Trying to behave

Chapter 15

July 2015

Friday, the 10th, 12:34pm

Busan, South Korea

If Jungkook really thinks about it, everything in his life should at least be a little bit concerning.

And he's not talking about the lingering smell of any and every single drug to ever, well drug, embedded inside the yellowed walls at all times.

That's not even the start of it.

It should be worrying that more often than not, he finds things actually important to him tossed carelessly in the one single overflowing trashcan in his house, torn up, burnt or worse.

Worse isn't really an option he can afford to entertain at the moment, though.

It should be even more worrying that he doesn't bat an eye at the knowledge anymore, solidly used to it after years of crushing disappointment, and more pissed off than panicky when it happens.

Extremely worrying.

But somehow, it doesn't faze him.

He's used to it.

Shouldn't be.

But he's used to it.

Used to hastily checking every nook and cranny of his shitty house with shaky limbs and okay, maybe just a little bit panic spreading through his body; mentally ends up making a list in his head as to why he should just die right now so he doesn't have to face the impending consequences of not being careful enough with his shit.

In today's episode of Jungkook-loses-something-important, his ticket out of this shithole is featuring full glory, for god's sake.

He's going to fucking die.

'Come on,' Jungkook mutters, sweeping his hands pointlessly across the grimy kitchen counter even though he's sure he's checked there-five times-but he's desperate and angry and all of this is so fucking unfair. 'Come on,'

Why does everything have to be so fucking unfair all the fucking time?

Why can't he just catch a fucking break for once, dear Christ.

'Come on,' it's a frustrated mantra at this point, hands shaking as he moves his search into the living room, finally gives up on the kitchen in general; accepts the fact that his university letter won't in fact be buried under heaps and heaps of empty scratch cards and other useless shit Jungkook can't give two fucks about. Now or ever. 'Oh my god?'

Maybe this is his fault a little, he thinks when he runs his hands quickly across the dusty coffee table and only gets a handful of unpaid bills, grime and small packets he doesn't want to know the contents of.

Maybe he should've just slept on the fucking doorstep for a week and grabbed it as soon as it had fallen through the mail slot. Maybe he shouldn't have been so fucking careless.

He's going to die.

He's never going to get out of this stupid village and he's never going to go to university and his plans-their plans, fuck-are about to go to so much shit.

Fuck.

What is he going to tell Taehyung?

'Maybe it hasn't come yet,' Jungkook breathes through his nose, tries to still the definite panic rising in his throat because that was his ticket out and now he can't find it fucking anywhere. 'Maybe the mail is late. Yeah,'

He knows it's not.

'It's late,' he's going to have a fucking panic attack; wrenches the rickety fridge open to check in a fit of desperation, because he wouldn't put it past his parents to put anything anywhere. 'It hasn't come yet. It hasn't-,'