Jaemin splashed water over his face, breathing heavily—he stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror.
A slight tremor to his hands as he pumped soap on them and aggressively rubbed them together, lathering his palms with bubbles, then washing them under the water in the same hostile manner.
He furrowed his brows and his lips turned downwards in disgust as he kept repeating the process once, twice, thrice.
Lathering his hands with soap and rinsing them off—to the point the skin on his hands got red, blistered, and started to ache a little as he kept washing his poor hands again and again.
Tears started to fall from his eyes now, as he sobbed—flinging the almost empty soap dispenser away with a harsh flick of his oh-so-red hands.
He backed away from the mirror in disbelief when his eyes really caught up with his mauled image.
Scruffy hair, eyes a sunken red, tear tracks on his ruddy cheek, swollen lips.
The shirt he was wearing had slipped from his shoulder baring his torso and the blooming bruises over it—made him weak in the knees.
He gulped as he dazedly brought his fingers towards one of the darkest bruises—right under his collar bone, and he smirked despite the pain as he pressed it with all his might.
Delighted, that Jeno was the one who had marked him.
A wry smile graced his swollen, chapped lips and his fingers fluttered over each bruise—which were intricately placed all over his chest as if some sort of bizarre art.
He closed his eyes as a wave of dark giddiness hit him and satisfaction colored his features,
"And who is the one wearing all of these~" He slurred proudly, "Me~!"
The medicine's effect was kicking in, as he felt a little dizzy, so he anchored himself by leaning forward to the sink with both of his hands and peered at his face.
Blinking a few times to get rid of the tears, one of his hands reached for his unruly brown hair, and he carded his fingers through it.
"Is this what the afterglow looks like.." he laughed mirthlessly at his misery.
➷
It was the next day, early morning and all of them were present in the practice room for the rehearsals.
Jaemin was wearing his black turtle neck, the slight chill in the air making it believable that he was indeed cold.
His body was aching but it was like second nature to him.
He tried to push the tiredness away by sipping his coffee languidly, their dance teacher was a bit late so the boys were just fooling around. As usual.
Jisung was stretching, while Chenle was teasing him about some video game they played, at his house.
He tuned them out in favor of staring at the other four.
Mark and Renjun were sitting on the floor—in front of the couch, talking.
Whereas Jeno and Haechan were sitting on the couch. More or less cuddling as Haechan took a sip of Jeno's drink and Jeno made an irritated face.
YOU ARE READING
HURT (Nomin 🔞)
FanfictionHe couldn't possibly escape Jeno's grip on him, and even if he tried he couldn't imagine the implications of his own audacity. Jeno would never touch him again, he would never talk to him. He would stop looking at him, he- he would stop smiling at h...
