Youth (is yours)
Authour: hecallsmemoonchild
Retrieved from: Ao3
Words: 1964
Ship: Jimin×Namjoon
Summary:
It's one of those moments that are sometimes rare. Those moments that make Jimin’s heart race, swell with warmth and thump heavily in his chest with thick emotion. The longer he spends with Namjoon, the more often these moments happen.
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It's one of those moments that are sometimes rare. Those moments that make Jimin’s heart race, swell with warmth and thump heavily in his chest with thick emotion. The longer he spends with Namjoon, the more often these moments happen. It's beautiful, and domestic, and mundane, and if he weren't softly laughing along with something Namjoon was saying, he'd probably be tearing up with the force with which his emotions hit him. They've been together for so long, he'd thought he'd get used to these emotions bubbling up out of nowhere, but he couldn't be more wrong.
Jimin knows he's an open book, knows that every single emotion he's ever felt flashes across his face in the most obvious way without any hope of hiding it. The way he's smiling right now, smiling up at Namjoon, with something like wonder in his eyes, he knows it's soft and dripping with love, and Namjoon notices, but he can't help it.
“What?” Namjoon says, a hesitant, soft smile on his own face, one eyebrow quirked. It's a little bit self conscious, too. He's paused his folding of their laundry, a baby blue t-shirt of Jimin’s clutched in his hands in the laundry basket. He looks so gentle, his soft, caramel skin contrasting so nicely with his plain gray t-shirt and navy shorts that stop mid thigh. Jimin feels his throat almost constrict at how beautiful he looks, even though it's so casual, just comfy weekend clothes. He feels a bit ridiculous at the thought of it.
Jimin glances down bashfully, his full smile breaking through with full force, he can't contain himself. “It’s- it's nothing, hyung, just continue fold-”
“No, what is it! You were- you were just smiling at me with this goofy look on your face, I wanna know what's up.” Namjoon's playful, words coming out in a rush as he lightly snaps Jimin with his own t-shirt in an attempt to get him to fess up.
Jimin gulps and it's so loud he fears Namjoon could hear. His eyes trace down the length of Namjoon’s throat, over the soft expanse of his chest, the t-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. He just looks so soft, so gentle and inviting. His smile is warm, coaxing, questioning, his dimples poking out on either side of his mouth and Jimin might be a little head over heels. His gut twists again.
Jimin plays with the ring on his left hand, the one that mirrors Namjoon’s, swaying back and forth slightly, chewing on the words he wants to say. He loves Namjoon, he really does. No one makes him feel as safe as Namjoon. Namjoon is waking up early Christmas morning while snow drifts lightly to the ground outside and cinnamon spice candles cast a soft glow alongside the Christmas tree lights. Namjoon is curling up with a good book under a shady tree in the summertime. He makes fireworks dance behind Jimin’s eyes when he dreams and fire curl down low in his stomach with his kisses, with his touches. Namjoon is home.
“You're just...you're my favorite,” Jimin murmurs before he can realize it.
And, really, he's not sorry, not with the way his words make Namjoon’s smile brighten in the softest way. He sets down the shirt he'd been folding, moves the laundry basket in favor of sliding up right in front of Jimin.
And he doesn't say anything at first, just looks down at Jimin with baby worlds in his eyes, twinkling and bright. His smile is just a slight smirk and Jimin wants nothing more than to see him, like this, every moment of his life. Namjoon is so close, so close that their chests are but a few inches apart, just smiling down at him in a way that always sends the butterflies in Jimin’s stomach aflutter. He curls his fingers around Jimin’s chin softly, his other hand clutching his hip gently. Wordlessly he presses their lips together and Jimin would fall if not for Namjoon’s hand steadying him at his waist.
