Dark Matter | JJK

48. Wrong

Drumming his fingers on the marble tabletop, Jungkook glanced at the wall clock and waited.

It was winter in Seoul. The Audio Visual Hall's temperature and the material of his black turtleneck kept him warm at best, but Jungkook was sweating so much that he might as well have been sitting on a stove. Why did the walls of this room have to be so perfectly polished white? They irked him to no extent. The sheer calmness reeking from the meticulously tidy and organised meeting room irked him to no extent because unlike him, even the stupid tables and chairs knew how to sit put without fidgeting every two seconds.

Stay calm, Namjoon had instructed him before he left the boy to his own devices nearly half an hour ago. Going by the wall clock positioned in front of him, it was nearing six in the evening. The cops outside the university must be through with the procedural security check and the two guards outside this room must have loaded their rifles.

She would be here any second.

Swallowing, Jungkook's hand delved into the pocket of the coat he wore over his turtleneck, fingers enclosing around a cold glass vial. He held it underneath the table and glanced at the azure blue liquid swishing inside. It was the very last of his J.0 samples, a spare he had kept within the corner-most drawer in the basement laboratory back home. Only a backup will keep you alive, his father used to say. More than the dejection he felt for being forced to hand it over, the very thought of seeing her again was what made his breathing quicken. What would he say? Would he even be able to utter a word? Forget speaking, would he even be able to look her in the eye? Would he -

The door clicked open.

"The aide from North Korea is here," the guard said brusquely, and if his eyes weren't covered by a pair of black shades, Jungkook was sure he would see pity in them.

The boy clasped his hands tightly over the table. "Send her in."

The door closed, a beat passed, and then reopened.

The first thing he noticed about her when she stepped in, from across the miles that separated them, was the sheer blankness of her eyes.

Dark brown, stagnant, and devoid of every single emotion he had spent days numbing himself to.

"Jungkook," Petra said. "It's been a long time."

She looked different too. Her hair was a shade darker than her previous chocolate-brown, parted at the centre and flowing regally down her shoulders. A soft beige trench coat hugged her torso, the ends meeting her jean-clad thighs mid-way. The shiny black boots seemed to make her appear taller, but maybe it was because she was on her feet and he was sitting, watching as the ground beneath his feet cracked in two and split into an abyss, ready to swallow him whole.

It wasn't supposed to come as a surprise at all. He knew that he would see her. From the night before, he knew. He had prepared himself in every possible way, rehearsing how he would approach his talk with her in the most neutral, business-like manner, putting aside months of repressed emotions and shared history.

His eyes darted to hers, his mouth unsure of what to even say.

How did they do this in movies?

"Petra." A lot had happened in the time he had last seen her, and yet the way her name fell from his lips felt nothing but sacred. "How are you?"

"Splendid," she remarked nonchalantly, taking a seat across from him. In her hand was a grey folder that she placed on her lap. "But you're not really interested in that, are you? We both have a motive for being here."

This was unchartered territory. He knew how to talk emotionlessly, but not with her. Never with her. Up close, he could finally see her and reassure himself that she was, in fact, in front of him - a girl of flesh and bones and a beating heart, and not a wandering spectre haunting him on sleepless nights. She was here, but he couldn't touch her. Couldn't reach out and trace the pads of his fingers along her skin like she was a map and he a wanderer seeking directions to a home.