danger

12: cartoons

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Minjun awoke with a heavy ache coursing his body.

A bandage was coiled around his neck, a painting of soothing cream trapped beneath in the hopes that it would relieve the burns and abrasions he was given by the restrictive chains. More petite squares of dressing were taped to his jawline, briefly healing the smaller cuts.

His wrists were also imprisoned in the off-white sheets, once again washed and on the mend — as they'd healed perfectly, and even Jungkook was mindful not to touch them.

Dense padding covered the top of his left knee, held tightly to his flesh by tens of adhesive strips, which would inevitably hurt if he tried to remove them. While he knew what had happened underneath the dressing, the only thing he felt was a pinching feeling and a faint pulsating.

The boy's ankle was concealed beneath a solid, black boot. It was snug, making Minjun unintentionally uncomfortable as he tried to squirm his toes.

"Hey." Minjun slowly turned his head to face to the sound of the masculine voice that entered his awareness, the flesh of his neck feeling unimportantly sensitive as it scraped against the bandages. He saw the medic gangster, the man who kidnapped him, Jung Hoseok.

"You should know that we will only ever hurt you if you deserve it," he said with a little smile on his dawn-tinted lips, "it will be hard but you don't need to be scared around us." Hoseok took discretion in reaching forward to check on his state.

The teenager flinched from his touch, a hushed gasp leaving him as he immersed himself into the bed.

Hoseok sighed with a minuscule frown, "Is there anyone here that you'd rather see now?" Minjun followed the boy with his enlarged eyes, watching as Hoseok laid a reassuring hand over his uninjured knee.

"Suh-Seokjin..."

"I'll go and see if he's free," Hoseok nodded and shut the door considerately, leaving to find the chef.

The unfortunate, young boy tried lifting his left leg, bending his knee only to find that the shooting pain returned once he tried to move it. Regretfully, he laid it back down, now feeling a severe punch in the area of the wound.

The door to the medical room reopened shortly after Hoseok left, this time loud enough for the teenager to notice and tilt his head so that he could see the new entry.

"Good morning, Minjun," Seokjin grinned, stalking up to the hospital bed and resting on a stool beside his hostage, "how are you feeling?"

Minjun smiled weakly, feeling newfound protection in the presence of the eldest of the gang members.

"F-fine."

"You understand, don't you?" Seokjin rubbed his hand delicately over Minjun's ghastly cheeks, "we have to punish you so that you'll learn. You aren't here as a hostage, baby, but we can't let you leave yet."

The man paused to wipe a stray tear off of the boy's face before proceeding, "if you behave you'll be treated just like the rest of us."

Just like a faucet, Minjun began crying quietly at the sound of Seokjin's words. He sniffled and whimpered, swallowing any sobs that would probably damage his throat any more.

"It's okay," Seokjin cooed, "we're going to look after you."

"Can you answer two questions for me?"

Minjun glanced through his heavy eyelids, showing the elder that he was listening — and waiting, for his questions.

"Okay, how old are you? Are you seventeen?" Seokjin queried, a calming quality in his voice. Minjun nodded his head when the man proposed his age, giving his response worldlessly.

"When's your birthday?"

Minjun opened his mouth and coughed a little, testing the uncomfortableness, "tuh-twelfth of m-march."

"About five months, huh?" Seokjin smiled, petting his hands on the boy's (uninjured) thigh before standing, "let's get you moving, kid."

"That wasn't so hard, hm?" Minjun grimaced and gazed up at the elder as he was placed onto the living room couch, a blanket thrown over him. After he woke up, Minjun found that he was only clad in new shorts, and a hoodie that looked dissimilar to the one he had the day prior.

He used whatever strength he could to envelop himself in the blanket, wanting greatly to curl himself up.

Favourably, it was only Minjun and Seokjin in the lounge. The teenager yearned for it to stay that way, but he knew that there wasn't much point in wishing so. Sooner or later, it would be plagued by one of the sinful men — the man who killed his parents, or maybe the man who stabbed him and busted his ankle.

Punishment. He found it hard to believe. Jungkook had such a murderous look in his low, chestnut eyes, that to Minjun it felt as if he would have killed him if he was allowed.

"I'm going to get you some food," Seokjin said, giving Minjun a television controller and a half-pint of water.

The boy watched as his maturest captor left the room, feeling a desolate sense of trepidation surrounding him. He wouldn't be able to escape if one of them returned, he'd have to sit and endure what horrors the men would offer.

Minjun fiddled with the remote control, finding the power button and then scrolling through infinite channels. He discovered that the men in the house had favourited the news channels, making them quickly accessible.

The boy ignored those, diving straight for what he knew might cheer him up a little. He searched down countless pages of digital lists, until he found the children's channels, and enjoyed himself as he indulged in whatever cartoons he could find.