Don't Wanna Be Your Boy | Yoonmin

18

"Mr. and Ms. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much," Yoongi read quietly. His pale fingers curled around the yellowing pages of his copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone, and his voice purring in his throat and falling gently into the warm air. His ankles were crossed under the many blankets he'd placed over his bed to provide lots of heat and comfort for the boy cuddled into his side, the boy who's slender leg was hooked around his waist, who's damp face pressed to his chest. He played with Jimin's hair softly in his free hand, knowing he found it soothing, and he sighed in content, lashes fluttering slowly as he listened to the words forming on Yoongi's pretty, candy lips.

"They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, but he did have a very large mustache."

Harry Potter was Jimin's favorite book series of all time, and as soon as Yoongi was aware of the fact, eyes lighting up with both excitement and inspiration, he'd dressed him up in his comfy clothes that smelled just like him, snuggled him up in thick covers, sunk down on the mattress next to him with the first book in his hands, and decided to read to him as soon as he was comfortable.

Jimin could feel his warm, sugar white skin against his own, the fuzzy socks on his feet pressed to Yoongi's cold toes, gentle breaths falling from parted lips and tickling his collarbones. Tingles of pleasure and bursts of warmth jumped across his body, small fingers curling into Yoongi, seeking reassurance and always finding it in him.

Everything hurt, but when Yoongi was there he made it a little better.

"It's okay not to be okay," He said, and he let Jimin sob into him, cry out all the warped agony tearing through him, and held his hand through the storm.

"Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent most of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley, and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere..."

Yoongi held his hand through everything, and he hadn't let go.

He was still holding his hand.

And his fingers felt safe laced in his.

And he felt special in his embrace.

He felt like he was being seen under his gaze.

He clutched on tighter, folding in further, breathing in his intoxicating scent, listening to the way his voice rumbled above his rib cage, and the constant thud of his heart beat.

This was home.

He was home.