𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁 ™ | JJK 🔞

#𝐎𝟒 ! 🈺

[ A/N: FUCK I KNOW I SAID I'D UPDATE WVERY SATURDAY Y'ALL BUT I WAS JUST TOO DAMN EXCITED FOR THIS CHAPTER 😭😭 HOPE YALL ENJOY IT TS WAS EXCITING ASF TO WRITE
LETS GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD GANG ! ]

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It's been 5 days since me and Jungkook spoke to eachother.

Since his gentle masculinity guarded me with a wing and he drove me home, the kind gesture making me think what kind of a person he really is.

I sat in my apartment with my feet kicked up in the air, leaning against the wall. It was a weekend and I figured I could use a break for once.

1 NEW MESSAGE — HANA
girl can we please talk? I'm so sorry please just let me explain

And that message gets left on delivered just like the rest.

Just like it'd been 5 days since i'd seen Jungkook, it'd been 5 days since i've spoken with Hana. She texts and leaves voice messages everyday, but I really can't be bothered to care. Who the fuck leave their best friend in the worst parts of town ALONE to fuck a guy? Bitch goodbye.

Plus... My mind was too consumed by thoughts of him...his subtle chuckle in response to my nervousness, the intricate fusion of musky cologne and the faint trace of cigarettes that enveloped him, and the gentle yet deliberate positioning of his hand as he turned my gaze towards him. Every detail weaved together, creating an immersive experience akin to a scene from a meticulously crafted film, where he appears as a character sculpted by the pen of a hopelessly romantic authoress. Even his accent...why'd his accent and his voice blend so well together? Why did his voice remind me of home?

His thick accent reminded me of the bittersweet comfort that lied in the streets of Harlem. Everything from the humble brick walls to the stairs that outlined apartment complexes, to the narrow roads and the light chime of a doorbell when you walked into Uncle Ice's convenience store and asked him for some free candy.

For the fifth time in a week.

"Don't take too much now lil priesta's, this shit comin' off my paycheck." He'd say, and me and my brother would giggle, picking out a lollipop and a juicy fruit stick. On a special day, we'd shove a few extra candies in our pockets, innocently shushing one another so Unc don't catch us.

Times were different back then. My father would give us a stack of coins he really don't need and we'd stroll down Harlem, spoiling ourselves with goodies we could afford. It was all of the occasional tips my dad collected, but it ain't usual.... He'd typically just get cussed out or racially insulted for his thick Japanese accent. It didn't really feel like we was poor, because those coins were enough to get us what we wanted. We felt safe and secure, and I'd do anything to go back to that feeling.