HUNDREDS OF MILES
FROM SEOUL, S. KOREA.
01:28 AM, 17th October

Only as the thick, wounding forest floor dissolves into, first a glade of ungrazed, calf-high weeds embroidered on earth, then the cracked pavements, broken swings of a torpedoed playground that lay abandoned and disfigured on the street cluttered with rotting bodies of the undead, the humans alike, does Taehyung considers the preceding events of the day.

Flies buzzed and whizzed past as they trotted on Ara - a name given by Taehyung after mulling over for hours on.

Taehyung sat at the front on the gorgeous, jet-black stallion while Jeongguk, quite exhausted, had wordlessly encircled the younger's waist with his brawny arms as he hoists himself up then and now, his cheek resting on the latter's shoulder and bobbing slightly with every clop of hooves forward.

"Hey," says Taehyung tenderly, clutching the harness while veering the horse to remain on the soft ground as to not incite a possible attacker nearby by the horse's clatter, he beguiles pleasantly under his breath, "You asleep yet?" The moon shone with brilliance, lightening the path the three were taking, occasionally strewned with a knocked-over dustbin or demolished kiosks with newspapers wedged underneath them that dated back to the early twentieth decade.

There is a second tickling away before Jeongguk responds with a sleepy hum, another one as he conjoins, almost grumbling, "I want to sleep," divulging with words joining after an exhale released, "With you." Taehyung, who was deeply thankful for the darkness engulfing them in the early winter breeze, was pretty sure the hotness that has crept up from his neck to his cheeks has his face flushed scarlet with underlying flattery.

Ara must be thinking, Just get a room, ya dorks - but he didn't speak Horse-say. Or Intellectualism, for that matter, to understand how to respond. Panic began to seep into his shivering frame and Taehyung's brain malfunctioned under pressure, making him whisper a brittle, "You sleep alone just right."

Dumbfuck, Taehyung scolded himself, that's the least reasonable answer you can give.

Chuckling so that his warm breath hits Taehyung's collarbone pleasantly, Jeongguk sultry voice hummed and contended, "But━ you see, hmm. How do I put this?" There's a short, mocking silence between his two phrases, universes apart from what they each denote, "When two people really 'sleep together,' they fuck. You know what that means, right-? Or should I crack it for you-?"

"OK, astuto culo, shut up."

"The fuck that means, bitch?"

"It means 'smart-ass,' whore."

"I'll seriously fuck you up, man."

"Only after I'm done with you, fucker."

Ara neighed, almost like an exasperated sigh, definitely carping away with her eyes looking up to the Heavens as if saying, God, I haven't seen a pair so ready to receive a good whack on their heads upside. Failing to notice her attitude, the two bickered in sailor undertones, a layer of affection that is akin to shameless humiliation of one another as they rode into the night.

___

The secluded wreckage of a mouldy tuck-shop they took refuge in for a couple of hours, west of Seoul too far to tell, provided them a veiled hideout to refresh and purr down their grumbling guts.

Their sleeping bags were farther apart than the couple's own liking, but they huddled together in front of the fire Taehyung had successfully set out in the makeshift pit with the woods in a teepee structure, the flames washing them with heat which the cold dryness was unforgiving of.

Fumbling, Taehyung rummages into his backpack, bringing out a journal with a plain, cyan binding. Jeongguk is, as usual, beside him, shoulders bumping, chewing his meat off the leg piece scrumptiously.

Taehyung stared back in those inky, doe-like eyes; fiery yet calm, endearing but sharp. He could take decades, but the feeling, this crazy wave of adoration and vivacity, wouldn't waver one inch for the young man accompanying him.

Courteously putting down his clean bone and wiping his greasy hands on the thick dirt carpeting the ground, Jeongguk assumed, correctly, that Taehyung is finally doing what he had asked him to do ages ago.

Without holding back, the younger's hoarse, sexy pronunciation filled and lifted up the dull place that was nearly falling apart:

"A blank, sad canvas
is all they see, just a
blank, sad canvas.

Not you.

You are gazing at
a masterpiece; art
only you can touch,
and it touches you.
But it's gesture is
alone a ghost of
past memories; and
every cell in your
anatomy aches for
this to be real.

Claws of despair
clutch you tight,
choke you. 'They
were there a second,
a second they weren't.'
Never bid them the
farewell they deserved,
you echo your agony,
where it whispers back,
sometimes gone amiss,
'That's what meets them,
them all, a fate,
an ending that is

not you.'

And the universe
will fall to its knees
to bear your pain. A
breeze that tickled
a leaf will caress and
dry your cheeks.
Thunder will strike
a little less loudly,
the cacophony of
chirping birds will
voice your misery
in their melancholic
songs,

for you.

Thus, the winding,
strong arms of your
grief slacks, loosens,
day by day, for you
to embrace it, instead
of escaping, as what is
left of who you lost;
their shadow wanders
in the torment you feel.
Not going to let them go,
are you?

Not again."

Taehyung puts down his scratchpad, searching for a clue as to what Jeongguk took from his poem, the one he wrote not days later after Sam found him again, disheveled and tattered garments, broken and melted like the famous wings of Icarus. Much like the poor guy, he too would have found himself drowning, however figurative the meaning could emerge.

He'd just lost his best friend.

Eyes stinging, Taehyung decided to turn away, but Jeongguk held his face, dipping his nose in to go straight for the inviting, plump lips.

Pressing unto him, Taehyung's teardrops halt and his heart pumps blood all the way to his ears, glowing red, stammering once they break apart, a bit out of breath, "We need to leave."

Nodding like the kissing only shifted his pale cheeks to a lovely hue of pink now powdered beautifully on his facial features, Jeongguk snatches his pack from the floor, on his feet and already stomping down on the fire.

Taehyung produced his trusty red wrench, armed with a pistol in the other hand. The two hop out of their sanctum, wary of every crinkle and scrape of wrappers sliding on the pavements with the low winds.

Wrapping themselves in coats and jackets to accommodate for the chilly breeze, Jeongguk untethered Ara from the pole.

Continuing their journey, they don't talk about Hoseok, or Seokjin, or Taehyung's best friend. They don't talk about anything, really, but the pair do converse with each other. They know better than to dwell in the past, they know the path ahead is what the present holds, so they resist and let go simultaneously.

Besides, the Bloater awaiting them was quite a patient fellow.

____

u guys dont
understand how
much i wanted
them to fuck
hahahahhhh.
dw itll happen.

stay well gorls
and gawls.
joy out

ps,,,