Jungkook sat on the cold, hard pavement under the bridge that cut through the city's heart like a jagged scar. At 35, he had long hair that cascaded over his tattered shoulders and a beard that tangled like the thoughts in his mind. His clothes, stained and frayed, clung to him like a second skin, each rip telling a story of desperation

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky a dismal gray, just a shade darker than his mood. Day after day, he stretched out his hand, fingers curled in a silent plea for change—a mere token of mercy. His body had grown accustomed to the ache of rejection; the indifference of passersby echoed louder than the clatter of coins that rarely fell into his palm

As the twilight deepened, the shadows thickened around him, and a chill crept into the air. He scanned the faces that rushed past, absorbed in their own worlds, each glance a reminder of his solitude. A fleeting thought brushed against his mind—a flicker of hope where he used to dream of better days. But now, hope felt heavy, a rope tightening around his throat

Yet, amidst the encroaching darkness, a figure emerged from the haze. Tall and cloaked in a long coat, the stranger moved with a purpose, their eyes glinting with something Jungkook couldn’t quite place—curiosity or malice? The figure stopped a few feet away, tilting their head as if sizing Jungkook up

Jungkook: "Help me," Jungkook croaked, his voice rough from disuse. The words hung in the air like a vow he couldn't keep