one
THERE'S THAT HARSH scent of alcohol that reeks from each individual body in the room of sweat and sleek, black floors. No one is spared from the pound of music that thrums through every crevice in the place, bubbling with excitement and eagerness, pulsing out waves as a mix of red lights prance and flicker. They illuminate a single area before they shift once again, flooding the previous space with darkness and the chill of dull white.
A man sits at the satin black sofa seated in rows to the side, swirling a glass of his own, blood crimson drink in one hand as the music weaves through his throbbing mind with even stronger, pulsating waves. Girls dance in the center, flanked by needy men as the twirl, pirouetted, advanced with graceful movements that rivaled a swan's, dressed in that identically dark scarlet, accentuating every curve of their body.
The garments flutter as they move, shadows cast across their features lighting up with a glow of rubies- a swift glimpse of dark eyes and vermilion lips that disappear the second it arrives. Hoseok pays no mind to their sultry gaze, propping one leg over the other and trailing a finger over the carmine threads of his suit. He moves his thumb over his bottom lip, smirking to himself at the remains of red wine that spreads over the skin.
His hair hangs over his forehead in messy black waves highlighted with red, curled and uneven, chaotic and representing his own personality with a look. He glances up and he meets what he expects, two girls sitting in front of him, hair curled and cascading down their backs in billowing tresses. He raises an eyebrow, as if questioning their motive and returning their oddly attention-gaining smile, setting down the glass.
"Entertain someone else," He says dismissively, leaning back into his seat and ignoring the eye rolls the pair gives before getting up and leaving, the dress trailing behind them like an excessively long cloak. Not seconds later does someone catch his eye, the boy twirling into the center as if this location was nothing but his home.
He wears a loose, black satin button-up that's tucked into identically colored ripped skinny jeans, leading to the trench boots he sports. His sleeves are rolled up to a relative spot on his forearms and he holds a rose in his teeth, eyes as smooth as silk yet as fierce as a flame. Hoseok furrows his eyebrows, squinting at the sight of the crowd separating for the male, surrounding him in an open circle.
His hair is abnormally black, reflecting red and he stops, straightening. He tilts his head back once, staring up at the ceiling, as if contemplating. The club goes silent, perhaps a uncanny concept for the place but everyone is captivated by the male, eyes locked and bodies trembling in anticipation. Then he returns his eyes back down, bowing.
He lets loose.
The stranger embraces the music as his own, letting the tunes run through his body as if replacing his blood. It seems as if he has left this world, eyes closed and breathing in the poisonous scent like it's fresh air from roses and the saltiness of the sea. His movements are with dazzling grace and it drops jaws, taking the breath away from the audience. Each individual spin, twirl, pivot is with a sharp smoothness, and his entire being moved with unnerving clarity.
He unleashes everything he's made of into the dance, gliding and seemingly floating above the floor instead of walking on it, and it comes with a beautifully crafted movie. He does it with an aptitude, an adroitness and versatility that is practically impossible to mimic. It brings waves of nostalgia over Hoseok as he watches, fighting the urge to join with every fiber of his body. Then he stops, collapsing on the floor with that overwhelming sense of gracefulness, and his viewers erupt in screams.
His shoulders shake, something the crowd doesn't seem to notice and his head is hung, hands fisted in the fabric over his knees. Hoseok has to narrow his eyes to see the tiny water droplets that run down his cheeks, leaving small, round patches in the material beneath him. A tall boy pushes through the assembly of cheering, drunk people, gathering the dancer in his arms and lifting him up, easing him through the horde returning to their former ways and muttering quiet things in his ear that the nods to.
They move sluggishly, dull in comparison to his previous performance and Hoseok gets up from his seat, following them towards one of the back rooms where they slip inside. He peeks through the gap, watching the taller set him on the couch and run his hands through his hair. "Fuck, Jimin. Your parents are freaking out, you can't do that!" "Jimin's" head shoots up, and he looks furious despite the tear tracks that stain his cheeks.
"Freaking out?! Taehyung, they're probably only freaking out because I haven't given them money yet this week!" "Taehyung" rubs his head, sliding his phone out from his pocket. "Wait- don't call them-, Tae- please!!" "Fine," He huffs, though doesn't put the phone back, "Who do you want to call then?" Jimin looks down, and Taehyung seems to get what he's trying to say. "Okay," His voice softens, and he repeats it, "okay."
He leaves the room through the curtains in the back to supposedly call the person and Jimin shifts his gaze over to where Hoseok was hiding. "You can come out now," he mutters quietly, and Hoseok, with absolute no shame, walks inside. "You alright?" He sits down, and Jimin rolls his eyes. "Do I look like I'm fucking alright?" "No." He responds bluntly, and a small smile appears on Jimin's face, "You kind of sound like him."
"Like who?" Hoseok questions, snatching one of the abandoned drinks from the table and looking down at in in disgust. Jimin sighs, "You act like him too." He doesn't answer his question, but Hoseok shrugs nevertheless, "Thanks, I guess. Hoseok, if you wanted to know." Jimin fumbles uncomfortably with the sleeves of the button up, "I did, actually. I'm Jimin, and my supermodel friend over there is Taehyung." He jabs a thumb towards the curtains where they can hear faint speaking.
Hoseok swirls the vodka, grimacing at the lime on the rim, "Good to know." The curtain parts and Taehyung appears, on the verge of saying something before he catches sight of Hoseok and stumbles back. "Who the fuck-" "He's a random stranger I just met," Jimin offers an explanation, running his hands along his pants. Taehyung gives an extremely slow nod before Jimin talks again. "Did you call him?"
"Yeah. He's coming with Seokjin." Taehyung slumps down on the couch beside him, and Jimin starts muttering things under his breath. "Now we wait."
☙
"I MIGHT ACTUALLY KILL HIM." A muffled voice snaps through the door, followed by a soft laugh that sounds oddly familiar to Hoseok's ears. "You can't kill him, and you know it. He's like your child, hyung." The pair stand just as the door swings open and Jimin sprints towards the person that comes in, wrapping his arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder.
There's something wrong, though.
The boy's in a wheelchair.
Who Hoseok supposes to be Seokjin lets go of the handles, his face dropping. The second he glimpses the unknown male's face when Jimin slightly moves and he hesitantly extends his arms to hug him back, Hoseok's heart drops in his chest. Last time.. there was no way. He couldn't have, could he? But there's no mistaking it when he shifts Jimin to the side, glancing at Taehyung who gives him a warm smile he scowls at, coaxing a laugh from the boy.
His eyes land on Hoseok, and almost immediately, his smile falls, melting from his lips. "Hobi?" He whispers, and all eyes turn towards him. Hoseok swallows thickly, staring at the face that plagues his dreams and often keeps him awake the entire night.
"Yoongi."
— A/N
all good angst books start happy.
