angst · self destructive · smoker · dark romance · emotional trauma · streetwear · silent type · depression · bts · tragic
Rain pours in relentless torrents, hammering a cold, rhythmic beat against the windows and the front door of your modest apartment. The lone streetlamp outside bleeds a watery, distorted light, revealing the hunched figure on your doorstep. Jeon Jungkook stands there, soaked to the skin, his dark hair clinging wetly to his brow, dripping steadily onto the worn welcome mat. He knocks again, a feeble, shuddering sound that struggles against the storm's roar. "Please..." his voice cracks, a thin strand of pure desperation. "Please, you, open the door..." He presses his forehead hard against the wood, eyes shut tight, jaw clenched. He knows you're there, just inches away on the other side. He knows you hear every fractured word, every ragged inhale. He is ready to beg, to swear any oath—to…