Bitch boys | NCT Mafia AU

Rebirth; (CH50)

Jaemin didn't always do drugs. Nor did he ever have the compulsive need to hang over a random guard and take a whiff of the smoke the cigarette it was emitting.

He laid there, motionless, in that air vent and closed his eyes. Trying to find a high in the smell of herbs.

It made him think about the first time he ever tried it out and coincidentally, it was, of course, with Taeyong.

•

They had just killed a man. For Taeyong it was one of many countless. But for Jaemin, at the age of 13, it was his first.

He lost his "murder virginity" as all the guys at NCT would joke around.

They would organise a cake, a party, even drinks to celebrate the latest kill. No one cared that he was 13. In fact, it was late. Killing at 13, in SM, was embarrassing, humiliating.

As everyone's hung their arms around him, yelling into Jaemin's ear proudly ear over the loud music that made fireworks sound quiet, Jaemin felt the unbearable need to burn the place down.

He withdrew himself from the crowd and hid a couple of explosives underneath his shirt.

He didn't want to blow himself up, he had school the next day and it was his friendship anniversary with Y/N and Jisoo. So, he figured that if he was convicted of the crime, it would at least be some good time after the anniversary.

Jaemin remembered panting, as he connected a vast range of wires to different plugs, tucking the actual explosive itself, underneath the fireplace to make it look less suspicious.

He had no idea what he was doing but it was okay. He killed a man with the same mentality, and he knew it didn't take a lot of brains to get that done and over with.

Jaemin held his breath every time the match struck.

Awaiting for it to light.

Praying.

His body arched, ready to sprint.

Ready to leave.

Ready to forget.

Just as the match sparked. A single ember errupting to a small fire.

He sighed with relief.

This would be the end.

He would never have to kill again. He would never have to do that ever again.

He wouldn't ever have to have his hands stuck around a man's neck, strangling him mercilessly as his face turned blue. He wouldn't ever have to look at a mans used face as the spirit left his body.

Never ever again-

'Put that match down.' Taeyong, 18 years old at that time, stepped into the room.

Jaemin gasped, the air that filled his lungs scratched his throat as he exhaled.

He dropped the match, flipping out of his fingers upon shock.

It landed, thankfully, on the ceramic floor beneath him and not into the fireplace.

Taeyong dropped down beside Jaemin and sat still next to him, not even bothering to touch the explosives that were ready to errupt and burn everything alive.

It didn't even seem Iike he cared much, it was more like he felt as if he had to do it out of responsibility.

He took out a worn out, scratched up plastic ziplock bag.

Jaemin felt as if he was watching an episode of an American teen show.

Taeyong threw one over at Jaemin.