BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Quomodocunquize✿ (Jeon Jungkook/ JK)

Quomodocunquize – To make money by any means possible.

I groaned in frustration, tossing my phone onto the bed. It was already the middle of the school year, and I hadn’t paid my fees. Now they were threatening to kick me out. My house rent was due too. No job. No family support. No money.

The pressure was suffocating.

Tears slipped down my cheeks uninvited. I hated crying,it made me feel weak. But what else could I do? I needed money. Fast. The kind of fast that didn’t come with dignity.

My eyes drifted closed, still clouded with helplessness, and I slipped into a restless sleep.

*****

The blaring sound of my alarm jerked me awake. I slammed the button and dragged myself to the bathroom. I barely noticed the cold water. My mind was too crowded.

The walk to school was long but bearable. I used to enjoy the quiet, but today my thoughts were loud. Too loud.

I was halfway lost in my own head when the honk of a car brought me back to reality. I jumped aside just in time, heart racing.

Of course.
it was him. Jungkook.

His car glided past me, sleek and spotless. He was smiling, waving at his friends as he parked. His life looked so easy. So perfect.

My eyes followed the car, lips pressed into a line. And then, out of nowhere, the idea hit me. Wild. Dangerous. Ridiculous.

But not impossible.

***

That night, I didn’t sleep. I planned. Every possible outcome. Every backup.

It was reckless. It was wrong. But my mind was made up.

The next day after classes, I waited in the shadows near the parking lot. My palms were sweaty, and my heart hammered against my chest. As Jungkook approached his car, I struck.

I pressed the chloroform-soaked cloth against his nose. He struggled. Eyes wide, limbs thrashing,
but eventually, he went limp. I laid him gently against the dashboard, rummaged through his pockets, and found his keys.

I shoved him into the backseat and drove off, praying no one saw us.

The drive home was a blur. Doubt clawed at me the entire time. But desperation spoke louder.

I dragged him inside and dropped him on the couch. He stirred a little. I panicked, tied his hands and feet, and taped his mouth. I hated myself for it,but I was in too deep to stop now.

I snapped a photo and typed out the message.

“Your son is with me. He’s alive. Transfer ₦5 million to the account below in 24 hours. No police.”

I stared at the message for a long time before pressing send.

Minutes passed. My phone buzzed.

“Who is this? If this is a prank, you’ll regret it. I will find you.”

And again:

“If Jungkook is harmed, you’ll wish you were never born.”

I swallowed hard. This was real now. More real than I ever wanted it to be.

I turned to him. He was awake, barely. His eyes locked onto mine. There was fear in them. Anger too. But mostly confusion.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whispered, kneeling beside him. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

He said nothing, just stared.

---

Hours passed. I untaped his mouth so he could drink some water. He didn’t scream. Didn’t threaten. Just looked at me.

"You're not a criminal," he finally said, voice hoarse. "You're scared."

I blinked at him, shocked. "You… you're not mad?"

He gave a half-smile, weak but real. “Of course I’m mad. But I want to know why. Why me?"

I hesitated. Then, for the first time, I told someone the truth. About my school fees. My rent. The hunger. The loneliness. The feeling of being invisible in a world that doesn’t stop to care.

Jungkook listened.

And when I was done, he didn’t call me crazy. He didn’t judge.

He just nodded.

“You should've just asked for help,” he said quietly.

Tears threatened my eyes again. “No one ever helps without expecting something in return.”

“Well,” he said, “maybe I’m not no one.”

***

The next morning, I untied him. Fully.

“You’re free to go,” I said, expecting him to bolt or call the police.

But he didn’t.

He stayed.

For days, he came back. Brought food. Helped me find a job. Helped me talk to my school. I expected it to be awkward or forced. But it wasn’t. He never made me feel small. Never treated me like a kidnapper.

Eventually, I asked him why.

He shrugged. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Even the girl who drugged me.”

I laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t bitter.

***

Weeks turned into months. We talked more. Hung out. Became friends.

Somewhere along the line, friendship turned into something else. Something deeper. The kind of thing that didn’t need words.

One night, as we sat on the hood of his car watching stars, he turned to me and said:

“You know… I don’t regret that day. It was the worst and best day of my life.”

I looked at him, heart racing. “Why?”

“Because it brought me to you.”

I didn’t say anything. Just leaned in. He met me halfway.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt… safe.

Loved.

Maybe desperation had brought us together. But what we built after? That was something real.

And as I sat beside the boy I once kidnapped, now the man I was falling in love with.