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“Be careful with your drink,” Yoongi said severely. “That’s all I’m asking of you.”
With one last peek in the mirror, you smacked your dangerously red lips and moved a stray strand of hair back into perfect place before tightening your peacoat around you, rolling your eyes playfully.
“I know, I know,” you appeased to Yoongi’s reflection. “And I’m not going to drink much anyway. Are you sure you don’t want to come? I think Namjoon is coming.”
He snorted derisively.
“Right. Me. In a club. You’re cute. Now go.”
You pouted at him, fake-affronted, and shot him the most sultry look you could manage.
“‘Cute’?” you repeated.
It wasn’t a secret that you were not someone who was terribly concerned with their appearance. Much to your friends’ dismay, your wardrobe consisted of a lot of comfortable, oversized things and yoga pants, and a makeup bag that was gathering dust. It wasn’t like you skipped showers or were unsociable — you just had better things to do, and didn’t see the point in getting fancy.
…And, if you were being honest, maybe a little bit to do with the fact that you thought pretty was out of your league… like most things.
Point being, it had been ages since the last time you had gone all-out like this, dressed to the nines. Your friend Lina’s birthday was set to be a grand ordeal at the real ritzy club downtown where her boyfriend bartended, which meant free drinks as far as the eye could see. The only stipulation was that she demanded nothing but the best effort in terms of attire. It had taken some arguing, but it ended with you breaking out the criminal little midnight dress from the back of your closet and locking yourself in the bathroom for two hours.
And now your reflection stared back at you, totally alien and in your opinion, really not half bad at all. Not as nice as most of the other girls who would be there, but enough to pass Lina’s test and maybe dance with someone. You almost thought you might be sexy for a moment.
Almost. Yoongi’s gaze still penetrated you through the mirror, and you deflated but tried not to show it. Leave it to your indolent roommate to remind you of your inadequacy.
Yoongi sighed — that wasn’t unusual — and gave you a hard look. Even frumpy in a plain t-shirt and basketball shorts with bedhead from this morning, his gaze never failed to elicit its intended effect in you. Swallowing gently, you rubbed your neck and glanced at the clock instead; you probably needed to get going, but…
“You’re right, cute is a bit too generous.”
Embarrassment hit you first, but you quickly covered it up with indignation and a scowl.
“You’re so mean! How the hell do I not look pretty great right now? Better than usual?”
“____, you’re in a fucking coat. I can’t see shit.”
Fine, be difficult, you prick. Still petulant, you undid the bow and all but threw the sleeves back off of you to display the garment.
So this was the moment of truth: the sleeves were snug, just under your shoulder, and met in a low-cut center. The deep, deep blue was a subdued fabric that faintly caught the light, and it wrapped around you snugly — all the way down to what barely passed as mid-thigh.
If there was anything you owned that could make you look sexy, this was it. If there was anything that might make Min Yoongi crack, this was it.
Hesitantly, you glanced up and checked his expression for the verdict.
What you didn’t expect was to see him completely stone-faced, like he was trying to stifle something. Disappointment cracked through your very core, and it flooded you with a sudden, strangling sadness that made your throat tight and your heart stiffen with embarrassment.
This was a bad idea. This was stupid.
You hastily yanked the coat back up and took much less care in tying the knot this time around.
“I’m going to be late,” you mumbled, trying very hard not to let the emotion seep into your voice.
So stop being stupid! It’s Yoongi, what else do you expect?! Whatever. It’s whatever. He’s allowed to not like it. I’m still going to have a fucking great time and he’s going to—
“You look… fine. Have fun. And remember what I said.”
You had been halfway out the door when he suddenly spoke, and you turned on your heel but he was already disappearing down the hall to his room. The sound of a double-honk signaled your taxi’s arrival, and everything felt unfinished, unsatisfying. You wished you could have a do-over. You thought about running down the hall after him and demanding he come with you and have a good time anyway.
Quietly, you took out your keys and locked the front door behind you.
It still stung. It burned. Like a cruel joke, it wormed its way into your head and settled. Poison. Because Min Yoongi was just your roommate. He was just your friend; just someone you met through Jeongguk who happened to need a new tenant while you happened to need somewhere to live. Attractive, yes — not that you thought so at first, but after so many days of watching his sleepy form stumble into the living room at one in the afternoon, it grew on you. His tired eyes spoke more when you knew how to look at them. His varying degrees of placid gave way to subtle smiles and subdued mirth, masked irritation and a quietly childlike pleasure. Sure, he was blunt and a stick in the mud, but god he was funny in a way that nobody else really seemed to get but you. And he was very good at his music, and he cleaned up so nicely, and he was patient, and he was dependable, and despite all of these awful shortcomings you found yourself painfully in love with him with no way out.
Because you were Min Yoongi’s roommate, and you were only his friend. Just someone he found through Jeongguk. There was nothing inviting, special about you at all — you were just filling a space, and got along with him. Yoongi did not date. Yoongi did not do romance. And Yoongi didn’t like anyone at all.
Like you did every other day, you smiled and felt sick. You knew, in every lifetime, you would rather enjoy your friendship and all the absurdity that came with it than dwell on an unrequited crush. He deserved that, at the very least.
“Club, ma’am?”
“Yes please, thank you.”
The cab door shut snugly and you basked in the heat, sinking back into the seat and shutting your eyes to let the radio wash over you — Hotline Bling.
Glasses of champagne out on the dance floor; hangin’ with some girls I never seen before…
Drake’s pleading voice stirred something in you. Glancing at your phone, you looked at the invite, and decided.
Fuck being responsible, you were going to party.
—
The sheer amount of people in the establishment was unbelievable. Getting past security wasn’t an issue, but inside? Now that was a different story. It looked like Lina had not only booked the entire place, but also invited half the city, and was nowhere to be found.
The music pulsated in a strangely enticing cacophony of bass and glittering lights, turning the crowd into a constantly-shifting swarm of rainbows. There were streamers everywhere and decorations with her name on them, and it went without saying that it smelled like smoke, alcohol, and a whole lot of sex.
For the first time since you got out of the taxi, your courage faltered, and you felt like maybe this hadn’t been the best idea.
“Anything to drink, Miss?”
The waiter startled you, but you quickly recovered and smiled, nodding firmly. There was no way you were going to turn back now. “Blackberry Mojito?”
“Perfect. It’ll be waiting at the bar in just a few minutes.”
They disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you on your own once more. Awkwardly, you found somewhere safe to leave your coat and shuffled through the bodies, looking for anyone that you recognized.
You bumped into far more lip-locked people than you wanted to, but eventually the long countertop lined with neon lights came into view and you beelined for it. As promised, your drink was waiting there, and you started draining it. Alcohol would help get rid of the annoying doubts so you could actually loosen up and have fun.
“____? That you?”
Just feeling the vodka burn, you turned your head and saw a familiar dimpled cheek accompanied by a smooth, swept-back hairstyle.
Wait. Is that…?
“Joonie!” you exclaimed, relief crashing over you in a wave. “Hi! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“____! Shit, you look good.” He looked a little confused, but mutually happy. “Were you waiting for me?” he teased.
You snorted, but his honest reaction had you feeling a little better.
“No, just a little lost. I didn’t think it would be this… uh…”
“Stupidly fucking packed? Yeah. I had a feeling.”
Sheepishly laughing, you sucked down more of your drink. You were so thankful that it had been Namjoon you ran into — he was a cool combination of intelligence and class with enough charisma to go around. Clubs weren’t a problem for him, but conversation wasn’t, either. He was very easy to get along with.
The noisy sputtering of your straw catching only dregs around the ice told you your drink was empty. Dismayed, you frowned at the glass, and Namjoon chuckled as he waved the bartender over.
“Shots, little girl?” he asked you cheekily. Straightening, you felt a rush go to your head, and stuck your tongue out at him.
“Of course, you hateful ass.”
Namjoon laughed and you grinned back at him, light and happy. Min Yoongi would be forgotten in no time at all.
—
Jaeger. Jaeger. Rum and Coke. Buttery Nipple. Whiskey. Captain. Captain.
The beats pounding out of the speakers made your heart and head woozy, and it all blurred so much it finally began to make sense in a backwards way. Navigating the dance floor did, too, but that might have been because you didn’t notice half the bumps and shoves that knocked into you.
A gap opened up, and you heard Namjoon’s voice cut over the crowd — “Here!” — before tugging you to it with him. Drunk as you were, dancing had become the BEST IDEA ANYONE HAD EVER HAD. Both you and Namjoon were fairly sloppy, but at least he had retained some sort of endearing clumsiness whereas you were just screaming“drunk hoe” in your tight little dress and shameless twisting.
A few seconds later, his phone was out and you saw your faces on the camera screen.
“Snapchat,” he announced, and you yelled back, “Hell yeah!”. Snuggling up next to him, you made a scrunched-up cute grin to match his and peace signs, then he took the picture. It was probably blurry and both of you were probably a hot mess, but he seemed pleased with it.
Then, you were back to dancing: dancing was good. Dancing was the most amazing distraction, but you couldn’t remember why you needed to be distracted.
Everything twined together so much that you couldn’t tell if a few minutes or an hour had gone by when the girls showed up. You hadn’t been doing anything cozy with Namjoon, just friends dancing and having a good time, but these girls were more than gorgeous and oozed sexuality in a way that made you self-conscious. Everyone was cheering and laughing and your head was swimming; then, you blinked, and saw Namjoon’s face tucked into one girl’s neck, and your eyebrows went up.
Time for a breather! O-kay! Good luck with that, Joonie!
Getting out was a lot harder than getting in, and once or twice you felt inappropriate groping that you were too uncoordinated to retaliate to. Finding an empty barstool was a godsend, and sighing, you rested your head on the cool granite, trying to even out your breathing. A server brought you a glass of ice water, and you drank it down appreciatively. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were.
But unfortunately, the happy drunk was beginning to descend into nauseous drunk, and you hadn’t even seen Lina yet. Trying to ignore the queasiness, you fished out your cell and flicked it open—
3 New Messages
yoongiiii
The urge to throw up peaked and you literally clamped a hand over your mouth to hold it in as you were reminded of your reason for drinking this much. His face flashed in your mind, his unimpressed stare and your humiliation.
You were suddenly hit with a wild mixture of bitterness and anger. Huffing, you swiped your unlock code in before you had second thoughts.
[9:12 p.m.] yoongiiii: “I’m not going to drink much” Lol. how many have you had?? Namjoon’s snapchat story is making you and him look like fucking morons. I hope you have a ride back
[9:13 p.m.] yoongiiii: no seriously make sure he deletes those pictures, you look terrible
[9:22 p.m.] yoongiiii: ____.
[9:27 p.m.] yoongiiii: ____________
[9:51 p.m.] yoongiiii: have fun partying.
It took ages for you to process the texts. When they finally did, stale resentment swelled in your chest and they came with the prickling of fiercely held-back tears. The bright screen muddled in your vision, and you couldn’t stop yourself: your thumbs skittered across the keyboard, typing out whatever your head was spitting out with vitriol before hitting Send.
Satisfied, you shoved your phone back into your pocket, and decided to find someone to help you forget your troubles.
—
Namjoon was nowhere to be found, which was fine. You didn’t think you could keep it together in front of him if he said the wrong thing in passing.
Your pocket vibrated incessantly for the next several minutes. You wanted to check it so, so badly, but you stubbornly wanted to enjoy your smugness while it lasted.
Good. I hope you feel as shitty as I do!
Then it stopped.
“Aye lil mama,” a slurred voice said close to your head. Squinting, you saw a guy, dressed pretty nicely. He was obviously interested in getting cozy with you.
“Hiya,” you said back, smiling sultrily. Perfect. Hook, line, and sinker. You shimmied up to your new partner, committing to a dance with him. He was sloppy and getting way into your personal space, but you pretended otherwise and admired the flashing lights, the vibrations of the beat in your bones. This was not something you normally did, ever, but every time a wise thought broke through your inebriated haze it was shot down by your simmering grudge at Yoongi’s condescension.
That settled it, actually. A spark of unpleasant vengeance shot up you like vines of ivy. You didn’t have to keep doing this to yourself. You could do whatever you wanted! You could choose right now to let go, and get over Min Yoongi. Fuck him. So what if you weren’t good enough for him? You were good enough for someone else. Maybe your dance partner, even. It would be so easy to string him along, take him home, get laid for the first time in years… Your heart ached sharply, like glass shards in your chest, but the alcohol made you burn with spite and you clung to it like a lifeline.
“Thirsty, babe? I got us drinks.”
The stranger was smiling at you and proffering a tumbler full of some drink on ice; exactly what you needed to make this happen. Taking a deep breath, you found your resolve and reached for the glass. And then there was nothing there — it was falling in slow-motion to smash into a million pieces against the floor.
“Oh, my bad. Mind if I take her?”
Everything happened so fast. One second you were staring at shattered glass, and the next second there was a vice-like grip on your wrist and you were being dragged away at an unforgiving pace. The blinding lights made it so that you could scarcely see where you were going, and in the chaos you couldn’t see the figure ahead.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, a blast of cold air hit you as you escaped the suffocating crowd. You were unprepared and stumbled, almost taking a fall if it weren’t for the kidnapper who only stiffened their arm to steady you. The moment you balanced, they had you walking once more until you were somewhere dark, empty, and much more quiet.
Finally, he slowed and stopped, all but throwing your arm back at you as he glared at you against the wall.
And you recognized that glare, the blonde hair that you’d seen a thousand times.
“Y-Yoongi?” you stammered. You were immediately much more sober than you had been a minute ago, and the blood drained from your face.
“____,” he spat back. A totally unaware couple walked by both of you, too absorbed in their conversation to notice the tension as they left through a door you hadn’t noticed. You realized he’d led you to the back exit hall where nobody was, since nobody was leaving yet.
Stunned, you could only sputter and say, “What the hell are you doing here?”
You didn’t expect his reaction. Yoongi barked a sharp laugh that wasn’t funny at all, and you felt sick with dread. Everything was crashing down on you very slowly. Your subconscious made you back up into the wall, providing some security, but also nowhere to run.
“What am I doing here?” he repeated, practically snarling. “What am I doing here? What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? It’s like I can’t fucking leave you alone for two seconds without you doing something so stupid it blows my mind! How hard is it to go to a party and drink like a responsible person? How hard is it to not do seven fucking shots with Namjoon? What the fuck were you thinking?!”
You had never in your life seen Yoongi this furious. Fuming and hackles raised, his brown eyes were bright even in the lightless space, and he seemed like an entirely different person. It felt like you swallowed your tongue.
Then you remembered his words.
“Fuck you,” you found your nerve and spat back at him, but he only laughed again, so morbidly in response that you found yourself trying to become even smaller against the wall.
“I asked you to do one thing,” he went on with a sadistic calm, taking a step forward. For the first time, you actually saw what he was wearing — simple and classy; a crisp white button-down, tucked into black slacks that were held up by matching suspenders, and polished off with a black tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the hard flex of his forearms, and despite the situation your mouth went dry. A thick, guilty pleasure sunk down, down, deep, until it pooled and reached…
“Tell me, ____…”
He was right in front of you now, hands casually tucked in his pockets. Nothing could protect you from the inferno trapped in his gaze.
“Tell me the one thing I asked you not to do. One direction I could have given to a fucking preschooler and they would have listened.”
Everything dawned on you in an awful rush.
The span of going into the crowd and dancing with the stranger and reaching for the drink that must have been compromised, all fast-forwarded in your mind. Horror and shame swallowed you and the tears you held back earlier came back full-force as you mumbled, “Sorry.”
The alcohol still kept you woozy, but you were sobering up quickly and your heart was racing so fast it hurt. You couldn’t look him in the eye. It was too much to bear — all you could do was repeat your broken apology pathetically, as if it would make a difference.
I’m a fucking idiot, you thought dimly. I’m so, so, so, so, so stupid. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have moved in with him. I shouldn’t…
An exasperated sigh snapped you out of your trance. Jolting, you watched Yoongi run his hand through his hair with pure aggravation, turning and pacing a few steps before facing you again. He didn’t look as terrifying now, but cold rage still smoldered in his eyes and you wanted to leave more than anything in the world.
But his gaze kept you pinned to the wall.
The silence hung thick between you, like a lion watching a rabbit and waiting, waiting, until he can’t stand it anymore.
Running his palms over his eyes and into his tousled hair again, Yoongi glowered.
“What about those texts?” he asked dully.
You blinked in confusion. “What?”
Yoongi’s laugh was bitter.
It took you a moment, and your eyebrows knit as you wracked your befuddled memory. You vaguely remembered checking your phone, but then… Yoongi texted you… Then you were smashing out some choice words onto your poor keyboard…
“Let me see your phone.”
Grimacing, you quietly reached into your pocket for it to read what you wrote. The instant it was out, his pale hand was around yours, freezing cold and tight against your skin, trapping it in your hold.
“What are you doing?”
“Let me see it.”
“What? No!”
Damp with sweat, you were able to slip away from him with a little luck. He growled and lunged again, but you resisted, and to anyone else it would’ve looked like a messy excuse for a tipsy back-hug.
“____, you really don’t want to look at that, I promise. You’re wasted and you aren’t thinking straight. I’m doing you a favor.”
Yoongi was using his most calm and unhurried voice, the kind that soothed — because if he didn’t sound worried, then what was there to be worried about? But even in your state, you recognized it and resented him treating you like a child.
“No!” you snapped. “Fuck off, this is my phone and I am allowed to read my own damn text messages!”
“And as your goddamn friend, I am fucking telling you that you do not want to do that.”
Muscle memory made your fingers move quickly and the screen was up in no time. Your eyes scanned the haphazard lines of text as you curled away from Yoongi, who was still desperately trying to pry it away from you.
“Get off me,” you demanded, having difficulty not seeing double.
“____,” Yoongi said your name again, and this time you heard a note of panic in it as his hands closed over yours once more, forcing you to listen to him speak just behind your neck. “Listen. To. Me. I wouldn’t beg unless this was more vital than anything else in the world. I don’t like to tell you what to do. I don’t want you to be upset, or angry, or any of that.”
And then his voice got low, so low that you could barely hear him over the faraway thumping of the party and music.
“I want you to come home, get cleaned up, go to bed, wake up with your hangover, and let everything go back to normal so you can be happy. That’s all I want.” He took a deep breath. “But you need to let me delete our texts.”
You felt yourself tensing up more and more as his words had exactly the opposite intended reaction. You were truly scared; seeing him go from raging to… to this was too much — all of this was too much, over the top. How did it even come to this? What had gone so wrong between your bedroom and this bleak hallway?
“____? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you lied, and slowly sunk to the floor. You wrapped your arms around yourself; it was cold and felt good on your chilly skin. Yoongi’s fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulders and you shivered, shutting your eyes and trying to withdraw from the sensations his touch brought.
You heard him sigh, and then he drew back before sitting beside you.
“…I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Yoongi said after a minute. “I’m still pissed. But I’m sorry. I just…” He sighed, and you knew he was running his hands through his hair again, whispering, “What if you hadn’t texted me, or I didn’t get here in time, or…”
You timidly sat up against the wall, head leaned back in an effort to stop the ceiling from tilting. Your shoulders were touching, and your phone hung limply between your hands, unread. Part of you wanted to just hand it to him, too tired to keep fighting.
But it felt like you couldn’t just leave it like this. Neither of you were willing to relent, but maybe there was still a compromise hiding somewhere in this chaos. Something that would soothe your misery and relieve his stress enough that you could go home and pretend none of this ever happened.
Okay, so he won’t let me read it. That doesn’t mean he can’t just tell me himself.
You found your courage, swallowed thickly, and asked, “What did… I say?”
Yoongi snorted in response, still not looking at you.
“Ah, well. A lot more words than I thought you knew. I must be a terrible influence.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that, biting your lip. “Learned from the best.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you need to prioritize when you decide to listen to me.”
A twinge of guilt struck you, so you avoided it by persisting: “What else did I say?”
“Hmm…” He drummed his fingers against his knees thoughtfully. “You called me a lot of names… But there were some compliments. The spelling was interesting.”
Oh, great. Peachy. Cool. Why am I a MORON. Ooh, but this is worth a shot…
“Y’know,” you said slowly, making sure to slur as you glanced at where his slacks met your thigh, “even if I read it, I prollly wouldn’t remember it…”
“That’s almost worse.”
Your head jerked up, surprised. “How come?”
Yoongi regretted the comment instantly, going stiff as he said, “Nevermind. Give me your phone.”
Your irritation rushed back with a vengeance. “No. I’m going to change my password the next chance I get, too.”
“God, I wish you knew what you were doing right now. You’re seriously going to be pissed at me if I don’t do this.”
“Why won’t you just tell me what it said instead?! If you tell me, I won’t read it. That’s a fair trade!”
Even if curiosity was burning inside of you, you were ultimately weak to Yoongi’s desperate pleas to not read them. Becoming more and more sober by the minute, you knew it must have been bad if he was going this far to stop you, but it was just still sounfair.
You realized, belatedly, the scope of it: he got dressed up, really dressed up, and came all the way here to this party he absolutely refused to consider attending. To Lina’s gigantic, loud, crowded party. Lina’s party that you came to with the intention of getting drunk, because you were selfish and he was…
“What did I say?” you whispered suddenly, panic rising up into your chest. “Yoongi, what did I say to you? Tell me or I swear I’m going to read these—”
“Stop. You were so drunk you weren’t in your right mind. I don’t want you to worry about this.”
“Fuck you! I’m serious, why won’t you tell me?! What could have been so bad that you ran all the way here to find me?!”
He tensed suddenly, and grit back, “It wasn’t bad. Just… not what you… we…? Fuck, why are you making this so difficult? I said things I shouldn’t have more than anything. You didn’t do anything wrong except decide to not listen to the one dumb fucking request I made.”
Bristling, you felt every single emotion in you come to a boil and then spill. You rose to your knees and grabbed him by the suspenders, yanking him forward until he was inches from your face, forcing him to acknowledge you.
“Tell me what I said,” you spoke, deadly, “Or I will hate you for the rest of my life.”
Yoongi’s gaze hardened. He didn’t make you release him; just stared back at you with a venomous placidity, jaw set tight.
And then, he spoke.
“You,” he said, almost mocking in his soft, perfect clarity, “decided to tell me that you were very, very, very, very in love with me.”
Everything went very still and blank. Then, you felt his hands gently wrap around yours, and when your mind started up again, you were acutely aware of the apology, the pity in his gaze. The rejection.
Rejection.
You were on your feet abruptly, not even wobbling as your phone clattered to the ground. Yoongi stood, too, and he opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted in a strangled voice you didn’t even recognize, “Don’t! Don’t. Don’t talk. I… I-I…”
Your eyes glanced from side to side, instinctually looking for an exit. The bustling crowd had began to seep down your little hallway, and when you looked back Yoongi was bending down to retrieve your phone.
You saw your window of opportunity and took it.
You ran.
It was a marvelous feat at how fast you sprinted in your four-inch pumps and slipped into the mass of bodies like a fish in water. You thought you heard Yoongi shouting your name, but dutifully ignored it and just kept pushing and shoving and hurrying as quickly as you could. You didn’t know where you were going. Up front was probably a good plan — you could get your coat and leave. Maybe go stay with a friend tonight. And tomorrow night. And forever. And never face Yoongi again.
The DJs voice picked up suddenly and the room went black. There was a moment of terror, but then he announced that it was time for phase two (Phase two? Seriously? What the hell kind of party is this?) and to hit the lights.
On cue, the music started up with a new, more grindy genre just as the blacklights came on. The room re-illuminated with a sea of iridescent blue-white from the clothes. Everyone cheered so loudly you couldn’t hear yourself think.
You had to keep moving, though. Every second counted if he was chasing you. But why would he be doing that? He had your phone—
And then there were his hands, everywhere around you, snatching up your arms and twisting you to him. Yoongi’s body was suddenly sheltering you from the rest of the crowd, surrounding you with his scent: crisp linen and spice that always went straight to your head and made your insides tighten with need.
He said your name, and because it was his voice you didn’t have to strain to hear it over the booming music or crowd.
“Did you mean it?”
Your body began shuddering violently, tears threatening to come back and turn into hysterics. Why was he prolonging this? Why did he want to hear you admit it out loud? Did he just need to make sure?
You nodded too much. He still didn’t let go; in fact, he leaned closer, until you were chest to chest and his mouth was brushing the cusp of your ear.
“And the part about how sexy I am?” His voice was low and husky and you could hear him smiling.
The blood rushed to your face. You were paralyzed, trapped. You had no choice but to nod, eyes screwed shut, verging on hyperventilation.
“How good I smell?”
Furious nodding.
“How much you like my hands?”
Again.
“How many times you’ve laid in bed imagining my mouth on you…?”
You whimpered at his newfound cruelty and couldn’t move a muscle, let alone speak. Had you really said everything in a stupid drunk text?
“How you wished so hard that I might finally look at you the way you wanted, because your dress was just so pretty and you looked so delectable…”
“Stop,” you begged. “Please stop. I-I’m sorry.”
Yoongi hummed and drew back, and you felt his thumb push a stray curl back from your face. You were still held tight to him, and slowly, you gave into your masochism and peeked open an eye.
Yoongi was glowing like everyone else since his shirt was white, but his pale hair lit up, too. It was funny and beautiful in a surreal way, you thought, and you wondered why he looked so satisfied.
And then, his hands were on your hips, and he began to sway you along with the rhythmic command of the beat.
“I-I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmured in a daze.
Yoongi smiled, still leading you in slow, sinful motions.
“You didn’t think I liked you, either.”
The rest of the world melted away in a haze, and you could only stare up at Yoongi as he spun your under his arm and admitted, “I didn’t want to confess to you over text, but you made it hard.”
That didn’t quite sink in — you were too distracted by the fact that he was dancing with you. Not a half-hearted effort at dancing, but actual club dancing with complete ease.
“I saw your snaps with Namjoon and how close you two were… And then I couldn’t stop thinking about this stupid fucking dress that was going to give me nightmares for weeks to come because I would never be able to tear it off you…”
His hand crawled up your arm to cup your cheek, pull you in so your noses, lips were almost touching. You could feel his breath on your skin and wanted to breathe it in. You were excruciatingly, wide-eyed-aware of the stiffness that pressed against your stomach and how pleased he looked with himself. Yoongi’s smirk was devastatingly sexy, and as if this night could get any more humiliating, you were still just as pathetically wet and turned on by him as ever.
“But maybe we’ll get there yet,” he crooned. “I have allllll night to convince you that you have made my life a living hell by making me want you, and fall in love with you.“
And then, like a perfect gentleman, he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles lightly.
"Will you accept my apology for not telling you sooner if I dance with you and then take you home?”
You stared up at him with blown pupils and pure shock. It didn’t feel real, any of this, but your fingers curled so tightly into his shirt it wrinkled and it was real. You still couldn’t speak; you were still trapped by the intensity of his look.
After a moment of the staring contest, he groaned and pulled you into a tight embrace that finally snapped you out of your stupor. The tears came as the dam broke, overwhelmed to the point of happy crying, and you were red-faced and buzzed and—
“Can I kiss you yet?” he whined half-heartedly.
You barely had time to laugh at his impatience; you were already grabbing his hair and pulling him down until his lips crushed into yours.
—
[9:57 p.m.] You: FUCK YOU
[9:58 p.m.] You: i hate you i fucking hate you youre hte fucking worst jackass thids woudlnt bne happenging if you have just comem to the stupid f/UCKing partgy godddamn you yoongi yiu rotteb son ofg a BiTch shitboy
[9:59 p.m.] You: i hate you
[10:02 p.m.] You: its fnofuckng its not fucking fair!!! ithought i was prettyh and i thought afdter all thids time all this fucking stupid time withj your hair smellign so good and yourt hands always being soft nadf youyr voice always being pretty and youre funny…. and youre so sweet.. and you sdhoiulfnt evenm be friends with me. i just wanted tto be pretyy for one night and malkre you wante tothink I wsd pretty too
[10:02 p.m.] You: i love lvoe love lovel ove love love love you and it akes me Sad
[10:03 p.m.] You: n now ik am.,, drinkkk, bc i willk never be what i want to be
[10:03 p.m.] You: im goifng to go danci and drink more
[10:03 p.m.] You: bye
[10:04 p.m.] yoongiiii: ______.
[10:04 p.m.] yoongiiii: Are you fucking kidding me
[10:05 p.m.] yoongiiii: You better be fucking kidding me
[10:05 p.m.] yoongiiii: Reply. right now. get back here.
[10:05 p.m.] yoongiiii: How much did you fucking drink???? where the fuck is namjoon????
[10:05 p.m.] yoongiiii: God fucking damn it only you would do this
[10:06 p.m.] yoongiiii: CHECK YOUR PHONE
[10:06 p.m.] yoongiiii: _____
[10:06 p.m.] yoongiiii: Holy mother fuck i cant believe this
[10:06 p.m.] yoongiiii: are you serious? you can’t be serious right now. Stop and listen
[10:08 p.m.] yoongiiii: you are absurdly beautiful. you are beautiful in every way a woman could be beautiful, and it kills me. it makes me sick how beautiful you are. you wake up and your hair is a mess and you are lovely, you come back exhausted from work and you are radiant, you smile and i am completely fucking lost.
[10:09 p.m.] yoongiiii: that dress ruined my life. you ruined my life. i wish for one second you weren’t blind :)
[10:10 p.m.] yoongiiii: i owe jeon jeongguk my soul for throwing you at me
[10:10 p.m.] yoongiiii: you are intoxicating. You are utterly intoxicating and. just. fhssyhdhdkdufh
[10:10 p.m.] yoongiiii: FUCK
[10:11 p.m.] yoongiiii: why couldn’t you tell me this before? oh right because i was pretending i was a eunuch so i could stop fantasizing about fucking marrying you and having children with you! Lol what a world we live in :) :) :)
[10:12 p.m.] yoongiiii: I’m sorry.
[10:12 p.m.] yoongiiii: i love lvoe love lovel ove love love love you too
[10:13 p.m.] yoongiiii: fuck. fuck fuck fuck.
[10:13 p.m.] yoongiiii: you’re really drunk. I shouldn’t have said any of that. FUCK
[10:15 p.m.] yoongiiii: and namjoon isnt texting me back so i’m assuming you’re not with him. cool. please don’t do anything stupid, i’m coming to get you.
[10:16 p.m.] yoongiiii: please stay where you are
[10:16 p.m.] yoongiiii: i’ll be there in a minute
-
[3:14 p.m.] You: yoongi?
[3:16 p.m.] yoongiiii: yes dear
[3:17 p.m.] You: i think you’re really beautiful, too.
[3:18 p.m.] yoongiiii: quit it you’re making me blush
[3:18 p.m.] You: I LOVE YOU
[3:18 p.m.] yoongiiii: STOOOOOOP
[3:18 p.m.] yoongiiii: I love you too. :)