The Siren's Song

Chapter 49- drunk on feelings

JIMIN POV:

Every fibre of control, every damned shred of restrain and holding back threatens to fly out of the window and slip through my grasp so, so easily.

I hate how much I love the feeling of her in my arms. How perfect she feels there. Hate that when I guide her hips, she needs little assistance in making the movements more deliberate, more pronounced, and more seductive. Hate that I find myself looking at her constantly, unable to tear my eyes away at the silent expression of radiance and ethereal beauty. Hate that I can see several eyes turned to her, can see that she demands your attention and so easily holds it, just as she holds mine- to this captivating sensual movement of her body, in this confidence that melts away her shy nature and right now all I can see is a fiery temptation, silently beckoning people in.

And hate that when the song reaches its crescendo, lyrics about the peak of ecstasy and pleasure, I find myself twirling her around, tugging her towards me, her back coming to meet my chest in a fluid flush movement, hips still a safe distance away.

And try not to freeze. Even if my mind and heart and soul all scream and sing with delight at the reaction. My ears catch onto the slightest sound...the barely audible gasp, swallowed immediately by the crowd, but I'm sure I didn't imagine it. Didn't imagine the sweet gasp that she let out so prettily. And hate that I want to coax more out, find that my hands seem to disobey my will to tear myself away and still hold her, turning her back around.

And yet find myself disappointed when her attention seems to be caught on a sight behind me, eyes transfixed. And whatever it is that she's seen, whoever it is, causes an almost instantaneous shift. Feel her body tense under my touch and that confident assurance falter slightly.

And when the song comes to an end, my hands fall off her waist- having no just reason to keep them there anymore, already missing the soft warmth of her from under me, miss and crave to hold her again.

And it's almost a deeply rooted impulse but I gently tug her forward into a hug, arms wrapping around her.

"Thanks for dancing with me (Y/N). I'm the luckiest person right now." I whisper, relishing almost greedily, selfishly in the way she reciprocates, albeit a bit nervously, arms gently wounding around my back and delicately holding me- almost fearful of pushing a boundary. And when I lean back and my eyes fall on her, I feel my heart squeeze with fondness at the shy sweet smile she gives, the music taking with it her confident presence, her assured moves. And she stands in front of me, slightly below eye-level but maintaining eye contact, even if she seems to fiddle.

How she can be so different in a matter of moments I won't know? But I can't help but want to coo over her regardless. 

Feeling as if the ambience and the drinks buzzing through my veins are what gave me the courage, that made me want to approach her, this beautiful friend and to dance with her, feeling pride that she accepted. That she danced with me. That otherwise maybe I would've fallen silent, lost the courage before it even got mustered.

She looks so soft and gentle despite the bright neon lights that cast glows on us, her face softened by her personality, by her delicate features despite the bold confident lines that outline them, make them pop even more.

And maybe it's for the best that Habaek arrives when he does. That he startles her by coming to wrap his arms around her waist, looking for all the world as if he belongs, pecking her cheek effortlessly, so easily and smiling when she turns startled to face him, before very noticeably seeming to melt into his touch.

And I don't know what the look in Habaek's eyes are as he looks at me from over her head, his tall frame imposing and broad and silently observant.