Lord Of The Wolves

Only Stars Can Tell Our Fate

The crowd is a bustling herd of gossipers, pinching at each other's voices to the lowest decibel for drawn-out conversations. Everyone pounces at the embellished posts, hanging feathery petals on every dangling piece of fabric.

Much of the art pieces have been covered with fresh-scented quilts, pillars protected from the damp paint of rose-gold hues. In the midst of this parading turbulence is Jimin, swaggering capriciously to the pumping atmosphere that seems to liven at the sight of his alluring grin. He offers polite nods to the giggling maidens, long legs treading closer and closer to the hustling group.

Jimin drowns in their never-ending bruit, so accustomed to their hushed words and lowly snickers of admiration. All of that is a daily occurrence that Jimin usually indulges in. He shrugs off the satisfaction as he rounds up towards a corner, treading closer to some recondite chamber.

The posts that hold the shabby ceilings together scream out pleads of mercy, holes inscribed in walls, complementing the stabs of unconcealed anger displayed by the dented thresholds of a barren window. And just with the sight of the scratched dummy, all the pretences fade into a somber world. It remarks on Jimin's sodden features, caught slackening at the slightest temptation of hard liquor and smoke.

The lacerations on his gloved hands itch with frustration. Jimin has been unable to portray the unbothered reputation of his, both mind and heart at a contrasting speed that makes him stumble with an incongruous temper. Fortunately enough, the only recipient of his well-hidden madness is a tangible, unsuspecting five-foot-long wooden pillar. It's covered in nothing but slashes and pent-up envy, bathed in a thunderous amount of mendacious acts that Jimin unwillingly displays to the masses.

Because Jimin hates pity. He is hostile to even the slightest implication of charity even when it's most needed. And now Taehyung's presence only reminds him of it.

"You can't keep brushing me off, Jimin." There he stood, skulking in the deep indentions of the archway. Taehyung's silhouette is broad and strong. His gaze shines with intensity.

The prince sends him a steely glare, rewarding the man with a fraught tone. "What else am I supposed to say to you?" He dares the man to move. "You knew about it Tae. You knew."

Taehyung moves defensively, with folded arms and puffed up chest. He moves away from the wall, response immediate, "So what if I did? Should I have purposely given out my position and let you win the game? Jungkook is already displeased about the whole competition as it is, do you think tapping out would do him any good?"

When Jimin fails to reply, Taehyung continues again. "We had a talk. That we were to prioritise Jungkook before anything else –it was either you and me against a hundred other people. And you knew that. You were ready for the possibility of losing against me."

"It wasn't about the loss, Taehyung."

"Then why should it matter if I won? My victory was your victory, Jimin. Most importantly, it was Jungkook's."

"It's not about that!" Jimin grits his teeth. His anger echoes in distress.

Taehyung breathes out hoarsely. "Then what is this all about?" He pauses, levelling his voice into one that cajoles Jimin's throbbing nerves. "Jimin, I didn't expect this as much as the people did. I can't be faulted for something I won fair and square –not when it's the least I can show to give Jungkook the respect he deserves."