Whiplash | jjk.

[35]: Dirt Water

The morning came sooner than you were hoping.

But waking up beside Jungkook with his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, keeping you nice and warm, well that set the day off to a rocky start.

Waking up, you felt unsure. Guilty. Unwilling to let yourself just enjoy whatever this was.

And that was just it—you had no idea what this really was, or how you really felt.

One half of your heart was excited. Warm and soft and so satisfied to finally have spent the night tangled up in somebody's arms. Hell, just to have somebody beside you. Someone to look at.

But the other half of your heart was scratching at the walls of her enclosure, begging not to be forgotten. She was saying 'hey, i'm still here', and 'he still hurt me'.

You can't bare to listen to either side.

So you count your loses and force yourself to keep moving. The day must go on. You slowly and gently wriggle yourself out of the loving embrace of Satan's incarnate, and you crawl out of bed.

It takes much more restraint than you expected to ignore his quiet moans of discomfort, and inviting whispers of, "Where are you going, love? Come back."

You glanced over your shoulder and his eyes were still closed. His lips still parted and his arms flat on the bed where your body used to be.

He's basically still asleep.

So you put on your shiniest self-control crown, and you leave the room.

—————

Forty minutes later, he finally emerges.

The clock is sitting at 7:37AM.

You are sitting at your tiny dining table with your phone in one hand, and a coffee mug in the other.

His face is a little puffy and his jet-black hair is extra fluffy, bouncing in all directions. His lips are pink and his eyes are dark and he's never, once, in all this time of knowing him...

Looked this fucking good.

You swallow a choke and pretend it's what is in your mug.

"Good morning."

He is smiling at you and you're suddenly confused as to why you're not buried six feet deep, yet you can feel three hundred tons of dirt on top of you.

You force a half smile back, "Morning."

You briefly wonder if he recalls the nonsensical events that took place in your room last night, as it was the last time you had shared words. But you soon stop wondering as you know for a fact that he was not going to forget.

And neither will you.

He is wearing big, obnoxiously baggy sweatpants that he must have brought in a sleepover bag, since they certainly weren't yours, and you remembered he was wearing black cargos just yesterday. His sleep shirt is white, and fit sort of snug on his big lean body, outlining the beautiful silhouette that God had crafted just for you.

He knew your taste, and he made Jungkook in spirit of it.

"How'd you sleep?" he plays with his hair in the centre of the room, and you pretend that it isn't killing you.

"Good. You?"

"I think I've never slept that well in my entire life." he admits, his eyes wondering around the apartment. "I wish I could sleep there every night."