not what you think

xlix: n

Joonki sits himself on the rather brittle, unkempt bed at the rear of metal bars circumferencing on three sides save for the wall behind, having exempted of his handcuffs after he has been projected into the nearly frigid, drab cubicle, almost as miniscule as his former apartment's bathroom.

The impartial officer gazes at him with scrutiny, attempting to view any form of grappling in his visuals, having been desolate for the entire ride, immobile other than fluttering eyes and lashes. The impartial officer named Heechan treads back to his seat as the hostile officer named Hwangsoo strands him a filthy gaze before making his entrance to the inside, where his seat is posed.

Heechan sits himself in his place, viewing nothing in particular as he makes his entrance into a dewy conscience.

Joonki views groundwards as the bed beneath him squeaks a tad bit, his elbows stowed on his thighs, chin posed on his hands, perceiving despondency shrouding him. Every bit of joviality he has tread towards, all precipitating to nothingness, stranding a void in him, which he perceives in tantamount.

His mother's words of assurance swirl in his psyche, how he's not wrongful to be vigilant of his protection, yet he views no certitude. Because at the end, his defense upheaves no meaningfulness, rather Lee Hoonhee's words bear it more.

The cubicle, along the outside of the bars falls in reticence, save for the muted hum of a laggard ceiling fan permeating the gust not reaching Joonki.

Joonki, from the brisk motion of the officers grappling him in the moderate expanse, the ride from his abode to here, perceives tiredness, his eyes nearly clasping shut from the sentimental and physical aspect of what has transpired.

His eyes flutter shut in another few minutes before his physique cascades limply on the bed, emanating another squeak before somnolence overtakes his conscience. Yeosang, upon Joonki's exit from the edifice, treads for inside, stranding their mother by the door, who sobs in desolation over Joonki's torment. He grasps upon Joonki's phone and glides down the call list to view the number which called three days ago.

Kim Taehyung.

Yeosang presses on the number, gliding to his ear, perceiving his vexation and anguish emulsified into a sentiment, blurring his tranquil.

"Hello, Joonki-nim?", Taehyung voices as he attunes in his office seat, eyes enlarged in astonishment, Joonki's number reciprocating him three days later.

"It's his brother, not him," Yeosang voices with the poison he can inject into his words in staccato, anger translucent to Taehyung as his countenance morphs from tranquil to apprehension.

"Yes, please," Taehyung voices, albeit his vocals a tad bit wavering.

"Joonki has been taken to jail," Yeosang voices as Taehyung's eyes enlarge even more at words exiting the older male's mouth.

"What?", Taehyung asks with a croaked vocal before swallowing his throat, his baritone seemingly feeble.