𝐌𝐫. 𝐊𝐢𝐦

37

Outside the room, there are ceaseless footsteps and noises of movement, which are quickly replaced by the gentle closing of a door.

You sleep on your side on your childhood twin-sized bed, which impressed you because it could accommodate your body without hurting your neck. But you manage to make it work.

Obviously, you weren't the same size as when you were an adolescent and had grown a few inches in height, curves and all, wondering how long it had been since you left Namjoon and your father downstairs once the house grew silent.

Although the sloped attic bedroom is commonly thought of as a dark, dusty space where rarely used holiday decorations and castoff pieces of furniture collect cobwebs, your parents managed to preserve the oft-overlooked top-floor space, which, with its lofty vaulted ceilings, windows, and secluded location, actually makes for a cozy bedroom.

It's every teenager's fantasy. At the very least, it was for you.

The brief snooze you took after taking a soothing shower in the common bathroom down the hall and changing into cotton shorts and a pajama shirt, was short lived as you were certain it was now past midnight.

The door gently creaks open to let a touch of light in through the gaps before you can even hear it, causing you to stir from another presence in the room, just as you let out a restless groan and bury your face into the pillows.

The door immediately closes and you hear a lock click, which startles you the most. If it were a horror film, you wouldn't let it go without thinking about who it could be.

On the one hand, there is a fuzzy shadow moving across the small space and toward you. A towering, muscly build you're all too familiar with.

"Baby."

"Oh my god, Joon," you rub your furrowed brow as Namjoon enters the room, the laughter in his voice returning as he silently curses himself for your startled reaction. "You scared the hell out of me."

His face appears when he clicks on the lamp by the bedside table.

Sighing in annoyance to himself for waking you, he rounds the bed and sits at edge of it as if were second nature for him to be cautious around someone else's safe space.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to give you a heart attack," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just thought I'd check up on you since you kinda disappeared back there."

He had sought for you when your father compelled him to undergo some kind of background check, hoping to see you give him encouraging glances in the kitchen, but the moment he returned his focus to your father, you had vanished.

Normally, Namjoon would not be absentminded in the middle of a conversation since he considered it rude, but when all that was left was awkward silence with your father, he couldn't help but seek comfort. 

Lifting your duvet, you stressed your eyes and said, "C'mere, you big baby."

With a twinkle in his eyes, he scampers to the bed and purses his lips. "We won't be able to fit."

You nod to the space next you, shaking your head and pushing up your cushions, encouraging him to join you. You toss two pillows from either side of the mattress to the ground.

"We can cuddle," you answered flatly, despite his grin. "You're not that big." The final sentence is delivered nonchalantly, as if you haven't already noticed how his face creases at the lighthearted jest.

"Y/N," he warns, a veiled amusement in his voice as he can't stop thinking about it. "You already know that's fucking bullshit."

"Language!"