#bam is dying on the other side of the pool table

[deiaiko]

Jump Shot

[dramaalpaca]

Hickory, Oak, Pine and Weed

Summary : Some say the city is his ; some say he is the city. That he is concrete, and steel, and streets painted by thousand upon thousand of lives running through them every single day -the soul of Los Santos, made flesh.

Pairing : FAHC OT6? Sort of?

Warnings : err, fires. A bit of gore.

Word count : 2140

read on AO3

a/n : this was a little writing exercise that turned into a ficlet, so, might as well post it. Heavily inspired by Delta Rae’s song I Will Never Die and the Brothers Bright’s song Blood On My Name.

The earth shakes on a Monday.

Los Santos is no stranger to earthquakes. It agitates the birds, they croak and gather in black clouds against the blue sky. Dogs howl a warning. Nobody pays attention.

The TV flickers in the dim light of a derelict bar. The sound fizzles, lost in the rhythmic thud of glasses hitting tables and the low murmur of private conversations.

The news reporter tells the story of five unidentified corpses found on Mount Chiliad. And if the patrons’ eyes flick to the TV and catch part of the report, their attention quickly wavers.

Los Santos is a dangerous city. Death is nothing new.

***

There is a legend, one that has travelled through the streets like a summer’s breeze, quiet but persistent. The people of Los Santos know it like they know their ABCs. Not one of them can say they where they heard it first. As with all legends, it came from nowhere and it went everywhere.

It tells of a man whose eyes burn like flames, who can hide in any shadow and slip through any door. He kills without a noise and is gone without a trace. A shadow in the corner of your eye, a curse following your steps in the dark of the night.

Some say the city is his ; some say he is the city. That he is concrete, and steel, and streets painted by thousand upon thousand of lives running through them every single day -the soul of Los Santos, made flesh.

It’s an old tale. Everyone knows it, but nobody cares about it anymore.

***

It is the heart of Summer but this Tuesday morning brings thick, dangerous clouds. They curl around the skyscrapers, cast a shadow so dark it feels like the sun never rose.

Bad luck, thinks Los Santos. The late-summer storms are coming earlier than usual.

There is no rain. No thunder, no lightning. Only the clouds, and they trap the suffocating heat of August and the noxious smell of thousands of cars under them. The City sweats, melts ; it chokes on itself.

The old TV in the forgotten bar is flashing, it is dying under the heat and humidity. Anyone looking up at it might catch glimpses of police reports and wonder at the climbing death toll. Gangs are dying. Throats sliced, guts pierced, bodies drenched in gasoline and burned to a crisp until all that is left is an anonymous husk.

But Los Santos is a dangerous city.

***

The man in the legend is a vengeful one. If this City is his, then he does not allow anyone to do with it as they please.

Los Santos is ripe with crime. Street wars are an everyday occurrence, some places are forbidden at night.

But some murders are too clean. Too quick. Too unfathomable. It feeds the legend, even as no one thinks it true. These corpses are the remnants of people who thought themselves kings when they were barely pawns. Bit off more than they could chew and the City bit them back.

Nobody thinks the legends true, but people snicker in the face of anyone who declares themselves ready to take over Los Santos. It will not last long.

***

Tuesday evening comes and the clouds remain.

People look up at the sky, wondering what the weather is bringing. No storm, no rain, but the dark is foreboding. It cuts them off from the rest of the world, shrouds them in a quiet sort of intensity.

Electricity saturates the air. It zaps fingers reaching for door handles, it flashes along power lines. The smell of burnt ozone is descending into the streets as if lightning stroke just next door. The sound of sirens fills the space between buildings.

The heat is unbearable, trapped under the clouds. LSPD officers are sweating as they race to various parts of the city to pick up corpses in pools of blood, being pecked at by croaking crows.

And as night falls and coats the City in almost complete darkness, nervous figures meet up on street corners and under bridges.

The AH Crew was killed, they say. That’s who they found on Mount Chiliad last Sunday. Someone went after them and finally managed to kill them all.

And now, rival gangs are dropping like flies.

***

They were not the first gang to rise to fame. They were the first to do it so quickly, and to stay on top for so long.

They’d been around for years, before suddenly, their network expanded throughout the whole city. Doors opened before them as their opponents lay dead behind them. They became kings, unchallenged and unopposed, defying the one established law of Los Santos : reach the top and the city itself will cut you down.

The city must have… liked them.

They called themselves the Fakes. The AH Crew was what the journalists and the police knew them as. It was their name plastered over the news, their name whispered in both poor and wealthy company.

Nothing could stop them. They crept through the city like blood seeps through cracked pavement. Banks trembled, drug cartels were soon under their thumb. Accepting to be part of their network was benefitting from their protection. Many made that choice -being under their care brought sudden and complete immunity from the dangers Los Santos hid in dark corners.

Bullets aiming for them had the bad habit of hitting concrete walls instead ; so did cars chasing after them. Witnesses never remembered their faces ; victims and partners did, but refused to tell. As when you dealt with the Crew, either you were with them, or you were against them -and may God Himself pray for your soul. 

One of their most striking feature, if you believed people who had met them in person, was that you never saw one of them alone. It had long been speculated that taking one of them out was taking out the entire crew, but only once had some asshole managed to kidnap the British one and… well. The severed limbs the police had found the next day in a dumpster had never been to England.

They were six, they were powerful, and their reach grew each day.

And now…

***

The derelict bar has been in Los Santos for generations. The owner likes to say it’s been in his family since the 1920s. It stands in the oldest part of town, the one part that nobody has torn down and built anew on its ashes, its wooden beams apparent against the ceiling. It’s oak, says the owner. A good tree, the Oak tree, he continues to anyone willing to listen. Sturdy and sure. A protector.

The TV above the bar keeps flickering. The sound keeps tuning in and out. And in the corner, a man is smiling, his breath stinking of bad whiskey.

“I didn’t kill them,” he’s telling an even drunker man. “But I was there when they did it! It was beautiful, I’m telling you. Took months to plan. I sowed traitors through their ranks, got their own network to work against them. Lured them out on Chiliad and bam! Got them all. They were arguing among themselves, blaming each other for some stupid shit. Didn’t even notice the ambush until it was too late.”

“Who killed them?” asks the drunker one.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re dead too now. Got too thirsty, eh? You kill the biggest gang in town and suddenly you want to take down everyone else. They pro’bly tried to go after someone else and got their ass handed to them. Me? I don’t want to show off. I’m a quiet guy, me. I did my part, I got paid, and now I’m done.”

“You got five of them.”

“We got six,” grunts the man.

“Five.”

“No, I saw it with my own eyes. Six guys gunned down. The police lost a fucking corpse, I don’t know, but we got them all.”

The drunker man slumps over the table. “D’you think the sixth one woke up?”

“Oh please, you actually believe this shit? Those bastards acted like they were gods and everyone starts believing it? They died like the assholes they were, they weren’t special. Get your head outta your ass.”

Nobody pays attention to the two men.

Above the skyline of Los Santos, the clouds turn even darker. Street lamps light up hours before their time.

A noise, and suddenly yellow sparks bursts out of the TV. The image goes static, frozen on the picture of an ambulance on a street corner, behind yellow police tape.

The TV turns off. The owner grumbles, smacks it on the side. It stays dead.

The lights above head flicker.

“Damn storm,” says one man.

“It’s not storming,” remarks another, looking out of the window. “Just those clouds. Wait…”

He stops talking, his eyes go wide. And the front door bursts open.

For a moment, there’s nobody standing there. It’s as if the wind alone fractured the door, if only there was any wind. A single black bird flies in and perches on an empty table.

Then there’s crackle of electricity, and a shadow appears in the shattered doorframe.

***

The derelict bar had been in Los Santos for generations.

On a Tuesday night, under clouds dark as the deepest night, it goes up in flames.

The fire is quick to spread. It snakes along the streets, taking root in concrete and steel as easily as it would in dry wood.

Alarms and sirens fill the air for a while. Then they stop.

The flames rise higher, reach further. They climb up to the clouds and swallow the city in a matter of hours. Miles and miles of raging inferno.

Cars line the roads outside Los Santos, trying to drive away from the hungry flames reaching for them as if to recall them, bring them back into the city where they belong.

If they’d look toward Mount Chiliad, they would see the silhouette of a man standing alone in the night, watching the fire devour life and concrete. His blue and black jacket torn to shreds, hanging on his body like old rags. His hair falling before his eyes in a mess of filthy strands. He watches quietly.

***

Los Santos is a dangerous place. Very few people have never played a role in any criminal machination. Knowingly or not, small part of bigger one.

To take down a crew as connected as the Fakes, many people had to play a part. Trick, manipulate, twist every word around until all the lies were too entangled together to tell one from the other, until the Fakes themselves were confused and started to blame each other and break apart.

Cheat, in other words. Cheat at a cheating game.

The man in the legend is a vengeful one. If this city is his, then it betrayed him by turning against him and the ones he’d sworn to protect.

And it is his right to cleanse it.

Some of the cheaters will escape, he knows. But not for long. Nobody has ever escaped him. And for the first time in a very, very long time... he will not be alone. 

It is with slow and deliberate steps that he walks toward the flames. They reflect in his eyes, dance in his pupils. A bolt of lightning runs along the clouds above head.

He reaches out with a hand. The flames wrap around his arm. They ignite his clothes and swallow him whole as he stands there, unmoving, until there is nothing left of him just as there is nothing left of the city.

Nobody will ever know five corpses are missing from the charred remnants of an LSPD morgue.

***

Down in Georgia, three trees stand in a near-perfect triangle in the middle of an abandoned field long claimed by weed. Crows are resting on their branches, fluffing their feathers.

A man in a pristine black and blue jacket, his long blond hair tied behind his head, walks toward them with slow steps. Every time his feet hit the soft earth, a beat rises to meet them, slow and steady.

He kneels under the bigger tree. From a wooden chest that he did not have with him earlier, he pulls a small object, wet and glistening with red. He sets it aside as he goes to work, digging into the earth with his bare hands until the hole is big enough for the object to rest. He covers it carefully.

He does this five times, with five different objects pulled from the same wooden chest.

Then he sits under the oak tree, rests his back against its bark, and closes his eyes. The beat under him grows louder.

It is soon joined by another. And another, and another, until six beats gently pulse under the earth.

The sun above him is dipping below the horizon. The shadows cast by the trees grow longer.

Something shifts. A warm breeze ruffles the man's hair.

A shadow detaches itself from the tree behind him.

Four others follow.

“Ryan?”

The man smiles. He stands, slowly unfolding his body, and his shadow unfurls behind him like a crow’s wing. His hands are empty, but he closes his fingers around a knife. 

“Three of them escaped,” he says slowly. 

The five men before him nod. Their previously empty hands are holding guns.

“Let’s get them.”

[hayjeon]

Sutures and Stitches Pt. 3

→ angst, fluff, action, mature (mentions of blood/wounds, medical jargon), smut in future chapters → hitman!jeongguk and medstudent!Y/N, bestfriends!au → It was your secret that your best friend was a hitman, and his secret that his best friend was a girl who was currently $200k in debt and working 80 hours a week saving people. But it worked out somehow. → part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 

How was it that the two people with the most secrets became best friends? 

A/N: thank you everyone for your encouraging comments! heres pt 3! 

And especially thank you to Lu (@nottodayjeon), Lex (@taeuclid), and Alexus (@duck-bonpedro) for taking time out of their day to help me figure out this chapter and the entire storylineeeeee you guys are beautifulllll <3 

Jeongguk’s condition didn’t improve until a few days later. So he’d stayed at your place until the infection was flushed out of his system and he was well-fed and well-hydrated enough. One night you returned early from your shift, and he was sitting on your counter, ready to tell you everything. You found out slowly, in bits and pieces throughout the day the collective story of why Jeongguk had shown up this way, why you, why now. 

After turning down all the great college offers, he’d gone to the city to try and invest his skills into a startup with a friend, Jinyoung. It was a success, immediately the small company was racking in investors, advertisers, and new employees only months after it launched; apparently he and Jinyoung had developed together a new plan of finance computing, a system much more efficient, fool-proof, and useful than the ones used by banks all over the world. Jinyoung’s incredible computer skills and Jeongguk’s incredible socializing and developing skills combined into a product that even the President of Korea began to show interest in. That was why Jeongguk was able to rack in so much money months after he’d left your town. His parents had gushed about his company plans, and it turned out that it was true. Jeongguk had been doing well. 

But as the investors and interested companies increased, so did the number of people willing to buy out the company and the rights to all their ideas. Jinyoung refused, and Jeongguk, willing to respect his partner’s opinion, also refused all offers. But a certain company, YG group was particularly insistent on buying them out, and began offering questionable prices in exchange for Jeongguk and Jinyoung’s ideas. When they refused again, YG began sending threats of hacks, claiming false swindling claims, hoping they’d relent. 

But Jinyoung had held fast against these men, refusing to let go of his prized possession to people who were definitely not going to use their ideas in the right way. In return, YG had sent men one night to ambush Jinyoung and murder him, only leaving a pool of blood in his office and a warning note, with no body. They’d jumped Jeongguk too, slashing him with a knife and leaving him to bleed to death. But at that prime moment, his brothers had come to rescue him, and Jeongguk became one of them, adopting a life as a hitman as a sign of honor for his brothers, but also to train for his ultimate goal: to take revenge on YG. 

He’d come to you that first day you’d met him, with a bullet in his shoulder because of a failed mission. He didn’t start on his revenge just yet. But it was in progress, and he needed to stay under cover in case of being found out by YG or by getting caught by authorities. So he’d come to you. 

And now a hitman was sitting on your kitchen counter, outlining the details of his mission. 

“And so, how are you brothers taking part in any of this?” You asked. 

“They’re great guys, Y/N. They saved me from dying that night, and they brought me back to their place because they also have a similar goal: to take YG down.” 

“Why do they want to take YG down?” 

“Seems like they had many more brothers, before I came in. YG killed them, over something stupid, something that had to do with pride.” 

You shook your head. “Jeongguk, you know involving yourself with this gang isn’t going to help you. It’s playing fire with fire.” 

He’d looked up at your sheepishly, with a look you couldn’t identify. “I have no choice, Y/N. If I don’t go after them, they’re planning to use our idea that they stole to hack into every finance system on the planet. They’re going to drive the economy to the ground, and possibly, start a war in the worst scenario.”

Your eyes widened, “Are you serious?! It’s that big of a system?” 

He nodded, seriously. “Yeah, it was a pretty damn big project. Even the President wanted to know more. But YG got to us before we could even tell him about the finished product.” 

You pressed further, “Then Jeongguk, you could just contact the president or something! Tell him about YG, take him down, bam!” 

He shook his head, smiling a bit at your ignorance. “Y/N, it’s not that easy. YG has connections all over, and will destroy the blue house if they know the President is trying to take them down. All it takes is one click of a button, and bam, Korea’s economy will be driven to the ground.” 

You sigh. “Is there really nothing to do besides just take them out?” 

He nods, grimly. “Y/N, trust me. Everything you’re thinking of, I’ve thought of it already. And everything we thought of, my brothers have probably thought of it too. There’s a reason we had to resort to this.” 

Understanding a bit better, you stopped asking questions, only then noticing how weak Jeongguk looked. Because of your shifts at the hospital, you’d only been able to tend to him at night when you’d gotten back. “Tending” mostly meant checking his IV drips, his wound, and then making sure he was well tucked into your bed before you crashed onto the couch and woke up in a few hours to go back to work. A huge pot of porridge you managed to cook up in the beginning of the week were his main source of meals, and you’d remembered to stock up your instant food cupboard. He’d probably been surviving off of all that. 

He was still dressed in his black zip-up jacket, and you could see the stains of the blood near his shoulder from here. Realizing he must be freezing and also uncomfortable in his clothes, you stood up from the counter and walked around to him. 

“Open the zipper, let me see your wound.” 

He quietly opened it, and you could see that the gauze was no longer soaked through with blood nor pus. Nodding, you unwrapped the gauze, to reveal a healing wound. “Good job, you did a good job of not moving your shoulder around too much. The wound is healing nicely. Let me apply a waterproof bandage first, and I think you can go take a shower now, water won’t bother it too much.” 

He whined, pointing to his shoulder. “But I can’t move this!” 

Rolling your eyes, the mood turned from serious back into the playful and snarky banter you were used to with Jeongguk, from the memories you had with him in high school. As you applied the new bandage, you snapped back “Are you fucking serious? Then what do you want me to do?” 

He pouted, pushing his bottom lip and mocking you, “I want you to help me.” 

Groaning, you threw your hands up in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

He grinned, standing up and wiggling his brows. “Awww don’t act like you’ve never showered with a guy before.” 

You blushed, frowning and marching past him into your bedroom to hide your cheeks. What he didn’t know was that being a doctor was incredibly time consuming and you definitely didn’t have time for a boyfriend, yet alone sex, since your undergrad years. 

He obediently followed you into your restroom, and you grabbed your small stool from your table next to the tub. “Get in here brat. Keep your fucking boxers on.” 

He smirked, and then pulled his clothes off and hopped in the tub. Goddam pig was too tall to extend his legs so he dangled his legs off the side and leaned his neck off the other. And again, you were surprised at how buff he’d become, even after his dehydration and wounds, you could see how his bone structure had definitely grown. His shoulders were wide, but his hips slim, and his muscles still were prominent enough under his pale skin. 

Trying to hide the heat on your cheeks, you grabbed the shower hose and aimed it at his torso, turning the knob to the coldest setting possible. 

He yelped, glaring at you as you giggled and turned the knob towards warm. “Fuck Y/N, that was cold as shit. You’re evil.” 

You pulled a strand of his hair, making him wail. “Am I so evil that I’m sitting here during my precious night off washing your fucking hair cause you’re such a baby you can’t do it yourself?” 

He just smiled and settled into the edge of the tub, as you gently ran the water over his hair and began to lather some shampoo into it. It was silent, and the only sounds were of your fingers rubbing the shampoo into his hair as the water ran on the side.

“Doesn’t this remind you of when we were little kids, Y/N?” He murmured. 

You paused, reminiscing of the time when you were two little kids and your mothers let you two swim and play together, and then hosed you down in your swimsuits and you’d lathered each other’s shampoo together. 

Smiling, you rinsed his hair, careful to avoid his eyes, which were staring at the wall opposite you and him. His shoulders slumped as he visibly relaxed. “I miss home.” 

You sighed, running the conditioner through his locks. “You know, after you disappeared after high school, I hoped you’d call or something, to let us know you were okay.” 

He was silent. 

You continued, rinsing his hair. “But you never did.” 

You grabbed a loofah and lathered it with body wash, pushing him up to a sitting position so you could wash his back and neck area, the places he wouldn’t be able to reach with his wounds. He was quiet again for a few more minutes before replying, “I’m sorry Y/N, I—-” he paused, “I had my reasons. But I’m sorry if I ever hurt you.” 

You rinsed him off, smiling and standing up from your stool. “Nah, it’s fine. I assumed you were too busy. Here,” you handed him the loofah. “I washed everywhere that you won’t be able to reach, so you can wash the rest of yourself up and then I’ll help you dry off and I’ll try to find some clean clothes for you to wear.” 

He only nodded and stared at the loofah before looking up at you and smiling, “Thanks, Y/N.” 

You couldn’t help but quirk up a corner of your lips at his small appearance. It was like the elementary baby Jeongguk you’d always remembered. “No prob, Jeongguk. I’ll be outside!” 

You placed a soft towel near the sink, and close the restroom door behind you as you began to dig in your drawers for some clean clothes. Jeongguk was about a head taller than you and definitely needed some fresh clothes. You laid out some thick sweats your ex had left with you in undergrad, and a huge large t-shirt you had only because you slept in oversized shirts. 

When you were laying them out on your bed, Jeongguk came out, covered in nothing but a towel, and you shrieked, covering your eyes. 

“Oh my god Jeongguk, give me a warning or something, you scared the shit out of me.” 

He chuckled and padded over with the stool, and placed it near your vanity. He grabbed the clothes you’d set on your bed, and slowly put them on, and you stepped in to help when he struggled to put his arms through their holes because of the tugging of his wound. When he was done, you grabbed the towel and sat him down on your bed to help towel his hair off. 

You stood between his legs, rubbing his scalp with the towel and fluffing his hair so that it would dry better. He hummed, enjoying the feeling of the towel. He murmured, “Who’s sweats are these?” 

You hesitated, “Uh, they were my ex’s sweats that he left with me in undergrad.” 

He gaped, “You still have these? Hung up much?” 

You nudged his head back, glaring at him. “No fucker, I just kept them because they were comfortable to sleep in. And then I forgot they were his until I had to find some guy clothes for you. Do they fit okay?” 

He nodded, pinching the black fabric in between his fingers. “Feels weird to be wearing your ex’s clothes though. Who is he?” 

You winced, even though you expected this question to come up eventually. “Uh… his name was Wonho.” 

He stood up abruptly, towering over you with your wrist in his hand. He glared down at you, eyebrows knit and eyes hard. “Don’t tell me it was Wonho fucking Shin.” 

You were taken aback and dropped the towel. Silently, you stared up at him and gave a small nod, to which he huffed, a frustrated noise coming from his nose as he let your hand go and placed his own hands on his hips and ran fingers through his hair. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You dated him?!” 

You pushed him back to sit on the chair, rolling your eyes. “I know, I know, yes I dated Shin Wonho in college. So what?” You harshly grabbed his head and began toweling him off. 

He grunted, “Geez Y/N, I didn’t think your stupid little crush on him in high school would ever amount to anything, but to think you dated that motherfucker—” He shook his head. 

You sighed, basically finished with his hair but still running your fingers through them to avoid looking at Jeongguk in the eyes. “I know, I was an idiot. I should have never dated him, it was a big mistake. I lost too much in that relationship.” 

“Wasn’t that your first?” 

You faltered, hands coming to a stop in his locks. “Yeah, yeah it was.” Laughing to try and lighten the mood, you placed the towel on the back of the chair and sat across from the bed cross legged. Snorting, you looked down at your hands as you answered him, “It was a horrible experience.” 

He was just sitting there, not really saying anything, staring at you. Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and ruffled the fringe. “What did he do to you Y/N?” 

You glared up at him, “Hey! I don’t think you’re in a place to ask me about my relationships when I haven’t seen you in years and you never bothered to call me back or contact me until now.” 

He stared hard at you, “I told you why I had to do that, why I’m the way I am now. So now its your turn. What turned you so bitter?” 

You sighed, and shook your head. He glared at you, trying to press you for answers, but you just avoided his gaze, focusing on the furniture in your room. 

When his gaze didn’t relent, you just whispered as you looked down at your hands, “He cheated on me okay? I-it’s not something I like to talk about.” 

Jeongguk sighed, and clenched his fist, making you look up at him. He met your eyes and saw the pleading stare that you gave him, silently begging him not to press further on regarding the subject. 

If it was years ago, when it happened, and Jeongguk had asked you the same question, you would’ve burst into tears, wailing and ranting until you were empty. You would’ve spilled all of it out, letting the anger and the hurt and bitterness flow out of you, and you would’ve let Jeongguk comfort you like he always did, and forgotten about the situation. 

But the day Jeongguk left was the day you lost a part of yourself, someone who was there for you always. And you had no one to tell, no one to let it all out to, in fear of hurting them just like you were hurt. So your heart had closed in on itself, folding and shriveling inward until there was no space for mistakes, no space for failure, and no space for anyone. 

He just sat and watched you with sad eyes, unmoving. Finally, he relented and tugged you into a hug, surprising you. He sighed, your head moving in his chest that heaved as he took that breath. “I guess it’s my fault for not contacting you, I would’ve known all this if I had just called.” 

You nodded into his shirt. “Yeah, I probably would’ve told you.” 

He whispered, “I-i’m sorry I didn’t call. I promise I wanted to but I couldn’t. I missed you a lot Y/N.” 

You stared up at him, nodding. “It’s fine. I missed my best friend a lot.” 

He smiled a little, “Me too.” 

The both of you settled into a silence, just smiling at each other and remembering the old times when you called each other your best friends. 

When it started to get a little awkward, he let out a sigh, and stood up from the bed and stretched. “You said it was your night off right?” 

You nod, getting up as well, and taking the towel on the chair to hang it up in the restroom. “Yeah, why??”

“Ah, no wonder you smell like you haven’t washed your hair in days.” 

You whip around, and sock him in the stomach, making him double over with a groan. “Fuck you Jeon Jeongguk! I swear I’m going to kill you!” You roll the towel and begin slapping at his calves. 

He giggles, dodging your other fists and the towel at the same time. “Damn Y/N you seriously haven’t changed at all, you still hit like a fucking man, ah shit—- I’m injured!!!!!” 

That night you bundled him up in a sweater and went to the grocery store with him to pick up some materials to feed him with. As you browsed the vegetable section, he lingered near you with the hood over his head, watching you over your shoulder as you sifted through the potatoes to find some good ones. 

You handed him the bag of potatoes, and he placed them in the cart, and followed you diligently around the mart with the cart. And after checking out, he heaved all the plastic bags into his hands and began to walk with you towards your home. 

On the walk back, you bantered over memories in high school, laughing over some stupid embarrassing stories. Suddenly, halfway through, you remembered you were almost out of the ointment you were using on Jeongguk’s shoulder. 

“Hey actually, let me go get some ointment from the pharmacy real quick!” 

He shook his head, still walking toward your apartment, “Nah Y/N I can just snag some from your hospital.” 

You glared, “You know if you get caught then you take me down with you right? I’ll be arrested for stealing materials from a hospital!!!” 

He shrugged. “I wont get caught then.” 

You rolled your eyes, groaning. “Ugh! Just stay here real quick with the groceries since they’re heavy and your shoulder’s still healing. I’ll just run right there and grab it real quick!” And you scurried off before he could protest. He sighed and moved to the side of the road, setting down the plastic bags stuffed with vegetables and fruits. 

He watched carefully as you went across the street to the late night pharmacy and entered the store. The sky was dark, and the traffic lights were dim enough. He sighed, stuffing his hood lower on his face. Eyes were everywhere, and he definitely didn’t want to get caught or seen when he was in your neighborhood, and holding your groceries. 

That was the reason he’d withheld from contacting you after he joined his brothers. There were YG’s eyes everywhere, and if he were seen, they’d do anything to get him. He’d seen what they could do, and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone he was seen with to try and get more information. But right now, they thought he was dead, and he had no record, so he was safe. 

That didn’t necessarily mean he was okay yet though. 

He saw a public phone nearby, and took a quick glance at the pharmacy before grabbing the receiver and dialed his brothers number. 

“Hello?” The earpiece crackled to life.

“Joon Hyung?” Jeongguk whispered into the receiver. 

“Shit Jeongguk! Shit shit, Yoongi come over here, its Jeongguk!” 

He could hear Namjoon and Yoongi scrambling over and jostling the phone, probably turning on speakerphone. “Hyungs, I don’t have much time. Listen.” 

Yoongi’s deep drawl sounded. “Are you okay? Where are you? Fuck, Jeongguk. We thought you were dead or something, we’ve been scouring the city for you!” 

“Hyung, I’m fine, I got shot by YG’s men, and so I ran across a friend who’s helping me with the wound. I’m in Seoul.” 

He could hear the other brothers come into the room and listen in on the conversation, their worried voices ringing through his earpiece. “I don’t have much time, listen. I tried doing the mission, but somehow I got shot. And you know YG doesn’t like when his bullets aren’t accounted for. So they might be suspicious and they might’ve seen me head toward Seoul hospital. I think my friend is in danger, but I’m keeping my profile low.” 

Namjoon spoke. “Jeongguk, you need to get back here now. If they really start getting suspicious and start digging around, you might get caught and they’ll know that you survived the first time. And YG won’t let you get away a second time.” 

Jeongguk nodded, glancing back at the pharmacy who’s lights were now off, signaling their closing hours. He rushed to end the call. “I’ll call you again later, but know that I can’t go back until I know that my friend is safe.” 

He placed the receiver back on the handle, and turned around, expecting you to be across the street by now, but couldn’t see you or any signs of pedestrians this late at night on the dark street. Frowning, he picked up the bags and walked over to the crosswalk, but before he crossed the street, he heard a scream. 

“JEONGGUK.” 

You’d successfully bought the ointment before the pharmacy closed, and was crossing the street when you noticed a liquor store. You entered, smiling and greeting the man at the counter before making your way into the back where there was the boxes of ramen. You’d finished a lot of your fast food in the craze of residency rounds, but you remembered in high school that Jeongguk loved eating the ramen you made. You grabbed a pack, paid, and left to go to where Jeongguk was waiting. 

But suddenly, you heard some commotion, and all of a sudden you were surrounded by tall, scary looking boys in uniforms. “Hey noona, wanna play with us?” He slung his arm around you as you tried speeding up your pace. You were only a two minute walk away from where Jeongguk was waiting. 

His friend walked faster and stood in front of you, barring your path. He had a cigarette in his teeth, winking greasily at you as he blew smoke in your face. “Noona, c’mon let’s play. We can go get some drinks and have some fun together!” 

The third boy grabbed the ramen packet out of your hands and began tossing it in the air like a baseball. “Yeah, or if you don’t wanna play, you can just help us get some beer, or cigarettes. That bitch worker man at the liquor store won’t let us buy because we’re underage.” The other boys snickered. 

“Get off of me!” You struggled to move out of the first boy’s shoulder hold and made a move to grab the ramen package. But he held it out of reach, and instead grabbed the wallet in your hand. Wiggling it between his fingers, he winked, “If you want this back, you have to buy us some cigs!” He sang-songed the last part, mocking you and your short stature. 

You groaned. “Look boys, I’m a doctor, I’m the last one who’d buy you those damn cancer sticks. So give me back my wallet and I’ll be on my way. Get the fuck out of here before I report you for underage misconduct, drinking, and smoking.” 

The boys mocked you, letting out some “Ohhhhs!” at your harsh words. “Oh shit! She’s a feisty motherfucker!” One said, and a dark look came over his eyes as he grabbed your shoulder and slammed you against the back wall of the liquor store. 

You groaned, feeling your elbow get scraped on the wall in the process, and watched as the kids loomed in, shoving their faces in yours. You gritted your teeth and yelled back, “I’m going to scream if you do anything to me!” 

They laughed, and gestured to the dark street. The liquor store lights were now off, similar to the rest of the stores and businesses lining the street. It was midnight, and this part of Seoul tended to shut down around midnight. There was no one to help you, and even if you yelled for Jeongguk, he wouldn’t be able to hear you from two blocks away. Your only option was to run. 

You grit your teeth again and glared up at them, your knee coming up to meet the first one’s groin. You knocked your leg up as hard you could, moving to run as he doubled over, groaning and cursing at you. But the other two were too fast, as they grabbed your hair and yanked you back and slammed you agains the wall again. One held your wrists behind you and the other held down your kicking legs. You were now screaming as loud as you could at this point, kicking and trying to yank your arms out of their grasp.

But the stupid high school boys were angry, tall, and strong. And as the first one recovered from the kick to his jewels, he straightened up and glared at you, and gruffed to his friends. “Keep her still, I think we need to teach her a lesson tonight. Fucking bitch, you think you can take all three of us?” He laughed, fist tightly closing, “Well let’s see how you deal with this.” He lifted his fist and you screwed your eyes shut and turned your face away from him, your mouth sounding out the only name you could think of.

“JEONGGUK!” 

You braced yourself for the impact of his fist, but instead you heard a muffled thud and opened your eyes to see the first one on the ground, groaning in pain and cradling his jaw in his hands. The other two boys holding you down threw you aside and rushed to help their friend. 

You groaned as you scraped your hands and knees on the pavement, but looked up to see a super angry Jeongguk plow down the two boys. They put up a decent fight, trying to dodge his kicks and throw in their own punches, but Jeongguk was swift, punching one in the stomach before using his hunched figure as leverage to turn around and swing his leg straight at the other’s face. Both crumpled to the ground, groaning, and the first one stood up, wiping blood from his face and launched himself on Jeongguk’s back, grabbing Jeongguk in a head lock.  

Jeongguk grit his teeth and wrestled with the kid, but the kid had grabbed his neck too tight and wasn’t letting go. You watched in horror as jeongguk stilled for a second before bucking down and launching the guy forward onto the ground. He scrambled to sit on the boy, landing some punches onto his face before getting off of him and dusting off his knees. The three kids were on the ground groaning, and clutching their faces. 

You were panting, shell-shocked at the sigh before you. You’d never seen anyone move so fast, so swiftly, and land such perfect punches. Jeongguk rushed over to you, throwing his hood back to stare you directly in your eyes. 

You peeled your gaze away from the boys on the floor and stared up at him in shock. “Y/N, are you okay? Shit, what the fuck happened? Are you feeling okay?” 

He ran his hands over your shoulders and arms, checking for any other injuries besides your scraped knees and elbows. You stammered back, clutching on to his jacket. “I-I-I’m fine! Sh-sh-shit, that was fucking a-awesome Jeongguk!” You broke out into a huge smile, in awe. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

He stared down at you in shock, at your attitude. You were excited in your tone, but your body was shaking like a leaf, and your voice was wavering as you spoke. He frowned, helping you up and dusting off your clothes, and grabbing the wallet and ramen packet from the floor and handing it to you. 

You winced as you stood up, and he turned back to the high schools kids on the ground. “You ever touch her again you fuckers, I swear I’ll make you so unrecognizable you’ll regret ever being born.” The leader only glared back and scrambled up, huffing while his pals were still on the ground clutching their injuries. 

Jeongguk wrapped your arm around his shoulder, and helped your limping figure back in the direction of home. You stopped him to make him pick up the groceries first, smiling sheepishly as he stared at you incredulous that you’d bother about groceries in the state you were in. But you only smiled up at him and shook your head, complaining about how much time you’d spent to pick the perfect potato or whatever. 

Jeongguk watched as he walked you home, as you cast your eyes downward and your words became few. Your horse was still shaking and quivering, and it wasn’t because of the cold. But when he asked if you were okay, you assured him with a shaky smile that you were fine, that it was so cool how he beat up those boys, but he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of secrets you held behind that shaky smile, that hard exterior. 

He shakes his head as he leads you back to your apartment. 

How was it that the two people with the most secrets became best friends?