Chapter Text
Sleeping with Kim Namjoon was the worst.
Not the actual, literal worst like genocide or dehumanization of minorities throughout history, but it was definitely on Park Jimin’s list of top ten least favorite things.
It wasn’t the snoring, though that was it’s own unique frustration, or the fact that Namjoon was composed of at least 70% leg. It wasn’t that he talked in his sleep either, though Jimin was certain the nonsensical ramblings of Namjoon’s subconscious were less obnoxious than the long-winded philosophical ramblings Jimin and everyone in earshot were subjected to when Namjoon was awake.
Jimin didn’t even mind the philosophy that much. He learned a lot, and Namjoon was always very thoughtful and open to new ideas. His core values didn’t ever really change, but he did accept new information and new points of view with a lot more grace than his contemporaries. That was part of the reason why Jimin liked Namjoon so much in the first place. He wasn’t, despite outward appearances, a stuffy, boring elite. He was a charismatic, somewhat bumbling, curious and often shy elite. It was endearing. Plus, it left plenty of room for Namjoon to need Jimin, which felt good.
Namjoon didn’t do so well with people. Not all the time. He thought too much and his words got tangled on the way out. He over-explained simple things and glossed over complex ones. He was a great student of humanity but struggled to understand individual humans.
Jimin, on the other hand, had yet to meet anyone whom he couldn’t convince, coerce or con into giving him his way in… well, in a very long time. He didn't understand the complex movements contradictions of the seething masses of population at large, but he found value in every individual. They were a good team, despite their outward differences. At heart, they were more alike and in tune than anyone gave them credit for. They balanced each other. It worked well.
Except on those rare occasions when accomodations got botched and they had to share a bed. Namjoon’s travel agent was diligent and thorough, but even the most careful planning couldn’t outwit mother nature. Their first night had gone smoothly, but when torrential rain had flooded a nearby hotel, their booking had been bumped as everyone scrambled to find shelter. Jimin had agreed to give up his room and share with Namjoon. It was nothing much, but the face of the haggard mother, beaming with gratitude as she clutched two small children did much to lighten his mood.
It was fine, mostly. Jimin was used to sharing space with Namjoon, and they often shared a room. It was just sharing a bed that was so incredibly frustrating.
The snoring, the talking, the dangling of long limbs off the edges of the bed. All that was fine. It didn’t bother Jimin so much that he couldn’t do some breathing exercises and ignore it. What he couldn’t ignore was the restlessness. Namjoon was never still, not even in sleep. His legs twitched. His arms flailed. He rolled this way and that way, oblivious to who or what might be in the way. Jimin had been kicked, elbowed, squished and squashed.
What he hadn’t been, in all the long hours of the night, was able to sleep. Not once, in all the times they’d shared a bed, had Jimin gotten more than a few fitful minutes of hazy rest, somewhere between sleep and waking. He’d left his sighing and disgruntled muttering in the hallway though, pulling his suitcase into Namjoon’s room with a smile.
The evening had started with Namjoon’s mumbled apologies as he peeled his wet suit off, laying dripping fabric to dry over any available surface. He’d taken extra trips to help displaced travelers get their belongings into the lobby, using his long legs to bypass numerous puddles, but height couldn’t save him from the deluge. Now he looked a bit like a soggy puppy. “I’m sorry, Jimin. It’s just for one night, though.”
“I know. And it will be fine. Don’t worry about me. One night is fine. I can survive most anything for a night.” Jimin felt as though he’d said the words before, on countless other nights they’d cozied up due to circumstances beyond their control.
“Well, don’t spend a night in a fire just to prove a point,” Namjoon said, dimpled cheek and mussed hair making him look much younger than his years.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jimin toweled off as best he could, then took his clothes to the bathtub to wring them out. The wool would probably be hideously wrinkled in the morning, but at least it wouldn’t mildew. Probably. His much shorter legs hadn’t been as useful to the influx of guests, but he had held the door and herded women and children with an umbrella in each hand as best he could.
“You prefer the left side of the bed?” Namjoon called from the bedroom.
“Whichever is closest to the door, usually. But you pick. You have a harder time getting comfortable.” Jimin rubbed his face one last time. This hotel did have very good towels. He’d have to remember to tell Taehyung so he could put that into his notebook. The list of details that young man factored into his hotel recommendations was impressively large. “Shall I call for tea?” Jimin said, stepping into the sleeping area. His bare feet were still chilled from being caught in the downpour, so he wriggled them happily in the thick rug. Another thing to tell Taehyung about.
Namjoon stood in dry flannel pants, shirt forgotten on the bed, brow furrowed as he flipped through his notes. Jimin smiled fondly. It was far from the first time he’d needed to repeat himself to be heard over Namjoon’s thoughts.
“Not ruined, are they?” Jimin asked as he pawed through the luggage for a dry pair of socks and something with long sleeves.
“No. No, the oilskin seems to have held up quite well.”
“That’s a relief then. Finish getting dressed and get to sleep, Namjoon. We have a big day tomorrow.” Jimin tugged the shade down over the window, drawing the thick curtains to keep the cold night air from sneaking in. He then slipped into his night clothes and tucked himself into the bed. On the side closest to the door. Namjoon pulled his glasses off and set them on the dresser before shrugging into his shirt and sliding between the covers.
“Goodnight, Jimin.” Namjoon turned out the light on his side of the bed.
“Goodnight, Namjoon.” Jimin did the same and lay back on his pillow. If he could get to sleep first, he might be able to catch a few hours of sleep before Namjoon fully settled into his nighttime routine of sleeping contortions.
He counted his breaths, measuring the rise and fall of his chest with the beats of his heart. Namjoon’s breathing evened out and slowed down. It was soothing. It was familiar. It was going to be fine.
The snoring started predictably soft. That’s when Jimin knew he was doomed. With the gentle snores came the first twitches.
Jimin tugged the covers tighter, hoping the tension in the sheets would have a straight-jacket effect and keep Namjoon calm and still. It had never worked before, but optimism was one of Jimin’s hallmark characteristics.
The twitching gave way to talking. At one point, Namjoon said “penguin” in a surprisingly un-sleep-affected voice before rolling over to face plant in the pillows.
Jimin considered smothering Namjoon with a pillow. Then he considered smothering himself. He did neither.
Neither did he sleep. His arsenal of self-calming and relaxation techniques were useless. He lay awake making mental lists, reviewing the activity of the past few days, writing letters in his mind to companies he was both pleased and disatisfied with, dreaming up convoluted and florid poetry and the like. He was jostled and poked by Namjoon at irregular intervals. He kept his eyerolling to a minimum.
The night crept on and Jimin felt the lure of sleep tugging at every limb. He also felt Namjoon’s toes behind his knees, and Namjoon’s shoulder against his spine, and somehow Namjoon’s chin managed to dig painfully into the top of his head at one point.
The room changed from inky black to soft, dusty blue as somewhere to the east the sun began to rise. The curtains were drawn, but soft light peeked around the corners. Jimin closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. His balled up his fists and rubbed his gritty eyes. He stretched out his legs, refusing to be considerate of Namjoon’s space now that dawn was approaching. He reached with toes, surprised at how far he was able to go before encountering resistance. He knew he wasn’t the tallest, but he’d been bumping knees with Namjoon all night. Now, he pushed his feet into the small of Namjoon's back with satisfaction.
Jimin’s eyes popped open. He blinked to clear them, then rubbed them again. It was going to be a long day. Might as well get started with a good hot bath. It was early enough that only the most fastidious would be moving about, so he should have plenty of hot water.
He threw back the covers and stumbled across the floor. In the bathroom, the smell of wet wool was stronger than he thought it would be after drying for the night, but it was still uncomfortably dark inside the bathroom.
“You prefer the left side of the bed?” Namjoon called from the bedroom.
Jimin shook his head. Namjoon sounded mostly coherent, but Jimin had been fooled by his sleep talking antics before. It didn’t take too many conversations with a sleeping person to make one feel foolish. He reached out to pull his suit off the tub but jerked his hand back suddenly. The wool was still soaked. How had it not dried at all? After all these hours? He grabbed fistfulls of wool and pulled. It was as damp now as when he’d set it down last night.
“Jimin? You want to sleep on the left or the right?” Namjoon asked again. Jimin tugged the suit with him, wanting to get a good look at it in the morning light.
In the bedroom, Namjoon stood in dry flannel pants, shirt forgotten on the bed, brow furrowed as he flipped through his notes. The lights were on. The bed was made. Namjoon was shirtless and flipping through his notebook. Jimin glanced at the window, needing to see the light spilling around the curtain’s edge. This morning was so strange. Like the night had been rewound. Jimin blinked and squinted. The curtains weren’t drawn and the city outside was dark, and wet.
Suit still clutched in his hand, Jimin rushed to the window. “It’s so dark,” he said in awe.
“The storm will probably blow over while we sleep. Speaking of which, which side of the bed to you prefer? I know you hate sharing a bed, so I want you to be as comfortable as possible.” Namjoon’s voice rolled over Jimin. He didn’t sound at all sleepy, like he usually did in the morning. He sounded perfectly alert, which was weird, because if it was dark out, then it was still the middle of the night and Jimin had somehow hallucinated the arrival of dawn, like a manifestation of wishful thinking for the awful, sleepless night to be over.
“What time is it?” Jimin asked, hands pressed to the cool glass. This was a nightmare. He just wanted to get through the next day, present their findings to the university and move on to the next one. In the next town, he’d have his own room. In the next town, he could sleep. He couldn’t get to the next town, however, if he couldn’t even get to the next day.
“A little after eight, I think? The storm makes it seem later because it got dark so much earlier. But we should probably try to get as much rest as possible. Big day tomorrow.”
Jimin shook his head slowly. It couldn’t be after eight. That would be morning. That would mean sunlight and breakfast and they’d already be on their way to the university. If it was really after eight, Namjoon would be a flustered mess of anxious nerves and fumbled notes.
“In the morning?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“No, Jimin. It’s just barely night. You must be more exhausted than I thought. I knew it was a bad idea to try to make two presentations in two days. You’re just too worn out. Please, try to rest. I need you tomorrow, and you’re no good to anyone when you’re this tired.” Namjoon rested a large hand, warm despite his time in the storm, on Jimin’s shoulder.
Jimin nodded. He was delirious. Jimin tugged the shade down over the window. This had to be a dream. Just a dream. He drew the thick curtains to keep the cold night air from sneaking in. This was some horrible dream, where he had to relive this awful sleepless night, even in sleep. He took some small comfort from the fact that if he was having a nightmare, then at least he was sleeping.