It all happened in an instant.

Quick like lightning and a flicker of light and it was done. Casually and so discreetly done that you were almost sure you’d imagined it, at least that’s what you’d spent the rest of the night convincing yourself.

The buzz of the party around you was ongoing, no matter how red your face turned. Clinking of glasses and a constant sound of laughter, the room was alive with the promise of teen hormones and under-age drinking. Darkly lit and a dim rock tune emitting from the stereo it was like something from a movie.

You had sat on the couch, friends talking animatedly around you as you sipped away at the cup of alcohol you had been nursing for most of the night. Specks of conversation registered in your brain, though it never lasted long because he was just too interesting.

You could not for the life of you comprehend your attraction-no not attraction, just interest- to the blue haired boy, who appeared to be in a very sour mood. He had sat, among his friends, bored and distant, the blue tinge to his hair beginning to fade, a lilac grey seeping through. 

He wasn’t much really, besides looks he hadn’t much going for him. His grades had dropped and he on rare occasions managed to attend class. Bad boy image clinging to his name, he embraced it with open arms. Mostly seen skipping class to smoke behind the school, you made it a habit to go out the back door.

That way you could pass by the small alcove at the back, never to look, you didn’t want to know what would happen if you looked. The thought of catching his eye was heart wrenching.

It was just to walk past, in the hopes of what you had viciously told yourself to stop dreaming of; that he himself would look instead.

Oh it was indeed pitiful. Some of your friends having copped on to your almost obsession. Teasing and suggestive looks made you want to bury yourself ten feet under. Trying to keep it as casual as possible, you couldn’t explain the sleepless nights where you stayed up, sort of numb, a whole lot sad, and words hanging from your lips that would never be said aloud.

You had spent a lot of nights like this. Just lying awake, some nights brought tears, the others a horrible silence that was never actually silent. Your mind rushed through scenarios of the day. Of last month. Of three years ago. You were the worst critic. Biased towards favouritism to a non-existent second party, you always lost out. He was not the cause of this, not in the slightest. You’d been this way long before he had decided to take a spot in your late night dialogues.

You weren’t sad.

That’s what you had said anyway.

It was just recognizing your own insignificance.  It was just a phase that would pass soon. It was just some tears and horrible words and dwelling self hatred that threatened to consume you.

He was a nice distraction.

“Namjoon’s gone out” your friend muttered, an irritated tone to her voice “Stop looking for him.”

‘It’s pathetic’  you finished for her. 

Refusing to glance around the room any longer, in fear of embarrassing yourself further, you sided for staring at your shoes instead. Trying to pry yourself away from your mind’s rant about how utterly worthless you and your endeavours were, you listened in on your friends conversation. Not much of it processed but for what it was worth, you gave sufficient replies when needed.

They were all a blur to you, your answers, as you forced them to come from your mouth. Stuttering over simple words and forcing yourself to at least answer, the weight in your stomach became heavier the more you spoke. It was as if each time you spoke, it drained you. 

It was tired, but it was a different tired, not the one that didn’t softly lull you to sleep but instead continued on, shouting, ranting and whispering in your ear, that when you so desperately wanted sleep, the fatigue only became your reason to deny.

It was just you and your terrible stomach eating sadness that made you feel so utterly hopeless that you did not find contentedness in talking about insignificant things.  

You eventually did give up and continued searching for him.

Distract and deny.

Between the groups of party-goers your eyes weaved around short skirts and leather jackets, searching for the darkly clothed boy once again. To your despair, he had not yet returned to his place among his friends. And what was there to do? Sit with your friends some more and try and push down the bile rising in your throat? 

“I’m getting a drink. You want anything?” 

You were met with a series of declinations and you were gone from the stuffy sitting room within seconds. Passing by a couple in what appeared to be something in between a heated discussion and a heated make-out session, you found your way to the kitchen easily.

Namjoon had stood so casually against the kitchen counter, hands crossed over his chest, grin plastered onto his face, laughing at the other’s boy’s statement. A few people filtered in and out of the kitchen, some sitting in the corner, none taking notice of you. You had faltered a moment, seeing him, but regained yourself quite quickly and made a B-line for the sink, where you dumped your cup’s remains.

It was then when he had decided to speak.

“You better keep your mouth shut Jimin” he had warned, a teasing tone to his voice “Unless you want me to shut it for you”

“Okay, okay. Relax, hyung” the short boy had replied, rolling his eyes.

You looked up on chance.

And it really truly had all happened so quickly that you were struggling to believe it was real.

As your head glanced up from your place at the sink, dark eyes had caught your own, hooded and encased with a strangely malicious air about them. His blue hair had fallen over one side of his face, a smirk gracing handsome features as he stared at you. Your heart was in your throat as you could feel the horrible organ thumping in your chest, your eardrums threatening to burst. Louder than the music, the party was gone and he was staring at you a little too long.

What were you to do?

But the moment one eye had closed, it took a millisecond and it was over. You, staring back, for just a second longer, his dark eyes had flickered with an unplaced emotion that made you light-headed. Drenched in a new warmth, an undeniable invincibility had taken over your body and you were floating on the promise of absolutely nothing. Before you could become big-headed, you knew exactly what to do. 

Run.

And so discarding your cup at the edge of the sink, you lowered your gaze and left the kitchen without a glance back.

Returning to the couch, your friends appeared confused, asking why you were in such a hurry. You were good at this now, the answering, not that it was much easier.

“My ride’s outside” you chuckled, pushing back strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes. All of them taking this as a satisfactory answer, you bid hasty goodbyes and left the sticky warmth of the house for the cold Spring air outside.

Your insides had become fluid entirely and you weren’t sure how much farther you’d get without actually collapsing. It was silly. It was just a simple action, probably not even directed at you. Drunken stupor, mistaken identity, excuses were easy to come by. For a minute you had yourself convinced you had imagined it all.

In bed that night it was the same.

Sleeplessness, sadness and suspicion easting away at your sides.

There was a new feeling though, a jumping sensation in your stomach, though it could have been the alcohol, that latched itself onto you as you replayed the scenario again and again in your mind.

It was stupid. Barely flirting and most likely misguided, you felt terrible for even reliving it. You felt like a twelve year old, going over a moment with their crush by the swing-set. 

But you still mumbled the sickening sentence into the darkness of your bedroom. Only the static and monsters under your bed hearing your words.

Wink at me again please.

Wishful thinking and late-night daydreaming, let us be fools, and let us be fools so very much.

For what is the world, without it’s inhabitant’s