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It’s dark and warm, the scent of slept-in sheets and an amalgamation of smell’s Dokja knows belong to him wakes him from his dreamless sleep. It isn’t long before Dokja senses another set of smells that belong to Joonghyuk, and a warmth that seeps deeper through his clothes, obviously belonging to Joonghyuk.
In his haze, Dokja makes out the odd but familiar shapes of their shared room, the plain colour of their wall, and the moonlight casting a window silhouette across it. Little dust particles dance in the light like faraway stars, twinkling away in an unnamed direction into the shadows.
This indicates that it is still well into the night, and Dokja should not be awake at this time. Yet here he is, blinking tiredly at his wall, basking in Joonghyuk’s endless warmth in his sleep-induced embrace. Thinking that this is simply a gap in the night he will remember in the morning, Dokja waits for sleep to drag him back into the shapeless and colourless rest. He blinks once, his body too sluggish for any movement he can think of in the moment. It’s not as if he wants to move, really; it was a case of seeing if he was awake enough to do it. Which he can’t, so he continues to blink.
On his second blink, he quickly loses interest in counting how many dots he can see on the wall and focuses more on Joonghyuk’s deep and featherlight breathing on his neck. Usually, his rhythmic breathing is ticklish, however, sleep reduces Dokja’s nerves significantly until it is but a soft lull of humidity against his skin. An exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide directly on his nape. With this thought, Dokja tries to remember what this process was called, thinking back to summery days and boring lectures. Pictures laden with yellow and that familiar blue sky, he saw every lunch or so. He thinks back to Joonghyuk shaped scenes overlayed in the sun’s apricity and the classroom’s unflattering atmosphere, he thinks back to how effortlessly immaculate Joonghyuk would appear at school, what his writing looked like, his favourite game he would crush on the rooftop, the scrap paper they would pass to each other mid-lesson and then do cleaning duty because the dumb teacher happened to see them smile at each other. Each memory mixed into the other, a potpourri of feelings and memories pass by Dokja’s, admittedly, zoned-out gaze.
It continues to go on like this until Dokja forgets what led him to think about such things, and his eyelids finally close properly. His pillow is amazingly comfortable today, he acknowledges without thinking, simply feeling its texture and then his warmth, and then Joonghyuk’s warmth that is encasing him so fully it lulls Dokja’s conscious thoughts to a halt.
Dokja thinks he groans in such wholly satisfaction he could spring up and flatter Joonghyuk with a thousand kisses, wishing to kick his feet and wiggle out the sudden surge of emotion in his chest. A warm thing stretching over his torso, curling intricately into his ribs like silk ribbon and blooming some…super magical flower right at the center of his heart,” super whimsical shit right there.” Dokja distantly thinks.
And then he thinks he could stay like this for as long as time would have it, every day even. Curling into Joonghyuk like a lost puppy and soaking up his warmth like a sponge underneath this specific pair of sheets and duvet, feeling him breathe down his nape lightly, lost to his own dreams or lack thereof. Feeling his arms wrapped securely around his waist and his heartbeat faintly heard behind him, if Dokja really strained to hear it.
Dokja wouldn’t mind; he doesn’t think Joonghyuk would, and everyone else who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.
Blinking his eyes open one last time,(Dokja promises to himself, having spent way too long awake,) he turns his head slightly to Joonghyuk’s side, waiting to hear the man’s telling signs of awakening. When he hears none, Dokja allows his body to follow suit, scooting closer to Joonghuk’s side and wriggling his arms into his sides. He shifts a little more until he is content, sighing and closing his eyes as he buries himself deeper into Joonghyk’s chest.
Smelling his clean shirt and his faint woody and cinnamon scent, Dokja rests his forehead and decides to stop thinking and actually close his eyes.
He doesn’t need to be fully conscious to enjoy Joonghyuk’s company; he realizes, because he wakes up with a dream on the cusp of completion. A dream about them, wandering in the stars.