enhypen imagines.

[8:28 pm]

"Seriously? We're watching that movie again?"

From Jay's position by the kitchenette, he sees you throw up your hands in defeat and your posture hints that there's a very, very high chance of him sleeping outside later if he doesn't shut up soon. When you turn to glare at him he straightens up immediately, lips pulling into a straight line.

"Jay, that's the eights movie I've suggested and you've nearly finished all the ramyeon," you retort, gesturing sternly to the chaos strewn across the coffee table, "are we doing movie night, or am I going to sit here while you go on tangents about how illogical horror movies are?"

"But they are!" He insists, stirring the second batch of ramyeon meticulously before turning off the stove. "Every single character's an idiot."

"That's the point! You watch them and poke fun at how idiotic they are," you justify as you pull your hood over your head, adding in a murmur (which Jay definitely heard): "Scaredy-cat."

He drops the noodle pot on the coffee table with a sigh, making sure to send you the most threatening gaze he can muster, but you pay no heed to his efforts as you choose a film you've held very close to your heart, and he perks up when the television screen flashes. "What did you pick?"

You don't answer, your specs turning into discs of light as it reflects the opening credits on the screen, so Jay stays put, watches silently, and when he glimpses a sequence that's far too familiar he groans dismally. "Really? Shrek 3?"

"It's either this or Bee Movie," you shrug, grabbing a pair of chopsticks without looking before digging in the steaming pot of spicy ramyeon, "I won't take any complaints—now sit your butt down and enjoy the movie."

Grumbling quietly, Jay complies and plops down beside you on the couch; having watched this so frequently with you as kids he's practically memorized every word on the script, so he opts to keep warm instead, draping a blanket over your bodies.

Surprisingly, the movie isn't as obnoxious as he remembers it, but you both end up talking to each other twenty minutes in, relaying ridiculous stories about his members and the boggling rumors circling around your neighborhood. As you both lapse into silence, you feel Jay's gaze on your face—his mouth opening and closing like he's deciding what to say, and you bite your cheek to suppress a smile, and he knows you've caught on.

He half-expects you to tease him because it's only been three months, you baby, did you really miss me that much? But his heart jumps when you put your head on his shoulder gently, cheek pressed against his hoodie and you smell like lavender and warmth spills inside chest like fireworks across inky skies; you missed him, too.

He knows you hate it when you hear cliché stuff like home is where the heart is, but with you holding every piece of his heart, he thinks it's never been truer.