Work Text:
It’s early enough when Namjoon steps out onto the balcony that the sun is barely more than a suggestion on the horizon, but between the gradually lightening sky and the ever-present glow of the city skyline, he finds that he has just enough light to see by as he settles in one of the lounge chairs and opens the old, worn out journal he still keeps around for nights just like this—when his thoughts get too loud and he can’t quiet them long enough to fall asleep.
He’s so wrapped up in the words spilling out across the page that he doesn’t even notice the sound of the balcony doors sliding open, doesn’t notice that he is no longer alone until suddenly fingers are carding through his hair—he startles, but relaxes almost immediately; he’d know that touch anywhere—and a kiss is pressed to the top of his head.
“What are you doing out here?” Jimin asks, voice hushed in the early morning quiet.
Namjoon closes the journal on his lap, leaving the pen between the pages to mark his place. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.
Jimin hums. “Neither can I, when you’re not there.”
Namjoon reaches up, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. “C’mere,” he mutters, tugging on Jimin’s hand until he comes around the chair and clambers into Namjoon’s lap. It takes them a moment to find a comfortable position on the chair that was definitely not made to seat two grown men, but after a moment they settle, Jimin stretched out along Namjoon’s side and tucked beneath his arm. Even after being together for so long, it still amazes Namjoon just how right it feels to have Jimin close like this. Like a piece he didn’t even know he was missing just slots perfectly into place when they’re together.
Jimin makes a content sound, almost a purr, as he snuggles close. “You’re so warm,” he mumbles, face pressed to Namjoon’s chest.
“It’s too cold out here,” Namjoon says, rubbing his bare arm. He’d come outside in nothing more than the silk pajama set he’d worn to bed, the one Namjoon had gotten him for their anniversary last year. “You should go back to bed.”
“Not without you.”
For a moment they lay there in silence, content in each other’s company, the only sounds the wind whipping around the corner of the building, and the early morning traffic on the street below. Namjoon thinks this is really all he needs—the peachy pink sky and the love of his life in his arms.
Happiness doesn’t need to be anything more than this.
After a little while, though, Jimin shifts, pulling back just enough to look up at Namjoon’s face. “Were you working on a song?” he asks.
Namjoon glances down at the journal where he’d set it aside on the ground before shifting his gaze back to Jimin. “Uh—yeah, I was,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Can I—” Jimin hesitates, chewing on his lower lip. “Can I read it?”
Namjoon stills, his other hand faltering where he’d been tracing an abstract pattern against Jimin’s hip. There isn’t much to share; the words on the page barely resemble anything close to a song right now, mostly just a collection of ideas he’ll let percolate for a few months before he gets a sudden burst of inspiration and strings them all together into something coherent. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of letting Jimin or anyone else hear his lyrics at all, let alone in such a raw state. There’s just something so intimate about the act of laying all his innermost thoughts bare like that—but then again, no one in the world knows him more intimately than Jimin does.
Mistaking his silence for rejection, Jimin sighs, petting his chest soothingly. “Of course, you don’t have to—” he starts.
“Wait, baby.” Namjoon kisses his forehead. “You can read it, just—keep in mind that I started writing it about twenty minutes ago and it’s pretty rough.”
Jimin nods eagerly, and Namjoon reaches for the journal, handing it to him. He opens it to the marked page and stares at it for a moment, lips pursed in a pout, before he looks back up at Namjoon. “Actually, I don’t have my glasses—”
Namjoon scoffs, and the look he gives Jimin is immeasurably fond as he takes the journal from him. “Alright,” he murmurs, his voice going low as he begins to read what he’d been furiously scribbling earlier.
“There are so many words circulating around me, but none feels like how I feel. I can just feel it, like the moon surely rises after the sun rises, like fingernails grow, like the trees undress themselves layer by layer when the winter comes, that you are the one who will give meaning to my memories.”
He pauses, and even though he doesn’t look at Jimin, he can feel the weight of his gaze on him. He clears his throat, and keeps going.
“I’m just a human. You erode all my edges, and make me a love.” Here he does look over, and he meets Jimin’s gaze, his eyes wide and glittering like they contain all the stars in the sky. “I learned, thanks to you, why saram and sarang sound similar.”
Jimin’s breath hitches. “Namjoon,” he says softly.
“It’s about you.” Namjoon knows Jimin is smart enough to figure that much out for himself, but he just—needs him to know. “Every song and poem and half-formed idea in this book. They’re all about you.”
For a brief moment Jimin only looks at him, and then he’s reaching up, curling his hand around the back of Namjoon’s neck and pulling him down into a bruising kiss.
“I love you,” he says, his lips brushing Namjoon’s. “I’m so in love with you.”
The journal drops back to the ground, momentarily forgotten as Namjoon gathers Jimin into his arms and kisses him again—first his lips, then his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his cute little nose.
“I love you too, baby,” he says. “So much. I’m so glad it was you who sat next to me on that plane.”
Jimin pulls back with a giggle, hiding his smile behind a dainty hand. “Just think—if I hadn’t wanted the aisle seat, you might have fallen in love with my client instead.”
Namjoon can’t help the unattractive snort that erupts out of him. “He wasn’t quite my type, if I recall,” he points out.
“Oh?” Jimin’s grin shifts, curls into a smirk. “And what is your type, exactly?”
Namjoon shrugs the shoulder Jimin isn’t laying on. “Small,” he says, ignoring Jimin’s indignant huff. “Cute. But also incredibly sexy.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I’ll introduce you to him sometime.”
Jimin lets out a peal of laughter, slapping Namjoon’s chest. “I changed my mind. I hate you.”
“No.” Namjoon squeezes him a little tighter, nuzzling against his cheek. “I think you love me, actually.”
“God, I really do.”
Jimin moves, then, pushing himself up onto his knees and straddling Namjoon’s thighs. He leans forward, and just barely brushes his lips over Namjoon’s—more a promise of things to come than an actual kiss.
“You should take me back to bed,” he whispers, shivering either from the morning chill or from the way Namjoon trails his fingers over the exposed skin of his thighs.
Namjoon hums in agreement. “Good idea,” he says, gripping the backs of Jimin’s thighs and lifting him as he pushes himself to his feet. Jimin squeals, wrapping his legs around Namjoon’s waist as he’s hauled into the air and carried into the bedroom, where there is plenty of inspiration for other songs to be found.