Ange ➳ jjk+kth

iii

Don't cry.

He wills to not allow the tears that sting at his eyes, fall. He would not show these men that they affected him, nor that he was a weak person.

If he was going to die, he was going to die with pride. Beside him, his mother clutches at his sleeves, glassy eyes darting around their living room which was currently flooded with muscular men in black uniforms, guns strapped securely to their waist, faces masked securely with black cloth.

Loud footsteps can be heard from outside, before the front door is kicked open, more men covered in black, guns raised as they fill into the room.

Taehyung notices that the group of men form a protective circle around a rather tall man, who seems to have his fingers clasped tightly over someone's throat.

He squints his eyes, pity for the man clutched between the others fingers growing within him. The group of men gradually get closer, the man Taehyung felt bad for now thrashing violently as he gasped for air.

It is only then, when the men who had previously been protecting the tall man moved to the side, did he recognise the man who was currently struggling to breathe.

"Appa!"

Taehyung rushes forward to free his father from the hold of wretched man. He can hear his mother, behind him, yelling for him to stop as he strides towards the man with growing fury.

He can see a black figure to his left running towards him and before he knows it, he's flung backwards, his back hitting the floor, the air in his lungs ripped out of him.

"Taehyung!"

Gentle hands hold him close, quiet sobbing above him as he groans, his hand coming up to rub soothing circles over the area his head had came into contact with the floor.

"Baby."his mother whispers, consoling brown eyes watching him carefully as she cups his face in her hands, "Are you okay?"

He can only nod meekly, his vision blurred lightly as he stumbles to his feet, fingers tangled in his hair.

His voice is low as he allows him mother to help him to his feet, small hands clutching at his waist, "W-We have to help him eomma."

His mother smiles sadly, eyes glassy as she tilts her head to the side, "There's nothing we can do."

Taehyung isn't used to this. He had always been the optimistic boy, eager to help others. Never had he given up to something, even if the stakes of lives were at hand.

He would stand strong and fight.

But now, his own mother, was telling him to stand down. To bend their will.

He huffs, white teeth bitting down cherry lips as he sets his hard gaze on the tall man standing in the centre of the living room.

The man watches the young boy and his mother converse quietly, an amused chuckle falling from his lips at the livid glare the boy sends him.

The boy does not scare him, in all honesty the man believes that the teenager represents an angry puppy, oversized t-shirt slipping over his shoulder revealing smooth collarbones, tan and supple, appealing the older man.