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The laughter of the members filled the small table, nearly silencing the noise in Yoongi’s mind.
Nearly.
He sat up straight, careful to minimize the amount of skin touching the table and seat. He glanced towards his slightly pulled up sleeves, ignoring the ache in his forearms at the unnatural position they laid on the table.
Hoseok laughed at something Jimin had said, knocking into Yoongi. The pale man stiffened as he felt one of Hoseok’s hands rest on the sliver of exposed skin on his arms. That same hand was touching perilla leaves not too long ago.
Yoongi laughed, trying but failing to avoid making it sound strained. A film wrapped itself around Yoongi’s arm, feeling as though the area was coated with germs. Where else had Hoseok’s hands been? Are there slight traces of grease on his wrist now? Yoongi’s going to be sticky. It’ll spread.
Yoongi took a deep breath as a thin sheen formed over his eyes. He tried to ignore the ball forming in his throat. He couldn’t pull down his sleeves to cover his wrists—at least not the one Hoseok touched. If he did, he’d spread the germs down to his hand and if he shifted it would spread to the rest of his upper arm. He’d be unclean.
Like an infection festering under a wound.
“Hyung! Good to see you!” A voice boomed as someone threw themselves onto Yoongi. He froze. Yoongi was hyperaware of the way the person rubbed against his freshly-washed hair, the way they wrapped their arms around his neck and brushed against his back.
It’s okay Yoongi.
He turned around.
“Ah! Taehyung-ah! Good to see you too!” Yoongi exclaimed.
He stared at the young boy who was excitedly recounting a few events as he settled into the seat next to him, but Yoongi wasn’t paying attention at all.
He could feel the film on his hair, on his neck. He was dirty. Where had Taehyung been? What had he touched?
Yoongi would have to drive home stiffly tonight, making sure his hair doesn’t contaminate the headrest. Come to think of it, he’d have to wash his coat too. And his glasses. Don’t forget about the—
“Hyung?” Taehyung waved his hand in front of Yoongi’s face, his expression worrisome. “Are you okay? You kind of zoned out for a bit.”
Yoongi laughed half-heartedly. “I was only thinking about something I forgot to do at work. Sorry Taehyung. Continue, I’m listening now.”
The younger man accepted the excuse, continuing to rave about a new type of noodle he’d just tried for lunch yesterday.
Infected.
A voice echoed throughout Yoongi’s mind.
Dirty.
Contaminated.
His tongue ran the length of his lips. He nodded at what Taehyung said.
If you don’t wash your hair you’ll contaminate your pillow. If you contaminate your pillow you contaminate your bed. If you contaminate your bed you—
Yoongi squirmed in his seat, wanting nothing more than to be home and in his shower.
His shower.
He could fix it all soon. He just had to wait.
He would be able to scrub off every germ—as if it’d never touched him in the first place.
Yoongi’s eyes flitted down to his hands—his cracked, bleeding hands. His eyes traced the tiny cuts and wrinkles that decorated the tired skin. His hands were slathered in lotion, something he always avoided due to the stinging, in a feeble attempt to appear normal for tonight.
But the lotion didn’t cover up much, did it?
Yoongi didn’t know how to be normal anymore. The noise of the bustling restaurant winnowed into an incessant buzzing as Yoongi continued to hmm and nod at Taehyung mindlessly.
His gaze shifted to Taehyung’s own hands. They looked soft and smooth—the complete opposite of his own.
Yoongi took a deep breath. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
Home.
He needed to be home.
He needed to be clean.
But he had to hold out for his friends. They had planned this outing meticulously—making sure that everyone’s schedule would match up.
Yoongi could handle it. Like he always did.
So, he folded his hands, widened his smile and laughed boisterously.
“Ah, hyung we should do this again some time!” Taehyung smiled.
“Of course! I’m having a blast.” Yoongi replied, eyes crinkling.
Handle it, Yoongi.