Blood Ink ✔️

68: Rich Man, Poor Man

He's...

He's dead.

Is this real? Proof that he's actually gone?

Is this his soul, pure and beautiful and vanilla-scented perfection, tempting you to stay with him for always?

You wish you could stay.

You can't.

"You aren't real," you say, trembling. It's the hardest thing in the world to pull away from him, but you make yourself do it.

Jungkook catches your fingers in his, pulling you back toward him with gentle insistence.

"So?" he asks. "Does that matter? Why can't we just be like this, Y/N?"

You have things to do.

A father to stop.

" I can't stay here," you choke. You can't believe this. You've already had to watch him die; now you have to leave him again. "There's- this isn't reality. I have to go back."

Tears are welling in your eyes, and in his.

"We could be together here," he whispers. "Please. Don't go."

With trembling lips, you place your hand against the side of his face, feeling the curve of his cheekbone beneath your palm for the last time.

"I have to," you say through a clogged throat.

His creased face melts into resignation, and he opens his mouth, an understanding goodbye written in his eyes.

But what comes out is, "Wake up, Y/N."

"I know, I need to," you mumble. "But how should  I-"

He cuts you off. "Wake up."

You do.

With a gasp that brings a wave of air into your dying lungs and a choking cough, you wake up.

For the first few moments, all you can do is breathe. Your eyes are closed, and the air tastes like something you can only indescribably describe as life.

Nothing's ever tasted so wonderful.

You actually were dying.

Your throat is burning, painfully giving under your fingers when you press a hand to it.

You were dying. How are you alive?

Forcing your eyes open, you lay there, blank and heaving, and behold the face of your savior with utter shock.

It's...

Another illusion.

An illusion that's so utterly real amid your painful hacking that it hurts even more.

Your body wants to stop breathing, but your lungs aren't able to - they continue to inflate and collapse, over and over again as your brain takes similar actions in trying to process that the person before you is really here.

His hand glances over your cheek.

He's real.

Alive.

"You-" is the word that comes choking out of your lips, hands reaching forward. "You got shot. I thought..."

Under your grasping fingers, Jeon Jungkook smiles. "Still kicking," he huffs. "Barely."

Barely is an understatement.

He's pale white, his beautiful skin abnormal devoid of color, and he's heaving with effort. His hand is pressed to the bullet wound in his chest, applying pressure in a sad attempt to staunch the blood flow.