BTS IMAGINES AND SCENARIOS

Velvet✿⁠ (Park Jimin/Jimin)

The rain had been falling all evening, steady and rhythmic against the glass, as though the sky itself wanted to sing you both to sleep. The apartment was dim except for the warm glow of a single lamp, painting the room in gold. You sat curled on the couch beneath a thick blanket, the kind that seemed to swallow you whole, while Jimin nestled close, a book balanced in his hands.

He read softly, his voice low and smooth, weaving the words into something that felt less like a story and more like a lullaby. You couldn’t keep track of the plot anymore — not when his voice had that velvet tone that made your pulse slow, that made everything outside the two of you dissolve into quiet.

Your gaze drifted to him: the way his lips curved gently around each word, the faint concentration in his brow, the small movements of his fingers as he kept the book steady. Without thinking, you leaned closer.

His hand, resting casually on your leg, began to move — slow, absentminded circles traced against the blanket, heat seeping through the fabric. You felt every delicate stroke as if it were carved into your skin.

And then he noticed you staring.

The corner of his mouth twitched, his lashes lowering briefly before he looked back up, pink blooming across his cheeks. “Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, voice quieter than the rain.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

“Like…” He faltered, closing the book halfway. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Like I’m someone worth listening to.”

Your chest ached at the fragility in his tone. You reached out immediately, your hand covering his, keeping it still against your knee. “You are,” you said softly but firmly. “You always are.”

For a moment, the rain filled the silence between you. Then Jimin’s shoulders eased, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. He set the book aside, no longer needing it. His fingers laced through yours, warm and deliberate this time, and he leaned in until your foreheads touched.

The world seemed to pause — the only sounds the steady rain and the faint rhythm of his breath. His voice, velvet and vulnerable, broke the silence.

“You make me feel… safe,” he admitted, barely louder than a sigh.

You squeezed his hand, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his words. “Good,” you whispered back. “Because you are.”

And then the book lay forgotten, the story unfinished, but it didn’t matter. The real story was here — in the warmth of a blanket shared, the hush of rain against glass, and the way Jimin’s soft, unguarded smile felt like home.