Roséanne doesn't remember sleeping in her bed after she and Jimin had drinks at the club, nor she remembers making chamomile tea two hours ago.
She lies awake in her bed, tucked in and a pillow in her hand. Eyes droopy and barely awake, she glimpses a cup of tea on her bedside table along with a bowl of something liquidy (soup, maybe?). Despite the darkness, she moves to search for her phone when the inevitable happens.
The good old after effects of drinking too much alcohol immediately attacks her several seconds of peace. One thing that Roséanne fears after her parents is a hangover, and right now, it's taking her by the neck and slamming her head onto the floor (metaphorically speaking, of course).
"Shit," she groans, forcing herself to sit up. God, how did she even get here? She catches sight of a familiar pill of advil next to the bowl of soup along with a glass of warm water. Without words needed, she gulps it down in one go, desperate for the headache to disappear.
The girl sits there, unmoving and quiet. She waits until she's gathered enough energy to take the cup of tea and take three sips, before going to the kitchen to make herself a glass of milk.
She practically waddles on her way to it, even as she descends from the stairs, still clothed in her leather dress. Her apartment is dark, lights off, but her floor to ceiling windows provided enough light from the moon to illuminate most of her living area and the kitchen. Just then, as she reaches for the refrigerator, frantic knocks sounded in the room.
Roséanne flinches, mind going to a panic mode for a second before she's reminded of the fact that there's a party going on and it might just be one of her friends (Lalisa always goes here after every one of her party sessions that it's become a habit) wanting to pester her mercilessly.
Barefoot and a dull ache pounding in her head, she takes several steps towards her front door. Mind still in a bit of a haze, she opens it without hesitation.
Instantly, a big lump of weight lands on her chest.
Despite the smell of alcohol overpowering his body, the familiar traces of his perfume is still there. His hair is slightly disheveled, blazer crumpled in his right hand.
"Min?" she weakly whispers, wrapping her arms around his waist to support him. "Min, what are you-"
"Chaeng, I'm so-" Jimin struggles to stand on his own, swaying as he did so, "-sorry, but can I-" he coughs, "-I lost my car keys and your apartment is the nearest one I can find so I wanted to ask if I can..."
Roséanne knows what he was going to say next. But what she didn't expect was Jimin to rush towards her sink... puking his guts out.
"Oh my god, you disgusting motherfucker," she curses as she goes to him. Upon instinct, her hands goes to his arm and the small of his back respectively to give him comforting rubs. "There's a literal bathroom right next to you."
Jimin breathes heavily. "Do you think I had the-" he gags, "-time to look for a fucking bathroom when my guts is on the verge of a breakdown?"
"Can you shut your potty mouth and just vomit? I don't have time to argue right now," she exclaims after her head gave a throb. "You can stay the night, by the way. You look so fucked up, I don't think you'll go home in one piece."
"You're an angel, Chaeng," he comments, and as expected, he pukes again. "I want to die."
"Don't worry, I'll throw you over the balcony after this," Chaeyoung says as words of comfort.
She heard him chuckle. "Hell, yeah."
They both stand there for a few more minutes before Jimin slumps down at the counter top, chest heaving and his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Chaeyoung, on the other hand, prepares a cup of tea despite her slightly painful headache.
"I have a spare toothbrush," she says to him while pouring the hot water on the cup. "I'll get you one, drink this first."
Jimin raises his head a little bit to look at the tea in her hands before it goes back to rest on his arm.
Chaeyoung carefully places it next to him, holding her breath as she walks past the nasty sink.
"Your head hurts?" she asks as he swings her arm around her to help him walk and they head towards the living room. "Do you need an advil for that?"
"Not yet, no," he replies as she maneuvers him to sit down. "But it'll come by tomorrow, so I think I might need one, if you have any."
"Of course, of course."
"Wow," Jimin makes a sound of appreciation as his back hits the couch. "You're like, mom material."
Chaeyoung doesn't stop herself from snorting. "What the hell are you talking about, Jimin? Are you that drunk?"
"No, no, I'm not drunk. Just tipsy, but not drunk." He waves his hand. "I mean it."
"Sure." She rolls her eyes and walks back towards the kitchen to get the advil, the cup of tea, and a glass of water. "Stay right here."
Once she grabs what she needs, she makes her way back to where Jimin is. "Here," she says as she places the tray down on the coffee table. "If you need anything else, I'll be at the loft, yeah?"
She makes a move to walk away, but Jimin gets ahold of her hand before she does.
"Chaeng-ah," he speaks quietly, and her gaze turns to him. Under the moonlight, he looks exhausted--eyes somewhat lidded and limbs slack, "thank you."
"Whatever," Chaeyoung tries to say nonchalantly, but the smile that appears in her face ruined it. "I'll get you a bigger pillow, I'll be back."
She quickly goes to her storage room to retrieve an extra pillow and a blanket, and drags the said things back to the living room.
"Hey, I'm-" she trails off, greeted by the sight of Jimin--already knocked out on the couch and mouth parted slightly, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and sleeves rolled back to his elbows, "back."
Chaeyoung debates whether to leave him like this and just go back to her room, but he looks so tired that she just relents. Letting out a sigh, she places the blanket on top of the couch and the pillow on one end. With all the strength she could muster, she heaves Jimin to lie down fully.
She proceeds to get the blanket and tuck him in (she has no idea why she did that), careful to not disturb him while he sleeps. Then, out of nowhere, she moves away the hair from his forehead with a gentle touch, smiling softly to herself.
"Night, Min," she whispers, and softly taps his right cheek twice before standing up and heading to her room.
God, fuck the milk, she's tired.
