a/n: it's filth. not recommended for younger readers. srsly.
if you want a soundtrack, these are the songs I had on rotation during writing:
a kiss - the driver era feels - kiiara drunk - zayn
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JUNGKOOK
Days on trial: 72
It's two in the morning, and the smoke from the new year's fireworks has all but subsided into the cool atmosphere of January 1st. Wind torments our hair, blowing it in any which way, but there's only one direction that we're heading in; home.
Seems stupid calling it that. It would be home wherever she was. If you say them fast enough, they start to sound the same. Annie.Home.Annie.Home. Annie.Home.
Okay, so they don't, but it would have been almost too poetic if they did.
Our shoes are off at my door, her converse tossed by the entryway as she runs ahead, and I'm left struggling with the laces of my boots. I've half a mind to grab a knife from the kitchen and tug it through them, but I'm not drunk enough still to convince myself that it's a good idea.
Eventually, they're off, socks too, and my bare feet pad to the living room.
Annie's there, waiting for me underneath the mezzanine, leaning against the door of my bathroom. I had been the one to suggest this; for the pair of us to just get in the shower as soon as we were home. Our clothes were wrecked, hair and skin too, so that's all we were doing, washing them.
Yet I found myself nervous now that my eyes were on hers.
It was a dance we'd done too many times to count by this point, but I never lost those jitters.
But then she smiles, and utters the words "let's get cleaned up," and suddenly I'm safe again, guarded by the protection of her colours.
Drawn to her as if we're a pair of magnets, we stumble through the door, still a little drunk, but mostly intoxicated with one another.
How did I get so lucky?!
She's giggling, and so am I, hands clasping each other's jaws as if we're scared of falling away from each other. One of my hands dips, tugging on the valve that will unleash a torrent of water streaming onto our bodies. It takes a second or two, the pipes filling and gushing out through the waterfall shower head. We're drenched instantly, bodies tensing on account of the water being stone-cold - but that just makes us laugh even more. The heat shared between us is enough to keep our hearts warm.
The water loosens the paint that had dried on her face, a myriad of colours that accentuated her features. She looked like art. I mean, she always looks like art, but this is different. This is new.
