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Seokjin checks the time. It's two in the morning, and he has yet to crawl out of the abyss that is animal videos on YouTube on autoplay. Again.
Mentally cursing society for bringing them into existence, he grabs a lens case from his nightstand. His contacts are dry to the point it seems like they might fall out of his eyes on their own, so he feels immensely relieved after finally taking them out. The gentle hum of a laptop comes to a halt when he shuts the lid, relocating its weight from the warm spot on his chest to the floor.
Lying back, Seokjin closes his stinging eyes and rubs the pads of his fingers over the eyelids. The howling of the wind is so distinct he briefly wonders how he hasn't noticed it before — along with the rattling of half-shut blinds over a slightly ajar window.
Outside, heavy clouds, gravid with rain, hungrily devour remaining shreds of the sky.
When Seokjin opens his eyes again, he can't tell how much time has passed, but it's evident that the room has rapidly grown darker. He breathes in, and his nose itches at the sharp, pungent zing of chlorine and swimming pools — the unmistakable smell of oncoming storm.
Gradually, the winds pick up, the rattling of the blinds grows louder and louder, and while Seokjin debates whether or not he cares enough to get up and shut them properly, the bedroom lights up. For a beat of a second, the room appears in front of his eyes as if in broad daylight, then the shadows make a quick run across the floor and escape out of the window, leaving pitch darkness behind.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
And the first rumbles of thunder come rolling across the sky.
Quite close from here, Seokjin thinks, glancing outside to witness leaden clouds finally burst with water.
He presses a cheek into his pillow and listens to the gentle rustling of the rain against the pavement and monotonous taps on the windowpane. It's soothing — almost lulls him to sleep, but the wind eventually switches directions, causing raindrops to bang against the glass. Loudly, insistently, like a rude guest.
After several minutes of tossing and turning, he grumbles under his breath and gets up to close the window. To no avail. The storm feels much closer now — deafening claps of thunder getting more distinct with every passing minute.
As if conspiring against him, Seokjin's mind decidedly refuses to tune out the noise and let him drift off, and half an hour later, when the sleep still hasn't come, he is lying in his bed, sheets twisted around his ankles, very awake and — even more so — annoyed. He doesn't have an early morning schedule, but it will probably drag on till the late hours, so he needs to be if not refreshed but at least alive enough to appear a resident of the living realm.
Just as he starts contemplating whether to take sleeping pills or not — they will surely knock him out in no time, but he can't risk waking up with a headache — there is a knock on the door, so quiet and hesitant that Seokjin would have missed it if he hadn't already heard the sound of bare feet, padding across the hall.
The door creaks, and the light from the hallway paints a narrow path on the floor of the room. Taehyung's pillow-ruffled head peeps in.
"Hyung, you awake?" The boy whispers into the dark, face scrunched up, eyes trying to adjust to the lack of light.
"Yeah," Seokjin croaks, then clears his throat. "You need something?"
"Just couldn't sleep," Taehyung murmurs, closing the door behind him. Silently, he shuffles over to the bed and slips under the covers.
When the boy is settled on a pillow beside him, Seokjin squints at him. "Not a fan of thunderstorms, are you?"
Taehyung only heaves a tired sigh in response. He doesn't need to confirm or deny it, there is no point in hiding the truth either — Seokjin has always been good at reading others.
Or at reading Taehyung, of all people.
Clearly entertaining a thought that he ever knew how to be subtle or that Seokjin certainly does not see through any of his ministrations, Taehyung moves just an inch closer and blinks at the other sleepily. Seokjin slightly shakes his head and looks at him with a hint of something Taehyung can’t make out in the dark — perhaps a challenge? — and Taehyung's lips spread into a shy smile. He nudges Seokjin's shoulder with the tip of his nose.
The older lets out a long, exaggerated groan but immediately surrenders and lifts his arm to make room for another body. Eagerly, Taehyung worms his way into Seokjin’s space and presses a hushed 'thanks' into the crook of his neck.
They both remember how it goes — the routine they settled and grew into long ago. Sometime in the past, when Taehyung, fresh out of high school, homesick and a little wild, line-blurringly starved for affection, took to climbing into Seokjin's bed in the middle of the night.
(Never invited.)
(But always welcomed.)
It's akin to a practiced choreography routine by now — a careful dance of perfected steps that follow a familiar rhythm. Taehyung slots his leg in between Seokjin's and presses their bodies together. Seokjin shivers but doesn't find it in him to object when a cold hand snakes its way to his back, past the hem of his sleep shirt. A broad palm settles on his waist, long fingers spread across the small of his back, and Seokjin hooks his chin over the top of Taehyung's head, then starts lightly rubbing up and down his side, tracing a path from Taehyung’s shoulder to the curve of his hip. A sigh of contentment comes out as a gust of hot breath against Seokjin's throat, tickling the skin. He draws Taehyung's body closer to his chest.
If there is or ever was a hint of mutual neediness and haste in their actions, neither give it much of a thought. It brings comfort to both of them. (Even though Seokjin didn't think he needed any up until the moment the tip of Taehyung's nose brushed along the side of his neck.)
The fit is as perfect as it was back then when they clutched to each other in a tangle of gangly limbs on Seokjin’s tiny bed, eager and anxious. Slim, reassuring fingers on a skinny waist that bore a hint of baby fat, a head tucked securely under a chin, shared insecurities and raw secrets spilled into bleach-damaged hair or a shoulder which was yet to claim its broadness. Now the bed is big enough to fit both of them, all with the hips and shoulders filled out, bodies no longer boyishly angular; long, muscled legs and delicate arms wrapped around each other — still eager, though a bit tamer. The ground under their feet feels a bit more stable too, but the need to seek solace in each other remains as well as the same gut-wrenching fear and anxiety, too overwhelming to be vocalized, that now only sit on the tips of their tongues and yet, somehow manage to share a face.
Taehyung succumbs to an urge to nuzzle closer, as close as he can, leaving no space between them whatsoever. He inhales the smell of Seokjin’s shower gel he doesn’t recognize, something fresh and flowery, and the hand on Taehyung’s side stills for a moment, then moves up to the back of his head.
They haven’t done this in a while, Taehyung thinks as Seokjin’s fingers gently run through his hair. Crammed schedules take their toll, both physical and emotional, leaving them with nothing but an overpowering desire to slip into unconsciousness as soon as their heads hit the pillow only to be swept in a whirlwind of events come morning.
Another ball of lightning rips through the sky, followed by a round of thunder. It makes Taehyung’s skin crawl. Thunderstorms always made him uneasy, to say the least, and he used to climb into his grandparents' bed when he was a child. General physical closeness calmed his nerves down, still does; it brings a feeling of safeness and at times, helps to keep recurring thoughts at bay. Physical closeness to Seokjin, on the other hand... is nothing short of a panacea, so when loud rumbling woke Taehyung up in the middle of the night, his legs brought his half-conscious self to Seokjin's room, furthest down the hall.
It's nice and comforting, having a warm and solid body beside him, but Taehyung inevitably starts to pant. At some point, his hot breath, trapped in a small space, forms a wet spot on Seokjin's neck. Taehyung blows air at the skin just to hear Seokjin whine in protest and watch him squirm.
There is a quick, chaste, blink-and-you-miss-it kiss being placed at the spot under Seokjin's jaw, and Taehyung disentangles himself from a coil of their limbs to lie back on a spare pillow. Although he immediately misses the warmth of Seokjin's chest, this way breathing comes easier. He shifts on the side, covering a yawn with the back of his hand, and absent-mindedly studies Seokjin's face.
He loves watching Seokjin. Not only because he is handsome, which, of course, he is — Taehyung is not blind and knows how to appreciate beauty — but there's something more to it, something soothing and comforting in his features: in the delicate slope of his nose, the outline of his pouty lips, the gentle bend of his eyebrows, soft eyelashes, naturally roundish cheeks that recently seem slightly sunken. For the thousandth time, Taehyung feels thankful that Seokjin doesn't mind him staring, never minded, because somehow he understands, even though Taehyung never told him the reason behind his staring.
There is another rumble outside, though not as deafening as before, but loud enough to startle Taehyung, who let his guard down. His hand twitches on reflex, curling into the front of Seokjin’s sleep shirt. Seokjin shoots him a worried glance, fingers coming to squeeze at Taehyung’s shoulder, then sliding down his arm to find his hand. When Taehyung weakens his grip, letting go of the fabric, Seokjin gently laces their fingers together.
“Thank you,” Taehyung breathes out, because that's exactly what he needed right now, and Seokjin sensed it. Somehow.
Comе to think of it, Taehyung ponders when tension eases out of his shoulders, Seokjin has always been good at giving others what they wanted, without them telling him to. Like there is a radar inside him, catching the signals coming from those in need. The thought makes Taehyung smile. Not asking a thing in return, Seokjin hurries to cheer them up, give a hug or lend an ear, selflessly, always caring and so painfully mindful of others.
The bubble of fondness starts growing inside him uncontrollably as he continues following the map of Seokjin’s face with his eyes. A sleepy sound escapes the older’s lips when he stifles a yawn, and Taehyung’s chest suddenly feels awfully tight with something he can’t name. Admiration? Appreciation?
Gratitude, perhaps? If it is, then Taehyung feels immensely grateful, beyond himself.
The intensity of the feeling comes as an overwhelming wave that crushes down on his chest, making him involuntarily squeeze the fingers that are intertwined with his. Seokjin gives him a firm squeeze in return.
It’s gratitude, isn’t it? For Seokjin’s selflessness and the way he deeply cares about others. For all the kind words, warm embraces, shared beds and secrets, cooked meals and making Taehyung’s heart tap dance against his ribcage. It has to be it.
Seokjin knows how grateful Taehyung really is, doesn’t he?
Taehyung braces himself on an elbow and stares Seokjin in the eyes, trying to mentally communicate with him. Seokjin cocks his head to the side, bemused by the change in the atmosphere, but probably writing it off as a simple mood swing.
A minute of an intense staring game passes by, but Taehyung is not the one to be discouraged that easily. He makes another round of futile attempts to find a glow of understanding in Seokjin’s eyes. But there is none.
Is it even possible?
As Taehyung tenses up, hearing muted waves of thunder chasing each other across the sky, it dawns on him that Seokjin doesn't have the slightest idea about the scale of gratitude and appreciation, stored deep inside of him. His eyebrows knit in a challenge.
Taehyung is known for wearing his heart on his sleeve — crying when he is upset, screaming in joy or amazement, which often startles his bandmates, who once described him as an open book in a language no one entirely understands. Even though he has said a fair share of thank you's and a handful of I love you's over the years, he was never good at putting words together.
He is more on the touchy side, better at expressing himself this way, be it hugs and hand holding or touches of a brush to the canvas. Taehyung can pour his soul out in splashes of color and ink, create images and endow them with power to hold his emotions — often difficult to transmit and even more difficult to decipher — or he can wake you up at the crack of dawn to share the view that makes him reel, clutching to your hand.
For Taehyung, words are not enough. They lie flat in his mouth, and it seems like a huge part of the feeling he tries to convey with them stays on his tongue or gets lost in the air during transmission, reaching the recipient in bits and pieces.
He doesn't like words, but what if Seokjin needs to hear them? He, who is awfully understanding about others but can be so insensible, at times, when it comes to himself. What if Taehyung needs to spell it out for him to imprint it in his memory?
The boy carefully thinks of what to say and how to say it because there aren’t chances to be taken now. He needs to conjure up something grand and sincere, but Seokjin’s thumb reaches to smooth out the crease between Taehyung's eyebrows, and the ghosts of unspoken words die in his throat.
The best decisions of Taehyung’s life are driven by an impulse, he believes. He auditioned and became a trainee on an impulse; he came to Seokjin's room this night out of all nights on an impulse, so he does what his gut tells him to do — scoots closer.
Before he finds a reason not to, in the purest and most genuine form of gratitude, Taehyung's lips softly press against Seokjin's, and it’s like everything else is immediately put on pause. Momentarily, Seokjin freezes, and Taehyung cups his cheek with a free hand to kiss him with purpose, wishing for him to understand. He attempts to convey every facet of the overwhelming emotion that fills him up to the brim and transmit it through the points where their lips connect.
Somehow, it doesn’t come as strange or foreign, the softness of Seokjin’s lips on his, only warm and comfortable and fueling whatever feeling it is that makes Taehyung’s heart flip over as if he repeatedly misses a step.
After several moments, Taehyung slowly pulls back, inch by inch, somewhat reluctantly, their breaths no longer mingling. Still keeping hold of Seokjin’s hand, he returns to scrutinizing the older's face, rather expectantly.
Did the message come through?
Trying to read Seokjin’s features and keep track of any changes, Taehyung searches for a sign of realization in his dilated pupils, the corners of his eyes, a slight furrow of his brow.
He understands, doesn't he? Taehyung desperately needs him to. Even though he himself is not entirely sure anymore what exactly it is he wants to be understood.
Outside, the rain is finally fading away with almost inaudible rustling as if someone was shuffling their feet on a gravel path. Charcoal clouds wither away, lighting up the canvas of the sky with blotches of faded gray and concrete.
Seokjin’s hand comes to rest on the side of Taehyung’s face as he slowly leans forward and crosses the space between them to kiss him back.
He understands.