rating: PG anything with kissing is PG okay

genre: romance

word count: approx. 1,575+

I sit on the couch with my feet tucked underneath me, a blanket draped over my lap and his as he tightens his arm around my shoulders. I keep my eyes pointed at my book while Jongin keeps his eyes pointed at the TV, watching one of those dance documentaries he finds so interesting. I find documentaries boring in general, but he finds books just as uninteresting. We've somehow reached a mutual agreement: I can read my book and he can watch his movie, but we have to do these things together, simultaneously.

It might seem unusual for other people. Like, how is it possible to read with noise in the background? And how does he stand to be watching a movie alone when someone is sitting right next to him – his girlfriend, no less? As much as I don't know the answer, I can't come up with one, either. I can't remember all the things I've done that Jongin should have been annoyed with; and while there are many, he simply chooses to overlook them. To accept them.

Of course, I've chosen to overlook and accept him with all of his flaws as well – though I feel as if he's too good to actually have any. I pale in comparison to his charms, his talents, his skills, and often I wonder what I did to deserve such a person.

This thought is often proceeded by another: Don't question it, and just be thankful.

And I am thankful. Truly, I am.

“Hey, Soojung,” Jongin's voice startles me, tearing me away from my thoughts and my book, though I find myself happy to oblige. “Let's go take a drive,” he says with an crooked grin.

There's clear excitement in his eyes, almost as if he's asked me to go on an adventure with him. And suddenly, I feel the same emotion bubbling up inside of me, too. It's just one of those things, I suppose. Whatever excites him excites me because after spending so much time with him, I'm starting to see the world through his eyes. And sometimes, I get to see glimpses of myself.

I set my book down as he turns off the TV, letting the blanket fall to the floor when I stand up and stretch my legs. Jongin looks down at me and clicks his tongue.

“What?” I ask, my arms stretching over my head. I frown as he bends over and picks up the blanket. Then I roll my eyes, watching him fold it before carefully placing it on the couch. “Neat freak,” I mutter as I lower my arms. He knows I don't mean it spitefully. All he does is walk away, stating some outdated proverb about cleanliness being next to godliness.

It hardly matters to me how clean our home is. As long as I am with him, wherever we go already feels like heaven.

Now I sit in the passenger's seat, my seat-belt strapped over my chest, and Jongin sits next to me. As stupid as it sounds, sometimes I feel like a smile is permanently stitched on my face; and sometimes I wonder if I look as goofy as I feel. I suspect it's a result from each time I look at him – which is essentially all the time. We spend every day together, though on the days that we don't, I start to question whether or not this life with him is real. But soon I'm reminded each morning that it is real when I wake up and see him sound asleep, his arms wrapped around me as if he never left to begin with.

Jongin slowly eases the car out from the garage and starts for the street until I scream for him to stop. We both lurch forward as the car screeches to a halt.

His brown eyes are wide, alert, as he sets them on me. “What is it?” he asks, his voice raised a pitch.

I relax my body, letting go of the door handle to my right and leaning over to point at his seat-belt – or the lack thereof. “Safety first,” I say to him. My words come out weary and uneven, like suddenly I've aged ten years and my mouth has gone dry.

Jongin laughs incredulously, whether at me or at my inexplicable paranoia, I don't know. I'm enchanted by it, nonetheless. His laugh comes from the back of his throat, uneven, and I feel a pulse of warmth grow inside of me every time I hear it.

He straps on his seat-belt, and soon after, we're cruising around the block, listening to nothing but the hum of the engine and our own breathing.

We come back home a couple hours later than intended. On our fifteenth lap around the neighborhood, I asked Jongin if we could go get ice-cream. When I was a kid, I always assumed that ice-cream was for kids only because most of the adults I knew didn't know how to have fun; and ice-cream, to me, always implied fun. My thoughts on this changed once I grew up – or maybe I didn't grow up at all. I still love ice-cream, and apparently, Jongin still does too.

He slides his fingers in between mine as we walk inside. I stare at my free hand, frowning, and then look at Jongin's. I've already finished eating my ice-cream cone. He hasn't finished his.

I suppress the mischievous smile cracking on my face.

“Jongin,” I say as I pull him closer towards me. Looking down at me, he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

I tug down on the hand that I'm holding and make his lips meet mine. He mumbles against my mouth in surprise, but relents when I fit my mouth to his. Suddenly his breaths are my breaths, his will my will, and for a moment I forget about the ice-cream in his other hand. Somehow it goes slack and he eventually drops the ice-cream cone, the half-eaten thing falling to the floor with a sad splat.

Jongin pulls away and looks down. Then he looks back at me, his tone accusatory. “You made me drop my ice-cream!”

I almost laugh. Funny how he can go from kissing me to whining at me within seconds, as if it were nothing. “That wasn't my intention,” I say.

“Then what was your intention?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“I wanted to eat it,” I answer with a shrug.

“Soojung!”

“Jongin!”

He scowls at me. I bite the inside of my lower lip to keep myself from laughing hysterically. I'm assuming the look on my face is too funny to stay mad at because Jongin starts laughing first, bending over and leaning against his knees as he tries to catch his breath. It stays like this for a few moments that feel too long, but also incredibly short. Then I start laughing when he hoists me up over his shoulder, carrying me away from the puddle of ice-cream on the floor while I'm letting out shrieks of pure delight.

In certain aspects, I suppose neither of us have really grown up at all.

My eyes are closed, but I am not asleep. I know Jongin is, though. I fold my arms close to my chest as he keeps one of his draped around my shoulders. It's gone slack, but the weight of it is enough to keep me close to him – not that I would want to move anywhere else anyways. I feel his chest rise and fall slowly against my cheek, the sound of his heartbeat steady and his breaths tickling the top of my head.

In quiet moments like these, I'm more prone to questioning myself again. I hardly find myself worth loving. I'm selfish, insecure, and sometimes spontaneously neurotic, so it's even harder for me to believe that Jongin could find even a single reason to stay. I asked him about it one time – dangerously curious, as he so called it – and he told me it wasn't just one reason; it was a multitude of reasons that he gathered and collectively called them me. I thought his answer was cheesy – as most of them tend to be – but in the honest parts of me, I was pleased.

Sometimes it frustrates me how he can love me so well. Sometimes I feel like I don't love him enough, or maybe I do, except I'm not as good as he is when it comes to showing it. He told me that it didn't matter since different people have different expressions, but I have a hard time accepting that. Is it because I'm just that emotionally inept? Or is it because I keep comparing myself to him, even though he repeatedly tells me that I'm more than enough?

It's something that I struggle with, and have struggled with for the past who-knows-how-long. The idea that love is free is still slightly beyond me. Is there anything equal to this kind of love, anything that can be used as payment for it? I don't think so. Does love like this even demand anything in return? It hasn't in my experiences, and I suppose true love never will. Is Jongin's love for me even remotely dependent on how good of a person I am? Or how well I'm able to communicate my love for him?

The answer is no. Love is free, I repeat to myself. It is a gift. It can't be bought, only given, and Jongin has given me so much of it – maybe even more than I actually deserve. And I'm thankful, more than words can ever possibly express.

I don't know how long it takes for me to eventually fall asleep, but in the last few moments, right before I fall, the questions stop and I finally feel peace.

author's note: Have you guys noticed that I'm starting to write 1,000+ words? IDK WHY, BUT I FIND THIS EXCITING. These writing prompts are so helpful ;u;

This piece is inspired by Plumb's "Chocolate & Ice Cream" and a little bit by her other song, "Beautiful." Plumb is one of my favorite English artists because most of her songs convey certain emotions about not being good enough, and that the redeeming power of love ( primarily God's love ) can cover anything we fall short on. That's kind of the message I wanted to send with this drabble; while Soojung doesn't think she's enough, Jongin still loves her - not because he's obligated to but because he chooses to. He chose her and gives her love just because he wants to, and it's that kind of unconditional love that makes me super happy.

SPEAKING OF LOVE - happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I know most people don't really enjoy the holiday, but it isn't so bad when you broaden the scope and spread love to the people you care about. Friends, family members, pets - love isn't confined within the structure of an exclusive relationship. Love can never actually be confined because I do believe it is just that powerful. SO GO TELL SOMEONE YOU LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THEM, OKAY.

I hope you guys enjoyed the update, and once again, happy Valentine's Day ♡ Until next time! - Ella