Lust | JJK ✔️

61- conch

The climate feels cold as the wind feels sharp, when his eyes gaze forward. He tries to stick to his composure, forcing it to stay longer than it plans to. He doesn't want to lose his mind when he's so close to his landing place.

You're everywhere.

No matter where he looks, everything seems to remind him of you. It's frustrating almost, about how much he can be occupied at once with just one single thought that is you.

Inside his mind, there's everything. Guilt, shame, hate, everything that he can possibly fit in there.

There's those occasional thoughts which make him feel sick, about the time he first met you. How could anyone be so thoughtless?

How could anyone look at such an innocent, faultless soul like you and not have a second thought about sparing you. How could he be so so cruel to you to play you like that?

Why did his soul not give up on him, hell why didn't he die- where was this feeling at that time?

Then he misses you.

His thoughts follow the somber timeline and he starts to miss those beautiful eyes which had so much in store.

Innocence, a plead for something unknown, a generous sprinkle of mischievousness and a set of dilated pupils which mindlessly followed wherever Jungkook's fingers took them.

Your witty replies, your soothing voice, your excited feet which ran you through the palace everyday until his arms caught you for a while of embrace.

These thoughts worsen the longing that he has inside his heart.

Then there's panic.

He starts to panic about the time you left him. He starts to feel sweat build on his forehead, on his neck, on his back and his eyes are wide when his breath struggles to keep him an adequate supply of oxygen.

His hands reach out but they can touch nothing, he looks for you everywhere through damp eyes which hinder his vision, but there's no remain of you. He picks up your jewellery, your accessories , your favourite hairclip and hovers them up in the air, but there's no one whom he can put them on.

He picks up your hairbrush carefully, and imagines your sitting in his lap with your back to him, as he brushes your hair gingerly. But when he returns to reality, he finds nothing.

"Where did you go honey..." he cries.

All he has are his thoughts and a couple tears which stay in his eyes no matter what time of the day it is.

At night he feels shameless. He feels selfish, he feels depleted of humanity. More and more thoughts cut through his brain fog and he realises how much he remembers.

He looks at the pool, and there you are, taking a bath as you look over your bare back at him, pushing your arms close together to hide your goods. Your hair is wet, strands stuck to your face making patterns which create the illusion of a fairy, or maybe a goddess, or even of an angel.

Your lips are blood shot red, the crimson which your teeth devour as you bite down on the plush, your cheeks flushed as he notices the hickeys on the back of your neck.