vớ vẩn

chap 13

Seokjin finds a particularly sharp rock and he immediately picks it up, brings it closer to his face to inspect every side and facet of the rock before he clutches it close to his chest and runs excitedly back to his cave to-

No, no, no. This isn't right. Seokjin shakes himself awake.

After Yoongi had reluctantly and painfully taken Seokjin in, he'd gone and disappeared and for a long, long time, Seokjin was completely alone in the holding cell. He wasn't cuffed and there was no one else locked in there with him, but something just didn't feel quite right.

Where were all the police officers? Where did Yoongi go? Is Jeongguk alright? Namjoon?

He paces up and down, around and around, his feet greeting every inch of the cold, grey concrete floor of the holding cell. Sometimes he sits down, and other times he wraps his hands around the bars that keep him incarcerated.

Sometimes, he lets his mind slip.

Sweat trickles down his collarbones as the kiln continues to burn in the background and the smell of molten metal fills up the air, turning it thick. Sweat beads at Seokjin's brow and he wipes it away with the crook of his arm, his hands still gloved as he hammers away at the long piece of iron. He'd been experimenting with iron recently in making small daggers, but he'd just found enough iron that he can melt together and create something larger, bigger, deadlier.

He wants to make a sword. He hammers away at the metal, straightening it out on his workbench. He knows it won't be the best sword out there, but hopefully if he continues to perfect his craft one day he might be able to sell them, and he might be able to eat meat more than just a few times a year.

Hands slamming down on the table shakes Seokjin awake, and suddenly he's plunged back, back in the police station, in a small box of a room with dark grey walls and a large mirror on one of the walls. He knows that mirror. It's not a mirror at all. He stares at it for a few moments, imagining the number of people that are staring right back. He imagines being on the other side of it.

"Seokjin, please focus," Yoongi huffs, leaning back in his chair opposite Seokjin. Seokjin slowly tears his gaze away from the people who are undoubtedly observing him, scrutinising him, picking him apart. He finds Yoongi's eyes instead, the deep with dark circles under them, the frown pulling at his lips and making him look years beyond his age. "Tell me what happened on the night of the sixteenth."

"I already told you," Seokjin begins calmly, threading his fingers together. They hadn't cuffed him, not when Seokjin walked right into the station and gave himself up, not while he was being held, not during any of the interrogations. He continues to remain uncuffed, but that was more at the request of Yoongi rather than himself. Seokjin wonders if he'd feel better if he was cuffed. It's confusing. "I went back to the police station and found the body in the locker room."

"Why did you go to the police station?" Yoongi asks as he keeps his eyes down on some papers in his hand.

"I was going to take a short break from keeping watch. I went to get some snacks from Jeongguk's locker."

"And that's where you saw the body?"

"Yes."

"So why are all my officers saying they saw you go in, and then come running out all frantically?"

Seokjin shrugs nonchalantly. "Probably because I just saw a mutilated body."

Yoongi pulls in a sharp inhale. "Myung Minwoo was last seen alive and walking at around ten past eleven on the sixteenth. He was stationed outside of your little brother's apartment. His shift ended at eleven, like yours. He went back to the police station, went into the locker room, and never came back out alive."