Way Down We Go (BTS fanfiction)

c h a p t e r 2

c h a p t e r  2

"He probably fainted cause your breath smells like dog shit."

"Y'know, he probably passed out again from your disgusting ass skunk breath."

Understanding my situation immediately upon gaining consciousness, I keep my eyes closed. My body lays still on what feels like soft cushions and with the way my head's positioned, a stiff neck is inevitable.

"Why don't we just keep him?"

"You think he's some kind of pet? We can't just take him with us."

"He's been out for 2 days and so far no one's come in or out of this house."

My hand twitches at that. Once these guys figure out I'm alone, i'll become an easy target.

"You think he'll let us bring a stray back after losing contact for 2 days?"

"We got the job done so we should be okay."

"The job isn't over until we've reported it to him. He'll think we're useless again."

Unable to handle the pain evident in my neck, I decide to "gain consciousness." With what little acting experience I have, I furrow my brows and move my hand towards a random place on my head. My body follows as I sit up, rubbing the chosen place of injury several times.

"Where am I?" I say, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"Sorry to intrude on you but we kinda let ourselves into your home."

Almost giving away my very convincing act, I question his choice of words.

"This is my house?" I ask, knowing very well that this living room belongs to my humble abode.

"Yeah, thought it would be better to keep you in a place that was more familiar to you."

Looking around, after living here for as long as I can remember, not one thing in this house has ever been moved from its original place. It's been exactly 5 years since I last sat on this couch and 5 years since I've loitered in this living room. I would say it brought me nostalgia but nothing about this room makes me feel "at home."

"Oh thanks..." I mumble. "How long have I been out?"

"2 days to be precise, you hit your head really hard." My eyes can't help but scan the man's facial features.

His smile is missing a canine tooth and his face is a lot more haggard up close. Unlike the greaser, he is much more older and in a way, less put together. Despite all this, I don't sense a hint of malice in him.

"You've got no family?" My attention is directed to the greaser looking out the window.

I don't answer.

"It's obvious that you don't got one so there's no point in trying to keep your mouth shut," he says spitting out his toothpick. I somehow get distracted by the appearance of a toothpick, people don't make them anymore, they're useless. So, when and where did he get one?

"As much as I'd like to disagree with him, he's kinda right. If we wanted to harm you, we wouldn't have stayed here for 2 days taking care of you."

My attention goes from the toothpick to the original conversation, and I look back and forth between the older man and the greaser. I've got nothing to lose, I've literally got nothing to lose. Would anyone notice if I were to one day disappear? No.