Don't Call Me Angel || VMIN

τριάντα ένα

Voices poured out of the room, undisturbed by the younger's arrival, and he slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a click. Taehyung glanced over at him briefly and sent him a swift reassuring smile before he turned back to the screen Seokjin was furiously typing away at. Standing taut on the other side of the desk was Yoongi. He was holding a phone to his ear, listening raptly to whatever was coming through the line. The agitation in the air was evident and, although the three were doing well to conceal it, he could see the alarm hiding behind their calm exteriors, a result of the current problem.

Words from the phone conversation drifted over to the dancer and he stilled in his spot, recognising the names mentioned. Even though he knew this would happen, he couldn't control the knot of anxiety that clawed at his gut. He turned his head in order to hear them clearer and noticed both people sitting at the desk doing the same. All eyes in the room were now glued to the mint-haired man, hooked on catching every word he was saying.

"He's a liability that V needs dealt with, RM. He took advantage of Sunwoo's line of work. Regardless of everything else, he somehow managed to make him feel like it was necessary to hook him up with one of his strippers which means he's on good terms with Sunwoo. Jin said there's no paper trail for the transactions made regarding the session with Angel either, so that makes it obvious he wanted it kept quiet."

Jimin's cheeks flushed with shame at the mention of his stage name and he lowered himself into an armchair, perching on the edge in an attempt to avoid any attention. He wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by the soft leather. Luckily, the current focus of the room was heavily on the words pouring from Yoongi's mouth.

"Are you able to see to him tonight? V thinks Ryung might know something's up so he's contacted Jungkook to make sure everything runs smoothly," he paused, apparently listening to the person on the other end of the line, "Alright, I'll send through the address now."

The room quietened and a low chime signalled the end of the call. It was the only sound aside from the tick of the hall clock and the dancer sunk further into the chair, grateful that he wasn't bothered by the feeling of the material against his skin.

So, that's how things were sorted out. The ravenette had made a few assumptions about how the matter would be handled and he couldn't deny that this had been among them. To hear it put into action, however, to know that they could so easily dispose of people, was a whole different affair. No one else was perturbed by the decision made, they had simply gone back to quietly discussing whatever Seokjin had pulled up on the screen.

That man deserved it, he tried to persuade himself, he had done appalling things to who knows how many other people. Regardless of the trauma he had been put through, the image of Soojin's warm smile after her husband had arrived drilled into his mind. He was torn up over how she would react when she found out, certain that she would hate Taehyung when she realised he was the cause of it. Had no one considered that? If she knew the truth, that Ryung had slept with someone else, an eighteen-year-old boy at that, then maybe she would view it differently.

Man up, the younger told himself, stop being so weak in front of everyone else. They could see him, they weren't stupid, they knew he was scared. Bile rose in his throat; sure enough, three sets of eyes were looking at him, watching the colour drain from his complexion as he stared, transfixed, at nothing in particular. Shakily, he got to his feet, heading towards the door, needing to get out of the room and away from the guilt that welled up inside him. Why was he feeling guilty about someone that had caused him so much pain?

"Jimin," Taehyung's voice called, and he saw a shadow of concern flit across the elder's expression.

"I'm fine," he squeaked out, fumbling with the door handle as he slipped into the corridor.