Hana hated arriving at clubs without pregaming. 

She hated being aware of her surroundings. There were empty plastic cups that clubgoers had carried out and tossed on the floor once they realised, ignoring the bins that lined the pavement. A man lurched in the doorway of a closed shop, his body rejecting the alcohol that he had poured into his system. Drunk girls screamed and giggled as they made their way up the strip, looking for their next destination for the night.

Jimin, on the other hand, loved it. He loved being aware of his surroundings, noting every threat or potential situation that could arise. He questioned why so many cups lay strewn about - just how drunk were people getting? Had the man in the nook of the doorframe had one too many to drink? Or had his drink been tampered with? And most importantly, which club were those girls headed to?

One thing was for sure though: as soon as they reached the bar, they were knocking back tequila slammers like elephants to water.

The subtle combination of sweat and liquor-filled Hana's senses instantly. She was used to it, her nose accustomed to the slightly sweet scent, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of intrusion; something was burning through her sinuses.

"Here," Jimin's voice echoed over the bass, as he passed her a metal tin. The flame-haired boy could never enter a club without it, his poison for the night. Hana popped the lid open and was greeted by a familiar sight: tiny little white balls. They were minute quantities of a fine white powder, rolled up in cigarette paper and sealed with a twist. Hana knew she'd regret it in the morning, when the comedown overshadowed the hangover. The psychological self-loathing took hold, while the chemistry in her brain realigned itself - but it wasn't the morning yet, and ignorance was bliss.

Being discreet wasn't an issue. The club they were in was seedy. It had a reputation of being a haven for those indulging in a little bit of recreational fun. A little bit of MDMA was tame by comparison. Half the people in that crowd were already sweating out the toxins they had ingested into their systems mere hours earlier.

Hana popped a bomb into her mouth, gratefully taking the ice-cold water Jimin had got from the bar. She washed it down into her system and then repeated her steps, doubling the dose.

"We're getting fucked up tonight, squirt," Jimin laughed, clasping the box shut and slipping it back into his pocket.

"That's the plan," Hana grinned, knowing she had a matter of minutes before the chemical composition in her brain would begin to shift.

They were on the dance floor when it started to happen. The pace of her heartbeat doubled, and she could feel a familiar anxious knot in her stomach. Jimin kept a close eye on her as she paced her breathing, knowing she was coming up and that this was what would make the difference between a good trip or a bad trip: if she panicked, like her body was telling her she should be, then it would be a write-off.

"Easy, squirt," he spoke calmly, passing her the water bottle he had nabbed from the bar. Her parched mouth drank it down eagerly. "You're fine," he reassured her.

She was no stranger to this feeling, but she didn't mind Jimin carrying her through her come-up. It was something he always did, partially so that he wouldn't have to waste his own high looking after her, but mainly because he knew Yoongi would kill him if anything serious happened to her. There was also the protective nature he felt towards Hana, as if she were a sibling to him by blood, but he'd never admit to that. He wasn't soft.

He watched as she rolled her shoulders back and a broad smile fell onto her lips, her body swaying in time to the EDM that was vibrating through her entire being.

"There we go," Jimin laughed as he too began to relax, popping another bomb into his mouth. His tolerance was high than Hana's, and he never fully let himself go until she did.

Everything was heightened; the strobe lights, the bass, the scent of cheap perfume and sweat. Hana could feel herself getter hotter and tied her hair up to allow air to reach her neck, fanning herself with her hand. Her eyes were closed, her smile contagious, the world around her melting into darkness.

Jimin laughed at the sight in front of him, for it had been one he had truly missed. He missed when they would party all night, not sleeping until the crack of dawn, chasing sunrises in the city that never slept.

She could feel her smile begin to stiffen, her jaw contorting itself in a less than pleasant manner. Her eyes opened to an equally buzzed Jimin and laughed back at him, holding up a finger to indicate her need to pause. Flipping open the top of her clutch, she rummaged about until she found her trusty stash of lollipops, specifically kept for this purpose, to disguise their gurning jaws. Before meeting Hana, Jimin had never paid too much attention to it, or just chewed gum to keep his teeth preoccupied, but had grown to love her remedy. He also never struggled to get a hook-up with a lollipop in his mouth. He wasn't sure of the exact science behind it, but he chose not to question it.

Like clockwork, it only took about twenty minutes for his flame-red hair, boyish charm and cherry flavoured candy to grab the attention of a promiscuous stranger. He excused himself to pursue his prey, and Hana knew she probably wouldn't see him again until he sheepishly walked into her room the next morning with water and toast. She didn't mind. It was the typical routine, and she wasn't done dancing yet.

Her skin was on fire as blood rushed through her veins like lava, evaporating seemingly all the water in her body. She needed a drink, and she needed it now. The bar was nearly empty, everyone either on the dancefloor or in booths and so she beelined for it. Vodka-lime-soda had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she was still parched. What she really needed was water to remedy the drought in her mouth.

She weaved her way back into the crowd, hot bodies simmering as she squeezed past. Her desire to be in the centre of it all - immersed in the vibrancy of other peoples energy - lead her to a small clearing in the sea of people.

It wasn't long before she felt an unwelcome presence and a hand around her waist. It was unwanted, creepy, violating. The hand was weathered, that of a middle-aged man and a solid gold ring adorned his wedding finger. Hana couldn't hide her disgust.

Typically she'd shrug it off, move to a different part of the crowd, but it felt more forceful than she was accustomed to. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, random drunk men feeling entitled to a single girl on the dance floor, but Hana just wanted to have a good time. She didn't want to go home with a stranger. Not tonight.

She moved her body slightly, trying to release herself from the grip of the man who hadn't even introduced himself to her. His hand, which was splayed across her stomach, held her in place. She had two options: let him have his way or stand her ground. She didn't want to cause a fuss, but he was ruining her high, and that pissed her off - so she raised her foot and swung it behind her, the chunky heel of her boot coming into contact with his manhood.

Instantly she was released from his clutch as he doubled over in pain. She took the opportunity to dart for the door, knowing that she was safer on the streets than she was in a crowd with someone like that. The cold air hit her like a freight truck, and suddenly she could breathe again.

There was a cool breeze that sucked on the beads of sweat on Hana's body, evaporating them and giving her chills. She wished she had bought a jacket as she pulled out her phone and tried to make heads or tails of the apps in front of her. Her head was still fuzzy, the euphoric high channelling through her like an electric current.

"Hey, Siri," she said with a hiccup, having given up trying to figure out which icon was Uber. It didn't respond. "Hey, Siri," she tried again, impatiently.

"Try 'Google'," a husky voice lept out of nowhere.

"Oh, fuck," Hana giggled. Her phone was an android. She was an idiot.

Except she wasn't - she was just the right combination of high and drunk that made her ditzy side come out. Her phone beeped as it recognised its name being called. "Call me an uber."

"You don't need an uber."

Hana looked up to the voice and recognised the hands of the man instantly. She hadn't kicked him in the balls hard enough, apparently. His face looked younger than she was expecting, and he was well-groomed, but undoubtedly a decade older than her.

"My boyfriend's expecting me home," Hana lied, knowing that men would never back off usually unless they heard another male mentioned. It was disgusting, what women had to put up with, but she had learned the ropes early on and did what she had to do.

"What boyfriend?" There was a leary smile on his face, the kind that could instil fear even in broad daylight. "I didn't see you with no boyfriend."

"The one waiting for me at home," Hana reinforced. She stood back up and began to walk away from him. Sure he was a creep, but creeps didn't like challenges. They wanted easy prey, and Hana was anything but that.

The neon lights of the strip were almost unbearable to look at, and she could feel herself stumble as she moved forward. It was unlike her. She usually carried herself well when she was drunk; even more so when she was on mandy. It fucked with her head, not her body.

The hand of the man was back around her waist, and she felt nauseous.

"Get off me, seriously," Hana struggled, trying to push his hand off of her, but he was strong.

"Shut up. You're making a scene. The less you struggle, the better it will be for everyone," he spoke calmly, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

"Get the fuck off me," Hana tried to shout, but it came out quietly. She didn't understand why. She was furious but weak. Her muscles were fatigued too, and her brain was working overtime, trying to figure it out - until it clicked. "You roofied me."

"Shut the fuck up."

Hana was floored. She'd never been spiked before and didn't recognise the drowsy sensation that was taking control of her. She had been on high alert, her state of mind already altered from the mandy. Everything felt distorted. Her body was numb, but she could feel her cheeks becoming wet as he propelled the two of them down the street.

"Get off me, please," she asked, not having enough strength in her to fight. This couldn't be happening. Where the fuck was Jimin? Why wasn't he here to help her?

The man ignored her, his nails digging into the fabric of her dress so hard that she thought he might burst it.

"She said to leave her alone," an agitated voice came from behind them.

"Piss off," the man who had spiked Hana's drink spat, continuing to walk them down the road at quite some pace.

"She said," they were dragged to a halt as the person from behind them grabbed onto the man's shoulder. "To leave her alone."

Hana's attacker turned to face the stranger. With one swift punch, Hana was released from his grip, and he fell to the floor, a bone-crunching in his nose and blood leaking from his nostrils. Hana was pretty sure he was out cold, but she stayed frozen.

A warm hand gently cupped her shoulders and turned her around slowly as not to scare her. Her face was wet with tears, and instantly he brushed them away with his thumbs, which only made her want to cry more.

"Hey, hey, shush, it's alright, Han," his voice was soft, and pure, and everything she needed. He was everything she needed: Jungkook.

She hadn't seen him since her bust-up with Yoongi. She had tried her best to forget the sharpness of his cheekbones and the way he smelt like a walking Boss Orange ad, but it was impossible not to notice when he was centimetres away from her.

He took note of her wide eyes and trembling lips, and instantly knew she was high. "What are you on?"

She couldn't speak. She didn't know why.

"Coke?" Jungkook suggested. She shook her head. "Mandy?" He offered again. She nodded. "Okay... this doesn't seem like a mandy high," he paused, before letting go of Hana's face softly and crouching down to rummage in the pockets of the man he had just knocked out. It didn't take long for him to find a little zip lock pouch of white tabs, that he recognised instantly: Rohypnol. A date rape drug. "Fucking scum."

He took the mans wallet and tucked the bag of pills inside, slipping it into his own back pocket. Jungkook was dressed in all black, inconspicuous, but not like he was out on the town. No, he was well dressed today, suit trousers and a dress shirt with a blazer to match.

He stood up straight, posture perfect and cursed as he ran a hand through his hair. This was not how he thought this night would go. He had business to tend to, important business that he'd most likely suffer consequences for not doing - but like a moth to a flame, something drew him to this particular street, despite his destination being a few blocks over.

Tae wasn't impressed, told him to stop being a jackass when he couldn't explain why he needed to leave. "I just do" didn't make any sense, not to Taehyung and not to Jungkook, but it was the truth. Something had just compelled him to do it.

He turned his attention back to Hana, who he had never seen look so delicate. She was dressed to kill, but her pouty lips and swollen eyes demanded a nurturing touch.

"I need you to be sick, okay?" Jungkook instructed caringly, guiding her to the alleyway a little further down the street. She was thankful to be in this grotty, stinking, hell hole with Jungkook instead of the other man. She crouched against the wall, hair still tied back and tried to make herself heave. It was almost comical thinking about how she had judged a man earlier in the night for doing the exact same thing.

"That's my girl, easy does it," Jungkook spoke soothingly as he rubbed circles onto her back. "All out, you'll feel better for it."

Despite his calm exterior, Jungkook was livid. Why the fuck was she alone? And who the fuck did that asshole think he was?

Jungkook hadn't taken his wallet for petty crime thrills. No, he wanted his ID. He wanted to know precisely which fucker he'd be hunting for sport in the coming weeks.

"I fucking hate men," Hana groaned, breathing out a sigh of relief, convinced she had emptied her system.

"You and me both, babe," Jungkook laughed. "You and me both."

He helped her up, but she was still drowsy, her footing not entirely stable. "Woah. C'mon, I'll carry you," Jungkook offered. Hana wanted to refuse, to tell him that she could handle it, but he had swooped her up bridal style before she could protest.

She didn't mind all that much.

In fact, with the Rohypnol in her bloodstream, she didn't mind anything. Instead, she drifted off into a tranquil state and was oblivious to the world around her.

Jungkook held her tightly against his chest, his heart pounding, determined to keep her safe.

In that moment, the ink on her ankle that peaked out from her boot didn't matter. None of it did.

All that mattered was her.

a/n: apologies for the longggg break in uploads, but hopefully a 3k word update makes up for it!