#thexsirensxcalling

thexsirensxcalling

Weeks have gone into this moment. Weeks of careful planning and preparation, days spent learning and trying to perfect something Jimin’s never even dared considered before, hours spent rifling through antique stores and quaint mom-and-pop shops. It’s time that Jimin hadn’t noticed really noticed passing until, with a jolt, he’d realized that it was time, and that the day had arrived. And Jimin was ready.

Ally and Jeonghan are at the front desk when Jimin arrives, as if they’ve been waiting for him, and despite his apprehension at the thought, he smiles shyly, waiting as Jeonghan walks over to meet him. The two head up to the third floor together, Jeonghan asking questions that Jimin only half-answers. After all, Jeonghan alreayd knows why he’s here. He doesn’t need the specifics, not when there’s a chance he’ll hear it from Jungkook in a day or so.

Of course it’s that obvious. She’s too-thin again, her clothes hanging off her small form like they do when she hasn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. “My eating habits aren’t anyone else’s business.”

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Jimin has always been blessed with the ability to make the leap from sleep to consciousness in one quick motion. As a child, with enough prompting and circumstance, he had eventually  been able to make the leap fast enough that he rarely earned a boot to the ribs or the heel of a sneaker ground against his ear and cheek. He’d been a fast learner, a smart one.

This leap he makes is quick, sudden, blinding, and enough to leave his head spinning, because as soon as Jimin recognizes that he’s awake, he recalls the circumstances to which he fell asleep, and nausea hits him like a physical blow as Jimin jolts upright and twists to eye his bedmate. And there Jungkook is, lying there, once asleep and now, no doubt, waking. Jimin’s hand lifts, reflexive in the way it smooths over the younger’s hair.

“Sorry,” he breathes, keeping his voice pitched low, aware of just how much Jungkook’s head must hurt. The apology catches in his throat as Jimin tries to repeat it, and he swallows hard at the lump it’s creates before he scoots back. His bed is hardly made for two people, much less for one of those people trying to escape without further physical contact, but Jimin manages.

Once Jimin makes it to the floor, the wood cool beneath his feet, Jimin stalls out, takes in the way Jungkook lies, as if he’s afraid of leaving, for whatever reason, and Jimin can’t help the way his stomach churns, or the way his stomach clenches. There’s something else there, too, beyond what Jimin perceives to be fear, beyond the pain of a hangover and the dull ache that sometimes comes after sex. Jimin’s not sure what it is, what that look is, and he’s afraid to find out.

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Bora wakes to a room that is not her own, to a ceiling that is the wrong color, to walls that are the wrong color, to a room that is too big, to a bed that smells like citrus and that freshly-dried-by-sun-and-wind smell. Which is a nice smell, really. It’s not enough to scare her – Bora has woken in stranger places, and in worse ones – but it is a little odd. At least until she sits up and finds that the face of the woman lying next to her, peaceful in her sleep, is a familiar one.

Aleyna is beautiful as she sleeps, the vibrant red of her hair a brilliant contrast to the crisp white of her pillow case as it halos around her head. Bora’s fingers itch to touch it, to see if it’s as soft as it was the night before when she and Ally danced with each other in the throngs of Siren’s clubbing crowd. But she doesn’t. It would be a shame to wake a sleeping beauty.

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Zico wakes in the most unceremonious way possible: by rolling over and rolling right off his bed, all the breath leaving him in an instant as he lands, and heavily at that, on the floor. He almost considers lying there and going back to sleep, but then Lyncis mewls in the most pathetic manner possible, and a paw taps politely at his nose, and Zico forces himself to crack open an eye.

The floor of his room is the same as always, wooden and cool against hiso warm cheek. Lyncis looks the same, too, green eyes bright and too keen on garnering his attention as a tail tucks around a tiny body in a tidy, prim manner. Cats. Seriously.

Heaving a groan of frustration, Zico pushes himself upright, wavering only for an instant at the pain that jolts along his spine, before he manages to stagger upright. It’s then that he realizes he’s naked. And that there’s something dry and itchy on the surface of his abdomen. It’s then, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, that Zico recalls that he didn’t fall asleep alone.

The end of his cigarette is a dim, cherry glow in the dark of the park, one that Jongup watches with a blank expression as he holds the stick in between his fingers. Smoke, pungent and acrid, escapes from his lips on a tired exhale, lifting in clouds and curlicues into the night air, illuminated ever so faintly by the distance glow of the street lamp. Jongup is already on his second stick, the first already ground into pieces under the heel of a tattered sneaker.

      thexsirensxcalling

thexsirensxcalling

Jeongmin tugs at the collar of his shirt, a too-tidy button down that looks as much out of place on the photographer as a dress might. Despite having been a participant in many presentations and more than his shre of vocal performances, he’s still not all that fond of being dressed up. It’s too tight, too formal. But for Minwoo? He’ll do anything, even if that anything involves getting dressed up to meet his mother. Jeongmin can do it. He can do anything.

That doesn’t mean he likes it, though, as shown by the way he adjusts his collar again, nose wrinkling. It’s constricting, almost too constricting, and a far cry different from the jeans and graphic tees that Jeongmin is known for. Granted, it could be worse -- Jeongmin could be in a full suit, or a tuxedo, or in a costume. ....or a dress.

Thankfully, Minwoo appears before Jeongmin’s thoughts can take him on a wild ride, and he offers the other a small smile. “Happy birthday, Min.” After a moment more, one that is oddly quiet, Jeongmin lifts the object he’s been toying with.  “I got her a rose,” Jeongmin says even though he knows Minwoo can see. He feels a little silly as he twirls the stem in between his thumb and index finger, but he desperately wants to impress Minwoo’s mother, to prove to her that as joking as he may often come across, he can be serious, and he is serious about Minwoo, and about his determination to take care of him. And surely Minwoo knows that. This is all he’s thought about since they broached they topic back at the beginning of July.