Work Text:
mood: be with you – leisure
9:47 PM and the streetlight outside the window is casting pale yellow figures onto the walls of Jeongguk’s bedroom. Inside, only a lamp is lit, the bulb dim behind the faded lampshade.
Jimin lifts his head. There’s a futon rolled out on the floor, one that seems so well used even though he can’t recall a time he’s ever slept on it.
Must just be age, then. Time wearing it thin.
A blue plaid blanket is folded neatly atop it. It’s dulled too, the navy gone so pale that there’s something grey about it now.
Their neighborhood is quiet at this hour. The city isn’t too far away, so the sky isn’t fully dark. If Jimin craned his neck, he could probably make out a few stars anyway. He used to wish they lived in the part of the city closer to the sea, so if not a star, he could at least see a lighthouse blinking ships home.
Maybe a cat fight will start soon, giving Jimin something to listen to other than Jeongguk’s quiet breathing.
Maybe, but he hopes nothing disturbs this peace. Then again, he wonders if anything really could.
Jeongguk’s head is in his lap and he doesn’t look like he’s just made it past another milestone. His eyes are closed, and the sight of him makes Jimin forget the way his thighs are straining in his tight slacks from how his legs are crossed.
His tie is forgotten on Jeongguk’s desk from when he came over after a long night at work. His buttons are undone.
Jeongguk went out to dinner with his family to celebrate his university graduation, and Jimin came as soon as he could to meet him. They’d shared a beer together to celebrate, but they don’t even have a buzz anymore.
Now there’s only a gentle hum that surrounds them, one of fatigue without the desire to sleep.
It’s been quiet for a while now. Jeongguk gets tired of fanfare pretty quickly, and this day was probably more attention than he would’ve liked for himself. As soon as he saw Jimin, he fell forward into his embrace.
They’d laughed and drank, and now they’re here, lying together in their stillness.
Jimin cards through Jeongguk’s hair, long these days. He follows the slope of his nose and fixates on the place where his eyelashes touch beneath his eyes.
Jimin shifts. He really ought to change now. There’s a pair of Jeongguk’s sweatpants with his name on them, the ones that always slip down his hips.
Jeongguk talks without warning, but his voice echoes in the room, easy and warm.
“What’s next, hyung?” he asks sincerely. His voice is low and a little sleepy, like he’s asking the question without realizing the words have left his mouth.
Those big eyes open up as pools of midnight. Jimin gazes at them. They gaze back so expectantly.
“Hm?” is all Jimin says at first. All the silence had left him fuzzy.
Jeongguk smacks his lips, the picture of thought. “What do I do next?”
Jimin can’t help himself, his lips quirk up. “Isn’t that always the question?”
Jeongguk rolls his eyes, presses his cheek to Jimin’s leg. “Really, though.”
Jimin hums, thinking about what kind of answer he should give to this question that could have so many.
He traces one of his fingers along Jeongguk’s hairline.
“You have a job, don’t you?” Jimin teases softly. “You start soon. First, it’s that. You know, trying to make the best of it. And if you can’t, then you try to make the best of the time when you’re not there, or you find another job.” He swallows, knowing it’s a shallow answer. But he can only offer so much to a question carved so deep.
“I don’t know,” he continues. “You paint more. You meet someone new in a place you don’t expect to. You learn to cook and fail. You go biking with Namjoon-hyung. You fall in love.”
He stops there. He feels like if he keeps talking, the thoughts would start to rush out of him. He’s not in the mood to rush. Not when they’ve slowed down so nicely together.
Jeongguk glances up at him with an amused look on his face.
“That was a bit profound, hyung,” he murmurs, fighting his smile and the urge to tease a little more.
“That’s because I don’t know the answer either, Gguk,” Jimin replies, knocking his knuckles lightly against Jeongguk’s cheek. “I’m still figuring it out. I’m not that much older than you, you know.”
Jeongguk laughs breathily.
“Lately I’ve been trying to focus on what’s going on right now instead of what’ll be going on in the future, and even that’s hard enough,” says Jimin.
Jeongguk nods as best he can lying like this, playfulness fading as he lets Jimin’s words sink in. He’s always been a good listener.
“So what’s going on?” Jeongguk asks.
“I’m in my baby’s room trying to congratulate him on his graduation.”
Jeongguk grins.
Jimin wants to reach for his hand and hold it. He could, if they weren’t in this position. He watches the smile lines in Jeongguk’s face instead, thinking absently about how he wants to put them there again, and again.
“I’m happy you came, you know. You didn’t have to,” Jeongguk says. “S’late. You worked hard, didn’t you?”
“You worked harder these past four years than I did today,” Jimin chides. “I don’t want to miss any of this, when it comes to you.”
“Any of what?” Jeongguk asks.
“The important stuff,” Jimin replies. “Not just the big stuff. But the stuff that matters. This just happens to be both.”
“Right,” Jeongguk breathes, and he doesn’t question it. “You’ll stay over?”
“Eomeonim didn’t roll out the futon for nothing, did she?” Jimin teases.
“Of course she did,” Jeongguk says, because Jimin might be sleeping over, but he’s not sleeping there.
They share a look, then a laugh, and then Jimin is shoving at Jeongguk’s head, saying, “Now get off me, these slacks are about to rip at the seams from sitting like this.”
Jeongguk rolls off of him, giggling as he goes, and then he curls up in the corner of the bed. Pressed against the wall, he makes space for Jimin the way he always does. He lays on his side, watching Jimin as he gets up from the bed.
Jimin rifles through Jeongguk’s drawers lazily, looking through the clothes until he finds one pair of grey sweatpants he likes.
When he changes, it’s still with Jeongguk’s eyes on him, even though they’ve begun to droop. His face is squished into the pillow. His fingers trace over the ripples in the sheets. He’s not even scrolling on his phone, he just watches Jimin’s figure as Jimin flicks at the buttons of his pants.
Jimin pulls the sweats high on his hips and ties the drawstring tight. He’s already fiddling with the buttons of his chemise when he asks, “Can I borrow a shirt, too?”
Jeongguk murmurs a muffled sound of agreement, so Jimin looks through Jeongguk’s neatly folded shirts rather leisurely. He grins when he finds one with the logo of their high school on it, from back when Jeongguk used to play on the volleyball team.
Jimin finds himself flooded with memories then, of meeting Jeongguk after whatever sports or clubs they had that day, waiting to buy him a snack at the convenience store. He remembers walking to the park together, feeling much cooler than they were. Back then he was still waiting to get taller, but all too focused on watching the way Jeongguk seemed to change and grow so fast.
He pulls the tee over his head. It’s soft and worn, too big on Jeongguk then and fitting just right on Jimin now.
It doesn’t smell like Jeongguk, but of the gentle scent of something that hasn’t been worn in a long time.
Jeongguk is grinning at him.
“Killer fit,” he says to Jimin, eyes wandering up and down.
Jimin strikes a pose, pushing his hair back. He even lowers his eyes, just to hear Jeongguk’s laughter a little more.
“Do I look sixteen again?” he asks.
“If your hair was black and in a bowl cut, I’d probably say yes,” Jeongguk says without any hesitation.
Jimin squints. “You’re lucky I was cute in high school, otherwise I’d be yelling at you.”
Sixteen doesn’t seem like nearly a decade ago, but maybe that’s because he’s here in Jeongguk’s room right now, where so much of sixteen was spent.
“You were cute,” Jeongguk agrees.
Jimin, pleased, crosses the room again. He takes his place in the space that Jeongguk made for him, and he lays down, propped up by some pillows. Jeongguk immediately puts his head against Jimin’s thigh, halfway in his lap again already.
Jimin finds himself fixed on the posters on Jeongguk’s walls. It’s been a long time since they changed, but Jimin finds something new to look at each time he’s here. Funny how the walls where we spend the most time are often the ones we pay the least attention to.
There’s a poster of a band they used to love in high school, faded now. There’s one of Korea’s Olympic male volleyball team. One of an animated volleyball team. An old postcard from a friend he’s pretty sure Jeongguk doesn’t talk to anymore. An overpriced print from a museum gift shop that Jeongguk got when he and Jimin went on a trip to Seoul together.
Neatly aligned, Jimin thinks he could find a million crooked stories in them.
They’ve grown quiet again, but the quiet doesn’t last for long. Jeongguk lets out a loud, frustrated groan and kicks his feet beneath the duvet as he whines.
His face presses into Jimin’s hip bone.
“Hyung,” he groans, his words slightly quieted by the fabric of Jimin’s sweatpants. “I feel so weird.”
“Weird how?” asks Jimin, watching Jeongguk with an amused expression on his face. He can be so cute sometimes.
“Just weird. Like, I’m done now. What the heck? That’s it?”
Jimin laughs quietly. “It’s not it, though. There’s more to come.”
Jeongguk huffs. His cheeks puff up. “It feels like it, though.”
“You just graduated a few hours ago. Things will change and settle again, Jeongguk-ah. They already are. It’s just hard to notice things as they happen. It’s… after the fact. That’s when we can be confident about change. It’s so much easier to see it then.”
“I don’t like this feeling,” Jeongguk mumbles. He sounds a little resigned.
“I know,” is all Jimin can say. “It’s an icky one.”
Jeongguk groans again, and Jimin starts to pet at him, a little sorry that he can’t give any better advice. Jeongguk still leans into his touch, so Jimin scratches behind his ear, hoping to chase some of the tension away.
The thing about milestones is that they’re hard to enjoy when you already have to start thinking about the path to the next one. Jimin knows exactly what Jeongguk is feeling. He has just climbed all the way to the top of the hill, but he’s not being given a chance to take in the view. Everyone else is pointing fingers toward another, higher peak, asking, Wouldn’t it be great if you scaled that one too? Better start while you’re ahead.
It’s no wonder Jeongguk is tired. The best Jimin can do is remind him that he doesn’t have to climb so hard when they’re together. Like this, they can stop to take in the view — even if it’s only him in this old t-shirt, those posters on the wall, that tired futon unfurled on the floor.
“Is it the only thing you’re feeling right now?” Jimin tries. “What else do you feel?”
Jeongguk hums, thinking. He blinks up at Jimin.
“Happy?” It comes as a question even though it shouldn’t have to. “It’s easy to be happy when we’re like this. It’s familiar, but—”
He drifts off, so Jimin fills in, as they often do for one another.
“The other stuff is distracting, hm?”
A sense of relief washes over Jeongguk’s face. Jimin traces the curve of his cheek.
“Yeah,” says Jeongguk. “It just feels like I’ll never figure out where I’m supposed to go from here.”
Jimin purses his lips.
“You don’t really have to figure it out, you know,” Jimin adds lightly. “Or, not yet. You just keep going anyway, whether or not you know what you’re doing. The future just happens to you.”
Jeongguk winces. “That makes it sound terrifying.”
“Really?” Jimin says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He thinks about his job, his circle of friends, the city he still lives in, the new home he’s finally made away from his parents. “That kind of thing has started to comfort me. I didn’t really plan to get where I am now, but if you told me I’d be here when I graduated, I probably wouldn’t have believed you.”
Jeongguk hums. Jimin’s words seep into him like water to the earth.
Jimin watches his face for a while longer. Then he slides down the mattress to meet him, lying face to face. He puts a hand on the back of Jeongguk’s head again, carding through the long hairs at the nape of his neck.
“Have you done some of the things you wanted to do, though?” Jeongguk asks quietly. His big eyes look like twin full moons, lighting up his entire face, the entire room.
“I’ve gone on plenty of bike rides with hyung, if that’s what you mean,” says Jimin wryly.
Jeongguk laughs brightly. Jimin is glad to have given him a little extra burst of happiness. He likes taking Jeongguk off guard. He likes that they surprise each other.
Jeongguk quiets soon after though, his emotions like a wave that crests then falls.
He licks his lips.
“What about you– I mean, what about falling in love? Have you done that yet?”
Jimin opens his mouth to reply, but he does it too fast, so all that comes out at first is a measly puff of air. A moment passes, and throughout it he feels a tugging in his chest. He feels like there’s something anchored to the notches of his ribcage, urging him, pulling him toward Jeongguk.
He wants to lay a hand against his sternum just to make sure it’s still flat.
He starts, flailing. “I– not really?” he says, and Jeongguk’s face doesn’t change. It stays with an unwavering knit between his eyebrows, watching Jimin closely.
“I mean, I think one-sided love can exist. Of course it can. A crush is a crush. But I always thought that experiencing a real love, a true love, means knowing that you’re loved back. I don’t think you can really feel love fully without knowing that it goes both ways. Won’t that be the best part? To feel love for someone and feel their love back? I don’t mean it in a selfish way. I just think part of falling in love means that you both fall together, and experience it together.” He coughs. “Anyway. I haven’t had that. I haven’t been deep in it like that.”
Jeongguk blinks, and Jimin flushes hot in his face and neck. He curls his fist in Jeongguk’s hair nervously without realizing it. Then he presses his cheek to the pillow, wondering if he looks as red as he feels in the pale yellow light washing over them.
It’s rare that Jimin feels anything close to embarrassment around Jeongguk. They’ve weathered together for too long. They know each other too well. Jeongguk always accepts him as he is. Yet he suddenly feels very shy, like he’s said too much.
Jeongguk pays his reaction no mind. Instead, he lets out his thoughts as he always does, curious as ever.
If there’s one thing that Jimin has always loved about Jeongguk, it’s that he asks whatever question is on his mind, nevermind if Jimin knows the answer or not. Jeongguk always makes Jimin think. He pushes Jimin past the barrier of his thoughts, allowing him to go deeper. Even if they don’t wind up with a resolution, the two of them can just think aloud like that, wondering and wondering.
“Do you think…” Jeongguk starts. His fingers play with the edge of his duvet, rustling between their bodies. “Falling in love. Do you think that’s the kind of thing that you don’t notice as it happens?”
Jimin swallows. He looks straight ahead at Jeongguk lying across from him. Everything seems so plain and simple.
“I don’t know,” he says, but that feels almost like a lie. Because he knows, he knows. He’s noticed. “Probably not, right?”
Jeongguk does half a nod. “Yeah,” he replies. His black eyes burn with a midnight fire. He’s absolutely striking – the sudden flash of gold in the middle of a dark summer’s storm. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Their eyes stay locked in a moment that feels far too tense. It makes Jimin feel like he’s being pressed into the bed with the weight of it.
So he pets the back of Jeongguk’s neck and eases their conversation forward.
“Is there anything you want to do next, then?”
“Sure,” Jeongguk says easily. Jimin can’t decide if he looks relieved or not. “But none of them are big things, like we’re supposed to want. Like, I know I want to lay like this with you again, and I want to go to the park and draw clouds on sunny days, and I want to get better at being more confident and speaking my mind. But I don’t– I don’t have a vision for the future, or a life plan or something like that.”
“I say you don’t have to,” Jimin says resolutely, a playful grin overtaking his face. “Those first three things, though. I think you could bet on them.”
Jeongguk makes the face he always does when he takes on a challenge.
“And what if I said I wanted to lay here like this for the rest of my life?”
“Well, I probably wouldn’t believe you because you always get so energetic when we lay down all day. You start bouncing off the walls.”
Jeongguk smiles sheepishly, caught, but Jimin strokes his hair again. He continues, “But I’d probably take you up on it. We could try.”
“Wouldn’t we get bored?” Jeongguk asks.
“We might,” says Jimin offhandedly. “But there’s still things we can do, just laying here like this.”
“Such as?” asks Jeongguk expectantly.
Jimin is pulled in by his gaze, those full moons magnets to his very own ocean. He keeps touching the nape of Jeongguk’s neck, but he has to wrench his eyes away. His heart has started jumping in his chest like it wants to reach his throat.
“You could explain to me what all the volleyball positions are.”
He means it as a joke. He wonders if it sounds awkward, something they aren’t supposed to be around each other.
Jeongguk laughs anyway.
“I’ve done that one too many times. It’s one thing that your best friend is a volleyball player, but how is it that you’ve watched Haikyuu!! four times and still don’t know?”
Jimin juts his chin out indignantly. “I know Nishinoya is a libero.”
Jeongguk just laughs. “And what’s my position?”
“That’s a subjective question.”
Jimin actually knows the answer to this one, but it’s just fun to see Jeongguk get worked up about it.
His jaw drops open, looking at Jimin in offense. “Wing spiker is not subjective—”
Jimin holds a finger up, pausing him. “You just said position,” Jimin interjects. “Not position in volleyball. You have many positions. For example, you are also Jiminie-hyung’s giant personal hot pack.”
“Are you cold, hyung?” Jeongguk asks, his expression shifting on a dime. He threads their legs together, pulling Jimin closer by a hand on his hip.
“Not really,” says Jimin honestly. But he doesn’t move away. He’s perfectly warm. This is the kind of warmth he wants to bask in, the way a cat lies in the sun, the way lovers lie in each other’s arms.
“What else could we do if we laid here forever?” Jeongguk asks. His big nose bumps against Jimin’s temple.
“We could just talk like we always do.”
“True. You never run out of things to say to me. You talk a lot.”
“Yah,” Jimin chides, squeezing his nape. “You tired of me or something?”
“Never, hyung,” and Jimin wonders how he can sound so teasing and so honest at once. “What else?”
Jimin pauses. All he can think is how they don’t have to be doing much at all for him to be happy. It’s so easy like this. But he likes this game they’re playing. He wants to give Jeongguk an answer.
“I don’t know,” he ponders. “I could keep playing with your hair. It’s so long now.”
“Yeah?” asks Jeongguk absently, eyes fluttering when Jimin scratches his scalp. “Do you like it like this?”
“You look pretty,” Jimin breathes. It’s something he’s said before, but it feels more truthful right now. Jimin feels transparent. He feels paper thin. One touch and Jeongguk could pierce right through him. There’s no barrier left between them, just a curtain either one of them could part to let the light in.
Jimin flexes his fingers. “It looks nice tucked behind your ears, so I can see your face.”
He does just that, carefully curling a few strands behind Jeongguk’s ear. He softly touches Jeongguk’s jaw, the warm skin along the slope of his neck. It’s as gentle as ever. Jeongguk bends to him.
Quiet graces them once more, and Jeongguk’s heavy eyelids finally win out when they flutter shut. Jimin continues touching him, mostly by his face and neck. It feels so intimate in this low light, and even though they’re places he’s touched before, Jimin finds that he doesn’t usually linger quite like this.
Jimin traces along Jeongguk’s hairline and drifts down his soft cheek, over the scar there.
“Feels good,” Jeongguk breathes.
“Yeah?” Jimin murmurs. “Do you like it when I touch you like this?”
The question feels so big for Jeongguk’s little bedroom.
Their thighs press together under the duvet. There’s Jeongguk, the weight of him, the warmth of his breath, the scent of the perfume he must’ve put on before dinner. Jimin feels his heat through his pajama pants. He feels the way they fit together. There are a million other places he could touch. All he’d have to do is reach out.
“Mhh,” Jeongguk lets out. “Feels good,” he says again.
Easing onto his back, he leans against the pillow, stretching out his neck. His skin is a little pale from the winter, but there’s still a mole there to tempt Jimin. His hair unfurls around him.
Jimin follows his change in position. Their legs stay threaded together, only now one of his thighs is hitched over Jeongguk’s hip. He props himself up on one arm, staring down at Jeongguk’s face that is now so full of shadows from the light of that sorry old lamp.
Jeongguk doesn’t look like he’s just made it past another milestone.
He looks like spring when it comes early, the flowers Jimin has known all his life.
He touches Jeongguk’s chest. He watches his breath flow in and out of him. He watches him lick his lips. He watches his long, exposed neck and wonders what the hidden pulse beneath it might feel like against his mouth.
Too much thinking almost feels like not thinking at all, so Jimin dips his head down and presses one kiss to the column of Jeongguk’s throat, just shy of his Adam’s apple.
Jeongguk gasps.
Jimin recoils.
“Sorry.”
Jimin looks up to find Jeongguk’s eyes dark and wide.
“No, don’t– You just surprised me,” Jeongguk mutters. “My eyes were closed.”
Jimin pauses. “Ah. So–”
“Do it again,” Jeongguk says. Then, quieter, “If you want to.”
Jimin leans back down and stifles a chuckle into Jeongguk’s neck. Then he kisses it again, parting his lips so that Jeongguk can feel his warm breath.
He’s rewarded with Jeongguk’s quiet sigh and the tilt of his head to the side. He’s letting Jimin in. His pulse is jumping beneath Jimin’s mouth, the invisible race of his heart.
Jimin hesitates after the second kiss. He stays close enough that Jeongguk couldn’t guess it, but Jimin had never thought he’d get to this point. What comes after a kiss like this?
He stops to look at Jeongguk. The collar of his big shirt has started to slip down his chest, and Jimin can see the line of his pecs and his sharp collarbones. The duvet is bunched up by the sinch of his waist. His eyes have closed again. The hair has already begun to come untucked from behind his ear.
Jimin has seen him like this a thousand times and Jimin has never seen him like this before.
He swallows like he’s making space, and then he follows the thing that’s always pulling him toward Jeongguk. He follows the thing that’s anchored to his chest, drawing him forward.
There’s something telling him that he ought to make Jeongguk sigh like that one more time.
When he presses another hot, open-mouthed kiss to Jeongguk’s chest, a quiet sound echoes soon after. Jimin trails slowly like this. He’s not quite cautious but thrilled. He doesn’t know what’s going to come next, and he doesn’t let it terrify him.
He leaves more kisses to Jeongguk’s throat, and then to the edge of his jaw. His nose drags along Jeongguk’s cheek. He inhales. He kisses below his ear, along his cheekbone. Once, at the corner of his mouth.
Are they both holding their breath?
Jimin catches the way Jeongguk’s lips part after his mouth leaves his face, and Jimin wants to kiss him again, firmly now. He wants to taste him, that richness and the future on his tongue.
“Why don’t you kiss me more, Jimin-ah?” Jeongguk whispers.
Jimin licks his lips. He already wants to do it again.
Jeongguk’s eyes are still closed, and Jimin feels grateful for it. He’s not sure how he’d respond if they were open.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” he replies.
“I guess that’s true,” Jeongguk says. His voice seems to rumble in his chest. Jimin flattens a hand over his pecs to feel it. “I’ve never said it. But usually you know what I want. Sometimes it feels like you know before I do.”
“I think it’s a little different, when it comes to things like this,” Jimin croaks.
“You’re probably right,” says Jeongguk. “You’re usually right.”
“Now that’s not true,” Jimin says, and he has his mouth against Jeongguk’s neck again, kissing him more, like he’d asked. “I told you I didn’t plan my life. Usually I’m just taking a shot in the dark.”
“I’ll follow your lead then,” Jeongguk says, “if all those shots led you here.”
Jimin knows they’re not just talking about the future anymore. They’re talking about something else entirely.
“Don’t be scared,” Jimin says. “No matter what, I’ll be with you every step of the way. No matter what change comes… I’ll always be with you like this.”
“What if I want you closer?” whispers Jeongguk.
“Closer?”
“I mean, what if I want you to kiss my neck again?”
“Then I will,” Jimin says. He will, he will. He’s aching right now to do just that. To press Jeongguk into the sheets and kiss him pink, to kiss him into sunrise.
“And my mouth, will you–”
“Jeongguk-ah.”
Jeongguk sighs, his name not enough. He props himself up a little and looks Jimin in the eyes. He’s burning again; his irises are so bright.
“Is it not obvious?” he asks, and he’s smiling and frustrated all at once. “That I love you too? Everything you said before, I–” He cuts himself off, thinking of a better way to get this past his thoughts and into words. Jimin knows this habit well.
A beat passes, and Jeongguk, fiery, stares over at Jimin. Their legs are still pressed together.
“When I think of the future, you’re the only thing that doesn’t scare me.”
“Jeongguk,” Jimin says, and he wonders if the way he aches comes through in his voice.
“You said,” Jeongguk starts. He stares at the ceiling again. His pretty mouth purses, his Cupid’s bow looking like it was really carved for a God. “You said, you want to give love and feel it back. So, should I love you a little harder?”
He says it like he’s really willing to try, and even though Jimin has always wanted to make Jeongguk wonder, he never has to wonder about this.
“No, no, you don’t. It’s not that– I just never heard you say it.”
Jeongguk smiles at him. “I know you’re the kind of person who needs to hear it. I think it just took me a while to find my voice. But I mean it, hyung. Everything about the future is blurry except for the fact that you’re in it.”
“I love you.”
Like most other things with Jeongguk, saying this is easy.
“Of course I love you,” Jimin continues. “I think I’ve been falling for a long time. And I always knew it. I was just waiting for the green light. To love you all the way.”
Jeongguk’s hand reaches for Jimin, snaking beneath that old t-shirt of his to curl around Jimin’s hip. Jimin’s skin is hot; Jeongguk’s hand feels hotter.
“I want to make you feel everything,” Jeongguk tells him.
“You’re already coming pretty close,” Jimin says as he sucks in a breath. Their noses bump together when Jimin shifts. He swears he can feel the static between them. He sturges like storm clouds and they clap like thunder.
Jeongguk tastes sweet. Jimin licks into his mouth, letting their tongues brush against one another. Their tangled legs make way for their bodies to rock together.
Jeongguk sighs a few more times. He even gasps again, and moans.
He kisses Jimin with that big hand still curled around his waist, and for as frantic as it feels, Jimin doesn’t feel like they’re rushing.
They’re allowing each other to be greedy. But Jeongguk still tips his neck to the side for Jimin to kiss him there. He still says Jimin’s name slowly, the way he’s said it a million times. He bites Jimin’s thick lower lip and kisses him fast enough that they can feel the difference in their chests when they slow down.
In the middle of it all, amidst their breathless gasps, Jeongguk pants, “I don’t know where I’m going. I’m a little lost.”
Jimin presses his shoulder toward the bed, as if to say, you’re right here. You’re not going anywhere.
Can a moment serve as an anchor even if it’ll soon be the past? Jimin wants Jeongguk to come right here whenever he feels like he might drift too far.
“Is it even possible to be lost if you don’t have a destination?” Jimin asks him. “No. You’re just wandering.”
“And it’s okay?” Jeongguk says. He’s blinking up at Jimin. His mouth is red. His eyes still look like moons.
“It’s okay. We just take the questions one by one.”
“One by one,” Jeongguk repeats. “Okay. Okay.”
Jimin kisses his neck again. Jeongguk’s fingernails dig into Jimin’s side, and Jimin feels alive. He feels so perfectly heavy in his body, like nothing could wrench him away from this.
“Come closer,” Jeongguk musters. His voice is airy. Jimin likes that he’s made him like that. He likes that love sits warm in his chest and hot in his belly. That love is not just one feeling but a thousand of them, each taking their own shape.
Jimin draws attention to their bodies by rolling his hips against Jeongguk’s hips.
“Closer, how?” he wonders.
“Just–” Jeongguk mumbles, and he pulls Jimin into his lap with no preamble. His strong hands pull Jimin toward him, and there they stay, spanning across his shoulders. Their chests are flush together. Jimin can feel his racing heart.
“You’re like a lighthouse,” Jeongguk blurts.
He says it so surely and with such a warmth that Jimin blushes, though he’s not entirely positive what Jeongguk means by it.
“Is that shitty old lamp making me glow or something?” Jimin asks, turning his face toward it.
“No,” Jeongguk laughs. He cups Jimin’s face with one hand. “You just, you guide me. If you’re on a boat, a lighthouse tells you where to land, right? Even if you don’t know where you’re headed, you can be sure that there’s land. That’s what you are to me. My beacon.”
Jeongguk blushes because he said something like that, and Jimin blushes because it was about him, and when they hold each other it’s even warmer than before. They’ve kindled.
“Am I close enough?” Jimin asks him.
“I want you to kiss me again,” Jeongguk says. “You gave me goosebumps before.”
Jimin tucks into his neck to kiss at his jugular, and along his ear, and beneath his chin. Jeongguk shivers like a breeze passes through. Jimin didn’t know a tremble could feel quite like that.
“You’re beautiful,” Jimin tells him. “Let’s not worry about tomorrow until it comes, okay? You deserve one night just to think, I did something.”
“I did something,” Jeongguk echoes.
And in a city of a hundred lighthouses they’ve cast one more light for the aimless, for the wanderers, for those trying to find their way, and those not even bothering to look at all.