Interwoven ✔️

47~ Shattered

What...?

I gaped at Jin, a hollowness blooming inside my chest.

Taehyung. The Outworlder with the intimidating aura but the sweetest boxy smile. The Outworlder with beautiful inky Marks.

"But... but it doesn't mean he's dead right?" I asked, voice risen an octave.

Now Krystal was the one wrapping her arms tightly around my shoulders. She didn't know who Taehyung was, but remorse and sympathy was written all over her face nonetheless.

Jungkook's eyes flickered up. The boy before me was but a shell of the bright, toothy grinning boy he usually was. His eyes glistened with tears as he slowly said, "Missing in action means they have not returned to battle, but their body hasn't been found, and they're not suspected to have been captured."

"So he's not dead, right?" I pressed. I hated how desperate I sounded. 

First Yoongi, now Taehyung. The Infinity Council explosion, and then the training center attack. Even going back to the airplane crash that started it all, and the bomb in the business building that ignited the beginnings of this violent time we were all in.

"Jiyeon." Hoseok's soft voice broke me. It was filled with grief and unspeakable sorrow. "Soldiers who go missing in action rarely come back. Search parties have already been sent out but... there's no sign of them."

"They were ambushed when they were heading back over the mountains," Jin said. "Signs show Moonsbane was used. And there are a lot of cliffs and crevices there. One slip and you fall to your doom. That's... that's what most likely happened."

No. No no no. I shook my head.

Once again, I hadn't gotten to know Taehyung very well. Heck, I knew less about him than Yoongi. Yet I couldn't stop my throat from closing up, the burn in my eyes, and difficulty to try and remember how to inhale and exhale.

While I'd been busy training in the base, I'd nearly forgotten what I was training for.

People were dying out there. We trainees could talk big all we wanted on our motives and how we were going to avenge the people who had wronged us one way or another... but when it came down to it, the bluntness of war and violence was an entirely different story.

I was starting to realize what Jimin had been trying to tell me, trying to drill into my head when we'd argued in the hotel room right before moving to the Capital Base. How he'd unyieldingly asked how strong my resolve was, if it was strong enough to kill for, to see your friends be killed and—

Oh shit.

Jimin.

My eyes snapped wide open and I quickly looked back and forth, raking my gaze across every head bent figure in the room. No silver Marks. And he hadn't been in the cafeteria either—

"When did you hear about this?" I demanded.

Brows furrowed at my new tone, but Jungkook answered all the same, "Earlier this afternoon. Hoseok and I learned about it right after we left you and Krystal at the training center. We would've told you sooner but—"

My mind had tuned out the rest of his words. If they'd learned about it around the time my match against Wonwoo had ended, then that had to have been at least five hours ago.

"Where's Jimin?" I demanded.

Krystal pulled back from me, stunned. "Jimin? You mean the silver trainer?"

I quickly shook my head at Krystal. She obediently clicked her mouth shut, reigning in her questions.

Namjoon for the first time looked up. "Jiyeon don't—"

"You know where he is?" I pressed.

Taehyung and Jimin had been close; from the very beginning I'd sensed a special bond between those two. A kind of bond that, if shattered by either end, would leave the other end in devastation. Maybe even in danger. Danger of themselves.

Namjoon hesitated. "He's not in a good mindset, Jiyeon. I wouldn't—"

"I don't care," I cut in. He couldn't be left alone. Who knew what his grief might drive him to? He could do something stupid.

"We tried to talking to him already," Hoseok murmured, glancing around at the three other boys.

Namjoon closed his eyes briefly. "Be careful when you see him Jiyeon," he said softly. "He's in one of the private training rooms on the 14th floor, five floors below us. I think Room G or one of the rooms in that section."

I nodded, pulling in my grief had momentarily. Now determination had settled in me. I had to find Jimin. Make sure he was okay. Make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid. There was a gut instinct, an instinct that had grown in me as I'd gotten to slowly know Jimin, that was warning me something was off.

I turned and tore out of the room.

Namjoon's words echoed through my head. 14th floor... five levels below... Room G....

I slipped several times on the stairs because I was hurtling down them so fast and on more than one occasion I almost bowled over someone else on the steps.

I finally skidded onto the fourteenth floor. This hallway was quiet and a long corridor of identical doors lined down it. I scanned each letter on the door and slowed down when I got closer in the letter range of G.

I finally halted in front of Room G. The door was cracked ever so slightly. The dim hallway light spilled into the dark room beyond. From the cracked door came the sounds impact, as if something or someone was slamming against a solid. Over and over.

"Jimin?" I called softly, stepping into the room beyond.

It was a fairly small room. In the darkness I could see gym equipments stacked neatly against the walls and the smell of sweat and people lingered in the air, making my nose wrinkle involuntarily.

There. My stomach lurched.

Silver Marks, icy cold lines gleaming mercilessly, cutting through the dark like a knife. His heavy breaths filled the room and I realized the soft sounds of constant impact was because of the punching bag dangling from the ceiling, swinging crazily at the impact he was slamming his fists against.

In fact— my heart slammed in my ears— he was punching it dangerously harder than one should be.

He didn't seem to sense my presence as I slowly approached him. I called his name again, but he didn't even falter.

My mouth dried when I drew close enough to him. Close enough to see the sheen of sweat that coated his skin. Close enough to see the tear stains running down his cheeks. Close enough to see the blood covering his unprotected knuckles as he slammed them into the sandbag again and again.

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