Faceless Existence; The love of the beast (Taekook)

Taehyung

Ignore the mistakes 🙏🏻

In the evening, I helped Jungkook out of bed. He had breakfast, but his fever continued to burn, and it worried me greatly. As the day had passed, I'd tried everything I could to lower his temperature, but it seemed stubbornly persistent.

I guided Jungkook through the palace halls and out into the palace's beautiful lawn. The setting sun cast long shadows, and the place was quiet, yet buzzing with the sharp whispers of the spirits that lingered around. As we walked, I couldn't help but overhear some of their murmurs.

"How is the young prince feeling today?" one spirit inquired.

"Does the fever persist?" another whispered, concern in their ethereal voice.

Jungkook, though weakened, replied, "I'm... better."

He leaned on me for support, and I held him up, guiding him through the garden. I tried to keep his mind occupied and away from his illness.

"Jungkook, do you remember when you first visited the palace garden?" I asked, attempting to divert his attention.

He looked at me with a faint smile. "I do. It was so different from the palace grounds. Everything felt alive."

We continued walking, the spirits' hushed voices still following us like a haunting choir. It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that even in the quietude of the garden, we couldn't escape the otherworldly presence that had become a constant part of our lives.

After our evening walk, I helped Jungkook back to his chamber. His fever seemed relentless, and it weighed heavily on my mind. While he rested, I did my best to make him comfortable, changing his dampened sheets and checking his temperature. The spirits' presence remained strong in the room, their quiet murmurs sometimes slipping through the veil of the spirit world into our reality.

Jungkook's rest was fitful, and his fever showed no signs of breaking. I decided to bring him a cool compress for his forehead and a glass of water to keep him hydrated. I sat by his bedside, feeling helpless in the face of his suffering.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at me, his gaze still clouded with fever. "Taehyung," he mumbled, his voice weak.

I placed the damp cloth gently on his forehead. "I'm here, Jungkook. How are you feeling?"

He closed his eyes again, his words barely audible. "I just want this fever to end."

I stroked his hair gently, my heart aching for him. "I know. We'll get through this together."

As I sat there, my hand on Jungkook's forehead, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the secrets I'd been keeping. The poison in his food, the dark deal with the priest, the spirits' whispers – it all felt like a heavy burden, and I hoped desperately that Jungkook's illness would pass, allowing us to confront these challenges together.

Jungkook's fever persisted through the night. I spent the hours sitting by his bedside, occasionally moistening the compress on his forehead or offering him sips of water. The spirits continued to linger, their presence growing stronger in the dimly lit room.

As dawn approached, Jungkook's fever finally began to break. He woke up, his face pale and sweat-drenched, but he seemed more aware than he had been in days.

He blinked, focusing on me as I sat in the chair beside his bed. "Taehyung," he whispered again, his voice weak but steady.

I leaned closer. "Jungkook, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the effort. "Weak, but better," he replied. His eyes, though still heavy with fatigue, held a glimmer of determination.