Expensive clothing companies think it’s okay to make jeans as thin as they can get these days. Jongin didn’t mind it the first hour or so. The thin, white-washed jeans. Faded black converses. Slick, gleaming oils rubbed over his shoulders, chest, and stomach.

But after seven hours, he can’t help the sly chills that run down his spine, the hardening of his jaws that make it hard to tell what kind of expression he made at the flashing camera snapping away every other second. A chilling breeze out of nowhere sweeps his hair over his forehead, and Jongin can’t help but slump his shoulders, attempting to retain some of his body warmth in vain.

“Oh god I’m hungry, let’s take a break!” The photographer grumbles, waving a hand at Jongin.

He hastily dodges his way to a backroom, hoping to find a jacket, a sheet, anything. Instead, he finds Soojung.

“Holy cow. Your lips are so blue,” she remarks, before rising on her tiptoes and delivering delightful warmth into his system, her lips burning against his almost numb, deadly cold ones.

Jongin feels his eyes close in bliss. Even after he no longer feels her lips on his, he is enveloped by her warm embrace, her warm hands, not caring about his upper half or the excessive oil covering it, only about him.

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4 - 5

by jellyfriedgreen7