Silver Wings {Jungkook x Reader}

TWENTY-THREE

I pause just outside Jungkook's door, my clenched fist frozen midair as I momentarily refrain from knocking on his door. No. No hesitation. No knocking for permission to enter. This is my home just as much as it is his.

I lower my hand to the doorknob and twist it, carelessly shoving the door open so it crashes into the wall behind it with a loud bang. The main room is vacant and filled with silence, save for the fading echo of the door colliding with the wall and the faint whirring of the beginning of the washing machine's cycle in a small room off to the side that lets me know that if Jungkook is not present, he was recently. The bathroom door is shut tightly and I shuffle over to it, briefly pressing my ear to the door only to hear dead silence.

I sigh in relief. I really don't think that I could deal with Jungkook at the moment despite Yura having convinced me to return so soon. I enter the room and hurriedly remove my makeup before throwing the soiled wipe into the trash can. I leave the room and move to my dresser, rooting around inside for a clean shirt before coming up with a close-fitting, wine-red shirt that was tight but not too tight. I hurriedly yank off my soiled shirt and slip the red one on swiftly but correctly, tugging at it to ensure that it covers everything that's supposed to.

I clutch the tear-stained shirt in my hand as I make my way into the small laundry room. I'm greeted by the vibrating machine as I flip on the light and halt the process before lifting the lid. Jungkook's dirty clothes beam up at me, but I toss the shirt in quickly and reseal the lid before starting up the process. It's not like it's lingerie, so it shouldn't be a problem. I shrug it off and exit the laundry room.

I pad to the center of the room and unconsciously begin to manipulate my body into completing the tricky moves of a dance that I had been taught by my instructor. Notes of the song pour from my throat as I immerse myself into the quick rhythm, my body shifting on its own like a machine as I wrack my brain to try to recollect the steps of the advanced hip-hop dance, my movements fluid but swift. Before I had been dragged to Hell, I had often used dance as an outlet for any unwanted emotion, the beat flooding my mind until I was only aware of the music and my body complying to the rhythm.

The faint pattering of various raindrops colliding with the ceiling slips through my concentration and I clumsily skid to a halt as the sound interrupts my pace and disbands my train of thought. I scowl in irritation, cursing whoever designed this palace for constructing the residential rooms at the top of the palace where whatever made contact with the top of the dwelling is audible. My annoyance soon disappears and is replaced with a chilling thought.

Wait, if there's rain, then where's the--

Piercing lightning rips up the air with the sound of a clean whip crack, tearing a sudden scream of fear from my throat as I stumble for the bed. Another clear snap cuts through the air like a slashing knife, mimicking the last sound that I had heard erupt from my parents' house before their death. Grief, bitter sorrow, and fear war inside my soul, battling for dominance as I yank the comforter over my head and burrow into the comfort of Jungkook's bed. Salty tears of desolation and anguish flood my cheeks like unbreakable rivers of woe and my body begins to tremble uncontrollably.

Are the angels here for me? Are they going to kill me like they killed my parents?

Mom... Dad... I don't want to die...

Please... help me...

I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the bunched-up blanket in my clenched fists with a death-grip, drawing it to my chest as I wait in sheer fright. Another whip crack of lightning slices into the air, causing my heart to skip a beat as more uncontrollable tears roll down my cheeks. A strangled yelp escapes my throat, and under any other circumstances, I would feel embarrassed. But now is different.