“Daehyun?”

I could vaguely feel a pair of arms locking around my waist, following after a far too familiar voice. The deep thumping of the backdrop music continued to rock under me, calling for me somehow. I whined.

This was way out of my character.

“Yeah, it’s JB.” A pause, “No I haven’t done anything wrong to Youngjae.” And yet another pause, “My phone died, alright? No need to pick a fight you know?”

The conversation continued, but I drowned it out; it didn’t seem at all too important at the moment. Instead, I squirmed in the tight grip of the arms locked around me. “Leegooo.” My voice was unfamiliar, even to me. The words came out slurred and lazy, making me wince and frown. Was that really me?

“Whoa, Youngjae, calm down. You’ve had, like, twenty shots too much to drink.”

Ah, that’s right. After meeting Jaebum, I’d downed a few shots. A few leading to more and more until … … until I couldn’t quite exactly think right anymore. Until everything felt just right.

Until my character completely broke.

Blinking with a huff, I twisted a little in the hold, finding that it was Jinyoung holding me prisoner, meaning that the voice from earlier must have been Jaebum. I sighed, ripping a loud whimper from my throat. It was weird; almost as if I was watching myself from a third person view. I can’t say I liked it all too much.

“Daehyun’ll be here soon,” Jaebum sighed, walking toward us and lifting a brow at the awkward mess of limbs Jinyoung and I’d manage to tangle ourselves in. Instead of saying much though, he shrugged, leading the way toward the couches and plopping himself down, beckoning Jinyoung to come join him, with me in tow.

If it wasn’t for the alcohol blinding me, I might have complained at for being treated almost like a child.

“It’s a good thing you found him when you did,” pushing me to sit between himself and Jaebum, Jinyoung huffed a sigh, still keeping his hands pressed down onto my thighs. “I don’t want to even imagine what would’ve happened if that creep actually got his hands on him.”

“Creep?” Jaebum laughed dryly, patting my head as it lolled against his shoulder, all the sudden exhausted, “He’s your cousin.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m disowning him from my mental family tree.” The hand on my thigh tightened, earning a torn whimper from me – the drunk me – and another dull laugh from JB, both sounds drowned out by the loud beats of the club. “But, he said his brother was here, didn’t he? Wouldn’t it have been easier to find him than his friend?”

“Daehyun’ll be faster.” He almost seemed positive of himself – and almost sorrowful, but what did I know; I was drunk. “Trust me on that. Plus, Himchan would’ve probably skinned us both for not watching his baby brother better. So much safer to call Daehyun; I value my face you know, it’s the only way I got you to like me.”

“Shut up, bastard. I’m not that heartless.”

I decided to drown out the conversation from there, sliding shut my eyes to the oncoming headache. Daehyun would be here soon; he’d take me back home. At the moment, that was what I needed the most. Not Jaebum and Jinyoung flirting with each other with me trapped in the middle.

When I next woke, my head throbbing, the world seemed to be swirling around me, nausea hitting me hard. “Ugh,” I groaned, whimpering as loudly as possible. Sick was an understatement to how I felt.

“You’re awake,” was the grunt that sounded below me, making me flail awkwardly, wobbling in surprise. “Don’t move! I don’t want to drop you.”

It took me a minute to recognize the voice and my current position. I was in the apartment, the elevator to be precise, and the person under me was Daehyun. My Daehyun.

I let out another low whine, clutching his neck desperately, the familiar scent of his cologne tickling my nose. I didn’t want to fall. “Don’t you dare drop me,” I warned, though the words didn’t quite come out the way that I wanted it to. “Let me down, I’m heavy.”

As he paused to press the button of our floor in the elevator, I began squirming; kicking my legs and regretting it when another wave of nausea struck me, again making me cling to his neck desperately.

And he laughed; Daehyun laughed at me.

“Hold still Youngjae,” he laughed, hitching me further up his back with a light jump. The elevator was going to drop if he did that again. And then, he’d be sorry.

The second we were off the elevator, safe from dropping to our deaths, I began kicking again. “Let me go Daehyun. I’m heavy.”

If Daehyun broke his back carrying me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to forgive myself.

“You’re not heavy.”

He was lying. He was lying like he always did, telling me I looked good.

“Now you’re going to hold still while I go wash you.” Wash? “You threw up on Jaebum, do you remember?” He seemed to snicker, laughing again. Of course he’d be laughing at my mistakes. “Good job by the way.”

Flushing different shades of pink, I froze still then, losing all will to move – ever.

I was never going to be able to look at Jaebum in the face again.

Ever.

When in the restroom, I’d assumed that Daehyun to leave me to wash myself, letting me drown myself in the embarrassment of having done something as stupid as to throw up on my previous – and still lasting – crush. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t leave.

Instead, he pulled away my shirt, tossing it into the half open hamper, automatically strolling down to tug at my jean buttons. Leaving me, to frown, slapping at his hands in a drunken whine.

“Stop,” he warned, “let me wash you.”

I frowned, displeased, but let him continue, too tired to argue back.

Once my clothes were off, he pushed me into the tub, letting me sit as he set the water, making me shiver when the water came out cold at first. “It’s cold.”

“You’re such a whiny drunk.”

I was not a whiny drunk.

We began a struggle, the offensive comment making me whine and tug him into the tub with me, getting his clothes wet in the process. At the moment though, that didn’t seem to matter any. I pushed him down on the tub, slipping on the wet floor and falling on top.

His eyes were really brown; I’d never noticed.

“Hey,” he mumbled under me, shifting awkwardly. “Get off me?”

I didn’t want to. Not just yet.

I stared for a second longer, feeling his breath mix with mine under the waters of the shower. And I blame the alcohol that I leaned down to his lips – the very lips I’d once or twice caught myself wondering; where they really as soft as they looked? (They were.)

It was an awkward push of lips with no movement. But it was perfect just that way. Or maybe, it was the alcohol still burning through my system that made everything seem right.

(Daehyun; it was Daehyun that made everything feel right.)

We pulled away breathless, blinking rapidly in the silence. In the heat of the moment, Daehyun’s arms had woven around my waist, my fingers curled into his hair.

I’d done something stupid.

“That was … …” He paused. I wanted to throw up again. “Amazing.”

Daehyun’s smile was brilliant as he nuzzled into my neck, squeezing his arms around my waist.

In the glory of the moment, to which others may have cherished, I froze.

Because in the glory of the moment, I realized: I was . And Daehyun was there, watching me in all my grotesqueness.

I pushed him away, crawling away to the far end of the tub with a whine. He needed to get out. I didn’t want him to see me. Not like this, without my makeup and oversized clothes to hide my extra layer of fat.

“Get out.”

His eyes turned down. “Youngjae?” He inched clother to me, hands reaching out for me again, to which I slapped away again. “Youngjae, what’s wrong?”

Wrong? Everything was out. He needed to get out.

“Get out. I don’t want you to see me.” Not like this. Not him, or anyone else. I hugged myself, balling up as best as I could to hide away from his eyes. “I’m fat.”

He seemed to sigh – relief, was it? – as he moved his hand back, stopping me from pushing him away with a grip to both my wrists and leaning over to press what could only be described as a kiss to my forehead. Something Himchan had always done, waking me up from my naps. “You’re not fat.” He was lying.

Tears didn’t come, but his voice was drenched in the sorrow Daehyun worked hard to hide from me. I was destroying him, from the inside out.

I always hurt everyone around me.

“You’re the skinniest person I know.”

I let him bathe me in silence then, rolling the bubbled loofa over my back. It would be over faster when I didn’t struggle anyways.

By the end of the everlasting hour, Daehyun had finished clothing me again in fresh clothes he’d run out to retrieve. He looked satisfied to say at the least. And before I had a chance to complain, he’d picked me up again, moving this time to tuck me in bed.

“I’m going to laugh at you in the morning when you’re about a hangover,” he teased, smiling down at me as he tucked the sheets around just under my chin. “And I’m not going to do a single thing to help.”

He was lying. Daehyun lied a lot these days.

“Now go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”

He stood up, pushing himself away from the bed to leave. “Daehyun.” I didn’t want him gone just yet. He turned away to face me, his head tilted a direction in unasked question. “Sleep with me.”

I must have been more drunk than I gave credit for.

For a second, a nerve wrecking second, Daehyun froze. (I should have kept my trap shut.) He only began moving as I moved back to sit up, whining and reaching my arms out for him. It was selfish, but I wanted him. I wanted him there when I woke up in the morning.

“You’re such a clingy drunk.”