A/N: Sorry this one is short and a little bit y, I promise if you stick around, future ones will get better. Longer songs make for longer stories as well. This chapter is based off of the song 어때? (And You) by Dean. This one is more of a drabble. There isn't much plot/story background, but like I said, longer songs make for longer, more-developed one-shots. This is a relatively short song. I hope you enjoy and stick around for the next one. This will probably get updated every once in a while whenever I get inspiration. I threw this one together in about 20-25 minutes.

i. 어때? - Jonghyun

“A few empty glasses and a ton of messages
I'm too far gone to know what time it is .”

I sprawled myself lazily on the couch, not wanting to deal with the drama. Things had gone well for 2 years with Taemin, but this last year, he acted so differently. I finally broke up with him about a month ago when I found out he'd found someone else. It was hard, but I was surviving.

I ended up moving into a shoebox apartment somewhere between Brooklyn and Queens. Tired of all the fighting, I told Taemin he could keep our formerly-joint apartment in Manhattan to himself. But that doesn't matter now. We're done, and I'm settled into this new place. It's a mess, quite frankly, but that gives it character.

The coffee table within reach of the sofa had a few empty glasses, some full-sized, some shot glasses, spread across it. A half-empty bottle of Hennessy sat somewhere in the middle. I flipped on the television, mostly for background noise. My focus was already long gone.

I'd spaced out for a little and was brought abruptly back to earth upon the sound of my phone ringing. I answered it without thinking.

“Jjong,” Oh. A familiar voice spoke calmly and quietly on the other line.

“What is it, Taemin?” I spoke, my words probably slurred.

“Just calling to check in. I miss you,” Part of me wanted to say ' it' and go crawling back to him. Another part of me wanted to call him out on everything.

“So?” I spoke calmly, almost like a sigh. “You don't have to check in on me. We're done; we've been done.”

“You're calling me to check in. Right. And that son of a , how is he? Are you satisfied?” I want to say, but I hold back, pouring another glass of cognac with my free hand and downing it as he spoke once more. I didn't hear him this time. The feeling of the liquor hit once more as I got up from the couch and took out the battery from my phone.

My hands made their way to the remote and turned off the television and turned up the radio so loud I couldn't hear myself think as I swayed around the living room area of my studio apartment.

I made myself forget his face.

I made myself not care.

At least for the moment.

"Cuz I'm motherin' good
And I get that money
I can tell this feeling is
Mother, motherin' good"