#3tan9.5

Oh.

What. 

Did he really just say that? 

You blink more than once before checking, “You sure?” 

“Mm.” 

Despite being exhausted down to every fibre of your being, you nod. Because you don’t think this kind of opportunity will present itself until the next blue moon. 

Silent, Yoongi leads you out of bed, huffing when you wince at the beautiful soreness between your legs. And in your legs. And everywhere, actually. 

“Rude.” You thump back sideways on the bed and sigh. “This is your fault.” 

Expecting another laugh, you don’t get one. Instead, he simply lies next to you again, soft but firm stomach pressing into yours. “You wanna just wait for me?” 

“No,” you whisper, snuggling into his chest and feeling the clinks of his jewelry. “I wanna go. I just… You got me good.” 

He laughs down at your cheek, bringing your chin up and pulling you in for a kiss. “I did, huh.” 

Ass. “I’m hearing a severe lack of apology here.”

And you wordlessly repeat your insult when he chuckles even deeper. But he nudges his forehead against yours, and you find yourself suddenly, incredibly shy. 

Maybe it’s the fact that, while you don’t see his smirk, you certainly hear it in his question, 

“You want me to?” 

Immediately, your lips curve upward. 

Of course not. Despite your observation, you know that he’d right any wrongs if you were truly hurt. It’s quite considerate of him to still ask in the first place. 

“No,” you finally respond, breathy and right before a giggle. “That was hot as fuck.” 

He hums, kissing your forehead and making you one with his sheets. “I was going easy on you, doll.” 

“Be for real.” 

“No lie.” 

“…Well, damn.” 

A soft snort wisps out, and you feel his muscles stretch as he reaches behind him. When you tilt your head, you realize he’s checking his phone, so you snuggle back against his chest to give him privacy. 

You aren’t quite sure how to navigate that part yet.

After a handful of seconds, he sets it back down with a clunk. “When are you gonna leave?” 

“Early. I work.” 

“K.” 

Your fingers come up to play with one of his necklaces, and you tenderly rub each link, one after the next. As your knuckles brush against his skin, you find yourself the utmost content. The most at home. 

Yoongi has taught you many things, but one of them has nothing to do with sex. But about people. About how houses can be built with words instead of tools, and take residence in a person instead of anywhere else. 

It’s fascinating—and frightening—how someone can become that for you. Especially if that person isn’t quite yours. 

Yes, you’re in his place, and yes, he wants you to stay. But there’s still something missing, and you want to keep running until you find it. 

If there is a universe out there where you already have, you hope that version of you realizes how lucky they are every day they live. 

Your question leaves in a whisper, “Can you help me wake up?” 

“Yeah, I can.” 

“Thank you.” 

Worries aside, you may have lucked out in this universe, too. 

Shifting your legs, you breathe and curl into his chest again, realizing only later that he let you sit with your thoughts this whole time. “I think I can get up now.” 

He still doesn’t say anything in return, simply vacating the bed and helping you stand. 

When you stumble to the bathroom, you weakly pout while he lets out a few hisses of amusement, plotting revenge every tiny step of the way. 

“I’ll fight you.” 

“You can’t even use those legs.” 

“There are other ways.” 

“Show me later then.” 

After you make the journey, he leads you to lean against his cabinets while he gets the shower ready, opening the glass and turning on the spray.

No other words are spoken, but they don’t need to be. You’re purely content to admire his body in the bright light. Because while you have seen more of this man than you ever thought possible, you haven’t truly taken him in. 

As he tests the temperature, you watch the flex of his muscles, noticing how tone he is and how broad his back has become. When he flicks water off his hand and turns to walk back over, a few scars catch your eye. 

So many stories of his you still don’t know. 

You move to the side when he opens the cabinet behind you, but his stray kiss on your cheek before he gathers towels sets all the butterflies in your belly into a frenzy. 

He’s gonna be the end of you.

Watching him leave again, your head tilts. 

Yoongi’s being a lot more touchy than you ever suspected. To think this is the same person that almost let you walk out without a word makes your chest squeeze. 

And squeeze some more. 

This tightness is what makes you push off the counter and follow him to his shower rack, stopping him before planting a light peck of your own on his lips. 

When he blinks, you softly beam, taking one of the towels and setting it where you think he was planning on hanging it. Turning, you motion for him to give you his, and you set it next to yours, knowing that you’re both still very naked, not fucking, and not giving a single shit about it. 

Yoongi’s voice is almost drowned out by the running water when he asks,

“Does this still hurt?”

Your answer appears in the flinch you make at his touch, but you manage to hum anyway.

“It’s swelling, but I got ice. We can use that after this.” 

How has he ever thought of himself as not enough? 

You turn to face him, but he’s already opened the door, signaling for you to step inside. 

So you do.

Steam and hot water envelop you instantly, and when Yoongi closes the door, you take in the large area and the backsplash that goes nicely with the floor tiles. 

While the size of the shower surprises you, the contents of it do not. Yoongi has everything organized here, too, and you can’t help but smile at his consisten— 

Wait. 

Pause.

You’ve been in here before. 

Damn, you didn’t even notice until now. 

Makes sense, though. Given your harrowed as fuck state, you didn’t think to observe a single thing the first time. 

While you’re casted back to that dreaded night, wet hands lightly grip your sides and pull you back. Your skin feels slick on his, and you find comfort in how his head lightly rests against your shoulder blade. 

“I wanted to be in here,” he admits. And after a pause, his clarification has you choked up,

“Last time.” 

You squeak out his name, eyes closed under the spray. 

“But I didn’t know if you wanted that.” 

The twist you make to face him is awkward, but it’s okay—normal. “You did everything right,” you confirm. “If it weren’t for you, I’d still be having nightmares.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond. 

“Besides,” you add, observing bangs that are not entirely wet but sticking to his forehead regardless. “I like this being the first time instead.” 

Yeah. 

He’s so fucking beautiful when he smiles. 

When he looks away, he states the most matter-of-factly, “I’m still charging you for all the water we use.”

You laugh through a grin. Looks like he’s consistent in many other ways. “You’re in here, too!” 

“So?” 

“Fifty-fifty, at least.” 

“You’re the reason I have to take one.” 

Your eyes roll heavenward before you find the body wash, but Yoongi stops your moments with a touch to your arm. When you swivel your head, his tone drops to a rumble,

“I got you.” 

He what? “Huh?”

Yoongi holds his stare on your lips before flicking up to your eyes. “Let me.”

Oh.

This is very new. 

Speechless, you shuffle, carefully switching positions as he stands under the water. When he lathers a scrub with body wash that smells entirely him, you let steam shroud your tiny smile.

You’re aware that Yoongi is nothing if not meticulous. But it’s the way he makes sure every inch of you is cleaned that you’re glad the running water covers your face. 

Someone tending to you this way?

This is so, very new. 

His movements are gentle, yet thorough; soft, yet determined. Whenever you think you’re clean, he keeps going, as if this is something he needs to get absolutely perfect. 

Is he scrubbing more than just today off your skin?

Just the thought makes your tears bigger in size. 

When he shifts you both so that you’re back under the water, he’s still silent. Almost reverent. If he knows you’re adding salt to the drain, he doesn’t show it. If he hears your little sniffles rebounding off damp walls, he says nothing. 

Instead, he straightens, grabbing his shampoo before regarding your head. 

He stares, and you know he’s going to ask—because of course he is. But it remains: you’re still going to appreciate his consideration, no matter what. 

“Can I.” 

You nod, and he slathers the shampoo in his hands before stepping close. When he stills, you search his eyes, noticing that the bags underneath them are almost gone. 

“Tell me if I’m doing this shit wrong, okay.” 

And butterfly wings tickle your bones all the way up to your heart.

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tbc. :) 

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how is it so far! feel free to let me know 🥺🦋