Boy By The Sea • taekook

One

The day that Jeongguk's life changes, irrevocably so, starts no different than every other day.

His own fault really, answering a call at 5:28 in the morning, as the first sight of dawn creeps onto the horizon. The grogginess evaporates the second he hears the abrasive edge in Yoongi's voice.

"The west coast office fucked up again."

Jeongguk pushes himself up with one arm to peek at the clock by the bed.

"Bunch of idiots! I told them last year that they were too greedy not to cut their losses back then. Fuck."

"Hyung..." Jeongguk rubs his brows.

From the bedroom window, he can see the hint of gold in the sky, painting it brighter and waking up the city from slumber.

Yoongi's voice is icy but picking up in pace "...What kind of fucked up luck, I bumped into their VP after he drank all night. Omalas Corp is to be acquired by a bigger firm, announcement on Monday. It's gotta be fixed discreetly before market opening on Monday. Jeongguk, NOW. I'm already driving to the office, gonna fucking rip-"

"Hyung!" Jeongguk raises his voice. He sits up and clears his throat before continuing, slowly but with resolution, "Hyung, I'll fix it. Trust me."

He can hear Yoongi's breaths at the other end of the phone, ragged and fuming with exasperation. A long pause, then a grumble that vibrates through the phone, "I know, you're the only one that could clean this up without getting us into more shit. Call me later." Click, he's gone.

Jeongguk cards through his hair and visualizes the shorter jogging trail for the morning, as the familiar sensation of stress slithers up his skin, jolting awake all his senses.

Definitely more effective than a cup of coffee. He sits by the edge of the bed and types up a text to Jimin.

------

6:32AM, near midtown Manhattan.

Jeongguk sets down the manila folder he's been haphazardly flipping through, and glances out the car window. Not a single tourist or loiter in sight, instead, a thin dusting of white snow has built up overnight, covering up all the grimes and sharp angles of the metropolis, putting the city in a serene, if temporary, trance. Every time they cross an intersection, the clamor of the scattered traffic reverberates down the street, and twinkling lights peek through on trees and building fronts. It's early December, and to his reluctance, Christmas is in the air.

The outline of his cufflink is smooth against his finger pads. Jeongguk shifts his gaze back into the car, onto the familiar figure in front of him in the driver's seat. With one hand tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, Jimin is humming to the pop tunes drifting out of the car radio. Eight years, Jeongguk is used to people coming in and out of his life, playing their part and departing as intended, but there is comfort in having at least one constant figure in his life. Like a silent sentinel protecting his solitude, sometimes, the outline of Jimin's back in the driver's seat is the only human presence he can tolerate after an especially gruelling day.

"Ugh, sorry Mr, Jeon, the garbage bags are everywhere on the street again." Jimin's low voice pipes up apologetically, as the car parks in front of a towering glass and steel building on Lexington. Their eyes meet in the rear view mirror and Jungkook nods, "It's ok, pick me up around noon?"

"Will do."

The friendly glint in Jimin's eyes warms his thought, as he steps out carefully between the overflowing black bags piled up on the sidewalk. Manhattan, a city that's in no shortage of small humbling moments, even for the privileged.

Jeongguk walk briskly towards the front entrance, mind already on overdrive and planning out the steps. Dumping off stocks discreetly while avoiding insider trade accusations requires finesse and connections, almost an art of its own kind. Stretching his neck to the sides, he starts making a list of contacts to call.

Out of the corner of his eye, a dark figure is huddled in the back alley around the corner. It's unassuming, shrouded by the tendrils of pale steam rising from the underground metro. Jeongguk instinctively tightens the opening of his wool coat and turns to look away, but the figure suddenly looks up, unabashed. Their eyes lock, Jeongguk frowns.

C'mon, focus.

He blinks but strides slow down. The morning chill hits his skin, and Christmas lights twinkle in his peripheral between the bare tree branches.

Sometimes, at the most unlikely moment, an opportunity presents itself, beckoning for a tiny step away from routine, into the unknown.

Jeongguk is never able to explain exactly what happens at that moment. He sighs, and against his better judgment, changes course and walks towards the huddled figure. The unmistakable stench of booze and filth hit him first and makes him flinch.

He's young, probably in his teens, shivering and mumbling to himself, half delirious. His clothes are flimsy and of little use in the icy morning air, and the grimy jeans are already soaked through as dirty slushes of snow melt under him.

The kid stares at him and mumbles, dull glimmer fading in and out of his hooded eyes. He shivers, but tilts his head up defiantly.

Of the thousands of nameless faces Jeongguk has seen in the city, he is unsure why this one stands out to him, jarring but daring him to take another look. He pulls out of his wallet and retracts a few bills, "The Mainchance drop in centre is down the street, go get a cot there, you won't last long here in this weather."

As he bends down to place the money by the figure's feet, a gaunt hand suddenly reaches out and grabs him by the arm, making him wince. The burning gaze bores into him, voice sharp and hissing, "You think we are so different, you and I? You think a few bills can change my life?"

Jeongguk pulls away, but the hand refuses to let go, fingers digging hard into his arm, hot breath grazing his face as the man pulls himself up towards him, "Nobody can help me, you understand? There's nothing left." His eyes dim and dip down, and Jeongguk feels a stir. Something familiar to the tone of that voice, something forgotten on the recess of his own mind.

His throat dries, words dangle at the tip of his tongue but do not drop. He rips his arm away, and stares at the hooded figure that has now retracted back to his own delirious state. Jeongguk eventually makes his way back towards the entrance of the building, thoughts muddled.

Hours later, in the safety of his office, Jeongguk leans against the floor-to-ceiling window, and catches a glimpse of the huddled figure by the corner of the building. He scrunches his nose, and with some hesitation, picks up his phone to text Jimin.

There's a homeless kid dying outside the building.

A moment later the reply flashes on the phone screen:

Ok.

He pictures a confused Jimin mumbling out loud, and chuckles inwardly.

Can you take him to a drop in centre please?

A few hours later, Jeongguk is immersed in dissecting the terms and conditions of a lengthy contract when Jimin texts back.

He didn't want to go to the drop in centre. I left him at a motel on the north end with some takeout food.