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A hand ran through Jackson's white blonde hair as he watched the sunset from his apartment. Yes, he was back here again. After another argument with (Y/N). Honestly, could they go a month without fighting? It seemed impossible.

Lounging on his couch, he loosened the tie he was SUPPOSED to be wearing for their anniversary but of course, she cancelled on the last minute stating she was busy. After having to go through countless arguments with his manager and receiving some displeased looks from his members, all just to free up his schedule, postponing photoshoots, flights and filming, all just to have her stand him up in the last minute.

And according to her, being "busy" was apparently going out clubbing with her friends, most of them Jackson noted with a bitter taste in his mouth, whom were male. As if partying around, which Jackson hated wasn't enough to piss him off, (Y/N) had gotten drunk. And when she was drunk she was outrageously flirty. She had probably talked up at least 3 guys by the time she downed her 5th drink.

All of this coupled with rage at himself, itched at the back of his mind, slowly culminating into a whirlwind flurry of thoughts. He, quite literally saw red, it was like the edges of his vision had been tinged with crimson as he stood up, needing to do something, ANYTHING to release the pent up frustration in his body or else he would explode like a ticking time bomb.

Fortunately, before he could break anything delicate in the house, mainly the couch of the other furniture, he veered to his room where his long abused punching bag was swinging from the ceiling.

Balling his hands into fists he punched at it as hard as he could over and over again, the solid sound of flesh against the bag was distracting and he felt his pain and anger leech out of him, but some of it still remained festering and stinging like an open wound.