It can't get much better than this
Authour: wingedwhalien
Retrieved from: Ao3
Words: 1190
Ship: Jimin×Namjoon
Summary:
“Joon—”
It’s quiet, almost inaudible, the whisper barely carrying any sound. But Namjoon knows it’s there. And even after all these years his heart still starts to beat faster whenever he’s woken up by his husband whispering his name in his sleep, knowing he’s with Jimin even in his dreams.
ˇˇˇ
Namjoon loves to wake up to Jimin whispering his name in his sleep on mornings like this.
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“Joon—”
It’s quiet, almost inaudible, the whisper barely carrying any sound. But Namjoon knows it’s there. And even after all these years his heart still starts to beat faster whenever he’s woken up by his husband whispering his name in his sleep, knowing he’s with Jimin even in his dreams.
He’d never thought he would be part of something like this. Have a bond with someone that reaches so deep, disperses all doubts. And he’d had a lot of doubts in the beginning, hadn’t been able to understand how a man like Jimin could be interested in him of all people.
Jimin had been the principal dancer of the dance company Namjoon started to work as an accountant for. He doesn’t remember the first time they’d met. But what he does remember is the first time he’d seen Jimin dance. It was otherworldly, something else entirely. It still amazes him today, the way Jimin gets lost in the movements, forgets everything around him, doesn’t look like he’s trying, everything so seemingly effortless and light, almost like he’s defying gravity.
Namjoon knows now how much pain, how much torture of his body Jimin had to go through to get to this point, to make it look perfect. But even now Jimin is perfect to him.
When Jimin came to his office to get his pay slip the day after he’d seen him dance for the first time, Namjoon was a spluttering, nervous mess, handing him the wrong one altogether. Jimin came to his office again, and he didn’t only bring back the envelope which belonged to a Park Jihoon, he brought him coffee. Black, two sugars – not from the coffee machine in the hall, but from the expensive café down the street. The coffee turned into a habit, and Namjoon only realized after a week, that every single cup had had Jimin’s phone number on it. It took him another week to finally gather up the courage to call the dancer.
But yet, here they are.
„Joon—”
Namjoon threads their fingers together carefully, doesn’t want to wake Jimin up because he loves looking at him in the silent minutes before he wakes up. He looks like an angel to Namjoon in the soft morning light that seeps through the blinds. And he tries to take everything in, the way Jimin’s unruly hair curls softly around his face, stray beams of light entangling with the strands, painting patterns on his exposed skin, the way his eyebrows are furrowed the tiniest bit, his parted lips still slightly swollen from the kisses they’d shared until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Curled up on the couch they’d talked the night away. Until it was suddenly four am, and neither of them knew where the time had gone. It astonishes him how they still seem to find endless topics to talk about. He loves those conversations about barely nothing of importance. Those conversations which are all but an excuse to simply feel the other’s proximity, hear the other’s voice. Just knowing he’s there? Sometimes it’s all Namjoon needs. The knowledge that no other person will ever get as close to either of them. He knows he’s in this forever.
There’s nothing that compares to how they both knew they needed the other once they’d crawled into bed, their bodies heated from lack of sleep. How their communication solely relies on shared looks and touches in moments like these. How those slow, intimate moments mean everything to both of them. They know they don’t need to rush, know the other will still be there in the morning.
There had been times in which they’d had to hurry, steal kisses and moments like these, always on the verge of being discovered. Only when they’d moved to the US, Jimin landing a soloist position in one of the best companies in the states, they’d decided to make it official.
Namjoon doesn’t want to be reminded of that time, how his heart had dropped, when Jimin told him about the job, thinking he would leave and he’d never be able to see him again. What he didn’t know at that point was that Jimin had assumed he would come with him, had never even thought of another possibility. And only when Namjoon tried to break up with him, saying it would be for the better if they ended it before Jimin left, things got cleared up. They’d both cried that day, taking an oath that they would talk about everything, no matter how small and unimportant it might seem.
Namjoon’s gaze flies over to the alarm clock. It’s 7.59 am, and he prays that he will make it in time when he reaches out for the device to turn off the set alarm, preventing it from starting to beep. He doesn’t want Jimin to wake up just yet, it’s a Sunday and staying in bed for the best of the morning seems as good a plan as any. A relieved sigh flows silently from his lip when the small bell on the screen vanishes a split second before the displayed time turns to 8.00 am.
Namjoon’s attention gets captured by Jimin’s face yet again. Twelve years and he has barely changed. The only sign of the years that have passed are the faint lines at the corner of Jimin’s eyes, but if anything, it makes him more beautiful. Namjoon feels thankful that he’s the one who can watch Jimin grow old, that he’s the one who can witness all those changes.
They are both in their thirties now. Jimin had been forced to retire by an injury two years ago, but by then they’d been so used to their life in the states, had too many friends they didn’t want to say goodbye to, too many memories they connected to their apartment and the city of San Francisco, they decided to stay. They invited their friends over to tell them, and Namjoon, feeling that the time was right, finally made use of the small box he’d hidden at the very back of his part of the wardrobe. When he got down on one knee, asking the question, Jimin didn’t say yes, but simply pulled a similar box from the back of his jeans and kneeled down next to him, sobs making his whole body quiver as he threw himself into Namjoon’s arms.
Namjoon never gets tired looking at their intertwined hands, loves the way the rings on their fingers look next to each other. A surge of affection runs through him, and he pushes back the stray strands from Jimin’s face, laughs quietly when Jimin scrunches up his nose in his sleep at the fleeting touch. Namjoon leans in, kisses him gently on the forehead, and when he pulls back again, Jimin’s eyes are fluttering open.
“Morning, baby.”
“You’ve been watching me sleep again,” Jimin mumbles as he comes closer. And when he starts kissing Namjoon, lazy and still half asleep, Namjoon wants to stay in this moment forever, because he knows this is all he ever wanted, knows it can’t get much better than this.
