Summary | Saudade (noun): a deep emotional state of melancholic longing for a person or thing that is absent
A/N | This has been in my drafts since 2018, and I brought it back out recently because it has V2 vibes. Not part of the series, but just a little side drabble! Hope you enjoy <3
You roll over, one hand coming to rub sleepily at your eye while the other lays limply on the pillow beside you. It’s morning—the sun throwing little slivers of pale light from around the sides of your dark curtains—just enough for you to see the room glowing in a muted, blue tinted light. It’s silent, the only noises are the ones that come quietly from the street outside your apartment window, and the sound of the heat cutting off, the warm air stopping its path from the vent above your dresser. You want to go back to sleep, looking at the menacing, red numbers that gleam at you from your alarm clock, letting you know it’s much too early for you to be awake. But you know that it’s not an option.
It’s morning—the moment of day when you miss him most.
Your eyes open and you roll on your side to stare at the vast space of bed beside you that’s cold and lonely in his absence. It’s been that way for days, and each morning it’s harder to come to terms with the fact that this is how it will be forever.
The pillow with no indentation of his head, no impression of his body into the mattress beside you to engulf you in his sleepy warmth, nothing to look at but the rumpled covers that lay there instead, untouched by you throughout the course of the night. You can’t bear yourself to sleep on that side of the bed yet—where it used to be your favorite place, snuggling your head into his chest and breathing a happy sigh as you drifted back off to sleep—now, you can barely look at it without the tightness in your chest returning, your mind wandering to the nights that you spent in the bed that now seems much too big for one.
Mornings were blissful, stolen moments of time before the rest of the world was awake yet—but you two were. Your room would be lit up with the golden rays of a day just starting, and you would roll over to your golden boy, sleeping peacefully beside you.
Your fingers would reach out involuntarily, tracing a line between the broad, tanned skin of his shoulders, eyes wandering the lithe bands of muscles that stretched over his shoulder blades and hid from the world underneath his soft sweaters and thick jackets. He’d flinch slightly at the cold touch of your fingertips, rolling his body so that it was facing yours and grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers together to pull you close.
“What?” he’d grumble into your ear in his deep, raspy voice full of sleep—not necessarily angry at you waking him, but always checking to see if you were okay or if you needed anything. You would say nothing, burying your face into his neck and taking a deep breath of the intoxicating scent that rolled off his skin in waves.
Taehyung would settle for a moment, letting you win, before pulling you back to look in his eyes, asking once more with a, “Hmm?”
You would grin in a way that let him know you didn’t want anything, closing your eyes to shield you from the intensity of the look in his. The glassy orbs the color coffee after creamer, always made desire roll in the pit of your stomach so you’d force it down, not wanting it to win over the peaceful moments of that day.
If eyes were the windows the soul, you were sure you knew every inch of Taehyungs because of how much you relished eye contract with him. Taehyung was always looking at you.
Not just a stare, but as if every time you did something he was calculating your moves, trying to figure you out, predict your words and be able to understand you better than you understood yourself. He was, at times, so pensive and observant that it scared you. He would recognize things you constantly did or your behavior in certain situations that you didn’t even realize yourself.
In the morning time, there were always a few quiet moments again as Taehyung looked at you, and then you would feel the slightest pressure of his lips on yours.
Kissing Taehyung was a dream. He always tested the waters, pressing his lips softly against yours before he leaned closer—sometimes wrapping his arms around your waist, sometimes cradling your face in his large, warm hands, and sometimes, as he liked to do, let his hands drift up your night shirt to ghost his fingers across the small of your back. His lips would grow firmer as he breathed outward once, the air mingling with your own content sigh before diving back in, on a mission to taste every bit of the inside of your mouth.
His hunger for you always made you want to give that energy right back to him. If there was one thing you were sure of about Taehyung, its that he was selfless. And although you knew that in the physical sense—he would never leave you hanging during your intimate moments, always making sure you were well cared for with touches and kisses and time spent to insure your ultimate satisfaction—but in everyday instances he was, too.
Taehyung was so willing to please it was surprising to you. If you wanted to watch something he didn’t on TV, he would. He’d let you curl right up on his lap, or into his side, and while you were watching if he wasn’t interested, he’d watch you instead. He’d play with your hair, or your fingers, or run his hand aimlessly along your side, drawing patterns and relishing in the way your skin rippled and heightened at his touch.
But at the cost of all of his selflessness, Taehyung tended to forget about his own needs. If something bothered him, he would hold it in until he couldn’t take it anymore. He tended to let the pressure build inside of himself until he burst—which were always your worst arguments. Taehyung when he was angry was so unnatural that most of the time you didn’t know what to do, but you were never one to back down from a confrontation, and so the shock was usually quickly replaced by an anger that matched his—even if you were in the wrong.
Regardless of the arguments and disagreements, Taehyung was the one person in the world that you knew loved you. He loved you even when you didn’t want to love yourself. He held the key to you becoming a better person, but you didn’t want to take it from him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d changed you, and more importantly, you hated the thought that he might have. You were softer when he was around, calmer, more sensitive.
Which is why, today, you lay in bed in the quiet recluse of your own apartment without him. Your relationship with Taehyung began with a bang and ended with a bigger one. You’d been at his place, laying in his bed, when it all went downhill.
You don’t remember why, you don’t remember how. You just know that Taehyung was tired of being the selfless one while you were the selfish one, and then he was out. And then you were out, grabbing your things and leaving behind the key that you’d used one too many times to sneak into his place to get a decent nights sleep that you couldn’t otherwise obtain in your own bed. It was a quiet break. Unlike all your other arguments that were loud and passionate, this one was quiet and remorseful, an understanding between two people who wanted to make a bad thing work.
It’s a strange, hollow feeling that one gets when they lose the person that they love. And it’s an even stranger, hollower feeling when you lose the person you love and then realize just how much you loved them. Needed them.
So you roll over again, facing his side of your bed briefly before you roll over it, hoping to pull the last bit of his scent from your pillow case into your nose, your lungs, your head.
You just hoped wherever he was, whoever he was with—that he was happy, because he deserved to be. Taehyung wasn’t yours to keep.
