❝ jayleen? ❞ a voice shatters the silence that had encompassed your apartment, causing you to jump a little in your seat and frantically turn to find the source, only to find jungkook standing nervously at the threshold of your bedroom door. it takes all of ten seconds to process the scene that just unfolded before you, but it takes you even less to jump out of your chair and run to him. the hug you share is tight, wrapped up in his giggle and the warmth in your chest — maybe you missed him more than you thought. ❝ jeon! what are you doing here? ❞ you ask, propping your chin on his chest as you look up at him. ❝ not even a hello first? want to get rid of me already? ❞ ❝ you know what i meant! ❞ the chuckle you get in return is enough to weaken your knees and force you to lean into him just a little bit more ( or maybe it was just an excuse to get closer to him ). his body heat washes over you, and the light scent he carries on his body teases you, both cloaking you in something so soothing that you almost wonder how you got through all that agonizing time without him. ❝ i’ve got a few days to myself, and i’ve missed you, so, ❞ he starts, the bright beam on his face melting into something softer, gentler, but you can barely catch a glimpse as he turns away, embarrassed by his own confession.  ❝ i thought maybe i’d spend it with you, instead of going home. is that... okay? ❞ ❝ of course it is, ❞ comes your reply, soft and assuring and truly happy, weight-free, for the first time in weeks.  you decided right then and there to forget about your responsibilities for just a little while, forget about the homework you needed to finish and the essays you needed to write and instead focus on him. and, such a thing was easy to stay true to, when you had no idea just how much he’d fill up your days and your head with nothing but him. his presence seemed to magnetize your full and undivided attention, allowing you to drop the weight off your shoulders and step into something lighter. time was spent in front of the television ( loud video game matches that ended up in your neighbors knocking on your door at 2 am, or lazy cuddling upon the couch ), in the kitchen ( you both made more of a mess than anything else, but the food was satisfying all the same when you could enjoy it with him ) and so wrapped up in one another that not a single care was sent to the outside world. it all seemed so perfect — exactly what you wished for and more — but in the back of your head all that time spent together only lead you to become hyper-aware of its approaching end date. the days seemed to go by so fast, whipping past you in a haze, and you barely had time to grasp at it before it slipped right out of your fingers. the silence that filled your apartment was solemn, knowing but refusing to believe it, so close to a funeral home that you’d think one of you died. it didn’t occur to you that he’d miss you just as much, that the moments between the meetings and the practicing and the producing was spent thinking of you. yet, you still found each other wound up in one another’s arms, legs tangled together and faces so close you were practically breathing each other’s air. the empty, numbing feeling in your chest only grew when he entangled his fingers with yours and squeezed, reassurance running over your knuckles and tracing patterns on the back of your hand. ❝ i'm going to miss you, ❞ you finally say, voice quieter than you intended, and though it was level, the emotion behind each letter was damn near palpable in the air.  he didn’t repeat the sentiment, but another firm squeeze of your hand and the way his eyes flickered up to meet yours told you he knew exactly how you felt, as if experiencing the sensations building up in your body right along with you. and, he looks at you right then — truly looks at you — and traces all the lines and curves of your face ( he never thought he’d love the shape of someone’s nose so much, or the shape of their eyes, but then this entire relationship has been nothing but a pleasant surprise ), until finally his gaze finds the dip of your cupid’s bow and the pink of your lips. briefly, he wishes he could compare your mouth to something, something poetic and pretty, something you could hold onto while he’s gone and remember with a certain level of fondness, of love. he’s never been adept at finding the right words at the right time, though — what he is good at is taking action.  so he does. first, it’s a simple peck to your lips that goes as fast as it comes, one you probably wouldn’t have been aware of if you weren’t watching him so closely. he doesn’t pull away very far, though, before he’s diving in for another and another and another, until you’re no longer breathing the same air — instead, he’s stealing it, robbing it straight from your lungs with fiery kisses that start small and grow longer, hungrier, fingers gripping at your jaw and cheek. easily, you reciprocate by digging your hands into his hair and scraping your nails over his scalp and sighing into his mouth all at once. feeding off of each other’s desire to be closer, to stay closer, you quickly became a needy entanglement of limbs and mouths and indecipherable little noises that got lost to the four walls of your bedroom. neither of you wanted to let go just yet, didn’t want to let this moment end, so you didn’t. open-mouthed kisses started at your mouth, but slowly work their way over your cheeks and down your jaw and across the column of your throat, each one sloppier than the last. with each movement he’s passing from his side of the mattress to yours, slowly encompassing you in him and only him, the heat and weight of him pressing down on you. fingers find the curve of your side and the length of your thigh and he can’t memorize it all at once, the way you feel right then, but that couldn’t stop him from trying. such clumsy and skittish actions proved that he’s never done this before, but then neither have you, and it seemed experience wasn’t needed to make you bloom underneath him like a flower in the spring — you don’t even have to think for your legs to make room for his hips as they find yours, and although there’s no hard press, no sensual roll, he’s releasing a shaky breath into the crook of your neck. this isn’t how he wanted this to go — jungkook never even expected to be here, doing this, tonight — and everything in him is screaming at him to slow down, to cherish this, because this is supposed to mean more than what it is. you mean more than this. and, he knows, he knows, that this is the closest you’ll both be for a while — that all he’ll have is the minutes of silence between everything else and the thought of you, and that sometimes a text isn’t enough. so, the hurried touches and messy kisses morph into wandering hands and gentle whispers into your skin, his fingers tracing the lines of your waist and the swell of your breasts and the skin just below your waistband, until the feather-light caresses have you squeezing at his shoulders and pressing up into him, the beginning and the end of either one of you indecipherable and impossible to find. fabric slides along your skin in whispers, passing over you and thrown to the floor unceremoniously, but you can’t be bothered to care where they end up as with every article you feel a little bit more of him.  there’s no need to question whether you want this with the way you say his name and pull him back in when he strays too far, but he asks anyway — he asks until you whine, until you plead, until you have to initiative yourself with both legs wrapped around his hips and a swift tug. finally, mercifully, his hips roll down to meet yours halfway and tentatively press into you with a groan and your head is falling back against the pillows, lips parted and tongue dry, eyes fluttering shut as tears brim at your lashes — pain mingles with warmth of the home he’s made in your chest ( still, he stops, he waits, only moving when you can’t take the stillness anymore and you cry in a different way ). eventually, the view of your ceiling becomes hazy and you feel your fingers digging into the fabric of the sheets or your pillowcase or the skin stretched over the muscle of his shoulders, feeling the way he slides against you and inside you and around you. everything is him, everything is you, everything is this and this and this, only this. ❝ i love you. ❞ he murmurs it into your skin like it’s the first words he’s said in years, raw and raspy and only loud enough for you to hear over his rough breathing and the noises spilling from your own mouth over and over again. he says it like a prayer, a chant silenced by the rock of his hips just right, like he might never get a chance to say it again — dramatic, maybe, but genuine all the same. ‘ i love you’s ’ switch to panted, ruined versions of ‘ jayleen, ’ interrupted only by your reciprocations of choked praises and his own name pressed into the juncture of his shoulder and his neck. eventually, even those are swallowed up by the heated passion pressed so tightly between the both of you, and all you can manage is unintelligible moans and the scratch of your nails down his back. and, none of it stops even after you’ve finished — your sweat-slickened bodies stay together, sticky and hot with the remnants of your shared haze, and every rise and fall of your chest is passed from one body to the other, over and over. your fingers even find his hair once again, though this time gentler and soothing, and his lips find your skin wherever he can reach; the heat has dissipated, but the love has not. ❝ i’m going to miss you, ❞ you say once again, quieter still.  shifting to look you in the eye one more time, you don’t wait for him to form an apology or another love-soaked kiss to act as a bandage for the oncoming loneliness. instead, he’s met with a soft smile that just barely brushes against your eyes and watches the way your fingers easily find the marred and softened skin he’d so carefully abused with his mouth. ❝ but, i guess i can stand waiting until these start to fade. ❞