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Hoseok isn’t going to be home until the early hours of the morning, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. He likes the quiet peace of sleeping alone, letting the warmth of the setting sun fix itself across his naked back, to be awoken in the small hours with kisses and tender hands ice cold, metal jewellery even colder against his ribs and the taste of coffee on his tongue, so intoxicating, like neat rum.
So Jungkook settles in for the night on Hoseok’s side of the bed, white curtains open just a bit to let in the warm air, the thin cotton waving gently in the cool breeze. He doesn’t recognise the song on the radio, its fuzzy sound just background noise against the city below, the cars and the street chatter, weekday parties and late night office workers, undeterred by the heavy static of rain.
He loves the nights where he can snooze to his hearts content, dream about Hoseok with calmed whines and happy sighs, feel as giddy in love as the day he’d realised it. And all without Hoseok knowing, unable to tease him for the sweetness in his heart.
He nuzzles into his pillowcase, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo. It’s something fruity and fresh, but he can’t quite place it. Whatever it is, it reminds him of yellow. Maybe mango or pineapple. He makes a mental note to ask, so that in the times where they can’t be together, he can still carry his presence through the sunflower yellow of his scent.
His fingers find the thin gold chain with its tiny coloured beads knotted loosely around his neck, holding it between his fingertips as though it were a replacement for his hand. It carries his presence, lulling him to sleep better than the ballad on the radio or the lullaby of traffic below.
A black line of cloud split the setting sun in half, its shadow above and below spreading its red haze further across the sky as though two suns were sitting in tandem in their slow sink into the sea. With a contented sigh, Jungkook joins them, dreaming of the early morning hours to come.
✿ there’s sunlight dripping off the apricot tree, lost to the night time growing in me ✿
He feels it at his collarbone first, something cold at the junction with his shoulder, the brush of a nose and the scratch of stubble. He can only whine in protest, arching his back in a half-awake stretch that feels like pure bliss to his sleeping mind. Cold hands reach up to hold his waist, slipping beneath him to work nonexistent knots from the base of his spine, fingers slender and adorned with rings of freezing metal, each one something precious to him, perhaps a promise or a ‘this reminded me of you.’
Then the kiss travels from his collar to his neck, not biting or trying to wake him at all, simply telling him in a quiet confession that he is adored beyond all measure. He can smell his hair as his head bumps against his, drifting into another dream that he won’t remember come morning.
Jungkook pretends to be asleep. He listens to the heavy rain shower outside his window, the sun that had soaked into his skin just hours earlier now filling the room with a tropical heat unlike anything that he’d ever felt, like the heaviness of smoke and flame. He can’t help but smile as Hoseok lifts up to kiss his lips, not quite awake enough to kiss back in time before he’s kissing his cheeks, his jaw, their hands finding each other in the dark city lit room, fire and ice meeting in a pleasant humidity between them.
As they link fingers, squeezing tightly, Jungkook can feel the last of the sun washing away from his stiff body, relaxing into the mattress as the discomfort of being woken passed. Hoseok saves his tendermost kisses for his eyelids, giggling as he feels his lashes flutter beneath the gentle pressure.
“Go back to sleep,” he insists, his weight and presence suddenly disappearing from on top of him.
Jungkook whines, rolling onto his front. The city is still noisy down below and the radio now croons a slow jazz song, one that reminds him of mafia bars in the 60s and American cities he’ll never visit, yet it feels homely. It takes him back to a kitchen filled with cigarette smoke as his parents slow-danced around the kitchen. He has always hoped for a romance like that.
“Don’t wanna,” he whines, reaching into the dim light for Hoseok, who only grins back. Even with poor eyes and dream filled vision, he can still see him smiling, bright and playful, as though he’s missed him too.
He watches him change, stripping off his stiff jeans and his t-shirt, one that looked a bit too familiar.
“Is that mine?” Jungkook asked, staring at the shirt that Hoseok was now folding neatly.
“Hm? Oh, yeah, you don’t wear it anymore and I doubt it even fits you,” he explained.
It was true, Jungkook had tumbled into the phase of wearing black band t-shirts with their slogans emblazoned in red and white and tumbled out again just as quickly. He’d amounted an unintentional collection of shirts that he’d only ever worn once or twice, but had never had the heart to throw away. Hoseok looks good in it, he’s not complaining.
“And besides, you can’t complain about me wearing your t-shirts when you’re sleeping in my sweatpants on my side of the bed!” He teases, leaving his neatly folded clothes in a pile in their closet. They can wait until the morning.
Jungkook giggles, wanting to hide his face in embarrassment but somehow too caught off guard to do so. Hoseok’s sweatpants fit a little too snugly around his waist, tight around his stomach and his thighs, but they’re softer than anything Jungkook has ever worn before. They feel heavier than his own, as if grounding him in comfort and security, even when their owner is not there to do so himself.
Something begins to tug on his heart, as if pulling it to meet the butterflies that had refused to stop swarming since the day he’d met Hoseok. Maybe this is what love really is, an understanding and an intimacy that transcended anything earthly. His cheeks flush at the realisation, the sinking feeling his chest now nothing more than the serene calm of floating on the open ocean. So he just laughs again, tipping his head back to hide the obvious red on his cheeks.
“I’m not complaining! It looks good on you!” He argues, voice strained rough with sleep.
Hoseok won’t let him hide, cupping his cheeks and angling his chin to kiss him. Jungkook just giggles, his entire body relaxing into the embrace as though it were the greatest rest that a man could ask for, awake enough now to truly enjoy it. He savours every second of it, the bump of his nose against his own and the faint taste of chocolate milk clinging to his lips.
“You look pretty in my clothes,” he says, pulling away to meet his sleepy gaze. Jungkook can see flowers blooming and stars collapsing. Hoseok has a smile to make sunflowers weep.
He falls into bed beside him with the heaviness of an exhausted man. He groans, his stretching limbs reverberating within Jungkook’s body. When did they become so intertwined that he could feel his aching as if it were his own? It feels such a part of himself that he can’t imagine life without Hoseok.
He rolls onto his side to watch him settle, stretching each tortured muscle out one by one so that he could finally sink into the mattress peacefully. When he finally relaxes, he shifts his position with one last groan of discomfort, burying his face in Jungkook’s bare chest. His skin is warm to against him, washing any remains of the outside air from Hoseok’s chilled skin.
It’s too hot to cuddle, the room like a little rainforest with a jungle city below, but that doesn’t stop them. He nestles in closer, tucking his head beneath his chin and leaving a grateful kiss beneath his Adam’s apple. “Go back to sleep Jungkookie,” he mumbles, already drifting into unconsciousness himself.
Jungkook hums, and he takes that as confirmation. The sound vibrates in his chest and his throat, pleasant and soothing. His hands wrap around his middle, pulling him into his warmth, the callouses in his palms and the softness of his fingertips tracing patterns and pictures into his bare skin.
Jungkook wasn’t going to go to sleep until Hoseok had given in, slumped against his chest and snoring softly, but he doesn’t have the energy to protest. He whimpers, slipping into the darkness of slumber, too hot against Jungkook’s body yet already addicted to the steady up and down of his hands, the painless scratch of his nails and the hummed lullaby in his chest. His rhythm slows, dropping into the crevice of his hip to find leverage there.
At some point in the night, an unconscious shuffle will happen, and Hoseok will wake to find Jungkook’s bigger frame draped over him, hair a mess and legs tangled together as if they were spiders in a trap that they had no desire to escape. He’ll simply lie back, feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back, undisturbed by rush hour traffic or obnoxious morning radio.
The last thing that he feels before sleep overtakes him is the sigh of the concrete below, as if it were thanking the sky and the polluted stars for the blessing of rain.