Warning - The scenes described here might not be apt for some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

"Hi, Jungkook."

The voice became the water in his air, for it both quenched and cleansed the soul. A subliminal smile crept on his face, as he turned towards the source of the sound.

"Iseul..." His murmurs were enough for her to flash him a sweet smile.

Her strides were long and unwavering, as she made her way towards him. There was the hug of gentle arms that still gave him the space to breathe; then there was the hug of strong arms that told everything that he was - body, brain and soul - that she was with him.

"I needed that," Jungkook whispered, abashed at the amount of succour he received from just, her touch. "Thanks."

"I always know when you need one, Jungkook."

The depth of hues in her brown hair was as the finest cathedral choir, perfect pitch coming together in a soul-warming symphony. She let some of her strands brush against Jungkook's shoulder as she entangled her fingers with his.

"What's gone wrong today?" she asked, snapping him out of the slight daze he'd been put under.

Clearing his throat, he walked forward, leading her. "When you see it, you'll know. You should probably change first."

"Is it that grave of a situation?"

"Trust me, Iseul."

Her exiguous nod, set the curls into motion. "Hmm, 'kay."

Gloves slithered right onto his palms, and a lab coat hugged him snug, from his shoulders to his waist. The plastic coating on his shoes had never come off, so that aspect had been fulfilled already. To add the cherry on top, came the medical mask, the light cerulean tinge covering a major part of his face, with only his effete hazel orbs exposed.

"What do we have here?" Iseul's voice had been muffled, the mask preventing her saccharine voice from reaching Jungkook's pinna.

He kept his lips pursed, pinched the the cotton covering the body and peeled it off. "This," he proclaimed.

Her eyes took in the whole ball of wax at once. The debilitated body that had nothing but the derma wound taut on the bones; the cheekbones so prominent, they'd be the only feature obtrusive on his face; the encrusted charred fluid that chafed against the cloth like miniscule crystals.

Her face had turned pallid. Pasty. To such an extend, it felt like she'd soon cross to oblivion. She sprauchled, her feet crossing each other, but still kept her grip tight. Following the blood trail, she was Schrödinger's cat, both alive and dead, until at its end the box would open.

The utter look of consternation on her face morphed into something else. The earthy hues in her eyeballs had gone numb for a while, the heavenly orbs fidgeting back and forth, before settling themselves right in the middle.

"What happened, Iseul?" Jungkook asked, the perturb clear as crystal. "You look... Worried."

"No, no. I'm not worried, no," she tried explaining, floundering over her lexis every few seconds. "Who said I'm worried?"

A shallow scoff escaped her damask lips, and his eyebrows crashed down in dubiety. That refusal to smile, to show any warmth at all was her subtle form of emotional warfare, yet hardly fair at all. "It's not like I'm accusing you, love. Why such hostility?"

Her fingers, glove-clad fingers, crept up the loose curls that framed her face. Chestnut hair was having the best of every world, for it was blonde, brown and red. All at the same time. It was all the hues that ignited in his daydreamt memories of her. But at that peculiar moment, her wispy locks were of no concern for Jungkook.

"Yeah. I know." The comment had anchored her soul, creating a tether to that plane of reality, it had been the moment she realized her responses and locutions had been inadvertently channeled.

Long gone was the smile that spoke a thousand words. Her smile used to be the one of happiness growing, much as a spring flower opened. He could see how it came from deep inside to light her eyes and spread into every part of her; beseeching tranquility in him. A person smiled with more than their mouth, and he used to hear it in her voice, in the choice of her words and the way she relaxed. It used beautiful. Much in contrast to the smile she'd worn then. A mask. A putrefied one.

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❝ Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future. ❞

- Oscar Wilde