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I stared at my phone screen for I don't know how long, admiring the photo.
My mind went back to when his hair used to be blond. It was the same color when we met, and this picture was taken a week after. That was the most important week of my life. That picture symbolized my official enlisting in his group.
And by group, I mean gang. Bangtan.
He saved my life; no other way to put it. I had just moved and was walking around my new and unfamiliar town when I was targeted by a few guys stumbling out of a bar. They hit me, hard and without mercy, and I was a single kick away from losing consciousness. That was the moment when a mysterious man intervened by heading towards the drunks on a motorcycle. He managed to make them land on their backsides, reached down to grab my hand, pulled me onto his bike to sit behind him, and zoomed off, leaving them to eat dust. I held on to the mysterious biker because I was scared and in much pain I wasn't used to.
He took me back to his hideout: an old train car that looked like a party put together in thirty minutes. There I met five other men, all dangerous looking. Even the two shortest guys, one having orange hair and the other having green hair.
The green haired guy, being the oldest until I showed up, and the youngest weren't big fans of mine. The other three greeted me quickly but grew bored and moved on to their daily life. The only one I spoke to for the next week was my savior.
Kim Namjoon.
After the initiation of jumping off a high place and landing in a small body of water, the rest of the gang started to grow on me. We became one family, and somehow I transformed into their mother figure. As in, I would tell them what to do and they would do it. I became second in command, after Namjoon, the official leader. We all agreed on these terms; they seemed to prefer to have me. It took a while to convince Yoongi, aka Green Hair, to finally give up in trying to change everyone's minds.
My blood family did not like this one bit. I only had my mother and father, both of them being workaholics and having no time for their only child. I lived in a rich family's house, but I constantly felt like an abandoned individual on the street with no one but himself to care about him.
I don't call them family anymore; I obtained a better family who truly loves me.
My parents found out about my gang. How, I have no idea, but that doesn't matter. My outraged father slapped me, something he's never done before, and my mother stood there, doing absolutely nothing. If they regretted what they did-or didn't do-they didn't show it. I had to get out of there.
I packed several pairs of clothes, some food, and as much money as I could. I escaped my prison and went to live with Namjoon. I had somewhere to sleep and a roof over my head, and Namjoon went out of his way to make sure I adjusted to everything well. All six members lived in a fairly small apartment with one bedroom. The members forced their leader to stay in the bedroom while they slept on two pull-out couches. But, for my first night, Namjoon had me sleep in the bedroom. I tried to argue and change his mind, but he was stubborn. After that, we shared the bed.
