{h} the butterfly effect : bts gang au

XXVI.

"So, what's up with your hands?" I ask before basically shoving a piece of omelette in my mouth while sitting on Jimin's countertop. I look at his bruised hands as they fry tofu, eggs, and vegetables in a pan. While his hands are small, I guess they do know how to please a woman.

"Just had a bit of a disagreement with someone," he says while he shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. However, he is quick to change the subject. "How are your stitches feeling?"

"They are fine; the skin around them is still sore but other than that, I feel like a billion dollars," I answer in suit. I see him smirk a little before tossing up a bit of the egg so it flips into fold.

"And how is Jae doing?" I can tell he has been dying to ask this question for a while by the fluidity of his words and his lack of eye contact. A small sigh falls from my lips as a response because I don't know how she is doing. I am used to talking to her every single day, but it has been a few days since we have talked, since we have seen each other.

Not even a text or call has been exchanged between us.

"Did she stay at Jungkook's the other night?" I question.

"Yeah, I think she stayed there last night too. Jungkook wasn't involved with the mission last night so I'm assuming they were together." Jimin slides the omelette and tofu into a dish for himself before setting his food beside me and taking a bite. "This tastes like shit."

"I like it," I reply honestly. Perhaps it's because I haven't been able to finish a full meal since before the mission.

Despite what just happened last night, the whole situation feels so domestic. The way he is standing beside my sitting figure on the counter, the way we are casually talking while eating breakfast, the way we basically woke up together. Watching him finish off his tofu in record time by shoving it in his mouth all while hunched over his bowl makes me realize that this is normal. He is normal.

What he does for work isn't necessarily normal, but everything else about him is exactly what an average 23 year old is. I am finding myself more and more perplexed and infatuated with him each day I am with him, but I can't help but wonder when it will end.

He pokes me in the thigh with his chopsticks before pointing to the tofu in my bowl and then points to his mouth with them. Jimin pauses and looks up at me, and I can only stare at him with bemusement when he does the same actions again. I can't help but pick up a piece of tofu and put it between his lips.

"I should probably talk to her, shouldn't I?" I ask. I feel like I owe her some sort of explanation, but I don't know how much explaining I can do.

"I can only see pros coming out of that," he vocalizes honestly. "I can drop you off at home when you finish eating."

"I would appreciate that," I smile, picking up a small piece of egg. I drop it, though, when the whereabouts of my phone runs across my mind. "Where's my phone?"

"Oh!" Jimin exclaims, finishing off his bowl in record time by shoving it all in his cheeks. "I put it on the charger when I got home this morning. I'll grab it from the living room."

Domestic. But oddly cute and thoughtful of him.

He quickly scurries into the other room as I jump down from the counter. I place our bowls into the sink and find a sponge to wash them with. Jimin gave me a place to stay, breakfast, and hospitality, so it's the least I can do for him. As I am scrubbing the outer parts of the dishes, I hear his footsteps approach from behind me.

"Hey, stop it," Jimin pouts while taking the sponge clean out of my hand. "You don't have to do that."

"But I want to, so can I please have it back? I'm almost do—," I begin, but my words are cut off when Jimin gently pulls me away from the sink. He grabs the small dish towel hanging from the handle of a cabinet for my still damp hands and puts my phone in the expansive pocket of the sweatpants I'm wearing.