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It’s this feeling in the bottom of your chest. It’s nervous and light, like pale yellow sunshine on a summer morning. On this morning you woke up much too early, but you’re not tired anymore, and it’s not like you’ve got anywhere to be. So you wait. You lie in your bed and wait. Eventually, after much waiting, the sun starts peeking through your window and tickling at your toes. It’s shy. It’s gentle. It’s unassuming and unabashed. There’s no shame. How could there be?
It rises up through Jungkook’s chest and then it’s pushing all of the air from his lungs. Except it’s wrong. It shouldn’t be here and neither should he. He’s only a kid. He’s barely even 18.
Jungkook looks around the room. His room actually, though suddenly it seems far away, like a place that he used to know but somehow he’s been dragged away into a different universe. His pile of laundry is still stacked in the corner with his favorite black shirt sitting right on top, having been thrown unceremoniously onto the pile only a few hours before. Or maybe it had been days. His books and school things are scattered across the disheveled desk, all of his little trinkets in the mix. A mario figure from Jin, an alpaca doll from Taehyung, even a necklace from Yoongi is draped over a lamp. The silver catches his eye, and it’s cold.
It’s really cold. He wraps his arms around his bare chest, as if that will somehow warm him up. And it’s here, sitting on the edge of his bed with his toes still not reaching the ground, that it hits him. It started off with a kiss. Just like normal. It was warm, and unhurried, and comfortable. But then, Jungkook asked for more. It’s not that he didn’t want it, and Namjoon had shown no signs of ever asking himself. It was Jungkook’s idea. And Namjoon was so sweet and kind and gentle and hesitant. Almost like he was scared of breaking him. Almost like he was distracted. Almost like he didn’t want him.
Jungkook shivers a little, blinking back tears. This is a different kind of morning. A morning where the sky is grey and so is the earth and so are you. There’s snow on the ground and ice in the very air that you breathe, try to breathe at least. There are daggers in your lungs and no matter how closely you listen through the thick, frozen haze you struggle to even hear your own heartbeat.
“Kookie?” Jungkook bites his bottom lip, not daring to face the other boy. The ice coating his lungs is cracking with every rise and fall of his chest. Suddenly he feels his age. Suddenly he feels exactly how old he is. The bed squeaks when the older boy shifts his weight.
“Hey.” A familiar hand brushes against his shoulder. “Shit you’re freezing! Come here.” Namjoon’s voice is warm and tired and broken, cracking at the end of his words. Jungkook feels himself being guided back down down down and then his head is on his boyfriend’s chest and a blanket is being tucked in around him.
“Kookie…” Namjoon half whispers, planting a kiss onto the top of his head. “I love you. I love you I love you I love you.” Namjoon’s arms tighten around him and he can feel every vibration and every beat and every breath and he can’t hold back anymore. Delicate fingers brush away his tears and sweet nothings grave his ears. Those fingers trace down his jawline and hook around under his chin, bringing his gaze up. And there, looking back at him, are a pair of sympathetic eyes and one hell of a dimple.
“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, and Jungkook feels himself nod. “You’re pretty spent, aren’t you? You seem tired.” The blond nuzzles into the younger boy with a knowing and gentle and loving smile. Jungkook whines a little, burying his head back down into his boyfriend. “You know you’re wonderful, right?” He asks, planting little kisses wherever he can. “You’re talented.” Kiss. “You’re beautiful.” Kiss. “You’re sweet.” Kiss. “And you’re mine, and that’s something I wouldn’t trade for anything. I would pick you over anyone else.”
“You’re so gay.” Jungkook flicks his boyfriend on the shoulder. The older boy laughs, squeezing the younger in closer, and Jungkook laughs too.
And maybe the morning isn’t so cold. Maybe the sun is peeking through and tickling their toes. Maybe the pit of night has been replaced with a rose gold sun. Maybe the answer to anything and everything can be found in those goddamn dimples and those silly silly words. Maybe he’s in a new universe but maybe he’s tethered by the boy with dark brown eyes and stark blond hair. And maybe, just maybe, it’s all okay.