Words full of mysterious meanings fall from his pen, spreading over the paper as lyrics that could go down in history. Over the notebook with crooked corners and frayed margins, a thin, pale young man sits bent, looking almost as delicate as his writing. 

His as if carved in white, pure marble face is twisted in an expression of pure concentration, his pale, pink lips are pressed into a thin line and his little, cat-like eyes are carefully studying every word, the dark circles under them betraying all the sleepless nights and the tiredness which threatens to destroy him.

But he knows better than this, he knows that this enemy could only break his body, which anyway wouldn't even matter over a few decades, he knows that his soul will always live in his words and his music, so he doesn't stop.

His frail body is bent over the table, covered only by a wide, extremely thin shirt and a pair of torn jeans, clothing in which anybody would have felt the prickly coldness inside the studio, especially in the middle of winter, but for him, the temperature is just a little snag that can't distract him from his work.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, which is dyed in a pale shade of pink, and reviews what he has managed to write. Composing is always risky for him, since he tends to put too much soul into every verse, to show his most hidden feelings in every strophe, and then the sample thought that  some people could understand who the person behind the idol image is and, more than this, the thought that they could judge him kills all his joy and enthusiasm. 

Using a thin pencil, he makes the necessary corrections and underlines the parts that need to be improved. Every verse seems so personal that, for a second, even he is amazed because for someone that isn't good at expressing his feelings loudly in front of the others, he describes his thoughts surprisingly well when he writes. But, in the end, this just one of his many paradoxes.

Suddenly, as if feeling someone else's gaze on his back, he looks up and turns around quickly, now facing another young man, who had been standing behind him for some while, reading over his shoulders the lyrics, and who now stumbles a few steps back, anticipating with a kind of fear the first's reaction. But this one only pulls another chair, motions for him to sit and hands him the notebook, saying: 

"Read. I want an opinion."

Shily, the newcomer sits down and takes the notebook, then he starts reading, focusing his attention on every word. He knows the other well enough to know that his lyrics always hide meaningful senses and his intention is to understand all of them.

After a few minutes, he looks up, smiles widely, showing his dimples that the other can't help but find adorable, and says:

"You outdid yourself this time, Yoongi. These lyrics are perfect."

A subtle blush appears on Yoongi's face when the other hugs him tightly. He giggles and runs a hand through the boy's silver hair, enjoying its softness. Their legs are tangled and everything suddenly feels perfect. Without even realising, he whispers:

"Of course they are perfect since they're about you, Namjoon, and you are perfect."

Now, both of them are blushing because of the cheesy confession, but this doesn't stop Namjoon to lean forward and press a quick, chaste kiss onto Yoongi's lips. "Only to make you blush a bit more, you look so pretty when you're blushing." he adds quickly, while pulling the other into his lap.

Even though he is older, Yoongi blushes like a schoolgirl at how sweet Namjoon is. Their relationship is far different from what anybody else would expect, all gentle and full of tender gestures and he likes it, maybe a bit too much sometimes. Around each other, they can open up, they can be as sweet and cheesy or as immature as they wish, because at this point, Yoongi and Namjoon trust each other with their lives and no matter what anyone else says, they believe they've found the perfect match.

At the moment, Yoongi is contemplating how perfect his hand fits into the younger's, how well their bodies seem to fit against each other's, his back pressed against Namjoon's chest and, mostly, how perfect their minds and souls fit together. Blinking, he lets out a breathy laugh, then says:

"Namjoonie, hold on, I think I have a new idea for a song."

The hands around his ways are holding him even stronger than before, and Namjoon's voice echoes sleepily through the room:

"Let's stay like this for a while, please. It feels so nice..."

Yoongi complies gladly.

800 words, pure nonsense. I am really sorry for this, honestly. Still, I want some opinions.  Please, point out every single mistake, from grammar mistakes to what you don't like about my writing. Also, sorry for messing the verbal tenses.

If you liked this, comment too, please. I really want to know what you think.

Thank you.