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seokjin cracks his knuckles. it’s a suicide mission, jeongguk realizes—the chances of all of them making it without a scratch are slim. but there’s something about doing it, anyway, and doing it with yoongi, that has a strange sort of hope filling him, for the first time since this whole thing started. he turns, the baton hanging in his hand, and surveys yoongi’s profile for a moment; yoongi’s jaw is set, lips pursed just slightly. it’s the look he gets on his face when he’s trying to tackle any problem, like putting together a desk from ikea.
this is just like that. has to be. and still, jeongguk reaches out and curls his fingers into the collar of yoongi’s shirt, tugging him over slightly and meeting him halfway in a kiss: sharp, urgent. it’s not goodbye, but it might be. yoongi makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, but he kisses jeongguk back anyway. ironically, it tastes like blood.
“alright, loverboys,” says seokjin, and jeongguk breaks away to see him open the door. the zombies, alerted by the noise, turn toward them. “last one to car fourteen’s dead meat."
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