I'm not dead! Just been doing loads of overtime work and life's been just.... so tiring.
But anyway. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Votes and comments are, as always, so much appreciated ♡
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He wants to destroy everything.
He wants to destroy the world, for being unbalanced and unjust and plagued with so many evil in disguise, for being so crude and ruthless to undeserving ones yet so lenient on those who walk on the wrong path. He wants to destroy himself, for being so powerless and mortal, for the inability to keep everything he cherishes safe and sound. He wants to destroy fate, thoroughly curses them for giving you -- you who doesn't deserve this, you who deserves every single thing that is good -- so many hurdles in your life, be it in the past, and now.
But most of all, he wants to annihilate those who made you this way.
And that's exactly what he did.
It's the usual routine, albeit rushed and unorganized; he puts two extra bullets through the don's skull for good measure, flawlessly and discreetly. Amidst the confusion, the band of goons he hired storms in, and it's a marvel how easy a gang who loses their leader gets wiped out, overcame by the sheer amount of people. He leaves the suitcases of money at the promised locations and contacts his contracted leader's phone, before throwing his mobile into the dark river and erasing any kind of trace of involvement.
It might had been a reckless and hasty action on his part, but he doesn't care. It's like his anger just left him when he completes the personal revenge, and now he's unable to feel.
Right now is the time he wishes he had you to hold him in your arms.
"Who are you?"
His eyelids stutter as he blinks back tears and pulls down his cap to cover his eyes from passersby. His strides are quick as the small droplets of rain hits his casual hoodie, unrecognizeable against the dark material. He shoves his hands into his pockets, skin brushing against the plastic.
He can hear blood thrumming in his ears. He can hear you telling him to stop. He can almost feel your hands touch his cheeks and your voice telling him how strong he was, how he doesn't need to do this, how he has you and how you'll be his pillar.
Despite how he wishes it was his reality right now, he's still walking alone in the rainy street, living the life where you don't even know him anymore.
The voice that greets him as soon as he steps into his home (is it still home, when you're not with him anymore? Is it still home, when you're looking at him in fear? Is it? Home? What is home without your care and love?) is anything but happy.
And he gets it.
If he was in Namjoon's position and he had a clear head, he would have been straight up pissed, too.
