❝You taste like oranges❞
A boy with a peculiar obsession, an illness that ivolves around him and his sudden urge to eat, or taste, oranges.
A girl with a challenging heart and a curious mind, who's nothing less than complicated, and so is he, tho...
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Jungkook
It would be one of the greatest lies I had told to say that in that moment, I didn't feel an immense ammount of pain. Everybody knew I didn't do all that well with heartbreak anyway, and it's not like I was ever the kind to scorn my feelings as if they were worthless pieces of nothingness.
The rain had stopped, something I was grateful for as I tumbled my way back home but honestly, this vibrant essence of sadness had become some what dull without the skies pelting the streets. Showering in my tears, it felt like, which was so comforting iy freed me from the burdain of crying.
I dug my hands into the pockets of my black, soaking wet hoodie, almost disgusted by the moisture that gave the material a weird, rough texture.
I couldn't possibly feel more like a loser than I did then.
The pavements lit up in the dark city by the millions of lights that adorned Seoul, the sound of the cars loud and clear as they fleeted away and moved like lagging pictures from my sight. On the roads were people, umbrellas in their hands or hoods up their heads, some jogging out of the rain and some carefuly tiptoing when it started to drizzle.
I exuded a long breath, shaking my hair out of my eyes and looking the other way and into the river. The large moon embelishing the view ahead of me.
I forced out a feeble, fragile smile, mainly because I couldn't fully take in the beauty in my surroundings for what they were, because the weight of my very own emotions was starting to hold me down.
There wasn't much I could do.
I could run away, sure. I could run back to Sora, sure, but I would most likely find myself in the same situation I was in.
The walk back home seemed like forever that night, and my fatique had started to kick in a few minutes later, and so did my hunger. To my luck, there was a kiosk still open at the end of the sidewalk, and I grabbed an orange chocolate bar from the counter before taking a seat onto the wet wooden bench that was just a couple of steps away.
Slowly, I unwrapped the candy bar and nommed on it quietly, trying to rid of the thoughts that included a wide range of self-name-calling.
How had I messed it up so badly?.
Taehyung had told me so; he always did, but once more I had thrown his words somewhere in the back of my mind because I had this false idea that I knew better. Which I clearly never did.
Speaking of Taehyung, he had sent out around ten calls in the past hour-or-so, probably wondering where I was, but I ignored them. My phone rang in my pocket, and I reached into my jeans to decline it, not in the mood to hear the loud music.
He was worried sick, surely, but as selfish as it sounded-and it was-that was the least of my troubles.
I fiddled with my fingers. Not wanting to get up and go home, I casted the bright skyline one last glance before making my way to my apartment. When I finally reached it, aproximately seven minutes later, I struggled to get the key into the door and quietly walked inside, dripping water and all.
