Vipers in the Lake | BTS Gang x Reader

17. All Falls Down

Three days passed with your Dad leaving the house before you awoke and returning after you fell asleep. Midnight trips to his office were made, but the computer was nowhere to be seen, and the third draw always kept firmly shut. Your Mom assumed the puffy eyes and constant yawning was leftover trauma from your kidnapping, as opposed to the result of staying up until the early hours of the morning sneaking around. 

Strolling aimlessly through the house, you sent a quick glance to either end of the hallway and sent Yoongi a text asking the question that had been playing on your mind for the past few days.

Y/n: Did you find out whose email that was?

You waited a few minutes, but no reply came. He must be busy. A reasonable answer, sure, but since this was the longest you had yet had to wait for reply, you couldn't help the small lick of anxiety that curled in your gut. Reminding yourself that these guys knew what they were doing, you continued your ambling. Your own face smiled down at you in family photos and portraits, the largest of them all gracing the wall directly opposite you. 

It was a typical family depiction, your Mom sat on a chair with a five-year-old you on her lap. Your Father stood behind with his large hand on her shoulder. You grinned and your Mom smiled, although there was something strange about it. Your Dad's expression, however, sent a cold hand skating over your spine. Eyes that you knew so well, but had only recently realised how detached they always seemed to be when you were near. 

How did I not see this before?

A foreign feeling shot through you, something mellow and low and distinctly sad. You had been tough so far, and so angry, but this was new. Even though you were aware that your parents had literally raised you for some selfish reason, for some sick plan, this was the first time you had seen your Father's desires reflected in his eyes, with you sitting below him as a child. Did you mourn for a childhood you never had, or a different life completely? 

Would what you had gone through, been put through by your own flesh and blood, be worth it to get back to them? 

To the family you had found yourself?

Eyes roving slowly over the picture frame, you took it in in all its' grandiose. It was made of carved gold, the soft yellow hue bright against the gentle cream of the wallpaper it was placed upon. The metal moved and dipped and peaked in abstract whorls, the pattern unrecognisable when observing one corner of the frame but somehow clear when taking in the full picture. 

Automatically, your hand drifted toward it,  skimming over the cool gold as you pondered the reality of your relationship with your parents. Your fingers flattened against the edge of the frame, coasting along with a soft hush. It seemed that the base of the frame was wooden; sturdy and smooth and straight-edged.

And then, it wasn't.

Withdrawing your hand with a small gasp as your fingers met something colder, you sent a furtive glance over your shoulder. Shuffling closer, you pressed your head to the wall, beside where a small notch protruded from the linear expanse of wood. It was small, barely smaller than a fingernail, and made of cool metal which bit into your fingertip as you lay your hand over it once more. 

A.. button?

Sending up a quick prayer that this wasn't in impromptu explosive device, you let your fingers apply pressure, waiting for the world to turn to cinders and your body to explode into flame and ash.

With one eye open, you watched as the button compressed fully. A small click resounded as the mechanism whirred almost silently inside the frame. And then, perfectly anticlimactically, a small hatch flipped open on the underside of the frame.