"Death's that thing we all gotta face,
The finale, the last lap in this race.
It's not the end, just a change of tone,
In the universe's playlist, we're not alone.

Life and death, like buddies in a band,
Jamming together, hand in hand.
Once it's over, dawn after the night
It'll never be the same
Crazy right?"

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

Bathed in the golden hues of a sun bidding adieu to the day, she sat alone on the swing, a delicate specter in the haven Cheon Seok had crafted for her—a sanctuary amidst the tumult of an orphanage he built with love's own hands. The gentle creak of the swing echoed the symphony of her solitude.

Her heart, once a melody entwined with the tender strains of Cheon Seok's love, now echoed with the haunting notes of silence. Days stretched into nights, and the absence of his letters, those lifelines that connected their hearts across the battlefield, weighed upon her like the burden of unspoken fears.

The letters she sent, each word a whisper of longing, remained unanswered, lost in the vast expanse that separated them. With every dawn that heralded the birth of hope, she clung to the notion that today, perhaps, his words would find their way to her, bridging the chasm carved by the war.

Yet, the swing cradled her gently, bearing witness to her soliloquy—a tender conversation with the life burgeoning within her womb. The child, a testament to their love, danced to the rhythm of its own existence, a silent witness to the poetry etched in their shared history.

She spoke to the unborn, her words a lullaby woven with the threads of love that bound her to Cheon Seok. "Your father, a hero in a world gripped by shadows, battles a war that echoes louder than the lullabies I sing to you. He paints the sky with bravery, yet the canvas of my heart is daubed with the hues of his absence."

The swing swayed gently, a companion in her solitude, as if trying to cradle her sorrows in its own rhythmic embrace. Each stroke of the breeze whispered secrets of longing, carrying her words to the farthest reaches where her lover might hear.

"He promised to return, and I believe in the echo of that promise carried by the winds. Yet, the letters I send find no refuge in his hands, and the silence between us grows into a chasm I'm afraid to cross."

Her hands rested on the gentle curve of her belly, a sacred vessel that harbored the essence of their love. "You, my sweet one, are the living testament to the love we share. But oh, how my heart aches to hold him in these arms, to share with him the dance of your first steps, to weave a family beneath the tapestry of stars he once promised to lay at our feet."

The swing, a silent witness to the ache within her, swayed as if acknowledging the sacredness of her solitude. In the twilight of the orphanage, where the world outside seemed to dissolve into a dreamscape, she continued her soliloquy—a testament of love suspended between the echoes of hope and the silence that stretched across the battlefield, reaching for a connection that transcended the constraints of war.

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

"Mai," I replied again, the name hanging in the air like a secret melody.

But as I uttered the name, Y/n's face twisted into a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"Your what now?" Y/n quipped, her tone laced with a hint of playful jealousy. The banter began, a dance of words fraught with unspoken emotion

"What? What my?"

"You and your 'my' lady on the swing," she retorted, her actions mirroring a simmering discontent.

"I said 'Mai,' not 'my,'" I tried to clarify, but Y/n's eyes held a fire fueled by a concoction of misunderstood signals and unspoken affections.

"I clearly heard." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not saying 'my lady' like that!" I protested, frustration coloring my words. But Y/n, lost in her own narrative, wasn't ready to listen.

Y/n's frustration simmered beneath her gaze, and her arms remained crossed in defiance. "I don't buy that 'Mai' stuff, Jungkook. Who's this 'my' lady on the swing?"

"Mai. Her name is Mai," I reiterated, the insistence in my voice trying to punctuate the clarity.

Y/n scoffed, "Yeah, right. Like I'm supposed to believe that. 'My lady' on the swing. Real smooth, Jungkook."

"Y/n, seriously, it's not what you think," I pleaded, my attempts at explanation falling on deaf ears.

"Oh, it's exactly what I think! You're acting all mysterious with your 'Mai,' and I'm just supposed to be cool with it?" Y/n's frustration fueled her words.

Jennie attempted to mediate, "Y/n, calm down. Jungkook is not—"

"Don't tell me to calm down, Jennie! I deserve to know what's going on here," Y/n interrupted, her tone sharp.

I tried to reason, "Y/n, you're making this a bigger deal than it is. It's just a painting."

"A painting with a mysterious 'my' lady on a swing," Y/n shot back, her frustration reaching its peak.

Chan, seeing the tension escalating, stepped forward cautiously. "Alright, let's all just—"

But Y/n, undeterred, directed her gaze at me. "So, Jungkook, who is she? Your secret 'my' lady?"

"That's enough, Y/n!" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"Why? Because you can't handle a little honesty?" Y/n's retort was laced with a mix of hurt and irritation.

Bam, sensing the rising tumult, chimed in, "Guys, can we just—"

"No, Bam! Stay out of this!" I growled, my patience hanging by a thread.

As the verbal jousting escalated, Chan, with a calm authority, attempted to physically intervene. "Alright, that's enough, Jungkook. Let's all just—"

A primal rage surged within me, drowning reason and restraint. As Chan attempted to step in and defuse the escalating situation, my resistance erupted into a full-blown physical struggle. "I said stay out of it!" I roared, a torrent of unrestrained fury propelling me against Chan's attempts to calm the storm.

"What the hell, Jungkook?" Jay exclaimed, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"Jungkook, calm down!" he pleaded, his usually steady voice tinged with a hint of panic. His eyes, windows to a soul now besieged by terror, reflected the unraveling of the known reality. The fear that gripped him was not merely mortal; it was a spectral apparition, a ghastly specter that clawed at the edges of his sanity. Every inch of his being resonated with the tremors of his own dread, an orchestra of panic playing out in the fragile chambers of his composure.

As my fists swung wildly in the air, a desperate attempt to break free from the bonds that sought to restrain my turmoil, Chan, the maestro of equilibrium, kept retreating. His steps mirrored the hesitant dance of a prey avoiding the relentless pursuit of a predator, a poignant allegory of a man desperately trying to evade the encroaching shadows.

In the midst of the frenzied struggle, the air pulsated with screams, fragmented dialogues attempting to pierce through the chaos. "Jungkook, stop!" Bam's voice echoed, each word a plea laden with the weight of desperation. Jennie's cries intertwined with the dissonance, a symphony of distress weaving through the room.

Y/n, once frozen in fear, snapped into action. A sudden realization flashed across her face, and in an abrupt turn of events, she stepped forward. "Jungkook, I— I'm sorry!" she stammered, her voice a shaky plea.

She moved to hold onto me, attempting to quell the maddening storm within. The room became a battleground of conflicting forces—the friends struggling to restrain my frenzy, Y/n desperately attempting to break through the madness.

The struggle reached a fever pitch, my movements fueled by a volatile energy that seemed to defy all reason. As they grappled with my uncontrollable outburst, the once familiar bonds of camaraderie were strained to their limits.

My blood pressure surged, each heartbeat a thunderous drumming in my ears. Breathing became a laborious task, my head spun with a vertiginous intensity. Vision blurred, senses overwhelmed, and limbs losing their coordination, I spiraled into a chaotic abyss.

The air, thick with the acrid scent of turmoil, filled my lungs like a volatile elixir, leaving me gasping for reprieve in the vast expanse of existential suffocation.

Thoughts, once orderly passengers in the vessel of my consciousness, now collided like celestial bodies in the cosmic chaos of my mind. The nebulae of sanity dissipated, leaving behind a black hole that devoured reason and spat out fragments of raw, unbridled emotion.

Sound became a disorienting symphony of discordant notes, touch a kaleidoscope of contradictory sensations, and smell an olfactory assault of the demons that lurked within.

I, the reluctant protagonist in this infernal narrative, spiraled into a chaotic abyss—a descent into the depths of existential turbulence. Pain and fear wove an intricate tapestry, and rage and madness were the warp and weft, intertwining to create a canvas painted with the hues of an unraveling soul.

And all that I could see was pitch black.