Mr. Min - Drabble During Ch. 05
A/N: This takes place after the night that Yoongi got drunk, crashed the MC and Jungkook’s date, and was subsequently scolded by Yoojung and Hoseok.
The entire thing was inspired by a conversation I had with @meanyoongis in which she made fake texts for it and everything :’) so it’s dedicated to her. Also, congrats on 2k followers!
Whether it was the morning sun brazenly daring to land on his face or the persistent ringing of his phone he didn’t know, but Yoongi was awake and as miserable as ever. He grumbled a string of lazy curses and grimaced when his cheek brushed against a wet spot on his pillow. Drooling was probably his most embarrassing drunken habit but, he reminded himself with a huff and a hand running down his face, it wasn’t as if you had come home with him anyways. All the better. At least you didn’t have to witness the stench of his breath. His fingers searched his bed until they finally found his phone—discarded and forgotten in the sheets. Hoseok’s name and an obnoxious picture of his friend smiling, a picture Yoongi didn’t remember taking, greeted him.
He groaned and answered the call with a gruff, “What do you want?”
“You’re always so chipper in the morning,” Hoseok chuckled. Yoongi closed his eyes and hoped that his bed could somehow swallow him whole, fuse with his body in some way, anything to make Hoseok’s boisterous voice go away. “I wanted to check on you.”
“How’s my lovesick little buddy doing?” he sing-songed.
Yeah, being a bed sounded great.
“I’m not lovesick,” Yoongi snapped and tried to sit up but his head violently protested until he collapsed back onto the pillows.
“Uh huh,” he answered in a monotone voice. “I just wanted to make sure you made it home last night and that you hadn’t drank yourself to death so, I’ve done my duty as your friend.”
“What do you mean? I texted you last night.”
“Mmm no you didn’t.”
“Yes I did. I distinctly remember that. It was right before,” Yoongi paused to scrunch his nose as the memory fleshed out in his mind, “I threw up in the kitchen. Dammit.”
“Disgusting. But you really didn’t text me. Maybe it didn’t send? Ooh or maybe you sent it to someone else! What was it about?”
Yoongi’s eyes jolted open and his breath stopped. “I have to go.”
“What? Just like that? At least tell me what the message was—.”
His fingers raced against the screen of his phone. His gut rolled but he had a sneaking suspicion it had nothing to do with his hangover. His mind raced, tried to pull at the bits and pieces of his memory from the night before and piece together the fragments. He remembered the elevator ride and how he had unloaded onto some unsuspecting woman that lived in a lower floor. If he was entirely honest with himself, he didn’t recall the woman seeming at all interested in conversation with him but Yoongi was desperate to vent to someone—anyone! The pressure in his chest grew as his memory sharpened. He hadn’t vented about just anything. He had ranted and raved about you.
The shards of fragments from the night fell together and the picture it left wasn’t pretty. His conversation with Yoojung and Hoseok had left a sour taste in his mouth, to say the least. Guilt, shame, a peculiar sense of self-hatred that he had never experienced before when it concerned women had settled in on him and the rest of his evening was spent grumbling and muttering bits of the speeches the two had given him. It was easier to mock them in his drunken rage than to acknowledge that they had several quality points. Hoseok hadn’t known your name, that was the truth and it was because Yoongi had never shared it—for reasons he wasn’t keen on exploring in his inebriated state and certainly not in the morning after haze—but it had irked him. Hearing his friend refer to you as ‘fuckdoll’ repeatedly set his skin on fire, nerve endings shot off with each syllable and he had no one to blame but himself.
Yoongi knew what he would find in his texts before the messaging app loaded but it still set off a panicked squeak when he saw your name at the top of his recent conversations. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. He scrambled to sit up on the bed, as if a different position would help his frantic heart rate, and braced for what he knew was likely waiting in the messages.
From: Yoongi [3:14 AM]
Dnt call herfuckkdoll
From: Yoongi [3:14 AM]
Thatss not her namwe
He choked on his own breath because of course he had to drunk text you of all people. The messages didn’t get any less incriminating. The next three were misspellings of your name before on the fourth he finally completed it—in all caps and with six damn confetti emojis after it. Fuck. The last messages were the most incriminating.
From: Yoongi [3:17 AM]
Her name is perty. Use it nexxt tim assfac.
From: Yoongi [3:26 AM]
I fcuked up Hobi. She will nver talk to me agan.
Yoongi managed a strangled curse and dropped his head until his chin rested against his chest. His only saving grace was that the messages remained unread, most likely because it was too early for you to have woken up—especially if you did spend the night with Jeon. The taste of something acidic rose out of his throat but he swallowed it back down with a grimace, surely that was just the liquor from the night before and not anything to do with the idea of you and Jeon spending the evening together.
The messages left him as an open book. Exposed and naked. An entire nine minutes had passed between the last two messages. It was too honest, too revealing, and too late for him to do anything about it.
Or was it?
His eyes danced around the room, spent a mere half a second on an object before moving onto another and yet none of them registered in his head. Hoseok. He needed Hoseok. He crawled out of bed with the phone cradled between his ear and his bare shoulder as it trilled. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick the fuck up,” he muttered while he shoved his legs into the same pants he had worn the night before. There was a wet stain around the knees of one of his pant legs, as if he had tripped at some point on his walk home and kneeled in the snow to regain his balance.
“Oh you want to talk to me now?” Hoseok’s voice was irritating at any point that Yoongi was hungover but it took an extra effort from him to tolerate it when he was smug. Nothing was worse than Hoseok when he was full of himself.
“Shut up. Just shut up and listen. I sent the texts to her.”
Hoseok snorted and made no attempt to hide his amusement at Yoongi’s misfortune. “You’ve really stepped in it.”
“She hasn’t read them yet. How do I erase them from her phone?”
“Do you think I’m a hacker or something? I’m a journalist. I have morals, Yoongi.”
“Don’t give me that high ground bullshit. You wrote a story last month after sorting through someone’s trash. Now help me!” Hoseok sighed but the silence afterwards lasted too long for Yoongi’s liking. “Hobi! Fucking help me!”
“What’s the big deal? You sent a few drunken texts. Everyone does it.” He paused to wait for his friend’s response and when it didn’t come he laughed—loudly and still managed for it to be condescending. “Wait! Did you confess? Did you actually tell her how you feel while drunk?”
“I didn’t confess,” Yoongi scoffed but finished the sentence while muttering, “I just said that her name was pretty and that she wouldn’t ever talk to me again.” Hoseok’s chuckling turned into an all out guffaw. “Don’t laugh! It’s your fault this even happened in the first place.”
“If you had just stopped calling her fuckdoll this wouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s nice to see that you can still find a way to place the blame on someone else even when you’re not feeling well.”
“How do I get rid of them? Is there someone I can pay for that?”
“To do what? Hack into her phone?”
“That, or break in and take the phone.”
“Jesus christ,” Hoseok muttered. “Listen to yourself. What are you going to do? Google search petty criminals?”
Yoongi barely heard his friend, his mind was too busy running through scenarios and trying to find the quickest way to solve the problem at hand. He was a Min through and through. He had been trained his entire life to fix problems before they were made public. “Craigslist. I can put an ad on there, right?”
Hoseok didn’t answer for a beat, let the question hang in the air instead of dignifying it with a response but finally he sighed, “No, Yoongi. You can’t put an ad on Craigslist to find someone to break into her apartment and steal her phone.”
“No no no. They wouldn’t steal it. Just delete the messages.”
“You have finally snapped. It’s taken thirty years but you’ve actually lost your mind.”
Yoongi wanted to throw his own quip back but the phone vibrated in his hand just as he had finished getting dressed. He froze, his teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes snapped shut in defeat because he knew—he just knew—you had woken up and seen the texts. He had lost whatever opportunity he may have had, not that it was a great chance to begin with. “I’ve got to go.”
“You’re not actually going to—.”
As soon as the call ended he switched over to his messaging app. He had braced himself, as best as he could, for whatever message might greet him but he hadn’t expected what you had sent.
From: You [7:33 AM]
It was odd and he couldn’t really explain it but the period at the end, the fact that you had chosen to type it at all, felt so definitive that he was almost offended. He could practically hear the lack of enthusiasm in your texts. The text that followed was enough to settle his mind and to crush his ego—all in four words.
From: You [7:35 AM]
Don’t text me anymore.