⚠︎ Trigger Warning! ⚠︎

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The corridors of the huge palace were quiet and calm, a little too calm. Yet the heartbeats of the little boy were anything but that. The seven year old boy, who was watching back and forth, sneaked through the dark hallways, careful with each step.

Cause he knew that the consequencies otherwise were awful.

The little fountain of his raven hairs, tied with a white thin rubberband with floral design all over it, bounced as the boy jumped in delight, in tiniest way possible, when a familiar pair of huge doors came into his view.

He tip-toed so that his tiny little fingers could reach the handle. He couldn't help but smile. He successfully made it to the place without getting caught. He'd be able to get more information about them.

Most importantly, she would be proud of him.

He carefully twisted the handle, pushing the door a bit, which created a quiet squeak. He shuddered at the thought of someone hearing the sound, and when he was about to scold the damn door about it's misbehaviour, a little ray of light got his attention, which illuminated from the little gap between the doors.

He smiled, the two bunny teeth poking out, as he reached for the handle again to open the door completely. Just a push, and he would succeed. Just a mere push and he'd be able to accomplish his mission.

But sometimes, luck betrays you in the most unpleasant way possible.

He let out a huge gasp, as he was being yanked backward with a strong force, doe eyes shut due to the fast yet poweful action, hands curling into fists, pressed tightly against his own chest, heart thumping crazily.

"Where do you think you're going, young master?" The voice that he second most despised, came out groggily. Even with honorifics, there was this mischief and hatred laced with it. He shook his head when the angry tears turned his eyes glossy, as the mere thought of the situation came into his mind.

Oh, he knew he was so dead.

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He was thrown down harshly, the elevation of the first little step scraping his knee, making him cry in pain. He could feel the sting, the impact of blood staining his expensive pants, but he had more things to worry about at that moment.

A little too much to take for a seven year old boy, isn't it?

"Young master was sneaking into the royal library." The man who caught him informed.

A 'tsk' was heard, and he clearly knew the owner of the voice, but he could not dare to look up. He was still on his knees, hands supporting himself not to kiss the palace floor, head thrown downward. He felt pathetic.

He could feel the gaze on him, the gaze filled with hatred and disappointment. It was his fault, right? Sneaking out at past midnight, doing something he was warned not to do.

He felt his body going limp as he heard the familiar tap of footsteps, getting louder with every passing second. He should have expected all of that. His heartbeats stopped for the moment, when he realised that the person was right in front of him, the expensive material of the footwear appearing at his point of vision. There was no movement for seconds.

And that few seconds were deadliest.

He let out a gasp and whimpered immediately when he was been pulled upwards, by his hairs, destroying the cute fountain of his raven hairs, which was done by the closest person to his heart, within seconds. New tears spilling out due the firm, stinging grip on his hairs.

"Pathetic." The voice spat. But he closed his eyes nonetheless, not wanting to meet that gaze. The tug at his hairs got tighter and more painful and he let out a loud cry, his tiny hands placing themselves on the big, rough ones that held him, oh so painfully.

"H-hu-hurts." He cried out again, voice soft yet broken. He opened his eyes and lifted his gaze, his tired and painful one with the deadly and hateful gaze of the other.

"Shouldn't have done this ugly thing in your hairs, then. What are you? A girl?" He spat, making the younger flinch with the tone. But then he snorted.

"A fag, aren't you?" The voice spoke. He didn't knew what that meant, but his experience told him that the word meant awfully bad. More tears trickled down his puffy cheeks, as his vision got blurry with the salty liquid. The floral thingy that tied his little ponytail was yanked off roughly, probably plucking out few hairs of his too, but he showed no protests, even though he was dying deep inside, maybe due to pain from his hairs, or from his heart, it didn't matter anyways.

"Is this what I get? As far as I know, I haven't raised you like this, have I?" He heard, but kept his head low, like a habit. His jaw was grasped roughly, forcing him to look at the eyes again.

"You must look at me when I talk to you." he was warned, and he nodded almost immediately, not wanting to piss the other anymore.

"Use your words, naive kid!" He flinched at the nickname and the tone.

"Y-yes, y-your hi-high-highn-"

"DON'T STUTTER." The other yelled, making the little boy gasp with fear, eyes stinging continuously with tears. The other huffed annoyance, rolling his eyes.

"You disappointed me, Jeon Jungkook. You always do, yet I'm not surprised." he spoke, voice a bit, just a bit calmer than before. Jungkook looked up to see the other watching him, giving him the most disappointed look ever.

He disappointed him.

He always does.

"I-I am so s-sorry." He cried out, stiffling the sobs with his hands, trying his best not to stutter, to disappoint the elder even more.

He could not even speak properly. How stupid.

"What were you trying to do, huh?" He heard him speak, completely ignoring the apology. He drew in a deep breath, trying not to hiccup with the sobs.

"M-mission." The younger mumbled, voice broken. He found the older sighing.

"With your lame stuff toy, right?" He groaned loudly, making the younger shudder. But Jungkook wiped his tears, lips turning into a pout, having these urge to speak.

LaMe StUfF tOy~

He wanted to mock the elder so badly, yet chose a decent way to defend his Agent.

"Agent S-Sae." He picked up the courage to speak, not liking the way his beloved agent (a teddy) was disrespected. But his courage flew out of the closed window somehow, when the elder glared at him with that gaze, again. His eyes found their way back to the ground, tracing the design of the floor tile mentally.

"Your Grandmother manipulated you, right?" The other one spoke, and the mention of the person made him snap his gaze to the other, this time NOT cowarding.

"She n-never did that, excuse y-you, Your Highness. But she never d-does that. Nanna is-is very ki-"

"Oh. Got your tounge back finally, huh? Talking back to me, aren't you? Look at you, not even knowing how to read, and talking back to me." the older male spat, walking over to his Throne, sitting back and glaring the younger, who gasped shaking his head.

The other man, the one who dragged the younger from that door to here, the so called second hand of the man sitting on throne, watched the scene silently, lips curving into a dirty smirk.

"N-no! I a-am not t-talking ba-"

"That's what she wants, My child. This is exactly what she wants." The man spoke, a hint of hatred laced in his voice, cutting the younger off from whatever he was trying to speak.

My child... seriously?

Something snapped inside the little boy, fingers curving into fists. And the 'second hand-man' smirked, watching the boy getting worked up.

"Don't talk about her like that." He mumbled, stuttering long gone, replaced with anger.

"Oh. Are you offended? Aww~ poor you. But she is just faking it all, my dear. Being your father, I care about you, so here I am, continuously warning you. But you don't hear me at all. All she tells you are lies and nothing true, not a single thing." The man on throne kept on rambling but the younger was already lost.

Father? Oh yeah. His father. The person who he believed was a superhero when he was a baby. But that changed when he turned five. As stupid as it sounds, but the younger believes that his father, The King of Esmond, probably had a reason. But at this moment he was tired to believe that.

The only person who was not afraid to show love to him, the only one who held is fingers and taught him how to walk, taught him how to speak, taught him what a good prince is, the only person who he trusts the most, his Nanna, gets disrespected to be the kindest soul ever?!

"STOP IT!" He shouted, eyes showing the power he thought he never had, nails digging the palms, already bruised probably. The commotion would've been loud, as a beautiful woman, almost in her mid-twenties rushed inside the hall.

Her concerned eyes scanned the younger, his bruised knee, swollen red eyes, tired expression, but just gave him a look of sympathy and walked over to her throne, right beside the one on which The King sat, who had an unreadable expression on his face.

If it would have been a normal day, he would have ran into her arms, would have cried out, would have slept resting his head on her lap. But he was tired. Tired of being loved only when they were alone.

How would it feel when his own mother chooses to show him love only when they are the only one present?

How would it feel when she chooses not to speak for him, chooses to be silent and watches him bearing pain all to himself?

How would it feel if the only person who speaks for him is called fake?

Ask to Jungkook, it feels wicked.

"You don't g-get to speak a-about her l-like that!" He yells with a frustrated sob, arms moving in all direction to prove his point. He backed away when the lady, his mother, walked towards him with a look of concern.

"D-don't mo-move. Kookie i-is hurt! Yo-you hurt Kookie!" With that, he took a step back again, turning around completely, running away, wiping the tears that were not intending to spare the boy. His mother was about to walk over to him but a growl made her freeze in her spot.

"Let him go. He needs to be mature rather than being childish." The King spoke, his words as sharp as a sword.

How ironic it is to tell a seven year old boy not to act childish?

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How was it ?? 👀