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later, taehyung will blame it on the weak diluted rosé (it’s more water than actual liquor), the chocolate, and on the fact that he’s a lightweight. he can hold that against himself.
they’re sitting in the living room, jimin’s scrolling through their digital library for movies that they haven’t seen yet, which really narrows down the pool of selections. taehyung is nibbling on a square piece of dark chocolate. it’s bitter and sits unpleasantly on his tongue but taehyung can detect the faint dull sweetness and that should be enough for him. it’s a friday evening; exhaustion nips at taehyung, sleep tugs at him, insistent and obtuse. taehyung matches it with an equal measure of stubbornness. it’s only seven in the evening and he’s promised jimin that he’ll watch at least two films with him. they were halfway through blade runner 2049 before jimin declared it wasn’t worth it and that as much as the aesthetics were pleasing, the film dragged on and that it was close to putting him into a stupor. so, they decided to switch it up. jimin is considering pride and prejudice 2005, and taehyung sniffs, suckles on the edge of the hard unrelenting chocolate and feels its harsh flavor flooding his mouth. he blinks and reaches for his rosé to wash out the taste.
“okay,” jimin announces, defeat smoothing out his voice. “this isn’t working. i’m not in the mood anymore. sucks,” he pouts, shifting on the sofa so he can face taehyung.
jimin’s legs are crossed underneath him and his hair is mussed, like a half-brushed out nest. his reading glasses are perched on top of his nose bridge, his black hoodie is a size larger, and the leg pants of his sweats have ridden up over his ankles. cute, taehyung thinks. he casts his gaze away, and goes back to nibbling on the chocolate in between his teeth.
“sorry, jiminie,” he mumbles.
“that’s okay. anyways, i think it’s good to take a break from staring at screens. my eyes are dry from all the excel sheets i had to fill out the entire day. i think i need to get an eye drop otherwise, my supervisor will think i’m very emotional with a tendency to cry over numbers and math.”
a chuckle slips out of taehyung. he side-eyes jimin, a grin stretching out his lips. “that’s not entirely untrue.”
“maybe so,” jimin sighs, as though he is contemplating an unavoidably tragic notion. then he perks up and even in the gloam of the shadowed living room, there’s a light dancing in his eyes. “so obviously, we’re forgetting about the films. whatever. it’s an overrated means of recreation. how about we talk instead?”
taehyung’s brows furrow in confusion. “but we always talk?”
“no!” jimin objects emphatically and slips his hand into taehyung’s palm. “that’s not true. i mean, sure, we ‘talk’.” taehyung can see the metaphorical air quotes. he snorts. “but not about the important stuff. the bonding stuff. we haven’t bonded in a while. last time we did was during the first snowfall viewing we had in seokjin-hyung’s house and that was almost a whole month ago.”
“really?” taehyung purses his lips and tries to mentally skirt the terrifying concept of time. instead, he fixates his attention on jimin who looks beseeching. his bottom lip is sticking out. definitely pouting. taehyung grins and it’s a slow tender thing. “sure. i don’t mind.”
jimin lets out a yell of victory. he shuffles closer to taehyung so their knees are knocking against one another and runs his fingers through his black hair, the silver ring on his pointer catching the soft glow of the lamps. he’s staring intently at taehyung and taehyung can’t help but admire jimin’s versatility: he wears laughter like a laurel on his head, a blessed divinity-touched prince with obsidian stones for eyes and an evergreen meadow for a heart. he giggles with his whole body, with reckless abandon. and sometimes, he chatters with the alacrity of a sparrow, barely pausing for breath. but often, jimin can be quiet, observant, like the still deep waters of an uncharted lake. he listens and takes in information without passing judgment and with an abundance of patience. an irreplaceable confidant. taehyung knows more than most, after all.
“what do you, um, want to talk about?” taehyung hazards.
jimin bites down on his lower lip, amusement flashing over his expression. “aw, don’t be nervous, taehyungie,” he coaxes, smoothes his hand over taehyung’s folded thigh. “it’s just me.”
“i know,” taehyung defends. “i’m not nervous. just,” he wets his lips and stares down at the chocolate that’s beginning to melt against the heat of his skin. “you looked very serious and suave. like a detective interrogating your prime suspect and you can sense him cracking under the pressure.”
a booming laugh bursts out of jimin. he throws his head back, his chest shaking with sparks of chuckles. taehyung grins in response, his heart slamming inside of him.
“i didn’t know you were into that kind of roleplay,” jimin says when he recovers, a sly glint in his eyes.
“i’m not,” taehyung mumbles, a hint of a blush teasing at his cheeks.
“what kind of roleplay are you into?”
the question isn’t laced with the underpinnings of an incoming joke or intertwined with the ghost of harmless teasing. jimin lays it out innocently, seriously, like something curious and probing. but it still shocks taehyung out of the comfort that he was encased in.
“um—” taehyung stutters. something burns in his gut. “what?”
“roleplay,” jimin repeats. his voice is soft, more of a murmur, like if he says it any louder, taehyung will bolt like a threatened fawn. “during sex,” he clarifies.
“no, yeah, uh.” taehyung looks away because jimin is intense, like a universe sketched out in careful strokes, all sharp lines and deliberate edges. taehyung’s neck is flushing with heat. “i get it. i know what roleplay is. why—why are you asking me about it?”
“honestly?” jimin tilts his head and the brassy hoop piercing his right ear catches the light. there are two titanium studs lined up along the curve of jimin’s ear and taehyung, rather than look at jimin, stares at the way they glitter and flicker. “because i’m curious,” jimin confesses. and it’s such a jimin thing that taehyung can’t find it in himself to be bewildered or upset or scandalized. all three very valid and sensible emotions and it may show on his face because jimin ducks his head and rubs his palm over taehyung’s thigh. it’s also such a jimin thing to resort to physical assurances if he senses that language isn’t enough to communicate his feelings. “you don’t have to talk to me about it if you’re uncomfortable. i’m sorry for springing it up on you like that. like i was, i don’t know, setting up a trap or something gross. we can totally change the subject and it wouldn’t be awkward at all. i promise, taehyungie. whatever you want.”
if this were any other person, taehyung would gladly agree and they’d move on to safer shores, to grounds that are familiar and knowable and easily traversed. but this is jimin and he is taehyung and they have always laid bare their feelings to each other like curiously unique collections to be marveled at and studied and explored. but it’s not some kind of unspoken law that they are required to adhere to or they’ll be bound to face the consequences of their friendship’s dissolution. not at all. there’s a perennial easy rapport that they’ve both treasured and worked to maintain and preserve, and taehyung knows that jimin wouldn’t begrudge him his reluctance. he’s never been one to misunderstand taehyung: picks up easily on taehyung’s tells, translates swiftly whatever silences taehyung produces.
but—taehyung also knows that jimin has been having sex ever since they were freshmen in university. he came to taehyung with a skip in his step and exploded with the exclamation that whoever said losing your virginity was a painful experience needed to get a better sex partner. following that, it became an episodic routine, jimin detailing his intimate adventures with zeal and relish. taehyung smiled and bore it all. which was great. taehyung was genuinely happy for him. it’s great to have such an affirming and elevating sexual experience with understanding and lovely partners.
and, well, it didn’t matter if it made taehyung’s stomach clench with discomfort. taehyung set that aside and was the supportive best friend throughout it all.
now, taehyung inhales deeply, fills up his too tight lungs and wonders what step he should take.
“why…” taehyung starts, but pauses to bite the inside of his cheek. concern is etched on jimin’s face: downturned lips and furrowed brows. but there’s also unconditional acceptance steeped and doused in years of honey-sweetened and spiced love. so taehyung soldiers on, “why are you curious?”
clearly, jimin didn’t expect taehyung to broach the matter further. the surprise is blatant and he quickly masks it, jumps to grab onto the rope that taehyung’s dangled for him. “it’s a part of you that i don’t know. not that sexuality defines anyone. that’d be an absurd statement and what you do behind closed doors is obviously private so if you don’t wanna share, you have every right to shut me out. i think that goes without saying.” taehyung barely notices that jimin hasn’t stopped rubbing his thigh and has now moved on to stroking his knee. “but i’ve always been fascinated by sexuality. if i wasn’t a math nerd, i’d have switched majors and got into sex studies.” here, taehyung’s lips quirk in an amused grin. jimin’s eyes crinkle along with his. already, the tension that was as tight as a bowstring relaxes and dissipates. jimin’s as disarming as magic. “and i wanted to know why, when it comes to sex, you tend to clam up and retreat like a turtle in its shell.”
“i don’t clam up!” taehyung laughs, tosses the chocolate in his mouth and winces at the overwhelming bitterness. there’s a buzz somewhere inside of him. like muted sparks.
“you clam up,” jimin repeats, mirth unspooling in his voice. “and you fluster. it’s cute.”
heat climbs up taehyung’s cheeks embarrassingly fast. he takes the likely inadvertent compliment and shelves it in the back of his head. for later. “not cute.”
“hundred percent cute,” jimin affirms. the blush darkens. wow. jimin either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. he continues, “but yeah. you’re my closest friend and i feel like i always come to you with my sex stuff but you’ve never reciprocated. which, again, is totally fine! i hope i’m not guilt-tripping you or anything like that. tell me if you feel like i am. yeah?”
“yeah,” taehyung nods. he’s trying not to ‘clam up’. a very accurate application of the term. but well, the blush is still there, staining his face and likely turning it an ugly shade of blotchy and god, he’s so embarrassed he can feel it like a living twisting thing in his tummy.
“okay, good,” jimin says. he leans closer and brushes taehyung’s dark hair away from his temple. his fingers are gentle and calming and they work like a charm. taehyung imagines jimin weaving a spell and tucking it amongst the silky soft strands. he breathes out. “so, is it shyness?” jimin ventures.
“um,” taehyung fumbles and decides that he needs a distraction. not to escape from the conversation but just an object to center him. he settles on a loose thread hanging from the hem of jimin’s hoodie. he loops it around the width of his middle finger, unwinds it, and makes sure not to tug on it so it doesn’t unthread further. “you can say that.” despite his earlier instinctual resistance, there is an increasing desire welling up in him to tell jimin. there isn’t anyone else that he trusts as much as he does jimin. and yeah, taehyung is struggling with internalized shame and a heck lot of nonsensical discomfort but it’s been isolating and lonely and here is jimin, offering him a doorway to a connection that he might have been needing for a long time. taehyung wets his lips and chances a glance at jimin. his heart kicks in his chest. jimin’s expression is open and inviting and honest and he isn’t yelling at taehyung for his slow and hesitant pace. he isn’t rushing him. he’s simply waiting. taehyung, slowly, comes undone. “i’m—i’ve never been intimate with anyone before.”
he waits: for a snort, for disbelief, for a choked laugh, for mockery.
none of these reactions come. instead, jimin says, “okay.”
taehyung looks up from the thread, eyes wide. jimin chuckles ruefully.
“did you think i’d make fun of you, tae?”
“maybe,” taehyung shrugs. “i’m sorry. it’s just—i’m twenty-four and i’ve never even been kissed.” a helpless laugh tumbles out of him, all tangled up and small. “it sounds like a cheesy rom-com, doesn’t it? isn’t there a movie with a title like that? except this is not an early 2000s film and i’m not the hopeless protagonist with a terrible fashion sense.”
“you’re right. you have a great fashion sense,” jimin says sagely. there’s a soft smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips and it pulls a weak grin out of taehyung. “look,” jimin starts, places both of his palms atop taehyung’s thighs. “everyone’s experience is different and it doesn’t matter if you have your first kiss at eighteen or at thirty.” at that, taehyung releases an inaudible breath and jimin shakes his head. “no, really, tae. no one will care unless you’re hanging around an immature uneducated crowd. and i hope you know us all well by now to realize that no one will ever shame you for that, least of all me.”
taehyung’s gaze drops to where jimin’s hands are resting on his skin. he’s wearing a pair of stretchy homey rose red shorts with an ivory colored waistband. jimin’s paleness looks aesthetically pleasing against his bronzy tan. he puffs out his cheeks and nods. uncertainty swirls inside of him, coupled with the feeling that he’s somehow messed up. that he made jimin feel bad and that he let him down. he hears jimin sigh and the guilt transmutes to dull muted fear that roils and coils.
“taehyungie,” jimin says, and taehyung feels jimin’s pointer and thumb over the underside of his chin, carefully and gently beckoning taehyung to lift up his head. “stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking. it’s really okay. do you still want us to talk about this? you can pull out any time. but just, remember that you’re safe. this is safe. no need to be scared, baby.”
baby. taehyung’s breath hitches in his throat. there is no condescension in jimin’s voice, nothing patronizing or scolding. there is only a lighthouse. a hearth. there is only home. the tacked on pet name enfolds him, shrouds him, and it’s hook, line and sinker. he releases the thread and looks up, holds jimin’s gaze steadily and surely. he tells himself his heart doesn’t skip when he sees something close to pride blooming in jimin’s eyes.
“no. it’s fine. i don’t mind if it’s you, jiminie,” he says and feels the weighted truth of it.
“i’m glad. thank you, tae.” jimin leans closer, impossibly closer, and presses a lingering kiss over the side of taehyung’s head, right atop his ear. then, he sinks back into his place and nods, silently asking taehyung to brave the waters, to take the dive, and taehyung isn’t fearless. he isn’t a risk taker with nothing to lose. but, for jimin he can be. he will be. as if sensing what is impending, jimin takes taehyung’s hands within his own and the gesture is so thoughtful, so sweet, that taehyung squeezes back, sighs at the relief the touch imparts.
“i don’t know what it is,” he says, a tremor dancing along his voice. “i’m just scared of being intimate with people. thinking, um, thinking about having to be naked in front of someone else is a nightmare. i want to be comfortable with someone enough to do that, to be able to—bare myself, i guess, for lack of a better word. both emotionally and physically, you know? and it sounds so silly? because so many people out there are clearly fine with it. it’s not a problem for them. it’s not a problem for you. so i don’t understand why it’s such a big deal to me.”
when jimin start shushing him soothingly, taehyung realizes that some time ago, he began shaking. little shivers climbing over his spine, mean and vicious and hissing. his teeth are clattering.
“it’s okay, sweetheart.” jimin strokes his hands over the backs of taehyung’s fingers, as though chasing away a biting chill. taehyung isn’t cold, though. just plagued by illogical bodily reactions. “it’s okay,” jimin murmurs. “you’re okay. it’s just me.”
taehyung nods, takes in several deep breaths, and wills himself to relax, to let whatever it is that’s chasing him bleed out of his muscles. gradually, lulled by jimin’s brimming warmth and his unflappable stability, taehyung comes back into himself.
“there we go. that’s good,” jimin whispers, and taehyung still feels like there’s a cruel fist wrapped around his heart muscles but jimin makes it ache less, makes the fist loosen, makes it easier to breathe through the murky dizzying fog. “you’re doing good, taehyungie.” then, he inches closer so that their knees are bumping. “mind if i hug you?” it’s so soft. like knitted wool. like fleece. like linen. taehyung nods silently and jimin envelops him in his arms, guides taehyung’s head with palm over his nape so taehyung can push his face into the crook of jimin’s neck. he smells of fading fabric softener and remnants of sweet musks and woodsy notes. the position is a little awkward, a little stilted, but taehyung doesn’t mind. jimin is petting his hair and murmuring a stream of dreamy promises.
they part after some time and jimin grabs a bottle of water from the coffee table and encourages taehyung to take a sip. the water is cool and fresh and he feels marginally better. but now that his head feels less floaty and there’s more space for other emotions, embarrassment and shame and anxiety crawl in, slimy and slick and dark. they were meant to have a simple conversation about this, not a personal charged rant followed by a breakdown. he wants to maybe call it a night. sneak back into his bedroom so he can cry a little. but jimin has been wonderfully—accommodating. and taehyung doesn’t want to push him away. he really doesn’t. it wouldn’t be fair to jimin. he’s also figured out that running away won’t make any of this dissolve or un-happen.
“it’s okay to be scared,” jimin says, reaches out to thumb away at the sticky track of a tear that taehyung didn’t know slipped down. “it’s okay to wait. there’s nothing wrong with that. there’s nothing wrong with you.”
taehyung shrugs, sniffles a little. his throat feels off-kilter, unpredictable, like his vocal cords could just choke him. “i just—” he falters, voice petering out. he’s not sure if he wants to say it. sadness as bitter as the dark chocolate snakes around his heart, pricks him with its thorns, but jimin hums and there are stars in his eyes and there’s nothing but love that seems larger and more encompassing than the cosmos and taehyung’s hesitance falls away. “i wish it was easy for me. i mean, i want to kiss someone and hug them and have them touch me without me obsessively wondering if they think i’m ugly now or if they suddenly find me unattractive.”
it hangs between them in the air, suspended, and rotting. taehyung wants to take it back, reel it back inside of it so that it never sees the light of day. so that jimin won’t have a glimpse of how self-deprecating he is. what a mess.
when jimin speaks, his voice is tentative, low, but it’s still like a medicinal balm or a northern star. “tae, baby.” and yeah, he should have left when had the chance because now jimin is going to coddle him and patch him up with a few meaningless beautiful words that are only ornamental and decorative. but instead, jimin curls his hands around taehyung’s wrists and turns them over, delicately and primly plants a peck against the thin skin where the veins fork and converge, beneath the lining of his palm. jimin’s lips are petal-soft over his skin and taehyung’s breath stutters in his lungs and fire licks at his cheeks. but there’s also a flood of fierce lashing love and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“i’ll give you all the kisses and the hugs you want, taehyungie,” jimin says tenderly but there’s an airy lightness to him too. “i would never ever let you go touch-starved. not when i love you so much that i always feel i have to have you close to me otherwise i’ll just combust. so this is really a win-win situation for both of us.”
and against the current of his jumbled up knotted up feelings that slither and twist, taehyung laughs. bright and suffused with affection. so much of it that it nearly steals the breath right out of his lungs. jimin is giggling alongside him, cheeks flushed and eyes squinty and radiating beauty. (that’s the thing: jimin isn’t just sweet curves and devilish smirks and sharp jaw and objective aesthetics. he’s also inward grace and quiet kindness and light and taehyung cannot imagine how dreary his life would be without him).
“thank you, jiminie. isn’t that a form of symbiosis?”
“yes, it is. mutualism in this day and age shouldn’t be something frowned upon.”
taehyung chuckles and whatever was constricting his chest comes a little loose. like an intricate knot slowly unwinding to reveal its center.
“tae,” jimin says, his fingers caressing the inside of taehyung’s wrists. “can i ask you something?”
“sure, jiminie.”
“it’s only sexual intimacy, right? you’re fine when we cuddle and you’re okay when hoseok-hyung or namjoon-hyung hug you.”
“i think so,” taehyung nods, bites down on his lower lip. “it’s the idea of, um, stripping, i guess, when i’m romantically involved with someone. like, the expectation of it. there’s this pressure to perform and i don’t want to be a disappointment, jimin-ah.”
jimin takes a shuddering wounded breath. “you’re never a disappointment, baby,” jimin says and he brings up his hand to cup taehyung’s cheek, as though he can protect taehyung from his own swirling barbed thoughts. “you’re a gift and you’re my taetae. you sing to me in that honey crooning voice when i can’t sleep because i’m too tired and you massage my shoulders when i come back from work and you take care of the potted succulents when i forget because i’m an irresponsible neglectful parent. you can never be a disappointment. you’re so quietly kind and gentle and you think no one is ever looking, but we all are.” then, jimin whispers, “i am. always.”
taehyung weakly smiles, but his heart is a bird with wings. jimin is as sweet as candy floss, as steadfast as an ever-burning star. a friend unlike any other. sometimes, he says things like that. ambiguous trails that lead to nowhere and taehyung’s too full of wishful thinking but he’s also learned caution and mastered the art of parsing out what’s real and what’s supplied by his overactive imagination. jimin only means to make him feel better. which is not a bad thing. it’s incredible and selfless and achingly lovely. taehyung doesn’t think too much about the way it sinks into him and warms him up like he’s swallowed the sun. “i know,” taehyung says, lifts up his voice so it’s soaked in humor because he doesn’t know any other way to respond. “jiminie loves his taehyungie. i’m like your achilles’ heel.”
“tae,” jimin complains, but there’s an endeared grin curving his lips upwards.
“i feel like i don’t say it often. so here it is: you’re the best friend anyone could ever hope to ask for and i must have done something incredible in my previous life that left ripples in the universe to deserve you.”
for a split second, for a flash, something sad and heartrending overtakes jimin, but then he schools his expression so quickly taehyung thinks he must have imagined it. jimin is grinning toothily, satisfaction tucked into every corner of his being. he ruffles taehyung’s hair and brushes his fingers through the strands over the crown of his head.
“let’s just say that we deserve each other in equal measure.”
“you’re a hopeless romantic,” taehyung laughs and leans into jimin’s body, always seeking him.
“only with you,” jimin says and taehyung doesn’t think much of it.
later, when they’ve stored away the snacks and the chocolate bars and the wine in the pantry, jimin glances at him as taehyung is exfoliating his skin with the peeling scrub that’s lemon and pomegranate scented with an undertone of honey and black sugar. the tinkling tunes of a music box are playing from jimin’s phone. jimin told him that it helps him relax and unwind at the end of the day so they’ve taken to bookmarking particular variances that they both enjoyed. it’s not debussy or chopin but taehyung likes the simplicity of the composition. nothing overt or elevated. just windchimes of a tune, a lullaby that’s plucked straight out of childhood’s night-time sleepiness and innocence.
“sleep in my bed tonight,” jimin says and a part of taehyung marvels at how jimin seems to intuit his desires before they even make themselves known to him. is that some kind of divine superpower? are all other roommates hyphen best friends slash confidants blessed with this preternatural sixth sense? if not, then taehyung really drew the best slot in life. so, obviously, he nods enthusiastically, widening his eyes and wiggling his thick brows, mouth full of white foam. jimin bursts in breathless ringing giggles, shoving at him, begging him to stop because taehyungie, you look ridiculous! you’re gonna make my sides hurt!
taehyung likes jimin’s bed.
it’s possibly his most favorite shelter, his cherished resting place. which makes it sound like some kind of morbid grave in his head, but it’s really a corner in the world where he can just let himself be. where being taehyung is enough and he doesn’t have to pretend anything.
with jimin, in jimin’s bed, he’s protected from all the cruelty and nothing bad can ever dig its claws into the soft flesh of his heart.
it also helps tremendously that jimin’s bed is the nicest: when jimin first started working as a stock market analyst (a job that taehyung doesn’t exactly and fully understand the logistics of but jimin told him it’s just crunching numbers and electronic trading, which still doesn’t explain much in taehyung’s venerable opinion), he began taking them out furniture and decor shopping once every month and thus commenced jimin’s collection: softly textured faux fur throws and cushions, pillows trussed up in silk cases and egyptian cotton, dark velvet bedspreads, and the occasional body pillow for taehyung to hold (although taehyung ends up clinging on to jimin’s thighs with his face pressed up in jimin’s tummy so those don’t get much use). all different textiles and materials but jimin and taehyung agreed that they both care about comfort over consistency.
anyways, point is, jimin’s bed is paradise on earth. if paradise is made up of soft fabrics and yielding cushions and jimin’s current go-to fragrance gucci’s a song for the rose.
moisturized, fresh-breathed, and wearing his favorite sleep shirt and pants: a mustard tee that has the word ‘honey’ embroidered in cursive english on the side paired with oversized plaid joggers, taehyung crawls on jimin’s bed, feels the mattress dip gently underneath his weight, and he sighs in pleasure. he makes quick work of peeling back the duvet and arranging the cushions so that jimin and he have enough space to snuggle up. there’s a golden light emanating from the table lamp that taehyung purchased for jimin on his birthday, shaped like a crescent moon and fixed on a black marble stand speckled with glowing stars. taehyung saved up for it for four months because jimin passingly mentioned that he’d like to have something like that in his bedroom and taehyung fondly remembers jimin, misty-eyed, pulling him for a long tight hug as soon as he unwrapped it.
he settles in, pulls the softest throw over his body and fluffs up jimin’s pillow for him. he waits, sings the lyrics to a half-remembered song, and considers scrolling through his social media. but there are still echoes of bad feelings humming underneath his skin and sometimes, social media makes everything louder and worse. he’d rather not. so he grabs a book from the drawer of jimin’s nightstand and sifts through it. he doesn’t have the energy to concentrate on sentences and make sense of language as a whole but there’s still something healing about a story and the sensory gratification he gets from running the tips of his fingers over the textured pages is transfixing.
interminable time passes and taehyung hears the pads of jimin’s feet over the carpeted floor, then the bed creaks very faintly. taehyung inhales and quells the urge to whimper. jimin smells perfect. like peaches (his exfoliator) and mangos (his deodorant) and vanilla (jimin likes spraying scented mists before going to bed and he’s vehemently defended this choice on many several occasions when they had sleepovers and yoongi complained that jimin wore the entire etude house collection on his body). taehyung personally likes it.
“i didn’t know you were interested in the golden compass,” jimin says as tucks himself beneath the blanket beside taehyung, filling up space smoothly and beautifully.
“what’s that?”
jimin smiles and he looks affectionate and sleepy and fond, freckles on the high points of his cheeks, glasses still sitting on the bridge of his cute nose. taehyung’s heart does a funny thing that he’s too dazed and relaxed to contemplate.
“the novel,” jimin points. “namjoon-hyung recommended i read it when i told him i was looking for a trilogy. i wanted to read the hunger games but joon-hyung insisted this is way better. i could have gone for a novel written by a korean author but i wanted to step outside my comfort zone and murakami just wasn’t doing it for me at all.”
“why?” taehyung asks, not because he has a burning need to know but because jimin’s voice is all rounded edges and pleasing vowels. his lashes are fluttering, sleep pulling at him.
jimin sinks his fingers into his hair, lightly massages his scalp and taehyung’s glad he’s lying on a mattress that can take his weight because he melts. “i picked up norwegian wood since it was one of the most read ones but it was too—introspective. i like that sometimes and it can be engaging if done right but the narrator seemed to me like he was an empty shell. there’s nothing to him that made me want to be sympathetic. joon-hyung agreed reluctantly. remember, he likes murakami so he’s bound to be a bit biased, but i appreciated his honesty at least. but yeah, the prose was awkward and choppy. maybe that’s the korean translation…”
somewhere along the way, taehyung falls asleep and nothing haunts him. it’s just the dark deep and jimin’s voice and jimin’s touch.