Taehyung and I stood silently in one of the guest bathrooms — the one closest to the foyer, located in the southern hallway. The dimly lit room smelled of muted rose and various hand soaps, a bit nauseating.
Gently patting away at my dampened shirt, hoping to recover whatever he could, Taehyung seemed concentrated. All the while I sat still, parts of the shirt sticking to my abdomen as the liquor began to crystallize. I had offered to clean it myself, but he insisted otherwise. I wanted to speak, but my reddened face and stuttering whispers prevented me from doing so.
Amidst my thoughts, I was interrupted, "I'm sorry that I ruined such a pretty shirt." Though deep, his voice seemed small.
I'd hoped he'd make eye contact, so I'd gain just an ounce of confidence and go on to reply, but he hadn't. So I stayed quite, a small hum vibrating through my throat as a response instead. His eyes were fixated on his own hands, as they fiddled with both the cloth of my shirt and the cloth of the rag. He seemed off, but who was I to make that assumption, I had only met him once, only spoken to him once, only sat with him once — I had only experienced him once.
Hesitantly, I placed my hand onto his, and much to my dismay, he flinched. I froze. He noticed I noticed, I noticed he noticed. Nevertheless, I went on and slowly pulled his hand away from my torso, signaling for him to stop.
"I think it's the best we'll get it, I'm sure a quick wash will do the trick." I spoke with a sweetened voice and a smile, I had lied. The shirt was ruined, but I certainly didn't care. His feelings meant more to me than a mere shirt.
He stayed silent, so again, I spoke. "So, are you waiter?" I'm not sure why I asked, it was evident considering he was in the attire and had been passing out glasses of champagne. I'd hate to bore him with small talk, but yet, I had.
"Oh, yeah actually, a relative owns the catering company working this party." I noticed he relaxed as he spoke, the melancholic aura that surrounded him just moments ago seemed to had lifted. "Are you a friend of the hosts?" He asked, chuckling a bit. I hoped it was out amusement and not to shield his own uneasiness, but I knew the answer; both of us were tense.
Without my own notice, I had begun fidgeting with the ends of my soiled shirt, the damp material still adorn my body. I shifted uncomfortably in hopes the sticky fabric would detach from my skin.
(this has been unfinished forever and i don't plan on finishing it so im just gonna post it, read the disclaimer chap of this fic for context!)
