Finding My Place

i

"So, I hear you're getting out today, huh?"

Yoongi doesn't say anything, continuing to make his way to the yard for exercise period, but he's stopped by a hand pushing his chest.

"Hey, Sugar Cube, where d'you think you're going?" a gruff voice asks, and he's held by two pairs of hands, one on each arm. "You think you're better than us?"

"N-No, I don't."

"Don't act all high and mighty. We all know you've got nothing to go home to, so where are you gonna go? Where is home for dinky little Sugar Cube?"

"Please, just let me go."

"Oh, I will, I just have to settle something first."

A wicked grin spreads across the male's face, and a fist flies through the air, landing squarely on Yoongi's nose, making him tumble to the ground in pain. Streaks of blood are smeared across his hand when he looks at it, and his shirt is stained with red lines.

"Alright, that's enough." another voice presides over the group, and they break off into shreds as a guard approaches the injured boy, holding out a hand toward him. "C'mon, let's get you to the infirmary."

He's hurried off to the room before he can say anything, and soon has his feet hanging off the little examination couch while the doctor – who smells vaguely like sea salt and rosemary – examines his nose, frowning.

"Well, it's a clean break, so I won't have to set it, but you're gonna be in a splint for a week and a dressing for two weeks." he sighs. "I know this isn't ideal, but it's gonna help, I promise. Not really how you wanna be spending your last day here though, huh?"

Yoongi shakes his head slightly, wincing in pain. It's about 20 minutes before he's looking at himself in the mirror, examining the ghastly dressing that covers the bridge of his nose and the stiff, uncomfortable splint inside it, when a knock sounds at the infirmary door. He's faced with another guard, carrying a black refuse sack, who kneels beside him in front of the mirror.

"Time to go, bud."

It's all a bit of a blur, fuzzy voices, the typing of a keyboard, the horrendous blaring of the alarm as doors are unlocked, the clinking of metal bars and locks and clasps, and soon enough, he's free. That first breath of fresh outside air, it feels nice. It cools his delicate skin, tousles his hair, fills his lungs with hope.

"Yoongi, it's good to see you!" a man approaches him, smiling, and is followed by another, the latter more reserved and hanging back a bit.

"Wait, where's Man-Shik?" Yoongi tries to stop his voice from wavering, blinking away the tears in his eyes. "I-I don't know you, where's my social worker?"

"I couldn't get hold of him. I tried, I really did, but this is my best option at the minute."

Yoongi scowls at the ground, kicking his feet around in the dust, watching some of it settle on the surface of his battered white sneakers that have faded to a dank yellow, then his eyes flicker back up, glistening in the dusky sunlight.

"Who's that?"

The social worker steps back slightly, and the other male steps forward, offering him a wave.

"I'm Hoseok." he says, smiling warmly.

"Are you a cop?"

"No." he shakes his head. "Used to be, not anymore. I'm a nurse now."

Yoongi bites one of his sleeves.

"I wanna help you, Yoongi." he looks at the boy sincerely. "Will you let me help you?"

Unable to hold anything back anymore, Yoongi sniffles, nodding as tears start to stream down his pale cheeks, and as he's pulled into a hug.

"It's gonna be okay." Hoseok starts to rub his back, coaxing the tears out of him, and he glances at the social worker, who just nods. He doesn't let go, even when the other gets into his car and drives away, disappearing into the sunset, leaving the two of them in the oncoming darkness, a slight breeze now starting to roll in, turning over the fine layer of dust that coats the ground around them.

Hoseok pulls back once the boy falls silent, holding his hands and looking down at him fondly. "Let's get you home."