Under Your Skin || Jungkook

10

I don't know where he lives, or if he's in any position to be able to judge. But I don't care, I'll do it for him.

I start fighting against the glass door of the entrance, playing with the position of the key, turning it slightly when it's inside, before I start pushing and pulling until it finally opens in front of us. I almost lose my balance and fall, but Jungkook holds me by my arm to keep me back in place.

—You do this every time you go in? —he looks at me surprised— Last week I thought you were just so mad and frustrated you fought with the first thing you found.

—It'd be easier if we could fix it. But most of us earn just enough to survive every month.

He nods, and seems like he understands what I'm trying to say. I mean, no one lives here by choice. Twenty years ago, when my grandma bought it, it was a catch. But as years passed by, living here started being more and more problematic.

—Lift or stairs?

—It depends —he pocks his hands in his pockets.

—I live on the fourth floor.

And just like that, he lifts one of his hands and points to the metallic doors that are closed right now. 

I'm sure he regrets his decision the moment we get inside. One part of the ceiling is missing -to the point when we're able to see the wires holding the metallic box we're in right now-, the lights that should be lighting it up keep flickering and you almost need to print your knuckles on the buttons to get them to work.

—Welcome to my humble home —I say, once I open my door.

In comparison with the rest of the building, I can't complain about my house. You'd think you crossed a different dimension when you cross the door from the hallway. It's a small apartment, but it's cozy, and I always try to keep it as clean and tidy as possible. 

—Wow —he breathes once he comes in—. Oh —he points to the old turntable in the living room corner—, I have the same model.

—It was my grandma's —I shrug—. I also have a collection of all the vinyls she bought —I point to a shelving, that's as tall as the furniture where the turntable is lying on.

I'm not even sure if that thing is still working at all.

—Do you want something to drink?

—I'm fine.

It's weird. The environment feels different from other times, it's as if we both have lifted a white flag the moment we got out of the car.

I pucker my lips, stopping in the middle of the living room, while I was on my way to the couch, when I see him looking around. He pays attention to every single detail, and even bends over to look at the small porcelain figures my grandma used to  collect.

—So, are you going to rate my house?

—Will you still play the enigmatic and interesting role? —he turns to me— You were about to set some rules.

Right.

—About that... 

—You didn't think of anything —he finished—. Then let me start: let's stop bitching at each other. Let's move on from that.

I nod. It's fine by me. We don't have to become besties after this, but we can't keep fighting and bickering every time we get the chance.

—Two: Limits —I continue—. I want to set the pace of whatever this will be.

—Of course —he lets his body fall on the couch—. Three: Communication. If you don't feel comfortable with something, or you think you aren't ready, I need you to tell me. I will stop and I will mold to you. Like... If you don't feel like talking with a dude, or do something in bed with me, it's fine. We are here for that, so no need to rush it.