𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐲.𝐬. & 𝐥.𝐝.

one

it's the dryness in his throat that wakes him first, a sandpaper-like feeling from the tip of his tongue to the very base of his esophagus. his throat feels like it's been scraped at until raw, and his eyes immediately dart open to find any sort of relief at all, but that becomes soon forgotten when he takes note of where he is.

he's not at his house. the sheets covering his bare thighs are made of... holy shit, is that silk? dongmin doesn't even recall owning anything made of silk, let alone bed sheets of it.

okay, so he's in someone else's bed. that's totally, 100% fine. out of the norm for him, but there's probably a very logical solution to it, right? the dry throat, the unfamiliar environment, the pain radiating through his entire body — sounds a hell of a lot like hangover, if dongmin's ever felt one before.

which, he has, once or twice. but usually, the hangover comes with a slew of unsavoury memories, regrets that leave a bitter taste on his tongue no matter how much mango juice he chugs down (and then brings back up five minutes after). this doesn't feel like one of those mornings, and it makes his stomach churn a little more than it already is in that moment.

there's a strong stench of something floral in the air and it seems to be coming from the open doorway, the one that is letting all of the cold into the otherwise toasty warm bedroom. if dongmin squints, he thinks he can catch sight of flowers sitting atop a small end table, but his vision is blurred and weak, therefore untrustworthy.

aching hands come to grip at the silk sheets, slowly tearing them from his unwilling body, and then dongmin is suddenly all too aware of how cold he feels. his body involuntarily shivers, goosebumps coating his naked skin in an instant, and his arms come to wrap around himself in an almost protective way from the harsh temperature. spring shouldn't be experiencing such lows, should it?

walking had always proved a difficult feat after a heavy night of drinking, but now, it's a whole other story. dongmin's legs don't seem to understand that they have to actually hold his weight instead of just act as decoration, and that's clarified the second both of his wide feet are firmly planted on the ground, because, following shortly after, so is his face.

falling on stone, dongmin learns in that instant, hurts a lot more than falling on carpet. or laminate. or even on wooden panels. he makes a quick note to self: never get travertine flooring in any future home of his, no matter how much money is coming into his bank account. the pain of any body part hitting it is most definitely not worth the aesthetic.

dongmin attempts to not let out a small wheeze-whimper at the mere thought of having to walk around with a huge shiner, a gorgeous purple-hued bruise to give off the entirely wrong impression of him, but it's in vain.

palms are splayed against the floor, now, and although it feels like his arms are suddenly twigs bound to snap with even the slightest pressure, he makes it up and (unsteadily) back onto two feet. one step at a time appears to be the method here, quite literally.

it takes almost a full 10 minutes for dongmin to fetch a nearby robe, wrap it loosely around his broad shoulders, and teeter like a newborn to the open doorway, and out into what looks a whole lot like the home of a god.

there are tall ceilings and grand light fixtures, decorated prettily with golden fairy lights twisting around them like vines up a castle wall. their purpose is momentarily lost as daylight floods the room, but the dim glow of them still manages to peek through despite it all.

the further he walks, the more obvious it becomes just how high the ceilings actually are. despite being a generous 183cm, dongmin feels microscopic under their towering presence. an ant under a magnifying glass.