3 | Sweet, Stars, and Your Story 🐰

JUNGKOOK'S POV

I woke up tangled in warmth and a mess I didn't want to leave.

The sun was high—too high.

Time must've slipped straight through us.

But I didn't care.

Because Jimin was still here.

Pressed against me.

One leg thrown over mine.

His hand on my chest like he belonged there. Like he knew he did.

And I...

Well. I wasn't going anywhere.

🐰

My body ached in the best kind of way.

A slow thrum in my thighs, my back, my arms—the aftermath of a night where nothing else had mattered. No alarms. No filters. Just Jimin in my hands, and his voice in my ear, and stars I could barely see because I only looked at him.

We'd gone to sleep too late—or maybe too early. I couldn't remember.

But it didn't matter.

Not when he was still wrapped around me like this.

His skin was soft against mine. Bare legs, a loose tank top, and the edge of his hoodie shoved under one arm like he was halfway between wild and shy.

I leaned my head back against the pillow and closed my eyes.

Let myself remember the way he laughed breathlessly.

How he whispered my name like a secret.

How we didn't rush, didn't pretend, and didn't hide.

🐰

I shifted a little and heard him groan softly—not in pain, not really. Just tired. Sore. Spent.

His fingers curled against my chest like he was trying to hold me in place.

As if I'd ever want to leave.

I glanced down.

His face was squished into my shoulder, his hair a soft puff, cheeks warm with sleep. One of those rare expressions where he looked more angel than man. Loose. Unbothered. Trusting.

He trusted me.

With his body.

With his breath.

With his story.

And somehow that felt bigger than anything we did last night.

I brushed his hair back from his face.

He didn't stir—not really. He just sighed, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

God, I love him.

More than I can say out loud without feeling like I might break in half from the weight of it.

So I just stayed there, listening to him breathe.

Letting the morning hold us both.

🐰

Eventually, he woke up.

Stretched like a cat, whined softly, and pressed his nose into my neck.

"I can't move," he mumbled, his voice still gravelly. "Everything hurts."

"That's on you," I whispered. "You started it."

He snorted. "You finished it. Thoroughly."

I smiled.

"Why'd you let me?" I asked quietly.

His head lifted just enough to meet my eyes. Still sleepy. Still flushed.

"Because I love you," he said.

We didn't talk for a moment. Just stared.

I know he says it sometimes. He's not shy about that word the way I used to be. But when he says it like that—without teasing, without blinking—I feel it more than I can handle.

I reached out and pulled him closer.

I buried my face in his hair.

Held him like I was scared to let go.

He let me.

🐰

We stayed like that until our stomachs growled.

Jimin tried to get up first but winced halfway through and collapsed dramatically onto the bed.

"See?" he groaned. "Meaty evening until dawn workout. You owe me."

I blinked. "Owe you what?"

"Food. Back massage. Eternal devotion."

I grinned. "I already gave you that last one."

He peeked up at me and smiled. Soft. Grateful. Mischievous.

All at once.

🐰

After we showered—separately, to prevent a repeat performance for the nth time—I threw on some sweatpants and started making breakfast.

I didn't even bother with a shirt. The air was warm, and Jimin liked pretending to be unimpressed with my tattoos whenever he thought I wasn't looking.

He sat at the table, legs crossed under him, yawning into his cup of tea.

"You make everything look dramatic," I told him as I set down a plate.

"It's not my fault I'm ethereal," he replied without blinking.

I rolled my eyes, but my heart was already mush.

🐰

After we ate, we lay on the deck with fruit and coconut water, legs brushing, hands lazily tangled together.

He was quieter than usual. Not sad—just thoughtful.

"Do you ever think about before all this?" he asked suddenly.

"Before what?"

"Us."

I blinked. "You mean when we were still pretending not to stare?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, before it got... real."

I glanced over. "When did it get real for you?"

He paused.

Then he rolled onto his side to face me, cheek resting on his arm.

"There was this one night," he began softly, "when I was crying alone in the practice room. You probably don't remember—it was so long ago. You were still young then and usually stuck close to Taehyungie. But that night, you found me. You sat beside me for more than an hour." 

My heart thudded.

"You didn't say a word," he went on. "You just sat there. Your hand was cold, a little unsteady—but you held mine like you already understood everything about me."

I swallowed hard.

"I remember thinking, 'This kid doesn't even know why I'm crying, and yet he's here. No questions. No hesitation. Just... here.'"

I couldn't find the words.

He gave a soft smile. "That was the moment I really saw you. And I couldn't quite explain what I felt—it wasn't romantic, not yet. But it was something. Something deep. Like maybe... I'd been waiting for you, without even knowing it."

I blinked up at the sky.

Clouds moving slowly.

Heart completely full.

"You never told me that," I whispered.

"Felt too personal," he said.

"And last night wasn't?"

He grinned. "Different kind of personal."

I turned to him. Met his gaze. Let the sun catch the shine in his eyes.

"You've always been the kindest to me," I said softly. "Even when I didn't deserve it."

He furrowed his brow. "Don't say that."

"It's true. Everyone thinks I'm the one who takes care of you, but it's always been you. The way you check on me, the way you wait for me to talk, the way you never make me feel small."

He looked away like he might cry if he held my gaze any longer.

I reached for his hand. "You made me feel loved before I even knew how to ask for it."

He squeezed my fingers.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't need to.

Sometimes silence is the most honest thing between us.

🐰

That afternoon, we napped again.

Just because we could.

I wrapped myself around him, all arms and legs and sleepy kisses to the back of his neck.

He mumbled something about needing to write this all down someday.

I told him he didn't need to.

Because I'd remember for both of us.

🐰

And that night, when the stars came out,

and the sea hummed its lullaby,

I looked at him—messy hair, tired eyes, love marks still fading into his skin—

and thought,

There's nowhere I'd rather be than inside this quiet,

where your breath is steady,

and your hand is mine,

and your story includes me.

🐰

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This chapter aches softly—not from pain, but from a quiet kind of love. The kind that lingers, warm and steady, like a breath that calms your own.

I care too much to disrupt my world for them, so I love them quietly—by writing their story, letting my heart settle the way a fan's love should: gentle, distant, and true.