The Siren's Song

Chapter 51- hungover with pain

JIN POV:

It seems like an infinity passes in those few moments, still silence as we wait for her response, internally I'm pleading to hear a yes, to see a nod. Because some deeply rooted part of me shudders and revolts at the thought of leaving her alone to deal with handling a grown man- with having to struggle helping him.

But it seems like there's some part of the story we don't know, that gives us an incomplete picture because I've never seen any of the boys even at their most drunk seem to struggle as much as Habaek. And given his taller frame, it should mean his tolerance is higher, that in a very basic way he shouldn't be so affected. They don't look like they've gone to the club for the first time.

Not with the tantalising display the three of them had made, that Habaek and (Y/N) had made together- a confidence and self-assurance that came with knowing just how to move, just how to have fun.

She nods, slowly and almost as if she looks scared that we'll suddenly retract the offer. The clock on the wall ticks away, already showing that it's way past midnight.

And when she gently unwinds herself from around Habaek, straightening up- I see just how much she trembles, just how she's trying to keep herself together for his sake.

And again her reaction isn't one to someone who's drunk. There's something that doesn't quite fit. And when she looks sadly at my expression, tapping out a text- I open it to find my blood freeze, to feel shock, disgust, and fear course through my veins.

Date-rape drugs.

He'd been drugged.

And know the situation Hobi had outlined to me makes my blood slowly trudge through my body, slow and thick and liquid ice. He said he'd found her being grabbed by a man, that he'd been pulling her towards him.

It makes me fear just what it was he'd walked into seeing, what it was that had been happening.

But my eyes fall to Habaek, at how disoriented and sluggish his movements are, just how much difficulty he seems to have in processing the fact that she's moved away.

And realise that whilst she'd been lucky, it was clear he hadn't.

And I can only imagine how much pain and hurt and anger must be coursing through her, at seeing her loved one like this. God knows if someone had dared to do that with one of the boys, I would've raised hell.

I find myself harried with the need to do something, finding that a part of me crumbles with sorrow and hurt with the way (Y/N) seems to look both lost and yet determined to do something, at the way I can see the pain seeping out of her eyes.

I stand up.

"Did you eat?" I ask, rewarded with a small shake of the head.

Great. A task I can focus on rather than feeling hopeless.

"I'll make some food." I say, shaking my hands to expel the nervous restless energy, and I notice a small frown on her face as she nods, eyes alit with something akin to understanding.

And as I busy myself with rummaging around their kitchen, I find myself distantly marvelling at the state-of-the-art equipment, the fully stocked fridge and pantry which on another day would've made me giddy. But right now, my hands move with an urgency. A need to be productive and help in the small silent ways.

And when the hangover soup is simmering away at the stove, the equipment is washed and put away and the ingredients have been returned to their rightful places, only then I return to the living room- seeming to catch Hobi and (Y/N) in a heated discussion about something; but both of them look far away from backing out and conceding to the other.