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A drink with your ex-boyfriend? Sure. Bearable. A drunk you who overshared last night? Sure. Understandable. A drunk you and your drunk ex in the same bed together? That's questionable.
Nothing happened, you're sure of that. Not only that you're fully-clothed, he seems to have fallen on the bed without even knowing you were in it too. A bottle of vodka loosely rests on his hand as he snores the house up. Shit, was all you could think of. Traces of the mess you two made last night start to appear and ring a bell in your memory lane.
Scattered confettis that Jungkook had brought last night. He was yelling when he pops it as the others scream cheers. Jimin did not participate in the toast, drinking his bourbon in the corner trying to ignore the elephant in the room which was you. And you did the same, Jin would kill the both of you once one of you start an argument. None of you dare not to ruin the night for others.
A cracked egg on the doorstep, evaporating every passing second, that Taehyung tried to aim at Hoseok, probably a bet. The rest are still hazy to your memory, a blur of debate inside your head whether you joined their stupid games or not. You do remember beer pong last night and the annoyance in your eyes as Jimin kept huffing out breaths whenever you couldn't make a goal.
The mess mostly resides in the kitchen, it makes you uncomfortable to look at it. An edible cherry panty hangs in one of the handles of the drawers above the stove.
Who brought that? Definitely Hoseok.
More broken eggs in the sink and residue of ice cubes that are melting their way to the ground. Lots of confettis sticking to open plates of grease and salt. Empty cans with dents on the counter. One stool on the floor and Jimin's jacket on the sofa. The television set was left playing a 'Please stand by' screen with jazz piano for music. You immediately turn it off.
"How much did I drink last night?" you ask yourself while rubbing the back of your head. You figured the boys have gone home before sunrise since the smell of their suffocating perfume have left the air.
Then a sense of familiarity hits you when you sat down in the sofa, that squeak still there. Like the old times when you would stay over watching movies all night long with Jimin. He's got his hand on your thigh, your breath burning his ear and you'd twirl your hair to tease him, but he was always a focused person and most of the time he'd understand the movie more than you did. This was the reason why you didn't want to celebrate New Year's Eve at Jimin's, but Jin doesn't take no for an answer.
He said, "Put it in the past, will you? He's moved on, you've moved on, right?"
You wanted to tell him no, but you're afraid he'll use your answer to convince Jimin to chase you. There's no more reason for trying, what's broken is broken and even a thousand roses wouldn't be able to fix the words you've said to each other. It's been three months, but the words are as fresh as an open wound. You try burning the emotions by putting all the recalled memories to the back of your mind, deciding to clean instead.
For ease, you removed your bra. It's not like Jimin's going to wake up any time soon, he's always been a sleepy head and you remember spending most of the mornings in his place cleaning and cooking. It's a stress-reliever, busying your head, focusing in the satisfying sweep of the broom and seeing the white tiles once again.
Tying the garbage bag, you gasp hearing a smirk behind you. Jimin leaning on a wall, he had already poured himself a glass of bourbon.
"Happy New Year, y/n." He places the glass on the table after finishing it one go, and he proceeds to take the bag from your hand. "Your nipples could cut diamonds right now." He glances down, a small movement of his tongue in the crevice of his lips catches your eyes.
Once he had returned, you were already getting ready to leave, taking your bag and hoodie from his room. His body rests on the sofa, his glass of bourbon on the coffee table in front.
Since when did he start drinking in the morning?
"Jimin, you're sitting on my bra." You roll your eyes.
"Am I?" He lifts the side of his body to reach for your red lace bra. His tongue pokes his cheek as he brings it to level his face. "How could I be so careless?"
He's drunk. Already. There's a certain gravel in his voice that makes you sure he's drunk and you hate that your ears still remember that specific trait of his.
You reach for it but he pulls it away, his face now close to yours. "I greeted you a happy new year."
Your brow rise, moving back to maintain your composure. "So what?" You cross your chest, hiding the erection that he couldn't take his eyes away from.
"You still haven't greeted me back."
"Jimin, come on. Let's be adults, give me that."
He fakes a pout. "I know another way we can be adults."
You take a sharp breath, aiming for an aggressive pull to take your bra, but Jimin throws it away and takes your waist to kiss you, and you fall on his body. You can tell he was hurt, but he keeps the softness in his hold of your waist. You push him off, wiping your lips.
"I hate you," you say to the floor and he replies with a broken sigh.
"Say it to my face," he stands up reaching for the hand that wiped your lips, "tell me how much you hate me." He places a soft kiss on the back of your hand then separating your fingers from their tight confinement inside your fist. He intertwines both of your hands together, molding like there's not a piece ever missing from them. Your clueless hands unaware of the chaos between the both of you.
"I hate you," he whispers to your hand while his eyes are drowning you under, "I hate the way you're ignoring me."
"You're drunk," you said.
"Doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing." His thumb seeps under your breast, trying his best to control himself. "I hate the way I miss you so much I drink myself to sleep."
You bite your lip to fight the moan trying to crawl its way out of your mouth as his hand leaves yours to run his two fingers from your stomach to your neck, having a hold of you without suppressing your breaths.
"I hate how you're reacting to my touches right now because I know you still want me as much as I do you." He tugs your nipple in between his fingers, the moan has now ran away from your mouth. "I hate you, y/n. I hate you so much."
You thought there was a needle that poked at your side because you were pushing Jimin, you're waking from his hold on you. "We can't do this anymore. I... I have to go."
His grip on your wrist was stronger now, his other hand on your cheek as if it's his last time holding it. "I know we can't. I'm sorry," he says, the roughness in his voice dispersing away and there was a sob in between syllables. "I wish I could tell you I love you without breaking you. I'm sorry."
And you also wished the same, to tell him those three words without breaking yourself. But there are so many things those three words won't be able to repair.
