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The light arrived before consciousness and the desire to wake.
At first it was only a diffuse brightness gathering behind his eyelids. A soft but insistent pressure, as if the entire day had leaned its weight against his eyes. It wasn’t a timid light. On the contrary, it was white and commanding, poured across the room with the quiet certainty of something that knew it had permission to stay.
Jungkook remained still, the weight of sleep still settled deep in his body, thickening movements that had not yet begun. His breathing was slow, heavy. One of his hands was trapped beneath the pillow, the other resting near his face, fingers loosely curled against the fabric.
It would have been wonderful to remain there, drifting in sleep a little longer, but the light refused to give up. It slipped through the room’s tall windows, pushing past the beige curtains that had failed to soften its brightness, spilling across the white walls like water poured out of a glass. It bounced off the pale wooden floor, climbed the rumpled sheets, and finally settled—inevitably—across his face.
His brows drew together. The movement was minimal, a small tension crossing the bridge of his nose, almost imperceptible. Even so, he didn’t open his eyes. He only breathed a little deeper, as if his body were still deciding whether it was worth returning to the world.
The room remained quiet, though it wasn’t absolute silence. From somewhere in the apartment came the low, steady, domestic hum of the refrigerator. Farther away, from the street several floors below, the occasional car passed, the soft murmur of tires gliding over asphalt.
The light continued its slow advance. It settled along the edge of the sheets, creating the illusion of texture in the fabric and drawing soft shadows in the folds of the blankets. The white walls amplified everything, reflecting the brightness in every direction, as if the room had suddenly become a photography set.
Jungkook breathed slowly through his nose, refusing to open his eyes. The brightness behind his eyelids grew stronger. The reddish glow, filtered through the thin skin of his closed eyes, shifted gradually—like a cloud passing over the sun and then spreading wide again once it moved away.
His chest rose and fell, sleep still clinging to his body like a warm layer.
For several minutes, nothing moved. Time seemed suspended in that quiet space between sleep and wakefulness—where thoughts had no shape yet and the body still belonged more to rest than to the day.
The light crept higher across his forehead, warming his skin, and Jungkook’s frown deepened slightly.
That was the problem with staying at Seokjin’s apartment.
Even half-asleep, he could feel the difference.
His own place was entirely different: dark tones, black walls, heavy curtains that turned the morning into a comfortable extension of the night. There, the light entered cautiously—filtered, almost domesticated.
Not here. Here everything was designed to welcome the day. The white walls, the enormous windows, the thin curtains. Here, shadows hardly existed.
Jungkook let out a small sound of protest that disappeared into the bedding.
He couldn’t really complain. He was already here, and if he was honest with himself, it had been entirely his decision.
The night before had ended far too late. They had spent the entire day in the rehearsal room, running through the new choreographies again and again, and the old ones too, until the floor was marked by the constant friction of their sneakers. Cameras had been following them the whole time—setting up shots, asking for new angles, capturing a thousand different versions of the same movement.
The comeback was close. Too close, and that meant very long days and even shorter nights.
When they finally left the building, the city was submerged in the damp silence of the early morning. Jungkook had looked at his phone, then at the street, then back at his phone again.
He could go home. He could sleep. He could do exactly what his exhausted body was asking for. But there was a need stronger than the fatigue. He wanted to be with Seokjin. He didn’t have any grand plans. He just wanted to sleep beside him, wake up next to him, and spend the only day off they would have in months with the one person he truly wanted to be with.
The light pressed against his eyelids again, and Jungkook shifted in the bed. First he felt a faint pull in his shoulder, then he turned onto his side, burying his face into the pillow as if he could hide inside it.
The fabric was soft, almost too smooth, and it smelled clean. Not like the neutral soap he used at home, but the delicate detergent Seokjin had been buying for years. It was a faint, slightly floral scent that lingered in the sheets even after several nights.
Jungkook took a deep breath against the pillow and shifted again. The sheets were no longer in place. One of the bottom corners had come loose from the mattress, forming a wrinkle beneath his knee. The thicker blanket was tangled around his legs, as if he had been fighting with it for hours.
Finally, he opened his eyes, and the light hit him all at once—dry and bright. He had to blink several times before the room stopped looking like a vast white blur.
When colors and shapes returned, the first thing he saw was the other side of the bed.
Seokjin was still asleep.
He was lying with his back to the window, which softened the light across his face. His dark hair was slightly tousled on the pillow, and his lips remained parted—just enough to let out a slow, steady breath.
The contrast between the two sides of the bed was almost comical. On Seokjin’s side, everything was intact. The sheet was still neatly spread. The blanket draped smoothly over his body. Even the pillow kept the clean shape of someone who slept without fighting the night.
Jungkook looked at that order with a mix of curiosity, tenderness, and resignation. Everything about them was like that—their apartments, their thoughts, even their feelings. While Seokjin was a kind of luminous calm, Jungkook would always be the shadow of chaos.
A small, silent laugh slipped out of him. Maybe that was exactly why their relationship had lasted so many years. They were complete opposites, and they had learned to find in each other all those small things they could never quite find in themselves.
He looked at Seokjin again. The rise and fall of his chest was slow, steady—almost contemplative. The skin of his face looked clear and luminous in the brightness of the room, and his eyelashes rested softly against his cheeks.
Jungkook watched him. There was no hurry.
He slipped his hand out from beneath the blanket. The cool air of the room touched his skin immediately. Carefully, he brought it closer to Seokjin’s face and extended his index finger. He traced it along the line of his nose in a slow, almost ethereal gesture.
Seokjin let out the softest complaint—a murmur caught in his half-asleep body. His nose wrinkled, and he tried to brush the hand away with an unconscious movement, lifting his own from the pillow.
Jungkook was faster. He pulled back before he could be caught. Then his mouth curved into a smile that only grew as Seokjin stirred.
First, he rubbed his cheek against the pillow. Then his whole body shifted beneath the blanket. His shoulders stretched, as if his body were slowly remembering how to take up space again.
Without opening his eyes, he moved closer to him. The warmth reached Jungkook first, like a soft summer breeze. Then he felt the gentle weight of Seokjin’s arm wrapping around his waist.
His breathing settled close to Jungkook’s neck, raising goosebumps on his skin with every exhale that slipped past his lips.
“Five more minutes,” Seokjin murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Jungkook watched him, the smile still lingering on his face.
“You’ll say the same thing in twenty minutes.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
Seokjin didn’t open his eyes, but he tightened his arm a little more around Jungkook’s waist, pressing closer to him, as if the closeness itself were reason enough to stay under the covers together.
And in a way, it was—if it weren’t for the fact that Jungkook’s stomach was already beginning to feel empty.
“We have to eat breakfast.”
“You,” Seokjin whispered against the curve of his neck.
“Me?”
“You said you’d cook.”
Jungkook smiled despite himself.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it very loudly.”
A small silence followed—brief but lingering in the space between them—until they both broke into quiet laughter.
Jungkook moved carefully, slipping free from the embrace. Seokjin protested with a soft sound, but he didn’t open his eyes, nor did he follow when Jungkook got out of bed.
Before leaving entirely, Jungkook leaned down, braced his hands on the mattress, and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.
Seokjin smiled and pulled the blankets over himself, curling into them.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.
Jungkook answered with the same two words, spoken softly against his skin, and then made his way to the kitchen.
The light there was even brighter. The windows covered almost the entire wall, and the city stretched beyond the glass with the quiet calm of a Sunday. In the distance, the mountains stood pale beneath the clear sky.
The kitchen was tidy, just like everything else in Seokjin’s apartment. The jars were lined up by size, the coffee maker spotless, and every utensil sat in its exact place.
Jungkook opened the refrigerator. Cold air spilled outward, raising goosebumps along his bare thighs. For a moment he regretted not putting on long pants, but he was already there, and he could always turn on the heating if he started to feel colder.
He found eggs, bacon, rice, and fermented radish kimchi. He took everything, along with a package of butter. Choosing those ingredients made him feel a little rebellious. He knew Seokjin would appreciate it. After all, they had spent the last two weeks eating the same things—boiled chicken, a green apple, and water. A lot of water.
Jungkook set the eggs on the counter, then the bacon. He hesitated for a second, but convinced himself that this small break from their diets wouldn’t ruin anything. It might even help them—give them a little more energy and a little less discipline, at least for a day.
While the water heated and the rice spun slowly in the microwave, Jungkook rested his hands on the counter and began to hum. His voice barely filled the space, blending with the sound of the water starting to boil. It was a melody that had been stuck in his head since rehearsals and had lingered there for days. One of their new songs. They had worked hard on it, and he hoped ARMY would like it.
He was focused on cracking the eggs and mixing them with the bacon when he heard footsteps behind him.
Seokjin walked into the kitchen.
His hair was thoroughly disheveled, but his eyes were open and alert now. His torso was bare, and he was wearing Jungkook’s pants, which hung loosely from his hips.
Jungkook looked at him for a second—maybe longer than a second—with an expression that didn’t bother to hide anything.
Seokjin’s body had always fascinated him. It didn’t have the hardness of someone like Jungkook, who spent hours at the gym. There were no exaggerated lines, no muscles carved with almost artistic precision.
Seokjin was something else. Lean. Elegant. Natural. Like a Renaissance work of art not everyone had the luck to admire.
Daylight traced soft shadows across his bare skin, and Jungkook licked his lips before lowering his gaze and focusing again on his protein-and-fat-heavy breakfast.
“What are you doing?” Seokjin asked, coming up behind him and resting his chin on Jungkook’s shoulder.
“Making breakfast.”
Seokjin leaned a little more over him and looked into the pan.
“I don’t think we’re allowed to have this kind of breakfast.”
“We’re celebrating,” Jungkook informed him, stirring the eggs and bacon in the skillet.
“What are we celebrating?”
“That today we’re not eating boiled chicken.”
Seokjin let out a laugh that vibrated through Jungkook’s whole body, and right after, he pressed his lips to his neck. Jungkook felt the familiar warmth and softness that had marked his skin so many times before.
Seokjin pulled away, opened a cabinet, and took out two plates.
“I’ll set the table,” he said after a moment.
They worked together without speaking—too used to each other to need it. Jungkook finished scrambling the eggs with the bacon while Seokjin set out the cutlery after dividing the rice and kimchi into two equal portions.
The aroma filled every corner of the kitchen as they sat down at the table and took their first bites.
“I have a photoshoot with the new brand tomorrow,” Jungkook commented, his mouth still full.
“I know.”
“And you?”
“With a magazine.”
“The fashion one?”
“Yes.”
Jungkook nodded, watching with quiet focus as Seokjin’s cheeks puffed and flushed slightly each time he chewed.
“After that we have rehearsal.”
“We always have rehearsal,” Seokjin said, his mouth too full to speak much more clearly.
Jungkook wasn’t sure whether he had meant it as a complaint or a joke, but after so many years, it was probably a bit of both.
The light continued climbing across the sky until it slowly withdrew from the kitchen. At some point the wall clock struck one. They still had the entire day ahead of them. They ate slowly, forgetting about schedules, new shoots, and the endless calendar waiting for them.
Instead, they talked about the video game Jungkook had bought but still hadn’t had the chance to play. About the cooking show Seokjin wanted to watch but kept postponing because he had no one to comment on it with. Or about that movie they had once started watching and then abandoned because their bodies had found more interesting things to do.
When they finished, Seokjin gathered the plates and stacked them in the sink. This time it was Jungkook who came up behind him, wrapping him in a quiet embrace without saying a word.
The contact between them was immediate. Seokjin leaned back against his chest and let his body rest there. Jungkook kissed his shoulder, pressing his open mouth to the skin for several seconds, then did the same on the other side.
Seokjin’s skin still smelled like the sheets, like salt, and like Jungkook.
Seokjin relaxed a little more in his arms. His fingers found Jungkook’s over his abdomen and laced them together without looking. Jungkook rested his forehead against his shoulder and felt that strange balance between tenderness and desire. They had gone weeks without having enough time for themselves. Several times they had shared the bed only to fall asleep after a couple of kisses. By the time they woke up, they were already on their way back to the agency and another long stretch of rehearsals.
“Do you want to shower?” Jungkook asked casually, as if it were almost a practical suggestion.
Seokjin answered by turning his head and pressing his lips to Jungkook’s cheek for a few seconds.
“Yes.”
They walked that way—still close, still holding each other—toward the bathroom. When they arrived, Seokjin slipped out of the embrace and opened one of the lower cabinets.
“I’m going to make some bubbles.”
“No,” Jungkook stopped him.
“Why not?”
Jungkook looked at him. There was something in his smile—too confident—that made Seokjin raise an eyebrow and bite his lip before repeating the question, this time more slowly.
“I have another idea.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear that idea.”
“It’s a good idea,” Jungkook assured him, stepping closer with the calm confidence of someone who already knew the answer.
“Most of the time they’re bad ideas.”
“Not always.”
“Almost always.”
Jungkook stopped in front of Jin, hooked his fingers into the waistband of the pants Seokjin had stolen from him, and gave a gentle tug.
A few minutes later they were naked under the shower. Water fell in a steady rhythm against the tiles, filling the bathroom with steam.
At first they simply stayed there. Jungkook’s fingers moved slowly along Seokjin’s back, following the paths the water traced down his skin, easing the tension that had gathered in his muscles.
Seokjin closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead against Jungkook’s neck. They stayed like that, unhurried—touching each other, sharing the quiet rest and the certainty that they still had a few hours left just for themselves.
Jungkook was the one who kissed first, as he almost always was. He held Seokjin by the neck, his thumbs tracing small movements over damp skin, and brought their mouths together in a slow, deep kiss.
When they pulled apart, Seokjin’s skin was flushed from the heat and the friction.
They soaped each other with unhurried hands moving over warm skin. Foam gathered briefly across their bodies before slipping away toward the drain.
They laughed several times when the slippery floor made them lose their balance for a moment. Each time, Jungkook ended up catching Seokjin by the waist.
They both liked moments like that. There were no cameras there, no managers, no fans waiting for them. Just the sound of the water and the soft echo of their voices bouncing off the bathroom walls.
Time seemed to slow between them. Their hands began to wander over a little more skin. Their gazes grew more intense, and their kisses deepened.
Seokjin murmured something about it being dangerous. That staying there was probably a bad idea, yet he didn’t move even a centimeter away from Jungkook’s body.
For the rest of the time they spent in the bathroom, they simply let themselves drift between steam and running water. When they finally stepped out, their skin was wrinkled and the mirror completely fogged over. The steam still lingered in the air.
They weren’t sure what they would do for the rest of the day. Maybe they would play the video game Jungkook had bought. Maybe they would watch the cooking show Seokjin kept postponing. Or maybe they would go back to bed and sleep a little longer.
Jungkook only knew that he wanted to make the most of the hours they had left before the phone rang and their time off finally came to an end.
Seokjin’s apartment remained full of light. Quiet—just like them—as if it, too, were enjoying that Sunday.
Through the open window came the distant sounds of the city, but inside the apartment everything remained calm.
♡