He doesn’t know what happened, but he Jongin has found himself standing near the stage, hands buried deep in his pocket and heart beating faster than ever.

             He tries his very best not to seem nervous. Or creepy, for that matter. Unfortunately for him, he has managed to make himself seem both of those things. Jongin has a drink in his hand but he hasn’t even taken a single sip from it, despite having bought it fifteen minutes ago. Hell, he wonders why he even ordered it in the first place.

            From what he can see, the singer is currently speaking to someone else in the other end of the room. Even the sight of him in his peripheral vision makes Jongin feel fidgety – something Jongin was unfamiliar with.

            To be frank, he feels utterly ridiculous. Possibly because he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, acted like this.

            Chanyeol has often said that Kim Jongin simply thinks of himself too highly to be attracted to anyone that’s isn’t as good-looking as him, which Jongin thinks is absolutely untrue. He’ll admit that he finds certain people attractive, but there’s a fine line between being finding someone attractive and being attracted to them as an individual. He’s made this clear to his best friend — yet unsurprisingly, Chanyeol refuses to believe him.

            Stubborn prick, Jongin mutters under his breath.

            Whenever Chanyeol pokes fun at him for not feeling attraction, for not feeling love, Jongin just laughs.

            But in actuality, Jongin just feels even more alienated. It keeps him up at night. Tossing and turning in his bed, asking himself if he’s even capable of loving someone. If he’s even worthy of love.

            He snaps back into reality and shakes the thoughts off his head. Being drunk had always made him feel a little weepy inside. Jongin’s head turns to the singer again and finally, finally he’s standing alone. A part of him tells him to pluck up the courage to approach him, but Jongin’s just too drunk to act like a normal person right now.

            So why the hell was he walking towards him?

            Jongin takes out one of his hands from his pockets to run his fingers through his brown locks. He glances at the singer who was standing quietly in the corner, face illuminated by the bright phone screen.

            “Hey,” he says in a low voice, one that’s barely audible.

            Not a very intelligent move considering the fact that you’re surrounded by lots of people talking and music blaring from the speakers, a voice whispers in his head.  

            “Hey,” he repeats, in a much louder volume this time. The singer finally takes notice of Jongin’s presence and averts his eyes from his phone to the jittery man standing before him.

            The first thing Jongin notices is the pair of large eyes glancing back at him. “Oh, hello there.” He finally replies. A small, friendly smile settles in his lips.

            He’s being friendly. That’s a good sign, right?

            “I just c-came here to say that I really enjoyed your performance. I liked the song and you, uh, you have a r-really nice voice and uh.. yeah.”

            , he screams in his head. When was the last time I even stuttered like this?

            The doe-eyed singer doesn’t say anything for a while, causing Jongin’s anxiety to multiply in size. The awkwardness in the air doesn’t help, either. Jongin’s hands are icicles at this point. “Oh, thank you,” he replies sweetly. “It’s my first time performing here. Do you come here often?”

            Jongin freezes at the question that he just asked. What the should I say?

            There were two options at this point, with two very different consequences that were to follow if he chooses to do either one of them. One, Jongin could tell him that he comes here almost every week with his best friend to get drunk out of their minds. This will then make the singer feel uncomfortable with him, fearful of the fact that Jongin could possibly be an aggressive alcoholic – which he is most definitely not. He prides himself in being able to be cool-headed most of the time and not be drawn away by his emotions.

            Two, he could tell him that it’s the first time he’s visited this bar. But of course, this would make him a liar. And unfortunately, Jongin isn’t particularly skilled in not seeming like he’s lying.

            “Yeah, I’ve been here a few times,” he says instead. “But I’m always with my best friend, though. He’s actually over there right now—“ Jongin’s finger points to the corner of the room with the billiards, looking for his tall friend with the head full of tousled dark brown hair. When he fails to find his own best friend, Jongin panics. Which really isn’t the best thing to do when you’re trying to flirt with someone. “. , , !” He abruptly curses aloud, shocking the poor doe-eyed singer.

            Where the was Chanyeol?!

            His best friend must have succeeded in wooing the woman he so desperately wanted to approach an hour earlier, because he’s nowhere to be found. The singer looks at him in utter confusion as Jongin tugs at the ends of his hair with both of his hands in distress.

            “Something wrong?” asks the singer. Jongin turns his head to him and gulps out of anxiety.

            The vexation boiling inside of Jongin did not help him appear like the phlegmatic person he really was.  That and the nervousness he felt standing before the singer merely made it worse.

            “Nothing, it’s just—“ he stops to think whether he should really tell the doe-eyed man the reason why he appeared so high-strung. “I don’t know where my best friend’s gone and I stupidly left my apartment keys with him so now I can’t get home because I’m drunk and I can’t get into my ing apartment—“

            “You can stay over at my place.”

            Jongin’s heart stopped right then and there. He suddenly became devoid of all emotion, of all thought that was putting him under immense stress – and looks at the singer and rests his gaze on him. The sentence that had just left the singer’s mouth revoked Jongin’s ability to formulate coherent sentences in his head.

            “Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to burden you or anything, you don’t even know me and —“

            “Hey,” the singer lips curl into a smile. “It’s fine. My old roommate’s just moved out, so there’s an extra room in my apartment that you’re free to use for the night.”

            Jongin could die right and then there.