Drunk Love [Completed]

Chapter 2: Reflection

I stare at myself in the mirror, my eyes trailing over the purple marks on my body. They're everywhere—the side of my neck, my collarbone, my chest, and even further down, where my robe covers them.

I take it off and hang it on the back of a chair, pulling out the underwear drawer of my dresser. As I fasten the clips of my bra, the memory of Yoongi's hands there makes me shiver.

Get a grip, Y/N. I scold myself.

Our arrangement was nothing like a normal relationship. We shared a house and sometimes shared a bed. We were both adults with demanding jobs—jobs we threw ourselves into. There was no time for dating or romance. We were similar, at least in that sense.

Yoongi was the one who had first suggested it. One hot summer night, when both of us had had too much wine. It had seemed a good idea, back then.

Just sex, no strings attached.

It helped us relieve ourselves from time to time, without the trimmings and tangles of a real relationship.

I could swear that there was something different about him last night. The urgency in his movements. The hunger in his eyes. The eagerness of his mouth. I had never seen him like that, barely hanging onto the threads of his self-control, the look in his eyes almost pained as he kissed me over and over again, on every inch of skin he could find.

It takes me longer than usual to get ready. My body feels light and heavy at the same time, my limbs not obeying me anymore.

I run my hand over the white blouse I had picked out earlier. The neckline isn't anything too low, but it will still show off the love-bites on my neck.

Not very professional.

I rub absently at my bruises, pulling out a black turtle-neck from my dresser.

I try to put him out of my mind, but images of him keep flashing back.

"Fuck." My hand jerks again. The wing of my eyeliner turns into a squiggle, and I blow out a breath in frustration. Wiping off the thing, I try again.

I style my hair into waves, cursing as I burn my hand on the curler. I blend some blush into my cheekbones. I put on the sheerest of my lip-glosses. I pick out tiny diamond studs, turning my head to the side, watching as they catch the light and glint against my skin.

Don't forget who you are. I stab a finger against the reflection that stares back at me.

As I make my way to the door, clutching my bag, I spot the suitcases. A yellow post-it note flutters on top of one.

I squint to read the untidy writing.

I'll get the stuff later today. You'll probably be out then, so we won't see each other again. Best of luck for today.

— Min Yoongi.

And just like that, he walks out of my life.