Chapter Text
Jaemin has never been a morning person. In fact, he is the complete opposite of one.
His roommates back in university were living witnesses to his deep-seated hatred of early mornings. Jaemin was the kind of person who could sleep through multiple alarms, even after setting more than five of them at ten-minute intervals. His phone would blare relentlessly throughout the room, the muffled ringing loud enough to be heard from the dormitory hallway, yet it never seemed to affect him in the slightest.
Since Jaemin, for the love of God, could never bring himself to wake up and turn them off, his roommates eventually took turns snoozing them for him.
To this day, Jaemin remains surprised that his phone survived all four years of university intact. If he had been in their position, he would have been driven to the edge and thrown the device against the wall at the first sign of provocation. Of course, his behavior earned him more than a few lectures over the years. The only way he knew how to make up for it was by looking after his roommates whenever he could. For example: taking out the trash, meticulously sorting recyclables, accepting deliveries, and helping with whatever errands needed doing.
But years have passed, and time does in fact change people. Old habits are unlearned, and suddenly you find yourself acclaimed with change. These days, Jaemin has found himself awake before dawn. He does wake up on a whim, Jaemin doesn’t even set an alarm anymore.
At first, it had been Jeno who woke him. He would gently shake his shoulder, and by the time Jaemin would open his eyes, their curtain was already swept by the side, allowing the sunlight to illuminate their bedroom in shades of gold. When he got up, his blazer and slacks were neatly hung by the corner of their room, his coffee was made exactly to his liking, the breakfast was served piping hot (freshly made by jeno himself).
Jeno had always taken care of everything.
He has always been a morning person. He was already awake, before Jaemin would put down his phone and call it a day. For as long as Jaemin can remember, Jeno has been the first one out of bed and the last one to complain about it.
"Bathroom. Now." Jeno would say, nudging his sides using his elbows (which really is powerful weapon that makes jaemin weak).
Jaemin would groan. Then, if he remained stubbornly planted where he was, Jeno would simply haul him over his shoulder and carry him there himself. Sometimes, if Jaemin was particularly lazy, Jeno would even brush his teeth for him while muttering about how impossible he was, how Jeno couldn't leave him alone for even a single day because Jaemin was simply too irresponsible to be trusted on his own.
Everything would already be prepared before Jaemin's eyes were fully open.
Back then, Jeno would jokingly complain that being with Jaemin felt like raising a child of his own, usually followed by a quiet remark about how taking care of Jaemin was much easier than taking care of himself. At the time, Jaemin had laughed. Now that he thinks about it, he can't actually remember the last time Jeno made breakfast for himself. Or the last time he saw him finish an entire meal without being reminded. He wishes he could turn back time and be more attentive.
The only contribution expected of him was to eat the food Jeno prepared and show up to work on time. By quarter to seven, Jeno would hand him a packed lunch, press a brief kiss against his cheek, and remind him to travel safely.
It had become such a constant part of his life that Jaemin never really stopped to think about it.
But these days, he wakes up an hour or two before Jeno does. Any productive member of society would probably say that spare time whether minuscule or enormous should be used wisely. Perhaps for personal growth through reading, watering the plants on the balcony before they wilted, or simply doing household chores to keep the apartment neat. The general rule is to use the early morning calm and silence to be productive.
Jaemin has that privilege.
Yet he does none of those things.
Instead, he spends a generous amount of that time with great enthusiasm propped up on one elbow, nursing an amused smile as he watches the steady rise and fall of Jeno's chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing as he remains lost in sleep. Jaemin is fully aware that what he is doing is neither productive nor efficient. But he can't help himself. The sight before him is utterly delectable, something he savors leisurely like a starved man finally presented with a feast.
What lies before him is something he could never grow tired of admiring.
By now, he has already memorized the soft curve of Jeno's lips how temptingly pink they are, the elegant slope of his nose, which Jaemin firmly believes is perfect, and the way his long lashes rest against his cheeks. Every day, Jaemin finds himself grateful to every god, deity, and higher being that may exist. Out of all the people in the world who could have stood in his place, it was him that Jeno chose. Him. He alone was given the rare privilege of witnessing the exquisite beauty before him, an artwork brought to life, one that no one else could ever see in quite the same way.
A private gallery.
One that belonged entirely to him.
Perfect. That is what he whispers to himself. Jeno is perfect, in every form and every essence. If given the opportunity, Jaemin would gladly spend all day admiring his husband. The start of his day is repetitive, maybe even boring, but it is something he would not trade for anything at all.
Today is no different.
Jaemin’s eyes snap open before his alarm even has the chance to do its job. He doesn’t know why he still sets it when it has become practically useless. He fumbles for his phone, silences it, and places it back on the nightstand.
4:45 AM.
The room is still pitch dark, the sun not even close to rising. The only sounds are the faint rumbling purr of their cat curled at the foot of the bed, and the soft, steady breathing beside him, Jeno, still deeply asleep, buried under the duvet so completely that only a tuft of black hair is visible. Too still, Jaemin thinks for a fleeting moment. But then again, Jeno has always been like this when he sleeps. Or when he doesn’t.
It was a shame, really, that Jaemin couldn’t begin his usual ritual of admiring the person beside him properly. Still, he is grateful just to have Jeno there, warm on his side of the bed.
A goddamn shame, though.
Some office affair. A mandatory early meeting. Because the higher-ups had apparently decided that 7 AM was a perfectly reasonable time to demand human functioning. Jaemin is quietly furious about it. How dare they. How dare they take even this from him. His mornings are sacred. They are the only time he gets Jeno like this, quiet, unguarded, close enough to touch.
He shifts slightly, eyes lingering on Jeno’s face for a moment longer.
Jeno doesn’t stir.
He rarely does, these days, unless Jaemin calls his name directly or touches his hand long enough to pull him back.
Instinctively, he thinks of prying the covers open peppering his husband’s face with his usual morning ritual of kisses. One on his temple, one on his nose, one at the corner of his mouth, soft presses against his cheeks, even the small mole beneath his eye never spared. And when Jeno stirs awake, still groggy, still half-lost in sleep, Jaemin would pull him into a bone-crushing hug, trapping him close until Jeno turns an embarrassed shade of red, lightly pushing at his shoulder and telling him to get lost.
And if Jaemin is lucky, really lucky, Jeno might even kiss him back properly, with something close to enthusiasm.
It is free to dream, so he dreams big.
A man like Jaemin can only dream.
Jeno is sleeping peacefully, which has become a rare sight lately.
There are nights when Jeno doesn’t really sleep so much as drift, waking in the quiet hours, staring into the dark like he’s waiting for something that never arrives. Sometimes he sits up without a word, careful not to wake Jaemin, and ends up in the living room with the television on the lowest volume, trying to coax himself back into rest that never fully comes. And in the mornings, he looks… the same.
Just a little more careful about it.
Jaemin knows better than to pretend he doesn’t notice.
So Jaemin ignores the urge, the want, the temptation to snuggle his husband; instead, he chooses to be a proper adult and ignore the worldly possessions, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jaemin leans down and presses the lightest kiss to the crown of Jeno’s head.
“Good morning, aegi” he whispers before untangling himself from Jeno’s hold.
Jeno has become extra clingy these days, to some extent, but Jaemin doesn’t complain at all. He carefully eases himself out of Jeno’s grip on his sleep-worn shirt, moving with practiced gentleness.
The way Jeno is curled up on their bed almost tempts him to stay a little longer, drawn in like a moth toward warmth.
But he resists.
The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind him is the moment Jaemin’s day officially begins.
The usually quiet, untouched kitchen comes alive with the hiss of the stove and the soft aroma of sesame oil filling the air.
Jaemin moves with quiet precision, each step deliberate. He had eaten toast earlier something he quickly prepared on a whim, but that was just for him. Jaemin is a devoted husband, and as a devoted husband, he only serves properly thought-out meals for Jeno.
Even though he had felt tired and drained from work the night before, one look at Jeno had been enough to fill him with renewed energy. Before he had even gone to bed, the refrigerator was already stocked with neatly packed containers of chopped vegetables and prepped ingredients for Jeno’s meals.
For someone working a full 7-to-5 job (often with overtime) Jaemin is meticulous in the effort he puts into this. He could have easily asked someone else to do it. He could have ordered takeout without a second thought.
But that isn’t him.
Jaemin equates effort with love.
And lately, Jeno hasn’t had the energy for much of anything sometimes struggling to get out of bed, sometimes not even deciding what he wants to eat.
So Jaemin quietly made the decision for both of them.
He took over that part.
Jeno rarely touches his dishes these days, something Jaemin could easily be offended by if he allowed himself to be. But he understands. He understands Jeno far too well to reduce it to something so surface-level. It isn’t about the food. It never really is. Still, he makes sure to cook warm meals every day, because it’s one of the few things he can still do for him.
Before he can drift too far into thought, something soft brushes against his ankle.
Their cat has finally made its way into the kitchen, circling his feet with persistent meows and wide, expectant eyes. Jaemin crouches down immediately, a small smile tugging at his lips as he pats its head.
"Yes, yes, I know. You're starving.”
“You are acting like you have never been fed a day in your life."
He steps aside to portion out their wet food, precisely measured, because the vet was very clear. "Your cat is bordering on obese. Overfeeding an animal is a form of abuse. If they gain more weight, you'll restrict their movement entirely." Jaemin took that seriously. He writes down their portions on a sticky note now and keeps track like it's a second job. He loves those little furballs too much to love them to death.
The cat dive into their bowls, purring. Jaemin watches her for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
Then he turns back to breakfast. He plates Jeno’s meal with care, arranging everything neatly, even adding a small side of pickled radish because Jeno likes the crunch. He knows Jeno might not eat it.Most days, the lunchbox comes back half-full or untouchedand Jaemin quietly packs it away without a word.
But he still prepares it the same way every time. Because maybe today will be different.
Maybe today Jeno will eat properly. Maybe today he’ll feel hungry enough to finish a bite or two.
He grabs a sticky note and a pen.
you've got this. i believe in you. — J
He sticks it on the fridge, right at eye level, where Jeno will see it when he shuffles into the kitchen. He wished Jeno would find himself wandering around the kitchen.
5:30 AM.
Jaemin sighs. Time to shower.
The shower is quick.
Too quick, maybe.
Jaemin barely spends ten minutes inside. In his haste, he even brushes his teeth mid-shower, letting the foam dissolve under the running water. When he steps out, he checks himself in the mirror, styling his hair the way Jeno likes it best. He shaves carefully, even though the stubble is barely there, just enough to make himself look presentable. He wipes down the sink afterward, like always, before heading back into the bedroom.
His favorite pair of slacks is already hanging neatly on the closet door.
Pressed. Crisp.
Jeno must have done it at some point, yesterday, maybe. Jaemin doesn’t remember hearing him move around much, but they are perfect. And that alone is enough. Jeno thought of him. His chest warms at the thought. These days, Jeno doesn’t talk much. Sometimes he barely responds beyond a nod or a quiet hum, distant in a way that Jaemin refuses to name too loudly in his mind.
But still—
He thought of him. Of Jaemin. Because he still matters. Jaemin lets himself hold onto that thought for a moment longer than usual.Then the clock ticks forward, and reality pulls him back.He dresses quickly, almost clumsily, nearly tripping over himself as he buttons his shirt while stepping into his shoes.
Speaking of Jeno.
He should be up by now.
Jaemin rushes back into their bedroom, only to find the same familiar shape still there—a lump in the middle of the bed, unmoving. No signs of stirring. No shift in the blankets. No indication of consciousness at all. A familiar pang tightens in his chest.
He drops his suitcase immediately, the sound heavier than it should be, and moves toward the bed. He knows he is probably overreacting. Jeno has bad days. Days where he sleeps so deeply it’s like he’s burrowed under the covers to hibernate through winter, refusing to surface until the world feels easier again. It’s not unusual anymore. It has become his normal.
But there was a time—
A time Jaemin doesn’t forget.
The day he had rushed back home after realizing he’d forgotten his laptop. He had an investor presentation. Something important. Something he couldn’t afford to miss. And yet, that day had looked eerily like this. The bedroom door left slightly ajar. Silence too thick inside. Jaemin calling Jeno’s name, receiving nothing in return.
Until he stepped in.
Until he found Jeno on the bed, completely still.
Until the scattered pills on the carpet.
The paramedics had said if he had been even thirty minutes later, things would have turned out differently. Jaemin swallows hard. He is already running late. The earliest train is his only chance of making it before seven. Missing it would mean everything unraveling for the day ahead. But none of that matters. Not now. Not here.
His breath catches as he takes another step forward.
What if—
He shakes Jeno gently.
“Aegi. Baby. Wake up.”
Nothing.
“Jeno.”
His voice cracks, just a little. He smooths the hair away from Jeno’s face, leaning down to press soft kisses along his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his eye.
“Sweetheart, I have to go. Please wake up for me.”
He shakes him again, harder than he means to.
“Jeno. Please.”
Panic begins to flood his system. Jaemin grabs Jeno’s shoulder and carefully turns him over, and—
Jeno’s eyes finally flutter open.
Groggy. Confused. A little annoyed.
“What—what—”
The tension in Jaemin breaks. He collapses forward, forehead pressing against Jeno’s chest as he finally breathes again. In. Out. Slow, shaky. Counting the heartbeat beneath his ear like an anchor.
One. Two. Three.
He was overreacting again. Just like last time. Just like always.
“You’re crushing me,” Jeno mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
A sound leaves Jaemin that’s halfway between a laugh and something more fragile.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Jeno doesn’t ask why. Maybe he already knows. Maybe he feels it in the way Jaemin is still trembling, the way his hands don’t quite stop moving even now, as if afraid stillness will make something disappear. Maybe he remembers too.
The hospital lights and the way Jaemin held on like letting go was not an option.
“Still here,” Jeno whispers.
Jaemin exhales against his chest.
Still here. Still warm. Still real.
“I know,” he says quickly, gently because Jeno doesn’t need the weight of that memory pressed onto him too. “I know. Just… missed you. That’s all.”
He stays there for exactly ten seconds longer. Then he forces himself to move. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and puts on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I made you breakfast. It’s on the kitchen counter.”
“Eat it, okay?”
The words come out softer now. Careful. Almost pleading. Jeno doesn’t answer immediately, only watching him with a quiet, unreadable look.
“Please, aegi… or just—just text me. A single word. That’s all. So I know you’re okay.”
“I have to go now.”
A pause.
“I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
Jeno’s gaze shifts slightly, meeting his properly now.
His eyes look tired.
Jaemin notices.
He always notices.
He leans down and presses one last kiss to Jeno’s forehead, letting it linger just a moment longer than necessary