Having the courage to leave someone you once loved was never easy, and when Jeon Jeongguk finally broke free from the restraints around his wrists, he couldn't be happier taking a job as a measly cocktail waiter, making shitty tips and wearing uncom...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As the rage and fury clouds his mind and masks his irises, Taehyung places himself on a bench as he ignores the cheers emerging from the thin walls of the abandoned clothing store that is now their new location for the next fight.
He isn't supposed to fight tonight—he's supposed to be at home, resting for his next big match, but his stomach is tangled in knots and he couldn't comprehend anything properly without feeling the overwhelming urge to hit something until he couldn't feel his hands anymore and were dripping with blood.
The anger that bubbles in his chest and ties his stomach into knots is overwhelmingly painful, too strong for him to just shake off and move on from.
There may be other things he could've done to regress the rage bubbling inside of him, but nothing would've felt as good as punching something until his hands went numb and couldn't think straight anymore. It's like he couldn't control himself anymore, and the last thing he wants to do was punch a wall in his apartment and lose his deposit.
So, the next best thing was picking up another match to cool off from everything racing in his head. He's doing too much thinking, and for once, he didn't want to think at all and let his anger get the best of him. He wants to let go, lose control for once and not think about the damn consequences.
Everything has been too much for him to handle. He could feel a stormy cloud following him all day, ruining the aura at the club and making everyone question his abrupt shitty mood.
So, tonight, it is all about him. For once, he's going to be a little fucking selfish.
He listens to the cheers and the voices lingering from the main ring, slipping through the cracks of the closed door to the back that was made into a changing room. He doesn't know how long he has been there, sitting on a chair as he stares down at his scabbed knuckles.
He stares down at his palms, coffee brown irises tracing the creases as he began to notice them visibly shaking. It isn't like him to get this angry over something out of his control, but the anger and betrayal that resides in his chest is enough to mask every other logical thought that could possibly explain every question rushing through his mind.
But every sensible thought is thrown out the window as resentment washes over his mind and bundles in his chest, taking over every atom in his body as his hands shake violently. He can feel the heat rush to his face. Everything is suddenly hot as he rips off his thin jacket, the zipper breaking and flying across the room.
His fists clench, eyes watering as the memories of that night resurfaces, and it only makes everything so much worse for him.
He doesn't notice the tears that have fallen from his eyes until they trickle onto his palms like rain drops descending from the heavens. Then he realizes his body shaking as sobs break past his lips, anger taking over his mind as he tries not to throw the chair he sits in across the room.
