i was under your spell

liquid courage. resounding bass. sticky hands and mouths.

jimin nurses a lukewarm beer, condensation wet on his hands, throat dry and head pounding from the overwhelming music playing from the speakers. he was no wallflower, no, but he was in no state to party, to grind up against faceless strangers on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of this huge house belonging to god-knows-who.

it was a friday night, and park jimin was lonely in a room full of people.

he’d reluctantly left the house, pulling together an outfit barely fit for the friday night crowd besides the baggy shirt and sweatpants he’d practically been living in since-

since.

it had been months, and yet, he still couldn’t scrounge up enough courage to say it. he was sick of the concerned faces he’d been getting, the occasional look hoseok and taehyung would share when they thought he wasn’t looking. he didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t need to be pitied. it had been a mutual decision, messy and drawn out, sure, but it was on the both of them, regardless. too many nights of missed dates, forgotten birthdays, a relationship that had fizzled out like a dying bulb. something that had burned too brightly, too passionately to last.

or so he had thought. he’d steeled himself, convinced himself that this was a chance to start anew. maybe they hadn’t really been in love. maybe they had been caught in a web of whispered promises and too-heated-kisses, too blind to see whatever they had for what it really was.

taking a swig of beer, jimin smiles wryly, feeling the alcohol go down his throat like sandpaper. who was he kidding? if anything, he was now more in love than anything else. despite the tears, the nights spent crying himself to sleep, damp pillows and swollen eyes. despite it all, he still loved him. wouldn’t set his eyes on anyone for a while, dull eyes passing over everyone in this house, music and idle chatter becoming nothing but white noise.

just as he pushes off the wall, hand reaching for his phone in his back pocket to text taehyung an early goodbye, he sees a familiar back. strong shoulders, broad back, muscles taut against the fitted white button down. floppy hair, large hands and an overwhelming sense of familiarity. heartbreak, stuttering breaths and unspoken apologies carved into skin.

no, his mind whispers traitorously, but he would know that body anywhere. he’s run his hands over it so many times, mapping it out like wandering traveller, lingering, aimless. he can almost feel the smooth skin under his palms, liquid gold and fiery.

everything is wrong wrong wrong about how the body is currently slumped over a toilet bowl in the first floor bathroom, heaving and shaking, knuckles white from a tight grip against the seat. jimin feels something lodge itself in his throat as his body stills, staring at the hunched over torso in what can only be a mix of horror and awkwardness. and yet, somehow, he feels the compelling need to rush to the man’s side, to brush his bangs back from his forehead—

without knowing, his feet have carried him into the spacious bathroom, the crowd simply ignorant of the man slumped across the toilet, the ebb and flow continuing around jimin. he realises he’s holding his breath then, and his hands have somehow curled into fists, breathing shaky and unsteady.

“jeongguk?” jimin whispers, voice much too loud in the quiet that is the bathroom, having closed the door behind him, away from prying eyes.

the slumped figure groans, a sound that sounds so small and unlike the teasing, confident person jimin knows. knew. the stench of bile is strong, and the older of the two wrinkles his nose in reflex. the other man reeks of alcohol, a wild concoction of beer, vodka— a mishmash that had led to this drunken stupor.

jeongguk turns around to the call of his name, albeit unsteady and clumsy in his inebriated state, and jimin expects shock, annoyance, maybe even anger. he doesn’t expect this.

the look in jeongguk’s eyes, while clouded over with confusion and intoxication, can only be described as crushed. he looks stunned for a moment, before his eyes slip to half mast and he shakes his head in what seems to be denial. a bark of laughter leaves his mouth, hollow and sharp, and jimin tries hard not to wince.

“you’re not real,” jeongguk breathes, “how could you be real?” he continues, sounding so sure and so broken that jimin’s heart splinters and cracks over the clumsy mending he’s done in the past months or so.

“it’s me, jeongguk,” jimin says, eyes strangely wet, at a loss for what to say.

jeongguk laughs again, this time a broken cackle that bounces off the linoleum.

“when i wake up, you’ll be gone again. you’ll always be gone. d-do you know how much it hurts? it’s- it’s painful to have something so good again, and for a moment, i’m so relieved that i can hold your hand, that i can kiss you again, but when i wake up, it’s like nothing ever happened. you were just a dream, and i’m always alone. always.” he ends in a whisper, and for a moment he looks like he wants to say more, but he only manages to open his mouth before he’s lurching back violently to face the toilet bowl, bile rising and emptying the contents of his stomach- if there’s even anything left.

jimin’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as he throws himself down beside jeongguk, rubbing his back in soft, soothing circles, his skin warm and pliant and real under his palm.

he doesn’t even know he’s been crying till his fingers come away wet from his face.

he brushes jeongguk’s hair back, forehead sticky under his palm, and slides his hand downwards till he’s cupping jeongguk’s cheek. he’s beautiful, even like this, so intoxicated and so so sad. he finds it hard to breathe when jeongguk nuzzles into his palm, snuffling.

“i miss you, jimin. everyday.” jeongguk says, trailing off, eyes closing in contentment, body leaned against the toilet.

“me too,” jimin exhales, and feels a missing piece of his heart fall into place.