The hustle and bustle of the street didn’t cease even with a looming darkness and hint of lighting grazing up the sky. Everyone looks so tiny and unreal from above and Jimin’s head starts making up stories for each; it’s what she always does. Cooped up in their tiny apartment, she stitches detailed descriptions about the man in Armani suit running through the soft drizzle, probably late for dinner.

Her mind circling over and over its gears trying to find a reason why an elderly woman would rather get rained on a park bench than stay at the comforts of her Scandinavian home located at the richer part of the city or why that one teenager is standing at a makeshift stage and theatrically giving out the most persuading public speech, from the looks of the thickening crowd – Jimin is convinced that had she been standing closer, she would’ve been swayed by his words and big hand gestures too.

“Getting lost in your own head again, aren’t you?”

Soft fingertips dug themselves on Jimin’s hair, she closed her eyes, revels in the feeling.

“Hi,” Jimin hums.

Minjeong smiles, “Hi.”

Jimin looks up, “you smell really bad.”

Minjeong laughs and kisses Jimin’s crown. She then lunges at their bed, groaning when her back hits the remote control.

“The sheets are going to smell like cigarettes and cheap alcohol,” Jimin groans, shifting her chair to face Minjeong, her arms crossed, “shower first, Minjeong.”

“But I’m so tired,” Minjeong complains incoherently over a large yawn, Jimin could play nice and let her get a rest – but good Lord, she really smelled like a drunkard that has been holed up in a bar for a week straight without observing proper hygiene. It’s that bad.

“It wouldn’t take you five minutes to wash up,” Jimin negotiates, “and resting on a fresh set of clothes is much more enticing than,” Jimin motions Minjeong’s white shirt with questionable stains, “whatever that is. Come on, up you get.”

Minjeong groans, “Fine.”

Jimin smiles triumphantly, but it was short lived, because Minjeong had climbed on to her lap, right arm in the air and trying to get Jimin to kiss her underarm, it’s outrageously disgusting – but it’s Minjeong, and she has done weirder things. Jimin struggles, squeals and pushes Minjeong away but the latter was insistent and borderline annoying.

It took Jimin all her hard earned, taekwondo strength to push Minjeong off of her lap.

Minjeong shakes her head, boisterous laughter echoing relentlessly on their small apartment. She made a show of removing every piece of clothing slowly, leaving a trail of fabric scattered on the floor with feigned innocence until she was stark – Jimin rolls her eyes, but the subtle hint of red crawling from her chest up to her neck was undeniable.

“You look ridiculous,” Jimin scoffs looking away.

Minjeong chuckles, leaving the bathroom door ajar, “You’re free to join! Or watch.”

“Shut up and scrape that smell off of your skin,” Jimin retorts back, looking at the window again. The rain has started pouring harder this time, and the tiny figures at the bottom scurries faster, even bumping at each other. It was nothing less than normal, still, it sunk Jimin further in her personalized, fear decorated rabbit hole.

The city goes on, and the thought scares Jimin out of her wits.

Everything passes by so quickly – the vision of being behind