52: Give it Up

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For a long time, the two of you stay there.

His hand stays still and soft on your thigh, thumb tracing up and down the same length of skin in a numbingly-gentle motion.

His forehead stays pressed to yours.

Both of you have your eyes closed, savoring the moment of peaceful serenity between the two of you. Without your vision, all you can feel is the soft heat of his skin on yours, your mind breaking the feeling into an abstract stained-glass window of golden softness and creamy sage sweetness.

Eventually, though, the atmosphere has to split.

And you're the one who has to do it.

Mostly because you're dying.

"The water," you mumble, pushing at Jungkook's chest. Your voice shatters the colorful glass of the silence into nothing, the fragility of it so contrasting to the strength of Jungkook's chest beneath your fingers. It's solid and warm beneath his now-damp T-shirt, not budging under the measly strength of your shove. "Turn it off. I feel like I'm breathing soup."

The steam from the hot water pattering against the cold file has now completely encompassed the room, dogging up the surface of every cool, smooth object in the room. Underneath you, the marble countertop you're placed on is soaking through your clothing, giving your skin that icky wet feeling that clings like plastic wrap.

Scrunching his nose up at your imagery, Jungkook paces back to flip off the water, returning to your arms instantly after. He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you forward to slide off the countertop and onto the floor.

You catch his eyes with yours, and smile a little.

"Ugh," he says. "You look like someone drowned you. Why does your hair do that?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you see with horror that your hair has begun to dry in a knotted, poofy bush around your head.

Primly, you hold your towel secured around your collarbones with one hand and ball the other one up before slamming it into Jungkook's stomach.

He doubles over around the hit, wheezing.

"I can fix my ugly hair," you comment casually, hooking the hand-towel from beside the sink around your finger. You dab up some water that's dribbling down the side of your neck. "But can you fix your ugly soul?"

He laughs through the wheeze, a strange sound that could've come from a broken lawn mower trying to chop up stubborn weeds. "My soul is whiter and brighter than Yoongi hyung's complexion."

Speaking of Yoongi...

You glance at the locked bathroom door, wondering how many ways Yoongi's come up with to kill Jungkook since he became the recipient of Mina's affections.

After the entirety of the tattoo-adoring event that's happened moments before, the black-haired man beside you seems to have forgotten that Yoongi is on the hunt to tear out his throat with bare hands. Quietly, you unlock the bathroom door and peek out.

Empty and serene, your uneaten muffin still sits lonely by itself on the bedside table, no Yoongi in sight to keep it company. You dart out, slipping a little on the wet tile, and close the bedroom door. "Okay, no demons in sight. You're safe."

Jungkook's eyes shine brightly when he sticks his head around the corner of the bathroom door, a mischievous child escaping free of punishment from the best prank.

"Time for my escape?" he asks innocently, toeing the doorframe.

"Time for your escape," you agree.

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