His grip on that glass of champagne suddenly lost its strength; if not for his fast reflexes, he would indeed have dropped it down. Watching you entering the aisle to give your vows to another man was a bullet to his heart which he painfully took.
"...
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Running.
Running is a good exercise for health; it pumps blood, gives energy to the body; running away from problems is even more beneficial, especially for the brain.
Keeping the body used to sprint at any given chance should be considered common sense; one never knows when they need to escape, leaving it all behind to set in flames, to crumble in shutters, fuck, to evaporate even, once free from the catastrophe, it doesn't matter much.
Selfish. That's the nature of human beings, but let's face it, it's logical in its cruelty, a survival instinct.
The love of a life that is often despised, rebuked, a life that takes the job of an antagonist. A bitch.
You run endlessly, aimlessly, with no destination in mind, only the promise of vast freedom; you run miles, beads of sweat gathering on the back of your neck from the path they have paved from your forehead to your cheeks until they reach their final destination, and you catch yourself wishing you could reach yours too; what a pity you have only reached a dead end, opaque and sinister, dark and chilly.
You run, but in reality, you don't move a single limb, for you never escaped your problems; they loved you so much to let you go so easily; you run, but the destination you find yourself at is miles away from the one you dreamed of, for the place you were at was neither a sunny, quiet beach nor a wooden house in an unknown village on some deserted mountain; your final destination was Armani Haute Couture, and the wooden house was the trial room where you were wrapped in white.
White. What an irony!
And what's that crisp white for? You weren't nearly pure, and the color won't conjure and wash away your sins. It wasn't something within its power in all cases, don't blame it so much.
White. Funny, really!
But Jungkook saw it with different eyes. For him, white suited you, a fallen angel that was sent to enlighten his path, wash away his sins. See, love is blind, or was it Jungkook? In all cases, be it Jungkook or that so-called love, they both needed glasses.
Jungkook marveled at your image as the curtains opened; not a word was spoken, complete silence as he drank from the fountain of joy; he always dreamed of this day but never thought dreams could become reality, never believed in fairy tales or happy endings.
But he believed in you, in the love he felt for you, in the relationship you two had; he had faith, trust, let's say, in the odds, in the game, in the dealer who shuffled his cards; Jungkook was a winner, never left a table without tripling, if not quadrupling, the bet.
Jeon Jungkook never bet on a losing game; never sat on a sinking table.
And so he never left it to fate, not really; he manipulated the odds but never trusted them to serve him obediently; so he planned his attacks based on what luck dealt him, and with the cards he was dealt, he turned the tables, always leaving the gambling house a winner and never costing losses.
