quixotic | pjm (smut/nsfw)

3

[one°c]

The people at the party gradually dwindled down, something you didn't even notice until the music had been switched off. You'd sat by the edge of the pool for hours, your brain lost in a sea of drunken thoughts and then caressed by the dark emptiness of your blank mind when you'd finally run out of things to think about. This is exactly what you'd wanted. Peace of mind.

You turned to leave, picking up your heels with one hand and pushing yourself up, off the ground, with the other. You didn't feel drunk anymore; the alcohol's effect on you had worn off nearly an hour ago. You stood up and out of the corner of your eye, you saw another body mimic your movements, so you looked over to see who it was.

"Jimin? Why are you still here?" The sight of Jimin perplexed you, realising he must have never left when you thought he had. "I've been sitting here for hours, don't tell me you've waited this whole time to try and get into my pants!"

You didn't give him a chance to speak, exiting the garden and walking through the house towards the front door. You were too tired to listen to Jimin, too tired to try and reject him again, and too tired to properly think straight. You felt a presence behind you the whole way through the house and all the way up to your front step. You knew it was Jimin following you so you didn't turn round and tell him to back off, knowing you'd soon get the satisfaction of slamming the front door in his face. Which you did. Your eyes met his just as it shut and the look in his made you regret your decision. He looked concerned, worry plastered across his face. That one look was all it took. One look and you had burst into tears, your forehead pressed against the door, remembering everything shitty with your life and how unfair everything was. Remembering your sister who was lying in hospital, uncomfortable tubes sticking in and out of her, slowly dying from the cancer that had claimed her life.

You knew Jimin could hear you, your wailing loud and your breathing becoming more and more sporadic. You grasped against the door frame, opening the front door to find Jimin standing there. He hadn't moved an inch. As soon as he saw you he grabbed hold of your waist, crashing your body into his as he stroked your hair and let your tears soak through his shirt.

"Breathe, babe, you need to breathe," he cooed, trying to calm you down, "it's okay, it's going to be okay."

You cried into his chest until your body became limp and your eyes fluttered shut. Jimin carried you upstairs to your room and tucked you into bed. He went downstairs and locked your front door before coming back up and climbing in beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into him. You felt him press his lips against your forehead and wondered if he knew you were still awake, just too tired to speak or open your eyes. You wondered why he was acting this way with someone he barely knew, someone he had only ever spoken to twice in his life. The fuckboy Jimin you knew would never show this sort of affection to a girl, especially a girl like you.