Singulars. (Reader One - shot throwaways)

Tender Remedies. (JenniexReader)

Y/n remained Jennie Kim's emergency contact despite their nasty break-up, and five years in between.

Or the what ifs of it all, and how dangerously addicting it is.

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Despite the rumors, Jennie Kim was, and always will be, a light weight.

In fact, her proclivities to alcohol and parties have been - at least to her - greatly exaggerated. At heart, she'd always been a homebody - always at her best, in her worst outfits - namely her worn out pajamas and oversized shirts - and unwashed hair. And even at twenty eight years old, she's still hasn't developed the acquired taste when it comes to beer.

But despite it all, does she party?

Why yes, of course.

She parties, and she parties well. She drinks, gets drunk, dances, and smokes all night long. And she'll hate herself for it in the morning, because genetics didn't bless her with the gift of evading a hangover from hell, and her mother certainly didn't possess any traits that would prevent her asian flush.

Many things, truly. And upon a number of exaggerated claims about her, the thing that they had greatly misunderstood was why?

Why, as in: Why is she drinking so much? Why is she partying her life away? Why, despite her fame, isn't she taking care of herself?

And upon the myriad of why's and speculations, it baffles her that people still could not figure it out.
At least, to her, it's as obvious as the sun. Honestly, people only ever drink for one of two reasons; either they're celebrating or they're mourning.

Jennie likes to delude herself that it was the latter. She likes to think, that after everything - after the miscommunications and mistakes and heart breaks, that she's the one who drew the better straw. And you know what, for a time, she believed it.

So she drinks! Celebrating her emancipation from that one person who had took her time to figure it out. She tells herself that she'd felt suffocated. Yes, exactly that - god, three years of being in a hidden relationship does that to you. And okay, fine. She didn't necessarily have any problems with it - in fact, she was quite happy with Y/n - her. Her.

No names, can't think about any names.

But she did, and so it must mean that she wasn't drunk enough, so Jennie leans in closer to her friend, whispers to her ear about getting another drink in her system, and marches on towards the bar.

Two shots, downed one after the other.

Alright,  now she feels moderately flustered. Good. Good to feel flustered, with her face tingling, and her tongue feeling a bit too thick in her mouth.

Right, see? She's living her life! Jennie thinks that if she were in a relationship right now, then she wouldn't have this opportunity to be with these people who she doesn't particularly care about, nor know.

And she's happy. Or, at least, happy adjacent.

Happy, in a sense that she's not particularly sad, but she wasn't particularly fulfilled either. But you know, happiness is overrated anyway. She used to equate that emotion with brown eyes, and a lopsided grin, that did wonders to her heart. Used to think that happiness was synonymous to the name of the girl who-shall-not-be-named. And fuck, maybe sometimes she's a bit low on the happiness scale, but at least she's not, well, sad.