A Little Slice of Heaven [Namjin]

Chapter Seven: I'm Not As Nice As You Think I Am...

AN: If you like it, make sure you vote! This poor story has no votes and that makes for a sad author.

I've been seriously considering entering this one in a contest that's going to commence in March. I have to get it to 10 chapters first, though. Commenting and voting will help motivate me to get it to that point 😉

Edit:  Just fixing a few typos I found almost immediately after posting this.  Ooops.

2-27-20 - Spiced up the last scene. Check it out.  ... And found another damn typo.

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He woke up feeling as if he had shoved a whole package of cotton balls in his mouth. Running a sandpaper tongue over equally dry gums, Namjoon spotted an empty glass on the coffee table in front of him and sat up to reached for it, thinking to go fill it with water. He instantly regretted the motion as the quick movement sent a searing lance of pain through his temples.

"I am never drinking again," he moaned, falling back onto the couch with a soft fwumph, his arm over his eyes. While the lights were off, there was enough sunshine shining through the wall of windows to clearly illuminate the room.

Slowly, he forced himself to sit up then proceeded to cradle his head in his hands, elbows propped onto his knees. Taking stock of himself, Namjoon did his best to recall the events of the previous night. He easily recalled Jackson taking off for Hong Kong and the downing of a bottle of soju from the room's minibar. He could remember going down to the beach with more soju and wallowing in drunken self-pity. Then Seokjin had shown up and whisked him away to a bonfire where he'd had that surprising, and soul-search-inducing conversation with the waiter from the Ciel, Hoseok.

After that, things got a little fuzzy. He thought he remembered falling down a lot, which would explain why he felt like there was sand in places sand didn't belong. He shifted in discomfort. He didn't like the feeling of not knowing exactly how he had gotten back to his room but, given that he was still wearing the clothing from the previous night, had woken up on a couch, and had sand in his boxers, he knew nothing untoward had happened, at least. He couldn't remember getting his room key back so he assumed that Seokjin had something to do with making it back safely.

A warmth swirled around in his stomach at that thought. The concierge was so considerate, even when he wasn't on duty. There was no reason that Jin had to invite him to the party and he was under no obligation to make sure Namjoon made it to his room. Yet, here Namjoon sat, empty water glass on the table in front of him and a blanket around his shoulders, safe and sound.

And gritty. So. Fucking. Gritty.

Groaning, Namjoon mustered the strength to stand, leaving the blanket where it was. He grabbed the glass and deposited it on the breakfast bar as he shuffled through the suite to the bathroom, stripping his sandy clothing off as he went, leaving a bread-crumb trail all the way from the dining area to the shower stall. He didn't even bother turning the lights on in the bathroom, letting the dimness help his throbbing head. Once the water was warm, he stumbled into the stall. Leaning his forehead against the slightly chilly tiled wall, he let the water pound against his back with a deep sigh.

Normally, he wasn't one for long showers. In his opinion, it was a waste of water. That morning, though, he took nearly an hour to wash his hair and body, grimacing as he rinsed sand out of places that he didn't even realize sand could get into.

Squeaky clean and dressed in pajama pants and a soft, cotton t-shirt, Namjoon shuffled back towards his kitchen, ignoring the trail of dirty clothing for the time being. His stomach felt a little woozy and his head still throbbed. He needed water, and maybe some toast.