BITTER SWEET. | J. JK

SEVENTY-THREE.

10:05 am

The telephone rang.

"Man, all I'm saying is that I don't really understand how you will be able to find-"

"Can't you just shut the fuck up!?" The young man rose his black eyes from the messy scribbles that were forming on the marron leather notebook to the crippling one that remained sat in the very edge of the black sofa of his office. His patience was known to be short but Woon had managed to run it out in the last 30 minutes.

Woon immediately shuddered away, shifting uncomfortably in his almost inexistent seat, when Jungkook's roar boomed through the walls and hit him right in his face. He should have felt thankful, in some way, he did. Looking down at the bandage and the dirty white plaster that covered his knee down to his foot, he knew Jungkook could have very well left him in some moribund alley and shot him in the head; nobody would know, nobody would care and the man could have gotten rid of him.

However, instead, Jungkook had called Yoongi and both had brought him to his house. And, even though, the younger man had spent an awful amount of time to convince his best right-hand to compel and help him out, Woon's worst evils were now the black eye that melted down under his squinted eyelids and a sore pain on the end of his back. Knocked out on pain killers Jungkook kept in the cabinets of his bathroom, the pitiful man was now laying idly, his right wrist, however, cuffed over the arm of the black sofa.

"I'm sorry," Woon didn't know where that had come from nor did he wanted to but, right now, it felt like the right thing to be said. Jungkook, to his displease, didn't react to it in any way.

Jungkook was now on the break of a panic attack, wrist flicking as fast as light as he wrote and wrote on the marron notebook. And, Woon was curious to what he kept writing, flipping page after page after page. But, he didn't dare to question it.

All of the sudden, the sound of the black ink drawing into the thick paper came to a halt and Jungkook's hands came together to slam against the edges of the oak wooden desk of his office softly and, after applying force against it, his rolling chair was pushed back. Jungkook brought his hands to his chestnut locks of hair, that seemed to get darker every day. His eyes fell on the cold ivory that sat eerily quietly on top of the coffee table and, all the helplessness of his heart broke down on his back.

White lilies.

He knew what they meant ever since Yoongi had gotten inside, his hands busy with beautifully complexed white flowers that bloomed as deeply as tragedy impregnated through his life. He, also, knew that this day was coming and there was nothing he could do. All he could do was to stare and, stare at them, intrigued for the fact the golden note brought in an ace of spades card.

Even though, the connection to it was obvious, Jungkook felt the need to avoid it. Running away from the icy white that shined as the only thing in his office, his eyes fell on the smoked glass window, the view of the hustled yet, somewhat regular, of Seoul breeding tall through the skyscrapers.

"Kook..." Yoongi's voice made itself emerge from the silence that early had installed in the office with Jungkook fearing the white and Woon's annoying drugged mumbles manifesting less.

He didn't reply. Yoongi understood why.

"You have someone on the phone." He spoke slowly when he reached the limits of the desk and, forcing to curl his hand around the glossy black telephone that rested on top of the table and that had been ringing for the last five minutes. But, Jungkook kept refusing to answer to it, preferring, instead, to keep picturing the placid silence he so needed at the moment.

Yoongi frowned, finally managing to pick up the telephone and extended it to Jungkook, whose eyes had seemed to depart from this reality a long time ago.