2:16 A.M. | BTS ✓

3

Jimin crawls into his bed, eyelids barely able to stay open as he pulls the covers up to his chin. The rain pours outside, a relentless shower ever since the night before when he stole the necklace. Work was exhausting as always - absolutely draining - and Jimin wishes he had a different life than the one he has.

Working at a convenience store is bad enough; customers always have the arrogance to tell him they are right, even when Jimin can prove they're not. The fact that his paycheck barely keeps him able to stay in the small, dingy apartment with a car that is all but falling apart does nothing to make his time at home any more relaxing than the hours spent working with an ugly apron tied around his waist.

He never meant to make a second career out of robbing people, but he became desperate and now he's addicted to the entirety of the experience.

Being anonymous - being nothing more than a wisp in the night - brings a thrill to each and every nerve in Jimin's system. He thrives off of it; he feels powerful.

In a life where Jimin has no control, where he is stuck in a dead end town, at a dead end job and staying in an apartment that can just barely pass as livable, he is in control of this.

He's not proud of what he does, but he can't say he's sorry for it.

Jimin rolls over in bed, facing the wall as the rain drums on the window just next to him. Though his body is heavy and exhausted, his mind is racing and thoughts of a better life swim through his conscience.

He buries his face into his pillow, wondering if he should have a few drinks to help him sleep.

He turns back over, grabbing his phone to check the time.

2:16 A.M.

He sighs, knowing it's too late to drink a few beers, so he turns back to face the wall and closes his eyes willing himself to drift off to sleep.

A single knock on his window causes him to roll around, squinting in the darkness in the direction of the dimly illuminated windowpane just next to his bed.

The wind is howling, and Jimin rolls his eyes as he sees the tree limb just outside in the storm, swaying back and forth.

He makes a mental note to ask the landlord about why the landscapers haven't been keeping up with trimming the tree limbs when he finally drifts off to sleep.