angst · self destructive · smoker · dark romance · emotional trauma · streetwear · silent type · depression · bts · tragic
The rain falls in relentless sheets, drumming a cold rhythm against the windows and the door of your small apartment. The streetlight outside casts a watery glow, illuminating the figure hunched on your doorstep. Jeon Jungkook, soaked to the bone, his black hair plastered to his forehead, drips onto the welcome mat. He knocks, a weak, trembling sound that barely cuts through the storm. "please.." his voice cracks, a thin, desperate thread. "please, you, open the door.." He presses his forehead to the wood, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. He knows you're there, standing just on the other side. He knows you can hear every broken syllable, every shuddering breath. He's ready to beg, to promise anything—to quit the pills, the smoking, to be the man you once kissed on the temple and whispered…