BLACKTAN w/ imagination

Joking

It happens so quickly.

One moment she's carrying the tray with ease, balancing it in the palms of her hands as she smiles and chats with Namjoon, and next moment her grip has slipped and there are shards of ceramic on the ground and boiling hot coffee in Kim Taehyung's lap.

"I'm so sorry!" she cries, mortified, as Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jimin turn to look at them in surprise. She glares at them when she hears a muffled snicker, and rushes to grab napkins from the table.

"I'll go get towels!"Namjoon declares, racing off. The door thunks shut behind him.

Chaeyoung can take pain; she has to, considering her job as a singer and all its occupational hazards, but she knows firsthand just how terrible burns can be. It's a good thing the standard producer pants are rather thick denim jeans, but still, it must be painful for her producer, and she's pretty sure she just saw a grimace break through his usual expressionless façade.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats, falling to her knees by his chair and practically dumping napkins onto his lap. There aren't enough to soak up all the liquid—when is Namjoon coming back with the towels?—but she tries anyway, patting him down with the flimsy linens.

"Chaeyoung."

"I don't know how it happened; I just got distracted when I was talking, I guess, and—"

"Chaeyoung."

"—I'll be more careful next time; I hope you didn't get burned, oppa, maybe you should check—"

"Chaeyoung."

"—I'm really sorry, I'll wash your pants for you; I was planning to do laundry anyway—eek!"

He has one of her wrists in his hand, and he tugs on it, lightly. She looks down, confused... until it dawns on her that her other hand, napkin clenched in her fingers, is resting on a certain part of his anatomy. Her face flames tenfold.

Before she can pull away or apologize even more profusely, he leans forward, close enough that she can see the flecks of silver in his irises, close enough that his breath tickles her cheek, and says in a low voice, "If you wanted to touch it, you only had to ask."

She stares at him, brain unable to process what she just heard. Had he just—did he just—is he implying that—

Then she sees the faint glimmer in his eyes; others might easily overlook it but she knows him well enough to be able to tell: Oh. He's joking.

She splutters incoherently anyway and can't bring herself to look him in the eye for the rest of the day.