No Going Back

7

Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent’s fate.
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The Art of War
Sun Tzu

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One hour before the payment on the room was up, Taehyung opened his eyes to take in the cracked ceiling above him. 

For that rare moment upon waking when he had no thoughts, he simply let himself lay there. Every part of his body was stiff and sore, though marginally better than it was at the start of the week. A flex of his feet revealed tightened muscles, but oddly enough, Taehyung enjoyed the burn.

And his mind, which was normally hyperactive and busy assessing every single sound, was blissfully calm and at ease. No troubles or concerns weighed him down. There was this false illusion that he was safe.

Then everything came rushing back, the impact so fierce and blinding it almost stole his breath away. Everything Taehyung worked so hard to suppress flooded every thought and feeling, giving him unwelcome and harrowing memories.

A stranger asking him for directions.

Unfamiliar, bickering voices.

Threatening screams.

Gunshots.

Blood.

Fear.

And worst of all, the guilt. The all-consuming, body-immobilizing guilt that locked Taehyung's muscles and rendered him useless.

That's what he was. Useless.

When the opportunity to practice everything he'd been taught presented itself, Taehyung froze. All the lessons and years of training suddenly meant nothing. His instincts - the very ones crafted to protect himself and others - became corrupted and he failed at doing the one thing that would've changed it all.

And now he was here, wishing he could go back and right his wrongs. Wishing he didn't hesitate. Wishing he wasn't a pacifist like Jungkook correctly pegged him.

How ironic was it that Taehyung, after being trained for years on how to take down an opponent, still couldn't bring himself to kill another? In every other form of self-defense, there was no hesitation on his part. Knocking out someone? Easy. But making the killing blow . . . 

Impossible.

And for that reason, he was useless. For that reason, people were dead.

Taehyung was fucking useless.

Tearing his eyes from the ceiling, he propped himself up against the headboard and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Usually, he'd spend hours attempting to shut off his mind, overthinking until the sun began to rise. But somehow he was able to get five or so hours of sleep, the best night's rest he had in days. That was quite comical since he was on the run, in a shoddy motel, and sharing a bed with a cocky asshole.

At that, his eyes reluctantly scanned over a still sleeping Jungkook. The boy's ebony hair fell in tangles over his face, hiding everything except parted lips. 

Fuck, that mouth annoyed Taehyung. Ever since he met the boy, that mouth just loved talking back and irritating him. It was wonderful that no words were forming on Jungkook's tongue now; quiet was not a state Taehyung thought the younger possessed.

A tattooed hand rested on Jungkook's stomach, splayed out and relaxed in his vulnerable condition. Taehyung briefly recalled seeing more inky designs that covered the boy's entire arm, though the sleeve of a sweatshirt hid them at the moment. And while he never had a desire to get a tattoo himself, Taehyung had to admit how well they suited his arrogant and reckless companion.