CYPHER | BTS

33: MASKED

- T H I R T Y  T H R E E -

June 30, 2020
Tuesday

📍Fukuoka, Japan

༺❀༻

Choi June

I never thought the act of cutting hair was intimate, let alone it feeling intimate. Sometimes, I imagine someone else—anyone else—with me in these situations, these scenarios, and in my conclusions, the feeling is always the same: dull.

But it never is with Yoongi, and I don't know how to handle that realization. I try not to think about it too much. Try to just live in the moment.

But occasionally, my mind will wander unintentionally and while I've convinced myself I'm the kind of girl who doesn't know about nor want love, sometimes I feel like maybe I'm not.

That scares me.

I run my fingers through Yoongi's damp hair and snip away the dark strands. Just a little trim. I don't look at him through the bathroom mirror, but I do wonder throughout all of it if he's looking at me. As I cut his hair, I let myself fantasize about an alternative world where this could all be normal. Normal people doing normal things living normal lives. I never knew I'd crave that until recently.

There are moments where things are normal. Like my job or the whole tour. Or when Yoongi had knocked on my door this evening and asked if I could trim his hair for tonight's event.

I'd said yes, but I didn't want to. I loved his long hair, the way he'd keep a hair tie on his wrist and tie it in ponytails. The way he'd push it out of his face or tuck it behind his ear. I mourned it with every little snip.

But I wasn't complaining about cutting his hair either. I liked the way it felt beneath my fingertips. Like the way he'll inhale a breath every time I tugged on it. Like the way his hand lingers against my thigh as I move around him to get to certain areas.

When I finally felt like I was done, I set the scissors onto the sink countertop and gave his head a little ruffle. His hair was still long. Just shorter now.

"Done?" he asks, scrunching his nose up in that cute way he does it.

"I think so." I learned how to style and cut hair right before this tour started. "You look good."

It was the truth. It was like looking at your own finished art piece with that triumph fluttering in your chest. He plays with his hair for a bit, staring at himself in the mirror as if taking in my art too. And then his hands are on my thighs and he's pulling me onto his lap, where my hands find his bare shoulders right away.

He doesn't say thank you. He never really did. I didn't mind as much as I could've. Overtime, I've learned how to examine the way Yoongi does things, and not verbally voicing affection was one of them.

Instead, he just shows me. He was always good at that. His hands are on my thighs, fingers slipping beneath the material of my shorts. He's running his nose against the length of my jaw, the ghost of his breath fanning my skin as he lifts his hips and pushes me closer to him.

I can feel every hard inch of him right away. I used to bite my lip to keep quiet, but I let it all out now. Figured he likes it when his hands come to my ass and give it a squeeze as he rocks my hips against his once.