all mine | pjm

f o r t y - t w o

When the small clock on the bedside hits twelve, you slowly unwrap Jimin's hands from around you and crawl out of bed, trying your best to use the light coming from the city to your advantage.

You contemplate taking his shirt off, looking down at it, the smell of him is so strong you decide against it.

It would hurt too much.

You slowly take it off and place it on your half of the bed.

You know this is gonna hurt him to, but you have to leave somehow. You have to do it as subtly as possible.

Lightly stepping over to the bathroom, you grab your towel off the floor and wrap it around your body, looking exactly like how you did when you came in.

You step out of the room and look at the figure under the sheets, you can't see all of him, just shadows because of the darkness, but you appreciate that.

If you saw the way his eyes gently fluttered, his lips pouted, his fingers curled, his hair fluffed over his eyelids, you'd break down in tears and crawl back into his chest.

You smile at the shadow in the bed and turn away, ever so carefully pushing the door handle down and then the door.

You get scared that the bright light from the hallway will wake him up and you rush out, walking fast over to your room until you hear the door open again, and you already feel the tears in your eyes.

You knew it, he would hear you.

You continue to lightly jog to your room, holding on to your towel so tight your fingers swell slightly.

"Stop." he says quietly, but loud enough for you to hear.

You stop in front of your door and he runs faster, grabbing your arm and turning you around.

He holds up the shirt you left. His upper body is bare, he's only in sweatpants, he clearly rushed out of the room right after you.

"What's this?" he says, his voice cracking, the sound shocks you, and you look up to see his eyes red.

"Your shirt." you reply.

"Is this revenge?" he says, quickly wiping his eyes.

"What?" you step back, slightly offended.

"Is this your way of getting back to me, to hurt me?" he says, his fist tight around the cotton.

"Are you serious?"

"Then what? What was this?" he points his finger in between the both of you.

"I returned your shirt, I don't need it." you reply coldly.

He shakes his head, a small tear falling down his cheek, but he keeps a stern face, "No," he pulls you closer by the arm, "What was this?" he asks, his eyes so vividly focused on yours.

"Don't fucking make me the bad guy." you shake your head, pushing him away, "How dare you ask me that? I thought we liked each other, I thought you "fell in love with me",  I was the one who was blindsided, not you. I ask that question, not you."

"Then why'd you get into the shower?" he steps closer to you again.

"I don't know." you look away from him, his eyes too intense but he looks for them, almost challenging you.

"Yes, you do."

Your voices stay quiet, your both fully aware your in a hotel hallway at night with hundreds of others sleeping, including the rest of the guys and your mother.

"I don't." you sternly reply, finally gathering the power to look back into his eyes.

"Tell me." he demands again.