Your P.O.V
Okay, so I didn't mean to barge into Jimin's room while he was half naked. How was I supposed to know that he would be in his boxers, drying out his hair with a face towel? I just have good instincts, I'm not psychic.
"Oh, mian." I mutter a simple apology but do not move a muscle. I run my eyes up and down his chocolate slab of a body. Damn, his six-pack washboard abs are truly a spectacle.
"What the fuck, (y/n)!" he yells, bringing his towel down in an attempt to cover his crotch area. Well, I wasn't looking to be honest, until now.
Seriously though, why do guys do that? I know it's their most sensitive and—for some reason—most precious part of the body, but it's not like I'm shooting actual laser beams with my eyes that can incinerate them, so why cover?
"I did say sorry." I remind him. "And I wasn't ogling your precious jewels."
"Close the fucking the door already!" he yells again.
Okay, we don't have time for this. "Tae's hurt real bad." I tell him. "I need you." I add. And for some reason his eyes soften at what I say. I'm not sure if it's the 'Tae's hurt real bad' or the 'I need you', but it somehow does the trick.
"Fine, then, hold on." he darts over to his chest of darwers and pulls out a pair of grey sweat pants (that I've seen so many times before I'm pretty sure they must be his favourite pair) out of the second drawyer, and pulls them on right away. "T-shirt, t-shirt, t-shirt . . ." his eyes run around searching the perimeter of his room for a t-shirt.
"Is it really necessary?" I ask him. Seriously though, is it? I mean, I don't think anyone would mind him without one. . .
He studies my face as if he's trying to figure out whether I am being serious or just messing around with him.
Believe me, boy. I'm not.
"I'm serious." I say to make things easier for him.
"Oh." He says, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "I-I . . ." he stutters while looking at me straight in the eyes. "—help me find a t-shirt?" He decides to give up on what he was trying to say.
"K." I say and walk into his room all the while scanning the surroundings.
To put it short, his room is a disaster zone. I wouldn't be surprised if someone told him to put up a sign in here saying: "Please watch your step!"
There are over a hundred things, starting from food wrappers and game consoles to shoes and underwear, scattered all over his bedroom floor. His bed is unmade, his desk is a mess, and his closet is probably in a even worse condition that I have a feeling if someone opens it everything will come flooding out like a broken river damp.
If Rosé could see and she was here, she would flip out and then probably give him a good scolding before cleaning up this place, afterwards. That's one of the million of reasons why I love her. She always cleans up my room for me. Not a speck of dusk, not a single thing out of place, and a perfectly arranged closet. For a person who cannot see, she is quite remarkable.
My eyes stop on the space in between his closet and desk. "Does it have to be a t-shirt?" I ask him.
He turns to face me with a blank expression. "Why?"
I walk up to the desk and pick up the piece of cloth. "Cuz I found a tank top," I hold it up for him to see.
This way at least I can see his biceps . . . OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, (Y/N)? TAE'S HURT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!
I feel like murdering my hot-blooded teenage mind right now . . .
"Yeah sure, throw." he tells me, and I chuck it at him. He catches it in midair and smiles. "Actually, I've been looking for this for a while now, so thanks." he blushes.
Damn, I love it when he smiles like that.
"No wonder you couldn't find it," I start saying while trying to hide my disappointment with a smile as I watch him pull the tank top over his torso, cutting off my perfect view of his praiseworthy washboard abs, "your room always looks like someone made war here,"
He laughs that adorable laugh of his all the while running his hand through his hair. Now come to think of it, he does that a lot; running his hand through his hair, I mean. "Yeah, about that . . . " his eyes twinkle as he begins to explain his petty excuse for slacking off. "Actually the thing is, I was planning to clean it up this weekend, but I was kinda assigned on a mission? And now we're here . . . " he finishes off with a smile, his eyes disappearing into thin lines.
"Well, at least it doesn't stink in here." I point out. "Do you leave the windows open once in a while and fan out the whole room or something?" My genuine curiosity cracks him up.
"Let's go," he says as he walks over to me, taking my hand in his. Then he drags me out of his room and closes the door behind us. "And next time," He locks eyes with me, smiling with his own. He brings up his free hand and mimicks a knock on the tip of my nose. "Knock."
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CZYTASZ
𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍 | 𝐛𝐭𝐬
Fanfiction"(y/n), don't do this!" He holds his hands in front of him and starts backing away. He's scared, just like he should be. "Join me, please?" He pleads, his voice honest and sincere. "Tempting, but it's a no." I simply reply, before shooting him squar...
