A/N: I got rid of the drug abuse mostly because I was too tired to write it in, and it wasn’t necessary. This one definitely isn’t my favorite, I am excited for the next one though. A lot of JI Yong and reader coming up! Inbox is always open, please tell me what you think!
3 weeks later
Seungri quickly ducked, letting the wooden object fly across his head. He looked up through his arms, slowly standing up. “Hyung! What the hell?!”
Ji Yong growled at him, a gun loaded in his hand. He was losing his mind, anyone could see it. They stood in the middle of your old room. The dresser that was by the door was completely destroyed, the bed tipped and it’s sheeting ripped and the walls contained bullet holes through all four walls. “Three weeks. THREE FUCKING WEEKS SEUNGRI.”
“Thanks, Hyung, I didn’t know that time had passed, thank you for reminding me.” Seungri ducked again, three bullets flying into the wall behind him claiming the wall with three holes. Seungri looked up and slowly got up from his curled up position. Daesung came rushing into the room, the sound of gunshots bringing the attention of Daesung.
“Hyung, is everything okay?” Daesung regretted asking that as Ji Yong growled and shot the wall next to him.
“NO! Nothing is fucking okay! SHE’S STILL FUCKING GONE. SHE MIGHT BE HURT OR CRYING OR RAPED OR FUCKING-”
He didn’t finish his sentence, dreading the possibility of it being true. Ji Yong set his gun down on the bed and sat on the ground next to it, his head in his hands. Seungri looked at Daesung for help. Seungri walked over to Ji Yong’s side, sitting next to him. “We’ll find her. She knows that you’ll do anything to find her, and we will.”
All three boys heard the rush of footsteps. Daesung looked down the hall, staying in his position at the door frame. The footsteps slowed as a young boy entered the room. Ji Yong instantly recognized him. Song Mino, from Winner. Ji Yong’s face lights up as the boy spoke.
fun fact this is loosely based on a real bookshop I once found
somewhere in greenwich idk exactly where it is but if ever find urself around
the area look out for it its v cute and v tiny
works at a bookshop. Dan buys a book one day, and, in a ploy to see Phil, keeps
returning with more and more obscure requests so Phil has to spend more time
searching. After Dan leaves with ‘cactus maintenance: a memoir’, Phil starts to
suspect something’s up.
“Look,” Phil sighs when he catches sight of the book Dan’s
clutching today. “I know there’s a very good chance you keep cacti and you just
wanna maintain them and it’s probably wrong of me to assume otherwise, but-…can
I ask you something?”
Dan gulps, putting the book titled “Cactus Maintenance: A
Memoir” down on the counter.
“Do you actually need half of the books
you come in here for?” he asks softly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a
good chance you might actually ride motorcycles, study bricklaying, want to
know more about frogspawn or- you know, wanna look after your cacti, but…” he
shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just- um, you’re the first person I’ve met that,
you know, buys one book every single day. When do you get time to read them
Graveland’s Books is the kind
of place you’d only come across if you were either very bored, very desperate,
or very lost.
It hides on the tail end of an
alleyway just behind the village market, and the gnarled wooden beams, the glass
oil lanterns lining either side of the aged brickwork and the rusty bronze bell
hanging above the door would fool anyone into thinking they’d just stepped out
of 2016 and into the 18th century. If it wasn’t for the mobile phone
shop sitting directly opposite, of course.
It’s not big in size, with a
staff room and an office the size of a postage stamp upstairs and just about
enough room to fit two free standing bookshelves in the middle of the shop, but
books spill into every single crack. Stacks and stacks of fiction and history
and travel and biographies narrow the aisles between the shelves, and it’s all
too easy to trip over a random pile of books in the middle of the floor when
you’re not concentrating properly.
But, for a job running along
the sidelines of university, Phil enjoys it. He’d certainly rather spend his
time flicking through a story about a cursed mushroom than stack supermarket
shelves and deal with obnoxious co-workers, anyway.