Taste of ink (VKOOK) (KOOKV)

Crooked

"...kook?"

He came back to reality but he didn't take his eyes off the sights outside of the window. No concrete at all was visible, no chrome or glass or any skyscraper buildings on the horizon. That was a blessing, for it meant that they were nearly at their location and they could get out of the car soon. He had his arm cocked on the window armrest so that he could that he could rest his chin on his palm and every now and again he would tap his fingers against his cheekbone in a sporadic rhythm. There was a breeze coming in through the open front window of the vehicle but it couldn't blow away the scent of the flowers on his lap and on the seat beside him: big massive bouquets.

"Yeah?" Jungkook asked as he ran his eyes along the sight of the field beside the road. It had been stretching for a few miles now, lush green grass that would start to turn yellow soon. There were no wild flowers in sight. It almost felt like they were all in the limousine instead. He could see little brick and corrugated metal barns and large mountains of hay beneath the low hanging clouds; wooden fences ringing the fields that were worn down and starting to splinter from exposure to the weather.

"Everything alright?" Hoseok asked from the other end of the backseat. He asked this in a quiet voice, almost as if he didn't want to be overheard by the driver but it wouldn't matter. There was a Plexiglas screen separating them from the man and he was too busy driving to really care. The back of his cap had not a single piece of lint on it, neither did the shoulders of his deep navy jacket. Classy, just like the interior. The seats were cream leather and there were no seams in them, stitched so perfectly to make them look and feel smooth to the touch; padded headrests and low armrests built beneath the windows. The flooring was wooden and there wasn't a single nick in it. He was more than certain that there wouldn't be any nicks in the dashboard or wheel either. If there was even a single scratch on the paint job he wouldn't have climbed into it this morning. He didn't ride in anything other than the best.

"I suppose," Jungkook replied as he shifted slightly, running his fingers along his lips rather than his cheekbones. The other man didn't say anything in response to this and the car fell silent again save for the soft rumbling of the engine. Was Hoseok really going to ask him these questions again? He asked him the same questions every time that they came here and this was the third year in a row now. Didn't he get tired of him giving him the same answers too, the same boring things that they both knew were lies?

"I hate the scent of lilies," Hoseok muttered after a moment of silence. "Whenever I smell these stupid fucking flowers I think of death, more death and...death."

"Did you know lilies take more oxygen to bloom than most flowers do," Jungkook explained in a quiet voice. "They take a large amount. I feel like they've sucked all of the oxygen outta this fucking car." The other man agreed with this statement before hitting the window button. It went down a few inches but no real breeze came in through the gap. "They're suffocating me, man."

He looked down to his lap at the bouquet. It wasn't as large as the ones on the middle seat but it was more important because it was his bouquet. The centre of the spray was white lily and rose with orchids of dusky cream against the deep green, a light spattering of chrysanthemum with little bundles of petals. They were collected together and tied with a pastel blue silken ribbon, a slip of paper nestled between a pair of roses.

"This car smells like a hooker," Hoseok muttered under his breath and after a few seconds Jungkook couldn't help himself from laughing at the remark.

"Oh yeah? How many hookers you seen?" he asked and the other man held a finger against his lips and the corners lifted up slightly in a smirk.

Jungkook dropped his eyes to study the other sprays and bouquets. Some of them were colourful, yellows and oranges and dusky pinks. He didn't like colour being in them, it didn't look right. Colourful bouquets were meant for gifts: weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, things like that. A bouquet for a grave should be devoid of all colour and life. Then he turned to look back out of the window with a heavy sigh. The weather looked like it was going to stay warm and he greatly wanted it to start pouring rain. Maybe the skies would explode and great cracks of thunder would boom and make the very air shake, but it wouldn't do that. Instead the heat would make his shirt stick to his skin and he would want to remove his jacket but he couldn't do so yet.