Hyungie plaything {Jikook}

45

"Call me what you will, a demon, a monster, a devil, but remember, even they serve me, their King."

__________________

The room was super quiet, except for the soft creak of the iron bed under Jimin's small frame. At just four years old, he sat there looking fragile, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his pale hands.

The words "You are a curse" jumped out at him like they were taunting him. The choker around his neck felt extra heavy, like it was pressing down on him with some silent blame.

His little legs dangled from the bed, and the paper slipped from his grip, fluttering down to the dusty floor.

He rubbed his eyes, smearing the cheap eyeliner they'd put on him that morning. He really hated the mirror, they made him look like some messed-up doll, squeezed into clothes that didn't fit right and left him shivering at night.

"Why don't you cry?" a voice piped up from the corner.

Jimin snapped his head up, finally meeting the gaze of the older boy. He was leaning against the wall, flashing a cheeky grin that seemed to glow in the dim light. At ten years old, he had this vibe that felt totally out of place in a dump like this. His sharp eyes were scanning Jimin like he was trying to figure out a tricky puzzle.

Jimin didn't say anything. He didn't chat with anyone unless absolutely necessary.

"Smart move," the boy said, walking closer. "Crying only makes them worse. Trust me, I learned that the hard way." He picked up the paper from the floor and raised an eyebrow while reading it. "Wow, that's a bummer."

Jimin's lip quivered a bit, but he bit down hard to hold back any tears.

The boy crouched in front of him, his grin turning more secretive. "You know, you don't have to let them win."

Jimin blinked, trying to figure out what he meant.

"Come with me," the boy said, standing up and offering his hand. "I'll show you."

For some reason, Jimin took it.

As they strolled through the dim hallway, Jimin hesitated and looked up at him. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The boy paused, that sly grin back on his face as he glanced back at Jimin. "Taehyung," he replied casually, his voice dripping with that strange kind of confidence.

-
-
-

Blood spread around him like a dark pool oozing from multiple wounds and soaking into the old wooden floor. His once strong face was twisted in fear and pain as he gasped for breath, struggling like a fish out of water.

The air was thick with the smell of iron, and the walls seemed to hold the echoes of his final moments, a chilling reminder of the horror that had just occurred.

"Help! Somebody help me!" he gasped, desperation lacing his words. But no one was there.

His arms moved weakly, fingers scraping against the ground trying to push himself up. But it was clear he was far too gone. Life was slipping away leaving behind only an empty shell.

Jungkook glanced down at Jimin, whose big eyes were fixed on the lifeless man on the ground with his head nestled softly against Jungkook's shoulder, his small frame trembling slightly.