"You're going to help me 'till you shit that shit out, understood?"
"Eat my ass and maybe you'll increase your chances of getting it sooner."
Park Jimin is a troubled teenager who steals from other people to keep himself on his own two feet. But one...
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↻ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴜꜱʙ'ꜱ ↺
With heavy shoulders, Jimin takes a seat in the sharp blades of grass, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. His eyes wander over the hill and a soft sigh falls from his mouth as he peers to his left, catching his mother as she sits beside him in a motionless state, lull.
"I haven't gotten anything yet today. I'm trying," he states as his blank expression drop to his folded legs. His worn out sneakers grip his attention and he feels the blood in his veins begin to boil. The sky darkens, clouded over, leaving behind a solemn impression. The trees start to susurrate as the wind brushes through their leaves and some tumble to the ground, landing just before his crossed legs. He picks one up and crumples it in his fist, opening his fingers to watch the deported pieces drift into the air.
The breeze ghosts his ear and it almost feels like a whisper as he leans into his mother, feeling her cold and rough exterior brush his own of warmth. He's desperate to hear her voice again and so when he gets nothing to placate his craving, it frustrates him. He would give absolutely anything to witness her smile one last time.
But she's dead. And she's never coming back, no matter how much it hurts.
He stands up from his sitting position and hunkers down beside her with a small and wilting flower in his hand. He places it before her and leans in to press a kiss to her gravestone, fingers tracing the letters engraved into solid and rugged concrete. Next to her lay his father, burried deep within the cold ground. He can't care to look at him and never does. He's not as important as she is. There's still a difference with her being gone, even if it's been eight years. With him, he doesn't notice any change.
"I'll see you again one day," he laments and he stands, brushing his knees off while staring at her reverently. Rain begins to fall from the sky and small droplets prick at his skin, pressuring him to make his leave. With an unsually heavy heart, the bottoms of his sneakers puncture the graveyard ground as he travels down the hill slowly. He pulls his hood over to cloak his brown hair and his hands find home in his hoodie pocket once again, eager to seek haven from the approaching night's impending chill.
He reaches the main road and as night crowds and bolsters the streets of Itaewon, Jimin prospers in such an environment. In desperate need of money due to scarce resources, stealing from drunk people seems to be the easiest alternative as opposed to swiping things from people in Gangnam-gu where stakes are held higher and his chances of being caught are elevated. He lifts his head slowly and his eyes meet the boisterous environment of Itaewon. A sea of bodies, all from different backgrounds and ethnicities dance as if they're one and all judgment is let free. Loud music crescendos and the bright lights that hang from pubs and clubs flash irresistibly in the eyes of partygoers. Jimin adjusts the position of his hood as he dives into the crowd, studying the people he passes by in earnest.
Despite his untamed look, he's confident in his abilities and he's well aware that he's attractive. Which is why his first target is a gay club by the name of Queen. Granted things become desperate, he can always count on his ability to lure older men in. They're naive and they'll do whatever it takes to get their hands on a pretty boy. However most importantly, they're rich.
