My Light, My Jimin

Chapter 25: Anatomy Studies

YOONGI

The eggs sizzle on the stove, and I stare at the back of my hands as they grip the counter. That-what happened last night with Jimin- was unexpected. But the way he came apart under my fingers, the way he begged me to show him this, what we have, was real, had me dangerously close to losing control.

And then I did.

I can't deny anything anymore. I fucked him, and it's painstakingly obvious how much I enjoyed that. Especially after I tucked him in bed and watched him sleep, enjoying the way his dark hair tangled up in my cream colored sheets.

I glare at the pan. Admitting this will not be easy, not that anyone will ever know. But admitting that he affects me so strongly is difficult; because there's not a single person I've ever been more intimate with in my life, and now that I have him, I don't want to let him go. It's hard enough knowing that when Monday comes, it will all disappear and we will have to go back to knowing each other as our professions.

With a sigh, I bring the pan of eggs over the toast and slide them on to make gyeran bbang. My inner voice reminds me what's at stake and fills my head with whispers that I've done something that cannot be repaired. I know this, I have known this ever since he stepped inside my office, but I push down the doubt. It will bring me no good if I sulk over my mistakes.

And Jimin will never be a mistake.

My purpose reinforced, I open the door, steps faltering when I see him sitting up in the center of my bed, hair a mess on his head and eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Hi," he says mid-yawn. "I was worried when I woke up alone."

I sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm never far. I thought you might be hungry, so I fixed us something light. There's some water in the fridge if you want."

"Oh." His cheeks grow round with his smile. "That's sweet of you. Is this an extra-birthday gift for me?"

"It's on the house. Though, I wouldn't mind hearing from the birthday boy how old he is now that the day is over."

His lips twitch. "Can't you look me up in the student record book?"

I close my eyes. "That would simply be too easy."

"Right." He runs a hand through his hair, pausing. "I'm nineteen."

My brows raise. "Why is that so bad to say out loud?"

He shrugs.

I lean in, tilting his head to the side and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "It's important to be comfortable in your own skin, whether that skin is old or new. We're born in different times, and that's what makes us so special." He smiles as I kiss him on the lips. "You can stay here if you want, or I can take you back to the dorms."

"I want to stay here," he says without hesitating.

I nod, smiling. "Then join me in the kitchen?"

Our breakfast together is quiet, sounds of traffic starting up and the morning trill of birds playing through the open balcony while he gazes out the window. I find myself appreciating all the ways he doesn't push for conversation, instead letting us sit in the comfort of silence. It makes my respect for him grow.

Once we're finished, I take our dishes to the sink. "I need to get a shower, but feel free to relax. The TV remote is on the couch."

I'm five feet away from the bathroom when he takes my hand, stopping me in my tracks. "I need to get one, too." He looks up at me and purses his lips. "Can we get one together?"

"Okay," I respond without thought. My heart kick-starts, lungs squeezing. I didn't mean to say that, but from the way his eyebrows shoot up, I suspect he didn't expect me to say that either. For him to doubt me, that me saying yes surprises him more, I decide to go through with my final answer, leading him by the hand to the shower.

I walk across the cool tile floor with Jimin behind me. We don't have much to strip after last night, our pants pile up in the corner like a tiny ant hill, and soon we're bare in front of each other. I feel his eyes staring at my back as I step inside first, enjoying the nozzle that spray the water from above like a thunderstorm.

I lean against the wall, bending my head until my hair is drenched, lines of liquid running down the side of my face to collect on the shower floor. Water blocks my ears and I'm not sure how long I stand there, waiting for the water to scrub me clean before I feel Jimin climb in behind me.

In the tight space, we manage to make it work, switching every few minutes to our stations of rinsing and washing. There are times when we bump into each other accidentally, but he giggles and everything is suddenly better.

When I reach for the shampoo, his hand sweeps across my collarbone as he takes the bottle out of my hands. "Wait. Let me do it."

He takes his time working the shampoo into a lather on his hands and then asks me to bend down for him. I do as he requests without thought and feel his fingers run through my hair, lathering the soap over my scalp and massaging in small circles.

Sensations flood my nerves, and I suddenly feel like I'm floating. I don't know what the hell he's doing, but it feels so good. My body relaxes at his touch, his soft hands caressing the shell of my ear and coming up to the crown of my head.

Then Jimin slides around me and reaches for the body wash, applying a layer to his hands and spreading it over my chest. I remember the way it felt to have his hands on me and his hard cock pressing against me, but this feels more intimate, more closer without the need for sex. I ground myself and stare into his eyes, water dripping over my eyelashes and onto him like a waterfall.

"Turn around," he says, and I twirl around so fast I'm afraid I might slip.

Before I can ask, I feel the tip of his finger on my back, starting in the center point and curving out and going down. He repeats the same motion on the right side of my back, and I hold in a moan trying to escape. I don't expect his touch to be so gentle and yet have that edge that makes my body want him on me like a tattoo, forever permanent and mine.

"What did I draw?"

Was I supposed to be paying attention? In my mind, I attempt to recreate an image using his touch. It's harder than I expect it to be, and I end up asking him to draw it a second time. He does, this time slower and with his nail pointed so I can feel it grazing my skin. I take a guess. "Is it the letter O?"

He laughs, the sound pretty with the rushing water. "No, it's a heart. Here's one half-" he traces a finger to my back in a curve- "and here's the other half." He does the same motion, but it all feels good to me I can't tell what is what.

I mimic the movement with my own hand, tracing invisible hearts all over the bathroom wall. It reminds me of memories that I believed were long lost. Memories of myself as a teenager spectating the couples from the inside, how they held hands and fed each other lunch, the way I used to sulk because I knew nothing like that would happen to me.

Not until years later, when he showed up.

We rinse and dry ourselves before stepping out, my hand holding his to ease his step and also because I can't seem to stop touching him. He wraps the towel around him and moves to pick up his dress pants when I beat him to it and pick them up for him. "There's jeans and a T-shirt you can borrow in my room." When he smirks, I add, "I know. Shocking."

He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. It's not my ringtone, so it must be his. In all of the haste from last night and this morning, I had forgotten there was an outside world that was still connected to us.

Jimin rushes to the coffee table and reads the caller I.D. His spine stiffens, and I watch his expression shift from surprise to panic. He glances at me and then back to the still ringing phone.

"Who is it?" I ask as I step up to him, my eyes trying to read anything that will give me answers.

He shows me the phone. "It's Eomma."