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Jimin's drenched when he gets home, drenched and miserable. There was that particular kind of upset -- the sort that felt like smoke swirling around him, attempting to choke him -- weighing him down today. He'd walked home on purpose, cold licking down to his bones, a chatter caught between his teeth, a shiver running up and down his spine, fingers and toes numb. It felt appropriate.
He'd nearly lost the firm an important client, fumbling through his presentation, nerves shot and frayed. It wasn't like him, but everything had been overwhelming lately. Namjoon's sister was getting married. He had her invitations to design and print, plus three other clients on short deadlines, and then his boss had thrown this new project at him with only a week's notice and Jimin had holed himself up in his office, buried knee deep in past logo designs and the company's ridiculous guidelines about what they wanted. A complete revamp and they'd given the firm a week.
A voice, sounding particularly like Namjoon reminds him that this could happen to anyone and yet, it means nothing. Jimin peels his jacket off, water dripping from him all over the hardwood floor. There's no sound of Namjoon. Jimin's not sure if he's grateful or not.
He manages to drip his way over to the laundry machine, tucked in a corner, and strips naked, throwing his sopping clothes into the machine. Jimin doesn't bother running the cycle, gooseflesh prickling all over his bare skin. His bones ache, cold seemingly burrowed deep, stomach growling. He ignores it not for the first time today, having skipped both breakfast and lunch. Forgoing everything, Jimin grabs a towel to pat himself dry on his way to his bedroom before throwing himself into his bed and curling under the sheets. Namjoon's surprisingly made their bed today, the room neater than usual. Jimin wonders if he finally listened to all of his whining and cleaned up.
Jimin wishes he could appreciate the gesture more, cold and hunger amplifying his exhaustion. There was nothing quite like failure sinking it's teeth into you, trying to rip your throat out. He felt exhausted and defeated, the nasty glare his boss had sent him on the way out eating away at him. For a flicker of a moment, he thinks he might cry, face buried into the softness of his pillow. It smells like his shampoo, a citrus scent Namjoon had picked out for him. He rolls over and buries his head in Namjoon's pillow instead, inhaling fresh mint and the sharp tang of sea salt. The pillow's going to get wet from Jimin's hair but he figures he can give Namjoon his pillow for the night, maybe even the weekend.
He thinks about calling Namjoon, asking him where he is when the sound of the door opening catches his ears. There's a pause before Namjoon's voice calls out for him, "Jimin?"
Jimin should answer, but he just hides his face in Namjoon's pillow further, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. Namjoon calls his name once more, the sound of rustling fabric mixing in with the soft padding of feet on hardwood. Jimin listens to Namjoon walk into their room, catches the way he pauses in the doorway before the bed sinks with his weight and Jimin finds himself turning toward him.
"Hey, baby," Namjoon says softly, tugging Jimin's blanket down. Jimin lets him, lets out a noise of surprise when Namjoon leans down and kisses the jut of his shoulder tenderly. "I take it that today wasn't a good day."
"Nope," Jimin mumbles, shivering as Namjoon brushes his hair away from his face, paying particular attention to the little baby hairs by his ear. His fingers smooth everything back, hands far warmer than Jimin but he probably didn't spend forty minutes walking in the rain.
"What happened?" Namjoon asks, voice sweet and caring, and as Jimin glances up at him, his hair swept up and back, eyes fixed on Jimin, his heart aches. He's as handsome today as he was the first time Jimin met him, heart catching in his throat at the sight of him. He looks earnest and attentive, hand smoothing over the blanket Jimin's wrapped himself in until it settles behind his back. Jimin rolls forward, curling until he can press his cheek to Namjoon's thigh, eyes closing.
"It's okay, it's over," Jimin answers, voice muffled by the fabric of Namjoon's pants, sighing when he feels Namjoon trace the shape of his brow, fingers curling into his hair. They settle at the back of his neck, ghosting over his skin, light like the sun's warmth.
"I don't think it's over if it's got you rolled up in bed like this," Namjoon reasons, and Jimin flickers his eyes open to look up at Namjoon again. His gut curls into itself wickedly and Jimin hates the feeling, hates the vitriolic you don't deserve him that spikes up his abdomen until he can taste the nausea on the tip of his tongue. Namjoon's eyes have softened, mouth curled downwards, this little knot between his brows. Jimin hates it.
"It's fine, hyung, don't worry," Jimin insists, eyes shifting away from Namjoon's. The room is quiet save for the sound of their breathing, the loud crash of the rain outside subsided into a small pitter patter against the window of their bedroom.
"I know you walked home, baby," Namjoon says quietly, shifting slightly so he has Jimin's head properly in his lap. Jimin can't help the pull, finds himself burying his head into Namjoon's belly, blanket hitching lower until his upper torso is bare. "You promised me you wouldn't do that."
Guilt spreads through Jimin like pain blossoming from a cut, a dam bursting and he bites his lip, fingers curling into the fabric of Namjoon's pants. "I'm sorry, hyung."
"You should be apologizing to yourself," Namjoon tells him but it doesn't come with the disappointment Jimin expects, just a worry Jimin feels undeserving of. His hand's back at the base of Jimin's neck, trailing down to his shoulders. Jimin nearly moans when Namjoon digs his fingers into the tense muscle, hands warm. "Did you eat today?"
"No," he answers, cheeks burning. All he does is worry Namjoon sick.
"Seokjin-hyung made us food. He even made your favourite, kimchi jjigae," Namjoon murmurs, long fingers winding through Jimin's hair over and over and over. "I bought some rice on my way home, thought you'd scold me if I tried making it myself."
Jimin can hear the smile in Namjoon's voice, but he's inhaling Namjoon in, a spicy scent buried into his clothes, his sweater soft against Jimin's skin. He doesn't want to move and food would mean moving. He doesn't want Namjoon to leave, either. Everything feels frustrating and awful and Jimin wishes he could just fall asleep, let sleep carry him into a new day. It's as Namjoon traces over the edge of Jimin's ear that it clicks, a frantic guilt hitting him like a wave, completely knocking him over.
He's bolting upwards, surprise evident in Namjoon's eyes as Jimin grabs him by the bicep, words spilling out of his mouth faster than he can control. "Oh my god! You had your final draft meeting today, oh my god, I forgot, I'm so sorry, hyung. I didn't even text you, oh, fuck -- Hyung, I'm so -- "
"Hey, hey," Namjoon cuts in, hand curling over the one Jimin has fisted into the front of his sweater. He tugs it off, laces their fingers together as the other hand cups Jimin's face. "Deep breath, baby. You didn't do anything wrong. Or bad, it's okay. I'm right here, it's okay. I'm not mad or upset or anything. You had a big day. This isn’t my first book."
Jimin's feels hyper aware to Namjoon's existence, feels his heartbeat pressing into his hand, calm over Jimin's own erratic beat. He listens carefully, breathes in tandem with Namjoon, watches his chest rise, up and down, up and down. Just like Namjoon had taught him. The panic fizzles out just as quickly as it had built up. A shiver runs over him, skin bare to the cool of the room and Namjoon lets go of him to wrap the blanket up over his shoulders, leaning in to rest his forehead against Jimin's.
"You still with me?" Namjoon asks, so close that Jimin can feel the warmth of his breath. He smells like stale coffee and Jimin knows Namjoon barely sleeps when he's working on his manuscript. He knows how Namjoon loses complete track of time, how he resorts to catnaps and coffee and those god awful wafers he likes so much, and just edits and rewrites and cuts out entire scenes because no, no, this isn't working. How could he forget.
"I'm so sorry, hyung," Jimin rasps, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, misery hanging over him, weaved into the threads of his blanket. He can't look Namjoon in the eye.
"Didn't I say it was okay?" Namjoon's voice is barely above a whisper and when he gives Jimin a kiss it's over in the blink of an eye, a fleeting touch. Jimin can't swallow.
Namjoon's nose brushes against Jimin's, a tender gesture and he knows how much Jimin likes it, how much he just enjoys the warmth of Namjoon's skin pressed against his own. Jimin repeats the motion, gives him a kiss against the corner of his mouth before slinking forward, head falling against Namjoon's shoulder. "You did."
"Then you have to believe me, and just me," Namjoon stresses, arm wrapped around Jimin now. He's got his mouth pressed over Jimin's ear and it feels strangely nice, like the shame and the guilt and the god awful self-loathing aren't quite as acidic in his belly. "How about we get you something to eat, hmm? And I'll tell you how things went."
"Okay," Jimin breathes into the crook of Namjoon's neck. The collar of his dress shirt is sharp and perfectly folded, soft cashmere of his sweater tucked under.
Namjoon pulls Jimin up and out of bed, the blanket still wrapped tightly around him. For a moment, Jimin stands in front of Namjoon, awfully aware of how naked he is under the blanket but then Namjoon leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead, a soft cutie whispered into his hair. He finds Jimin's hand and tugs him out of the room, guiding him to the kitchen where Jimin spots the bags Namjoon's left on the counter. There's water trailed all over their apartment and really, he should have been more careful. Namjoon has him sit at their small table, one side against the wall. The sun's lingering on the horizon, sky a murky grey and cloudy. Nearly as pathetic as Jimin.
Jimin watches Namjoon go about the kitchen, pulling out bowls and pouring out portions of the food Seokjin's made them. The white of his sweater contrasts against the tan of his skin, and he looks beautiful, really, looks like all the home Jimin wishes he felt worthy of. Long limbs and swept back hair, he looks perfect, shirt tucked into the black of his pants, nondescript belt looped around his waist. Jimin wonders how he'd landed himself someone so immaculate.
"You're staring," Namjoon comments, gives Jimin this bemused smile. "I promise, I'm not that put together."
And Jimin should hate that Namjoon can read him so easily, as if he walks around wearing all his emotions on his face, and maybe he does. He has a tendency of letting everything slip around Namjoon, and somehow, Namjoon always seems to catch everything. Somehow he tucks it all back into Jimin and keeps him whole. Jimin grimaces in response, lets his eyes fall to the floor, tiles clean and spotless. Namjoon must have spent the morning cleaning.
"You can stare all you want, you know," Namjoon says as he sets down two bowls of rice on the table. Jimin's eyes flicker up to him and Namjoon's frowning, really, and it makes Jimin feel bad. He doesn't seem to be doing anything right. "I didn't -- What I meant is, you were looking at me like I was too good to be yours, and I'm not. I'm definitely yours, but not better than you."
Now he's got his face all scrunched up and Jimin can't help the blush that burns against his cheeks, head ducking as Namjoon runs a hand through his hair. It's not as wet now, and Namjoon's fingers feel comforting. Jimin watches him move all the side dishes over, and Seokjin's made them gamjajorim and galbi jjim along with the kimchi jjigae. Between the two of them, Namjoon and Jimin aren't particularly gifted in the culinary department but at least Jimin doesn't burn down the kitchen when he tries to make food. When Namjoon's got the table set, he pulls a chair up close to Jimin and sits down himself, chopsticks in hand as he reaches for a piece of kimchi.
"Ah," Namjoon instructs and Jimin obediently opens his mouth, taking the offered piece of kimchi. Namjoon doesn't say much, quietly feeds Jimin and smacks his hands away when he tries to take the chopsticks from Namjoon.
"Be a good boy and sit," he scolds, all bark and no bite and really, Jimin's been starving all day, nerves and anxiety keeping the idea of actually eating completely out of mind. Namjoon's fed him before, too, Jimin's eating habits worse than his under stress. He doesn't have time to feel guilty over it, Namjoon diligently feeding Jimin and sneaking in bits and bites for himself as he goes. By the time Jimin's bowl of rice is empty, he feels too full. Namjoon finishes up what's left, wiping rice from Jimin's mouth with a thumb only to suck it between his lips and lick it clean. Jimin flushes at that, too, as if he hasn't done worse.
"You never said how the meeting went," Jimin says, reaching for the glass of water Namjoon offers him. He drains it, and Namjoon gives him a pleased smile as he takes the empty glass. He feels useless just sitting here and letting Namjoon do everything but when he offers to help, Namjoon says no.
"It was good," Namjoon answers. "Seokjin-hyung's going to look over the draft but we're both pretty sure this is it. The company wants to get the book printed by October so we have about three months."
"No final date?" Jimin asks as he watches Namjoon clean up. He pulls the blanket up tighter around himself, shivering a little from the cold.
"I should know in a week," Namjoon says, rinsing dishes in the sink. Usually they clean dishes together, with Jimin washing and Namjoon rinsing but he's been relegated to just sitting still and he's not too fond of it. "It won't take hyung too long to go over the draft and I can make any final changes when he gets back to me."
"I'm glad it went well," Jimin smiles, and it's the first real one he's given all day. No anxiety welling up in his throat, quivering in the curl up his lips.
"Thanks babe," Namjoon smiles in return, wiping his wet hands on the dishtowel hung through the oven's handle. He walks over to Jimin, all finished with cleaning up and bends down to gives him a kiss, still tasting like kimchi and beef. Jimin's eyes flutter shut, Namjoon's hands cupping his face and everything feels a little less, everything feels like it's just Namjoon, where he begins and where he ends and Jimin can just float somewhere in between.
"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mumbles into Namjoon's mouth, nibbles against his lower lip, their kiss reassuring and comforting. Somehow Namjoon always has Jimin anchored down.
"Come here," Namjoon says, having sunk down into his chair. He pulls Jimin into his lap, blanket and all, except now it's pooled around Jimin's waist and he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine, Namjoon's hands smoothing across his back. Jimin feels small in his arms, feels the width of Namjoon's hand spread across the expanse of his skin, his own small hands curling around the back of Namjoon's neck. He still looks perfect, he always looks so perfect. Not a hair out of place.
Namjoon tucks the blanket between them, leans in and kisses Jimin again, soft mouth prying Jimin's open until he's slipping little sighs and moans past his lips, and Namjoon is catching them all. He presses butterfly kisses across Jimin's jaw, kisses surer and surer as they trail down Jimin's neck and when Namjoon gets to his collarbones, he sucks particularly hard. Jimin lets out an embarrassing cry, fingers fisting into Namjoon's sweater.
"A-ah, hyung," his breath hitches, Namjoon licking at the bruise he's left behind, nose nuzzling against Jimin's skin, pulling him in closer until he's pressed against Namjoon's chest, head falling into the curve of his neck. Namjoon tugs the blanket up, pulls it over Jimin's shoulders, arms wrapping around his waist once Namjoon's sure it won't slip away.
"Feeling better?" Namjoon asks, thumb rubbing circles into Jimin's skin and it has his skin tingling at the base of his spine, almost ticklish but pleasant.
"Yeah," Jimin replies, because he does relatively, and maybe he should have eaten something earlier. Maybe.
"Still don't wanna talk about it?" Namjoon's running a hand up and down his spine, nails scraping gently every now and then. It keeps Jimin oddly focused, calm washing over him and the food and comfort has him sleepy.
"It...it just went -- I didn't do that great," Jimin confesses, wonders if Namjoon can even hear him with his face buried in his neck. He's got his arms wrapped tightly around Namjoon's torso, his sweater awfully soft and nice against Jimin's skin.
"Was the client unhappy?" Namjoon asks, voice like honey in Jimin's ear. Smooth and low and it has him squeezing his eyes shut, shoulders momentarily tensing.
Jimin worries his lip between his teeth, sucks in a shaky breath. "They liked it, I guess. In the end. I just -- I went blank and couldn't remember anything and my boss had to step in," and he lets out a self-deprecating laugh, ugly in the quiet of the room, "and you know how much he hates me."
"I don't think anyone could hate you, baby," Namjoon murmurs, hugs Jimin tighter against himself. "You got him a multi-million dollar contract. Just you. It was your pitch, even if you froze up. It's still your project."
"I didn't even want it," Jimin grumbles, kisses Namjoon's neck as a thank you, hopes that he understands.
Namjoon lets out a puff of laughter, hands lingering around Jimin's waist. "You love a good challenge."
"You can stop being so insightful any second now," Jimin mutters, can't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He can tell Namjoon's smiling, enjoys the feel of Namjoon's hands carefully kneading into his thighs as he kisses Jimin's cheek.
"You did a really good job today," Namjoon says quietly, the apartment silent save for the sound of Namjoon's heartbeat echoing through Jimin. "I'm so proud of you, baby."
Jimin flushes red, tears stinging at his eyes instantly. It feels like Namjoon's wrapped up all his cuts and scrapes from the day, kissed every little bruise better and if Jimin were spread over a table, dissected open by the world, Namjoon is the one who meticulously puts him all back together again. He's seen everything and somehow, he's still here. "Do you like making me cry?"
"Sometimes," Namjoon grins, kisses Jimin as he braves pulling back to actually look at Namjoon. "But not like this."
He gives Jimin a wink, dimpled smile spread across his face and Jimin scrunches his nose up, smacking him in the shoulder. "Pervert."
"Pervert?" Namjoon gasps, eyes widening in a well-feigned expression of surprise. "I'm not the one who's thinking about sex."
Jimin goes even redder in the face and hits Namjoon harder, slipping out of his lap even as Namjoon makes to grab him. Namjoon's laughing as Jimin scurries to their room, embarrassed but feeling pleasantly lighter. The smoke's gone.
He falls into bed again, lets out a sigh of contentment as he lies on top of Namjoon's pillow. Seconds later, Namjoon's in the doorway, giving Jimin this brilliant smile, and sometimes Jimin still gets overwhelmed by all the love he sees in that gaze. It leaves him woozy, heart beating in his throat, choking him up.
Namjoon tugs his sweater off, lets it fall to the ground and Jimin watches him remove the rest of his clothes, long fingers making short work of buttons and zippers, belt clattering to the floor. He slides into the bed with Jimin, buries himself under the blanket Jimin's been wearing all evening, the first touch of his bare skin against Jimin's like a kiss from the sun. They're tangled up in each other, Jimin's head resting against Namjoon's chest. It's solid and warm, and Jimin's always been weak to physical affection, to being held.
"Love you, hyung," Jimin says, arm wrapped snuggly around Namjoon.
"Love you more," Namjoon replies and normally Jimin would fight him on that but he's tired and sleepy and he thinks that maybe today he can let Namjoon have this one.