#Like he’s wasting himself and taking his quirk; his life and education for granted.

[saturnsorbits]

… I just don’t feel like Denki stays a Pro-Hero for his entire career. Out of the entire Baku-squad he’s the first to retire and he retires early; like mid-late 20’s, a solid few years shy of thirty early.

[takeyourhearthawks]

Blue Hour (Hawks Fic) Chapter 2

Hi Friends! Here is the second chapter of Blue hour.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2(You Are Here!)

CHAPTER 2

The door to the back slammed shut behind Jiko as she rushed through it.  She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that she had to leave and leave without Keigo following her. He couldn’t see Youta. He just couldn’t.

Jiko gathered all of her belongs from the back room before she slipped out the back door of the bar. When Jiko wasn’t overwhelmed, she was good at controlling her quirk so she activated it so she could guesstimate where Keigo was out based on how loud his thoughts were. The only bad thing about this was now she could feel the hurt and confusion that Keigo was feel, it killed her inside.

Normally she would have gone the easy way home, taking the two trains to her stop. But this time, she decided to walk the long way around the block. Once she was far enough away from the bar, she deactivated her quirk so that she didn’t have to keep listening to random people's thoughts that she passed by. Her mind kept wondering back to Keigo and how he felt moments after she left.  

The hurt that he was feeling wasn't a comparable feeling. She thought that she might have even felt his heart breaking when the realization set in of who he was looking at. A frown felt like it was glued to her face as she made her way to the nearest train station. The way that she took home would cause her to take three trains home instead of just two.

Once her apartment complex was within sight, her shoulders slouched slightly. She finally felt like she could relax and not be on edge, waiting for Keigo to come around the corner. Walking up the stairs to her son felt like a lifetime. She knocked gently on her neighbor's door and was greeted by Mei.

“I’m sorry it's so late. We had a hero party at work tonight and I had no idea before I went in.” Jiko said and Mei waved her hand in a dismissing manner at her.

“Nonsense. It’s not a big deal. I love spending time with Youta.” Mei said as she moved aside so that Jiko could walk in. She entered the apartment and headed towards the living room where she found Youta asleep. He had a blanket thrown over him and his tiny wings just barely peaked over the edge of the blanket. Tears welled up in Jikos eyes as she crossed the room to her soon.

She crouched down so that she was at eye level with Youta, shaking him slightly. ”Hey buddy, mommas back.” She said quietly. Youta’s eyes didn't even open, his tiny arms just extended. Jiko scooped her son up in her arms, smiling and bidding Mei goodnight as she left.  

Once back at their own apartment, Jiko carried her son to her bedroom. Youta had been sleeping in his own room almost his entire life but she liked to have him sleep with her occasionally. Tonight was one of those nights where she just wanted to be close to her son.

She laid him down gently bed, pulling the blanket up over him. After she laid him down, she changed outfits and crawled into bed next to him. It took seconds of her being in bed for Youta to scoot closer to his mom and she instinctively wrapped her arm around him, her fingers going to his hair to play with it gently.

“I love you, momma.” He whispered. It barely sounded like those were the words that he had said but Jiko knew her son well enough to know that's what he was trying to say.

“I love you too, Youta. More than you will ever know.” She whispered, kissing his head. Youta fell back into a deep sleep within minutes but Jiko stayed awake for most of the night, unable to get the feeling of heartbreak Keigo felt out of her head.

Keigo, on the other hand, was still in complete shock. He had stood by the bar for a few minutes before Haruto told him that he had to leave. But Haruto’s voice was enough to snap Keigo out of the trance that he had been in.

“Excuse me?” Keigo said and Haruto turned to him.

“I just said you have to leave.” Haruto said, crossing his arms.

“No, I know. It’s just... the woman who was just working here. Her name was Jiko, right? H-how long has she worked here? H-how long have you kno-”  

“Listen, Hawks. I don’t know what happened between you two. But I am going to say that she obviously didn’t want to hear from you, or she wouldn’t have left like she did. My best advice? Leave what doesn’t want to be found alone. She has her own problems, and she does not need you coming in and messing up what she worked so hard for.” Haruto said before he walked into the back of the restaurant, leaving Keigo standing alone.  

A few minutes went by before Keigo left. He shrugged his jacket back on his shoulders as he walked out in the cool air of the night.  He walked in the opposite direction that he needed to go, heading in the direction that Jiko had headed. He only took a few steps before he launched himself towards the sky, his large red wings catching him and holding him steady above the town.  

He didn’t know how to feel. They lived so close. She had to live close to Musutafu and that wasn’t far from where the base location of his agency was. He was probably in Mustuafu once or twice a week at minimum. How had he never seen her before? Granted, she looked a lot different that Keigo remembered.  

He took off over the city. This was the first time in so long that the only thing that he could think about was Jiko. He had done so well in his mission to remove her from his mind that seeing her brought back all the memories that Keigo had tried so hard to forget. All the times that he held her, kissing her head, taking her for flights over the city. The memories came flooding back to him and suddenly he found himself thinking about the one thing he had to work the hardest to forget.

Their pregnancy.

It had torn Hawks up for almost a year after Jiko yet. He couldn’t see babies in public without feeling rage and sadness inside at what he lost. Seeing fathers playing with their children in parks, walking around with their children just made him so mad because that’s what he was supposed to have. He wanted to be the father that he never got to have.

Tears had started to form in his eyes as he flew, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them as he landed on top of a building. When he wasn’t trying to force himself to forget Jiko, he would spend that time imagining what it would have been like to have gotten to have a family with Jiko. What would their kid have been like? Would they have gotten Keigos mutation or would they have gotten Jikos ability to read and change thoughts?

These thoughts used to keep him up at night. The idea of what he lost. A few more tears fell from Keigos eyes as he stared at the city below him. She was somewhere in there; he just didn’t know where. He decided at that moment to pull a few of his feather and send them into town, hoping to pick up on a trace of where she was.

He just wanted to talk.

-

Jiko had stayed up till the sun was almost up. She spent much of the night staring at her sons' face, studying every feature. After seeing Keigo in person last night, she realized just how much she had just copy and pasted Keigo into Youta. The only notable difference was that Youta had dark eyes while Hawks had yellow, bird like eyes. Youtas eyes were still bird like, but they were at least toned down enough that they didn’t look bird like from a distance. She had fallen asleep for about an hour before the small boy woke up, shaking her gently.

“Momma.” He whispered, pressing his face against hers.

“Hm?” She hummed, wrapping her arms around him, fingers carefully running over his wings.

“I’m hungry.” He said and Jiko laughed before opening her eyes.

“Okay, let's get some food.” She got up in one swoop, still holding him tightly against her. Jiko didn’t like to show Youta when she wasn’t feeling well so she always put on a performance for him. Even now when she was dead tired.

Jiko plopped Youta down on the counter beside her. “Okay, what are you thinking?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Youta said and Jiko cringed slightly.

“For breakfast?” The small boy nodded his hair furiously. “Okay, I guess we can have chicken nuggets for breakfast this ONE time.”

“Yay!” Youta cheered, his wings flipping up and out in his excitement.  

“But bath time while they’re cooking, your feathers are dirty.” She said, getting closer to them. Youta pouted slightly but nodded his head in agreement. Jiko wasted no time putting the requested food into the oven before sweeping Youta up and carrying him to the bathroom. Something that Jiko had learned from her time being around Keigo was how much he had to wash and take care of his wings. They were such a large part of him that if he didn’t preen them often then they would start to look bad. Jiko had translated that time into knowledge that she needs to take good care of Youta’s wings, so she did. She made sure to wash through them gently and help him keep them orderly.  

The bath was quick though, mostly since Youta had kindergarten in about an hour and she wanted to make sure that he was ready on time. She got him dressed in a pair of jeans and a black shirt before she gently nudged him towards the table. The two of them ate their chicken nuggets, Youta going on and on about all the things that he got to do with Nana yesterday.

After they finished eating, Jiko finished collecting all Youtas stuff for school and the two of them were out the door. She would be lying if she said that one of the things, she feared the most was Youta going to school, but she also realized that she couldn’t not send him to school. He deserved an education and to be around teachers who were used to helping students figure out their quirks just as much as anyone else did.  

The pair walked to the train, Jiko with her head down and an arm around Youtas shoulders, holding him close against her legs. The best part about living in a superhero society was that people didn’t give the small winged boy and his wingless mother a second glance. But the one thing that Jiko didn’t pick up on was the fact that following a few feet behind them was a singular red feather.  

Keigo had released the feathers last night and it didn’t take long for this one to hunt her down. The moment that the feather found her though, Keigo could feel it. He could sense her presence near it, and he had never leapt from his bed so quickly. The only thing that struck him as weird was the presence of someone else accompanying her, he couldn’t pick out who it was.

Jiko and Youta boarded their train and the ride was smooth. They arrived at his school with plenty of time to spare and she watched as he ran in the building. She smiled, waving as she watched his red feathers disappear into the crowd of other students. Once she couldn't see him anymore, she dropped her hand and headed towards a coffee shop near the school. She normally spent his school time at this coffee shop because she didn’t see the point of taking a train all the way home and then all the way back.  

A small bell chirped as she opened the door to the coffee place. The barista behind the counter smiled and took her order. Jiko sat down at a table that was tucked away in the corner and pulled out her laptop. She figured she could look at different jobs and put in some applications at agencies for reception positions so that she could have a little more cash.

The barista brought over the coffee and Jiko smiled, thanking her as she went back to her search. She probably spent 30 minutes scrolling through positions before she heard the door of the coffee shop open. She glanced up and nearly choked on her coffee as she saw Keigo standing there. She thought she might have been imagining it, but her fears were confirmed when the barista called out at Keigo and he smiled and waved at her.

He glanced around the shop and their eyes met. Jiko felt her heart skip a beat as she locked eyes with Keigo for the first time in so many years. The two of them stood across from each other for a few more minutes, eyes locked before Keigo went and ordered himself a coffee. Once the eye contact was broken, Jiko felt her chest tight and her head start to pound as her breathing picked up. Her quirk hadn’t activated in hyperdrive yet, but she could feel it getting close.

“Jiko.” Keigo said, looking down at her. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, not daring to look up at him. “Can I sit?” She didn’t respond. A few seconds passed before she nodded her head and Keigo sat across from her.

The two of them sat in a silence for a while longer, only periodically taking sips of their coffees. They didn’t know what say. Jiko had been actively preparing to never come face to face with him again and Keigo had worked every day so he didn’t think about her.

“Why?” Keigo asked, glancing up at her. Jiko didn’t respond as she stared at her keyboard. “Why did you leave me alone with no warning?” He whispered.

“I had to.” She said, the look on her face proving to Keigo that she was telling the truth. She never had been good at lying to him.

“Why?”  

“I..” She trailed off, tapping her fingers against the cup. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit.” Keigo said, smacking his hand down against the table causing it to raddle and everyone in the shop to look in their direction. Jiko sunk further into her chair. Keigo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe we should go somewhere more private to talk?” Keigo asked. Jiko sighed, glancing at the time. Youta didn’t get out of school for another couple of hours and as long as she was back before he got out, she would be fine.

“Fine,” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “I can’t go far.”

“Okay.” Keigo said, not questioning her. He stood up and extended his hand to her, but she brushed it off as she stood and gathered her things back into her bag. The two of them walked out of the shop together. “There’s a park nearby.”

They headed that way in silence. Neither of them really knew what to say which had never been a problem between the two of them when they were younger. Even if they didn’t talk to each other, the silence was never awkward like it was now.  

The park was ten-minute walk from the coffee shop, but it was in the same direction that Youta’s school was in, meaning that Jiko felt more relaxed knowing she would be able to get there easier. The pair found a small bench that was tucked far enough away from other people and sat together. Jiko fumbled her thumbs together, Keigo adjusted his wings.

“I missed you.” Keigo said, breaking the silence. Jiko stared ahead of her, eyes focused on the grass.

“I missed you too.” She said, her voice cracking. They sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Why?” Keigo said, shaking his head. “What happened?”

She wanted to tell him. Of course she did. That she had been told to go away and paid to stay away. That the commission made her lie to him and keep their son from him. But she was also afraid of him hating her and trying to take Youta from her.

“I wish I could tell you, Keigo. I really, really do.” Her voice barely above a whsiper.

“Then tell me. I just... I want to know why. It never made any sense and I have spent every day trying to forget you.”

“Then why did you come find me?”

“You think I would be able to see you in person after all of this time and not look for you again? I thought something terrible had happened to you and I couldn’t bear to investigate it, so I didn’t. And then last night, I see you and all of these feelings come flooding bac-” He was cut off by a phone ringing. Jiko jumped slightly as she reached in her pocket.  

“Hello?” She said, holding her phone against her ear. Keigo could barely hear what the person on the other end of the phone said but he did hear the faintest ‘Mother’ from the other end. “Yes, this is her.” Jiko said, adjusting her bag on her phone.

“There was a little accident today during playtime and Youta got one of his wings hurt. He says that it hurts to move it a whole bunch.” The teacher said and Jiko shot up.

“I’ll be right there.” She said, hanging up her phone. “I have to go.” She didn’t even give him time to respond before she started to walk off. Keigo jumped to his feet and started to follow her.

“Jiko! Wait! Where are you going? Hold up!” He said, nearly running to catch up with her. She didn’t stop though, her pace an almost sprint. “Jiko!” Hawks called out, finally catching up with her and throwing his hand on her shoulder, “What’s wron-”

“Let go of me Keigo.” Jiko said, ripping her shoulder away from him. She never stopped moving towards Youta’s school. “Theres an emergency and I have to go.”  

“Let me fly you there, it would be qui-”

“No.” She said, cutting him off again. The last thing that she wanted to do was have to explain to Keigo what happened when Youta was hurt. But Keigo didn’t seem to be taking ‘no’ for an answer here as he continued to trail behind her.

“Jiko, please. Let me help.” Keigo said, keeping pace beside her. Jiko was starting to get frustrated.

“Keigo, I said no.” Her voice was stern but it didn’t seem to stop Keigo. He was getting frustrated that it felt like Jiko was lying to him.

“You're just trying to make something up so you don’t hav-”

“My son is hurt, and I need to get to him! So please! Stop following me Keigo.” Jiko said, stopping in her tracks for only a second to scream this at him. Keigo stopped in his track, eyes locked on the short hair girl. She shook her head as she started walking again, faster.

“Son?” He whispered, watching her disappear into the distance. He stood there for a few more minutes before he continued in the direction Jiko was heading. As a hero, he knew where most of the schools in this area were. He only took a few more steps before he pushed himself off the ground and to the sky, flying slowly behind her.

He watched from above as she rushed into a school. He perched himself on top of the school and waited for her to leave. It took her maybe five minutes before she came out, cradling a small boy against her chest. A small boy with red wings and blonde hair. One of his wings was haphazardly wrapped together at the wrist. Keigo didn’t move yet, watching the girl he loved carry the small crying child to a car of someone that he didn’t know.

Jiko cradled Youta close to her chest, the small boy was still crying. The sound of Youta crying brought tears to Jikos eyes as she got into the car of one of the teachers. They were going to take him to the hospital to get his wing checked because he was having a hard time extending it. Jiko crawled into the back seat of the car with her son against her chest as the teacher drove.  

Hawks flew slightly behind them, trying his best to not be noticed. He didn’t know why he was following them but his gut told him that he had to.

[threeletterslife]

01 | Over the Moon

→ next chapter

→ summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you're left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You're not ready for that alone. Are you?

→ genre: 85% angst, 15% fluff | mafia!au

→ warnings: profanity, death, graphic depictions of murder/torture, mourning, drinking

→ wordcount: 11.6k

The whiteness of the room is blinding. The lights above are almost excruciating. But most of all, the silence is deafening. As if there's nothing alive and breathing in the room.

But there is.

The only visible signs of life are six men dressed clad in shades ranging from deep blue to black. They are standing completely motionless, but their faces are contorted with all kinds of emotions. Their expressions speak in anger, frustration and exasperation.

Some of them are panting quietly for breath—sounds that can only be heard if you have a sharp hearing. Others have perspiration dripping down their brows—none of them make a move to wipe it off. All are stiff in stance, glaring at one another through their cold, unnerving eyes.

There's no doubt about it—tension is in the air.

One man shifts his weight from his left foot to right. He clears his throat, straightening out his crisp, black suit in the process. "That's enough."

The tension is sliced in half. Chaos chases out the silence.

"What do you mean it's enough? I stand by my original opinion, and I'm not allowing the rest of you to distort it in any way."

"But it is enough, Namjoon. Sit down, will you? All of you."

There's the loud rustling of the men's slacks as they obediently take their seats. One man stays standing; he radiates power and dominance in his aura, staring down at those seated below him.

"I still don't think it's right, Boss," Namjoon tries again. "He wouldn't have wanted this at all." Namjoon wipes the excess sweat off his brow, shaking his head in disdain. He's in the spotlight, daring to voice his thoughts. "Granted, he wouldn't have wanted to die either, but look how things turned out."

"You're wrong, Namjoon," another man scoffs. He crosses his legs and glares at Namjoon. "He did want it. He said it in his goddamn will! Stop arguing with Jin, because frankly, he's the boss, not you!"

"Calm down, Hoseok," Seokjin sighs, shifting his weight on his other foot. "You are to address your superiors by their titles..." he trails off, brows furrowing as he becomes immersed in his thoughts.

"Fine," Hoseok huffs. "Underboss, I frankly think it's right to follow the exact words of his will. Why would he bother to write a will if we don't even heed to it?"

"Hoseok," Namjoon groans in frustration, "we need to interpret the will accordingly. I just don't think taking things too literally will help us. Yoongi? Some help here."

The man who had been leaning back casually in his chair coughs in surprise. "You were doing just fine," he mutters. "I think the underboss is right," Yoongi sighs. "We need to be pragmatic about this—"

"You and your fucking pragmatics," Hoseok spits out. "Let's face it. You two are the only ones with different opinions. Majority rules."

Yoongi doesn't answer. He suddenly takes a disinterest in the conversation and sinks back into his seat, refusing to speak. Namjoon takes the action as a sign to start his defense. "Jungkook and Taehyung barely count," he scoffs. "Jungkook follows everything Taehyung does and Taehyung follows everything the boss says—"

"Hey!" Taehyung yells, suddenly standing up from his seat. "You trying to call me and JK fucking backboneless?"

"I still think our opinions matter..." Jungkook frowns. "Boss?" He looks toward Seokjin for help, but Jin doesn't answer, lost in his own thoughts.

"I'm just saying what we're trying to do is obviously wrong," Namjoon argues.

"And you call yourself a lawyer?" Taehyung laughs scornfully. "Don't you think it's too fucking late to say what's right or wrong?"

"Show some respect to your underboss," Yoongi scolds. "And it's funny you're trying to talk morals, Taehyung. Need I remind you of your own sadistic antics?"

"Fuck you!"

"Let's not be so vulgar," Yoongi retorts.

"You know what? In the end, it's up to the boss to make the executive decision," Namjoon says, quirking his brow at an obviously fuming Hoseok and Taehyung. "So I suggest we all shut up and listen."

All eyes are on Seokjin, now, waiting for him to say something, anything. The man sighs, finally sitting down at his seat. He scans the eyes of the other men in the room, his own eyes cold and calculating.

"I say majority's right, this time," Seokjin declares. "We're down one man, morale is low and we need to fill the gap. If she's smart enough... as smart as him, we'll be in good hands."

"And if she isn't? We're putting a lot at risk," Namjoon says.

"The only risk we're putting in is the detrimental effect it'll have on your mentality," Jin replies. "You don't want her here because she'll remind you of him. You can't bear to have anyone that reminds you of him walking around our halls. I understand and respect that, Joon—" he takes a small breath "—but we need her help... As much as she needs our help."

"And how do you know she needs our help?" Yoongi challenges.

"Her brother's dead, and she doesn't even know."

Unemployment is the best and worst thing that's ever happened to you. Sure, you have no idea how you're going to spark the start of your career or how you're going to explain to your parents why your economics degree isn't paying off student debt. But you also have all the time in the world. All the time in the world to binge-watch your favorite TV shows, that is.

If your parents were here, you'd probably hear an earful from them. The "why can't you be more like your older brother?" type of shit. But the thing is, jokes on them, your brother's literally been MIA for a good six years now.

In fact, you've been covering for his poor ass ever since he decided to drop out of his prestigious college. (Which your parents still have yet to find out about.)

But you suspect they might never find out. First off, your parents are more than 6,000 miles away from you and your brother, so the only earful you get from them is on the phone. Second, they're calling less and less these days. Ever since you and your brother turned eighteen, they've been more lenient, suspecting both of you were CEO's of prospering law firms or hospitals. Third, you're a nasty good liar, something your brother had taught you very well.

You kind of miss him. He's the only blood relative you have in this country, anyway. Your parents are 6,563 miles away in South Korea, while you're stuck in the oh-so-jolly United States of America with your brother.

Then again, he was supposed to protect you, to care for you, ever since he and you had moved to California with your parent's best wishes for both of you to strive for a spectacular education. But to give him a bit of credit, your brother had been by your side since you were in seventh grade to your senior year in high school. And to give him even more (possibly undeserving) credit, he'd helpfully guided your hormonal thirteen-year-old self into the delights of American society when he was only fourteen, himself.

But he ditched you nevertheless, and you're all alone.

Well, you weren't completely alone, you suppose. Sure, your host family was okay, but they had never understood the perils of your teenage angst like your brother had. And besides, it's nearly been six years since you've moved out of your host family's home. You're truly alone now. With no one but sweet Netflix to solace you and coax you to wake up to a new day.

You and your brother are probably the biggest disappointments to your parents, ever. Technically, this time, your brother's the bigger disappointment (for once) because at least you got your master's degree in economics. Your brother never even showed up to his first college class.

God knows where the fuck that man is.

Sure, he always sends you ungodly amounts of money every month—you suspect he's made himself a goddamn CEO of some obscure company—but you would very much rather have his presence than his money.

As much as you're bitter from his unexplained absence in your life, you still desperately want to be in contact again. And he did help you find your passion for economics in the first place.

It's funny because you always thought your brother would hit it big and become some world-wide famous brain surgeon; he'd always been the smarter one of the two of you. Well, your brother was smart, but he definitely wasn't smart enough to control his stupid infatuation with the mafia. And once your brother becomes passionate, there's no fucking way out.

The last you remember, he had been conducting intense research about the most notorious mafia bosses of the 1900s. One time, he'd made you memorize all the positions in the original Italian mafia—you'd given up after he tried to make you spell out 'consigliere.' Another time, between the summer of his high school junior year and senior year, he'd tried to convince your host family to fund his “educational, enlightening and beneficial' trip to Sicily, where 'the original mafia was founded.' ” His words, not yours.

He was insane, that brother of yours.

The worst part was that somehow he'd managed to find friends that would help fuel his idiotic passion for the mafia. Damn his excellent social skills (that you very much lack). Honestly, if you had his brain, you would've definitely not wasted it on researching deadly gangs.

But his friends became your friends and that was that. Except they had all left you in pursuit of something that definitely wasn't education.

At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if your brother disappeared only to continue his crazed mafia research with his best friends. Maybe he's lying undercover somewhere like the total goof that he is, trying to sniff out LA's most notorious criminal gangs. It's a thought that makes you scoff every time.

He should be twenty-four right now, just a year older than you. He should still be in school, getting the proper education you and your parents expected him to get. But noooo, he just had to go off to do his own thing. And now you're left to make excuses for him on the phone.

Last week was your mother's birthday, and when she asked you where the hell your brother was, you had to make up some intricate lie that he had to attend a doctor conference.

Whatever. At least that dumb bastard sends you a generous monthly allowance. You have better problems than to scrounge around looking for your brother—who, you may politely add, is a grown-ass man.

You're twenty-three, unemployed, single as fuck and lost in this vast nation of supposed opportunity. You need to find out what to do with yourself first before looking for your brother. In fact, you should probably stop watching Netflix this instant.

You should probably get dressed and get out there to greet the world with your unemployed status in hopes of landing a stable job your parents would approve of.

And so, as a woman of your word, you do just that.

You're in the middle of looking for your purse when someone knocks on the flimsy door to your apartment.

Weird. You don't usually get visitors.

Ditching the effort to find your purse, you stumble over to the door, trying to peek out of a small hole you've been telling yourself you had to fix for the past three months. But that attempt is futile. The hole that you had always convinced yourself was noticeably large was obviously not large enough for you to discern anything on the other side of that damn door.

You sigh. If it's some murderer out in the middle of the day ready to stab me to death, at least I won't have to pay off my damned student debt.

But you digress. When you open the door, to your slight disappointment, you don't see a murderer. In fact, you see two people—two vaguely familiar people.

"Jungkook? Taehyung?"

"Hey, Y/N," Taehyung smiles.

"Hi." Jungkook waves shyly from behind his friend.

You stare at them, shellshocked and frozen. You haven't seen Jungkook and Taehyung since your brother decided to jump out of your life. They are the subject of vague memories of laughter and good times shared that you'd pushed to the back of your mind as time passed.

You figured Jimin's decision to quit college had something to do with his friends. And now here they were.

"Is Jimin with you?" you ask, unamused and definitely not returning the friendly smiles.

"Ah, that would be a no... Well, as of now, no, at least." Taehyung shrugs. "We've actually been looking for you."

"Oh?" You raise your eyebrows. "Really? Because I've been looking for you. Well, not you, but um my brother actually. Park Jimin? I hope you've heard of him."

Jungkook chuckles softly. "Haven't changed much, huh?"

"I guess." You cock your head, brows furrowing as you think. "So... do you want to come in?"

"Sure!" Taehyung grins, marching right into your humble abode with Jungkook right by his heels. "Nice place, by the way," he comments, looking around at your rather neatly organized living room.

"Thanks," you mutter, closing the door. Taehyung and Jungkook have already made themselves at home on your couch. "So... did my brother set you up to do this? He usually sends letters when he mails me the monthly allowance, but that lazy ass hasn't even been doing that these days... Is he busy?"

Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head. "Jumping right to the chase, huh? Not even a hello? Or a 'how are you doing, Taehyung?' C'mon, don't you miss us? We hung out a lot as kids, remember? The whole lot of us. Right, JK?"

"Right, Tae."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "All of you left me."

"We're sorry," Jungkook replies almost immediately. "We didn't mean to ditch you or anything..."

"Yeah? Well, that's exactly what you did," you say. "Just... Where the fuck is Jimin?"

"Damn since when did you fucking cuss?" Taehyung snorts and not to mention totally ignores your question. "Has it really been that long?"

"Answer my question, Kim Taehyung."

The man raises his eyebrows but speaks. "He's not here, Y/N," Taehyung sighs. "Um... but, it looks like you're doing fine without him, you know? Lookin' good." He grins goofily, saluting to you, but you're unamused yet again.

"Why are you guys even here? I honestly could've sworn you were dead just by how MIA you were."

"Ah... that's..." Jungkook looks down at his feet.

"It's about Jimin, actually," Taehyung blurts out, standing up.

"Oh, lord," you mumble. "What kind of trouble is he in, this time? Do I need to bail him out of jail?"

"Listen," Taehyung says. He stands up, his previous silly demeanor replaced with a serious one. "We... Well, you have to come with us."

You raise an eyebrow. "Just because I was friends with you six years prior doesn't mean I'll spontaneously follow you to wherever."

"But Jimin's waiting for you!" Taehyung exclaims. "Don't you want to see your brother?"

"Well, of course... but—"

"Listen, sweetheart," Taehyung sighs. "You—"

"No, YOU, listen," you interject, raising up your hand. "You can't just expect me to waltz back into my brother's life again. He... well, all of you, ditched me for a reason. I don't know what happened for all of you to change your minds but..." You sigh. "Besides, if Jimin's waiting for me, why didn't he come himself?"

"He's not in the best condition, you know? He's gone down with some cold, and we don't want him to get worse now, do we?" Taehyung says. "We know it's been six years, Y/N. Don't you think that's all the more reason to come visit us? We've missed you, after all."

"Just one, small, quick trip to our house," Jungkook says, fidgeting with his hands. "You'll meet everyone else there! It'll be like a reunion."

You blow air out through your nose. "Like the old days," you mumble.

"Like the old days!" Taehyung exclaims.

"Jimin's not in the best condition, huh? He was always so susceptible to the weakest of viruses," you shake your head. "And you guys have been living together without me? Some kind of family."

"We didn't want to bother your studies," Jungkook says. "Jimin, Taehyung and I all dropped out of college, and Jimin didn't want to become a bad influence on you."

"Right..." you say, eyebrows crinkling in thought.

"But you've graduated, right?" Taehyung asks.

"Right."

"So come and visit us!"

You tilt your head sideways, staring into Jungkook and Taehyung's eyes until Jungkook looks away. You and Taehyung have the longest staring contest before you blink first. "I'm not going to contract whatever Jimin has, right?"

Taehyung grins. "I hope not."

"Fine." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. It can't hurt to visit your long lost brother. Maybe you can give him an earful and convince him to contact your parents. Maybe you can convince him to stop pushing you away? "I'll go."

Jungkook and Taehyung look as genuine as they did back when you had been close friends with them. And besides, if they wanted to murder you for whatever reason, they would've already done it. So you shrug and walk towards the front door. The purse you'd been looking for catches your eye; it had been wedged between some dirty old shoes. Picking it up, you turn to Jungkook and Taehyung. "We're not going to walk, are we?"

"Of course not," Taehyung snorts, catching up to you and opening the door for you as you walk out. "See that car over there? The nice, red sports car?"

"Yeah, is yours the minivan behind it?" you genuinely ask.

Jungkook giggles. "Actually, the red sports car is ours."

"What?" you deadpan. Dropped out of college, my ass.

"Well..." Taehyung snorts, helping you down your own steps. You protest by swatting his hand away, but he insists and persists. "Namjoon, Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi make the big bucks."

"Really?"

Jungkook opens the shotgun car door for you. "Yeah! Here, you can take the shotgun seat while Taehyung drives it responsibly back. No speeding, there's a lady present."

You snort, sliding into the nice leather seat. "Thanks."

"No problem," Taehyung grins, making himself comfortable in his own driver's seat as Jungkook takes the back for himself. "It'll be a forty-minute drive, so we better get all comfortable here."

"Um, yeah. I can think of several questions on the spot," you say, strapping yourself in just in time before Taehyung speeds off.

"Ask away!" Taehyung chirps.

"First off, what on earth do you guys do to afford this kind of car? Shouldn't some of you be drowning in student debt?"

"Namjoon's a lawyer," Jungkook pipes in. "Hoseok's a surgeon, Yoongi's an anesthesiologist and Jin's a head chef at some famous place he owns."

"Talk about successful..." you trail off. "What about everyone else?"

"Eh, school's disgusting," Taehyung chuckles. "I'm a waiter at Seokjin's restaurant and JK here's a cop."

"But that's better than being unemployed, though," you sigh. "What's Jimin been up to?"

"He's a bartender," Taehyung says. "Got pretty damn good at it too."

"Bartending, huh? Never really thought he'd be into that. Last time I saw him, he was obsessed with the mafia. Guess it's bartending now, huh?"

Jungkook laughs. "Yeah, I guess."

The conversation flows nicely after that. You ask question after question and Jungkook and Taehyung give you answer after answer. And by the end of the forty-minute drive, it's as if they never left you. You had been the closest to them in your childhood, anyway. You almost forgot how good it feels to have quality talks with your childhood friends. In fact, you kinda forgot what it's like to have a friend, so this was a nice change.

"Hey, we're here," Taehyung smiles. "Home sweet home."

"We're in front of a wall," you deadpan as Jungkook snickers in the backseat.

"It's a gate, silly," Taehyung snorts. "Just gotta punch in a code..." His fingers move lightning fast across a keypad, and suddenly the wall is separating, creating a small space for the fancy car to drive right through.

Your mouth drops open when you see the house, er, mansion, that's before you. "That's your house?"

"Home sweet home," Taehyung chuckles. He parks the car in front of the elaborate steps that lead to a large, white door. "Hold on," he tells you as he hurriedly gets out only to open the car door for you on the other side.

"Thanks." You get out of the car, unable to take your eyes off of the beautiful mansion. "I've been missing out..."

"You have," Jungkook grins teasingly.

"C'mon, everyone's waiting inside!" Taehyung calls from the top step. God knows when he'd sprinted up those stairs.

A sudden wave of relief crashes over you. It's been six years. Six fucking years. Now you can finally see your brother. You don't like to admit it. You rarely end up admitting it. In fact, you don't think you've ever admitted it.

But you look up to your older brother with all your heart. And you're more than elated to see him again for the first time in half a dozen years.

The moment Taehyung opens the grand, wide doors to the even more grandiose mansion, you sprint in without a moment of hesitation.

You're greeted by white marble floors, a crystal chandelier and an occupied glass dining table. Four familiar faces stare at your excited self. They've grown. The boys you practically grew up with, that is. Their faces becoming sharper, highlighting their features and their once wide, childish eyes, squinted and emotionless... Something about the way they sit elegantly on the dining chairs sets you off. And you can't really pinpoint what.

There's Seokjin with a new hairstyle that makes him look like a rich billionaire (and judging by the mansion you might even be right on your judgment). Then there's Namjoon who's lost all of his baby fat, his eyebrows creased slightly and his legs crossed casually. Hoseok's dressed to the nines, gold rings encompassing his fingers. Even Yoongi too... The kid who had used to be shy and awkward looks like he could murder a man with his gaze alone.

Your smile drops as you realize the person you wanted to see the most is missing from the mix.

"Where's Jimin? Is he in bed?"

Hoseok gives you a strange look before turning to Taehyung. "What did you tell her?"

That one little question makes your heart drop. You should've known Taehyung spits out lies easier than he blinks. You should've called him out on his bullshit the moment you had doubts.

Jungkook gives you a nervous look before he pushes out one of the dining chairs for you. You frown, looking between Jungkook and the chair incredulously.

"Please, Y/N, it's been a while. Sit down, make yourself comfortable," Seokjin soothes. "Everything will make sense soon." He gestures for you to take the empty chair, which was conveniently placed between his seat and Namjoon's.

You raise your eyebrows. "Jin? What...? What's going on? Joon?" you question, turning your eyes to the man who had known your brother the best. Namjoon averts his eyes, leaving you stranded in your own confusion.

"You didn't tell her anything?" Yoongi sighs. "The truth, I mean?"

"Why would we?" Taehyung defends sharply. But when Hoseok glares daggers into his head, Taehyung looks down at his feet.

It chills your blood to see your old-time friends like this. Cold, distant... serious. When you were younger, there wasn't a hint of tension at all between the eight of you. Now tension is all you see.

"Jungkook, fetch the document, please," Jin sighs, running a hand through his otherwise well-combed hair. "How have you been, Y/N? Getting by? Jimin always made sure to send you some money..." he trails off, giving you a small smile.

You watch as Jungkook scampers off, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Something just wasn't right.

"Y/N?" Jin asks, softly.

"Taehyung said Jimin's sick," you stupidly say. "I hope you guys haven't been condoning him to get in trouble."

"Not even a 'hello,'" Jin chuckles.

"Where is he?" you demand. You're getting a bad gut feeling and your eyes fleetingly glance at the doors behind you.

Jin notices your hesitation, smiling at you warmly. "Hey... hey, I'm still the same Seokjin you knew... You're safe here, Y/N."

"What do you mean, safe?" you accuse. "Are you implying that I wasn't safe before?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions," Hoseok snorts.

"Let the girl ask. She's confused, can't you see?" Namjoon bites back. "Things will make sense in a bit, all right?"

"Why doesn't it make sense now?"

Jin smiles patiently. "You see... it's a bit... complicated, Y/N. But we promise you, you'll be safe."

"Safe from what? Is Jimin that sick? Is he in the hospital? Shouldn't we go there right n—"

A document falls on the table, right in front of your seat, shutting you up. You freeze when you catch sight of the text.

"What is this?" you ask in a tiny voice as your body suddenly becomes cold. You laugh nervously and with shaky hands, you bring the document closer to you to inspect it. To see if your eyes weren't fooling you. "You're pulling my leg. This isn't what I think it is."

"Oh but it is," Hoseok sighs.

"Shut up," Namjoon commands. "Y/N... I'm sorry."

"W-What do you mean?" you breathe. "You expect me to believe this? This is bullshit. What do you mean you're sorry?"

Deny it. That's it. Be in denial. There can't be one single reason that that's true.

But the letters don't lie. You can't look away from the writing in a large, clear font, scrawled across the very top of the document. Last Will & Testament of Park Jimin.

Someone puts a warm hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. "Please, read the will first," Jin says. "We'll explain everything. I'm sorry, Y/N. We all are..."

You clear your obviously dry throat. "No," you say as clearly as you can though you notice the hesitation and inconsistency in your voice. "You can't expect me to believe this. If you're going to play games with me, I'll get going. I didn't come here for a prank. I actually came here to see my brother."

You're about to push your chair away to stand up, but someone places a hand on the back of it, obstructing you from leaving. You look up to glare at this rude someone only to see Jungkook. He gives you an apologetic glance before moving to block your view to the entrance entirely.

"Let me go," you say through gritted teeth.

Seokjin shakes his head before looking you dead in the eyes. "Y/N... We're sorry."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Sorry that you don't know where my brother is too? You didn't have to cover it with his fake death."

"Are you stupid? You must be an idiot!" Hoseok sighs in exasperation. He taps his fingers impatiently on the table. "I'm done playing with your denial game. Face it. Your brother's dead, Y/N. Read his goddamn will before I lose my patience and read it out for you."

You stare blankly at Hoseok. "Dead?"

"Hoseok," Seokjin warns. "Y/N... I know you may have your doubts, but you have to trust us. That document... Jimin would've wanted you to read it."

"Stop," you command. The room spins and frankly, you feel a bit sick. "Stop acting like he's already dead. There's just... there's no way. He's twenty-four! He can't be dead now." You run your hands through your hair, feeling distressed and out of your mind. "He never even said goodbye to me..." you mutter. "He would've said goodbye." You shake your head. Tears that you didn't even know were there start to drip down your face. "I don't believe any of this."

"We can show you the body if you'd like," Hoseok shrugs. "But we don't want to do that now, do we?"

"You're serious."

"We wish we weren't, Y/N... We're sorry," Jin says. And he does look really apologetic. "Please... just read the will, and I promise I'll explain the rest to the best of my ability."

You're completely shell-shocked to silence.

There's no way he's dead. If he had been terminal or something, he would've said... He should've said something in his letters. It's not possible. I haven't seen him in person for six years. It can't end like that. And to hear this from his best friends?

Taehyung puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, tugging the will closer to you. He slowly picks it up, helping you grip onto the single piece of paper. At that moment, you come so close to ripping it apart to shreds. That damn will was the only solid proof you had of your brother's death. No will? No death.

But you know things don't work as linearly as that.

"You might have doubts, Y/N. And I understand," Seokjin soothes. "I know how hard it is to be on the receiving end of news like this. And I get that you haven't seen Jimin in years. You might even feel like you can't feel a difference when he was alive and when he's gone... I know that might scare you at the moment. And I know that's pushing you into denial, Y/N. But we brought you here for a reason... So, please. Give us another chance and read the will. Your brother would've wanted that. Most of what's on there is for you, anyway."

You feel numb. And you hate it. You hate that Seokjin's right. Jimin could've died a year ago, and you wouldn't have known; you wouldn't have felt a difference. Apparently, Jimin's dead now, and you still can't seem to bring yourself to fall to the floor and grieve like you mean it. You just feel twisted inside. Like you drank a glass of spoiled milk. But you can't seem to grasp the concept of your brother's apparent death. How can you when he was basically dead to you for six years? What difference did it make? He never contacted you anyway. If he really was dead, you wouldn't feel a difference at all.

God. You hate yourself for thinking about these things.

At this point, the sad, confused, frustrated and angry tears blind your vision, but you're able to make out the image of someone reaching across the table to hand you a tissue. You accept it gladly, wiping the tears with the best of your ability. Looking up, you see Yoongi, his stare completely blank and his hands holding out the tissue box for you. "Thank you..." you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

Then you finally let your eyes gravitate to the document. You've been gripping it so hard with your sweaty, shaky hands that the once clean, straight paper is slightly crumpled and damp. But that's the least of your problems.

Besides the printed title, the rest of the will is even in his handwriting. The scrawl is neat and in slight cursive—you can recognize Jimin's writing anywhere.

Your wet eyes take in every word your brother etched onto the paper with black ink. It's strange to read something so solemn, so straightforward from your lively, passionate brother. The will isn't long, but you take the time to reread every sentence, mulling over every word.

It isn't much, actually. Just states who gets what... And it seems like you've inherited everything he owned. Which, contrary to the mansion he lived in, wasn't much.

Unreal. This whole situation feels like a nightmare. And maybe you are asleep, and your mind is playing your greatest worries against you? You're praying to wake up any second.

But you never wake up, and the nightmare drowns you deeper as you come across the next line in the will:

If, by somewhat likely chances, I was murdered, I trust that Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook will take care of Park Y/N in their home; if my death was through natural causes, the following men should quietly send Y/N her inheritance.

You reread the sentence again. Then again. And again. You pull the paper closer to your eyes, hands shaking as you do so.

Maybe I misread it. Maybe I...

But you hadn't misread it. The line stays the same as your eyes painfully cross it every time, a part of you breaking off and withering away by each glance.

You feel dull. Shocked, yes, but already numb. Your thoughts are a jumbled up mess. There are so many questions, but you can't make out coherent words. Such a shame... You usually always know what to say.

If... If my brother had died through 'natural causes,' which I'm guessing pertains to illnesses... then I wouldn't be here. I would've gotten my inheritance with no strings attached. The fact that I'm here... Murder? My brother thought it was a somewhat likely chance that he would be murdered??

It's so crazy that there's no way anyone would be making it up. You can feel the shadow of doubt limping away. And what's left makes you feel more vulnerable than ever. Being able to read that will too... It was like an eye-opener. A call to you that Jimin was really dead. Whether you believe it or not.

"You need explanations, huh?" Seokjin sighs, nodding. He puts a warm, comforting hand on top of yours, but you're so cold, so far gone, you can barely even feel it. "Hey, hey..." he says softly. "Y/N?"

You're nodding through tears. "I don't know what to believe," you finally admit in defeat. "I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm just confused."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I understand. It's a lot to take in. And..." he hesitates. "It's going to be a lot more to take in as well..." He looks at you cautiously to see how you're coping. And you seem to be doing better than he had expected because he continues on. "I need you to listen to me very closely and not let doubt or denial of any sort to block me out, alright?"

Seokjin rubs soft circles into the back of your hand as you nod very slowly. Yoongi hands you another tissue. (Almost as if he was preparing you for a huge breakdown.)

"Listen, I'm going to be very frank," Jin says.

He's treading water, you notice.

"You've heard of the gangs around LA, right?"

You frown. "What?" That was the last thing you expected to come out of Seokjin's mouth. Though a bit bewildered, you nod. "Of course I have. The brutal murders, the shootings, the stupid territory fist fights..." You trail off when the realization hits you. "J-Jimin... He... He didn't mess with them, did he?"

Your heart sinks in your chest when Jin doesn't answer right away.

"He was always so obsessed with the mafia. He didn't just follow them and get in trouble, did he? He's not that stupid, right? Please, Jin, please say something. Tell me that isn't true." You sound pathetic even to yourself, but you can't help it.

Now it seems believable. It's entirely conceivable that your brother had been murdered by some malicious gang members for sticking his nose in their business. And you don't know what to make of this new information.

"Well," Jin sighs. He softly grabs your hand, and his warmth makes you feel just a little bit calmer. "It's partly true..."

"God," you groan, pulling your hands away from his and burying your face into them.

"We're in a gang, actually."

The spoken sentence shatters you. "Come again?"

"We're the mafia, Y/N. Your brother... all of us."

It sounds so preposterous, you almost scoff. But you don't. Jin had told you to trust him, and insanely enough, you were instinctively doing just that. Besides, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. God, it explains so much. And the color drains from your face as everything clicks. That would explain the ungodly amounts of money Jimin had sent every month. That would explain the mansion. The crazy good jobs half of them are holding despite being so young. It would explain why your seven best friends had left you—probably on Jimin's account because he definitely wouldn't have wanted you to be affected. It even explains why these six men in front of you aren't anything like the six boys you had spent your childhood with. Why they look so cold, ruthless... intimidating.

And you thought you were dragged here to see your brother. Ironic.

"How seriously are you involved?" you ask carefully.

"Seriously enough," Namjoon answers. "Seriously enough for it to kill your brother, that is."

You frown at that. "I feel obligated to believe all of this," you sigh. "I don't want to believe any of it too—"

"Do you really think we'd be lying?" Hoseok sighs.

"What else would you think?" you bite back. "I think I have every right to be incredulous at the moment."

"Of course you have every right to be 'incredulous,'" Hoseok says. "But you'd better save it for later. See, honey, we're the mafia. One of the many affluent gangs in this city, you understand? Two and a half days ago, your brother was murdered by an enemy gang member or two, and we have yet to figure out which gang and who in the gang..." He sighs deeply, raising an eyebrow at you. "We've recovered the body, but I don't think you'll recognize it anyway... That doesn't matter. What does is that your brother wants you to join us now that he's dead. Living in this house would mean your blood is with us."

You feel tipsy again. Dizzy. Nauseous. Numb.

"You ruined everything," Namjoon accuses, glaring at Hoseok.

You steady yourself by gripping the edge of your chair. "I think I need to leave," you finally say after a long pause.

Just walk away. Pretend as if nothing happened. Maybe in due time, you'll forget everything that had just unfolded in this room.

"Ohh, you wouldn't want to do that, sweetheart," Taehyung murmurs.

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him. "I can do what I want. Need I remind you that all of you kept me in the dark for years. And the moment you need me, you decide to call me over for whatever reason despite the fact that I don't want to be involved at all. And if all of this is true, that also means you let Jimin get murdered. I'm not going to join your gang—if it even exists. I'm out."

You force your chair back, nearly stepping on Jungkook's toes as you stumble away from the crystal table. Muttering a quick apology to the sad-looking man, you quickly turn on your heels before making a dash to the exit.

Just as you're about to heave the large doors open, a loud voice commands you to stop. And you do, just for a little while, meeting Hoseok's eyes. "I'm going to walk away like this never happened. I'd appreciate it if I'm never contacted again."

Hoseok scoffs. "Not a good choice. The moment you leave those doors and walk out of our territory, you're in danger. Do you really want to die as painfully as he did?"

"Hoseok..." Seokjin warns.

But Hoseok pays no mind, rolling his eyes. "It looks like they jumped him while he was unsuspecting."

You freeze.

"He had no weapons on him. We checked. Completely defenseless. They duct-taped his arms and legs together like a helpless animal so he couldn't move. Then, they beat him, crumpled up his body until bruises blossomed and bones broke. Pulled out a few fingernails and teeth. But slowly. One at a time. Managed to damage a few organs as well... Internal bleeding was pretty bad," Hoseok pauses, staring at you with a cold, hard look in his eyes. "Then they forced rubbing alcohol down his throat... and duct-taped his mouth shut."

Your legs shake so hard, they give out. Your body hits the cold, marble floor, but you don't feel the impact in your bones.

"And do you know how he died?" Hoseok says. "You would think from blood loss... or a concussion." He stares at you as if he were expecting you to nod your head and answer to a degree. When he realizes you're shocked frozen, he sighs. "Your brother asphyxiated in his own vomit. Had to examine it myself, actually. And Yoongi would tell you the exact same thing."

Now it seems too real.

The last image you have of your brother was when he was eighteen. And that's the image of Jimin you played in your head when Hoseok had painted the vivid pictures of your brother's murder. The innocent, passionate, caring person you'd known. Gone. Just like that. And in such a cruel, inhumane way.

It hurts in a way you've never hurt before.

"Y/N, you see?" Taehyung sighs. He walks over to you, holding out his hand to help you up. When you make no move to take it, he forces you up himself, carrying your frozen, shell-shocked body back to the dining table. He carefully places you back on the chair like you're a fragile doll and speaks, "Whoever killed him might be after you. Jimin's made quite a lot of enemies who would do anything to kill him and his family. And you're the only family he has in America."

"Your brother wants... wanted you to be safe. We want to respect that, Y/N..." Jin soothes. "For Jimin, don't you think?"

"For Jimin?" you whisper, shaking with fear, grief, anger. "For Jimin?!" The tears are drowning your face again. "You're going to use that against me? None of us knew what Jimin wanted! You can't just assume what anyone wants! He's dead! He's... dead. Only he would know what he wanted, but he's gone..." You sob, your fists shaking with overwhelming emotion. "I just miss him," you whisper. "Ah, thanks," you mutter quietly when Yoongi hands you the third tissue of the day.

"We all miss him," Jin says. "We also understand your grief, Y/N. We're not your enemies, alright? We're on your side, and we're here to help you. I know things seem dubious at the moment. I apologize but I'd like to stay true to Jimin's last wishes. The will speaks what he wants, and we're merely acting on that. But we won't force you to join our little gang...

"We want to give you time to make your final decisions while also keeping you safe in the meantime. You're welcome to stay while you decide. We're not horrible men, Y/N. We wouldn't force a resolution out of you if you're not in the right mental state."

"A-And if I walk out right now?" you challenge.

"That'll be beyond what we can handle. We can't promise your safety outside of our territory, Y/N... But yes, you may walk out right this second. No judgment, no troubles... from us, that is."

"I... I need time, Jin. I can't do this right now." Even to yourself, you sound defeated.

"Hey... It's alright. Here, I'll guide you to the room you'll stay in..."

God, they had it all planned out, didn't they?

You look at the magnificent doors behind you. And for just a split second, you contemplate leaving. But you can't. Not when these people are the only people left. With your brother gone, your parents, oh god, your parents, thousands of miles away... The only people you have left are your childhood friends.

Childhood friends that are apparently associated with the mafia. And you were incredulous in the beginning, but the more you watch how the six of them acted, how they carried themselves... You would be crazy not to believe they were in the mafia.

And as Jin places a comforting hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the room you'll be staying in for who knows how long, you can't help but wonder if Jimin, the sweet, caring and enthusiastic person you knew had changed like his friends.

The Jimin you knew wouldn't hurt a fly.

Now, you're not so sure.

The hallways of the mansion are elaborately decorated with aureate designs and classic paintings. The expensiveness of your surroundings makes you feel even more at unease. Are you making the right choice? Can you trust these six men? Is it too late to back away? Would your brother have wanted this?

A stranger to your panicked thoughts, Jin steadily guides you further into the mansion. Though the twists and turns of the hallways are confusing to you, he seems to know them quite well. Finally, he comes to a stop in front of a white door.

"Your room's on the other side, Y/N," Jin says, giving you a small smile. "There's no pressure at all deciding where you want to go. But in the meantime, I hope you can be comfortable here. If you need anything, ask Jungkook or Taehyung, alright?"

You nod, dumbly. "I can stay here as long as I want?"

"Until you make your decision," Jin says. "So, in a way, yes. You can stay here as long as it takes to make your decision."

You nod again, unable to come up with an answer of any sort. Jin notices your slight hesitation and puts a comforting arm on your shoulder.

"I know it's been a lot to take in, Y/N... And I'm personally sorry we didn't reach out to you beforehand... But it'll be like the old times, I promise."

"In the old times, we were a family," you mutter.

"We still are."

You make an unsatisfied grunt, shaking your head. "I don't think I was ever part of that family."

Gingerly, Jin turns you around to face him. Though you admit you're being a bit difficult at the moment (and rightfully so), he doesn't look frustrated at all. He crouches down, putting his hands on your shoulders, shaking his head and giving you a kind smile.

"You were always a part of the family, Y/N," Jin soothes. "But think of your alienation from us as an act of safety precaution. Believe me, the rest of us did want to tell you about our... involvement, but Jimin didn't want to put you in any danger. Especially when you were busy trying to follow the path to your career. And eventually, we all agreed with that reasoning. It's dangerous work as you may understand. You have to be completely set on involvement if you want to be a part of it. I know you're probably thinking why we would ask you to join if it's so hazardous... But at this point, it'd be more hazardous to let you go, and Jimin wouldn't have wanted that..." He trails off, checking your face as if to check your emotions. But you've managed to keep a stoic look, though internally, your emotions are a mess.

"I want to apologize for dragging you into this mess, Y/N," Jin sighs. "But back when we were teenagers... Lost and confused in a new country... Feeling and looking like aliens, we were together. We were a family. And now's the chance for us to reunite, don't you think? Jimin would be happy..."

You flinch at the mention of your brother's name. "I... I just..." You're at a loss of words, eyes turning wet with emotion. "Give me time, please," you manage to mutter. "I need time."

"Yeah," Jin says, softly. "Of course."

He lets go of your shoulders, giving you space as he steps back. "Jungkook will come later to escort you to dinner, but other than that, we'll try not to bother you..."

"I don't think I'll be hungry," you say. How could you? It'd be wrong to have an appetite at a moment like this. Your skin still crawls at the vivid descriptions of your brother's demise by Hoseok. With a final sympathetic look from Jin, you enter the room, closing the door behind you.

You take a few, uncertain steps in. The room has sort of a musty smell to it, though it looks well-cleaned and organized. Without a second thought, you push the light gray drapes aside to reveal a large window. You open it to breathe in the fresh air. It calms your insides much more than you expected it would.

With a newly rejuvenated mind, you take a few steps backward until you're situated in the middle of the rather commodious room, taking in your surroundings. But upon closer examination, your heart plummets.

This room...

You slowly slide to your knees, looking helplessly at the decorations on the walls, the pictures in the frames, the drawings, the polaroid photos...

A familiar face looks back at you, grinning happily. Inside that pictured photograph is a younger version of yourself. It's you and Jimin arm in arm. You remember that moment exactly. It had been on your fourteenth birthday. Jimin had gifted you a polaroid camera, which you had forced Seokjin to take a photo with.

Next to the wall of polaroid photos capturing sweet moments you shared with your brother and his six friends is a familiar drawing. It's the piece of artwork you drew when you were very young. Before you and Jimin had moved to America. It's a colorful marker drawing of the Park family. You had falsely drawn your older brother shorter than you because he had been annoying you that day. And at the time, Jimin had gotten pissed with your petty antics... But as years passed, you remember he cherished that piece of artwork. And now it had ended up in this place...

A broken sob escapes your trembling lips when you realize this is his room.

How cruel that they have placed you here. In a room that would bring back memories of him.

Or maybe they thought this would help. Maybe they thought you could connect with your dead brother again.

All you can feel is cold inside. The Park Jimin you had used to love and look up to might not be the same man who had lived in this room. He'd changed. And so had his friends.

But you still find yourself staring at the decorated walls—too afraid to go and touch the photographs and paintings that hold so much memory—yet not afraid enough to ignore them completely.

Recalling your childhood wasn't too bad. It'd been pretty great, actually. Well, aside from the fact that you didn't exactly have parents to guide you in your teenage years. It's scary how much of a presence Jimin and his friends have in your past. You'd celebrated every birthday with them. Went to every high school party with them. Had Sunday night movie marathons with them. You'd known them all almost like the back of your hand (maybe even better because you don't like to look at your hands).

Indulging in the past is therapeutic. Until you arrive at the present, that is. And the future becomes a mystery.

What the hell will you do without your brother? And if what Seokjin was saying was true... and you're actually at the risk of being brutally murdered, then wouldn't it be better to stay behind the safety of the walls that your 'friends' offered to provide you?

Your mind is jumbled up with all kinds of thoughts. When everything happens too fast, you have a hard time getting back on your feet. You need time. Time to think. Time to mull over the pros and cons. To dissect your thoughts completely before acting recklessly on them.

You're not too sure of what to think. But you are sure of a couple of things. Your brother really was dead. There was no lie behind that. You'd seen the will... his last wishes... his handwriting... heard of the graphic way he was killed... And some deep feeling inside you knows. Two and a half days ago, you'd felt shitty for no reason. Then, you had thought it was something you ate. But now, you realize maybe that had been the universe's fucked up way of signaling to you that your brother was struggling to hang on to his last seconds of life.

You're also sure that you're angry. Angry at whatever bastard that murdered Jimin. And if it had happened in a way that Hoseok had so vividly colored in your imagination, you wish his murderer would die as painfully as he did. Revenge. Maybe that's what you want.

But you can't take vengeance all by yourself. You're just some average Korean-American young adult who's trying to please her parents who are back in her home country. You need help. And Jin had offered you help...

Those six boys are all you have left in this vast country.

But they're dangerous, another part of you argues. They're actually part of the mafia.

Your mind takes you back to the moment when Hoseok had so blatantly told you how your brother had been killed. He hadn't even flinched as he spoke such gruesome details that had made your skin crawl and breaths quicken. In fact, none of the boys had looked truly sad about your brother's death.

You fist your hair in frustration. I don't know what to do. You stare blankly at the portrait photo of you and Jimin with the other boys. Maybe staring at the inanimate Jimin will give you answers...?

You have no idea how long you've been staring and thinking when there's a soft knock on your door. Though the sound is nothing close to a disturbing racket, it is still a rude awakening to your thoughts.

You clear your throat before answering, "Yes?"

"May I come in?"

You recognize that voice as Jungkook's. Soft, curious and intuitive. "Yeah, sure," you say, making sure to wipe the residue of your tears away.

You can feel his presence, though your back is turned to him. He seems cautious, watchful as he slowly walks towards you. Finally, you turn around to face him. "What are you here for?"

Jungkook laughs quietly. He takes his leisure as he closes the window, and the room suddenly feels warm again. "Don't want you catching a cold," he mumbles, glancing at you before smiling cordially. "I'm here to escort you to dinner."

Right. Jin had told you about this.

It looks like Jungkook had changed his clothes. A more casual wear consisting of gray sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks like any normal guy you could find in America. It chills you that he's involved in a gang. Looks deceive.

"I don't have much of an appetite. Sorry," you say unapologetically. "I haven't made a decision either if that's what you want me to mention." Jungkook seems taken aback by your candidness, but you shrug. "May I please be alone? I need time..."

"I wasn't going to mention your decision," Jungkook says. He looks a bit sad you turned him down, but he begins to leave the room. "Just thought you'd be hungry... It's been more than six hours since you've come here."

"I know," you say. "I'm not hungry, though. I'm fine."

Jungkook nods dejectedly, "Alright. Have a nice night." He gives you a semi-worried look before he saunters away, closing your door lightly.

You breathe a sigh of relief when he's gone, releasing the tension you hadn't even known had built up in your shoulders. Sighing, you slump onto the ground, staring up at the high ceiling of the room. Maybe if you just think in silence, you'll know what to do.

You lose yourself in your mind until another knock on the door startles you.

"Y/N?"

God. That's Seokjin, this time.

"I told you I'm not hungry, Jin. If that's what you're here for."

You hear the door open, but you continue to stare up at the ceiling.

"Oh, Y/N..." you hear Jin sigh. He crouches down next to you, and you can suddenly feel his warmth by your side. "You're not hungry because of shock. But you should eat. Skipping meals shouldn't become a habit."

"I dunno," you mumble, turning your head over to look at Seokjin. "There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave this room. You knew it was Jimin's, and you gave it to me."

"I thought it would help with your thoughts..." Jin says. He puts a reassuring hand on top of yours. "Remember those days when we were younger? I just hope recalling the memories helped a little."

"Can't say it didn't."

"Good, good..." Jin trails off.

You finally sit up, staring curiously at the man. "Don't you miss him? Why is everyone acting like they don't? Aren't you guys the ones that had spent the six years I couldn't with him?" You're not angry, just confused.

"Of course I miss him, Y/N. We all do. We're all grieving inside, though we choose not to show it to those around us," Jin sighs. "I think we've all cried about Jimin's passing, Y/N. Some are more open about it than others..." He pauses. "We'd... Well, we'd like to share a meal with you. You know, make your time here worthwhile. A small dinner might not help the bad feelings go away completely, but it can help temporarily. All you need is a nice, refreshing drink and a hot, savory meal, Y/N. We'll be by your side. No one here is against you."

The way he says it makes everything sound so tantalizing, so believable, so obtainable. You should've known better. But then again, they're all you have.

You hesitate. Then: "I'll... I'll go to dinner."

Jin smiles, helping you up. "You won't regret it."

You're not in much of an ecstatic mood, obviously. You were beginning to regret agreeing to Jin's talented convincing until you see the dining room and momentarily forget half of your day's unfortunate events. Your jaw drops as you enter it and your eyes latch onto the shining chandeliers and crystal decorations.

"Wait 'til you see our kitchen," Seokjin chuckles.

You nod just to agree. It makes you just a tiny bit happier to think that your brother had lived in such a lavish place. At least he got to experience the good stuff...

You see the rest of your brother's friends standing around the large crystal dining table, each holding a glass of wine of their choice. It's a strange contrast between the luxuries of the room and the casual wear of the people in it. You'd expect to see them dressed in gold-trimmed tuxes and suits, but they're all in sweats—expensive sweats, granted, but sweats nevertheless. Seven dainty chairs surround the table, on which the food's already steaming on silver plates.

"Just in time!" Taehyung announces. "We were worried the food would get cold!"

"Oh," you mumble, nodding awkwardly before pulling out a random chair to sink into when—

"Excuse me, that happens to be Namjoon's seat."

Startled, you look up to see Jung Hoseok sighing and shaking his head. "Assigned seats, Y/N."

"Cut her some slack, Jung," Namjoon says. "She had no way of knowing. And if you can't tell, she needed convincing to be here, so you better play nice." He turns to you, smiling, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You're welcome to sit in that spot if you'd like."

Already feeling quite out of place, you pause before replying, "No... Uh, I'll just... um, sit where my brother sat then..."

"Oh, that's next to me," Jungkook says, pulling your chair out for you as you sink in it gratefully. Looks like you're sandwiched between Namjoon and Jungkook. In front of you is Yoongi, across from you on the left is Taehyung, across on the right, Hoseok. And smack dab in the power seat of the table is Seokjin. It occurs to you that you're the only one sitting.

Awkwardly, you look over to Jin, who gives you another reassuring smile. "You may be seated."

Your eyes bulge slightly as the five other men take their seats as if they're heeding to Jin's commands.

What is this? A monarchy?

When Jin takes his seat, no one makes a move, you note. Your throat itches, begging for a drink of water or a sip of wine to calm your nerves, but you are not going to be the one who moves first. There's obviously some sort of crazy shit going on here, and you're going to tread lightly until you figure out what it really is.

Finally, finally, when Jin reaches forward to take a sip of his blood-red wine, conversations resume, breathing resumes and the eating and drinking commences.

You're shell-shocked. That's what you are. You're unable to move until Jungkook slides you a piece of filet mignon steak onto your plate.

"I remembered you loved that particularly," he says, before returning to his friendly conversation with Taehyung.

But your favorite meal—in all of its glorious scent—doesn't appeal to you today. So, you keep your ears open to listen to the conversations around you. Wondering how they can have conversations at a time like this...

Taehyung seems to be telling Jungkook about the cute chicks he saw while he was working at his restaurant. Your eyes widen as Taehyung makes a quite inappropriate gesture with his hands. And you nearly choke when you see Jungkook playing along with it.

"Get a hold of yourselves," Yoongi says disgustedly at them. "Y/N isn't blind or deaf, you know. Keep your sexual fantasies in your bedrooms."

Hoseok snorts. And even Seokjin seems to chuckle.

"Sorry," Jungkook mutters as Taehyung just rolls his eyes.

"It's hard when soo many hot, rich girls come to Seokjin's restaurant, you know?" Taehyung grins. "Even harder when they slip their numbers into your tip."

Jungkook giggles. "That's real smooth of them."

"I know! I can't help that I'm so hot," Taehyung laughs. He laughs even harder when he sees Namjoon's disgusted face. "Face it Joon. Being a lawyer sucks, doesn't it? No girls to hit on... Just old farts in court."

Namjoon just sighs, sipping his wine. "You know what? Taehyung? It is quite a shitty job. My stress levels strike the roof whenever the topic of my career emerges. Go get me some vodka."

Taehyung looks offended that his joke had turned into a chore for him to do. He sighs, shaking his head, muttering something on the lines of "can't take a fucking joke." Before he leaves, he calls out, "Anyone else wants another drink?"

"Coke and rum for me," Hoseok quickly answers.

"Tonic and gin," Yoongi says.

"The usual," Seokjin calls. When Taehyung scrunches his face in confusion, he sighs. "Grapefruit soda and tequila."

"Right," Taehyung replies. "Y/N?" he asks. "Pick your poison if you'd like."

You jump at the sudden mention of your name. "I dunno..."

"Maybe something strong?" Taehyung suggests. "You know, to help..."

"Right... Something strong."

Taehyung grins. "I'll see what I can do."

"Get me some gin and lemonade, pretty please," Jungkook laughs.

Taehyung gives him a disdainful look. "If you want it, come help me in the kitchen, bitch."

Jungkook grumbles but he complies, following Taehyung and disappearing behind a corner in which you assume the kitchen lies.

"They might 'accidentally' poison our drinks for all we know," Namjoon sighs, shaking his head. "I trusted Jimin more when he handled our drinks. He is... was the best bartender in the city," Namjoon smiles. "God, his concoctions were literally unmatched."

For some reason, what he says makes you feel even more empty inside. "I can imagine," you force out.

You hate this. You shouldn't have come. You're uncomfortable, placed in the middle of a group of friends that have no respect for your grief. Now there's an awkward silence at the table with Taehyung and Jungkook gone, but you make no move to fix it.

"So, Y/N! I saw you looking at our interior design, earlier!" Namjoon says, clapping his hands together.

God, not the small talk, again.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," you say, half-heartedly. Maybe you should come up with an excuse to leave. Maybe you should feign sickness—you already feel queasy, anyway.

"Eh, I don't really like it," Hoseok says. "It was like this when we bought it. I never liked all this bright crystal action going on, but it'll have to do."

"Right?" Yoongi agrees. "I wanted a more modern home. This seems so regal."

"It's not like we can move, though," Namjoon sighs. He hastily adds, "It'd take too long, and we wouldn't appreciate the hassle."

"We should be thankful for what we have," Seokjin says kindly. "Not many young adults are able to live in such luxury."

"Of course. If it's a good year, our total legal annual income in this household well surpasses four million."

You cock your head. Legal? Had you heard that right? Did that mean they had an illegal income? You speak before you can stop yourself. "Wait—"

"Here come the drinks!" Taehyung enthusiastically sings as he sashays in the dining room with a silver platter full of pretty glasses. Straight away he hands Jin his tequila concoction, then Namjoon his vodka, Yoongi his gin and Hoseok his rum. Jungkook slides into his seat with his gin and lemonade in hand.

Taehyung slides up next to you, holding up a tall glass of—

"Water?" You scrunch your eyebrows, looking wearily at the clear glass.

"Everclear," Taehyung answers. "It's illegal in California, but we've got some connections." He winks at you.

"Careful. That's 95 percent alcohol," Yoongi says. "You don't want to wake up in the hospital now, do we?"

"I'm sure one glass will be fine," Taehyung says, handing you the glass before sliding into his seat. "I trust Y/N is able to drink responsibly. Isn't that right, Y/N?"

You hum quietly, staring at the clear liquid blankly. Would too much of it kill you? But if you did die, it wouldn't matter at this point, right?

Taehyung laughs and he reads your mind as he replies, "I'd be killed if I gave you something that could kill you."

Right. A hard dose of alcohol is what you need especially after today.

One second you're semi-complaining that you're unemployed and single. Then suddenly karma bitches at you and your brother's dead, joined a gang and made enemies that had decided to brutally murder him. And now you have to decide whether you want to join the mafia or be left alone to be killed by the same entity that killed your brother. All in one day.

Even the thought makes you scoff.

So when Seokjin proposes a toast to you and talks off in tangents of what comprises of a short speech, you can't help but tune out. After the clink of glasses, you down the eponymous liquid that's actually ever so clear.

It burns your throat in all the wrong ways, but bottoms up, you finish it all.

After that, everything is hazy. The itch in your throat does not go away, and the room seems to spin around. Damn that drink is strong.

"Someone have her back before she collapses," you hear Yoongi say.

But you're able to stomach it in, head lolling uselessly to the side as you stare dumbly into oblivion. Your thoughts are muddled, thank god, which is all that mattered.

"Taehyung, I swear. Everclear shouldn't be taken plain. It's supposed to be drunk with a mixer for god's sake," Namjoon sighs. "Now it's your responsibility to get her to her room."

"That's going to be hard, considering she can probably barely walk right now," Hoseok says. "Jungkook should go too."

"Don't try anything on her," Namjoon sighs.

Taehyung looks offended. "What? Why would we? She's halfway gone. We wouldn't stoop that low."

"Yeah..." Jungkook says. "That's too low."

"You guys should get going while she's conscious..." Yoongi says. "She looks like she's going to pass out any second now."

"Why did you even think of giving her Everclear?" Namjoon rolls his eyes.

"She asked for it! She wanted a strong drink! I only did what she asked," Taehyung says, raising his voice.

"Let's not argue," Seokjin cuts in. "The hangover will definitely be bad... But her worries aren't with her at this moment. Don't give her a headache by yelling over each other. We'll have to cut dinner short. Taehyung, Jungkook, get Y/N to her room. Give her a few glasses of water before she blacks out. Hoseok, Yoongi? Looks like you two are on kitchen duty tonight."

"What?" Hoseok whines. "That's never our job!"

But one look from Jin has him quiet.

"I just hope she doesn't wake up with a giant hangover..." someone says. You can't tell who. You're mixing voices up in your head and your vision is blurry.

"You're kidding right?" another voice counters. "Everclear hangovers are the fucking worst."

It's the last thing you hear before everything becomes black.

—next chapter

—masterpost

—masterlist

[sonoilbastardo]

FULL NAME: Easton Craven

PRONUNCIATION: /EES-tuhn CRAY-ven/ MEANING: Easton | Old English: eastern settlement or eastern town. Craven | Irish: anglicized form of Gaelic Ó Crabháin (‘descendant (or ‘son’) of Crabhán’); English: contemptibly lacking in courage; cowardly. REASONING: Stella Craven did not waste her time thinking of a name for a child that isn’t hers, unlike when her own darling baby boy was born, and she gave him the name Everett - which means brave as a wild boar. For her husband’s bastard boy, she refused to grant him a name, and so Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and simply wrote Easton on a piece of paper, feeling his heart sink as he wrote the last name Craven right after. This unfortunate boy will bear his name for as long as he lived, a reminder of his, Gabriel Craven’s, horrible mistake. NICKNAME(S): Edmund, East PREFERRED NAME(S): East BIRTH DATE: 30th March 1992 AGE: 26 ZODIAC: Aries GENDER: Male PRONOUNS: He/Him ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual NATIONALITY: Italian ETHNICITY: Caucassian CURRENT LOCATION: Verona, Italy LIVING CONDITIONS: Comfortably living alone in a small villa with a terrace, garage, and a fireplace. Considerably smaller than the estate he grew up in, but prefers his own place than to live with his father (he already works with the man, he doesn’t want to live under the same roof as well.) TITLE(S): the shadow, il bastardo

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: Verona, Italy HOMETOWN: Verona, Italy SOCIAL CLASS: Upper-class EDUCATION LEVEL: Bachelor of  Business Administration & Master of Business Administration from the University of Milan. FATHER: Gabriel Craven MOTHER: (unknown), Step-Mother: Stella Craven SIBLING(S): Everett Craven ( Half-brother ) BIRTH ORDER: 2nd for his father, unknown for his mother CHILDREN: None. PET(S): None. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: None. PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: Two official. Both while in university. First one lasted three months, he was cheated on. Second one lasted two years. The woman is from another rich family, but in a much higher league than his, is brilliant and talented, and he felt intimidated by her command of language and intelligence. He broke up with her right before joining the mob. ARREST: Once when he was 22 years old, he crashed his car into a tiny storefront and he was arrested for drunk-driving. Was bailed out by Everett, and the store-owners dropped their lawsuit and were happy to settle. Everett didn’t really give them much of a choice anyways.   PRISON TIME?: None.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Working at his father’s legitimate hotel and wine businesses. He holds a key personnel position (operations manager), and while Stella disapproves of this, Gabriel could not deny that he is capable. SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: The mob, as a Capulet soldier. Thanks to his Captain, Tiberius, most of the work he does are boring, to the point that he’s a “glorified personal assistant”. This jobs pays well regardless, almost at par with his job at his father’s companies. TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: Fighting. He earns money through underground fights that he participates in, though he has blown some of that money anyway for treatment of injuries he’s suffered from them. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: No, wants to own his father’s entire company one way or the other, and wants to rank higher up in the mob. PAST JOB(S): None, was accepted into his father’s business right after college, and did not have to work for his tuition since his father paid for it all. SPENDING HABITS: Spends a lot of money on alcohol and cigarettes, likes to dress well and buys new clothes at least once a week, whenever he sees anything that he fancies. Sometimes pends money on good ingredients because he likes to cook Italian food, but often is too lazy to do this and would simply head down to one of the restaurants in hotels his father owns. Spends money on books as well, mostly poetry, and likes to collect first editions. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: Rare first edition of Dante Alighieri’s La Divina Commedia.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: Physically strong, but does not rely solely on it when he engages in fights. OFFENSE: Usually fights with open hands, which he believes are far more brutal than closed fists, using his body parts: elbows, knees, and others as weapons to deliver forceful strikes. Recently, as well, he has been mastering a new fighting style that allows him to make use of objects around him and allows him to fight in any given situation, a style with which one must also have a clear goal for his opponent: to kill? to maim? DEFENSE: Use of an opponent’s strength against them, which is something he learned as a child when he signed up for Judo as an extra-curricular. He has long since abandoned his formal Judo training for Muay Thai and most recently, Keysi, but this defensive technique could not be lost on him. SPEED: Quick on his feet, trusts his instincts. INTELLIGENCE: Easton has been blessed with a good head in his shoulders, but still somehow not a match for his half-brother’s. He did not graduate with any Latin honors, but did not have any difficulties in college whatsoever. That made it easy for him to deal with graduate school as well. He also enjoys reading, which sometimes surprises people, and he is somewhat a snob, preferring to read the classics and works of long dead poets. For the earlier years of his life he has been considerably sheltered, and only when he decided he did not need to impress his father anymore did he take to the streets of Verona and find Measure by Measure. ACCURACY: With the gun, fairly accurate. He likes to use his hands and fists in fights that let him channel his rage, but he’s had to learn how to shoot a gun for his job, and he can’t say he’s a champion marksman. AGILITY: Quite agile and coordinated, hyper-aware of his body parts and movements. STAMINA: High endurance. TEAMWORK: Considerably good, if he sees some use with teaming up. Most likely not good if forced to work together, and he does not see how he’d gain anything from it, and he would rather work alone in instances like these. Still completely loyal to himself only. TALENTS: Martial arts (from years of training as a child, and then later in underground fights), exceptional memory (helped him throughout college) and helps him keep up with work and the mob. SHORTCOMINGS: At times, lacks the “street-smart” attitude that someone working for a mob should have. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: Italian, English. DRIVE?: Yes. JUMP-START A CAR?: Yes. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: Yes. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes. SWIM?: Yes. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Used to. Learned piano to try and impress his father. PLAY CHESS?: Yes. BRAID HAIR?: No. TIE A TIE?: Yes. PICK A LOCK?: Yes. Just because he wanted to learn it.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Daniel Sharman EYE COLOR: Blue HAIR COLOR: Light brown HAIR TYPE/STYLE: A curly mop of hair GLASSES/CONTACTS?: None. DOMINANT HAND: Right. HEIGHT: 6′2 WEIGHT: 83 kg (183 lbs.) BUILD: Mesomorph EXERCISE HABITS: Jogs every morning before work, goes to the gym to train Muay Thai five to six times a week, goes down to Measure by Measure whenever he feels like it. SKIN TONE: Type II: white, fair TATTOOS: Lines of poetry on his left rib. PEIRCINGS: None. MARKS/SCARS: Birthmark on his lower back, looks like a misshapen heart. Scar on his right bicep, a small slash about two inches in length, from a knife fight with a gang member he was assigned to. NOTABLE FEATURES: That jawline? I mean? USUAL EXPRESSION: Either expressionless or scowling, eyes always intense and glaring. CLOTHING STYLE: Wears expensive suits to work. Wears leather jackets when not at work, along with jeans and boots. JEWELRY: Thin gold necklace always kept underneath clothes, simple columnar pendant. ALLERGIES: None. BODY TEMPERATURE: Normal? DIET: Lots of protein, moderate on carbs and fats, very minimal sweets. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: None.

PSYCHOLOGY

JUNG TYPE: ENTP ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type 8; Active Controller MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral TEMPERAMENT: Choleric ELEMENT: Fire PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence APPROXIMATE IQ: 125+ MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: None. SOCIABILITY: Fairly social when he believes it useful for him. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Fairly stable. Is able to channel rage into “appropriate” avenues like fighting, rarely takes it out on anyone innocent. Is more likely to punch a wall than punch a person. OBSESSION(S): Getting revenge. Taking everything his father denied him. COMPULSION(S): Cursing. Sex and talking about it. PHOBIA(S): None. ADDICTION(S): Smoking. DRUG USE: Minimal. ALCOHOL USE: Occassional. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Yes

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: Low, throaty voice, always with a hint of arrogance. A slow drawl. He usually thinks carefully about what he says, and likes to speak in a “romantic” way that uses a variety of words showcasing his command of vocabulary. (Prime example of how he speaks is how Daniel Sharman speaks in Fear the Walking Dead. link ) ACCENT: Italian QUIRKS: Prone to reciting archaic lines of poetry both in Italian and English. HOBBIES: Aside from martial arts, reading poetry and reciting them. HABITS: Smokes to relieve stress. NERVOUS TICKS: Chewing the inside of his cheek, cracking his knuckles. DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: The idea of being able to take everything away from his father and his brother. FEARS: That he dies before he attains his goal. POSITIVE TRAITS: Passionate, driven, independent, assertive, confident. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Self-absorbed, dishonest, materialistic, resentful, secretive, vengeful. SENSE OF HUMOR: Insensitive and crude. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: All the fucking time. CATCHPHRASE(S): None.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: Muay Thai. BEVERAGE: Black coffee. BOOK: You Get So Alone Sometimes That It Just Makes Sense by Charles Bukowski COLOR: Black. DESIGNER: Gucci. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: Maserati Quattroporte MOVIE: V for Vendetta MUSICAL ARTIST: Queen QUOTE/SAYING: “I wanted the whole world or nothing.” SCENERY: Fights at Measure by Measure. SCENT: on himself | Hermès, on women | Yves St. Laurent (something that screams sophistication), in general | old books TELEVISION SHOW: Game of Thrones WEATHER: Autumn VACATION DESTINATION: places Game of Thrones have done filming in, tbh

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: To take control of his father’s empire and take control over Verona. GREATEST FEAR: Dying before he achieves his goal. MOST AT EASE WHEN: Alone and cooking up plans for his rise. LEAST AT EASE WHEN: Around his family or his family’s home. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: Dying not only having his goals achieved, but dying with nothing left to his name. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: Being recognized as one of the most capable Capulet soldiers and soon after, promoted by his own father. BIGGEST REGRET: Wasting time and energy ever believing he would be fully and lovingly accepted by his father. MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: Begging an ex-girlfriend to come back to him even after she cheated. One of the lowest points in his life, ever. BIGGEST SECRET: That he sometimes wake up to dreams of his entire family dead by his hands. TOP PRIORITIES: Himself