Dance to This [kth]

t w e n t y • f o u r

I take a glance at my tattooed friend. He is also without his jacket, and I'm sure that his clattering teeth is from the temperature and not his nervousness. His inked skin is not a shield against the crisp air, although it seems like it should be.

Jungkook's behavior has turned into defensiveness at Taehyung's accusatory tone; he drops the clueless act the moment he begins defending himself.

The mood of the conversation has shifted because the two men are on the same page.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jungkook says quickly. "Don't get any weird ideas. . ."

Jungkook glances around as if surveying the area. It's quiet and deserted on this quiet Thursday morning; no one can hear our conversation. Taehyung's eyebrows merely furrow at Jungkook's attempt of a defense; he isn't satisfied in the slightest by it.

I can tell they both don't know how to handle the situation. I know I should speak up—I know I should— but I watch, voluntarily passively for once, because my adrenaline from the meeting is now creating a spinning sensation. My new feelings towards Taehyung have now turned into a downward spiral of oncoming headache. I find myself wincing at a new threshold of pain.

"Look at her," Taehyung snarls. "What ideas am I supposed to be getting?"

He gestures towards me, but Jungkook must understand the motive behind Taehyung's words because he doesn't turn. Look at me? What is wrong with me? When I glance down, I also notice that my shoe is broken. The strap that once securely wrapped around my ankle has ripped apart. I'm starting to realize that everything about me is unusual. . . not just my outward appearance. . .

"Okay, okay," Jungkook exhales.

Taehyung's pressing demeanor has tarnished the shield Jungkook's buzzed mind was attempting to create. Our Professor doesn't need to say much; it's the way he is speaking that is intimidating Jungkook. But why is he intimidated? Jungkook is usually not one to back down from a pissing match.

"She smoked without me. . . okay? I didn't make her. The blunt might have been laced."

"What?" I gape at the information. "What are you talking about?"

My shock is mixed with anger. Why would he tell Taehyung that? I hit his shoulder to stop him from continuing. Laced?

Jungkook ignores me, waiting for Taehyung's response eagerly. I'm relieved that Jungkook doesn't say anything more. Taehyung doesn't allow himself to react heavily; although I know that he wants to widen his eyes just as I did, his limited expression is telling of how hard he is masking it, and what he is actually thinking.

I know by now how to read him. . .

"Nothing happened to me," I clear the air when Taehyung remains silent. "I feel fine. I am fine. I just lost track of time."

I am somewhat referring to the promise I made to him that I would text him when I was back in my dorm.

Taehyung huffs a quick breath at my rambling words. "Fine, Eunha? Fine? You are not fine. You were drugged."

"I. . . I was not."

I had intended to challenge him with an affirmative tone, but my voice grows weak. My seemingly innocent remark only confirms what he is saying. The moment I realize this, I back down. I fall back into my body: slumping my shoulders and crossing my arms over my chest. I begin to nervously bite my lip as I come down from this high; I'm falling too fast.