BITTER SWEET. | J. JK

SIXTY-SIX.

At HOPE Gym

05:42 am

It had been two weeks.

Chest rising and dropping unevenly at the beat of every punch and kick he would throw at the big grey punching bag that swung side to side at every violent hit, droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead and, then, dripping down his vibrating skin, damp brown hair gluing on the verges of his eyelashes, rough breathing and an undying need to release all his frustrations accumulating on the tip of his fingertips and tight knuckles.

The first rays of light were starting to crawl through the distanced squared windows yet, all his eyes caught were the grey spots invading his vision and the current chaos that sat on his mind. Jungkook had found it hard to breathe these last days. Anywhere he'd go, it felt like everyone was telling him how to feel, telling him how to speak, telling him how to behave; all hungry eyes on him waiting for him to succumb to the pressure.

The constant need to keep up the appearances now that his father was gone; saying that Jeon was a good man was from far the biggest lie he had probably told and maintaining the utopic family scene had became a joke that even he was tired to laugh at.

But, if days had been depressing, nights had become the epitome of insomnias of alcohol dripping and truths drowning on the hollows of the heart. Jungkook started to feel his muscles wobble and when his legs began to shake, he only punched the punching bag harder before collapsing against it. His forehead resting against the faux leather material and his arms hugging it loosely to keep himself steady. After a few seconds of catching his erratic breaths and trying to make his head stopping feel dizzy, he let it go and walked towards the chair next to the mirror where he kept his phone and half empty water bottle which he chugged it in just a couple eager dry gulps together with the two pills that were the only thing that kept him functioning during the day.

He looked back at the squared windows and at the calm way sunlight had started to glide through the gym and, nibbling his lower lip, he considered the idea of a little jog before having to go back to the company. His eyes then, drifted away to the clock pinned on the tall of the wall; almost 6 a.m., he had plenty of time.

**

Do I ever cross your mind?

All the damn time.

**

06:11 am

The summer warmth was, little by little, being dragged away with the rustling wind of an early morning, the air didn't feel as breathy as before, the sun didn't shine as brightly as before. The cherry flowers had started to wilt and as red, orange and brown was beginning to fade into the green of the leaves, Jungkook's skin began to wither.

Jungkook never believed in coincidences, he never believed in the crafts of the fate either. But, if he did, he'd have a somewhat logical reason to give himself about why he was now standing in the street that he was, about why he was now, nervously, stealing glints at the window of the 5th floor of the apartment building in front of him both begging and refusing her shadow to show up through her white curtains.

But he didn't believe in none of that. And, the reason why, in the middle of the orange and yellows hues of the sunrise, he stood before the street of her apartment would remain unknown to him.

He had even considered the idea of going upstairs, but his brain was quick to freeze him before he could ring the doorbell. This is a bad idea. His raven eyes still lingered on the glass of the door of her apartment, almost like longing for something to stop him from leaving, again. Yet, but that something never came and, with the emptiness of the quenching of summer, pain replaced the void.