The knocking gets louder.
“Yeah ’m coming,” you mutter. “Who in their right mind…?”
It takes you a second to untangle yourself from the sheets, too groggy to fully process anything more than your bare toes. Only one in the afternoon and yet it might as well have been night, the clouds dark and fat outside–a sure sign of threatening thunder. For reasons unknown, you always became more nocturnal at this time of year, as though your body was somehow in synchronization with the earth’s seasons. If you turn into a seabear on your sofa one of these days you won’t be surprised.
A vague second-thought makes you glance at your reflection in the black of your television screen to affirm you aren’t naked before you stumble your way to the front door.
The boy standing outside fidgets, tugs his bag closer to him.
He twitters out a nervous laugh. “I was starting to think you weren’t home. That would have sucked, yeah?”
Your lips tug downwards. Jimin. Cogs whir lazily in your brain. Why was he here? Did you–
Jimin is at your door. And you are dressed in your pajamas.
In fact, you can’t even call them proper pajamas, what with the oversized shirt hanging to your thighs, just nearly covering the Clifford the Big Red Dog shorts you’ve owned since the eighth grade. Suddenly you are very, very awake.
“Jimin?” Something that is definitely not a squawk leaves you in a rushed breath. You clear your throat. “I mean, uh, what are you doing here?”
“Is it that bad to see me?” He laughs, grins so wide his eyes nearly disappear.
You want to become one with the door. Why, why didn’t you look through the peephole before you answered? Here you are: crusty morning breath, and here he is, looking like he just hopped out from a photoshoot in heaven, smile as warm and inviting as the scarf he’s ducking his face into-
Jimin is indeed trying to be eaten by his scarf, the tips of his ears bitten pink, cheeks flushed an angry sanguine. You peer closer and realize his smile is shaky, teeth clattering. It hits you like a brick that you yourself are unconsciously curling your fingers into your palms to hide them from the harsh cold coming in through the open door.
“How long have you been out here?” You demand, all thoughts of embarrassment fluttering away in the breeze. Your hands flit about, snatching onto any piece of his clothing you could find. Jimin doesn’t stand a chance as you pull him into the house.
“I’m okay, really,” Jimin reassures you, but you’re not deaf to the sigh of relief that escapes him when the two of you venture deeper into the heat of your home. He brings his palms up to his face and blows. “But thank you.” You’re drawn to his mouth at the action, his full lips even more pillowy from the frigid cold he had just escaped. He bites into his bottom lip, rubbing the soft petal with his thumb, and then you’re rushing to look away, to catch your breath before you lose it all together.
“That’s great.” It’s a miracle that you don’t stutter as you twist abruptly, heading towards your kitchen. “Tea? Tea.”
Ten minutes later, Jimin is sitting in your couch, all cozy and snug and sipping hot cocoa from your favourite mug. You’re squished beside him, still trying and subsequently failing to understand what’s going on.
“Anyway,” Jimin stretches. “I come bearing gifts.”
You swing an arm over the back of the sofa. “It’s the middle of November.” It doesn’t take much for your stare to turn accusatory. “Actually, how did you even find out where I dorm?”
He squints. “Well I mean,” he chases the last bit of the cocoa in the bottom of the cup. “I’ve been here before. Remember?”
“Uh no, I definitely do not remember that ever being a thing.”
Jimin hums, purses his lips with mischievous eyes. It’s an expression you are all too familiar with, and you feel the terror sink into your bones. “Ah, you wouldn’t know would you?” His tongue swipes out to remove his chocolate mustache.
“Park Jimin,” you slam your hands onto your thighs. Every second that goes by frightens you further. “What did you do?!”
“More like what you did.” He runs a hand through his hair on habit. “Last summer? The meteor shower?”
You rack your brain for memories.
Meteor shower. Yes. It was the night that–
You wince. “Alright, alright, I believe you, stop-”
“Poor me,” he interrupts, pressing onward through your groans. “Poor little old me, saddled with the drunk who decided to take a swim in the lake.”
“I was having a bad week.“
“So of course, being the loving friend that I was–and the only one willing to–I had to bring you home before you did anything more insane, like I don’t know, try to eat several ducks raw .” You open your mouth. “Tae told me what building you dorm in.”
You close it back, hissing a dark “traitor” through your teeth.
“You were so cute,” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows. “I even had to tuck you into bed.”
“Can we just pretend that never happened?” You rub at your face.
“We could. But where’s the fun in that?”
You give him a look that says he’d better behave or he’d be kicked back outside in ten seconds. "You said you brought gifts.”
“Well, a gift,” he digs into his bag, rummaging around. "Precisely one. Singular.” You watch blearily, sinking down into the couch. “Ta-da!"
Your fingers inch closer only for him to slap at your hand. You watch in despair as he holds it away from your reach. “What?”
“Are you not even going to ask what it’s for?” He raises an eyebrow.
“What’s it for?” You deadpan.
“Well I’m not gonna be here all next month, so I decided to come give you your Christmas gift early. And no, you’re still not allowed to open it until actual Christmas.”
“Right.” You already know you’re going to peek the moment he leaves. “Regardless, where are you going?”
“Visiting family,” he says shortly, twisting to face you better in the sofa.
You rub at your neck. Outside, the bitter wind still howls and scratches at your balcony window. “Well now I feel bad, you jerk. I don’t have anything for you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s his turn to roll his eyes. A hand lifts to wag a nonexistent finger at you, lost in the long sleeve of his sweater. “Just accept my love.”
You decide not to dignify that with a response, covering up another yawn with your fist.
“You know, that’s the third time you’ve done that.”
“Yawn.” He sits up. His eyes are suddenly brighter, more intrusive, scanning over your appearance.
“Really?” You shift, making an effort to try and appear more alert. Jimin is one hundred percent not buying it.
“Yes, really. Are you tired of me already?” His tone is joking at first, but it soon trails off into doubt. “Was this a bad time to come over?”
“No!” You insist, surprising yourself at the venom in your tone. The thought of him going and taking his sunshine presence with him leaves a terrible taste on your tongue. “No, you’re fine.” You don’t even realize you’ve reached out to grab his sleeve.
“Uh…huh.” He scrutinizes the couch he is sitting on, as if just noticing the unusual number of blankets strewn all over it. “And what were you doing before I got here?”
“Knew it,“ he shakes his head, clicking at the roof of his mouth. A second later he’s shuddering a breathy laugh, the one where his whole body shakes, and if he was the sun before he just became a whole new star system. His radiance is so bright you nearly have to look away. “It’s the middle of the day!”
Jimin snickers and rests his cheek in his palm. He says nothing then, merely stares at you with something undecipherable in those eyes. Your head instantly spins with chaos. Don’t make it a big deal . Your heart stutters in your throat when his silent stare only continues, unrelenting. Don’t–
The corner of his mouth lifts into a lopsided smile and you promptly give up.
“You should rest,” he interrupts. You squirm in the seat, already rearing to disagree. He stops you ahead, pouts in that Jimin way that no one in history has ever been able to resist–you never stood a chance.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” It’s less of a question and more of an intimidation at this point. You feel yourself deflate.
“You’re right,” you surrender, scowling at the smug sound that exits him. “‘Didn’t want to send you back out in that hell, but apparently you’re just dying to freeze again. Sure you don’t want to wait until it lightens up?”
Jimin looks at you like you’re insane.
“Who said I was going anywhere?”
“Uh.” You nowhere near computed. “What are you going to do then?”
“Well I did say you should sleep, idiot. Let’s just sleep together.”
Everything short-circuits. Any smartass comments ooze right out your ears and onto your freshly vacuumed carpet.
“I'm sorry ?” You trade places with a banshee in two seconds flat.
Jimin ducks closer as though he’s entirely oblivious to your plight. You don’t react when he casually unwraps your fingers from the mug in your lap, placing it onto the floor.
“It’ll be like a siesta,” he shrugs. His tone is innocent, but literally everything you know about him says otherwise. He lifts your knee to free some of the blanket trapped underneath; all you can process is the sensation of his hands on your skin. “This couch is big enough for the both of us.”
It’s really not –Jimin’s whole leg is hanging off the side, but you don’t get the chance to complain because he’s already moving, adjusting the pillows and draping the dense blanket over the two of you.
“Your toes are cold,” is all you can say, too shell shocked to filter what’s exiting your mouth.
“Sorry,” he drawls. “Who was it that had me standing outside?”
You retreat further into your side of the couch so that his skin doesn’t brush yours, a feat you learn is next to near impossible with the space given.
“It’s fine,” you rush, unwilling to venture into the topic any further lest your heart bursts from your nerves. “This is good.”
Conversation ceases, and a heavy silence settles thicker than the uneasy tension in the room. There’s only the sound of your combined breaths–of the rustling of your clothes as you try your hardest to remain still, which only results in the exact opposite.
A good chunk of time passes this way. As your eyes grow burdened, you think that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to confront this, that you would actually fall asleep before having to face the situation.
Jimin’s voice meeting the air assures you that there is no such luck.
“This is stupid,” he says bluntly. “Get over here.”
You reluctantly peer over your shoulder to see what he was doing, and almost choke on your saliva. His arms are spread wide open, teeth nipping at his lips in what looks to be apprehension. At your aghast face, he nooks his fingers in an action that reads ‘come’. Heat drains from your face and floods straight downwards.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you play it off with a wavering smile. “I think we should just–”
Jimin says your name firmly,
you feel it: the way the mood shifts.
He’s not teasing anymore. The implications are clear as day that he’s casting aside the tiptoeing you’ve been doing around each other since day one.
You don’t dare to breathe in the sudden empty space. You’ve been in denial for so long, for so long, that this jumps right past discomfort and into actual panic.
You’re scared. Shame burns hot through you. Logic tells you that this is ridiculous, but the unknown frightens you. There is so much empty space now, a writhing breeding ground practically pregnant with future disappointment and heartbreak. You can’t move, and this void of time has gone on for too long, and he is going to give up, going to move on-
“Hey,” he says. You startle.
You’ve had an infinite amount of time to study the enigma that is Park Jimin. The things that have him giddy for days. Those that creep and burrow under his skin to make him boil . You’ve memorized the true meaning behind every smile, every leer, every chuckle. How could you not? The man had woven himself tight into the threads of your life, just as you had he.
This was your best friend. One who was currently splintering you into jagged shards at his feet, but it’s the same Jimin who you shoved laughing into the pool last week. The same Jimin who can’t take his coffee black, who texts you way past midnight into those early morning hours that are delirious with exhaustion and make his terrible jokes funnier than they should be.
And right now, there is no mistaking the unspoken message in his eyes. A promise of security. Of future whispered nothings and lazy kisses, and trembling, burning trails left by sunkissed hands–anything, everything cliche under the sun if you so desired it. All or nothing the two of you could be at once laid in front your hands, open or not.
“Get over here,” he repeats simply.
You say nothing when you move and duck into his open arms.
He holds you to his chest. You press your nose into the curve of his neck, quivering an exhale. Smiling, he brushes his lips to the top of your head, the touch so faint you would have doubted it was there at all if not for the way he reverently brings you closer.
↪dedicated to @sehunpeachy
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