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The moonlight beams downwards: a gentle light rousing you from your sleep. Your pupils flicker back and forth beneath your eyelids. A myriad of colours fades in and out of your vision.
You slowly open your eyes. Eyelashes flutter once, twice, until the sight of your bedroom comes into focus. The time is unknown—it must be sometime past midnight (but before dawn, as there’s no trace of the rising sun).
Sheer drapes billow lightly in the night breeze from the cracked-open window; a flurry of goosebumps signals across your arms, barren from the lack of the duvet cover. Yet, your primary source of warmth comes from behind you in the form of your boyfriend.
Mingyu’s breathing is heavy—a combination of alternating exhales from his nose and mouth. The tip of his nose is cold when he moves slightly to nuzzle it subconsciously into the back of your neck. The gesture makes you smile; even in his sleep, Mingyu draws closer to your body.
One of his arms resides beneath your neck, wrapping around to your front where his hand loosely grips the blanket. His other arm is draped over your side, fitting into the curve of your waist. His bare arm beneath you is smooth, reflecting some of the bright moonlight on his golden skin. The little freckles that dot his appendage are akin to the stars visible from the window twinkling above. You know that if you were to spy his eyes in this lighting, Mingyu would hold the entire galaxy in each of his dark irises.
You remain this way, in the silence of the witching hour. At this moment, it’s only you who lies awake with nothing but the heavens above to keep you company. It’s a peaceful realization. You close your eyes once more and bury your equally cold nose into Mingyu’s forearm.
The boy’s grip on the duvet tightens at feeling you move. You notice the tensing of his forearm beneath your cheek. Then, it’s his legs that shuffle under the covers, gliding across the mattress to find a cold spot untouched by either of your warm bodies.
You keep your eyes closed but senses tuned to any of your boyfriend’s movements that gradually continue to happen.
“Stop squirming around,” you hear yourself mumble into the once quiet room.
“I can’t help it!” Mingyu retorts next to your ear. “My arm is falling asleep. I need to move it.”
You sigh as you lift your head for your boyfriend to regain feeling back to his limb. The two of you lay side-by-side, rather than before, with Mingyu’s taller frame enveloping your body from behind.
“Better?” you inquire to him.
“I can feel my arm now, yes, but now I’m cold.”
“You’re the one hogging most of the blanket, Gyu.”
The boy whines, “No, it’s not that!” He sighs out before uttering, “I’m cold from being apart from you.”
“You’re such a big baby,” you mutter with a smile as you move closer to him. Your head rests on his chest while your legs tangle with his beneath the covers. You nuzzle into his chest, “But you are comfortable.”
Mingyu brings his hand up to the side of your head; he tucks some stray bed-hairs behind your ear and smooths down the rest of the astray locks atop your head. You lean into his touch; warm, soft, and familiar hands allow your eyes to relax back closed into the stillness of the world around you.
Mingyu sees the moonlight radiating off of the apple of your cheek that isn’t pressed against him. It’s the slightest bit rosy from where you were previously laying, blushing like the head of a prettily blooming rose on a summer day. In fact, you remind Mingyu of summertime—the way you make him smile and laugh, your glowing personality competing with the warmth of the sunshine. It was in the summertime that he had first met you; now, you’ve spent numerous seasons together beneath the same duvet, wrapped in each other’s same smooth limbs.
You’re familiar, Mingyu thinks to himself as he watches you lying on his chest. Familiar in the sense that he can no longer recall a time without you by his side, without you laying next to him or on him or in front of him with his arms wrapped around you so tightly like he’s afraid of losing you.
Of losing you.
It’s a fleeting idea that invades Mingyu’s mind every blue moon. He allows the thought to pass through, but to do that only—pass through; to billow by like the breeze flowing through the curtains. He knows it’s irrational, and he knows it’s unlikely.
He knows you better than that.
The moonlight glitters downwards: a gentle light gradually lulling Mingyu to sleep once again. His eyelashes flutter once, twice, until the sight of your bedroom is lost from focus. He slowly shuts his eyes, pupils flickering back and forth beneath his eyelids. A multitude of colours fade in and out of his vision.
The time remains unknown—it is now certainly sometime past midnight, but closer to dawn than before. The rising sun hides from view: just beyond the row of trees, just past the mountains lining the horizon. The beginnings of a fiery sunrise flourish in the far distance.
The floaty drapes continue to billow slightly in the night breeze; a flood of goosebumps dots Mingyu’s arms, barren from the absence of the plush quilt. Yet, his primary source of warmth comes from half-atop him in the form of your sleeping body.
Your breathing is heavy—rhythmic exhales come from your nose while, every-so-often, you make the smallest noise from your mouth, as if you’re thinking even in slumber. The boy allows his eyes to open once more to check on you: your cheeks remain that pretty shade of rose pink; Mingyu swears you smile even in your dreams. You nuzzle further into the boy’s chest: an act you do beyond the limits of consciousness. The gesture makes him smile; even in your sleep, you draw closer to Mingyu’s body.
He holds you close to him, examining every feature of your face once more for good measure, etching each peak and dimple and freckle into his memory. Around your clavicle and between your shoulder blades, he uses an imaginary paintbrush in the form of his fingertips to trail a path down the road of your spine; Mingyu smiles to himself and then, finally, closes his eyes.