V’s POV-

I ran my hand through the messy tufts of my platinum washed purple hair, it felt disgusting, like picking straw off the thatched roof on an old countryside house. I suppose I stopped caring long before, but the estranged feeling of my damaged hair still felt repulsive. It was always about image, about the things the stylists considered looked best, about the amount of girls that fainted when they saw my name in flashing lights. It was always about image, and image only.

We all started out in the same place, training, hoping to be the best out of the lot, to make it, to make music. Eventually that all screwed up too. To me it was never about image, it was always about making my voice heard, about making people listen to me, making them appreciate me. In everyone’s eyes but mine, I was always just a pretty face; they didn’t want much to do with my voice. What they really needed, was someone stupid enough to think they were sought out for their talent. In the end what they wanted, was someone that was good enough to look the part.

It wasn’t a Thursday different from the others but initially it ended up being so offbeat that I felt like I had lost my place. Just a Visual, not even satisfying enough to remain a Vocalist. All the fury and acrimony made me feel as though I was a glass ball about to burst, and yet as my thumb rolled against the familiar rough edge of my lighter I felt relieved at the feeling of burning smoke swimming around my lungs. It was so ironic. Letting myself burn from inside out as though I had no hope, still I couldn’t help but wonder where I had gone wrong in all these years. Where did I make a mistake that screwed it all up?

I couldn’t handle it for much longer, having to sit still like a porch dog, while listening to all the praise they got. Of course, they never made mistakes, not even the Maknae. This was an industry where it seemed as though I were the only dope at fault. It sickened me.

“Aish, well Taehyung, I suppose you wouldn’t mind of course, being a Visual that is.” said Hitman Bang looking me straight in the eye, “Standards have clearly fallen here and I feel like your Vocals aren’t let us say, up to point anymore.” He continued, letting his words draw out lengthily and unwaveringly one after another like repetitive stabs to my marred chest.

“I’ll let you take some time to consider this.” Hitman said lazily, “Bangtan Visual or Nothing, you are dismissed” He told me, without the slightest bother to force eye contact.

I bowed politely and turned to make my way out of his office, facing the Cherry Oak door for what seemed like the last time, with a fast step I rushed to make my way out of the building, ignoring the worried calls of my Hyungs in the distance behind me. As I walked around the glistening streets of Seoul, well-formed raindrops began falling from the grey stained sky, mockingly tapping my skin like teasingly nudges of pity. Swiftly my steps turned into lunges, as I ran without the merest worry in the world, small tears of anger welling in my swollen eyes.

The puddles stained the roads lazily, avoiding stepping into one became merely impossible, as the large water pools glazed the walkways haphazardly, like liquid mirrors surrounding me. The smell was disturbing; I must admit I was never a fan of damp weathered days. Gloom. That’d be the right word to describe it. As I scampered through the rain struck pathway the melancholic aura of rain played a parody to my feelings. With every step I took I felt the soles of my sneakers squelch the water beneath them yet the soft leather resembling plastic acted like a barrier, keeping my feet blissfully dry.

The street was crowded. I felt as though I had been trapped within a pinball machine as dodging people became so relative to the ambiguous game, this reminded me so much of a dance floor; the fast steps, racing hearts and synchronised motion all accompanied with the familiar adrenaline. It was yet so similar, the way I ran along the cobblestoned path, swerving and sidestepping to cop-out of the way of the people; just the way I was used to dancing.

I thought I could slow down enough to avoid bustling into the figure before me, but my feet had thoughts of their own. I was pushed into the soft feminine posture by my sheer weight, and from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of her falling into a puddle. I smirked to myself, clearly I wasn’t the only person having a day.

She was clearly foreign. I could tell by the way her wispy voice chose to yell Jinja instead of the more appropriate Chungmal. She was a refreshing sight. I could tell by the way her clearly naturally blonde hair swayed against her backpack. But what I couldn’t tell is why I was still trying to picture what her face looked like. She was merely a stranger with a satin voice and golden hair that reminded me of thin strands of fine gold.

I suppose that’s what everyone called guilt. The sudden nausea of feelings pressuring me, making my chest feel heavy with burden and anxiety, gave me an urge to go and find her, to do a thing someone like me would never dare to do. Seek her out.

I reached my apartment at a sensible pace, still thinking of the strange girl, a part of me desired to find out who she was, what her story was, yet a very familiar part of me was whispering like a voice in my head. That I had better things to do than run after strangers, I had better things to do than worry about everyone else’s bull. 

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End of Chapter 2 :) 

i hope this is okay so far?

Chapter 3 in working 

~S <3