Bound to fall

💌2

~🎀~

He doesn’t do better for the entire first week.

When he asks his father about why Taehyung is always home, he gets a weird look at the dinner table.

“He works from home. Why?”

“Nothing,” Jimin says, taking a too big drink to stall longer. Then, “just, when I go out to swim he’s usually out there. Was just wondering what he does.”

“Mhm,” his dad says, arching an eyebrow — Jimin knows what the look means and pointedly avoids it, because he’s done nothing incriminating thus far.

Figuring two can play the evil games of Kim Taehyung with his sweaty, sun kissed muscles constantly exposed, Jimin decides to wash his mother’s car while she’s inside taking a nap.

Just to be a good son, really.

Normally, he finds Taehyung in the backyard playing basketball, or more dangerously, working out, and Jimin can’t exactly move the car into the back, but his hopes are high that maybe Taehyung will find an excuse to move to the front of his house.

It’s two pm, the sun beating down at it’s harshest in the middle of June, and Jimin is soaping up his mother’s car wearing a pair of shorts that JungKook has in the past called, fuck me shorts, and a white tank top — maybe it’s on the nose, but at this point he thinks that’s the only tactic that will work on this stupid man who barely looks at him for longer than five seconds at a time.

Jimin tries not to look over at Taehyung’s house while he washes the car; ringing a soapy sponge over his chest under the guise of cooling down, making sure he’s entirely soaked to the bone, squatting to really get the rims shining.

It’s been silent all afternoon.

When Jimin’s given up, deciding that this really was just an act of a good son because he didn’t get what he wanted out of it, he pulls off his damp tank top and starts rinsing the suds off of the car, upset that he’d wasted nearly an hour in the sun and didn’t even see Kim Taehyung shirtless.

Jimin kneels in the grass, spraying the tires and getting all the built up gunk out of the wheel wells, and suddenly there’s a warm hand touching the top of his shoulder.

“Jesus,” he gasps, turning his eyes up to Taehyung, the spray of the hose moving so it hits the car too close and ricochets back into his face.

Taehyung is there, smiling down at him and his now dripping wet face, offering him a cold bottle of water.

“You’ve been out here a while,” he says, voice distractingly deep — Jimin hasn’t heard him speak at all since he started trying to get his attention, and it works like a shot of arousal to his gut. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”

Still on his knees, mostly naked, Jimin bats his eyes up at Taehyung as he takes the water bottle from him. Uncapping it, he takes a big drink, truly cooled down, and pours the rest over his neck while Taehyung stares with an arched eyebrow.

“Thanks, Mr. Kim,” he smiles, considering standing back up, but enjoying the way Taehyung has to look down at him far too much — he’d like this imagery to stay in the older man’s head as long as possible.