A/N: SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO STOP MYSELF FROM BECOMING BTS TRASH. i love these boys so much oh god

first bts fic and this is different from any other fandom I've written for so I hope it's not complete crap. jungkook and jimin are from canada and not america because I live in canada and it's easier for me to write so you'll have to bear with all the maple syrup jokes that are sure to come later on

also I'm not at all familiar with korean dialect stuff, not even the basics, so the most I'll use is probably just hyung and that's it. I am not korean, forgive me

bold is texting, btw

wanting to connect (even if we're across the world)

Chapter 1

Taehyung: it's tOMORROW

Taehyung: can u believe it

Jungkook: tae shut up it's like midnight for me

Taehyung: toMORROW anjpdiskw

Jungkook: I'm going to cancel my flight

Taehyung: no no ur not allowed to do that just let me be excited damnit

.

Daegu, South Korea

Kim Taehyung hasn't been this excited in ages.

He doesn't think that his body is physically capable of containing all the energy bouncing inside him at the moment. All seventeen years of his life, Taehyung has been stuck in the city of Daegu without once leaving the country; never even gone on vacation to China or Japan, both of which are neighbouring countries that he could probably take a road trip to—if he could drive. And if the car could cross the ocean. But those are just small details.

("You're basically just having a sleepover. It's the same as a fucking sleepover, Taehyung, now let me rest," Yoongi had said one night when Taehyung not-so-politely invaded his bedroom, bouncing on the mattress as he ranted to an uninterested Yoongi about his online friend's visit.

He had replied with, "But I've never meet Jungkook in person before and he's from Canada." As if that justified everything.)

Maybe he shouldn't be as excited as he is. It's not like he's going anywhere special. He'll still be stuck in Daegu, but at least he'll be stuck in Daegu with Jungkook—well, Jungkook and Yoongi, but he needs to ask Yoongi for a ride to the airport to pick up Jungkook, so he can't really complain about that right now.

"Hyung—"

"Don't 'hyung' me," Yoongi cuts him off as he lazily gets up and glances at the clock, sighing but unable to stay irritated when he sees the pure excitement on his friend's face. He grabs his car keys from the counter and waves it for the younger boy to see. "I already know what you're going to say. Just get in the car."

"Really—?" Taehyung brightens up, following Yoongi out the door. A surprising turn of events, since between the two of them, Yoongi never leads them anywhere and Taehyung usually has to pester him for a good twenty minutes just to get the older boy to stand up. "How did you know?"

Yoongi looks back at him with an expression that says, are you kidding me? "You've been going on and on nonstop about your online friend or whatever for the last fucking week, so I figured you'd ask me to drive you to the airport sooner or later." The car engine hums to life as Yoongi mutters, "I can't wait until you're old enough to get your own license and drive yourself to wherever the hell you want."

Taehyung smiles his signature boxy grin and latches onto the older boy, completely uninvited. Once upon a time, Yoongi would have shoved him off in annoyance, but now he only grunts, more or less allowing Taehyung to hug him. "I didn't think you were actually listening to everything I said, hyung."

"So how's this going to work?" Yoongi asks, backing out of the driveway. "Where's your friend going to stay once he gets here? Has he booked a hotel or—" It takes one glance at Taehyung's face in the rearview mirror, guilty expression in place, for him to connect the dots.

"Don't look at me like that, yah," the younger boy feigns hurt when he makes eye contact with the daggers shooting out of Yoongi's dark brown orbs. "Keep your eyes on the road! I'm too young to die by something as mundane as a car crash."

"I should just run you over," Yoongi says flatly, and Taehyung is still grinning, the brat. "No wonder you were acting so nice to me last week—"

"—it was out of the goodness in my heart—"

"So when the fuck were you going to tell me that you were planning to have your friend stay over at our place? For the whole month?Since, you know, I'm your roommate."

"I was going to tell you," Taehyung defends, shrugging and stifling back laughter when the older boy gives him another look, "eventually."

"Right."

"I do it all out of love, hyung."

Yoongi doesn't reply to that, though Taehyung is pretty sure that the silence is Yoongi's way of saying fuck you; he just reaches over to turn on the radio, humming to whatever song is playing, and tries not to get too excited about meeting his online friend in less than half an hour.

.

British Columbia, Canada

Park Jimin sits alone in his bedroom, burning in his long-sleeved shirt under the harsh rays of the sun, blasting music at the highest volume his pathetic excuse of a cellphone can go because he knows that once it hits five o'clock, he'll have to turn the music off and let the silence engulf him again.

It's a crap phone, fucking useless black piece of shit, but it helps him get through the bad days and so he's actually kind of grateful for it, really. He twirls the device in his hand and thinks about how reluctant he was about buying it at first. He's poor, a high school student on summer vacation with no job, no source of income, and there's no goddamn way his parents would ever pay for anything Jimin wants. He doesn't deserve a phone, they'd say, and he really doesn't because he didn't even end up buying it with his own money.

It was more of a gift than anything.

He remembers sneaking out at around noon last Tuesday—though it was more like mumbling a I'll be right back to his parents and walking out the door completely unacknowledged—right after the school year had officially ended, to go to Walmart because Walmart is cheap and Jimin still can't afford the products there.

On the way, he meets up with his best friend, Jungkook, a doe-eyed, black-haired angel, who helps him pick out the best phone model at the most affordable price.

("Okay, yeah, that's a pretty good deal, but I only have like five dollars so I don't know how you're expecting me to pay for that," Jimin boldly announces his less than appealing financial situation.

He receives a smirk in return. "I'm not expecting you to pay for it, hyung.")

And then Jungkook proceeds to buy the phone for him. The asshole.

Jungkook tells him that it's not actually a present because Jimin can pay him back later, whenever, but they both know that Jimin is piss poor and Jungkook is too nice to hold a grudge against him.

Jimin feels like a freeloader. A freeloader with a best friend who's going to be on the other side of the world tomorrow, which is the whole reason he went through all the trouble of getting a cellphone in the first place. A one-function phone just for Jungkook.

He knows all about Taehyung, a crazy, orange-haired, Korean kid, whom Jungkook met online and hasn't been able to shut up about for the past year. The younger boy dragged Jimin into a Skype call with him once and the three of them immediately got along (despite some of Taehyung's admittedly eccentric behaviours).

So this summer, Jungkook is going to visit Taehyung for a whole month and although they can contact each other now, it won't be the same as being able to meet up in person. Jimin doesn't know how he's going to survive that long without his best friend.

He's probably going to suffocate in his house because wearing long-sleeved clothing isn't exactly ideal for the summer, all things considered. Either that, or his parents will kill him.

Jimin breathes. Just breathes and tries not to listen to the sound of his parents' car pulling up in the driveway; tries not to think about his inevitable doom that takes the form of two adults dressed in formal business wear.

Swears that he'll leave this hellhole behind the minute he turns eighteen.

There are voices outside. He recognizes two as his parents' mixed in with a few of others and he presses his ears against his pillow to muffle out the noise. It's sickening how sweet his parents sound when talking to neighbours and coworkers—how fake they act to keep up their image of hardworking employees and caring family members. How everyone is blind to the ingenuity of it all as long as they hear what they want to hear.

And then.

And then—

"Jimin, come down!" His name called in the shrill voice of his mother. He doesn't want to go down because going down means leaving the security of his room where he is vulnerable and a seventeen-year-old target and no, please, just leave me alone.

"Park Jimin!" his father this time, and Jimin flinches, knows that he has delayed for too long. He wonders who it is downstairs with his parents; how can they not hear the threatening tone in their voices? Are they even listening, don't they now what using his full name means, how can they be so deaf to the implications behind those words?

The boy drags himself out of bed and creaks open his bedroom door, letting out a shaky breath as he forces his feet to bring him to the front door. The people with his parents is another family of three, with a daughter younger than him, probably in elementary school. He smiles a little, because it's what he's supposed to do, what his parents would want him to do, and his mouth says, "Hello."

His eyes say, Save me.

He feels a rough hand on his shoulder, a gesture that no doubt looks fond to outsiders, but he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from wincing when his father's nails dig into his flesh, squeezing, squeezing.

"Jimin, these are our new neighbours from a few houses down the street," the sickening sweet voice is back and the boy feels trapped because freedom is right beyond the door and there is a hand gripping tightly on his shoulder, keeping him in place. "They came to introduce themselves."

He nods, nods and blinks back tears because it's the only thing he can trust himself to do; tries to stifle the scream that's building up in his throat.

The little girl is looking up at him curiously and he wants to tell her to run, fucking run, but he doesn't need to because just like that, they're leaving. Jimin feels his whole body relax, breathe, and it's not so suffocating anymore, but then the girl turns around one last time and she's beaming at him, oh god, why aren't they gone yet?

"Mister, aren't you hot wearing a long-sleeved shirt?" She asks, innocently, so innocent. And yes, he's hot, burning even, so just leave and close the door, please—

"Um, y-yeah, a little bit." He's still smiling. Wants to cry.

"You should change!" The girl twirls happily, arms spread out around her. "Summers are made for T-shirts and dresses!"

Jimin nods, polite, always polite. Just breathes and fights the urge to bolt out the door. "You're right, thank you." But will you still want to see me with a T-shirt on? Will you still be innocent when you see the bruises, the cuts, the scars—

He hates this little girl, he realizes then. Hates how her mother hugs her and ushers her away, genuine and real, so full of love and she doesn't even appreciate what she has; hates how his own parents act exactly like that, but it's all pretense and make-believe, narrowed eyes and rough fingers and harsh voices hidden skillfully underneath practiced smiles.

It's instant, the change. And Jimin regrets it immediately, regrets wanting their new neighbours—the kind mother and innocent daughter—to leave because now he's stuck. Trapped.

Once the door shuts, his parents turn to him, happy expressions dropping within the time it takes Jimin to blink. This is who they really are, this is what no one else is able to see, and he contemplates the idea, plays around with it in his head and wishes, prays: if others knew, would they still hire his parents as employees? Would they still be their friends? Would they help him, take him away from the fucking miserable reality that has become Jimin's life?

Maybe. Perhaps. But not now, no, they haven't been exposed yet. And Jimin is too weak, too scared, to risk making the situation worse.

There are always two sides, two possible outcomes. The good and the bad. Pros and cons.

He doesn't like to think about the alternative.

"Jimin." The boy feels himself being yanked to the living room by strong, merciless hands. He stumbles on the wooden floor and barely has time to orientate himself before he feels the familiar—too familiar—sensation of a slap to the cheek by his father's hand. It stings, oh god, it stings so fucking much; bites his tongue to keep himself from whimpering. There's no visible bruise on his skin but it still feels raw from all the previous times he's been hit in the same place and now it's like rubbing salt on the wound; feels it throbbing, no doubt a red mark on his cheek.

His mother walks over to the TV and turns on the volume to the highest setting. Jimin knows this routine, knows that the loud volume isn't because of her poor hearing, but rather a clever strategy to cover up the screams that are sure to come. To cover up Jimin's screams as his own parents abuse him in the name of discipline.

Jimin already feels as if he can't fucking breathe.

"Didn't we tell you to answer us right away when we call you?" His father is borderline screaming now. His mother sits on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, not giving a shit. "Huh? We discussed this before, many times. Do you hear me, Park Jimin? Does that poor excuse of a brain inside your head even understand anything I'm saying?"

Another slap and the black-haired boy feels his heart thumping wildly against his chest. "I—" he mutters dumbly, mouth suddenly dry. Tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "I'm listening. I'm s-sorry."

"Then why didn't you fucking come downstairs when we called you the first time?" The anger in his father's eyes is terrifying and Jimin doesn't know if it's always been there or if his father picked it up sometime between the screams and acts of violence, but there's suddenly a belt in his hands and it's a thin piece of leather and Jimin knows what comes next.

He's terrified.

Cowering on the floor like a scared mouse.

"Do you think your mother and I have to waste our breath twice on you just to get you to meet the neighbours?" He flicks his wrist back, then sharply forward, and the belt snaps against Jimin's flesh. All Jimin feels is fire and pain and—it hurts. "Do you think you're so important that you can fucking ignore us? Are you trying to destroy our image?"

He cries out when the whipping gets faster, harsher, and why does everything always have to be their goddamn image?

Jimin doesn't think he can survive.

They're going to kill him.

He glances over to where his mother is, a plea for help in his eyes, but the minute his eyes meet hers, his heart drops. She's smiling at him, smirking at her the sight of her son being tortured right in front of her, and his guts twist up uncomfortably inside of him when he realizes that she's enjoying this.

She's getting pleasure out of watching his suffering.

More whips and Jimin's ears are ringing. Every part of him burns. There are small cuts scattered all over his body. The leather strikes his arms, legs, stomach, chest, and fuck, fuck, it hurts so much, make it stop, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—

He's a sobbing mess and he's going to die.

His father freezes mid-swing and Jimin takes the opportunity to breathe; a small part of him knows that something must be wrong for the man to stop his abuse before he's satisfied, but Jimin only registers the break as a miracle.

And then he hears ringing in the distance, muffled under the background sounds of the television, almost mistaking it for the buzzing in his own ears. The telephone. His father sets down the belt, quickly gestures to his mother to mute the volume, and composes himself before walking over to the kitchen to answer the call.

No matter how many times Jimin witnesses it, he doesn't think he'll ever stop being amazed at how his parents switch so easily from the idealistic parental image to cruel, brutal monsters and vice versa—it's fucking sickening.

His father is speaking normally with the person on the other side of the conversation and the pleasant echoes of his laughter sound so wrong to the seventeen-year-old. As if he wasn't beating up his own son just moments ago.

Jimin looks back as his mother but she's already redirected her attention to something else now that he is no longer being hit, no longer a source of her entertainment. Slowly, quietly, he gets up and walks past the kitchen where his father is to the front door, ignoring how weak his legs are, how light-headed he feels. The stinging sensation only gets worse as he turns the doorknob through the blurred vision of his tears, but he presses on, needs to get the hell out of there.

He's pretty sure his parents are fully aware that he's leaving. He's also pretty sure that they don't give a shit.

Doesn't know if the physical pain hurts more or the knowledge of the fact that his own parents just don't care about him at all.

(Because what's the point of chasing after him? Why waste the energy? They know that he'll come back, eventually, on his own.

And he will. He'll go back soon enough.

Jimin is weak.)

The air outside is wonderfully refreshing. He inhales deeply, breath still shaky from the sobs ripping out of his throat; it's a moment of freedom before the realization that he has nowhere to go sinks in, the thought following a stream of oxygen into his mouth, weaving through his body before finally settling heavily in his heart.

It's usually not this bad. Although the beatings have gotten more frequent lately, Jimin can hold himself together for the most part, until his father's anger subsides. But there's just been so much happening recently—first, Jungkook leaving to Korea, then the little girl who was so carefree and loved—and he just fucking lost it.

Hates how, even after all this time, he's still so affected by his parents' actions. How he's such a crybaby at the age of seventeen.

But there are still good people in this world, in Jimin's otherwise shitty life, so he stops running blindly down the street, turns on his one-function phone, and messages a cry for help to the only person he trusts.

.

British Columbia, Canada

Jungkook thinks that he's going to lose it if he hears another fucking vibration come from his phone.

After those texts from Taehyung last night, he had turned off his phone in attempt to get a peaceful night's rest. It had worked, but Taehyung had not stopped his relentless pestering, because when Jungkook wakes up in the morning, there is another set of notifications on his screen.

Taehyung: ohmygod ohmygod omg omg

Taehyung: it's today jungkookie I'm going to see u in a few hours!

Taehyung: I'm picking u up at the local airport right?

Taehyung: Nvm actually I'll ask a friend to drive or smth cuz I'm not old enough but same thing

Taehyung: WE HAVE A WHOLE MONTH TOGETHERRR

Jungkook discreetly wonders if the thirteen hour time difference between them means anything at all to his online friend.

He throws in a couple of his favourite T-shirts and shorts into his suitcase—yes, it's only a few hours before he has to leave for the airport and no, he isn't done packing because procrastination is a bitch, so sue him—and tries to ignore the constant buzzing of his phone that is no doubt caused by Taehyung's messages.

Deep down, though, Jungkook knows that he doesn't actually mind the frequent texts, annoying as they may be, because he's too fond of Taehyung to get seriously upset at him. And, well, he's going to Korea; a whole ocean away on the other side of the world. He can't deny that he isn't extremely excited too, even if he doesn't voice his feelings as obnoxiously as his friend does.

One more pair of pants is tossed into the ever growing pile of messy clothes, along with another shirt, this time long-sleeved because after living in Canada for so long, he has learned never to fully rely on the weather forecast. It could be sunny, twenty degrees in the morning and by the afternoon, there would be a thin layer of snow on the ground.

This is why Jungkook has trust issues, honestly.

He grabs a handful of socks, throws them all inside a small bag, adds in his over worn grey beanie, and decides that he's done with the clothes. This should be enough, probably. And then he moves on to packing his electronics.

The sixteen-year-old fumbles around his closet, looking for the camera that he made sure to charge to full battery the night before; there are so many places in Korea he wants to visit, like all the main tourist attractions—the Donghwasa temple, Gyeongsan-gamyeong Park, literally anywhere. The very first picture he wants to take, however, will be reserved for a snapshot of him and Taehyung, to capture the moment when they meet each other, finally in person and not through pixels on a screen.

A full month in Korea. He can't wait.

His phone vibrates again and Jungkook sighs. Jesus Christ. Fine, he thinks, might as well at least look at the texts because he won't have signal once he boards the airplane, anyway. What he actually sees on the screen when he finally decides to pick up the device and reply back to Taehyung's pestering, though, is not what he expects at all.

For one, the messages aren't even from Taehyung.

Jimin: hey jungkook I

Jimin: r u busy

Jimin: I mean I know ur getting ready for korea

Jimin: and we had planned to meet up later but

Jimin: can I come over rn?

Jimin: please

Jimin: I just

Jimin: actually I'm already outside ur house

Jimin: I just need somewhere to stay for a while and I want to see u

Jimin: sorry I'm sorry for bothering u kookie sorry

It takes a few seconds for Jungkook to register the urgency of those messages. When his brain finally catches on, he drops everything and runs down the stairs.

.

Jimin, quite frankly, is a mess.

He's almost ashamed that he is standing in front of his best friend's house, trying his best to stifle the sobs that are just escaping involuntarily from his mouth because he can't even pretend that the marks left by the belt on his skin don't hurt. To an outsider, he probably seems fucking crazy, crying to himself on the porch of someone else's house, wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of a hot summer day. Furiously texting Jungkook, knowing that he's being a bother because Jungkook is packing for his trip and they had planned to meet up before he leaves anyway, just at a later time.

But he can't wait another two hours for the designated time. Can't stay quiet about this any longer. He just wants someone to cry to and someone to comfort him. He wants his best friend.

When Jungkook finally opens the door, Jimin almost bolts. No one should have to look at him when he's in this condition, especially not Jungkook, even if he already has a vague idea about Jimin's family situation.

It's too late to run though, too late to regret his decision, because Jungkook is already standing in front of him, looking a little tired still in his pajamas, and Jimin thinks that he doesn't deserve to be in the presence of an angel. He notices the change in Jungkook's eyes when he takes in Jimin's broken image and a voice in Jimin's head tells him that his friend's worry and concern is wasted on someone as pathetic as him.

The voice sounds a little too much like his father's.

There's a reason why Jimin is shorter than Jungkook, he understands now: it's because he isn't allowed to stand eye-to-eye with someone in a completely different league than him.

"Jimin?" Jungkook's voice is his salvation. "What's wrong? What happened?" And he sounds so kind, so caring and gentle, so unlike what his parents sound like. Genuine. Talking to him as if he isn't completely worthless.

And maybe he isn't. At least, that's what he's able to believe when he's with Jungkook.

"I—" He starts, chocking up before he can complete the sentence. Doesn't really know what to say in the first place. How much can he tell the younger boy? What can he reveal without ruining his parent's fucking image?

Eventually just chooses to stay silent because it's safer that way.

"Okay, alright," Jimin can tell that Jungkook is trying to stay calm, and that's all he can really ask of him. He's grateful. "It's okay; you don't have to say anything. Just, um, come in." They walk inside the house and Jungkook leads him upstairs to his bedroom, expression growing more concerned when Jimin winces because every single one of his muscles is sore as he bends to sit on the bed.

This small place is so familiar to Jimin, maybe even more so than his own home, and there's just something about being with his best friend that makes him feel a lot better than he felt a few minutes ago, despite the throbbing of his arms and legs. There are clothes scattered all over the floor—of course Jungkook is only starting to pack mere hours before departing—and normally, he would offer to help, but he can't even bring himself to lift up his arm right now.

Basically, the room is a mess. Jimin is also a mess.

He doesn't think he's ever identified so much with the state of a room before.

"Hey," Jungkook's voice is soft as he reaches for Jimin's hand and intertwines their fingers together. "We should probably get you washed up, yeah? Wouldn't want those cuts to get infected or anything. Maybe change your clothes, too."

Jimin looks up at him and tries his best to smile now that the tears have mostly subsided. Just the simple action alone is enough to bring an aching sensation to his cheeks. "Yeah," his own voice is hoarse. "Thanks, Kookie."

His best friend picks up a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from his half-packed suitcase before the two of them move to the bathroom down the hall. Jungkook turns on the tap as Jimin strips out of his beaten clothes; tries not to think what Jungkook's action of lending him clothes could mean.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches as the younger uses a cloth to dab at his cuts with tender fingers. It's strange, how Jungkook's touch can feel so different from his father's. It feels like all the bad parts of him, all his flaws that his parents like it pick on so much, are being washed away along with the bacteria in his cuts.

"Did your parents do this?"

Jimin freezes, cursing his friend for being so perceptive, before managing a nod and he's grateful when younger boy doesn't ask any more questions. The cool water stings like hell but it's nothing compared to the slaps, the whippings. Each hit from his father had come with a new wave of insults, stinging in a different way than the physical pain, targeting his heart rather than his skin, leaving scars that take far longer to heal.

They head back to the bedroom after that, Jimin feeling clean, cleansed, with decent clothes on, and doesn't even care that all his scars are exposed now that he's wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Bruises of various shades—pink, purple, black—are scattered all over him body but Jungkook doesn't seem to mind it so he doesn't mind it either.

When his mind has cleared, he realizes just what he's done, how selfish he truly is, and Jimin feels like shit, a burden, undeserving of the younger boy's kindness; because now, not only has he run away from home, but he also made Jungkook stay behind for him.

Jungkook is supposed to be on an airplane to Korea.

Jungkook is currently holding on to Jimin (who is wearing his clothes), suitcase and luggage abandoned, whispering sweet things in his ears like a best friend that he doesn't fucking deserve and just for a second, Jimin forgets all about Taehyung on the other side of the world.

.

Daegu, South Korea

When the plane from Canada lands in the Daegu airport at the designated time, Taehyung and Yoongi don't see Jungkook anywhere.

An hour and a few unanswered text messages later, they finally accept the fact that Jungkook didn't get on the plane, didn't make it to Korea. And they have no idea why.

A/N: first chapter done wheee it started out so nice and happy lmao what happened

confession time okay so I read a few other bts stories where people described taehyung to have a boxy smile and at first I was like what the fuck kind of description is that but then I watched one of bts' videos and it was the most accurate thing I've ever seen so I kind of stole it and used it in this story haha what oops

in case you were wondering about their ages: taehyung and jimin are 17, yoongi is 19, and jungkook is 16

come talk to me on ask . fm, link on my profile!