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The tiny apartment's only source of light was the dimly lit cloudy sun's rays that barely covered the suffocatingly small window's sills.
The lonely apartment stayed silent as a man silently closed the door after him, locks clicking softly behind him as he quietly removed his shiny boots that screamed money and stepped onto the creaking wooden flooring.
Catching his reflection staring back at him, he took a moment to observe himself, wanting to look presentable if anyone was in the house.
His loose black cargo pants fit comfortably around his waist, sliver changes fashionably hanging from the right side. His leather jacket was flexible resting on his shoulders, allowing any movements, and underneath lay a dark shirt, complete with his ridiculous face mask he forced himself to wear in case he would have to hide his identity.
He paused and looked around, relieved to see the place looking sad and gloomy but looked as if it was well cared for, piles of medicine stacked neatly against each other, the plants that were straining towards sunlight looked feeble but healthy, the dirt moist and dark.
A small bookshelf rested to his left, books of all sizes and colors jutting out of it, dusty cushions carefully arranged into perfection, the house was humble but it was obvious the owner had taken well care of it, spending immensely long hours taking the disgusting excuse of a rent house into a livable place.
He continued down the house, pausing only at countless family photos smiling up at him from where they were placed painstakingly on the walls, interlocking into a giant heart with words FAMILY stretched out in the middle in loopy handwriting.
A laughing man with a boy on his shoulders, the child's expression matching the man's. A girl was clinging onto her father's leg, the five-year old's face beaming with a smile as her ponytail came loosely around her shoulders and the blue t-shirt the family was matching in caked with mud. Another girl across from her copied her action, his giggle captured perfectly by the camera. While a woman who was sitting at a distance with her expression torn between amusement and exasperation as her plan to take a nice family photo was so obviously failing, and another boy sitting at her side with unmistakable affection pouring out of his eyes as he observed the scene around him.
The man reached out a wiped off the fine layer of dust that was gathering on the framed photograph, taking care to do so.
Then he continued on, now renewed with a feeling of blissfulness he hadn't expected.
He ignored everything else, knowing it'll bring out unnecessary memories and overwhelm him emotionally, but he walked towards the room in the middle of the hallway with a purpose, opening the wooden door with tiny creaks that issued from it.
The room's queen-sized bed sat smashed against the wall, fighting for space against a simple desk and a black dresser. He walked toward the desk and tenderly took out an envelope from his coat with cash enclosed in it, thickening it to unbelievable sizes. Taking out a blue pen, he hesitated for a second, hands hovering over the envelope.
He repeated and revised his message over and over again in his head, shaking his head as he went over them. Nothing seemed fit or expressive enough. He stayed like that for a long time before he heard the front door open and instantly froze on the spot.
Hurriedly scribbling haste words across the paper, the man quickly opened the moldy window that protested with creaks to its old age. The footsteps on the other side of the door stopped and a frightened cry of, "Who's there?" came.
The man cursed softly, remembering his shoes at the door that gave away his presence. Leave it to him to forget the simplest things when it came to people he loved.
"I said, who's there?" Some quivering voice came this time more forcefully and much more closely. "If you don't come out now, I'm calling the police!" The voice continued, and the man hesitated once again, debating if he should stay or not. Oh, how he wanted to stay rooted to the ground, to face the source of the voice.
The footsteps stopped dangerously close to the door and the man decided he had to go. "That's it! I already have the police coming this second!" That's her. Unafraid and commanding. He smiled, fingering few dried flowers she always loved to make.
And with the last of the frightened voice ringing in his ears, he put one foot on the window sill and jumped, pushing himself out of the small frame catlike.
Gliding through the air as though gravity didn't exist, he landed on the concrete floor with a slight wince due to his missing shoes, but the absence of it also helped cushion his fall's sound.
True to the woman's word, he could see the loud sirens of the police fast approaching from the distance, forcing other cars back to reach its goal. Despite knowing that he's the reason for their arrival, he's lips curve upwards. Leave it to her to threaten a burglar then still be clear-minded enough to call the police in mere seconds.
Speaking of polices, there was one pulling up in the apartment's cracked concrete parking lot the very second. Knowing he wouldn't be exactly welcomed by them, the man turned on his heels and wheeled around, disappearing down the nearest alleyway's darkness that engulfed him in seconds.
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Seconds later his erupt departure, the door banged open to reveal a shaking woman clutching a basketball bat in her hand with a cellphone in her other. Cautiously, she peered into the room, and when she was satisfied that no one was threatening her safety, she sank into the bed with a small sigh, her wobbly knees giving out as all the tension drained out of her.
Up close, one could see that age was beginning to creep into her features. Slightly graying hair inched up at her roots, climbing up at the remaining black ones, elegantly dyeing the rest. Wrinkles creased her forehead, matching ones on the tips of her eyes, sign that she had worries as much as laughter in her life. Her rough fingertips served as a proud trophy of the children she raised, work she accomplished, the people she protected.
She was beautiful. She was a mother.
Only then was when she noticed a thick envelope sitting on her desk, that her eyes glazed over, tears pooling in them as they dropped in heavy drops. She cradled the envelope against her heart with tenderness no amount of money could produce, care as if she was holding a baby, sobbing as she whispered, "Oh, my sweet boy. My sweet Hobi."
She sat there clutching the envelope, tears only doubling as she read the note over and over again.
The words engraved on the white sheet read:
"I love you mom -H"
YOU ARE READING
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FanfictionPolice station's worst goody-two shoes with his mighty name Jeon Jungkook. A clever rascal by night, a high schooler failing chemistry by day, Jung Kyungeun with her mixed up family issues. Not exactly the best combination you can have. Love never...
