one step, two. - bts

1: stealing and phone calls

He sat there, wrists limp within a set of handcuffs, head down. The only thing supporting him was his back, pressed firmly against a cold, metal chair.

This entire picture would have accurately resembled a rag doll casted away, carelessly slumped over. He didn't mean to seem informal, but really, there wasn't much energy within to prop himself up and properly survey the scene beyond him.

"What's the name, kid?" An apathetic voice delivered from across the room. Upon hearing it, it seemed so suited to this cold environment. As if part of the scenery, he almost would have ignored it if it weren't for how much it echoed around him. He wondered if these people had once been welcoming to newcomers, asking questions kindly and reassuring them that they'd be treated well in their facilities. Or maybe they'd given up and now they were simply mundane, eager to get their jobs done and quickly push these criminals into their wretched cells.

Distantly, the voice sighed, chair scraping against the smooth floor. "Son.." It began again. "You'll have to complete these forms if you don't want trouble."

True, he'd been trouble enough. Having just caused chaos minutes earlier in an open courtroom, where he faced his unruly demise. The distant reminder of sounds; gasps and cries, the voice of the final verdict. They rendered deep into his mind. But regardless, he wasn't a rude guy. Never had been.

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi."

"Age?"

"22."

"So you really are a kid."

It proceeded like that. Simple questions about himself, his date of birth, home address, relatives to contact. Proving to be a reminder that it was indeed him who had found himself in a tight spot, unable to find his way out.

"Life sentence. Murder." The voice belonged to a middle aged bloke, skin worn and grey hair sparse. Mercilessly squeezed into a dull, beige suit. Unsurprisingly, the man fit right into this bleak atmosphere that surrounded them. He proceeded to whistle, almost as a sick validation that he was impressed. In his hands held a stamped piece of paper, presumably with the details of the sentence he had been given. Finger tracing across the surface to read every single letter. It brought Yoongi great shame to witness the man gradually formulating an opinion of him as some dangerous killer, when in reality he hadn't even witnessed a dead body in his life. At least, not before then. Briefly, he flickered his vision to the boy, face perplexed.

"Seems like big crime for a small fella, doesn't it." He tutted, seeming to be more of a statement than a question. The younger man had no intentions to answer anyway. After an exchange of looks and an uncomfortable silence, the gentleman concluded the final questions and shuffled the pieces of stray paper in a hasty fashion. It seemed clear he had no desire to stick around in this small space with a potential psychopath.

"Right." He stated, brushing himself off as he stood up.

"Mr. Min. You'll be shortly attended to, so please don't move. You should be transported to the waiting space where you'll be able to make a phone call and round up unfinished business. Any questions should be directed to the staff there." He adjusted the tie that lay slanted upon his shirt. "I'm going to submit this paperwork now."

With that, he made his exit and the light of the outside spewed into the dark room for a moment, before fading once again.

Yoongi knew he had some more time to kill. Depressing as the situation was, he didn't want to let himself spiral into an uncontrollable frenzy of anxiety and anger. He hadn't really shown much emotion since the arrest, perhaps feeding into this cold, killer image the world adorned him to be.