Epilogue

“Anger can be managed to become
emotional content that raises power.” 
 - Toba Beta

Jungkook was sick of running. Every hurried step he took, every time his feet collided with the rough concrete, felt unsprung and hurt his body. His lungs felt like they were on fire and blood pounded in his ears achingly.

Despite it only being around April, the heat stood in the city of Seoul, causing sweat to run down both sides of Jungkook's face; when he spun his head around while frantically looking for ghosts behind his back, some droplets of sweat got even catapulted into the air, glistering in the bright light.

“Run” he heard a voice sneer through the streets, but it was different. Everything was different.

The voice didn't belong to his father anymore. It was Namjoon's voice ringing in his ears, chasing him through narrow streets and alleys. The voice that sent chills down his heated body just thinking about it.

Adrenaline pushed him on, even though there was no more to push. His legs staggered from exhaustion, but there was no way he would give up.

“You'll never get me, psycho!” Jungkook said through gritted teeth.

The streets were filled with maniac laughter as the lack-haired young man cut a corner, coming to a screeching halt on the market. There were no people, but a worn out couch stood in the middle of the square, its color faded and bringing back memories Jungkook wish he could erase.

On the couch was something Jungkook mistook for a heap of clothes at first, but he was pretty damn sure that clothes didn't leak blood onto the floor. Hesitantly, he approached step by step, making it out to be a person.

A person he owed his life to.

Hoseok, eyes open and lifeless, was sprawled out on the cushions, and blood seemingly endless streamed from the hole in his chest. Nausea rose in Jungkook's throat and he stumbled back, tripping and falling on his .

Jungkook's breathing got ragged, and when heavy steps echoed through the buildings surrounding him, he turned around, finding a person dressed in black closing in on him. Mortified, Jungkook struggled back onto his feet, bolting forward and almost falling again in haste.

He needed to get away. There was no way he would die like this; die at this man's hand.

Eerie silence let every hair on his body stand up as he stopped at the crossroad. As always, cars sped by, the gusts of hot wind emerging from the speed slashing across Jungkook's face – but there was no sound. For a second, Jungkook considered that he had gone deaf, but the cocking of a gun sounded crystal clear.

Jungkook's eyes moved up slowly, inspecting the heavy pair of combat boots on the other side of the street. Wandering up, the boots were followed by slender legs in black skinny jeans, narrow hips and a slim waist wrapped in a leather jacket over a tight black shirt. The figure ended with a face he was way too familiar with: platinum blonde hair, pale skin and dark circles under the eyes.

Dasom's eyes were cold as they looked at him, her plump lips pressed into a tight line. Her hands were outstretched, a silver gun held tightly in her fingers, the metal reflecting the light in it. It was a very beautiful, very disturbing image.

“Dasom” he breathed so quietly she wouldn't have been able to hear him, but recognition showed in her eyes either way.

“Jungkook” she mouthed, but her voice wasn't audible.

Jungkook saw her index finger curl around the trigger, her arms unwavering. For a second, something warm flickered behind the cold of her eyes, and her lips curled up slightly – then she fired the gun.

Still, everything was silent, but Jungkook let his eyelids flutter shut, bracing himself for the force of the shot, for the pain, for death.

But nothing happened.

Opening his eyes again, he jumped a little, finding Dasom standing directly next to him, but facing the other direction. Jungkook spun around, and in the corner of his eye he noticed the silver gun abandoned on the floor, broken.

Following Dasom's gaze, he found another heap on the floor. It was Namjoon, sunken to the floor and doubled over. Dark liquid dripped from his chest, the consistency tar-like rather than bloody.

“You.” Namjoon's growl was low, but lost it's impact as gurgling coughs rippled his dying body. “You'll regret this.”

A soft touch on his hand drew Jungkook's attention from Namjoon to the person next to him. Dasom held his hand tightly, fingers interlaced like they would never part again. And her beautiful smile soothing his mind into a state of pure content.

Dasom woke up to Jungkook pressing you closer to his body. At first she was a little startled by his soft, skin to brush along hers – she still wasn't used to waking up next to someone after spending a whole night with them – but she sighed against his familiar touch.

“Did I wake you up?” he murmured into her ear, his hot breath tickling on her neck.

“Hmh” Dasom hummed groggily, but turned around to face him either way.

Jungkook in the morning was a sight for itself. Dasom had tried to capture the look a thousand times already, but never did the picture do him justice.

His plump lips were swollen and of a light pink, his eyes were a bit puffy, giving him a youthful look. His bunny teeth stuck out through his sleep-drunken smiles. Only his bed head – his black hair disheveled like he had styled it to look effortlessly on purpose – drew the attention away from his cute features, giving him a hot bad boy look.