Days of Grace | vkook

°32: The Soft or The Hard Way?

"I asked Kuro and the others for help."

Minho returned his Hyung's questioning gaze with such natural self-esteem that Taehyung couldn't find the right words to lecture the younger about his daring act. The way his small eyes glistened with pride and how his chest puffed up, as if he had received a medal or high ranking, only confirmed that the teenager would argue back as soon as Taehyung expressed his concerns or anger.

I swear, this is the last time I'm asking this moron for help. What a headless idiot, the blond ranted in his thoughts and decided to dismiss the remark from his mind since he wasn't in the mood to argue. Instead, he acknowledged the answer with a devoted sigh.

"I hope nobody was in serious danger," he dreaded the thought of the possible risks.

If the guards had caught them and discovered any connection between the kids and V, one could be certain that they'd spend the rest of their lives in Agma's dungeons; if God was gracious enough, then below ground.

There wasn't the slightest hint of compassion regarding age in the Pastor's demeanor, and Taehyung simply hoped that Minho's little gang, who were also orphans, understood how close they had come to a death sentence yesterday.

"Of course, they were safe! Some of them were chased by guards, but we easily outran them," a snort sounded. "It's our playground they're messing with. We were literally raised by the streets, you should know that, Tae!"

And with that, the latter tried to halt the interrogation by handing the elder a piece of dried meat. Taehyung inspected the stick, his mouth watering and his stomach instantly yearning for it, emitting growling noises.

"The prank was a complete success. We should freakin' celebrate!"

"Mhm..." Taehyung nodded as if hypnotized, his attention fully focused on the food. His last meal had been almost 20, no scratch that, 22 hours ago whereas one couldn't consider eating a raw onion as a meal.

"We should invite the others and have some drinks, and before you start acting like an overprotective mom, yes, I know, underage drinking, blah blah blah," Minho rolled his eyes, "but no one cares in Bitan, and maybe we can get some— hey! Are you listening?"

Taehyung ate the meat with meticulous awareness, pushing everything else that didn't belong to his little feast out of his mind. He savored every bite, relished the taste of the salty flesh on his tongue, and enjoyed the crunch of the dry texture.

Minho couldn't pull him away from his appetite. Moreover, the pitiful sight stirred a strong mix of anger and helplessness in his gut: it would take Taehyung barely a snap of his fingers to end his misery, to escape the shackles of poverty.

So why was he still suffering?

"Can I have another slice?"

Minho observed the empty hand before letting his gaze wander up to a pair of wide sable eyes.

The same wide sable eyes that had saved his life a long time ago.

It had been the seventeenth day when his ten-year-old self had roamed the streets, desperately searching for something to eat. The dirty rainwater flowing down rusty pipes and into barrels in the alleys was the only sustenance his stomach had seen in the past few days.

Taehyung had just managed to escape an angry baker from whom he had pilfered a piece of cake when he almost tripped over Minho's huddled figure. Stick-thin arms and exposed bony ribs, covered in dust and mud, had caught Taehyung's attention immediately. The silent plea in Minho's dull eyes and the quivering of his lips upon seeing the delicious pastry in Taehyung's hands would forever be etched in his memory.