❊ 𝗙𝗔𝗡 𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 ❊
❛ ━━━━━ With the ocean breeze silencing us, we remained strangely unperturbed. She and I sat still against the moving waves, staring at the same inconstant moon she had referenced earlier. But then something about gazing at...
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The doorbell in my shared apartment rang three times, struggling to be heard over the mix of low growls and a squeaking bed, making me groan in frustration. Who, in their right mind, thought it was a good idea to drop by on a typical Tuesday afternoon in May?
I was deep into a novel, 298 pages in, when my roommate's boyfriend arrived an hour ago. I should've shut the door the moment Jungkook's silhouette appeared, but no-my brain short-circuited in the presence of his charm. Jimin, of course, caught the vibe immediately and practically materialized from nowhere to greet his "bunny."
Jimin was a lost cause by now, sinking deeper every time Jungkook smiled-crinkling his eyes, scrunching his nose, and flashing that heart-melting grin. Just like he did then, standing in the doorway, triumphantly holding two boxes of pizza. "Let's hang out!" he declared, like this wasn't a trap.
I figured it out 28 minutes later when Jungkook excused himself to use the restroom and didn't come back. Jimin followed soon after, claiming he was just checking if his boyfriend had gotten lost in our modest two-bedroom apartment. Neither of them reappeared.
I remained skeptical until a loud whack followed by a lewd moan and a breathless "Harder, baby!" echoed through the walls, making me choke on the crusty dough I was munching. After several fits of coughing and a jug of water later, I returned to my book, pretending I hadn't heard a thing.
My back cracked as I straightened up, and it hit me mid-stretch, as I tried to wake up my dead feet-I looked like a zombie from Army of the Dead, the one who was about to kill the human who couldn't stop hitting the doorbell. Jungkook was to blame for that mental image; he'd made us watch it during Movie Night last week. Jimin had spilled his guts afterward, swearing zombies were now off-limits on our watchlist.
But alas, they'd departed, leaving me spiritually scarred for life.
"Shit," I muttered as I knocked over an empty Coke can. If it had still held any liquid and left a stain on the expensive rug my grandmother gifted me, I would've officially declared war on the bunny boy. He'd be lucky to escape with just a lecture today.
Fortunately, the doorbell ringing had stopped as I tossed the can into the trash like a pro. Unfortunately, the person outside had no chill, switching to loud bams on the Hickory wood. I cursed again.
"Anybody home!" they yelled.
"Yeah, coming!" I yelled back.
I cautiously peeked through the peephole-a habit I'd picked up from all the crime thrillers Jungkook insisted we watch. And for once, I was grateful for it, because the second I saw who was out there, my first thought was: Oh, fuck.
My body went into autopilot, sprinting back to the living room. I grabbed my phone off the coffee table, frantically typing out a text.
Meanwhile, a storm of muffled words pierced through the door.
