"C'mon, a few kisses won't ruin anything."
"That's against the rules, though."
"Rules are meant to be broken."
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
In the midst of your friendship, you realise your insecurities hold you back in more ways than one. A newly heartbroken Jungkook se...
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As the sun claws its way through the blinds, your head pounds like a construction crew demolishing a skyscraper. Each thud; a relentless drumbeat, a symphony of regret echoing through the chambers of your skull. The inside of your mouth feels like a parched desert, a barren wasteland devoid of moisture.
You've no idea what time it is, and to be honest you really don't care. You loathe the sunshine that stabs at your eyes, pulling the covers over your head. The city bustles outside of the window, you're guessing it's the early afternoon. Jungkook groans from the living room.
His limbs, once nimble dancers, now move with the grace of marionettes controlled by a clumsy puppeteer. The room spins around him like a carnival ride on the verge of chaos, each revolution threatening to hurl him into the depths of nausea.
"T?" He knocks, "You awake?" His voice is scratchy, and his hair unruly as ever. You peek over the covers to see his puffy cheeks and screwed face, his eyes are half closed and he blinks at you, standing in the doorway completely discombobulated.
A metallic taste lingers on your tongue, reminiscent of pennies soaked in regret. Never partying again, you think. "Water. Please." You grumble, and sure you sound bratty but you're pretty sure you're dying right now.
Shadows dance in the corners of his vision as he nods, elusive specters mocking his bleary attempts to focus.
He disappears from the doorway, groaning with each trudge towards the kitchen sink. Grabs an ibuprofen, glass of water, he can get his own after he tends to you.
The air itself seemed thick with the remnants of last nights indulgence, a cocktail of laughter, shattered inhibitions, and a hint of desperation once he remembers everything that actually happened. Jey, the kiss, the shots. Quickly, he regrets shaking his head at the thought, the pressure of his brain against his weakening skull nearly killing him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you catch a glimpse of your state in the mirror. Your reflection stares back with bloodshot eyes, pupils dilated like craters on the moon of your disheveled face. Each wrinkle and crease tells a silent tale of last nights escapades, a narrative etched in the lines of remorse. Smudged mascara and dry lips, you're a fucking zombie.
Attempting to stand was like navigating a tightrope strung between twin towers of pain. Your stomach rebels with every step towards the open door, a protest against the libations that has turned your senses into a rebellious mob.
Jungkooks room, once a sanctuary, now exhaled the stale perfume of spilled spirits and extinguished promises. He reappears, nearly bumping into you but he stops himself in time. Peers down at you, and you can't even look up at him, too groggy. He hums, voice scratching against his throat and holds the glass to your lips, "Drink."
As you gingerly reset your body to carrying a generous percentage of water, it feels like it's a lifeline tossed into the churning sea of your hangover, attempting to douse the flames of regret that still flicker within.
