Restless

Qu'est-ce qui se passe?

He's completely lost it.

Doused himself into oblivion, Namjoon has successfully driven himself mad. There is no possible, relatable, sane, or reasonable explanation as to how he got himself into this situation. And the horrific part of it all is, Namjoon has no idea as to how he will escape. He's not even sure he wants to.

Seokjin has cornered him, a hand next to his head, the other tracing along his ribs. The sweet mahogany that were cheering and singing beside him has morphed into darkened, dangerous orbs of black, he's got Namjoon right where he wants him.

It was only a moment ago where Namjoon rested his head on the cold, lifeless wood of his desk, drooling on his newest book. He'd beat alive again in a moment's notice, red plastic cup in his hand, Seokjin's laced in the other, being led out of a kitchen full of laughter and shouts and into the corner of a hallway, a dark corner, where Seokjin had pinned him to the wall.

"What are you-" Namjoon stumbled out, before Seokjin shushed him.

"You talk too much," Seokjin smiled, letting his head rest on Namjoon's shoulder.

"Seokjin-"

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

"What?"

"Just answer the question," Seokjin mumbled out, his lips ghosting the skin of Namjoon's neck.

His throat tight and voice strained, Namjoon answered, "I stole my dad's tax files and tried to work them out myself, but then I lost them and never said anything about it."

Seokjin laughed, launching himself into Namjoon's chest to keep himself steady, "Are you for real?"

Namjoon nodded hesitantly, lowering his head to look down, "What about you?"

Seokjin raised himself then, leaning into Namjoon's shoulder, his head against the wall, "Sucked off the principles kid during detention"

Namjoon groaned, "That's gross."

Seokjin only giggled, "Honestly he was," he made a face of detest, "didn't shave."

Namjoon hums at that, "You prefer clean and slick huh?"

Seokjin shrugged, "Not entirely, just don't want there to be a forest down there for me to go explore."

Namjoon laughed then, folding his arms around his stomach while Seokjin chuckled from beside him, "You're ridiculous," Namjoon smiled.

Seokjin hummed, his fingertips sliding under Namjoon's chin and turning his face to look towards him, "Have you ever done anything like that?" He whispered.

"Like what?" Namjoon mumbled, just as quietly.

"Have you ever experienced pleasure like that?" His eyes were soft, searching, yearning for something that Namjoon had to guess, to find.

Namjoon knew precisely what he was feeling. Warm, tingly, excited, relaxed, anxiousness. He categorized all of these emotions under a single name, as traced his gaze from Seokjin's eyes down to his lips. His pink, plump, glossed, wet, slick lips. Namjoon thought of one word, basorexia. A hunger, a desire burning deep in his chest, fluttering up his throat, the urge to kiss Seokjin. The undeniable, unmistakable, unignorable sensation to claim Seokjin's lips, to make him feel a sliver of the burning Namjoon feels. To taste, touch, grab and hold, to adorn and admire. He needed to kiss Seokjin as if it were the only thing he would ever do.

"No, I haven't," was all he could mutter before he felt entirely warm, flooded with a rush of satisfaction.

He thought his first kiss would feel passionate, exciting, breathtaking, glorious. Yet all Namjoon felt was a sense of belonging, a piece fitting into place, wires connecting telling him happy, great, fulfilling things. Telling him to hold Seokjin's waist and bring him closer, don't breathe out onto Seokjin's face, he wants him to trace his thumb under Seokjin's jaw and let him be the one to escalate it further. His plastic cup is beyond forgotten on the stained carpet beneath them.