“I’m home!”

You expected Taehyung to greet you as soon as you said your farewell to Yoongi and Hoseok, thanking them for taking you out to go shopping, and entered the apartment. However Taehyung is nowhere to be seen whereas Jimin’s fading orange hair is distinctive against the grey leather of the couch, his back to you as he hastily shifts in his seat.

His voice speaks up, stuttering as he turns to look at you briefly, “You’re home early. Did you have fun?”

You catch his eyes before he turns away from you with a frown. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod silently, glancing down at the shopping bags that you held tightly in your hands, “Yeah…”

When you move around the couch to sit beside him, he fumbles with something that you can’t distinguish, hurriedly shoving it behind him. You noticed a crumpled strip of gauze peeking from behind his lower back. Squinting, you notice his knuckles, the skin cut and bruising.

“What’d you do?” you ask when he notices you staring and hides his hand behind his back as well.

“Nothing…”

“That’s not nothing, did you even apply medicine?” you state matter of factly, dropping your things and hurrying to the bathroom after demanding him to stay where he was.

When you return, he’s glaring at the ground like a child, pouting and furrowing his eyebrows cutely that you can’t help but stifle a giggle. You forget the rift that grew between you both after the incident last night, sitting down beside him with the first aid kit you found in your lap.

Tentatively, you scoot closer until you see him visibly flinch and that’s your cue to halt and stay where you are.

“Can I see your hand?” you ask softly and slowly, waiting patiently for his response.

Without looking up, he answers in his voice so quietly, you lean closer to hear what he says, “I can do it myself.”

You give him a look, a look he tries to ignore desperately but he curses and roughly slaps his injured hand down onto his knee. It’s a silent grant of permission and you take it, carefully letting your fingers brush over his skin, watching carefully as his muscles jump upon contact and he shies away slightly.

“Hey, it’s okay, let me,” you whisper, letting your fingers take his hand and gently place it on your lap, “Relax.”

You wait, busying your hands with tearing open one of the hydrogen peroxide packets and unfolding the folded wet nap. Eventually, you catch his tensed hand falling lax on your thigh, the light turned green as you prod at the open cuts on his knuckles. The wounds bubble, your eyes focused on cleaning up his hand to notice him slyly glance down at you with reddened cheeks. It takes up all of his willpower to not shove you off and flee, but he can’t deny that his heart is running a full marathon in his chest for a reason he assumes is his anxiety around women.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing with a ed up hand?” you ask offhandedly, dabbing medicine on his broken skin.

Jimin stays silent, watching as you take the gauze and begin to snugly wrap his hand. Occasionally you’d look up and ask if it was too tight or too loose and he’d quickly look away.

“It’s nothing…” he mumbles and you freeze.

Your fingers stop, your mind zoning out as the two words echo in your ears.

“It’s nothing…” You look up and you’re no longer sitting in Jimin and Taehyung’s apartment. It’s a familiar place, but you have no clue whose place this belongs to. You’re seated on a couch, and a hand, this time much bigger than Jimin’s, is laying on your lap with your hands in the middle of wrapping around its knuckles.

“Are you sure?” You ask worriedly, looking over at the boy to your left, “Lately you’ve been getting hurt a lot.”

He looks at you blankly, making your stomach flip in anxiety if you said something wrong, but his lips spread into a bright smile. Reaching over, he ruffles your hair and chuckles, “Just a few kids from uni were trying to pick a fight with me, they’re just jealous of my gifted looks I guess.”

You narrow your eyes and glare at him playfully, swatting away his hand, “Wow, how narcissistic of you, did you win at least?”

There’s something in his eyes as he smirks and pounds his chest with a fist, “Of course! What man would lose a fight?”

You stop, in the midst of wrapping the gauze around his wrist, looking at him weirdly, “Wait, Kookie, you’re a man?”

He pouts cutely, his eyebrows furrowing as he flicks you on the forehead, “Andyou’re a girl?”

“Obviously, I have s you little ,” you joke, watching as his eyes slyly fall down your body before quickly returning to focus on your face.

“ert,” you snort, tying off the finishing touches on his wrap.

“ert.”

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