Work Text
His voice has always been so gentle.
Like a motherly caress, you think and chuckle at the thought. You can hear him in the kitchen now, humming as the dishes clink against one another. You can even pin-point the moment he thinks of you—his humming pauses, there’s a clink
as he sets the current dish down, and footsteps as he approaches your bedroom.
Your stomach sways. It would much prefer just to listen to his sweet, soft hums rather than speak. Today has been too long a day, but you cannot sleep. The more days go by the more they seem impossible to endure. Another conversation filled with pity will do you no good.
His knocks on your door are just as gentle. For a moment, you appreciate the thought that he would be so soft as to not wake you. Then, you call out for him to enter.
The door creaks slowly. You have your head stuffed in your pillow, and for a moment you choose to hesitate to face him. The door quits creaking, and finally you twist your neck around and blink. The lights are off, and you can only see his silhouette, solemn and cautious as it approaches you.
You know he's come to gather the many dirty mugs off your desk, but he simply sits on the edge of your bed. You stare at the shadows forming on his face, and eventually you can recognize that you make eye contact.
"What's wrong, hun?" he practically whispers, eyes leaning into yours. You blink many times as you ponder the words. You've always been weak for domestic nicknames, and Jimin has always had the habit of using them whether you were romantically involved or not. (You're not. It confused you for quite a while when he first started using them.)
You recognize that you can't really find an answer, so you just hum in response, eyes finally falling to where his hand reaches out for you. He rests it tenderly on your thigh. It's not promiscuous at all, though you imagine it would've been if you had been even a little more awake. He rubs his thumb up and down, and you hum again.
A few moments of silence pass where your eyelids struggle to stay open to stare at his hand against you. It's strange. The urge to close your eyes would've been handy minutes ago when you were trying to fall asleep, yet now you cannot help it that you close your eyes. Your muscles sag in the slightest, pulling your face back into your pillow. Your other senses increase then, and you notice Jimin's breathing almost more than you can feel his hand still holding your thigh.
His voice starts out small so as to reach your ears gently, but the vibrations still manage to open your eyes. Jimin is looking away, down at the floor, and his hand has stilled as he hums. It's a tune you don't recognize, but you'd almost rather have it that way. It makes it easier when his eyes meet yours again so that you can once again let your eyelids fall. As the darkness washes over you so does his voice. Lulling and lulling and lulling you away—into the slumber you so desperately need.
Jimin continues for another couple of verses and then sighs, removing his hand. Leaning forward, he brushes some hair from your eyes and gazes at your peaceful expression. Then, solemn again, he turns to collect the dishes on your desk, careful to keep quiet.
He approaches the door and turns, looking at your sleeping form.
"Goodnight," he whispers and quietly shuts the door.