Hyungie plaything {Jikook}

36

"Angel fights, devil waits—his stubbornness clashes with his calm, but neither can walk away."

_______________________

Taehyung slammed the door open, the crash of wood against the wall loud enough to rattle the goddamn windows. He stormed in, his cocky swagger dripping with that ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ attitude he wore like a second skin. But before he could even bark out a demand, the chaos began.

Out of nowhere, Jimin shot up from the floor like a goddamn missile. Feet bare, eyes wide, and mouth already running at full speed.

“Hyung!” Jimin yelled, his voice high-pitched and obnoxiously loud.

“What the—?!” Taehyung barely had time to process before Jimin launched himself, a manic ball of energy that collided with his chest and sent them both crashing to the floor.

Taehyung hit the ground hard, the air forced out of his lungs in a sharp grunt. "Such a playful rascal!—what the hell are you doing?!”

Jimin grinned like the devil himself, perched on Taehyung’s stomach with that smug-ass expression that made Taehyung’s blood pressure spike. “Give me your phone, Hyung,” he demanded, his tone as casual as if he were asking for the time.

“Are you out of your damn mind?!” Taehyung barked, struggling beneath him. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Nope!” Jimin chirped, bouncing on Taehyung’s torso just to piss him off more.

“Fine! Fine! Take the fucking phone!” Taehyung snarled, yanking it out of his pocket and all but shoving it into Jimin’s greedy little hands.

Triumphant, Jimin bolted, clutching the phone like he’d just stolen a goddamn diamond.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Taehyung muttered, sprawled out on the cold floor like roadkill.

From the other side of the room, J-Hope stirred, lying on the cold floor with his back pressed against the hard surface. His voice, thick with sleep and irritation, rose as he groaned. “What the hell’s going on now?”

“That gremlin jumped me for my phone,” Taehyung spat, pushing himself up and brushing dirt off his pants with an audible slap. His glare shot daggers at Jimin, who was now giggling like a maniac in the corner, scrolling through the phone like it was Christmas morning.

J-Hope snorted, shaking his head. “That’s just Jimin being Jimin.”

Taehyung didn’t even dignify that with a response. He turned toward the doorway, where Minjun was standing like a deer in headlights, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes darting around the room like he wanted to disappear.

“Anyway,” Taehyung grumbled, waving a hand toward him, “this is Minjun.”

J-Hope pushed himself up from the floor, rolling his shoulders to ease the discomfort. He eyed Minjun for a moment before raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Another stray?” he drawled, “Fantastic. Maybe we can start a fucking shelter.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw, biting back a retort.

But before he could say anything, Suga, who had been sitting on the floor against the wall, arms crossed in his usual icy stance, leaned forward slightly. His expression remained unreadable,  “Where the fuck are Seojun and Seokjin?”

Taehyung groaned, dragging his hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself from snapping. “I’ve looked everywhere,” he muttered, the words sharp and clipped. “They’re gone. Just… gone.”