Addicted To You | NCT Gang AU ✔️

Chapter 39

Kim Minah

Another minute, another gunshot, I peer over at Hoseok who is seemingly worried. He takes another gulp; jaw clenched and all. "If you don't tell me why there are so many gunshots and screaming coming from up there, I'm going to-" I threaten, but he cuts me off,
"You're going to what?" he mockingly scoffs, tilting over in my direction for a split second, a hint of pity coating his eyes before turning back. He faced away from me with his arms crossed, sitting next to the door as if he was waiting for someone to come. 

The basement was cramped with multiple boxes surrounding us, so the space between us wasn't much. Even if I had a way of cutting out of these ropes, he'd easily see. "Why are we here?" I ask again, slumping into the small wooden stool I've been placed on. He sighs, rolling his eyes ever so slightly as he glances back at me, "you'll find out soon, so please just shut up." Wow, didn't think he'd respond. "So you're working with NCT?" I ask, curiosity sparking at the ends of my mind. He freezes, losing his composure and turns completely around, "how did you-" This time, I cut him off, with quite the smug face,
"It was obvious," I shrug, "you're not good at this kidnapping thing are you?" 

He diverts his eyes away from mine, trying his best not to make any eye contact, but eventually, they find mine. "No," he groans, "I hate this kind of shit." With him giving into defeat, I take it as an opportunity to get to know my kidnapper even more, "then why?" He slumps back into his comfier looking chair, uncrossing his arms and blowing a strand of hair on his forehead out of his way, "I owe a favour." He peers over at me, signalling me to look away, I turn my face away, 
"To who?" He takes another deep breath, giving in to my questions,
"Kim Seokjin." Hmm, that name seems familiar, wait a second... I peek back at him, mouth slightly parting, "Kim Seokjin? As in Kim Doyoung's brother?" He nods in return, unbothered by the shock across my face, "So you're part of BTS?"

He nods, flashing a toothless smile, "how do I know that I'm safe?" He looks over at me, slightly disgusted, "you don't, and quite frankly, I don't care."
"I-, excuse you!" I yell, wholly offended by his lack of care. He stares back at me for a few seconds and then swivels back around, eyes locked on the door. Wow, what a little piece of shit. 

Around another twenty minutes pass, and I've already forgotten about why I was angry in the first place. He appears just as bored as me, if not, even more. "So, um," I clear my throat, "what exactly did Seokjin do for you to owe him a favour?" Silence surrounds the room again as I prepare for another twenty minutes of pure boredom, "he helped me with something," he replies, as quiet as a mouse. "What?" He suddenly grows defensive, still facing the door, but defensive nonetheless, "He got me out of a twisted relationship," he utters. 
"Really? How-"

Before I'm able to finish my sentence, the door bursts open, hitting Hoseok straight in the face and causing him to fly into a bunch of boxes, I gasp, not nearly having enough energy to scream and face the culprit. I look up at the man, his broad shoulders taking up most of the light coming from outside. It's hard to make out his features from this angle, but there's something about him that I know. His shape sparks something I haven't felt in a while; maybe it's because I've been trapped and he's the only other sign of life except Hoseok, or perhaps it's because he truly is someone I know. Hosoek grunts in the background, wincing at his bleeding arm, pulling himself up and pointing the gun at the figure. 

He squints his eyes, moving his neck forward ever so slightly, with his gun aimed straight for the intruder's head. He then places his weapon back in his pants, taking a deep breath and sighing, "fuck Heechul, you could've bloody knocked!" he shouted, quite pissed off. But, his shouting becomes nothingness, 'Heechul,' my brother? "H-Heechul? Is that you? My brother?" I question, now standing up, closer to him than before. Quite frankly, I didn't see him much growing up, or know that he was supposedly dead. I walk closer, the ropes tying my hands together burning the outermost layer of my wrists skin, turning them a pinkish colour. It hurt, but not as much as this. I now stand, only a few centimetres away from him, my eyes meeting his in this unknown darkness. He's grown a lot; his once cute and chubby features are replaced with a sharper jaw, his messy hair now placed in perfect curtains.