MORNING NAUSEA .10

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MORNING NAUSEA .10.

It burned.

Like the cement roads absorbing the heat of the sun. Burning like the pain of being scorched by fire, but all inside your stomach.

I wretched over the toilet ball, everything single piece of content leaving the confinement's of my stomach and now begun to swirl itself down the toilet.

I spat the last of it into the water, and wiped the sweat from my skin. I felt tired, but I had only just awoken, and the fire burning in my stomach distracted me from the ice cold tiles pressed against my bare skin.

The door slid open, and as soon as I heard the sound of bare feet on tiles I flinched and tried not to look over.

Embarrassment grew throughout my cheeks, hollow and red against my pale, oily skin. My black hair covered the shame on my face.

Silence.

Than.

The feeling of hands in my hair, a soft caress that pulled the hair from my sweating, sticky skin made me flinch. A cold minty breath fanned against my neck, and I looked up with teary stained, blurred eyes.

"Wha—"

"You're very loud when you vomit,"

I frowned, looking up as I watched the bleach blonde tie my hair up and fan the stray hairs from my face.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry..."

He only hummed as a reply.

"Are you better? Come with me," he muttered, grasping my hands which rested around my stomach to subconsciously soften the pain.

I didn't speak, I stumbled on my feet, and trailed behind the bleach blonde as he waltzed down the hall. He wore extravagant clothes, a suit, with gelled back hair.

Where had he been?

I was unsure on whether he had already been out, or was going out. It was too dark to see whether his hair was a little tousled, to see if his mascara had ran a little, or to see if he seemed any tireder than usual.

Through my hazy eyes and the darkness of the long hall, I believed my eyes were playing tricks with me, but I could see blotches of red on the side of his cheek, faint, but...

No.

I blinked. It was gone.

I sighed in relief, and he cocked his head towards me, quirking an eyebrow as he puked me into the kitchen.

"What is it?" He questioned. Softly resting his hands on my shoulder as he pushed me to sit on top of a stool. He moved around, watching, a darkness swirling in his eyes, an emotion I had never seen before.

The cold prickling left my toes as I slipped onto the stool, but the chill of the stools seat against my arse made me flinch. I hadn't realise I was almost bare. I hadn't realise I only wore Yoongi's long shirt.

I shook my head.

"I'm seeing things..."

"Your probably dehydrated," he muttered. Moving to grab a glass of water, all the while his eyes never left mine. It was as though he was making sure I didn't suddenly disappear.

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