Exes And Hoes

Third Wheel pt. 2

"Hmm... What should I do with you now, babe?" 

He spews that little lewd sentence way too proudly in a gush of air past your ear. You're prepared to crack him a new one yet draw a blank as if writing an exam, and a soft whimper rumbles through your throat in place of wit.

Suddenly, you've become painstakingly aware of the tingle glazing your exposed back.

His hand... is glued to your waist...

For a twinge of the moment, his sweet, longing gaze holds contact with yours. For the first time in years, you can sense the nostalgic warmth of the boy you once fell in love with ⁠and sense yourself teetering over the fence of morality.

Without even realizing, your body is naturally responding to the rhythm of Jimin's every precise movement ⁠— the literal and metaphorical last dance the two of you never got.

He takes your hand and secures it within his grasp. You can swear for a flash that his cheeks lifted briefly to reveal a smile, the likes that has you wondering...

What happened to us?

Back then when you held his hand, butterflies swarmed your the walls of your stomach and your eyes fluttered open in the purest awe and admiration. Instead, as his soft hand swaddles yours, your chest is equally as dull as the greys of hospital walls. No throbbing, no wrenching, no racing ⁠— beating unemphatically.

So much as a sideways glance from his chocolate seas of broodiness, and a shiver scurries down your spine. When you gain the courage to hold eye contact, amid the innocence that faded, he's flickered back to his usual temperament of ulterior motive.

"J-Jimin?"

"Jee," He smirks, tangling you further into his muscled reach, "Stuttering my name already?"

"Unbelievable. Even on a perfect evening you manage to wreck the mood." You scoff, a half-heartedness gnawing at your chest.

"Not my fault that your taste in men is questionable- OW!"

You withdraw your foot from his in self-satisfaction, refraining the best you can to peep even the smallest of laughter. Jimin's face twists with rage, his eyes burning to stop everything and just storm off ⁠— yet, you ⁠— your gleeful expression, has him nailed in place.

He's caught off guard.

As you continue to swivel to the rhythm, drifting deep into the music like never done before while curled up in his grasp, you whisper cheekily, "How observational!"

You're waiting for him to react, yet get nothing more than a slight tensing of his palm. You frown. His gaze is perpetually set on the corner of the room, eyes growing shakier every second. 

In a way, the nervous energy vibrating off of him is building up inside your fricking self! Your mind grows continuously queasy as the honey colour from his face drains into a bone-dead ash. The trail of his gaze leads behind your shoulder and without a second thought you turn around.

SEOKJIN!?

"Mr. Kim!" Forcing his name through the awkwardest laugh of your life, you bash past Jimin and scamper off to your 'not entirely leaping for joy' boss. Seokjin directs a creased brow towards Jimin as if mentally saying 'what the fuck dude'.

Unfazed compared to him subconsciously flipping tables a second ago, the blonde asshole offers a nonchalant shrug. "I'm just the opening act, nothing more to see here, I can assure you boss." He salutes provokingly, holding firm eye contact with Seokjin.