No one could change your mind about 'love'.
It was a deception created to corrupt, to destroy, to swallow you in the shadow of its lies, losing yourself in the process.
On the other side of town, Min Yoongi, a man with an old soul and tired of bei...
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These messages became more and more frequent, the needy desire to spend time together, more and more palpable.
The sex was as always, everything, yet it was after, when both parties weren't satisfied for the day but knew they needed to take a break, that made all the difference.
The time spent together in between being physical only strengthened whatever bond was forming between you and Yoongi.
You might not have realized, of course, that was never your intention, but your heart slowly started melting away the huge barrier surrounding it, swiftly allowing tiny moments to warm your soul.
For every time he smiled, you smiled.
For sometimes you found your stare, lingering for just a minute longer than it should, admiring the man who cared for your growling stomach the moment you took a break, the man who would play you his melodies every time you asked, the man who never drank coffee around you, even though you could see him eyeing the coffee machine.
'Break-time' became somewhat of a tradition, where you would find things to do together, whether it be playing games to drive you back to the bedroom, watching some stand-up special where he would debunk the jokes instead of laughing, giving you the most -grandpa look you've ever seen, cooking together or just talking your brains out, until one of you, usually you, fell asleep.
You would always wake up to a blanket around your legs and the shifting tone of piano keys.
You would always reprimand him for letting you sleep, he'd always respond: I am not having sex with a corpse.
He cared for your rest, your job always demanding extra from you, so he would just let you sleep for as long as you needed, because he also knew he had just put you to work and it was never just one time with you.
He could never get enough. It wasn't about sex at all. It was about the momentum of having you in his arms, connected deeply for that time being, seeing you so vulnerable, so willing, so open to him.
Not fighting him off when he steals a kiss or two, not running away from intimacy. For in those moments, when you're having sex, he feels he's your partner in more ways than one.
Even if you don't want it.
Even if you can't admit it.
He feels the shift. In him. In you.
It's the small things. The little check-ins after having been together, to make sure you're recovering... or he is.
The cute and silly jokes you send each other through text, just to tease and provoke.
The small details of receiving a good-night text from him. He knows he cannot be cheesy and clingy, so he beats one up and takes the most artsy pics to wish you goodnight, keeping the sexual innuendos but also, sprinkling in some lovin'.
