Jongin only ever owned two things.

He wasn’t poor, and he wasn’t rich either, but the events prior that had led him to this moment, were all actions that could’ve been avoided. If only he held his tongue. That was a flaw with the young man. Jongin, often speaking out of turn, suffered the consequences continuously. It would have been no surprise to another, but to him, it was as if each slap to the face was like the very first.

Sitting in the apartment that was recently bought for him (and thus only out of pity) Jongin counted the amount of things that he had owned now.

A bed, a couch, a small television, his wallet, and a set of keys.

It wasn’t much. He knew. It was decent, though. Enough space for one friend, if he decided to make any and it was in a convenient place in the city. Not too far from the public transport he could use to his advantage, if he had the money for it.

Misfortune was the word that had written itself upon Jongin’s skin.

“Listen, I don’t think you can live here anymore.”

That was how it began. Among the voices telling him the error of his ways, Jongin only looked at the crucifix perched upon the wall, clear of view and currently catching the sunlight that seeped through the windows. Dark brown orbs deducing the age of the wood, the shine of the porcelain, his ears only caught the words that needed to be heard.

“Go, and you’re not part of our family anymore.”

Pulled out of his reverie by a beeping car in the streets below, Jongin’s plump lips pursed together as he took in his surroundings.

 Grey walls. Monotonous. A reflection.