Jimin is quiet today, leaving for his nine-a.m. lecture with little more than a barely-there kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek as he goes. When Jeongguk reaches for his wrist in an attempt to draw him back, Jimin easily dodges his fingers and offers him a small, reassuring smile over his shoulder. Jeongguk moves to grab him again and succeeds, hoping to hold on to him this time, to pull him into the safety of his chest and refuse to let him leave until he tells him what’s wrong.
He knows he can’t. That may only serve to upset Jimin even further and they’ve both got classes to get to, so he tugs Jimin back only to press a lingering kiss to his downturned, pouted lips. Then, as though Jimin would break should he use too much force, Jeongguk brings the hand he now holds in his own to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to Jimin’s knuckles. The skin is slightly rough from the cold winter yet still so impossibly soft under his lips. Jimin tugs his hand away from Jeongguk’s, pulling the sleeve of his oversized, black sweater over the tips of his fingers as he drops it to his side again. Jeongguk tries to cup Jimin’s jaw, to get his attention, but Jimin won’t meet his eyes.
Before he lets him go for good this time, he calls Jimin’s name, rests their foreheads together to look deep into Jimin’s tired eyes in hopes of finding some kind of crack in the wall that he's trying to build right now. What he finds, though, is that there’s less of a wall and more of just a lack of energy to talk about it – to find some sort of solution. He reaches for Jimin’s hand again to intertwine their fingers, and bumps their noses together before speaking.
“Have a good day sweetheart,” he kisses the tip of Jimin’s nose, “I’ll be here when you get home tonight,” he murmurs, and it’s subtle enough for the corners of Jimin’s lips to quirk up at, Jeongguk’s best silent plea. Please talk to me. I’ll always be here for you.
Jimin stretches up on his toes to kiss Jeongguk more firmly than before; his arms loop around Jeongguk’s neck to bring him even closer. It’s as Jeongguk moves to wrap his arms around Jimin’s waist that he pulls away to tell him he’ll see him then, and Jeongguk watches as Jimin drops back to the flats of his feet and turns on his heel to leave. The door shuts behind him, and a close-lipped smile blooms across Jeongguk’s face.
Thank you, Jimin had told him, for always keeping an eye on me.
Few texts come from Jimin throughout the day seeing as he’s far too busy actually being productive rather than lazy and uninterested. Jeongguk can’t help it, though, because unfortunately, art and design comes with far too many art history courses than he was originally prepared to participate in when he entered university some three-and-a-half years ago. Of the short responses he does receive, most call him a loser and tell him to “pay attention to ur fuckin professor".
They have a few moments while Jimin walks to the campus store after his own lecture, and Jeongguk tries and fails to pry into what it may be that’s weighing on Jimin’s mind. Each angle he tries finds him easily shut down, the topic diverted to something covered in Jimin’s lecture that Jeongguk has no hope of ever understanding, even as he copies and pastes massive, half-Latin words into Google to learn their meaning.
Jimin’s texts become less frequent as Jeongguk’s lecture comes to an end around half past noon, and he ventures traffic has picked up in the store. He boards the bus that will drop him off as close as possible to their apartment – a trek he and Jimin usually made together – while a hundred different scenarios run through his head.
He could pick up a nice wine, make Jimin dinner, and try to get him tipsy enough that he gets his cute little ass off of whatever it is he’s sitting on, but Jeongguk’s not entirely sure he’s okay with mild emotional manipulation, even if it’s for Jimin’s own good. That, and the last time he tried to cook dinner he’d almost burned the apartment down.
Then, maybe he could seduce him? No. No, that’s stupid. Takeout might work, a new place just opened up around the block that Jimin’s been talking about wanting to try. Jeongguk’s heard it’s pretty good – Thai food, if he remembers correctly. Yeah, that could work.
By the time he lets himself through the front door of the building, Jimin has started flooding his phone with stories of rude customers and idiot coworkers. He definitely seems more irritable than normal, and Jeongguk wishes he could head back over and steal him away just for today. Jimin tells him he’s probably past due for a mental breakdown, so Jeongguk offers what little comfort he can; tells him there’s no cuddling in prison and that he only has – his eyes flit to the clock in the top righthand corner of his phone screen – three more hours.
Jimin’s lecture had been short today, granting him enough time to get across campus to work for ten o’clock. It’s both a blessing and a curse that he works so early in the morning. A blessing in that past five in the afternoon, he has nothing to worry about, but a curse in that now he can understand why everyone hates Mondays so fucking much. They’ve always been his busiest days.
After the rush around noon, the store dies right down until the end of Jimin’s shift. His manager is nice enough to allow him to study when he’s not needed for anything else, but the minutes tick by nonetheless. He contemplates calling Jeongguk during his fifteen-minute break just to hear his voice, just because today is worse than normal for no real reason at all. It’s stupid, unreasonable, childish. He has no business bugging Jeongguk with such trivial worries.
He tugs the collar of his sweater further up and the hem as far down as he can. It’s pointless, he knows that. It was Jeongguk’s sweater that he’d taken this morning, which means it’s far too large to not cloak his form in complete obscurity.
Eventually, the end of his shift arrives, and he wastes no time in collecting his things so he can get home as soon as possible. By the time he finally does, he can feel the exhaustion creeping up on him, settling so heavy in his bones it feels as though it’s turning them to lead beneath his skin.
Jeongguk is lying on his side against the back of their couch, a pen hanging from his mouth as he reads through the textbook beneath him. Jimin shuts the door quietly before placing his bag down next to where he and Jeongguk leave their shoes.
It doesn’t take long for Jeongguk to notice Jimin and do away with his book to make more room on the couch. Jimin settles on his back, Jeongguk by his side, looking down at him fondly.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Jimin tells him.
Jeongguk blinks rapidly down at him, his head cocking in that adorably puppy-like way that Jimin loves. “Like what?”
“Just- like- the-” he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. How does he even explain that to Jeongguk? Hey, uh, I kinda hate myself and I want you to keep your damn eyes off of me and forget I exist for the next twenty-four hours, thanks. Yeah, sure, that’ll work. He keeps his mouth shut and his eyes downturned, pawing at the ends of his sleeves again. Tentative fingers slide under the hem of his sweater, graze the bottom of his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans, and he startles away from the contact. His hand instinctively reaches for Jeongguk’s wrist to pry his hand away.
Jeongguk calls his name softly, his brow furrowed at Jimin’s behaviour. Fuck, Jimin hates when he looks worried.
“So that’s what this is,” he murmurs, his nose now buried in the hair just above Jimin’s ear. The movement of his lips against the shell of his ear sends tremors down the back of Jimin’s neck. Then, Jeongguk shifts, positioning himself between Jimin’s legs and sliding him down the throw pillow he leans against. Jimin gasps when Jeongguk’s fingers sneak back under his hoodie, this time in an attempt to slide it up.
“Guk, c’mon,” he pleads. Jeongguk pauses to study Jimin’s face from between his legs, then bows his head to press an open-mouth kiss to Jimin’s thigh through a tear in his jeans.
“You know I’d never, ever judge you, baby, right? And I’d never do anything to hurt you?” he questions, and Jimin nods, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. It looks like it’s wobbling just the slightest. Jeongguk turns his eyes back to the bottom of Jimin’s sweater before he meets Jimin’s gaze again.
“Can I? I won’t take it off if you don’t want to.”
Jimin heaves a heavy sigh as he lets his hands fall to his sides. Jeongguk gives him a grateful smile, pushing his sweater up to the middle of his ribs to mouth gently at the sensitive skin below his navel.
He studies the tan expanse of Jimin’s stomach, the dips and swells of the middle of his chest and hipbones. Jeongguk presses his nose between Jimin’s bottom ribs slightly, sucking the skin into his mouth until he’s left it only the faintest of pink. Jimin is exquisite, velveteen skin heating up under Jeongguk’s explorative fingers.
If one may call them explorative, of course. These patterns are ones he’d long burned into Jimin’s body, a path to follow through the heady fog that clouds his mind whenever he has Jimin underneath him. He knows every single part of him, has loved every single part of him for so damn long he wouldn’t be able fathom the prospect of not being able to have his hands on him. Some way, any way.
How Jimin could miss the beauty in something so divine is beyond Jeongguk’s comprehension. How he could ever think Jeongguk wouldn’t worship the very ground he walks on, the golden glow that radiates from every pore with every smile, every tear, every instance of self-loathing.
He makes his way up Jimin’s body until he can kiss Jimin’s forehead sweetly.
“I love this,” he whispers, trailing the tips of his lips down to the tip of Jimin’s button nose. “And this.” Another kiss.
His mouth leaves fire in its wake as he dots kisses over the apples of Jimin’s cheeks. “And you have the most beautiful eyes, love. And god, your cheeks are so cute.”
He continues his journey down, tickling Jimin’s earlobes and the corners of his jaw and with sweet kisses and tender words. He meets Jimin’s lips last before moving to his neck and collarbones, teeth bared against the unmarred flesh. Jimin is flushed a beautiful shade of red by now, his skin reflecting the hues the sunset that bathes the living room in scarlet gold.
Returning to Jimin’s stomach brings more resistance as Jimin tries to curl in on himself, though all it takes is a whisper of his name and a tight hand around his hip to calm him again. Jeongguk kisses just above Jimin’s belly button, smiling against the downy flesh when Jimin nearly giggles. It’s subtle enough that Jeongguk could miss it were he not lingering just above Jimin’s diaphragm.
“I love your cute little tummy, too, no matter how much you hate it. And I’ll love it no matter how it changes.”
His words are all but suffocated by Jimin’s skin, yet still obviously doting that it makes his heart flutter. The languid drags of Jeongguk’s lips, teeth, and tongue over his stomach are intoxicating, dragging Jimin under hazy waves with each movement. He nips at the plushness around his hips and waist, which elicits the smallest, sweetest of sounds from Jimin’s lips. Jeongguk bites harder, sucks at the skin until blood rushes to the surface under his mouth. There’s a tug at his shoulder-
He schools himself, pulling off to rest his chin just above the button of Jimin’s jeans and gaze up at him.
“You know what part I love the most?” Jeongguk asks, but before Jimin can respond, he lifts the bottom of the sweater until he can slither underneath and press his lips to the soft skin of Jimin’s chest. Jimin tangles his fingers into the loose curls atop Jeongguk’s head. It’s been a favourite hairstyle of his for quite a while now, and Jimin hopes it lasts.
“My left nipple?” Jimin teases. He can feel Jeongguk’s eyes roll.
“Your heart, you dork,” he says, and he sits back – hair a mess – to push the fabric higher up (ignoring a snorted ”gay” from Jimin), rest his hands at the sides of Jimin’s chest, and run the pads of his thumbs over Jimin’s nipples, feeling them harden slightly underneath his touch. It would be so nice to take each one into his mouth just to hear the soft sounds Jimin makes. He’s so sensitive.
That would hardly be fair, though; to put what his dick wants above that which Jimin needs right now, so he steels himself, presses his face into the curve of Jimin’s neck where it meets his neck and nips at the skin.
Tugging at Jeongguk’s hair lightly, Jimin guides their mouths together. He sucks Jeongguk’s bottom lip into his mouth, and shivers when Jeongguk’s fingers rake down his front to settle on his hip.
Jeongguk pulls away just enough to rest their foreheads together, the sounds of their intermingled breathing the only one in the room. He studies Jimin’s darkened eyes for a moment before he leans in to press their lips together again, only chastely this time.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are to me, Jimin. Inside and out, you’re everything I could have ever asked for and I still don’t know how I managed to rope you into marrying me, I really don’t,” he kisses the tip of Jimin’s nose after Jimin offers him a small smile.
“You’re more than what you look like,” he whispers, “you’re talented and kind and intelligent and- and you’re the most incredible man I have ever met, and I hate that I can’t always make you believe that. And I’m so lucky to call you mine.”
Jimin searches Jeongguk’s eyes, a small part of himself waiting for the gotcha, for Jeongguk to take it back, but he finds no hesitance in his gaze. Jeongguk is looking at him like he’s made of pure stardust and spun gold and he just doesn’t understand.
Jeongguk runs the one hand he’s not currently using to hold himself above Jimin from his hip to the swell of his ass, sliding him further down the couch. There is so much unspoken that tumbles from Jeongguk’s mouth as he kisses Jimin fiercely this time: that everything about Jimin – whether unpolished and ragged around the edges or not – is perfect in its own way; that he is infinite, ever changing yet always the exact same Jimin he’d fallen in love with; that every single little nuance and flaw is so wonderfully, undeniably, unequivocally Jimin that he could never so much as imagine asking him to change any part of himself.
I love you, I love you, I love you, you are everything to me.