𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 ● 𝐉𝐉𝐊

• 18 • pluie sur moi

𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙪𝙯 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙮 𝙞𝙨?

𝙣𝙤.
𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙮, 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙨,
𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚,

𝙞 𝙘𝙧𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨.

༄

Renegade (feat. Taylor Swift) -Big Red Machine
[song recommendation]

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"Non. J'ai été...bon. Hmm...bien...hmm. Oui, oui...oui. Ah! C'est très bien. Bonne nuit. Mm...salut!"

"No. I've been...good. Hmm...fine...hmm. Yeah, yeah...yes. Ah! That's fine. Good night. Mm...bye."

His slim phone fell on his lap, his head bending back, allowing his buffed chest and Adam's apple to protrude out, sexily. His dear friend was busy too. Who else could he talk to? It wasn't like him to rant stuff but this once, he felt like he needed to tell or, rather, ask somebody if he was doing the right thing.

He adored you so fucking much. Your cute little hands, with your wide, bubbly eyes and your appraisal-worthy thoughts. And he wanted you here, beside him, breathing on him. Like you were meant to be doing. Being caught up in the society's norms had never happened to him before but for your sake, he wanted to keep himself from doing something 'bad'.

Till when can he control?

Let's not get too excited.

He warned himself again, it was necessary. It could jeopardise everything. His friend knew his problems and worries but, probably, was busy with someone tonight. Becoming such a man was never on his list, nonetheless, cultures and friends rubbed off on him.

The particularly heavy, crystalline glass on the table before him had a fading amount of Cognac, mixed with flavoured ginger ale. France had taught him to appreciate his Cognac with everything drinkable.

"No, no, garçon. Whisky sec? Good! Cognac? Non! No sec. Try this," the jeune homme slurred in half-Korean-half-French. Pushing a slender, chilled glass towards him, definitely not sec(neat). Yellow colour spreading temptingly over the white, translucent rocks. Lemon juice, soda and Cognac, that was his first time. The rich, smooth brandy made it's impact the moment it was sipped down his unadulterated throat. It was fucking bitter and churned a revolting reflex for his baby taste buds. Now, he had grown into a bitter, hard man, much more bitter than the liquid in the dang glass, it didn't stagger him anymore. The drink, named after it's birthplace, surely was more meaningful to him, his dear friend introduced him to it.

The same person who he was talking to a few minutes ago, the last caller id on his call history.

Hoseok. Jung Hoseok.

Jungkook had returned from Paris some years back, his friend didn't wish to. Settling down in their old, rented apartment, Hoseok was such a sucker for memories, Jungkook chuckled, fondly. Couldn't leave that damned apartment, their paintings strung on walls, their art supplies scattered all over the place. They were the true bachelors, célibataires. He could proudly say that his friend was a part of him, his friend had been there for him through thick and thin. And in this time of utter chaos, he needed his friend. Yet, there wasn't a remainder of him in Jungkook's life except of the Cognac in his glass.