shortcake | liskook

9

By the time I get up the nerve to trade skulking in the den for a movie marathon in bed, the sun is setting and the house is empty. But more importantly, upon close inspection, it seems that my magic bed hasn’t gotten any unwanted sexy-time with Jungkook and Miyeon. 

I curl up with my laptop and settle in. 

Few things make me feel as happy as being under a mound of comfy covers, my head propped up by soft pillows as I watch movies while shoveling buttery-salty-delicious popcorn into my mouth. 

I move the now-empty bowl of popcorn to my nightstand as the ending credits for Reality Bites scroll, the third movie on my long binge list. I set the laptop aside and stand up to stretch, groaning at the pain from my tight muscles, which are even sorer than earlier. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch. 

I jump when the front door slams shut. I hold my breath listening as heavy footsteps move past my room. The familiar creak of the bathroom door sounds before it slams shut. 

He’s home. 

I glance over at the clock; it’s not even eleven o’clock. I can’t imagine Mingyu and his friends are the “early to bed, early to rise types.” At least not the early-to-bed-to-sleep type. 

I wonder if Jungkook brought someone home. Maybe Miyeon. Mr. Park didn’t say we couldn’t have people spend the night. 

I’m relieved tonight’s my night with the bed. The thought of him getting it on under my sheets… umm, let’s just say it doesn’t sit well. To be honest, the idea of Jungkook getting it on while I’m in the house doesn’t sit well either. Am I jealous? Absolutely not. Envious? Perhaps. 

I listen for more footsteps, but nothing. 

Just as I’m about stop another movie from auto-playing, a violent retching sound echoes through the walls. Is he throwing up? More wretching. 

He’s sick. 

My feet carry me toward the bedroom door, but I drop my hand before I turn the knob and take a step back. This is a job for Miyeon if she’s here. I hold my breath, waiting for the sound of her angel-like steps. 

Nothing. 

Maybe she floats… 

Another retching hack. 

Maybe he drank too much. And given what a dick he is sober, there’s a very good chance he’s an angry drunk so… 

A painful groan seeps through the walls, followed by a loud, hollow dry-heave. Ouch. 

What if he has food poisoning? 

What if he got in an accident and has a concussion? 

What if it’s the flu? This year’s strain is still going strong… 

My agitated steps carry me out of my bedroom to the bathroom door where I hesitate for a breath before knocking. 

“You okay?” I call through the door. 

The toilet flushes, then a gravelly voice mumbles something I can’t quite make out. But I’m pretty sure it’s some form of fuck off. 

The sink turns on, and I hear another low groan beneath the running water. 

“I’m coming in!” I warn before pushing open the door. I’m met with the sight of a half-naked Jungkook. 

He’s hunched over the sink, letting the water cascade over his dark head, his forearms braced on either side, veins popped over tensed muscle. His jeans are unbuttoned and slung low, resting on the black boxer-brief-covered bubble of his butt.