Jikook's Fanfiction Collection

Forever

On Sunday morning, Jimin wakes up to a faceful of someone's collarbones, a pair of strong arms locking him in an embrace. The mild scent of soap catches his attention as he noses into the skin.

"Guk." It's not a question, nor an acknowledgement, just a tiny murmur to express his happiness really. The body beneath his own lets out a small hum, and Jimin adjusts his position so that he can stare down at Jeongguk, who shoots him a crooked, sleepy grin. He returns it with one just as sweet.

"Morning sunshine," the younger greets, voice low and raspy with sleep, eyes still unfocused. Jimin waits for him to say something else, maybe even fall back asleep, but Jeongguk just gazes up at him, lazy smile in place.

"Why are you looking at me like that, cutie?" Jimin mumbles, and one of the younger's hands comes up to rest on his shoulder.

"You just look gorgeous, that's all," he replies truthfully, rolling them over and burying his face into Jimin's neck, voice gradually fading into a sleepier murmur, sounding very much at peace. "Who needs the morning sun when you exist?"

Then he falls back asleep, leaving Jimin very surprised (and very physically helpless beneath all his muscle mass), a sugary warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach. He's still smiling when Seokjin walks in to wake them up for breakfast, fifteen minutes later.

On Monsday morning, he walks into the kitchen before anyone else, knowing it's his turn to make breakfast. He finds Jeongguk sitting on the kitchen counter like the overgrown child he is, in wrinkled pyjamas, hair somewhat resembling a bird's nest, a grin revealing his bunny-teeth.

"Morning, my love," he sings, and Jimin chuckles with a fond shake of his head, gathering up cooking utensils, "Can I help?"

A groan morphs into a whine as it leaves Jimin's throat. "You don't—please don't."

Jeongguk pouts at him, and Jimin ignores him in favour of tip-toeing to reach something on the top shelf. The younger hops off the counter and grabs it for him with ease.

"I can help, see," Jeongguk insists, pushing the pot into Jimin's arms and smiling. "I promise."

Reluctantly, the shorter boy agrees, and his boyfriend lets out a victory whoop that has him regretting his decision already. Surprisingly though, breakfast preparations proceed smoothly (soft, lazy love songs spilling out of Jeongguk's phone from its place on the dining table) with almost no problems.

Almost, because just as Jimin's almost done, the familiar, gentle strum of a guitar comes floating through the air, followed by a smooth, soft voice, singing sweet promises in English that Jimin can only half comprehend. There's an inquisitive poke at his arm.

"A dance, sweetheart?" comes Jeongguk's voice. The elder sighs and closes his eyes, half-exasperated, half-flustered. He smiles to himself, facing the younger, and takes his hand that's already outstretched in an offer.

They sway in slow circles, not really in time with the beat of the song, but rather to one unheard to anyone else—the synced rhythm of their pulses. Jimin loops his arms around the other's neck as hands come to rest at his waist, and two pairs of eyes get lost in each other.

"I'm so in love with you, and I hope you know," Jeongguk sings along, in accented English, sounding so much sweeter than the original. He touches his forehead to Jimin's, and suddenly two pairs of lips are so, so close, saccharine lyrics flowing off one onto the other. They sigh as the song comes to an end, golden light flooding through the window, like it does every morning, and it all feels so familiar, so right (like they've done this over and over, for eons long before this).