enhypen imagines.

[5:23 pm]

"Geez."

Jay has half a mind to point out how you sound like an old geezer (heh) when you punch the area beside your right shoulderblade, but to be frank, he isn't really any better: his throat is sore after having one too many takes with that one godforsaken line he could never quite perfect, and he'd kept at it until Heeseung told him to take it easy, we don't want you hurting yourself and Jay knows he's right but bitter dissatisfaction hangs on his tongue, lips pulling into a frown.

You sigh as you prepare two mugs with chai teabags, and you only realize that Jay's followed you into the kitchenette when you slump against the wall beside the fridge. A soft chuckle escapes you when you meet eyes. "Hey, you."

"Hi," he doesn't miss the way fatigue has worn down your own voice, and his chest aches a little when he notices you still holding a smile. Today must've been tiring for you, too, and he aches because he wishes he could shoulder the world's weight for you.

But he knows you're capable; he cannot fight your battles for you, so he lends you his time as you share stories to ease off the weight on your heart and on your shoulders. Once or twice you find yourself trailing off, laughing at the thought that your companion might be bored out of his mind, but joy blooms within you when Jay smiles softly at you, moving closer. "And? Then what happened?"

You listen intently when it's him who shares the burdens of his day, and though he's tired of having hundreds of eyes seared onto his every move Jay appreciates your gentle gaze and even gentler words, and the thread of nerves winding around his throat unravels slowly at your palms because he feels like he exists, that he isn't just someone fading into the thrumming rush of the city.

In this tiny corner of the kitchen, sheltered from the subdued hues of Seoul and its rainy, glittering pavements, you and Jay become each other's safe haven. You both create a space where the both of you can breathe, even if just for a moment, before diving back in deep waters again, and you wish you could do more as you hand him his tea, warm and aromatic. "I..."

"Yeah?"

"This is going to sound dumb, but can you... please just hold me?" You ask, smiling apologetically, "you don't have to do it if you don't want to. I'll understand—"

He wraps his arms around you and it feels like home. You know you're terrible with words when it comes to things like this but you hope that he understands when you wrap your arms around his waist, know that I am grateful for you. Thank you for being here.

(He does. It's what he tells you every time he hands you coffee, slices you fruits during all-nighters, stays up late just so someone would be there when you get home. He knows.)

You pull away to smile at him; your best friend, your solace. "Rest up, okay? We both did well today. I'm proud of you."