24/7 | kth

total bliss

You know it's morning before you open your eyes. Hot, blinding rays of sun burn into the skin of your face, scathing you. Taehyung must have drawn the curtains last night to look at the moon or something. He always forgets that your side of the bed is closest to the window, and that you're the one barbecuing in the early morning. You're 98.99% positive, actually, that he isn't that forgetful. He just pretends he is.

That annoying, infuriating...

You stir. Your eyelids are heavy, brain awash in a dreamy daze. Your arm aches slightly from how it's been uncomfortably angled all night. Tilting your head back, you feel satisfying crack. You groan.

Tae is on your left. His scent would tell you if your sleepy eyes didn't. Willing your eyes further open, you crane your neck, and sure enough Tae lies sprawled ways away from you—facing you. His dark shaggy hair is flopped over his face, looking like he didn't shower last night. (Hopefully that's not the case.) His eyes are sealed shut with sleep. Left elbow protrudes at you from his cozy position, back staring at the wall, your blanket crumpled and beaten down from a night of restless
readjusting, leaving his arms and upper body exposed. His loose white t-shirt—the old FILA shirt he is now so attached to—is the same one he's worn to bed for at least a week now. (Gross! Taehyung....) You could recognise that shirt in a sea of stranger white shirts: a single, faded light pink stain smiles from the top of the left sleeve, marking the moment he spilt strawberry ice cream on your birthday movie night. You had laughed so hard you nearly spilt your own ice cream on yourself, to which he was then inspired to force into happening. But that wasn't in God's plan that night.

That night flashes into your mind. A ditzy smile breaks at your lips.

Subconsciously, you curl towards him on the bed, twisting until you fully face him. He doesn't wake. His short, dark eyelashes are slightly crusted, lips tilted downward in the gentlest of baby pouts, the inner-facing edges of his eyebrows furrowed, looking almost anxious. You wonder what he's dreaming about. It could be anything. Sometimes, you think you'll never fully understand him.

Pressing even closer to him, you shift against the damp bedsheets (and away from the life-threatening sunlight). The freckles that faintly dot his cheeks become visible to you; the soft beauty mark on the tip of his full nose; the bewitching heart shape of his lips.

"Tae," you say, staring into his closed eyes. His black hair shrouds your view of his whole forehead, but you manage to catch the faintest twitch in his eyebrows. That makes you smile. "Kim Taehyung. Wake up, wake up, wake up."

He doesn't budge.

You tap his nose. Then you secure it between your thumb and forefinger, like you're pinching it. Then you do pinch it. You reach up into his shaggy dark bangs and aggressively fling them out of his face.

"Hey," you whisper, imagining his nose is an ASMR microphone. "I said wake up. It's already really really really late... the sun's been burning a hole in my back since dawn."

The ghost of a smile flickers on his lips, and you know he's been faking. Slowly, he opens his eyes. His gaze is unfocused at first. Until it lands on you. He says nothing. He shifts a little, advancing forward towards you.

Then his eyes creep back shut, "Mmmm. What time is it?" His voice is gruff and whiny, a rusty bass sound.

"I have no idea," you sing-song. His eyebrows pop up. "Let's get up."

"Why?"

"Because, we just should."

It looks like he's drifting off to sleep again. You reach your hand out again and, suddenly, pat him on his cheek. His eyes fly open with surprise, like he's been bitch slapped. Technically it was not a slap. He is just being dramatic.

"Ow. What the hell was that for?" He snaps.

"What? Stop complaining. It was just a pat. I just patted you," You haul yourself stiffly into a sitting position. You lean back against the headboard, eyes falling shut. You curse foully: knowing Taehyung is ignoring you. "Ahh, crap, come on, Taehyung. It's a Saturday. Wake up, Don't waste it, don't waste this time we have. You'll regret it later."

"I'm so tired."

"You say that all the time. You're tired all the time, nowadays. We're not that old, Tae!"

"If you're not happy, divorce me."

"Brilliant. I'll really do it this time."

He is silent for a while. You hardly ever joke about divorce. You wish you could break away from your exhaustion and swoop forward, grasping him into a warm embrace.

Suddenly, you feel Tae's nose trace suddenly into your clothed thigh, and you open your eyes. He presses his face into the side of your leg, eyes still shut.

"Don't say that," he mumbles. "Or else I might really consider it."

"Yeah, right."

"No, I would. I really would."

"You're not ballsy enough. Besides, you need me too much."

"No, I really would," he insists. He contradicts himself as by sliding his hand down towards your kneecap. He taps it a few times with his slender fingers. He is now staring up at you, almond eyes blinking lazily but alertly at the same time, in that unique Taehyung way.

He breaks into an eye-smile. He reaches a hand up and pats you hard on the cheek—it's more like a slap, really!

"You're so cute sometimes," he says with a really cheesy grin.

"That was so much harder than what I did to you! You..."

He is already crawling out of your lap, swinging painfully into a sitting position and working to fumble stiffly out of the bed. He proclaims, still mumbling, over his shoulder that he'll go make some eggs or something, then trudges thoughtlessly through the door to our attached bathroom. You sit against the headboard for a minute, listening to him brush his teeth. Your mind is half somewhere else. You regain focus on Taehyung when you see him come back through the bathroom door, running a hand through the rich fields of his sloppy dark hair.

A silver wedding band glistens on his ring finger.