Chapter Text
You’re laughing at him. He’s really not sure why - only knows that you are from across the room with a towel wrapped snug around your body and your phone in your hand.
“W-what’s so funny?” The words round on their way out, tripping over themselves with the appearance of his occasional stutter. After a long day, he’s more tired than he expects. Less refined and more loosely-limbed - your favourite version of him.
(You remind him of it constantly, passing reassurances he never really realizes he needs.)
With your dark hair in a loose twist at your neck and your feet bare, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful. That is, until he’s on the receiving end of that stupid blinding smile of yours, singular dimple drawing his own forth. His favourite version of you.
You’re like mirror images - lovesick idiots who can’t take their eyes off each other.
“Taking selfies in my bed? Really?”
Jungkook blinks, gapes, tries to formulate an appropriate response. He settles for honesty, long fingers sweeping through his grown out fringe to push the strands behind his silver-lined ear. “You have good lighting.”
You laugh again - he never gets sick of it - and he watches as you cross to your closet, tossing your phone at him along the way. You’ve got terrible aim somehow, despite the many hours you log on the first-person shooter you both love. The glossy black iPhone narrowly misses his face, bouncing off the padded headboard and onto your side of the bed.
“You look cute when you’re in selfie mode.” It’s full of teasing yet wrapped up nicely and topped with a big red bow.
His face stares back at him from your screen.
“Okay, creep!” He doesn’t mean it and you don’t really care, though he gasps like he does and you throw a pair of bacon and egg patterned socks at him.
“You can take selfies but I can’t take photos of you taking selfies?”
It’s like the last brain cell shared between the two of you has gone out the proverbial window, thrown from the room by the ridiculous nature of your conversation. Neither of you mind. This is how you were - had been for the last year.
He wouldn’t trade it for a single thing.
“Are you sure you don’t secretly work for Dis—” The ceiling is an understanding audience member, meeting his stare until he swivels it to you - and nearly forgets what he was saying.
It’s hard for him to form any sort of articulate thought when his girlfriend’s standing six feet away wearing only his favourite pair of underwear: high-cut plain black cotton. Simple and yet so perfect.
“Work for who?” You echo, turning to him with an inquisitive raise of your brow and a smile that reads wicked.
“Huh?” It’s not uncommon that you reduce him to single syllables. It’s the byproduct of being stupidly head over heels in love, probably.
“Who do I work for, JK?”
“Me?” Now he’s just spewing nonsense, answering before he’s even given proper thought to the question. An overeager puppy who only knows treats come from sitting so he does it often and without thought.
Wait, did that make him Pavlov’s dog?
“I work for you?”
You’re a striking figure, dressed in spirals of ink and the sweetest smile. His heart skips a beat - a little one-two tap - when you draw close enough for him to reach for you.
“You could.” Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying right now. Just feels the need to speak, to coax you closer whether by words or hands or any other method under the sun.
“I’m good,” you return with sugar on your tongue and hearts in your eyes.
“Okay,” he answers, probably a little dumbly. He’s suddenly far too interested in how you feel in his arms, your knees slotting wide on either side of his hips. You’re terribly soft and still shower-warm, radiating heat all the way through his black tee shirt and worn grey sweats. Broad palms traverse the shape of your bare waist before settling into their preferred spot with fingers interlaced. He holds you easily, comfortably, like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere in the world.
You unfurl your hands from around his shoulders, simultaneously pushing him back and seizing his discarded phone from beside yours. “Let me take one.”
“Take one?”
The exasperation is exaggerated, fitted into the conversation by a gentle palm against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your palm - in sync with yours in a way that makes you bubble with pride. “A photo!”
“Okay,” he relents easily, sinking into the pillow that cradles his head. He peers up at you with those big doe eyes of his, galaxies caught in the unnerving darkness of his pupils and the pretty depths of his irises. He’s so utterly handsome you can’t help but take a few long moments to appreciate the angle of his nose, how the freckle right beneath his soft bottom lip winks up at you when he speaks. The attention isn’t anything new but it’s a little unnerving; a shadow of shyness passes, drowning out the sun in his smile. “What?”
“I love you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, nor is it the last (he hopes). Jungkook still folds it up and tucks it into the space behind his ribs for safekeeping.
“I love you, too.” He’s grinning when he says it and you snap the photo simultaneously, catching him off guard with a proud smirk. He’s heartbreakingly adorable, bunny-smiling and relaxed against the frame of grey sheets. You hum a noise of approval, shifting above him; his thumbs rub soothing circles over your hip bones as he waits patiently.
“You look good.”
“Post it.”
“Post it?”
“Did I stutter?”
You have half the mind to remind him how bad it sometimes gets, but you don’t. “You post it.”
The phone is back in his hands, digits tapping over the surface as he does exactly that. “There.” It comes with a great flourish - posted to Weverse with a line of purple hearts. “Lazy bones,” he grumbles, shooting you a look as he drops his phone and takes up something far more important in his hands - namely, your face, so he can kiss you all over your cheeks.
He does it sweetly, repeatedly, until you’re swatting at his wrists and demanding he stop. He only does because his phone starts blowing up, a barrage of notifications lighting up the screen.
If only either of you had noticed the purple in the posted photo, tips of your fingers just barely peeking into the frame.
His eyes meet yours - wide and alarmed and somehow, filled with amusement.
The same word in two voices and then all at once, colliding laughter. “Oops?”