As Jonghyun lies in bed, he can feel the ripples of wind ride through the window.  They wrap him up in tender swirls, embracing all in the room with the soft, setting sun, and whisper how lucky idle time could be.

A comforted yawn escapes Jonghyun’s sleepy lips, barely audible.  He doesn’t want it to be heard, out of fear that it might startle the other into thinking Jonghyun is too tired to pay attention.  This cannot be farther from the truth, however, given even in his dreams, he seems to have but one focus. 

This whole setting now is so ideal to him.

It is morning of sorts for Jonghyun, who normally works evening hours.  He would just be starting his day now, and on such lucky days he would perhaps be getting ready to go out with his dearest; on luckier days, he would perhaps just get to rest with him instead.

“Taemin-ah,” he said, as soft as his smile, “let me get that for you.”

It was well-known that Jonghyun was not always together, but it was almost as if he preferred himself that way.  He both lost and hoarded many things, kept odd sleeping schedules, only ate when it felt absolutely necessary. . . He spent much time dreaming of things that made his heart too heavy, too tired, to carry into practice. 

Things consumed him. 

But a caring instinct did exist for him, almost a passion, even; it was what often distracted him from himself.

The bed whimpers with the loss of its companion as the oblivious Jonghyun rises to help his one and only untie his tie.  Taemin is as much of a mess as he is, at times, but for the similar reason that their passions simply lay away from self-care.  A genius’s mind, Jonghyun could reason.

“Thank you, hyung,” Taemin says.  And while Jonghyun’s fingers expertly pluck out the knot, the other’s fingers snake smoothly through the knots of Jonghyun’s hair.  He cradles his jaw, tugging gently until the older’s steps fumble and his forehead falls against Taemin’s lips in a clumsy kiss.

When they step away from one another, Jonghyun keeps his fingers intertwined with the lapel of Taemin’s blazer.  Taemin has a silly smile, like he is torn between embarrassment and pride—either way, Jonghyun can tell that he feels his admiration.  Moving away from his lapel, Jonghyun brushes his hands over Taemin’s shoulders and down his arms, memorizing.

“Are you tired?” Taemin asks with a shy laugh, maybe tired himself.

For Jonghyun, the answer is always ‘no;’  How could he tire of such a life?  Of such a man?

Gently, he shakes his head.  “We have time.”

With his eyes shut tightly enough, he could feel the fabric of a dress shirt between his fingers.  The feeling mixed with the fabric of his sheets as Jonghyun huddled close beneath them, breathing in cocktailed scents in his blankets: coffee, soap, candles. . . He’d washed it a thousand times since, but it still smelled like him, too. 

Hazelnut, maybe; so rich and sweet but not boastfully so.  Or firewood, crackling in his heart with each breath.  Or maybe something cleaner, like cotton or linen, unassumingly refreshing.  There are a thousand scents coming off of Taemin with each exhale and Jonghyun drinks them all in, his nose skimming down the younger’s slender neck. 

His cheek fits perfectly against the crook of Taemin’s shoulder.  Their fingers intertwine in one hand while Jonghyun’s other goes to the small of Taemin’s back.  Taemin’s hand sneaks around his hyung’s shoulders.  Without discussion or mistake, they fall into step, humming the same melody. 

A ballroom dance at the foot of the bed.  This time, no one is watching, there is no one to perform to.  It is his Taemin.  It is their dance.  Their bed.

If he peeked over the sheets now, he knew he wouldn’t find anyone there. But also, if he peeked over the sheets, he feared he would.  Jonghyun feared he had nothing to say, wanting only to hold him and have himself be held, too, in turn.  Moreover, he feared he wouldn’t be enough to keep him here.  He knew.

“You can’t be the one to twirl me!” Taemin protests. 

Jonghyun has raised both their hands in the air, ready to spin the other despite his protests.  Indeed, Jonghyun has to stand on the tips of his toes just to reach this position.  It is apparent that Taemin is in a better sorts to spin Jonghyun out, to bring him back, to hold him close.  Even Taemin’s tinkling laugh is the better dancer.  His arms are longer, he is better balanced.  His heart is stronger.

“You’re too small, hyung,” Taemin says softly, the patter of a laugh on his tongue.

He smooths out Jonghyun’s shoulders, coaxing him out of his tip-toe.  Jonghyun gives a gentle pirouette, carouseled by Taemin’s leading hand.   Whatever song they had been humming had been replaced with the humor of their dance.  The rhythm changes with their laughs.

Minutes could pass like days, depending on the company one keeps.  He could lace his left fingers through his right, but the persistent fact that Jonghyun was alone was clear in the way his own palms left a gaping hole between themselves, despite the fact that they were made for him.  Flattening his fingers out, he forced his palms together to be whole.

In a palmer’s kiss, they stand before one another.  When their dance stopped, neither could tell for their hearts continued to beat in time.  Looking into his lover’s eyes, Jonghyun can see the way Taemin’s smile hangs in sweet sleepiness, like the tipping of a crescent moon. His hand grazes Taemin’s nape as he steps up to kiss his chin.

“Let’s get some rest, yeah, Taemin-ah?” Jonghyun asks, stepping away if only to loosen his own tie. He undoes his cufflinks meticulously, not wanting to ruin such sacred souvenirs from the evening.

Like this, they came undone for the evening.  Not with a flourish of flesh, but in the best, quiet ways.  Taemin sleeps in boxers and horribly oversized t-shirts, as if the only fitted item in their closet are their too-tight skinny jeans.  Jonghyun sleeps in his underwear, as they had let go of any pretenses that he might manage to keep his clothes on in his sleep.  They like to try to hold one another as they doze off, but the truth is that sometimes that gets too warm.  For now, they each lay on their sides, facing one another.  Between themselves, their fingers embrace.  A synecdoche of their intimacy.

Taemin’s eyelids fade into the fatigued flutter of lashes.  The lights have gone out for the evening, but whatever the darkness has erased of Taemin’s face, Jonghyun is able to sketch back in from memory.  The implied lines of his plump lips, the button at the end of his nose . . . The sweet apples of the younger’s cheeks fall slow, like spring evenings that neither of them are ready to end.

“Hyung?” he breathes, already taken in like the seasons.  “I’d hate to sleep if that means tonight is over.”

“I’ll still be here, Taemin-ah.”

“But…” a yawn, “it’s been so perfect…”

His sweet can only fight it for so long.  Jonghyun wiggles close, wrapping his arms around his lover.  He can feel his heart, his lungs, as he smooths circles into the other’s back.  As Taemin’s pulse slows into sleep, Jonghyun leans in to reassure him of the promises they whispered between clasped hands, of the pledge written in the bands on their fingers.  Tender lips touch, sharing their final breaths of the evening. 

If sleep may take him, then they may always have tomorrow. 

They would have all their days together.

Half asleep,Taemin smiles in a way Jonghyun knows he’ll never be able to shake off.

As he lay in bed, Jonghyun could feel the ripples of the wind ride through the window.  They wrapped him up in shivering tendrils, embracing him as he lay alone beneath a shining moon.  He thought deeply about how damning idle time can be, thinking of his one and only.  And with the wind, he hoarsely whispered,

“I’m still with you.”

A/N: inspired vaguely by 'suit up,' this story was meant to be something else entirely.  this was more of a poetic, experimental format piece.  it's also shorter than I realized.  Whatever happened to Taemin can be decidedly left to the reader:'s imagination, as i think that suits the ambience of the piece better. jonghyun is still more in his mind than in his present in this fic, so i left what happe ed to taemin loose (and im sorry if that's dissatisfying for some!). I chose Jongtae because I do indeed love jongtae, but also because the type of story I wanted to write seemed to feel better with the way I perceive Jonghyun's ethereal, undying admiration of Taemin.  I wrote what would be the flashbacks in present tense, under the premise that Jjong is reliving such memories at that moment. The 'real-time' is in past tense, as some weird metaphor that time passes him passively and is not as relevant to him as his once-memories with Taemin.  I'm still not sure if I'm happy with what I settled with, tense-wise.  I also hope I got the rhythm of both okay, given it's tricky to have a story that goes back and forth as such. . . TBH this all might have run away from me again, where I focused more on 'how' rather than 'what' I was writing. it might be trying too hard, or not enough.  It's been several days since I started it, and I'm satisfied enough with it that I should post it now, or I'll never post it at all.  

also, if anyone thinks this fic needs any trigger warnings, please let me know! thank you!