2 | The Way He Breathes 🐥

JIMIN'S POV

I woke up before him.

That's not unusual. Jungkook can sleep through earthquakes, thunder, hyung line arguments, and the sound of his own phone alarm going off next to his ear for twenty minutes.

But this morning, I didn't mind.

The bed was warm. The breeze was soft.

And he was still snoring into the pillow with his arm slung across my stomach like I'd disappear if he let go.

The snoring wasn't loud anymore—not like when he was younger, pushing himself to the edge and calling it ambition. Back then, it sounded like his body was fighting to rest. Now it just sounded... tired. Worn-in.

It was quieter now, sometimes catching halfway like his breath had to think twice.

I've Googled it before. Sleep apnea.

It can be dangerous.

I even mentioned it once. He waved me off and laughed, saying he was "just built different."

Maybe he is.

But I still check.

Every night.

Subtly. Just to make sure he's still breathing deep. Still okay.

🐣

I stayed in bed a little longer, watching the sunlight drift across the floor and the rise and fall of his chest. I counted the seconds between each breath like it was a prayer.

It's strange—in the dorms, the smallest noise would wake me. I'd be alert, half-worried even in my sleep. Like I had to be ready in case someone needed something.

But here...

There was nothing to fix.

No one to perform for. No eyes.

No schedules. No alarms.

Just the sound of waves.

And the boy next to me, who, somehow, trusts me enough to fall apart when the world isn't watching.

🐣

I finally slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him.

His hand tightened around my waist for a second—instinct. Then let go.

I padded quietly to the kitchen and started the coffee. Sliced some fruit. I could've grilled something—meat, maybe, the way he likes it—but I figured I'd wait until he was up. He always insists on doing the "meat stuff," like it's a sacred Jungkook ritual.

I sat on the porch with a mug and let the morning wash over me.

Salt in the air. Wind combing through the trees.

And that strange stillness that comes when you finally, finally stop running.

🐣

He wandered out a little past nine—the way he always does when he feels safe, unhurried. Still in last night's tank, hair lopsided like he'd fought dreams and won.

Still in the tank top from last night, hair flattened on one side.

Barefoot. Blinking at the light like it owed him money.

When he spotted me, he yawned and said, "Baby, your back's going to hurt sitting like that."

"I've survived worse," I replied, patting the space next to me.

He flopped down and immediately leaned his head on my shoulder.

"You made coffee?"

"Of course. You like it sweeter after you sleep hard."

He blinked. "Love of my life."

"I know," I smiled. "I watch you."

 🐣

We stayed like that for a while—quiet, warm, breathing the same air.

I think people underestimate how easy it is to love him.

They see the tattoos, the confidence, and the way he lights up on stage like fire in motion.

But they don't see how careful he is.

How he packs everyone's vitamins before a trip.

How he always saves the last bite for someone else.

How he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.

Like I'm his favorite song.

One, he's scared to play too loud in case it disappears.

🐣

"Wanna go for a swim?" I asked after breakfast.

He looked up from his phone. "Right now?"

"Yeah. Ocean looks good."

He squinted toward the shore. "It's cold."

"You're soft."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm soft?"

"Big baby Park Jungkook is afraid of sea breezes."

"You're gonna regret that!"

He was in the water before I even grabbed my towel.

🐣

I love swimming.

I always have.

Maybe it's the weightlessness. Or the way the world goes quiet underwater. Or the way you can't cry or sing or yell—you can only float.

Jungkook doesn't always get why I love it so much.

But he follows anyway.

Even when I dive deep and leave him paddling like a confused puppy.

Even when I pop up behind him, grab his waist, and dunk him under.

He comes back up spitting water and grinning like I gave him the best surprise of his life.

"You're evil," he gasps.

"You love it," I smirk.

He doesn't deny it.

🐣

We dried off in the sun. Laid on towels with our sunglasses on and let the world blur out.

"Your back is gonna burn," he said.

"They're already burned," I mumbled. "I am the flame."

He laughed, then sat up to grab the sunscreen.

"Sit up, Baby. I'll do your shoulders."

I let him.

And for a moment, I thought:

This is what love looks like. 

Not gifts. Not confessions.

Just sunscreen smoothed over burnt shoulders.

Fruit sliced before you're hungry. 

A silence that never asks you to fill it.

🐣

We grilled meat that afternoon. Real meat—not the diet kind. Jungkook took charge with his usual passion, flipping cuts with the precision of a master chef. I handed him ice-cold water between batches and teased him about his "grilling stance."

"Gotta stay low and grounded," he said seriously. "It's about heat distribution."

"You're literally squatting like a gym rat."

"Meat deserves respect."

I couldn't argue.

It tasted amazing.

We ate until we were full, then ate a little more. Ramen too. Just because.

🐣

That evening, we walked the shoreline barefoot.

I held his hand because I wanted to.

He held mine back like he needed to.

We didn't talk much.

He pointed out seashells. I teased him about his perfectly average feet. He laughed, called me "shrimp hyung," and then carried me for thirty steps while I protested and laughed, breathless, until he finally set me down.

I watched the sunset paint his skin gold and thought,

No one else gets to see him like this.

Not the way I do.

🐣

That night, I stayed awake longer than I needed to.

He was asleep beside me, snoring gently—the kind of sound that would annoy most people. But to me, it meant he was here. Breathing. Safe. Mine.

It wasn't bad. Just enough to notice. Enough to make me worry—even if I'd already checked a dozen times that he was okay.

I lay there, eyes open, fingers tracing slow circles into his shoulder.

His hand found mine in his sleep.

Gripped it gently. Then let go.

Like even in his dreams, he was trying not to hold on too tight.

🐣

I kissed his forehead.

Whispered, "I love you," even though he couldn't hear me.

And then I let the waves pull me into sleep—

because he was next to me,

and for once,

I didn't need to stay alert.

He was home.

And so was I.

🐥🐥🐥

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

We often see Jungkook as the one who gives—the one who shows his love out loud, carries the weight, and makes the effort. But Jimin, with his quiet steadiness and thoughtful nature, offers a different kind of care. One that's not always visible in the spotlight but is deeply felt by the one who's closest to him.

In this chapter, I wanted to explore that softer side of Jimin—the version that exists off-camera, in quiet mornings and slow glances. The way he notices. The way he anticipates without needing to be asked. It's a kind of love that doesn't need to be proven or performed. It's just there—unwavering, quiet, and impossibly kind. The kind of love that keeps its hand gently over Jungkook's heart, always.