The loud thumping of the bass jerked Jungkook back to consciousness. He looks at his watch, it is half past 1 am. Funny, he never thought of himself as light weight. Maybe he was tired, maybe he was sad or yet, maybe he was just so done. Looking around it seems like the party has just started, the crowd started to fill the stage, sweaty bodies lazily bumping each other. No one had notice yet, who he was, maybe because no one would care to a too early to pass out guy at a lonesome booth in this club. He was about to get up and dance when a swift hand pushed his shoulder down, almost making him tumble to his seat.

“ If I were you I would just sit back and relax,” he heard a voice, still dizzy to make out the face but the deep baritone is too familiar for his taste. And God help him, the side profile of the man beside him casually drinking some sort of cocktail is perfect, too perfect for his taste. Full lips, high nose and jaws that were as if carved from a greek god, it is a no brainer that this face belongs to the one and only, visual inspiration of his life, his muse.

“What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be minding your own business? off!” He sluggishly replied. Why was he feeling strange? It was as if he can't control his own body. There was an itch that he can't locate and somehow that feeling heightens by this man's presence. He just looks at him, he can't read what he is thinking, like all those years ago. He had always been on the peak of his interest, his eyes following what the man is up to, on what craziness he has in store. Looking straight in his eyes, same as before, he can't make out anything and that thought frustrates him to the core.

“We need to leave,”

“I don't want to,” he stands and circles to the other side of the table. Thinking that he had outsmarted the devil, (how could he even think childishly right now?) devilishly handsome being, he swerves his body but unfortunately when he tried to stand he felt as if the world rolled out of its axis and the last thing that he can remember is the strong scent of lavender that hit his nose along with the warmth that comes with it.

***

He feels light-headed when he tried to open his eyes so he closes it again. Damn, this hangover is a mess. He is sure the lights were out? there lights, oh, sunlight, seems like the morning has come to greet him. He feels warm, the comfortable kind of warm that he yawns long and whiny. He suddenly thought of the time? What time is it? Why was his alarm clock not blaring on his ears? Still inside the sheets he reaches for his bedside table just for his hands to fall on air. Nothing, no bedside table. , where was he?

He pulled the sheet down to his neck, eyes still shut and he opens them one by one. He's welcomed by a very intricately designed ceiling, like a mosaic of the night sky and each detail awes him. It was beautifully painted by maybe a genius of some sort because no matter how confusing the art may be, he was still able to locate the constellations. He sat, knowing that the surrounding doesn't seem to be dangerous, the room is strangely empty except for the the canvass that stands on his far right and the pieces of paints dripped on the spread newspaper along with the materials, different brushes and cans of paint beside it. With the bed and the paint only existing on this room, he thought that maybe this was some sort of studio and he might have spent the night with an artist. Speaking of which, he checked himself, he was in fact, very very though he knows for a fact that he sleeps that way. He doesn't feel any sore muscle though which could be good. Thankfully, there were clothes on the edge of the bed which he helped himself in immediately. Once dressed, he found himself walking to the window, the sun is up and shining outside. He felt peace he hadn't felt for a long time when sunlight reached his skin. He closes his eyes but then he hears the door opens, he stares at it but there was nobody there, he just heard retreating footsteps. He walks outside the room to peek a little bit, and trudges there silently.

“You don't have to walk like a mice, I won't bite,”

There was it again, that deep baritone.

“Taehyung?” The man has his back on him and cooking something, pancakes maybe it was his all time favourite and judging by the smell of the kitchen, he is right. And the man was no doubt Taehyung, based on the bronze skin and strong build, shoulders that loudly pronounces strength but waist seems to be delicate. The man wearing a somewhat over sized shirt dipped in paint and loose trousers is really him.

“What am I doing here?Care to explain?” he approach him carefully, he felt the cold as he is barefoot and looking at the tall brunette's feet which is barefoot as well is not surprising, Taehyung's relationship with something related to feet protection faltered a long time ago.

“You don't remember?”the man replied still not facing him. Jungkook tried to piece his memory from last night. Right, he left the studio and went to the club after he had a very dramatic argument with Jimin then at the club he orders drinks to drown himself, someone offers him a shot as a freebie and he nonchalantly takes it to his booth, he remembers that there are still few p