Husfriends ~𝓨𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓶𝓲𝓷

Chapter 24, Jimin

Chapter 24
Jimin

I woke up to the soft warmth of Yoongi’s arms still wrapped securely around me. His breath tickled the back of my neck with every exhale, his chest rising and falling gently against my back. It was so peaceful—so him—that for a moment, I didn’t want to move at all. I just wanted to stay like that, soaking in his warmth, pretending the world didn’t exist beyond our bed.

But then the sunlight started creeping in through the curtains, brushing against our skin like a nudge from the universe. I groaned softly, burying my face deeper into the pillow.

“Mmm, five more minutes,” I mumbled sleepily, but Yoongi just tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me even closer.

“Don’t wanna get up either,” he grumbled into my hair, voice still raspy with sleep. “Let’s skip the day.”

I giggled. “We said we’d start studying today, Hyung.”

He groaned like the word studying physically hurt him. “That was you. I just nodded to whatever you were yapping about.”

I turned around in his arms to face him, poking his cheek with a pout. “Yah! Don’t call it yapping. I’m inspiring you.”

Yoongi smirked, eyes still half-closed. “Inspiring me to go back to sleep.”

Before I could reply, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the tip of my nose, making me scrunch up. “Gross,” I said, though my cheeks warmed instantly.

“Liar. You love it,” he teased, pecking my cheek, then forehead, then finally my lips. It was a sleepy kiss, slow and warm and a little lazy, like neither of us was fully awake but our hearts knew exactly what they wanted.

Eventually, after more whining from me and bribing from him ("I'll make breakfast if you stop pouting"), we finally got out of bed. Yoongi shuffled to the bathroom first, muttering something about how his bones were too old for mornings. I flopped back onto the bed dramatically until it was my turn.

When I came out, towel-drying my damp hair, Yoongi was standing in front of the mirror trying to tame his own mess of black hair. I walked up behind him and made a face at our reflection.

“You look like a grumpy bear,” I said, puffing my cheeks beside him.

“And you look like a baby hamster,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Rude!” I gasped, smacking his arm with my towel. “This is high-quality post-sleep beauty.”

He laughed softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby.”

Before I could hit him again, he suddenly turned and ruffled my already messy hair with both hands, making it stick up in every direction. I squeaked in protest, jumping to swat him away.

“Yoongi!” I whined, grabbing the mirror to see the chaos. “I just fixed this!”

He just stood there, grinning like a five-year-old who stole candy, clearly proud of himself.

But despite the hair-ruining betrayal, I couldn’t stop smiling. Because mornings with Yoongi—even the messy, teasing, chaotic ones—were my favorite kind of mornings.