Chapter Text
The sound of the pen is by far familiar to him, and yet it makes him feel at peace.
It’s quiet in the room with the exception of the slow and gentle sound of the pages the orange-haired boy’s delicate fingers flips, looking but not really seeing them.
Yoongi knows this is because of him, because the boy would usually lay by his side, letting Yoongi caress his soft hair while he writes, because (even when he doesn’t want to admit it) it helps him focus.
But today isn’t the day, today the rain is gently tapping against the window, and that means the boy’s plans are ruined.
On days like these, Yoongi would usually receive the orange-haired boy’s visit because the view from his window is the most beautiful one in his opinion.
And in days like these is when Yoongi gets the most inspired, so they make a silent pact: the boy lays down in bed silently looking through the window, and Yoongi sits legs-crossed on the top; left hand resting over the orange hair and right hand holding the black pen, putting into vague words the clouds floating in his mind.
But today isn’t the day, because it started raining without anticipation, ruining the boy’s plans and basically forcing him to stay in Yoongi’s apartment. He drops the book over the sofa, careful of not knocking off the candle in one of the bookshelves.
For today, candles illuminate the place, due to lack of electric light. This last detail Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s because of the rain or because he hasn’t been paying the bills for two months now.
The boy sits by Yoongi’s side and looks at him, moving a strand of hair away from his eyes.
“You need to change it. The color.” He speaks softly, watching the washed out mint.
“You’re upset.” Yoongi observes.
“How so?”
“You’re moving too much.”
“I always do.”
“Not when you’re with me.”
The boy lifts the corner of his lips and his gaze shifts to the window.
“You know me too much for my own good.” He sighs halfway through a smile, defeated. “I wanted to go out with you today, introduce you to my friends.”
“They’re not missing anything,” Yoongi returns to the notebook.
“But they are, I need to show them the face of the person I always talk about.”
Yoongi’s heart flutters as his pen slides a couple of centimeters.
“You always talk about me?”
The boy nods without answering, his gaze returning to Yoongi.
“Just as you always write about me.”
Yoongi is not shaken by that, he won’t deny he wrote about him multiple times, and they won’t pretend the boy hasn’t read the ones Yoongi leaves available to the curious eyes on purpose.
The boy sits behind Yoongi and wraps an arm softly around his waist, not clinging too much in case the mint-haired wants him to step back. Because sometimes Yoongi is okay with hugging and touching, and sometimes he needs his space, and since the boy can’t always know because Yoongi won’t express out loud what day is it today, he’ll always start the physical touching with softness, always letting Yoongi step back without regrets if he doesn’t feel like it.
“You’re writing about me again?” The boy asks, resting his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder, reading the words without much sense with the descriptions of a boy with the hair of the color of the sunset.
Yoongi doesn’t answer, he finishes the writing and (as always) puts the title at last, thinking about it while he writes. He didn’t have to think it too much this time.
Park Jimin.