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Brushing a gentle hand on the side of Jeongguk's jaw, Taehyung tilts his head and wipes behind his ear. Red soaks into the white fabric. He can feel Jeongguk breathing when he places a hand on his chest to steady him—a little self-indulgent.
"You're bruised," Taehyung says, runs a fingertip along Jeongguk's ribs, the skin a deep purple. With some satisfaction feels him shudder at the touch.
"Am I?" Jeongguk rolls his eyes.
"Badly." Taehyung ignores Jeongguk's sarcasm and rubs a thumb gently over a bruise, smirking when he twitches and mumbles a quiet—Tae. But Taehyung stops because he can tell where this might lead. "How did you get here?"
"Caught a cab."
"You knew the address?"
"No. Just remembered the general area, this huge, swanky building. Real rich bachelor shit—" He stops, narrowed eyes flashing to Taehyung's. "Or I guess—you're not a bachelor, as I've learned."
Taehyung nods and tries not to let his hesitation show, his worry over how his past makes him seem in comparison to someone as wholly unburdened as Jeongguk. "It just never came up," he says simply, then changes the topic. "I thought you didn't work until Wednesday."
"I—didn't. Initially." Jeongguk squirms and scoots forward on the counter, spreads his legs to allow Taehyung room to step closer. Taehyung rinses the washcloth. Watery blood runs down the drain. His hand rests on Jeongguk's thigh for support and he can feel his chest rise and fall with each slow breath. Warmth and something more, something like fondness or a certain domesticity, colours the moment. Taehyung tries not to dwell on the feeling.
He hums and wipes up Jeongguk's forearm. "Really?" Skin relatively clean, blood visibly gone, Jeongguk looks better—not by a lot, but better nonetheless. Taehyung drops the dirty washcloth in the sink and moves on to the contents in the first aid kit.
"Not really." Jeongguk hisses at the first sting of antiseptic on the wound on his temple. Taehyung shushes him and holds Jeongguk's head still, fingertips resting on his jaw. "I dunno. I just wanted to think shit through. I just couldn't—felt like I couldn't look you in the eye after that morning."
Taehyung laughs sheepishly. "Sorry."
"It's—not your fault. I—fuck, I—shouldn't—have even gotten mad. It was just awkward, and I felt so—so invasive, and unneeded—like, even though I know we don't owe each other mutual desire, not—not in that sense, and—anger is how I deal with things." Jeongguk bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, embarrassed. His stutter is too lovable. With a soft pat on his thigh, Taehyung urges him to continue. "Whatever. I'm saying I-I'm not hung up on you—for any particular reason."
"But you are hung up on me?" Taehyung glances up at Jeongguk with a soft, knowing smirk.
"Grand assumptions, sir. But yeah. Sure. Why the fuck not? I have a wandering mind; we can leave it at that. It's just—not many people who come around the club are like you, okay? Hell, no one who comes around the club is like you. And I..."
"And you...?"
Jeongguk huffs and furrows his brow, looking away at the corner of the bathroom. "Maybe it's just 'cause I haven't gotten laid in a while. Got thinking a little too much. And when she showed up..." His hands fret, knit together in his lap, fingertips squeezing the bruised knuckles. "I don't even—I'm not saying it's bothering me, or that I give a shit, really—'cause you don't give a shit about me. Like, I know that. I'm just some stripper you fucked one night, and it was super great but it was also easy, and that's the best part—for you and me both—that it's easy to move on from, 'cause you're—this hot and loaded and classy guy with a fucking ex-wife and a bougie car and nice clothes and—"
