BTS - BLACKPINK One-Shots [CLOSED]

Sleepy - NamJen

Hi, this is a story shared by kawamurash . Please do check her profile and feel free to ask her anything. :)

----------------------------------------------

A/N

Hi :) i'm writing a lizkook hogwarts au on aff (mondenschein17) if anyone's interested :)

*

namjen sleepy cuddles, that's all this is

*

Namjoon is awaken slowly by the sound of his door closing.

The first thought that passes him, there's a whiff of last-night's coffee and the familiar whirring of his aircon. There's also a scent. Hers. the smell hits him, subtly, and he half-dreams of a candle, and her skin, the candle heat vaporates her skin into a blur of dissolved yellow, smooth, smells nice, but skin...the image bothers him that his brain sucks it into a shutdown and he wakes up for the second time. He inhales the air, deep, automatic, partly conscious, filling his lung and his head with it. Perhaps that's why his nose is awake faster than his consciousness.

He rises, sleepily realizing he dozed off on the studio desk.

He wonders how long has he been asleep.

it takes a few blinks for him to register his surrounding. "Hey," he's hoarse with slumber, but welcoming, longing for her to come close, almost an instinct than a thought. He streches his back, Jennie is at his door for whatever reason at...2.56 AM—so his desk clock says. "What are you doing here, not—," he yawns, "—sleeping?" with his sleep-heavy voice, his words sound like an empty concern, but it's never like that with him, he always means it. Namjoon slowly feels his arm waking up. He tries turning his chair around but ends up dropping a pen he didn't notice he held.

The sound alerts him vaguely of his situation. He stares at his desk, trying to recollect whatever he left off unfinished last night, scratched lines and scattered cds; his arm wrinkles with a trace of careless snoozing, probably from being bend wrongly, and then he catches Jennie's reflection on his desk monitor. That jacket they bought, he thinks, faintly, the jacket she said she hates, he thinks. Jennie is small in his arms and she looks small like this. There's a photo of her pasted in the corner of his screen, taken on his birthday, front view, juxtaposed with her live reflection that only shows her back.

It takes him a staggering moment to realize that that's all he sees for a few seconds: her back to him and her face on the door.

He frowns.

"Jennie?"

And then he hears it.

Namjoon is stupid like this: he has so much thoughts to sort, so much matters to attend to, he doesn't see a lock in his luggage so he breaks it. He's so focused in cutting, so focused in the edge of the knife and how it touched the onion, he doesn't see the knife handle has finger pads so he gets it all upside down. He knocks down a mug in front of his eyes. He knocks down mugs in front of his eyes. A concrete, sensory bigger picture is not his merit, and just like that, he didn't realize Jennie came in sobbing until he's ready to know why she didn't move an inch, or maybe he can blame it on his current state, but given his history, maybe not.

He stands up, wants to run but realizes it probably is impractical, given his long limbs and small studio, each sob waking him up a little more, a curse to his ignorance, a clench to his throat. He circles his hand around her waist, something his body does without thinking, exercised, but with more urgency this time. "Jennie," he manages to croak, quietly, "my Jennie," and with her trembles, she's tinier than he remembers. In half-formed thought, Namjoon kinda wanna bury his face in her shampoo smell that makes him a little heady, whose scent he recreates with a diffuser in this room because Jennie doesn't use perfume, and go to hell for his inability to stop his mind from wandering inappropriately when she's vulnerable like this. Lack of sleep makes him lacks inhibition, even in the head.