son, my son ↯ bts

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seokjin panics as the fingers wrap around his neck, pressing on his windpipe as he forces his shirt up. jimin smirks, marvelling the dark purple spots circling around his abdomen.

"you're so beautiful, mother." he whispers, but before anything happens, there's a knock on the door.

"fuck." jimin spits, letting go off seokjin's neck and slipping off the bed. seokjin frantically pulls down his shirt and yanks his boxers back on, quivering as he does.

who could it be at this time of night? seokjin thanks whoever as he holds his aching body, sobbing into his knees.

he didn't know how much he could take.

but–

there's a large clutter of objects that fall near the door.

a couple of frenzied laughs from jimin.

seokjin looks up. but instinct told him to get his shaky knees stretched and to run towards the door.

and he doesn't believe his eyes.

because–

because–

at the door, is—

holding a gun towards jimin's head, an emotionless mask on his face.

his skin is healthier, his eyes are brighter, but it's indeed–

"namjoon. oh, namjoon!"