𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱

ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡ ⓣⓦⓞ

Taehyung woke up, his mind hazy. His hand reached beside him, tapping the bed where she would have been laying. He turned around and rubbed his eyes as he noticed she was gone. She usually at least stayed for a goodbye. Maybe that last night had been too weird for her... since every single part of their usual routine changed. What had gotten into him? What happened? What clicked? He sighed and sat up, noticing a small note on his nightstand.

-I think we need to talk.-

He grunted and stood up, the white sheets falling from his naked body. She knew he did not talk about his feelings or what was going on inside his mind. She knew about him, about his "hobby", yet still accepted him. She was just as fucked up as he was, so he was not surprised at her smile when he confessed he was a serial killer. Maybe she had a thing for criminals. The relationship had not gone further than just hookups, since both were too emotionally fucked up for any romantic advance. He looked out to his balcony, where the morning rain pitter pattered against the window. It was soothing. Kind of like those big brown eyes he had looked into last night. As his stomach grumbled, he dressed up and headed out for a warm meal.

He felt a drop on his cheek. Then another. And another. His eyes slowly opened, the sharp light of morning making his headache even worse. He sighed. He was alive. Looking around, the place was familiar. The same alleyway he fell asleep in. Mixing grunts and wincing, he got himself up, propped up on his good leg. The other one was pretty fucked, to say the least. Nothing a few days of resting could not heal, though. He lift his shirt up, looking at the cut on his abs. It was not too deep, so nothing to worry about. His white shirt had soaked up most of the blood anyways. He zipped up his leather jacket, hoping to hide the fact that he was seriously injured. Maybe he would die from these wounds. He smiled at the thought.

At the end of the alleyway, a black car flew by, splashing a lot of water on him. "Fuck!" he yelled. And as if his curse had triggered it, the rain started pouring. The world truly hated him. One would have thought he would have died already, as he was always chasing death. But it never came to him. An image suddenly flashed into his mind... A man, wearing a black hoodie too big for his body, his brown hair stuck on his forehead, sad eyes... a knife in hand. It all came back to him in a second. He was there to kill him, but he let him live. Jungkook spit on the ground in disdain. "What a pussy," he muttered to himself.

He eventually made his way to the usual diner he crashed at. The middle-aged woman who worked there full-time recognized him, and often gave him free meals. Maybe she pitied the way he always showed up pass out drunk, high, or beat up. Money was not necessarily a problem for him, having a couple of robberies under his belt, but the thought was appreciated. He opened the door, the usual bell ringing at his entrance. The diner was mostly empty, apart from two customers sitting alone at the two extremes of the restaurant, almost as if they wanted to avoid human contact.

"Jungkook!" The woman almost yelled.

He smirked, her tone reminding him of his own mother. He lifted his thumb up, but it was not very convincing as he winced when he placed himself on the bar stool. Cold drips of rain fell from his face onto the counter. His clothes were practically soaked.

"Look at you..." she mumbled, her eyes sad.

She poured a cup of coffee for him, black, as he had always asked.

"The usual?" she asked, her tone growing sadder by the minute.

Jungkook nodded and took the mug in his hands. Warm. The lady had left the back of the counter, probably to order his usual pancakes. She only came back a few minutes later, with a first-aid kit in hand. He chuckled, but her stare stayed serious. She walked outside of the counter, grabbing his arm to help him off of the bar stool.