Saved || A Jungkook fanfic

7.

Thanks to Jungkook, I had a party to go to tonight.

But unlike the countless parties before, this one sat in my stomach like a stone. Anxiety, guilt, anticipation—they tangled inside me in a way that made me feel slightly sick.

Don't ask me why I spent too much time in the mirror, making sure my makeup was blended to perfection, or why I meticulously adjusted the soft waves in my hair until they fell just right. It definitely wasn't for Taehyung. He had stopped noticing little things like that months ago.

Jimin, however, was more observant.

"Since when do you dress up for parties?" he asked, leaning lazily against the doorway of my room. His sharp eyes flicked over my outfit as he adjusted the cuffs of his white button-up.

"Since when do you care so much about what I do with my life?" I shot back, smoothing the hem of my off-the-shoulder black top before tugging at my matching skirt. The tall black boots completed the look.

Behind me, the muffled sound of running water and jazz music bled through the walls. Taehyung was in the shower, his deep voice carrying over the melody as he sang along. He was excited. He always was when there was a chance to lose himself for a few hours.

Tae likes to keep his mind busy. He always wants a distraction, craves it no matter the cost.

"Ailene," Jimin's voice pulled me back to reality. His tone was softer now, careful. "I know Taehyung is... difficult."

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh as I crossed the room, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. "Difficult is an understatement, Jimin. You know that as well as I do."

Jimin sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Call it what you want, but I get it. At first, I thought time would help. That grief never fully fades, but at least he'd learn to cope with it in a way that didn't destroy him. But Ailene... no matter what happened to him, you don't deserve this."

My fingers froze against the strap of my crossbody purse.

Jimin hesitated, stepping further into the room, his hands brushing at the front of his trousers in a rare display of unease. "I'm Tae's best friend, and even I'm telling you—it's okay to leave him."

I hated these conversations.

And they were happening more often now.

When did it start? Was it the drunken fights that escalated until we were thrown out? The way we'd wake up on unfamiliar couches, heads pounding, blood dried along his knuckles?

My eyes flickered to the four boxes of alcohol pads and the first-aid kit on Taehyung's side of the bed.

Or was it the time I caught him doing lines off the toilet seat of a motel bathroom?

I sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted.

Or... the time I caught him with someone else.

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

He had been completely out of his mind, drunk and high, tangled up in someone else's sheets. I hadn't even known why I checked that room, what instinct had drawn me there. But I would never forget the sight of his body pressed against hers, the way his lips moved over her skin, the low groans mixing with her breathless whimpers. The sounds of them. The smell of them.

Some memories never fade, no matter how much you wish they would.

"I can't leave him," I said, the same way I always did when this conversation came up. My voice was quieter now. "He needs me. He'd be worse without me."