bean._.

You scoot your butt to the edge of your bed to reach your side table tamp, pulling the string to allow soft light to illuminate the room. This allows you to see Yoongi fully, not just the dark figure he had been seconds ago.

The sight that awaits your eyes makes you take a sharp inhale. Yoongi was leaning against your dresser, hunched over slightly, still in his tactical gear from what you assume was his job tonight. What had caused your surprise though wasn’t that, but the large gash that travelled from his hip bone to right above the inside of his knee. It must have been not too deep, seeing as he was able to make his way all the way here, but was still actively bleeding --- you could see the dark metallic liquid reflecting the light, standing out against the black of his cargo pants.

You immediately jump up to grab the rather large first aid kit you keep in your bathroom. You weren’t a stranger to patching up the boys after a particularly dangerous job. Usually though, they weren’t stumbling around your apartment in the middle of the night, but calling you over to one of their apartments.

The truth was, you were no doctor --- or even nurse for that matter. You were a waitress. After you made friends with the seven boys who would frequent the small restaurant in which you worked, you learned that they were members of the local Bangtan gang. You had seen how they roughly patched each other up after they got hurt, fearing going to the hospital to where they could be linked to the various illegal activities that they participated in. So, you took it upon yourself to learn rudimentary first aid skills to help them when they were injured --- such as right now.

You pull out a bottle of alcohol, gauze, needle and surgical thread from your kit after washing your hands thoroughly. Yoongi was still putting his weight on your furniture, easing the pressure off of his injured leg. He had a grimace on his face, obviously in pain from the large gash.

You hurry over, lifting his opposite arm up and around your neck to allow you to support some of his weight. Slowly hobbling to the edge of your bed, you assist him in sitting on the mattress where he could rest while you could fix him up.

Once you have him positioned comfortably, well --- as comfortably as he could get, you sink to your knees in front of him to be able to be close enough to the wound to work on it. First, you realize you would have to cut back some of the fabric of his pants to prevent contamination and allow you to get a clear view of the full cut. Grabbing the medical scissors, you begin to but at his pants, but careful to not sacrifice his modesty too much. Honestly, you don’t think you’d be able to focus very well with him exposed anyway.

After you finish, you look up to see his face, wanting to make sure he was still comfortable and prepared to handle the pain the alcohol would surely bring. Seeing his frown turn into a knowing smile once your eyes meet, you hurry to sterilize the cut. You two didn’t need words to understand each other, same as always.

You lift the open bottle of isopropyl alcohol to hover above his thigh, and begin to carefully pour just enough to cover the wound, moving from the top to the bottom of the gash. At its contact, Yoongi lets out a hiss and grips your bedsheets in both hands. He’s felt the sting a million times, but it never fails to make him tense up in pain.

“I know. Sorry,” you give at his tense reaction.

Putting away the alcohol, you thread your needle. Checking in with him again, he gives you a tense nod. You begin stitching him up, knotting the first stitch at his hip and traveling down his thigh. At the first stitch, you feel him jump slightly from the prick.

“Stay still. The more you move, the more this is going to hurt,” you warn.

He lets out a low grunt of acknowledgement at your words. He knew you were right.

You put your full focus back into your task, wanting to make sure the stitches weren’t excessively crude. In the process, you don’t notice you getting your body shifting to be more in between his spread legs than in front of them. He notices though.

He keeps his eyes trained on you as you work. Partially to keep himself distracted from the needle going in and out of his skin, but also partially because you looked so beautiful bathed in the soft light your lamp was casting on you. He had woken you up from your sleep, so you had a case of slight bedhead and puffy eyes --- a completely unfiltered version of yourself. After looking at your furrowed brows and slight pout, obviously lost in your task, he lets his gaze drop to your body.

You were wearing a large, oversized white tee-shirt and black sleeping shorts that were smaller than anything he’d seen you in before. Not wanting to make himself think dirtily about you while you were currently in between his thighs --- he’d surely get hard and then he’d feel like a complete asshole --- he slides his gaze back up to your torso.

Wait a second… your shirt looks an awful lot like the one that he had been searching for a few weeks ago. The shirt was one of his favorites, and he was irritated when he couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Is that… is that my shirt?”

You snap your head up at his words, take a look down to remind yourself of what you were wearing, and snap your head back up again, but this time with an owlish look. Of course the one night Yoongi stumbles in your door you are wearing the t-shirt you had stolen from his room while you were over playing card games with Jungkook and Taehyung. You all were drinking, and you accidentally spilled the contents of your glass right down the front of your top. You had gotten up to steal one of the boys shirts from their rooms, but you knew Yoongi had this shirt in his drawer. It always looked so comfortable; plus, you thought it would probably have his masculine citrusy scent. You were right, on both accounts.

Now, you were embarrassed having been caught red-handed. “May... maybe?” The heat in your cheeks didn’t help your situation.

He raises his eyebrows at your answer, and you could see the faint trace of a smile on his lips.

“You know, I looked for a whole week for that shirt. And now, come to find out, it was all the way here in your thieving hands this whole time,” he gruffly says, in his special Yoongi way. But you could tell from his tone he wasn’t actually mad.

“Thought it needed a change of environment, that’s all,” you answer cheekily. You resume his stitches where you had left off.

He just shakes his head, watching you for another moment. “It looks better on you anyways.”

You blush at his words, but don’t look up from your task. At this point, you were nearly done --- your stitching had grown faster with the practice the boys kept giving you.

You tie off the last stitch, and stand up wiping the dust of the floor off your knees. You collect the used supplies, depositing them in the bathroom to deal with tomorrow. When you come back in, you find Yoongi examining your work. He said nothing, apparently satisfied.

“Come on, let me clean you up,” you suggest as you walk over to help him stand from your bed. He still has blood, now dried, in the area around his wound. He leans on you again, standing with a grunt. Hobbling once more, you go to the bathroom and sit him on the closed toilet. You make quick work of getting some sterile cotton pads wet to allow you to swipe away the blood.

You are gentle as you wipe, not wanting to upset the already angry skin any more. He watches your face as you do so, endeared at your care and concern.

Once you finish, it occurs to him that his pants still have a giant gaping hole in them --- oh, and part of his boxers too. You are quick to turn around, heading straight for the dresser Yoongi had been leaning on earlier. You have a small stash of men’s boxers for when you sleep sometimes. Luckily, Yoongi, being slim, would fit into the pairs you had on hand. Grabbing the one on top, you return to the bathroom.

He raises his brows at you, confused at your actions, but understands once you toss the boxers at him.

“Here. I don’t have pants that’ll fit, but those should work at least,” you offer.

“Thanks.”

With a nod, you turn around shutting the door behind you. Oh, he probably wants a clean shirt too --- so you do the first thing you think of, taking his shirt right off your back. You crack open the door, only enough to fit your hand with the shirt through, in offering. A beat later, you feel the tee being pulled from your loose grasp.

Yoongi feels a spark of excitement knowing you were half naked on the other side of the door, but quickly tries to shove it away. Not the time, he reminds himself.

Meanwhile, you pull out another old shirt from your drawer for yourself to wear, and go get a glass of water from the kitchen for Yoongi. You had some painkillers for him, that would hopefully allow him to sleep.

While you are placing the pills next to the glass on your bedside, you hear the door creak open. You rush over to help him walk, wrapping your arm around his waist. You head towards your bed, already set on having him sleep there while you take the couch. He looks down at you confused when he sees the direction you’re taking him, however.

Noticing, you tell him, “I was thinking you take my bed tonight. It’s better than the couch for your leg.”

Meanwhile, he had been planning on ending up on your old couch this entire time. “It’s fine, I already barged in your house for you to sew me up, I can take the couch,” he says. “I promise I’ll be okay.”

But you weren’t taking no for an answer tonight. “Min Yoongi, sit your ass down. You have a huge gash in your thigh, you’re taking the bed.”

He could tell from your tone there was no arguing. He still felt guilty. And, he realized, what he really wanted was for you to just stay with him.

With fake nonchalance, he suggests just that. “Let’s compromise. You’re bed’s big enough for two, we can both use it.”

You eye him for a few seconds, wanting to gauge what that meant. If you let your imagination run wild, that could be a loaded suggestion. You debate in your head for a second, talking yourself down. It was late, and he had never been anything but your friend. His intentions probably were completely pure; and you felt embarrassed for even thinking anything more could be going on.

You sigh, not giving him an answer right away. “Take these,” you point to the medicine, placing your hands on your hips, waiting for him to follow your order.

He dutifully does so, and looks at you expectantly. You hadn’t told him your decision.

“Scoot over.”

He quirks his lip at your command, amused at your delivery of your answer. But, he does scoot over, allowing you to slide your body underneath the sheets. You quickly reach for your lamp, and encase your room in darkness once again.

Tense from having Yoongi in your bed with you, you can’t help but toss and turn for a bit. Meanwhile, he was deathly still. This continues for several minutes, with you not being able to settle.

You flip over again, but this time Yoongi grunts, rolling on his good side, sticking an ankle between your legs and throwing an arm over your hip. You tense immediately at the unexpected, but not unwelcome, contact.

Yoongi’s breath fans across your ear. “Stop moving. You’re driving me nuts.” His voice was low and gravely from sleepiness, and was very sexy. You were glad at that moment he couldn’t see your face, because your eyes had to be the size of saucers.