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Park Jimin looked like death warmed over. His sweet, squishy face, normally adorned with a cheeky grin and constant bedroom eyes, had turned swollen and dreary. Even in the less-than-stellar quality of the phone’s camera you could see how pallid his skin was and the dark circles around his eyes.
And still he smiled.
“Dumbass,” you sniffled, feeling worse and worse by the minute. but this time it was from guilt and not the pounding headache. “I told you not to kiss me. I told you a million times.”
Jimin mussed his vibrant hair and coughed weakly. Even horribly ill, he still looked like an angel in the thick white pillows and blankets of the fancy hotel bed. You, meanwhile, were the thing children’s nightmares were made of – tangled hair and watery eyes and Jimin’s too-big clothes that you had been sitting around in for comfort. Your sinuses still had you fairly unable to breathe, but his scent mixed with his cologne strongly enough that if you really crammed your nose against the fabric you could close your eyes and smell him and pretend he was there with you.
And not hundreds of miles away, about to miss Christmas.
“Hey,” he interrupted you from your melancholy thoughts, bringing his phone close to his face to make eye contact. “I wanted to kiss you. It was completely worth it. I would do it a million more times even if you told me not to.”
“That’s awful and stupid and I don’t want you to be sick.”
“You’re cute.”
“You’re dumb! You’re really dumb. I miss you so much, I love you, Jiminnie. I love you.”
He had been trying as hard as he could to keep a happy face on and make sure you weren’t worrying too much, but at the broken confession you choked out it all dropped. Your words stabbed him where it hurt most, and he felt the dredges of frustration and unpleasantness rise up in his chest like burning embers.
He hated, more than anything, that he wasn’t home with you right now. He resented this trip they’d gone on and he despised that you were going to be alone on Christmas.
“M’sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset. It’s not your fault. Everything will be okay – you’ll be home sooooooo soon and there’ll still be leftovers, and presents for you to open, and a big warm bed we can be sick in together. Doesn’t that sound great? Maybe?”
Your voice trailed off hopefully, and Jimin recovered with a bright, reassuring smile. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m just being dumb, I guess.”
“Never ever. My Park Jimin is sharp as a tack.”
“Oho? Is he? Tell me more, I want to take notes.”
You laughed and flumped back on the couch, bringing the phone close to your face just as he had. Eyes narrowed teasingly, you shot back, “I forgot everything. I’ll remember in exactly two days.”
“Witch.”
“But isn’t that a compliment? Go to bed, Jimin, and get better faster.”
“But you have to go to bed. And dream of me. And wake up and think of me. It’s only fair.”
“How is that fair?”
“Because I’m going to go to bed, and dream of you, and wake up and think of you.”
There was no humor in his voice – just a low, stuffy intensity that made your chest tighten and cheeks heat. Blushing, you turned the phone away from your face, and heard him complain immediately before you lied that your battery was dying and you had to go goodnight I love you bye.
You fall asleep on the touch with your nose tucked into his black hoodie, and dream of vivid red hair and a laugh that makes you forget the world.
Sleep didn’t exactly treat you well Christmas Eve, per se – unless you counted waking up deliriously every two or so hours acceptable – and it wasn’t until well into the morning hours that your body finally gave up and let you go comatose. Frankly, it was a miserable way to spend the holiday, especially since you had so many traditions about waking up at the crack of dawn and tearing open presents and cracking open the Baileys before getting Chinese for brunch – but really, you could have lived with it if your dumb significant other had been here. Really.
But he wasn’t.
Even in your dreams, you wanted to cry. There was no universe where you could have disliked Park Jimin. In reality, you were soft-spoken, unsure, and small, always too nervous to say anything. And then there he was, all sensual sunshine who routinely went back and forth between shyness and putting his foot in his mouth. He talked to you more than anyone else had, and consequently, became one of the precious few who knew how emotional you actually were, how much you loved to laugh and take care of all the little details.
He was your best friend. You loved him more than should have been possible. And he wasn’t here.
“Jiminnie,” you mumbled. “I miss you.”
In the darkness behind your eyelids, you could pretend in your sick-foggy mind that he was there, his slender fingers drifting against your hair. He’d kiss you a lot, because he was fixated on it – and hugging you, and holding your hand, and any other form of physical contact he could manage. But it was easiest to pretend you felt him smushing kisses against your cheeks and nose and eyelashes.
“You miss me?” he asks softly.
You nodded back, frowning. “Mm-hmm.”
His fingers threaded deeper to massage against your scalp, and then trail down your temples, against your jawline delicately. His thumbs brush the apples of your cheeks, and he kisses you again.
“You must be very sleepy,” he comments, mirth in his voice. You can’t help but quirk your mouth in a smile at the sound. “But it’s cute.”
Then his warmth is so almost real that you sigh and lean into him; it’s like he’s really here, holding you, resting his face against yours. He smells amazing. Instinctively you nuzzle back into him, arms weakly trying to find his shoulders and neck to wrap around and hold onto like a lifeline–
“A-CHOO!”
And your eyes shoot wide open and you spring up from the couch, except you can’t, because there is absolutely a real, living human body on top of yours.
“Aiiisshh, that was awful, I’m very sorry… Ah, whatever, good morning, jagiya!”
Your heart is racing and you rub your eyes, still trying to grasp consciousness, and after you blink the sleep away you realize you’re staring straight into the drowsy, adoring gaze of Park Jimin.
He awaits your reaction eagerly – he’s biting his lip and it’s cute but it’s also sexy, and you gape at him.
“…J-Jimin?” you warble.
His grin turns huge and smug and suddenly there are tears dripping down your cheeks.
“What? No! No, why are you crying? Did I startle you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh fuck, I–”
“Jimin,” you cried, latching onto him and hugging him so tightly he sputtered. “Jimin. Jimin.”
It took him a moment to register that your tears were happy, but when he did he buried his kisses straight into your neck anyway, finally deciding on scooping you into his lap. With his whole body surrounding you, your insides fluttered and you felt short of breath – you couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to – the stress of the flu and Christmas and missing him and him not being here all crashed down on you and evaporated into aching joy.
“St-stop that,” he mumbled into your hair, voice scratchy as he squeezed you tighter against him; maybe it made it hard to breathe, but he only clung this when he missed you so much he couldn’t stand it. “Or I’ll start crying, t-too.”
It was already too late for that, of course, but that was okay. Everything was okay. It was Christmas morning and both of you were sick as dogs, but you were together, and you were beginning to think that maybe Mariah Carey had the right idea.
“Merry Christmas,” you hiccuped, trying to stop crying on his behalf, at least.
Jimin’s hands curled up to your face and pried it away from his chest, squishing your cheeks together as he looked at all of your wet, splotchy, puffy face. Not that he looked much better, but he was frowning seriously and his brow furrowed in that adorable way.
“Merry Christmas. I love you and we are going to spend every single Christmas together, even if I have to kill someone.”
“Please don’t kill anyone. Th-that reminds me, how on earth did you get here?”
“Honestly? …Santa. Santa is my friend and I was a good boy this year. Ah, I know that look! You’re about to call me an idiot and–”
“You’re an idiot. You’re a big idiot. And I love you so much, you’re perfect and I love, love, love you.”
“…You know what’s good about us both being sick?”
“What?”
“I can kiss you all I want now.”