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“Good morning babe”
There’s a peck at Jimin’s cheek that he leans into and hums, spooning flour into the bowl. He whispers back a greeting before he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening and shutting. The sun streams in through their balcony and there’s faint music in the background. A song by the Beatles, maybe? Jimin’s not sure, having put his playlist on shuffle.
It really is summer, Jimin thinks, watching the three flowers Namjoon’s pain-stakingly managed to nurture into full-blossom on their kitchen window. While Jimin preferred chillier fall weather, summer had its own charm: in its innate laziness that spurred no will to do anything all day, in the slow rustling of emerald leaves craving the touch of coolness against them, in the smell of blooming flowers and bumbling bees. It was a pleasant warmth that spread across the skin.
He opens the cupboard above him and pulls out the baking powder and baking soda, measuring and dumping them into the bowl. He’s made pancakes often enough that muscle memory kicks in, his hand automatically mixing the ingredients. The breeze from the wind flows in and for a second goosebumps rise across his chest and he belatedly remembers he slept shirtless the previous night as he stretches his neck side to side, feeling the tension in the sides from all the stress from the work week.
Jimin loves his job, he really does. A lot of people may not understand how he could handle working in an office for 8 hours a day, five days a week but he isn’t always sitting at his desk. As regional manager, his day is more often packed with meetings of other heads and departments than staring at a computer the entire day. The past week saw a flurry of activity in his office from several changes made to the company hierarchy; he’d been stuck in conference rooms with some particularly unhappy employees but thankfully, their problems were sorted before he walked out of the office building at exactly 5.15 p.m.
“What’s for breakfast, honey?” Namjoon’s voice echoes out suddenly, glances down at the bowl on the counter and smiles, his dimple popping and mouth opening “Hey, pancakes!”. He dips a finger into the bowl and Jimin is ripped into reality, his hand swatting at Namjoon’s
“This is for breakfast, you hog, wait till they’re cooked,” there’s an edge to his voice but he can’t keep the affection out of the hand that comes up to Namjoon’s cheek.
There’s always a light to Namjoon’s eyes that Jimin’s never been able to explain; a faint twinkle when the sunbeams hit his face at just the right angle and his skin shines, sings. He likes to think that the light’s there for him; for the love Namjoon has for Jimin in their quiet moments together, in their fights when Namjoon forgets to buy groceries or Jimin doesn’t call the electrician for the third time in a row and moments like now, a sunny Saturday morning together when neither of them have to think about the world outside of their two bodies and their warm, warm home.
Namjoon’s not said anything in reply, but his face comes down to slowly kiss Jimin, lips soft and supple and moving against Jimin’s like they were made for each other - Jimin likes to think they are. Namjoon’s eyelashes tickle his cheek and he’s giggling before he can stop himself, breaking the kiss and resting back from having stood on his toes from the kiss.
Namjoon’s pulling out a full-force smile, “Good morning”, and Jimin is too soft to handle it, so he turns, reaching down for a pan in the cupboard.
“I met Yoongi at the market yesterday,” Namjoon says, leaning against the counter.
“Oh? How’s he been?”
The rattle of the cutlery sounds out, and then, “He’s good, so’s Jin. Yoongi’s mother is in town though, so half our conversation was him whining in the pasta aisle “Namjoon-ah, save me, I don’t know how many times I can handle ‘Yoongi-yah, when am I going to become a grandmother, it’s really about time, don’t you think’-
Jimin bursts out laughing, both to the statement and Namjoon’s impersonation of Yoongi’s voice and turns, “Are you serious? She really says that?”
Namjoon’s walking to their table and arranging the plates and cutlery as he talks, “He really did, honest-to-god. She’s leaving tomorrow though and he’ll miss her dearly, he says, but I think he’s just waiting for her to leave so they can finally bone again”.
“If anyone would struggle with living with a parent, it’s definitely Yoongi”.
He’s pouring the butter and almost drops the bowl into the pan why must you try to play god jimin just use a goddamn ladle-
"Joon, could you get the apple juice from the fridge?"
Jimin hears a soft "got it" before feeling Namjoon at his back through their small kitchen aisle, pulling the fridge open and finding the carton of apple juice. He leaves another kiss on Jimin's other cheek-the scent of coconut passing by, which he knows from Namjoon's new shampoo-before walking back out the kitchen.
Jimin suddenly remembers his phone conversation with Jungkook and says "Oh also, Jungkook said we should come over for dinner next Wednesday. Do we have plans next week? He said Tae and Hobi-hyung were super busy at the studio this past month but they really wanted to meet up."
They didn't live far from Namjoon and Jimin, an apartment slightly more in-city and affordable since it was the three of them but they'd all been friends for so long, the weekly get-togethers were always worth it. Jimin only had his dance class on Tuesdays-didn't Joon have his book club this week?
He asks the same of Namjoon, who leans back into his frame of vision with furrowed brows of thought, "No, they've cancelled this week since maintenance is working on the building that day. We should be good for Wednesday, I think."
Jimin steps out of the mildly-stuffy kitchen to their dining table, one hand balancing a plate stacked with pancakes and the other holding the neck of the maple syrup bottle. They're both sitting down with pancakes on their plates, the condensation of the apple juice in Jimin's glass contrasting the steam rising from Namjoon's mug of black coffee. They've always been so different, Jimin thinks. He's spent so much time of his life just, driven, and like he can’t pause at any moment in between.
He feels like he can breathe peacefully for the first time this week.
Jimin's distracted, he knows. He can't help it though. He tries to pay attention to what Namjoon's saying, something about one of his college students doing poorly in his class but his eyes are too unfocused.
There's music still playing from the speaker on the kitchen breakfast bar. There's wind breezing into the room from the balcony, curtain flowing to the side intermittently from the force. The sun radiates into their room and it is so bright. His life has been so bright ever since he bumped into Namjoon at the bookstore. The scene in front of him is tinged warm, and he thinks who decided that the color of love is red?
It's obviously yellow; yellow in the flowers that Jimin's father had gifted him on their balcony, yellow in the glow on Namjoon's supple skin that he always remembers to moisturize, yellow in the checkered tablecloth that Jimin had driven a hard bargain for at a farmer's market a few weeks ago. There's yellow steeped in memories together and he wants to revel in this feeling, in being so free for just this morning with the love of his life.
He's so lovely, Jimin thinks. He thinks Namjoon deserves the world.
There's a finger tapping at the inside of his wrist, and Jimin zones back in.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Namjoon says, face open and welcome, not even annoyed that Jimin hadn't been listening. Namjoon's hand is covering Jimin's palm, fingers mindlessly drawing patterns.
For a fleeting moment, Jimin wants to make a joke that he's thinking it's Namjoon's turn to throw out the trash.
But this morning is syrupy and glistening in peace and so, in a soft breath, he goes, "I love you."
Namjoon's eyes widen briefly, not expecting the vulnerability that spills from Jimin's lips. There's a few seconds of silence before Namjoon whispers back "I love you too."
This isn't even by far the first time they've said it to each other, or the most romantic or extravagant, but there's something about the calm of the morning, of their ankles wrapped together under the table and their eyes searching. Again, he thinks Namjoon deserves the world.
He thinks-no, he hopes, he might deserve Namjoon, just a little bit. He likes to think that this day, this very moment is perfect, but only because it's Namjoon's hand holding his. It's Namjoon's coconut shampoo he smells and Namjoon's wonderful dimple and that damn twinkle in his eyes-
He likes to think he can spend every Saturday morning with this beautiful, beautiful man for the rest of his life.