"please god, let this one last..."
with five failed relationships, namjoon's hoping maybe this time he really is the one.
[namgi]
; bottom joon, top yoongi.
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His lips trembled against the red cup as he held it in his palms. "I-I can't- Please don't make me do this." The music was too loud, his voice became a naked whisper. His tongue was already swollen enough from anxiety. "... Please."
"Just one chug," He says, tapping his fingers against the marble counter and eyes tearing into Namjoon's shaking skin. Taps became thumps in Namjoon's ears. "You can't just leave a party without a little fun."
Namjoon pursed his lips before slamming the cup against the table without consuming it's contents. He already had tears in his eyes, wiping his cheeks furiously, he tilted his head down.
"Crying about being sober is what makes you lonely at parties," his voice was louder over the music than Namjoon's - who was practically screaming. A bottle slid across the table and stopped just right against Namjoon's fingertips, he looked up.
It was a full bottle of vodka.
"You're not leaving till you drink it, all of it."
"Just- Just let me go home," Namjoon pleads, pushing the bottle away, feeling small in such a large crowd. While the others were holding cups of alcoholic mixtures with liquor influenced minds, Namjoon stood desperately trying to leave the mess of a drunken haze with what's left of his sane state.
To him, alcohol was vile. Poison.
"Finish a cup, and you're free."
"You don't understand!" Namjoon says, "I can't-"
He slammed his hands down on the counter and it felt as if the music paused, the chatter stopped, and the only sound that was left was Namjoon's breathing and the liquor bottle opening. The bottle cap fell next to the bottle, no one touched it. "Drink," he demands.
"Drink it, Namjoon."
"Take it in your hands, and finish the whole goddamn thing."
Before he knew it, the bottle was in his hands and liquor drenched his throat with flames. It stung, it stung so much. He chugged and chugged without drawing a breath. Tears were running down his cheeks at the same rate vodka doused his stomach.
He slammed the bottle back down onto the counter, his throat burning up - crying to vomit. "Now, that wasn't so bad?" he says, crossing his arms over the counter, "Now turn around."
