"Slitting through the throats of dark alleys,
where desires still keep running,
I've seen embers of pain.
The colours from the pencils of the
inconsolable are still sticking to the tunes
where you keep visiting,
All throughout the day.

Your love still remains with me
yet I am unable to give you
what we covet, the life we cherish.
If my time was a twig, it's drying.
It has no more leaves.
Alas, so much of love came so close,
But it wasn't destined for me.

I will not be there to listen to your tiny broken tales
when one day you start picking up crystals with both your hands, alone.
Whom will I cry to when I return home,
hours past midnight?"

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

People have desires and these desires are put to silence only when their throats are slit inside an isolated place such as a tunnel or an alleyway, where no one would ever wonder who did it or how it happened.
Reiterating the inconsolable nature of the desires of human beings, it is similar to the colours flowing from a painter's pencil. A deeply engrossed painter has an uncontrollable and inconsolable passion for the colours he imagines in his mind. These colours are like the tunes that keeps visiting the lone lover. And these tunes remind him of her.

"Lieutenant general, what is that you find more important than eating your breakfast?" Heavily adorned in jangling badges and rustic boots, Chief Hardy Torres was stationed at the southern half of Korea, assisting the training camp of the junior lieutenants. General Torres, a torrent and ill-tempered man, did not appreciate any delays. And although he would have been rougher with anyone other, he had a softer side for Lieutenant J. Cheon Seok.

"Good morning, Sir! Sir, I have already had my breakfast and was using the remaining time to..." He kicked his feet on the ground, pursuing an attentive salute to his senior.

"Painting?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"What is that you're painting?" Cheon Seok owned only one set of bright papers that his hyung had got him from Italy, back at his orphanage. The sketchbook mattered as much as his life to him.

General Torres seemed to understand the young man's sentiments towards the stash of papers. He carefully rummaged through it, a gentle curve appearing on his patched lips.

"Did you get your letter?" His voice, a throaty adenoidal voice, showed no signs of emotions as he spoke, steering through the pages filled with colours-and some left colourless.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't make out what you're indicating about."

"The letter you get every week. May I ask," General Torres closed the book shut, looking up at Cheon Seok, as he continued,"Who is that, that sends you the letter on every Wednesday without a fail?"

"That... Sir, is my, umm..."

"What is it, Lieutenant, that you're so hesitant to state?" The man gave a hoarse laugh, patting the young soldier on his shoulders.

"Sir..."

"It is your wife, or your girlfriend?" He sat down on the lieutenant's chair as he ordered the junior to sit down next to him. Cheon Seok pulled another unoccupied chair from the table next to his as he smiled frailly.

"Sir, she is my life. I am not entitled enough to call her my girlfriend because we are still on an unsteady note in our relationship. Neither have we been married. She is my, but the truest friend, and the best one of them." There were many things that Cheon Seok couldn't fear less, his love wasn't one of those. His love was strong, he believed that. And he prayed that the war ended, that he could go back to painting and farming with his love by his side.

"That, right there, is why you're different, boy. Hold your love just how you hold your gun in your training camp. Let's head to the camp, shan't we?"

The General and his Lieutenant had only set their books aways when a loud echo blasted through their ear drums. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) troops had launched free fire over the junior camps.

The howls of the several young, untrained, unmanned and vulnerable lads raged louder than bombs.

"Cheon Seok, run back to the cavalry!" General Torres shrieked in the madness, pushing through the massive crowd. He was rushing in aid of a 15 year old soldier, crashed under the mob.

"Sir, let me help you!"

"No, Cheon Seok! Hurry back! Get the troops! Get the adults here! These are all children, they can't do it!" General Torres had pulled the unconscious 15 year old in his arms, rushing towards Cheon Seok. Somehow handing the child over to the Lieutenant, the General hurried to protect the other soldiers from the approaching bullets.

"Cheon Seok, be quick! Hurry!" The General yelled again.

"Sir, Sir listen, Sir!"

Had Cheon Seok been another metre closer to the man, he would have been blown away by the missile. Just how General Hardy Torres was.

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

"Jeon Jungkook!" I gasped. My breath and my heart rate accelerated. The feeling of disdain that develops when you've held your breath for as long as you can remember and your head is dunked deep into an ocean, generated the expression I had on my face. Cold sweat broke out all over me and I was screaming, I was fighting my life with the air.

Fear became a tangible, living force that crept over me like some hungry beast, immobilizing me; my brain, holding me captive. I could only cry, shed tears. I couldn't scream anymore. I could only open my mouth to find that even words had deserted me. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to flee, but I remained frozen.

I could see Jimin holding me, his face covered in beads of sweat. Panic had engulfed him.

"Jeon Jungkook, what..." He breathed heavily as I broke down in tears. I felt two strong arms wrapping around me as I felt his warmth on myself.

I was crying. He did not utter a single word. He did not make any sounds. It was only our mismatched breaths that I heard followed by another set of footsteps. I understood that it was Y/n running but I was too engrossed with the screams and blasts, and blood that floated before my eyes.

I saw a man die. I saw children die. Why didn't I die?

"Trauma?" He whispered in my ear. I had partially calmed down, my heart racing yet.

"It's okay, I understand. I know. You can tell me, I won't judge. Was it your parents?"

I hummed a no. It was not my parents. But it felt real, like I was there.

"Was it someone you know?"

I hummed a no. It was not someone I knew. But my memories knew them forever, like I was there.

"Was it real?"

I was unsure of the reply. Was it? Were they real?

"I... I don't know." My throat felt dry and itchy.

"Was it something you don't want to happen outside your vision?"

I shook my head. Yes, I don't want it. I don't want death. I don't want blood.

"Look at me, look in my eyes." Jimin held my head in his strong grip, his enticing eyes staring vividly into my soul. His natural brown eyes, deep and soulful, resembled a pool of honey.

I feared those eyes. Their gaze was always a sharp look, a sharp object that could penetrate through the taut and pointy skin of any crocodila beast.

"I... I... I'm afraid of them."

"Uh, loo- you know, look at, look at my umm, well, lips! Yes, look at my lips!"

"Lips?" I was a little confused but I obeyed with no fail. I looked up at his plump lips. I had seen Jimin quite some times but I had never realised the beauty in his sculpture. It was a face I would love to sculpt on my paper with my pencil.

"Yeah, lips. You're afraid of my eyes, their intimidating. You shouldn't have to face them. But my lips, they're harmless. They don't understand anything."

"I don't understand it. Why lips?"

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Jimin laughed. I had to agree, they were beautiful.

"What's the scent of your gloss? That's nice." I answered, not admitting that I actually agreed with him.

"Why? You wanna use? It's a good one."

"Yes, but what is it?"

"Cranberries and lemon."

"That should smell citrus. It smells sweet."

"Are you an artist or a forensic CSI?"

"No, it's a flower, a very known flower. I just can't remember it."

"You're right. It's a flower. Antonella gifted me a set of skin products on my birthday last year."

"WHAT FLOWER IS IT!"

This man's frustrating! All that I want to know is the type of flower that smells this good. What flower is it!

"It's a flower."

"You, sir, is the reason why the middle finger was created. TELL ME THE FLOWER!" I was hovering over Jimin at this point. It was do or die. What is the flower!

"Hey, hey, chill. It's just wood and peonies. From YSL's autumn collection."

"That, that was all that you had to utter. Yet you CHOSE to BLABBER things I DIDN'T require!"

"You absolutely did. Unless I blabbered about stupid things, would you have forgotten about the dream you just had? What was your dream, do you remember it?" Pushing himself back up again, Jimin was hovering over me. Lips, he told me to face his lips. Very kissable, no that's not what he asked me to remember.

I pondered about what I had dreamt but it was nothing the worth of time I invested to remember the events. I could remember nothing.

"You don't, I know. Jeon Jungkook, I'm a psychiatrist. I know how to deal with ADHD patients. I know how to calm you down if you get panic attacks. And trust me, if the middle finger was made for people like me, it was you,sir, for whom it was used." A straight, unmoving face. He said it with that. I was stuck in between getting furious for being roasted by my own burn or, if I should be flustered and laughing because his face looked so funny.

"You did not." Jimin got off my lap as he pulled me up and made me sit up straight. He brushed his pajamas and stroke, or messed, my hair as he swaggered along the corridor with a sheepish grin on his lips, the very lips that he momentarily used to seduce me.

I was left dazed by his presence. It shows why everyone on the campus finds him attractive and charming. Fuck him!

"Gladly."

______________________________

Hoi fellas, here the double update!

Tell me, how's the chemistry 🍫