1. Arrival

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He can't go any harder.

He can't go any faster.



















































"Sir! Sir! Stop, please! Stop right there! Stop!"

It's a sight to behold– a blonde college student pedaling hard on a bike with all his mustered strength while a horde of suited men are hot on his tail, sprinting fifteen miles per hour and shouting at the top of their lungs in desperation. He's made them look like the idiots that they are.

People turn around to stare, morning interrupted by the ruckus. Yet he is undeterred, zipping through the crowd, ignoring the eyes of his fellow peers and as he cuts through campus. A black sleek vehicle on the road has its wheels screeching on the asphalt, trying to keep the boy on the bike in their line of sight. They continue to chase him, screaming out his name.

It's dangerous. He knows it. But their hysterics make him laugh. He feels free like this, running away, thighs burning as he pedals.

The wind caresses through the strands of his crazy hair, causing his oversized shirt and grey sweatpants to flutter. His clothing is baggy, bed head's a mess, the scruff all over his chin never once giving hints that he's the wealthy son of a world leader. He doesn't have brand name clothing, a polished appearance, shiny cars or luxurious watches to his name.

Just a bike and himself.

And that's enough for Taehyung.

"Sir, sir! Stop! Please!"

Now only if he had less surrounding bodyguards, or at least less suffocating ones that don't make him want to hurl himself out the window just to get a nice view of the blue sky. Then everything would be perfect.

At the exact same time and half-across the capital, the plane touches against the tarmac.

The aircraft eventually slows on the runway, engines whirring, white noise loud but inviting as people begin to stir awake, happy to have finally landed and eager to get off.

The two pilots wave to you happily as you leave, head stewardess glaring for some reason from the corner of her eye unbeknownst to you and with your luggage, you cut through visitation and immigration booths.

Stopping at only one spot, the person behind the counter looks at your passport and simply says "Welcome home" before you're cutting through the baggage claims, straight out the airport doors.

There's nothing else you need.

Just your one suitcase and you.

"Where are we off to this afternoon?"

The female taxi driver turns around from her waist, flashing the brightest of smiles despite somehow looking fatigued. You read out the address and she hums, pulling away from the curb.

His Bodyguard || K.TH.Where stories live. Discover now