𝐌𝐫. 𝐊𝐢𝐦

05

We are sometimes just observers of other people's lives, believing that we will never experience what they are experiencing, and you think to yourself, "That will never happen to me."

Those were your exact words every time you saw drunken strangers in crumpled work clothes as they stumbled over street signs and park benches on Friday nights, damp bodies and garments reeked with cigarettes and stale fumes of hard liquor where a man puked up his monthly rent.

Drinking was a part of Korean culture, especially for those who worked long hours and were under constant stress. At the end of your shift, you'd stretch from the volume of your cubicle and carry your body out to mingle with the sweetness of late-night lullabies.

You weren't a heavy drinker by any means, but there were exceptions, and last night you completely outdid yourself. You lost track of how much of the expensive liquor you drank, although it didn't satisfy your taste buds because you preferred cheap wine.

You weren't ready for what came the following morning when you woke with a huge migraine. "Ugh..." Groaning against the soft pillow underneath your right cheek, your lids tightly squeeze as you feel the intense sunlight through the large windows.

There is a faint sound of water running from a distance, or it could just be the strong wind outside that is agitating your senses and giving you goosebumps.

Looking beneath the thick blanket, your eyes widen when you realize that you were only in your undergarments. You almost jump from the bed when you feel a sharp twinge of pain around your thighs.

Holy shit.

You feel your body heat up, hands shaking as you drop the material back on your body. You put a hand over your mouth, unable to think properly. "Oh my god, oh my god!"

"Wha— what happened?!" As if you thought the situation couldn't get more awkward, Namjoon rushes out of your bathroom, dressed in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, his hair disheveled. Then you let your eyes fall on the towel in his hand.

Why is he not wearing a shirt?!

"Why are you screaming?" He nears your bed in confusion. Instinctively, you move back against the headboard and pull at the covers.

"What are you doing here?"

"You were screaming, I thought something happened," he mumbles, voice hushed as he shifted on his feet.

"W-where are my clothes?"

Namjoon gazes at you before something clicks in his head. "Oh," Namjoon motions to the corner of the room, and your gaze follows. "They're in the hamper, why? Do you feel cold?" He rambles, concern in his eyes. "Do you want to wear—"

"Why am I n-naked?" You let out, almost breathless at what all this could possibly mean. "Did something happen—"

"No, Y/N," Namjoon runs a hand through his hair looking stressed at your accusatory tone. His voice comes out colder than intended, and you turn your attention towards the window, avoiding
his menacing gaze.