irresolution ; pjm + myg

01. fate

A heavy wave of nausea sank deep into Jimin's chest. From how things were going, he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the noise, or the anxiety this place gave him. Maybe all three, churning all at once in the pit of Jimin's stomach.

And it was all Taehyung's fault. Taehyung must have been plotting against him, maybe for weeks, maybe for days. "You never leave the house aside from class," Taehyung argued, "Jungkook will be there, your friends all miss you, it's about time you meet someone new..."

Sadly, Taehyung had him at Jungkook. The guy was his Achilles' heel, following his subconscious around with puppy dog eyes and bunny-like smiles...

"What a joke," Jimin mumbled into his red solo cup. Almost an hour and no Jungkook. Instead, Jimin sat, watching Taehyung weave through the crowd of guests effortlessly, laughing and enjoying himself.

Had this been his own crew, maybe some of the guys from his major instead of all these CompSci kids, he might've looked like Taehyung. Instead, Jimin was sitting alone, just beside a granite countertop  crowded by people shouting just to hear each other over the heavy EDM surrounding them.

I think I'm done, Jimin thought, finishing his drink. He was actually looking forward to this. Going out instead of studying. Maybe getting to hang out with Taehyung more, or get to know Jungkook better, or... The disappointment of it all stung like a needleprick to the heart.

Jimin stood from the bar and fumbled in his pocket to check for his phone.

"Shit," He heard a voice. But by the time Jimin realized what was happening, it was too late. A crash, a ton of alcohol, and the sight of Jimin's brand new phone skidding across the floor.

Someone had bumped into Jimin, knocking him on his ass and soaking him in liquor. Jimin tried to regain his bearings, looking just ahead to see an equally confused and alcohol soaked guy on the floor, a few red solo cups scattered by his feet.

Great.

"God, I'm so sorry," The guy said, shooting up from the floor and fumbling over to Jimin in a nervous panic.

Jimin still sat, in a rage or shock he didn't know for sure. All he could feel was the blood rushing to his head.

An outstretched hand.

Jimin looked up.

"Here, let me help you up," The guy said, an embarrassed smile on his face. "My name's Yoongi. You?"

This guy, Yoongi, with the mussed up dark hair and lanky gait, soft nose and the deep brown eyes. If Jimin didn't want to punch him, making out with him would be next on the list.

Either way, Jimin didn't want to turn down an opportunity, especially one seemingly brought down by the grace of God himself.

Jimin took his hand.

"Jimin," he said, allowing Yoongi to pull him up from the floor. "Park Jimin."

"Park Jimin," Yoongi repeated, not meeting Jimin's eyes. His voice was distant, uncanny in a way Jimin couldn't place.

Yoongi cleared his throat suddenly, looking back to Jimin and smiling. "Nice name."

"Thanks," Jimin said, smiling back.

They stood there in silence for a moment, a haze seeming to overcome the two of them. Then Yoongi blinked once, twice, three times.

"Jesus, your fucking clothes..." Yoongi said, eyes wide and horrified at Jimin.

Jimin looked down. His clothes were, in fact, fucked. His soft white hoodie, in particular, absolutely drenched in a dark, probably permanent stain.