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The study hall holds strings of glimmering lights as Christmas dawns near. Festive wreaths and garlands house gilded baubles and a large tree nestled in a corner just beside large windows baring each fall of snow to make days just that little brighter. Students study yet Jimin can’t quite focus, a sigh parting his lips as Yoongi laughs. It’s a soft thing, much softer than either would have imagined could fall years ago, but now as they reside in tentative comfort with one another, perhaps all of what they thought could never have been further from the truth. Spoiled and stuck up, Yoongi used to chastise, watching as Jimin’s eyes sharpened and tongue turned piercing, yet as spring bloomed in their youth— their penultimate year putting them in the same dormitory— hearts began to thaw from even the harshest of winters.
“Need help?” Yoongi asks, words woven through a gentle giggle. His eyes hold stars, Jimin dares to believe, just that little sweeter beneath what strings above.
“No. It’s just exhausting, isn’t it? Isn’t Christmas soon? I’d rather think about that. Hogsmeade have put their lights up already, you know.” He hums, an air of despondency woven through each vowel. The kind to knowingly tug at Yoongi’s heart, to will him into never quite denying his every wish, and oh, how Jimin loves watching Yoongi’s cheeks redden and eyes all but rolling, but it’s as fond as ever as is what laughter follows.
“Want to look at them?” Yoongi asks and as Jimin’s face brightens— smile widening and eyes following its course— Yoongi could never bite down what fizzles within his veins; the tender strands of love never quite waning.
“When, now? It’s already dark— I think it might snow, you know.”
Yoongi nods, a small, assured thing, and as he stands the faintest gasp parts Jimin’s lips in surprise. “Yes, now if you’ll let me join you.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Come on, if we’re quick, it won’t be too busy. Although it doesn’t seem like anyone else wants to leave, maybe it’ll be too cold.”
And as they leave the study hall, hands ache to hold— perhaps in the name of warmth— yet both would never dare to spell just how much they wish for the tender touch of the other. They’re quick to ready, thick coats tugged over wool-lined frames, gloves keeping the tips of fingers from growing stiff, and giggles never quite finding their halt as they step into December’s chill. Clouds are dark, snow not quite falling but it looms on the horizon, and with each small tug of his coat, Yoongi’s cheeks turn that bit more rosy, wanting nothing more than to spend every waking moment beside the sweet Slytherin.
As they walk the well-versed path to Hogsmeade, hands tentatively brush leaving breaths to stammer and eyes to avert, but neither quite will themselves to stumble over what line they so delicately walk. So as the cold lines their bones despite their coats’ best efforts, teeth chatter, yet what comes into view is perhaps more than worth it, they think, for as when Yoongi turns to Jimin— watching the lights transcribe beside umber irises and a smile ever-growing against rose-dusted cheeks— nothing could be sweeter.
Bells and snowflakes glimmer in unison, strings of silver, gold, and amber gilded above leaving each building housing tender warmth, and as holly and little stars weave between structures, their eyes fall to the large tree at the top of the street, a bright light never to be missed. It’s emerald and gilded, strings of ruby nestled between thick branches and a star its anchor, and whilst its sight is certainly divine, Yoongi thinks, perhaps what’s even more so is just how Jimin smiles beside him. He has a green scarf around his neck, a woollen coat tugged over mittened hands and Yoongi aches to hold him close— pepper rose-tinted cheeks with cotton candy-spun kisses.
“I don’t get to see these that often— no one will come with me.” Jimin says, and despite what words fall achingly sombre to Yoongi’s ears, a smile never leaves Jimin’s lips.
“No?”
Jimin shakes his head, lip now tugged between crooked teeth as if recalling what he never quite dares to. “Christmas, it’s— it’s always proper at home. I like it here more.” He hums, and if Yoongi could replace what gently lines Jimin’s face in hurt, he would. So he tugs him closer to the tree, a little stumble against cobblestone leaving giggles to string from tongues.
“Want to go and see it then?” Yoongi’s words are laughter-lined as he watches Jimin nod, a sharp, assured thing, and as they walk closer to the large pine, his smile seems ever-blooming.
The tree sits at the top of the street, shops closing as the night takes its firm hand, winter lining the air in a now-bitter chill, but nothing could be sweeter than Jimin’s smile, Yoongi dares to think; nothing more divine than watching his face light up, amber-tinted from what lights glimmer before them. The weight of his gaze isn’t unwelcome to Jimin yet leaves him to fluster, cheeks rosy and eyes downcast, a small, light swat to Yoongi’s sleeve as a whine parts his lips.
“Isn’t the tree more interesting, Yoongi? The lights— aren’t they nicer?” Jimin manages in a delicate whisper, saliva treacle-thick against his tongue. And whilst Yoongi laughs in that cotton-soft way solely for Jimin’s ears, he shakes his head.
“I— I don’t think so.” He confesses, words simple yet achingly tender, something neither could ever have dared to dream of years ago, but now what strings between them seems so far within reach, grazing their hands with a feather-soft touch.
“Pretend, then.” Jimin’s words fall with a little huff, ever-fond and just that bit bashful, and it takes everything within Yoongi not to hold him, kiss him breathless and shatter what fragile line of friendship they so delicately walk. So he turns to the sky, watching the clouds loom dark above the air is that bit colder now, the first signs of snow looming on what horizon seems hopeful. “I wonder if it’ll snow this year. It looks like it might— even tonight.”
Jimin’s eyes follow his course, moon hidden beneath clouds that roll fast, the kind to spell a storm brewing, and as the prospect of snow lines Jimin’s thoughts, he smiles in that gentle way that leaves Yoongi’s heart to thrum.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if it did?” He says, yet Yoongi’s own mind lies somewhere else, where Jimin’s lips sweetly part and cheeks redden, lashes thick and smile tender. He wants to kiss him, let his hands hold his waist and thread through what strands line his nape. He wants to tug him close, never let him go and spell just how much he’s fallen for the sweet Slytherin. “The Three Broomsticks?” Jimin says after a while, a puff of laughter leaving breath to swirl in ivory tendrils, and Yoongi nods, heart stammering against all that houses it.
But as they walk— the air colder now, leaving teeth to chatter and noses to turn numb— Yoongi tugs Jimin into a small lane, shielded from view. Shops are closed, windows dark, and all that lights the cobbled path is what Christmas lights string amber above, and as Yoongi steps closer— breath bated and heart a thrum— snow begins to delicately fall.
“I don’t think I know what’s down here, Yoongi.” Jimin begins, voice laced with a little hesitancy, but perhaps it could never be as such as Yoongi’s own, a small, wavering timbre as his breaths fall shaky.
So he takes a piercing breath in, lining his lungs in December’s biting chill, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment of composure before he takes hold of Jimin’s hands.
“I— I just might be about to ruin everything, Jimin…” Yoongi says through a hushed whisper, and if Jimin’s eyes weren’t trained on his lips, perhaps they’d be lost in all that shrouds them.
“Or?” Jimin asks with a little glint in his gaze, lips sweetly tugged in the beginnings of a gentle smile and it’s this that spurs Yoongi on to continue.
“Or I could be making the best decision that I’ve ever made.”
Jimin steps a little closer, his hands still clasped in Yoongi’s own in a soft hold and he bows his head before turning his eyes back to Yoongi’s own. It’s sweet, delicate and serene, the kind of glance to leave Yoongi’s cheeks to darken, meant solely for him alone.
“Why don’t you find out? I have a feeling you won’t regret it, Yoongi.” Jimin’s voice is just that little wavered, housing tender apprehension and what giddiness seems to fizzle within their veins and as time seems to stall around them— snow that bit thicker now, the first fall leaving lashes tinted white— they lean closer.
Their noses brush, hands tightening their hold on the other through knitted wool and eyes fluttering closed, and neither dares to pay mind the distant wind that nips at their cheeks, for as their lips meet, serenity settles. It’s soft and chaste, the warmth of skin on skin despite the cold, a tenderness neither can quite place. The kind of kiss just that little hesitant, a delicate glide of silkened lips, wind-chapped yet ever-right against the other, and as their lungs begin to burn, they reluctantly part with smiles lining their cheeks.
“You can do that whenever you’d like,” Jimin whispers after a moment, both simply watching the other. A warmth never marred by the past and as Jimin giggles— that sweet chorus Yoongi easily finds himself swept up within— neither can quite will themselves to part.
“Yeah?” Yoongi’s reply falls a beat too slowly leaving laughter to turn giddy yet it could never last long as lips once more find their way back together and hands squeeze that little tighter.
As moments stall, Yoongi lets one slip from his grasp, a tentative palm drawing to Jimin’s waist and pulling him ever-so-slightly closer for chests to flush. It’s perhaps all they could ever ask for, gilded horizons lining their tongues, kisses syrup-laced and eyes impossibly tender, but the warmth of blooming love can only stave off the harshest winters for so long, and as they withdraw once more, Yoongi notices Jimin start to shiver. So with a careful hand, he tucks a loose strand behind Jimin’s ear, a chaste kiss to the tip of his rose-bitten nose before letting his hand linger on his cheek.
“Let’s get you warm, yeah?” He says, words thick and drawled, and Jimin simply nods. But before they leave, he, too, kisses Yoongi’s nose. A quick little peck staining Yoongi’s cheeks crimson and a gum-lined smile that is simply divine, Jimin thinks.
“I think their hot chocolates might do the trick.” Jimin’s smile is sweet, yet the words of “especially with you beside me,” remain unspoken. “I— I know our lives are bound by magic but… I think this— right now— is more magical than anything else. And you look quite cute with snow in your hair.” It falls as a whisper, a promise, akin to the softest barbs of a feather and perhaps Yoongi could never feel more cherished in someone's delicate hold.
After a final kiss, that little smile-lined and teeth all but chattering, Yoongi wipes what snow lingers against Jimin’s cheeks before they turn to the warmth of the inn with fingers firmly entwined.
Snow begins to fall that little harder as they enter, patrons sparse leaving a small booth tucked beside the window free for them to reside. The fire is on, warmth lines their cheeks rose and as giggles tumble from the most saccharine of tongues, Jimin places his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and lets their fingers entwine. Hot chocolates are ordered and sit before them, thick with cream whipped on top and adorned with sticky chocolate syrup, yet Yoongi knows Jimin could never need anything sweeter, for he is already enough. Shyness looks divine on him, cheeks risen under the weight of a bashful smile and Yoongi is quite certain he’s never fallen harder, and as patrons take their leave before the worst of the storm takes hold, hot chocolate lines their tongues and Yoongi can’t quite help but to kiss Jimin’s cheek simply to watch him fluster.
Their hands never dare to part as the night draws on, far later than either should be out for as exams loom and the prospect of their return seems shaky, but it’s safe and warm and perhaps neither ever wishes to leave the sanctuary they’ve so gently hand-crafted away from the castle, with no eyes to pry or tongues to taunt what they so delicately hold. It’s a newfound love for both of them, never ones to let their hearts fall but with the other, it could never feel more right, and as the past seems so distant— words falling to hurt now find their dissolution from their aching chests— what blooms in place is much more beautiful.
“I’m so sorry for everything, Yoongi.” Jimin hums as the moon should settle high, but as the snow falls thicker, it’s marred by dark clouds that seem unrelenting.
“It’s all forgotten, yeah? We were both as bad as each other— we weren’t kind but… I’m sorry, Jimin. I truly am.”
“It is? Forgotten?” It falls in disbelief, that what they now hold is infallible, something that old wounds could never touch. The salve to heal all that burnt and neither quite knew falling in love was all it would take.
Yoongi lets a hand flutter beneath Jimin’s chin to turn his gaze to him. Fingers trail to his cheek to cup it, a thumb caressing soothing rounds against it, and perhaps Jimin has never felt so safe within the hold of another.
“It is. I promise you. Am I reading it all wrong, Jimin? Tell me— am I reading this wrong?” Yoongi asks just that little apprehensively. His words fall gently, whispered and just that bit wavered with eyes waiting for what rejection may still follow. But as Jimin shakes his head, lips spread in a petal-soft smile, that same hesitancy finds its welcome falter, and as strands fall to Jimin’s cheeks, Yoongi’s quick to tuck them behind his ears with the faintest of touches. “Well then,” he begins once more, fighting the beginnings of an aching smile. “Would you like to be mine? Because I’d love to be yours.”
Jimin’s reply is wordless, leaning in to bridge what distance remains. Lips line lips in a soft, delicate kiss, a feeling both could reside in until their final breaths.
“I’d love nothing more. I think I’ve found who I really am with you. Thank you, Yoongi.”
“Will you come to the Quidditch match with me next week? I think it might be colder…” Yoongi says after a moment, the air just that little awkward yet impossibly sweet. It leaves Jimin to giggle, a saccharine chorus spelling all Yoongi could ever want right within his grasp.
“Only if you’ll lend me your coat, it’s a lot warmer than mine.” Yet Yoongi simply shakes his head with a fond smile, an arm tentatively strung around Jimin’s waist to pull him that little closer. “Or— or you could just do that. I’d like that.”
But as the evening tumbles into the depths of the night, the snow falls that little too thickly to traverse back to the castle. They know they could never leave— not safely— so despite what guilt fizzles within at knowing their return won’t be until the snow has melted just that little, they find solace beside each other for a brief night of serenity. The inn lends them a place to stay, a small yet neatly laid room above the pub with a double bed to house them, and despite apologies lining the innkeeper’s tongues at the only available room housing one bed, perhaps it’s all they need to lie that little closer.
It leaves them to giggle as they settle upstairs in the small room, fireplace crackling at their feet and bodies sleep-warm, jumpers doing all they can to stave off what chill still barely lingers. The curtains are never drawn to watch the snow falling heavily outside old wooden-framed windows, and as they lie on the hard springs of the bed— arms around the other and noses just barely brushing— nothing could ever quite feel as right.
“You look pretty, Jimin. So pretty— I’m so lucky.” Yoongi whispers through a sweet smile, each word grazing Jimin’s lips in a delicate promise.
“So do you, Yoongi. I wish we had this sooner but… but I like to think we fell just at the right time, didn’t we?”
Yoongi nods as the wind howls around them, panes rattling with its force, and perhaps they know their stay may be longer than intended, but in the arms of the other and chocolate-stained kisses lining their lips, they’re more than willing to rest in the little sanctuary they’ve created; a Christmas love never daring to wane.
So as the fire dims, crackle now a mere smoulder, Jimin’s eyes turn heavy-lidded leaving Yoongi to pull him closer. His nose rests by his neck and arm at the curve of his waist, and just before sleep takes him, Yoongi tugs the covers over them just that little higher, warmth never daring to escape. But perhaps what leaves their hearts aflame is something more than cotton could ever capture, simply the tender strands of love that have bloomed in the most unlikely of places, and maybe that’s why it’s that little sweeter.