𝟐𝟏 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 → 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶 𝘮.

22 (m/s)

Unlucky Love.

'Whats Luv' blasted through the abandoned, interiorly revamped, old bar. Motorcycles and expensive sports and JDM cars were all parked sparsely outside the abandoned shop as the slight humming of the dysfunctional street lamps, flickered, only when it felt the need to. Amongst the potent scent of spliffs, blunts, and musk from men stood outside conversing animatedly, within the dainty, dodgy shop, you were led by the pulling of Kiyoomi and soon, with his hand around your figure, the introduction of you began.

You walked around, uninterested to meet the likes of elites and aristocrats, moreover, gangs and mafias, who were deemed good in the eyes of society purely due to the biased opinion of high ranking members of society, such groups (gangs, etc.)have gotten to the good side of. This was what power felt like, huh.

Your group stood no different to you, sitting absentmindedly sipping on brands of fine wines and alcohols they couldn't even pronounce. This was not your setting, this wasn't you. Kiyoomi knew this, and yet boldly denying the truth of the situation and your reasonings for being there as it may be, your last day.

Who cares?

Why would you want to spend your 'last day' with a crowd you stood out from like a sore thumb? As much as you began to ponder on whether loving Kiyoomi meant life would be so dull and vague, you began to stray farther from him subconsciously as the minutes pass by.

Maybe love wasn't for you, maybe it was more mental and convincing than natural and easy-going.

"(Y/N), meet Wakatoshi Ushijima," Kiyoomi introduces with a smile that almost seemed genuine playing on his lips. It was odd, much foreign to his usual fake mannerisms.

"Nice to meet you, I'm head of Midnight Panthers, call us Panthers for short," you greet laconically.

Ignoring your statement and instead eyeing you with an intense stare, he raises his champagne glass abruptly to the ceiling, nearly tipping its contents.

"Everyone," he yells out capturing everyone's attention.

"Give a cheer to the girl that caused this all," he starts with a loud, bold voice, "Tonight you might die, and it'll be 'cause of her," he finishes with a slight smirk on his lips.

Silence dawns the room before champagne glasses cover the ceiling in celebration. To commemorate such a satire statement, really. Were they there to mock you, or were you there to be mocked?

Speechless you stood, as eyes plaster on your figure in a way that felt demeaning while audible snickering from guests, that breathed like they owned the world and everyone was to bow down and kiss their feet, began.

"Fuck you man, you tall for nothing shit," you push harshly at the sardonic male's chest.

"You get outta prison and think you the shit 'cause you got conceited, arrogant bitches, kissing your ass 'cause you make them richer and they make you look better in the eyes of society," you start irritatedly,

"Suck my dick, all of you. You guys ain't shit, born rich, die rich, fucks," you continue, "No one asked you to come out here, fucking bozos," you finish highly infuriated.

"Have some respect for yourself, darling, you're too pretty to talk like trash," a feminine voice from the crowd stated.

Your eyes flicked viciously towards her voice, your gaze intense enough to make the crowd stood covering the said person shift apart allowing you to see the audacious and impudent person(bitch).