The Theft (taekook)

5. Where is it?

Appalled. Shocked. Alarmed.

Jungkook fisted his rough dirty blonde locks in his hands in utter horror as he paced around the Grandeur royal safe with eyes wider than saucers and blood pressure raising to the point he could trace it's movements in his veins.

"No no no no no no no. NO!" he whisper-yelled because even on the brink of loosing his mind Jungkook was in enough senses to know what hell it might raise if he increased his volume.

He cannot let the guards outside know that the new hireling appointed to guard the most beautiful royal was inside ripping his hair shafts out of his scalp.

"How is this possible? No no no! This cannot be." he rubbed his eyes with index and middle fingers of both his callus hands in an attempt to somehow appease his senses that this is all just an imagination.

Much to his dismay when he opened his eyes, it was still the truth. In front of his eyes was a crashed plan.
Where there should have been a seascape like view of a breathtaking crown was just a dusty shelf in the vault.

The crown was gone

But where to?

On the shelf filled with dust was a clean rectangular spot signifying that the box in which the crown must have been, was indeed taken very recently.

Jungkook's mind went haywire at the plethora of possibilities that filled it up.

There's another thief in the palace?

I'm going to get you because that crown is mine.

Looking around for one last time in expectations of maybe the crown lying around like a piece of dirt, he made his way back to the wall hole, resetting the bricks like nothing happened when he reached the abandoned storeroom.

"where is it where is it where is it?" he reiterated to himself.

During the curvy pilgrimage of his life, jungkook has always been the writer. He cannot decide what happens in his life but he always decides how the remedy will be. And he always writes the scripts he pleases.

Like his mother contracting a rare deadly disease called something he fails to recall was not in his plan. But for the treatment of which she was admitted to a special care infirmary of royals, was his. Yes, royals. Getting in was not a hardship for him considering his stealth has helped him charm anyone he wishes to. The real hardship is paying massive emoluments of the treatment.

He had been looking forward to this evening, where everybody in the palace would be engaged in the hustle and bustle of the feast. He had a plan Bs for an escape everyway he could be nabbed and accused for attempting to steal. He was the writer. He has always been.

Before he stepped into this cursed palace.

Everything has turned into everything he has never forseen. Failed plans after failed plans. His eyes burn and fists clench, clipped nails digging into the skin of his palm.
He passes the blur of bodies walking back and forth like maniacs, each of them looking the same and smearing together into a piece to forever hang in the lobby.

His mother may die. They will expel her the next week. She may die. She will die.

He did not know why, but it felt like a thin string tied itself around his waist and tugged him forward towards the chamber door he was now used to standing outside. It was a like a magnet pulling on his steel armor, and jungkook was not complaining.

He barged in, without an adomination right into the chamber he had walked out of just an hour ago excusing himself to climax the real plan.

Taehyung, not used to anyone stepping in without knocking, was startled beyond recovery, dropping the waistband he was amidst wearing on top of his dress pants and silk shirt, and stepped backwards as a stimulus reponse only to tangle his foot in the string of his gold embroidered robe tripping scornfully on the marbeled floor on his back ungracefully tipping the light bedside lamp on his knee.