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It was a cold fall day when the two boy’s worlds collided. The younger of the two, Jeon Jungkook, sat alone on the curb of his house. Even outside he could still hear his parents yelling. He hugged his knees closer and let his gaze fall on the asphalt. The air was cold and he pulled his large jacket tighter around him as defense. The fall day was calm, too calm.

And that was when Kim Taehyung walked into his life.

A large U-Haul pulled up into the driveway of the house that faced Jungook’s; the house he’d known to be inhabited for many years. A large, burly white-man stepped out from the drivers seat; shifting his pants and fixing the plaid button up. A woman with a figure like a pear stepped out from the other side.

And then a skinny young boy with dark hair slid out of the car, clothes too big on his small frame. He looked around, mouth agape.

Jungkook straightened. The boy looked like him, with the narrowed eyes and dark hair. He looked so unlike the two adults that were walking to open the back of the car, so different that he had to be adopted or something.
Then the boy’s searching gaze fell on Jungkook and he closed his mouth and straightened. A huge box grin broke out on his face, forcing his eyes into tiny crescents. He held up his hand, covered by the long sleeve of his large paid shirt and waved. Jungkook’s eyes went wide and his head bent down.

When he finally looked back up, the boy was gone.

He sighed and went to stand. Pushing himself up, he turned only to spring back when the boxed grin and dark eyes of the boy across the street were now directly in front of his face. The boy laughed at Jungkook’s fright and held out his hand.

When Jungkook didn’t take it, the boy shook it with a pout almost groaning until Jungkook complied and stuck out his own hand. Immediately the boy’s face went back to its wide grin and he pulled Jungkook to his feet. He tilted his head, “I’m Taehyung. Are you Korean?”

Jungkook was accustomed to people avoiding the question of his ethnicity and when it was posed, they usually just said “Asian.” Jung kook debated whether to nod or claim Chinese-ness when a voice called from the other side of the street.

“Hey, Taehyung, what are you doing? Come help.” The blurry man with the large belly had a voice to match.
Taehyung pulled his hand away and Jungkook noticed for the first time that he had still been holding it. The smaller boy looked almost ashamed, head bent, feet shuffling at the ground under the white man’s glance. It wasn’t until the man turned away that Taehyung looked back up, his happy composure returning like the flip of a switch.

Jungkook was in fear for his life with this kid.

“You look Korean,” Taehyung went on. “What’s your name?”

“Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook sounded small even to himself.

“So you are Korean.”

“Taehyung!” the man across the street called again and Taehyung jumped.

“Welp,” he patted Jungkook’s shoulder. “You’re odd, but I like you. Can we be friends?” The boy didn’t wait for an answer or a reply before giving one more giant grin before running back across the street to the white man who shook his head at the young boy.
Taehyung waved before disappearing inside the house.
 
Eight years late, Jeon Jungkook was awakened to the buzz of his phone on his nightstand. The memory would never fade, but the dream that brought it was already gone by the time Jungkook sat up. He rubbed his face and looked around, confused by the noise. Jungkook had been seven and Tae (a grade ahead) had been eight; life had been so much simpler then.

Jungkook grabbed his phone, wincing when the light from its screen hit his eyes. The phone stopped buzzing only to begin again a moment later. Jungkook blinked through the pain and read the name on the screen:
Kim Taehyung.

His breath hitched and he shot up straighter.

A lot had happened in eight years. A lot. And though the boy with the box grin still lived just across the street, they hadn’t spoken much in the last year and a half. Not since Taehyung…

Jungkook hesitated. Why would Tae by calling him now? Was he apologizing? It was a little late for that. Was he going to ask to be friends again? Was he drunk or sleep calling? He surely had the wrong number; he had to.

Against his better judgment Jungkook pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.

“Um,” he cringed. The first word he’d spoken to the older boy in months and it was “um”, “Hello?”

The ragged breathing on the other end caught his attention. It sounded like Tae had been running.

“Kookie,” there was panic in his voice that made Jungkook’s heart flip. He hadn’t been called Kookie in so long. “Kookie, you gotta help me.”

Jungkook flung his legs over his bed, shoving his feet down into his shoes. “What’s wrong? What do you need?” Was it bad that still after everything Jungkook felt worry like a weight crushing down on him.

“Something’s wrong.” Tae’s voice cut out when there was a loud thud on the other end as if the boy had fallen. “I’m behind my house and something’s wrong and my phones about to die.” There was silence and heavy breathing. “Kookie, I did something terrible.”

“Tae?” Jungkook stood up, amazed by how not tired he was all of a sudden. He slipped his arms through a jacket, switching hands to hold the phone to his ear.

“Come help me, plea ––.”

Beeps sounded on the other end of the line, signaling the end of the call.

Jungkook grabbed a flashlight from his desk, shoved his phone on his pocket and crossed to his window. Jiggling the frame and hammering his palm against the bottom, he inched it up until he could fit through. He ducked into the cold night air without a second thought, sliding down on his rear to the gutter before flipping over and using his porch railing as a ladder down to the ground. He couldn’t help but think back to the hundreds of times Taehyung had climbed in and out of his room that way.

It had been so simple then. So easy.

And then the moron had to go and mess everything up.

Jungkook had gotten used to not have Taehyung around; gotten used to the feeling on just him against the word again. He had even made other friends, like Park Jimin who had moved into Taehyung's place in his mind but could never quite fill it. And he knew Tae had other friends too. Like that girl –– what was he name? –– Marina George, or something like that. Her and Tae were always hanging around each other. Everyone even said they were dating, but Jungkook wasn’t so sure.

They had both moved on from the broken remains of their friendship (the broken remains left after Taehyung smashed it into a gazillion pieces) so why in the hell had Taehyung called him? And why now?

He had crossed the street and strolled behind the eerie home of Taehyung and his adoptive parents. He knew the layout well, and he knew the path behind the house that led into the dense trees.

Jungkook looked at his phone screen. It was 3:39 in the morning. What the hell was Tae doing out in the trees this late at night?

Jungkook switched on his flashlight and wondered in.

He knew the trees, he knew them well, but he did not know them at night and he was terrified. The wind brushed past, running straight through his thin pajama bottoms and t-shirt. Where the hell was Tae?

He followed the path because there was no way he was venturing out into the trees and walked for a good ten minutes, shaking from the cold and calling out for Tae before he stopped. Something wasn’t right and he could feel it in his stomach. Something was wrong and the mental alarm in his head was screaming at him to get out.
He’d go back. He’d wake up his mom or maybe Tae’s parents and then go looking again. Coming out alone was idiotic. What was he thinking?

He went to turn back when he heard it –– a sob.

It sent a tremor up his spine and made him jerk back. He couldn’t mistake the sound of someone crying. He started in the direction, pointing his flashlight down, as the sound grew louder.

“I’m so sorry,” someone sobbed. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Tae?” Jungkook called, regretting it when the sounds silenced.

Yep, he was dead for sure.

There was a crack in the trees behind him and he jerked around, the beam from his flashlight landing on a familiar figure.

“Tae,” Jungkook sighed, almost relieved until he noticed. There was blood, so much blood. It stained Tae’s clothes and was smudged on his face, his hands crimson with the color. And he had a knife in his hand.

Jungkook staggered back, heel catching on a root and he fell down. “Tae?”

The boy sniffled, sobbing. His body heaved and he choked out something Jungkook couldn’t hear.

When Tae took a step forward, Jungkook sprung back. “Tae, stop.” He held out a hand, his heart pounding in his ears, fear gripping his throat with an iron fist.

Tae halted, something shifting in his expression. “Jungkook, I ––.”

Jungkook sprung to his feet. I did something terrible.

“Tae, what did you do?” Jungkook shouted. He felt nauseous. In his head he begged it to be an animal of some sort.

“You have to help me,” he sobbed, his mouth clenched and teeth showing. “You have to ––.”

Jungkook shook his head and backed up, holding out his hands, wondering if he could get to his phone before Tae could get to him. What did he do? What did he do? Why was there blood?

“Kookie, wait!”

Jungkook cringed at the nickname.

A twig snapped behind him and he jolted around, his heart giving a painful leap in his chest. His beam of light landed in the clearing just beyond the trees he stood in. The light fell on the pale face of a young girl. Her eyes were open, as was her mouth. She looked terrified and blood –– there was so much blood.

And Jungkook knew her too.

It was Marina George.

Jungkook screamed. When he turned around Taehyung was closer to him. He chucked his flashlight, turned around and ran. The path was forgotten in his attempt to run away. Tree branches swatted at his arms and face, the brush grabbing at his legs. He didn’t stop running until he broke out into the street several houses down from where he entered. He charged into his home, throwing the door open and running to the sink. He’d felt it the whole time, but the terror had beaten it down. He vomited for a good two minutes before slumping down against the floor.

His mom bounded down the steps, hair up in a messy bun; her pink robe tied around her slender frame. “Junggie,” she said, eyes wide. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Trembling, Jungkook pulled his phone from his pocket. In his mind memories danced of his and Tae’s meeting, through all those years of their inseparable bond. All the times they’d snuck into each others houses, slept in each others beds –– it was Taehyung that had helped him through his dad’s leaving and it was he that had always giving Tae a place to stay when his home situation became toxic. It had always been him and Tae and he knew Tae and Tae couldn’t ––

–– The image of sweet Marina covered in blood and obviously dead caused Jungkook to finish hitting the number on his phone. Nine-one-one and the line was ringing.

The police were there and the body was found before he sun had risen. A bloody Taehyung was found next to it. He was escorted through the trees and into a police car in view of their now awakened neighborhood. As his head was pushed down into the car, his eyes met Jungkook’s and he’d never looked so broken before. His face twisted up the same way it did with his box grin, only this time he was smiling but sobbing.

“Believe me, Kookie. You have to believe me.”

He was pushed into the car before he could say another word, driven off while Jungkook stared after.

When the murder weapon was found, a knife from the boy’s kitchen, with only his DNA and Marina’s blood the boy’s fate was sealed. Jungkook was asked to stand trial, but there was no way in hell he was doing that.

School was a blur with the news. People treated Jungkook like he was traumatized. Pictures of Marina were hung everywhere in her memory. His only sanctuary was Jimin who kept him sane with distractions and pointless conversations. In Jungkook’s sleep he saw Marina’s corpse. In his worst nightmares he saw a frightened Taehyung.
The boy was sent to juvenile hall, which was considered a blessing with how much they wanted to send him to real jail. He never admitted to doing it, but no one believed him. In truth, Taehyung had always been a strange boy, Jungkook knew this, but he still didn’t know if he believed his Tae could do something so bad.

Marina’s memorial was full. He murder was brutal beyond imagination. School was filled with rumors and stories. Jungkook was filled with pain.

The days came and the days went and it got a little easier. Soon, a year had come and passed, the end of summer bringing around the anniversary of Marina’s death. And never had timing ever been worse.

Sitting at his dining table having just woke up around noon (he was still holding onto the last glimpses of summer) Jungkook stared blankly at the TV screen in the other room. He shoveled some cereal into his mouth, trying to emerge from the heavy weight of exhaustion.

“… Kim Taehyung …” the name was all he heard from the other room, but it was all he needed to jerk towards the TV, more awake than he had been a moment before. He stood up, spoon still in hand, and started to walk to hear what the blonde new lady had to saw.

Surely it was about the anniversary or a retelling of the dumb story Jungkook had heard a million times. He was so ready to turn off the TV, but the story wasn’t at all what he thought it would be:

New evidence had been found –– DNA previously missed in examination of both the weapon and Marina’s clothing. Taehyung had a retrial… Taehyung had been released.

The spoon fell from Jungkook’s hand and clattered against the wood flooring and he stared at the image on the screen, the video in the corner of a nicely dressed Taehyung walking out of the courtroom, hand hiding his face from the cameras.

“Kim Taehyung will be returning to his hometown and will be reentering his old school. Until this case comes to a close the boy will not be permitted to leave. Of course, the juries call has left many angry, including the parents of the victim.” The screen in the corner turned big showing Marina’s parents as they yelled out in the hallway against Taehyung who still had his face covered walking away.

Then Marina’s dad, a big man with skin the color of dark chocolate, was framed in the camera with microphones pointed at him. “That boy killed my baby,” he said, tears coming from his eyes. “I know he did. And he knows he did!” he yelled the last part as if trying to get the people walking down the halls behind him to hear.

One of the reporters mumbled something about the new evidence, saying something else about Taehyung being framed.

The man shook his head. “It was that boy. He pretended to care about her, but I always knew there was something off with him.” He only said that boy as if Taehyung's name was forbidden. “He killed my baby.” He wiped his eyes. “He better enjoy his freedom now, because it won’t last. They’ll find him out and he’ll go right back where he belongs.”

The screen cut to black and Jungkook whipped around.

His mom was holding the remote in both hands as if she was holding a dangerous weapon. “I–– I meant t-to tell you,” she said. “I just didn’t know how y-you’d handle it.”

“He’s coming back?” Jungkook’s voice was barely above a whisper.

His mom nodded.

The whole world felt like it was spinning and Jungkook’s knees slid into the hard surface of the floor. He was dimly aware of his mom behind him, arm wrapped around his chest. He held her arm and took in her scent of roses and soap. His mom was safe. Taehyung was not.

In the back of his mind he saw the grinning boy holding out a hand to him in an oversized plaid button up saying, “Can we be friends?” That image fell away to the more recent one of the boy covered in blood, sobbing his apologies.

Jungkook shook his head.

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

He was crying before he even knew he was and he didn’t have a good reason why. It took him longer than it should have for him to realize he wasn’t just crying, but that he wasn’t breathing very well either, which meant he was having an anxiety attack. 

Kim Taehyung was coming back home.