"A party?" I asked curiously, in response to what my mother had just said. Hoping I heard wrong as I just had some interesting experiences at a party very recently. I looked up from my breakfast into my mothers direction, examining her as my eyes trailed up to an expressionless face. She sat across from me, sipping a cup of bitter black coffee while thoughtlessly looking through the newspaper. As always, she was sporting a tight bun and whichever expensive pant suit she'd picked from her closet that morning.
She stayed quite for just a few moments after my question, I assume to finish whichever article that had currently been occupying her attention. "Yes, your father and I plan to celebrate our newest business partnering." She spoke quickly, only briefly making eye contact with me before going back to her seemingly fascinating article.
I looked back down to my breakfast and began to prod at whatever remained on my glossy plate, contemplating whether or not I should even attempt to ask for permission to be omitted from the party. I decided to keep quite, not wanting to hurt my mother feelings and in result potentially have my own feelings hurt as well.
"Could I be excused?" I asked politely, placing down my silverware — which made a satisfying clink against the hard marble — and prepared to stand. She simply nodded, once again not breaking away from her enticing read. I stood and began to advance towards the grande stairway which lead to the second floor. Regrettably, these said steps happened to be the only form of exercise my feeble body acted upon as I don't particularly enjoy physical activity.
After successfully scaling up what seemed to had been multiple flights, yet factually was only one, I had made it back into my bedroom. I fell back onto my fluffy sheets, disregarding the scattered textbooks and loose papers, and began to stare up into the ceiling. I admired the intricate design of the small chandelier which hung from the ceiling. The calming sound of running water from the outdoor fountain and the pretty song of chirping birds snuck through the open windows. Small streams of sun crept passed the leaves of trees and into the bedroom, warming various parts of the space. And soon enough, due to this tranquil atmosphere, I had fallen asleep.
The following week went on as the previous ones normally did, uneventful and quite. Luckily, I had completely forgotten about the party so anxious thoughts about socialization didn't manage to occupy my mind. Truthfully, I wouldn't have remembered the event at all if I hadn't walked into the foyer just to see various men and women running up and down the halls, presumably hired by my mother, decorating the house with pearly vases and pale flowers — and thus came the party.
• • •
In great contrast to our home's usually modern and simplistic character, tonight's celebration was adorned with deep reds and glittering golds. This eccentric style was most likely not the result of my mothers taste, a women who gags at anything more vibrant than a muted blue. I sat in the corner, dressed in tailored black slacks and a silky white dress shirt which my mother had unfortunately chosen in a size too big. I offered to simply wear one of the many shirts she had purchased for me previously, but she was insistent on me wearing something particularly special for this occasion.
I quietly observed the sea of middle aged men and women, specifically my parents and those who they'd call close friends converse and sip at expensive wines. Currently, they were speaking to the newest partners in question, the Jung family. The four adults sipped their glasses and laughed at whatever clever comment my father made, as the Jung family's son stood silently beside them. He had a bright smile and warm aura, if his attention wasn't occupied I'd consider going over to say hello.
Though the night was still young, I had yet to be asked any questions regarding my parents, or confronted by any supposed relatives who claim I've grown so much since they'd last seen me — which was evident considering I was undoubtedly under the age of 5 at the time and now a lanky 18 year old.
I continued to sit along the sidelines of the event, both alone and unamused, before noticing two familiar heads of fluffy hair. The first being the luxuriant and faded peach colored locks of the one and only, Park Jimin. And the other being a midnight-headed boy, plausibly the same boy who laid beside Jimin on that one unfortunately uncomfortable morning. He was a pale boy with a bored expression, yet in some such way seemed wise and thoughtful. I smiled to myself, he and Jimin suited each other nicely.
I lifted myself from the chair I had claimed my own for the past half hour and went on my way to greet Jimin and his guest. I quietly snaked around tipsy adults, avoiding both wine glasses and expensive shoes. Yet, despite my desperate attempts, I had bumped into someone. Instantly, I was drenched in champagne as a terrified waiter stood before me. The sticky alcohol dripped down my now yellowed shirt and onto the glistening floor beside the broken glasses and tin tray. I looked up to the waiter, who was much taller than I, and soon realized who this boy was. My eyes widened as I went to speak, but I was quickly interrupted.
"Jungkook?"
"Taehyung?"
