Speeding Into Trouble || Taekook

41

It had been three fucking days since Jeongguk last saw Taehyung.
Seventy-two hours of unanswered calls.
Seventy-two hours of wondering if Taehyung was even breathing.
Seventy-two hours of imagining every worst-case scenario until it felt like his skull was going to split open from the pressure.

If Jimin didn't get his ass in gear soon, Jeongguk knew—knew—he'd rip through the Kim household like a goddamn storm.

And if his hands found Mr. Kim's throat... there'd be no mercy. He could already feel the phantom sensation of squeezing until he saw the light die in that man's eyes.

Jeongguk's patience wasn't just hanging by a thread—it was hanging over a pit of fire, fraying with every second.

⸻

Jimin stood on the Kim family's porch now, his fist tightening before he knocked. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears, loud and unforgiving. He knew what was at stake. If he went back to Jeongguk with nothing... there'd be blood.

The door opened just enough for Mrs. Kim's face to appear.
She looked... wrong. Not just tired, but hollow, like someone who had been slowly drained of life and spirit over the years. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes darted nervously over her shoulder before landing back on Jimin.

"Mrs. Kim," Jimin said, his voice deceptively calm despite the storm raging inside him, "Is Taehyung home?"

Her lips trembled. Her gaze flickered down the hallway—quick, fearful, like she was checking if he was listening. That was all Jimin needed to see.

"I'm not here to play games," Jimin snapped, stepping closer, his tone sharp enough to cut. "I know he's inside. Don't bullshit me."

Mrs. Kim flinched, eyes glossing with fear. For a moment, she seemed to fight herself. Then, with a tiny nod, she stepped aside, opening the door just enough for Jimin to slip through.

"Please," she whispered frantically, "don't stay long. His father will be home soon."

⸻

Jimin didn't waste another word. He strode down the narrow hallway, the walls pressing in around him, the air thick with tension. His heart was pounding hard enough to hurt as he reached Taehyung's door.

He shoved it open—

—and froze.

The sight hit him like a punch to the gut.

Taehyung lay on the bed, looking nothing like the man Jimin knew. His body was battered, bruises painting his skin in ugly shades of purple and yellow.

Bandages wrapped around his ribs, his arms. Even his breathing sounded wrong—shallow, uneven, weak.

But it was his eyes that made Jimin's stomach twist. They were dull, lifeless. The fire that had always burned there... was gone.

"Holy fuck..." Jimin's voice broke, barely more than a whisper as he stumbled forward. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching for Taehyung's hand—and recoiling slightly at how frail it felt. "Tae... what the hell happened to you?"

Taehyung's eyelids fluttered, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. "Still alive," he rasped, voice scratchy, raw. "I guess... that's something."

Jimin's throat burned, his chest tight. "This is fucked up, Tae. I should've been here sooner. I should've—" his voice shook "—I should've put that piece of shit in the ground."

Taehyung let out a breathy, broken laugh that quickly turned into a wince. "Calm down, Jimin," he murmured, each word costing him effort. "It's not like I'm dead... yet."