some definitions! (just in case lol)

spoils: dirt that is used at foxholes to hold up a gun

Basic Combat Training: recruit training program where recruits train to become graduate and become soldiers; usually lasts 22 weeks

private (e-1): lowest Army rank, normally held by new recruits while at Basic Combat Training

wilco: walkie talkie lingo; "message has been understood, action will follow."

A soldier drops into the foxhole, bringing down a rain of spoils.

Jungkook, who's propped up against the five-feet dirt wall, uses his helmet as a shield, and when the debris finally settles down, he peers at the new addition.

It isn't until the head lifts - black hair tangled with wayward twigs, cheeks smeared with soot and grease, and lips cracked from the lack of water - that Jungkook can confirm the person's identity. Even in the midst of war, everything about her is so familiar. Those focused eyes, such a contrast to the chaos outside this little trench, stares at him, unblinking and constantly on surveillance. The V-shape that decorates the space between her eyebrows whenever she's frowning is visible again. Her hands are gentle when she places the M4 Carbine on her lap, which isn't a surprise; after all, her rifle has always been her stable source in life, worthy of her utmost respect and reverence. (And not much received that attention from her.)

"Sergeant Jeon."

Her voice is a silent reassurance, spoken with a confidence found only from people safely sheltered in their bunk rooms. It's admirable, really, the extent to which she can keep her calm even in the face of extreme danger. Almost as if she has ascended into the ranks of the Amazon warriors she worshipped, the kind that blazed into wars with only their spear and bravery.

"Kim Yerim."

---

Jungkook, in his second year as staff sergeant, first met Yerim after he commanded "Fall in!" and his unit of seven private (E-1) recruits jogged into the classroom, each stopping an arm's length away from the other. Being the first day of Basic Combat Training, his voice was as sharp as a glass's edge, as loud as a bomb's explosion when he declared, "Count off!"

All seven recruits looked to the left, except the first one, who shouted, "One!"

The next one followed, as he faced the front, "Two!"

And they kept on counting off until all seven members were turned towards Jungkook again. He studied their postures, making note of the way their thumbs were a centimeter to the side and their feet weren't all pointed in one direction, before saying, "Good morning, recruits. Today marks the start of what?"

"Phase one," they all answered.

He frowned. "I can't hear you."

"Phase one!" they tried again.

Marching up to the third one on the left, Jungkook asked, low and stern, "What are you here for?"

His victim stared into his eyes, although he didn't fail to notice the way they darted to his polished boots before quickly flying back up. One of the biggest mistakes a recruit could make, especially for a first impression: a second of wavering meant a year's worth of weakness. "Phase one of Basic Combat Training," the recruit answered.

"Are you positive?" Jungkook barked. "Because I've heard fucking mice squeak louder than you." He leaned down, so close the recruit began to fidget, hands nervously fluttering at his side. "If I have to bend this close to hear you, then you don't deserve shit in this place. Understand me?"

Jungkook watched the recruit's throat roll, the silent room emphasizing the force of his gulp. When he said, "Yes, sir, Sergeant Jeon," his voice echoing in the room but devoid of any confidence, Jungkook stepped back to the front, stopping next to a white screen.

"For the next twenty-two weeks, you will experience absolute hell." He made sure to make eye contact with each and every one of them. "You will want to give up. Go home and cry to your mother about all the hardships." He paused, accessing their reactions. "But, for the ones who stay, who come out of this seven month training period with the best platoon mates anyone could dream of, know that you have endured this with your own will."

He paced back and forth, studying them, before stopping in front of the only woman in the unit. Hair pulled back into a low and neat bun. Thin lips pressed into a stern line. Hollow cheeks tapered to a sharp chin. Up close, she was also shorter than she seemed, barely reaching his chest. "What will you fight for?"

"My life, Sergeant Jeon."

In truth, he was expecting her to talk about loyalty, courage, or respect, something along the lines of the Army Core Values. That was what drew most recruits to this profession, the chance to repay everything they had received.

"How will you do that?"

Her gaze is unflinching, burning with an intensity that has seen more years than she was alive. "I will be the weapon and shield, and even kill if I have to."

Jungkook, who was expecting the usual answers "train" or "work hard", blinked, unresponsive for a second. Every recruit knew what they were leaving behind, the sacrifices that came with being the middleman for their country. Pain beyond comprehension, years and years of torture, or the chilly kiss of death: at some point, they were inevitable. However, nobody has ever personally embraced them, never became so close to them that every waking second was spent questioning one's own sanity.

Yet, this recruit looked as if those weren't a distant reality, not merely a horrifying bedtime story.

"And the blood that will stain your hands, build you an ocean: will it be worth it?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Kim Yerim."

---

"Why are you here?" Jungkook asks.

Placing a hand against her stomach, Yerim replies, "The enemy is gaining on the first defense we put up. So, the commander told us to retreat and prepare to attack again from the foxholes. Coincidentally, I ended up in your's, Sergeant Jeon."

He's unsure, even feeling foolish (but hasn't it always been like that? A consequence of trying to navigate the maze Yerim hid in), when he asks, "Are you sure it's a coincidence?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"I'm hoping I don't."

She doesn't respond, but maintains eye contact.

And as they stare at each other, wrapped in a silence occasionally broken by distant gunshots, Jungkook finally notices something off about her. Her eyes lack their usual bleakness, the hard glint that came with always preparing for the worst; instead, they're looking beyond his shoulders at an invisible, otherworldly, point, a type of relief widening them. Creases still decorate her forehead, but each groove is filled to the top with sweat, which seemed to, somehow, further emphasize her grimace. The grease that paints her face's canvas now appears darker, less of a courageous battle cry and more of an angry slash.

Leaning forward, as far as he can in his bulky militant uniform, he asks, "What's wrong?"

Yerim notices the subtle shift in his tone, the small smear of concern thickening his voice, and she responds in the same, but opposite way. Her forehead smoothes, hands that were pressed against her stomach lifting to wipe her sweat, as she replies, voice holding so much conviction that Jungkook almost believes her acting, "The enemy is closing in."

He ignores her casual remark. "I can see your hands trembling,"

"My hands never tremble."

He's reaching out, faster than ever, gloved hand enclosing over her wrist, wanting more than anything to shake some common sense into her brain. But he has tried before, so many times; Not knowing a sturdy wall isolates her, so he's left hoping his voice is loud enough to reach her. Feeling helpless. "You dare to lie to your sergeant."

Her gaze is cool. She stays level-headed, refusing to acknowledge his claim.

"Then, as your first sergeant, as someone who's ranked above you, who you have to obey, I order you to tell me what is wrong."

---

Even if their first interaction didn't leave an impression on Jungkook, then her performance in the following weeks definitely would've piqued his interest.

Yerim was, in simple words, an all-or-nothing type of person.

If he explained that a proper pushup needed to be lower, then she would touch her chin to the ground, sweat staining the sandy ground. If he instructed the maskless recruits to spend an extra thirty seconds in the gas chambers, then she would be the last one to come out, face red and puffy, but still determined. If he scolded their inability to throw a hand grenade a hundred meters long, then she would spend the rest of the week in the gym, building arm muscles.

She was a machine, to the point that he rarely saw her rest and never saw her smile or even converse with the rest of her unit during personal activities time. But this was also the drive that allowed her to graduate from Basic Combat Training with the highest score, to quickly rise in ranks, becoming her platoon's leader.

One day, while a few miles away from enemy territory, Jungkook stood next to Yerim, both of them wearing forty-kilogram backpacks, holding their assault rifles, night vision goggles securely strapped around their eyes, while the rest of the squad waited for their commands. In order to prepare for the next strategy, their job was to safely cross a linear danger area with as little casualties as possible. So, now, they were waiting for the security team to get into position.

A few minutes later, static cracked, and a voice said, "Everyone is in position. Over."

"Perfect," Yerim replied, "Start fire. Over."

"Wilco. Over and Out."

Not even a minute later, Jungkook heard the continuous blunt, harsh sounds of gunshots, shattering the previous calm of the night sky. On and on, smoke rapidly poured into the dark, while Yerim patiently stared ahead, until her walkie talkie spoke again.

"Mission complete. Over."

"Roger. Meet us at the clearing. Over and out." Yerim whipped around, beckoning with her hands, and commanded, "We have to quickly move and set up an overwatch position."

She turned around, beginning to sprint across the rough terrain. Sparse trees that allowed for only minimal coverage. Boulders and logs that acted as huge obstacles. And thousands of different sounds, making them work hard to differentiate between a bird call and a whisper. The rest of the platoon followed while Jungkook ran at the very end, assessing and responding to any unexpected changes, and making sure nobody sneaked up from behind.

They reached the small clearing where they were supposed to wait for the security teams to rejoin the platoon. It wasn't until ten minutes passed, two minutes after their designated time, that Jungkook noticed something was wrong. He looked at Yerim, who kept on pacing and peeking into the dark, and could tell she was also concerned.

Out of the blue, she instructed, "Stay here. I'm going to go check on the situation." Then, she ran off.

"Kim Yerim!" he whispered, cursing at the situation, before sprinting after her, angrily grabbing her arm and yanking her backwards. She spun around, shrugging off his grasp, the corner of her lips turned down, clearly irritated. "You can't run off without-"

"I'm the fucking platoon leader," she snapped, trying to escape but stopped again by his iron grip.

"Take someone with you then! You know the rules: always go with a partner." he spat. "You're not the heroine of a movie. Nobody is expecting you to do this all by yourself."

She stiffened. "You think this is a complex? If I'm a soldier, I either fight all the way-"

"Actually, it's fine. I'll just go with you," he growled, releasing her and starting to sprint. Although he couldn't hear any footsteps following him, he also knew that she would never abandon her job, no matter how hard or what reluctance she harbored. He muttered, ducking low under a bush, "Why did I even argue with you?"

They ran in silence: Jungkook driven by not only the mission, but also this nagging in his guts, telling him that he shouldn't have been so harsh. When they dropped onto the ground to avoid a grenade, their cheeks pressed against the dirt, facing each other, explosions going off into the air, he asked, "Why don't you want me here?"

Debris rained around and on top of them, the sound of fire against fire causing their ears to ring and their bodies to curl tighter into themselves, but Yerim's voice was clear. Maybe it was because he was hyperfocused on her, or it was the fact that this was one of the first times she had opened up about herself.

"Because I'm not afraid of death."

---

"I was shot in the stomach."

As a soldier and drill sergeant, Jungkook has always trained to place his emotions on the last rung of the ladder. Compassion and sympathy allows mercy; anxiety and panic builds adrenaline. But, at the end of the day, while staring down the barrel of a gun, shouldering the icy wrath of an enemy's whip, or whipping new recruits into the toughest versions of themselves, mercy and empathy does nothing, but hinder soldiers from their best performance.

Yet, now, irony has it so that he's the one being shot in the chest with a bullet.

"How long has it been?" he asks, already fishing for his first aid kit, cursing at the way his fingers are fumbling with the clasp of the tiny box. "Deep? Did it nick a major artery?"

Yerim wraps her arms around her torso, eyes starting to narrow. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he growls, taking out the tourniquet. "Let me see the wound."

She stubbornly glares at him.

"Let me see the fucking wound. I don't want to order you around, but if you're going to be difficult, everything I say will become an order."

Reluctantly, she drops her arms, and Jungkook rushes down to push aside her uniform and inspect the path of the bullet. There's one hole a mere inch away from her belly button, and after gently turning Yerim to face the side, he confirms from the hole on her back that the bullet went in and out. But judging from the amount of blood spilling out, the liver, spleen, or any other major organs aren't damaged.

"I can help stop the blood flow," he says, relief crashing through his body, leaving behind a lingering exhaustion in his limbs. Wrapping the tourniquet around the hole, he prays for there to be enough to soak the blood. "But we're going to have to take you to the medics. Probably get an-"

He freezes the moment her hand lands on his wrist, fingers curling and lifting it away from her injury.

"Stop."

But Jungkook can't focus on anything, not her command nor the warmth of her skin, only the weakness of her grasp. Even babies latching onto their mother with three fingers possess a stronger grip. Slipping out of her hold, he frantically laces their fingers together, and squeezes, wanting her to return the gesture with just as much, even more, force. Her hand stays still though, almost limp, as if the bones holding everything rigid have melted away.

"That's it. We're going to find help now," he says, shrugging off his backpack and carefully scooping her into his arms, princess-style.

"Stop!" she snaps, although it comes out more as a weak wheeze. "It's no use."

"A medic will be useful." He stands up, thinking of the best ways to deliver her safely to the tent. "It'll probably take two-"

"Sergeant Jeon, it's too..." She lets out a gasp of pain because of the abrupt movements, and he curses, apologizing and readjusting her in his arms. "... late. You're wasting-"

"This is going to be extremely painful, but it'll-"

"Jeon Jungkook!"

He freezes.

"Nothing will help."

"What do you mean?" He looks down at her, scanning the way her eyes seemed like two black, ghoulish holes amongst her pale features, feeling a resurgence of panic flood him. "You're not a doctor. How would you know?"

"I know my own body, and it's reaching its limit."

"People have reached the brink of death and came back." His protest was more of an anguished protest. "Let me-"

"Set me down." And although she's weak, her voice contains that same edge of steel, the one that he heard the first day they met. So, he kneels down, although he doesn't let go of her. No, he holds her tighter to him. She feebly tries to loosen his grip on her, eventually giving up and sagging into his embrace, eyelashes fluttering. "Sergeant Jeon, shouldn't you be out on the battlefield?"

The anger that steals his breath is so intense, he almost doubles over.

"'Out on the battlefield'," he chokes out. "You-"

"It's your duty." The casual way she says that, almost as if she had woken up at 4 in the morning for another day of training, only serves to infuriate him even more.

"Duty." The word is vile poison on his tongue. "If you're planning to lecture me, should I start with you then?" He knows this is futile, but he can't stop, all the words building up in his chest screaming for an escape route. "You don't listen to me, you never had." (He swallows the "not even when I told you to trust me" sitting on the tip of his tongue.)

She blinks up at him, inhaling and exhaling shallow breaths. "I have always listened to you."

"If that's the truth, then you would've come to me earlier!" he snaps. Sure, he's angry, but more than that, is this feeling of dread (she's purposely wasting time), indignation (she doesn't deserve this conclusion), and even some disappointment (she has never considered his feelings). "A shot in the stomach is as much as a shot in the chest." He digs his nails into his skin. "Just because you're not afraid of death doesn't mean you're immortal!"

Yerim opens her mouth, but then turns her face to the side, most of her resolve already dissolving, as could be seen by the way her shoulders sag and her head leans into the crook of his arms. "I was fighting."

"Shit." He squeezes his eyes shut, wanting so much to turn back time. If he's given a chance to rewind, to relive their moments, then maybe he could've fixed her, changed the toxic mentality that urged her to sacrifice so much. "What's more important? Fighting or your life?"

"Sergeant Jeon, I've made my answer clear since day one."

---

One night, during the hour timeframe allotted for drill sergeant time, Jungkook led Yerim to one of the close combat rings. "You wanted to get better," he said.

Yerim, who's facing him with her legs parted shoulder-length apart and arms crossed, nodded.

"Then, in order to improve, you need to know your two weaknesses, one more major than the other." He held up a finger. "First, close combat." True to her nature, she stiffened, hands forming into fists and legs spreading apart, getting into the correct form. "I've been watching you," he said while circling her, moving her left arm an inch to the right. "You can fire a gun and throw a grenade better than anyone else."

She stayed still, although her eyes warily followed his progress.

"But when it comes to ground-fighting techniques, you hesitate."

And then, without any warning, he hooked one arm around her neck, the other going under her armpit, clasping his hands together, before bringing her down. She tried to elbow him, but by the time his legs wrapped around her torso, feet hooked inside her legs, he was impossible to reach. There wasn't any space to headbutt him, and the angle of his hold was not doing her any favors.

Mouth next to her ear, Jungkook whispered, "Back mount."

(He forced his brain to stop that train of thought, but he couldn't help and notice the warmth of her body, the sensation of her hair tickling his neck, the way they fit together so well, small in big.)

Although Yerim wasn't facing her, he could feel this furious energy tightening her leg and arm muscles, preparing for another attack. "Do you see what I mean? There was a second when I crossed my ankle, hoping you would perform an ankle break, but that never came. Why are you hesitating?"

"Let me try again," was her only response.

"Unfortunately, real battles don't follow a set list of techniques." Before she could reply, he unclasped his hands, circling his stronger arm around her neck. Moving the bicep of his weaker hand to the back of her head, he exhaled, expanding his chest, making sure not to actually hurt her, but still render her immobile. "Rear naked choke." Then, he was executing the next-

A quiet grunt being the only warning, Yerim leaned to the side, escaping his chokehold by blocking her ear and chest, before falling to the side of her raised arm. Using the ground to scrape him off her back, she spent a few minutes trying to lock his arms and legs, before stepping over him.

And, with Yerim looking down at him - legs a metal cage around his lower body, arms placed between his head, chest heaving from the exertion, and a few stray hairs framing her slender face - Jungkook was positive he has never seen anyone more beautiful than her.

His voice was deep, thick with the way a certain organ was expanding, pressing against his lungs and ribcage, itching to shoot out and scream, when he said, "See? Don't hesitate and you can hold your own."

Then, she does the impossible: the corners of her mouth lifting, just a little, barely there, but to him, it was brighter than the sun, bigger than a galaxy. And enough to see that she had two hints of dimples hiding in those cheeks.

He was a volcano. The lava in him that had boiled for minutes, hours, days, maybe even weeks rising. The slight tremors, growing bigger and bigger with each passing moment he spent with her, became earthquakes. Everything, all these small changes, finally coming together to erupt. Filled with desire. This delicious heat. An intensity he wanted to satisfy, to combine with her as one.

And judging from the way her eyes kept on darting to his lips, the way her chest continued to rise up and down, maybe she was feeling the same way. Maybe.

But, she was also fidgeting, sucking in her lower lip, biting hard, before releasing. A finger lightly tapped a soft rhythm on the ground. It was a dance of turmoil, the larger part of her, the one that put her in isolation, winning.

So, respecting her hesitation, he pulled back, rolling out from under her, taking a few seconds to get his mind straight, before standing up. He reached out a hand, which although she glanced at, decided not to take. The moment was over, evident in the way her eyebrows were furrowed, lips were once again pressed down, and arms were crossed over her chest.

"Your second weakness," he said, wanting to break the sudden silence clouding the room. "You won't accept help. This is the first time I've seen you work with somebody."

She didn't try to protest.

"Every recruit has found someone else for comfort. I've seen them joke around, encourage each other, and train, improve, together. But never you. Why is that?"

"Because I'm the only one I can trust." She stepped closer, so they're separated by a foot, arms raised for another attack. "Teach me the move you just did."

Instead of fulfilling her request, he asked, "What about your parents?"

"I said, teach me-"

"Family? Friends?"

"- how to fight. Isn't that my-"

"You're lonely, aren't you, always isolating yourself?"

The punch landed on his chest, quick and rough, pushing Jungkook backwards with a grunt. He doubled over, gripping his chest, mind whirling to catch up with everything. Once again, she had put up a tough facade, masking whatever confusion laid beneath. He had found a crack, though, so tiny that most people didn't bother to care, but nonetheless, an opening. And, glancing up to see her expression, he was right.

"I didn't ask to be psychoanalyzed," Yerim deadpanned, but if he listened carefully, there was a waver, a slight dip of tone while saying one word. "If you're not going to teach me, then I'll leave."

The last thing Jungkook wanted was to act normal, but he couldn't force an answer out from her, no matter how curious he was. Decision made, grabbing her hands, he turned around, so his back was facing her front, and circled them around his body, saying, "You want to make sure your hands are tightly clasped together." While Yerim followed his instructions, he added as an afterthought, in a voice so soft it could only be heard by her, their secret, "And about your previous claim? You always have me."

---

"I told you-" Jungkook punches the dirt with his free arm, enjoying the sharp jolts of pain shooting up from his knuckles. Anything to mask this despair, the agony of watching a loved one inevitably succumb to death. "I fucking told you, Yerim, that you couldn't always fight by yourself."

Her reply takes a few minutes to get out, broken by rattling breaths and gasps of pain. "This... is why I didn't tell you."

"So, I won't overstep your boundaries by worrying."

It's a statement, not a question, so he's surprised when she closes her eyes, weakly coughing, and says, "No... More like... spend all... time uselessly worrying for me."

"Yerim." Heart pounding, he swallows, trying to get rid of the lingering bad taste in his mouth. "I said before, that you can trust me."

Her eyes flutter open, and when she glances up, they're looking up with a kind of clarity, an ironic light of relief. And Jungkook has to bite on his lip, so hard he tastes blood, because he doesn't want to interrupt, no matter how much he wants to talk. This is her moment, and he would not take that away from her.

"I did... not a coincidence..."

She doesn't have strength to lift her head, nor move her hand, so her pointer finger twitches, such a small gesture that he returns with everything in his heart. Fingers interlacing, palms hugging, knuckles curling.

"I once told... I'm not... of death."

"You did," he said. His voice cracks in the middle, tears finally spilling over onto his cheeks, leaving a salty taste on his lips, dripping onto her face, mainly because he had to lean down, putting his ears against her mouth. She was really slipping away.

"When you've lived with death on your fingertips, at an age that should be filled with dreams, not nightmares, you learn to become friends with it."

It's a wonder that only silent tears are running down, that he's not screaming, not even when she crosses to the other side, not when the gentle up and down motions of her chest stop. But he does tighten his hold on here, rocking back and forth, wet eyelashes kissing her neck, uneven breathing a fan on her still warm skin.

And, later, when he closes her eyelids, he swears he sees a small smile on her lips.

(In the end, Jungkook believed Kim Yerim was made of two fundamental parts that were constantly clashing.

She was a caterpillar, dreaming of becoming a butterfly, but having the chance snatched away from her before she could start. A person who was struggling to make sense of her new reality, grasping at any semblance of comfort, but ending up being hurt over and over again. Yet, still trying, receiving the same cycle of disappointment.

But, at the same time, she was the type of person who could never stay still. The restless soul that was always seeking for a new adventure, a leaf drifting up and down the wind. Who needed to take fate, smash whatever bad bombs it hurled at her, and return it twofold, tenfold, harder than ever. Because that was how she coped. How she saw the world. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

And that contradiction was her eventual downfall, her Achilles heel.)

a/n: sijfoisfd this took forever to write, and it's not even that long sodjfs, probably bc it was hard to flesh out yerim's character 😭😭 and even now i don't even know if it makes complete sense or if I conveyed everything I wanted to say DJDJDJD. But hahaha ayyy here I am, posting it 🙃✌️oh, I also left Yerim's past more of an open ending, lol, so hope that's cool!

anyways, this is the last csw prompt i'm going to do in the near future, so i hope you enjoyed!!💞💞