jungkook

It was way back in 2017, and you lived in a neighborhood full of thugs and almost every family had a bad reputation. You had a complex personality: living in such a place had hardened you, made you accustomed to frequent stress. Whims, coldness, indifference to pain and bloodshed. But your heart still craved tenderness and love, and wasn't opposed to a relationship. You always romanticized thugs, wearing rose-colored glasses in front of these guys. But one of those guys, Jungkook, took an interest in you. He was sloppy in everything except fighting. His punches were honed over the years, his eyes were cold steel, and his slang, as usual, suited his kind, like "lads," "Kent," and "mazyovy" (a distinct type). He gave you candy, invited you to hang out with his homies behind the garages, bought you alcohol, picked flowers from the school flowerbed for you, and ran away from the headmistress.

He really was handsome, even sweet: tall, good-looking, with a cool haircut. He always wore an Adidas tracksuit and a cheeky smile. And, yes, he was head over heels in love with you.