BTS Imagines

Mornings without you (Yoongi x Reader)

Only one pair of bare feet tread the birch wood of the living room, trying to be as silent as possible though the age of the building does not exclude this particular apartment from its flaws and thus groans lowly and barely noticeable were it that the silence was not so incredibly empty except for the vague sounds of morning traffic outside the wintery white see-through curtains hanging in front of windows set in brick walls painted with enough alabaster paint to prevent the ugly dark clay colour from peeking out and framed in ebony Maccasar.

They pass the door that leads to the room of the man with raven hair that somehow always manages to find new ways in which to avoid the very person they invited to their home to become a flatmate, helping in setting up by carrying the light brown cardboard boxes stickered on all sides with warnings of "FRAGILE!" even when the goods were not from the entrance hall all the way to the third floor via the stairs, going up and down at least five, if not more, times. Any remark of the aid not being necessary to the extent it was offered, was met by a sarcastic yet polite comment of it being common sense and duty to help somebody move in when having offered them a home.

Despite living together, we barely know each other. Conversation over an early cup of black coffee, always the level of bitterness he likes, on the purplish grey velvet sofa tucked against one of the striped navy cushions consists of nothing more but a few exchanged words, topics started randomly and quickly becoming awkward as gazes avert down toward the shared beverages and voices lose enthusiasm in speech.

Nonetheless, even as I daily watch the upcoming lyricist and composer disappear to the studio set up in his room or to the job as a salesperson at a music shop in the dark brass mirror hanging on the far wall after he has put down his mug on the Pau Rosa coffee table whilst the roasted aroma of mine still fills the air, a kind of bond has formed via the little we know of each other.

But it is enough to live in peace and amiably, though the one-time disturbance of work at home met by a flurry of curses and a poisonous glare afterwards at dinner during the first week of living together taught me well enough not to interrupt when songs are being created. Otherwise, the apartment would have turned into a merciless battlefield long ago.

However, there is one thing that keeps gnawing away at curiosity, making it worse every early hour spent before going to the office and boring life of a receptionist at a real estate office or staying in on a free day without a partner to talk to: the precise reason why Yoongi keeps evading me at every twist and turn, now even neglecting the awkward though comforting hush that has become part of the morning routine.

Hence, whilst the coffee machine stutters alive with a loud buzzing and the soft trickle of the kick-starter in the glass jug takes some of the discomfort away, those very same feet padding the formerly present hush carefully make their way back into the small hallway and towards the door of the flatmate's chamber.

Were it not for the way they are stopped dead in their tracks in the entrance that parts the hallway from the living room by the person they came looking for, eyes still puffy with the last remains of slumber, bangs covering the forehead just as messy as the onyx shirt with an O-collar disheveled by the tossing and turning during the nightly hours, undoubtedly suffering from insomnia caused by the desire to continue the latest project.

For a moment those dark narrow eyes seem to widen, albeit it very possible it is just a fantasy conjured up by the still unconscious part of the self, when registering in spite of a groggy mind who is actually perceived before asking with a raspy hoarse voice laced ever so slightly with annoyance: 'What? What are you gawking at?'

A few seconds with the mouth agape, speechless by the sudden turn in events, not having expected to run into Yoongi even after knocking on the door across the bathroom like the initial plan was. Breathing stops altogether whilst regarding the man standing incredibly close yet feels so far away, especially after a shameful step backwards is set to create more space to move around in. 'Y/N, is something going to come out or are you just gonna stand there like a dimwit?'