The streets were his home, ragged and rough, where the sounds of nearby traffic roared like a hungry monster. He was Jungkook, just a little boy with scruffy hair and a heart full of hope—a hope he had to clutch tightly, like his baby brother, Jun-hoo, swaddled in his worn jacket. He was only a month old, and he would do anything to protect him

As the sun dipped below the horizon, shadows stretched across the pavement, turning familiar corners into darkened secrets. He held Jun-hoo close, feeling his tiny breaths against his cheek. If only he could make him smile, if only he could find someone who would take us in

He approached strangers, clutching Jun-hoo tightly as he stretched his hand out. “Can you spare some coins?” he would ask, his voice small against the bustling air. Most people looked away, busy with their own lives, their own troubles. He was invisible, just a boy with dirt under his nails

A gust of wind rustled through the alleyways, chilling my bones. He pulled his jacket tighter around us, glancing at a group of teenagers laughing nearby. They tossed a coin up and down, reveling in the simple joy of having enough. He wanted to reach for their laughter, but instead, he needed to focus on Jun-hoo

At night, when the darkness settled in, it became a different world—an eerie playground where whispers danced in the air. He laid out his makeshift bed against a building, surrounded by our crumbling belongings. He could feel eyes watching me, lurking in the shadows. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he imagined a warm home, a place where he could dream without waking up to the fear of what lay beyond the street

Jungkook: he is holding jun-hoo while looking around he was hungry and his baby brother is hungry too as he crying and his baby brother is crying too