Bulletproof

7a. Cora

His lips move excitedly, but you just want to still them with your own. The blush pink makes his teeth look like pearls, and you can feel the ghostly pressure of those teeth taking your bottom lip between them. There is a desperate need to feel it again, not as an act of sexual desire but as a confirmation that Jungkook is real and will continue to exist even when he's among a platoon instead of in your arms.

"--right, Cora?"

Your eyes move up his face to meet his dark irises, and you get lost in them. You relive the memories of their light during sacred midnight conversations. You are searching for something in them now: a sign that this isn't a goodbye, a sign that you are both putting your hopes in the right things, in the right country.

But all you find is childish enthusiasm that only heightens your building anxiety.

"Right, Jungkook," you whisper, only half-sure of what the question was.

His head leans further out the bus window, and he taps your nose with an outstretched finger.

"You look distracted," he laughs. "Are you okay?"

You nod, but in your mind, you are screaming.

We're too young, Jungkook! We need more time. We made the wrong choice. We don't know what we want. We're too damn young!

"You promise to write?" you ask quietly as you try to push your fears to the back of your mind.

He smirks. "That depends. You promise to respond?"

"Of course, I'll respond, you dummy." You mean to chuckle as you speak, to turn the words into a joke, but they come out like a cry.

Jungkook cocks his head and frowns. "Cora, what's--"

You quickly shake your head and fake a smile. "Look at you, Jungkook. All slicked up and ready to serve your country."

He grins again, all traces of concern disappearing into the creases of his laugh lines. "I sure am! Those German hellions won't know what hit them once I pick up my gun. I'm going to win this war, baby."

"Not single-handedly, I hope." You reach up to caress his round cheek. "You have a platoon for a reason, Kookie."

He wrinkles his nose at the nickname. "Cora, not in public." You genuinely smile.

"But I've got to tell my baby he's the sweetest thing in my life."

Jungkook sticks his tongue out and grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together. He waves your interlocked hands around.

"You're sappy, you know that? There's no room for sentimentality in war," he teases.

You bite your lip to keep from telling him he's wrong; war is the time humanity needs sentimentality the most.

"Jungkook...you're going to be careful, right?"

His brow is set. "I'm going to do what I have to do to keep you safe." He drums his fingers against the back of your hand. "You're my world, Cora. I'm not letting those heathens threaten this country and hold your life hostage."

"God bless America," you whisper.

It is a philosophy that makes sense to the two of you--complete, unwavering loyalty to your country. It feels right. Or it felt right in the moment when he signed his life away.

But Jungkook's judgement is clouded by a warped perception of how to express love. Maybe yours is, too. The both of you have grown so used to each other; your branches are so interconnected, they are one in the same.

He will sacrifice anything in the name of your freedom, give his life for yours in an instant. And in theory, if it was anyone else, you'd let it happen. You would let a million men die for the country's democratic salvation. That monster Hitler needs to be destroyed, and if an American can do it, that's one more medal to honor the United States and one more dictator threat conquered.

But Jungkook is another story.

Jeon Jungkook cannot give it all. As much as you want to live in a free world, you will never be granted liberty if a Japanese soldier severs your ties to reality with a bullet through Jungkook's heart.

The hydraulics of the bus's brakes hiss, and it almost sounds like the devil is laughing, a rush of air scraping against metal in a sour declaration of imminent separation.

Jungkook's face lights up, the glint of the sun dancing in his giddy eyes as he glances towards the front of the bus. He kisses his fingers and reaches them down quickly to tap your forehead.

"Bye, Cora! I love you!"

You try to hold his hand against the skin of your face, but the bus begins to move, dragging an all-too-willing Jungkook towards the war you suddenly want to turn your back on.

"Kookie." Your voice wavers as you start to walk alongside the bus, but he isn't looking at you. His eyes are glued to the ideal that lies ahead--the dream of glory in battle, the manhood he is convinced he will earn through the crucible of death.

It's a nightmare come to life: the bus seems to be moving in slow motion, and all you want to do is catch Jungkook, halt his journey towards slaughter. But your legs are lead swamped in molasses, your progress nonexistent, toes consumed by bottomless quicksand.

Your cause is hopeless.

"Jungkook." You're a little louder now. He looks back at you as the bus picks up speed and waves enthusiastically.

"I love you!" he calls again.

And now you are jogging, fighting to keep pace with the vehicle, leaving behind the families of passengers content to watch those they love disappear into oblivion.

Nobody else seems to understand the urgency of your struggle. They stand as roadblocks, unyielding to your weak shoves. The bus hurtles away from you, Jungkook's black hair whipping in the breeze as he hangs out the window, saluting.

"Jungkook!" you scream, face contorting and voice coming out mangled with tears.

And it finally hits him that something is wrong. You are just close enough to watch his expression transform, eyebrows furrowing, mouth parting in confusion, irises glassy with concern.

And then he vanishes around the street corner, leaving you to collapse among complete strangers and wish Jungkook wasn't so much braver than you.