he watches the man stand up and cheerfully shout "partayyyyyy" as he dances his way towards the group of coworkers that, now that he thinks about it, probably have been watching them for a while.
He silently stares at them as they walk away.
It's not that Namjoon doesn't like to party. He loves partying, he used to go out all the time when he was a student, because he had it easy. He worked hard, but not as hard as others, because he's always been extremely intelligent and everything was just... easier, for him. But now that he's in the professional world, he can't go to parties and expect results.
He's mature enough to realize that while he was easily the best among the other students in university, it is now about being the best among the best. He's no longer the big brain that stands out, he's not a special brilliant mind anymore.
He used to be like a hot sun in a clear sky. He shined so bright, there was only him and nothing else. But now that the night has come, in a sea of shiny stars he needs to be the moon if he wants to be seen.
A chill travels down Namjoon's back when he rolls his window down and the night air slips into the car. He's lucky they provided him with a civil car that has a working heating system, but after reading everything about the case his colleague put him on, he needs a fucking smoke. His fingers shake around his lighter as he lights the cigarette trapped between his quivering lips.
He's tracking a fucking murderer.
Namjoon cranes his neck to look around the neighborhood and notes that the house of interest — he's parked a few blocks away from it — looks nicer than the others. The neighborhood is relatively modest, it looks like a calm neighborhood full of lower middle class families whom invite each other to barbecues no one ever shows up to, because no one ever feels like spending money on something as expensive as meat. That house, however, with its neatly mowed lawn and decorated porch, looks like it is home to the kind of family that would buy enough meat for twenty people at a barbecue.
That train of thought reminds Namjoon that he's a little hungry, but that sensation dissipates the moment he thinks about the case files again.
That house unfortunately has been grieving, because it has known many tragedies. It was the home of a happy family of two brothers and the eldest's wife and child. The Hwan family.
Their life was relatively calm and fulfilling, until one of the brothers disappeared a year ago.
His name was Hwan Byungchul.
He was an older brother, a husband and a father. He was missing for almost three months and, although the police already had a prime suspect, there was absolutely nothing left behind to help them find him.
The next time Hwan Byungchul was seen was when he was discovered by his ten year old daughter Hyejin on their front porch, wrapped up in a bloody garbage bag with his face disfigured, his body mutilated and the words "RAPIST" engraved in his chest with deep cuts.
The police instantly launched a manhunt for Min Yoongi, the bank CEO who had pressed charges against him the previous year for allegedly raping and torturing his younger sister.
The charges were unfounded, Min Yoongi had no proof whatsoever, he just kept looking for trouble in court, shooting deadly glares at anyone who contradicted him, coming back with a new lawyer at each hearing after firing the previous one. He went on and on about a videotape he never brought and never showed. He was like a madman trying desperately to convince everyone including himself that the Hwan brothers went after him after he refused to give them a loan. He presumably had a witness and second victim, some kid who was friends with his sister and who, he certified, was also assaulted. That witness was never seen. Even his sister, the alleged victim, never showed up to testify.
When the judge decided to dismiss the case, he looked like he was on the verge of insanity, he blabbered for a good ten minutes about how he was going to bring the tape, play it and ruin the Hwan brothers for good. He was granted one last hearing.
But the night before his little sister tried to kill herself and that tape suddenly didn't exist anymore. Min Yoongi never went to the hearing. The case was dismissed and never heard of again.
That, until Hwan Byungchul went missing shortly after the last hearing and Min Yoongi disappeared off the face of the earth with him.
And four months ago, his brother went to work one morning and never came back home.
The manhunt is still going on. Min Yoongi is nowhere to be found. But this time they're prepared for the worst, because if the murderer shows up on the front porch and drops another body in front of the house, he's not going to get away with it because a qualified policeman will neutralize him and call for backup to arrest the criminal.
Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be, until said policeman exchanged his shift with a young, barely qualified young man whose most dangerous job was chasing a sixteen year old who stole a pack of beer from a convenience store.
Kim Namjoon is not ready to face a potential serial killer. That's not what he fucking signed up for, and yet there he is, hoping that he can smoke the fear out, pretending that the only reason he's shaking is the cold of the night. He reassures himself by thinking that after his colleague patrolled near the house for four months without ever encountering the killer, he'd have to be really unlucky to be there, coincidentally, the night Min Yoongi chooses to drop a dead body.
Then again, Kim Namjoon also managed to be the most brilliant student out of his university and then spent two years in the police force without ever landing an interesting case.
Then again, Kim Namjoon is a clumsy kid, somehow breaking everything he puts his hands on even when he tries to be careful.
Then, somehow, his lighter stops working when he tries to light another cigarette, pitiful sparks appearing for a split second before fading out.
Namjoon remembers that he is really fucking unlucky.
And right at that moment, headlights blind him as they flash from down the street while a car far too fancy to belong in this neighborhood slowly approaches the house.