the devil skates on thin ice ∙ myg ✓

5 ↝ the calamity

The number 31 is salient in large, bold white lettering at the centre of the material. Though it is most certainly not as prominent as the MIN that stands out inches above it. The three letters set off screeching alarm bells within your mind, and you bolt upright on the mattress in a state of suffocating panic, cracking your elbow against the sill of the window in the process.

"Shit!" you yelp, cringing from the sharp pain that shoots up your arm, cradling it to your chest as you keel over your knees and dramatically collapse back onto the bed like the world just could not help but dig your hell-hole of a situation all the deeper.

You are in Yoongi's room. Of all the fucking people it could have been, it had to be him.

Amidst the anguish, a succession of thumping footsteps steadily becomes apparent as they grow louder, nearer, almost as though they are jogging. Then, the door is histrionically thrown open and a wide-eyed, flustered Yoongi comes into view, panting a little like he had ran from the other side of the apartment at the voicing of your distress. Honestly, you surprise yourself by holding back the lurching urge to hurl up the contents of last night at the sheer sight of him.

"Oh, you're awake," he impassively states, hand slipping from the doorknob as the veil of concern that thinly manipulated his features is composed into one of nonchalance. "Thought you might've died overnight. I was hoping, at least."

"No, I'm just sleeping with my goddamn eyes– Of course I'm fucking awake, what does it look like?!" you shrill, squinting at him as the migraine spikes especially acute, fingertips abandoning your bruising elbow and coming to your temples to gingerly massage the thrumming flesh. "And to be frank, death sounds like a much more favourable option than waking up in your room. What am I doing here, Yoongi?"

He merely shrugs, not giving anything away. "I'd like to ask you the same thing."

"Don't start," you mutter bitterly, slowly lifting yourself out of the—admittedly, exceptionally comfortable—bed at a steady pace in order to not throw your pounding head into another death spiral of agony.

As you do so, you notice an unfamiliar weight that sags over your figure. Glancing down at your body, you come to realise that your attire from last night is drowned beneath a thick, maroon sweater, the hem brushing at the middle of your thighs. The aroma that drifts from it is oaky; a damp forest on a misty morning combined with underlying tones of cinnamon. A familiar and refined scent that is so potently Yoongi, making it evident that the clothing is his. An involuntary shiver crawls up your spine.

Though before you can claw Yoongi down to the bone for answers, Minah's voice reverberates through your hammering skull in a long-lost conversation, filed somewhere in the pages of under a year ago.

A man is no gentleman if he doesn't let you wear his sweaters after sex! It's just a part of the common courtesy code!

Desperately, you stifle the urge to screech as a burning sensation climbs your throat, flushing your cheeks with a heat of sheer horror while Yoongi watches on, utterly oblivious.

"We didn't–" You emphasise with wide eyes and a swaying gesture of your hand– "Uh, you know?"

Yoongi, for a second, looks wholly alarmed by your assumption before he eases into amusement, barking out a sharp laugh. "While you were drunk out of your mind? Hell no. Do I look like some crazy sicko to you?"

The both of you stare one another down in a cursory silence, broken by your voice as you start to wrestle the sweater over your head, senses drenched in his cologne, "I'm not going to answer that."

"Once we got back, I left you to your own devices, thank you very much." Offence lays thick in his tone. His arms fold indignantly over his chest, and you blatantly ignore the way that the lean muscles of his biceps peek out of the navy sleeves of his shirt. "I slept on the tacky leather couch, which is like laying on an ironing board made of granite, I'll have you know. So yeah, thank you Yoongi for sacrificing your bed to my drunk ass for the night," Yoongi mimics in a pitched voice that is nowhere near similar to your own, proceeding to jab an accusing finger at your face. "I hope that hangover feels like a bitch for the rest of today, you ungrateful brat."