It was ridiculous.
All of this was so incredibly ridiculous that part of him couldn't even believe that it was currently happening to him. Sure, taking his mind off his own impending doom had seemed like a relatively good idea at the time. Why he had then decided that the best course of action was to go shopping for those lacy red panties Jungkook had once mentioned was completely beyond his realm of understanding.
But there he was, trying not to act like some embarrassed teenager as the cashier rang him up, making idle chatter. It was just her job, he knew that. Had been to this store more times than he would ever want to admit. Chances were they probably thought he just had some really lucky girlfriend who he was constantly buying pretty little things for. That he never bothered to buy a matched set and so often smelled like the scented lotions that lined the walls probably just didn't sink in.
He couldn't deny that part of him was incredibly excited. That the thought of soft silk and pretty lace in the deep shades of burgundy and bright, blood red against his skin didn't make him feel some type of way. That knowing how much Jungkook apparently not only liked but appreciated this little habit of his only made it feel more exhilarating.
So maybe it hadn't been such a terrible idea after all. Because by the time he managed to make it back, the time left had dwindled down to a little less than two hours. Hardly enough time to have the full blown panic attack that had been threatening to make it's appearance, brewing directly below the surface.
Focus. He needed to focus. Needed different distractions. Decided to use the time wisely. Filled the bathtub with warm water and watched as the fizzy bomb began to melt, filling the air with it's gentle scent, pale colors swirling upon the surface. Washed and deep conditioned his hair, took the time to do a face mask. Acted like it was any other self care session instead of getting ready for some marathon of regrets.
Did he actually regret any of this? He should. Everything told him that he should. Rational thought. Common sense. On the surface it seemed like the text book definition of something he should regret.
Only he didn't. Hadn't since that very first moment. And nothing so far had been strong enough to change that. Maybe he would somehow walk away from this without any. Maybe the lack of them would make it easier. Maybe it would make this all hurt less.
It was so easy to fall into his routine. To relax into it. To step out of the water and dry himself off. To go through the steps of his skin care. To brush his hair and style it, attempting it one way and then another, before finally deciding to part it down the middle, letting it fall into his eyes from either side. Fixed his imperfections with little bits of make up, evening out his skin tone and covering the stubborn blemish that absolutely refused to go away no matter what he did. Took a deep breath and decided to line his eyes with deep black, making the flecks of light brown that swirled through the darker base pop. Tapped on a dark pink tinted balm until his lips were shining and it looked like he had just finished eating a lollipop.
There was nothing in his closet that actually made him look cute. A revelation that almost brought on the break down he had been trying to avoid. Tossing items of clothing around in a frantic, mad attempt to find something that would actually work turned up exactly nothing, and he forced himself to take a step back. To breath in slow and push it back out. To lower his standards, just a bit, and take a second look. This time it was much calmer, much more thorough, fingers brushing over the fabrics with purpose instead of rushing. Pulled out a pair of black jeans that he had only worn twice, with rips across the knees, and a matching button down with a tiny little flower pattern in shades of white and pale pink.
Tore off the tag on his embarrassing new purchase and then briefly reconsidered, glancing at the other sets that currently sat at the top of the pile. He had been intended to go with the skimpiest pair, one that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, but something sparked inside of him. Something that had him tossing them back and reaching for the bright, blood red of the cotton and lace boy shorts, ripping off the tag and slipping them on, taking a brief moment to actually inspect himself in the full length mirror.
There were so many flaws. His shoulders were too broad, and his thighs held too much weight. Sure, when you finally glanced at him from the back it all suddenly made sense. They had to be strong and thick to support what he was carrying. All of the extra fat that had once sat around his waist was gone, and now he just looked too skinny. Like there wasn't enough definition or muscle, no matter how hard he tried.
But the red did look devastatingly good against his skin. A shock of color against the pale expanse. And as he pulled up the jeans and slipped the shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it all the way up, he stopped himself. Undid the first button and then the second, parting the fabric slightly to expose the curve of his collar bone.
Sure, he had exactly zero confidence in himself, but he was really, really good at faking it. And right now even he had to admit that he looked incredible.
Glancing at the clock that sat beside his bed, he realized that he had exactly twenty minutes. And it was in that moment that he knew just how much the universe truly hated him.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to find something else to focus on. Something to keep his mind occupied so he wouldn't break down, so he wouldn't completely lose it now that it was all so close. All within his reach.
Sometimes he both loved and hated how his mind worked, how it operated. How these ideas came to him out of seemingly nowhere, because he certainly would never understand which portion of his brain had been capable of coming up with them.
Would never be able to understand how he ended up bent over his bed, shoulders pressed down into his pillows with his hips in the air, four fingers buried in his tight heat, scissoring himself open. How he ended up crying out the other's name, trying to silence himself by biting into his own cheek hard enough to draw blood. How he ended up stuffing himself full with the pretty purple plug, keeping himself open and ready. He clenched once, as if testing the comfort of it before moving to stand, pulling those panties back up over his thighs, before doing an absolutely ridiculous little jump to get his jeans to follow.
Five minutes. He only had to keep himself occupied for five minutes. He could do this.
