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part 1 - white jasmine
As far as Jimin knows, Namjoon knows nothing about the language of flowers.
(If he did, it would be embarrassing, sure, but also an indicator that Namjoon would never love him back.
Which is why Jimin has to hope that--)
Namjoon knows nothing about the language of flowers.
The first bouquet is a nervous cluster of white jasmine, the day after Namjoon's birthday. (Because if Namjoon didn't love Jimin back, Jimin didn't want to ruin Namjoon's birthday.) Jimin had thought that since Namjoon was a poet, he would already know the language of flowers like the back of his hand.
Jimin isn't a florist. He works at a cookie shop and decorates them with frosted flowers but he's not a florist and he's not good with words like Namjoon, who writes his soul on the pages and has the courage to show it to the world.
He can't confess with a cookie or a poem.
And maybe saying it with flowers could be easier than saying it to his face.
The first bouquet is white jasmine-- sweet love, affection, warmth-- like the flowers that bloom in Jimin's chest whenever Namjoon smiles at him. Namjoon’s sister had used them at her wedding and, well-- Jimin's not proposing or anything, but maybe then the meaning of the bouquet could be more obvious.
The first bouquet is supposed to be the only bouquet.
It doesn't work out exactly like that.
-
They met in high school, in autumn. ("Where everything is beginning to die," Namjoon had mumbled a few weeks after they met, slumped over a science textbook.)
It had started like any other high school crush-- racing heart, blushing soft pink, dropping books-- and then by graduation it had blossomed into something much more. Because there was--
The day where Jimin had a big dance competition, his first time performing solo, and Namjoon had surprised him by taking the train to go watch him when even his parents didn't come. Breathless as Jimin ran out of the dressing room, hugging him tightly, letting Jimin bury his head in his chest.
The day where they were both swamped in schoolwork, dark circles seemingly permanent, and although they were both top students, they'd shared a look after physics class, hopped on Namjoon's bike, and had a picnic at the lake, the rest of the world fading away for just one day.
And the day where Namjoon got The Email, the email telling him that his poems about sunrises and wild hearts and springtime were going to be published in a magazine, and Jimin took him for cupcakes frosted with spring flowers, slipping his hand into Namjoon's on the bus stop, tangling their fingers when Namjoon smiled softly.
(Later, Jimin had bought ten copies, gave one to Namjoon with his annotations in colorful pens, circling the parts that made his heart pang with something, his written thoughts trailing off the side of the glossy pages.)
On graduation day, Jimin sat next to Namjoon and desperately wanted to just rest his head on his shoulder and sleep, wanted to tangle their fingers together and ask, will you stay? Will you still stay next to me after we leave this room and this school and we continue with our lives? Can we lean on each other, can we keep each other safe?
Instead of doing any of those things, Jimin caught Namjoon's eye. Tried to smile, realizing that nothing really works out as planned, but--
The look in Namjoon's eyes looked a lot like a yes, and --
Then they grew up.
They leaned on each other.
And Jimin was still in love.
-
The first bouquet is supposed to be the only bouquet but nothing really works out as planned.
Jimin stands in front of Namjoon, slightly out-of-breath, the autumn leaves crunching under their feet, the smell of remnants of cookies from Jimin's shift in the air. They're outside Jimin's workplace, near the park where Namjoon likes to write, the red and gold leaves blowing in the soft breeze.
He holds the bouquet close to his chest and bites his lip, and normally--
Normally, he's got a lot to say. Normally, he and Namjoon can talk for hours about the providence of the universe and Ryan plushies.
Instead, it's strangely quiet. Instead, Jimin holds out the bouquet, cheeks pink.
"Is this why you called me?" Namjoon asks softly. Jimin nods, squeezing his eyes shut because he can't look at Namjoon any longer, looking absolutely adorable in a tan oversized coat with warm jeans and a matching beanie and scarf.
But warm hands brush over his and take the bouquet softly. Jimin tentatively opens his eyes to see Namjoon smiling at the flowers, one of those rare gentle beautiful smiles.
Is this it? Jimin asks himself, his heart traitoriously beating faster.
"Jasmine," Namjoon murmurs, still smiling.
Somehow, Jimin finds words to speak. "Do you like them?" he whispers.
"Yeah, I love them, it's just-- wow," Namjoon says. He looks Jimin in the eye, a grateful smile on his face.
Before Jimin can ask, do you know what they mean? , Namjoon is already taking his hand. "D'you wanna go get dinner?" he asks, cradling the bouquet with his other hand. "On me."
Jimin is too stunned to say his rehearsed reply. After his brain short-circuits, he leans in further towards Namjoon, squeezes his hand and says, "yeah, hyung, I would love to."
--And it wasn't a confession. It wasn't. Nothing really changed except that Namjoon now had a bouquet of white jasmine, but--
It's Namjoon, so Jimin doesn't really mind.
Ever since high school, he and Namjoon have casually held hands. It's not really a romantic thing but it still makes the tips of Jimin's ears turn red. As Namjoon squeezes his hand now, drifting closer to Jimin's side as they walk, Jimin lets the familiar feeling of warmth wash over him.
This is okay. This is enough. As much as he wants to call Namjoon his, anything with Namjoon is special. No matter what.
-
That being said, the next week, Jimin tries to be a little less subtle. When he picks up the bouquet of sunflowers, the florist smiles at him, maybe recognizing him, and wishes him good luck. Sunflowers-- a classic symbol of admiration. At least, Jimin hopes that Namjoon knows that.
It's just another Tuesday, nowhere near any special occasions, and Namjoon hadn't asked Jimin to meet up. Instead, Jimin had suggested a picnic over text, and Namjoon had agreed with a series of cute emojis.
Jimin tried his best to look perfect, even trying to match the gold of his earrings to the way the sunflowers glowed in the sunlight. The weather was nice, too, only a few clouds in the sky. Perfect for a picnic.
"Jimin-ah!"
Jimin whips his head around to where Namjoon is in the park waiting for him, and beams. "Hyung!" He tucks the bouquet under one arm and waves excitedly with the other.
Namjoon must have been a little confused that Jimin asked him to meet up so suddenly, but he doesn't show it. Instead, he smiles back and they meet in the middle, under a willow tree.
"These are for you," Jimin says, trying to sound a little nonchalant.
Namjoon takes the bouquet carefully, a little lost for words. "You're sure?"
Jimin grins. "Duh. I got them for you."
For a minute, Namjoon stares at the bright flowers, then back at Jimin, and Jimin is going to ask. He's going to ask.
Jimin must look terrified, though, because Namjoon tilts his head to the side (adorable, he's so adorable) and asks, "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," Jimin breathes. "Yeah, it's fine."
"This is really sweet of you," Namjoon says. "I don't know what I did to deserve these, but thank you, Jimin-ah, thank you so much."
You existed, Jimin wants to say, but doesn't.
He can't ever say anything he wants to say. He hides behind bouquets and glances when Namjoon’s not looking and frosts cookies with little hearts, pretending that he’s not thinking of a particular person when he does.
“It’s nothing” is all he says.
"I brought," Namjoon holds up a picnic basket, "peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and orange juice, and chocolate chip brownies."
"That sounds perfect," Jimin says.
And it is. Well, it's not a confession but again-- it's Jimin and Namjoon, Namjoon and Jimin. Nothing can really go wrong for Jimin when it comes to Namjoon.
They eat their sandwiches under the willow tree in the summer sun, trading little lyrics and lines from art they enjoy and poems they've read and movies from Jimin's childhood, from Namjoon's Spanish classes, from things they've watched together and things they really really should, come over next week, I'll tell you when I'm free, and--
It's enough.
(Jimin wishes that just this once, he'd get more than enough--)
--It's enough.
-
It turns into a routine. It's an accident, it's not an accident, it's Tuesdays, it's more than Tuesdays--
(Jimin doesn't know anymore.)
--It's a routine.
Jimin will bring a bouquet to Namjoon every Tuesday, every time from the same shop-- he learns the name of the florist by the fourth week, an endearing college student named Jungkook-- and no matter where they are or what they're doing, he'll give it to Namjoon.
He researches more and more about the language of flowers, learns a little from Jungkook and a little from the library book he checked out after the sixth week. Then he makes a long long list of every kind of flower he thinks could fit Namjoon, hunts through the flower shop's stock, blushing at Jungkook's curious gaze.
By the eighth week, Jimin feels he owes Jungkook an explanation, and tells him the whole story. Jungkook lets out the cutest "awww" after he finishes and wishes him the best of luck, recommending a few flowers he thinks could fit Jimin's situation.
And meanwhile, Jimin and Namjoon meet up like they always do. The only thing that's really changed is the flowers-- representing friendship and romance and connection to nature and devotion and acceptance-- and all the while, Namjoon never seems to know what they mean. He always accepts them with the same amount of surprise, like he didn't think Jimin would get him more the next week. Like he didn't think Jimin would stay.
Jimin stays.
-
part 2 - magnolia
The coffee shop is crowded, but Namjoon's snagged a table in the far corner next to a yellow and blue abstract piece of art mounted on the wall.
He's going away for three weeks and Jimin can't exactly mail a flower bouquet. It might not even reach his destination-- Paris-- in time.
Namjoon's been dreaming about this trip for years and years ever since he became a world languages major. Although he's working as a linguistic anthropologist now rather than a translator, he's still legally fluent in French and yet has never immersed himself in a French-speaking country. He's going with a group of anthropologist undergraduates as an interpreter for when they interview locals.
It's a great opportunity, and Jimin is obviously excited for him, but--
He's going to miss Namjoon.
Of course he's going to miss Namjoon.
And even though it's kind of silly and definitely a waste of money, even though Namjoon's flight leaves tomorrow-- it's still Tuesday.
Jimin has a bouquet of white clovers in his hands.
Think of me.
When he reaches their table, Namjoon's writing in a new notebook-- something smaller that could fit in a carry-on, but of course Namjoon, struck with inspiration, couldn't help but already write in it. Jimin grins.
"Hi, hyung!" he says brightly as he sits across from Namjoon, mindful of the tiny blooms in his arms.
Namjoon looks up with surprise, as he always seems to do.
"Jimin-ah," he says sadly, "You know I can't take these--"
"I know," Jimin interrupts, "I know you can't take them to Paris but I just-- I still wanted to get them for you. Even if it's for a day. Sorry if I-- um--"
"No, wait, don't apologize, b-- Jimin-ah, it's okay," Namjoon says hurriedly, and then gently, "It's okay, I'm just-- it's lovely. It's surprising. I really love them."
Jimin smiles in relief, still a little pink, and then offers to order their drinks.
Halfway through their cups, Jimin points to Namjoon's notebook and asks, as he often does, whether he can read something Namjoon has written.
Namjoon, a little flustered, agrees and opens his notebook-- but then hurriedly flips from the current page, turning red. Jimin catches only one word-- frosted -- before Namjoon flips to a different page. He tries to dispel it from his mind before reading the correct poem. Namjoon clearly hadn't wanted him to see it.
The poem Namjoon's showed him is short with a lot of separation, unlike his usual style. But Jimin finds himself lost in the words anyway, smiling at a certain line he finds profound. No matter the style, it's definitely Namjoon's.
"It's a little different, right?" Namjoon winces when Jimin looks up.
"Different but in a good way," Jimin says, smiling fondly. "I really like it." He hands Namjoon's notebook back to him with the utmost care.
Namjoon beams back at him, and they take their time to finish the coffee, thoughts of the previous poem leaving Jimin's mind.
When they stop in front of Jimin's apartment, just a few miles away from Namjoon's, Jimin knows Namjoon can't stay. His flight is at an ungodly hour and he has to pack the night before. And Jimin's occupied, too, with a contemporary dance gig at the local theater. But even still, he can't help but wish that he could invite Namjoon in for just one more evening before he goes away.
Instead, he says softly, "I guess this is goodbye for a little while."
"I-- I guess it is," Namjoon breathes.
Another pause, and then Namjoon asks, "Jimin-ah, can I hug you?"
This takes Jimin by surprise. (Things like this always take Jimin by surprise.) Jimin loves hugs, Namjoon prefers words. It's something that he's known ever since they became friends, and to make sure that Namjoon's comfortable, Jimin always asks before hugging him. It's rare that it's the other way around, but--
Namjoon knows that Jimin loves hugs.
Namjoon wants to hug Jimin.
"Yeah," Jimin answers, barely a whisper, "Of course you can," and then they move forward, and--
Namjoon is warm.
Objectively, yes, this is something Jimin is aware of. Namjoon is taller and broader than Jimin, enough to engulf him a little if Jimin makes himself small enough in Namjoon's hold, but-- Namjoon is so warm. Jimin aches with it.
He buries his head in Namjoon's chest and Namjoon lets him cling, tangling his fingers in Jimin's hair, his other arm wrapping around his waist.
"Shh, s'okay, I've got you," Namjoon murmurs, and Jimin melts further, unexpected tears burning his eyes. He inhales shakily and Namjoon notices it, tightens his arms around Jimin like it will make everything go away.
"Sorry, hyung, shit," Jimin says, trying not to burst into tears. "I don't know why I'm-- it's not even for very long--"
"Jimin-ah, baby, shh," Namjoon says softly, sadly. "I'm gonna miss you, too, it's okay, it's gonna be okay."
It's gonna be okay. Jimin lets the words seep into the very center of his chest and then exhales, stops holding on as tightly and breathes Namjoon in.
"It's not that long," he says quietly, "and you'll be back in no time." He's trying to convince himself more than Namjoon.
Namjoon hums in agreement. "And I'll text you every day. I'll be sufficiently annoying."
Jimin grins into the crook of Namjoon's shoulder. "Okay," he whispers.
"Okay," Namjoon repeats, and Jimin can hear his smile.
They hold each other for as long as they can.
-
And then Namjoon's gone.
At least they have the magic of the internet to keep them in contact with each other, but, of course, timezones exist and Namjoon is busy. And Jimin doesn't want to distract him from his work. Jimin knows how important this trip is to him.
So generally, they only talk in little snippets, call when it's late late at night for Namjoon and early in the morning for Jimin, sometimes even before the sun has risen, the grey of the sky providing little light as Jimin lies in bed, aching to have Namjoon simply next to him. Namjoon talks about all the people he's met and the sights he's seen, about the art Jimin would love, and Jimin talks about preparing for his senior dance showcase, late nights at the cookie shop practicing in between orders, laughing with customers and coworkers and frosting koalas for one of the regulars.
One time, they talk and talk until Namjoon falls asleep, his breaths soft through the phone, and Jimin doesn't hang up for another hour, tries his best to stay quiet, tries to imagine that Namjoon is not eight thousand kilometers away.
A week after Namjoon's left, it's another Tuesday afternoon and Jimin gets off of work early, a slow shift, frosting cute frogs with purple hearts on cookies to pass the time.
He finds himself at the flower shop before realizing that he doesn't even have a reason to be there this week.
It's a little cold out. Jimin hugs himself, pretends that he can re-conjure the warmth of Namjoon's hold. He debates sending Namjoon a flower emoji with a caption as a replacement for real flowers, but ultimately decides against it.
It's just not the same.
-
When Namjoon gets back, it's a Friday.
When Namjoon gets back, Jimin doesn't have work, joins his friend Hoseok to street dance like he usually does on his days off. Hip-hop was never his main focus in school but he can emulate lots of styles well, still earns a lot of tips on the street. And any kind of dancing makes him happy.
When Namjoon gets back, they agree to meet at the park, the one with the pond where you can feed the ducks for free, sit on the benches under maple trees and read books as the breeze blows by, and--
It's not a Tuesday.
It's not a Tuesday, but Jimin still walks to the flower shop and says hello to a different worker, not Jungkook, but still warm and kind, reading Murakami in between sales. When Jimin asks for magnolias, he murmurs the meaning under his breath and smiles.
It's not a Tuesday, but Jimin carries the flowers that mean love of nature in tow, still a little tired from dancing. The air seems crisper today, the world clutching onto its last glimpse of autumn, a little quiet.
The park is quiet, too, less children and families today, more people sitting alone in the shade, couples, groups of middle school friends. Jimin passes by a cluster of trees before he reaches a clearing-- their clearing, it's theirs, but it's empty.
A tap to his shoulder.
Jimin turns around and is immediately surrounded in warmth.
He wraps his arms around Namjoon's waist tightly, burying his head in his chest, careful of the flowers, and exhales shakily.
"Jimin-ah," Namjoon rasps, and Jimin smiles softly into his arms, warmer when Namjoon places his chin on top of his had.
"Namjoonie-hyung," he says happily, aching to press a kiss to Namjoon's collarbone. "You're home."
"You got me flowers," Namjoon says breathlessly.
"Duh," Jimin whispers, and Namjoon hesitantly moves one of his hands to Jimin's hair. When Jimin hums, he softly cards his fingers through the strands, and Jimin melts further, further until everything around him is cozy and gentle and sweet.
After a comfortable silence, Jimin whispers, "How was Paris?"
"It was beautiful," Namjoon murmurs, "But I'm home now."
He tucks a strand of hair behind Jimin's ear.
I'm home now.
-
part 3 - heliotrope
It's the middle of winter, and it's a Tuesday, and there's a problem.
The problem is--
Jimin steps into the flower shop and Jungkook gives him a questioning glance.
"Everything okay, hyung?" he asks, and Jimin's hands shake.
The problem is--
Why don't you care about what I want, Namjoon had shouted exasperatedly. Why is it always about you.
You're so stuck-up, hyung, Jimin had retorted. Other people have problems, make mistakes, grow the fuck up--
The problem is-- Jimin doesn't even remember how the fight started, but it ended with a get out and a hint of bile in his throat.
"Hyung?" Jungkook asks again, and Jimin somehow forces his flower order out of his throat, trying to keep a happy face because that's what Jungkook deserves, he's a good kid and no one should be worrying about Jimin.
"You're sure you're okay?" Jungkook asks as he hands Jimin his flowers.
"I will be," Jimin says, and he knows it's true, he knows that sadness is temporary and everything is absolved. But right now--
"But right now?" Jungkook voices.
"Right now, not really," Jimin whispers.
Jungkook is lost in thought for a second before he says, "I mean, I should probably talk to Yoongi-hyung, but hyung, these are on me, okay?"
Jimin's reaction is immediate. "Jungkook-ah, no way, no, I'll pay--"
"Nope," Jungkook says, grinning. "None of that. On me, okay? And hey, let's go for lunch sometime? I can drag Yoongi-hyung, too. Maybe I can even meet Namjoon."
Jimin is stunned for a minute before he says, "Yeah, that sounds-- that sounds really nice."
So they make lunch plans, and Jimin leaves with free flowers in tow.
On his way to Namjoon's apartment, Jimin thinks about the poem Namjoon wouldn't let him see. And about how fights can't last forever. And about how deeply in love he is, how far gone. And about how he might as well go, he has the flowers, he might as well go, right?
The knock on Namjoon's door, though, is still shaky, hesitant.
It takes a couple minutes for a sleepy, beautiful Namjoon to open the door. He looks weary, dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn't slept, but desperately wants to. Jimin longs to smooth out the stress in his face, to make him smile gently and press lingering kisses to the apples of his cheeks. Jimin is always longing-- he knows this. Even the flowers he's carrying mean longing for you, and he just wants-- he wants--
When Namjoon sees Jimin, and the bouquet of pink camellias tucked under his arm, he bites his lip and furiously blinks away tears.
"Jimin-ah," he whispers.
"I brought you flowers," Jimin replies gently, and what were they fighting about, again?
Namjoon can't even reach out for the bouquet before he starts to cry.
"Shit, Jimin-ah, I didn't mean any of it, I'm sorry for what I said, I'm really--"
"No, no, no, I said shitty things, too, hyung, I'm so sorry," Jimin interrupts, reaching out with the hand that's not holding the flowers, intertwining their fingers.
And, here's the thing-- Namjoon never cries. At least, he doesn't let his friends see him cry. Jimin can probably count on two hands how many times he's held Namjoon while he cries, but it's just-- it's one of those times.
Jimin opens his arms a little, and says, "Namjoon-hyung, can I hug--"
"Please," Namjoon whispers, and that's all Jimin needs to carefully place the flowers next to him and wrap his arms around Namjoon's waist, holding on tightly, letting Namjoon cling.
And Jimin wants--
This.
(More than this.)
He wants to run his fingers through Namjoon's hair like this, hold him while he cries, murmur apologies into his ear--
(He wants to kiss Namjoon's jaw up to his lips, wants to whisper everything he loves about him without worry--)
To melt into his chest, revel in his sleepy smile as he looks at the flowers a little later, settle on the couch to watch their favorite movies, fingers intertwined tightly--
(To drift kisses across his cheeks, wake up to his grin, love him for as long as he'll let him, as long as the universe will be kind to them, as long as flowers grow--)
-- he wants Namjoon.
He has to be brave.
Later, late late late at night, Jimin takes out the notebook, the one that's been timidly gathering dust on his desk all this time, and begins to write.
-
It's a big day.
Jimin had quietly asked his manager, Seokjin, to clear him from this day months and months in advance, because-- it's a big day. It's the day he's been preparing for since he stepped into the dance academy four years ago, shy but yearning to prove himself. His first of two senior showcases, the one that actually carries a little more weight because of job opportunities, final grades. The second one is a celebration.
The first is a nightmare.
Jimin wakes in the morning with a heavy feeling in his gut. It's not like he's going to vomit, but more like-- there is so much energy, and it is both a burden and a relief at the same time.
When he meets Namjoon for breakfast, Namjoon puts an arm around him and says softly, "This will all be over soon."
It will all be over soon. In more than one way, Jimin thinks, but doesn't say. The words weigh heavy in his back pocket, a little bit of a confession.
(A lot of little confessions.)
(A confession.)
Might as well alleviate all of the pressure at once.
Jimin arrives to the last rehearsal early, gets dressed in his first costume before anyone else does, shakily does his own makeup. He has three numbers-- a group one, a pas de deux with Taehyung, and then a solo. Every eye on him.
Normally, he'd revel slightly in that, allow himself to enchant the audience, but today it just makes him feel scared.
He practices a few times after stretching slowly, making sure to hold his splits longer than usual so that he has full range of movement. He hugs Taehyung for a long time, both of them whispering to each other that they'll do well, and thinking of a little invisible red string that surely connects their pinkies.
And then, it's time.
The group number goes as well as Jimin thought it was going to go. He is not the best in the group by his own judgement but he is definitely not the worst, allowed to shine just a little bit, lets the nerves fade away as he attempts to enthrall the audience as part of their collective.
His solo is after that, and— it feels like a tiny bit of magic. He tries to put every single ounce of love he has— for his family, friends, Namjoon— into it.
And maybe, it pays off.
The pas de deux is the second to last number, the last one being Taehyung himself, and it goes perfectly, perfectly. Jimin and Taehyung were meant to dance together-- from the very first day they were attached at the hip, signing up for the same classes, joining the same clubs, talking all day about their dreams. It seems exactly right that they'd end Jimin's part of their journey together in a duet.
Jimin watches Taehyung dance, lets it sink in that it's over, this part is over and he's done and he did well, he did well, and then he's taking off his makeup, changing back into his regular clothes, walking out to three recruiters trying to catch up to him at once. Dazed, he gives his contact information to each one, shakes their hands, wanders through the crowd, his heart beating faster and faster, the words in his back pocket neatly folded.
When Jimin spots Namjoon across the hallway, everything stops. Everything seems to fade away and there's nothing but Namjoon's honey-brown eyes and dimpled smile and--
A bouquet of flowers in his hands.
Jimin walks up to him, already feeling tears start to form, and falls into his arms.
And Namjoon holds him tightly, allowing Jimin to melt into his warmth, in the relief of the end of the semester, in the start of something maybe-new, something beautiful in his bones.
Jimin knows the flowers he's carrying. The flowers third from the right on the side of the shop near the window. The purple blooms, so beautiful and enchanting, but so deep in their meaning that Jimin couldn't dare to buy them. Even if Namjoon didn't know their meaning, he could probably tell just by the look in Jimin's eyes, the glow of the petals.
"Did you see me up there, hyung?" Jimin whispers instead, and maybe his voice gives it all away.
"Yeah, yes," Namjoon replies, breathless. His words give it away, too, and Jimin sinks into it, into the murmured praises, god, you were so beautiful, you did so well, Jimin-ah, my Jiminie, and his heart traitorously allows itself to love love love.
After a while, they slowly separate, and Namjoon hands Jimin the flowers.
Heliotropes. Eternal devotion. An endless, everlasting love.
"Wanna get out of here?" Namjoon says gently.
-
The night air is crisp, and the hand that's not cradling Jimin's bouquet is intertwined with Namjoon's.
"I've got-- something for you, too," Jimin says softly, after a while of walking in comfortable silence, reveling at the blooms beneath his fingertips.
Namjoon hums, and they come to a stop so that Jimin can pull his poem out of his back pocket, regretfully letting go of Namjoon's hand.
He hands it over shakily, and Namjoon's eyes widen in surprise.
"It's a poem," Jimin says. He's a little surprised that the words come out so clearly. "For you."
"You wrote this," Namjoon says, a mixture between a question and a statement, and Jimin nods. Namjoon unfolds the paper then, an unreadable expression on his face.
Jimin knows the words there by heart. It's about springtime and snow, about a time where everything is beginning to die and yet a new thing was beginning to be born, a lovely and beautiful shy thing that grew into a sunrise over the trees Namjoon likes, a burst of moonlight in the darkness--
A long-grown love.
Prettier than every bouquet.
On the back of the paper, Jimin had written the meaning for every single flower he had bought Namjoon, but maybe Namjoon had known all along.
When Namjoon looks up again, it's with love.
They look into each other's eyes, an unspoken resonance to it, then at the flowers in Jimin's arms and the poem in Namjoon's. Carrying pieces of each other.
"We switched," Namjoon says, smiling, and Jimin cups his cheek, brushes along his dimple, the apple of his cheek.
"Did we?" he asks-- and, smiling brightly back at Namjoon, leans forward and kisses him.
Jimin has watched every rom-com with Taehyung, knows what kisses were supposed to feel like. Kisses were supposed to feel like fireworks, or like the birth of a new season, but kissing Namjoon is different. It just feels-- right.
It feels right that their lips catch again and again, little pecks and deep kisses keeping them warm from the cold. It feels right that their fingers interlock, squeeze, let go, drift across each other's waists, shoulders, collarbones. It feels right that they're smiling so much that the kisses come second, that they just allow themselves to breathe, rest with each other. It feels right that Namjoon whispers little pieces of his love in between kisses, that Jimin is brave enough now to whisper them back.
It doesn't feel like coming home. It feels like just another piece of it, like he's been there for a long, long time.
-
They walk back to Namjoon's apartment because it's closer, stealing little kisses along the way, Namjoon's arm around Jimin's waist, keeping him safe from the cold.
When they finally get inside, Jimin slowly unwraps Namjoon's scarf, sets down the flowers in one of Namjoon's vases, and then kisses him so tenderly that Namjoon is all but clinging to him tightly when they separate.
"Hi," Jimin says softly.
"Hi, Jimin-ah," Namjoon whispers back.
"Hyung," Jimin starts, "You know that I-- right?"
Namjoon hums, tightens his arms around Jimin's waist, and looks at him with so much fondness that it bursts in Jimin's chest like a kiss.
"Since maybe the first week we met," Jimin breathes, dares to tell Namjoon this secret and probably every other single one soon.
"Mm, me too, since maybe forever," Namjoon replies, smiles after like it's a little too cheesy, but Jimin beams back, can't resist kissing Namjoon's cheek after that.
"Hyung, I'm a little-- a little tired right now, but," Jimin whispers, "I want to do this. God, I want to do this so badly."
"Me too, hey, me too," Namjoon says gently. He draws Jimin in for a slow, languid kiss like they've settled into their love already, like it's just another soft summer night.
Jimin forgets to breathe a little bit, melting into the sounds Namjoon makes as he drifts kisses across his jaw, down to his neck and collarbone. After a little while Jimin just rests head in the crook of Namjoon’s shoulder, closing his eyes, letting them both breathe.
"Let's sleep?" he asks quietly after they've settled into each other, Namjoon rocking them a little in the hug, not quite a slow dance but still just as tender.
Namjoon kisses his forehead. "Let's sleep," he agrees.
They sleep curled into each other, words and flowers blooming in their chests, fingers laced together as they've always always been.
-
Jimin wakes up warm.
Soft fingers card through his hair, and his legs are tangled together with someone else's, an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him secure in their chest. Jimin sighs sleepily, moving closer.
"Jimin-ah," and oh, he's half-asleep on Namjoon's chest, he wasn't dreaming, this isn't a dream, "baby, are you awake?"
"No," Jimin grins into Namjoon's chest, "No, I'm sleeping."
Jimin can hear Namjoon's smile in his words. "Got it. Won't interrupt you." He tucks a lock of hair behind Jimin's ear.
Jimin presses a kiss to Namjoon's collarbone.
"Do you have to do anything today?" he asks.
"Mm, nothing today, but-- wanted to talk to you about something. Something I gotta do soon," Namjoon murmurs, kisses the top of his head.
Jimin hums, silently asking Namjoon to continue.
"I was thinking-- well, after Paris, really-- I was just. I thought I would be happy with a bachelor's, but after seeing the lecturers there while I was translating, I really thought-- well, I've been getting okay money from the job, and from my poems, and," he takes a breath to press another kiss to the top of Jimin's head, like it's grounding, comforting, then continues. "I think I want to apply to grad school. Work at the same time, so it might take longer, but-- maybe even a doctorate. One day."
Jimin allows the words to sink in for a minute, then lifts up and kisses Namjoon so happily that it only takes a few seconds for Namjoon to gasp.
"Hey, hyung," he says after a few kisses, smiling so brightly that he can't contain it. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers.
Namjoon smiles softly back at him, brushes his thumb back and forth along the back of Jimin's neck in soothing, gentle motions. "Proud of you, too, Jimin-ah, knew you could do it," he says softly, catches Jimin's mouth in an even softer kiss.
They melt into the morning like that, drifting slow kisses and touches, smiling, whispering little sweet things to each other.
"I wrote something for you, too," Namjoon says after a little while, his gaze impossibly tender. "Will you read it?"
"Of course," Jimin breathes.
Namjoon reaches over to the dresser to his new notebook, not new anymore, really, filled almost halfway with words and words, and flips to the page that he didn't show Jimin that one day at the coffee shop.
"Here," he says quietly, and Jimin takes it carefully, knowing how many precious things the pages contain.
And the poem is so-- so incredibly Namjoon that Jimin's heart bursts with it. About a lover who frosts cute things on cookies, tries his best every time to make someone smile, dances souls into the air and gives and gives and gives, overwaters the world's flowers so that they have the extra help to grow. Loves so freely and kindly that he's a little jealous of how well his lover can open his heart, how beautiful he blooms. Blooms under the spotlight and under the sunlight and so quietly in the darkness, so trusting, so ethereal, and Jimin--
Jimin blooms again as he kisses Namjoon.
"Love you," he whispers. “I really love you.”
Namjoon smiles gently.
"I love you too," he says softly, everlasting, eternal. "I love you so much."
Poems and flowers settle into their hearts, make a home. Love you love you love you.
Jimin kisses Namjoon again and again, says "I love you" again and again, and--
The sunlight illuminates the beauty of the everlasting heliotrope blooms--
--Jimin buys another bouquet the next week, and gets another poem back.
Again and again and again.