>>lost<< Yoonmin

XVIII

Jimin's eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for a long moment, both of us with wide eyes. Finally his emotionless face breaks into a small grin.
"For being so weak earlier you really regained your strength."
He ruffles his hair and took in my still surprised expression.
"Ah! Yoongi, it's fine really. Unless I did something to you?"
He leans toward me, inspecting me as my expression slowly returns to neutral.
"I just figured I had made you uncomfortable..."
I grumbled and he smiles in return.
"Maybe a little bit, but it's getting better with you. I just wasn't sure how to respond. I didn't think you'd pull me over though."
He chuckles, loosening the tight ball of anxiety in my chest. I nod a bit and glance over to the couch.
"Hey."
He waves his hand in front of me, drawing my attention back to his face as he smiles at me.
"I guess I deserved that for flicking you."
He teases and I shrug a bit. He heaves a sigh at my lack of reaction and pulls himself to his feet, tossing the blanket on the couch.
"Come one. Let's eat."
He motions to me as he meanders into the dining room. I stand up and follow after him, sitting at the table as he does. We eat quietly, focusing on our food. I shoot glances at him occasionally, to which he is oblivious. I turn my attention to the connected dining room and kitchen and take in its design.
It is full of whites and blacks and grays, sleek and smooth, modern in design.
I have finished eating sooner than I imagined and look over as Jimin stands with his bowl in hand, grabbing mine as he moves to the sink.
"Thank you."
I say lightly and I catch a glance of his smile as he turns his back to me, putting the bowls in the dishwasher.
"It's nothing."
He says lightly and I nod. I watch him silently for a moment until he turns to dry his hands, closing the dishwasher.
"You don't like touching people, huh?"
I ask softly, barely a question as it is a conformation. He simply nods, slowly returning to his seat at the table. His eyes finally meet mine and I have his full attention as we sit silently, eyes locked.
"Why do you touch me?"
It's a curious whisper, barely more than a breath as it passes my lips. He lowers his eyes and sighs softly before giving an answer.
"It's different to suck it up like earlier, when you needed help..."
He notes quietly,
"And because... you are different Yoongi. Touching you doesn't hurt. It... it feels okay."
He whispers, his cheeks flushed with color. My curiosity overpowers my usual aversion to conversation.
"Doesn't hurt?"
I inquire quietly and he nods, lowering his gaze.
"Jimin-ah, why does it hurt to touch others?"
My stomach twists, staring at his defeated posture and listening to his broken voice. Something here feels so wrong.
"Every time... every one I have been close to... always ends up hurting me."
His sentences are choppy, and his voice is choked. He looks in pain just talking about it.
"Jimin."
I whisper softly and reach out to him, touching his arm softly.
He cringes and I quickly pull away. His eyes shoot up, mouth open slightly and his cheeks red with shame.
"Yoongi."
His eyes sparkle with unshed tears, and I want nothing more to comfort him but I am clueless as to how.
"It's- it's easier for me to do it, okay?"
He is trembling so I nod, unsure of what exactly he is saying. He stands up timidly and steps closer. I lift my brows but he stares at his feet, his cheeks tinted pink.
"D-don't move, okay?"
He mumbles and I nod in confusion. One more step closer and his legs are touching the chair I sit in. I look up at him but he avoids my eyes, and slowly lowers himself onto his knees. I tense up as he folds him arms delicately over my legs, placing his check on his forearm so his eyes face away from me. I feel him slowly relaxing, releasing a sigh that encourages me to relax as well. I hesitantly reach out and settle my hand on his head, working my fingers in slow circles in his fluffy hair.
"What are you doing Jimin-ah?"
I ask quietly and he releases a heavy sigh.
"I'm tired..."
He grumbles and heat spreads over my cheeks at his childish attitude.
"And your comfy."
He says softly and we sit in silence, listening to each other's rhythmic breaths.