Taemin got about six minutes of sleep, and Jongin got about four.
Because how can one sleep when the opportunity to share one’s lover’s heat and sweat is open with unlimited intimacy and free of charge?
Taemin slowly opened his eyes to the (early) morning glamour of Jongin, who was now standing with his back towards Taemin, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers. His back muscles twitched as he ruffled his hair with his fingers and brushed it out of his eyes.
Taemin stared for a long while before informing Jongin he was awake with a sleepy voice and a smile into the pillows. “Jonginnn…” Jongin turned his head and instantly smiled at Taemin. Smiling because how simply happy he was to have shared every moment he has with Taemin. His eyes turned into crescents The felicity of the moment was blessed with a thousand dove songs echoing from the creases of their smiles and July breeze. They stared at each other, feeling closer to each other than ever before. The dusty aftermath of a beautiful chemistry still lingered on their lips and in their spines.
It was nice, being there with Jongin. It was always nice.
Neither said anything about what they had just done. One: it was highly embarrassing, and two: their shy glances and hesitated words said more than enough.
Taemin rolled from his side onto his back and looked towards the window to the sunrise calligraphy in the sky. Everything seemed somehow beautiful. He seemed too elated considering the situation, or maybe he had just forgotten why he was awake so early for the moment, and maybe that was for the best. The silk sheets kissed his body and begged him never to leave. Taemin wished he could obey.
He purred a noise between seduction and sleepiness. He stretched, and as he did, he slowly pushed down the duvet over his chest, then over his stomach, and further and further still. He turned his attention towards Jongin and bit his lip as the covers were now so low, Taemin’s attempt at being provocative was now obvious.
But his fleeting fantasy was interrupted by a pair of boxers tossed onto his face.
“Put on some pants.”
Taemin pushed them off and laughed to himself. As life slowly came into focus, he remembered this was his last few hours with Jongin. His heart instantly shrunk and he felt sick. He rolled back over a little too fast and stared at Jongin with despondent eyes and burning cheeks. Jongin realized what Taemin was thinking, so he walked over and pressed his lips to Taemin’s forehead. He didn’t say anything for they both knew there was nothing to be said.
“Hold on.”
“Hm?” Taemin watched as Jongin reached for something on his dresser.
“Smile!”
“Wha—”
But Jongin’s lips were already molded into Taemin’s followed by a few snaps and bright flashes. Jongin pulled away and the pictures began to slowly print out of the polaroid camera.
He laughed at Taemin’s wide-eyed expression. “Sorry. But I don’t have any pictures of you, well, us, to take with me.” Taemin continued to stare. “I don’t even have a shirt on!”
Jongin laughed. “You think I care?”
Taemin fell back into Jongin’s warm covers and buried them over his head. He mumbled something close to “better let me keep a copy” and peered out from a hole in the sheets at Jongin. Watching him move so gracefully and so charismatically reminded him that Jongin was indeed a dancer, and this was something he had to do.
But then is love that insignificant?
He gulped down the growing lump in his throat as he watched Jongin continue to zip up the bags and find some clean clothes.
