𝙄𝘿𝙄𝙊𝙏𝙎.

when shit hits the motherfucking fan.

YOONGI almost missed it— missed them— after spending half of the day not seeing any of the two dysfunctional lovebirds.

however, he curses every little fucking particle he could set his anger on as he watches seungwan, whom he took home with him, flail about in his room, collecting her clothes as jeongguk silently watches on, his frame leaning on the veranda door, whilst yoongi is still tucked under his duvet, half-naked.

blinking on his bedside table is a digital clock; 10:32pm, it read.

once the door of his room closes, he whips around to glare at his friend, ignoring his even more disheveled disposition and twitching. "what do you want now?"

as the other keeps silence, yoongi finally calms himself down, running a hand on his mint-colored hair and taking a deep breath, his nose itching at the smell of something familiar.

the stench of— fuck, and yes, literally.

the stench of sex.

chortling, he asks again, "who's the lucky girl?"

"yerim."

"oh, yer— what?!"