𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝑒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 15

When I open my eyes, the bedroom is flooded with morning light, beams so bright they threaten to blind me.
I blink, but when I try to sit up, I find out that I can’t: a strong arm is wrapped around my waist, pinning me down on the mattress. I follow the bulging veins on the forearm, the creases on the rolled-up sleeve of the shirt, the defined biceps stretching the fabric… Still asleep, Jungkook is something nice to look at: his messy black hair brushes his forehead and closed eyes, as he breathes with his plump lips slightly parted. He looks pretty, not as sharp-edged as he usually does.

I should’ve gone away last night. Now it’s morning, who knows how late, and leaving will be twice as hard—let alone dealing with my complicated emotions and whatever happened only a few hours ago.

He won’t remember, I tell myself, trying to gather the courage to face the day. And I can still leave before he wakes up, right? I don’t even have my car. I’ll need to go back to the club, retrieve it, and drive directly to class, because there’s no way I’ll be able to stop at home to shower and change.
My very first walk of shame… and I didn’t even have sex. Just great.

Jungkook’s arm is holding me tight, but I manage to slip away from his grip and hop down the bed. I try to be very quiet as I fix my clothes and put my boots back on, controlling my every movement and breath, but it’s pointless: in the span of one minute, Jungkook’s eyes flutter open and land directly on me.

“What are you doing?” Good God. His morning voice puts his normal voice to shame: it’s deep and raspy and gruff, the words pronounced oh so slowly.

“Last night you—”

“I know” he cuts me off, rubbing an eye. “I remember.”

Well, there goes my plan to turn a blind eye on what happened. I was hoping the hangover would make him forget.

“Where are you going?” he asks, sitting up on the crumpled sheets.“That’s what I meant.”

“I have class and my car is still at the club.” I finally get a hold of my purse, forgotten on the dresser, and I pull my phone out. It’s seven thirty. “I’m running late, so I better get going.”

“Would you grant me one minute before you go?”

I stop by the door, my back to him. “Why?”

There’s a moment of silence before he says anything. “To properly apologize. You deserve it, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I do” I mutter, crossing my arms. “You acted like a douchebag.”

Behind me, I hear fabric rustling and slow steps coming closer. “I did. And I’m sorry about it.” No buts? No excuses?
I can feel him stop behind me, too close and at the same time not nearly enough. “You still spent the night” he softly murmurs. “Why?”

I’m not going to confess that’s exactly what I wanted, because I’m not ready to admit it to myself, let alone him.
“Well, you were in a terrible state” I reply, trying to control my shaking voice. “It didn’t feel right to just… leave you here alone. I’m a decent person, you know?”

With the tip of a finger, he traces a line up my back. When he reaches the end of my loose ponytail, probably messy and frizzy, he moves it on my right shoulder so that he can keep drawing his imaginary stroke along my spine. His touch is light, and yet, it’s all I can focus on right now.

“You’re much more than a decent person, Y/N” he says in a husky voice. He’s so close I can feel his words, made of warm breaths and untold promises, intertwining with my hair. “And I don’t want to lose you. Reconsider your decision.”