Crimson Thread [BTS Imagine FF]

Yoongi Chapter 8: Until We Meet Again

Min Yoongi has a splitting headache.

Pain is all he can register at first. Pain and confusion. It's as if his sensory neurons are coated in molasses, everything blurs together when he tries cracking open his eyes. It hurts too much, so he keeps them shut. With some hesitation, he tries moving his fingers first. His toes. Slowly, there is sound—or a disturbing lack therof. Then, he can taste iron in his mouth. Feel the plush carpet beneath him.

Why is he on the floor?

Then it hits him. He tries to sit up, but lets out a sharp grunt and clutches his head. He feels gingerly near his right eyebrow and there it is, a throbbing lump. Your screams punctuate the static in his muddled brain. There's a flash Jong Suk's jagged grin, then, of Seungri's glowering face.

"[Y/n]," he moans, trying to take even breaths. His chest hurts, his stomach, too. Getting to his feet is proving impossible, so he manages to shift onto all fours, one hand moving to the pocket of his leather jacket. There is no gun, as he expected. His immediate thought is to call for backup, but then his eyes fall to his smartphone, purposely smashed and lying a few feet away. Fucking figures.

Battling dizziness, Yoongi cranes his neck to glance around the area. It appears to still be empty, as far as he can tell, but he needs a better look. What he can see is that there's blood on the ground, too much blood, it has pooled on the carpet a few inches from where his head was, barely visible in color but noticeable nonetheless. Its coppery smell pricks his nose. Yoongi wonders how much is his.

Focusing further away, Yoongi can see that the door has been left slightly ajar as if to dare him to follow. He lets out a low growl, clawing at the nearest case of watches until he's barely on his feet.

He slowly picks his way along the orderly rows, but stops immediately at the sight of an envelope sitting on the empty counter. He comes closer, blinking away black spots in his vision as he rips open the seal. In his hands now lies an insane amount of won, all bundled in high bills. On their binding, a message is scrawled in neat, blocky handwriting.

Consider the debt paid.

"FUCK." Yoongi curses, wanting to rip the money to shreds and light what remains on fire. He settles for slamming the cash down with such force that it sends him reeling again and he has to brace himself against the counter to keep from falling over. How could this happen? How could he get utterly stomped like that, lose his lead, lose... you. He didn't have a ghost of a chance against your brother, and his own weakness sears more blindingly than any punch to the head.

Clumsily, Yoongi stuffs the bills into his chest pocket and stands on his own, swaying like a branch in the wind. Loathing, guilt and regret overtake him. You are gone. G-Dragon won't be coming here anytime soon. He wants to cry and scream and curl up in the fetal position all at once, but then...

Anger.

It brews in the pit of his stomach, heating his core. He spots the one broken display, the only proof he put up a fight against Seungri. It's infuriating. Each heartbeat is an earthquake as white-hot anger grips his sanity. Suddenly, he can move, but all he can see is red as he staggers forward, rips an ornate iron floor lamp from its socket and hoists it over his shoulder. His ears are pulsing and his head is throbbing, but he couldn't care less. He brandishes the lamp like a bat, eyes trained on the neat arrangement of pristine watches and their gleaming glass cases. He takes in a ragged breath and swings with all his remaining strength.

The effect is immediate and satisfying.

First, cracks spiderwebbing across the once unblemished surfaces.