Split ~ Taekook

Chapter 1.

My name is Jeon Jungkook, but my friends call me Jeon or JJ. Well, they would if I had any friends. My mother gave me this name, Jeon, after my great-great-grandfather who fought in the Civil War, who amazingly didn't die in battle, but rather hung himself in the barn to collect insurance money for his dirt poor family in the Great Depression.

Me and my parents live in the classic white family suburbs. We live in the cleanest brightest house with the most perfectly trimmed lawns cut by our Cuban gardener named Luis, who waves hello to me everyday when I get home from my part time job at the movie theater.

My father is the head of this big shot publishing company, and he's cheating on my mother with every young secretary he can get his hands on. We barely talk.

My mother is pretty much the only one I like. She lets me do my thing, and she doesn't bother me. The only problem is that she is always trying to set me up with some girl, which is fucking glorious because I'm gay. The poor woman thinks I just haven't found the right girl yet.

Like I said before, I have no friends. In fact I'm hated at school, primarily for the reason that I am gay. Long story short I asked out my friend Namjoon and I went home with two broken ribs and a black eye. I'm so glad I don't have to deal with school for the next 3 months.

Well, here I am sitting on the roof of my house, watching the sun go down smoking a cig. I'm 20 years old, and I don't even like smoking. It is just something I do when I'm stressed.

I just had a one sided argument with my father on how I'm such a screw up, and that I only sit and scribble in my sketch book all day.

First things first, I don't scribble. I sketch. I sketch you, the neighbors, mother, people, places, and things I see.

I take a long drag of the cancer stick, as my mother refers to it, and blow out smoke into the warm June air.

"Hey!"

I look down to find the place where the voice came from. A boy with blonde hair my age stands in the yard right next to mine. Wearing a FEED THE WORLD tee shirt, he waves up at me the moment I lay my eyes on him.

"Hey!" The boy repeats. I cock my head in response, and put the cigarette between my fingers.

"Hey." I reply. I wasn't the one to small talk, but he was the one to start talking to me, and that usually never happens.

"I just moved here, and it looks like we share the same backyard."

"Wrong. We don't share a backyard. You have yours, we have ours, lets keep it that way." I put the cig between my lips, and puff on it, blowing rings. Turning away from the boy.

"It's just a saying." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

"Look kid, what do you want." I glare at him from the rooftop. "I have better things to do than to new guys." I pushed my dark brown hair from my face.

"You mean like brooding on rooftops like some depressed emo kid." he fired back.

I chuckled at that, and put my cig out by rubbing it on the bottom of my shoe, then flicked it over into his lawn.

I stand up and climb halfway through my window before half-yelling, "Goodnight man, I like your humor." I winked and disappeared into my room, shutting the window behind me.

I pull out my sketchbook and draw the sunset I saw from memory, using my pastels to blend the colors perfectly. The purples and the reds, that seep into the oranges and the blues. I love to draw the sunsets, it brings me at peace.

I fall asleep listening to BIGBANG, my favorite band at the moment.