pairing: Kim Hongjoong x reader genre: fluff, fluff and fluff again, established relationship, comfort, Idol AU summary: During a late-night storm, Hongjoong trades his game controller for quiet comfort, wrapping you in warmth, soft kisses, and a story about a boy made of music who finally found his missing heartbeat. word count: ~2.3k c/w: light thunderstorm anxiety, mild emotional vulnerability, kissing a/n: I made this for @chansleftlegstoe ♡ ➤ ateez masterlist (REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!)
The rain wasn't just falling; it was performing. It was a relentless, percussive symphony against the panoramic windows of the eighth-floor dorm, each drop a tiny, transparent musician contributing to a crescendo that filled the quiet evening. Inside, the world was a pocket of warmth and safety, a stark contrast to the wild dance of nature outside.
You were nestled in the corner of the large, L-shaped couch, a fortress of plush cushions and a thick, fleece blanket tucked securely around your legs. The only light in the living room came from the soft, golden glow of a single floor lamp in the corner and the chaotic, vibrant flashes from the large television screen where Hongjoong was locked in a digital battle. The low, electronic hum of the gaming console was a familiar, comforting bass note to the storm's melody.
Your book, a well-worn paperback with a creased spine, lay open in your lap, but your eyes had long since drifted from the printed words. Instead, they were fixed on the boy at the other end of the couch. Hongjoong was utterly captivating when he was focused. His brow was furrowed in concentration, creating a small, adorable divot between his eyebrows. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, and a few stray strands of his dark, inky hair had fallen across his forehead, framing his sharp features. Under the lamplight, the deep black had a soft, almost blue sheen, a stark and beautiful contrast to his pale skin. He was a whirlwind of controlled energy, his fingers flying across the controller with a dancer's grace, his body swaying with the on-screen action.
A particularly loud, gut-rumbling clap of thunder shook the windows, making the glass tremble. It was close. The sound was so visceral it felt like a physical blow, and you flinched instinctively, your shoulders hunching up towards your ears.
On the screen, his character met a spectacular, fiery end. The screen flashed red with ‘DEFEAT’. Hongjoong let out a frustrated groan, tossing the controller onto the cushion beside him. The sudden silence in the wake of the game's explosive soundtrack felt heavier, more profound than the noise had been. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, tousling the already-messy strands so they fell more freely across his face. He turned his head, his sharp, intelligent eyes immediately finding yours across the expanse of the couch.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected, stripped of the game-fueled intensity.
“Yeah, just the thunder,” you replied, offering a small, slightly shaky smile. “It caught me off guard.”
He studied you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable but intense. You saw the subtle shift in his expression, the lines of frustration smoothing out, replaced by something softer, more concerned. Then, a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, a familiar prelude to one of his antics.
Without another word, he pushed himself up from the couch. You watched, curious, as he crossed the small space separating you. He didn’t head for the kitchen or the bathroom. He stopped right in front of you. Gently, he took hold of your blanket-covered feet and lifted them, plopping them back down as he sat in the spot they had just vacated. He then carefully placed your feet back in his lap.
“What are you doing?” you asked, a laugh bubbling up in your chest. You wiggled your toes, which were encased in a pair of fluffy, cat-shaped socks.
“My official duties as boyfriend,” he announced with mock seriousness. “Making sure you’re properly defended against rogue thunderclaps.”
He began to rub your feet through the thick socks. His touch was firm yet gentle, his thumbs pressing soothing circles into your arches. A pleasant, tingling warmth spread from your feet up your legs, a slow, creeping heat that had nothing to do with the blanket.
“You don’t have to stop your game for me,” you protested, though you made no move to pull away. In fact, you found yourself sinking deeper into the cushions, melting under his touch.
“The game can wait,” he said, his focus entirely on the task at hand. “My girlfriend is being terrorized by atmospheric pressure changes. This is a code red situation.” He continued his massage, his hands slowly moving up to your calves, his fingers kneading the muscle with a practiced skill that was both surprising and incredibly relaxing. The comfortable silence settled back over the room, punctuated only by the steady drumming of the rain and his soft, off-key humming.
After a few minutes of blissful silence, he shifted, patting the empty space on the couch right next to him. “Come here.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You carefully bookmarked your page, setting the book aside on the coffee table. You untangled yourself from your blanket fortress and shuffled over, tucking yourself into his side. His arm immediately wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him. He was warm and solid, a perfect anchor in the quiet room. He smelled faintly of his citrusy cologne and the clean, familiar scent of the dorm’s laundry detergent, a combination that was purely Hongjoong and instantly comforting.
“Better?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.
You hummed in contentment, nuzzling closer until your cheek was pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Much better. You’re very good at this boyfriend thing.”
He chuckled, the sound a low, pleasant rumble in his chest that you felt more than heard. “I’m a professional. It’s in my contract.” He picked up the TV remote and muted the television, letting the natural soundtrack of the storm take over completely. The world shrank to just the two of you, the couch, and the rain. He started to sway gently from side to side, a slow, rhythmic motion that was surprisingly soothing.
“Are we dancing?” you mumbled into his shoulder, your voice muffled by the fabric.
“We are,” he whispered back, his tone full of mock seriousness. “It’s the ‘Thunderstorm-is-Scaring-My-Girlfriend’ waltz. Very exclusive. Invitation only.”
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a bright, happy spark in the dim room. You tilted your head back to look at him, and the soft light from the lamp caught in his eyes, making them sparkle like polished obsidian. He was looking down at you with such unadulterated affection, such open, raw love, that it made your heart ache in the best possible way.
Without thinking, driven by a surge of emotion, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the sharp line of his jaw. He stilled his swaying, his gaze softening even more, if that were even possible. He leaned down and captured your lips in a real kiss, a slow and sweet meeting that tasted of warmth and home. It wasn't passionate or demanding; it was a simple, perfect expression of everything he felt, a silent conversation that needed no words.
When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. He rested his forehead against yours, his nose bumping yours gently. His breath was warm against your skin. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, as if the words were a secret meant only for you.
“I love you too, Joong,” you replied, your heart feeling so full it felt like it might overflow.
He smiled, that beautiful, gummy smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. It was the smile he reserved for rare, unguarded moments, and you treasured every time you were the cause of it. He settled back against the couch, pulling you with him until you were lying more than sitting, tangled together under the blanket. He resumed his gentle humming, his hand tracing mindless, abstract patterns on your back.
The storm could rage all it wanted. Here, in his arms, you were safe, warm, and completely, utterly loved.
For a while, you just lay there in comfortable silence, listening to the rain and the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your ear. His hand continued its lazy journey across your back, a soothing, repetitive motion that was lulling you into a state of blissful drowsiness.
“Joong?” you whispered into the quiet.
“Hmm?”
“What were you thinking about? Before, when you were staring at the ceiling?”
He was quiet for a moment, and you thought he might not answer. Then he sighed, a soft, thoughtful sound. “Just… everything. The new album, mostly. There’s this one melody I can’t quite get right. It’s there, you know? It’s like a ghost. I can hear it in my head, but I can’t… I can’t catch it.”
You shifted, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him properly. His face was turned towards the ceiling, his profile sharp and beautiful in the dim light. You could see the flicker of creative frustration in his eyes, the perpetual restlessness of a mind that never truly switched off.
“What kind of melody?” you asked gently.
He turned to look at you, a small, grateful smile on his face. “It’s… hopeful. But also a little sad. Like the end of a long journey, when you’re finally home, but you miss the road. Does that make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense,” you said, your heart swelling with affection for this complex, wonderful man. “You’ll get it. You always do.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, but it lacked conviction. “Sometimes it feels like I’m just… shouting into the void. Trying to find the right words, the right notes, to say something meaningful.”
“You do,” you insisted, your voice firm but gentle. “You do it all the time. Your music says things people can’t put into words themselves. It makes them feel less alone.”
A slow smile spread across his face, genuine and appreciative. He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“It’s my official duty as girlfriend,” you teased, echoing his earlier words. “Defending you against rogue self-doubt.”
He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned in and kissed you again, a quick, sweet press of his lips that was full of gratitude. “Well, you’re very good at it. Professional level.”
He shifted again, maneuvering you both so that you were lying more comfortably, your head pillowed on his chest, his arm a secure band around your waist. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing was a steady, calming tide. The rain had softened to a gentle, steady patter, the thunder now a distant, grumbling echo.
“Tell me a story,” you murmured, your words slurring slightly with sleep.
“What kind of story?”
“Anything. A happy one.”
He was quiet for a moment, and you thought he might be searching his mind for a fairytale or a funny anecdote. But then he began to speak, his voice a low, soothing murmur that vibrated through his chest and into yours.
“Once upon a time,” he started, a playful lilt in his tone, “there was a boy who lived in a world made of sound. Everything was a melody to him—the hum of the refrigerator, the rhythm of the train, the way the rain hit the windows. It was a beautiful world, but it was also very loud. And sometimes, very lonely.”
He paused, his fingers tracing a slow path up and down your arm.
“He spent all his time trying to capture the sounds, to weave them into tapestries he could share. He worked day and night, surrounded by buttons and screens and blinking lights, trying to build a symphony that could explain the world inside his head. But it was never quite right. It was always missing something. It was missing… a heartbeat.”
Your own heart gave a little flutter at his words.
“Then one day,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “the boy met a girl. And she didn’t just hear the music; she felt it. She understood the silence between the notes. She was the quiet in his noisy world, the harmony to his melody. She was the heartbeat he’d been searching for.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And when he was with her, the world wasn’t so loud anymore. It was just… perfect. The end.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and sudden. You blinked them back, not wanting to move, not wanting to break the spell. You tilted your head up, your eyes finding his in the dim light. They were shining with an intensity that took your breath away.
“Hongjoong,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
“Yeah?”
“That’s the happiest story I’ve ever heard.”
He smiled, that gummy, heart-stopping smile, and tightened his hold on you. “It’s my favorite one to tell.”
You fell silent after that, content to just exist in the little bubble of warmth and love you had created. The storm outside had passed, leaving behind the clean, fresh scent of rain and the promise of a new day. The dorm was quiet, the other members long since asleep in their rooms.
You felt yourself drifting, the edges of your consciousness blurring, but you fought it off, not wanting the moment to end. You wanted to remember every detail: the feel of his heartbeat under your ear, the weight of his arm around you, the scent of his skin, the way his breath fanned across your hair.
“Joong?” you whispered again, your voice barely audible.
“Hmm?” he hummed, his own voice thick with sleep.
“Don’t let go.”
He didn’t answer with words. He just shifted, pulling you impossibly closer, until there was no space left between you. He tangled his legs with yours, a tangle of limbs and shared warmth. He rested his cheek against your hair, his lips brushing your forehead in a silent, unwavering promise.
And in the quiet, rain-washed darkness, you finally let yourself drift off, safe in the arms of the boy who had turned your world into the most beautiful song.
