Let Me Hold Your Hand

Messed up

Anusha's POV:

This was the last period today, thank goodness. I am bored like hell.

I was unable to open my eyes properly. I was feeling drowsy and was half asleep by then.

The bell rang, an annoyingly loud and tedious sound that all students hated and loved simultaneously.

I ran off from the class as soon as the second professor said the class was dismissed.

I heard a notification go off on my phone in my pocket. It's my alert for a text.

I took out my phone and checked.

It was from the hospital; they scheduled an appointment for Mom next month.

Shit. I have to find my job as soon as possible because they will prescribe expensive medication and checkups to mom. She can't afford them alone, so I have to help her financially.

I headed towards the parking lot while walking, texting Jack and Bambam to help me to find my job.

Then holy crap, I bumped into the wall. My head started to hurt like hell.

"Are you blind, for heaven's sake?" Someone shouted at me.

Oh no! did I bump into someone? It felt like I hit a wall.

Waah! His chest must be so masculine, I couldn't help but think. Cautiously, I looked up to see who I messed with.

Hell no!!!

Jungkook stood in front of me, shooting a glare. His white shirt was messed up with Ketchup, his one hand stuffed with French fries and another one is holding up a cafeteria tray in the air.

I tried to smile sheepishly at him, but instead, all that came out was a matching glare.

"Oh, Pabo, it's you! I thought you were only missing your brain. But now it looks like you have no fucking eyes either," he snarled at me.

"Look, Mr. Psycho Bunny, it's just an accident. I didn't mean to do it intentionally, don't make such a fuss out of it," I replied cooly.

"You don't even have some basic manners to apologize for your mistake, huh? Look at your mannerless attitude," he tsked, looking down at me with his perfect nose.

"Fine, I'm extremely sorry about that, your Majesty. I am the accused, I do hope you'll pardon me." I bowed to him dramatically.

I asked him for an apology immediately because I was not in the mood to deal with him. I'm never in the mood.

"Look at my t-shirt; you ruined it! You need to clean up the mess you made," he cried out, showing me his messed-up t-shirt.

"Don't be a drama bitch. It's just a shirt, it will be cleaned, if you wash it properly," I retorted.

Why the hell is he whining about just a shirt?

"It's not easy to remove ketchup stain from the white shirt. It will not go away completely," he growled.

"If you wash it appropriately, it will come out completely. Even if not, I will buy you a new one, chill out," I patted his shoulder like a mother pats her little child, to console them.