JUNGKOOK POV

I just gave a punch in the face to a boy. And not just any boy but y best friend. My roommate.

Well, I guess since five minutes ago I should be calling him my ex-roommate.

His nose started bleeding immediately, and during a second, I felt bad for hitting him. But then I remembered how , betrayer and liar he was, and made me wanting to punch him again. And I would have done it if Hoseok wouldn’t block me, standing between us two.

So instead of punch the other, I hit him.  I didn’t make him any hurt, sadly. Nothing compared to the damage I made to my hand.

Hitting someone it hurts a lot more than I imagined. It’s not like I pass the time imagining how it feels hitting someone. Tho I start to feel the impulse again when I’m looking at the phone, the message from Jimin. He’s another who I’d like to get revenge. I know he has nothing to do with my situation, but he could let me know before. So I’d like to punch him too.

Jimin:

Are you okay? Do you want to come until rain stops?

Of course I don’t want to go. Actually, my knuckle hurts enough. If I’d go to Jimin’s apartment, it’ll hurt me even more after finish with him.

I turned around and looked at the balcony. He’s standing against the glass door, with phone in hand, looking at me. It’s almost night, but the lights from the garden show his face. His dark eyes focus on mine, and the way his mouth curves up in a soft and regretting smile, makes it hard to remember why I’m mad at him. He passes his free hand through his hair hanging over his forehead, reveling even more his expression of worry on his face. Or maybe he’s thinking. How it should be.

I decide not to answer, and instead I show him the middle finger. He denies with the head, and shrugs, like saying ‘I tried’, to then go back inside his apartment, slicing the door to close it.

I put the phone on my pocket to not get it wet, and look around in the apartment I’ve lived during two entire months. When we moved, it was a little cold, but it seemed that this garden wanted to live. Vibrant blue and purple flowers were decorating the carpet that goes to the stairs, and the font putted in the center saw a constant fluency of young visitants.

Now that cold arrived little by little to his more attractive view, there’s not water in font since long time ago. And flowers are a sad and dried memory of the emotion I felt when Taehyung and I moved here. Looking at the garden, now defeated by the season, I see an desperate parallelism in how I’m feeling this moment. Defeated and sad.

I find myself sitting in the corner of the font now empty, with the elbows supported on the two luggages that contain my belongings, waiting for a taxi to pick me up. I have no idea of where it’s going to take me, but I know I’d rather be in another place instead of where I’m now. Which it’s…well, homeless.

I could call my parents, but this just will give them reasons to start shouting me with the “We told you so.”

We told you that don’t move that far, Jungkook.

We told you that don’t take it serious with that guy.

We told you that if you would have chosen study law instead of music, you’d have pay for it.

We told you that you should punch with the thumb finger in the outside part of your knuckle.

Ok, maybe they’ve never tough me the right hitting technique, but if the whole damn time they had reason, they should have done it.

My hand is surprisingly sore, and I’m very sure that I should put some ice. I feel bad for the boys. Hitting is a .

Do you know what else a is? Rain.  It always looks for the more inadequate time to fall, like right now, when I’m homeless.

The taxi finally stops in front of me; I stand up to take my luggage. I carry them and the taxi driver opens the baul for me. Before I give him the first luggage, my heart drops when I realize I don’t even have my wallet.

.

I look around, where I was sit, then to my body, as the wallet would magically appear in my pants. But I know where exactly it is. I threw it and let it fall to the floor just before hitting Taehyung in his nose.

I sigh. And laugh. Of course, I left my wallet. My first day homeless would have been too easy if I would have it with me.

-I’m sorry-I say to the taxi driver that was about to carry my second luggage-. I changed my mind. I don’t need a taxi in this moment.

I know there’s a hotel near to one kilometer from here. If I could have the courage to get in and grab my wallet, I could walk until there and get a room until I decide what to do. It’s not like I’d be totally wet.

The taxi driver takes the luggage out again, and put them in front of me, he walks back inside his car and without looking at me. He simply leaves, as my cancelation was a relieve.

Do I look that pathetic?

I take my luggage and walked back where I was sit before I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I look to my apartment and ask myself if I’d go back to look for my wallet. Somehow I left things made a chaos