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Why why why why did the AC do things like BREAK in the middle of fucking SUMMER?
Part of you wants to enjoy the cicadas and crickets outside; wants to pull back the curtains and appreciate the fireflies floating around like blinking dust in your backyard, illuminated by moonlight. But you can’t do any of that because you’re practically soaking through your clothes (and not in a good way) and it’s so, so fucking hot you can hardly breathe.
“Fuck!” you whine for the umpteenth time, kicking the bed sheets onto the floor. You have work in approximately six hours, and this might literally be what hell is. Maybe you could repent in time to get three measly hours. And then you wouldn’t have to have a heart attack over the concept of the repairman being greeted by your guest and hopefully, potentially, not murdering him.
Jimin was a grumpy creature and more fickle than a cat.
And sometimes you worried he could hear your thoughts.
“Why,” a pretty voice cuts through the balmy air, “are you causing such a fuss so late at night?”
You sit straight up like a jack-in-the-box, hair a mess and eyes glassy and heavy from attempted sleep. Attempting. Scowling at Jimin, you gesture your arms wildly at the surrounding room.
“I know you might be the temperature of a perfect fucking autumn day,” you snap, pouting tiredly at your mattress, “but I am human, and I am not. I am tired and it’s so damn hot and I can’t… sleep… and I want to cry… and I hate this… and I–”
You hate when he moves too fast. You wonder if you’ll ever get used to it. One second he’s there at the foot of your bed, looking like an angel from your favourite nightmares, and the next he’s beside you, weighing down the bed and sliding you in his direction. His hands are – frigid, delightfully so, as they wrap easily around your arms and pull you close.
Jimin makes no comment on his action. You gasp, sure, and splutter out nothing that makes any sense, but it’s not a protest and he contents himself with hauling both of your bodies down properly into the bedding with his arms curling securely around you.
“Sleep.” He commands, voice soft and feathery. You gawk into his chest. What the fuck. What the fuck?
Jimin smells heavenly as usual. You were even more unprepared, and your sleep-addled brain wanted to confuse it for a dream when you felt his fingers tangle gently into your loose hair, combing it away from your face. His chin tucked just right over your crown, and you couldn’t even be upset because fuck, he was so cool. He felt like a cool bath with fresh water from the creek down the lane, and his breathing was even and lulling; unhurried. Totally unworried.
“What?” you finally croak out in disbelief. You almost think you hear him smile.
“Sleep, foolish girl. Go to sleep. I won’t get any warmer than this.”
Maybe if you weren’t so desperate for those few hours you might fight back. Might pull away, and demand he leave you be, because this was all inappropriate and you wanted nothing to do with it.
Except you want everything to do with it, and your heart is racing with relief at the way he saps the excess heat out of your very bones.
“I’ll pull a sheet over you if you get too cold,” he adds as a passing afterthought, murmured into your hair. His fingers haven’t stopped stroking, you realize, and suppress a shiver and a sigh of pleasure. This is fine. You can just… sleep. All you have to do is keep your eyes shut, and fall asleep.
“Why are you always nice in terrible ways?” you murmur into his collarbone. No normal man would have heard it, but Jimin is no normal man. He’s not even a man at all, come to think of it.
This time, you’re sure he’s smirking.
“Go to sleep or I’ll knock you out myself.”
You almost retort with a childish “do it, you won’t” but quickly remember that yeah, no. He would.
He might.
You never can tell with Jimin.
“Goodnight, mosquito,” you whisper, vaguely smiling as your head allows itself to go fuzzy. You’re just lucky enough to catch his own reply before you succumb to the sweet oblivion.
“Goodnight, morsel.”