There was simply something undeniably clairvoyant about a woman like Park Chaeyoung. 

Park Chaeyoung isn’t a weak woman and if anyone could attest to that, it would be Jeon Jungkook who’d somehow won the luxury of meeting her very many dimensions, whether it were in the form of RED ACE, ROSÉ or as the young woman in church who lead the congregation and had the world at her feet. He’d seen the way she remained poised in times of extreme stress and anxiety and the way she’d command the room, whether it was the audience in the race track or the thousands of fans chanting her name like it were a mere toy for her to play with or as he remembers well, the taste of exorbitant liquor in her kiss.

She was the epitome of a strong woman.

And so seeing her on a destructive path feels like an antinomy of sorts, a cigarette stick perched between fingertips and a glass of whiskey a mere inch away from her elbow as he taps on the casino table, without a single emotion across her expression as she loses another thousand in less than a minutes time. 

“Chaeyoung we’re going home,” his voice is shaky as he taps onto her shoulder from behind, still unable to truly process the things his human eyes were perceiving, “… you shouldn’t be here.” 

It almost feels as though he is suffocating in his own breath as she turns her head, eyes failing to meet his as she looks down on the ground beside him. 

“Leave Jungkook,” she speaks before turning to the dealer, “… two thousand on red.”

She places her chips accordingly before he tightens his grip on her shoulder, “… we’re going home now.” 

His demand seems uncertain and the truth was, he knows that he has no power over a woman like her but he refuses, to watch as she openly falls into an ocean to drown into a world that he knows, she’ll never recover from. 

“You’re going home,” she corrects him before bringing the end of cigarette stick and tapping it firmly on his palm, slightly burning his flesh as a cautionary warning, “… go home Jungkook.”

She turns her eyes, noting that she’d won her bet but her eyes scream of disappointment.

Self sabotage. 

“You don’t belong here I’m taking you home,” his voice is heavy as he takes her by the arm, dragging her from the table, not caring from the cigarette that fell on the ground by the table or the expensive alcohol