Jimin falls over once again, this time he has knocked into a potted plant.  He hugs the fern to keep it from falling over, drunkenly shushing it.  He lets go, petting the broad leaves before stumbling away; occasionally bumping into the wall as he staggers down the hall.

He takes out his key card, trying to keep giggles from bursting out because he’s supposed to be quiet.  He doesn’t remember why, but Jungkook had spent the entire elevator ride up shushing him.  Jungkook got off of the elevator before him, but Jimin thinks that he’s most definitely supposed to keep quiet, even without Jungkook around.   He leans his hip against the door to support his weight, purposefully swiping the card, but his door doesn’t open.  He frowns, pouting at the lock, swiping once more.  The door doesn’t budge.  Jimin keeps swiping and swiping and swiping until finally the door swings open.

Jimin stumbles into room, the force of his weight quickly bringing to his knees in a few steps, palms outstretched to help break the fall.  Jimin giggles at the pain of his exposed knees scraping against the carpet, quickly shushing himself and the air around him with a finger pressed to his lips.  He pushes himself back up, managing the few steps it takes to fall onto the bed.

It’s unmade, which throws Jimin off for a second, but his alcohol-muddled mind quickly forgets that it might be a problem.  He burrows into the sheets with a dumb smile on his face because it’s very warm, so very warm.  He falls asleep almost instantaneously, bundled up in warm sheets, problems of the day long forgotten under several drinks and butchered karaoke songs.

When Jimin wakes up, there is a stabbing pain in his forehead and dull ache in the back of his very dry throat.  His sandpaper tongue presses up against the roof of his mouth, and Jimin becomes acutely aware that he needs water.  He disentangles himself from the bed sheets, stiffly walking towards the bathroom.  He doesn’t turn on the light because the little natural light that is peeking through the curtains in the room pains him enough.  He makes a beeline for the sink, turning the faucet on full blast and cupping his hands beneath the stream of lukewarm water.  He slurps from his palm, too thirsty to care that it’s not cold water.  Several handfuls of tepid water later, Jimin feels quenched enough to wipe a hand on the plush towel provided by the hotel.

He closes the lid of the toilet and takes a seat.  His head falls into his hands as he works through the haze of the previous night.  Jungkook had been his partner in crime for the evening.  Jungkook’s motivation for their excessive drinking was simply related to the occasion; a destination wedding and some undisclosed feelings about the groom that, frankly, Jungkook was going to have to get over whether he liked it or not.  His fingers run through his thick hair, pulling at the firm roots in frustration before standing up.

Jimin walks back into the room, eyes falling on a neatly folded piece of paper that rests atop the hotel dresser.  Jimin’s head falls to the side in confusion.  He picks up the paper; it’s oddly heavy.  He unfolds it, revealing a paper covered in blacks lines in groups of five with treble clefs marking the beginning of each group.

There are musical notes and lyrics hastily drawn and scribbled out.  Half way down the paper, Jimin sees it.

To the drunk guy that barged into my room:

Last night, you woke me up while trying to get into my room.  When I opened the door, you came in, WITHOUT PERMISSION I might add.
Anyhow, you fell on your knees, and I bandaged that up for you so you wouldn’t get blood all over my sheets.

Jimin glances down at his knees where white gauze is peeking out from beneath his ripped jeans. That explains why his walking was so stiff.

I am in your room because you left me without a bed.  Please leave as soon as you wake up.
This has been an adventure.

Regards,

The person staying in 7009

Jimin can feel his cheeks burning.  He’s so embarrassed that he fans his burning cheeks with his hand as he tries to swallow with his suddenly dry throat.  Jimin quickly composes himself, deciding to make the bed, even though house keeping could probably do it, but he needs to do something to make it right.  He tucks the note in his back pocket.

He grumbles to himself about never trusting the younger Jungkook ever again in regards to alcohol.  He tries his best to smooth out the wrinkles in the sheets, tucking in the edges under the mattress, pulling the surface of the sheets taut.  He throws the comforter across the expanse of the bed, walking around the bed to straighten it out. He quickly fluffs the pillows, taking a step back to examine his work.  He nods satisfied, patting himself down and feeling his phone.

He exits, pulling the door to a shut quietly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the stained wood.  He would have to work through the mortification somehow.  He doesn’t want to go back to his room because he doesn’t have his key, but also he is afraid it will wake up whoever’s room he’d spent the night in.  The person had charitable enough to trade rooms for the night.  He decides he must to Jungkook’s room.

He opens his SMS Messenger, quickly warning Jungkook that he would be arriving soon as he makes his way towards the elevator.  The doors slide open after a moment.  Jimin takes a step in, pressing the button for Jungkook’s floor. 

He is keenly aware that there’s another man in the elevator, adding yet another thing on to the morning’s list of embarrassments.  Jimin is sure that he reeks of alcohol and poor decisions.  He can almost feel the heat of the other man’s gaze, judging him and making unwarranted assumptions.  Jungkook’s floor comes soon, giving Jimin the chance to escape.

He makes his way to Jungkook’s door, knocking softly enough to keep from rousing the people in adjacent rooms.  There’s an audible thud from behind the door before it’s pulled open, revealing a disheveled Jungkook.

Jimin steps in without invitation, brushing past his friend, catching an unfortunate whiff of the putrid smells rolling of the younger's body.  Jungkook smells of alcohol and vomit, and his hair is scrunched up to one side with a t-shirt falling off of his shoulder, revealing a milky collarbone.

“Take a shower.  Our flight back is in—” Jimin checks his phone’s display, “— three hours.  You need to be presentable and have your things ready in an hour, so we can catch a cab as soon as possible.”

Jungkook nods as he brings a water bottle to his lips, trying to ease his headache via hydration.  He gulps the water down noisily, making atrocious slurping noises that earn him a flick on the forehead from Jimin once he’s set the bottle down.

“Shower,” is Jimin’s final command before he leaves, heading back for the elevator bay.  He has to get a new room key in order to get his luggage.  Only after coming to Jimin’s room does he realize he needs to go to his own.  Jimin crosses his fingers, hoping that by some miracle, 7009 is no longer in his room.

___

Jungkook yawns, extending his arms fully, curving his back slightly to feel the satisfaction of a good stretch.  He relaxes his body, taking careful steps.  Heel to toe, heel to toe, he walks, placing the heel of his shoe in front of the other so that the heel is touching the toe.

He’s staring intently at his feet, making sure that he continued on in a straight line, maintaining his balance by keeping his arms spread out.  His arms become the balancing pole, and the gray cement of the curb is the tightrope.  The streetlights illuminate his path with a soft yellow glow. 

His fingers are curled around the handle of the black plastic bag that contains what he has just purchased from the convenience store.  Jungkook makes his way to the well-lit bus shelter.  He sits on the green bench with a heaving sigh, pulling apart the handles of his bag to reveal the stout bottle of pale yellow banana milk.

He retrieves the milk, unwrapping the attached straw and stabbing it through the thin green foil of the lid.  He brings the thin straw to his lips, down some of his late-night beverage.  The condensation dripping off of the sides practically freezes Jungkook’s fingers to the bone.  He sets his drink of the bench before he yanks at the edges of the sleeves of his black sweatshirt, pulling them most of the way down his palm.

He uses his palms to grip his banana milk once again, this time protected from the cold of his drink.  He sips on the familiar drink, tasting but not really appreciating it as he waits for the bus to come and pick him up.  He glances down at the wood of the bench, running his finger over one of the many carved declarations.  He remembers when he secretly wrote his initials paired with Hoseok’s in his notebook, pressing down so hard and tracing over it so many times that their initials could be felt several pages later. 

In the grand scheme of things, his crush on Hoseok had gotten him nowhere.  Sometimes he wonders if what he really felt was akin to love.  It might have been an extreme form of admiration, but thus far, Jungkook hasn’t been in love.  It doesn’t matter now, Hoseok is happy and married, and Jungkook is happy that he’s happy, he really is.  It just makes him lonely, but at least, he has Jimin to lean on.

Jimin scolded him for a week after Hoseok’s wedding, for letting him drink that much, for letting him out of sight, and for letting him stumble into a stranger’s hotel room.  Jungkook feels bad and knows he shouldn’t have buried his feelings under layers of alcohol, then left Jimin to wander the hotel in his impaired state.

Jungkook is pulled out of rumination by the clearing of a throat and a pressure on his shoulder.  Instinct turns his head, and he feels a firm finger poking his cheek.  His eyes are first drawn to the offending finger, skipping over the face of whoever chose to prod him.  He follows the finger down to the hand down the arm, finally looking the offender in the face.

It is not a familiar face.  This fact is only made more surprising by the fact that his hair is orange, bright hair peeking out from under a black beanie.  His eyebrows are thick and several shades darker than the hair fringing on his forehead.  The freckle on his nose is off center, and his smiling eyes are heavily lined by kohl.  His plush lips are quirked into a playful smile, revealing a very white set of teeth.

Jungkook knows that he should be slapping the offending hand away, but he’s caught up in the momentary beauty that has stolen the breath from his lungs.  The thin yellow straw is still nestled between his lips, making Jungkook painfully aware of how dry his lips have become in the span of a few seconds.

“Can I have some?” The stranger asks in voice that is voice an odd mix of masculinity, innocence, and sincerity. His facial expression turns very earnest and pleading.

Jungkook blinks slowly, processing the request, his lips unsticking as his jaw drops.  Jungkook knows what he should be thinking and saying and doing, but instead, he reaches down into his bag from the convenience store.  His fingers lock around the thick bottle of the other container of banana milk he had purchased.  He shakes the plastic bag off of his hand, offering the other bottle to the random stranger.

Jungkook is rewarded with one of the widest smiles he’s ever seen, eyes pressing into thin arching lines, hiding behind prominent cheekbones.  “Thank you~.” The man thanks him cutely, tearing the wrapper of the straw and jabbing the cap.  Jungkook belatedly realizes that the man is crouching on the bench, knees tucked against his chest with feet flatly planted on the abused wood of the bench.  (He wonders how it took him so long to notice, the orange-haired stranger must have had stealth comparable to a cat).

Jungkook watches him down the milk in record time, the milk line moving down at a steady pace.  He must have been parched, based on the way he was drinking.  Jungkook finds his throat drying out as the stranger’s Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp.  Jungkook immediately looks away, resuming his own consumption of the banana milk.  He finishes his milk before the stranger, slurping sounds echoing in the plastic bottle as he up more air than liquid.

The bus pulls up after what seems to be a lifetime.  Jungkook jumps to his feet without looking back at the very odd man who asked him for banana milk.  He boards the bus quickly, a small beep and he rushes to the back of the well-lit bus.

He realizes he’s stilling hold his empty bottle.  Immediately looking at the trash can that is always next to the bus shelter.  The stranger is gone when his eyes flick over the bench.  There’s an unexpected wave of disappointment that originates in his heart, as if he had hoped the stranger would see him off or something.

He softly bites his lower lip; the stranger wasn’t the worst of company.  Jungkook shakes the thought from his head, reminding himself that their rapport was only two sentences long.  Perhaps, Jungkook hopes, it is just the fact that he was interrupted while thinking about love.  Jungkook groans, letting his head fall against the window of the bus.  He, once again, feels lonely, but soon the vibrations from the bus window make him forget, or rather keep him from thinking, about his troubles.

Jungkook gets home around midnight.  No one is awake to scold him, or tell him that banana milk could have waited until the morning.  He shuffles into his bedroom, the sound of slippers disrupting the silence in the house.

He awkwardly pulls off his sweatshirt; his joints are still recovering from the intensity of his dance practice.  He falls onto his bed, happy that he is wearing sweatpants instead of jeans.

The exhaustion of the day finally hits him, forcing his eyes to slide shut before he has time to burrow under the covers.  He can still feel the skin on his cheek tingling as dreams pull him under.

a/n: hello.  thanks if you've gotten to this point!
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